All I See Is Perfection ~ Guest Post by Jennifer

Andrew1 — Andrew just a few days ago, 2yrs and 4months

Hi everyone. I’m back again, writing for Full of Graces. I’ve wanted to write about this topic for a while now but haven’t been able to put my thoughts to paper. We have just put the boys to bed after an afternoon at a birthday party. Some of the older children at the party asked about that thing on Andrew’s chin. Jacob, my oldest, explained that it was a hemangioma and that it doesn’t hurt his little brother; he knows that kids usually are concerned that Andrew may have hurt himself. Nate, my husband, told the kids that it would be removed in two days. But that didn’t stop them from using words like “gross”, “disgusting”, and “ugly” to describe it. These were first grade kids. Jacob heard them and so did Andrew. I know they didn’t mean for their words to hurt but man, my mama heart is heavy tonight.

Andrew was born at 36 weeks and he did not have a hemangioma at birth. By the time he was released from the NICU we noticed a tiny mark on his chin, almost like a bruise, which we assumed was from the tape on his face that held various tubes in place during his hospital stay. But it never went away and instead started growing. We now know that hemangiomas are common amongst preemies.

Initially, we were told that the hemangioma would eventually lighten in color and begin to recede. Yet, it has not done so and after several visits with a pediatric dermatologist we were told that it had mushroomed with fatty tissue beneath the blood vessels; it would be unlikely for it to go away. The pediatric plastic surgeon we were referred to recommended removing the hemangioma sooner than later in order to allow the surgical scar to heal as much as possible before Andrew starts school. We have been praying about this hemangioma since Andrew was a newborn and we feel that putting him through surgery to remove it is the right choice.

Andrew3 — Andrew at one year old (Photo credit: Brianna Kiefer Photography)

Having a child with a hemangioma in a very visible place on his face has been an interesting experience. Overall, it has not been too bad. Little kids are curious and usually just want to know if Andrew has had a boo-boo or if it hurts him. Parents of children with hemangiomas have stopped me, usually at Disneyland, to share their child’s hemangioma story. They have always been positive interactions meant to encourage me in that it would go away eventually and I appreciate that. However, we’ve also had enough interactions where older children say something negative about my baby’s beautiful face. As much as I have hated those negative occasions, I also wish the positive experiences had not happened either. It’s not that I wish people would pretend the hemangioma doesn’t exist, I just wish it weren’t the first thing that people notice about Andrew. He was the sweetest, chunkiest baby and is now the most entertaining, happy little boy; there is so much more to him than the hemangioma on his chin.

Andrew can identify his hemangioma just like he identifies his eyes, nose, mouth, ears, etc. I wonder if he realizes that no one else has one. I will say this experience had been a good teaching opportunity even if it isn’t one that I asked for. Jacob and I have had several conversations about why people always notice Andrew’s hemangioma and sometimes aren’t nice about it. He and I have prayed for the hemangioma to go away and for those that have been unkind. Andrew doesn’t talk much but someday I know I will teach him about how to, and how not to, approach someone who is different. I know that many of my friends are having these conversations with their children too. If you haven’t talked to your child about using kind words, please do. The old adage “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” is simply not true. Words hurt the most.

Unfortunately kids can be mean and we don’t want Andrew to be hurt by other people’s words about it. So we are going ahead with plastic surgery on Tuesday, December 15^th. We’ve been told that the procedure will last 30-45minutes; Nate, my doctor husband, says that’s not long at all but I am sure those minutes will feel much longer. Andrew is expected to bounce back quickly because he is young but we have been warned that the scar may be very red for up to a year. That means it should be fading around when he starts pre-school. I am praying that it does fade by then but that if it doesn’t, that the children in his class are kind.

Please join me in praying for a successful surgery, quick recovery, and minimal scaring. Thank you.

Grace Walking

It isn’t often that grace walks around on two feet in this world. But grace is walking in Charleston.

Felicia Sanders played dead in a puddle of her son’s blood. He died. She survived to offer mercy to his killer.

Nadine Collier’s 70 year old mom went to that bible study and didn’t come back. Nadine offered forgiveness.

Bethane Middleton Brown’s sister was killed, leaving behind four daughters. But Bethane told the world “We are the family that love built. We have no room for hating.”

I don’t know if I could do what they did. Maybe, now that I have seen them do it.

A mother. A daughter. A sister.

There are some people calling these women weak, saying things will never change if we appear to accept and forgive the things that are done in the name of hatred, ignorance, bigotry.

But these women aren’t sending a message to men. They are talking to the evil that walked into their sacred house of God and tried to rob them of their faith.

And they are telling him that he failed.

Wherefore I take pleasure in weaknesses, in injuries, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.

2 Corinthians 12:10

If you want to help the people of Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC you can donate to these two funds, one to help the church members and one in honor of Reverend Pinckney. Or you can send an email of prayer and support directly to the church from the Contact US button on their website.

Mother of mothers

I’ve always had a complicated relationship with Mary.

It gets less complicated as I get older. Motherhood has made her more real to me. After Dana’s post about the spoons, I wondered if Mary ever ran out of spoons.

A two year old is a two year old is a two year old, right? Plus there’s the business of the missing teenage years.

Part of what I struggled with for so long was my church’s characterization of her as small, meek and sugar coated.

Because I’m not.

I resented the Renaissance depictions of her that hang in churches and museums all over the world, beautiful in form and face even as she grieves at the foot of the Cross.

I wondered, if she is the ultimate example of womanhood and obedience, in all her delicate beauty and grace, then what are the rest of us?

Then I became a mom and I knew the truth.

She was a lot like the rest of us.

She labored and gave birth.

She felt mama fear, as we all do. Probably more, after meeting Simeon in the temple and then being forced to flee in front of the slaughter of the innocents.

She felt mama anger, too. The bible tells us that she searched wildly for her son for three days when he was lost. And when she found him in the temple, she spoke up to him, in front of the men surrounding him.

The strongest word I could find to describe her tone is “questioning”.

Yeah, I bet. She probably wanted to question him all the way home and into his room until he was 30.

Which would explain the missing years. Huh.

She was Immaculately Conceived, gave birth to the Son of God and lived a sinless life (hey, I said she was a lot like us, not just like us), which makes her the Mother of mothers. She walked our path and then some. She gets it.

That’s what matters—not how she is depicted in a painting from 700 years ago.

When I descended into the darkness after Annie was born, and my counselor told me that meditation would quiet the loud and ugly voices in my head, I turned to the rosary.

For Catholics, the rosary is meditation. It’s also closely connected to Mary, and I needed the Mother of mothers badly at that time in my life. On the nights when the fears were chasing me, I let the beads slip through my fingers, begging Mary to pray with me for peace in my heart and thoughts, to add her voice to mine and ask God for healing.

I never made it all the way through before falling asleep. But when I awoke in the morning, my rosary curled up in bed with me, I felt peace and knew that Mary was with me in my struggle.

My friend Steffani is the one who brought me closer to this understanding of Mary. She’s a homeschooling mom with eight kids, and her family is a great big joyful bundle of noise and love. In the midst of this, she is a very calm and wise woman. I used to think this was because she’d seen it all. But then I realized it’s because she gives it all to God. And she asks the Mother of mothers on a daily basis to pray for her and her family.

So I started praying the rosary beyond bedtime, looking for support and wisdom. I do feel that those moments of quiet reflection bring me closer to God, help me clear out the distractions and listen for the answers to questions and prayers.

A few weeks ago, my 36 year old rosary broke. I knew right away what I wanted to do. I had a rosary handmade for my godson Owen, out of his birthstone, for his First Communion last year. I got it from ClaresGift (Agnus Dei Creations) on Etsy.

I went back to the same shop and asked Ellyn if she could make me a mother’s rosary out of my birthstone and the birthstones of my kids. But of course. It arrived on Saturday:

I love it.

I love what it represents, a powerful way to pray for my babies.

I love that it connects me to the Mother of mothers, who is ever ready to pray for me and with me in support and love.

I love that it brings me closer to God, and creates a quiet space where I can ask, honor and listen.

It’s another way to remember I am never alone.

I’ll bet Ellyn can make any kind of custom rosary—mother’s, grandmother’s, dad’s, godmother’s, First Communion, Confirmation, Wedding, Quincineara, etc. Or she has a standard collection of Catholic and Anglican rosaries at https://www.etsy.com/shop/claresgift.

Surrender to the Hope

A few weeks ago, a friend told me that the death of her child happened for a reason.

When I asked her what she meant, she told me that she believed God was teaching her a lesson by taking her child. That she had done something in the past that had “earned” this pain.

Like what, I wanted to know.

I don’t know she told me. That’s what I have to figure out.

I let those words sit there at the moment because I was trying to be a witness to the larger story of her grief.

But you better believe I went back to them later.

Yes, Christians say it all the time: These things happen for a reason. Too often, in our hurt and grief, in our effort to understand, we think this means that our suffering is a result of something we have already done.

We can hurt ourselves and others trying to find the reason, trying to place the blame.

We can damage our relationship with God if we see Him as a petty and cruel Father who punishes us, withholding love and forgiveness.

I do believe that things happen for a reason, but the reason is not behind us. It’s in front of us, and it’s a gift from God to help us heal. When people say that good came from some horrible suffering, this is what they mean. If we stay open and trusting through the hardest times, we will see God’s plan.

Even if we’re angry and questioning and closed down for a while, it doesn’t matter. There will always be a lifeline. That’s who God is, the Greatest Lifeline in the History of Ever. He doesn’t make bad things happen, but he does help us turn bad things to good.

It’s a mistake to look back and surrender to the suffering. As hard as it is, we have to look forward and surrender to the hope.

For I know the plans that I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for calamity,

to give you a future and a hope.

Jeremiah 29:11

For Meg

If you follow us on Facebook, you know we have been praying for Meg, a friend of Amy’s who was diagnosed with cancer while pregnant with her second daughter. Just a few, too short weeks ago, she found out that her cancer was back, stage 4, aggressive.

Elle is 5. Baby Cora is four months. Sam is their daddy.

I don’t know Meg. But I know Amy and Amy’s heart was broken at this news. That was enough for me and Dana. We rallied the prayers for Meg. My good friend Steffani called on her homeschool prayer chain and the big guns at our church.

The disease moved quickly. Yesterday, Amy called to say the end was near. We asked for help to pray Meg Home. Two hours later, she was gone, leaving her suffering and her fear behind her.

But also her young husband and her two little girls, one old enough to feel this pain and the other too young to remember anything.

It makes me really, really mad. It hits very close to home for me, for Dana, for Amy. It’s hard to know what to do.

We can rage at the heavens. We can curl into ourselves, or push the story away from us and those we love. We can turn from the suffering of strangers, sad but relieved that it was someone else.

Or.

We can pray. We can witness. Not in a train wreck kind of way, but we can take a moment to acknowledge the grief that Meg’s family is feeling right now.

We can donate in Meg’s name to places dedicated to conquering this bullshit disease. We can honor those we have lost and those who have survived.

We can remember that suffering is a universal condition. We can do today what we want strangers to do when it is our turn.

Tonight, I am going to lift up Meg’s family in prayers for comfort.

I’m going to lift up Amy and her sister Ashley and their family in prayers for peace.

I’m going to lift up my own anger and give it to God. He knows what to do with it.

I am going to give thanks for the women and men who showed up in prayer for a stranger.

It’s the least I can do for a sister mama gone too soon.

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