I've spoken about motherhood to a few different groups of Moms, and I share this story each time. It's not one I'm "proud" of, per se, but it is one I think is relate-able to many moms. You see, I believe we have an issue in this world ~ it's a pre-conceived notion that if you're a Mom then you have always wanted to be a mom, always loved your kids to the moon and back, and never been disappointed by anything motherhood-related. Because of this belief many moms feel alone and ashamed of who they are and how they may be feeling *for a time.* (I want to emphasize that, because if these feelings are not momentary and you're not able to get through them to a better place you don't need to be reading a blog, you need to be getting help. Depression is a very real thing, and depression in moms is not something to scoff at or poo-poo away.) I share this story with the people I'm talking to, but have not shared it with my son. I won't share it with him until I know the time is right to share it in such a way that he will understand the *entire* picture and not get caught up in the minutia of one aspect. I'm taking a risk sharing it here, but today, on his 12th birthday, I sense that it needs to be shared.....maybe because of how good things have become in spite of what I'm about to share. Who knows. Maybe I just need to be humbled and remember from where I come. Whatever the reason, here goes.
When I was pregnant with Scott's & My second child I was convinced...CONVINCED...that I was pregnant with a girl. I had placed a daughter for adoption and desperately wanted a little girl in my arms to play dress up with, play dollies with and enjoy the frilly-ness of a little girl in my life. This isn't why I was convinced I was carrying a girl ~ I just really felt like everything was pointing to this being a baby of the female gene pool growing in my womb. We talked about names...decided on Megan...at least, I decided on Megan. Scott decided on Meghan. Maybe we could do first and middle names "Megan Meghan." No. We decided on the name, but couldn't decide on the spelling, and, as seen by my name, spelling matters to us. (My parents STILL say my name "Tracy" when they say it...I can hear it in their voices. :) ) There was no question on a boy's name. It would be Micah. We had no need, however, for a boy's name because I was carrying Megan.
We went in for our ultrasound that would tell us what we were having, and I was so stinkin' sure that I didn't even really worry. Until I saw this stick in the picture. Wait. What is that? Why does my little girl have a pee-pee between her legs? What is wrong here? All these thoughts were racing through my head and as the ultrasound tech said, "and here we see the fact that you are having a boy. congratulations!" I kept my smile plastered on my face and tried not to let anyone see the disappointment that enveloped my entire spirit. Tears leaked, though, and anyone who knows me knows I'm horrible about having a poker face. I tried so hard. I focused on the fact that he had 10 fingers, 10 toes, and was completely and utterly healthy. I told myself that I was such a selfish, foolish woman for being upset over a healthy baby not being what I wanted. I looked at Scott's smile and knew what I was feeling was the stupidest thing in the world to be feeling and I needed to get it together. I held it together and smiled and talked about how precious he was and what a gift life was...and said thankyouverymuchmayIgopeenow? to the tech. (anyone who has had an ultrasound understands what I mean, right?)
Scott & I got to the car and I don't think I made it very far at all until I was bawling like the baby inside me would do so often in his first year of life. HARD. Not because I was abused. Not because I was unloved. Not because my baby would have a life ahead of it that would be filled with hospital visits and medical procedures, but for the pure and simple fact that I didn't get my way. I was heartbroken over the idea that God didn't want me to have a little girl. Heartbroken and afraid that maybe God didn't really mean He'd give us the desires of our hearts if we loved Him with everything we had. Scared to death that I would now be the mother of two boys...knowing a tubal ligation would also have to be performed during the scheduled c-section due to how hard pregnancy is on my body...and there was no further chance of having a little girl of my own.
It took more than a few minutes in the car ride home to compose myself. In fact, Scott & I drove around for quite awhile and ended up at the Simpson College campus where I proceeded to bawl and weep for another 2 1/2 hours. Looking back on it I realize it wasn't just about whether Megan was now a Micah, but it was the loss of so many dreams and hopes. And, in a way, it was a repeat grief of a mother needing to let go once again of her daughter's hand. I knew that feeling, and even today as I write this I am washed again in the tears that never go away. (that's a topic I've shared previously about. If you think adoption is just another horrible way of making an unplanned pregnancy "bad" you need to go back and read some of my other posts. I won't be getting into it here....) That day, however, all I knew was that I wouldn't be holding a little girl in 3 months, and my heart didn't know what to do but grieve.
It is because of my hope and faith in The One True God, Jesus Christ, that I was able to carry on. I firmly believe God is before all things, and in Him all things hold together. There's a popular worship song out now that I love so much...all except one line. The song is "Your Love Never Fails" by Jesus Culture, and the lyrics are as follows: It's a beautiful song with beautiful, hope-filled lyrics that remind me God's love truly never fails. The problem is that line at the end. We believe all too often a lie about what working all things together for my good means. (when we sing this song in church I never sing "my". I sing "you work, all things together fo-or good." It's much more true to the Bible verse it's based on.) We think it means we get everything we wanted. We think it means God will never make us suffer to the point of not being able to hang on to our wit's end. We think it means that as Christians we won't really have to go through hell or high water because He'll work it all out for my good and my good means that I'll be happy and blessed all the time.
Except when we're not.
Because there will be plenty of times we aren't.
Plen-ty.
Like, LOTS.
Simply because we live in a world where life isn't happy and blessed all the time. Sickness happens. Cancer sucks, and people hurt people. Freak accidents take lives away in a moment of joy and joy turns to mourning. Countries decide that they don't like some other country so they decide to blow up things in that country and wars start. Life. Is. Not. Happy. and Blessed all the time! And God is working all things together for HIS good...and that includes us if we are in Him, but it does not mean He's going to work it all out so I'm happy.
It was knowing this ~ understanding that there IS a grand scheme of things and I am not the center of that ~ that allowed me to come to grips with the fact, FACT, that there is hope in this situation. Megan wasn't supposed to be and Micah was. Evidently the world needs a Micah, and not another Megan. Did I mention, he had 10 toes, 10 fingers and a healthy body? He was perfect in every way a doctor says a baby is perfect. So I needed to get a grip and suck it up, buttercup.
Over the next 3 months I spent a lot of time praying. A LOT of time praying. I had plenty of time, so why not? CJ played happily and wasn't your typical terrible two-er (God DOES have mercy. He KNEW who I was carrying! ...any of you who know Micah personally know what I mean, too!), and Scott was traveling from Monday to Friday each week. I had plenty of time to lay, exhausted, on my couch and watch my stomach look like something out of the Exorcist and pray that somehow I would fall in love with this creature tearing me apart inside. I mean, he was obviously going to set the world on fire because I swore he had sticks in there and was playing drums! So I prayed.
And Prayed.
and Prayed.
I want to say I did *not* pray God would somehow indent the pee-pee and make Micah a Megan, but I will say I didn't pray it *often.* Comprende vous?
I also want to say that miraculously my heart changed and I started looking forward to the day the doctors would slice me open again and pull this monkey from my womb. Like most times we *want* to say something, we know we can't. I looked forward to the day the circus was taken out of me, but remained hesitant about the final outcome.
The day arrived, however. (Isn't it weird how that works? Time passes? :) ) Scott and I headed to the hospital and in an uneventful turn of events Micah joined the outside world.
With what we would come to call "True Micah Fashion."
LOUDLY.
He wriggled and squirmed and writhed his way all over the doctor's hands, and let us all know he was here and he was ready to party.
When they brought him to me after I recovered and he was cleaned up and happy (somewhat), I looked down into the face of....that little man from The Princess Bride. I held in my arms, Vizzini. There really was only one thing to say. "Inconceivable." (with a lisp, of course) God has a real sense of humor, you know. Here I was, fighting to embrace the lack of female off-spring living in my home, and he gives me "inconceivable" man? Wow. Thanks, God. Thanks ever so much...but, please, don't let me keep my heart from him. I want to love him like I want to be loved. I want to WANT to be his mom. Help me, Lord, to love this little man for everything he is and not worry about what he's not. You are before all things, and IN YOU all things hold together. Hold me together, Lord.
The first two years of Micah's life were hard to say the least. He is a loud and boisterous 12 year old who is moving, talking and living out loud from head up to head down. Without being able to do so on his own two feet he expected the same of me. I don't do full-bore days much anymore, and he plum wore me out. When he was 4 weeks old I received phone call from my parents that my Grandma had passed away. I wasn't able to attend her funeral, and I felt like there was grief upon grief upon grief being laid on me.
I remember going through the Beth Moore Bible Study, "Breaking Free" with our women's group at church and one day asking, when at the absolute end of my rope with wonderment of how I was possibly going to make it through these years of motherhood I asked, "how do you get there?" I looked around the circle of women all in later stages of child-rearing and wanted hope that this wasn't going to be all there was to being the mom of this little guy. The words, "this, too, shall pass" are words I no longer share with anyone going through a time of trials. They are not words of hope in the midst of pain. They are words of dismissal, and they hurt worse than a cut. My faith shrank a little that day.
We moved when Micah was 1 year old. Exactly. On his birthday the truck pulled out and we moved to a new location. Where there were no family members....or anyone else we knew. Micah was now walking and running...crawling was approximately 1 month long and then he began to run marathons. Scott continued to travel and I joined a MOMS group at our church. Thank You, LORD, for New Heights MOMS!
About a year after we had been living here I sat on the bottom steps of our staircase and cried. I was exhausted. Spiritually, Emotionally, Physically. I was empty. I cried out in my spirit to God. The Bible says that when you don't know what to say ask the Holy Spirit to intercede for you and He will speak your heart's desires to the Throne. It was all I knew how to do. Then I heard something that I have asked myself again and again and again over the years.
"My love. Oh, how I love you. I know you love me, but I have a question for you. What if *this* is your life? What if this is all there ever is? What if things never change? Will *I* be enough for you?"
That night I walked into the nursery where my sleeping monkey danced in his sleep and I watched him. A friend had shared that bit of advice when I was pregnant with CJ and it was the best advice ever ~ when they're driving you nuts, wait until they're asleep and then go take in the beauty of a sleeping angel. It changes everything. Micah slept. With his arms flung over his head in abandon and a smile on his face, he slept. I realized in that moment that my prayers were being answered...I did love this little boy with my whole heart. I did love this inconceivable little man. God is truly a God of miracles. God is really enough. He gives us what we need...not because we deserve it, but because He loves us and knows the entire scope and sequence of our lives. He knows what "our good" really is.
Micah is today a joy. Really. He loves people. He loves life. He loves baseball and his laugh, his hugs, his determination are all bigger than life itself. So is his stubborn streak, but disciplined stubbornness is the thing of champions, so that's okay....most days. Discipline still happens.
I share this because I know there are moms out there, or maybe even dads or siblings, who just.don't.like what they're given. I found this out when I was a table leader at our MOMS group and a young mom sat with the same look on her face I held on mine whenever anyone oohed and aahed over my brand new Micah. I went to her and told her this story and we cried together. Tears of relief and hope and knowledge that this is not the end-all-be-all, and God really is enough even if it is. Earlier I said that joy turns to mourning, but the Bible says (and it's a line from the song I referenced, too) "there may be pain in the night, but joy comes in morning."
It's true.
Joy, like sunshine in a Pacific Northwest weather break, comes. Sometimes it stays, and sometimes it gets burdened with the rain of life, but it comes.
Thank you for allowing me to share my heart. I love my crazy monkey, Bam-Bam or PigPen or TacoBoy or whatever else we decide to call him. I love him like crazy, and on this day 12 years ago I didn't think that would be possible. Today, I want to celebrate the goodness of God's mercy! Happy Birthday, Micah!
