On Your First Birthday

Joshua, today is your first birthday. How is that possible? It seems like there is no way a year could have passed since I first laid eyes on you, but I have checked and rechecked and re-rechecked the calendar and apparently it's true. I still have trouble believing it but I guess the calendar wouldn't lie... it is from Chick-Fil-A, after all.

As this day has been approaching, I thought long and hard about what I wanted to say to you. I thought of telling you the story of everything that happened, but you already know it - you lived it. I thought about imparting some deep wisdom to you, telling you the secrets of life that would help you as you grow. But it turns out I don't know that many life secrets and some things you just have to find out for yourself. So I thought for a while longer and decided I would tell you some things that I learned over this year, things that only you could have taught me. 

See, I am not what you call a "researcher" or a "planner" or "someone who is ever ready for anything more than five minutes ahead of time." I leave that to the more sophisticated people around me (who are constantly texting me to ask if I am running late yet again). And I wasn't worried about being prepared for parenthood. I might be a last-minute person but I do good work in that last minute and I knew everything would work out fine if I stuck to my tried-and-true method. 

Imagine my surprise when I found out that the last minute to plan had arrived much faster than I expected. I think that was the hardest part of finding out you would be early - I was just starting to wrap my mind around the fact that I would be a parent. It still seemed surreal. And then suddenly I was going to be a parent in a matter of hours. I remember from the moment the doctor told me you would be born it was as if I was watching my life unfold on a giant screen, like I was aware of what was happening but so sure it couldn't be real. I even told your dad that, moments before you were born - "Maybe this is just a dream," I said. He assured me it wasn't and offered to pinch me to prove it but I declined. Don't let him pinch you, either. 

And then you were there. Less than two hours had passed since we had found out how sick you were and how much you were struggling, and there you were. You didn't cry, because your little lungs didn't work very well yet. The doctors had told me not to expect you to cry because of how early you were but that was the only thing I knew about babies - they cried when they were born. I was sure you would cry. I kept asking your dad why you weren't, and finally concluded that the doctors had done something to prevent you from crying so you wouldn't be upset. What can I say; I was on a lotttt of drugs, man. But I remember every moment after that with vivid detail. Dad got permission to snap a picture of you and show it to me. He watched them work on you and Dr. Manar took a minute to explain what was happening, and then he came over to explain it to me. I heard the words but they still didn't seem real. Dr. Manar brought you to me and said I could give you a kiss. I did, right on your little nose. And then they took you to the 2nd floor, where we would spend the majority of the next four months. 

So my plan not to plan didn't exactly work out, but, really, no amount of planning could have prepared me for this. And I think that is the biggest thing I have learned through this last year: Plans fall apart. Nothing is perfect. God's plan is different from my plan and His plan is the one you want, even if it doesn't seem like it at the time. For all of my lack of preparation, I still like to be in control. I like to know what's going to happen and what my role will be. When you arrived, I didn't have any training. I never took a class. I didn't know how often to change your diaper. I had to learn on the job. But even if you had been born two weeks late, that would have still been true (although the diapers might have been easier to use - yours were reaaaaally small). That's what parenting is: swearing your kid will never watch television and then five years down the road having the Disney Channel schedule memorized and sighing in relief when it's time for Mickey Mouse. 

I discovered that no matter how hectic things got, I could handle it. Some days were a lot harder and some days were pretty easy. But for you I could do anything. I could learn medical terms and ask questions even when I was afraid and accept help from people that I had never met before. You were a pretty solid motivation for putting my own doubts aside and working hard for you, to make sure you had everything. 

I learned just because something isn't the best, that doesn't make it the worst, either. There is a whole world of in-between where things can just be okay. I tend to work in areas of black or white, never grey, but you showed me that when it comes to parenting, especially parenting a NICU kid, grey is pretty much your life. 

You taught me that it's okay to question God. That it doesn't make me less of a Christian, mother, or person. That God not only understands our pain but feels it right along with us. There were days when I opened my mouth to pray and nothing would come out. I was too mad, sad, plaid, whatever, to form any words. And I wondered if that meant I wasn't as much of a Christian as I thought it was. But that's not how it works. God knows my fears and doubts before I do and asking Him questions is okay. 

I found out that there really is a silver lining to every bad situation. You made for a pretty spectacular silver lining. I could (and still can) sit and just watch you for hours, silently cheering every time you moved your little hand or peered up at me with one eye. It was those moments, the tiniest victories, that filled my heart with joy and love for you. You helped me make friends with other parents who had kids just like you, kids who struggled and lived in a world of doctors and specialists and medicine, kids who I now get to see grow and play and who I am so excited for when they accomplish something. The parents became a part of our family as we grew together and rooted for each others' children, taking genuine delight in every good update. These are the people who are in the "club," who know the frustration and anxiety of being a NICU parent. 

You showed me that a total stranger can show the biggest kindness. You helped me see that I was surrounded by friends and family who love me and would do anything to help. You revealed the amazing skills of the NICU nurses, whose kindness and patience with both of us made all the difference in the world to me. I learned that no matter how bad things got, I was never alone. Someone was always praying for you, even someone who had never met you and never will. It is the people who prayed on your behalf, who dropped off gift cards and hugs, who sat in the waiting room for hours and hours - these are the ones who I will never forget, because they made it possible for me to find the strength to continue even when things seemed too tough. When I think of how your grandparents drove overnight in a storm to see you, how your other grandparents stopped by nearly every day to check on you, how your aunts stayed up late to talk to me all night and how your uncles volunteered to help us move and prepare for you to come home, I know without a doubt that our little family is loved so, so much. 

Joshua, you made me a mother. You changed me from someone who thought she understood what unconditional love meant to someone who knows exactly what it is. You have filled the last year with love and laughter and joy and smiles. Yes, there were sad moments, but I wouldn't trade a single one of them. You have taught me so much in only a year and I hope that I can teach you something during your lifetime to repay the favor. Daddy and I love you so much and we are so grateful to know you. Here's to the next year of life lessons from our favorite micro-preemie. 

For Joshua

This week has been a sad one. I know a lot of people who are hurting.

Ever since I found out I was going to be a mom, I've looked at things with a new perspective. I know that perspective will change even more when I get to meet my little guy. I'm looking forward to that because I think this new perspective is for the better. I think it's good to remember what's really important in life. And I think it's good to teach our children what's important in life. So I decided to write a letter to Joshua, the littlest Eleveld-to-be. I will read it to him and print it out and put it in his room. He will get sick of looking at it but it's important and I want him to remember it.

Dear Joshua:

As you grow up and go out into this big world, I want you to remember some things. These things won't guarantee you a perfect life or keep you from feeling sad or angry. I wish that they could but that isn't how it works. Sorry, kid. But these things will - hopefully - help you keep the right perspective, focus, and priorities as you grow up and become your own person.

1) Remember that your dad and I love you. A lot. We might get mad at you and we might ground you and we might not buy you every single thing you want. But we love you. We will love you forever. Grammy and Grandpa and Papa and Nana love you, too. Your aunts and uncles and cousins and great-aunts and great-uncles and great-grandparents and your great-GREAT-grandmother love you with all of their hearts.

2) More importantly, remember that God loves you. He created you for a specific purpose. You may feel like you don't have any talents or gifts when you grow up. But that isn't true. Grammy used to tell me that I could be ANYTHING - and she believed it. I believe you, Joshua, can be ANYTHING. I really do. Just keep Christ as the center of your life and He will lead you to great and wonderful things.

3) Nothing is as bad as it seems. I know it's hard when you're sad or confused. I know people will betray you and I already want to beat those people up (and you're not even born yet... oh, dear). I know no one's life is perfect all the time. But listen to me when I tell you this: I have been there. I get it. I know it's hard. But, as the saying goes, this, too, shall pass. It might take an hour or a day or a month or a year or a decade. But everything will work out.

4) Don't start fights for yourself. It isn't worth it. It won't solve anything. But if you're fighting for someone else, stand up and be brave. Defend the little guy and the boy who seems weird and the girl who gets teased for her looks. Speak the truth and don't be afraid to do the right thing. If you're anything like your dad, I know you will learn this and take it to heart very quickly :) It's scary to stand alone. But I believe that if you stand up for what's right, you won't be standing alone for long.

5) Love with your whole heart. Trust the people who love you. Make fewer friends if it means they are that much closer to you. Sometimes that can open you up to heartbreak. But it also opens you up to love and friendship and joy.

6) Don't beat yourself up over mistakes. What's done is done. But don't forget them - learn from them. Use them to shape the person you want to be.

7) Be respectful. Offer to help a busy mom who has three kids and seven bags of groceries. If someone tells you a story that you think is boring, listen anyway. And really listen - don't just pretend. If you're over 18 and visiting someone's house, their rules still apply. And thank the soldiers you see in the airport. They are fighting especially for you.

8) When you say you'll do something, do it. When you say you'll be somewhere, be there. I guarantee that as soon as you agree to seeing a movie with a friend over the weekend, a party will come up for the same time and you'll really want to go to that instead. You're better than that. Go to the movie. And if you offer to pray for someone, pray for them. Don't forget. It's important.

9) Volunteer a lot. It's good to remember that there are people around you suffering. It's even better to do something about it. Donate your clothes, toys, time and prayers to those less fortunate. Serve lunch at a homeless shelter. Help build a house for a family in need. You can make a huge difference in someone's life in just a few hours.

10) Forgive completely. It's hard to forgive; I know that. But it's harder not to. We forgive because God forgave us, and if your dad and I have done our jobs, you'll know where to find that verse in the Bible :) People will mess up. Dad, me, your friends, your teachers - all of us. Forgive them, even if they don't say they're sorry. And ask for forgiveness, even when it's hard. Even when it's not your fault. We all need to be forgiven, and thanks to Jesus, we can be forgiven forever. Remember that when you're angry with someone.

11) Remember that you never know what someone else going through. Grammy and Grandpa used to tell me that all the time, and it drove. me. insane. But now that I'm older, I'm starting to get it. Sometimes people are mean. But sometimes they're mean because they're hurting. The bully on the playground might be bullied at home. Stand your ground, but always do so in love. It may be you one day who is hurting and who needs a friend like you to help.

12) Above everything else, love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul and all your strength. I put this last not because it's the least important, but because if you remember nothing else, I want you to remember this. Love God. Serve God. Read your Bible and pray every day. I know that getting up early to do your quiet time is hard. I know that the Bible can be confusing, especially when you're young. You're lucky because your dad is a walking Bible encyclopedia, thanks to Papa and Nana. So ask him questions. Ask your pastor questions. Ask your friends questions. Make it your goal to walk with God as closely as you can.

That's all the wisdom I have for now. I love you a million times over. I can't wait to see your little face.

Love,

Mom

We Remember

Did you know that when God forgives our sins, He not only forgives them, but erases them forever? Isaiah 43:25 says, "I, I am he, who blots out your transgressions for my own sake, and I will not remember your sins." So not only are we forgiven, but God's grace stretches far enough to completely eradicate our sin, as though it never happened.

I want to be able to forgive this way. I want to truly forgive and forget and move on.

But I can't.

I can forgive, and even move on for the most part. But I can't always forget. I am only human. That doesn't mean I sit at home dwelling on the wrong things people have done to me, or that every time I do think of it that it even affects me. But because I can remember, because this occurrence in my life made such a lasting impression, I can never truly erase that wrong. Not like God can.

When I was a junior in college, I was taking anti-depressants and seeing a therapist. It was a really difficult year. One of my roommates went through my make-up bag to borrow something one day. My medicine was in there, and when she found it she stole it from me, looked it up on her computer to see what it was, and proceeded to tell every single person on our hallway that I was crazy and I would probably try to kill myself one day, so they better watch out for me. After that, no one would look at me. No one would be friends with me. This girl had ruined my entire year at college in a matter of hours.

It took me a long time to forgive her. Eventually I did. But what she did affected me for years. I lived in fear that someone else would find out and react the same way. When I met Daniel, it took me months to even tell him about that experience, and even then I told him while preparing myself for him to break up with me, because I knew he would think I was crazy, too. And writing this now worries me just as much that the parents of a child I teach at church will see this and want their child pulled from my class as a result. Ridiculous. And yet I have managed to forgive this girl (through God's grace alone) and live my life normally for the most part. It's only when I hear certain words, see people that remind me of her, pass through the GSU campus when I'm downtown that those memories come back to me.

I think tragedy works the same way. On this day, September 11th, many people wish they could forget. Not even to forgive, but just to move on. To get on with their lives as they know they could if they could only stop remembering. If a song on the radio commemorating those who died in the towers didn't bring them to tears. If every time they see a picture of the New York skyline it didn't evoke an emotion that is inexplicable, even to themselves. If they could just erase all of these memories from their heads, they could go on with their lives and not look back.

But they can't.

So what does that mean for these people? Are they stuck forever in this never-ending cycle of trying so hard to move on and almost succeeding, only to be stopped at the last second by something seemingly trivial, like a picture or a Facebook status?

No.

I think the key here is not the ability to move on from a tragedy, but to accept it as something that will always affect you. That sounds ominous but it doesn't have to be. If the effect is that you now look at time spent with your family with a greater appreciation because you know life is short, that's a good thing. If you strive to perform your very best at work because you have seen that the ability to complete a job in a time of crisis is critical, that's a good thing. If you wake up extra-early to do your quiet time because you realized that these times of crisis would pale in comparison to a world without Jesus, that's a good thing.

The bad things are there, too. They will always be there. You can't forget them because it's impossible. But maybe you can learn to accept them, to understand that while you will eventually get to the point where you don't even know that September 11th has come and gone, you will always remember those moments on that day because they have changed you.

Remembering the events of one of the most terrible days in history and struggling with those memories doesn't mean you haven't moved on or that you never will. It means that though it may be hard, you're a different person now. Someone who has seen the worst kind of history in the making. Someone who will never forget and who maybe doesn't want to because of the lessons you learned.

In my case, though my experience was nowhere near the scale of September 11th, it can still be a struggle when I think of that roommate. But every day I am freer from the binds of my fears and memories as I learn to accept them and give them to God. Only He can give me the ability to stop giving that experience power over me. That was a little thing and it has taken me several years. For a bigger thing, it could take even longer. But that doesn't mean you are weak or don't trust God. It means that you are human, that adjustments take time, and that every year it will get a little easier to accept what happened as you approach this day and these memories.

So on this day, September 11th, we do not forget. We can't. But along with remembering the horror, we can remember the lessons we learned, the life changes we have made, and the blessings that have come in spite of the sorrow. We can remember that grieving isn't a science and that it can take time, and that it isn't a failure when we struggle. We can remember that we serve a holy God who does not judge us for our struggles, but asks to take them on Himself to help us through the difficult times. We remember 9/11, and we move on, carrying our memories with us.

Come and Worship

I, Kristen "The Great One" Eleveld, have a confession to make: I don't like singing praise and worship songs. That's right. I said it. I said and I meant it and I'm here to represent it unless it made you mad.

It's not the praising or the worshiping that I dislike. I just don't really get into singing. I feel bad about that because every good Baptist is supposed to sing (but not dance). But I missed the gene somehow. I'm not what you would call a "good" singer or "talented" or "someone who does anything but mouths the words most of the time." I mean, I'm not Scuttle. I'm just not Ariel.

Don't look at me; I've got nothing to do with this.

But any time I try to explain this to anyone, I get the Look of Abject Horror. You know the one: Eyes wide, mouth slightly open, sharp intake of breath. Occasionally their hands go to their hips, or, worse, their chest (which in Southern means, "Ohhhh... I'll pray for you."). They sometimes take a step back. A head shake is almost always present. The top three responses are as follows:

1) "Oh, but you're such a good singer!" I'm not saying I'm good or bad. I just don't happen to like it regardless. I am also good at algebra. But I don't do it for fun.

2) "But it's praise and worship. The songs are about God. How can you not like them?" If not liking a song about God is enough to get me in trouble, well, then, don't get me started on 104.7 The Fish (The Fish Atlanta dot coooommmmmmm). It's not the content of the song. It's the singing.

3) "Maybe if you thought about it this way, you would get something out of it." Ahh, so I just need to rethink my strategy. ... ... ... ...nope, still don't like it. Look, it isn't what I am singing or why I am singing or how I am singing. It isn't the praise and worship team or the song choice or the key. I just don't enjoy singing as a form of worship.

Some people will never get that. It's hard for "music people" to get that while I can listen to the words of the song and believe them and worship in my own way, I just don't like to sing that much.

I'm not a total heathen. I get a ton out of other forms of worship - writing, reading my Bible, dramas. For some reason, the writing and the dramas tend to get left by the wayside. Not on purpose and not out of malice. But it's never the praise and worship time that gets left out of church weekends. It's not usually the band that has to worry if all their hard work is for nothing. I hope I'm not sounding judgmental because that is not my intention at all. I just think there needs to be a balance. I think the kids who want to be in the youth program who can't sing should still feel like they can still be a part of something. I want to be able to read the words on the screen or in the hymnal and worship through the lyrics in my own way, even if I am mouthing the words. I want to be able to tell someone I get more out of watching skits than I do from listening to music without getting one of these:

Bless your heart. 

I am definitely all for people who love to worship through singing. My BFF Jen loves to worship that way. My sister-in-law is all about singing and I know she gets so much from it. Sometimes I wish I did, too. But I am content with worshiping in many of the other ways that are just as wonderful to God.

So how about you? Singing or no singing? No judgment either way. Unless you're wrong.