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.