migration

We have moved in the blog world.

Please visit us at http://journallingthejourney.wordpress.com

catching up

Yes, it has been much too long.

We have moved to our new home, and are enjoying the extra space it provides. The kids love the pool too. We are truly blessed.


We celebrated K's birthday with a surprise party. I was just pleased that we managed to pull it off, three days after moving in. Very fun.


The kids finished up their last day at their old school yesterday, and start at their new school next Wednesday. As I picked them up yesterday, I was blessed to see how loved they are by their teachers. There were plenty of hugs to go around, and their teachers looked so sad to see them go.

We have just a few more weeks before we get to meet Lucy. Excited. Daunted. And everything in between.

how come they sound the same

So we've discovered a lunch place that we all love, mainly because they hand out toys to the kids to keep them occupied through the meal. An additional plus, J polished off all his pizza and E her pasta carbonara.

At the end of the meal, we were give some vouchers to use on our next visit. J was listening to us talk about the vouchers, and piped in with great alarm in his voice, "Vultures? Like the big bird?"

praise party

"a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance" Ecclesiastes 3:4

It has been a somber couple of days. We just came back from the wake of a member of our church family a little while ago. He was such a kind, generous person, so quick to remind us that God is a God of beauty. I will miss him.

As much as I know that he is with Jesus now and that we will see him again, it was still heartbreaking to see our friend's mother mourn. I will not quickly forget the words she said to me when I hugged her. She spoke words from a heart freshly broken. And I mourned with her.

I knew I needed a lift yesterday evening, so with the kids home, I turned the TV off, turned up some kids worship on the iPod, and instructed them to pull out their playsilks. They were, thankfully, game for a praise party. As the praise songs played, I watched all three of them dance, leap and bounce without inhibition. I listened to Joshua trying to keep up with the words of some worship songs. I took mental notes as they told me which praise songs they liked better. The kids had a great time, but it was more than just a great time for me. They reminded me to hope, to hope because we have Jesus Christ.

mommy time

Every time he has a couple of minutes alone with me, J says, "I have some mommy time, right, Mom?"

It's a great reminder to me to be intentional about my time with him, especially when the younger kids make louder and more insistent demands on me than he does.

So amidst the craziness of managing three kids this weekend, I sneaked out with J yesterday afternoon while the younger two were napping. I had to run a mundane errand for the new house anyway, and thought that I might as well redeem the time by having J along.

We were walking hand in hand at one point, no noisy cars to block out my voice so I reminded him of how special he is, how wonderful God made him, and how much I love him even though I may be busy amd occupied with the younger two.

I was glad for it, that mini-date with my son.

moving

We should be moving in a matter of weeks to a new home, with more room for everyone.

Josh has always been quite adaptable, so he should do ok. Emma needs a little more reassurance than he does, but since I'm her security blanket, she should do fine. Noah is the least adaptable one so far. He is so used to his space that travelling with him last month was hard.

Nonetheless, it's a move I look forward to getting over with.

The kids will have to change schools too, and I have mixed feelings about it. I'd like for the kids to not have to deal with so many changes, but our new place will be too far for me to drive them up and down every day, especially after Lucy arrives.

Today I mentioned to Josh's teacher that we would have to leave soon. She told me that he'd be missed, in particular by one of the girls in the class a year younger than his. She apparently moped around last month when Josh was away, so much so that her mother asked his teacher when Josh was coming back!

Sunday

thankful today

1. for a little three-year-old girl who slips her hand into mine every time we walk together.
2. for a grown up five-year-old boy who, when asked where babies come from, said, "The Lord gives the baby to mommy; He puts it in her tummy."
3. for a little baby boy who wanted me to give him his last milk feed before bed.
4. for a little baby girl who has kicks hard enough to give new meaning to "belly dance".
5. for a box of tiramisu from Da Paolo to share with my man.
6. for answered prayer.
7. for a community of ladies to study the bible with, and the relationships that are growing within this community.
8. for help in finding a lost pair of slippers at church today.

club med bintan

Of note:

- This was Noah's first holiday. And our first with all three kids in tow. There were many moments when I felt like I needed an extra pair of hands. Or two. Or three.

- Noah's first taste of sand. Bleah.

- Emma started and ended well, but was down with fever in between. So she was stuck in the room a lot. She vacillated between feeling too lousy to care and feeling sore about missing out on pool time.

- Joshua was so excited about the pool, he forgot he didn't have his floaties on. K had to haul him out of the water. He was shellshocked, as was I. It was hard for me to let him out of my sight after that. After the coughing, spluttering and catching of breath, the first words he said, "Daddy, you saved my life." Looking for swim classes for the kids is now a priority, especially since our new home will have a pool that's a minute's walk away.

- Joshua had two goes on the trapeze. He did great, even if he refused to try to hang by his legs.



- Free flow of drinks. Free flow of food. But the two older kids sorely missed noodles and have only eaten that since coming back home.

Waterfall Restaurant, where we had all our meals

- Josh managed to ask the wait staff for a table for all of us, with the required baby chair for Noah, all by himself.

Playing petanque

Beach time was fun once they got used to the sand

to be changed

Yes, it's been a while since I've blogged. Even through the silence, things have been moving along though.

It feels like Lucy is growing well - she's got a very good kick. Being able to feel her move is incredibly precious to me. Just as precious - seeing the look of delight on Joshua's face and hearing him giggle, as he held his hand to my belly and felt his second sister move.

We have also been busy gearing up for another move - our fourth move in as many years. This move was as unexpected as Lucy, but we need the space that our new home will provide. Along with that, we've also been trying to get a handle on renovations, get new stuff for the new home, look for a helper (I am finally caving), and look for a new school for the kids. I am eager to have this transition over and done with.

Amidst all this movement are moments when I stand still and wonder. About the paths we had to walk down in the last few months. About the fears we had to face. About the miracle that we received.

I still don't know why God led us down that path. But I do know this.

We are changed.

Oh, it may look like we simply picked up from where we left off. It may feel like we've moved on. But like a broken cup that has been glued back together, I bear the marks of what we have gone through. And I want to remember.

The pain and fear and worry that could only be assuaged by God.

The feeling of being held up with hands other than my own, when all of me was too weak.

The gift of a miracle that I was afraid to ask for.

And the light that shone in my darkness.

Sunday

Words of a father

[A rare post from Keith]

This year, Friday the Thirteenth fell on March 13. I was out with my staff that day, at a cooking class at Fort Canning. Midway through learning how to prepare an Asian-style roast chicken with Vietnamese spring rolls, Fiona called me.

She was in tears. The results from the pregnancy screening had just come back, and, as she has recounted in the blog, were bad. Parlous. Devastating.

I went through the rest of that morning in a fog, going through the motions of what I was supposed to do, but with my mind elsewhere, or nowhere at all. A few years earlier, I was in the middle of a dinner I was hosting for a visiting academic, when I got a phone call telling me that someone in my youth group had died, unexpectedly, after a game of soccer. I hung up, went back to dinner, barely made it through in a fog, and then went home and cried with Fiona that night.

It felt similar this time. And later that evening, when our gynaecologist called to tell us about the possibility of Edward's Syndrome, things came crashing down on us.

Fiona has recounted enough of our shared experiences through the last seven weeks, so I will not go through it all again. But let me recount three vignettes.

- The Monday after, March 16th, I had to drive to work as I had something on that morning. I really didn't want to be at work. As I drove and listened to the music, this song came on. At first, the tears just came, unbidden, but then I just yelled and howled like a terrified animal in the car, stuck in the morning jam on Nicoll Highway. I did not want to lose a child.

- One of the thoughts that kept coming to me was: What would I say at the funeral service of my daughter? (For I was quite sure that this was a girl.) One of the things I would have said was this: "My dearest princess: I pray that God will give me dreams of you, of who you were meant to be, in all your beauty and loveliness and health. So that at the Great Reunion, I would know, without a shadow of a doubt, who you are. And you would know me too. And we would dance together at that great Wedding Feast, finally." Each time I went through these words, as I rehearsed this scenario in my head, I would start to cry again. Even now, as I type these words, tears are streaming down my face. Tears of gratitude. Tears of solidarity with every parent who has lost a child in an untimely way.

- There were nights in bed, when I turned to Fiona's sleeping, grief-wearied form, and I wondered: Would we ever be happy again? When we our feet find normal, solid ground again? And I knew that we would, even if we had to walk through dark and murky waters to get there.

*

Miracles happen. I am so grateful for how things have turned out, and at the same time, as I read the blogs of many others who have had children with Trisomy 13, 18 or 21, I grieve with them. My heart knows only a tiny, tiny sliver of their grief. Fiona and I are well aware that we dodged a bullet. We will spend the rest of our lives finding out, and living out, the reason why.

And even now, more than a week after the good news, the phone call, I still go to this blog, to Fiona's post, at least once a day, as a reminder and a marker of the new reality that we live in (and also, so that I know that I'm not dreaming). We've alive. Our children are alive and well. Lucy is alive and well! And even before her birth, people from all over the world, some of whom didn't even know us, were praying for her, and us. What a privilege and blessing. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

lucy says hello

Everyone, meet Lucy.

Lucy says: Thank you for praying for me!

lucy

Now the LORD God had formed out of the ground all the beasts of the field and all the birds of the air. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds of the air and all the beasts of the field.
Genesis 2:19-20

There is something powerful and life-affirming in giving a name.

In one of the blogs that I read religiously, the writer tells of being in an orphanage in India. She sees a tiny newborn baby and asks the nun what the baby's name is. She is then told the baby doesn't have a name. The Lord takes some of them so quickly that they aren't given names.

There is something heartbreaking about that.

When this all started, I wrote that I couldn't see God's light in the midst of everything that was happening. I wrote that I knew in my head that it was there, but I couldn't see it, I couldn't feel it. It was too dark.

I wrote those words straight from my heart.

In the days since then, I have walked down paths I never thought I would. The worst part was having to contemplate the idea of possibly burying a child.

In the days since then, I have had to examine my faith, what I believe in. I have found that I cannot do this - do life - on my own strength. I simply am not strong enough.

In the days since then, I have come out on the other side. We have gotten the miracle that we asked for, the same miracle that we were afraid to believe in.

We are not out of the woods yet. I think that every expectant mother never feels completely safe about her pregnancy until the baby is born and in her arms. And even then...

But at least there is this for now: there is light.

If it had been a boy, his name would have been Luke, which means bringer of light.

Because it's a girl, her name will be Lucy, which means light.

To always remind us of how God showed us His light, when we thought we could see nothing at all.

Sunday

Gratitude
-Nichole Nordeman

Send some rain, would You send some rain?
Cause the earth is dry and needs to drink again
And the sun is high and we are sinking in the shade
Would You send a cloud, thunder long and loud?
Let the sky grow black and send some mercy down
Surely You can see that we are thirsty and afraid
But maybe not, not today
Maybe You'll provide in other ways
And if that's the case...

We'll give thanks to you
With gratitude
For lessons learned in how to thirst for You
How to bless the very sun that warms our face
If You never send us rain

Daily bread, give us daily bread
Bless our bodies, keep our children fed
Fill our cups, then fill them up again tonight
Wrap us up and warm us through
Tucked away beneath our sturdy roofs
Let us slumber safe from danger's view this time
Or maybe not, not today
Maybe You'll provide in other ways
And if that's the case...

We'll give thanks to You
With gratitude
A lesson learned to hunger after You
That a starry sky offers a better view if no roof is overhead
And if we never taste that bread

Oh, the differences that often are between
Everything we want and what we really need

So grant us peace, Jesus, grant us peace
Move our hearts to hear a single beat
Between alibis and enemies tonight
Or maybe not, not today
Peace might be another world away
And if that's the case...

We'll give thanks to You
With gratitude
For lessons learned in how to trust in You
That we are blessed beyond what we could ever dream
In abundance or in need
And if You never grant us peace

But Jesus, would you please...

miracle

K and I were talking about miracles a few days ago. At one point he asked me outright if I believed in them, in miracles.

I thought about it a moment, and said, "Not as much as I should".

Now, I have no trouble believing in the miracles in the Bible. I believe Jesus turned water into wine. I believe by just touching Jesus' cloak, a woman could stop bleeding after twelve years. I believe a little girl, thought to be dead, could awaken when Jesus called out to her.

But what is it about miracles to me, for me that I find hard to believe?

Maybe it's because in all my years of school, I've been taught to prize logic and rationality. Maybe it's because in the only job I've had, I had to produce logical, rationally thought out analytical papers as a matter of course.

Is that a poor excuse?

The call finally came from my doctor's clinic yesterday morning.

The baby is normal. No Downs, no Edwards.

I called Keith and our parents straightaway. But then I didn't tell anyone else.

A part of me, the doubting part of me, was unsure. After all, we had been handed an almost certain dire prognosis a little more than a month ago. Could it really be? Could God really have worked a miracle for me, for my child?

I confess I called the clinic up again in the afternoon. Yes, I felt a little silly, but I wanted to hear the words again. The nurse must have thought I was wasting her time. But she told me what I needed to hear again anyway. I hung up the phone, just thankful that she hadn't made a mistake.

I am relieved, grateful, thankful, filled with awe. For the family and friends who have prayed for us and over us. For the people who waited as anxiously as we did for the test results.

Most of all, I am thankful and grateful to our God, who worked a miracle for us.

Ask me again if I believe in miracles.

Oh, and it's a she.

still in a holding pattern

No word yet about our results, so we are still waiting.

I want to know the results, then I don't want to know. It's all very confusing.

I have come to this ocean
And the waves of fear are starting to grow
The doubts and questions are rising with the tide
So I'm clinging to the one sure thing I know

I will hold on to the hand of my Savior
I will hold on with all my might
I will hold loosely to things that are fleeting
And hold on to Jesus, I will hold on to Jesus for life
- Steven Curtis Chapman

not a baby anymore

Noah turned one today.

We've always celebrated this milestone for each of our kids. It's become a bit of a ritual for our family. With all the stresses of having a new baby in the home, I had never managed a first month celebration, so we always waited until their first birthday to have a party with our family and friends. Josh and Emma were both dedicated in church on their first birthdays too. Noah was dedicated today.


We had a little more to consider in planning for this party. I had to think about whether I would able to manage everything just a few days after having the amniocentesis. I didn't know if the results would be out earlier than expected. If they did, would I be a complete wreak?

In the end, we decided to go ahead. Mostly because I felt that we had to be fair to Noah, to honour him, even with what was going on with his younger sibling.


Because life marches on.

the quickening

I first felt the baby move a couple of weeks ago, around week 15, the earliest of all my pregnancies. Still too small to make a big obvious push, but I've felt some movement off and on since then - a little nudge, a small whoosh, a bit of a patter. So small that sometimes I wondered if it really was the baby, or whether it was just my own digestion going.

I am pretty sure about today's movement though. It's the strongest one I've felt so far. Emma used to move in the same way. The best way I can describe it is, it's as if the baby put an arm or a leg up against the wall of my womb and pushed and slid that limb in one direction.

It's always been my favourite part of being pregnant, feeling the baby move inside. Josh used to have regular hiccups - it always amused me to see my tummy do a little jerk, and with a regular rhythm! Later in my pregnancy with her, Emma used to push a little foot so far out that she'd create a lump big enough for me to tickle.

I am just thankful for now that I feel any movement at all.

***
In the past month, I have felt disappointed with God, even angry with Him, in a way that I have never felt before. Even as I write this now, I feel a little scared to acknowledge these feelings. Am I being irreverent, not giving God the awe that I know He is due? A few days into us first hearing the news about this child, a close friend reminded me that it was okay to feel anger and disappointment. God is big enough to handle it, she said. God knows how we feel anyway.

Then those fierce initial emotions subsided a little, and I started to feel a peace that I still cannot explain. Looking back on the past few weeks now, I can also say that I was extremely humbled to be shown love by our friends and family, here and across the world, who cared enough to write to us, be still with us, and pray for us. It is how we felt the arms of Jesus around us, bearing us up.

The quickening that I feel in me, that movement, has come to symbolise in a way my relationship with God in the past month. I started out wondering where God was in all of this, not understanding why things were happening the way they were. A month on, I am here. Certain of this.

I love Him.

No longer on cruise control. I feel a real, deep love for Him, even with all that has happened. Maybe because of all that has happened.

Because faced with the alternative, I have come to realise that I cannot do this, cannot walk through these days, without God. I cannot walk without hope.

I love Him. It was His love for us that kept Him on that cross.

Of course I still want this child to be healthy. I want God to bring a miracle to light, to defy the odds that have been handed to us. We still ask for this every day.

But more important for now, I love Him. Even before we know the outcome of the amniocentesis.

new eyes

The amniocentesis was today. I had a last minute moment of panic but then the nurse called my name, and it was too late to change my mind. The doctor who did the procedure was wonderful - he had a great bedside manner, was very calm and reassuring, and was kind enough to tell me when he was going to start so that I could squeeze my eyes shut.

Now we wait. Could be any time from a week to three weeks.

It's been an emotional day for me. I started out mostly nervous about the actual procedure, but once that was done, my mind moved on to other things to fret about.

Mainly about the possibility of having a child with Downs.

There are many things about it that trouble me, but right now what I am struggling with the most is this. If this child has Downs, his or her differences are always on display.

It's hard for me to think about how this child may be dismissed or laughed at, the moment someone lays eyes on him.

The other kids certainly aren't perfect. And Noah has his own story, a different one from most people. But he gets to choose whether or not to tell people. When he grows up and makes his own friends, it will be his choice, whether he decides to tell them that he is adopted.

If this child has Downs, he or she won't have that choice. The physical markers that set this child apart will be obvious.

That's hard for me. Just the prospect of other people making fun of my child or dismissing my child is hard.

It's a little glimpse into the Father's heart for us.

How hard it is for Him to see us being unkind to the people around us, being dismissive, impatient even, with those who are different from us. Because they are His children too, and He loves them just as fiercely as He loves us.

And on the flip side, God who sees our every flaw, our every shortcoming, still chooses to love us, to woo us, to save us.

redemption

Almost a month ago, I received the phone call that turned life upside down for me. After telling me the screening results, the nurse told me that she was scheduling me for an amniocentesis in April. I would have to wait about a month for it to be safe enough to proceed on this test. I really was in no position to do any questioning at the time; I wasn't even sure that I would be taking the amniocentesis. So I let it be. I let her schedule it. Because it was the path of least resistance.

After that conversation, we did some research and talked to some friends. It turned out that there's another test that can be done earlier, called CVS - it basically involves taking a sample from the placenta instead of the amniotic fluid. K wondered if we should ask about this test instead, get the waiting and wondering over and done with.

I didn't want to take it. Maybe I was afraid to get the results. I wanted to wait.

***
Last week, I suddenly realised that it would be Easter this weekend. I had known it was coming, but it only just sank in exactly when.

We've told the kids the Easter story in past years. It always gets a bit hard around the part where Jesus dies. Josh gets distressed, and we have to work hard to stress that the story doesn't end there. Three days later, Jesus rises again. Sometimes the distress over the hard part of the story drowns out the good parts.

The amniocentesis is scheduled for two days after Easter.

Two days after we celebrate God's redemption and His restoration.

That means the world to me now.

Because it reminds me that whatever the test results are, that God will redeem it. God will restore.

Whatever the result.

The Magician

The Magician

My daughter wanted to dress up, this evening,
as a princess. She dragged out her magical box
of make believe, her silks, her tiara, her jewelled
sceptre, and asked me to make her a princess
getting ready for her wedding. And so I did.
First, the silks, tied loosely around her neck,
gaudily coloured capes that rested lightly on her
shoulders. Then, the plastic tiara, which no one
else could touch but me. And then, her shoes,
and since she still didn’t know her left from her
right, she had to ask me to help.

And so she was transformed, and as she danced,
and whirled, and disappeared into a different
world, I wished that I too could disappear,
could change the world as simply as I had
for her, to rearrange the solid markers
of these unbearable realities to make them
feel less sharp, less stony and cold. I wanted
to hold her hand and become a prince again,
to listen, and hear no sadness, no loss.

But my powers only extend to my daughter
and not to me. I am someone else’s magician,
capable of entrancing a little girl, opening a
door for her to enter, out of thin air. And that,
perhaps, is the best I can hope for.
I cannot evade my grief and enchant it away,
like the silk I tied and the tiara I placed on
my daughter. It does not hang loosely,
but instead it beats inside the quiet places
of my heart, woven, like my skin, to me.

April 6, 2009

listening to the Voice of Truth

We must have heard this song a hundred times over the past year. It played on the radio a lot when we were in Claremont. Nice song, catchy tune, catchy chorus.

I heard it again in the car yesterday. I was driving the kids to meet K for dinner. Maybe it was because I had just put up yesterday's post - but the words in the song sounded different this time. They sounded like words that I would have said.

There's a line in the song that reads "I stop and listen to the sound of Jesus singing over me."

I cannot always hear it, that singing. There are moments in my day when I don't hear it, and if I allow myself the chance, I can almost forget that it's there. If I allow it, it gets drowned out by all the other voices that are so easy to give in to.

But it is there. I know that. I believe that.

And I choose that too.

Voice of Truth - Casting Crowns

Oh, what I would do to have
the kind of faith it takes
To climb out of this boat I'm in
Onto the crashing waves
To step out of my comfort zone
Into the realm of the unknown
Where Jesus is,
And he's holding out his hand

But the waves are calling out my name
and they laugh at me
Reminding me of all the times
I've tried before and failed
The waves they keep on telling me
time and time again
"Boy, you'll never win,
you'll never win."

But the voice of truth tells me a different story
the voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
and the voice of truth says "this is for my glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth

Oh, what I would do
to have the kind of strength it takes
To stand before a giant
with just a sling and a stone
Surrounded by the sound
of a thousand warriors
shaking in their armor
Wishing they'd have had the strength to stand

But the giant's calling out
my name and he laughs at me
Reminding me of all the times
I've tried before and failed
The giant keeps on telling me
time and time again
"Boy you'll never win,
you'll never win."

But the voice of truth tells me a different story
the voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
and the voice of truth says "this is for my glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth

But the stone was just the right size
to put the giant on the ground
and the waves they don't seem so high
from on top of them looking down
I will soar with the wings of eagles
when I stop and listen to the sound of Jesus
singing over me

But the voice of truth tells me a different story
The voice of truth says "do not be afraid"
And the voice of truth says "this is for my glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me (calling out to me)
I will choose to listen and believe (I will choose to listen and believe)
I will choose to listen and believe the voice of truth

sweet surrender

I have not been able to get this conversation out of my head.

For a short while after service on Sunday, one of the ladies in church sat down with me. I admire and respect her greatly; she's always seemed to model to me what a godly Christian woman should be like. She mainly wanted to ask how I was doing with all that has been going on with the baby. She herself has lost two children, so she spoke to me from a place of having walked through the darkest valleys.

The thing that I keep running over in my head was when she reminded me of how much God must love us, that He turned away from His son to let him die on the cross for us. In our humanness, it is so difficult and painful to be separated from our children. I have not even seen this baby, not even carried him or her in my arms, and already, everything within me wants to rebel against giving him up. Everything within me wants to cling on to him.

God didn't flinch from it. This perfect child that He had, who had done no wrong, who had not frustrated him, who had not tired him out, was suffering and in pain. And God didn't flinch from it. Because He loved us. Because He loved me.

Yet another thing that has been extremely humbling for me.

It has been a slow process of surrender. It is less than two weeks to the amniocentesis. I am starting to get nervous about the needle, among other things.

But I am also slowly surrendering it all to God. To the One who loves me. To the One who loves this child more than I ever could. My human nature is weak, and so the process of surrender has not been easy. But I choose it.

I choose it.

Because "in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" (Rom 8:28).

Because whether this baby is born healthy against all the odds, whether this baby is born with special needs, or whether this baby is going home to Jesus sooner than I would wish, God works for good.

And I choose that.

submission

We have been so blessed to have prayers lifted up for us and words of encouragement said to us. I am immensely grateful for them.

As I am immensely grateful for the people who have given voice to them.

In the past few weeks, I have been told that God will take care of us. I have been told that God will deliver us. I have been told that God will bless us.

The thing is I do not doubt any of these.

I have faith that God will take care of us, that He will deliver us, that He will bless us.

That is who God is.

And yet.

There is a line in a Casting Crowns song that we discovered recently (and that we love) that talks about the difference between "the God we want" and "the God who is".

The reality is that God could take care of us, could deliver us, could bless us by letting us have a child who has Downs or Edwards.

If that is God's plan for us, then ultimately that care, that deliverance, that blessing will come. I know this in my head, even though I cannot see it now.

And because I cannot see it now, it is simply not what I want. It is not what I would choose. It is not how I want God to be. This is my biggest struggle right now. To reconcile the outcome that I want, with the outcome that God chooses to give. The nub of it all is submission.

I am struggling to submit my heart's wants, desires, dreams to what God has planned for me, for us. I am struggling to trade my dreams for His. To not be caught in the middle.

fighting back

The attack came a few hours just after I put up the last post on the blog.

It is hard to explain it now what happened. It simply felt like I was overtaken by despair, so soon after I had felt hope again.

Sometimes the enemy whispers lies in our ears that are so loud, so persistent, that the truth is drowned out, and it becomes hard to hear anything else. I struggled to cling to what I know to be true. In that moment though, I felt like I was fighting a losing battle, and my heart was deep in despair.

That night, I fell asleep in tears, whispering to God, "I am not strong enough for this. Please let this cup be taken from me."

The next day I woke up still heavily weighed down. But a new morning brought new mercies. My mercy that morning was a simple one: a realization that I could not fight this alone. My arms were wearied from being held up. So I asked a couple of close friends to pray for me. I knew K was praying already.

It helped.

Hard to explain how. But the battle we fight is a spiritual one, one we cannot see with our human eyes. And I draw comfort from knowing that God knows my struggle, and He hears my plea for help.

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.
Ephesians 6:12

hope

In the first few days after we got our risk assessment, I could not sing. I tried, but my heart was too full - so full of worry, so full of fear, that the words could not come out of my mouth. Almost every song I heard brought tears to my eyes, as I mourned for my fourth child, the child I was told would almost certainly have a chromosomal disorder, and possibly one that would take his life.

I heard such strong words from my doctor, and my heart lost hope.

I do not know why things should be any different now, almost two weeks on. But they are.

I can sing again.

I can sing songs of worship to my God. I can sing songs that speak of loss. I can sing songs that remind me to trust in God. And I can sing songs that look forward to us being reunited with those we have lost.

In the days that have passed, I have regrouped. Little things have come back to my mind, things that were obscured by my initial emotions. Things that have given me reason to hope again.

We have heard from many friends, here and across the world. I have been humbled by the love they have shown to us, as they lift up prayers for our family, for our youngest baby. Through their words of encouragement and love, they have helped to hold up my arms, when I was too weak to do it on my own. They have helped me to hope again.

Then, a friend helped me to remember that as I was having the ultrasound, I had noticed the technician wearing a cross around her neck. I didn't give it much thought then, but now, I think God was showing me that He was there. He was with us, even before we knew how much we needed Him to be there.

K also reminded me of a video we watched a few weeks ago. It's part of the NOOMA series, by Rob Bell. The particular episode we watched is called Rain, and in it, Rob Bell talks about how he was hiking with his baby son in a backpack in the woods when it started to rain. It rained hard, and the baby was scared. Throughout the storm, as his young son cried and screamed in fear, Rob held him close, whispering in his son's ear over and over again, "It's ok, it's going to be alright. I know the way home."

Sometimes the rain pelts down so hard and the thunder cracks so loudly and we are so seized up in fear, that we don't even realise that God is carrying us, that He is holding us close, that He is whispering in our ear, "It's ok, it's going to be alright. I know the way home."

He knows the way home.

And so I can sing again.

he's five

Because I want to remember all that I have to be thankful for...

Joshua is five today. He's been counting down for days, and has told almost everyone he's met.
We are so proud of him, for being such a big boy and for being such a good kor-kor.

He was conducting as we sang the birthday song for him.

swinging

It has been almost a week since we got our risk assessment. It has felt like much longer.

It has been an exhausting time, but I think I am finally starting to feel some peace again. I swing from one end to the other several times each day, but at least there is peace at one end. I cannot explain it, the peace, except to say that it must be the result of many prayers lifted up on our behalf. Then at the other end is fear and worry, which grip my heart when I try to comprehend the enormity of having a child with special needs, or of having a child who will not live long, if at all.

My mind knows this: my God is good, my God is faithful, my God is loving, my God wants to bless. This past weekend my heart did not know these things. But inexplicably, I think my heart is finally starting to catch up with my head. It is not a smooth linear process. I take a few steps forward, only to fall behind again, but I am thankful that there is any movement at all.

I was convinced yesterday evening, just felt so sure in my heart, that this baby would have Trisomy 18. Then this morning, I felt sure that God would work a miracle, and that the baby would be born healthy. I cannot hear clearly, because my heart is beating so loudly. I am too afraid to ask for a miracle, because I don't know if I am strong enough for that prayer to go unanswered. But then I wonder if I just have too little faith.

So I swing back and forth. I want to get off the swing, to put my feet on the ground, to feel steady again. I want to grasp the hand of Jesus. But I am still swinging, even though the arc feels like it is getting smaller and I am getting closer to the ground. The tears shed with us, the words of encouragement we have received, the words of Scripture said to us, the prayers prayed over us: these are the weights that slow the swing down.

I am more grateful for them than I can say.

broken

We are living in the dark. It is all very, very surreal. And I keep waiting to wake up.

Combined with my blood test results, our risk assessment shows that our youngest child is at very, very high risk for a chromosomal disorder. My doctor told us that these are the highest numbers that she has seen yet: our baby almost certainly has either Downs or Edward's Syndrome. 95% of babies with Edwards (it is also known as Trisomy 18) will die in utero. On average, babies who are born alive will live for 5 to 15 days.

I have cried many tears and I have many angry conversations with God. There is so much that I do not understand. We were not even looking to get pregnant, and then to get this diagnosis... And I do not even know what to pray for. Do I audaciously pray for a miracle, for the baby, against all the odds, to be born healthy? Do I ask that the baby has just Downs, only it is not "just" Downs, it is a lifetime of struggling with health and developmental issues? Do I ask that the baby has Trisomy 18, so that baby will go home to Jesus, even if that means we bear the loss?

We are walking through such dark, dark days.

We have an amniocentesis scheduled for next month. We will probably go for it, mainly because if it is Trisomy 18, we will want to move to KK hospital: their neonatal intensive care unit is probably best equipped to deal with what we have to deal with.

Now K and I are living our days in suspension. We cannot stop to mourn fully because we have three other kids who need us. Yet we are so heavily burdened with grief for our fourth child, that nothing, no moment in our day, feels normal at all.

We are going through the motions because we know we have to. Yesterday we went to church, and shared our grief. I hadn't even wanted to be there, because everything felt so fresh, so sharp. Afterwards though, I knew it was the right thing for us. The ladies who put their arms around me, who said no words but who cried along with me - they brought me the most comfort in the past three days. The burden and the pain and the grief are all still there, but I felt comforted that they bore my sorrow for me too.

I have felt so far from God throughout all this. It has been so dark, that I have found it hard to see His light, even though I know in my head that it must be there. It was only late yesterday night as I lay in bed waiting for sleep to come, that I realised something. Those ladies who put their arms around me, who cried tears of sorrow with me, those ladies were the arms of Jesus. It doesn't make everything right, but that time in church brought the realisation that Jesus, through the body is Christ, bears my sorrow with me.

Maybe there is just a little bit of light in this darkness.

Sunday

this looks familiar

The kids are finally in bed, and I am at the end of what has turned to be a long, eventful day.

We had our Down's screening this morning. The doctor has to figure in a few factors before she can give us our risk assessment. One of the factors is measuring the space between the folds at the back of baby's neck through an ultrasound. We didn't do so well here. The ultrasound technician said it was thicker than normal. When I spoke to my doctor, she did the measurement again for me, and said that it was just on the borderline.

I really don't want to be here again.

We have to wait for my blood test results before we know more. That should come back in a few days. For now, we wait.

We have spent much of the day in prayer. For a healthy child. For the overall risk assessment to come back as low.

Otherwise the baby seems to be growing well. We got to watch the baby move on the computer screen for quite a while today. The ultrasound technician took longer than expected because baby was on its tummy, and didn't want to turn. There was jiggling involved, and physical turning on my part, to get baby in the right position. But we got to see the spine, the beating heart, the legs, arms, and fingers. It was awesome. Baby looks so cute already. So small, and already so much in my heart.

Rationally I know that the screening is just that, a screening - it cannot definitely tell us if we have a Down's Syndrome baby. And even with a high risk assessment, we're pretty sure that we will not go for more invasive testing. We will pray for a healthy child, and believe God for a healthy child, but we will also ask for the grace, strength and wisdom to parent a special-needs child, if that is what God has given to us. It is not the road I would have chosen, but whatever the result, I remind myself that God is in control.

K worked on this Sunday's worship last night, and chose this song to teach to our church this week. These lines resonated with us today, and we heard God:

I have a Maker
He formed my heart
Before even time began
My life was in his hands

I have a Father
He calls me His own
He'll never leave me
No matter where I go

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call
- Tommy Walker, He Knows My Name

We thank God that He knows us, that He formed us, that He hears us.

knitting

For you created my inmost being;

you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
Psalm 139:13-14

We are scheduled for another check up on baby in a couple of days. I have a special test scheduled this time round; it's a new one - I don't think they had it yet during my earlier two pregnancies. Basically we'll be able to do an earlier and more accurate screening for Down's. I wouldn't think anything about it, except we've travelled down this road before, and it turned out to be curvier than expected.

We didn't clear the Down's screening during my pregnancy with E. It was just a screening, so it doesn't definitively tell you whether or not your baby has Down's, but the risk assessed with her was higher than normal. Enough for my doctor to recommend an amniocentesis. We were travelling in Thailand when I got the call from the doctor's office. It sent us straight to our knees.

In the end, we decided not to go with the amniocentesis. We prayed that the baby would be healthy. We also prayed for strength and grace to deal with a not completely healthy baby, if she was indeed sick. I worried. And then worried some more. We had always thought of Emma as a possible name for our baby girl. What clinched it for us was finding out that one of the meanings for Emma was "whole, complete". We claimed that for her. And praise God, she was born healthy. (Three years down the road, I can also say spunky, with a strong backbone!)


We've been praying for a healthy baby this time round too. Every night before the older two sleep, we say prayers with them, and they've taken to praying for the baby. I love hearing their little voices say, "Please God, pray for new baby."

As I go in for the test on Thursday, I am just a little nervous. But I'll be holding on to the hand of Jesus.

a leap, and someone to hold my hand

Today I took a leap in church. And took one big step out of my comfort zone.

And who am I, that God was mindful of me? Once again, I am amazed by how He knew my anxieties, my discomfort. And so He sent a wise woman, someone I respect greatly, barely ten minutes after I took that leap, to confirm that it was the right step, to give me welcome advice, and to gently prod me along. It was a conversation that God truly directed; both of us started out not even knowing how He would guide our words. But guide He did, and I know I was blessed for it.

Who am I, that God was mindful of me?

Sunday

not so baby steps

In more recent news, Noah now...

1. has decided that baby food is no longer for him. He completely rejects porridge if I cook it for him, and will only eat when I feed him what the older two kids eat. He now holds the record for weaning himself off baby food the earliest.

2. is sleeping through the night. (*crossing fingers as I type this*) I am looking forward to enjoying a few months of sleeping properly, before the new baby arrives and turns my world upside down again.

3. has a bit of a weird nap schedule. If he takes a good solid morning nap, then his afternoon is short, and hence to my mind, pathetic. But he cannot yet go without a morning nap. He passes out by about midday at the latest.

4. is walking! Keeping to our tradition of having fairly early walkers, he took his first step last month (both J and E took their first step around 10 months as well), and now can go about six or seven steps unaided. We got him new shoes today. If he's in a hurry, he'll still crawl though. No time to waste, especially when he sees someone holding a bowl of food.

5. is clapping. His newest trick. So cute to see the look of delight on his face the first time he did it.

6. is a climber. His favourite way of scaring me is to clamber up onto the sofa and then laugh cheekily when I lunge to catch him.

Yes, he's been busy.

Sunday

Sunday

new life

There is something miraculous in seeing a heart beat, when just a few weeks ago, there was none.

A few weeks ago, we found out that we are expecting. Our. Fourth. Child.

It took us a couple of weeks to just get over the shock. And while we were excited and thankful for the blessing, this time round it was also tinged with some apprehension. Four kids running rings around me. And then, there was the CMV to worry about.

We had our first doctor's appointment today. I am just about 8 weeks along now, and baby number 4 is due around the last week of September. We watched the little heart beat on the ultrasound, steadily, regularly. There is nothing quite like seeing it for the first time. I was in awe of it. (We have already promised the older kids that they'll get to come with me to the doctor in a few months' time, so they get to see the baby on the "doctor's machine". Josh said, kind of like an x-ray, right, Mom?)

Last year, around the time that we felt called to adoption, one thing that held me back initially was thinking that I would not be pregnant again. We had assumed that we would conceive our third child biologically. And I thought, if I had known that my second pregnancy would be my last, I would have treasured it more, savored it more. But God's call to us to adopt was so clear, that we felt we had to obey. So I gave that up, a little sadly.

Now here we are. Being given more than we asked for. Blessed beyond what we imagined for ourselves.

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.
Ephesians 3:20-21

go tell it on the mountain

We are learning that the most serious and interesting conversations we have with the kids happen in the car.

Close to our home is a little Chinese temple. As we were driving home yesterday night, we saw a little bonfire right outside it. It piqued J's interest.

That led to a conversation about how there are lots of people in Singapore who aren't Christians. I suppose it's a little hard for him to get that. We talked about how people sometimes believe in different things, and how not everyone knows Jesus Christ, how our jobs as Christians is to tell others about Christ.

To which J says, I tell my friends at school. But they don't believe me.

We can't make them believe, I tell him. It's enough for us to tell them about Jesus.

And then he says, Mommy, God is sad when they don't believe him. And I make God happy because I believe him, right?

in sweet company

In Sweet Company

We sit together and I tell you things,
Silent, unborn, naked things
That only my God has heard me say,
You do not cluck your tongue at me
Or roll your eyes
Or split my heart into a thousand thousand pieces
With words that have little to do with me.
You do not turn away because you cannot bear to see
Your own unclaimed light shining in my eyes.
You stay with me in the dark,
You urge me into being.
You make room in your heart for my voice.
You rejoice in my joy.
And through it all, you stand unbound
By everything but the still, small Voice within you.
I see my future Self in you
Just enough to risk
Moving beyond the familiar,
Just enough to leave
The familiar in the past where it belongs.
I breathe you in and I breathe you out
In one luxurious and contented sigh.
In sweet company
I am home at last

---- Margaret Wolff

my three-year-old girl

Emma has been anticipating this for days! She was all excited about having cupcakes in school with her friends, having goodie bags to give out, and then having a princess cake at home. Sunday was spent baking what felt like a million cupcakes, and there was a minor crisis on Monday morning when I thought there wouldn't be enough frosting. But it turned out to be enough in the end, so it was all good!

This is Emma's birthday in pictures.

My little girl is getting less little. We are so proud of her, and we love her so.

Oh, what turned out to be an unexpected highlight: Josh managed to say grace for all of us, grandparents included, before we started on dinner. We were so proud of him too.

his parents

We had Noah's birth certificate done today. With our names down as his parents.

=)

We took this for granted with the older two, but we are savoring it this time round.

Because of the paperwork needed for the birth certificate, we had to sort through a whole bunch of papers that we have for Noah. We knew we had this, but we paused again when we saw his birth mother's signature giving up her rights to him.

We had to pause because today my name took the place of her name on Noah's new birth certificate.

It made me wonder (again!) about the questions that Noah will have when he is older - who his birth mother was, and why she gave him up. Such tough questions that we don't have answers to, as much as I want to be able to help him understand.

I think of all that I want him to know even before these questions arise in his mind: that we love him, he is as much our child as his older siblings, that God is good, God's plans are perfect. Perhaps above all, this: our adoption of him was so directed by God.

chinese new year

The kids had a chinese new year party in school.

This is Emma peering at me from her classroom

Both kids had a performance each, but E needed a bit of help with hers. Once she got up in front of everyone with her friends, she was struck with stage fright, and did not want to do anything. Kor-kor had to step in and help her with the actions.


In their new year finery.

Sunday

growing up

Today, this is how I know the kids are growing up...

1. After the kids came back from school, they both wanted to draw, so they got out their own pencils and paper. A couple of minutes later, J came over to show me his paper and he had written the Chinese character for tooth on it!!! I thought that was pretty amazing.

2. With their new chopsticks, designed specially for children, both J and E managed to pick up small pieces of char siew and pop them into their mouths! I'm pretty sure I didn't manage to use chopsticks until I was much older!

Sunday

J asked me one day, quite out of the blue, "Mommy, what is that song we sing in church? You step out on the water?"

Confusion.

But with the help of the worship leader in the family, we finally figured it out.

ponytails

My baby is all grown up.

happy dance

Our lawyers called yesterday. Our adoption order has been pre-approved. Ahead of our court date this Friday.

So even though we still have to wait a bit, for our lawyers to get the paperwork and to make a date to get Noah's birth certificate, WE ARE DONE.

=)

Sunday

Is there any sweeter sound than hearing your kids singing,
all God's children singing
Glory, glory, hallelujah
He reigns!

heartbeat

Noah's court hearing is in a week's time - 9 Jan. If all goes well, he will be legally ours then and we can apply for a birth certificate for him, with our names on it as his parents. We have been told that everything should go smoothly; our lawyers aren't anticipating problems. Still, I think I'll still heave a sigh of relief when it is all done.

Even though he already feels like part of our family. He seems to have attached to us well.

Sometimes when I carry him, he'll rest his head on me. I imagine he can hear my heartbeat. And I wonder if he can tell that it's a different heartbeat, different from one that he listened to for nine months.

the things my firstborn says

I am so CONFUSED, Dad!
As K slows down almost to a stop at a red light, and then picks up speed again because light changes to green.

I am covered all over with fleas!!
After we explain that fleas make cats and dogs itch. (It's a daily battle with eczema since moving back home.)

Emma, that was a big fart!
When they're in separate cubicles in a public restroom. And it wasn't even her!