The Only Sense I Can Make

Our old friend Yong Min Chon died yesterday after a two year fight with bone cancer.

Yong Min was 36, a loving husband and the father of 3 young children ages 7, 5 and 2.

As I struggle to accept that God saw it fit to take Yong Min in the prime of his life in such a painful way, the only sense I can make of it is heaven. I trust he is there and I trust he led so many to live in a way that they will go there too. Please visit the blog he kept during his battle, pray for his soul and know he prays perfectly for yours.

Surely Goodness and Mercy Will Follow Me All the Days of My Life

My friend Kate recently wrote me a note on the subject of suffering:

"It's pervasive, ever present and does not discriminate. It ebbs and flows from serious to slightly annoying, but is ALWAYS there. It seems there are only two options to this dilemma:

#1 God doesn't care about us and then you are an Agnostic.

#2. God has an amazing plan for all this suffering and it is the means to our salvation.

I would prefer #2 but can't understand it much."

I'd agree with Kate on the preference of #2. I know I'm coming to expect sorrows as long as I dwell in this valley of tears. It's a struggle though because I long for heaven, for Eden, for creature comfort but am constantly confronted by briars.

And whether the thorn is small: waking through the night with a baby. Or big: chronic illness, barn fire, cyclone, ... they all do the same thing. They make my unpraying heart scream, "Help me, God. God, help me. Help me, please, dear God. Help."

Sometimes that's all the praying I do. But it's genuine and it works. I'm met with a strength beyond my own and am made stronger in the process.

I even end up valuing the trial (once it's over), knowing it was the press that turned my grapes into wine.

Knowing all this, I wish I could welcome the trials. Unafraid. I wish they'd stop shocking me like bolts of lightening. I wish I could view them head on with King David's confidence:

"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

Thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

Thou anoints my head with oil. My cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen."

Ordinary Outside Living

Pete surveyed the sun shade I rigged out of a tarp, 5000 yards of kite string, duct tape, bungee cords, chunks of broken fence and exclaimed:

"This looks so white trash!"

To which I cheered:

"We are white trash!"

Just as Gussie stumbled out on the porch wearing nothing but a dirty diaper and blue popsicle juice stains.

Then a bird nipped the end of the kite string, unravelling the roll as it flew up so high. A white streamer painting the bright summer night.

Haven picked a bouquet of dandelions, "Excuse me, Mom, what are these?"

"Dandelions," I replied.

"No they're not," he said, "They're something else."

"Really, what are they?"

"Lemon delights. They are lemon delights and I picked them for you."

"That's so nice, honey. Thank you so much."

I took the bouquet. By morning it had faded to 5 puff balls that the window used to blow a wish.

And it was granted: At least 4 more months of bare feet, open doors and dandelion bouquets.

"As Long as It's Healthy"

I never found out the gender of my babies before they were born. No real reason. I just wanted to be surprised.

When I'd make front porch talk with neighbors, it was always the same thing:

"When are you due?" they'd ask.

"Soon," I'd reply.

"A boy or a girl?" they'd ask.

"I don't know," I'd say, "I want to be surprised."

"Well, just as long as it's healthy," they'd say and smile and I'd smile too. But inside I'd pause.

Because even before two out of three of my kids were born with significant health problems, this statement, "As long as it's healthy" irritated me.

As if it meant I wouldn't want my child if he had an extra toe, a heart defect or any other malady common to humans, especially baby humans. While I know the comment was always said in good will, my mind would silently reply: "But I'll take an unhealthy baby too. Just give me a baby -- healthy or not. I'll just take a baby."

I remember thinking such sentiment even before my first son was born. Perhaps God was preparing me for the trial we'd later have with Gussie. Perhaps. Perhaps God was preparing me for Simeon. Perhaps.

I'll explain. It has become pretty clear that our little Simeon has Noonan's Syndrome. While the DNA results won't be back for a few weeks, we're pretty convinced that the diagnosis will be positive. I'm sure I'll write more about his condition in times to come but you can check out the sites yourself and know that we are comforted by the fact that Simeon simply has the external characteristics of the syndrome (no heart defect) and is otherwise a healthy newborn -- eats very well, is alert and content.

Keep us in your prayers as the news is sobering. I'm still a bit in shock -- confused by all these feelings. One second I'm staring at him in awe of his beauty, feeling so blessed he's mine. The next, I'm sinking in dark sadness, scared of what life holds for this little man ... and for me.

Fortunately, Simeon thrives. And fortunately he is our baby -- the one God has given us. He is pleasant. He is perfect -- "fearfully and wonderfully made."

Only time will tell what Simeon's condition means for us. But this much I know is true -- I love him. I love him with that magic love born with the baby -- that fierce Mother Mountain Lion Love that breaths fire at predators and needs no rest.

So no, "I don't know what I'm having" as far as what kind of life I'll have with Simeon. But I know that I love him. Of this, I'm certain. And perhaps I'm naive but this love quiets my heart, delivers peace to my soul and makes me certain that it's all going to be ok.

Of Rocks and Boats

Haven picks up rocks and calls them boats. He carries them to bed and the market and Mass. Pushes them through carpets of waves and rivers. Names them. Hands me heavy handfuls. My pockets droop with crusty, cementy "boats."

I walk through rooms and up the stairs swearing under my breath as I step on sharp, hard -- you guessed it -- rocks. But they're really boats. And we have at least 100 of them now.

Don't think it hasn't dawned on me when Haven says, "Ooh, this will be a good one to take in the bath." That these boats won't float. Nope. Cause. They're rocks. But I haven't had the heart.

Then our playmate Ethan stopped by today, observed the boats and said, "But Haven, those boats won't float."

"They're rock boats. They will sink. They're sinking boats. They are boats that won't float."

Haven stared at him in disbelief. I held my breath. A little later Ethan went home.

As I made dinner, Haven gathered up his boats where he likes them best -- sliding and gliding on the kitchen table. They clattered and scattered as he made splashing noises, blew wind through their sails and talked about taking them fishing.

Good Movie

I loved this movie. But I especially loved the ending. Cherie -- watch this with your guitar playing husband & call me to discuss the ending. Like I said, I loved the ending.

Oh yeah -- only watch this if you can handle the F-bomb dropped profusely in an Irish accent. Other than that, there's no sex or violence or midget jokes or anything else horribly offensive to the easily offended. Enjoy.

This Domestic Life

In this life I lead as a mother, wife and homemaker, I experience what feels like the highest epitome of happiness mixed sometimes simultaneously with the highest epitome of capital H-A-R-D.



The moments overlap and spin circles. Unannounced and unpredictable, they share custody some days or take over weeks like time share. For example, yesterday I sat nursing my newborn while my older boys played with toys at my feet: epitome of happiness. But then just 10 hours later, I struggled with bedding down a toddler and a two-year-old and a newborn and the simple need for my own sleep almost pushed me to tears.



I didn't cry though. Nope. Not a tear. My skin is way thicker since I began making babies. And this is a good thing. I can face a day on 4 hours sleep with a smile and a cup of coffee.



So I embrace this domestic life. I embrace it because in it's highs and lows I've known a beauty like none other.







P.S. We're one week down with baby Simeon and he definitely is the golden 3rd child. He sleeps and nurses and has fit more seamlessly into our lives than either of his brothers did upon their arrivals. Thanks be to God.