His Name is Asa: Part 4

  Read Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 of Asa’s story here. The call came on a Monday morning.  God had chosen this moment to show me the depth of his love.  Because while we had been waiting and waiting for a baby for Peter and Alisa, God had been waiting for this baby.  This child.  This wonderful blessing.  This moment.  Because as we prayed month-after-month to get pregnant, God knew Asa would need a name.  And as we prayed for baby Abby, God knew that Asa would need a mommy.  And as we doubted that God was even listening to our prayers, God was preparing each of our hearts for Asa.  Because Asa needed a home.  And a big, loud extended family to welcome him. I can’t say that everything was rosy the second Alisa and Peter got that call and arrived in the NICU to meet their son the first time.  It was hard.  Asa spent 31 days in the NICU.  He had major surgery to put his intestines inside of his body when he was only a week old, and then spent three longs weeks struggling through a grueling and painful refeeding process where he was often hungry, in pain and inconsolable.  But Asa fought hard.  And he not only survived, but he thrived.  As if he knew that his Creator, his God had a plan for his life, a plan that went far beyond the pain of the NICU. Exactly a month after the day of his birth, Alisa and Peter carried their son, God’s beautiful, precious and unexpected gift, home.  And as family...

His Name is Asa: Part 3

If you missed parts 1 and 2 of Asa’s story, read them here. The next nine months were a blur of tears and pain.  I watched my sister become a shell of herself—depressed, alone, wondering if God had forgotten about her desperate and heartfelt prayers.  Emptiness throbbed through her soul every time she saw a mother with a baby in her arms.  Things came to a breaking point in mid-April as we planned and threw a baby shower for my sister-in-law Stevi—who was pregnant with her third baby.  Alisa was happy for Stevi—truly—but the pain that day was unbearable.  It was Alisa’s breaking point.  On the morning of April 27th, 2012 as we celebrated Stevi’s pregnancy, Alisa felt her soul telling her that she simply couldn’t wait anymore.  She tearfully let it go.  She handed it to God.  And resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to have any more babies. But God knew about Asa—and as we sat arranging flowers, baking scones and wrapping presents for Stevi’s shower, God was orchestrating an incredible and totally unexpected miracle. Two hundred miles away, a brave, young women walked into the hospital—in labor with a baby that she knew she couldn’t raise.  A baby who she had hidden from her family, friends and even doctors for nine months because she knew she wasn’t equipped to parent him.  A baby whose fragile health condition was still unrealized, a baby who would be born into a world of pain and loneliness.  But also into a world of hope.  Because God had been planning for his arrival for a long, long time....

His Name is Asa: Part 2

If you missed Part 1 in this series, read it here. Waiting is hard.  Especially when you’re not used to it. My sister Alisa got pregnant fairly quickly with my niece Haddie—within a year of getting pregnant she had a beautiful red-headed baby girl in her arms.  And so, when Alisa and Peter decided to try again, they figured they would once again have a baby in their arms.  And soon. But God asked Alisa and Peter to wait.  Wait as friend after friend got pregnant.  Wait as nieces and nephews—not one, not two, but four—were born.  Alisa waited as pregnancy test after pregnancy test came back negative month-after-month, year-after-year.  Alisa waited through months of adoption training and paperwork and countless hopes raised and then dashed as one baby after another was placed in the waiting arms of another mother.  Waiting through painful and costly infertility procedures and tests.  Because God had other plans.  And he already knew about Asa. And then in July 2011, we found out that Alisa’s long and painful wait was finally over.  They had been chosen to adopt a beautiful baby girl.  We painted the nursery, bought pink ruffled dresses and itty bitty shoes and prepared our home for our precious new gift.  We laughed about how God had perfect timing, blessing Alisa and Peter with a baby just when they thought they couldn’t take another step forward without a baby in their arms. But God still had other plans.  Just one day after baby Abby was born, her birth mom changed her mind and decided to parent her.  And Alisa left the hospital...

His Name is Asa: Part 1

In honor of my sweet nephew Asa’s first birthday, I’m going to be sharing his story on my blog this week.  To read a little about his background, feel free to read some of my posts from last year and then tune in this week on April 27th, April 28th, April 29th and April 30th to read more. God’s Plan (Written after the loss of my neice Abby) Dear Birth Mom (Written three days after Asa was born) Asa’s Surgery Report (Written as he emerged from his surgery) When God Says Wait Here is Asa’s story: His name is Asa. He is exactly one year old today—sitting in his high chair eating a bacon-and-egg breakfast sandwich that he picked up to help him celebrate.  He is surrounded by family—parents, aunts, uncles, cousins—and perhaps most incredibly, his three-day old baby sister Alma who just arrived home from the hospital yesterday. We look at his big brown eyes and light blonde hair and comment that he looks just like his cousins.   And then we all laugh.  Because we all know that while he may grow up having the same obsessive love of swimming like his sister Haddie or the ability to throw willy-nilly curveballs that fly over fences like his cousin Joey, his eyes are his and his alone.  And I smile at this mystery-baby-turned ours and remember once again the incredible gratitude we feel at the beautiful gift that has unfolded around us.  A gift that is so beautiful, so stunning and such a surprising twist on everything that we expected that we can’t help to wonder what else God...

Me Do Self!

“Me do self!” I should be excited to hear those three little words.  They tell me that my son Will is growing up.  That he’s branching out.  That he’s wanting to be independent and learn things by himself. But I confess:  Those three little words terrify me.  Because I know the damage they can cause: “Me do self!” on the playground really means “I’ll just go ahead and wobble across this 8-foot-high bouncy bridge without touching the handrails to see if I can make it without falling off.” “Me do self!” in the car means “If you don’t let me try to buckle my seatbelt by myself, I’m going to arch my back and scream for ten minutes, which means you’ll be late to Pilates.” And “Me do self!” at the breakfast table means I’m going to spend the rest of the afternoon picking crusted-on yogurt from the cracks between his eyelids. The truth is that when it comes to “me do self” us moms are in a lose-lose situation. If we say something like “no, sweetie, let’s just go ahead and let mommy feed you with a spoon until you’re twelve and you have the eye-hand coordination and emotional restraint to keep those ravioli in the bowl” then our kid’s kindergarten teachers accuse us of being a helicopter mom. But if we go ahead and let Mr. Me-Do-Self eat those ravioli all by himself, well, let’s just say there’s not a stain stick or scrub brush on the market strong enough.  Not that I know about this from experience or anything. But I also know from experience that...
Top