Ok, so the last time we visited, I spoke about honoring my dream and doing some serious writing. That’s what I’m going to do. But a little bit about why I haven’t, to this date, really seriously done it.
By far, the biggest reason is simply because I don’t know what to write. I’m one of those people that sit and wait for inspiration to strike. Then I’ll sit down and hammer away for an hour or two until I think it’s done. Sort of.
I’m rarely ever satisfied with the finished product. I always feel as if there is a better way to say what I’ve said. I stop and wonder if I really clarified everything thoroughly enough. That, dear friends is the second reason I tend not to write.
Even as I type this, I’m wondering if I said enough. If it’s clear. If I got my point across. Call it my OCD. In fact, I tend to ramble on and on trying to make it better and somewhere in the process I completely lose the point myself. It just proves the point that this writer’s worst critic is himself.
Alright, so what do I do about it? The first step is to realize that I don’t have to have something to say. That’s difficult for me as I tend to be a very quiet person unless I have something to say. Then, to the detriment of those around me, I get rather vocal.
Last week, I started my ENG 1A class at the college. Part of the class will doing Freewriting for ten minutes during each class period. For those of you that don’t know what that is, it’s simply writing, non-stop, for that time. It doesn’t matter what you write, so long as you keep putting something on the paper.
This is a reintroduction for me. I had to freewrite for one of my classes in high school. I absolutely abhorred it. Again, because I didn’t know what to say. I’m beginning to understand the concept of just doing it and not worrying about what comes out. So long as something is there at the end of it.
The purpose of the freewriting is basically just to get things going. To start the engine. To get things spinning. To get the juices flowing.
In my endeavor to follow my dream, I’m going to try to embrace this theory as best as I can. Not only in the class, but also in my day to day life. In addition to the writing in class, I’m going to do my best to make three or four blog entries every week. Even if this means I have to freewrite just to get something there because I don’t know what to say.
Hopefully, this will not only give me better ideas but also allow me to learn to express myself more clearly with less rambling…and far less anxiety. Wish me well and feel free to tell me how I’m doing with the clarity.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
Nuggets of Gold
Ok, so here we are on the second installment of my search for some nuggets of gold. It just dawned on me as I write this that it is a bit ironic that I use that term. The Alchemist is about a young boy on a search for lost treasure, or so I gather from the book sleeve. Something for me to ponder.
Anyhow, this is the update on my search. After my last writing, I sat down and read the introduction by the author, Paulo Coelho. I didn’t just find nuggets of gold; I found a veritable gold mine! Precisely what I meant about things calling out to us. There’s always something they have to say to us and so far, it’s speaking loud and clear.
So Paulo opens this novel with an introduction about ‘our personal calling’ and ‘confronting our own dream’. Or rather, the lack of confrontation and the reasons behind it. Today’s writing focuses on the realizations of why I haven’t jumped into the fray as of yet, well, until now anyhow. No short blog on this day. My apologies in advance for the length.
First, a bit about personal calling. Paulo defines it as such: “It is God’s blessing, it is the path that God chose for you here on earth.” Powerful! I’ve always know that our calling is the path we are meant to follow, but I’ve always seen it as a purpose, not a blessing. To me, there’s a profound difference in how I view the two. A purpose is a job; a blessing is a gift, a reward.
So what’s my personal calling? Writing. Pure and simple. I love to write. I love to express thoughts, emotions, and experiences through writing. Sometimes, it’s the only way I know how to. So why haven’t I done it? Four reasons: impossibility, love, fear of defeat, and fear of succeeding.
Let’s analyze impossibility. Paulo says that we are raised with the belief that chasing and realizing our dreams is an impossibility. I don’t know that I was really taught that so much as having been made aware of all the people that tried and failed. How many people in the world pursue the dream of being a writer, singer, artist, or actor? How many of them actually succeed?
It’s not even that so much as we rarely ever hear about the struggle that the people who became successes went through. All too often, we only hear about the people who seemingly ‘make it’ overnight. The ones who just sort of fall into their dream. So the rest of us sit and wait and wonder when it’s going to happen to us instead of actually running for the goal.
Should we however, actually begin to chase the dream, Paulo says love is the next obstacle. He says we’re afraid of hurting those around us. I think in some cases this is true as people do tend to step on toes as they scrabble for the top. But while I do agree that love is the next obstacle, I also believe it goes much deeper than being afraid of hurting others.
Love is a two-way street. Yes, we need to be aware of what we do to those we love. Time spent being self-absorbed in our own pursuit takes time from them. We can’t just push them aside and ignore them. We also need to love them enough to know that they have dreams just as we do. It’s not all about us.
On the flip-side, we need our family and friends to support us in our pursuit. This doesn’t mean just saying, “I’ll support you in anything you do.” This means becoming an active participant in the struggle. Whether it’s someone to throw ideas your way or pushing you to keep on keeping on, whatever the role, just being there in some capacity always helps.
That was my obstacle in the love department, not having someone who believed in me enough to give me some hope of ever achieving my dream. Thankfully I have that now. But again, I’m not the only one with a dream. Pursue my dream, realize hers, and still take time for us.
Ok, obstacle two is gone, on to the third. Fear of defeat. Paulo says: “We who fight for our dream suffer far more when it doesn’t work out, because…our whole heart is in this journey.” We’ve invested our entire being in our quest, and when at some point, defeat stares us down, it’s earth-shattering.
This is huge for me and I’m not really sure how I would face rejection and defeat. I know I can’t expect an easy fulfillment. I know that rejection and defeat will happen. That, my readers, is why I’ve always made excuses not to start to begin with. But, I have love on my side now. I have someone to bolster me and keep me moving forward when those moments come, so the excuses are over.
Now, to just overcome the last hurdle. The fear of succeeding. It sounds odd, I know, but it is a really good point. Oscar Wilde said: “Each man kills the thing he loves.” We come to the culmination of our success, on the verge of realizing our greatest achievement and we trash it. We just get plain old dumb.
Paulo contributes this to feeling as if we don’t deserve our success. But this brings me right back to the very beginning. Writing is my personal calling. Its God’s blessing. It’s the path He chose for me. It’s already there waiting for us, we just have to put in some effort to get to it.
So what have any of us done to deserve our success? Nothing. The real question is, ‘What are we willing to do, from this point on, to earn it?’
So what am I willing to do to honor it? I for one am willing to stop wasting it. I’m willing to grab this bull by the horns and seriously commit to this pursuit. No more waiting for it to just fall into place and happen. No more making excuses and failing to start. It’s time to get all Nike on it and ‘Just do it.’
One last quote from Paulo: “But if you believe yourself worthy of the thing you fought so hard to get, then you become an instrument of God, you help the Soul of the World, and you understand why you are here.” If God believed me worthy of it, who am I to argue?
Anyhow, this is the update on my search. After my last writing, I sat down and read the introduction by the author, Paulo Coelho. I didn’t just find nuggets of gold; I found a veritable gold mine! Precisely what I meant about things calling out to us. There’s always something they have to say to us and so far, it’s speaking loud and clear.
So Paulo opens this novel with an introduction about ‘our personal calling’ and ‘confronting our own dream’. Or rather, the lack of confrontation and the reasons behind it. Today’s writing focuses on the realizations of why I haven’t jumped into the fray as of yet, well, until now anyhow. No short blog on this day. My apologies in advance for the length.
First, a bit about personal calling. Paulo defines it as such: “It is God’s blessing, it is the path that God chose for you here on earth.” Powerful! I’ve always know that our calling is the path we are meant to follow, but I’ve always seen it as a purpose, not a blessing. To me, there’s a profound difference in how I view the two. A purpose is a job; a blessing is a gift, a reward.
So what’s my personal calling? Writing. Pure and simple. I love to write. I love to express thoughts, emotions, and experiences through writing. Sometimes, it’s the only way I know how to. So why haven’t I done it? Four reasons: impossibility, love, fear of defeat, and fear of succeeding.
Let’s analyze impossibility. Paulo says that we are raised with the belief that chasing and realizing our dreams is an impossibility. I don’t know that I was really taught that so much as having been made aware of all the people that tried and failed. How many people in the world pursue the dream of being a writer, singer, artist, or actor? How many of them actually succeed?
It’s not even that so much as we rarely ever hear about the struggle that the people who became successes went through. All too often, we only hear about the people who seemingly ‘make it’ overnight. The ones who just sort of fall into their dream. So the rest of us sit and wait and wonder when it’s going to happen to us instead of actually running for the goal.
Should we however, actually begin to chase the dream, Paulo says love is the next obstacle. He says we’re afraid of hurting those around us. I think in some cases this is true as people do tend to step on toes as they scrabble for the top. But while I do agree that love is the next obstacle, I also believe it goes much deeper than being afraid of hurting others.
Love is a two-way street. Yes, we need to be aware of what we do to those we love. Time spent being self-absorbed in our own pursuit takes time from them. We can’t just push them aside and ignore them. We also need to love them enough to know that they have dreams just as we do. It’s not all about us.
On the flip-side, we need our family and friends to support us in our pursuit. This doesn’t mean just saying, “I’ll support you in anything you do.” This means becoming an active participant in the struggle. Whether it’s someone to throw ideas your way or pushing you to keep on keeping on, whatever the role, just being there in some capacity always helps.
That was my obstacle in the love department, not having someone who believed in me enough to give me some hope of ever achieving my dream. Thankfully I have that now. But again, I’m not the only one with a dream. Pursue my dream, realize hers, and still take time for us.
Ok, obstacle two is gone, on to the third. Fear of defeat. Paulo says: “We who fight for our dream suffer far more when it doesn’t work out, because…our whole heart is in this journey.” We’ve invested our entire being in our quest, and when at some point, defeat stares us down, it’s earth-shattering.
This is huge for me and I’m not really sure how I would face rejection and defeat. I know I can’t expect an easy fulfillment. I know that rejection and defeat will happen. That, my readers, is why I’ve always made excuses not to start to begin with. But, I have love on my side now. I have someone to bolster me and keep me moving forward when those moments come, so the excuses are over.
Now, to just overcome the last hurdle. The fear of succeeding. It sounds odd, I know, but it is a really good point. Oscar Wilde said: “Each man kills the thing he loves.” We come to the culmination of our success, on the verge of realizing our greatest achievement and we trash it. We just get plain old dumb.
Paulo contributes this to feeling as if we don’t deserve our success. But this brings me right back to the very beginning. Writing is my personal calling. Its God’s blessing. It’s the path He chose for me. It’s already there waiting for us, we just have to put in some effort to get to it.
So what have any of us done to deserve our success? Nothing. The real question is, ‘What are we willing to do, from this point on, to earn it?’
So what am I willing to do to honor it? I for one am willing to stop wasting it. I’m willing to grab this bull by the horns and seriously commit to this pursuit. No more waiting for it to just fall into place and happen. No more making excuses and failing to start. It’s time to get all Nike on it and ‘Just do it.’
One last quote from Paulo: “But if you believe yourself worthy of the thing you fought so hard to get, then you become an instrument of God, you help the Soul of the World, and you understand why you are here.” If God believed me worthy of it, who am I to argue?
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Another journey.
Sometimes in life, things speak to us. For whatever reason, they just call out to us and demand our attention. It isn’t necessarily always clear why they do it, they just do. They speak to us, they call our name.
I’ve learned that when they do, it’s best not to ignore them. Invariably, they do it for a reason. There’s some fundamental knowledge buried somewhere within them. There’s some basic truth to be learned. There’s some key element that will put a piece of the puzzle in its rightful place of the big picture known as life.
For me, one of those things is The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. This book has been speaking to me for a little over a year now. Every time I walk into a bookstore, I’m somehow drawn to it. It doesn’t seem to matter why I’m there or what I’m looking for, I always run across this book. Until now, despite knowing that there is a reason for this, I’ve walked away.
I don’t know what this little book has to offer. I don’t know what little nugget of gold is waiting for me. I don’t know how it will change my life, if at all. What I do know is that it speaks to me. It calls my name.
So now I find myself finally answering the call. I turn to this slim novel and commit to it my full attention. I vow to heed its voice as it imparts its wisdom to me. Here’s to adventure and new journey begun.
Sing on, little one, sing on…
I’ve learned that when they do, it’s best not to ignore them. Invariably, they do it for a reason. There’s some fundamental knowledge buried somewhere within them. There’s some basic truth to be learned. There’s some key element that will put a piece of the puzzle in its rightful place of the big picture known as life.
For me, one of those things is The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. This book has been speaking to me for a little over a year now. Every time I walk into a bookstore, I’m somehow drawn to it. It doesn’t seem to matter why I’m there or what I’m looking for, I always run across this book. Until now, despite knowing that there is a reason for this, I’ve walked away.
I don’t know what this little book has to offer. I don’t know what little nugget of gold is waiting for me. I don’t know how it will change my life, if at all. What I do know is that it speaks to me. It calls my name.
So now I find myself finally answering the call. I turn to this slim novel and commit to it my full attention. I vow to heed its voice as it imparts its wisdom to me. Here’s to adventure and new journey begun.
Sing on, little one, sing on…
Monday, June 8, 2009
God is My Co-Pilot?
Shortly after I left the church, I began seeing ‘God is my Co-pilot’ bumper stickers everywhere. I have to say that I was seething with disgust over that one hypocritical statement.
These were Christians who claimed to put God first and above all else, and yet here they were putting themselves above God. Everyone knows that the co-pilot is lower-ranking and under the command of the pilot.
I was dumb-founded as to how any Christian could make this statement with a clear conscience. How could they so blatantly relegate their God to a secondary position?
I realize now that I was looking at the illustration from the wrong perspective. I was looking strictly at the rank of the two positions as opposed to looking at it from the perspective of the job descriptions.
I see now that I am indeed the pilot of my life. I have the throttle and the stick in my hands. It’s my own actions that determine where I’m going and how fast I’m going to get there.
I can veer off course and take a different route all-together. I can slow my journey down by making excuses for not doing something or I can charge full-bore into a project and get it done. Not that that’s necessarily good either as it might not be the right direction to be going.
So enters God as my co-pilot. Not only a co-pilot, but also my navigator. When I fall asleep at the stick, he’s there to pull me out of my tailspin. When I stall the engine, he gets it moving again. When I throttle up, he’s there to steady my space. And when I’m clearly on the wrong path, he’s there to steer me back onto the right path.
He doesn’t always react immediately. He sometimes lets me blunder into hazardous situations, but he’s always there beside me whispering in my ear. However, that is another tale in itself.
So, while I may be the pilot, and God gave me the free-will to fly my life the way I want to, I still need a co-pilot. I need someone to back me up and catch me when I fail. I need someone to tell me how to get home. Without Him, I’m just the prideful pilot who thinks he knows what he’s doing.
Take the stick and fly high, but never forget that you don’t fly alone. Listen to your co-pilot, He’ll always bring you home.
These were Christians who claimed to put God first and above all else, and yet here they were putting themselves above God. Everyone knows that the co-pilot is lower-ranking and under the command of the pilot.
I was dumb-founded as to how any Christian could make this statement with a clear conscience. How could they so blatantly relegate their God to a secondary position?
I realize now that I was looking at the illustration from the wrong perspective. I was looking strictly at the rank of the two positions as opposed to looking at it from the perspective of the job descriptions.
I see now that I am indeed the pilot of my life. I have the throttle and the stick in my hands. It’s my own actions that determine where I’m going and how fast I’m going to get there.
I can veer off course and take a different route all-together. I can slow my journey down by making excuses for not doing something or I can charge full-bore into a project and get it done. Not that that’s necessarily good either as it might not be the right direction to be going.
So enters God as my co-pilot. Not only a co-pilot, but also my navigator. When I fall asleep at the stick, he’s there to pull me out of my tailspin. When I stall the engine, he gets it moving again. When I throttle up, he’s there to steady my space. And when I’m clearly on the wrong path, he’s there to steer me back onto the right path.
He doesn’t always react immediately. He sometimes lets me blunder into hazardous situations, but he’s always there beside me whispering in my ear. However, that is another tale in itself.
So, while I may be the pilot, and God gave me the free-will to fly my life the way I want to, I still need a co-pilot. I need someone to back me up and catch me when I fail. I need someone to tell me how to get home. Without Him, I’m just the prideful pilot who thinks he knows what he’s doing.
Take the stick and fly high, but never forget that you don’t fly alone. Listen to your co-pilot, He’ll always bring you home.
The Best is Yet to Come...
Having turned my back on God for 18 years of my life, I often feel like an infant when it comes to religious knowledge and experience. I feel over-whelmed with all the years of learning that I missed out on. Years that I wasted.
At times like these, I wonder what I could ever accomplish. How can I be of use when I have so much to catch up on?
Today’s reading reminds me that God did warn me and that I’m only caught off guard due to my own stubbornness. He called out to me over and over and never failed to provide for me whether I saw it or not and irregardless of my failure to give him recognition.
However, I’m also reassured that God has a plan for me. I may have wasted a lot of time, but He isn’t finished with me yet. I have no doubt that my purpose will be fulfilled and my experiences will factor greatly in accomplishing my task.
“Your last chapters can be your best. Your final song can be your greatest. It could be that all of your life has prepared you for a grand exit. God’s oldest have always been among his choicest.”*
The prologue is written. The first song is sung. The first scene is acted out. Here’s to the rest of the story, the ball, and the play. The best is yet to come…
*Max Lucado, He Still Moves Stones
At times like these, I wonder what I could ever accomplish. How can I be of use when I have so much to catch up on?
Today’s reading reminds me that God did warn me and that I’m only caught off guard due to my own stubbornness. He called out to me over and over and never failed to provide for me whether I saw it or not and irregardless of my failure to give him recognition.
However, I’m also reassured that God has a plan for me. I may have wasted a lot of time, but He isn’t finished with me yet. I have no doubt that my purpose will be fulfilled and my experiences will factor greatly in accomplishing my task.
“Your last chapters can be your best. Your final song can be your greatest. It could be that all of your life has prepared you for a grand exit. God’s oldest have always been among his choicest.”*
The prologue is written. The first song is sung. The first scene is acted out. Here’s to the rest of the story, the ball, and the play. The best is yet to come…
*Max Lucado, He Still Moves Stones
Friday, May 29, 2009
Just a profound realization...
My children are not my own. They do not belong to me. I have no claim on them.
I am merely a steward that was chosen to guide them...teach them...care for them.
They were a gift entrusted to me.
Sadly, I haven't been much of a steward.
I can only pray that God will allow me another opportunity to set things right...to be a proper steward to His sons and daughters...
"From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked." Luke 12:48b
I am merely a steward that was chosen to guide them...teach them...care for them.
They were a gift entrusted to me.
Sadly, I haven't been much of a steward.
I can only pray that God will allow me another opportunity to set things right...to be a proper steward to His sons and daughters...
"From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked." Luke 12:48b
Monday, May 25, 2009
The Unseen Miracles...
I've been pondering what to write about since I posted the last blog and I've been left completely blank as to what to say. Then out of nowhere one simple question came into my mind: What was the happiest day of my life?
The answer was immediately at the front of my mind. It wasn't so much the happiest 'day' as it was the happiest 'event' of my life. And by far, the scariest and most nerve-wracking adventure I'd ever thought I would experience. That wonderous event was the birth of my second daughter.
That's not to say that the birth of my other 4 children weren't joyous occasions, mind you. But there are some extenuating circumstances that just put this one over the top. I'm sure you'll see for yourself as the story unfolds.
I came home from Basic Training and AIT on September 22, 1992. I hadn't been scheduled to come home until late October, just two weeks before my daughter's due date. For some unknown reason, my school had been cut short by five weeks. Glad to be home, I settled back into the civilian life and enjoyed what was to be the last few months of the pregnancy.
Things changed very quickly on October 20. My wife began having labor pains six weeks early. Having been through numerous false labors with our first daughter, we didn't think much of it but drove to the hospital just in case. And a good thing we did.
Sure enough, she was in labor. The doctor ordered drugs to try to stop the labor. It seemed to slow down for a bit and we started thinking we were going to be in the clear. But then the water broke. No turning back now. The contractions intensified and an epidural was administered.
Having a low tolerence for meds, my wife could feel nothing at all other than a slight pressure when a contraction hit. We settled in to wait it out and she slipped into a restless sleep.
Not long after, her eyes shot open and squeezed my hand telling me that she was feeling a LOT of pressure. I reassured her and reminded her not to push as it was still to early. She finally calmed down as the pressure subsided, but I called a nurse in to check things out.
We explained what had happened and the nurse asked a few questions before putting some gloves on to check the dilation of the cervix. Mind you, several minutes had now passed since the beginning of the episode.
You can imagine the shock, surprise, and fear that coursed through me as the nurse threw the covers back and I saw our daughter laying there, fully birthed between her mother's legs. We had no idea just how long she'd been there or if she was even still alive!
The next minute seemed to drag for hours and I can't believe everything that happened in that little time. The nurse flew into motion calling an emergency and then checking to make sure our little girl was still breathing. By the time she finished, the room was full of nurses and doctors who also went into action and cut her umbilical cord and whisked her off to the NICU.
The only thing we knew at this point was the our baby was alive and breathing. We didn't know if she was ok beyond that. Being a little over six weeks premature, there were a slew of things that could be wrong and even the chances of her living were to close for a doctor to call.
It took an hour or two for us to get an official answer to anything as there were numerous tests to run and what-not. But finally, the word came down that aside from the lungs being under-developed, our baby was perfectly fine. In cases such as these, the issue with the lungs was common and there was a med to speed the growth process up but she'd be in NICU for several weeks.
We spent as much time at the hospital as we could for the next few weeks, but even with the positive outlook and the relatively good health of Miranda, it was a terrifying and stressful few weeks. Somehow, we all made it through and we were eventually able to bring her home.
Thus began a whole new string of stresses. It's incredibly odd feeding a child from a syringe, measuring out the amount of food they eat by the cc. Shopping for clothes in the doll section was strangely eerie as well. But I think the most difficult thing to deal with was just her size.
I have big hands to begin with, but even still, the ability to hold my daughter in my hand was unfathomable. I could place her little bottom in the center of the palm of my hand and cradle the back of her head with my fingers. Her little feet all curled up didn't even make it down to my wrist. My pinkie and thumb were big enough to act as the sides of a crib and kept her from rolling out of my hand.
There I would sit, day after day, holding her in the palm of my hand, feeding her from a syringe with the other. A look of utter amazement on my face the entire time. The next few months would be filled with milestone after milestone.
I mean, here's a guy that would think nothing of eating a dozen eggs and a pound of bacon, by myself, for breakfast. Or wolfing down a 32 oz. t-bone, baked potato, and veggies for supper. And I was feeding my daughter from a syringe!!
She finally sucked down 1/2 an ounce one day. Yes, half an ounce!!!!! What a day that was. And then an ounce. Then two. I was dumb-founded the entire time as to how any living being could survive on such little food. And yet, she was healthy and never had a lick of problems.
While it was a trying time, each new milestone brought joy beyond belief.
Today, she's nearly 17 and I wonder where all the time went. She's grown into a beautiful young woman. Bright, intelligent, and easily the most spirited of the five. And still the fighter she was the day she was born.
All of this happened a few years after I had walked away from the church and turned my back on God. As I look back on it now, I realize how blind I was. And I'm amazed that after everything I had done, God was still there. Still calling me. Still reaching out to me.
He provided miracle after miracle and I didn't see a single one of them. He shortened my training so I could be at home in this critical time for my daughter. Despite the problems with her birth she came out of it with no health issues whatsoever. She graduated from cc's to partial ounces to full bottles. From preemie diapers to regular ones. From doll clothes to newborns.
All the while, as I was holding her in the palm of my hand and I was marveling at this amazing little version of me and not giving up on her, He was there holding both of us in the palm of His hand, providing for us and taking care of us. And I refused to acknowledge Him.
The joy and happiness of the event, as much as it is, is only increased by the knowledge of the miracles and intervention of God. There's not praise enough to thank God for everything He did but I'm sure going to try.
The answer was immediately at the front of my mind. It wasn't so much the happiest 'day' as it was the happiest 'event' of my life. And by far, the scariest and most nerve-wracking adventure I'd ever thought I would experience. That wonderous event was the birth of my second daughter.
That's not to say that the birth of my other 4 children weren't joyous occasions, mind you. But there are some extenuating circumstances that just put this one over the top. I'm sure you'll see for yourself as the story unfolds.
I came home from Basic Training and AIT on September 22, 1992. I hadn't been scheduled to come home until late October, just two weeks before my daughter's due date. For some unknown reason, my school had been cut short by five weeks. Glad to be home, I settled back into the civilian life and enjoyed what was to be the last few months of the pregnancy.
Things changed very quickly on October 20. My wife began having labor pains six weeks early. Having been through numerous false labors with our first daughter, we didn't think much of it but drove to the hospital just in case. And a good thing we did.
Sure enough, she was in labor. The doctor ordered drugs to try to stop the labor. It seemed to slow down for a bit and we started thinking we were going to be in the clear. But then the water broke. No turning back now. The contractions intensified and an epidural was administered.
Having a low tolerence for meds, my wife could feel nothing at all other than a slight pressure when a contraction hit. We settled in to wait it out and she slipped into a restless sleep.
Not long after, her eyes shot open and squeezed my hand telling me that she was feeling a LOT of pressure. I reassured her and reminded her not to push as it was still to early. She finally calmed down as the pressure subsided, but I called a nurse in to check things out.
We explained what had happened and the nurse asked a few questions before putting some gloves on to check the dilation of the cervix. Mind you, several minutes had now passed since the beginning of the episode.
You can imagine the shock, surprise, and fear that coursed through me as the nurse threw the covers back and I saw our daughter laying there, fully birthed between her mother's legs. We had no idea just how long she'd been there or if she was even still alive!
The next minute seemed to drag for hours and I can't believe everything that happened in that little time. The nurse flew into motion calling an emergency and then checking to make sure our little girl was still breathing. By the time she finished, the room was full of nurses and doctors who also went into action and cut her umbilical cord and whisked her off to the NICU.
The only thing we knew at this point was the our baby was alive and breathing. We didn't know if she was ok beyond that. Being a little over six weeks premature, there were a slew of things that could be wrong and even the chances of her living were to close for a doctor to call.
It took an hour or two for us to get an official answer to anything as there were numerous tests to run and what-not. But finally, the word came down that aside from the lungs being under-developed, our baby was perfectly fine. In cases such as these, the issue with the lungs was common and there was a med to speed the growth process up but she'd be in NICU for several weeks.
We spent as much time at the hospital as we could for the next few weeks, but even with the positive outlook and the relatively good health of Miranda, it was a terrifying and stressful few weeks. Somehow, we all made it through and we were eventually able to bring her home.
Thus began a whole new string of stresses. It's incredibly odd feeding a child from a syringe, measuring out the amount of food they eat by the cc. Shopping for clothes in the doll section was strangely eerie as well. But I think the most difficult thing to deal with was just her size.
I have big hands to begin with, but even still, the ability to hold my daughter in my hand was unfathomable. I could place her little bottom in the center of the palm of my hand and cradle the back of her head with my fingers. Her little feet all curled up didn't even make it down to my wrist. My pinkie and thumb were big enough to act as the sides of a crib and kept her from rolling out of my hand.
There I would sit, day after day, holding her in the palm of my hand, feeding her from a syringe with the other. A look of utter amazement on my face the entire time. The next few months would be filled with milestone after milestone.
I mean, here's a guy that would think nothing of eating a dozen eggs and a pound of bacon, by myself, for breakfast. Or wolfing down a 32 oz. t-bone, baked potato, and veggies for supper. And I was feeding my daughter from a syringe!!
She finally sucked down 1/2 an ounce one day. Yes, half an ounce!!!!! What a day that was. And then an ounce. Then two. I was dumb-founded the entire time as to how any living being could survive on such little food. And yet, she was healthy and never had a lick of problems.
While it was a trying time, each new milestone brought joy beyond belief.
Today, she's nearly 17 and I wonder where all the time went. She's grown into a beautiful young woman. Bright, intelligent, and easily the most spirited of the five. And still the fighter she was the day she was born.
All of this happened a few years after I had walked away from the church and turned my back on God. As I look back on it now, I realize how blind I was. And I'm amazed that after everything I had done, God was still there. Still calling me. Still reaching out to me.
He provided miracle after miracle and I didn't see a single one of them. He shortened my training so I could be at home in this critical time for my daughter. Despite the problems with her birth she came out of it with no health issues whatsoever. She graduated from cc's to partial ounces to full bottles. From preemie diapers to regular ones. From doll clothes to newborns.
All the while, as I was holding her in the palm of my hand and I was marveling at this amazing little version of me and not giving up on her, He was there holding both of us in the palm of His hand, providing for us and taking care of us. And I refused to acknowledge Him.
The joy and happiness of the event, as much as it is, is only increased by the knowledge of the miracles and intervention of God. There's not praise enough to thank God for everything He did but I'm sure going to try.
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