Kiss Your Miracle

motherhood after infertility

Imitator April 29, 2010

Filed under: Faith,Motherhood — Linnea @ 8:38 pm

Lately I’ve become more aware of the things I say, mainly because my words often come back to me out of Sky’s mouth. The other night she was having a bath and I’d just finished washing her hair, one of her most dreaded activities. As she rubbed the water out of her eyes she said, “See Skylar? It’s not so bad!” Yesterday I was trying to make dinner while she fussed and whined and held onto my legs. “Calm down Skylar,” I told her. Suddenly she stopped and said to herself, “Take a deep breath.”

It’s great to watch Sky’s brain at work, taking in new words and trying them out for herself. It’s also a little scary to think about how closely she’s listening to everything we say. She makes me want to be more careful. And she makes me laugh a lot. Grief over my dad’s death has become much more intense lately. I’m not really sure why it’s hitting me so hard now, other than maybe the permanence of death takes time to absorb. I am so grateful for Micah and Sky, the energy they draw out of me, and the laughter they fill our house with every day.


Insecurity April 26, 2010

Filed under: Faith,Motherhood — Linnea @ 12:35 pm

“Don’t allow yourself to live at the mercy of our culture.” I drove home Saturday with Beth Moore’s words in my head. Adam had given me the day “off” and I’d spent it with his mom and sister at our church, one of the host sites for Beth Moore’s simulcast on insecurity.

Beth spent most of the day describing what a godly, secure woman looks like. This woman is free to focus on others because she’s not preoccupied with how she looks, how she’s coming across, or what people might think of her. She’s not easily offended; she understands God’s grace in her own life and she quickly extends that same grace to others. She has a certain peace about her that comes from her identity. When God says she is His dearly loved child (Eph. 5:1), she takes him at His word and lives like it. She doesn’t need others to fill her cup because God has already done it for her.

By the time Beth reached her last point, it almost went without saying. A truly secure woman in our American culture is not typical – she is exceptional. According the Bible, believers are supposed to be different from nonbelievers. God says that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, that His grace is sufficient for whatever hardship we face, and that we are more than conquerors in Christ. If I believe what He says, then why do I so often feel anxious, irritated, and exhausted? I don’t know that there’s a simple answer to that. Each one of us is a unique combination of God-given personality, past experience, and current circumstances. I don’t have the ability to analyze myself accurately. All I know is I have plenty of room to grow and I at least want to be sure I’m moving in the right direction.

Beth pointed out that a secure woman doesn’t get that way on accident. When insecurity creeps in and threatens to overwhelm her, she must intentionally put off her old self and put on her new self. She can’t wait until she feels secure. She needs to renew her mind with scripture first and then act on it, trusting her emotions will line up with her decision to live securely in God’s arms.

As I drove home my mind was on Sky and Micah. I don’t want my children to watch me go to church, read my Bible, and then live just like everyone else in the world. Not after all God has done for me.

“Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in Him, for He shields him all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between His shoulders.” – Deuteronomy 33:12


Oblivious April 22, 2010

Filed under: Motherhood — Linnea @ 6:45 am

The other night I dressed Micah in a cute, new sleeper before putting him to bed. In the morning I was changing him when I felt something funny by his foot. I reached down into his sleeper and pulled out part of a plastic hanger. Apparently, it had broken off inside and I hadn’t noticed it when I got him dressed. It reminded me of the time I lost Sky’s toothbrush, then found it a couple days later in the foot of her pajamas, which she’d worn a couple nights in a row.

It makes me wonder how many other mistakes I’ve made recently but haven’t discovered yet. Is sleep deprivation enough of an excuse? All I can say is I’m glad kids are forgiving. And that they don’t remember much under the age of two.


Smile April 19, 2010

Filed under: Family,Micah Nathan — Linnea @ 1:00 pm

I’m not going to write about all the ways the beginning of life is similar to the end, or how much babies and old people have common. I’m sure that’s been done before. I just want to share this picture of Micah’s head. The baby hair he was born with has completely fallen out – all except for a slim ring of hair just above his neck. I recently put this photo up as our computer’s desktop and I smile every time I see it. I love our sweet Micah Nathan and his little old man head so much.


Companion April 15, 2010

Filed under: Faith,Motherhood — Linnea @ 8:47 pm

If the book of Job teaches us nothing else, it’s that some stretches of life are harder than others. Sometimes tragedy isn’t just one major event – it’s something big in the middle of a long string of difficulties.

The “something big” in family was my dad’s death on November 3rd, 2009. But this week my sisters faced another struggle – the decision of what to do about their cat, Val. At thirteen years old, she’d gotten very skinny and sick. The vet diagnosed her with terminal cancer and suggested the cat be put to sleep before she suffered too much pain. After lots of tears and deliberation, my sisters agreed. To the non-animal lovers in the world, an old cat’s death isn’t a big deal. But this cat was part of our family for years, and her terminal cancer diagnosis came just five months after our dad’s battle with terminal cancer.

I don’t particularly consider myself an animal person, but during our infertility, Adam and I decided to get a kitten. We went to the pound and picked out a little orange and white tabby with amber eyes. We named him Kona for the place Adam and I first met. And from day one, Kona loved us. He wasn’t a typical cat who kept to himself. When I’d walk in the door from work every day, he’d come racing around the corner to see me. When I graded papers, he’d climb all over me. He was a faithful little something-for-me-to-love during that too quiet time in my life. I might not have had a baby, but at least my arms weren’t completely empty.

Then Kona disappeared off the back porch. On the day of my Grandma’s funeral. We were also in the middle of an IVF cycle, which we learned a week later hadn’t worked. A few weeks after that my doctor found skin cancer on my face. My Grandma had died, Kona was gone, and despite spending over $10,000 on IVF, I still wasn’t pregnant. Instead of seeing a baby doctor, I found myself making a series of appointments to have the skin cancer removed.

My Grandma’s death and our failed fertility treatments were tragic to me on a large scale. I could sense God challenging me to trust Him through my pain, knowing those events were part of a larger plan I couldn’t see. But Kona’s disappearance seemed different. I wondered how it could possibly have a purpose behind it. And the timing of it seemed cruel.

It’s been almost five years since that difficult summer and I know now that God had two miracle babies planned for me just a little bit later. I’m still not sure why everything happened the way it did – whether God took Kona away for a specific reason or if Satan was trying to kick me while I was down.  But I do know that God wants to bring good things out of every bit of pain we face, and that’s exactly what He did for me, long before I got pregnant. The combination of everything happening at once that summer turned me into a heartbroken mess and I knew I couldn’t handle it all on my own. It led me to finally open up to my family and some trustworthy friends about the infertility, and to humble myself and ask for help, for prayer, and for compassion. It also brought Adam and me much closer together.

More than anything else, I began to sense God’s presence like I never had before. It might sound strange, but I remember sitting on our bedroom floor in tears and suddenly feeling like Jesus was sitting beside me. The Bible says that Jesus was a man of suffering, and familiar with pain (Isaiah 53:3). I was emotionally devastated, but I knew I wasn’t alone, and that no matter what happened to me next, Jesus would still be with me.

I would never want to relive that summer. But those circumstances led me to an intimacy with God that challenges me even now. I often wonder if I’m still that close to God or if I’ve become distracted.

My thoughts are on my sisters today. I hope they sense God’s comfort. And even though they might not understand what He’s doing right now or even years down the road, I hope they can someday say He brought good things out of this dark time in their lives.

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.” – Isaiah 43:1b-2a


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