Still Existing

I haven't posted in several weeks.  Since before Memorial Day.  That's because on Memorial Day weekend, my husband and I found out we were pregnant.  I figured if I posted anything, I would accidentally spill the beans.  Better safe than sorry....

And today, I am 17 weeks, 3 days into my gestational adventure.  And an adventure, it has been.  When I created this blog, I wrote that life typically does not follow my plans.  I just have to "live it out."  And this pregnancy has been no different.....nothing has gone according to plan.  The first 12 weeks of pregnancy were glorious.  No morning sickness or hormonal outrages, and minimal fatigue.  Then week 13 came along.  Morning sickness?  Not exactly.  I was sick all day, every day.  I lost 10 pounds in my fourth month of pregnancy.  I assumed this wasn't normal, so I called my OB, who scheduled a 15 week ultrasound, just to check things out.

During the ultrasound, the doctor found several problems with the baby my husband I affectionately refer to as "Penny."  (No, that will not be the legal name.)  The most frightening of these problems was the severe dilation of the third brain ventricle.  Along with all the other problems presented, the doctor still isn't sure Penny's diagnosis (yet to be given) will be compatible with life.

I am still confused and scared and sad.  We can only wait and wonder.  I had been waiting and wondering for two weeks when another unplanned even came along.    I awoke from a nap bleeding severely.  I was convinced I was having a mid-term miscarriage, so my husband drove me to the ER.    Much to my amazement, the nurse found a fetal heartbeat right away.  An ultrasound also confirmed the baby was active and well.  Through all this, Penny has been a tiny little fighter!  I'm currently on light bed rest, awaiting an appointment with my OB next week.  I am still waiting, and wondering, and existing.

I friend and mentor of mine recently gave me an word of encouragement.  She reminded me of the Bible verse in Psalm 139 that explains how we are knit together in our mother's womb.  Now, I'm not much of a knitter.  I've never actually knitted anything in my entire life.  But my friend explained that in knitting, mistakes are often made.  And that if a mistake is made, all you have to do is unravel the mistake, and start over.  She (and I) are praying that this baby is being slightly unraveled, and that a few imperfections are being made perfect again by the Great Craftsman.  And, until then, I can't wait to see what he is knitting.   No matter what it appears to be, I must remember that it will be a perfect fit for me.

The Gardener

The great thing about being the sole groundskeeper to a forty-acre campus is that I spend a lot of time alone...time that I use to listen to what God has to say to me.

A few weeks ago, my pastor spoke about the necessity of pruning....a very basic sermon; one that, as a horticulturist, I tend to 'zone out' during because I know all the parallels pruning presents to our spiritual lives.  Get the bad stuff out, let in the light....yada yada yada.

But this week, I spent several hours pruning a few dozen overgrown rose bushes.  Since I know what a rose bush is 'supposed' to look like, I know that these particular specimens were in dire need of a hard pruning.  I know that.  I'm the gardener.  I'm the one who's responsible.  I'm the one who looks at these plants every single day, seeing how they look from afar, and from close-up. But last summer, do you know what people were saying about these rose bushes?   The residents and employees were raving about how beautiful the roses were, and how they had so many blooms.  These were all true assessments.  But these compliments all came in the middle of the summer, when the leaves and blooms camouflaged the inner structure of the plants.  I knew that winter would come, and the leaves would fall off, and then I could visualize what needed to be done.

So last week, I dug in.  I started cutting away at some of these 'beautiful' roses.  Only to find that under the beautiful, fruitful exterior was a framework that was riddled with death and deformation.  Instead of being vigorous and healthy, I found lots of brittle dead branches and many healthy ones that were fighting for light and air.

Cutting out the dead part is the obvious thing to do.  Even a 'non-gardener' could figure that out.  A good gardener knows when it's necessary to cut out some of the good parts.  Two good branches will cross one another, rubbing away the tender new flesh, which leads to disease of the entire plant.  And sometimes a branch is growing and flowering, but it's growing in the wrong direction.  As a gardener, I must analyze which of the branches to cut, and which to leave.

Getting the bad stuff out of my life is the no-brainer.  Sinful, indulgent, undisciplined behavior has no place in the life of a Christ follower.  But what about all the good stuff?  What about the stuff that looks beautiful...  the stuff that has lots of blooms  ....  the stuff that everyone is complimenting?  I have to leave all of those things to the Gardener.  Because the Gardener sees the big picture.  He sees if one good thing is suffocating another.  He knows which good things should stay, and which ones should be cut out.  And I must remember that in the spring, I'll be a healthier, more fruitful plant if I let the Gardener do His job.

Deletable

     I currently work at a retirement community.  There are about 200 residents, all over 65 years old.  When a resident moves to into the community, they are given an 'emergency pendant.'  This pendant is wired so that, if pressed, it will transmit a signal so that the proper personnel can attend to the emergency.  I am responsible for programming these pendants, making sure they work properly, and updating information into our main computer.

     When a resident moves into a facility with a higher level of care or (more often) passes away, their name must be deleted from the system, and the old pendant is reset for the next resident who may use it.  Last week, it made me unbelievably sad to 'delete' a resident.  This particular resident was never married, had no children, and was old enough (93-years old) that all her friends had passed away before her.  Nieces and nephews came in the day after she passed and threw away most of her belongings, taking only things that they could utilize.  Nothing seemed to be sentimental to them.  They were only acting as a clean-up crew.  After the 'family' was finished, they gave me her emergency pendant.  I logged onto the main computer, selected the resident's name, and hit delete.  Finished.

    The scenario made me sad.  And then it made me think. When I'm 92, or 72, or 32, I don't want to be deletable.  I want to make an impact on someone or something that can't be erased.  I want to exist beyond death.  My Christian faith screams that I should be making a bigger impact in the name of Jesus.  My philanthropic heart tugs inside me, nudging me to adopt an orphan or mentor a delinquent. My aspiring intellectual brain tells me I should contribute to medicine or science, or some other worthy cause.  It doesn't really matter what the effect is.  It just matters that I do some affecting.  That I etch my name onto this planet in some way, shape, or form.  Because I don't want to be deleted when I'm gone.