A Beautiful Country with Beautiful People

 Once upon a time, 16 years ago, my husband and I traveled to Afghanistan to visit our friends who worked over there – despite the pleadings and warnings of our parents and friends. Many of you may be thinking, “Why in the world would you go over there?!”  It’s hard to describe the feeling of “just have to go” in any other words than those, so that is the only explanation I can offer.  Any time I had any fear about going, it would easily be pushed away by an overwhelming peace that could only come from God.

After flying for almost 20 hours – not to mention the layovers in between, we finally landed in Kabul.  The airport was a bit intimidating, I won’t lie.  Seeing destroyed aircraft and other vehicles around you as you land isn’t exactly the most comforting thing, nor were the men with machine guns greeting you as you exit the plane.  But the most overwhelming moment for me was as I stepped through the door of that plane.  I was suddenly overcome by a feeling of hopelessness. It was not for me or the friends who journeyed with me, but it was as if the country as a whole had no hope.

It is so difficult for me to not type out the many details that I could, trying to keep this shorter than the book I’m tempted to write.  With everything going on in Afghanistan today, I just felt very strongly that I needed to share a few things from being there.  If nothing else, to at least remind others of the people who are living there. 

I’ve seen the news videos of those trying to flee for their lives – or passing their children in hopes that their young ones will at least have a chance to live.  You might think they’re over-reacting to our troops being pulled out.  After all, we’ve been there for 20 years… why in the world would their military (that we’ve helped to train) surrender so quickly? FEAR.  It’s all I keep coming back to, hopeless fear.

As we drove from the airport to our first destination, my heart twisted, witnessing the poverty and destitution around us.  I worried that the U.S.’s presence had caused it.  I was given a short history lesson that proved otherwise. Apparently, Afghanistan was modern with other countries until the late 1970’s, early 1980’s.  But after Russia invaded it, the country was set back about 50 years.  And then when the Taliban took over, it set the country back another hundred years.  The economy was devastated.  Those who rose up against the new order suffered the consequences – their hands were cut off and sometimes hung along the streets as an example to those who might resist.  Any resistance was quickly snuffed out, leaving the Taliban to rule.

The roads resembled destruction and chaos.  (When I say ‘chaos’, I’m referring more to what had happened before we arrived and how they drove – they don’t believe in lines – than the chaos in the streets you might be envisioning.)  Through the parts of the country we visited, we constantly saw old Soviet tanks lining the side of the dirt and rocky roads, war-torn structures that used to be buildings, and the people who kept telling us over and over of how glad they were that the U.S. had come.

 

So many of these people, who had so very little, constantly invited us to share a meal with them.  I never expected much, but we were fed by them as if at a banquet or feast.  I even experienced the most humbling foot-washing I’ve ever had right before one of those meals. (But that’s a whole other story.)  I also remember one shocking question that arose as we ate: the women asked us how long it took to drive there from the United States.  Read that again.  You read it right.  That is how educated – or uneducated – they were.  They had no concept of oceans.  During the Taliban’s rule, they were basically only instructed on what they were allowed to be trained on… to keep everyone in check, I assume.

 

We visited a school in a small village.  They had 1^st through 4^th grades for the boys, hoping to add 5^th grade the following year.  The girls had a separate area for school and their teachers were probably young teens.  The schools had no books however, due to the expense, so knowledge was still very limited. 

As I’ve experienced in another country, these people appreciated what they had.  Nothing went to waste.  Bread was sacred and never thrown out as trash.  If anything, it was fed to the neighborhood cow.  Electricity wasn’t a constant.  Some places were lucky enough to have backup generators for when the power was out.  Water from a faucet was really only for the wealthy.  Many of the people relied on the kindness of others or a public well to acquire the water they needed each day. I don’t know about you, but I do not have to walk to the nearest stream when I need some water… and I take it for granted all the time, I’m sorry to say.

The perspective I have is probably far different from what a lot of our military had.  We were never near any fighting.  We got to see the beautiful parts of the country with mountains and rolling hills, not much of the rocky desert terrain.  

We ran into a few U.S. soldiers while we were there.  They seemed leery of our presence, trying to make sure we were safe. But I rarely, if ever felt in danger, especially since people continuously thanked us for coming.  For years I wondered if they were just being nice.  But since then, a friend of mine from high school was honored posthumously by having a terminal of the Kabul airport named after him.  He gave his life trying to save wounded soldiers – U.S. and Afghan alike – while serving in Afghanistan.  I worry that honor will be torn down, now that the Taliban has taken over again.

I keep thinking of those who’ve converted to Christianity in that country.  They are all in.  If you become a Christian over there you’re either all in or you’re not in at all.  Your life is at risk simply for believing in Jesus or anything other than Islam.  Today, these people believe that they only have a couple of weeks left to live.  The Taliban are hunting down any Christians to kill them… yet these believers meet it with joy.  They look forward to meeting God face to face in the coming days.  They know what true fear and suffering for their beliefs is, but they keep going. 

In America, we’re too lukewarm… too content.  If someone gets their feelings hurt, we have to apologize and learn how to tolerate things better.  If we have different beliefs from someone else, then obviously, we must hate them. (That was sarcasm by the way.)  We can’t show love to others because we’re too busy pointing at what everyone is doing wrong instead of finding common ground to work things out in some way.  We give up on God because He isn’t doing what we want or what we think we’re entitled to.  We’re so entitled that people twist the Word of God to fit their agenda, to fit what they think is right.  We pick out the parts that make us feel good and align with what we think is right, ignoring the ones that might make us or other people uncomfortable.  And then there are those who point out all the wrong and forget to love others like Jesus loved them.

People are all over the world.  Each person, whether they look, act, or think differently from me still deserves to be treated as a person… the human being God created them to be and not someone less than because they aren’t like me.  I’ve heard the phrase, “Love the sinner, hate the sin,” countless times.  But I think many people, myself included, tend to hate other peoples’ sins instead of turning to look inward to hate the sin within themselves.  It’s so easy to see what other people do wrong.  But what about my own heart?  What does God need to do within me?

This is already going a completely different direction from what I originally intended.  I originally set out to tell you about Afghanistan… just Afghanistan.  But as I type, I’m reminded to share something about love.  We are told to love one another… to be willing to lay one’s life down for one another.  So many people believe this could only mean physically losing your life.  It does mean that… but I also think it means laying down your selfish desires on behalf of someone else.  Dying to YOURSELF.  It can’t be all about you.  It has to be all about someone else, above all, God.  Nothing I’ve actually witnessed portrays this quite so well as marriage or parenthood.

Jesus performed all kinds of miracles during his brief ministry.  But the best miracle of all was when he laid down the desire of his heart – because, honestly, who would’ve wanted to go through the torture and pain he did on the road to the cross – because of a greater love.  He wanted to see us reconciled to God.  He loved us so much that he did lay down his life, physically, for us.  The Bible even tells us it was with joy… because he knew what must be done to bring God’s children back to Him.

How many times, in marriage or friendships or even with my children, am I not willing to lay down my own selfish desires?  How many times do I choose what’s best for me over what’s best for others?  I do believe you should take a little time for yourself.  Everyone needs to rest and get rejuvenated.  But in the grand scheme of things, what are you devoted to? What would you lay your life and selfish desires down for? 

Do not mistake this for, “Do what everyone else wants/needs you to do.”  That is NOT what I’m getting at – at all!  I’m talking about setting aside your comforts, your time, your very will for what is best for others and for what God would have you do. 

Most of the people in Afghanistan just want to live their life in peace.  That idea was just torn away from them.  Have you seen the desperation to get out?  Did you see the fear that led them to clamor even onto the outside of a plane… because they saw it as their only chance?  We have our issues in the U.S., make no mistake.  But we live in a relatively peaceful place.  Our contentment depends more on the things we have and get to do, not worrying about whether we’ll die today.  Our fears are growing, I know.  But very few, if any, know of that kind of desperation.

Pray for the people in Afghanistan.  Pray for the believers.  Pray that God will move on their behalf and draw even more people to Him through this.  I’ve seen so many posts about praying for that country.  And even though I’ve actually been there, I’m embarrassed to admit that I haven’t prayed for them much over the years.  What if I had?  What if Christians around the world had prayed for the people there instead of just our soldiers?  I don’t know if things would’ve turned out differently.  But I can pray for them now.  I can pray for protection and peace.  I can pray for God to pour out His love and joy upon this people so filled with fear.  I can pray that He reveals to them that He does not give us a spirit of fear – but of power, of love, and of sound mind.  I can pray that He will move on their behalf and raise people up who are not afraid to fight back, giving them strength and courage and peace along the way.  I can pray for hope.

Below is something that moved me more than I can even describe... notice the countless mounds.  These are graves.  Many are not marked in any way, they just had to be buried.  There were mass burial sites, where so many lost their lives in one war or another.  We saw these on more than one occasion.

As you go about your day, remember these people.  Please pray for them.  Their lives have meaning and a purpose, just as ours do.  

I Miss You...

    It's been over a month since I said good-bye to Grams. I am so very grateful that she is no longer suffering... but I sure do miss her. I walked into her house last night and could hardly hold back the tears. Her house has always had a distinct smell, always underlying anything that smelled really good - or really bad. I walked in and breathed in that aroma... and just missed her while I looked through some of her old jewelry in solitude. I missed her asking me all kinds of questions because "No one tells me anything!" I missed the smiles - and that little chuckle - she would always give me, as we'd talk. I miss taking my kids to see her, even if their main motive was to find the chocolate she hid around the house for them. I miss walking in to see her TV blaring the Little House on the Prairie series. 

   About a month before she passed, I emptied the voicemails in my phone because they were adding up... except one. It was from her and she only says my name, but I saved it for a couple of reasons: 1) It was the day she called me and I didn't see it until after I got the kids down for a nap... I listened to the voicemail - which, I'm not kidding - is just her saying my name once in no kind of panic or anything then hanging up... which was a typical voicemail from her. This was the day she called me again a couple of hours later and I found out she'd been on the floor for four hours! She was trying to get out of bed to start the day and never even made it to the foot of the bed. I felt terrible for her!!! Everyone was out of pocket except Alisha and I but we got there as quickly as we could and got her up. 2) It was November 8th. This means nothing to you, but is the date my grandpa (her husband) passed away in 1993. It wasn't until I was deleting the voicemails that I even realized the date. I felt I should keep it. Now I'm so glad I did. I won't keep it forever, but I'm so glad I can still hear her voice if I want to.

The following words are what I shared at her funeral. 

    There are countless memories our family could share about Grams… even just from me alone.  Before Grandpa died in 1993, our family would spend many Sunday afternoons having fried catfish at their house.  Sometimes, my sisters and I were the only ones to invade.  They had cable and would record shows like Zorro or Scarecrow & Mrs. King for us throughout the week!  After he passed, even though we didn’t fry anymore catfish, we’d still spend many Sunday afternoons there.  She’d lay down “The Sheet” and we’d watch TV and eat Cheetos to our hearts’ content.

   Grams kept us stocked up on Cheetos and French Onion Dip… and Totino’s Party Pizzas – cooked a little too thoroughly until they were “brown”, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese (the spirals were my favorite), Pop Tarts and even these yummy, Snackwell’s, bite-sized Chocolate Chip Cookies.  Most of these items were special treats to us since we rarely ate such things at home… and I’m not the only one to confess that my kitchen now stays fairly stocked with many of them just because I can!!!

   For a while my sisters and I took turns staying with Grams, first nightly and then just on Saturdays.  It was during those many Saturday evenings that Grams and I became good friends.  She’d take me to rent movies, I’d go with her on a 2, 3 & 4 hour grocery shopping trips, we’d talk, we’d try to cheer each other up if one of us was down, I’d tickle her feet when she fell asleep in her chair so she’d go to bed, we’d play cards…          By the way, if you never got to experience playing cards – or any game for that matter - with her, you truly missed out!  She always had so much fun playing Crazy 8’s with us.  And WE had so much fun watching her try to shuffle the deck because it usually ended more like ’52 Card Pickup’ does.

   When we were little we spent many Easter afternoons over there.  Grams would hide eggs and we’d go find them.  I think she made a map of where to do it because we’d not only get faster every year, we realized they were always in the same spot!  The last few years she did it for us , we’d beg her to repeat the process 3-4 times because we kept finding them so quickly!

   Another tradition we had for several years was staying at her house on New Year’s Eve.  She’d always feed us black-eyed peas for “good luck”.  One New Year’s – at midnight – we even started a baseball game in her dining room!  And by baseball, I mean some wadded up pieces of paper used as a ball and an old wrapping paper roll as a bat… paper plates thrown down for bases on the floor.  She played too!  In fact, I think she had just as much – if not more – fun playing as we did!

Some things I learned about Grams over the years:

1)                  My dad’s name is not Burl but “Junior”.

2)                 There’s NEVER enough furniture, plants, or tape to properly barricade a door.

3)                 Even if all doors are barricaded, NEVER tell her she left a window open.

4)                Convincing her to read a book with a boring cover was pretty useless.  She only wanted it if it was pretty AND the story sounded just right.

5)                 Riding with Grams, you couldn’t listen to music very loud… or even audibly!  She didn’t want people thinking she was a “teenager drivin’ down the road”.

6)                Driving with Grams… Whew! Let me just put it this way: after I got my license, she’d constantly tell me: “Turn your brights on so I can see where you’re going!”

7)                 To call her a germaphobe is an understatement!  If you took her anywhere she’d have an old, cleaned-out mayonnaise jar filled with ice-cold water… and straws – individually wrapped in foil – to drink it with.  And then of course there’s no telling how much saran wrap she used on everything from silverware to picture albums!

8)                She loved babies and young children.  I learned this quickly when she and Grandpa kept Evan Clay and then again when she was teaching kindergarten.  She put everything she had into those classes and kept sharing the funny things the kids had done throughout the week whenever I saw her.  My own children didn’t come along until after she’d had a stroke and recovered from a broken hip.  She was so anxious to hold them, I kept having to remind her to sit down first.

9)                She had a child-like heart in so many ways:  The way she’d express her joy (or frustrations), the way her eyes would light up when she received gifts – especially if chocolate was involved!  Even the way she’d sing “Let’s God Fly a Kite” from Mary Poppins.  I always loved seeing her beautiful smile, her sparkling eyes, and the light on her face whenever she was excited.

10)            She could be stubborn when she really wanted to be.  On more than one occasion, she would do all she could think of – including a game of tug-of-war in the car of a parking lot – to not have to use her cane or wheelchair.  And then, of course, there was one of my favorite arguments I ever heard her get into.  It was with her cardiologist and she kept insisting that the last time she was there, she’d had an epidural… he, of course, insisted that she didn’t.

11)              Apparently, another word for poop is not a cuss word when talking about birds doing it all over her car!  It IS, however, when you remind her of the story years later and she exclaims, “I never said that!”

12)             Another regular quote from Grams:  “Well! Nobody ever told me!”

13)             Even though she didn’t like germs, she knew how to take care of me when I was sick.  Soft pallets made with layers of egg-crates to lay on, medicine as needed, a paper bag and a box of soft Kleenex, and anything that sounded good to eat.              As I grew older, I became annoyed when she’d pat me on the head like a sick puppy.  But after I learned how hard it was for her to show any sign of physical affection, I appreciated her all the more.

14)             She loved games.  From what I’ve been told, she was excellent at Dominoes, but in more recent years she’d request “Boulder-dash!”

15)             When it was time for spring or fall cleaning at her house, you could open a store with the amount of Pledge used to dust!

16)             She might not like what anyone brought to eat for dinner but by golly if there was dessert, she was going to eat it… but only “a peench”… of everything!

17)             One summer when moths were all over Poteau, she heard of a method to control the moth population… Beer!  She told us of how she had gone and purchased some, making sure to tell the store clerk: “It’s not for me… it’s for the moths!”

18)             Schedules were important to her.  Patty Clay has told me numerous times that she’s pretty sure Evan is still on the schedule Grams put him on in 1992!  And I know I will never forget having to get her medicine to her or getting her home by a certain time so she can take her “10 til’ 9 pill”.

There is so much more I can say… how after she was home-bound she’d “make-do” with so many things because she was too embarrassed to ask for more.  Or how I’d drop in to say Hi and see her pile of library books by her chair in the floor, but her Bible laid open to where she was reading.  Or even the way she stubbornly determined and pronounced that how we’ll look in heaven is “how we looked best” on earth.

     But one of the things I hope I’ll always remember:  She didn’t always know how to show it, but she loved people in her own way.  Whether it be her actually saying the words on occasion or making sure her house was spotless and decorated ‘just right’ for a guest that was coming, she loved people in the way that she understood how. 

Why I love that "Heaven is for Real"...

I have a rant, go figure.

Toward the end of the week last week, my mom loaned me her copy of the “Heaven is for Real” book.  I knew the movie was coming out and hadn’t really had much interest in it, but after she told me more about the book, I thought I’d give it a try.

While there are some parts of it that made me go, “Yeah… I don’t know about that…” for the most-part I thoroughly enjoyed the read.  So many descriptions provided by the little boy, Colten, made things ‘make sense’ for me in so many ways.  My heart – which seems to take so much more than it used to – was deeply touched.  I was reminded of a soft side of God that I believed in as a younger girl.  The side where I could truly picture myself crawling up into His lap and finding comfort; where I looked to Him for joy and strength.

As I said before, there were some things I had reservations about so I wasn’t surprised when, after the movie’s release this weekend, I began seeing Facebook flood with articles on the topic.  While the ones I read had some good points, most of them pointed out that in this book - as well as other recently released books about trips to heaven - the glory of God’s presence is very lacking.  The presence that made the prophets of the Old Testament and John in the New (who give accounts of heaven) ‘faint’ or weakened for a time.  Some of the things I read gave more leniency to an almost 4-year old boy, but for the most part still tried to convey that it was more of a dream than what the reality would be.

This could be true.  That I do not deny.  But as I’ve thought these articles over, I’ve only become more perturbed at the arrogance of these writers.  “Scripture says it was this way so that must be the only explanation!”  For any of you who know me, you know I’m not one to veer from Scripture.  So please don’t hear me saying that this is the direction I’m heading.  But I just want to give another perspective.

Daniel, Isaiah, John and another few were blessed to experience heaven, I believe, in the fullness that God knew they could handle.  These men could, apparently, handle quite a lot – having experienced the fullness of God’s glory in heaven.  But what about the few people I knew as a child who experienced more of the ‘watered-down’ and ‘modern-view’ of heaven.  Where they saw loved ones and talked with Jesus, but were told to come back because it wasn’t time yet.  These kinds of stories gave me so much hope as a kid.  Seeing that kind of hope through Colten’s eyes, only his being more unbridled since he actually experienced something, took me back.

God speaks to people in different ways.  Some people He can be flat-out straight with, right to the point, laying it all out there.  But if you look at how Jesus approached so many people on earth during His years of ministry, you’ll notice He used a lot of parables (stories).  He intertwined the Law into them, but in a way their hearts could understand… not beating the same verses they’d heard all of their lives over and over into their heads to try to make a point.  This makes me believe that there is something to the stories of others’ experiences.  For one, in all the cases I’ve heard about, the person has hope (it’s not like someone has stolen, killed, or destroyed something in them).  Secondly, while – in theory – I’d love to experience heaven on this side of life, I don’t think I’d be one of those who could fully experience His glory.  I’d probably die.  Remember in the Old Testament where it talks about people not being able to look on the face of God or they’ll die?  That’d be me.  He’s too glorious!  He’s too Holy!  Beyond our comprehension!

Comprehension… a word to signify what I’m getting at.  I know we can’t comprehend heaven… not really.  Our finite thinking brains cannot even wrap around the truly infinite.  But what if God chooses to give some people glimpses?  Glimpses into the reality of what’s next without unfolding the whole thing?  What’s wrong with picturing our Savior, who said “Let the little children come unto me”, comfort a child on the brink of death – sending him back to his praying family and church family to complete God’s purposes?  Can we not see heaven in such simple terms as only a child can put it – “rainbows” and never ending light?  Or that the final battle is with “monsters” instead of ____ with the head of a ____ and the tail of a ____, etc.?  I’m all for seeing things black and white – you probably already know that about me.  But if God’s Spirit is going to penetrate the hearts of people, I don’t see why He can’t use more “watered-down” ways that are simple to understand and not filled with theological debate and interpretative symbolism.

I guess what irked me the most was that some of what I read in those articles made heaven out to be a place to fear.  I just do not believe this is so.  God the Father, truly, He is to be feared while on this earth, but a righteous fear – because He is so Holy and we are not. But He has shown us His love through His One and Only Son, Jesus.  If God can send His Beloved Son to save us, His beloved, adopted children, we must believe we can trust Him and love Him and choose Him as our God.  (As for the lack of this part of The Story in the movie, I’m not going there in this blog.  For one, I’ve haven’t seen the movie – I’ve only had time to read the book.  Two – it’s Hollywood.  They really like to leave spiritual specifics out of Christian movies if they can just so people don’t get offended and come and see their movie.  I’m really not surprised by their more open-deism approach – bothered to no end, but not surprised!)

You think whatever you want… you will regardless of what I say.  But I choose to believe that God, though righteous and beyond our full understanding of His character, is a loving Father and that He can use the Holy Spirit to speak to us in whatever ways He sees fit.  Whatever way that ends up being will usually spur us on to do the things He would have us do.  If those things go against what He’s laid out in Scripture, then you need to rethink about who you’re listening to.  Otherwise, be excited to see what He has for you in this journey called life… and for the next, eternal one where we get to be with Him!

"Keep it simple..."

As a friend of mine has begun a weekly discussion over the book of John, I have been trying to find the time to sit down and pick apart the first chapter, hopefully able to take notes as I go.  If I do that sort of thing, it takes hours upon hours.  I’ve read the chapter over and over, even quoted the few memorized verses over and over in my head, but just haven’t dedicated the hours to study that I used be able to. 

Well, she posted her first blog about it today.  I knew she’d be doing it and I kept fighting myself on whether to go ahead and read it before I’d written up my own thoughts.  I love when I’ve already done so and then my thoughts are in line with others… that way I know my own thought was actually there and not just me taking someone else’s words (if that makes any sense).  – Truly trying to think for myself came around in college and it’s really the only way I process things well. – Not to mention the fact that if I’ve already taken part in some way, I won’t go back and do all of the study I intended.  I couldn’t wait to see what she’d write so it was more a conscious decision to refrain that I kept struggling with.

But all morning that still, quiet Voice kept whispering, “Read it [the blog] first…”  I argued for a bit… until I saw where she’d posted and I opened it without hesitation.

She paints beautiful pictures, even using illustrations from Star Wars, when speaking about the opening of the chapter.  And then she does something I didn’t expect… she shares what spoke to her the most about the entire chapter – a simple phrase laid upon her heart, speaking so much truth about Jesus.

Going into this I knew we weren’t going to be picking everything apart and having theological arguments or crazy go-arounds on “this person is right” or “that person is right” or anything like that… that’s not why she began the discussion.  But for some reason, my over-thinking-it mind didn’t anticipate this.  As I finished reading it was like I could breathe, like God was reminding me, “Honey, I love you.  You over-complicate everything and you don’t have the time with your two little ones to devote to the kind of study we used to have together.  Just breathe and spend some time talking to Me, ask Me what I have to say to you, listen, and read My Word.  I might ask more of you in a different season, but for now, just keep it simple.”

Samuel's Arrival!! (Part 1)

WARNING: This IS a birth story... if you don't want details, don't read this!

    Since this may be one of the only opportunities I have for a while to write down some details of the special day that Samuel arrived, I thought I'd seize it and see what I can actually get written.  Haha!
    Other than a few false alarms in the weeks before he was actually born, my contractions started back up on Wednesday night after I got home from church.  They stayed close and fairly consistent for an hour or two, but since I could tell that he still wasn't low enough (and I didn't think my pain was quite severe enough), I waited it out.  Sure enough, the contractions leveled and faded out by the time I went to bed that night. I took a Tylenol PM just to make sure I slept the night through.
    As John was getting ready for work the next morning, I had a couple of contractions - close enough together for me to give him a warning to stay by his phone through the morning.  Being alert from timing them, I stayed up and decided to get some cleaning done before Abigail woke up... especially on the off-chance that today was going to be it!  So after picking up a little, dusting, and swiffering, Abigail was ready for breakfast.  I continued cleaning (organizing, vacuuming and steam-mopping) while Abigail played happily until lunch-time.  (This may sound like a long time, but the girl tends to sleep later than most kids her age and she takes forever to eat - she gets that from me - so by the time she starts playing, her daddy gets home within an hour or two after that for lunch!)
    All through the morning, I watched the clock.  As with Abigail, my contractions weren't staying consistent enough to go in... though their intensity was definitely building.  I only had one or two during lunch so John went back to work - leaving me with strict instructions to call if anything changed.  Pretty much the moment he walked out the door, I had another contraction far more intense than before.  I breathed through it and managed to start cleaning Abigail and her mess from lunch.  While doing this, I had another... not long after that, another.  I finally started writing them down.  They weren't consistently close enough together yet to go in, but, thankfully, the nurse from my doctor's office called in the midst of me writing the previous three contractions down.  I told her what was going on.  At first, she told me to wait it out... then I had a contraction while I was on the phone with her and told her how many I'd had in the last 25 minutes.  She told me to go ahead and come in.  My doctor had already left for the day, but she said she'd try to get a hold of her to let her know what was going on.
    I called John.  Poor guy hadn't been back at work very long... but he turned around came right back.  We loaded up and headed to Fort Smith about 2:30 pm - me, all the while, hoping this wasn't another false alarm (in other words, a massive waste of everyone's time).

Samuel's Arrival!!! (Part 2)

   Thankfully, when we arrived at the hospital, I was already dilated to a 5 - meaning they were going to keep me - even though his head still wasn't engaged yet!  I was so relieved to know we didn't have to go home and come back at 5:30 the next morning.  (I forgot to mention that we were planning to induce Friday morning if he hadn't started coming on his own yet.)  My doctor had been calling the hospital to check on me and they updated her on what was happening.  She told them to start me on some pitocin to regulate my contractions more and try to get him engaged where he should be.  I was so thankful to discover that I could have the epidural whenever I wanted it now, so I put in my order for it.  (My body was in shock with Abigail when they gave it to me - and holding still enough for it was not easy.  I was not in shock at this point so I hoped to get it going before I got to that point.)
    Even though I did have to wait a while for it (there was some kind of mix up about possibly doing blood-work first before I could have it), I still got it before the "shock" state set in.  Unfortunately, it only worked on one side of my body this time.  I could feel everything on the other side.  We tried having me roll to the side that wasn't working for a while so gravity would bring it over, but that never did work.  I'm sure they would've eventually re-done the epidural had the next events not transpired.
    My doctor arrived around 5:30 and came in to check my progress. The nurses had told her that the baby still wasn't engaging yet so she was going to break my water to really try and get the ball rolling.  Before pulling out the tool(s) they use to do that, she checked me again... mainly to see just how high he really was.  Well... that in itself 'got the ball rolling'.  I was still at a 5, but the process of checking alone broke my water.  It was then that she realized something.  She felt a bottom, NOT a head.  She ordered an ultra-sound.
   Sure enough, just as she suspected, the ultrasound confirmed it - his head was up in my ribs and his little bottom was mooning the world - He was breeched.  "You know what that means..." my doctor was saying.  I did.  Everyone started moving around quickly to get me ready for a c-section.  I really only have to favorite memorable parts for this period: 1) They gave me this drink to swig down as fast as I could, saying "It's nasty, and will be hard for you to drink, but do it as fast as you can and it'll be over.  It'll help keep you from throwing up."  I only mention this as a memorable favorite because of my response after drinking it: "That's nothing [Kool-aid, if you will] compared to the junk you drink for a colonoscopy!"  The nurses thought it was funny.  2) John got to wear an outfit that made him feel like he was in Back to the Future.  (I love that man and his sense of humor!)
   This is the point where I get a lot of "Were you scared?"  "Did you freak out?" etc.  Honestly, no.  I trusted my doctor.  I love the way she keeps everyone calm (Like with Abigail's birth when the cord was wrapped around her neck as well as this time with having to change plans so quickly).  I not only trusted my doctor, but there had been many times in this pregnancy where I'd thought about the possibility - not really thinking it might actually happen that way, but knowing I'd have a peace about it if it did happen.  In the very few moments John and I had alone together before I was taken in, I discovered that he'd had the very same thoughts.  God had prepared us both without our knowing it! ***I love it when He does that!***
    Due to the way my epidural was not kicking in on my right side, the anesthesiologist suggested the spinal block.  Using his words, I told him "I'd rather take the 'for sure' thing than keep hoping the epidural would kick in" - even if they had to re-thread it.  Getting a spinal block after already having an epidural makes the process a bit more difficult... especially when one side of your body is not yours to control.  And by the time we got to it, my body was going into the shock that I'd dreaded... so to stop the shaking was not an easy task, especially when I could still feel the contractions on one side of my body.  It was then that the anesthesiologist further encouraged me that the block was the right way to go... since I shouldn't be in that much pain after an epidural.  Moments later, I had little to no feeling below my chest.  The relief was wonderful.
   While all of this is being done, everyone around me continued to prep the c-section room for the operation.  And one of the nurses was checking on favorite Pandora stations with John.  They set it to a "Sha-boom" station - a bunch of oldies, basically.  Not sure if the nurses have ever done "The Twist" while helping to deliver a baby, but they sure got a kick out of the music, none-the-less!
   Since they put a sheet up where we can't see anything (which I'm sure we're grateful for), I can't give all the gory details of the c-section (which I'm sure YOU are grateful for). All I know is that when I heard his little cry, I couldn't fight back the tears - and kept holding tightly to John's hand... our son was here!  "Sha-boom, Life Could be a Dream" was the song actually playing when he was born at 6:34 pm (a song John has danced with Abigail to since we got her home from the hospital).  They cleaned him up and I could hear him cry every now and then - as my tears just kept coming.  As the nurse handed our son to his daddy for the first time, John said, "He looks like Sean!"
   "Of course he does," I replied, "it's Samuel!"

    

Samuel's Arrival!!! (Part 3)

    As many of you know, we have a tendency to wait to name our children til we meet them... even though we have the "most likely" name picked out before that.  With Abigail, we didn't really have anything else picked out... we just would've figured it out if she didn't look like Abigail to us.  With Samuel, however, we'd had some issues.  At first, we thought, "It's Samuel!"  But then, we went through other names we liked (as you might've seen in a previous blog)... for a while, I loved seeing people's faces when I told them about our Samuel Alexander Isaac Josiah Sullivan.
    But the moment I heard that little cry, those tears I couldn't hold back were because I knew - even without seeing him - my Samuel was here!  And then, when John said he looked like Sean - our nephew - it was confirmed (as if I needed any more confirmation).
    You see, the first dream I ever had of our son was over 9 years ago.  In fact, it was just days before my nephew was born.  The first time I saw Sean, I thought my dream must've been about him instead of our little boy, he looked so much like the boy we called Samuel in my dream.  So when John said that while holding our son for the first time, well... I hope you can see the obvious connection. =)  
    Even though John brought him over to show me our son's sweet face, it was still a couple of hours before I got to hold him.  But it was okay.  No one had been told about all that had transpired... no one was waiting on us or to see him.  We would tell people after I got to see him, as previously discussed/agreed/planned.  But more than anything, I was at peace because my children were here.  The children God had revealed to me in dreams over the last 9 years... they were BOTH here.
    Samuel - "God has Heard" / "Instructed of God"
    Josiah - "Fire of the Lord" / "Intuitive Perception"
AND
    Abigail - "Joy of the Father" / "Cherished of God"
    Dianne - "Divine" / "Glorious"

   2 weeks ago today, on March 28th, those dreams came true.  While newborns are not the easiest thing in the world - what with the sleep deprivation, the seemingly constant need to be fed and changed - I find it, not necessarily easier, but definitely worth it when I think back over those years of waiting/wanting/desiring/aching for these two.  I'm not gonna lie, I AM still looking forward to the future and those nights where he will sleep through the night just like his big sister... and so will we!  I'm not wishing the days away by any means.  Abigail's almost a year and a half now and I still can't believe how quickly that has flown by.  I can only imagine how quickly the years ahead will fly by... especially with two!
   I'm getting off track.  Over the last two weeks, people have asked me many of the questions I've answered here.  I'm feeling better and not near as sore as I was even a week ago (although I have no problem telling you that even though a c-section gave me faster [labor-wise] results, I'm not a huge fan of the recovery process)!  And I'll be so glad when I can pick my little girl up again... which I'm hoping is soon. =) But the one other question I can answer that comes up a lot is: "What does Abigail think?"  Well... at first meeting, we weren't so sure.  She cried and cried and cried... even though John was holding her and Samuel lay sleeping in the hospital crib - we didn't think she could be that jealous if neither of us was holding him.  But ever since we all got home, her response has been: "BAY-by!" and blowing him kisses whenever she walks by.  We're still figuring out how to teach her to be easy and how to discern when she's trying to "help" or just be a toot.  Haha!  But so far, she seems to love her little brother... and he seems to love her - he's definitely used to her noises! =)

All this to say, our family is adjusting.  We've had an amazing outpouring of love from our family, our friends, our church family and even some people we barely know.  Thank you for the many comments, "likes", meals, gifts, cards, and just general help that has been offered.  We are so blessed to be loving on our babies... and to know that so many others share in our joy and will love them as they grow as well.