Talking with Finn About His Uncle Matt

A couple of weeks ago, we were on our way to our 24 week doctor's appointment and we happened to drive by Woodlawn Cemetery. Finn, for the most part, knows what a cemetery is. He gets the gist.

He also knows that I have a brother who died in a car accident when I was 13.

On this particular day, the drive past the cemetery awoke a flurry of questions within my curious 4 year old. He was wondering about his Uncle Matt.

Finn: What did he look like?
Me: He was tall and skinny. He was handsome, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and he loved to dress like a cowboy.
Finn: What did he like to eat?
Me: I remember him making cinnamon applesauce. And I remember that every time Mummy True or Kiki made cookies, he always tried to sneak some of the cookie dough. So he must have liked cookies!
Finn: When will I get to see him?
Me: We won't get to see him again until we get to heaven.
Finn: Will you be happy to see him then?
Me: So, so happy.
Finn: Will you run to him?
Me: You bet I will.
Finn: What would he do if you yelled at him?
Me: Uhhh, he probably would have laughed at me! He was not afraid of me. He was a protector.
Finn: Now you have a new protector.
Me: I do? Who's that?
Finn: Daddy.

Throughout this conversation, I got to talk about my brother Matt, which I don't get to do all that often. I like talking about him. I answered questions about him that I really had to think about, questions I've never been asked before. The whole thing brought about a bubbling in my heart as I spoke. I loved every moment.

While we were waiting in the doctor's office a few minutes later, Finn, who rarely talks to anyone that he doesn't know very well, struck up a conversation with a lady who was also waiting. He told her about heaven and how he was going to see his Uncle Matt there someday.

This is called hope, and this is why we walk this clumsy walk of faith. There is a hope that propels us forward, a hope that a better place awaits us, with the King who created us. A place free from pain and loss and suffering.

This hope is why we talk to our kids about God and try to instill in them a purpose outside of themselves. It's why we continue on in the face of darkness and confusion.

This hope is why we worship, why we pray, why we seek, why we love.

Honestly, it's why we can wake up each morning and keep trying.

There is more, so much more, than this world alone offers us.

When we got home that day, I found some old photos of my brother to show Finn what he looked like. It's the face of one that I can't wait to see again someday. It's the face of one that I want my boys to know, even if they don't know.

My big brother would have been 42 years old today. There is no getting back the time that we lost on this earth with him.

But there is the hope that remains.

One day: when I reach heaven, right after I throw myself at Jesus' feet, I'm searching for that face.

Guilt as a Terrible Parenting Strategy

If you had to ask me what is the single toughest task for me as a parent, it would be easy for me to pinpoint:

Reacting.

I react with my emotions all wrapped up in my children's behaviors. Whether they disappoint, shock, or please me, it is written all over my face and expressed in every word from my mouth.

I've never really considered myself an impulsive person...I love plans and schedules and order. But the impulsivity of my emotional reactions is swifter and more powerful than what I've learned to control.

Too often, I've reacted before I have even processed what happened. If I could just. slow. down. I know that wisdom is lurking around in my brain if my heart would just simmer for a single second.

I'm attending a parenting class on Wednesday nights currently (taught by my mama, nonetheless), and it stuck with me a few weeks ago when she said how important it is to not parent from our emotions. As a parent, it is crucial that we remain in control of the situation by acting, not reacting. Our children get a bit of a free pass when it comes to losing it, we do not.

A couple of weeks ago, I was driving away from a park with my sons. We left on a semi-sour note, as Finn and one of his cousins had been going at it a bit. As we drove out of the parking lot, Finn and I talked about what had happened. He didn't feel like his cousin was being very kind and was upset that I expected him to still be nice in return.

I said to him, "I understand. I understand that it is really tough to be kind to others when we feel like they aren't being kind to us."

He sighed and said, "Yeah, it is."

This was good. We were off to a great start. Let's dig deeper!

I said, "Maybe next time before we hang out with your cousins, we can pray and ask God to help us be kind at all times."

I felt a puff of accomplishment in my spirit. I was utilizing what I was using in the parenting class and it was working!! Until....

Finn says, "I'm not praying. If you pray I'm closing my ears and not listening."

Well, he may as well have taken a dagger to my mommy heart. Absolutely nothing on this earth means more to me than my faith and the hope that my children will share the same faith. It triggered a big old emotional reaction in me.

"Finn Matthew, why would you say that?! That hurts my heart! I am so disappointed in you."

Suddenly what could have been a Level 3 incidence between us escalated to a Level 8. Not because of Finn; Finn is a child and a 4 year old who loves to push buttons sometimes. This one was all on me.

I allowed myself to get so worked up that by the time I got home and told Matt about it, I was actually in tears. My mommy heart felt broken and like a total failure....again.

By the time an hour or so had passed, my brain caught up with my heart and the guilt began to rise.

The next day, still baffled, I asked my sister what she would have done in that situation. She responded, "Well, I probably would have said that sometimes I don't feel like praying either..."

Oh yeah. Duh. That's simple enough. If only I had to been slow to respond (James 1:19).

My children are absolutely not going to come to a relationship with Jesus because I guilt them into it by saying I'm disappointed in them when they don't feel like praying.

No manipulation, no coercion, no willing it to happen will help my children believe that Jesus loves them and wants relationship with them. It may lead them close for a moment, but will ultimately push them away.

Finn and I let the discussion on prayer cool for a couple of weeks. The most I said to him was that prayers don't have to be long and complicated. I told him that one of my favorite prayers was simply, "Help, God."

Yesterday he surprised me.

He had gone outside to wait for some friends that were coming over to our house. When Jonas and I walked outside to join him, he says to me,

"Mommy I was talking to God."

My heart grew 3 sizes, like the Grinch.

"Oh yeah," I tried not to seem too excited, "what were you saying to God?"

"I was praying for the dead mouse (in our window well) and the dead bird (on the street)"

My sweet son was praying, from his own heart, about something that truly matters to him. 

It was a reminder to me that God can touch my son's heart without my help. I don't need to strong arm my faith into him. Sometimes, mommies need to get out of the way so that their children can cultivate their own relationship with God.

Pray. Lead by example. Love with everything I have. Talk about God's goodness and faithfulness.

And then?

Release the reins and get out of the way!

Fear and Ice Cream

If there was one thing that I could wish for my boys to absolutely not to inherit from my gene pool, it would be my tendency towards anxiety and fear.

I can say, with relative certainty, that Finn inherited my olive skin tone, my stumpy legs, my sensitivity, my timidity......and my fear.

He is a typical first-born in many ways: he likes to be in charge, he benefits greatly from a strong schedule, and he likes to know everything that is going on - at all times.

What that looks like lately is that he asks questions when a situation is new to him. Lots and lots of questions.

Where are we going?
Why are we going?
What are we doing?
Who will be there?
Will you stay with me?
What do they have there?

He is a kid that likes to be prepared. He prefers to have knowledge of what he is walking into.

My mom tells me that I was much the same way. Before she would take me somewhere, she would prep me with all of the details so that it would lessen my anxieties. For example, when we would go to the doctor she would say something along the lines of,

"We will walk in to the waiting room and will wait there for a few minutes until they call our names. When they call our names, they will lead us back to the doctor's office where they will weigh you and check your height. The doctor will use a really cool tool to hear your heartbeat. Then it will be time for a nurse to come in and give you a shot. It will hurt for a second, but the pain will be over with quickly. I will be with you the whole time, and then we can get ice cream."

I found such comfort in knowing each step. When it was laid out all in front of me like that, it felt manageable and something that I could undertake. My anxieties would lessen. 

That is the kind of inherited fear I see in Finn - an anxiousness that lessons when one feels prepared and feels like he can manage whatever he is about to face.

So yes, some fear is inherited. 

But I am learning the older my big boy gets, that some fear is also learned. 

He can latch onto fears simply by watching the way that I act and react to the world around me. 

For example, I have a big old nasty fear of spiders. They are gross, they are ugly, and they have 8 spindly legs that they use to haunt my dreams. Don't even get me started on the webs they are able to create. Sticky, stretchy, yuck. 

Finn knows well my fear of spiders. It used to be that when we would play in our basement, where the spiders feel extra homey, I would screech at the sight of one and he would hop up and kill it for me with toilet paper. "My HERO!" I would exclaim. 

But there came a day a few months ago when all of a sudden Finn didn't want to kill the spider. He, too, wanted to run from it and stare at it in disgust, wishing it would drop dead from a evil glare. He began to shake his head and cower in the corner at the suggestion that he kill it. 

From curiosity and zero fear to cowering in a corner; I can only surmise that he learned this by watching his mommy. 

 - Fear as a personality trait can be inherited. This includes a certain tendency toward timidity and a fondness for being in control. When my mom would give me that speech before we ventured out, she was helping me to trust myself that I could handle what lay ahead. I do the same thing with Finn so that I can prepare him and cut way down on the chances that he might have a meltdown when he feels overwhelmed. This is a natural proactive parenting response. 

However, God does not treat us in the same way. He does not wish for us to trust ourselves, but leaves us in the dark about so much that lies ahead so that we may trust in Him. He does not lay out a step by step plan for us to take, but guides us one foot in front of the other. He does not give speeches like my mom gave, save for one line: "I will be with you the whole time" (Deuteronomy 31:8). This alone is to be enough to quell our fears of the unknown future. We are never left alone or unloved. 

 - Fear as a behavior can be learned. Our kids learn so much from watching us, maybe too much sometimes. They learn how to treat others, how to react in certain situations, how to spend their free time, and how to work through the chaotic world of emotions. What do you do when you are angry, or sad, or overwhelmed, or fearful? That will often be the first thing your child tries when he or she feels something similar. It honestly scares the bejeebers out of me that my boys are learning so much from me, because I know how short I fall in so many areas. I wish I could send them to my sister's house for two weeks and say, "Watch her instead. That's how it should be done." Behaviors are learned. Therefore, behaviors can also be un-learned and re-taught. 

I don't want my boy to prefer cowering in a corner, so I am going to try my hardest to squash the next spider I see as quickly as possible and with the biggest wad of toilet paper I can get - even if it kills me (and it just might). 

We don't have control over what our children inherit from us, but we can do something about the behaviors that they learn from us.

I can teach my son that faith stands up to fear, be it a new situation or a nasty spider. The best way I can teach him is by showing him how.

And that even though I can't prepare him for every little thing he might face, there is One that is always with him.

Also, if he's been a good boy, there can be ice cream afterwards (because Mommy will probably be wanting it too)!

Job and Moses and a baby named Ezra

I've been re-reading the story of Job the last couple of weeks. I remember when I first read that book of the Bible - back in high school - I totally misunderstood it.

In my high school Bible, emblazoned with my name on the bottom right corner of course, I underlined quote after quote spoken by Job's "friends". They were touting the faithfulness and splendor of God, after all.

I didn't underline much of what Job said at that time. To me, what he said bordered on blasphemous, openly questioning God and opining his own faithfulness to God. It wasn't until Bible college when I better grasped the book of Job as a whole.

Job didn't handle things perfectly for sure, and God takes care of that in the last couple of chapters. But God is more upset with Job's friends for their passionless rhetoric about His ways. They are spouting off quotes they have learned about God, but not even once seeking to understand the whole situation. They are giving Job advice that he never sought or desired, and their compassion for the depth of their friend's woes is heartbreakingly absent.

In Job 6:25-27 he states, "Honest words never hurt anyone, but what's the point of all this pious bluster? You pretend to tell me what's wrong with my life, but treat my words of anguish as so much hot air. Are people mere things to you? Are friends just items of profit and loss?"

These are the kinds of friends that it is tough to have in a crisis. They pronounce rote declarations over you, never taking the time to listen to your heart.

Then there are the types of friends that Moses had in Exodus 17:8-13. There is a battle waging between the Israelites and the Amalekites. Moses goes to the top of a nearby hill with his infamous staff. As Joshua leads the soldiers in battle, Moses wages his own type of battle from his spot on the hill. As he holds his arms up over the armies, the Israelites gain victory. But as soon as he puts his arms down, they immediately begin losing. What's a guy with two sore arms to do?!

Verse 12-13 tells us, "When Moses' hands grew tired, they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held his hands up - one of one side, one on the other - so that his hands remained steady until sunset. So Joshua overcame the Amalekite army with the sword."

These are the types of friends that are wonderful to have in a crisis. When your arms get tired of fighting but the battle is not yet over, they surround you, they support you, they lift you up when you are too weak to do it yourself.

A crisis is a perfect opportunity to decipher whether you have Job friends or Moses friends. 

You guys, if you're reading this, you have been Moses friends to us. If you commented to us or messaged us, if you texted words of encouragement, if you listened to our tears, if you lifted your hearts in prayer for us, if you gave us some of your time so that we had a fun distraction, you are indeed a Moses friend.

I can't tell you enough how amazingly supported and lifted up we felt during this past week. We felt buoyed by the prayers of others. Anxiety over the possibilities was not allowed entrance into our minds because of the prayer battle waged for us. We felt surrounded, understood, and most of all....loved.

Thank you. From the most sincere and authentic place in my heart, thank you.

Now for the good news :) .

We had our appointment this morning with the genetic counselor and an ultrasound to get a closer look at Ezra. Our genetic counselor was wonderful. She was full of positivity and calm confidence.

We went into our ultrasound and for about 45 minutes, the tech measured, checked, and double-checked any areas of concern. We were still in the dark during this time obviously, as techs are not allowed to discuss the details.

Then Dr. McNamara entered. From the moment he entered, I felt a kindness and compassion radiate from him. The simple way he looked at us, I could tell that he cared for us although he barely knew us. Matt stated afterward that God had again fulfilled the "good, good father" vision in Dr. McNamara. That's how secure he helped us to feel.

He showed us on ultrasound again the specific things they were looking for indicators of chromosomal abnormalities, specifically the hands, the heart, and the umbilical cord. Everything looked great! So great, in fact, that he advised against the further genetic testing that had been offered. In his words, "It's not needed. Your baby looks great."

In short, the cyst is still there, in the part of the brain that exchanges fluid with the spinal cord. It's something that simply happens sometimes, and when they are isolated (like ours) with no other indicators of abnormality (like ours), they tend to go away on their own by 28 weeks gestation. We will have one more ultrasound at that point to make sure things look good and that baby is on schedule.

Your words of kindness, support, love, and understanding have been used by God to bring us through the last week. I wish I could tell each of you individually how your prayers got us through. Please know how valued and valuable they each were. The waiting was by far the toughest part, and it was in the not knowing that God used you all to lift up our arms as we got tired.

Speaking of which, my brain and body are tired so I will sign off with this: a precious baby smirk to remind us that all is well!

"Help"

I'm not sure how people who have held a precious baby in their arms and let their minds truly think about how that baby was formed for 9 months, can still doubt in the hand of a Creator.

There are so many, many things that have to go correctly in order for a baby to be born perfectly without complications. It is truly a miracle when a baby is flawlessly formed and birthed.

With that being said, complications aren't rare. Medical issues, physical deformities, and babies with special needs are fairly common, yet it doesn't mean that those precious babies are any less beautiful or as though they were neglected and forgotten in the forming process.

Matt and I have been fortunate to have 2 uncomplicated pregnancies.

This one has proven a bit different.

We found out yesterday that there is a cyst on our sweet baby's brain. This can be an indicator of a few possible chromosomal issues.

I feel like I've been on a roller coaster for the last couple of days - the exhilaration of the ultrasound appointment, the unmet expectation of not having a daughter, the thrill and embrace of naming our sweet baby and being able to call him by name, and then the crushing news that there could be something seriously wrong with the baby we love so much.

A few days ago, even before our ultrasound, I felt a song laid on my heart. "Good, Good Father" was my declaration going into this week, not knowing all that I would be facing. I lived this song, walking around the house singing it and even figuring out the chords on piano so that I could play it from my heart.

One of my favorite lyrics of this song says, "You are perfect in all of Your ways", and I sang that over and over again, seeking to embrace God's plan for us no matter what it was.

When we found out on Tuesday that we were having a boy, we immediately set out trying to settle on a name for him. That's one of our favorite parts - getting to call him by name. We finally chose "Ezra Noel", and Matt nearly cried happy tears. He had been set on that name this entire pregnancy. I had been the holdout - Ezra Fjerkenstad seemed a bit of a mouthful to me. Yet, when I discovered that the name means "help", my mind was changed. Help was the one thing I knew I needed through this pregnancy - help with my sickness, my exhaustion, my feeling overwhelmed about having 3 young kids.

Naming him brought so much peace and anticipation to his impending arrival.

Then Wednesday afternoon came, and a scary phone call from our OB nurse. That afternoon as tears flowed, I read in Psalm 20:6: "That cinches it - help's coming, an answer's on the way, everything's going to work out".

I smiled at God's goodness that I should read that psalm that day of all days. Peace flowed in.

Later that day, my mother-in-law Lynette called to pray with me. On the voicemail she spoke a couple different times that God is a "good, good father" and able to be trusted. She had no clue I had been clinging to that song. Peace flooded in.

When my mind has been troubled these past few days, I turn on worship music and direct my eyes to the one sure Help I have, God my Father Who loves me and works all things for good.

Here is the part where I say how I hesitated to post this. I could have just posted a professional singer and band singing the song. But because I have personalized this song so much, I felt like it was important to post a personalized version of it (with my very, very rough piano skills). I love this though because if you listen closely enough, you can hear Finn singing along with me. There's nothing quite like listening to your child sing along to a song like this!

We have an ultrasound Tuesday when we will discover more about what is going on with our baby. We highly value your prayers as we wait. Until Tuesday, we are focusing on expecting a good report.

Then our next hurdle will be breaking it to Finn that we are not naming the baby Batman.

It's A.....(gender reveal)

So you're pregnant with your 3rd baby?

The questions immediately start rolling in, and the most notorious is definitely:

"So, do you have any preference whether it is a boy or a girl?"

I am a terrible liar. Every single thing I feel shows up all over my face, so I don't even bother trying to pull one over on people. I answer:

"I would absolutely love a daughter. I've always wanted a daughter!!"

No shame about coming right out and saying it, no use giving the PC answer. God knows the desires of my heart and I really don't feel badly about stating them out loud.

To be supremely honest, I wanted a daughter when we were pregnant with Finn. I wanted a daughter when we were pregnant with Jonas.

I wanted to buy sweet dresses and bows. I wanted to play Barbies and dolls in lieu of trucks and trains. I wanted a daughter I could be so close with as she grew older and I could walk her through her complicated emotions and absurd hormones. I wanted a daughter that when she's young is content to sit in my lap rather than run around exerting energy like my big boys, and when she's older could sit and have long, deep conversations with me. I am fairly certain that I do not desire to be pregnant again, therefore this is our final chance!!

There were 3 separate people that spoke into us that we were having a girl.

I felt like God laid a name for a daughter on my heart.

Yet......it's a boy!

Let me say 100% honestly up front that as I was looking at that sweet boy today on ultrasound, I felt nothing but complete love for him. I am already aching to hold him in my arms. He is so amazing and I cherish every single kick that I feel him give me.

Even though with Finn and Jonas I began the pregnancy desiring daughters, something always switched in my heart before the ultrasound. I peacefully was ready to hear the ultrasound tech say "It's a boy!" Because of that, there was never a shred of disappointment. In His mercy, He prepared me.

Today was not quite like that. I really expected the opposite report. And we all know how expectations can complicate things!

I write this all as a way of processing...maybe it's a mistake to write it all down when my emotions are so raw. But again, I figure in the days to come it's going to be making it's way around anyway, and there's me with my face that gives my heart away. So I lay it all out here.

The disappointment is real. I don't think that our disappointments surprise God or mar His love for us.

I truly believe He gets it. He understands layers deeper than anything I ever could.

And this is just one day on the journey of 1,000 steps. It may take awhile to work it all out. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:

He knows exactly what we need. He knows exactly what He's doing. He is ever faithful and always so, so good. He loves me and cares about the fact that my heart is a little broken today at what seems like the death of a long-held hope and desire. I can say with absolute certainty that I trust His will; this disappointment is only for a day and I know that one day I will see His absolute gracious provision in blessing us with 3 amazing, astounding boys.

One day. Today is for processing and embracing His perfect plan.

I remember my sophomore year of college when I was dating a guy who I thought was the whole package. When he broke up with me, I remember feeling so devastated and embarrassed that I literally hid out in my dorm room for two days. I was not prepared to talk about it at all, even with my best friend and roommate. It was the end of a hope and desire then, too.

And now, at 13 years past that experience, I wish I could go back and whisper in 20 year old Gretchen's ear: "It's okay. This is more than okay. It is a victory and a gift that this relationship ended. God has so much more ahead for you. Let this hope die and accept and trust the heart of your Father who works all things for good. There is a new hope ahead that will kick this hope's butt. Trust and take His hand!"

I cling to that today as I accept what looks to be the ending of this hope for a daughter. I am letting go of my desires in order to better hold onto what God has ahead for me. Somehow, I think future-Gretchen wishes she could whisper to me of all of the wonderful things that God has on this journey ahead.

Stubborn Choice

So, I wish that I could say that since my last blog, I have been living in total victory over discouragement.

In all actuality, the opposite is probably true. Life has not magically gotten easier. I didn't crack the code of some long kept ancient secret to never being discouraged.

Days are still hard and it is still a daily battle and it truly takes a stubborn choice sometimes to NOT be discouraged.

Over the weekend, I had the most annoying strain of stomach virus. I use the word annoying because it made me feel just sick enough: my body was achy and sick, but my mind was jetting around inside of my head, trying to beckon me to do the enormous list of things I knew needed to be done.

Talk about frustration. I can't turn my brain off and I can't find my body's on switch. I felt helpless and hopeless and just so very, very sad. Maybe a little sorry for myself. It was the 4th time I have been sick during this pregnancy, other than the standard nausea and exhaustion, and I was just so very done.

The last time I remember feeling this way was right after Jonas was born. I was so eager to get up and get moving and conquer the world of mothering two sweet boys.

I just couldn't.

The postpartum period was rough with Jonas because of the physical effects of the labor. While my mind was aching to use my "I'm a mother of TWO" anxiety to get active and prove to everyone (to myself) that I could do this, my body just simply would not cooperate.

I could barely walk. I could barely sit.

I could lay pretty well though, so there's that.

I had to accept others' help, rather than prove to everyone (to myself) that I could successfully mother two boys.

It was frustrating, but it was a phase.

So I try to keep that in mind as I feel like I deal with one sickness after another, one nauseous day after another, one lousy night of sleep after another.

It is frustrating, but it is a phase.

In the midst of dealing with all of these physical symptoms, I am clearly feeling some mental anxiety about having a third child. I am nervous. I don't feel like the natural mothering type and I am very hard on myself and I compare myself to others who do it so much better and I spin myself into circles and then into knots.

I so badly want to be amazing at this but so often do not feel like I am.

I want to prove to everyone (to myself) that I am a good mother.

Then yesterday morning I read it.

"If you're a hard worker and do a good job, you deserve your pay; we don't call your wages a gift. But if you see that the job is too big for you, that it's something only God can do, and you trust him to do it - you could never do it for yourself no matter how hard and long you worked - well, that trusting-him-to-do-it is what gets you set right with God, by God. Sheer gift." Romans 4:4-5 MSG

In that moment, I was blissfully reminded that I cannot do it "all", nor am I expected to.

When mothering feels overwhelming to me and I feel so far less than excellent at it, I remember the help that is at my right hand by calling on God. My Deliverer, my Helper, the God Who sees me.

It honestly brings a sigh of relief to my exhausted body when I bask in the reality of His help. I know it not just as something that I read about in His Word, but as something that is true and lasting and comes right when I need it. I've called out for His help in a moment of despair or confusion and felt the immediate lightening of my problem.

I state here and now that I am not a perfect mother by my own abilities. I am far too often overwhelmed by all that I feel needs to be done and yet underwhelmed by what I feel are my own abilities.

But when I call on God and trust Him to act, I have all the help I will ever need. 

Breathe. Relax. Trust.