Last month I wrote about the study we are working through at church, in our women’s ministry.  It’s called “Stuck”.  Written by Jennie Allen, it’s about “the places we get stuck and the God that sets us free.” This week’s topic (after missing the last two sessions because of sick me and sick kids) is appropriately, about a topic I know all too well – discontent.  I wish I could say discontent and I weren’t old friends, that at some point I’d grown tired of her bullying and general shiesty behavior and let her go, but alas – she remains a bitter pill that I swallow on a daily basis.  It really would be nice if at almost 35 years old (hold it – I still have 6 months people) I’d learned a thing or two about combating her tired old talking points. The truth is, I haven’t.  Not a day goes by that I don’t feel annoyed or frustrated at something I don’t have/feel like I should/feel like I deserve/etc.  So when part of the study asks us to make a list of all the things it would take for you to never struggle with these feelings again – “name everything you could ever want or change about yourself or your life.” Oh, well since you asked – just a couple things: – I would have a successful theatre/commercial/voice-over career – even as a Mom I would juggle all these things effortlessly and with total mastery. – I would live in a brand new, no update needed, eat off the floor it’s so clean gourmet kitchen home.  – My brand new, no update needed home would be fully and completely furnished just like an HGTV Dream Home straight out of Park City or better yet, Vermont.  Luxe, lodgey, rustic – um, did I say luxe?? – I would be my pre-Chicago move weight (circa 2000) – the weight that my 22 year old self lived at, 10 pounds lighter than I am now.  Before two babies (whom I love) left me with stretch marks and the promise of a Mommy Makeover for my 40th birthday present. – I would feel comfortable having my picture taken in a bikini.  And I would rock that bikini, with abs you could bounce a penny off of and no arm flappage (or flappage of any kind, for that matter). – I would have a money tree in the backyard.  Its sole purpose would be to provide green for my growing Louboutin collection (in my mind, only in my mind – I do not in fact own a pair of the red-soled beauties).  I would have all the shoes I could ever want or need in my whole lifetime. – I would be the best cook, the best housekeeper, the best Mother, the best wife, the best friend, the most accomplished writer, be penning my stunning autobiography, and have 20,000,000 Twitter followers. – And finally, I would never have to color my hair, wax my eyebrows, maintain my figure, get my nails done – because I would be perfect, at all times, forever and ever. Just a couple things, right? Something tells me, and I know this to be true, that even if I had all of these things, I would still be letting my friend Discontent write my story. Because I know, at 10 pounds lighter, I was just as manipulated by whatever I felt was lacking in my life.  I know, as a young girl in my 20’s, that although I was auditioning and working my fingers to the bone to make my rent so I could do shows at night – when I thought I was “living the dream”, all I could think about was being a mother and having babies. I know, that it doesn’t matter how much money you have, how many pairs of shoes you buy, how many rooms you have furnished in your home and how many “Vogue” magazines you flip through – you will always and forever be seeking to fill the void in your heart that God created…for Him. How can so many small objects fill a space that is so unbelievably infinite?  A space that is truly, God-sized? Hebrews 13:5 says: Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, “Never will I leave you;
never will I forsake you.” …Because God has said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” Never.  All of the other things, fall away.  Houses get older, newness wears off, skin ages, trends come and go.  But the constant, the all-consuming, all-knowing, gigantic love of Christ will never, ever fail you.  He is the only thing that can fill us, because He is who we were created by and for.  And it could be, that if we learn how to be content in the here and now, that His plan for our lives and for that space inside us…just might be…better than we ever imagined it could be. 

I remember her, my Mimi.  I remember the time I woke up and had to go to the bathroom on Christmas Eve and crept out of the room my brothers and I were sleeping in, only to find Santa’s Elves (a.k.a. my parents and grandparents) busily prepping for the next morning’s big event.  Before I could register what I was seeing, Mimi clamped her hand across my eyes and led me to the bathroom on the other side of the house.  So, Amanda, is there a Santa Claus?? I think I must’ve been 7 or 8.  My Mimi passed away from ovarian cancer when I was 9.  I wish that I had known her, as I know things and people now.  From the way my Mom describes her, I think we would’ve been close.  Faye was her name – and now the middle name of my first baby, Charlie. Her husband, my Grandad TJ, has officially been put on hospice.  He’s almost 90 and wants to remain in the comfort of his home.  And why not?  He’ll avoid the cold sadness of a nursing home and will be made comfortable during his last days.  I saw him today, took Charlie with me as I didn’t know if this would be the last time.  My parents had said he had declined even in the month or so since I’d seen him last, but I don’t think I was really prepared for how frail and fragile he looked.  I sat with him and put my hand on his leg, patted him while we talked and had to speak louder than usual as his hearing has become so poor.  He apologized for the “state of things” – a proud man – I’m sure he just hates having to give up so much control as his body and mind start to decline.  He faded in and out of conversation, nodding off every few minutes and then catching himself – eyes popping back open and straining to understand what we were saying.  I’m sure the constant soft chatter in the room was putting him to sleep.  When it was time to leave, I went to hug him and he felt like a pile of clothing, like there was nothing inside, an empty paper bag.  My breath caught and I could feel my eyes well up.  I made a quick exit because I knew I might crumble and I wasn’t sure what that would look like – I mean, does he even know that he’s dying?  The other night Vann and I were talking in our kitchen and he said to me, “Oh, this is the first time you’ve dealt with losing a grandparent as an adult.”  I realized he was right.  As much as I wish I remembered more about my Mimi, I just don’t.  I have to rely on stories my Mom tells and pictures, so many pictures of her red hair and retro glasses.  But my Grandad has just always been there.  The first time I got on a plane by myself as a kid it was to fly to Texas to stay with him.  There were always cans of Old Milwaukee in his fridge. I think he might have given me a sip of it once, which I’m sure nipped that in the bud real quick. He’s been there every Christmas, every college graduation, every wedding.  He was a tough man that mellowed with age, and in these last few years especially has never forgotten one of the girl’s birthdays – has always sent them a card and $25.  I would write in the thank you note that we were putting it away for a rainy day – I knew that he would appreciate that, the frugal man that he is. An avid follower of the stock market, he always asks Vann “how Pepsi is doing these days” and they’ll chat about the business world and what he’s investing in.  He loves a good glass of sweet red wine.  He turns 90 in January, and I’m not sure he’ll make it that far.  I wonder as he faces these last days if he’s thinking about my Mimi…if he’s getting excited to see her again.  And it dawns on me that I remember being the child whose parents were the adults saying goodbye to their grandparents.  And now, I’m the adult saying goodbye. But I know it’s not forever… 1 Corinthians 15:54-57 says: When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.” “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. As my sweet Grandad prepares to meet his Savior, I’m praising God for His victory over death.  O victory in Jesus,
My Savior, forever.
He sought me and bought me
With His redeeming blood;
He loved me ere I knew Him
And all my love is due Him,
He plunged me to victory,
Beneath the cleansing flood.

Vann and I have 3 grandparents between us that are in crisis.  All in their late 80’s and early 90’s.  Men and women who have lived long and spirit-filled lives.  It makes me think a lot about the girls.  At 2 and 5, what do you know of life and death?  Their world, God-willing, will stay safe and small for as long as it can, if we have any say about it…I know the days of teenage angst and slamming doors are coming, but hopefully not for a good, long while. I want them to stay little, to be interested in childish things, to be thrilled when they have a new pair of jammies and want to wear them every.single.night.  I want them to ask me to hold their hands, because I know the day will come when they don’t ask anymore.  I wonder if it’s scary to face death.  As a Christian I know what my afterlife looks like, but even so – do you have peace?  Are you afraid?  When you’ve lived on this Earth for 90 years, are you ready?  Ella will be 3 in just over a month.  At this time, 3 years ago, we were preparing for her arrival Thanksgiving week.  Grandparents had purchased plane tickets, hotel reservations had been made, we were gearing up for a very turkey baby holiday.  There was a concern those last days that Ella had stopped receiving the nutrition she needed from my body.  Something wasn’t working.  Dr. Roth asked me to start coming in for fetal non-stress tests (where you basically lay there while they monitor baby’s heartbeat) once a week…which at the time was such a huge hassle because I had a very active 2 year old and the office was downtown…not your 10 minute hop, skip and jump like it is in Texas. Super annoyed to have to do this every week, on November 9th I went in as usual, and to add insult to injury they left me in the room for what seemed like forever.  I might have even fallen asleep.  This is before I experienced the iPhone and all of it’s magical time-sucking qualities.  It’s a good thing Instagram wasn’t around. The next thing I know, Dr. Roth is asking me if I can stay, indefinitely – well, no, I mean my childcare was only for this appointment and Vann was at work – well, she was going to call the high risk doc over at Northwestern and compare notes.  And it could be that this baby was coming as early as the morning. She finally released me later on that night (after Vann made a mad dash to collect little C) with instructions that she’d update me as soon as she could.  I remember walking to the train from the hospital – Fall was making way for Winter and the leaves crunched under my feet.  Michigan Avenue was gearing up for Christmas – lights were starting to come up everywhere.  It wouldn’t be too long before you could see your breath in front of you. At home, I received a call from the doc and she said to be at the hospital at 1 pm the next day.  It was true, the baby needed to come out because she had stopped growing.  Baby girl was coming a full two weeks early – which if you had grandparents in town might not be that big a deal.  I could hear the crushing disappointment in my Dad’s voice, who had never missed a grandchild birth – and despite my own butterflies, I consoled him and told him we’d be fine and he would get to meet her in two weeks. You can’t explain the feeling the night before you give birth – with my two c’s I knew it was coming – but the anticipation is just overwhelming.  In a wonderful way, but still. The next morning we left poor Charlie (who was sick with a horrible flu) with an on-call nurse we used through Pepsi’s benefits program.  My friends all had kids – or worked full-time jobs – so that was our only option.  I remember looking around our apartment and thinking this was the last time we would be a family of 3.  Forever changed, we would come home with a baby and Charlie would have a sister. Of course, the end of that story is that sweet dark-haired Ella Monroe was born, 5 pounds, 8 ounces, on November 10th.  She was the teeniest pea and I remember marveling at her fingers and toes.  She didn’t even fill out preemie clothes, that’s how small she was.  Being small of stature has never stopped our Ella.  Her huge personality certainly makes up for what she lacks in size.  I think she might have finally broken the 20 pound mark – but it took awhile.  And we weathered a year of early childhood intervention and feeding therapy as she wouldn’t feed herself or walk on her own until she was 18 months.  There was even concern when we decided to stop ECI back in 2011 that she was going to be delayed in her words.  When would she climb stairs without crawling up them?  When would she speak in complete sentences?  All questions we labored over for what felt like forever. Now, at almost 3, all of those fears seem like distant memories.  She’s a petite powerhouse, endlessly stubborn and almost annoying verbal at times – the child who literally asks THE SAME question about 50 times in 2 minutes.  She’s my giggly girl who carries her Minnie Mouse with her everywhere and worships her big sister.  She’s in the terrible two’s and then some.  She loves to run naked through the house with her hand in her crack.  Comforting?  Not sure.  She still has the baby booty.  I guess we should think about potty training but she shows no interest and to be honest, I’m not too concerned about it.  Could it be me trying to keep her a baby for a little longer?  Possibly.  She’ll be in her crib at least until the end of the year and maybe later, until we can afford to buy her a new bed.    She chipped one of her front teeth earlier this year and the other one has now turned grey.  Should be awesome for pictures for years to come.  There goes her modeling career. The biggest surprise to me recently is, despite all of the added stress of the house, I am beginning to feel the pull for a 3rd baby.  3 years later, and I can finally start to wrap my mind around what that looks like and who that little someone might be.  Life.  Death.  It’s all one big cycle and I guess the most important piece is that we learn how to live the days in between. Fall has finally arrived in Texas and it’s going to be a “cold” weekend – if 54 degrees constitutes “cold”.  I’ll take it, thank you very much.