Doing what my Father asks me

For those of you who are friends of mine on Facebook, sorry for repeating myself, but I just wanted to share this story in another form, and in the full "director's cut" version.

I broke my left foot last week, tripping down a gutter.  I am now sporting a very sexy moon boot, which limits me to two pairs of jeans for the next five weeks.  They may very well be burnt after the five weeks is up, just because I'll be so sick of wearing them I'll never want to put them on again!  But I digress.  I had some problems with my original moon boot, so I went back to the hospital this morning to get it adjusted.  Still not sexy, but at least a bit more comfortable than before.

On the way to the hospital, my husband and I were talking about wanting more children - okay, I was doing all the talking and my poor husband was listening, at a loss of what to say.  We've been trying for a year without success.  Some months I'm very zen about it and trust God completely with our journey and timing.  Other months I cry and get angry and frustrated and confused about what's wrong/what to try next.  Anyone who has been trying to conceive will know exactly what I'm talking about!  And if one more person tells me to "Relax.  It'll happen when you relax", I'll smack them over the head with all the force I can muster!

Last week I was calm and had total faith about it all, but in the past week, a friend has given birth, a distant relative has given birth, another friend is about to pop, and another dear friend has just found out she's pregnant!  I am so happy for each and every one of these women/families, though my heart aches and I can't help but ask God, "Why isn't it our turn?"

And getting dropped off at the hospital this morning - one of the biggest in the state with a massive maternity ward where our daughter was born - you can imagine how many pregnant women and tiny babies I saw there!  I tried really hard not to let it get me down because these women are all so blessed to be having their gorgeous bubs, and I do remember what it was like to be blissfully expecting, so I decided to change my thinking around - share their joy and praise God for it!

I finished early from the orthotics department (sexy moon boot), so was just sitting down in the foyer, reading my text messages and sending others before I had to catch a taxi to work.  I used that time to pray about wanting more children, and praising God for all the babies and pregnant women around me, knowing God loved and had made each and every one of those babies-to-be-born.

I said, “God, if there’s something You want me to do for You - that You want me to do for You before You bless us - then I’ll do it, on one leg, hopping.”  Then an old man came and sat down beside me and the thought “You could pray for him” popped in my head.  Haaaaa haa haa!

“Yeah right!  I can’t do that!” I thought.

“But didn’t you just say you’d do anything, even hopping on one leg?”

“Yeah, I did.  But I can’t…. Arhg!  Okay then, if he starts talking to me or there’s an opening, I’ll do my best."  One minute later, he started talking to me. 

He told me what was going on – he and his wife had come in to have their pace makers checked – and they were trying to get hold of their daughter to come and pick them up.  And he was telling me that he’d had bowel cancer that the doctors fixed, but now it was in his stomach, and he was off to Toowoomba tomorrow to see a doctor about that.

“Right, this would be the opening then, hey God?”  So I asked “Would I be able to pray for you?”

“What?”

“Would you mind if I said a prayer for you?”

“Yeah, sure.  That’d be fine.”

So I skooched over, asked him his name, introduced myself, shook his hand, put a hand on his shoulder and prayed for him!  It might have been a bit short and not terribly “powerful” sounding, but I did it!  His wife came back from the payphone after I’d prayed, so we chatted a bit more and I gave her my mobile to use to try and call their daughter again, and then they left to find a different payphone and I left to find a taxi.

Before he left, he said “Thanks for what you did.”

I have to say, I'm a bit proud of myself - I'm a "shy" Christian because I've been burnt before, talking to others about my faith - but I think God is proud of me, too.  I think I'm like a little kid who gets a high-five from their dad for doing something they were asked to do but didn't really want to! 

And just to clarify, I don't think this will lead to me being pregnant next month just because I plucked up the courage to pray for a sick old man!  But hey, God's done some pretty crazy things in my life and others', and anything is possible!  Though I'll probably only believe it when I feel a baby kick!

In disguise

I pride myself on being honest.  But if I AM honest, there are parts of myself that I hide from some people because I fear their reaction.  I don't feel like I can be 100% myself, 100% of the time.  But don't we all have different hats for different situations?  That's okay, isn't it?

At work for example, you have your "professional self" hat - the one who is cool under pressure; who is friendly and courteous to everyone all of the time; the one who is upbeat and positive all of the time; the one who doesn't cry, even when you want to (though if you slip up you pull it together quicker than you can at home!); the one who doesn't swear out loud, even when you want to; and the one where you don't talk about the details of your family life (who in the office is going to care that after two days of no poos, your toddler exploded this morning and you feel so much happier because of it!  LOL!)

Then you wear your "friends" hat, which changes depending on the group of friends you're with.  The "new friend/I'd like to keep you as a friend" hat, where you usually put effort into your appearance, you keep the conversation moving and light, and you silently kick yourself for saying something stupid.  The "high school girlfriends" hat where you talk about the old days, wonder where certain people ended up, laugh a lot at how old you're all getting, while talking about partners and/or kids and usually drink a few glasses of wine.  There's also your "work friends" hat, where you talk about your jobs and likely moves/mergers, deadlines and budgets and general office chatter - more serious chatter and not usually for long.  Friends may move between categories or border more than one, but the hats stay in place.

And even in your family, where you're supposed to be able to be 100% yourself - the whole, real, uneditted you - don't we all keep something back?   Especially if you live your life a bit differently from the rest of the family.  Sharing or showing that part of you could mean a big fight and no more invitations to dinner!

I got to thinking today about what would happen if I wore just one hat - the "real" me hat that only a very few people get to see - regardless of the situation.  As much as I wish I could, it does make a lot of sense to keep wearing the right hat for the right occasion.  I think it sort of sucks, but I'm pretty sure everyone is doing it - to keep their jobs, and keep the peace.  Just so long as you look good and feel comfortable in each of the hats, I suppose.

I know where I belong

Sometimes you have to go a long way away to really be able to clearly see, appreciate and find new depths of love for what's always been right under your nose.

I went to Canada last month for a friend's wedding - and I hated it!  Not the wedding or the people or the country, but being away from home - away from my husband and darling daughter, my daggy but wonderful house, my job and my city.  I almost willed time to go faster - and after celebrating another birthday while I was there, that surprised me!

I'm a big girl and have lived and travelled away from home many, many times.  With some finger maths and head-scratching, I realised this latest trip to Canada was my 7th.  I love the country and have been so many times I've emeshed myself into the culture, especially of my adopted home town and a very special family there.  But this time I was so homesick, it almost physically hurt!  I struggled to sleep, even though I was exhausted.  I had an unsettled tummy - part rich Canadian food that my Aussie tummy isn't used to, but mostly due to stress/anxiety of being away from home.  I was plain, old fashioned sad!

I was almost ashamed of myself for not being tougher!  I would have thought I was made of tougher stuff than that!  So many mums told me before I left for my almost-two-week trip, "I'm so jealous of you!  You get two weeks of peace!"  But I wanted nothing more than to be home with my husband and my daughter, with lots of noise and no peace or quiet!  (Though, I did enjoy the first long-haul flight where I got to watch almost five movies back-to-back that I'd been meaning to watch for the past few years!  That was wonderful!)

Without making anyone gag, I fall more and more in love with my husband the longer we're together.  We're not perfect and we confuse and bug the snot out of each other at times, but he truly is my One.  He's my best friend and he makes me so happy, and he doesn't flinch at the ugly or hard parts of relationships - messy family stuff, child birth and all the mess and guts involved in that - but nothing has cemented the fact that he's my One more than being about 16,000km from him for two weeks!

And how much I missed my daughter goes without saying.  I burst into tears almost every time anyone asked about her while I was in Canada, so sincere apologies to the poor uncomfortable people who had a weeping Australian stranger to deal with!  I'm not usually like that, I promise.  I hate to fly, but I couldn't wait to get home so badly that I almost ran onto each plane!  The closer I got to home, the happier and lighter I felt.  I was getting closer to my family.

And my daggy old house that needs more work and love and facelifiting than we can afford right now - I missed it!  I missed schlepping around in my pyjamas, the hall light that sometimes works and sometimes doesn't, the daggy old bathroom with an amazing shower head and instant hot water, and mysterious wood pannelling in the kitchen that I can't help but wonder what's behind it...  I missed the whole bit - my neighbourhood, my city, the birds and sounds and the familiar light patterns at night...  I love home.  I love being home, and I had to be on the other side of the world to know that that's where I belong - at home with my family.

I will definitely be back in Canada at some point in the future, but next time, I'm bringing the troops with me!

Stick with me! I'm still here!

Sincere apologies if anyone has come back to this blog checking for updates.  I'm afraid I've just been slack - and overseas (blog coming), and starting my own business (blog coming) and doing the work related to that, and getting back into running (blog coming), and the usual joys of life that are (occasionally) wonderful but hardly blog worthy (cleaning, washing, menu planning, grocery shopping and lots of family time).

So bear with me while I get my act together.  I’m sure there are some pearls of wisdom hidden somewhere inside me.  At the moment, though, I’ve got a whole lot of oysters to shuck to find them!

Is this normal?

Today is my daughter's second birthday.  Last night it became clear that we weren't pregnant again.

Last year on my daughter's first birthday, I was happy and so proud.  Today I am still so very proud because she is the most amazing little girl.  But I'm sad.  Cuddling her to sleep for her morning nap today, I realised she may very well be my only one.  I may not get pregnant again.  I may not get the chance to feel another little baby booting me from the inside, convinced the way out is somewhere between two ribs.  I may not be given the chance to feel totally excited and terrified in equal measure when labour starts.  I may not get the chance to breastfeed another baby, knowing that I am giving them everything they need to grow and thrive - the little noises and tugs, and little hands resting on my boob. When she gives up her morning naps (the only time I cuddle her to sleep), I may never get the chance to cuddle another baby to sleep again.

That makes me really sad.  I'm not ready to not have another baby.

This time last year, I thought we'd maybe have another one by now.  Or at least I'd be hugely pregnant again.  We fell pregnant so easily last time - second month of trying and WHAM!  I thought it would be so easy again.  But after eight months, it's pretty obvious it's not.  We've got another four months until we're classified as infertile and before we can step this up a notch.  I can only pray that something miraculous happens in the next four months, though I'm going to be away during our 'window' this month, which leaves only three months more.

But is this God telling me the answer to my constant prayers is "no"?  And I have to say, I completely disagree with the part of the Bible that says God will give you the desires of your heart!  That's bullshit!  If God gave everyone every desire of their heart, everyone would be a Christian, and every Christian would have a wonderful life where every member of their family lived until 100, had the exact number of children they wanted, those children would be crazily successful and never get into trouble or lose their way, and nobody would get cancer, or they would be cured as soon as they were diagnosed!  But that doesn't happen.  It's not reality.  Because sometimes God says no.

I think God is saying no.  I hope He's saying "Wait.  Keep trying."  Time will tell.

I'll let you know.

Life and death

This is going to be an angry entry.  Angry in a passionate way.

It never ceases to amaze me how, when someone's died in a car crash where speed or other controllable variables were to blame (texting, drinking/drugs, hooning), their family and friends come out and say how amazing they were - how special/clever/funny/kind they were, how they would do anything for anyone in need, what a bright future they had etc.  But none of them ever say, "He/she died because they were being an idiot.  They were being a jerk and that's why they're dead."  Has anyone else ever noticed that?

In my line of work, I have lost count of the number of photos and stories I've read about these young people, and the utter pain and anguish of the loved ones left behind.  I can only begin to imagine what it's like for the emergency service personnel who have to scrape their bloody and mangled bodies off the road, or the hospital staff who work frantically and desperately trying to save them.  Only to lose them.  Because they were driving like a jerk.  Because they thought they were such a great driver they could take that corner at 80km/h.  Because they thought that because they'd been driving for more than two minutes that the laws of physics didn't apply to them.  That their car is so amazingly special that it can do things that the aforementioned laws of physics says will result in an explosion!

You are not special.  Your car is not special.  Your tyres are not special.  Your driving history is not going to save your ass if you drive like a jerk.

If you drive like an idiot, you deserve to hit a pole and write your car off.  And to God I pray that's the only thing you hit, and the only thing that happens.  Machines can be replaced.  People cannot.

Now, let me come at this from another angle.

When I was very newly pregnant, and coming up to the 13-week nuchal translucency scan, we had the option of having an amniocentesis in case they thought our baby might have Downs Syndrome.  I was all for it.  "Let's do the tests to see what's going on so we have all the information and can deal with whatever they find."  My husband was passionately against it.  "But why?" I asked.  "Because there's a chance that just having the test will cause a miscarriage."   "Ooooh.  Then hec no!"

I wanted to protect the little life growing inside me with all my worth.  I didn't want to do anything that may, even in a very small percentage, cause my baby harm.  I didn't care if the chance was 1 in 1000.  That was 1 in 1000 too many for me!

So why would you do anything in your life that would increase the risk of you dieing, or you killing someone else?  I'll bet when you're sitting in the ER watching the life drain from your friend, you would chose to do things differently.  

If the chance of you killing or permanently disabling your friend because you were speeding and showing off was 1 in 1000, would you take it?  Would you feel all tough and macho then?  Would all the boys think you were a "bad ass" then?

If there was a 1 in 1000 chance that your speeding would force your parents to plan your funeral, would you take it?

If there was a 1 in 1000 chance that you would leave your new bride/groom a widow because you took a corner too fast because you were deluded enough to think your "totally awesome, bitchin'" car would handle it, would you take it?  Is your life or their life worth taking a risk?

If anyone says yes, then you totally deserve what is inevitably coming your way.  I just hope someone in your circle of family and friends speaks up at your funeral and tells the world what a deluded idiot you were!


You are not special.  Your car is not special.  Your tyres are not special.  You are not, and will never be a great enough driver to defy the laws of physics.


THE END.

My external heart

My grandmother once said to my mum, when she became a mother herself, that having a child is like having your heart walking around on the outside.  From that point on, the most important part of you is outside you.

If I'm honest, which any of the regular readers will know is pretty much all the time, I can work myself into a state of anxious tears worrying about my sweet daughter, who I am convinced is the single most beautiful girl ever to have been born in the whole wide world.  Ever.

I worry about her future - will she be bullied at school?  Will she be good at school?  Will she find direction and purpose in life?  Will she have her heart broken?  Will she find love?  Will she be able to have children of her own?  How will I manage to keep my words and limbs in check if someone dares hurt her?  God knows I'm a fierce mumma bear sometimes, but I am also wise enough to know that I can't and won't fight all her battles.  But Lordy that's going to be hard!

I worry about her health - so many children get cancer these days before they've even had a chance to stuff themselves up with bad food and chemical-ridden products over the decades, will she be one of them?  Will I lose her before she has a chance to lose me to old age?

And when I think about having more children, I look at the state of the world - 7 BILLION people.  So many wars.  So many starving, while so many have bulging fridges and pantries and still throw away daily enough food to feed a second family.  And how can the world possibly keep producing enough food to feed all these people?  Chemicals are everywhere in our food because we can't produce it on a big enough, more reliable scale without them, yet I'm convinced they're what's making us so sick.  Food shouldn't have numbers in it!  Since when could you find a tree and pick MSG (621), and the literally thousands of other numbers in our everyday food?

Then I listen to my heart.  I want more children.  I want a big family.  I want to be pregnant again, to feel those kicks and nudges from the inside.  I want to breastfeed again and to hear those beautiful gurgling noises and have a little baby fall asleep curled in a ball on my chest.  Is that selfish when the world's in such a state and I'm not sure what kind of world they're going to have?  Perhaps one of my children will "save the world", but the cynical side of me (which is often around at this late hour of the night) thinks "Greed will always win".

"Hec, we don't need that rainforest!  What we need is to knock it all down to build more condos so I can buy a yacht and a fat gold watch and get the trophy wife a boob job!"  "Whales?  Who cares about the whales?  I wanna get my hands on all that oil trapped under the ocean so I can fill up my enormous SUV that I never take off-road or use to drive more than just myself... because I'm big, fat, rich and important, don't you know!"

What future are we leaving our children?  How can a little person make a difference when money is tight and your voice is small on a global scale?  Hec, it's even small on a local scale!  Shop local.  Buy from the farmer.  Read labels and don't buy what you don't understand.  Make your own cleaning products.  Use contraception if you don't want or aren't ready for children.  Consider adopting or letting another loving couple raise your child if you can't - God knows there are children in the world who are already here who need love; and every child deserves the best life possible.  And support other little voices, trying to do the best they can.

Rant over.  Thanks for listening.