reaching arms

“He reached down from on high and took hold of me; He drew me out of deep waters.” Psalm 18:16 

bella does this funny little thing when she sleeps. she constantly reaches out with one arm. she is reaching for me. even in deep slumber her hand pats across the bed in tender search for her mama. 

she wants to know i am there.

we've had her in our arms--and, on occasion, sleeping in our bed--for just a few months now. but recently, i realized why she might be doing this. i was thinking back to her little bed in the orphanage. i stood beside it that day we visited last july. the room was set up with 26 or so beds, and every two cribs were attached. she had spent two years sharing a small wall of rails with another child and i am certain bella and her tiny crib mate reached through the bars of their separate beds for one another. 

they reached for warmth. 

they reached for connection.  

they reached for comfort.


i understand that reaching.

last night i went to sleep and felt myself reaching through rails of my own fear. reaching all night long.  reaching for comfort. reaching for warmth. reaching for my Jesus. 

yesterday i was diagnosed with breast cancer. i sat under a clear, blue sky and the front yard tree of my friend's home and i listened to a doctor say, "unfortunately..."  i heard little else after that first word. from that unfortunate moment i have felt myself falling. falling deep and fast and dark. my hands came out quickly to stop myself. i was all arms and limbs flailing. attempting to brace myself for the smack of concrete. trying hard to stop the hurt of this hit. i wanted to catch myself. to clutch up the wind knocked out of my chest. to put it back. to fill it up. to hold it close. 

but i couldn't. no matter how hard i have tried in these past 12 hours of my diagnosis, i know only one thing this morning: my arms are not able. they aren't long enough or strong enough or even soft enough to stop. cradle. catch. hold.

and so i reach.

i will not pretend in this news to be calm or in control.  i will not pretend to embrace this awful. i don't. i can't. right now, i want, instead, to put down my legs and run. run fast away from the news and the decisions and the horror. i want to run from the plan and the next steps and the one-day-at-a-time talk. i want to flee from the telling. the telling of mother, sisters. oh, dear Lord, the heart-wrenching telling of my children. 

i don't want to share this news. i want to fling it down and smash it to smithereens with my smoldering, angry as hell heel. i want to obliterate the screaming word which has seemingly seared itself across the flesh and fabric of my future. i want to run fast and then collapse and curl up in this blanket of breath-snatching fear and close up everything inside.  

but i cannot.

i know this is not an option.

and so i reach.

i reach with arms weak and scared. dangling and shaken. useless arms, except for the reaching. i know what i walk into is beyond me. beyond my strength.  there will be no arm wrestling winner in this contest of cancer.  this morning i have strength enough only for feeble reaching. that is it. that is all. 

i have walked from room to room already before the sun's own waking. i can find no answer in the silence. i have touched things: walls, coffee pot, woolen rough blanket, countertop, a window pane. my searching hands feeling their way and wishing to uncover how this all happened. wanting to scrape off my layers of disbelief. knowing i will find nothing. no sense of peace and no thing secure in any concrete object. no answers.

i can't begin to know why this happened. my fear and disbelief and even my outrage feel blinding. there is no sense. i have five children. they need me. they need their mother well, healthy, whole. 

why Lord? why is this happening?

i feel satan must be dancing wildly at this sad girl's questioning ... her wondering, pleading, crying. his hands clap in great rejoicing at the suffering and doubting which might very well run rampant in my home today and tomorrow and in the weeks ahead. i am sure of it.  

and yet, i reach.

oh Lord, it is the hem of your garment for which my fingers long to feel. The Hem. like the bleeding, trembling, fearful woman in the bible, "when she heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, because she thought, 'if i just touch his clothes, i will be healed'...."then the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet and, trembling with fear, told him the whole truth.  He said to her, 'daughter, your faith has healed you.  go in peace and be freed from your suffering.'"  (mark 5).  

i don't bleed, but i tremble. oh, how i tremble this april day. and in my great fear, i know i must reach out for His cloak, even now, this first morning of this unwanted news. i am certain it is the only place for my grasping arms to go. there is nothing else. no doctor. no report. no plan. no percentage. nothing which can replace the hem of my God's garment.

and so, with the weakest of arms, i reach for Jesus.

i turn to what i do most mornings, and reach for my devotional and His word. i've been spending time these past few months in a devotional called Jesus Calling.  this morning after a cancer diagnosis, i read today's message---
 

i may very well be weak in my reaching. my arms nothing more than frail bones blowing weightless in heavy wind, but my Father--my cloak-wearing-hem-healing-Father--My Father Holds Me. this has nothing to do with my strength. this has little to do with my limbs. my Father holds me tightly by my right hand and pulls me close, whispering soft into my troubled spirit, "I am here, child.  I am here. I am here."

and He reaches for me.

“He reached down from on high and took hold of me; He drew me out of deep waters.” Psalm 18:16

"with a mighty hand and outstretched arm; His love endures forever.  ~ psalms 136:12 

watch me, mama!

the language is coming quickly now.  every day and more and more pours out.  we drink thirstily from her phrases and word choice.  with each new pronunciation we are handed another crumb about his little girl who landed in our laps only months ago.   we all, even the other children, are wild with our craving.  we desire more from our sister.  our girl.  it is fascinating and fabulous and unbelievably funny to see the language stream out of her.  we stand there with mouths open and hands ready.  we cannot catch it all quickly enough.  so we share with each other.  "did you hear her say...can you believe she said...this morning she told me...at bedtime i heard her..."  just the other night one of the children ran in from the yard to announce a Whole New Phrase.  at this late hour, i can't remember the phrase (how sad). actually,  i can't even remember which child (sadder, still)...but i can recall the delight and the exuberance of the re-telling.  perhaps it is because we are all playing on the same team.  team bella. okay, this sounds perhaps a little too child-centered.  we are really team mcnatt.  we are doing our best to keep all this in perspective. still, we are a team which desires to see our baby sister make giant strides at her new life.  we are a team which cheers her on through the bases of discovery and exploration and achievement.  we are a team which plans to carry her victoriously across home plate or carry her tenderly off the field.  we are a team which is rooting.  always rooting. we root for each other.  will the game get old?  will the team lose interest?  do i dare even hope we will ever grow less rowdy?  i am not sure.  i doubt it.  when we signed up for adoption we signed up for a crash course in cheerleading.  it has been good for us.  for all of us.  i mean we've always been a family which has attempted to stick together...attempted to cheer one another on...attempted to at least play fair.  but in our adoption of bella all of this has stepped up to another level.  we are in the big league now.  we are in the game as we've never before been in the game.  we are not all that worried about winning or losing...i assure you, we have already won.

in the past few weeks there isn't a one of us who hasn't heard at least one-hundered times: "watch me."  she says it often.  she says it loudly.  she says it knowingly.  we will watch.  we cannot help ourselves.  


watch me, mama!
         tiny girl twirls in time-stopped afternoon dust
              particles and sunlight
                   spilling recklessly through smudged windows.
my eyes perfectly clear.

watch me, mama!
         dramatic sweep across paper heavy with whiteness
               blue crayon clutched in sweaty, small hand
                       wax-melting mark. she says, i am here.
and she is.  here.

watch me, mama!
         delicate finger dips deliciously into cool water.
             cautious. daring. deliberate.  so still.
                an audience at this fingertip. a ripple whispering across the smooth.
glancing across my mother skin.

watch me, mama!
      her head skimming the bathtub surface
          down into bubbles. attention held. breath held tighter.
             eyes still open. dark and round in the irridescent shimmer of froth.
our eyes reflect each other's light.

watch me, mama!
               song softly eases out with gentle breath.  something sweet.
                         skipping lightly over words.  her voice settles on a few.
                                       her music is heard. plainly.
and i cannot help but listen.

watch me, mama!
         toes touch upon rain-soaked grass.
            tripping over blades.  tender and tough.
                 wiggling in fresh wetness newly discovered.
so very much alive. alive.

watch me, mama!
           and i watch
                    and i watch
                                and i watch
i will always watch.
.

i surrender

last weekend i had the chance to share bella's story with over 600 women.  it wasn't planned.  i wasn't scheduled to do so. but it happened.   i'd like to say it happened spontaneously, but that's not quite right either. you see,  i was emceeing the women's retreat for our church.  i was only asked to emcee.  i was only asked to keep things moving, to keep things light, to keep things clear.  no one said anything about sharing our story.  no one asked me to talk about bella, or adoption, or my personal journey.  that part Just Happened. 
i had gotten to callaway gardens on thursday and spent my first day there prepping for our event.  i spent the day hanging our set design.  i spent the day arranging flowers and candles and rocks.  i spent the day rehearsing a skit and an intro and a whole lot of lines.  i spent the day figuring out the order of events, the entrances and exits and the right level of  levity.  i spent my first day gathering announcements and information and a boat load of details.  i spent the day worrying about whether i would strike the right tone...make the right transitions...remember all the right stuff.  i wondered whether the women would like me...laugh with me...tolerate me.  i had not once thought about sharing anything to do with adoption. 
thursday turned into friday and our first session with the women came and went.  all went well.  saturday morning came and went.  all went well.  as i was gathering my notes saturday afternoon and beginning to prepare for that evening's session, i flipped ahead to sunday.  the topic was surrender.  i sat down on a seat in the somewhat empty ballroom and stared at the stage.  there were five words in bold lettering up on the stage.  i knew them well - i had personally hung them there.  these were the five words which our retreat focused on:  undivided.  contentment.  gratitude.  worship.  surrender.   sunday would be our last session together. i had scripted little items throughout the whole weekend, but because of the craziness back home, i just had never gotten to sunday's session.   i was going to have to come up with something to lead into our main speaker's talk on surrender.   what did i know about surrender?   it hit me immediately.  i was supposed to share something about our journey to bella.  i just knew it.  i mean i really knew it.  i had been as faithful to our minute-by-minute-schedule as was possible.  throughout the whole weekend i stayed on target.  i respected the work of our producer.  when she told me i had 15 minutes,   i worked hard to stay true to those 15 minutes.  when she told me i had 8 minutes, i obeyed her without question.  i have worked in production long enough to know how precious those minutes are and how quickly a program can get off track.  there is usually no margin for rabbit trails or sidebars.  and there is absolutely never room to steal time or an audience's energy from a key note speaker.  i was sharing the stage with world renowned author and speaker, linda dillow.  i was sharing the stage with dove award nominee and recording artist, our worship leader, laura story.   this was their gig, not mine.  but even in knowing all of this, i was certain i was supposed to say something.  i wasn't sure when i would ever have the undivided attention of 600 women.  and you see, i didn't have much choice,  i had made a promise less than 7 months ago.
it was last summer on our return flight from china.  i remember staring out the window and thinking myself the luckiest girl in the whole wide world.  i remember the tears trailing down my cheeks as my husband slept alongside me and my bella slept sprawled across my lap.  i remember well my conversation with God.  "Lord, how did this happen?  (long story) Lord, what did i do to deserve this? (absolutely nothing) Lord, how am i worthy? (you're not) Lord, what can i do to give you the glory? (tell others).  that was it.  that was my conversation.  i am not saying that i heard an audible voice.  i am just saying that those were my questions and the answers were immediately in my head.  i didn't do anything to deserve a gift like our bella and i wasn't even close to worthy...but you see, this is where God steps in.  He told me from the beginning this wasn't about me, or our family, or even about bella.  this was abou HIM.  this was about His Glory.  and knowing this leaves me little choice but to tell others.  to tell others God will show up.  to tell others God is in control.  to tell others it doesn't matter that they are not smart enough, or rich enough, or capable enough or calm enough.  God is enough.  He is more than enough.
all along we have said we looked more like we needed a nanny than we did a fifth child.  so true.  i remember one particularly chaotic morning in my kitchen when i came face to face with this realization.  that morning it was crystal clear we had our hands Very Full Already.  standing in the middle of that morning's breakfast cacophany, i simply couldn't imagine adding a toddler.  but God met me even in that chaos and assured me, it might be ugly at times, but it would be okay.  this was His Will.  i can't explain that.  i can't explain how out of control i felt as we waited one entire year for our daughter on the other side of the world.  but i can tell you it was a time in which God worked on my heart.  i mean He did a complete and total surgical makeover.   i have always struggled with wanting to control things - wanting to fix things - wanting to make things just right.  call it the teacher in me.  the director.  the producer.  the mother.  call it whatever you like, but i have struggled terribly.  every single day i could agree to surrender my will and promise to give up my plan, but every single day i fought like crazy to keep it clutched in my insecure grip.   i had four children in my home and even though i could appear laid back and easy going, i worked tenaciously behind the scenes to hold on to the strings.
when we began to fall in love with bella and began to realize just how long it would take and just how sick she was and just how little we knew and just how far she was....well, this was when i knew one of the reasons God had put us on this adoption path was for me.  it was to teach me about letting go and letting God.  it was about my surrender.   He knew He had to use something large scale.  i am certain He witnessed every battle with my mother and my father and my sisters and my husband.  He knew i was a really serious case. totally desperate.  i had spent most of my life thinking i was in charge or wanting to be in charge or at least acting like i was in charge.  so, it was going to take something big.  well...actually bella is pretty small....so it took this tiny, tiny girl from china to change and soften and surrender my stubborn, stubborn heart.  don't you just love how God enjoys surprising us?  He just loves to take the insignificant and make it significant.  He loves to take the weak and make it strong.  He loves to take the small thing and make it huge.  He loves to take the ugly and make it beautiful.
there bella was last summer,  in a hospital recovering from major open heart surgery.  a surgery which saved her life.  she was alone.  i was told there were probably some nannies from the orphanage who took shifts staying with bella.  that offered some comfort, but not much.  when she returned to the orphanage we were given nothing.  no reports.  no updates.  no pictures.  the only thing we received in all those months was one picture of her in her crib.  behind bars.  head shaved and a puddle of liquid underneath the crib. she was wearing a coat and a vest at least 3 sizes too big.   i had to crop that photo.  i wanted her face, but i couldn't bear to see those bars, that puddle or even that oversized coat.  i hated the thought and the image of bella in this crib alone.  i couldn't stand to think about it at times.  i hated that we were wading through a sea of useless and repetitve papers and forms.  the mountain seemed huge.  the road seemed endless.  i can recall a set back that november which caused me to just lay down on the hardwood floor of my office one night and cry.  let me rephrase that: weep.  i wept with the frustration of it all. i couldn't understand why it had to take so long and why we were not able to get updates on our girl.  i was angry.   but when i was able to be completely honest with myself, i realized that a good deal of my frustration came from me wanting to march into that orphanage and demand my rights.  i believe there is even a post somewhere in last year's writing which speaks to this.  anyway, it was at that point of honesty, when i started to face the fact that God was working on me.  i won't go into detail.  there are countless postings already written which offer proof enough.  little by little my heart was being softened and my white-knuckled fingers were unwrapping themselves from all that i clutched.  little by little God was whispering into my ear, "I have it under control jody...My ways are not your ways...My thoughts are not your thoughts....I care even for the birds of the air...I have clothed even the lilies of the field...I can move mountains...I am the beginning and the end...I have ordained all the days of your life...to what can you compare Me?"   over and over and over again these words were seared into my stubborn heart.  i have this little leather journal from that year.  i will always think of it as my surrender journal.  there are countless passages copied into it.  passages declaring God Is In Control and I Am Not.
i want you to know i was fast.  i spewed out bella's story as quickly as i could.  you know this was not easy. i could have talked for an hour.  a day.  a week.   i happen to use too many words any time i open my mouth or sit down at my computer.  i apologized upfront.  i apologized after the fact.  but i know it was the right thing.  i didn't say half of what i had intended, but somehow there were women who heard.  despite my rambling and stumbling, i know some heard.  since last sunday i have had numerous conversations, messages and emails with women who want to know more.  who want to talk further.  women who feel a stirring.  i didn't stir anything...that was the Spirit.  He told me to share and i shared.  that was the beginning and ending of me.   how lucky i am to have evidence of His work.  how blessed i am to see a glimpse of God's glory.   i don't believe much in luck...but still can't help but feel the luckiest girl in the world,  indeed.  and what's more...i didn't get in too much trouble.

i'm giving you my heart, and all that is within

i lay it all down for the sake of you my King

i'm giving you my dreams, i'm laying down my rights

i'm giving up my pride for the promise of new life.

and i surrender all to you, all to you

and i surrender all to you, all to you

i'm singing You this song, i'm waiting at the cross
 and all the world holds dear, i count it all as loss

   for the sake of knowing You for the glory of Your name

    to know the lasting joy, even sharing in Your pain

                                                ~ lincoln brewster

"fine!" she says...

"fine!" she says.  yep, that's bella's new word of the week. "fine!"  imagine all 22 pounds of her emphatically declaring this four letter word.  imagine the foot stomp.  imagine the tilt of her head and the challenge in her eyes.  "fine!"  little miss sassy pants has caught me off guard just a bit.  i mean it's not as if i haven't heard this word  from my teenage or tween-age daughters.  i've heard it.  i've addressed it.  i've even been quite masterful in saying it myself.  but to hear it from my itty bitty girl who is only just starting to really speak english...it took me by surprise.   i suppose it shouldn't.  bella is repeating absolutely everything we say.  the good and, unfortunately, the bad.  i am amazed how quickly she is picking up on the nuances of our speech...our words...our tone.  but even back in july, we knew immediately we had a clever girl on our hands.  the very day we met her we had evidence.  after leaving the civil affairs office in china and boarding our bus she insisted on sitting next to me.  not on my lap.  but next to me. she was very clear on this.  while the other children in our group were clinging to their new parents in fear or tears, miss bella was playing her own version of peek-a-boo with me. giggling with me.  giggling with a stranger.  i am so thankful for that bus ride back to the hotel.  i had anticipated such a range of emotion...we prepared for the terror and horror and roller-coaster ride of that day....but what we truly experienced was this magical, little, elf-like girl who immediately showed us her whitty, whimsical side.


 just this morning, over a bowl of rice krispies, she cocked her head sideways and looked at me out of the corner of her eyes.  as if to size me up. as if she had a clever retort balanced on the tip of her tongue.  and i could just about see the wheels inside turning. turning. turning.  even six months later i am still amazed at how perfectly bella fits into our family.  we are a family who loves a healthy dose of laughter...teasing...tricking.  even this little bit of sass works.  i mean i know i have to nip that right in the bud...and i will.  but i can't help but be a little bit tickled by it (for now).  i have to remind myself what is cute on a 3 year old can be plain dreadful on a 13 year old.  and so i will have put a stop to The Attitude.  but i have to tell you, i like her spunk.  i like her feisty little self.  i like how she holds her own.  she survived in an orphange of 3000 and she is thriving in a home of seven.    don't get me wrong, she is as sweet as they come.  absoluteley delicious!  but she has within her a fighter spirit.  maybe it was her fight to survive in the first couple of years with a failing heart.  maybe it was her fight to survive in an orphanage for two years.  maybe it is just how God created her.  i'll never know for certain.  but for me it is fine.  it is just fine.  it is very fine.

happy birthday!

dearest bella,  today you turned three.  it was a special day.  it was your day.  three years ago  you entered the world.  you were born to a woman in a land far away.  in a small village?  in a big city?  in the tiny backroom of a house?  or behind the sterile curtain of a hospital?  i have no way of knowing. i wasn't there.  i didn't hear your first cry.  i never gazed into your newborn eyes. i wasn't there.  but i can imagine.  and bella, my darling girl,  i am here now.  i am here always.  i wasn't there for your arrival, but i am here for your journey and i will never stop telling you there was no mistake in it.  God planned you from before time.  God wrote the story of your birth, your abandonment, your adoption and your life with us.  He didn't leave out one detail.  He didn't mess up any part.  it is the story He composed for you before you were even you.   and we celebrate it today.  we celebrate the beauty and the goodness and grace that God has bestowed so richly on you...on us.  we celebrate the block towers you build, the pages you color and the juice you spill.  we celebrate the bubbles you blow and the babydolls you carry and even the tantrums you throw. we celebrate the tight hugs you give, the sloppy kisses you offer and the way you reach for our hands to hold.  we celebrate the light in your eyes and the joy in your step and the sound of your laugh.   we celebrate you bella.  this is your day.

funny thing though...it is not entirely your own day.  because like any fifth child in a big family, as special as you are, you are, indeed, one of many.  and you must learn to share.  you must learn to share even your birthday.  how funny it is to me that you and your oldest sister have the same birthday.  i think that is perfect.   i am not saying it has been perfectly easy to plan.  celebrating a 15 year old and and a 3 year old on the same day has required a little creativity.  but nonetheless, it has been a day large with celebration.    both of you girls are such lovely gifts.  emily's birth 15 years ago marked the beginning of our journey into parenthood.  i could never have guessed what these 15 years would hold:  three more births and your adoption...and here you all are!  some days i am breathless with it all.  some days i am overwhelmed with it all...but every day i am thankful.  so thankful.  i know that with each of your arrivals has come both great responsibility and great blessing.   my mother's prayer is to be fully aware and fully faithful to both.

so today we celebrate.  we celebrate our two dark eyed beauties...our teen and our toddler....our first and our last (?).  we celebrate the gift of life and the giver of life and you two joyful livers of life.  we celebrate your births - as different as they were.  we celebrate your lives.  happy birthday emily and bella!

blurry and clear

the past six months have been a bit of a blur.  i know i have recorded all kinds of specific stories and detailed anecdotes in this blog.  i realize there have been great moments of clarity and intense times of gratitude.  but tonight feels different.   there was something about today.  perhaps it has been the past couple of weeks...but it finally just caught up with me.  bella is here.


she was funny today.  chattering away in the backseat of my SUV.  some of it distinguishable language and some of it not. this afternoon she sat on the steps of the front staircase cutting pink paper with safety scissors.  she made a mess.  a huge mess.  she grabbed my hand earlier this morning and said, "mommy, come on..."  she wanted to show me her water cup was on the counter and too high to reach.  she needed me and she knew where to find me.  today she chased her 13 year old brother around the kitchen table screaming like a banshee and laughing like a little clown.  she pulled her sister's hair and stuck her fingers in my coffee mug.  she whined for a snack before dinner and pouted when told no. she laid on the floor and colored almost an entire page purple.   she held my hand tightly on the way into the gym. she blew kisses to a lady at carpool.  today i found her in her room rocking a baby doll and singing softly.  as i was changing her tonight she took hold of my hair and wrapped it around her fist, repeating, "mommy. mommy. mommy." this evening she climbed up on her stool and brushed her teeth while wearing pink footie pjs with monkeys.   at bedtime she blessed everyone in our family and when she was done she added, all on her own, "fuffy" to the list.  fuffy is a favorite stuffed dog, new to her collection, but apparently important.   tonight i walked back into her room when she was soundly sleeping.  tonight i tucked around her the blanket she had kicked off.  tonight i stood at the foot of her bed and felt warm tears roll down my cheeks.  tonight i just wanted to lay down on the floor next to her bed and weep with the beautiful normalcy of this remarkable gift.  mind you, i don't often lay on the floor near the beds of my children.  it would completely disturb some of them if they caught me.  but it was just that kind of moment.  it was that kind of overwhelming.


i suppose i was a little raw walking back into her room tonight.  earlier i had been sitting in the middle of a pile of her adoption paperwork.  we are starting the process to have her adoption finalized in a US court.  not entirely necessary, but a good idea just the same.  we haven't felt any urgency to do so...but i know it is time to take care of this housekeeping detail.  so tonight i pulled out all of those heavy folders full of paper.  papers which i've had absolutely no desire to revisit since our trip to china last july.  nonetheless, there i was wading through a pool of both english and chinese documents.  i couldn't believe all these papers added up to our bella.  i couldn't make sense of how this enormous stack of words was the trail leading to the little girl asleep in a pink and brown room upstairs.   i remember a year ago feeling like this very paperwork might bury me.  i remember my complete frustration with the repetition of details and senseless minutia.   had  i only known...  had i only known what was waiting for us.  had i only known the beauty of this child we now tuck into bed each night.  had i only known the joy of her sleepy head on my shoulder.   had i only known the sideways look she gives me when she's being funny.  had i only known the indescribable blessing for our entire family.   had i known a year ago i would have completed this paperwork and ten million more documents eagerly.  willingly.  happily.  joyfully.  how thankful i am that God lead us through...pulled us through...and sometimes even pushed us through it all.   when we were tired or discouraged or flat out fed up....He kept us moving forward.


the blurriness of these past six months does feel crazy though.  one moment it seems like she's been with us forever.  a moment later i am astounded and can't believe she's really here.  it's like i can't make up my mind.  i suppose, for that matter,  no one is really asking me to.  it is both.  it is unreal and it is so very real.  it is utterly amazing and it is believably normal.  it is extraordinary and it is ordinary.  it is both.  it just is.  somethings in life are like that.  bella is one of them.


and so tonight i only wanted to write and record a moment.  a moment too full really to explain well. a moment too private probably to share.  a moment to which i must add words knowing otherwise this fragile and tired mind of mine would soon forget.   a moment which i pray i will remember years from now when she sasses me or disobeys or offends.  a moment which God wrapped up for me on this unassuming january night.  a gift which He encouraged me to open and peer inside...to see a glimpse of His immeasurable love and His astounding grace.    and whether blurry or clear...i couldn't help but see it.

wrinkles

today bella learned a new word:  wrinkle.  like any young child learning language, bella loves to point at all of the body parts and name them with confidence - sometimes with gusto!  we have pretty much covered all of the basics. she's got the eyes, nose, teeth, ears, head, hair thing down pat.  in quiet moments when i am holding her she loves to move her fingers across my face and identify each feature.  she is so proud of herself.  today as she was running her fingers from my cheek to my mouth she came across a little indentation.  i'd like to repeat the adjective, little.  i felt her fingers stop.  she looked up at me with wide eyes and asked, "that mama?"  i sighed and answered weakly, "umm...yeah, that.  well, that is called a wrinkle, bella."  her smart fingers moved to the other side of my mouth. she sort of gasped.  how delightful, mommy had two of them...one on each side!  brilliant!   the deal with bella, though, is that when she gets something...she really gets it.  it sticks.  and just like those wrinkles are stuck on either side of my mouth...this word is now deeply implanted in her vocabulary. she has continued to impress me, over and over again, today with her new word.  i have heard it a half a dozen times or so already.  wrinkle. wrinkle. wrinkle. wrinkle. except really it sounds more like, winkle. winkle. winkle. winkle. 


well, okay.  yes, mommy has a wrinkle...or two.   believe it or not, i've also noticed.   i am not  completely despondent over this realization.  in fact, i am attempting to look on the bright side.  these two wrinkles are merely a couple of laugh lines.   they are not battle wounds, they are not worry lines, they are not traces of anxiety or evidence of a hard, harsh life.  but nonetheless, i am not entirely pleased when i apply my make up each morning.  i am not always thrilled at the end of the day when i scrub my face clean and scrutinize it in my mirror. i am completely aware these lines grow deeper by the day and i also know they will soon be joined by other similar friends already beginning to set up camp.
 
i am not all that fond of wrinkles on my body or,  for that matter, wrinkles anywhere.    i don't much like them.  i don't like them in my clothes, my pie crusts or in my plans.  i definitely don't like them on my face.  but wrinkles just happen to be something we get.   they happen to come with the territory of living.  there is no such thing as a wrinkle free life.  trust me, i've tried...i've looked...i've imagined.  i can get up on any given morning with the best intentions and the most fabulous plan for my day.  but chances are, it will end up looking a little differently than my original blueprint and dreamt up ideal.  why is this so hard for me to accept.  at 42 years of age,  i have lived long enough to see not only wrinkles near my mouth, but to see them daily in my doings.   as much as i know this is how life works, i still seem to be thrown off.  i still cock my head and wonder what in the world just happened.  i wouldn't argue terribly with you if you accused me of having a few control issues.  i am sure i have a bit of that in me. i don't have to control all things...but i definitely have my list of what i want to be in charge of.  my mom, who never curses, does swear she knew this about me by 18 months of age when she  was already having knock-down-drag-out battles with me over my clothes.  18 months.  yes.  believe it. i can remember one war over a pair of red corduroy pants at about age 10.  it is amazing we both survived.   i just wanted my way.  that was it.  that was all.  was it so much to ask at age 10?  we want that often, don't we.  we just want our way - (insert emphatic stamp of foot)!  my problem, or so i've been told, is that i usually think my way is the best way.  and that is part of the reason why i have such a hard time with wrinkles.  they are usually not part of my grand and (i'd like to think) most eloquent plan.


motherhood has taught me a lot about wrinkles.  it has also, i might write, added a few.  i didn't get that right from the start.  it took me a while.   when i was pregnant with our oldest, emily, i would sit in her nursery and rock in anticipation.  anticipation of the Perfect Life we would have as parents.   i dreamed and dreamed and dreamed.  i dreamed about soft skin and warm baths and tiny fingers.  i dreamed about tea parties and ballet slippers and bike rides.  i imagined her happily cooing and merrily murmuring underneath the beatrix potter mobile  hanging above her pillow.  i pictured her sleeping soundly in the white, wooden crib awaiting her tiny self.  and you know what happened:  all of that.  all of that has taken place at some point or another with emily or one of the other four children.  there have been many wonderful mother~child moments.  we have shared pages of life right out of a storybook.  BUT we've also had our wrinkles.  i had never thought to dream of those though.  i didn't really imagine them or plan for them or even expect them.  but they came, and boy, do they continue to come!  we've spilled tea at the parties, lost many ballet slippers, and had a few bike rides end with skinned knees and bruised egos.  emily didn't always sleep soundly.  when i was trying to encourage her to sleep through the night, i can remember sitting in the hallway outside of her nursery while she cried and cried and cried.   i sat in that hallway and cried and cried and cried too.  somehow, i had never pictured a night spent like that.   i remember putting emily under that sweet beatrix potter mobile only to have her whimper in fear of the spinning, pastel colored animals.   sometimes things just don't go as planned.  it was 15 years ago this month that i sat waiting in that rocker for the birth of our first child.   she has been with us all these years and we've added a few others along the way.  with each one i have learned, over and over again, to expect wrinkles.  don't get me wrong.  i still sit and dream for my children.  i have grand dreams about their futures and big desires for their lives...but i am learning to embrace the wrinkles along the way.  none of us escape.  we are all prey to the pesky, unwanted, and often untimely occurrence of bumps in the road.  truly, i am beginning to understand we are better for them.  they teach us something we'd never get from wrinkle-free living.  we learn how to persevere.  we learn patience.   we learn about the need to give and accept grace.  wrinkles have taught me how to be resourceful and flexible and, sometimes, just how to be thankful.


sometimes it is easy to believe when you begin to follow Christ all of a sudden life becomes rosy and perfect and wrinkle-free.  not so.  when Christ promised New and Abundant Life He wasn't promising things to be easier...or smoother...or kinder.  but He did promise them to be better.  better in His terms, not ours. key point.  those wrinkles which come along, well, He even uses those to shape us and grow us and refine us.  honestly, think about it:  what would we be like if everything just always went our way.  what would be like if all we touched turned gold and all we sought we found? it sounds kind of lovely, i know.  but let's face it,  we'd be spoiled. we'd feel entitled.  we'd probably be obnoxious.   no, sometimes following Christ means hard stuff.  it means alienation.  it means rejection. it can even mean persecution.  think back to the martyrs...talk about some major wrinkles. geezsh!  and yet they were set before us to show God's amazing grace and constant faithfulness even in a Plan B world.  many of them wouldn't have chosen the path they walked, except they were certain God was on it.  He was ahead of them.  behind them.  alongside them.   He even carried them.   the path wasn't smooth or easy for them...it isn't always smooth and easy for us...but if the God of the universe walks with you, it is, indeed, the right path.


i don't know.  i am pretty sure i would have been terrible at the martyr thing.  my daughter runs her fingertips across a wrinkle on my face and i have to immediately dash to the closest mirror and check its size.  has it grown deeper? more pronounced? more obvious?  should i buy a cream? a gel? call a specialist?   yikes - what's an aging woman to do!  but when the panic has ceased and the calm returns (as much as it can), i am able to look back into that truth-telling mirror and know my life might not be wrinkle-free, but because of Him, i am free.    my skin might not ever be perfect, but He loves me perfectly, wrinkles and all.

i'll be home for christmas

"i'll be home for christmas, you can count on me. 

 please have snow and mistletoe and pesents on the tree." 

i don't remember my exact age, but i remember being quite young when i first understood what this song was really saying.  i don't remember exactly where i was when i figured it out, but i can recall the sense of wistfulness and the touch of sadness it brought - even in my happy youth.  the thought that this singer would be home, but only in his dreams, seemed just not good enough.  it wasn't right.  it wasn't how it was supposed to be - at least not at christmas.  last year was sort of like that for our family.  even though bella knew nothing about us...nothing about snow and mistletoe ...nothing about home.  we knew enough about her and already loved her enough to have dreams of her home for christmas. but that was last year.

every christmas eve, since the children were babies, i have had the pleasure of surprising them with new pajamas.  even now, after all these years, they still act somewhat surprised.  it is the role they play. i aid this a bit when i pretend there just may not have been enough time to accomplish the pajama purchase errand.  it is a joke with the older kids, but connor, age 7, takes it all very seriously and, this year, asked me no less than 17 times if i had remembered the pjs.   he is like that.  funny how much tiny traditions mean to our children.  christmas eve pajamas is definitely one of them.
 in addition to the pjs, they also get a special ornament the night before christmas.  the ornament is usually a token connected to something specific in their past year.  my attempt is to capture a little piece of them - something tangible. a little memory of who they are or what they've done and hang it on the christmas tree year after year.  i suppose our tree is becoming a sort of 3D photo album...a type of family gallery.   with five children it is certainly becoming quite full with these special momentos.  i'll move out furniture and buy more trees before i'll give up this tradition, however.


okay, back to the pajama party.  one of my favorite parts about this evening is placing the pjs in the kids'  hands and then watching them race up the stairs or head for the nearest bathroom to shed church clothes for their comfy pjs.   there is energy.  excitement.  enthusiasm.   on most regular nights my children are not quite so eager to don pajamas.  sometimes they are downright resistant, knowing bedtime is soon to follow.  but not on christmas eve.  this year, even my two teenagers were quick to skip up the stairs whooping and hollering as they went.  it was a delightful sight for any mother.  i love nothing more than the parade of their re-entrance, modeling their new night clothes as they come. now just imagine bella in the mix. bella who had never experienced even the tiniest bit of christmas. ever.  there she was, this year, sitting with her two brothers and two sisters impatiently reaching toward me for her own new jammies, joyfully yelling, "mine!"  she had little idea about what was going on.  but she knew Something Certainly Was.  she was right there with them dancing around in tiny circles, hopping up and down with two year old glee.   you'd have thought i presented her with a pony as she carefully opened up the little package of pjs. utter and complete delight at nothing more than tops and bottoms with santa claus print.


it was well after 11 pm before we could usher this christmas bound crew into their beds.  another christmas eve tradition, started years ago by our oldest,  is the children all sleeping together in the same room.  and so away they went....all five of them.  covers and pillows and nightlights and favorite stuffed sleeping friends...all of them piled into one room.  it wasn't the fastest "put down" we've had...but i have to tell you it was probably the best.  all of them dreaming of christmas morning. all of them together. all of them home.  i am sure they had all kinds of colorful christmas visions dancing through their heads.  but the dancing vision for me was right there in that crowded little room.  yes, i was excited about christmas morning.  who isn't?  yes, i couldn't wait to see their expressions and hear their exclamations.  but i didn't need the morning to have a perfect sense of contentment.  i didn't need santa or 8 tiny reindeer to land on my roof this night.  i didn't need tinsel or lights or brightly wrapped packages under a tree.  for me, my present came when i walked back into that warm room, laden with five sleeping children.  there wasn't hardly a place for me to step.  but i stood there and took it all in.  i leaned against the doorway in a pool of dim hallway light and listened to the sighs and soft murmurs and dreams of my kids.  i stood there and felt the overwhelming joy of a true christmas miracle.  bella was home for christmas.  and it was so much better than any dream.

merry first christmas bella...

Pray Mama, Pray!

bella is teaching the mcnatt family a little something new about prayer.  you don't believe me? you think i'm stretching? exaggerating? at the very least,  elaborating.   i've been known before to stretch, exaggerate and elaborate.  in a writer's world, this is called literary license.   it makes things sometimes more interesting to read, but truth be told, it is wrong.  i have worked very hard in my adult years to keep this tendency on a tight leash.  i even tried to anaylyze this need to tell the Big Story and i think i can trace it back to my upbringing (but, of course).   you see, i come from a pretty good size family.  and when you grow up with multiple siblings you kind of learn to compete for attention...to speak dramatically...to speak efficiently...loudly.  and i guarantee you'll learn how to eat quickly.  otherwise the listening ears will have moved on and you can bet that last chicken leg or  donut will be long gone.   these are survival skills i owe all to my childhood.  i have since learned how to slow down when speaking.  i have learned how to chew my food thoroughly and completely and, i hope, politely.  and now as a woman in her forties it is probably a good thing if that last donut is snatched up by another quicker hand.   i never realized how funny our family was until i went away to college.  growing up i kind of thought everyone's dinner tables were loud and chaotic and competitive. it was my friend, patti, who first opened my eyes to our quirkiness.  she had come home from school with me one weekend and had the opportunity to dine with the seaman's.  i remember her kind of sitting back and taking it all in.  we all talked at once.  boisterously.  sometimes food would fly out of a mouth.  we ate as if we had missed many previous meals.  everyone talked, but no one really listened. and the dinner?  well, that was over within 8 minutes.   okay.  so maybe i do exaggerate.  i have to say, though, my parents did their very best.  it wasn't that they didn't try to instill good manners and good communication skills.  i know they addressed these things with us.  i give them a lot of credit. now with my own dinner table and five kids, i can clearly appreciate the daily challenge.  we have threatened etiquette school, duct tape and solitary confinement.  somedays, however,  the dinner-time-din hovers just around shrill.   not too long ago i heard rick proclaim, "there's to be no singing at the dinner table!"  now, i would have denied that phrase EVER being declared in MY kitchen.  we both remember growing up when our parents said the same thing to us. and i was outraged.  how could a parent EVER prohibit a blossoming child from singing sweetly....at any time.  it is a thing of beauty.  it is a thing of delight.  it is a gift.   but now as a mother i kind of get it.   timing is everything.  and  the dinner table is not the place for singing.  sweetly or not.


wow.  that last paragraph was quite the exceptional rabbit trail, even for me!   okay, so lately, bella has been teaching the mcnatt family about prayer.  i know... crazy!  for heaven's sake, she just got here and i am pretty certain there wasn't a lot of praying going on in her orphanage back in china.   but one of the first things bella began to copy in our home was that we would bow our heads, close our eyes and fold our hands to pray before meals.  immediately she began to consistently do the same thing.  now it has turned into any time food enters the scene bella directs everyone in the room to fold their hands and pray.  i am talking any time. any place.  any food:  granola bars in the car, cheez-its on the couch, peanut butter out of the jar....it doesn't much matter...she gives you The Point and The Little Grunt and The "Pray!" and you know there is no other option but to bow your head and thank Jesus for His provision.  we are all completely tickled with this.  it is unbelievable.  she is relentless. passionate. committed.  there is no arguing with her.  she will not rest (or eat) until we have all shown ample gratitude.  just this morning we were at the market getting (yet) another load of groceries.  it was nearing noon and to hold her over, i ripped into a bag of apricots.  as we were cruising through the frozen food aisle, she brought her hands together to pray and began to point vehemently at me.  i knew what she wanted me to do, but was sort of bent on finding buttermilk waffles and didn't really feel the need to stop and thank Jesus for our bag of dried fruit.  but oh no!  bella would not settle for my whispered "later bella."  oh no!  she started The Point.  she began The Grunt.  it escalated quickly into a loud, "Pray Mama, Pray!"  she kept attempting to grab my hands off of the cart and direct them together in prayer. we were beginning to make a scene.  i had no other choice but to pull my cart over by a freezer and bow my head....a little whispered prayer was said and i closed with an a-men.  now the other thing you need to know is how bella loves to raise her hands high in the air at the end of the prayer and yell "A-MEN!"  furthermore, she really likes it when we all yell it with her.  so, yes...that is exactly what occurred somewhere between the bag of apricots and the buttermilk waffles earlier today.    i am not sure what this is all about.  but i have to at least believe God is equally amused.   we've always been a family which has taken time to bless our food. this is nothing new.  maybe when we are gobbling down chic-fil-a in the back seat of my SUV on the way to soccer practice we might not always pause and give thanks.  but pretty much any time we are gathered around our table it is what we do. what we have always done.  but bella brings something new to it all.  i have a feeling we were starting to  just go through the dinnertime motions...reciting the dinnertime mantra.  we were thankful, yes.  we knew every morsel came from God, yes.  we even made up our own prayers, yes.  but lately i am not sure we have been really thinking about our words.  with bella pointing and grunting and even adamantly demanding, "Pray!"  our dinnertime, or lunchtime or snacktime prayers are suddenly much more a focus...much more pronounced.    does she know this Jesus to whom she demands we pray.   no, not really.  she's hearing more and more about Him.   but, i am pretty sure it isn't Him to whom she is committed.  i think right now she just loves the routine of it all.  i can tell she likes to do the same things over and over.  but the fact that we are talking about praying  is kind of cool.  we know God has big plans for this little girl. we just know that.  He saved her.  He literally is giving her new life.  we are just sure there is something really special up His sleeve for her little life.   i suppose as her mother i am touched by this little thing she does because it is our first evidence of her getting to know Jesus.  my prayer for this little peanut is that she will learn more of His love for her. that  she will grow closer to His heart.  that she will understand further His rescue of her.  we pray these things for our children, don't we?   i want bella and all of my children to have their needs met...it also makes me happy to see a lot of their wants met....but ultimately my desire is for them to WANT Jesus and to see Him as the only answer for their NEED.  there is nothing quite like the prayers of little children.  in these past 14 years of parenting i have heard thousands of my kids' prayers. there have been many times when i have heard them praying sweetly and my eyes have filled with tears.  i have been, at times, overwhelmed with the honest simplicity of their words and their hearts.  but, let's face it,  sometimes we rush right through without really thinking....without really listening.   it is the end of a long day.  we are tired.  we just want to crawl into our own beds.  with rick traveling a lot, i am often on my own with the bedtime thing.  and with five kids to be tucked in, this can sometimes take (it seems) an entire evening.  the older ones certainly don't need what the younger ones do...but they still need me to be available.  accessible.  they need me to sit on their beds and listen.  or maybe they want to sit on my bed and talk.  regardless, i want to have the time and energy to carve out just a few minutes for each of them.  if i could have asked for one additional thing in my parenting,  it would be more time.  more time and more opportunity.  it always seems to be not enough.  but isn't it funny how God knows just what we need.  He didn't bring us more hours in the evening or easier bedtimes.  He didn't bring me a nanny or a new and improved night time routine,  He brought us bella. He brought us another little one to be tucked in at night.  another one in need of bedtime story or a sip of water or a tummy tickle.  He brought us another child's prayers to hear.   He brought us bella... who after just a few months in our family is stopping her mommy in the grocery store and reminding her to pray...even over a bag of apricots.    God knows what we need.  He knows exactly what we need.  and He hears our prayers.  all of them.

the perfect christmas photo

as i sit down to compose this year’s Christmas letter i am not sure we will have a picture to include. WHAT? is that possible? is that even permissible? at this point in early december one hasn’t been taken and i can’t see one being orchestrated in the near future. mind you, i had plans. my photo genius brother-in-law was coming to georgia for thanksgiving last week and i had pictured all seven of us in coordinated outfits with a backdrop of gorgeous fall leaves. except, we got the flu. and then it rained. even if i could have propped us all up indoors, bella was so sick she had wiped a patch raw from her nose to cheek. i couldn’t very well include our newest family member with a red nose and a redder slash across her face. so i set my sights on this next weekend. but alas, that is now out of the question as well. last night after climbing into my bed in the wee hours of morning, bella promptly fell right back out, smacking the nightstand on her way down. she woke with an impressive shiner. nope, can’t photograph that one either! oh good grief! i spent this morning sad about bella's eye and arguing a bit with God. “but this is a BIG year God. this is the year we adopted. this is the year of bringing home bella. this is the year we went from six to seven. i was planning on the perfect photo declaring all of this to our friends and family. i had a vision. i had a dream. i had outfits already selected!” perhaps you are not quite so extreme. i, however, have come to terms with the fact that i am a complete sucker for those norman-rockwellian-scenes. i will go to great lengths for the Picture Perfect...great lengths to recreate charming vignettes of idealism. but, let’s face it, this is not life. none of us live this way. even those of us who might pretend, we still get the flu, have runny noses, and wake up on rainy days with shiners. there is something about Christmas though which evokes in us a stronger than normal desire to capture beauty and comfort and joy. i have always loved the song Silent Night. i used it over and over again as a lullaby for my children. and when i nursed newborn babies at 3am it was silent and it certainly seemed at times even holy. but now with five children running amuck there is absolutely nothing silent about our home….and it goes without saying, we are quite far from holy. i head to bed most nights stepping over someone’s dirty underwear or for that matter, clean, makes no difference. from my own bed, i often find it necessary to scrape off a few crumbs from the children and a lot of laundry - dumped there in hopes it would magically make it to drawers. i grew up on daily doses of The Brady Bunch and always liked the part at the end of the show when Carol and Mike would sit in bed – he always in a clean robe and she in a lovely blue gown – and they would lightly discuss the day’s events and their silly, six children. now i realize rick and i have one less child, but regardless, this is just not Reality TV my friends. i don't believe i ever saw a pile of mismatched socks on the corner of their well appointed bedding. i believe that even back at the age of nine, i was set up for grave disappointment. we know this isn’t how it really works. i don’t wear lovely gowns and we are often too tired to prattle on about our five darling mischief makers. our pillows are not plumped and pristine…they are often, in fact, missing – absconded and used somewhere in the house for a fort or something. our sheets are not smooth or heavily starched and folded. oftentimes i find buried in them some little person’s random sock or a candy wrapper. (just for the record, we don’t actually allow our children to climb in our bed and eat candy - i have no idea how this all happens). anyway, i know you get what i am saying. our lives are messy and full of all sorts of unholy things. we can’t always capture The Perfect because the truth is we are living knee deep in The Imperfect. I have right now on my refrigerator door the verse, "every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." (~ james 1:17). i am not, for one minute, going to suggest altering any of God’s wording in the Bible. i am only saying i believe we might need to rethink the word “perfect.” i am the one who messes up this verse. my version of perfect often gets in the way of the truly good gifts. the noses which run and the sheets with the crumbs….well THESE are good and perfect gifts. They Are! i don’t always see them as such. but that’s my issue. well, actually, i’d still like to blame it on the Brady Family. i know, however, it is my imperfect and unholy heart which isn’t always able to grasp the goodness of the mess around me. as a mother and as a wife and and as a woman i have hopes to improve on my own heart’s imperfections. and trust me, my hope has little to do with myself. i, alone, am utterly hopeless. i know it is a process. there is a refinement needed…which is sometimes painful and hot, but all the time necessary. and so today i look ahead to this season of beauty and though we have no beautiful photo and no card ordered and no immediate plans of accomplishing this task….we have hope. we have Great Hope that in all our imperfections we have a God who loves us enough to give us Great Gifts. gifts which might not make it to the glossy pages of House Beautiful, but which He brings to the tables and hallways and bedrooms of our own dirty homes. and so tonight, though i will not climb into bed wearing a lovely blue gown, i will climb into it wearing a heart closer to Him and holding a hope which is beautiful because of Him. the mcnatt family may or may not be photographed this year. but Christmas has nothing to do with our family photo. the only picture needed is of that perfect babe in bethlehem lying in an imperfect manger.