Christmas Eve

I hardly know what to think about Christmas this year. I am excited because my parents arrive on Christmas morning and I know having them here will be a great distraction and such a fun time for them to be able to interact with Natty and get to know her now in this fantastic stage where she is learning and talking and doing the cutest, funniest things. She is truly a blessing and I know I would be horribly depressed if she weren't around. However, I can't help but think constantly of Zion- which really is no different than any other day, Christmas or not. How many times did I picture myself sitting by the Christmas tree with him, resting on the couch and looking at the lights glowing? How many people did we ask to pray that he would come home by Christmas? I know he is home- his eternal home- but that's not quite what I was hoping for. The whole point of my parents coming at Christmas was so that they could be here for the birth and help us in the first few weeks. Everything is so very different now. As long as I stay busy, I manage. But the moment I have quiet, my heart becomes very heavy and full of sadness. I posted an article on my facebook that talks about Christmas not being what everyone pictures in their mind- a happy, jolly day when families get along and sip hot cocoa around the Christmas tree and laugh and open presents. It's great if it can be like this. But, the point of Christmas is that we are all broken, we all suffer in some way, we are all needy and have issues. That's why Christ was born. The Word was made flesh so that He could experience the sadness, the brokenness, the pain that we go through and so that He could redeem it all. This has been one comfort to me this holiday. A good friend told me that it's OK if Christmas is sad this year, if it's not full of joy and laughter. How strongly I recognize my own brokenness, my need for a good Savior this year. As I think about Zion and how his death has profoundly changed my view of the world and of life, I am so much more thankful that Christ came to bring hope and to understand our suffering. And so part of me is ready for Christmas to hurry up and get over with while another part of me wants to understand more deeply what it is all about.

THE conversation

So, I knew it was bound to happen soon. I've started going back to the pool and I ran into one of the older ladies that swims the same time I do and who watched my belly grow rounder and rounder in the last months. Of course, she asks today in the changing room, "So, was your baby a girl or a boy?". Uh, oh. I immediately wonder how this is going to work out- will I cry? will I tell her he died? will I run into the shower and pretend I didn't hear her? It was a boy, I answer. Oh, congratulations! And you're already back at the pool? Well, I tell her, here's the thing. And I proceed to explain how Zion was born early and that he died. And I manage to do this without the threat of tears. What makes it possible to talk about in a matter-of-fact manner one moment and another moment it threatens to tear my heart apart? So, she listens politely with a "poor thing" look on her face as I blather on about how strong he was and how long he lived, etc... I find it nice to talk about him when I can keep my emotions under control. And then, her response. I'm ready to hear it again. Most people answer with one of two things: my personal favorite, "But, honey, you're young. You'll have more kids". Love that one. And then, "God knows what He's doing." The second one doesn't upset me as much because at least they recognize God in all of it, even if it's not to the extent I do. But, it can still be annoying sometimes because most people feel the need to make themselves feel better by throwing out a one-liner that is supposed to make me feel better. As if a one sentence answer to this great tragedy that has come upon us is all it will take to perk me up. I totally understand that people are wanting to be helpful and encouraging. I get that. But what is most helpful is just to agree that it's a hard, sad, terrible thing. This woman even preempted her statement with, "This all must be very difficult." Yes! Thank you. Leave it at that, please. However, mentioning God did give me the opportunity to tell her that I do trust that the Lord has a good plan in all this and that with His strength, we will make it through. As I showered, I wondered when the time will come when I can speak more about all that God has done through taking our Zion. I trust that neat things will come out of it but I still feel that I'm walking in a fog of grief thick enough to keep me from seeing it all clearly. I look forward to the day that the fog will lift and I might truly begin to give God the praise He deserves.

P.S. Many of you have written me beautiful, scripture-filled notes or emails or have just reminded me that you are praying. I appreciate these and don't look at them the same way and just want to say "thanks".

Christmas poem

I wanted to share a poem I found on Kristi's blog- a mom who has also lost precious babies.

First Christmas

I hear that on the Earth below
This is a special season
With lights and songs and gifts and such,
And Jesus is the reason!

In the place I would have lived
Are strings of light that blink and shine,
But you should see the light up here
That glows from Jesus all the time!

In the place I would have lived
Carols play, and special songs,
But you should hear the music that
The angels sing here all day long!

In the place I would have lived,
Gifts are giv’n on Christmas Day,
But you should feel the joy we feel
Because God’s gift is here to stay!

In the place I would have lived,
Tears have flowed because I’m gone.
My family wishes I were there
To see and hear and feel it all.

But in this place where I now live,
It’s Christmas all day, all year long,
And the sights and sounds I’d see with them
Are pure, unblemished by all wrong.

So on this day that would have been
My first Christmas on the Earth,
Mama, Daddy, you need to know
I’m celebrating Jesus’ birth!

When you sing songs to worship Him,
I’m singing with the angels, too.
I’m never closer than when we all
Praise Him for our life anew.

I know that life began for me
Sooner than you thought it would.
I know your hearts are hurting now,
And you would change things if you could.

But in this place, where you’ll come, too,
We’ll be together, forever.
And there will be no more good-byes
When we celebrate Christmas in heaven – together!

Moments

I have a bit more energy these days. Until recently, I was still going to bed around 9 or 9:30, like I did toward the end of my pregnancy, because I was so physically and emotionally drained everyday. I feel like I'm getting some strength back but I'm finding it difficult to know what to do with my evenings. I'm not a night person and would be just as happy going to bed and enjoying some good sleep in order to wake up early and have some quiet time before Natty wakes up. However, for the sake of my husband, who would probably like to hang out with me sometimes at night, I am trying to retrain my body to stay up until at least 10. Pretty sad, I know. We've gotten slightly addicted (is that possible?) to Boggle these days after Natty goes to bed- even though I'm pretty sure I've never beat Scotty. But, I've gotten close a couple times, so that keeps me in the game. Sometimes it's annoying to be married to someone who is smarter than you and better at most things. But, it's also one thing I admire about him. Anyway-I decided I should blog since it feels like it's been a long time. Than I noticed it's only been 5 days. I suppose I was blogging so frequently for a while because I felt like I was constantly emotionally charged- which is when I prefer to blog or when I am most "inspired". I don't feel emotionally charged at the moment, so this might be a bit dull. However, I just wanted everyone to know I'm still here. I'm still sad a lot of the time. I'm still struggling to understand and to evaluate myself and my circumstances and God's work in my life and the meaning of all of it. I know some of these things are too big to figure out but it seems as though anything smaller just doesn't matter to me right now- so I ponder the big things. And that's one thing that is annoying about grief and makes me feel like a bad person sometimes- you tend not to care about much else but your own circumstances. How self-centered is that? But, as much as I try- I really can't make myself think too much about other things. I find even when I pray (even prayer was next to impossible to do for a while), I can't think of anything else to pray about than God help me get through this. I think I'll pray for other people and then I end up being overwhelmed by how much I miss Zion and knowing that this awesome God I'm talking to is the One who took him, and everything falls to pieces. And then I am just a heap of tears begging God to help me and wondering how I'll ever be normal again. It's also annoying how grief can surprise you and overwhelm you at any moment. For example, I'm driving to the grocery store thinking how nice it is to have the desire and energy to cook again (but only some days) and Natty will say out of the blue, "I miss baby Zion." Then my heart breaks in two and I wonder if I should just pull the car over and pray for the ground to swallow me up. Or, I'm playing with Natty and marveling at her budding personality and extreme silliness and I see a puzzle on her shelf that I picked up thinking it would look good hanging in Natty and Zion's bedroom when they are a bit bigger. And I get angry all over again that life did not work out according to my "perfect" plan. And, seriously- my whole day is ruined. However, there are quick moments that God can speak so clearly and although the words might be a bit muddled in my less than sharp mind, the idea is conveyed- "I love you. I am here. I know. I will make it OK again." He's done that a couple times lately and it's nice. I'd like it to happen more but sometimes I think I'm too busy wallowing that I don't even want to hear it, because I'm afraid I won't believe it. But, God is good and He finds ways to tell me and when I hear it, I can't help but believe it. Just like when He calls us to Himself- we can't, we don't want to resist because we know He is real and He is who He says He is. I hope to have more of these moments.

A tough date.

Scotty and I decided to go out on a day date today. I can't remember the last time we had a date and while our house help is around, it is easier just to leave Natty with her and go out during the day instead of finding a babysitter for the evening. So, we ran a few errands and then headed to the nice movie theater with plans to do some window shopping after the movie. Lately, movies are a nice distraction from the often gloomy reality of life, and I was especially looking forward to escaping for a couple hours today. We bought tickets, popcorn and a big drink for about $8! Love that. The movie was interesting and I was excited for a few more minutes to hang out with Scotty when we ran into a friend we haven't seen for quite some time. Not being very connected to us or Facebook very frequently, he didn't know anything about Zion. It came up and, of course, I started crying in the middle of the mall and wondered how I could escape quickly without anyone seeing me. But, there also happened to be an entire table full of people we knew and had to say hi to them as well. So, the date was quickly terminated and the car ride home, silent. When telling someone for the first time about Zion's death, I'm not just sad because he's gone, but everything that is sad that I've mentioned before comes to the surface. Everything that at any given moment can ruin my day is brought before me again. I thought I could avoid reality for enough time to have a good date with Scotty, but there's no escaping the hard truth. If not on the surface, it's always lurking shallowly beneath. The "why-me's?" were haunting me all the way home. Why can't I just have a date out with my husband without having to be reminded my son died. Why can the sheer mention of Zion sometimes take all joy out of my day? Why does grief come up at the most inopportune times and send me reeling when I felt emotionally stable 5 seconds earlier? And so, the journey continues... Somewhere along the way, I feel like God has given me more peace in and acceptance of His continued goodness and His love. It doesn't seem as hard to believe as it once did, but the pain is as real as ever and presents itself in many different dimensions- a seemingly infinite number of new ways each day. But, I know I must hold on to this faith, however lacking, and know there is light at the end of the tunnel.

Randomness

Today it's gloomy outside. Matches my emotional state. I'm listening to somewhat melancholy instrumental Christmas music and trying not to cry in front of Natty again. I'm looking at the Christmas tree and thinking how I wish this would be a happy holiday this year. And I start thinking again the most random thoughts...this seems to be happening a lot lately. I wonder if Christmas, or Christ's birth, was a little melancholy for the Lord, too. For us, it means the birth of our Savior- the only one that can bring us life. For God, it meant sending His son to die. That must have been a little bittersweet, too. So, I'm glad we're in this together.

The other night I wondered if they celebrated some form of Christmas in heaven. I mean, they're celebrating Christ all the time, so I can't imagine they do. But I was thinking about Zion and I wanted to think he was having the most amazing Christmas there in the Lord's presence. Maybe he could even play baby Jesus in heaven's reenactment of Christ coming to earth. He was supposed to be born at Christmas, too...

A few nights ago I was praying on my way to bed and telling God again how much I just want Zion back. I started wondering how I would react if God said, "Ok, Lisa, you can have Zion back. But, remember, if I give him life on earth, he will have joy, but nothing compared to being here with me. What's more, he will have suffering that he would never experience if he were to stay in heaven. Do you really want him back?" I realized how true that is. My son was saved a lot of pain by being able to go to his eternal home "early". As much as I would be overjoyed to have my son with me, as a mother, I would sacrifice that for him to stay by the Lord's side. Although if I could have stopped him from dying- I surely would have.

Beach distraction

I love the beach and sometimes lament the fact that we live at high altitude (read: cold) in a country that is land-locked. When we lost Zion and many people asked us if we would go home or get away, I thought: the beach. So, we looked into going back to the nice, affordable condo on the beach we spent a few days at several months ago. We found great airline tickets and had all the support of the people around us to get away and relax. I wondered if it would be helpful, if I'd really forget all that has happened and be able to enjoy myself. But, I knew that Natty would love it and that we could use some time to focus on our family and not feel the slight guilt of not being involved in life and ministry as we usually are. When we first got there, it was cold. On our previous trip it was cold. I wondered if God just didn't want us to enjoy life. Yes, this was my horrible thought. We sat on the beach in our jackets and Scotty and I were both struck with how off it felt. We were missing a part of our family. As we watched Natty happily digging away in the sand like a little crab, we recognized again how much we wanted Zion to be a part of that. I spent one of the first nights sobbing in Scotty's arms for about an hour or so. Then, things started looking up. The weather got warmer and we were both able to really relax and enjoy each other. Natty found delight in everything. She loved the sand, the water, the washed up jellyfish, the shells, the rocks, the food, the TV with cartoons, the hotel, the old people that had taken over the hotel that week. She would wake up every morning, come out of her room, look through our sliding glass doors that had a beautiful ocean view, put her hands in the air and shout, "THE BEACH!!" She was full of life and that is exactly what I needed. I found myself able to be happy for longer than a couple minutes at a time. Happy hours went by (and not the 2 for 1 beer type) and although I never forgot about my little boy- I was able to enjoy myself. This was truly a gift. Scotty and I slept in- thanks to the lower altitude and lots of hard play on the beach helping Natty sleep later- we read, we ate, we played games, we soaked up the sun. I wasn't ready to leave today and neither was Natty. Usually, at the end of a trip, I know that our time is up and I am ready to get back to my house. I knew the day was drawing near for us to come back to La Paz, but I also knew what awaited me here. Reminders everywhere of Zion. Uncomfortable conversations. My own fear of people not understanding that I am still sad. Being more sad as I return to life as usual without the fun distraction of the beach and a different place. We put up our Christmas tree today. How many people did I ask to pray that Zion would be home by Christmas? How long did I picture our family with a newborn around the Christmas tree? As the bits of tree came out to be put together, my heart began to sink. This is not what I imagined this holiday- just the 3 of us. No pregnancy. No baby. These will be hard days, but I think our time away has given me a chance to breathe, a chance to gird up and begin the fight of faith anew, a chance to be reminded of how much God has given me in my loving husband and wonderful daughter. The holidays will be bittersweet in so many ways but I know that our God is faithful, even when I am not.

Kinda Thanksgiving

Here we are today at SIM Thanksgiving. We celebrated on Friday instead of Thursday and enjoyed the usual spread and all ate more than we should have. These were hard days. So hard. You'd think from the picture all was well... It's strange to go through a holiday that is so family oriented and feel like a part of your family was gone and that they'd never be there to celebrate with you. It's very hard to think of something you are thankful for this year when all you can think about is how very much God has asked you to sacrifice and let go of. It's very hard to pretend like everything is OK. I'm sure no one knows if you want to talk about it or even if they should ask for fear of you feeling obligated to answer or to say, "I don't want to talk about it". And maybe I don't all the time. But, I still feel like I'm not capable of participating in normal activities without starting to feel at some point that Zion is the elephant in the room. The thing that everyone knows is there but is gingerly walking around. Some days I feel like he died a long time ago. Lately, it's as if I just said "good-bye" this morning. I had to see my regular doctor today and he saw me, patted his tummy and asked, "how is everything going?" I paused for a moment, trying to decide how to answer him and then tearfully told him what happened. Why does a mother have to explain to an almost stranger that her baby died a couple weeks ago? He was shocked and asked questions that I couldn't answer and made me wonder, for the first time, if Zion would have lived if we were in the US. I've always felt strongly that God has us in Bolivia for a purpose and in the child-bearing years and that, although things aren't as technologically advanced here, this is where we'll have our family. That was before God asked me to give up so much. It feels like too much. I waver between the "what ifs" and the understanding that God is sovereign even with things turn out devastating. Between knowing that circumstances were ordained to include pain and yet He does not enjoy bringing suffering upon us. I know God is refining my faith, but I sure wish it didn't have to come this way.

A long night

I've been reading off and on through a book by C.S. Lewis called A Grief Observed, which are notes he took after losing his wife to cancer. This quote struck me:

"Talk to me about the truth of religion and I'll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I'll listen submissively. But don't come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don't understand."

I felt directly in complete agreement with this sentiment when I first read it, even while wondering if it was correct. But, as with a lot of thoughts that occur when you are grieving, they might not be complete truth, but they are the truth of what you are feeling as a result of the pain. I have been struggling with the hard truth that God's words are not consoling me as they once have but at the same time, I have not lost hold of what I know to be true about the Lord. The Christian faith promises suffering and pain. Jesus himself suffered greatly on this earth and we are called to participate in His suffering. He wept also when loved ones died. And there are so many examples of godly men and women who waited, who suffered physically and emotionally, who grieved and mourned, who cried out wondering when the Lord would answer. These truths are not comforting to us who want a religion that promises warm fuzzies and easy times. And so, I don't feel that Christianity is always comforting. We are given permission to mourn with those who mourn (validating the process of mourning). And yet, we are also told that "weeping may tarry for a night, but joy comes in the morning" (Psalm 30:5). We are told that God is our strong fortress, our rock, our refuge. He is the lifter of our heads. He brings joy. But I fully believe that the weeping of the night might be a long night. I haven't quite reached the morning yet, the dawn that brings relief. And so, I think I agree with Mr. Lewis.

The aftermath

I've been given permission by many friends to continue to post about our journey of grief. In some ways, I feel that it might be getting old to hear about what we are going through but I can't say I've moved on yet and there really is nothing else going on in my life than working on getting through this. And maybe that's all I want to say in this blog: I am truly surprised by the new challenges that each day brings. I thought that once the intense grief of losing Zion was over, things would start looking up from there. But, I'm realizing that some days, the intense grief comes back. And some days, it's not there- but the reality of his absence and how that affects each day and what I'm doing and what I would have been doing and how he would have played a part in all that- is just as hard. There are so many new emotions I have never experienced and even questions of faith that arise in my mind and heart that I'm not even sure where to start processing or how to put it into words for other people- or for myself. I know that I am struggling more now than I did when Zion was living to really believe and hold tight to the promises that the Lord has given me. There was hope in those promises when he was hanging on, but now that he is gone, that hope is wavering (not in truth, but in my heart). Before I went into the hospital, I had started reading through the Psalms and they were powerful in a new way in my life. When I was on bed rest, they brought comfort and hope and joy. When Zion was in the NICU, I would often read them to him and tell him of His awesome, loving Lord. I finished the book a few days before he died and since then have not found a new place to start reading in the Word. A friend encouraged me to go back to the Psalms and really study the many, many times the faithfulness and the steadfast love of the Lord is mentioned. It is hard to do that because that will remind me so much of his last days and, if I'm honest with myself, because I feel like the hope they gave me that all will be alright did not play itself out. All was not all right. All is not all right. And yet, I know that way of thinking comes from a limited, finite perspective. In the infinite wisdom of the Lord, He chose a way that must be perfect, because we know He is perfect. And so I must believe that this was all right for Zion- this was the best for Him and for me. This is loving. Oh, how I want to feel the love in this decision and not just accept it as a fact...

Fresh pain

Today it feels like Zion just died. The pain is so strong again- the desire to hold him, to have him be here. I miss him so terribly I don't even know what to do, how to respond, how to pray. Yesterday, I felt like he was already becoming a distant memory and it didn't feel right. It's been less than a week- Scotty and I both felt like it had been a long time ago that he was with us. It was as if I needed to feel the freshness of the sadness again to somehow validate the fact that I still feel that void. I spent some time looking at pictures of Zion and I wept. Despite the tubes, he looked so alive and I so distinctly remember holding his hands and feeling his warm chest and watching his heart beat so closely under the surface. I had nothing to say to God except, "I want my son back." I was comforted by the words of a friend who has suffered a similar loss and sometimes heard the Lord say to her, "I lost a child, too. And I am grieving with you." Because I fully believe that our baby didn't die by chance but at the hand of an all-wise God, I forget that my Father's decision wasn't a cold one. He grieves when His children grieve. It's so hard to understand the plans of the Lord, that they include pain and suffering and even sin, but are ultimately the most loving for us. Without realizing it, sometimes in my pain, I forget that God loves me and hurts when I hurt.

Scotty and I both have felt this need to tell perfect strangers or people we are talking to that our son just died. I think I need people to know that he existed. I want people to know that he was strong- that he fought for 18 days. I want people to know that he was beautiful and perfect and sweet and a fighter. That he had blue-grey eyes like Natty when she was born. That he had long, delicate fingers and tiny fingernails and big feet. Scotty said he had a big nose but I think he would have grown into it. Sometimes he would grip my finger in his hand and he was strong. His hair was soft and he didn't have any eyebrows or eyelashes. He is my son and will always be and it's so hard to carry that with you when you have no way to show it. Even now my body continues to produce milk and I have the lingering discomfort of a surgery that took this baby from my body. But there's no baby to show for it. I have baby weight that hangs around my middle. But no baby to show for it. It feels wrong to continue life "as normal"- everything in me wants to keep the memory of my son alive...

Zion's memorial service

The day our baby boy died, we pulled together a late afternoon funeral, of sorts, on our land. For those of you who don't know, we own a piece of property that is only a block from our apartment and have dreams to build a house there in the near future- dreams to fill it with children and we imagined our little Zion playing soccer there with the neighborhood kids. We loved the idea of burying him on our property, always close to us, and right where he might have been playing as he grew up. So, we invited our church, our friends, our neighbors to come and mourn with us. We returned to the clinic mid-afternoon to pick up our son. He was laying in the same warming tray with no tubes, no monitors, no beeping. There was only a nurse in the other portion of the nursery, tending to a baby. We unwrapped him from the hospital blanket and for the first time, saw a peaceful Zion. Although we knew there was no life in him and that what we were looking at was a shell, we were calmed by seeing him look like a normal newborn. We quietly dressed him in a pair of preemie jammies and wrapped him up in a soft blanket. We each had another moment to hold him, although it was different this time because we knew that his spirit was already in the presence of his Maker. There was room to spare in his fuzzy, white coffin and as we walked out of the hospital and placed his coffin in the car, I thought that I always imaged taking him out of the clinic in a car seat, not a coffin. Shortly later, we saw people starting to gather on our property. By the time I arrived, there must have been 50 people waiting for the service to begin. I started hugging those that I came to first and crying with each one, knowing that every body there had been long in prayer and supplication for us and with us. Our pastor began the service sharing about David pleading for the life of his son and how God chose to take him, too. David knew that his son would never return, but that one day he would go to him. We have this hope as well, that we will one day go to our savior and our little boy also. Pastor Edgar prayed for us and had us sprinkle dirt over the coffin, as they would at a typical burial. He picked out a beautiful hymn that the gathering sang as Scotty and I quietly listened and contemplated all that had happened that day. Our friends lined up to hug us, cry with us and offer words of love. Then it was over and everyone headed off to a reception that was held down the street at a friends house, while Scotty, Natty and I stayed behind to gaze at our son once more, pray and cry. It was our favorite time of day, just as the sun is starting to set and the world turns a nice, gold color. After a few minutes, we also moved on to the reception where we received more prayer and kind words. We were both struck with this incredible family that God has put around us. So many times were we assured from many, many people that they loved us, thought of us as family, would do anything for us. I knew God had all this in mind when he numbered Zion's days. We would not be alone. We are not alone and even now, we are being so well taken care of and being prayed for far and wide by those who know us and so many who don't. What a gift! What a loving Father we have to not only promise His presence, but give us the warm presence of so many others.

And now what...?

Today has been particularly hard for me. There have not been as many tears or that sharp kind of grief that is almost suffocating, but it's as if a cloud of sadness has settled around my head and colored everything around me. I find it hard to even think about what we might eat for lunch. I went to get my hair cut today, having decided I wanted a change and I wanted it immediately...maybe I thought if I looked better, I would feel better too. Scotty had several errands to run and the cut didn't take very long, so I decided to get a pedicure while I was in the shop. Usually, having myself pampered would be a treat, but today I found no joy in it. I watched people walk down the street and wondered if any of them had just suffered a tragedy. My hair dresser told me, "tranquila"- basically the Bolivian equivalent of "relax". I've been told that many times by many people. I'm not finding life exactly relaxing at the moment. I thought again about how God lost a son and wondered what He did in those 3 days that Christ was in the tomb. What do you do once your child is gone and the pain is so fresh? How do you fill your days? How do you think of anything or at least not think of nothing? A good friend sent me an email relating the suffering of the Psalmist and how he chose, in the midst of deep pain, to call on the Lord and tell of His love and mercy. Although I'm not sure if the knowledge in my head will translate to my heart today, I still know that my Father is good and that He is love. I still find comfort in knowing that my baby is with Him- if that is the only place I find comfort in this moment.

Remains

Just received the ashes of my son. So hard.

Because the Lord has anointed me

to comfort all who mourn;

to grant to those who mourn in Zion—
to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;
that they may be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the LORD, that he may be glorified.

Isaiah 61:1, 3

Mourning

I almost feel too devoid of emotion at the moment to write this post and yet, writing is part of how I process, so maybe it's a good time. Maybe I'll start by telling you exactly how everything played out yesterday. Interestingly, the night before, Scotty had asked me if I still feared that Zion could die and I told him that I felt like he was through the worst of what he would probably experience and that now I was just trying to take each daily trial as it came. We also read a chapter from "The Praying Life", by Paul Miller, that talked about the way God weaves all things in our lives into part of His story. Sometimes, that story doesn't play out like we hoped it would, but it is so important to continue to look for God in the story and the different ways He redeems the story and brings it all together for a greater purpose. Little did we know how much we would be thinking about those ideas the next day. I heard Scotty's phone ringing about 6:30 Tuesday morning and immediately thought it might be a doctor calling- since people don't usually tend to call that early. I had a gut feeling something was not right when I couldn't hear Scotty talking- he had shut himself in the kitchen. When I went in, he said "this isn't good" and explained that Zion's organs were starting to shut down and we needed to go up as soon as we could. I asked if they thought he might die and he said it sounded like it. A wave of despair hit and after a minute of crying and telling Scotty that he can't die, we both went into action mode and somehow pulled ourselves and Natty together to make it up to the hospital. By God's amazing and constant grace, we had just enough time to hold him, talk to him, touch him and say good-bye- probably no more than 10 minutes. His heart stopped beating while Scotty was holding him. It was the first time we had been allowed to hold him, and the last time we would do it while he was living. The rest of the day was a blur of emotions, as I'm sure you can imagine. The only thing that really brought us hope or peace was the idea that Zion was being held by Christ, that he has a new and whole body, that He will never be in pain again and that he is full of joy before His savior. Truly that brings a smile to my face.

I'm realizing that grieving is so much more than just missing a person. It's missing what would have been, what you dreamed life would be like with that person, how that person would have affected your life. For Zion, we imagined this beautiful bond and playtime between him and his big sister. We imaged our house filled again with the little cries of a newborn. I imagined hours of holding him, rocking him, putting him to bed, nursing him, watching him discover his world and develop. We imagined a bigger family and the things we would do together. We imagined what his strong personality might be like and how he would interact with others. We planned to have kids close together so we could have a big family. We planned our future house with that idea in mind. We prayed that he would become a godly man of integrity. So many expectations and hopes that we must release and believe that God has a better plan. Medically, it's not even safe for me to think of conceiving again for a year- what do I do all that time without the baby I thought I'd have?? And yet, our hope is that God knew all of those things when He chose to take our baby to Himself. He knew about the waiting, the dreams, the expectations. And he found that it would be good to write a different story. I believe we will see glimpses of how that story intertwines with different areas of our lives and thank God for His great wisdom. For now, we take each day as it comes, thankful for a healthy little girl, thankful for people right here in our neighborhood and around the world that love us, thankful that God, too, knows what it is like to lose a son. We will pray for the patience to wait on Him.

Day 18

I feel like we're at a bit of a standstill with Zion. He had several really good days and even though the doctor was giving him tiny bits of milk every 8 hours, he was able to increase it by a ml each day. He wasn't having any new issues and they thought they might take out the big tube that was in his chest to take the extra air out from around his lungs. Then, on Saturday, all that changed. The tube couldn't come out because of some complication I'm not very clear about. And, he started turning very pale and his vital signs all worsened. They couldn't exactly explain to us what happened and even today, two days later, they still are not quite sure what is going on in his body. So, he's taken a step back, a rather big one, and we were hit quite hard by that on Saturday. Thankfully, we had those few days of goodness to steady our emotions and even though the bad news was a shock, it did not send us reeling quite like every little thing did when he was in his first week. However, I'm feeling a bit numb to it all right now. I think all of it is starting to feel like a new "normal"- a normal that is never the same but in it's constant changing, everything and anything is expected. Every morning, I wake up wondering what kind of night Zion had. I pump early, I get ready, we call the doctor, we try to process the news (good, bad, or unchanging), I pump again and I head up to the clinic. I walk into the NICU and as I wash my hands, I wonder what Zion might look like. Will he have tape on his wrists from where they've recently taken a blood sample or will they be uncovered so I can see the big black and blue marks? Will he be on his tummy? Will his body be hard and swollen? Will the doctor be sitting there so I can ask him questions? How will I handle his answers emotionally? After a while, I drive home and spend the rest of the day trying to process this life of having a preemie. It sucks you up and eats you whole. There's not a lot left for anything else. But, God is teaching me to take it one day at a time. If I even begin to think about how long my baby might have to be in there or how little he's advanced in the 18 days since he was born, it is overwhelming and depressing. I try to read Zion scripture every morning, which encourages me, and tell him of the greatness of His God- which maybe is also my way of telling that to myself. I am encouraged each time I hear people say they are praying for him, cause I really believe they are. You know you've all been there when you tell someone, "I'll pray for you", but maybe it doesn't seem like such a big deal to you and you forget. I'm guilty. But, I have seen evidence of the body of believers really praying for my son and my family and I am grateful. So, this is where we are in the journey. God is sustaining our little boy and He is sustaining us...I trust He will till the end.

God's hand

Well, the move was a bust. I knew a few weeks ago when we came up with the idea of switching houses that it would be very hard for me emotionally, in the midst of so much turmoil, to leave my house and live in one that is not mine. After discussing the positives and negatives, I tried to convince myself that the only thing that mattered was being closer to Zion. And, that really is a big deal. We're a pretty good distance out where we live now. If everything else in my life were as stable as it normally is, living in someone else's house for a few weeks would not be a big deal. However, it was one more thing that caused me stress that about pushed me over the edge. Being close to Zion would not be a positive thing if I was emotionally unstable all the time and longing for my home and what is most comfortable to me. I am a homebody...so it is important. All that to say, we packed up and moved one day and packed up and moved back the next. Our friends were so very gracious about all of it and took it all in stride. I am so thankful for people like that who are willing to help out with such great sacrifice and effort on their part.

So, I was talking to the doctor yesterday and he had mentioned several times how important it is that Zion hear our voices and feel our touch. He explained that many clinics that are bigger in La Paz don't allow the parents to spend much time with their babies, both from the standpoint of not wanting the nursery to be too crowded and because it is an ingrained custom. I had my questions about this clinic from the beginning because I knew nothing of it and I was not impressed with the way they handled me as a patient (except for our wonderful doctor friend, Sergio, who works there) during and after the C-section. However, my doctor assured me that the neonatal was very good. There are two other clinics, both next door, that upper class and foreigners tend to go with, and I even had Natty in one of these. But, my doctor explained that one only allows you in for a short time with your child and the other forbids it. This comes as both a shock and a comfort to me. A shock, because these are highly regarded clinics and a comfort because knowing nothing, we had someone who wisely guided us to a place where we can see Zion any time of the day or night if we would like. His doctor, along with another, were actually the ones who got the neonatal unit started when they had too tiny twins that couldn't get into the other clinics. And, our clinic is the only one of those 3 that has nurses that have specialized in dealing with preemies, while the others are just trained in the basics. So, we see God's hand (in so many things) especially in getting us to this somewhat unknown clinic and a doctor that is hard at work taking good care of our little boy. And just to throw it out there, we definitely see God's hand in all of you- so, so many people who are praying and who have asked their families to pray and their Bible studies and their children. We are overwhelmed by the quantity of people who are continually before the throne on behalf of our family. What an amazing gift to us. We hope to see miracles in response to these prayers!

Melancholy doctors

So, we had another good report from Dr. Salazar this morning about Zion...he seems to be tolerating the milk so far. When we went in to the hospital, everyone looked a bit gloomy and a doctor came shortly after we arrived to do an ultrasound of the heart. Then my doctor came to check out my incision and when I came back, the heart doctor told me that things looked good but that they would need to continue the heart medication for a bit longer until his heart got stronger. Good news. But, he reminded me again of what an enormous amount of hard things our little guy has endured and how strong he is. But, he said it all with a sad face and a shake of the head, like, "too bad these things happen". Then Dr. Salazar confirmed the heart looks good and that he is responding well to the milk, but they'll take it slow. He said some other tests look good too. All good news. But, then after showing me an x-ray, he reminded me that we need to stay strong and as long as he has good brain function, they'll fight for him till the end. These are things he used to say when everything was really going rough for Zion...why is he saying this now?? Scotty and I felt the heaviness in the room, and we couldn't figure out what they weren't telling us. I suppose it is just a good reminder that even though things have been going well the last couple of days, our son is still in a critical condition and we need to realize that. Our poor little guy is super swollen. The doctors says it's a lack of protein that he will get from my milk and it should take care of itself as he gets more and more milk. Zion and I had a good little visit while I read Psalms from Scotty's IPOD. A couple of my favorites: "Those who trust in the Lord are as Mount Zion, which cannot be moved but abides forever. So the Lord surrounds His people from this time forth and forever." Psalm 125:1-2 Also, "I wait for the Lord, my soul does wait, and in His word do I hope. My soul waits for the Lord more than the watchmen for the morning; indeed, more than the watchmen for the morning." Psalm130: 5-6

Scotty rocks!

A while back I started a fan club on Facebook called "Scotty rocks". I haven't updated it for quite a while, but I think it's about time. As I type, my awesome husband is heading out in the dark night of rain to pick up an antibiotic for me (yes, I have an infection on top of everything else going on), after having cooked dinner, spent the afternoon with our baby, grocery shopped and got Natty totally ready for bed with stories and all. This is nothing for Super Scotty who has always been a great husband but he has totally kicked it up a few notches when I went in for bed rest a few weeks ago. Every day he woke up early- and he's not a morning person- to get Natty out of bed. He fixed her breakfast, changed every diaper, dressed her (and she always looked cute) brought her to and from the clinic, made her lunch, put her down for a nap, brought her back to the clinic or out on errands with him, remembered her juice and diapers and wipes when they went out, made her dinner, bathed her, got her ready for bed and put her down. On top of this, he went grocery shopping, encouraged me, brought me stuff I needed for my extended stay in the Château Garden Clinic, made lots of phone calls to inform people of what was going on and who knows what other things I'm not aware of. He even went to my play group one day! All of this and never once complaining, never once snapping at me, never once in a foul mood. And now that I'm home and recovering from surgery and feeling a bit yuck from the infection, he continues to almost single-handedly take care of Natty and even made French toast for dinner tonight. My husband doesn't cook (but is capable of almost anything when he puts his mind to it). He picks up things I drop cause it hurts to bend over, he gets out of bed in the night to check on Natty when she's crying, and even though I'm capable, he still gets Natty out of bed in the morning cause he knows it hurts to walk around a lot. I think I must have the best husband in the world and can't thank God enough that when it really matters- his character and Christ-likeness are proven as gold. I love you Scotty!!

Touch and Go

A doctor friend of ours wisely warned us that the road with Zion is going to be very long and things will be touch and go for a while. I think it's starting to sink in today after a very draining visit this morning when his doctor informed us that the leak they had thought was taken care of yesterday was back again. The doctor seemed stressed and tense and didn't help my emotional state at all. He said that if things didn't clear up this afternoon, they would need to do surgery tomorrow. I just had this overwhelming urge to scoop up my little boy and take him home. I don't want to see any more tubes inserted in his body. I don't want to hear that they had to sedate him to do yet another painful procedure. I don't want to wake up every morning wondering what else could possibly have happened to him in the night. I don't want to see his frail little body lying there unresponsive, thinking as I leave that it might be the last time I see him breathing. These were my terrible thoughts today and the whole time I held his little hand, I couldn't help thinking that we might never take him home. I don't have the peace today that I had yesterday and I can not bring myself to even pretend to think and believe in the best. I'm glad there is grace when our faith fails and I am praying for God to restore that faith to me now.

Day 6

Today we decided to take Natty up to the clinic with us and spend lunch time/nap time at the apartment of some friends who live a block away so that we could return after lunch to spend some more time with Zion. I keep remarking to Scotty how very quickly each day passes by! We wake up and spend some family time together in bed while drinking coffee, get ready (which can be a slow process for me as I'm still hurting from the surgery) and head up to the hospital to spend a half hour or so with our baby boy. Then back home for lunch, a nap for Natty and often for me too, and then back to the clinic for another short visit in the afternoon. Back home for dinner and bedtime. This is interspersed with pumping and storing milk every 2 hours or so. I might have the time for a conversation with a friend or relative back home and maybe to check email as well. The days are passing by so rapidly! I'm desperate to communicate more with people who are emailing and calling and wondering how they can help, but I just don't have the time or energy yet. So, when we arrived this morning, the doctor explained that the air leak that caused Zion's lung to collapse the first time has returned and it seems that no matter what they do, it's not going away. They had several surgeons look at him and a specific specialist who moved the tube around yesterday and managed to get the air out came back this morning and moved the tube to a new spot. The doctor explained that this is a serious issue and as long as the air remains, he will not be able to get better and it's the main thing they're focusing on now. We're praying that this new positioning will keep the air out for good and that the tube will soon be removed permanently. We'll find out the results of his lab tests tomorrow as far as the intestinal infection is concerned. We're also praying that it won't be as serious and dangerous as it can become. By the afternoon, the doctors were very happy with the lung issue taken care of and said he behaved much better today than yesterday- meaning there were fewer complications to keep them on their toes. They reminded me again of what a strong little guy he is and how much more medicine it takes to knock him out when he needs a painful procedure done than it does with other babies. That might not bode well when I'm trying to get him napping down the road...but I'll take it! Natty seems to enjoy seeing him, although she made the first comment that showed us that she was not fully OK with his condition when she pointed to his ventilator tube and repeated, "Take it out, Mommy. Take it out." She also asked a few times to bring baby Zion home. The cry of my heart, as well. I found that today was the first day that upon hearing difficult news and seeing the stress of the doctor, I didn't cave. The Lord sent some beautiful and strong verses through emails this morning and a peace that overcame the circumstances and kept me strong and hopeful in light of all that continues to plague our baby. I'd love to feel that way everyday! So, we close another day with hope and thankful for stability. We look forward to seeing what God does.

Clinic hopping

Sorry you're going to get all the pics first. Blogger has changed something and I can't seem to organize them around my text...

The virgin Mary and Jesus looking over me as I recovered from my C-section.

Right before surgery and the arrival of Zion. I look happy, but I'm not actually too thrilled this is all happening.

First day of a short-lived bed rest stay in my own home. Yes, that is Natty's bib. And, my bedpan...

Mommy and Natty are resting. Pretty sure I got a sponge bath this day so I'm looking pretty good. :)

The golden thumb in the entrance to the Garden Clinic.

The pool. Can't imagine it ever got warm enough to be used.

The reception desk. Used to be the bar and floating dance floor.

Natty entertains herself with videos.

Well, my slow days on bed rest before Zion came often brought the desire to blog, but because I had to have my feet up higher than my head, I found the angle very awkward for typing. So, I'll take the time now to give a little tour of clinics. We'll start with Talentum- the Garden Clinic. This lovely retreat is nestled between the major highway running through the south zone of La Paz (the part of town closest to us) and the road that leads up to Mallasilla. It was fantastically close to the house compared to most of the nice clinics in this city and boasted a beautiful yard, swimming pool and various plants, trees and flowers. The clinic actually used to be a home that is now converted into a plastic surgery site and is somewhat frequently used by my doctor, who has some type of friendship with the surgeon who owns the place, for her patients who need less medical care and more rest. Because my main purpose in those days was to be on my back, she decided that I should at least enjoy good care by the attentive and friendly nurses and a beautiful view out my sliding glass windows of the sky and the greenery. It was a godsend, to be sure. There was cable, there was wi-fi, there was a menu with steak!, there was the treat of seeing outside, and there were 2 nurses who worked hard to keep me comfortable all hours of the day and night. I also had an incredibly large bathroom, that I wasn't able to get up and enjoy, complete with walk-in closet, whirlpool tub, and large shower. The benefit of the place once being a home, I suppose. There were also 2, tasteful topless women framed in pictures hanging in front of my bed. I quickly got tired of them and decided they were not a part of the decor I wanted for my temporary residence. Nobody seemed to miss them when they were gone. Natty loved to come and walk out on my porch, play barefoot in the grass (which is a very rare luxury in this arid and cold city), pick up unripe plums that had fallen from the tree, stick her hands in the cold pool and watch videos. I had tons of visitors to make the time pass a little faster but constantly on my mind was the uncertain future of what would happen with my baby. Every other day seemed to bring a new scare, even after I had undergone the procedure to sew my cervix closed, the contractions returned and the days extended longer than originally planned. And yet, I was content to do whatever it took to keep that little boy inside. I even got excited about what little projects I might accomplish once I was home and able to sit up, knowing that I would not be off strict bed rest until the baby came. God's perfect plans were different however and my doctor continued to reassure me that those 9 days made a world of difference in Zion's growth and strength. I am so thankful for that.

So, after a wonderful day and a half of reclining in my own bed, I was back in the car headed to a new clinic- The Virgin of Asuncion. Here there was no menu, there were no attentive nurses, there was no outside view, there was no tub, there was just the very basics...but also what my doctor considers to be the best NICU unit. The rest of the clinic impressed me so little that I have a hard time believing her, but must trust because this is where my child must stay. At least our good friend is a doctor there and he actually pumped air for who knows how long into my baby's lungs when they collapsed.

So, there is a little tour of my life in La Paz clinics. How happy I am to be home!

A good day.

As much as I don't want to admit it to myself, I know that there will be good days and bad days in our journey with Zion. I want to think that because today was a good day, all will be well and nothing more serious will happen to our little boy. I really, really want to believe that. But, I know that the fact of the matter is that he will continue to pass through tests and so will we. But for today, I will rejoice. We called the doctor this morning to check in on our son- it seems that the major things he has experienced thus far were in the night. The doctor said he was very stable all night and no intervention was necessary. Oh, how I prayed for this! And then I actually got some milk when I pumped! Pumping with Natalie was always stressful because I never seemed to produce much and I wasn't looking forward to going back to this chore a recommended 8-10 times a day for Zion. However, I am grateful that my milk has come in without needing a medicinal push and that I'm actually making something that will help him get big and strong. Scotty and I enjoyed 45 minutes or so with Zion and he even gripped my hand and kicked his legs in response to our chitter-chatter and touch. The doctor told us his brain looks good, his blood tests are coming back very positive and that they have much hope that even though his situation is still critical, he is responding very well to the treatments they are doing and that he is a fighter. My son is a fighter! Scotty and I are such chill people that I never expected to have one of those children that could be labeled "fighter". But it makes me very happy. While Scotty was out trying to get a boot off our car, I had a lovely conversation with the nurse on duty. I was really hoping to get to know the nurses on staff and our doctors as well, realizing that they are the ones caring around the clock for Zion and making sure he is surviving. This was a perfect opportunity and as she asked questions about our lives, I found myself able to share my faith and what exactly we believe as expressed in the Bible. I found out that she also had a preemie baby, earlier and smaller than Zion, and can empathize with our trials. How neat to know that this woman who is caring for my son, was in my shoes a decade or so earlier! So, I returned home very content with my visit, hoping for more like it, and thankful for so many of you who have been praying and sending beautiful notes our way. This is definitely one way that God uses of sustaining us in these times and although I can't respond to you all, know that I am touched by each line we receive from you. And now, I am alone at home- Scotty off to see Zion and Natty playing at a neighbor's house. The windows are open, the skies are blue and I can rest. God, thank you for rest!

Zion Scott

It's hard to believe I'm back home while my baby is 30 minutes away, fighting to remain stable. My favorite part of the day at the clinic was when I could shuffle or be wheeled down to the elevator and ride a floor up into the neonatal nursery to see my son. I enjoyed the beeps of his monitors, assured that as long as I heard the rhythmic beeping, my son was still breathing. I liked to hear his doctor tell me that he was stable. I didn't like to hear him tell me (as he did several times) that he caused him suffering last night or made him age 10 years (when his lung collapsed). But I loved to wash my hands, warm them up under his heater and grab a tiny arm or leg and start talking to him. He's mostly sedated at this point and has a couple tubes coming out of his mouth and had one coming out of each side keeping air moving past his lungs. They usually have his eyes covered with some type of bandage and keep little cotton puffs on his feet to keep them warm. But, he's still adorable and one morning I was able to see his whole face uncovered and noticed immediately how much he looks like his daddy. I would talk to him about Natalie and the kitties and what we would do when he comes home. I would tell him to get strong fast and not to forget that when Mommy and Daddy aren't around, God is right there with him. I read him one of my new favorite Psalms (105) and sang "Jesus Loves Me" to him ("Little ones to Him belong; they are weak, but He is strong). I tried not to cry a lot. Today he seemed more responsive to our touch and voice, jerking his little arms or legs a bit when we would caress him. As much as I did not care for the clinic I was in, I would have happily stayed in his nursery room until he was ready to come out. We were distracted as we drove home today, so I didn't have much time to think about the fact that we were leaving our baby behind, but as soon as I got in the door and looked around, home just didn't feel right without Zion in it. I didn't know where to start. Since I was on bed rest for 9 days, and then recovering from a C-section for another 3, a shower sounded nice, but I couldn't manage to bring myself to do anything for a while but sit on the couch and stare into space. How could something so familiar and normal suddenly feel so out of whack? My thoughts keep drifting back to my little guy- his chest being forced up and down by a ventilator, his cute little perfect toes, his adorable nose being stretched a bit to one side from the tubes, his somewhat transparent skin. The last couple of weeks have definitely taught me how to pray and how to recollect my thoughts to the truths of who the Lord is when they start to wander to those dark places. Not one day has gone by where I haven't felt God's presence, even in the midst of despair, sadness, fear and pain. I know we have a long road ahead and even now I have a hard time trusting that our baby will be OK. I've read the Bible too much and known too many amazing Christian people who have gone through tragedy to believe that God's perfect plan is always the one we would choose for it to be. But, I continue to trust that He will sustain us, our son, our faith and prove Himself good. His promises are the only firm and unchanging things in my life.

Smog and Divine hair appointments

I just wanted to rant a bit about the smog issue here in La Paz. I know it's in a lot of other places too, but I find it annoying that even though there is a new law saying that vehicles older than 5 years can not be brought into the country, there is nothing in place to keep old, exhaust spewing other vehicles off the streets. The only road up to Mallasilla is a 2 lane, windy, uphill (one-way, obviously) road that many trucks travel as they are heading out to construction sites in this area. I would say that most days, without exaggerating, I get stuck behind a dump truck or a public transport bus or some guys old car that he can't afford to fix that bellows foul, lung polluting exhaust into my face. Sometimes I can pass these people, but a lot of times I am confined to my lane because there is oncoming traffic or a curve which blocks my view of oncoming traffic. I have to admit, in my desperation to breath and not get lung cancer, I have taken minor risks to get around these vehicles. And it's not just on this road but any that you travel in the city. Without emission laws and with most people choosing to spend their money on other things, a fair amount of vehicles on the road have this problem and I add that to my list of concerns for my children who will grow up breathing this in from day one. Just had to get that off my chest...

On a more positive note, Scotty has found a new hairdresser that he likes a lot. Because his hair grows so fast, he sees her somewhat frequently and several months ago, was able to invite her to church on a Sunday that he was preaching. She came with one of her daughters and then came to the next women's Bible study we had the following Friday. She's not always there, but she's come to several Bible studies and I decided to go see her yesterday to get my hair cut and keep up the budding relationship. She has a cute little place that is right off the main path I take to the market and only charges $3! I was able to ask how she likes the church and meet her older daughter who works with her and has a little girl Natty's age. She said she'll come to church this Sunday and I invited them both to be there for our 2 celebration services in October for the 3rd anniversary of IBM (wow!). It's so fun to see people who have such openness to spiritual things and I wonder if I might be able to get to know her daughter since we are close in age and both have little girls. I'm also thankful for a husband who is friendly and can talk to anybody!

Beach Saga: Part Dos

We left off with the heroes of our story wondering what would become of their short vacation time and powerless in La Paz. Well, the power came back on before the night was done and the next morning the same friendly neighbor calls to inform us that the border between Bolivia and Chile has opened! There is rejoicing in the house, but it's still a little too early to believe we might actually stand on the beach that evening. We set off with the little girls again, not so early this time, and are determined that things will go well with us. The border is quite a bit further along- around 4 hours or so from La Paz. When we make it, we go through the customary checks, throw out our fresh foods and go inside to pay our debts (again). We're informed and alarmed by our friends that we missed an important step in our crazy border hopping yesterday. Although we got stamped out of Bolivia after getting our vehicle approved, we didn't get stamped back in when we left after being turned away at the Peru side. Therefore, we'd have to be fined 300 B's each ($40+ dollars) plus whatever the normal fees are for leaving/entering the country. This trip is becoming expensive!! God worked mightily in our favor by causing the border controllers to be compassionate and understanding of our situation. They were able to bring down the fine and give us the stamp we needed. As our car was being checked by customs for contraband, an official Chilean lady came over to check on the car's papers. We handed her the notarized document, having been assured by several others the day before that it was what we needed to get across. From inside the car, Pauli and I see her shake her head "no" and demand something different. The boys rapidly explain that we did everything we were required to do and were approved on the Bolivian side. A few other officials came over and seemed to side with the lady. I start growing nervous and start praying more. Finally she calls her boss over, who looks like he's struggling with effects of the altitude (someone along the way thought it'd be funny to make the border between Chile and Bolivia at 15,500+ ft!), who quickly assures her what we have is sufficient. She was demanding a copy of what we had for her files (even though the other border yesterday would not accept a copy!), but there was no copy machine between the border and La Paz! Again, God worked and they finally allowed us through. Then there was much rejoicing, chocolate eating and praising God. Then about 3 1/2 more hours of driving...very windy, very bumpy, pot-hole-filled roads. It was painful and long and we just wanted to get there already. We finally did around 6:30, got out, took a quick bathroom break, were welcomed by very friendly hotel staff, shown our gorgeous apartment with beachside balconies, and off for a quick and chilly walk on the beach! September, apparently, is still not warm enough to do the kind of beach trip that I love. However, with a sweater and pants, Natty was warm enough to absolutely revel in her time in the sand and a bit in the waves with Daddy's help. She woke up every morning and from every afternoon nap requesting to "see the beach?". She was obsessed...just like Mommy. Every morning was cold and overcast, so we took mornings to do other chill beach activities like shopping. By lunch every day the sun burned off the clouds, I would head onto the balcony to read while Natty took a nap, and around 4 we would all head out with the girls to play in the sand and surf. They were relaxed days with fresh fish, cold breezes, beautiful water and fun. I am thankful for them, even though our beach time equaled our total car time- it was worth it. The girls enjoyed each other and we very much enjoyed Andrew and Pauli. I began to get nervous about the drive back after having experienced the state of the road on the way down and realizing that we climb over 15,000ft. in about 3 hours. For those of you who have never experienced that kind of altitude, it can bring on serious nausea, headaches, difficulty breathing and be quite dangerous for pregnant women because it leaves your body starved of O2. Our moms know this, so I'm not afraid to put that in here. :) I repeatedly sought the Lord in this and asked for the assurance that He gives that He would take care of us. We took the drive back slowly, stopping several times to stretch and eat and take oxygen from the small tank that has become a part of our family. And we made it to the border with no problems! And through the border with no problems!! Praise God for that! The girls were exhausted the whole time and either dozed or watched the little DVD player we had hooked up between the front two seats and we were home in 9 hours. So, there ends the beach saga. It was a learning experience in travelling 3rd world style and also a great time of rest with our friends. I am grateful for God for taking care of us in all of it.

Beach Saga: Part One

We've just returned from Arica, Chile and I've had a blog burning in my skull since day one. We woke up around 5am in order to beat the truck traffic on the highway from Bolivia to Chile and as we were pulling out of the house around 7am, our neighbor stuck her head out the window to inform us that the border was being blockaded and no one would be able to pass through. Bummer! This was not a good start for our trip. We quickly changed plans and realized we'd have to figure out how to get to the Peruvian border and would then cross through Peru and enter Chile on that side. We had the pleasure of traveling with our friends Andrew and Paulina and their 2 year-old daughter, Lily. So, the 2 girls were strapped into the middle seat of the truck we had borrowed from a friend, the ladies were in the back, and the boys were navigating up front. It took about 3 or so hours to make it to the border, driving through the beautiful Andean plain at 14,000 ft. There was a moderate line at customs, but we began the process of filling out papers, showing documents, paying fees to leave the country, etc. The girls were doing well, but the pregnant moms (did I forget to mention Pauli is 7 months pregnant and I am 6?) squeezed into the back were already slightly uncomfortable after several hours of driving and suffering from small bladders. After going through most of what we needed to do, we headed to a separate building where we would get clearance for the car to go through. Scotty presented the paper that Andy, the owner of the car, had typed up and signed giving his permission for us to leave the country with his car. That was not acceptable, however. We were told it needed to be done by a notary and that we'd have to go back to La Paz. No. This can't be happening. We've come this far! We rack our brains with ideas from having him fax us a notarized copy (is there a fax machine in this tiny border town?) to finding a notary there who might be willing to give us the official stamp. They don't accept faxes or copies and there was no notary from the border to La Paz- NO ONE. After becoming very discouraged we come up with the plan of sending Scotty back to town by taxi, which would be faster, and leaving the 5 of us to eat, rest and wait. Scotty immediately finds a taxi and takes off. We start looking for a road out of town that will give us a more scenic spot to eat lunch. As we're turning around, we see Scotty coming back up the street shaking his head. He's talked with Andy who can't get free until later in the afternoon and who also reminded him that we probably won't find an office open until after 3, which was a bit later than we'd be arriving. We decide we'll all go back to La Paz and wait as long as it takes. I'll shorten this bit and just say we made it back, found an open and willing notary, got Andy to meet us and had the official sheet of paper that we're told will get us through any border in about 2 hours of waiting and $40 later. Now, back to the border. We're praying and hoping and have realized that we'll only be able to make it into Peru but won't get to the Chilean border early enough to cross (borders close around 7pm). We'll stay in a border town for the night and go for it in the morning. We informed our travel agent who called our hotel and let them know, who also informed me that there's no way they'd bump up our reservations and let us extend without cost for the 4th night we had already paid for. "No hotel in the world would do that", our friendly travel guide replied to my plea. We make it to the border, get cleared with the Bolivian side, rejoice and head on to the Peruvian checks. We're shortly informed that Peru doesn't have any agreements with Bolivia and will not accept our notarized document and there's nothing they can do. Again, I go into denial. We've come and gone and come and the Bolivian customs told us this was what was necessary! We quickly realize they knew all along that Peru would not accept it, but were just doing what they needed to do on their side. Apparently, Peruvian customs turns people back all the time for trying to drive borrowed vehicles into the country. We are beside ourselves and all of us near tears or already crying. Pauli and I decide we'll go in, looking very pregnant, and maybe take a crying toddler. We've been in the car all day and we're being told we can't get through. We know we're losing a night in the hotel. We're upset. We plead, we throw the pregnant and toddlers card- all to no avail. Before we know it, we're back on the road, going home. I can't remember when I've been so disappointed. We decide to regroup when we get home and pray that the border between Bolivia and Chile is open in the morning and try that route. And wouldn't you know that when we get here, there's a black-out and we have no power?? Perfect. However, Andrew whips up a nice spaghetti dinner for our hungry bellies and tired souls (gas stove) and we all crash bewildered and wondering how we'll make it to the beach and if it's worth putting ourselves through another entire day of driving (we were 14 hours in the car on Monday) on Tuesday. To be continued...

Jehovah's witnesses

I headed up into town this morning after my swim for my monthly prenatal check-up. Today was the first day in a long time that it's started out bright and shiny with no clouds in the sky. I was totally loving being squished in the back of a taxi trufi with 2 large men, cause I got the window seat and had the sun on my face and wind in my hair. I arrived about 40 minutes before my appointment was scheduled so I walked up to a large plaza to sit on a bench in the sun and to pray. Shortly into my moment of silence, an older, nicely-dressed woman walks over and asks if she can read some scripture to me. I informed her that I was a Christian and she said that was fine and she'd like to read the scripture anyway. I said that'd be great and she opened to Isaiah to read about the faithfulness of God and about His watchcare over us. I felt like the Holy Spirit was using her to speak truth directly into my soul and was grateful to hear God's word spoken to me. I asked her at one point if she spent her days witnessing to people in the plaza and she said she is usually with a group but they hadn't shown up yet. I asked her if they were from a particular church and she answered they were Jehovah's witnesses. Ah! I should have known. There are tons of those guys around here and they often knock on our door on Saturday mornings. She explained that the one difference they have from Christians is that they don't believe in the unity of the trinity. God comes in 3 different forms and is, in fact, 3 different gods. I asked her about the verse that says "The Lord your God, the Lord is one." As that verse sprang to mind, I prayed that I would remember where it was found. I couldn't. Then we looked at John 1 and she showed me from her Bible where it says, "...the Word was with God and the Word was a god." What?? Is this a Bible that only Jehovah's witnesses use? I ask. "Oh, no", she assures me, "There is only one word of God". Yes, but I promise my Word says something different- namely, "The Word was God." Uno. One God. I had already decided I wasn't going to get into a theological debate with her. So, I explained I had a doctor's appointment I needed to get to and that I believe the mystery of the trinity is that the 3 persons of the trinity are one God and that the only way to Him is through Christ. She thanked me for listening and I left praying for her eyes to be opened to the truth. I was impressed by 2 things by this JW: one, she knew her scripture, probably better than I. I couldn't remember where the key verse was that states that the Lord is one. Two, she was out walking up to strangers in order to share scripture with them and convince them of what she is convicted of. She probably does this frequently. How often do I do this? Even with people who aren't strangers? Very challenging...

Then I had a fantastic visit with my obstetrician. Every time I see her I am so thankful that we have found her and wish it could have been that she was our doctor with Natty. Her line of thinking is so much more natural than anyone else I have talked to here and I feel so confident that, barring some unforeseen medical problem, I'll be able to have a VBAC with this baby. Hooray for good doctors!

Week(s) in review

Natty and I have been spending A LOT of time together lately. The week before last she was very sick. It was one of the hardest weeks I've had in a long time. She had continual high fevers and no particular symptoms to help us figure out what was causing them. She lived on tylenol andor ibuprofen for a week, which I didn't love, and then had to take antibiotics for a week as well. There were many things that happened in that week that reminded me that God is good, He is in control and He cares for us. When Natty spiked the highest fever, I was able to call my pediatrician on her cell phone at almost midnight. She talked me through what course of action we should take and for the next few days took at least two calls a day from me on her cell, checked in on Natty herself, made a make-shift office for her in a beautician's salon when she was working another job that kept her out of her own office, and was extremely loving and concerned through the whole process. She apologized repeatedly for not being in her office and for having to do so much on the fly. I tried to explain to her without crying (stress + pregnancy hormones= lots of crying) how grateful I was that she was helping us so much and going out of her way, even interrupting a busy, second job, to see us. Scotty was able to help me continually throughout the week. I was able to stay home with her all day, every day without needing to be anywhere, or could leave her with our house help if I had to leave. AND, she was better enough for us to go out on Friday night to celebrate our 5th anniversary. So, God was so good in all that. And, she started recovering relatively quickly after we got her on antibiotics. However, I still fought fear and sadness constantly! I felt like I prayed constantly as well, but did not experience the peace that I really needed from the Lord. I don't attribute this to anything but my own lack of faith. It was a real eye-opener to me to realize how little faith I have when it really matters and was reminded often of a Beth Moore study we are doing with our ladies in the church. It talks about experiencing God's presence and peace and that coming through a myriad of things, one of which is believing Him to be who He says He is and believing that He'll do what He says He will do. I had a hard time with that but was happily challenged to keep trying and ask for His spirit to help my unbelief. I am praising God that Natty is totally well and making up for a week of not eating by eating constantly. And, I am praying that the whole thing has made me a bit more firm in the Lord.

So, since I was home all week the sick week, last week was a whirlwind of visitors and dinners and out of town guests. It was fun, but this house saw more traffic than it has for a while. It made me feel good to be so useful to people, or just involved relationally, but I don't think I could keep that pace every week. On Thursday we had a wonderful couple come in who have been missionaries in Alaska, Canada and India for over 30 years. They are my parents age but I think they are younger at heart than me or Scotty or a whole lot of other people I know. They also have a passion for people, the Lord, and relationships that is challenging and infectious. They will be coming to Bolivia long-term- they're just not sure where yet. Our whole team is rooting for them to settle here and Natty has found another set of grandparents in them. They took to her quickly and she was playing only with them whenever they were in the house. It's a blessing when God brings people like that into your life, especially when you are far from family, and I think we all could learn a lot from their intense desire for relationship and evangelism. I'm happy, however, for a quiet Sunday afternoon to reflect on the week and take a deep breath. I think this week will be somewhat busy again and then the following week we're going to Arica, Chile to chill on the beach for 4 days- woohoo!!

Writing styles

I've noticed in the last year a couple new styles of writing. Sometimes I wonder if a pamphlet goes around the US to inform all the cool people that they should start writing this way and because I live in Bolivia, I didn't get the memo. Then, I think it's probably cause we are so all interconnected on Facebook that the trend catches on. So, this is what I've noticed:

1. Addressing a letter to an inanimate object:

Dear maternity pants,

You looked so nice when I first tried you on but after an hour or so, I found the bum sagging and lots of loose fabric around my thighs. As if losing my waist and gaining a bulging belly were not unsightly enough, now I have to look as though I have nothing to fill out the back of my pants with. How much more weight do I need to gain in my rear before you will conform?

Sincerely,

Unattractive in baggy pants

2. Addressing the weather:

Dear La Paz winter,

I think you have done your job quite suitably and I would cordially invite you to move on. We have welcomed you into the home with gas heaters and heavy winter jackets. We have willingly added an extra comforter to our bed and frozen our tooshies on the toilet seat each morning. We have even canceled school for a few weeks so that our children don't freeze to their school desks. But we feel the sun getting stronger and now we ask you leave. Please don't bring your arctic friends with you next year.

Sincerely,

Tired of being cold

3. Empahsis

With periods. So. Many. Periods.

Well, just a little observation. I find it fascinating.

To school or not to school.

So, I picked up a friend this morning who was dropping off her kid at Montessori. She asked me if I wanted to come in and have a look around. Since we've considered putting Natty in a school for a few mornings a week in another 6 months or so, I thought I'd check it out. So pretty! I got the full tour and a lot of explanation about what Montessori is and how it works. The director and staff seem very competent and I think Natty would love the activities and I would love for her to have a chance for more social and Spanish interaction. I was almost sold as I walked out the door. Then I started thinking about the fact that she'd be barely two by the time we put her in. Is that too young? I firmly believe that there is nothing like a child being with their parents at this age and that it is a blessing for me to be able to take care of her. However, she's pretty isolated in the house as an only child and we really don't have a ton of opportunities to play with other kids. But, I also don't want her to grow independent too fast or to somehow be negatively affected by being dropped off 3 mornings a week somewhere away from home. I'm a bit at a loss about the decision and know I need to take some time to pray and seek counsel. Unfortunately, like every decision I have to make, I want to have the answer right away... I'd love some imput!

The pool and driver's licenses.

Many of you ask or think, "what does a typical day look like in the life of Scotty and Lisa?". I can't actually answer that questions very concisely, but I can tell you about two things that happened the other day. Be forewarned: this is a long post. One, the pool. This actually happens a couple times a week, if things go according to plan. We've joined a club that has a lap pool and a small, kiddy pool that Natty loves. I'm swimming for exercise, as it's one of the best exercises you can do while pregnant, and I love to stay in shape. I try to go early in the morning, when only one or two other people are there. It's COLD this early in the morning. As I get out of my car and trek across the grass lawn (yay, grass!) toward the lockers, I wonder how I'm going to be warmer by taking off most of what I'm wearing. I look toward the large, glass enclosure that holds my destination and if it's totally fogged up, we're in business. One time the glass didn't have much condensation on it and I realized it meant that the air temperature inside the pool area was too close to the air temperature outside the pool area. That was a chilly swim. I grab a key off the board and wonder if the guy who is supposed to be there checking people in ever gets annoyed that I take a key without waiting for him to return. I like #62- it's a high locker for tall ladies and is toward the back of the locker room, where no one can see if they walk by the doorway that is only covered by a flimsy curtain. After donning my suit, my robe, my flip flops (pink, Brazilian, plastic ones I bought in the market for $3) and my swim cap (brightly colored one we payed way too much for at the other pool for almost $9)- I slide the squeaky glass door open and walk into the wonderland of chlorine and warmth. I love how quiet it is. I love that the sun is not up far enough yet to make it blindingly bright in there like it is later in the day. I love that I can slip into the water without feeling the slightest bit of chilly discomfort. I begin my laps, slowly, since I can't ever seem to get enough oxygen these days- between living in an altitude of 12,000ft. and having another being sharing the O2 in my body. I have a routine of a few swim styles that I repeat over and over and almost immediately, I don't notice if there's anyone around me. I only hear the water swishing in my ears and the sound of my own breathing. I only see the tile pattern on the floor, the clear water under the surface or the lines on the roof that I follow when I'm backstroking so that I don't accidentally wander into another lane. And when I'm done, my whole body feels good and refreshed. I take a quick, warm shower, dry my hair and can usually shed a layer as I return back to the car.

Something else that happened the other day, but we will not be making a habit of, was a trip to Transito. Transito is where you go to do anything related to driver's licenses or getting boots taken off your car. It is dark, dingy, old (think loose stair boards and exposed wood under the flooring), and always swarming with people who either seem to be needing to go somewhere very quickly or who have fallen into a trance as they wait for their name to be called. Scotty and I had to renew our licenses because they only last as long as our visas, which were invalid after we left the country for more than 90 days last year. It has taken us this long to get our new visas (of one year), our ID cards (also of one year) and now, with our ID cards, we can get our new driver's licenses....of one year. If you do the math, we came back in January, which means we have 5 more months of all of this stuff being valid before we have to do it all again. Hooray. So, we get in the "M" line and wait for someone to show up. I notice a large poster of a naked woman on the wall behind the counter and am disgusted, again, by how common and acceptable that is in places of business. A lady finally comes and takes our old licenses and tells us to sit down- they'll call our name. I find a seat and squeeze in amongst the masses. 10 minutes later she calls us and we jump up to find she just wants our ID cards. Sit, our names will be called. 10 minutes later (and things are actually moving quickly, relatively) and our names are called again. This time Scotty goes and says he will be back- needs to make 3 copies of something or other. He leaves, comes back, waits in line, hands over the something or other and its copies. Then he's told he needs to go do a few other things and pay something in a bank. Out he goes. I sit, reading the manual in case we need to take a driver's test and trying to figure out what the latest news is on TV. I notice the signs warning against giving in to corruption and bribes. Ironic. He returns and we both go to get in line at the medical check room. Up and over to a different section of the building. Swarms of people. Waiting in line. Fill out a form, sign it, pay some more money. Back in the same line to wait for a free dr. After a few mins, the dr. closes the door and tells us to take advantage of getting our pics taken. We beg to go in "real quick" for our check. Come back he says with a smile while the other lady "shuushes" Scotty for talking too loud while she's trying to hear her patient. We go get in another line for pics. Sit in a chair and don't smile (they don't like that) for the pic and pay some more money. Go back to get into the other line for the dr. Look in the window and see the 2 doctors are eating snacks and drinking coke. It is almost lunch time... Wait a bit longer and the door opens. Some older men block the way even when the dr. has waved me back- they were here first but they are behind me in the process. I squeeze past saying, "excuse me, they've called me back" and try not to look into their eyes of disbelief that this foreign lady is moving in before them. Friendly chat with the dr., give him my address, read a line of letters from the eye machine, pass, leave. Now time to go upstairs. Walk up the creaky, windy stairs, and find a small room with a small window that opens into a small room where the filing cabinets are kept (no digital info here). Lots of people waiting in front of that window. We push past, hand over our papers, pay some more money and are told we can come back in the afternoon to do some more stuff. Phew! Go downstairs and pick up our pics- I don't look too mad this time. I leave and go on a wild hunt in a taxi for the car while Scotty goes to pick up his motorcycle that has come in on a bus that morning. Traffic is terrible and it takes at least an hour to get home after leaving Transito. I eat lunch with our househelp and her daughter (she made curry while we were away- I love her.) and Scotty gets back an hour later. We rest, we wake up Natty, we make the journey downtown again- which includes driving up into town, parking, getting in a taxi and driving another 15 mins or so to Transito. We go back upstairs to pick up our things from the archive guys. I see some of the same people who were there this morning. We wait. Someone official looking finally comes out and reads off names. Scott David...Lisa Marie. Got 'em! We go downstairs and get back in the "M" line- give them all our paperwork and are told we can come back the next day for our license- yippee! It did take all day, but I can't believe how smoothly it went! Seriously- miraculously smooth. We walk down the prado until we get to the S.O.S. donut shop across from the university. It's a hole with one glass counter and an old-school cash register that has a couple types of donut. There's a line. We both get classic glazed and it almost tastes like Krispy Kreme. Seriously, best donuts I've had in Bolivia. We learned the next morning that our donut celebration was a bit premature...apparently, when Scotty returned to Transito to pick up our hard-earned licenses, they informed us that we hadn't taken the picture that would actually be on the license (the ones we took were just for the records). Maybe they could have told us that when we turned in all our stuff. To be continued...