Just about 7 years ago, I left our tiny town of Watervliet to do something big with my life. I didn't want what everyone else wanted. I'd been accepted to college, had earned scholarships and could have been ready to go but it just didn't feel right. I was going to join the Air Force.
There is absolutely nothing I regret about becoming a member of our nation's Armed Forces, don't get me wrong, but you don't realize how much you give up when you leave home until something big happens. I've had a few "something bigs" over the last 7 years but today... Today is the day my baby sister starts college. Today she is a Freshman all over again. I'm not sure how it's even possible. She was only 11 when I left home. It doesn't feel like it's been 7 years. When I look at her, I can definitely see the changes but I've only been home 9 times in 7 years, never more than 10 days at a time. Regardless of how she has grown, she can't be any older than 15 in my brain. It was a huge shock when I realized she was too old to be a Junior Bridesmaid for my wedding. Then came Driver's Ed which brought a little sadness. I was old enough to legally accompany her as a licensed adult. When she was born, one of the first things I did was count the years to the time she'd be getting her driver's license to see what our ages would be. The idea of teaching her to drive was so exciting for me! I missed out. Then came Junior Prom. Was she really old enough to attend without being asked?!?! Senior Prom wasn't so much of a shock as it was a heart attack when my brain registered the fact that she was probably thinking about a possible date or crushing on some high school boy or another. Don't forget, she hadn't had time to grow for me. To me, she wasn't 17 years old, she was maybe 14.
Here we are today. My baby sister is officially a little Freshie all over again, this time attending college. I think my brain might slowly be catching on to the fact that she's growing up but that doesn't stop me from sitting in front of the computer with my Little Mermaid box of tissues, sobbing hormonally for everything I've missed. All of middle school, all of high school and now the first years of college. Will I miss teasing her first boyfriend or watching her fall in love? Will I be there when she gets her first awards for music (because I know she will. She's just that talented). Will I get to watch her develop her computer skills into something usable in the work force?
Good luck little Freshie! Everyone in town knows you have incredible musical talent, it's time to show the world what you can do. Be fearless and take chances. Now is the time to try and fail, now when you can pick yourself back up again and move forward like nothing happened. Protect yourself Baby Freshie. Don't let someone tell you who to be or what to do. You're strong and fierce. Show them they can't push you around just like your stubborn baby-self showed me so many times. Stand up for what you believe in. If you don't stand for anything, you will fall for everything. Go to class and knock 'em dead (and don't forget to study hard somewhere in between).
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Looking Back
Five days from now will be the estimated due date of my little Jayden. No, not the baby I'm currently carrying, Jayden is one of my angels. I'm blessed enough to have more than one to call my own. I've been thinking a lot about my babies born from my body directly into heaven. I lost each of them early on in pregnancy, right around 6 weeks. Maybe it's the impending due dates, maybe it's the upcoming birth of the child I'm currently carrying. Today, I was thinking about an incident that took place about a month after my second miscarriage.
When we lived in Hawaii, we had a fruit tree in our backyard. Actually, we had more than one, but only one of them will be the topic of our story today. The tree carried a fruit called "soursop." I'm pretty sure I've also seen it called "guanaba" but I'm not positive. The fruit was delicious, when ripe, tasting like a sour apple Jolly Rancher. I rarely let the fruit hit the ground because, once it did, it was overripe and not usable. I supposed that right around the time I was pregnant, a soursop must have been ripening on the tree because, about a month after I miscarried (which took place 11 days after we found out we were pregnant), I found two baby soursop trees beneath the fruit-bearing tree. These baby-trees were so close to the parent-tree that there was no possible way they could have survived. The thought of watching the parent-tree choke the life from the baby-trees hit way too close to home for me, causing insane amounts of anxiety and panic. I just had to find these baby-trees a new home where they would survive and be cared for. I'm sure you can imagine, with the flavor of candy and the nutrients of fruit, it was not difficult to find someone to take the tiny saplings. The first person I asked at work gladly accepted. He came over and we dug up the little trees and replanted them in some clay pots until they were big enough to grow in his yard. As strange as it is, it was such a relief to know that these little babies would survive and thrive when mine hadn't.
At the time, there was no parallel for me, aside from not being able to bear the pain of watching the parent-tree slowly starve and kill the two saplings. I was questioning the belief I've held for as long as I can remember: that life begins at the time of conception. Looking back, there are bigger parallels than I was able to see through my pain-ridden eyes. Jeremiah 1:4-5, Psalm 51:5 and Psalm 139:13-16 are just a few passages that confirm life begins at the time of conception. Just like I had found a new home for the two little saplings, God brought my little lives into a new home. A home where they would (and do) not only survive and thrive but a home where they know no pain, never experience suffering, won't know the sting of rejection or the heartbreak of loss. Just like I protected those tiny baby-trees, God protected my babies, offering a level of protection that I never could.
This doesn't mean I never want to birth a living, healthy child into my own arms nor does it mean I don't feel heartache for the babies I have to wait to hold. It only means the memories are now bittersweet. This time of year, despite coming into my favorite season, has always been difficult. This year, it will be a time for mourning our losses and a time for celebrating our new blessing. I'm sure the pain will never completely cease but with it now comes the joy of knowing my babies are waiting for me in the best care anyone could offer and, with it, comes a sense of hope and joy in the promises of our Heavenly Father.
When we lived in Hawaii, we had a fruit tree in our backyard. Actually, we had more than one, but only one of them will be the topic of our story today. The tree carried a fruit called "soursop." I'm pretty sure I've also seen it called "guanaba" but I'm not positive. The fruit was delicious, when ripe, tasting like a sour apple Jolly Rancher. I rarely let the fruit hit the ground because, once it did, it was overripe and not usable. I supposed that right around the time I was pregnant, a soursop must have been ripening on the tree because, about a month after I miscarried (which took place 11 days after we found out we were pregnant), I found two baby soursop trees beneath the fruit-bearing tree. These baby-trees were so close to the parent-tree that there was no possible way they could have survived. The thought of watching the parent-tree choke the life from the baby-trees hit way too close to home for me, causing insane amounts of anxiety and panic. I just had to find these baby-trees a new home where they would survive and be cared for. I'm sure you can imagine, with the flavor of candy and the nutrients of fruit, it was not difficult to find someone to take the tiny saplings. The first person I asked at work gladly accepted. He came over and we dug up the little trees and replanted them in some clay pots until they were big enough to grow in his yard. As strange as it is, it was such a relief to know that these little babies would survive and thrive when mine hadn't.
At the time, there was no parallel for me, aside from not being able to bear the pain of watching the parent-tree slowly starve and kill the two saplings. I was questioning the belief I've held for as long as I can remember: that life begins at the time of conception. Looking back, there are bigger parallels than I was able to see through my pain-ridden eyes. Jeremiah 1:4-5, Psalm 51:5 and Psalm 139:13-16 are just a few passages that confirm life begins at the time of conception. Just like I had found a new home for the two little saplings, God brought my little lives into a new home. A home where they would (and do) not only survive and thrive but a home where they know no pain, never experience suffering, won't know the sting of rejection or the heartbreak of loss. Just like I protected those tiny baby-trees, God protected my babies, offering a level of protection that I never could.
This doesn't mean I never want to birth a living, healthy child into my own arms nor does it mean I don't feel heartache for the babies I have to wait to hold. It only means the memories are now bittersweet. This time of year, despite coming into my favorite season, has always been difficult. This year, it will be a time for mourning our losses and a time for celebrating our new blessing. I'm sure the pain will never completely cease but with it now comes the joy of knowing my babies are waiting for me in the best care anyone could offer and, with it, comes a sense of hope and joy in the promises of our Heavenly Father.
My baby soursop trees, a reminder of God's blessings
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