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Tanara McCauley

~ Love Knows Color

Tanara McCauley

Tag Archives: parenting

Beautiful

24 Saturday Sep 2016

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

accountability, beautiful children, Bible, Christ, Christian, destiny, encouragement, faith, flowers, God, holiness, inspiration, Jesus, lilac, obedience, parenting, perseverance, psalms, purpose, relationships, son, sun

flowers

A woman had a dream.

She walked for miles through fields and deserts, grasslands and marshes, following the sun. It warmed her face and shined in her eyes, making her squint as she journeyed.

She pushed aside tall stalks of wheat, trudged through wet sand. Her thighs strained up steep mountainsides. In every place the sun led her past countless people. At the river they fished and washed. On the plains they shepherded. In the cities they bustled. Each of them backs turned and busy.

All but the deformed ones.

Every face she saw was contorted in some way. Young and old, from snow-white skin to complexions of polished sable.

They looked at her as she approached, then beyond her as she passed.

Hope. Relief. Joy. These emotions changed their dull expressions at sight of the invisible presence behind her, but each time she turned for a glimpse of who or what moved them so, she saw nothing.

Then she reached the end of her journey.

She stood at the edge of a cliff overhanging the ocean. The waves danced and bellowed beneath her. She could feel the spray dust her face and settle in her hair, smell the water tinged with the scent of marine life.

She breathed deep, and the cool air coursed through her like a live thing. She gasped and fell to her knees, her body radiating inside as the sun beamed overhead. It rose higher, calming the waves as its rays stretched across the sea. The same stillness settled over her.

She turned. The deformed ones had followed. They gathered around a young man dressed in white, their excited chatter floating through the air like feather-light laughter. Something about the man struck her as familiar. His hands glowed. Beautiful. He reached out to each face, his touch healing and drying heavy tears.

Then on they went, one by one, faces lifted like blooming flowers, into the brilliance of the sun.

The man faced the woman, and she woke with a start.

Her husband sat next to her in bed, mouth gaped, eyes on her. “You won’t believe the dream I just had,” he said.

Their son rushed in, his five-year-old legs pumping, and landed between them. “Jesus touched my hands, Mommy. So I could touch the people.”

Heat spread across her chest, as if the sun from her dream hovered over her heart. She wrote these things on lilac-scented stationery and tucked it in her Bible.

Her son grew and finished his schooling. His mother came to the graduation, her husband with her in spirit. She had fished out the stationery for the occasion, held it gently between her fingers, the faint scent of lilac still present on the worn paper.

He laughed when he saw it. Surely she didn’t expect him to follow through on a dream nearly two decades old. His name was already renowned in circles, his future wealth guaranteed, the likes of which he couldn’t achieve if he didn’t choose his own path.

Stunned, she opened her mouth, but the accusing stares of his colleagues silenced her. She tried to remember the dream, how vivid it had been, how real. She wanted to convince her son of the urgency of his purpose. But like the scent on the paper, the dream had faded. The faces had wilted to a silvery blur in her memory. “But Jesus…”

He shook his head. She looked at her boy, into those bright brown eyes that shined with defiance yet yearned for her approval. Not wanting to push him away, she shunned instead the unsettling stir in her heart. She crumpled the paper. “Do what makes you happy, son.”

After he hugged her, he and his colleagues stood among throngs of people that had appeared from nowhere. A deafening rip sounded from the ground and a great chasm opened the earth. The woman stumbled toward the edge but someone caught her from behind. She looked and saw her husband there, his face grave as he gazed past her to where their son stood on the other side.

The young face that had just beamed with triumph and promise now twisted in fear. Her boy.

A bitter cold knifed through the woman’s heart, even as the light of the sun fell so that particles in the air glittered like diamonds.

A voice cried out, “Oh, worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness! Tremble before Him, all the earth.”

The woman fell to her knees. The light increased around her like the touch of a soft blanket. He said her name, and she knew His voice. She lifted her head, but could not bring herself to look past the feet of bronze.

His hand touched her face, and she woke with a start.

Her husband sat next to her in bed, his eyes red and watery. “You dreamt it too,” he said.

Their son rushed in, his five-year-old legs pumping, and landed between them. “Jesus touched my hands, Mommy. So I could touch the people.” His little nose wrinkled. “He said I had to become beautiful first, so I don’t forget. But boys can’t be beautiful!”

Oh, worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness! Tremble before Him, all the earth.

The words filled the woman’s chest, like a whisper sparking a flame. Her husband pulled her close, and moved their son so that he sat on both of their laps. “Yes they can, son,” he said. “In their hearts and before God they can. We’ll teach you, both of us.”

Her husband looked at her. His eyes a letter of deep love, of memories and laughter and tears and forgiveness. Of peace. Of resolve.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“We’ll both teach you,” he repeated. “And when you forget, Mommy will never let you be okay with it. We love you too much.”

The boy mimicked his father. He grabbed her hand with his small one and planted his soft, wet lips on her skin. His fingers thin and nimble. His bright brown eyes shining. His heart soft and open, like soil for blooming flowers.

Beautiful.

 

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The Cookie Jar

07 Wednesday Oct 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

academics, achievement, amreading, amwriting, author, baking, books, calling, children, Christ, college, cookies, faith, family, galletas, Mom, parenting, passion, priorities, purpose, pursuit, relationships, student, success, writer


“A cookie jar, though beautiful, will always disappoint if found empty.”

My cookie jar is empty.

It’s seen a batch or two–maybe–in the months since I returned home from Mount Hermon’s Christian Writers Conference; but for the most part it’s been unoccupied. Relieved of duty. Free of tenants.

And for a while I blamed my husband.

See, we had a plan. As you probably know from a previous post, my youngest daughter started kindergarten this year, freeing up my afternoons. And according to the plan I would take the first year to write full time with keys blazing and submissions flying.

But somehow in my short, five-day conference absence the plan changed. Just up and flew away somewhere. Out there. Over the rainbow. And in its place: “You need to finish your degree.”

Say wha?

My arguments against this new scheme raged vehement. Very artistic and author-ish too. Something about sensible suits and academic labels, the futility of human standards of achievement, the colors of my creative mind fading…you get the picture. When that failed I took the practical financial approach.

Nothing worked. God has a new plan, saith my husband, and a degree for the missus therein lies.

Well alrighty then, Misters.

That was six months ago. I saw evidence of God’s hand in the orchestration, including a ripple effect in other areas. Then I discovered I could finish much earlier than expected. I snatched that baton and sprinted off with it. On top of that aim I added honor student. And because a writer must always be reading and writing I made sure to check those boxes too. Super productive. No time for baking cookies.

I felt very much like degree people feel. Accomplished. Potentially important. But in what way? And to whom?

The answers came when my son returned home one night from Awana with a list of two things he wanted to do better. One of them read:

Leave Mommy alone when she’s doing homework.

SLAYED.

Reading those words made me consider how many times I’ve said them in the past six months, and how many times I haven’t played Terraria with my son, or done Zumba with the girls, or watched My Little Pony, or baked the weekend’s cookies; all because I’d immersed myself in God’s plan–stretching it into something self-serving–instead of remaining immersed in God who keeps my priorities straight.

My kids are awesome little people. I’m proud of them. And if I graduated summa cum laude and became a bestselling author whose books hit the big screen they’d be proud of me too. And all of it would be a pretty package to behold.

But if the intimacy is not there, if I don’t remain a present, attentive mother who knows them and is known by them–who keeps school and writing and whatever else comes up out of family time–then what we’re headed for is no better than an empty cookie jar.

And that will never be a part of God’s plan.

My jar is still empty, but now it’s only because the cookies are cooling.

Your turn: Have you ever found yourself running ahead (or away) from what God’s doing in your life?

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Kids Cook Fridays

22 Friday May 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

chef, children, cookbooks, cooking, culinary, dinner, family, friday, parenting, recipes, ree drummond, relationships, TGIF, weekend plans

Fridays have always been a population favorite. They end the work and school week, usher in vacations (or holidays, for my European friends), and offer much-needed breaks. Even the most disagreeable chime in on the popular consensus of Friday’s arrival…ahh.

In my home, we issue up a hearty “Mmmm” as well. Because that’s when the kids get to cook.

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And I’m not talking peanut butter sandwiches or ramen noodles either. During the week, they pick a recipe based on what we have on hand, get a $20 budget for any missing ingredients, and take over the kitchen stove, kitchen counters, and the kitchen sink. (I clean up after myself when I cook, so can they :-).)

My son, who’s not as fond of this routine as his sister… 008
…tends to go for the more practical selections. Whatever can be thrown in one dish and cooked together is a first choice for him.

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My daughter, on the other hand, has to be scaled back now and then. Otherwise it’d be ten-course meals with drink pairings and a selection of desserts. This is what her table looks like on her nights:

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And if we have guests, she completes the scene with a towel draped elegantly over her arm, serves and refills drinks individually, and personally makes rounds about the table to dish out seconds. Top Chef, thank you.

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Though cookbooks for kids have easy to make dishes, many of them include ingredients that aren’t always the healthiest. So I prefer recipes from sites such as allrecipes.com, or cookbooks such as Ree Drummond’s The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Recipes From an Accidental Country Girl. Here comes Mathias’ version of Ree’s braised beef brisket:

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These nights are fun, but they’re not always easy. It takes longer for the twins to follow a recipe than it would if I were to cook. And the cleanup can sometimes take a military turn. But in the end, they’re learning to accept more responsibility as they get older, and I see them glow when they receive praise for a well-cooked meal.

And should we eat out on a Friday, the chef of the evening gets to choose the restaurant.

All-in-all, we enjoy this family tradition, as it gives additional meaning to the phrase, “Thank God it’s Friday!”

Your turn: What are some family activities or traditions you keep in your household?

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Thanks, Mom

09 Saturday May 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

dance like no one is watching, family, gratitude, holiday, inspiration, love, Mom, Mother's Day, parenting, relationships, thanks, Zumba

I blog sporadically for Compassion Ministries, an organization that makes it possible for my family to sponsor three children from different countries.

In honor of Mother’s Day, this week’s Compassion blogging prompt is to write an open letter to my mom. I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to publicly praise her, despite her love for privacy.

So…

Dear Mom,

When it comes to how wonderful you are, I probably tell other people more than I tell you. That I love you is no secret. But what I love about you I rarely take the time to articulate.

I think you’re beautiful. You carry yourself with such grace and dignity it’s almost regal. And your taste in jewelry is adorable.

I’m amazed that you had us three girls back to back…

IMG_1328

…and finally the boy…

FullSizeRender

…yet you remained ever gentle and patient. And you were always there.

Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Snacks of fruit and veggies. Phone curfews and friend interviews. You cared enough to take the time.

Your “no” meant “no” and your “yes” meant “yes.”

I never liked those fish mackerel patties. But no one’s perfect. You are forgiven.

You were never afraid to sing off-key and dance with us, even if you didn’t know the latest moves.

(I was going to post the Zumba picture here, but I can’t have you killing me :-).)

Your smile is contagious…

momndad

…as is your sense of adventure.

IMG_8776

And while being your daughter is its own blessing, having you as the grandmother of my children is like honey straight from the comb. It takes a special grandma to help her granddaughter plant a watermelon, then turn around and mail it once it’s ripened.

watermelon

Your integrity and authenticity, your unwillingness to speak evil of anyone, your work ethic, your joy, your heart…

I love and admire you. We all do.2014-12-28-McCauleyMcCauleys-4

For all you’ve done, all you do, and who you are…

Thank you.

Happy Mother’s Day

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Be “Hoo” You Are

24 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Christ, Christianity, conformity, early bird, faith, fitting in, God, motherhood, night owl, parenting, peer pressure, prayer, relationships

night owl

~My eyes are awake through the night watches, that I may meditate on Your word~
Psalm 119:148

As a young child I came alive at night, and snoozed each morning till the last possible second.

In college I signed up for all the evening classes I could find. The professor of my one morning class once gave me a dignitary’s greeting. “Miss McCauley! How nice of you to grace us with your presence!”

I performed my way into a job with a flexible schedule, often baffling the poor security guards by strolling into an empty office around 2 a.m.

And yet, despite always knowing I thrived best under the glow of a silver moon, when I became a mother I tried squeezing my night owl thighs into early bird tights.

Those suckers refused to fit.

Still, the desire to blend in with other moms had a strong enough pull to make me keep trying. No matter that my little ones were involved in several activities, or that they could read before kindergarten. Forget them being accustomed to being on my schedule.

Others would hear how we ran our house, and show their disapproval to the tune of raised brows, clicked tongues, and the occasional snarky comment disguised as friendly teasing. I began to question my methods and doubt my adequacy as a mom.

I’d retire at a normal time, then lay there thinking about what I could be doing instead of actually doing it. I struggled to make it to 8 a.m. playdates, despite having gone to sleep just three hours prior.

And though nothing changed with my internal clock, my liveliness faded. My time with God became mechanical, reading the Word without actually absorbing any of it, praying from a confused, tired, joyless frame of mind.

What I’d had with Him before, in the watches of the night, had been rich and full. And I missed it.

I realized what I had sacrificed in order to assimilate and be acceptable on the ever-so-competitive mom scene. And the urge to conform lost its luster, because the cost was too great.

Of course I rise early every morning. Those kids have school. They need to eat. Practical stuff like that. But I no longer force myself to engage when I’d rather be calm and silent. I go to bed when I want, and take a nap if I need to.

And when the world sleeps, when my house is clean and silent, and more words to a story have been written, that’s when my eyes see Him best, when my heart hears Him clearly, when my joy is full.

Because that’s how He made me. So I’ll be “hoo” I am.

Your turn: When have you been tempted to operate contrary to how God uniquely designed you?

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Soapbox Parenting

17 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Christian, communication, conversations, discussions, family, humor, life lessons, parenthood, parenting, preaching, raising children, relationships, soapbox, speech, The Incredibles

200147004-001“You sly dog! You caught me monologuing!” ~Syndrome, The Incredibles

Parenting has quite a few deja vu moments. You get the distinct feeling you’ve seen, done, or felt a particular something before.

Then it hits you.

The lecture, the kid with eyes glazed over, the adult droning on and on in an attempt to impale her listeners with life lessons. You have lived this scene. Only this time you’re the droner.

It happens to the best of us. A conversation about baking turns into an analogy for marriage. (Actually that was one of my finer moments. Performing a psalm on impulse that lasted forty verses and didn’t rhyme? My kids went to bed afraid we belonged to a cult.)

Children learn more from our actions than our words. We know this. It’s been proven. Still, we succumb to the urge to give doctoral dissertations worthy of official titles:

The Fundamentals of Sharing
Why Childhood Chores Ensure a Successful Adulthood
Choose Life: An Experiential Case Study Against Drug Use

We can’t help it. Our impassioned words warm their faces until their ears shrivel up and fold over on themselves. And though we walk away realizing we should’ve dropped the mic before the crowd turned restless, we also know we’ll probably do it again.

Because we love them.

That love sifts through events and conversations searching for teachable moments. Then off we go, portable stage erected, podium approached, throat cleared.

But not all hope is lost.

Because those young people we occasionally hold hostage via verbosity, they love us too.

And if we live what we say, and listen when they talk, and dwell with them–dig in and spend the time it takes to show them they’re where we want to be–they’re actually listening.

There’s more to parenting than five-point speeches. That doesn’t mean we should never speak. Our words have meaning. And with experience, we learn to use less of them.

The clever among us even switch it up a bit, making room on the box for a few corny jokes.

Your turn: How do you compensate for your parenting faux pas?

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A Wrecked Perspective

27 Tuesday Jan 2015

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics, Writing and Pursuing Publication

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

amediting, amwriting, car accident, car wreck, Chevy Suburban, Christ, collision, comfort, encouragement, faith, fear, inspiration, joy, kindness, love, parenting, perspective, thankfulness, Thanksgiving, Trials, writer, writing

thanks

“In everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”
~ 1 Thessalonians 5:18

Recently, on a day like any other, my three kids and I set out for an evening of gymnastics and Kenpo practice, with a potential coffee stop squeezed in. The smell of mint wafted from my older daughter’s tea mug. The youngest girl crunched on a carrot as if it were her last meal, and my boy pretended to finish homework (I saw him tuck a toy in the jacket of his Gi before leaving the house).

We sat in the left turning lane behind a line of cars, underneath a partly cloudy sky. Tires screeched. Metal crunched. We lunged forward. Slammed backward. I screamed.

My pulse pounded in my ears, and I couldn’t hear anything else for a moment. The surge of adrenaline made me dizzy. I couldn’t believe I’d been hit, or that my kids were in the car.

I turned to them. “Is everybody okay?” They were shocked, but otherwise unharmed. Praise God.

I got out, shaking, and walked to the car responsible, its front end demolished. Behind the deployed airbag sat a young man wearing a dazed look of dread.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

He looked himself over and nodded, though he didn’t seem entirely sure. “Can I drive?” He pointed at a parking lot. Smoke drifted up from the remains of his hood, fluid poured beneath it.

“No. You should probably get out.”

By the time the ordeal ended, the police, a fire truck, and the boy’s parents and sister had arrived on the scene, and a tow truck was on its way to haul off the totaled car. I pulled my Chevy Suburban (a vehicle I shamelessly endorse) onto the road with minor rear-end damage.

Before leaving, I’d assured the boy and his family, “We’re fine. No one is hurt. It’s not the end of the world.” But for that eighteen year old, I could tell his world was crashing fast. He looked distraught, despite his parents and sister loving on him and stressing how much they cared about him and not the car.

I wanted to comfort him myself, pull him in a hug, wipe his tears and make certain he understood that the wreck, as horrible as it seemed now, would be just a memory someday. But he’d had enough trauma. The last thing he needed was some stranger bear-hugging and petting him.

He saw the totaled car and cried over what that meant for his family. What it would cost them. How they would replace it. He didn’t consider their joy over the fact that their son had walked away from a thousand pounds of crumpled metal unscathed.

But I did. And it made me look at my own kids, my own life, my own set of problems, my own trove of joys. And it made me thankful.

Thankful that even though my son and I have a homework showdown every afternoon, he’s come home safe every afternoon. Thankful that although my daughter’s already showing signs of adolescent attitude, I get to kiss her sleeping face every night when she looks most like an angel.

Thankful because, while my edits are taking much longer than I intended, they’re getting done, and I’ve got somewhere to send them. Thankful that no matter what the day brings–good or bad–I’m loved from on high by One who suffered and died for me.

Sometimes it takes a crisis to wreck our negative perspectives; to take our eyes off all that’s wrong with the world and refocus them to see the joy, the love, the good.

I regretted not saying all I wanted to comfort the young driver before I left. I’m thankful his driver information comes with an address where I can send a card of encouragement. I can only hope I don’t look like a stalker when it arrives.

Your turn: What are you thankful for?

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When Mom’s Away…

21 Sunday Sep 2014

Posted by tanaramccauley in and Other Topics, Faith, Relationships, Writing and Pursuing Publication

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Tags

ACFW, American Christian Fiction Writers, amwriting, author, authors, children, conference, humor, parenting, relationships, St. Louis, writers, writing

As I gear up to head to the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) conference in St. Louis, I’m tempted to fret over how my family can possibly manage without me. My husband is off work and my father-in-law will be flying in to keep him company, still I’m skeptical of two men being able to manage every group of the food pyramid (we won’t even discuss cooking it), school uniforms, practice schedules, games, homework, chores, gardening, an all day four-year-old, and countless other things. Not to mention what my two daughters’ very long, exceedingly curly, extremely thick hair is going to look like by the time I return from five days absence.

This short, fifteen-second commercial helped me to put the brakes on all that worrying. When I’m gone, things won’t be done my way. And that’s just fine. While I might find a few things to cringe about if I could watch the goings-on of my household from my cell phone (is there an app for that?), I’d also find my kids safe, prayed over, fed–with something, and happy.

I’m blessed to have a husband who supports my dream. And I’m grateful for a place to go where I can connect with other writers, grow in my craft, worship the Lord, and pursue the next step.

So St. Louis here I come! May the Lord bless, keep and protect my family, and every other family His writers are leaving behind. And for the moms en route with me, here’s to having things dad’s way for a time :-).

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Unpopular

23 Friday May 2014

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

astigmatism, choices, daughters, eyeglasses, kids, lenses, moms, optometrist, optometry, parenting, popularity, understanding others, unpopular

eyeglasses

My oldest daughter wears glasses…sort of.

She has a prescription. And a set of lenses matching that prescription. And a nifty little case to put them in.

It’s a fight, however, to get the glasses out of their felt-coated den to perch stylishly upon her pretty little nose. They spend a lot of their time left at school, buried in her backpack, or “lost” in some obscure location that reeks of premeditation.

Because she has only mild astigmatism, she doesn’t need to wear them all the time. But not wearing them all the time and not wearing them ever are two different cookies.

I try to enlist the help of her optometrist to reiterate the importance of her glasses. If she wears them while she’s young and the condition is mild, her eyesight can be corrected. But if she doesn’t, she runs the risk of worsening her condition and needing eyeglasses on a more consistent, permanent basis.

He knows this. He’s the one who told it to me. Yet, year after year, he caves to the pleading look of nine-year-old doe eyes and the sound of a soft, shy voice, and mumbles something to the effect of, “Oh, I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Avoiding the look I’m giving him, he laughs and talks with her about school like we’re on a social visit, only to side-speak with me later about different ways to get her to wear them at least when she’s reading or doing schoolwork.

So the need is there. But he chooses to stay cool doctor and leave the villainy to mom.

So villain I become…and private eye for lost lenses, and insurance rep for broken frames. Some days I explain it all over again, other times it’s “the look” and a simple, “Glasses. Now.” That gets results, though it doesn’t make me popular.

I’m sure my ratings would rise if I gave in and let her go glasses-free. Today anyway. In the future, if she did indeed graduate to a more permanent need for optical assistance, she’d regret that I didn’t stand my ground, maybe even resent me for it.

Because at the end of the day, it’s my job as a parent to do what’s best for her, and that’s not always what makes her happy or lets her feel good.

I imagine her older, walking out of a shopping mall (with a dagger in her pocket and a can of pepper spray in her purse like Mama taught her). She’ll take in the scenery around her with pristine clarity–without glasses. Not because she’s not wearing them, but because she no longer needs them. She won’t just see clearly then, she’ll understand too.

And she’ll thank me for it.

 

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Twice the Miracle

09 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by tanaramccauley in Faith, Relationships, and Other Topics, Short Stories, Songs, and Poetry, Writing and Pursuing Publication

≈ 21 Comments

Tags

Bible, Christian, faith, family, miracles, parenting, pregnancy, premature birth, religion, submission, surrender, twins

nurse

I could tell by the look in the nurse’s eyes she wasn’t sure I understood what she was saying. We stared at each other, she with one brow lifted in question for some sign of comprehension on my end; me drifting inside myself with a host of “what if’s” tumbling through my mind.

My twins, due in two months, would be delivered in a matter of hours. The medical staff had done their best to keep them in, and now they had no choice but to take them out surgically.

In part I was relieved. My son, whose water had burst five days earlier, and whose heart stopped with every contraction, couldn’t possibly survive much longer. But the nurse wanted me to acknowledge the risks of such an early delivery: long-term disabilities, breathing difficulties, jaundice, stunted growth, brain defects…and very possibly death. My husband squeezed my hand and spoke for me. Yes we understood. Yes we were prepared.

But no…I wasn’t.

I remember feeling so cold that the blanket tucked around my swollen body was about as effective as it could’ve been warming a block of ice. A new mother, never having held one of my children, I wasn’t at all prepared for the worst. In truth I wanted nothing to do with it.

In my mind’s eye I saw my children alive and healthy, growing and happy. From the first toddled steps to the first days of school; then on to camping trips, family vacations, and game days. That’s what I was prepared for. My heart, which others wanted me to coax into being ready for anything, was defiantly unyielding in its loyalty to the original plan. Come what may, problems and all, I wanted those babies.

But soon enough, as with every other time when my will has rushed to the frontlines of battle and tossed it’s proud locks, words buried in my core began to whisper what I knew all along to be true. It wasn’t my choice. And no amount of will could change that. Whether either twin would suck that first breath of God’s given air into their lungs, or pass quietly on to the call of their Maker, was out of my hands.

I had to lay before Him the desire of my heart – that He let my babies live – then lay my will flat-faced on the floor in submission to His, and accept whatever He chose for me. And in all that still know that He loves me, He is for me, and He is now and forever will be my King. As soon as I did that I had peace about the entire situation, and was finally prepared in the way the doctors and nurses wanted me to be prepared.

What strange creatures we are! What is it in us that makes us automatically think when we’re willing to let go of something we desperately want, it means we’ve already lost it? For at that time, though I still had hope, and I knew beyond doubt that God could not only let them live but make them completely healthy, I was internally cringing in preparation for loss.

I look back on that now, nine years which seem to have passed as quickly as nine glorious sunsets, and I can imagine Him looking down at me on that rather hard, sterile rollaway. His eyes full of compassion as He listened to the fears suppressed beneath my brave exterior. He knew I would love Him no matter what – perhaps He just wanted me to know it too – then He blessed me with two completely healthy, beautiful babies.

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My twins – His twins – turned nine recently. And as they reminisce over the fun they had bringing in the “big nine,” I sit back and look at them in celebration. Not just celebration for their lives, but also celebration of the worthy, mighty Father who gave them life. He who did not spare His own Son, spared both my son and my daughter.

And He is now, and will forever be, my King.

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