My Family's Connection to St. John the Baptist

 

Our family has a lot to be thankful for this week.   We’ll be celebrating three birthdays (my parents’ and my husband, Tom’s) and “name day” for our son, John.   In thinking about that, I realized that I never really shared the story behind the connection our family has to St. John the Baptist, so I thought now would be a good time, since the Solemnity of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist is this Thursday, June 24. 

It all started long before I was even remotely interested in liturgical living, and before I really knew any of the stories of the saints.  Tom and I were 3 years into our marriage, and he was preparing to join the Catholic Church.  As his confirmation date approached, he was contemplating whom he should choose as a patron saint.  Not being well versed in Catholicism myself, I suggested perhaps he simply choose St. Thomas since they share the same name, but Tom wasn’t a fan of that idea.  So, I suggested perhaps he choose St. John the Baptist since Tom’s birthday falls on the Solemnity of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist.   That appealed to Tom more, and he facetiously commented that he could relate to St. John the Baptist because he frequently “lost his head”, a somewhat snarky reference to our marital relationship.  So, St. John the Baptist became Tom’s patron saint, and as the years passed, Tom and I came to realize that, although chosen slightly in jest, this powerful saint would one day prove that the joke was on us.

Fast forward six years.  I was finally pregnant again after losing our first baby in miscarriage four years earlier.  We’d recently found out that we were expecting a boy, and Tom and I began discerning names for our son.  Another Tom?  Nope. Tom was adamant that we retire that family name.  Leo? Max? Justin? Joseph? Paul? James? None of the names I suggested seemed to work for Tom.  Then, I remembered Tom’s patron saint and asked, “What about John?”   Tom thought it over.  He liked the reference to his patron saint.  I liked the connection it had to Tom’s birthday and conversion to Catholicism.  I also wanted a name that reflected an infertility story from the Bible, and the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth seemed more than fitting. So, we settled on the name.  John it would be.   Little did we know that the name we had chosen would take on even more significance in the coming weeks.

Two months later, I awoke shortly after midnight and realized that my water had broken during the night. My heart sank. I was only 28 weeks along in my pregnancy with John.  After so many years of infertility and the loss of our first baby, I expected the worst. The day before, I had felt so strong and healthy and happy.  My parents had just arrived in town, and we were preparing to celebrate Tom’s birthday the next day.  Only now, instead of waking up to a day of celebration, Tom and I were waking up to our worst nightmare.  We were sure we were losing our John.

We rushed to the hospital in the wee hours of the morning on that June 24^th, 2010.  We prayed a rosary on the 40-minute drive, and I tried to keep calm.  The following 24-hours were full of trepidation as we waited to see what my body would do next.  I was admitted to Labor & Delivery and hooked up to monitors and pumped with steroids and we waited. And we prayed.  We particularly prayed to St. John the Baptist because it was his feast day, hoping that he would intercede for us, and ask God for a miracle on our behalf, and to please protect our own little John.  And as we waited and prayed, Tom read to me the passages from the Bible that told the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth and the birth of John.  In those long hours, I felt great comfort come over me when meditating on the life and story of St. John the Baptist.  I felt confident that he was interceding for us.

A day later, we got our miracle. Instead of giving birth prematurely, as had been expected, my amniotic fluid began to build back up to normal levels.  Another week later, I was sent home, still pregnant, and on July 23, John was born.  He was healthy and bright-eyed and ready to take on the world.  His first word was “light”, and I am convinced God made him to bring light into dark corners of the world, much as John the Baptist did.

And for a long time, I thought that was the end of the story.

Time went by, and our family grew, and we held St. John the Baptist in high regard in our home. Every year since that June 24, 2010, our family made a point to celebrate not only Tom’s birthday, but also the feast of this great saint who was now the patron of both Tom and our little John and to whom we owed a great debt of gratitude.  However, I never suspected that St. John the Baptist wasn’t quite finished yet.

This time, it was August 2016, and we found ourselves in Houston, Texas, a thousand miles away from home.  We were again waiting for a baby, and again, things were not going as planned.  Our baby’s birthmother had just delivered a healthy baby boy, whom we planned to adopt, but she was in serious trouble.  Her vitals tanked soon after giving birth, she was unconscious and not responding, and the future of both her and her newborn baby were in limbo.  Without her written consent, we would not be able to adopt her child, and if she died (a real possibility at the time), with no other family around, he would become a ward of the state of Texas.  But more importantly, she was the mother of our future son, and we already considered her a part of our family and wanted her in our life and in our son’s life.  We prayed desperately for a miracle, asking God to save her and bring her back to us.

That long night turned into another long day, and she remained unresponsive.  Her baby was in the nursery, and I was not allowed to see or hold him without her consent. And because we had no proof of a relationship with her, we were not allowed to see her, either.  I was devastated, knowing the little baby we hoped to make our own was lying in the hospital nursery instead of a mother’s arms and his mother had nobody by her side as she fought for her life. Tom and I called our priest, our friends, our family asking for prayers for her and for our adoption situation.  And then I remembered that this wasn't the first time I'd been in a hospital, waiting to see if I was going to lose my baby, and I remembered that  there was one person who had helped us through it.  St. John the Baptist.  So, we turned to him again, and begged him for his intercession.  Please, St. John, do it again. Please, save this baby and his mother.

Hours passed.  Night came again, but I could not sleep. Then I heard a ping on my phone. It was a message sent by our birthmother. I was puzzled.  Someone must be using her phone, I thought.  So I messaged back, and she replied back, and said it was her and would I come see her?   I couldn’t believe it.  She was awake and responding!   Even more, she wanted to see me, and know that I had her baby in safe keeping.  My heart burst with joy and gratitude, and a few days later, she allowed us to adopt her baby boy.

And so, once again, we were given a miracle, but why do I attribute this miracle to the intercession of St. John the Baptist? It was a few days after we brought our sweet little Dominic home from the hospital that I realized that his birthmother had made her miraculous return to consciousness in the evening hours of August 29, the Memorial of the Passion of St. John the Baptist.  I was stunned.  How could I not have seen that coming?  Suddenly, everything made perfect sense.

I have heard it said that the saints are often calling to us, wanting to intercede for us, to help us in our most difficult trials.  I never quite understood that for a very long time.  There was a time when I struggled to remember the names of even a few saints, and I never really took asking for their intercession very seriously.  My journey through infertility changed a lot of that.  It changed because, for a time, I (mistakenly) believed that God wasn’t hearing my prayers. So, in desperation, I turned to the saints and asked them to pray for me.  Maybe God will hear them, I thought.

In hindsight, I think God allowed me to feel disconnected to Him in prayer so that I would turn towards the saints.  Perhaps he wanted me to realize that it wasn’t just me and Him, but rather, me, Him and a whole bunch of best friends in heaven whom I could call upon anytime for help.  The communion of saints, as the Church refers to it. I think God knows we need that kind of community both on earth and in heaven.

Since that time almost 20 years ago, when Tom and I first half-jokingly made St. John the Baptist a part of our family’s story, a lot has changed.  I have changed. My image of saints as distant figures in church history has now been replaced by a very real awareness of them standing beside me, calling out to me in little ways, hoping that I am listening.  Their names, their feast days, their stories, all pop in and out of the moments of my daily life, usually at times when I am wrestling with a particular challenge or anxiety that threatens my spiritual well-being.  But of all the saints who have come to my aid, it is through the intercession of St. John the Baptist that I have experienced the greatest miracles.  Without his help, I often wonder if I would have my two sons.  He is a most powerful saint, in so many ways.  A saint so great that the Catholic Church recognizes him as deserving of two feast days, and I am both honored and humbled that my family, thanks to his intercession, is connected to both.

St. John the Baptist, pray for us!

Note: If you would like to read more about my infertility story, John’s birth story or Dominic’s birth story, you can find them posted here, here, and here.

 

 

 

What Will I Tell My Dark-Skinned Son?

It’s back in the news again, and no, I’m not talking about coronavirus.  I’m talking about racism.

I made the mistake last night of catching up on the weekly news before bedtime. With my husband and two of my kids gone on an overnight trip with their cousins, I was having difficulty falling asleep, so l dove into the headlines.  And there it was, another tragic story about a white cop and a black suspect.  I read the story and it all seems plausible and just so terrible. The suspect is dead, the cop has been fired, and questions are being asked. Was this racism, or something else? I try not to take sides.  I have family members who are second-generation law enforcement.  I want to show them and all law enforcement the respect they deserve, just as I respect those who serve in our military and government and who work tirelessly for justice so that we may live in peace.  Our freedoms would evaporate without them on the frontlines. 

But I also have family members who are dark-skinned, one of whom is my son.  He slept next to me last night as I read about the rioting, the anger, the vengeance, and the lack of compassion on both sides of the issue. These injustices seem to be occurring over and over in our country, particularly for young men of color. How do I prepare my son for a society like this? 

I am white, but I did not come only from white people.  I came from ancestral origins partly known, partly unknown.  My father remembers his great aunt, who was the sister of his grandfather.  He tells me about how she was regarded as a black woman because her skin was so dark, which was the physical reflection of her Native American ancestry. I remember my grandmother refusing to wear short sleeves on hot summer days for fear of tanning, and she encouraged me to do the same.  She told me the stories about the murder attempts made upon her father, her grandfather, and her uncle, all of whom were considered second-class citizens by a community that knew well their ancestry.  But that was a hundred years ago now, and we’ve moved beyond that kind of racism in our country.  Or so we think.

Four generations removed now, I have light skin. As a result, I have never been the victim of racism and so I do not know what that feels like. However, I am a woman in a male-dominated career field, a Catholic in the Bible Belt, and the parent of special needs kids in a trans-racial family, so I do know what prejudice feels like.  And years ago, when I was discerning whether or not I should parent a child of another race, it was many of those experiences that came to mind and convinced me that I could do the job.  Although he and I do not share the same ethnicity, he and I can share what it feels like to be unfairly judged and marginalized, and as painful as some of my own experiences have been, I realize now that going through them was God’s way of preparing me for being his mother. Or so, I hope.

What I will tell my son is that prejudices can seep into us when we do not even realize it, beginning at birth and continuing throughout our life. By nature, we notice differences in the world around us, and particularly in the people around us. This is how we learn and it is a good thing to recognize those differences. Our diversity in thought, experiences, shape and form, among other things, makes humankind in general stronger and more resilient, and our survival as a species depends upon such diversity. The pandemic we are currently in will not be the end, not by a long shot, of humankind, and that is only because of our physiological diversity.  My children know the biological reason for variations in skin tone and we leave it at that.  But not all children are given such simple, scientific explanations for our differences, and so they are too often left to figure things out for themselves, creating fertile ground for the seeds of prejudice to be planted by well-meaning individuals filled with misunderstandings.

I will tell my son that racism is subtle and well-hidden.  The sweet little old lady in the church pew. The friendly neighbor next door.  The doting grandmother.  The chummy co-worker.  The friend who preaches “inclusiveness” and “tolerance” on social media.  These and others very well may carry within themselves racist or sexist persuasions that they will disclose only within their closest circles.  I will encourage him to ask God to reveal these people to him, and I believe that as he matures, he will develop that “sixth sense” that clues him in to such people, a sense very familiar to those who are part of a minority segment of society.

I will remind him that racism goes both ways, and that he must be mindful of any tendencies he may have to show bias toward others.  Shortly after we adopted him, we introduced him to our Hispanic friends. I recall them passing him around, loving on him and snuggling him, and one commenting that they wanted to take him home.  Jokingly, we replied that they could do so if they brought him back, to which they replied somewhat seriously that no, he should not come back to us. It gave me pause.  Did they feel sorry for our son, to be adopted into a white family? Was this a thinly disguised comment intended to express a deeper feeling that only they could raise him properly because they all shared the same ethnicity?  The preference our Hispanic friends show towards our Hispanic son compared to how they treat our non-Hispanic sons, is obvious.  It doesn’t upset me, but it is racist.  However, I recognize it for what it is.  There is no ill-will in their hearts, yet, having been the recipients of prejudice that I can only imagine, I know they must feel somewhat protective and concerned about my son. It is human nature to be drawn to those most like ourselves, and I am grateful that my son has these friends who share his ethnicity in his life.

I will remind him that his outer appearance is what people see first about him, and only those who want to know him better will ever see beyond that.  And I will remind him that some people will never want to know him better, and that this mostly likely is a response to their upbringing and personal experiences and has absolutely nothing to do with him. I will also remind him that only Jesus can change such a heart, and that he should pray for them and love them anyway.

My son is only three, but he has already been the victim of prejudice and racist attitudes due to his dark skin.  From the moment we brought him home, we have faced the stares, the comments about his “beautiful skin”, the desire of people to run their hands through his hair, the questions about his ethnicity, the subtle biases shown by some family members who don’t give him quite the same kind of attention afforded to his brothers.  As his mother, I hate it, but I also try to understand it.  We can’t let racism anger us.  It is an injustice, for sure, but like poverty, it will always be part of the human condition.  Over my life, I have experienced many grave injustices due to my gender, my religion, my cultural background, my values.  Most of us have.  My sons will, as well.  I pray that it does not turn them into angry, bitter men, but rather, makes them even more sensitive to those who are also victims of such. I pray that they will become bridge-builders, and witnesses to life and fighters for true justice. But most of all, I pray that if I, as their mother, must mourn their loss due to an injustice grounded in prejudice, that I will rise above a desire for vengeance and instead, imitate the Blessed Mother when she cradled her own cherished son who was killed for the same reasons. And in the nights to come, when darkness draws near and I cannot go to sleep, rather than catching up on the news, I think I will talk to her, instead.

“Lord, send forth your spirit, and renew the face of the earth. “

Psalm 104

7 Quick Takes - Blogiversary, Valentines, Birthdays

Linking up with Kelly this time for another set of Quick Takes here.  My life seems to be measured by Quick Takes these days.  Two weeks into February already?  Impossible.  Lot's going on, so let's get to it.

--1--

First things first.  We survived the polar vortex!  We didn't get any snow, and we didn't get to see the rhododendron curl up tight as a soda straw, which was a great disappointment to my boys, but sure didn't hurt my feelings any.  I'm so ready for springtime.  And sunshine.  We are drowning here in southern Kentucky with almost daily rain.  We've had 4 sunny days this month so far.  Yes, I'm keeping track.  One of which did happen to land on a Sunday, and the temperature got up to a whopping 65 so we went for a walk and soaked in as much sun as we could.  A day later, the rains returned but it was still warm.  Perfect weather for herping (yes, it's a thing), so off we went to find salamanders and frogs.  The boys loved that!  I didn't get any photos because it was raining too hard, but we found spotted salamanders, mountain chorus frogs, newts, spring peepers, wood frogs, and American toads!  This past week, our dog found a copperhead (snake) but luckily didn't get bitten, and the ticks are crawling around again.  So, I guess winter is pretty close to over here in the southeast wilderness.

Our sunny Sunday.

--2--

On February 11 (the Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes), this blog turned 5 years old!  Woohoo! I even wrote a blog post to celebrate but then I didn't publish it.  Instead, I put it into the stack of draft posts that I've written in the past few months that are still being prayerfully discerned before I decide to share with the world.  So much in my life has changed in these past 5 years, not the least of which is I moved to another state and now have two boys instead of two toddlers plus a new toddler.  God must be laughing up there somewhere.  I never could've predicted all the twists and turns that have come these past 5 years, and I'm so glad I had this blog to document it.  If you are one of my readers, thank you so much for coming along on the ride with me.  I hope to keep it going!

--3--

We had a fun time celebrating Valentine's day this year.  Since St. Valentine's day fell on Ash Wednesday last year, we didn't really celebrate it, but we made up for it this year.  God did his part too, by sending us a beautiful red sky that morning. Unfortunately, that was the last of the sunshine that we'll be seeing for another week, but it was nice while it lasted.

--4--

One thing I did differently for Valentine's day this year was make a little collection of "love notes" for everyone in the family.  I saw this idea on the internet and thought it was pretty cool. At the first of February, I cut out 50 paper hearts.  Each day until Valentine's day, we would write something that we love about someone in the family on a heart and hang it up in our window.  It was so fun to sit and read all our little love notes each day, and by the time February 14 arrived, we had a window full of them.  I plan to take them down now, and turn them into little booklets for each family member to keep. I think this will be a new Valentine's day tradition for us now.

--5--

For Valentine's day dinner, Tom grilled us up some yummy steaks and I made a special dessert.  I rarely make desserts these days, mostly because sugar makes my kids go ape, but also because my sons are on very restricted diets.  Coming up with something that is gluten free, egg free, soy free, dairy free, and has no artificial flavors or colorings is a challenge!  As a result, I have mostly given up on baking, and they haven't had ice cream in years.  But, I really wanted to do something special for a Valentine's day dessert, so I searched the internet for vegan desserts and found some inspiration.  After a few modifications, I came up with this.  It's a frozen dessert made with chocolate chips (Enjoy Life brand), cashew crème, cranberry sorbet, and whipped coconut milk.   They absolutely loved it, and it warmed my heart to be able to give them a rare treat and see them so excited.  Learning to cook to accommodate their special diet needs has been one of my biggest challenges these past couple of years, and I hope to blog more about it soon.  It's been a lifestyle adjustment but so worth it.

--6--

And then, the next day, I had to bake a cake for our birthday boy!  I can't believe he is 8 now.  He's so amazing, and has grown up so much in the past year.  By far, the best part of this year has been re-connecting with his birthmother and for the first time ever, he talked to her on his birthday.  What a special moment that was! So many wounds are healing as a result of this relationship with her.  As I told a friend recently, our adoption story with him is now everything adoption should be.  I feel like we are living the perfect scenario.  Everyone just wants the best for our little guy and to do God's will in that.  With those kinds of attitudes, so much love can grow and God can do his work.  If you would like to read his adoption story, I blogged about it here.

--7--

There's one more birthday coming up, too.  Our little Karol Elizabeth will be remembered tomorrow. I think about my little ones living in heaven almost daily, and our boys know that they have siblings on the other side waiting for them.  It's somewhat consoling, I think, to know that we have immediate family in heaven praying for us, and to whom we can turn in difficult times.  We'll put a few candles on a cupcake tomorrow and sing Happy Birthday to Karol Elizabeth as we wrap up a week of two birthdays for two very special little souls.

Ready to Receive: A Call to Adopt

Our family has a new addition!  Meet Chessie.  

It seems appropriate that we adopted Chessie during National Adoption Month, and so I wrote a story about it.

****

The puppy looked at me eagerly from behind the wires of her cage.  Anxious eyes and a wagging bobbed tail expressed anticipation that she could not keep contained, as her entire little body shook with excitement and apprehension. I slid open the door to her pen and reached for her.  I knew that it was all over now.  I knew that the moment I held her, I would be hooked, and that she would be coming home with me.

I did not really want another dog.  My husband and I had already owned what we knew would be the best dog we would ever have.  A pure-bred mutt, she’d been the most obedient, gentle, loyal, and intelligent pet anyone could possibly imagine.  When we’d found her, left abandoned as a puppy on the side of a forest road, she too had shaken with apprehension mixed with excitement. My husband and I were newlyweds when we found her, and she became our first “child”.  Little did we know that she would be our only child for the next decade to come.  We named her “Sage”, in hopes that once she outgrew her puppy years, during which she acted like she didn’t have much of a brain, she would live up to her name and become a wise and faithful companion.  By the time she passed away, silently in her sleep on our front porch sixteen years later, she’d become all that and more.  She’d become irreplaceable.

Soon after we lost Sage, my children began asking if we could get another dog.  Not yet, I’d said.  Maybe not ever, I thought.  How could we replace a dog that was irreplaceable?  No other dog could ever meet the standard that Sage had set.  Besides, we had three children now, including a toddler, and that was more than enough to take care of.  Getting another dog, especially a puppy, would just add to the load.  And so, for over a year, I’d pushed back when they’d asked.  God will send us a dog when he is ready, I would say, but I certainly wasn’t going to go looking for one.  And as I tried to explain my rationalizations, I felt an old familiar feeling, and my mind went back to a memory from many years ago.

Sage was five years old in this memory, and my husband and I were in our mid-thirties.  We’d been trying for five years to have a baby and had just lost our first pregnancy in miscarriage.  I sobbed and wrapped my arms around Sage, our only “baby”.  I thought about how hard this had all been, how unfair, how perhaps I wasn’t meant to be a mother.  I thought about how old I was getting, how long it had taken to get pregnant just once, how I’d likely never get to parent more than one child, should I ever get that lucky. I thought about how my biological child whom I’d just buried, was irreplaceable.

And I thought about adoption.  But not much.  Not seriously.  God will send us a baby when he is ready, I would say to myself, but I certainly wasn’t going to go looking for one.  How could any child replace a child of my own flesh and blood?  How could I understand any child that did not share my or my husband’s biological background, with all the personality quirks and habits that our genetics express.  It all just seemed too risky, to take on a child with no real knowledge of his or her ancestry, genetics, and with having no control over the environment to which they’d previously been exposed.  Much like taking in a puppy, I wasn’t ready for that load of unknowns and unpredictability. What I was ready for was a child like the one I’d created in my mind, one that I considered irreplaceable.

As time passed, I prayed for the hole in my heart to heal, but instead, it grew bigger and bigger. I begged God to take the pain away and felt abandoned by him as my prayers for a child remained unanswered. Another year passed, and by the time it ended, I was emotionally and spiritually spent.  I had no more energy left with which to fight God. As experienced by so many of the saints, I felt trapped within my own “dark night of the soul”.  No longer convinced that my desires were those of God’s, I slowly began to surrender my plans and slowly open myself up to his.  One night, wiping tears from my face after yet another month of disappointment, I spoke the words that I had been trying to push out of my head for over a year.  “I want to adopt”, I said to my husband.  It was a moment of complete surrender for me and once I actually said the words, I realized it was the calling that I had been resisting all along.  My husband agreed quickly.  His heart ready and now, so was mine.

The healing began almost immediately.  Hopelessness turned into hope.  For the first time in years, I felt like God was hearing me again and helping me along my journey. Was this what he’d wanted all along? We excitedly began the long, arduous process of contacting adoption agencies, weighing our options, calculating the financial costs, starting a home study.  Fingerprinting, background checks, training sessions, profile books, interviews, and writing lots of checks dominated all our free time for the next few months.  None of it was fun nor easy but we embraced it all nonetheless, knowing that each step brought us closer to filling the hole in our hearts.  And then the waiting began.  Waiting to be chosen by a birthmother.  Waiting for someone to say that we were good enough to be their child’s parents.  Waiting for someone to believe that we were irreplaceable.

I thought about all those feelings as I scooped the little black and white puppy in my hands.  As she looked up at me with coal black eyes, she relaxed in my arms, just as my children had done the first time I’d held them.  Her coloring and markings reminded me of Sage, who also had been a black and white lab-mix.  But this was not Sage and I was finally ready to accept that.  I was ready to receive what God had been preparing for me.

Placing the puppy in her crate, I loaded her into the passenger side of my car and took her home to her new family.  To my family.  To three happy little boys, two of whom had come to us through adoption, and who were, without a doubt, irreplaceable.  

7 Quick Takes - Joyful June

Coming in just under the wire to get a post up before the month of June fades away into oblivion.  Thank you to Kelly for allowing me to link up with her blog.  Check it out!

--1--

Check out my handsome little dude in his First Holy Communion suit.  Oh my, he has grown so fast.  He received his FHC on the Feast of Corpus Christi. Since he was the only child in our church to make their FHC this year (we belong to a very small Catholic mission), we got to pick the date and the Feast of Corpus Christi just seemed appropriate.  He did a wonderful job and it feels like he grew up overnight.  I'm so proud of this little man.  He was ready for this special moment.

--2--

The other watershed moment of the month happened on the Feast of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, when our son met his birthmother for the very first time.  I can't tell you how important and special this moment was that took 7 years to come to fruition.  It's really indescribable.  Let's just say that the Holy Spirit is working miracles and this new relationship we have with his birthmother is simply beautiful. I am so happy for her, for my family, and most especially, for my son, whose smile I think, says it all.  I am so incredibly thankful that the Holy Spirit led us down the path to choose adoption those many years ago. The goodness that came from her selfless decision continues to ripple out to others to this day. My heart is full seeing these two special people in my life getting to know one another now and God is doing wonderful things in his good time.

--3--

Springtime brought the usual round of chores.  The garden is off and running and probably the best one I've had yet since moving to Kentucky, most of which is the result of getting up early and working in it for an hour after sunrise a few times a week.  I have loved these quiet, cool mornings in the garden.  We try to grow organic so when the Colorado potato bugs attacked the potatoes, I bribed the boys into picking them off for me by offering them a nickel for each larvae and a dime for each adult bug.  Would you believe they've picked almost 400 bugs off!  I may need to lower my price next year.  However, they decided to use the money they earned to take the family out for lunch, so in a way, it was a win-win for me, and it all came full circle.  The "new potatoes" are ready to eat now and there's nothing much better, cooked up with some fresh green beans and pork.

Counting his tater bugs.

--4--

Heat is rapidly replacing spring showers now and our boys are spending a lot of time in the creeks.  I'm not sure about most kids, but my boys cannot resist jumping into a stream during the summertime. Even if they are fully clothed. I used to fret about this kind of thing but have learned that some battles are best left unfought.  It's a good reminder to me that the outdoor world is God's playground for all of us, and nobody probably appreciates that more than a 7 year old little boy.

--5--

When not in creeks or picking bugs off the 'taters, John has discovered a new joy in listening to my old collection of vinyl records that he found stashed away.  Doc Watson is his favorite.  Lately, he has been alternating between my Doc Watson vinyl and his father's Dire Straits and Pink Floyd CDs.  He has quite the wide-range in musical taste!

--6--

John and his dad also celebrated their patron saint's feast day this month.  If you have read John's birth story, you know that he was named after St. John the Baptist and that the Solemnity of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist is a very special day for us. It also happens to be his dad's birthday, as well.  We made the day extra special for them both, with cake and a few gifts.  It was especially nice that the Solemnity fell on a Sunday this year.  The Responsorial Psalm from that day is one of my favorites and a good reminder to all of us just how special we are in the eyes of God.  If you've forgotten it, go look it up.  Psalm 139.

--7--

As June ends, I am also finding myself ending six years of voluntary unemployment.  This past week, I accepted a part-time position as a wildlife biologist with a consulting firm.  It's mostly just summertime work, doing biological (bat) surveys and a few reports, so it fits well into our homeschooling routine.  However, it's been a big transition for the family since I have to travel away from home a few days at a time, and they are used to me being with them all. the. time.  I'm so blessed to have a supportive husband who helps make this happen and knows that being a biologist, and not only a wife and mother, is part of what makes me tick.  We'll see how it goes.  And speaking of wildlife, we set up a couple of game cameras on our property to see what's "out there" and I thought I'd share some of the photos we captured here with you.  Looks like my boys aren't the only wild things attracted to creeks (and sardines)!

See you in July!

Living For Easter (Lenten Update)

Happy St. Patrick’s Day! 

One year ago today...time, slow down!

Can you believe Lent is almost over?  So, how’s it going? 

I admit, I have fallen off the wagon some.  For example, I was going to start saying the Angelus with the kids every day at lunch, but that hasn’t happened yet. Lunch time in my house might not be the best time for this new devotion and by the afternoon, the boys are outside and going off in different directions. And then there are the times I tried to say the rosary but kept falling asleep.  Bedtime is probably not the best time for me to say a rosary. I seem to have a timing issue when it comes to these two devotions.  

Thankfully, a few things have been going well.  I have been getting up an extra 30 minutes earlier during Lent, and it has made a huge difference in how well my day goes.  Just that bit of extra time gives me a much-needed head start on the day.  It also gives me 10 to 15 minutes to read a chapter from this book.  I highly recommend it to anyone going through suffering or just wanting to walk with Jesus through his Passion.  If you have seen the movie, “The Passion of the Christ”, it is very similar to the narrative given in this book.  It is graphic but not overly so (I have been reading it aloud to my 7-year-old).  It just really makes me FEEL what Jesus went through, and my heart breaks with each chapter.

I have given up added sugar (mostly) during Lent and the first two weeks of that were rough!  Now, however, the sugar cravings are finally gone, and I feel so much better.  I never indulged in a lot of desserts but eating chocolate candies was one of my downfalls before Lent.  For reasons I hope to blog about later, most of my family has also gone gluten and dairy free (including me) and that has been a serious penance for me and them.  Transitioning to this new dietary lifestyle has been a big challenge (and huge stressor as I learn new habits and recipes) but I am optimistic that the effort will be worth it in the end.

The boys are doing great with their sacrifices this Lent. They enthusiastically mark off each day on our Lenten calendar.  We established a “bean jar” and they put a bean in it each time they do something good for someone or do something without being asked.  They know that come Easter, the beans turn into jellybeans or candy, so that is great motivation! They also have given up screen time except for one hour a day, during which they want to watch “The Pioneer Woman”.  They have fallen in love with this show (and her, I think) and they like to point out to me how much butter and sugar she uses.  LOL! Joah also has decided he wants to live on a ranch.

My husband decided during Lent to work on our marriage and we have been trying to take more time for ourselves.  A big change has been turning off our phones and screens for at least 30 minutes to an hour after the kids all go to bed and just talking to each other.  That has been much needed.  We also are scheduling “dates” with each other and putting them on our calendar just as we would a doctor’s appointment or other event.  It gives us both something to look forward to on those long days when it feels like we barely see or talk to each other.

This past week, we celebrated Joah’s baptismal anniversary.  He looks forward to this almost as much as his birthday.  For his special day, he requested pancakes for supper (his favorite meal) and a trip to the guitar store with his dad (his dad is teaching him to play guitar now). I also took the boys out to ride their bikes down some dirt trails.  I can’t believe how brave they are on the bikes!  They were ripping down the hills and loving it.  I think mountain biking may be in their future. 

For Joah’s baptismal anniversary, however, the best gift came unexpectedly.  After 7 years, we received a loving note from his birthmother.  For those of you who have adopted, you know how huge this is.  We had not heard from her since Joah’s birth and did not know if we ever would, but we never stopped praying for her.  Turns out, God was slowly working a miracle during those years and every prayer was heard.  It just had to happen in God’s time, a lesson that I seem to keep learning over and over and over.  Praise, Jesus!  I have been enjoying this new relationship with his birthmother so much, sending her photos and trying to get her caught up on the past 7 years of his life.  It is such a wonderful thing to be in an open adoption relationship, and my family (and hers) grew by leaps and bounds during this past week, all of us held together by the shared love of one very special little boy.

And that all got me to thinking (again) about how God works.  I am reminded again and again that God hears every prayer. Even the ones when I am barely awake.  Even when my timing is off. Even when my prayer never gets past my good intentions. Even then, he hears me.  He hears my prayers before I even say them.  And in witnessing this seven- year miracle, I am reminded that it is Easter and not Lent for which I live. 

Blog Jump Start Week 3: Something from the Drafts {If Pro-Lifers Don't Promote Adoption, Who Will?}

Linking up with Donna for Challenge #3 of the Jump Start Your Blog series.  This time, the challenge was to publish something that has been hanging out in our "Drafts" folder.  This is a post that I wrote in 2014 that I never published.  But considering that the anniversary of Roe v. Wade is approaching, publishing it now, in light of Donna's challenge, seemed timely.  Thanks, Donna!

A few months ago, I packed up several bags of baby clothes and took them to a local pregnancy resource center that is always looking for donated items.  This particular pregnancy resource center does wonderful work, is 100% pro-life in their cause, and has helped hundreds of pregnant women locally and probably thousands nationally.  I love supporting them and their work.

While handing off a few donated bags of clothing, I spoke to the very kind and friendly woman who volunteers at the center.  I know her fairly well; she is very pro-life and leads her church's Respect Life Committee.  She donates her time to the pregnancy center, so I have tremendous respect for what she does and who she is.

Considering the fact that my husband and I are waiting to adopt, I thought maybe she would be a good one to share this fact with, since she meets many women facing crisis pregnancies on a weekly basis.  So we talked, and the conversation went something like this:

Me:  We've been waiting to adopt for almost a year now but our approval ends in about 6 weeks and it's not looking like we'll get  a baby.

Her:   Oh, if it is God's will, it will happen.  Why don't you think you'll get a baby?

Me:   Well, it takes a long time, and some couples never get chosen. There just aren't enough babies available domestically for couples like us who want to adopt them.  It makes me sad because I really wanted another baby after we adopted our son, and I don't think biologically that is going to happen now.

Her:   Yeah, when you get around 40, you need to start thinking that way.

Me:  Actually, I'm almost 45.

Her:  Oh!  Well by that time, you really don't want to have another baby!

Me, somewhat awkwardly:   I would love to have another baby.

Her:  What about going to another country to adopt a baby?

Me:  We don't really want to do that and aren't in the position right now to do the travel necessary.  It is also often much more expensive.  But a lot of Americans do go overseas to adopt partly because not many babies are available domestically.

Her:   You know, we almost never get a client [pregnant woman] who is thinking about adoption.  I think last year all year, we only had one client who said she was thinking about adoption, and in the end, she didn't do it.

Me:   It's unfortunate that adoption isn't promoted more but sadly, it has a lot of negative stereotypes. Just the phrase "giving your baby up" suggests that the birthmother is giving away someone who she doesn't want, which implies that she is a terrible human being and incredibly selfish, when really, choosing adoption can be an act of extreme unselfishness.

Her:   Oh, we never use the phrase "giving up the baby"; we try to say, uh, well, what we say is, well, we just say "give your baby life."

Me:  Oh yes, give the baby life, but why not give it even more? Why not ask them if they have thought about adoption?

At this point, I shared a little about our personal experience with our son's birthmother and her parents and how much love they had for him, so much so, that they chose adoption for him.  

After we parted, I reflected on this conversation.  As pro-life people, we are well versed in the "Choose Life" mantra.   We put it on our bumpers, on our t-shirts, on our billboards, and on our Christmas cards. This is a wonderful thing to do and has no doubt changed hearts and saved lives.   But what happens after many women choose life?   Do their babies live in homes free of domestic abuse?  Can they give their baby a father who guides them and protects them?   How many of these babies will end up available for adoption anyway in 8 or 10 years because they have been placed in foster care and their parents couldn't properly care for them?

I totally get why a birthmother would not want to consider adoption.  A single-mother is considered a hero in our society (true, many are), whereas, a mother who chooses to place her child for adoption is more likely to be viewed as "avoiding responsibility" or "thinking only of herself". And then there is the grandparent factor.  Many adoptions are stopped by grandparents who step in and say "I will raise your child" which makes them the de facto parents, but then who fills the doting, spoil-them-rotten role of the grandparent?  They say "don't you dare give up MY grandchild" for adoption.   How could anyone, especially an already extremely stressed and exhausted birthmother, handle such pressure, even if she was considering adoption?

I myself have never had to make that decision and so I can't say that I would be able to choose adoption if I were the one facing a pregnancy for which I was unprepared.  But I do think that if I heard positive and encouraging stories regarding adoption, if I lived in a society where choosing adoption was held in high regard and considered a very loving and unselfish decision, if I had the encouragement of my parents and my friends (and pregnancy resource center workers), then I would be much more inclined to give it some serious consideration.  Unfortunately, this is not what most birthmothers experience today.

Back in November, which was National Adoption Month, I waited for at least one pro-adoption story in our diocesan newspaper.  There were none.   But the month before, October, which was "Respect Life Month", there were weekly stories about various pro-life efforts around the diocese.  

As Catholics, we are very good (and rightly so) about promoting the "Choose Life" message and helping the mothers who make that choice.   And I was pleased to see that the theme of this year's March for Life was adoption. However, unfortunately the  "Consider Adoption" message still needs some serious marketing and as pro-lifers, we shouldn't hesitate to share it.   That message too, will save lives, and might even make a few lives better.

Born On A Sunday (An Adoption Birth Story) - Conclusion

This story is long because this journey was long. Four years long. I share it here for Dominic, but also for all those who may still be on the long road to adopting. May it bring encouragement to all those who are patiently waiting for an answer to their prayers.

Conclusion

For Dominic.

We made the drive home slowly, going only a few hours each day. You did not enjoy the car seat very much and got fussy quite a bit. Your brothers were so excited to be heading back to Kentucky. This had been a hard journey for all of us, especially Joah. After a period of extreme behavior issues, he had broken down and started sobbing just a few days before, and finally confessed that he was broken-hearted because he didn’t think he’d ever see his Kentucky home or his Grandpa again. For your brothers, the fun had been over for a long time and it no longer felt like a vacation. Your father and I had under-estimated just how much anxiety all the activity surrounding the trip and the events around your birth had caused in your brothers. Knowing that they were finally going back home, after a month-long journey with no end in sight, brought their little hearts great comfort.

After traveling across 900 miles, we finally left the freeway and started winding our way up north through the hills of Tennessee and onto the Cumberland Plateau. I was amazed at how much the landscape had changed during our absence. Goldenrod and blooming asters now lined the roadsides, and I rolled down the window and let the scent of pine woods and countryside fill my head. It felt so good to be home again and to be introducing you to my favorite corner of the world, far from the pavement and smog and oppressive heat that we’d experienced in Houston.

The welcome home was wonderful. A few friends came by to see you and bring food and gifts. Cards and packages began to arrive in the mail. Church friends, in particular, were beyond excited to have us back and were enthusiastically planning your baby shower. Grandma and Grandpa couldn’t wait to hold you and our little dog jumped for joy.  We were home!

And you…you thrived. The first month flew by and on October 2nd, the Feast of the Angels, we had you baptized. It was not lost on me that it was in October that we had initially felt the call to adopt and four years later, in that same month, we had found completion of that calling. God had finally brought you to us, and we were now joyfully bringing you to God.

Those first few months with you were like one big happy dream-come-true. You and I cuddled often and we spent hours at night one-on-one. Your brothers couldn’t get enough of you and Joah was kissing you constantly.  One of them always wanted to play with you and sit next to you and hold you. Your daddy was always there to help me, even in the wee hours of the morning, with diaper changes and warming up food for you. You fit into our life perfectly, and all the years of waiting just melted away.

On May 22, 2017, we were able to finalize your adoption. Four years and seven months it took us from the time we decided we wanted to adopt again until the day it was finally all over. Many of the steps along the way were painful, frustrating, and discouraging. So many times during that long wait, we questioned if we were following God’s will in our desire and pursuit of adopting again. Even now, I feel a bit resentful that we had to wait for four years for an adoption, but I know that without the wait, we wouldn't have you.

And when the time finally did come, as I look back at the unfolding of events, I can see that God and his saints were helping us along our way. There are the little things that are too numerous to merely be coincidences. Such as the fact that your father and brother both share St. John the Baptist as their patron saints, and that it was on the feast of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist that we were officially matched with your birthmother.  Fast forward two months later, to when you were overdue by nine days and it was anyone's guess at that point when you would be born. Had we realized it at the time, however, we should have known that St. John the Baptist would intercede for us yet again, for it was on the vigil of the feast of the Passion of St. John the Baptist that you were born, and on that same feast day 24 hours later that your birthmother miraculously regained consciousness.  I have no doubt that this great saint interceded for us and saved her life and brought us to you.

And your name? Little did we realize when we chose it for you that the name Dominic has traditionally been given to boys who are born on a Sunday, and as if God had planned it that way, you were born on a Sunday. The day that belongs to our Lord. The day of the resurrection and a new beginning. The day that is meant to remind us each week that there is always hope, and that the culmination of pain and trial and waiting, when coupled with prayer and trust in God, is joy and rebirth. I believe it is a great honor to be born on a Sunday and I pray that, as your name suggests, you always belong to Him.

Born On A Sunday (An Adoption Birth Story) - Pt. 5

This story is long because this journey was long. Four years long. I share it here for Dominic, but also for all those who may still be on the long road to adopting. May it bring encouragement to all those who are patiently waiting for an answer to their prayers.

Part 5 of 6

For Dominic.

The emptiness in the pit of my stomach hit hard. Your birthmother was in serious trouble, and we could do nothing about it. She’d failed to inform anyone at the hospital of her intentions to place you for adoption before she’d lost consciousness and now your fate was unknown. If the worst case scenario unfolded, you would most likely go directly into foster care and perhaps never get to come home with us. Our only hope was that she would regain consciousness, but the doctors could not assure us that would be the case. She had experienced multiple organ failures and was on a respirator. It was every fear I’d had a week earlier being realized. Meanwhile, you lay in the nursery and had yet to feel a mother’s arms, and my heart longed to be with you.

The next morning, we went straight to the ICU waiting room. Our social worker had managed to find the hospital social worker and gather a little more information about your birthmother's condition. The prognosis was not encouraging. Your birthmother was still on a respirator and unconscious. We were told that they would not begin weaning her off the respirator until 36 hours had passed.  Hopefully, at that point, she would regain consciousness. But even if all that went well, there was still a lot of uncertainty.

We were still not allowed to see you either, although we did sneak up to the nursery at one point and peered through the glass window at the babies, trying to guess which one might be you. We saw your birthmother's name on one of the bassinets and knew then that we had found you. You were sleeping peacefully and seeing you behind that glass made you feel so close but also, so very far away. I wanted to break through that glass window so badly and just wrap you up in my arms. With nothing left that we could do, we returned to our hotel.  It would be at least another day before we'd know if your birthmother was going to recover.

But God had other plans. That evening of August 29th, as I was calling a friend and asking her for prayers, a message from your birthmother suddenly appeared on my phone. It was in broken English and did not make very much sense. I wondered if it was a joke. Did someone steal her phone and start sending me messages? I contacted our social worker and he said that he had just received a message from her, too. It really was her! She wanted to know where we were and what had happened. Twenty-four hours after losing consciousness, to the surprise of even the doctors, your birthmother had awaken on her own and started asking for us. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the miracle we had been praying for and my heart soared!

The next morning, we rushed to the ICU and counted down the minutes until visiting hours so that we could see her. At last, we were able to give her a much anticipated hug and being with her felt like the biggest blessing. She had the sweetest smile in spite of all the trauma she'd just been through, and she asked me if I had been with you. When I sadly told her that I had not been allowed, she was visibly disappointed. Soon after, she signed papers that allowed me to be with you, although, due to hospital regulations, I was only allowed to do so under direct supervision of the hospital security guards. Tears welled up in my eyes when I first held you in my arms. The thought of you not being with a mother during your first day and a half of life broke my heart, and I was determined to make up for the lost time.  I put your skin against mine and rocked you for as long as the nurses would allow.

The next couple of days were spent alternating between spending time with you and with your birthmother. As we all got to know each other, she seemed genuinely happy that we would be your family. Four days after you were born, she signed consent giving us permission to be your guardians and bring you home with us. Soon after, she was discharged and went home. We said our farewells to her, and she held you and kissed you goodbye. Little did we know that we would be seeing her again soon.

You and your brothers and your father and I, along with Grandma and Grandpa, who’d driven to Houston from Missouri a few days before your birth, spent time in the hotel, bonding and getting to know you. I began breastfeeding you and supplementing with formula. Your grandparents visited for a day with you before heading back home. Your brothers adored you! We slowly adjusted to having a new baby in our midst.

Unfortunately, just a few days after your birthmother got home, she began experiencing health issues again related to the birth. She returned to the hospital and I went quickly to be with her, arriving just before she was taken to emergency surgery. She was in terrible pain and her eyes looked up at me in the most pitiful way. I will never forget that look, and I still see it every time I see you looking up at me when you are hurting. I see her in you so much. She made enormous sacrifices to bring you into this world and into our family.

The next day, I visited her and she was doing much better. No longer in pain, she seemed to be stronger. She was sad over the events that had transpired over the previous few days, yet she still spoke to me as a friend. I shared stories with her about you, and we chuckled over how much you liked to eat!  A couple of days later, we said goodbye to her again. Ironically, the day that she left the hospital was the same day that the state of Texas gave us permission to take you back to Kentucky. We felt that there was no coincidence in the fact that the amount of time that it had taken for us to be granted clearance by the courts was exactly the same amount of time it took for your birthmother to recover and be released from the hospital, and we saw God’s hand in that. That timing had allowed us to be there with her when she needed us and now, eleven days after you had been born, she and we were ready to start the next chapter of our lives.

Born On A Sunday (An Adoption Birth Story) - Pt. 4

This story is long because this journey was long. Four years long. I share it here for Dominic, but also for all those who may still be on the long road to adopting. May it bring encouragement to all those who are patiently waiting for an answer to their prayers.

Part 4 of 6

For Dominic.

It was in the late afternoon of August 28 when your birthmother contacted me and said she was going to the hospital because she had been having labor pains. Your father and brothers and I grabbed our luggage that we’d only partially unpacked, said a quick good-bye to the B family, and drove into downtown Houston. We went directly to the hospital that she’d told us weeks earlier was where she planned to give birth. But, upon our arrival, we could not find her anywhere! The hospital staff had no record of her, and she was not answering my messages as I tried to contact and find her. For an hour, we sat in that hospital lobby, wondering where she was and what had happened.

Finally, our adoption social worker called us and told us that we were at the wrong hospital.  He had found out only a few minutes earlier that in her desperation, your birthmother had gone to a different hospital, one closer to her home, knowing that the birth was imminent. By now, over two hours had passed since I’d heard from her and I was heartbroken that I was not with her, helping her through the ordeal of your birth. We also knew that it was likely that we would now miss that most special moment…the moment of your arrival. Leaving home two weeks early in order to be present for that moment in time, only to be denied it, left a painful sting. We loaded back into our vehicle and drove north through the busy downtown area as the sun began to set.

As we drove to the correct hospital, my phone rang. It was a friend of your birthmother. She said that your birthmother had asked her to call me to tell me that you had been born. Then she said that your birthmother was having some kind of emergency and that the doctors were with her. Due to the bad cell phone connection, I could barely understand what she was saying, but I could tell that it was serious. Your birthmother’s friend said that she could not stay at the hospital with your birthmother because she had to go to work. This meant that your birthmother would be left at the hospital alone until we arrived, and it made me feel so sad to know that she had no one else there with her.

Soon after, we arrived at the hospital and ran straight to labor and delivery. We were greeted by locked double doors and a phone on the wall. I picked up the phone and a nurse answered. I explained to the nurse who we were and why we were there. In turn, the nurse briefly and abruptly told me that your birthmother had experienced life-threatening complications and was no longer responding. The nurse said that the doctors were still working on her, and that when they were finished, she would be moved directly to ICU. Because your birthmother had not had the chance to inform the hospital staff of her intentions and who we were before her medical emergency, we were told that neither we nor our social worker could have any contact with her or with you.  We were not even allowed to look at you through the nursery window. Our only hope was that your birthmother would regain consciousness and be able to set the record straight. 

And so, this is how the night that you were born ended. We were all left alone with only God’s angels to surround us. You were alone in the nursery, under the care of the nurses; your birthmother was alone in ICU fighting for her life; and your father and I, your brothers, and our social worker were left sitting alone in an empty hallway, looking out the window at a dark night.  Everything was completely out of our control now and we had to surrender it all to God’s holy will. My heart sank as I tried to hold back the tears. This was not the birth story that I had imagined. Feeling completely helpless, we turned around and went to our hotel, heartbroken.