What's the message, God?

After the ultrasound, they'd told me that the fetus was no bigger than 8 weeks - I was supposed to be 12. It had passed a month earlier - I was amazed that your body can still maintain its pregnant state for that long. Even act as if it were still pregnant, because I was assured my stomach was slowly growing! Being from a medical field, I knew that biologically, that miscarriages occur because something is biologically incompatible with life, but it became important for me to know exactly why. I pushed beyond my husband's opinion for a chromosomal study to be done. There was some part of me that felt that I had done some kind of danger to my body in my year and a half of drug usage that might have caused its fate. Maybe my blood pressure was off, or it affected its heart somehow. Who knows. But I wanted a definite reason. Turned out it was an extra allelle on one of the chromosones. Not my fault. And it was a boy. Which made me smile. We hadn't told our kids yet - not til after an amniocentesis would have been done and I knew we'd carry the fetus full term. I knew Mariah would be jumping in her skin with excitement about a baby, no matter what the sex was. Ian, I think he'd have a hard time connecting to a baby sibling given his age difference (he would have been 12), however a boy might have been easier for him. A little brother he could show the world to...

This was a small part of the sadness that overshadowed me at that time. There were so many little moments that were coming up in our future that I was looking forward to. Telling the kids, how much excitement we'd share in having a newborn in the house, feeling life move within me, the very first moments of birth shared in the hospital room between Jim, myself and the baby, that new baby smell, nursing in a rocker in the middle of the night, his small fist clasped around my little finger, walking hand in hand with that same fist, now a toddler, grasping onto my finger......that list was growing in my sad reflection.

It was such an up and down emotional rollercoaster for the next several weeks. After the D & C, they said to expect cramping later, but I'd not felt much at all. I'd spend days in bed, feeling listless, empty, barren in the finality of it all. Then the sun would shine, or I'd sit in church with our whole family and feel such an UP feeling. That life was good. My family - and I - was strong! After awhile, I could admit to feeling, underneath it all, *relieved* that He took this upon Himself. Not that I believed He killed the fetus, but that He allowed it to happen. Especially at the time that it did. Upon returning home after my visit to parents, that Monday, I was scheduled for the CVS - a procedure in which they take a miniscule part of the fetal sac and study it for abnormalities in the fetus. It can be risky. I can imagine the guilt I'd feel if I'd made it to that appointment, and experienced a miscarriage afterwards. Surely I'd feel I'd caused it. So there was a big underlying feeling of relief that it happened naturally, before I mucked it up in any way.

Then become teary later for feeling that way.

The biggest struggle in having this miscarriage was understanding God's plan - but honestly, isn't that what we all struggle with most of our lives with *anything* that happens? It shouldn't be any great surprise that I kept coming back to that.

That was where I continually got stuck. I felt so *strongly* that this was His plan for me. Honestly and fully letting go, and not being willful in the image I saw in my life was a GARGANTUAN first in my life. I'd never before been able to just let God have His way with me! (ooo, sounds sacreligious!! ) Never Had I been so able to just willingly accept that which I adamantly did not want and just trust in Him knowing He'd take care of me. He'd give me strength to face my fears of tomorrow. And in doing so, it gave me SUCH amazing peace and awareness and serenity! I wasn't sure of the outcome; I was so fearful of how we'd work a baby into our lives....but for the first time in my life, I felt sure in His plan and presence in my life. I knew He'd be there with me giving me strength that I didn't realize I had. And I was pretty much at peace with all of that. That was unfathomable to me, peace with that?!

So, it was such a shock that He'd change the plan on me. What's the message?? If I had gained such peace in accepting the plan, why take it away?!

After much deliberation, writing, sharing in meetings, it occured to me that it was likely never in His plan for me to actually give birth. In my understanding now, once again, I don't think God purposely kills fetuses, just that He knew from the beginning that mine wouldn't make it to birth. But I needed to go through with what I did to help me realize His awesome power. I needed to be able to let go absolutely and just trust in Him to realize that He gives me strength beyond my imagination for my own life. To be able to succumb to that which I'd NEVER be able to accept on my own. With Him, I have strength and power beyond my wildest dreams....to handle WHATEVER....even if it's so far from my OWN plan/vision/desire for my own life.

I had never acknowledged that even though I never gave birth that the learning and progress I - and we, as a couple - was valuable despite. Knowledge and understanding that we could use now -- needed to use now despite not having a newborn join us in a few months. God sent me that pregnancy, the Holy Spirit working within me to KEEP it, trusting in God's plan, so that He could save me and my family in many ways:
1. to quit smoking (which I've never taken back up. I'd not quit before without being pregnant, there was likely not anything foreseeable that would have made me quit so quickly and successfully)
2. to learn to give in to Him completely, trusting that there was a plan beyond my understanding
3. to learn to stand up for my needs despite the possibility of hurting/disappointing others
4. to recognize the need for changes between my husband and I
5. to embrace and DO all I can with EACH stage of my childrens' lives before they take off and leave us. I could recognize their time with us was so short.

I had thought His making me pregnant was sending these messages to me. I never anticipated that I'd still gain the benefit of them without giving birth.

It also gave me new strength to look at refraining from drinking. It was still my biggest struggle. Not actually in giving it up - that part was easy. But seeing it as necessary. And frankly, I just didn't want to do it. I'd not abused it in the past; I wanted to be able to drink as I always had done before the drug addiction took over. I could accept that it was a risky choice to do so, but I admitted to wanting to go back to a place in my life when I could safely do that again. Never drinking again was certainly NOT in the vision for my life. Yet I think this experience through Him was showing me that I have so much more strength to see past my own vision for my life, letting go absolutely. I wasn't sure what this meant for me tomorrow, I didn't know if I would be this accepting and strong in the future, in fact, I knew I wouldn't. But in that moment, I know He was trying to tell me how much strength I had with Him in my life, that He's always there despite my own stubborness to hold onto my own plan, and to remind me of the peace and serenity that could come with just letting go and trusting in Him.

Wow...what a message.

The End of New Beginnings

The trip to New York was a great break from my normal routine. A time to separate from my family, regroup, and contemplate our future. But also a time to feel useful to my parents, a time to begin healing with them too. My mother and I had a lot of history - much of it not perceived favorably in my head. It was good to be at her side, seeing her as human and fallible - a flawed, but lovable being who at all times, was just doing the best she could. My dad too, who I had placed so high on a pedestal, being with him daily gave me a fresh perspective of "humaness" too. Still my numero uno, but living with him, I could see his shortcomings, the weaknesses he carried as I was growing up, yet still look at him with love and forgiveness.

We traveled together each day on the train to the hospital downtown - a 45 minute ordeal - after spending the morning together working out at the gym. It's always interesting going back to my parents' home in my adulthood. I can feel their pride as they walk me around to their friends - my dad expressing a quieter sense of accomplishment. Always good at first impressions, I'd gladly stand in the umbrella of his admiration, cajoling his friends as we'd join in an exercise class. Then, ever quiet, we'd hop on a train to see Mom, hoping she'd not be too upset with us for arriving too late, immerse ourselves in a book for me, the newspaper for him. Later that evening, we'd rush to catch the last train home so that we could catch some reality tv show that evening while sharing a light dinner. My dad's a funny one - we always joke that he's a "metrosexual". Loves the Hallmark movies, the WE channel (for women), figure skating, and reality TV (Dancing with the Stars and Bachelor/Bachelorette being his favs). That peaceful togetherness we shared was so satisfying in its simplicity. I'll never forget that serene togetherness we shared.

Mom's surgery was uneventful and thankfully, successful. She was in the hospital for a short time which, again, was a blessing. Nights had always been difficult for her because she typically had a hard time sleeping, even while at home. Add to that a nursing staff that is barely adequate for the sleeping hours in the hospital, being alone, and a bed that's not your own and you understand her discomfort. She was always anxious for our arrival, if only for company. As a nurse, she understood the importance of activity and pushed herself to get up and move even when she didn't feel like it. Ever the co-dependent, competitive, people pleaser, she was adamant that we help her walk the hallways so that she could boast about her daily progress, despite the continued pain in recovery. Not a day would pass that she'd break down in tears of thankfulness that I took time away from my family to come and be with her; it meant the world to her.

Honestly, though, they didn't really need me too much. My mom is well liked in the community; they both have lots of friends. Especially through their "gym" - it's more of a well-care center, connected to a hospital. It provides benefits on your medical insurance, providing by computer at each machine, information about your health and then back to your file, notice of what you accomplished at the gym. Whatever Obama may be considering for health care reform, I think it'd be ideal for a system like this to be in place at all health clubs that adjust your insurance premiums (or goverment coverage) by how well you take care of yourself. But I digress....

We were stocked up to the brim with food being brought over by well meaning friends. Dad and I were invited to friends in the evenings. And as little time that we spent at home, we had little in the way of tidying the house. A quick deep clean the day before she arrived home was the hardest we worked, as we prepared for her critical eye.

As delightful of a visit as this way for me, I was shocked and anxious one late afternoon to find that I was spotting. Determined not become overly panicked, I put a call into my OB/GYN at home, leaving word through her nurse. Early in my pregnancy with Mariah I'd started to spot. I knew that it wasn't a definite sign of a problem.

Later that evening though, with still no call from my OB and the beginnings of small cramps low in my belly I became a bit more concerned. I called the OB again, leaving word this time with her answering service. I was due to head home on the plane in the morning, so I knew I could get in to see her the following day, but I was unsure if I should be traveling if this indeed was the beginning of a miscarriage. I called my husband in my slowly rising panic. The bleeding was slowly increasing. It was in times like this that I was glad to be the wife of a physician. Never one to pull the "doctor's wife" card, sadly, at times it did get you more immediate attention.

He called late that night after finally talking with her. He wasn't impressed. She acted almost as if he were disturbing her, and highly non-reactive. Several times he had to ask if she was still on the phone. Bottom line, however, she said there was nothing she could do while I was away in NY (surely we understood this), that if this were a miscarriage, that it was supposed to be happening. (our medical backgrounds both understood this already as well) We wanted to know if it was a quick process? Should I get on the plane in the morning? No way to tell, she said. Could happen quickly or over the next several days. Or I could just be bleeding. It happens. Basically, she was little help.

I lay in bed that night with the cramping increasing in equal amounts with my anxiety. I was determined to get on that plane, and prayed that I'd make it home to Jim. My biggest fear was being trapped in the plane's bathroom as I passed a dead fetus into the plane's commode system. Yet every part of my being screamed out to get home to the comfort of my husband's arms.

As much as I'd dreaded the thought of having this baby, in this moment I was petrified that we were going to lose it. Never in my dreams did I think about that possibility. I figured at the very worst, He'd give me a disabled child because of my background; never ever could I have fathomed the baby not making it to delivery.

I prayed through the cramps, hoping for the best, but anticipating the worst each time I used the restroom. Something inside me knew this was over. I don't even remember the plane ride home.

I met Jim at his hospital emergency room, already feeling dead inside. But I held on to hope.

They rushed me into an ultrasound room, using a more sensitive wand inside me to see its contents. The technician said little, excusing herself to ask the doctor to come in and talk with us. She didn't need to, though. I could read it in her retreating silence and Jim's damp eyes.

Endless minutes later, the doctor entered and pulled up the screen before us. There she pointed out a small, yet empty looking sac. Like a sad little cocoon. But missing its tiny butterfly within. It seemed such a short time ago that I looked at that same screen with trepidation at a miniscule beating blip of a heart. We stared now at its dead emptiness.

The knowing within became incredulous in its final reality. I couldn't believe it was ending like this. All the preparation. The incredible mountains of faith I'd climbed to get me to where I was, the sureness of the Holy Spirit telling me to move forward with the birth of this child.

Why? Why? I just couldn't wrap my understanding around it. I was so sure that I was being led by something Divine. Why take it away?

Jim was openly upset as we left the hospital; me, just numb. Speechless. Feeling empty. And still cramping, getting worse.

I pushed to have a D&C performed, scheduling it for the next morning. The doctor said it wasn't necessary, however, a miscarriage could go on for days. And the pain associated with it could be alarming.

I woke from anesthesia the next morning in tears that lasted throughout the day. I don't remember feeling devastated; just numb and empty. And confused. How could this God I so fully handed over my life, more fully than I'd ever done before, take this child from us? Yes, down deep, I could feel a sense of relief that we didn't actually have to go through with everything, but really? I hand my life to you, Lord, I listen, I follow Your lead....and you take it away? Really? What was I missing? Why did you make me go through all of this just to take it away?

Marching Forward

There was still so much to accomplish; within myself and within our marriage before I'd feel ready to raise another child.

In couples' therapy, Fleet asked that we write each other exactly what we needed in order for our marriage -- and life with a newborn -- to work in future. To try to narrow it down to what was most imperative for success.

Jim had one. Be honest.

I chuckle to myself now - I had ten.

1. Nurture me - I'd always been seen as the rock in the family, and was proud to take it on. I needed Jim to see through that and realize I needed nurturing, pampering and attention too.
2. Respect me - I needed him to accept me as I was; different from the organized, Type A personality that he was, helping me to accept that difference as well.
3. Be open to change - I didn't know what the logistics of our life would be like with a baby, but I needed him to be willing to put the family's needs first over his work. He'd been financially successful enough that he should be able to cut back and be a more integral part of the family unit with this new child.
4. Lay off the sexual tension - and increase our intimate time together, finding ways to touch that wasn't in the bedroom. Holding hands during a walk, rubbing my feet as we watched a movie, massaging my neck as I stood in the kitchen. Without my needing to ask for it. I needed that intimacy back beyond the bedroom.
5. Find more alone time together - Jim and I had always been consistent with going on dates or even taking weekend trips alone together, but during the week it was usually business as usual. Dinner, talk of the children, bedtime duties, then he went to bed himself. Logistically, I wasn't sure how this might happen, just that we needed it.
6. Share the parenting role with me - Set limits, back me up, don't undermine me when I'm not around, and spend more time home with us. Or time alone with *them*.
7. Be self - reliant - He never quite understood/understands what I do all day, thinking that adding one more task to my list was not a big deal. I needed him to realize that there was nothing in me that would allow me to be a slacker, that I *worked* all day too. I asked that he take care of himself - not make me a slave to tasks that he could accomplish on his own. And if he was too tired to do these things at the end of the day, either cut back on his work day so that he wasn't, or make sure they were completed before he went to work in the AM.
8. Encourage me to find healthy modes of "escape" - whether that was escaping at night to be with friends, or becoming involved elsewhere. I encouraged him to hold me accountable for my time, have me followed if needed, but recognize that I needed "girl-time" and time away from my "workplace".
9. Find a spiritual couples retreat together that we'd repeat on a regular basis.
10. Help me parent our children - Funny, I didn't realize til now that I'd basically repeated myself here. Should move parenting up higher on the list. My explanation here, however, acknowledged our differences in strengths of parenting. I was good with limit setting and understanding what they needed - he was much better with persevering, holding strong to what we *agreed* upon - agreeing being the key factor.

****Aside/update - in reliving these imperative requests for our happy marriage, I can say that most have greatly improved, though many require continual revisiting and need my regular reminding. Both to myself and him. I've since given up the anxiety and dissatisfaction of needing to do so; I try to refrain from framing it in an attitude of him not really caring about me. It's been many years of my training him otherwise, my training him that I was super-woman, ultra low maintenance that it will take awhile to show him otherwise, and more importantly, to train ME. To train me that it's important to learn to receive rather than give, to take myself off the pedestal so he has the opportunity to nurture, to be an active father. But most importantly, that I can't ask that he be my therapist. That I need to recognize those co-dependent issues myself (or with a therapist or sponsor), the need to people please, seek self-worth opportunities, the need to OVERdo, and adjust those attitudes myself. I need him to be a supportive in that, in fact a cheerleader for that - but I can't expect him to advocate for something that is ingrained to the opposite in his mind - a way in which allows him to be pampered to. The only thing we have never addressed is finding a couple's retreat which I'd still love to do. He's less open to sharing within a group setting, or even to understanding what a valuable gift that is in the first place (even if no obvious dysfunction is apparent in the marriage). I understand that this will be my doing, my request, and my urging, but also know that he would grumble yet come around. And fully love the experience on the other side.


Personally, I was still attending meetings three times a week and meeting with both my sponsor and my therapist. In light of my pregnancy, I'd smirk thinking of God. I knew in my heart that at least one of the reasons that He'd made this happen was to keep me sober for a full year. That my three month commitment was coming up and that I was no where near close to being ready to drink again. I'd just begun my fourth step in AA with my sponsor - the step in which you looked into your weaknesses/faults/poor decisions (which, for those that I wasn't in denial of, I was quite good at. A good self-basher, I was). But there was much more on the other side of the fourth step which I needed to address, allowing me to emotionally and spiritually heal, before I could think about adding alcohol into the mix. In a 12-step program, there is daily affirmation that God quite often does for you what you can't do for yourself. Looking at my subtlely growing abdomen, I could offer up a small guffah.

I'd change it up from time to time from my regular meetings, though I continued to feel that I was divinely led to each one, each providing a characteristically special gift to me. Yet, to not grow stagnant, out of curiosity, and sometimes out of need, I'd find another meeting. I went once with a newfound friend, newly sober (for a month and a half, who, incidentally, has since disappeared). The meeting was smaller than any of my others - I believe besides my friend and myself, there were four others. In amazement, I learned that one was a pastor! He shared stories of being on religious workshops/retreats and being shocked that not everyone went for a drink at lunch. And humbled when he realized that he was being shunned by the other pastoral staff on his return, because of his inappropriate boisterousness and comments, being told later of how much he wreaked of alcohol.

Addiction is an equal opportunity offender. It doesn't just strike the weak and slime of the earth -- though it certainly lowers many of us to act on that level. That was a good realization for me. There was so much shame involved with using meth-amphetamine, that I was something "less than" for even getting involved - or more, for letting it take control. It was relieving to know that there were active professionals and even the (usually) morally straight, virtuous clergy doing the same thing. That it had nothing to do with some morally deficient gene or inner derangement on my part.

I was also able to look at my alcohol use from another angle. A young college student was one of the other four that sat the table that day. He said he was impressed that I could speak so openly about my drug addiction; that he too had dabbled with drugs quite a bit and although he could admit that he was alcoholic, he was still unwilling to look at his drug use. That maybe, in hearing my bravery in my honesty of my drug use, that he needed to look a bit closer at his own. I responded back (a bit of crosstalk, in the smallness of the group, was tolerated at this meeting)that I was just the opposite. That I could readily see my addiction to stimulants and nicotine as well as addictive behavior in computer usage, but frankly, that I was offended by the suggestion that I might be an alcoholic. There was nothing in my drinking habits that suggested alcoholic behavior. I didn't carry any of the same stories, desperation to use alcohol, or feelings of relief that many of those spoke of around the tables. In fact, I'd become irritated with those that encouraged me in this pregnancy, saying "Just think, you'll be raising this child *sober*!" I WAS sober while raising my kids, I didn't have the same stories of neglect that many of them did. I've since come to understand that "sober" has many definitions, the least of them (for me) being alcohol-free.

On my way home driving in the solitude of the car, however, I began to allow myself to see how much my alcohol usage was increasing at the end of the time I was using drugs. Though I was not hiding bottles, I relocated them to the dining room so it wasn't readily apparent to my family in the open design of kitchen/family room that I was going for a refill. My switching to a coffee cup to drink out of, readily answering that it was wine within if asked, but disguising it from first impression. Though I never lied about my alcohol usage to others, drinking helped me to lie to *myself*. It helped to keep my head in the sand, assuaging those negative feelings so that I could continue to tell myself I was living a happy, fulfilled life. It helped kill the anger.

Hmmmm.

At the same time, my experiences were allowing me to be a mentor to those around me. Part of a 12-step program is in mentoring another as a sponsor, and though I still felt way too new to do that, I couldn't help but utter my new awareness and learning to those around me. My children, my husband, my small group - so many of us living in Christian servitude, and living the life of people-pleaser, but especially my mother. My mother, God love her, who was one of my best and fervent teachers of co-dependency. Not only was I learning to set small boundaries with her, but I was able to help her recognize her own co-dependency with my father so that she could live more in harmony with him rather than complaining about him to me. Especially when I held *him* in such high esteem, it was always difficult to hear.

But more specifically, I was able to use my own learning in adjusting my attitudes about this pregnancy to help her deal with some of her own health issues and upcoming decisions. She had had colon surgery a year before, which had caused subsequent problems that resulted in her being on a clear liquid diet for most of the following *year* in an attempt to correct the problem. Not only that, but the pain and discomfort from the resulting problems caused her to drop out of many of the physical activities that she greatly enjoyed. She'd since seen another doctor that promised her that he could fix the problem, but my mother was extremely fearful of going through another procedure. All doctors could utter assurance and confidence, but she often was left with results that were less than expected. She didn't feel she had it left in her to go through yet another procedure.

Just as I thought I didn't have it in me to go through another pregnancy and child rearing.

I urged her to realize that it didn't have to be the same picture. That she knew SO much more now, that she could make demands for her treatment that she was unaware of before. That she was so much further down the line of understanding and awareness to ever allow it to be the same picture. Even if the worst happened. That the alternative - living her life greatly altered in diet and exercise - was a lifelong, emotional (and physical) strain. Just as the alternative for me (aborting the child) would be a lifelong emotional strain I'd carry.

Thankfully - maybe in part to my mentoring - she signed up for another surgery to correct the first. And I flew out to New York to be with her and my father, helping to alleviate her fears of surgery and recovery, and to provide my father with domestic help.

Little did I realize the trauma that I'd be met with while caring for them.

After Shock

I'd like to say that once I had that mountaintop experience, feeling God's message and the power He instilled within me so clearly, that it carried me through til delivery (and beyond). Unfortunately, though, I'm only human. I've always felt like I play this game with God of understanding and awareness, then taking my own will back. Even though my will is often fraught with doubt, fear, insecurity, disillusionment, and confusion, I still want to go back there and dabble with it. Think that I must know better.

So here I was, coming off this big high from the retreat, but within days I was back into indecision and fear. I knew that I had a choice. That Jim would understand termination. In fact, after my aha moments of the weekend, I'd had to talk *him* into keeping the baby. In many ways, I still feel as though he was just playing "devils' advocate" so that I didn't feel any pressure from him to go through with it, but in that first week after the retreat, I was definitely the one that said, "This is God's will made from our love. We can't kill it."

And then I'd have a bad week. I'd decided that I needed to quit smoking. In the past, I'd easily quit when I'd first found out I was pregnant with Ian and Mariah (taking it back up eventually with both) but this time felt forced. The pregnancy was still often a fearful thought for me; to then be urged into giving up my "last crutch", it wasn't an easy undertaking. However, I knew it was the best thing I could do to ensure that the pregnancy was healthy. I can still remember that (hopeful) last cigarette.

It was the Monday after my Sunday high. Kids and husband gone, I'd decided I'd have my last cig in blissful solitude, sitting in the hottub with a cup of coffee on a gloriously sunny (but chilly) January morn. Raced my naked butt out our masterbathroom door, the rich scent of coffee wafting behind me, cig in hand and jumped quickly into the steaming water. Only to find that the water, steaming against a chilly air, was less than 90 degrees. That's not too hot in January against your 98.6 degree body. My temperature of choice in the winter is a steamy 102.

Shock. Damn it! The electric was out on the hot tub. Within moments my body was shivering. Yet I was so determined for my image of solitude, that I wouldn't give it up. I sunk deeper into the water, just my chin and smoking fingers of my right hand peeking above the surface. Fingers beginning to numb, my lips shaking, I sucked away my (intended) last ciggie in "glorious solitude".

Goes to show ya how determined I am for my own way. Funny, that.

Later that day, in the car on the way to an AA meeting later and once again after, I'd had cravings, but not so bad that I'd had to light up. I could easily pass it off as habit. That's where I usually smoked. It's just normal associations. Car = smoke.

However, later I travelled to the grocery store to prepare for a late birthday meal for Jim. We'd not celebrated that weekend because of the retreat, so I had the intention to create a special evening for him. Complete with his favorite dinner and well-thought out gifts (that I'd not thought out prior to that afternoon). I wanted him to know how greatly I appreciated his support and love. While waiting in the check-out lane, I was met with a beligerant, screaming (tired) toddler. Just as adorable as she could be, but mad as hell. Watching in trepidation, I thought, Oh God.....I can't do that again! Furthermore, and more importantly, a very strong thought: I didn't WANT to. I felt compassion for the mom, trying to converse my understanding of her tiredness, embarrassment and frustration through my gaze, but moreso, I had a very intense sense of "Better you than me!"

The more my skin crawled in the screaming and the thought of being in that very same position within a year, I REALLY needed a cigarette. At the same time, I beat myself up, knowing that I really should quit, should use the motivation of pregnancy to help me quit, needed to give up spending all that money on another addictive drug, hated to be feel guilty with any part of my life anymore, needing to hide the smoking from my kids. Knew that it would affect my pregnancy. Then thought, if God really wanted me to have this child, that He'd also keep it from harm while I obstinately held onto that last addiction. And felt guilty for that, too.

But I couldn't handle it....I gave in, grabbing a pack from the shelf in line, and bursting into it with a great fury on the way home in the car. Giving myself forgiveness because I was able to acknowledge the amount of stress I was under (which was a new skill), I puffed away til I got home, running through my mind what kind of help I'd need to quit this time. Acupuncture? Hypnosis? Some ear thing I'd heard about from my internist? I wasn't sure, but was able to acknowledge needing acute help since I wasn't internally motivated to quit.

The rest of that day was spent in a rat race trying to complete my picture of "special" for Jim - which I never could entirely fulfill. I was feeling far from God, far from my 12-step program, and generally far from serenity as I ran the guinea pig's wheel round and round, feeling my efforts weren't good enough and that I didn't have much time left. Add to that frenzied emotional turmoil a son who was anxious to have over a handful of friends. My adamant "No" was a shock to him and myself. I could feel the stress of the day building. Whether hormonal or after shock of reeling so high, I could do nothing more than sink to my knees in tears. What a weak tit! Then sneak outside around the side of the house to have yet another smoke. Once again, needing to forgive myself - after two full cigarettes of beating myself up. I realized I needed to give myself a BREAK! I run around nutty, trying to push myself so hard to be "perfect", undermining what I might be feeling, so that I can do more for others. I couldn't see that it was a tremendous task to put together what I'd had in mind in ONE day. I didn't give myself the allowance of going through one helluva week - full of a myraid of emotions; the contradiction of shock, panic and pure joy to name a few.

What the hell had I been learning up til now?!

I was a basketcase.....and we wanted to have a BABY?!

Thinking of that, I was still so very scared. I knew in my heart that God would carry me through, that things would be different, but heck...I knew that wouldn't erase all the hard stuff. Those tantrums. The long nights. The tiredness. The need to work counterintuitively on a daily basis. Like salmon swimming upstream. I just wasn't sure all the time that we should do this.

I marched forward, though, and later that week went to my OB/GYN to confirm the pregnancy. Though she had identified the gestational age a bit younger than I'd anticipated, everything looked fine. We even saw a small beating heart under sonogram. Twinges of love, guilt, sadness, and excitement intermixed within me then, as I watched that small blip beating on the screen. I looked down at my still flat belly covered in jelly, thinking I'd never be this thin again. (sigh) I could kiss that meth weight goodbye forever.

In private, one of my husband's friends, an ostetrician, told me that I could take a pill that would abort the pregnancy up to 7 weeks gestation. I was shocked - I thought it was just a few days past a missed menstrual cycle. Going online later to research it, I understood that there'd be heavy bleeding and cramping, but that it could happen within the quiet of our home with Jim at my side. However, the more I read of this RU-486 pill, for the first time since becoming pregnant, I became horribly nauseaus, even to the point of feeling as though I might faint. I hurriedly switched off the screen in angst, dropping to the floor with my head between my knees. I felt sure that I was so attune to the Holy Spirit right now, that it was a strong message to me to quit looking into killing this fetus. I had power beyond my wildest imagination if I only leaned on Him; I had only to remember my weekend, standing in the pulpit to affirm that.

But in the same breath, knowing in my gut that this was VERY MUCH in His plan for whatever reason, I'd begin to feel more fearful for the next hurdle. What IF the baby is "damaged" in some way? What if I, given my age and who knows WHAT I'd done in a year and a half of meth, delivered a special needs baby? For some reason, I could imagine that scenario well because I used to work in the field. Of course God would think I could handle that. Yet I felt that would be the last straw - I just couldn't handle the time and energy a special needs child would require. I'd have to terminate -- yet, how would that decision at that time be any less of a thwarting of His will? How can I live THAT decision down any easier than the selfish reasoning of not wanting a baby altogether?

I just wanted all my bases covered. I wanted to fully research all my options.

I visited Planned Parenthood next. In a way, it felt like wasted time because I'd almost fully come to the conclusion that we were going through with this pregnancy. 99% of the time, I felt I was being led by the Holy Spirit. To just trust. But I still needed to talk openly to someone about options. She told me, "God doesn't make mistakes! You may feel unable to handle it - but when does He ever hand us large tasks that we feel ready for??" Yet she did, without preamble, objectively lay out the options. And recommended against RU-486. Although yes, you could do it within the quiet of your home, she said it could take anywhere from a half hour to 8 hours. With no pain medicine. You are on your own. And it's not pretty.

She told me about amniocentesis and CVS. CVS could be done as easly as 10 weeks old, with results by 12 weeks. (I made an appointment that afternoon.) She also gave me recommendations of facilities that perform abortions if I chose that option.

I walked out feeling assured I was doing the right thing, and well versed on what to expect and where to go if I should need to make a different decision further along.

My parents, when I told them, were incredulous. Thought we were crazy to think about having a child right now. Though my parents had no knowledge of the full reason for my recovery, they knew that Jim and I were on an uphill climb at that point and shouldn't be thinking of adding insult to injury. I could tell that she wanted to be able to keep quiet about her opinion, but her anxiety for me, for the two of us, radiated through the telephone lines. All of my reassurances that it would force us into making radical changes fast didn't seem to alleviate those concerns. I still got a strong sense of doom from her.

So, moving forward, I was up and down the rollercoaster. Excited on many levels and scared for all of us on others. It was a true test for me of "Letting Go and Letting God".
******************

Update: Shortly after this, I did go to my internists recommendation to quit smoking. It's a place in St. Louis called, Leslie-Cam Smoking Cessation clinic, that used Auricular Therapy -- or an ear zap -- to cure the desire to smoke. www.lc-stopsmoking.com/lesliecam.html I highly recommend it. Zapped me once and cured me forever. I don't think it was more than 75 bucks. I never looked back - not one craving. I've been smoke free now for 4 years, and I can't tell you how proud I am of that accomplishment! To be free - forevermore - of that smelly, expensive habit that only serves to take months off your life and add wrinkles to your face -- hurray! Run, don't walk to an auricular therapy clinic near you if you are still under the deathgrip of nicotine.

In the Pulpit

Following His lead, ignoring my fear and thoughts of "You don't really have to do this", I plunged forward. Sat beside Dana in the pews until my name was called.

You could have heard my heart beating throughout the sanctuary on that long walk to the pulpit. I'd brought my journal with me, marked with highlights over the important stuff throughout, hoping that I wouldn't go tongue tied and forget what I wanted to say. I know that I referred to it - had to refer to it - but delightedly, the words flowed from me. I made eye contact with the congregation, smiling and almost feeling at ease once I'd begun. You'd have thought I'd been doing this my whole life - well, at least stood in the pulpit for more than just dress rehearsal for choir.

I admitted my insecurity of speaking with them, sticking out my foot from the podium to share my wild socks that gave me the strength that Edna assured me. I'd told them what I shared with all of you about being Edna's liason. And my doubt with Dana. My first impressions of this eccentric little woman. And the mass WOW of our grouping once she began speaking.

I continued:

"Just days before coming to the retreat, I had been given a calling - a major one that I could NEVER imagine myself fulfilling at this time in my life - still can't wrap my hands around it. And her topic on "Timing is Everything" impacted me to the core. The suggestion, she said, that God's timing is impeccable and if we waited for everything to be perfect, nothing would get done. (Eccl 11:4) I'd wanted to say, no...really, I think His timing really STINKS, big time!

(Laughter)

But isn't it amazing - miraculous even, if you allow yourself to believe in those things - that maybe He knows what you need even better than you? That possibly He was waiting for THIS specific time in my life in order to offer it to me? Though I feel ill-equipped for the job, possibly NOW is the time of my life when I'm best able to tackle it because of all my experiences - even the *mistakes* - of my past.

I'd never have gotten here without the spiritual growth that I've gained through my small group. I went into that experience somewhat begrudgingly - and they've grown to be the people I look to for support most in my life right now.

Cuz you know..... I've never been like all of "you". Those who seem to, every Sunday - just GET it. Walk in His ways, speak and pray with eloquence, always doing the right thing. And heck, I didn't WANT to be one of you either. I'm a rebel, a colorful, sometimes *irreverant* thinker! (gasp)

But over the last two years in my small group I've realized, He doesn't want to change the authenticity of you or me! He wants to use you - and me - *just as we are* to be in service to Him.

Five years ago, I'd never have dreamed I'd spend a whole 24 hours in a *religious* woman's retreat - yesterday, I'd never have believed I'd be up here speaking to all of you! I just knew I was missing something - something really important in my life. And if I hadn't allowed myself to be open to Him - then I'd never have been able to see the blessing He's given me in the last two years of my life......even those I'm not willing to see as blessings.

I'd like to propose a challenge to all of you, as Dana did to all of us yesterday. If my sharing here today has spoken to any of you for some reason - that maybe you feel that you're missing something and you are not connected *somewhere* in the small group opportunities offered here at church, then seek it out. Whether it's a personal interest in singing or quilting or scrap booking or the children's ministry or a Bible study, strive for it with a gusto. Move beyond whatever fear holds you back and seek it out.

Life is too short, my friends. And I strongly believe that it's through our Christian fellowship that our spiritual growth takes off - our connections - letting it all hang out with others willing to do the same. Don't wait and hope it comes to you through your passivity, sitting in the pews gathering what you can from the sermons each week. There's so many of His blessings in store for you - we just have to have the openess...the GUTS...the lack of fear in the *moment* to discover it.

And at the very least, ladies of (our church) - sign up for the women's retreat for next year. I think we're having *HER* back!"


I did it. And in writing it here, I honestly can't believe that I said all that. That I was that gutsy, that bold, that brash and open about myself. It makes me wonder if I could do it again.

Of course I could...God does for us what we can't do for ourselves.

After that sermon, we had two people request which small group I belonged to.

Edna Blake

That following weekend of this very same week, I was scheduled to attend a Women's Retreat through our church. I emphasize the timing specifically because I can see the wise hand of God who reached in with magnificent timing once again, giving me awareness beyond my understanding. And strength beyond my imagination.

I was on the retreat committee that year. By default, I'd become the liason between our church and our speaker, Edna Blake, because my good friend, Dana, who highly recommended her, was going through some family issues of her own. I'd spoken a number of times to Edna on the phone and began to question Dana's judgement. Listening to this woman on the phone, her voice crackling, her confusion over directions or which church group we were, I thought, what the heck, Dana. This woman is OLD! She's confused! How is she going to be the dynamic person our church needs? What *I* need?!

When I met her at the door of the Mercy center, her arrival a relief given her concerns for driving there (despite the fact that she only lived 10 miles away), her appearance did nothing to help me in my general initial impression of her. Imagine, if you will, a small Dr. Ruth type woman. Bespectacled, hair set, voice small, this little woman couldn't possibly be all that Dana said that she'd be.

Yet this tiny dynamo, speaking in her colorful socks and Birkenstocks, had the power to catch all of us that weekend - no matter if we were in our 20's or 60's, making our eyes weep, in unabashed laughter or aching, shocked awareness, opening our eyes to God's message to each of us - that message being something completely individual to all. Her socks, she explained, were her "I-can-do-anything!" socks; a reminder to herself that God is with us all the time, even if we need some colorful reminder of it -- even to the point of wearing those ridiculous pair of loud socks in front of a large group of expectant Lutheran women. Women waiting to hear the magnanimous word of God from a tiny, old, forgetful being such as herself.

Of course, my ears were open to any message I could glean to help me deal with this tiny - unwanted- child growing within me.... the floodgate of messages were thrust open as she spoke.

She talked about our never knowing God's plan for our lives, but that He really does know the right time for everything. We're all being called to a task, she said, that we rarely feel prepared for - but He uses those weaknesses to keep our eyes set upon Him.

Wow....I'm listening, I thought to myself. Jim and I were lucky for 11 years. 11 years of "pull and pray", essentially. Why now? I did NOT feel at all prepared or ready to have another child; not at this time in my life, not now as chaos in my head exploded around me in early recovery. I allowed myself to wonder though, if I let Edna's message sink in, that maybe I was more prepared than I thought I was. More than I'd ever been in my life.

I was more aware of who I was, what I wanted/needed from others, than ever before in my 41 years. I was involved in three 12-step meetings a week, went to a personal therapist, my husband and I involved in counselling together, and my church ladies were behind me all the way. I had more support than I'd ever had in my life!

Maybe this is the one thing that is completely out of my hands; maybe it's the one way in which God can show me that I have no control; that I just have to sit back and trust my Creator, knowing that He'll take care of me and help me through it all. That the understanding, the strength, the patience will be there if I lean on Him. That I needed something as - impossible in my eyes - to fully ask for His help.

The next day, the message kept hammering home.

Ecclesiastes 11:4 Whoever watches the wind will not plant; whoever looks at the clouds will not reap.

In Edna's words: If you wait for perfect conditions, you well never get anything done.

I wanted to be further along in recovery, in counselling. I didn't feel ready for this!!

She stressed that the Holy Spirit is our trainer. We needed to be free of busy-ness so that we could listen. When we can do that, a sense of joy, happiness, peace, kindness and *self-control* will develop. God rested. We needed that too.

God didn't choose the perfect, the well prepared, the confident of the Bible to help Him meet his goals. He chose those that were broken, and in that broken-ness, He knew would look to Him for help.

As in a favorite Peder Eide song of mine, "As Is", God didn't choose the confident, perfect, all-knowing to help achieve His missions. He chose "Moses, a stutterer, David, a murderer, Jerahiah, suicidal, lying naked in the street, Lazereth who was *dead*, Sampson, a long haired womanizer, Noah, a drunk, Abraham who was old, Jacob, a liar, Leah who was "second best"... He chooses us As is. Infuses us as His. No excuses, he uses us as is."

Youtube the song. It's wonderful. But bottom line, I'd never feel ready. And that was the point. I'd put my self in His hands so far in recovery, handed everything over to Him. I'd trusted Him to get me this far. Maybe this was that last thing. The one thing that I said I'd NEVER do.

As I'd started into recovery, looking back over my life, how much He'd been there despite my resistance, the pitfalls He'd saved me from, I just knew in my heart that I was being "saved" for something special. Something BIG, I thought.

Yet, as I listened to Edna, I began to wonder. Humble myself. Maybe *this* was it. Motherhood. Maybe this was supposed to make me slow down and realize what a gift, how important *Motherhood* really was. I'd denigraded it ever since they'd gone off to elementary school. Put myself down for not doing something *really important*. Maybe this was the revisit I needed to help me realize what a gift it really was. And how truly special it was to nurture up another of His little souls. How arrogant of me to think that I had bigger dreams in mind than one so significant as that.

I really needed to hand it over to Him, knowing that I didn't have the outcome, but trust that He did. As all things, if He brought me to it, He'd bring me through it -- and show me as He had so far in this short time of recovery, a wonder that I'd not anticipated. Never dreamed of.

I still wasn't completely trusting in Him that I'd be able to carry a disabled child full term. Because of my age, I'd make sure to have any early diagnostic tests done to make sure the child was healthy. I'd schedule an amniocentesis. And take my will back into my own hands at that point if I needed to....

But right now, I could see all signs pointing to this being right. This child being born out of love - a new developing love of seeing each other truthfully - that Jim and I created. That there was no way I could destroy that. No matter my feelings of inadequacy, or fear of painting the same mistakes, that God would surely see me through if I leaned on Him.

And very possibly, a chance for me to revisit motherhood and fully embrace it, knowning how short it lasts, instead of resenting it and wishing it forward. It really didn't have to be the old picture. It would give a reason for Jim to change around his schedule, to offer me more help. To refigure his life so that he would be more of an active part of our family.

And to give my kids the opportunity to see that they weren't the be-all, end-all. That they needed to think beyond themselves. A healthy dose of reality to care for themselves and others around them.

In those terms -- it was exciting. I still didn't want to be SIXTY with a high school graduate, but ah well. Having a graduate at that age would probably keep me young.

It truly was in His hands.

At the end of the retreat, my friend Dana asked if anyone had something special that we'd like to share with the rest of the church the next morning. She challenged any of us to stand in the pulpit the next morning if we wanted to, if we had something we felt we needed to share.

Well sure, I thought. I had a HUGE message to share.

But call me on the phone. I'd even take you out to breakfast - and pay for it as well.

I had lots to say, an amazing message to tell of God's awesome presence in my life, but hell no. I wouldn't give myself over to public speaking, stand in the PULPIT, for God's sake. Me? Did they have any idea that I was a drug addict? Someone that espoused His name, but dragged her fingernails in the sand, yelling, NOOOO don't take me?! Surely I'd disintegrate to ashes in the pulpit.

(Did I have no memory of the messages I'd JUST heard?!)

I went home, only to be "gifted" for one more night. My family, thinking I'd be gone for TWO nights rather than one, went to the lakehouse leaving me alone for a full other night. Only too happy for another night of solitude, I procured a rental movie and some Oriental food, planning to sit back in delightful oblivion, losing myself in some romantic comedy.

Damn it, if I couldn't stop thinking of Dana's challenge.

I kept the movie running though, telling myself, no.... you can't do that. Don't be stupid. You're not a speaker. And in a pulpit?! Pfffft.....I nearly giggled aloud.

I wasn't even following the movie. I couldn't tell you what the plot was about.

OK, dammit. I hear You. I put aside my food, dug out my journal and started jotting some thoughts down. More and more, it poured out of me. I laughed, I cried in memory.

This was good. I knew I had something to say. Something that needed to be said. To be heard. That it might touch a few people. Inspire them as it did me. That my feelings - of inadequacy and self-doubt - would find a familiar tone in many a heart.

Could I, I dared to ask myself? Could I speak in front of all those people? In a pulpit, no less?? As a singer, I'd rather sing it in a solo!! Public speaking was just NOT my thing! And heavens, it might be long, I thought, as I looked back through the pages I'd written. There's nothing I wanted to leave out though. What if the pastors were disappointed that I was going on and on?

With a quiet sense of inner power, I thought, maybe what I had to say was equally as good as what the pastors did.

Finished and satisfied with what I'd written, I set my journal aside saying to myself, decide in the morning. No one has to know that you had this back and forth argument with God tonight. I can keep quiet about it, and no one would be the wiser.

In the morning, I searched for my wildest pair of socks. They were even *toed* - just in case I needed to feel His presence when I couldn't see that reminder.

"I need some time this morning to share," I told our diaconal minister when I arrived in church that morning. "God's telling me I have to do this thing....so here I am."

Here I am Lord. Lead, and I will follow.


*******
An update on Edna: Our entire church group was so moved by her that weekend, we invited her back a second time the following year. The first time ever we'd engaged the same speaker twice, and in consecutive years! She was the same humble inspiring dynamo. Though my own personal beliefs have grown outwards from hers, I'm still so touched by her inspiration and action in my life. With awed reverance, I give thanks to God for sending her my way - especially at that time in my life when I needed this message so much.

Nightmare Revealed

It was like pulling teeth sometimes to have Jim follow through with couple's therapy sessions. I knew that he'd said that he found it valuable and had really bonded well with Fleet. Yet, it always appeared to be the last thing on his priority list. It was always being bumped. And I'd become frustrated and hurt - as if making it last on the priority list was also saying that I, and our marriage, was. His day was busy, he'd say. It was hard to cut out at the end of the day, leaving things undone at work.

But tonight was important. I needed him to be there. And, knowing what I had growing inside me, I needed him to make a full commitment. We had a LOT of shit to do.

In session that night, I'd asked him if he understood what I'd been asking of him. What I needed. I wanted him to tell me if he thought I was being selfish. (Yes, he thought he understood., for the most part anyway. No, I wasn't being selfish.)

I was curious to know what he felt the working parent's role in a single income family was besides finanicial stability - if any. He'd become defensive on that one. And began to feel that he was being drilled.

I asked him how valuable he thought couples' counselling was for us personally? Is it worth our spending 100-200 bucks a month? (Underneath this was a feeling of guilt that I'd done this to us. I put us here. I was the one that wanted it. I needed to know that he felt it was worth it too). A good way to the get the "right" answer from Jim, though, was to ask it in front of witnesses - witnesses that were highly invested in counselling as well. I was fairly certain I'd get a positive answer from this one....which I did.

So I moved in for commitment. I needed for him to promise me that he'd be willing and capable to put his family first -- me first -- over his job. If he needed to lighten his patient load, or whatever he needed to do in order for him to be there with me regularly.

He agreed, hell or high water, he would do whatever he could to make it on a regular basis.

I told them it was important to me - especially important to me now. Then entered into a long diatribe:

I told them that I'd been resentful for so long with Jim because I didn't feel that he pulled his weight around the home; he didn't play as a team member. Out of selfishness or necessity - it was hard for me to discern- his work and needs always trumped any issue or need of my own. That his life never skipped a beat since having kids.

But in further reflection, I'd told them, I could see that my resentment was mostly for myself. For never having accomplished anything of importance of my own, nor having any sense of accomplishment or success within the household. Resentment was harbored for wanting kids so much for so long, then realizing what a sacrifice I'd made for them. Trying so hard to find happiness in devoting myself to them and my role as a housekeeper, but always devaluing that role. Feeling lost in such a lack of true purpose that I ended up saying yes to everything, mistakenly believing that it WAS my role, believing it was my only outlet for self-worth. I'd realized how my resentment resulted from being so reactive to Jim - making his life easier. Keeping my own desires silent because it was just easier not to have to argue about it.

I was resentful with realizing just how much I'd taught Jim to treat me so that he could be so disrespectful without having a conscious thought about it. For instance, in the past week, my parents were in town for the National Figure Skating championships and we were rushing to head out the door to one of the competitions. Jim was grumbling about doing his monthly chore of going through the bills. Sitting in front of a sports event on TV, his lap was full of mail and the computer, as he tossed all the trash to the floor beneath him, creating a large mound of discards at his feet. I was rushing, my parents at the back door waiting for me, as I searched in the cabinet behind him for our tickets. He proceeded to ask me if I could please pick up the garbage at his feet on my way out.

It wasn't just a couple things.

I didn't make the mess - nor would I dream of asking him to pick up after me.

But rather than start an argument - especially in front of my parents - I bent over, kneeling at his feet and cleared the floor, then bringing over the garbage can to him.

Being aware of how much I cater to him, in that moment I never felt more his slave.

Fleet asked, would you have been angry with her if she'd just said, No?

Jim said he probably would have. It wasn't a job he enjoyed. Thought that I should have been doing it all along, and besides, it was just "a bit" of garbage. But bottom line, I should have spoken up.

Right. I should have. I was also resentful -- no disgusted, actually -- with my inability to stand up for myself. Especially when it's something so important to me. So Important that by my not doing it would affect my whole life.

Not demanding a vasectomy. Or enforcing my own right to decide to have my tubes tied.

And ending up pregnant. The EPITOME of my disgust with myself for bowing to everyone else -- to JIM's expectations of me.

Tears just streaming down my face, their faces blurring in front of me.

You mean....you, you're pregnant.....NOW?! Not sure if that was from Jim or Fleet.

Nodding my head, just letting it all loose now. Sobbing, shoulders shaking.

Jim sat at the other end of the couch in shock. I don't think he moved for the longest time before he slowly moved over on the couch to embrace me.

We said nothing more for the longest time as I tried to gain control of myself.

Finally able to speak again, I said, I'm absolutely..... DISGUSTED..... with myself for being 41 and putting my head in the sand.

Lots of silence. I think Fleet was quite shocked himself. Unsure how to proceed.

He asked if we knew - had any gut feeling - what we were going to do. What we thought about the pregnancy. If there were religious ramifications. I said that I couldn't possibly imagine having a baby right now. Jim just shook his head.

Later that night, as he held me in bed, my body wracked once again in sobs, he told me he was so sorry. Sorry for causing this. That it was all his fault. And there was no reason for me to feel pressured to go through with this pregnancy.

But you were the one that wanted another child.

Not like this, he said. Not like this. I'm so sorry.

And I knew he was. Even though I was much more angry at myself.

Once again, God's sledgehammer came weighing down on my head, opening my eyes even wider to my own co-dependency.

OK God...I got it. (sob)