What If?

It seems like the longer I live, the more chances I get to ask myself "What if?"

What if June 1, 2006 had gone differently?  What if that ultrasound had shown a healthy, living fourteen week baby?  What if my deep-rooted fear and sinking feeling had been unfounded?

I'd have a child now; she'd be about five and a half.  I'd be thanking God for the time with her and mourning how quickly it had passed.  And she'd have had five and a half years of experiences to shape her into who she is. 

Instead, my baby went to heaven before I got to meet her.  Instead, my husband and I saw that still, silent ultrasound and spent the next day begging and praying and trying to hope that things weren't as they seemed.  Instead, we chose her name with tears and longing.  Instead, we watched her due date come and go and our arms stayed achingly empty.

What if on January 31, 2007 I had let my Gramma stay at my house to take care of me after my knee surgery?  What if she had not been in the van during that crash?  What if the van hadn't been there?  What if the driver of that milk truck hadn't chosen to use his cell phone?  What if the road crews had done a better job of spreading salt on that particular stretch?

Would that mean that today, I'd be able to ask my Gramma how to love my dying friend?  Would it mean that I'd have someone to give me the push I need to love without reservation?  Would it mean I'd have fewer nights filled with empty, silent tears?  Would my heart hurt a little less?

What if I had chosen to ignore the growing attachment and attraction I felt toward Derek nine years ago?

I'd have loved and perhaps married someone else.  And I'd have missed out on so much.  I'd have missed the laughter and the joy and the tender moments.  I'd have missed the frustration and fear and uncertainty.  I'd never have stood in disbelief as I watched my new relatives dance in a circle to weird Greek music.  I wouldn't have found myself having to choose between what I wanted and what was right as I responded to certain situations.  I wouldn't be laying on the couch with my leg in the air, knowing that tonight my husband will come home and I will be proud of how well he did today as he works a job that he is not "naturally gifted" to do.

What if in September of 1999, the person visiting me in the hospital had simply said "That is sad and I am sorry" when I told him I had to find a new home?  What if his wife had said she didn't want to start again with yet another teenager?  What if my dad hadn't been agreeable?  What if the doctors had said no?

I wouldn't have learned to love.  I wouldn't have learned to laugh, or to trust, or to be honest.  I wouldn't have experienced unconditional acceptance into a family that loved me just because they wanted to.  I wouldn't have had the foundation I needed to go out into the world and build a life.  And truthfully, I probably wouldn't have survived.

What if my childhood had been easier?  What if I'd never been betrayed, abandoned, or abused?  What if I hadn't survived things that are almost unspeakable?

I would have been closer to "normal."  I wouldn't have been living with PTSD for as long as I can remember.  I would have had less fear, less anger, less pain.  I wouldn't have had to be as strong or as brave.  I wouldn't have learned to lie about everything.  I could have "just been me."  But I wouldn't have had a reason to develop the compassion I have today.  I wouldn't have such a personal motivation to drive so much of what I do.  I wouldn't know how profoundly forgiveness changes a person.  I would never have seen the amazing transformation that happens when someone literally turns from evil and surrenders to Christ.  I probably wouldn't be as accepting of others and I am certain that I'd have less wisdom, less strength, and less hope. 

I could go on, and on, and on.  Because there are hundreds, no, thousands, of "what ifs" in my life.  In every life.  There are so many things that change the course of our lives from that moment on.  Sometimes, we get the better option.  Sometimes, we don't.  Always, we can choose to look back and ask "What if?"  Sometimes, doing so can help us.  It can give us insight, it can give us wisdom, help us make better choices in the future.  It can give us a chance to be grateful and an opportunity to embrace peace and acceptance.  But it can also hurt us.  It can make us regret things we cannot change.  It can make us grieve, it can make us angry and uncertain and afraid.  We can look back and feel slighted and compel us to make decisions that are hurtful to us now.

I have one final "what if" that I would like to ask.  One question that I think we all need to answer for ourselves, in our own hearts and minds.  One thing that needs to be settled permanently within each of us.

What if I choose to look back at my life from time to time, and ask myself how things could have been different, and then I take that perspective and use it to answer the 'what ifs' that face me every day, so that I can face tomorrow without regret?

There's This Song

And for the last five and a half weeks, it has been intermittently true.  There is someone in my life who some say, I should not love.  Some say, I should not care.  But I do, and I always will.  And that someone... is sick.   Really sick.  And for a few different reasons, I cannot be there.  I think maybe it looks like I don't want to be there.  Or like I am not comprehending the seriousness of what is happening.  Or like I am just... choosing to be absent.  And I think that is maybe giving, to some people, the impression that I don't care. 

Couldn't be further from the truth.

Being here is okay, most of the time.  But there are moments, every day, when it feels like it is tearing me into pieces.  Moments when I think of this person and I literally cannot breathe.  I think of the pain that is being endured and the battles being fought and lost, and I find myself wondering where this could all go.  In my heart, deep down, I have a pretty good idea, and I don't like it.

So if you see me and there are tears streaming down my face or I look tired or pale; or if you think I am avoiding you or neglecting relationships... that it isn't about you, nor is it even really about me.  It is about someone I love and miss deeply and fear greatly for.

This song is performed/recorded by LifeHouse. 
Lyrics are (C) State One Songs America

Broken
The broken clock is a comfort
It helps me sleep tonight
Maybe it can stop tomorrow
From stealing all my time

And I am here still waiting
Though I still have my doubts
I am damaged at best
Like you've already figured out
I'm falling apart
I'm barley breathing
With a broken heart
That's still beating
In the pain
There is healing
In your name
I find meaning
So I'm holding on
I'm holding on
I'm holding on
I'm barely holding on to you
The broken locks were a warning
You got inside my head
I tried my best to be guarded
I'm an open book instead
And I still see your reflection
Inside of my eyesThat are looking for purpose
They're still looking for life

I'm falling apart
I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart
That's still beating
In the pain
(In the pain)
Is there healing?
In your name
(In your name)
I find meaning
So I'm holding on
(I'm still holding)
I'm holding on
(I'm still holding)
I'm holding on
(I'm still holding)
I'm barely holding on to you

I'm hanging on another day
Just to see what you will throw my way
And I'm hanging on to the words you say
You said that I will be okay

Broken lights on the freeway
Left me here alone
I may have lost my way now
I haven't forgotten my way home

I'm falling apart
I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart
That's still beating

In the pain
(In the pain)
There is healing
In your name
(In your name)
I find meaning

So I'm holding on
(I'm still holding)
I'm holding on
(I'm still holding)
I'm holding on
(I'm still holding)

I'm barely holding on to you

Dreaming of Aiden

I have a confession to make.

For the last three and a half years, I have been dreaming.  Not day-dreams.  Night dreams.  Vivid, hard-to-pull-away-from dreams.

It started with dreaming about a tiny baby boy with soft blond fuzz on his head and ordinary blue eyes.  A softly rounded face, a perfect chin and a rose-bud mouth.  The first dream had no sound.

A few months later, I dreamt about a bigger baby boy.  More blond fuzz.  Blue eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled.  A dimple in his left cheek.  A soft, warm, typical baby boy.

A few months later, I dreamt of him again.  He was sitting up, and would rock forward to his hands and knees and crawl.  I dreamt of him many nights in a row.  It was in these dreams that I started hearing sounds.  His gurgly laughter and his squeals.  My own voice, calling him Aiden.

A few months later, I watched him walk in my dream.  I called his name, and he toddled toward me.  And then he simply vanished.  I woke with tears in my eyes and a tight ache in my chest, and what seemed almost like left-over warmth in my arms.

I went over a year without dreaming of him at all.  I would have forgotten if I hadn't written it here, in posts I never published.

Then it went back to the intermittent, random dreams for about a year.  Lately, it's gotten more frequent.

In these dreams, I've watched him grow physically.  I've interacted with him.  And he's shown all the signs of a child without parents.  A child without attachments, without hope, without a home.  In my last dream, my husband and I went to see him in an orphanage.  He was there among beautiful babies.  A lanky 3.5 year old, laying in a bed with a blank face.  Large blue eyes with no expression, that dimpled left cheek and perfect chin.  Freckles splashed across his nose and cheeks.  His hair was sandy blond, coarse and cut shaggily.  We played with him, and at first he seemed so normal.  As the day (dream) progressed, he showed more and more of the signs, and my heart broke more and more.  This one had tears streaming when I awoke, and a heart that ached.  And the name of this made-up child rolling through my head.  Aiden.  It means little fire, in case you wondered.

I have no idea what it's all about.  None at all.  It's certainly not a wish of mine for ANY child to be that way - to hurt, and cry, and struggle, and grow to need intervention more desperately each day.  I have never intended to name any child of mine Aiden, so it's not a sub-conscious fulfillment of a name I fear I'll never get to use (trust me, I have those dreams too, but they aren't like this one).  I don't work with kids with attachment disorder anymore, so it's not a work life carry-over.  In fact, I have known two children with the disorder that were younger than age 8, ever.  They were both African, and I had no special feelings for them, so it's not because of THEM. 

Maybe it's frustrated maternal instinct.  Maybe I feel like my children (or the hopes I have for them and of them) are slipping away and  coming apart.  Maybe it's a real child that will some day come into our lives.  Maybe I'm just a weirdo who has a set of serial dreams that depict an accurate progression of time and development, that aren't based on anything at all.

Just curious.  I get a lot of good feed-back from you guys.  I'm curious what you all will have to say.  As always, if you want your comment/question to remain private, just say so and I won't hit "publish."

Great Love.

You might remember this post from a while back.  After a lot of reading and praying and looking carefully at what is actually being done by each program, our choice was narrowed down to one region, one center.  At that center, we chose a child to sponsor through Compassion.  I have said before that they are excellent stewards of the funds they receive.  I've looked at a lot of sponsorship programs, and Compassion stands out as making a tangible difference, with a focus on enabling the children and their families to be independent.  And they stand out in consistent expenditures.  I've seen programs where as little as 40% of what is donated goes toward anything that actually impacts the child.  Compassion is, and has consistently been, much higher than that.  When you look for a child to sponsor, you can read what it's like where he or she lives, as well as see what, exactly, will be provided by their local program.  It varies at each location. 

Back to our child.

We chose her region, her center, because they provide basic food supplies, medical procedures, exams, and treatments, school supplies, and tuition.  All of that... but most importantly, they teach her the Word of God.  They will tell her of His love, of His provision.  They'll teach her, as she grows, to be able to support herself.  They will help her family, too, to be better able to provide.

Our child's name is Marpendo, which means Great Love.  She is beautiful, and I love the meaning behind her name.  In the way she holds her body, face pointing at the camera but eyes averted, an empty smile... she seems so love-starved.  I don't believe her family is depriving her of love... but if she's not had His love, she's starving.  We'll get that fixed.  She reminds me of my Rico that I sponsored so long ago... he had that same face, the same expression.  Over that first year, her smiles started to get more genuine.  Light appeared in his eyes.  I loved seeing that change, and I am so excited to witness (and be a part of) that same change in Marpendo. 

I pray that Marpendo would grow in stature and wisdom and knowledge of Him.  I pray that the love of God would be undeniably present in her life, and that the ministry she will be receiving will overflow to the family member who takes care of her.  Marpendo's parents are no longer living on earth.  I pray that my God would help to heal her wounded heart.  Fill her with hope and expectation... that she'd learn that He has plans for her, good plans, plans to give her a hope and a future.
I'm just so excited and feel so peaceful, choosing to finally go back through the door God never closed.