when april ends...part 3

Quick Recap - I'm just 21, married 7 months. Always been healthy then "flu" turns "bronchitis" turns "pneumonia" for which I was hospitalized. An AMAZING pulmonolgist was assigned my case and we developed a quick and strong friendship. Dismissed from hospital but still quite ill. Doctors keep saying nothing is wrong with me, but pulmonologist hops back on the case after I nearly crash in the ER.  He runs a test that reaveals bloodclots throughout my lungs.  I have just been placed in the cardiac ward and the search for why begins...

Of course, they started drawing blood like crazy...they were testing for anything and everything.  I was currently on birth control which can lead to blood clots but I didn't present any of the other risk factors that would make that a likely cause. 

My lower left lobe of my lung (where they thought the pneumonia was the worst) was filled with blood clots.  There was also a large triangular shaped clot lodged in the upper portion of my right lung.  To get to these locations, he explained, the clots traveled from my strangely swollen legs (clue #1) THROUGH my heart (clue #2 - bizarre pulse) and lodged themselves in my lungs (clue #3 - shortness of breath).  He could not predict how many times this had happened over the course of my illness, spanning March and April. I could have easily had a heart attack or stroke.

I will never forget what he said next...
"You should have died. You should not be alive. Allowing you to walk,  giving you percussive breathing treatments...this should have killed you. There's a reason you are still alive."


Dr. Weber went back to my chart and pulled up all the labs they had run the night before in the ER.  It hit him like a ton of bricks.

It was my kidneys.  I was leaking MASSIVE, off the chart, amounts of protein in my urine...and one of these specific proteins keeps your blood from clotting unnecessarily.  He looked at me in disbelief.  All of this could have been avoided if they had simply run a basic urine test at the onset of all my issues. In anguish he said, all of this could have been avoided if he had simply drained the fluid off my lung during my last stay because he was sure there would have been blood clots in it.  I reassured him he did what he thought was right given the information he had at the time. He told me I probably never had bronchitis or pneumonia and all of those antibiotics could have exaserbated the situation. It was fine, I told him.  It all has a purpose.  I wouldn't know the purpose of those blood clots for many years but God allowed even that for a reason...

He quickly brought in two nephrologist.  He warned me of their lack of bedside manner and how completely opposite they were but said he would trust them to treat him.  He checked on me constantly for the first two days but then would be gone for his wedding.  He left orders for the nurses to keep him aprised on my situation.  One nurse told me that he called daily.

Dr. Morgan was the first nephrologist for me to meet.  He was an older gentleman and a straight shooter.  I remember when he walked into my room and introduced himself.  My mom, husband and 3 friends from high school were there at the time.  I figured he would dance around the issues and ask the "non-family" to leave.  Clearly this was before HIPPA because he didn't even hesitate.  He sat down and started right in on a checklist of things that may be wrong.

1. They needed to see if I actually had 2 kidneys and if both kidneys were getting adequate blood supply. (I didn't even know it was possible to live this long without already knowing that but...)
2. They needed a 24 hour urine sample (tricky when you can't put weight on your legs even on top of a bedpan) so they could determine my overall kidney function and the exact types/amounts of proteins I was leaking.
3. There was a possibility that this kidney issue was a result of all the medications and could possibly "right" itself, but he didn't put much hope in that and he didn't want me to either.
4. They would not know exactly what kind of kidney disease they were dealing with until they did a biopsy, which he would recommend after giving it a month to "cleanse" itself from all the meds I had been on.

He looked at me and said, "We'll start all the testing immediately," shook my hand and walked out.  I don't think any of us knew what to say or do.  The whole interaction was awkward at best.  My friends and I chuckled over it before they left. 

I fell asleep and awoke to the 2nd nephrologist in the pair, Dr. Brandon, scooting me over so he could sit on my bed. He was wearing boots, wranglers, a giant belt buckle and a white western shirt.  The only indication that he was even a doctor was the stethescope slung around his neck.  He introduced himself and then said, "I'm going to take you to see if you have two kidneys."  And that was it...my transport walked in and we all rode down in the elevator together. Good news - they were both there and both had bloodflow running to and from them.  They would collect and analyze my urine but their part was pretty much done for the time being except Dr. Weber had put them on as my primary doctors (since the others were banned).  They would make all the orders on my charts until he returned.

More blood tests came back with surprisingly bizarre results.  My cholesterol was 495, a result of the pancreas attempting to compensate for a lack of protein in my body.  It was something apparently the lab techs and phlebotomist found entertaining because they were always sending someone new to take my blood.  When I asked why, a tech told me that everyone in the lab wanted to see the 21 year old, 90 lb, girl with cholesterol of 495.  Atleast I was a topic of interest...

Danny and my mom kept me company.  One of them was almost always with me.  Mom took the night shift, sleeping in on of those terrible hospital recliners, because I shared a room with another woman.  Danny was there every moment he wasn't in class.  I rarely buzzed the nurses...Danny and mom even took on bedpan and sponge bath duty.  Looking back, I don't know how a newly married 22 year old did the things he did...but as a result of his gentle, servant's heart, our first year afforded us the close bond that many couples don't form in 20 years.

Those 5 days seemed to last an eternity.  I remember the first day I was allowed to walk.  I'm sure I looked like a newborn horse trying to manuver my way to the bathroom for a shower.  As soon as I walked out of the bathroom, there sat Dr. Brandon on my bed.  "Why are your legs so red...that's not normal.  Come sit beside me and dangle your legs off the bed...yep, not normal."  And with that, I bought myself a few more days stay.  They would give me a month on cholesterol medicine, blood thinners, and water pills.  If the results weren't better in a month, a biopsy would be necessary.

The first few days at home were trying for me.  I could do literally nothing for myself and I could contribute to our "house" in no way.  I was little more than an invalid. I had to sit to take a shower and became exhausted doing so. I was so exhausted that Danny would come when I finished, wrap me in a towel, carry me to our bed and dry me. He would then help me dress and brush/dry my hair. Any pride or self reliant issues were long gone. God had humbled me and broken me of those in a very real way...a lesson I have to relearn sometimes but He is faithful to teach!



I remember being home those first few nights.  I prayed almost non-stop and finally I got up the guts to ask God to heal me. I don't know that I "heard" God's audible voice, but I knew the answer was no as clear as anything I had ever heard.  I asked again, again no.  I pleaded a third time, NO this is the road I would have you walk.  I have never asked for healing again.

After a month, I returned to the nephrologist.  My numbers were worse than before.  I was leaking 4000+mg of protein...but my kidney function was somehow still 100%  A biopsy would provide answers and a plan.

I stood in front of my church that next Sunday to inform them of what was going on, what we needed, and how they could help.  I remember giving a broad overview with tears streaming down my face.  Then, with complete peace, I asked them not to pray for my healing but to pray for God's will to be done in my life so that He could be glorified.  If that meant healing, so be it.  If that meant suffering, I would suffer.  And if that meant death (a very real possibility), I would praise Him all the more.  I remember being chastised for not praying for just healing, something I still can not fathom.  "You just need to have more faith..." they would say to me.  I would just smile and nod. 

I had (and still have) faith that God could heal me if He chose BUT also knew that God had granted me the faith to live/die for His glory if he chose not to heal me for His greater purpose. I didn't need to know that purpose to rest peacefully in it.  God had spared me the thought of why me...He spares me from it still...something I am thankful for each and every day.

So with my heart and mind set on glorifying God with my life/suffering/death, I was scheduled for a biopsy on June 1, 1999...(part 4 coming tomorrow hopefully)

when april ends...part 2

Quick Recap: I've just turned 21 and been married for not quite 8 months.  What initially was diagnosed as the flu turned into bronchitis turned into pneumonia that wouldn't go away.  I've been coughing up blood, terribly in pain, insanely out of breath, with times of ridiculously high pulse and legs swelling.  I was hospitalized for a week, put on IV antibiotics, diagnosed with a pleural effusion...and formed a friendship with a pulmonologist (this will become very important later!)  They have sent me home with follow-up appointments scheduled and antibiotics to take in the meantime.

Part 2...
For some reason, I think my release took place on a Friday.  I wouldn't see the doctor for a few days and those first few days seemed to go okay.  I was extremely weak and tired quite easily but thought I was much better...until I started feeling like I was out of breath again.  I've never had asthma, but this is what I imagine asthma to feel like.  Just sitting, my heart would begin to race and I would grasp desperately for a breath.  Walking was even worse.  I believed, however, that I was on the mend...

I went for my follow-up appointment.  Pulse was high.  Blood Oxygen level was low.  I became exhausted and out of breath walking from the waiting room to the exam room.  I reported all of this and my strangely swollen legs to the doctor.  He reassured me I was on the mend but wanted to see me again in 2 days.  I returned in 2 days with same issues except now I was extremely nauseated all the time and vomiting everything I put in my body.  "Probably caught a flu" he said "I'll write you a note for college for 2 more days and then you can go back"...so I went home.

I remember sitting that afternoon with Danny on the couch.  We were watching a movie or tv or something.  I couldn't breathe so I was leaning over.  Danny was taking my pulse (a regular occurence lately) and rubbing my back trying to help me breathe.  I sat up, looked at him and said, " I need you to take me to the ER." I don't remember the ride to the ER.  I couldn't breathe so I was hunched over but that cleared when we pulled in the parking lot.  I will never forget our dicussion once we arrived.

We debated whether or not we should go in.  I had my list of reasons.  The top one being that an ER visit cost $50 and I didn't know how we were going to pay for my last hospital stay.  Next on the list was the fact that I had just seen the Dr and he had reassured me I was fine.  I didn't want to feel like the hypochondriac patient...but my body was telling me NOTHING was okay.  Danny was not going to hear it.  We were going in...and in making that decision, he saved my life.

He walked me in, sat me down, and got all of the paperwork filled out.  Everything was going in slow motion...not like the ER wait is forever and so you feel like life is in slow motion.  I literally felt like everything was in slow motion.  I was out of breath again and I could feel my heart racing.  I remember looking down at my feet, chuckling and saying, "Well, that can't be good."  "What?" Danny inquired...and I just pointed at my feet.  "They're turning blue."  I remember watching him go to the front desk.  I don't know what he said or how I ended up in the triage area but I remember the nurse putting the cuff on my arm to get my stats.  I remember her hitting a button, calling some code and being rushed into a crash room.  It happened so fast but for me still felt like slow motion.  I was confused and overwhelmed...but peaceful.  The only thing I remember wanting was to see Danny...

I remember the nurse in the crash room.  He was a young guy, probably just a few years older than me.  He got really close to my face and said, "Your BP is 60/40 and your pulse is 145.  I need to get an IV, oxygen and a heart monitor on you.  I don't want to embarass you.  Do you think you can take off your shirt and bra quickly or do I need to cut them off?"  I nodded that I could.  After all, I had become accustomed to high pulse rates.  I remember how grateful I was that he had preserved my dignity and I quickly complied while he held up the gown and looked the other way. Then they went to work on me and everything seemed to just be blurry for a bit.

My next conscious memory is looking over and seeing Danny in a chair next to my bed.  I could hear the beeps of all my machines and feel the push of oxygen into my nose.  I looked over at him and pointed to him with my pointer finger (which had the glowing blood oxygen thing on it) and very seriously said, "ET phone home."  What else was there to say?  He laughed, I laughed.  He told me our pastor and his wife were on the way as well as my parents. 

I had stabilized so they were ready to start the process of tests.  Blood draws - check.  Urine sample - check.  Chest X-Ray - check.  Arterial Blood Draw to check oxygen level- OH MY!  If you have never had one of these and you don't absolutely HAVE to have one - DON'T!  Unlike a normal blood draw, they can't see the arteries so they have to go in "blind" and fish for it.  One nurse tried 4 times before the pastor's wife advised her to get someone else.  It took the next nurse 2 tries.  The test came back that my blood oxygen was now in the acceptable range BUT the running of this test would prove to be my lifesaver later.

I don't know what I looked like, but I must have looked dead because that was the look I got whenever anyone (nurse, doctor or visitor) walked in the room.  My mom said I was gray with blue lips.  In retrospect, I wish someone had taken a picture although I probably would have been angry at the time.  Finally the doctors came in with their diagnosis.  I must have gotten a virus on top of my healing pneumonia.  They would keep me overnight for observations and release me in the morning.  It just didn't feel right...but they are doctors!

Now the GOD intervening part - Remember that pulmonologist, Dr. Weber, that I developed a friendship with?  Well, he just happened to hang out late in the hospital that evening.  As God would have it, he called the ER to inform them that he would be hanging around and if they needed him to give him a call.  Remember that areterial blood ox draw that they nearly didn't get?  Well, as God would have it, the results passed in front of him while he was just hanging out and MY NAME jumped out at him.  He went to the ER to inquire but they assured him I had stabilized and been admitted.  He was not pleased they didn't call him but would check on me the next morning.

My family doctors made early rounds.  I was stable but still nauseated and unable to keep anything down.  They wrote orders for some meds and would check back after lunch but were certain they would send me home that day.  The nurse came in and gave me the nausea medicine through my IV.  The next thing I remember was being unable to control my legs or arms or head.  They were moving back and forth, round and round.  I could hear my mom and understand her but I was unable to form words and communicate back to her. And, as God would have it, in walks Dr. Weber...

He tried to talk to me but I couldn't communicate back.  My mom chimed in and explained what had gone on and that I had been like this since the shot.  Disturbed by my inability to control my body or communicate, he went and demanded my chart.  The doctors had placed a 0 at the end of the order and had inadvertantly given me 10 times the amount they should have.  He assured me and my mom that this would wear off in an hour or so.  He and my mom discussed my pulse and inability to breathe some and he looked straight at me and said words that would save my life. "Stephanie, as soon as this wears off, I want to run a test to check for blood clots in your lungs.  I don't think you have them, but I thought about your case all night and felt an uneasiness.  I just need to run this test so I can feel at peace."

I remember the test because I remember throwing up several times on the way there, during and after.  I remember apologizing repeatedly to the poor tech who had to deal with it.  He was gracious.  I remember being back in my room just a few minutes when Dr Weber came in with unrelenting determination and orders. 

"Your lungs are filled with blood clots.  We are moving you to the cardiac floor.  I would prefer for you to be in ICU but I know you will want company and you can't have that there.  The cardiac floor is the next best thing.  They will monitor you 24/7 and they are excellent nurses."  With that, he pulled up the side of my bed, unlocked the brake and began to move me himself.  This part seemed to fly by.  Along the way, he began to explain that I would start blood thinner shots in my belly and pill blood thinners as well.  I would not be able to put my legs down or put any pressure on my legs whatsoever for atleast 5 days.  He also informed me that he would put standing orders that my family physicians could not make orders on my chart without his explicit supervision.  In fact, he didn't even want them visiting me.

So God used Dr. Weber to save my life that day because as God would have it, we became friends...and as God would have it, Dr. Weber stayed late at work...and as God would have it, Dr. Weber saw my name amongst many come across the screen for my blood tests...and as God would have it, felt compelled to come visit me...and as God would have it, felt an uneasiness about my case and a need to run an "unlikely" test.

Now, the search for why begins...and that is Part 3 (hopefully I'll do it tomorrow)

when april ends...

Every year when April ends, I breathe a sigh of relief.  It's not because I hate April or joyously anticipate May.  It's because making it through April signifies the hope of another healthy year.

Here's my journey of health (or the lack thereof)...

PART 1

I was never sick as a child.  I mean never.  I never had an ear infection, major cold/flu/stomach virus etc.  In high school, I tore my ACL and had to have knee surgery and got bronchitis a few times, both as a result of soccer...but was never really sick.

I went off to college and the same remained true.  While everyone else was getting flu shots and taking vitamins like crazy so they didn't get sick, I was unaffected...atleast for the first two years.

Then, spring of my junior year hit.  I had been married about 5 months when I came down with what we thought was just a bad case of the flu.  After all, I was substitute teaching and doing my classroom observations so I was exposed to germs all day long.  I just couldn't seem to kick it so I went to the doctor.  Of course, he said it was just the flu so I went on with my regular life even though I felt terrible.  A few weeks into this flu, I started coughing up blood.  I don't know about you, but coughing up blood in my mind indicated TB or some other terrible lung disease so I went straight to the doctor.  He said the flu had settled in my lungs and now was bronchitis...put me on some antibiotics and I should be fine...EXCEPT I wasn't.  I continued to cough up blood but now it was also excruciatingly painful.  I had trouble breathing and would become short of breath walking from the living room to the bathroom.  So, I went back.  "Pneumonia" he said and gave me a thick shot in the cheek and some more antibiotics.  He said I should be back to normal in a week...but I was no where near "fine."  So, he started having me come every other day.  The "Pneumonia" was getting inexplicably worse...the pain was getting inexplicably worse...I was short of breath just standing...my legs would swell for no apparent reason...my heart would race (110+bpm) when I was sitting on the couch.  After about 2 weeks of this, he admitted me to the hospital for IV antibiotics to treat my "pneumonia".

I checked in and they immediately put me in an isolation room...they couldn't be certain what I had and there was another A&M student that had been admitted recently with a rare, antibiotic resistant strand of pneumonia.  On the first night there, they sent in a repiratory therapist to give me a breathing treatment and some percussive therapy to break up the congestion.  When she awoke me and I opened my eyes, I thought I was dreaming because I recognized her immediately.

We weren't long lost friends or best friends or anything like that.  I had met her a year earlier when I was working in the local christian bookstore.  She came in about 7 months pregnant looking for some Bible study material.  We struck up a conversation.  It turned out that her husband had left her when she became pregnant.  He didn't want kids.  They had made a "deal" when they were married that they wouldn't have children.  He had demanded that she either have an abortion or he would leave her.  She would not abort...so she lost him.  She didn't have any family living and so was all alone in this journey of loss and abandonment and single parenting and new life.  I took my lunch break so we could go talk and pray and even cry.  I gave her my phone number and we spoke and saw eachother several times over the next few months...then, I didn't hear from her.  I tried to call but there was no answer and then the line was disconnected.  I assumed she had moved.  BUT there she was!  She wasn't supposed to work that night but was covering someone else's shift.  She cried when I said her name, both of us in complete disbelief.  We caught up, she gave me the "treatment", we hugged and then she prayed the sweetest prayer of comfort over me I think I have ever heard.  She was moving because another man (not her ex-husband) had chosen to love her and her son as his own and they were to be wed that weekend.  We hugged again, knowing we would probably never see eachother this side of heaven. Seeing her was grace and mercy and love and compassion all rolled into one.  It was the first blessing of my hospital stay.

The second blessing of my hospital stay was the pulmonologist assigned to my case.  He said the pain was caused by a pleural effusion (fluid in the lining of my lung).  He could drain it, but it would be highly likely that he would puncture my lung so he chose not to...a decision he would later lament.  Although well into his 40's, he was intrigued by my case and by me.  On his rounds, he would sit and talk with me about EVERYTHING...he would even come by after his rounds to spend a little more time chatting with me.  Because of all my A&P, Biology and Chemistry exposure, I was able to converse intelligently about my case, treatment, etc.  He wanted to know why I wasn't pre-med...when I told him God had led me away from a pre-med major to a teaching degree, he was even MORE intrigued.  He was a new believer and wanted to know so much about my faith journey - where I had been, where I was, where I was going, what my favorite verse was, what I thought about...  He was also soon to be married and so there were MANY questions about being a newlywed.  If anyone had sat in on our little conversations, I'm sure they would have found it quite humerous.  He was a 40something doctor asking life and faith questions to a just now 21 year old college student.  BUT, we enjoyed our chats and the development of our friendship would play a key role much later...God had chosen him as my pulmonologist, given us common ground, developed our friendship for a very specific reason.  He would use this doctor to literally save my life...

After a week in the hospital (in isolation mind you) on IV antibiotics and bedrest for the most part, I was feeling much better and my lung films looked clearer so they sent me home...something they never should have done!

Part 2 coming tomorrow (hopefully)

running in the dark

I've recently started running after a 15 year break.  Two knee surgeries, a kidney disease, and various other health/life issues seemed to make it impossible to run again, BUT I decided it was something I needed to do even if I had absolutely no interest in doing it.  Believe me, I have absolutely no interest in doing it!

So, I started running at the beginning of March.  When I first started running, I was embarrassed...terribly embarrased.  I didn't want anyone to see me running.  How could I have let myself get this out of shape?  Needless to say, the first week of running took place mostly in my house and backyard.  I was okay with that but also knew it would never really get me into shape.  I was going to HAVE to venture outside on the street where people might actually see me.  Luckily, it was still daylight savings time, so it got dark early and I could run under the cover of darkness.  And so I did and found that I enjoyed running in the darkness so I keep doing it.  (It's also convenient since I have a 3 year old...)

For me, there is a comfort in the darkness now and it isn't just because people can't see me any longer.  In the darkness, my eyes are not distracted by the great landscaping or bizarre decorations or poor condition of the roads.  I don't see any of that and as a result, focus on what I can see and feel.  I see the expanse of the sky clearly, often depending on the moonlight to help guide me.  I actually feel the gentle (or not so gentle) breezes that seem to blow just when I need them most.  I hear the sounds of nature surrounding me and marvel at it's simplistic, yet complex, melody.  My mind also cannot wander off on tangents because if it did I would get lost or fall or both.  I find myself looking for my next step instead of how far I have to go. 

If you know me well, you know that I am often distracted by the inconsequential.  Frequently, I obsess over that which others do not even notice.  As a result, I miss the bigger picture or (at a minimum) the beauty of the picture.  Those who know me also know that my mind is never at rest...I mean NEVER.  I have trouble sleeping because I'm always thinking, always planning, always "figuring" out something.  It isn't rare for me to jump up in the middle of the night to jot something down.  All of this (distraction and planning) wears me out and yet I seem unable to stop except when I am running in the dark.

Running in the darkness is a complete test of trust.  I can often literally not see more than a few steps in front of me.  Our neighborhood is a hilly grassland filled with unpredictable wildlife, unleashed dogs, potholes and almost no streetlights.  As a result, I usually run a predictable route...one I know quite well.  The other day, however, I decided to challenge myself and run longer than normal.  As a result, I would HAVE to take an unknown route.

Would there be any lights?  Would there be any loose dogs?  Would I be able to see the potholes?  Would I even be able to run that long?  I literally didn't know any of the answers to these questions but I went anyway and I am so glad I did.  It was a good run but it was so much more! 

There were times that someones security light would unexpectedly come on and illuminate my path.  There were strong, cool breezes that encouraged me to keep going.  There were turns, hills and potholes that seemed to come with ease to me.  There were times when my lungs seemed to tighten and not allow a deep breath.  There were times it was completely dark and I couldn't even see my feet...but I kept going...and I kept asking Him to reveal something to me.

On that simple run...that simple little run, God revealed so much about my faith "route" with Him...I am a planner, even in my spiritual life.  I have, for more years that I care to admit, run a familiar route with God.  For 10 years, my husband was a youth minister and I knew the route of youth minister's wife really well and I ran it well regardless of where we moved.  Then, my huband shifted from youth ministry to missions ministry.  For awhile, I had trouble finding my fit, my route, my pace...but I've been running that route/pace well for awhile now as well.  The role of minister's wife within the context of church work is all too familiar to me. 

In the light of that role, I find myself distracted in church work by the "landscaping" or "decorations" or "poor road conditions".  I find my mind constantly planning, thinking, evaluating, anazlying and focusing on how long the road is ahead instead of just the next step.  I find myself relying on myself.

Well, all of that is about to change.  My husband is soon to take a job as Assistant Executive Director at a non-prof ministry and by the end of 2012 will be the Executive Director.  It's not something he sought...it sought him.  We are overwhelmed, challenged and compelled all at the same time.  This route will be like that unknown route I ran the other night in the darkness.

Will we be able to raise support?  Will we be able to sell our home?  Will the living situation we hope for work out? Will we know what to do as just church members?  Will I know what to do as the wife of an executive director?  WHAT IS MY ROUTE?  I literally don't know the answer to any of these question but we are going anyway...

And that's what God revealed to me on my unknown run in the darkness...

•    Just as security lights unexpectedly lit my path, so will unexpected blessings.  They already have!
•    Just as breezes encouraged me to keep going, so will other believers.  They already have!
•   Just as turns, hills and potholes came with unexpected ease, so will troubles and obstacles.  They already have!
•   Just as breath continued to fill my lungs even when it was hard, so will He continue to sustain me.  He already has!
•   Just as I kept running when I couldn't see a thing, so I must trust Him to direct me when I can't see the wheres/hows/whys/whens.  I already have...but must keep going

In the process of becoming not me, God is asking me to give up my predictable, comfortable, well worn route and exchange it for His route...and so I will run, run hard, the route He has placed before me because I know that in running this route I abandon so much of what He doesn't desire for me and gain so much of what He does.

The route may be shrouded in the darkness of uncertainty, unpredictability, and sacrifice but it is rich in the promise of life.  maybe it's time you run in darkness too!

The Story of Matthew Jadon

I always assume that everyone knows the story of how God put together our little family.  I was reminded again recently that so many don't know...and even more seem to have forgotten.  This is an OLD post with an "update" at the end...


The Story of Matthew (Gift of God) Jadon (Thankful) Davis

The story of how Matthew Jadon Davis came to join the Davis family is a story of God’s providence and guidance as well as a story of human obedience and perseverance. The story actually began a little over ten years ago when Danny and Stephanie first decided to get married. They knew that adoption was part of God’s plan for them to build their family from the very beginning and planned on doing so all along. Their adoption journey finally began though two and a half years ago. After pursuing the adoption of two amazing foster kids in Oregon for a year, they received the difficult news that an Oregon family had been chosen to parent those two. They were heartbroken but continued on the path they knew God had placed them on. Danny and Stephanie began attending seminars and filling out paperwork to work with Buckner Adoption and Maternity Services last March. In late November, they were matched with a birthmother. They eagerly awaited the arrival of the little one, but circumstances changed because God had other plans. Once again, they were disappointed and confused but pressed on. On February 29th, they were released from their official match with the November birthmother and their profile was given to another birthmother, S.

Monday, March 3rd - Danny and Stephanie received word that S had chosen them. They knew it was a God thing because she chose them as a result of their statement of faith and the way she could see them live that out. “Our relationship with Christ determines who we are and what we do.”

Tuesday, March 4th - Danny and Stephanie drove to Buckner’s in Dallas to meet S. It was evident to all that this was a clear match.

Wednesday, March 5th - They received the official word that S had agreed to the match and had a home visit by their case worker.

Thursday, March 6th - They went to see Phantom of the Opera in San Antonio, which was their birthday and Valentine’s present to each other.


Friday, March 7th - Matthew Jadon was born at 7:35 pm.

Saturday, March 8th – Danny and Stephanie frantically prepared their home for a newborn.


Sunday, March 9th – An entrustment ceremony took place and they took home their son!


S, Matthew’s birthmother, made the ultimate sacrificial and loving decision when she made an adoption plan for Matthew. She is a godly, Christian woman who was faithfully obedient to the word God spoke to her just three weeks before Matthew’s birth. Up until that point, she had not considered adoption but God told her that this child was not hers and that He had other plans for Matthew. She listened and desired to give Matthew the family that she could not provide. S, Danny and Stephanie all know that God chose Matthew to be Danny and Stephanie’s son. He was the son they had waited for all these years. God’s fingerprints, direction, provision, and guidance are all over this blessing. He is so good!


Thank you for sharing this with us. We cannot wait for you to watch and participate in this blessing as Matthew grows in wisdom, and stature, and in favor with God and with man.


To God be the glory,
Danny, Stephanie, and Matthew Davis

UPDATE:  That was 3 years ago.  In some ways, it seems like it was a lifetime ago.  In other ways, it seems like it happened only yesterday.  He was an infant once, right?

We still maintain moderate contact with his birthmother and half birthsiblings.  We saw them more the first year than any other year, mostly because it's difficult to get all of our schedules together.  I send lots of pictures and e-mails.  She responds but her "tone" varies and makes it hard for me to really communicate with her fully.  To be honest, getting together with the birthfamily is difficult, stressful, gutwrenching, and just plain emotionally exhausting.  We have never "hid" from Matthew that he is adopted.  We read adoption books to him and tell him his story but he seems completely uninterested and unable to understand.  Mommys being pregnant and giving birth seem like foreign and unnatural concepts to him.  When I tell him that so and so has a baby in her tummy and that he grew in someone else's tummy, he just says, "EWWWW! I don't have to go back in do I?"  I laid off a little after that response.  In spite of all my attempts, he doesn't know his birthfamily or understand his relationship to them. So, get togethers end up being awkward times when I stress over whether or not he will be friendly, affectionate, obedient, and so on.  And here is the honest, dirty, truth about the messiness of open adoption - getting together makes me recognize the fact that she deserves his love...and also reveals my selfish core that wants it all to myself.  I am always mindful of the hand of God placing Matthew in my arms.  How could I ever forget such a gift?!?! But at those moments, I am reminded that to place Matthew in my arms, He had to take him from hers.  I don't doubt that it was the best decision for Matthew and his birthfamily.  There is NO question that it was/is God's will but  I am confronted with the hardness of adoption instead of just the beauty...and it hurts.

Happier notes - Matthew is an absolutely incredible little boy! He is talkative (like his mom) and thoughtful (like his dad)!  He wears me out with his boundless energy, amazes me with his incredible memory and imagination, delights me with his hugs and kisses, challenges me to live out what I claim, and humbles me with his compassion, forgiveness, grace and mercy.  We have "school time" every morning.  He knows all of his letters, their sounds and how to write the capital version.  He can count to 20 and recognizes his numbers 1-10.  He knows where about 13 states are and can identify 5 of the continents and tell you major landmarks on each.  Geography is probably his favorite "subject".  He is fascinated with attractions from all over the world.  His favorites right now are: Eiffel Tower, Leaning Tower of Pisa, Chunnel, Great Wall of China, Taj Mahal, Mecca, Isreal, Mt. Everest, Mt. Kilamanjaro, Parthenon, Pyramids, Statue of Liberty, and on and on and on. He LOVES to write his letters and label things with their words.  For science, he likes to study bizarre animals like sloths and giant anteaters.  He is AMAZING!

Oh and he has been praying for a brother or sister at least once daily for about 6 months.  One day, he saw a mailout from compassion or worldvision regarding orphans and wanted to know where their mommy and daddy were.  We told him that they didn't have one and asked him what we should do to help them.  (I expected him to say send toys, money, food, clothes, etc).  He immeadiately responded that we should give them one.  By the next morning, he was adament that he would share his mommy and daddy.  Do you see why this kid humbles me?  He has since declared that he wants 2 sisters and a brother and he wants them to be older then him.  (Evidence that adoption seems like the way families are made to him not birth!)  And he prays, "Thank you God for a brother or a sister"  with the sweetest, most sincere, heartbroken voice you have ever heard.  Adoption weighs heavy on the heart of our whole family...

Daily, I am amazed that a toddler moves me more quickly along in the process of becoming not me than anyone or anything else...God has a sense of humor!

my Christmas evolution

The other day I was asked by a close friend of mine what happened to make me “dislike” traditional, American approaches to Christmas. I explained it to her briefly but felt like I should expose my Christmas evolution that seems to dismay so many…NO, I am not a scrooge!


As a child, I LOVED everything about Christmas. Now, I wasn’t one of those ridiculously naïve kids who believed in Santa Claus long after it is developmentally appropriate. I was 3 years old when Angie Plaster, an older girl from down the street, broke the harsh news to me. It didn’t “scar” me or ruin Christmas for me. Actually, I matter of factly broke the news to my parents that same year that I knew the “truth” about Santa Claus. I think it was a relief for them too. No longer did they have to come up with elaborate stories about how Santa had “lost” the pattern to the doll (Baby Vicky) that I wanted because she was sold out. Now, they could just say, “Sorry honey, she’s sold out.” No longer did they have to labor all night long in near silence assembling our gifts. Now they could just send us away and tell us to stay out of places. No, Santa wasn’t a disappointment for any of us. In fact, he was barely even ever a part of Christmas for me.

After all, Santa didn’t really affect the more important aspect of Christmas, which was GIFTS. Now there are 2 approaches to gift receiving – quantity and quality. I took the quantity approach, where as my brother took the quality approach. I wanted 50 $1 gifts. For me, it was the more the merrier. My brother was a high ticket item kind of kid and didn’t care if he only got 1 gift as long as he got the one he wanted. Not much changed as we got older. I do, however, remember when my gift giving evolution began. I was in late middle school and had saved all my money from babysitting, birthdays, etc to buy my mom a new set of dishes because she was still using the dishes they received 25 years ago, which were UGLY and brown. I went and picked out a set just for her and spent it all. That’s when I caught the giving bug that would infect me from that point on. Christmas was beginning to go from mass consumption to a challenge to GIVE abundantly…it had only just begun

As a child, the tree was something I ADORED! Decorating the tree was a family event complete with 45’s playing old Christmas music on my parent’s furniture sized record player. We made an event of it and the tree was something of great sentiment. I admit that it wasn’t much to look at in those early years but it was ours and was full of memories. We would sit at night with all the house lights turned out and watch the lights of the tree blink to music while we sipped hot cocoa. It was warm and sweet and perfect. We moved to Temple when I was in 3rd grade and I was given the privilege of choosing the live tree that we would put in our living room. I took this duty VERY seriously and always picked the most ridiculously large tree that would still fit in our house. Given the fact that our living room had vaulted ceilings, it could be quite large. So large, in fact, that my dad would have to anchor it to the wall. When Danny and I got married, I forced him to suffer allergies through 2 years of live Christmas trees. The first one I picked out for our tiny apartment had to be placed against the wall (and anchored) because it was too big. After 2 years though, I had compassion on him and we purchased an artificial tree. About this time, my parents also purchased and artificial tree…and they began decorating it like a “mall” tree. It had no personality. This is where I think the decorating evolution first began…But Danny and I continued to put up and decorate our little artificial tree for the next several years. When we lived in the country, we would put our tree in the bay window. I loved it when Danny would beat me home and the only thing I could see as I drove up the driveway was the brilliant white lights of the tree. Then we moved to Salado. There wasn’t a great place for the tree but we put it up anyways and put lights out front because we were “expected” too. Decorating went from delight to duty and lost its place. The decorating evolution continued… A Christmas came where we were not going to be home. Why would I put up a tree and lights if we weren’t even going to be around? So, we didn’t decorate. It was the most relaxing Christmas I had ever experienced. There was no assembly (and even better) no clean up! Post Christmas was celebratory instead of stressful. Why would I ever go back to stress? I wouldn’t

About that same time, we watched a documentary about the lost boys of Sudan who had been brought to the US. Although Christians, they were absolutely confused by many of our Christmas celebrations and traditions. One of them said, “I do not understand the trees and Santas. In Sudan, Christmas is just about Jesus. Please tell me, what does this tree and this Santa have to do with Jesus?” And it hit me like a ton of bricks! He wasn’t being sarcastic, critical or rude. He genuinely wanted to know…and so did I.

And so my Christmas evolution went into high gear. The evolution that had begun out of convenience had now been moved into conviction. I wanted Christmas to become something that focused my mind and stirred my heart for Jesus…and I wanted that for my family as well. I wanted others to look at the way we approached Christmas and say, “Christmas IS just about Jesus.” Oh sure, we say things like Keep CHRIST in CHRISTmas or He’s the reason for the season, but then we celebrate just like everyone else. Why are we consumed with how the culture approaches Christmas when we don’t even analyze our own approach as believers? After all, ANYONE can decorate and put up a Christmas tree. ANYONE can gather and eat a big meal with family. ANYONE can buy presents no one really wants/needs. ANYONE can teach their kid about Santa Claus. In the end, what do those things really have to do with Jesus and how do those things really point a lost world to Christ? So our mouths give lip service to Jesus but our lives (and hearts) are far from Him. Seems like I’ve heard that in scripture before!

As my own personal Christmas evolution gained momentum, I stumbled upon a thing called the Advent Conspiracy…and I realized that maybe, just maybe, God was trying to speak to the collective church and force His followers to answer some personally and culturally challenging questions. So as Danny and I challenged ourselves personally, we began to challenge the students in our student ministry as well. Here are some of the questions that we began to “chew” on:

• Does the way we celebrate Christmas truly bring honor to Jesus?

• If we’re celebrating Jesus’ birthday, what would He want as a birthday present?

• If Christmas is all about Christ leaving His comfort and glory in order to touch the suffering of the world, wouldn’t He want us to do the same thing?

These are questions we are still “chewing” on as a family and figuring out how we can live them out in front of our precious son, family, friends, neighbors and strangers. Unfortunately, we find church to be one of the most difficult places to do this. The distractions there abound and manifest themselves in different ways – elaborate Christmas parties, white elephant gifts, trees/garlands/lights that overshadow the nativity, wasted money, general “busyness” and the non-stop questioning by believers of what Santa will bring our son. Our response is, “Nothing. We don’t do Santa.” (Our 2 year old likes to say, “Fake like Santa Claus!”) And to this we get gasps of disbelief and disgust in the one place that should be a refuge for focusing on Jesus.

Needless to say, it’s frustrating but we are resolved none the less.

So where am I in this Christmas evolutionary process?

I’m “in process.” As a parent, I work hard at reinforcing to Matthew that Christmas is all about Jesus, but this is VERY hard when everything around us points to other stuff. I work hard about explaining that many of the other things are just distractions, but it’s hard because these distractions are more entertaining and appealing than the simple nativity. (By the way – it is REALLY hard to explain to a 2 year old why we put up lights, trees, santas, etc. Maybe that’s an indication that it really doesn’t make sense!) I work really hard at teaching Matthew that Christmas is about giving, but it’s hard when he gets gifts (even from us) as well. I work hard at providing MANY opportunities for Matthew to be generous and focus on others, but it’s hard when he’s 2. I work hard to balance my “gifts” to others by also giving to a compassion cause in their honor, but it’s hard to do this when they dismiss the gift altogether.

But hard is good because it means it’s worthwhile. In many, I have begun to see God begin a Christmas evolution in their hearts and minds. I don’t expect everyone’s evolution to look like mine, but can you imagine what would happen if followers of Christ really, actually, wholeheartedly made Jesus the focus of Christmas? It would be a revolution indeed!

GIVE MORE SPEND LESS WORSHIP FULLY LOVE ALL

If you are a follower of Christ, I challenge you to answer these questions:

• Does the way we celebrate Christmas truly bring honor to Jesus?

• If we’re celebrating Jesus’ birthday, what would He want as a birthday present?

• If Christmas is all about Christ leaving His comfort and glory in order to touch the suffering of the world, wouldn’t He want us to do the same thing?

picking weeds

I had great intentions for blogging all the time, at least weekly was my original goal. I still have ideas that run through my head almost relentlessly and yet I struggle to find the time to sit and document how the past and current is being shaped into the story God is writing on my heart…and how it’s forming me into something different. Maybe someday I will be able to streamline my life in such a way that I can blog more consistently, but with my tendency to immerse myself in life and loose myself in projects, it’s just not likely…sorry! With that said, here we go…


One evening in the middle of this past summer, I found myself in the backyard with my husband, two year old son, and three dogs. It wasn’t an unusual setting or situation for our family. Danny decided that he would grill for dinner that evening, something he does regularly. (I’m a lucky woman whose husband likes to cook and almost daily takes dinner on as his service to our family. It really is a blessing.) Matthew enjoys playing and just being outside more than any child I’ve ever been around. Needless to say, we spend hours a day outside regardless of the temperature or weather.


Circumstantially, this evening was not particularly unique or special and yet I learned or noticed something about myself that evening. Perhaps I’ve known it or recognized it all along but the reality of it was thrown in my face that evening in a way I had previously ignored…


So here’s the setting:


My husband is over by the grill graciously preparing our dinner for the evening and intermittently carrying on a conversation with our son. Our 2 year old son is running around in the “good” grass, climbing on his playground, singing worshipful songs (Mighty to Save, Oh How He Love Us) and pointing out the beauty of everything around him (dragon flies, clouds, butterflies, flowers, trees, birds, on and on and on). My dogs are resting next to each other in the shade of our pecan trees. The sun is reaching that glorious spot where it’s still bright but paints the canvas of the sky with colors that words are inadequate to describe.


And me? Where could I be found in this picturesque family scene?


Picking weeds.


I didn’t go out there to pick weeds. It certainly wasn’t on my list of things to get done. I’m not an “obsessive” gardener by any stretch of the imagination. It’s actually a triumph if I remember to water the yard. So, why was I picking weeds? I went out there to converse with my husband, play with my son, love on my dogs and enjoy the world God has seen fit to place me in, but I found myself inexplicably distracted by the weeds. In that scene on that day, I missed the beauty of it all because my eyes, mind and energy were instantly drawn to the weeds…and then my son called me out.


“Mommy, don’t pull weeds. Come be with me.” He innocently remarked, completely unaware that God would use those simple words to pierce my very heart. I looked down at the weeds filling my hands and God spoke into my soul the truth of who I am.


It was as if in that instance He said, “Stephanie, you always see the weeds.”


On that day and in that moment, I had to come face to face with the reality that I’m not just distracted by the regular things that have to get done for everyday life to go smoothly. When surrounded by blessings unfathomable, I fixate and obsess on the inconsequential flaws. As a result, I frequently miss not only that which is best, but I fear I often fail to be aware of the very presence and movement of God around me.


Ouch!


So, I dropped those weeds and ran towards my son to embrace him. After a good hug, we sat side by side on the swings and talked and laughed and sang. I called for the dogs to come near so I could pet them. I gazed on Danny with deep heartfelt appreciation. I breathed in anew the presence and favor of the Father. I marveled once again at His creative majesty…and I repented for all the things I had missed because I was too busy “picking weeds.”


I’d love to say that from that evening on, I have been 100% focused and aware of the movement of God. I can’t. I still find myself drawn to “pick weeds,” but I’m mindful and repentant of it now in a way I never was before that night.


In the process of becoming not me, I must continuously let go of those things that distract me and choose that which is best so that I might delight in His presence and live my life in a way that draws others to the ONE who is best…