Merry Christmas Season!

  Aaaaah...siiiigh...December 27th and I can finally sit around in my robe at 10:40 a.m. without panicking that there is wrapping, baking, visiting, to do.  Christmas eve was beautiful though busy~ We enjoyed parties on both sides of the family.  A highlight was the Christmas vigil Mass we celebrated between the two gatherings.  Our two eldest girls had joined the children's choir for the first time and were rewarded with solos and bell ringing.  We were rewarded with that warm fuzzy glow that accompanies any event in which your children shine.  It was especially touching that their sweet innocent voices were praising Baby Jesus!
  Onto Christmas morning... definitely glad that I took the time the night (well wee hours of the morning) before to prepare quiche and prep for breakfast.  The family really appreciated a full morning meal that had everyone around the table in good spirits...(my personal favorite part...well, that and the morning nap that followed:))
  Christmas night rolled around with my sister, brother-in-law, nephew and a big ham dinner. 
This truly was a filling day- fulfilling with the gift of our salvation wrapped in swaddling clothes, His Love shared through the family He's gifted me with, the food He provided, and the warmth that comes with acknowledging how Blessed I truly am. 
Merry Christmas one and all!  May the Joy of this season carry you through the Epiphany.  I thank God that Christmas is a whole Season...not just a day.  I continue to remind myself there are "peaks and valleys".    We've had our lows when kids are overtired and grouchy.  We've also experienced the peaks of rosey cheeked excitement that glow over mugs of hot chocolate.  The good and bad are part of the journey.   The journey is the focus...not one encapsulated moment.  Fortunately, I'm able to end this post on a peak!  My kids and there cousins are playing well.  Moods are stable and I'm still cozy in my robe with a mug of coffee.  I would, however, welcome any and all comments and encouragement for the darker moments when stocking raids have led to sugar melt downs and the "valley" of post holiday cheer seems to loom menacingly near... 
  I love knowing we are all in this together!  Enjoy your Peaks!

"Pace Yourself"

  Recently, I thanked a friend for her support during my painfully slow progress with posting~ I'm working on getting more regular (just don't go back and review post dates...).  She responded with more encouragement.  She reminded me that we are all busy during this holiday season.  "Sus,"  she said, "celebrate what you have accomplished and pace yourself- you'll get there."  It was nice to have a voice of reason soothing my temptation to beat myself up and offering encouragement to keep plodding along.

 I began to apply this logic to where I was in this very holy season.  I had launched myself and household into garlands and twinkle lights at supersonic warp speed.  It proved to be a "warped" speed because I had led a frenzied pace to decorate the entire house, familiarize myself with most Christmas tunes, and urge the kids toward being on the "NICE" list all before December 1st.  Indeed, this was a first for me.  I grew up in a home where the Church's Advent calendar led the season.  We lit the advent candles and did a daily spiritual reflection at dinner time.  My Mom was adamant in having us wait until the very eve of Christmas to decorate the tree.  I'm sure there is a happy medium in all of this timing.  But I will say that my childhood tradition of "waiting" certainly built the anticipation to a near fevered pitch for us kids.  We were also building a true understanding of Christmas and the Reason we were celebrating. I began to realize the wisdom in the advice to Pace Myself.  True, Christ had already been born 2011 years ago.  This wasn't a true birthday celebration.  Advent is technically about helping us ready ourselves in preparation for the second coming of Christ.  It was not a bad thing to place baby Jesus in the manger early in the season~ it was a nice reminder of how He came as a vulnerable child.  Yet, my preoccupation with "festivities" had felt a little hollow without remembering to work "on the inside" alongside decorating the outward appearances.  In doing so, I had nearly reached burnout prematurely and allowed the secular jingling bells to drown out the Silent Night. 

  I found healing and restoration in remembering the importance on pacing oneself...this season is a journey...Mary and Joseph certainly didn't reach Bethlehem on the donkey overnight.  It was with one step at a time. 

  Perhaps cliche, but always true, life is often about what happens while journeying that makes the destination hold significance.  Perhaps, this was true for St. Joseph.  Maybe it was in the quiet unseen parts of the journey on foot that he gave his greatest sacrifices- sharing his portion of food with the donkey so it could have the strength to continue carrying it's precious cargo.  Walking on foot so Mary could ride with a little more comfort.  Either way, it wasn't the speed with which they reached Bethlehem, that impresses us in stories to this day...it was the tremendous distance they traveled burdened as they were.  They reached Bethlehem and still found hardship in "No room at the Inn."  It was essential then as it is now... this concept of pacing oneself... we will get there...this life is not our home forever. 

Never too late for THANKS!

 Ah yes, Thanksgiving...  It was a beautiful day~  Sunny, with a hint of warmth.  I had such high hopes for the beautiful day that would enfold.  I even helped my five year old son fall asleep the nights leading up to this big day by telling him stories of what Thanksgiving would be like.  "Oooooh, the sky is still dark and Mama is sitting in the dim light in her robe with a pot of hot water boiling for hot chocolate,"  I had whispered to his closing eyelids.  At the mention of hot chocolate his eyes pop wide open and a huge grin appears.  "Then you walk softly down the steps and crawl into my lap," I tell him, "and we are the only two awake in the house.  We bake cinnamon rolls as the sun starts to come up and we giggle while we wait for the parade to start on t.v."


  Yes, that was a beautiful dream... Not a single bit of it came true but it was a lovely thought.  In reality, we all stayed up late the night before and I didn't have any hope of waking before the sun did.  However, my eleven year old son woke about 6:30 a.m and banged his way around the kitchen to make my husband and I breakfast in bed (another wonderful idea!).  As he delivered our eggs and coffee he announced, "See Mom!  I told you I'd wake you up early!"  The day then took off at an alarming rate as the other five woke up on the wrong side of the bed.  I did remember to thank God that our 14 year old "hormonal tornado" had spent the night at a friends as his siblings kicked, yelled, cried, and grouched for the next two hours.  My husband croaked out that he was feeling horrible so it was on me to bring morale back to the troops.  Unfortunately, it's difficult to inspire others when your own crushed "cinnamon roll dreams" are laying in a tattered heap.


  Fresh air can bring about a total change in perspective!  I announced I was taking a walk and invited the whole surly crew to join me.  Two took me up on it...  Sure, I secretly craved alone time while I walked around our little triangle of a yard but I also know the endorphins could do my kids a world of good.  I'm sure chaos was still brewing and erupting inside as we lapped the yard (1 lap = 1/4 mile).  I began to process my bedtime story turned nightmare.  I'll be honest, I even despaired about what to write to inspire others to be thankful.  And then I remembered when I had called our parish priest a few years ago to wail, "Father, everything is going wrong in our lives!!"  I had a very legitimate list of complaints and had expected sympathy and a plan of action.  His first words to me brought me up short.  "First off Susan, not EVERYTHING, is wrong in your life.  Is your health gone?  Did your house burn down? Are your children still with you and well?"  He continued by telling me it's a deception to focus on all the things that are going bad because it takes our attention away from what is right.  "Susan,"  Fr. Larry said, "It's so important to start listing- OUT LOUD- the blessings in your life."  Never forget to focus on what is GOOD in your life was the message I got loud and clear.


  As I lapped my triangle I sifted through that conversation and started my new list.  The two children that went with me had trailed off to run and play with the neighbors dog and pogo stick ;)  The fresh air cleared more than their bad mood.  I was thankful for my new perspective.  I was thankful that the day wouldn't remain in the valley of fighting.  I was thankful for the TWO Thanksgiving feasts we'd be sharing with both sides of the family.  I was Thankful that we have such a large family (both immediate and extended). 


AND... I was thankful that I remembered to be THANKFUL!

So Cozy!

    I've always had an unusual fondness for cloudy, rainy, stormy, bad weather days.  I used to think it was because on these days I often found myself cuddled up with a cup of tea and a good book.  Of course after children started coming along in my life I am more partial to a steaming cup of coffee.  Somewhere over the years a "good book" has morphed into an interesting magazine article due to time restrictions. 

  Time has revealed the reason behind the enjoyment I receive from these inclement weather days.  A large part is due to the cancellation of my "To Do" list. 

  Oh darn... it's not sunny out, I guess I should break out the paints and a blank canvas.  Oh noooo... a snow storm...siiiigh, I guess we should light a fire and heat hot chocolate while we sift through family photos and create an album ;)

  Ultimately, ugly days provide the permission to "play indoors".  To dream the dreams and let creativity flow...

  Sometimes it's enough for me to watch as my children create sopping wet roses and poppies, big brown blobby puppies, and paintings that, in their eyes, clearly rival Michelangelo and Renoir. (I truly have these very works drying on my dining room table now...it was a gusty weekend with some showers).  Other times I too, must break out the crayons and clay and let myself play~ unhindered by adult "supposed to and shoulds"...

  The rain has always helped living things grow...I wonder why it's taken me this long to understand that meant creativity too! 

Testing is back...

  I wrote about my last pregnancy in Tiny Love... 

The genetic testing on our baby is back...  Our son's name is Lawrence Ignatius (named after Fr. Larry Richards, the amazing evangelist Priest who married us and continues to administer the Sacraments to us and our children) and St. Ignatius~ prolific writer.  Our son did have Trisomy 18.  This was the same genetic disorder which affects the 18th chromosome (three genes instead of two...hence the Tri)...which as they say in the medical world, "makes this child incompatible with life". 

  This is very rare to have two children with Trisomy 18.  They suspect my husband or I have a fragmented 18th chromosome.  Doctors reccomend we have genetic testing/counseling. 

Simply amazing that we have seven healthy, chromosomally sound children! 

Eyes Opened...

A man and his children were riding the public bus home one evening. The man appeared oblivious to his children's "over the top" misbehavior. A nearby passenger began clearing her throat to bring attention to his children as they ran wildly through the aisles. Her indignant sniffs became louder as they hollered and jumped over the seats. She was shocked and displeased with his lack of applied discipline to this unruly crew. Still, the man stared into nothing seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Finally,her patience worn thin she demanded, "won't you please get your children under control?" The man seemed to snap back to the reality of his surroundings. He quickly apologized for his children disturbing this woman. "You see," he tried explaining, "they are probably trying to get a little energy out. We've been at the hospital all day where their mother has just died. I will have them quiet down."

** I had heard this story (I believe true) years ago and have repeated it several times. The shock value comes in at the end when the justified irritation and self righteous anger at an apparent lack of parenting suddenly transforms into a horrible lack of compassion and passing judgement.

Just this past Friday my own children were exhibiting a lack of control as they fought among themselves. My eldest, a teenager, was working himself into a fury as he physically threatened his younger brother, told his sisters to "shut up," and even hurled insults my way. My response was just as shameful as I vented my utter frustration at him in the form of name calling and grounded him for a week...or maybe it was a month...(I was pretty upset). I was beside myself as I ordered everyone in and buckled. I slammed van doors while loudly reprimanding the lot of them especially my teen son. Once I was in the drivers seat , and backing up, I braked and demanded to know who's door was open... the lights were still on. A few seconds later I uttered, "oh." and sheepishly walked around to shut the rear doors I forgot I had opened while venting. I chose to ignore my children's giggling commentary filtering around me "then mom yelled who left the doors open... and then she was like, oh."

I drove in silence until I realized my eldest, in the passenger seat beside me, was still was not buckled. We were no longer yelling...or talking. "Please put your seat belt on." A minute later I repeated, "please put your seat belt on." I touched his arm and asked "what is going on with you?" Silence with a glare. I looked over at him and fearing the worst I asked, "why are your eyes all red and glossy?!?," allowing the accusation to seep into my voice. "Because I was crying Mom." What?!? That was unexpected. "Why?" "Because my friend just died an hour and a half ago!" Tears began to stream down his cheeks. I was in shock. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen my big boy cry. Slowly he filled me in on his classmate who had been life flighted after being overcome by Carbon Monoxide. I gasped when I recognized this as the boy I had been following on the news. A true tragedy.

I began to think back to the hug my son had tried to give me as I was hustling everyone out the door and barking orders. I reached over and squeezed his arm and told him, "I am so very sorry." It became clear to me that I was the self righteous woman on the bus...judging my son harshly (easy to do with a teen temper). Wrapped up in his horrible show of anger I became oblivious as to WHY he was so angry.

Compassion is a lesson that comes in a difficult tutorial... It takes giving up a sense of comfort to discover the source of what appears unappealing. Applying the balm of compassion may be as simple as cutting someone a little slack or even just listening. Either way, this is probably a lesson that will be repeated throughout life. I'm certain I have BEEN the occasional TEST for lifes' unsuspecting traveler as well...

Keep on Movin'

It's here! That feeling of mental clarity that makes all the difference in my day to day living AND understanding of what my greater purpose on this earth is...

Of course, I understand that I am wife and mother. Yes, I am aware that I am neighbor and friend... Somehow, what seems to keep slipping from my conciousness is that I was created with specific talents and desires. I need to keep up the process of excavation and keep bringing into light those things that help make up who I am.

This may seem like an abstract thought... however, I have heard that the tool of "free association" can help bring into clearer focus that central nugget of truth that can be so elusive. Who am I? What do I really want? Is it bad to ask these questions? I don't think so. I believe it It leads to greater self discovery. This in turn can be more freeing than captivating.

Am I afraid of failure...or success. What is my purpose...how can I achieve that purpose? Sometimes these questions hover around the perimeter of my consciousness...other times they shout so as to overcome the chaos my life has become.

In the still quiet-- when I have sought Him Who knows all and has created me with a specific purpose... that is when the focus becomes clear and answers are revealed. A certain Peace begins to slowly pervade my being and an odd type of energy radiates from my core out...often times I have the splotchy neck as witness this is happening.

I know it is important to work on this daily. I have found the key elements to remaining in this state of clarity is to first, spend time with the One Who created me. Second, remember that I have been created as an individual with separate talents and desires... seek those out. And finally, make and take the time to practice those skills and break down the desire into tiny steps that will ultimately lead to fulfillment of dreams.

Tiny Love

What an incredible time this has been. I have lost another baby to the sting of death…this time from within my womb. The pain was still very real. We are waiting on the D.N.A. results to learn if this child was a boy or girl and what the genetic defect was. Based on the 12 week sonogram, our midwife felt confident enough to tell Steve and I that our baby appeared to have a chromosomal defect. One that would make it incompatible with life. We were hearing this news for the second time and we were crushed. I immediately began to cry.

We were to come back within the week to repeat the sonogram and look for any changes. Those next few days seemed to drag until we were back in the doctor’s office hearing that not much had changed and actually the edema (swelling) of the baby was quite severe and perhaps even more pronounced around the head and abdomen. As the doctor conferred with the sonographer and set up an appt. in Pittsburgh we heard the whispers telling us our baby had severe edema throughout all of it’s tissue from head to rump.
We would have to wait until I was 16 weeks along to have the amniocentesis test in Pittsburgh which would confirm the actual condition our baby had.

Two weeks later I was concerned over a little bleeding and knew that I wanted to make sure our baby’s heart was beating before we made the two hour trip to Pittsburgh. Although I thought it, I wasn’t actually prepared to see my tiny one curled in my womb without a flutter in it’s chest. The sonographer gently let us know our baby was no longer living. I was surprised by the depth of emotion that sprang from somewhere deep in my heart. I was mourning this little child I had walked with for those last 16 weeks. Perhaps it was the combination of looking at the monitor screen and actually seeing such a tiny, well formed baby with it’s hands curled up by it’s head and it’s legs crossed while hearing that it no longer lived ~that cracked me somewhere deep in my core.

We were given three options. First, we could allow my body to spontaneously deliver the baby. This could take up to six weeks depending on how long ago our baby died. Second, we could go for and D and C in Pittsburgh because it was too large for our doctors here in Erie. However, it would be done in their abortion department. Thirdly, I could go into the local hospital and be given a medicine that would induce labor and I would deliver there.

I chose option three…and I wanted to do it that very afternoon. My midwife was calm as she let me know it is important to grieve the loss of this baby emotionally before letting go physically. She also let me know that once a mother knows her baby is no longer alive it can signal to her body it’s time to let the pregnancy go. I was scheduled to go to the hospital the next afternoon to be prepped for the delivery the following day. I then left to go home and grieve.

After the kids were tucked in for the night I curled up on the couch with a book. I couldn’t really get comfortable due to some mild cramping in my back. After a while I gave up and went to bed. I held my belly in the dark that night and knew this was my time to physically be with my child. I was literally wrapped around this baby. Yes, I knew I no longer communed with my child…but still it was present as I said goodbye.

I woke the next morning to the sound of my husband trying to get our eldest out the door in time for his bus and welcome our second to his day. All of a sudden there was a warm gush as I tried to move out of bed. I was so startled I hopped out and felt a second gush. I called Steve’s name several times and tried to keep my legs pressed tightly together to staunch what I believed to be a flow of blood. I thought I was hemorrhaging. The next few minutes were a whir. Steve came rushing in and closed the door. I was afraid and was crying as I told him I was bleeding. I gently tried to get changed to get to the hospital when there was another sudden gush and we both knew I had just delivered our baby. Steve called out “there’s the baby!” I just kept repeating, “Oh God, Oh God,” as he went to pick our little one off the towel on the floor. He was adamant about me not looking since we didn’t know how long our baby had been decomposing. I was crying and trying to get to him as my placenta was delivered and I heard him whisper, “it’s not gruesome at all.” There was genuine awe in his voice. I moved to look at the miniature baby he held cupped in his one palm with it’s umbilical chord still attached. We marveled at the sweet little fingers and the perfect heels on the other end of the ten tiny toes. I could see eyes and tiny ear buds…we were witnessing a beautiful revelation of one interrupted in the midst of it’s formation.

It was all so crazy and fast and the children (all seven were now awake) were huddled outside our bedroom door. Concern in their voice and impatience in their questions brought Steve out of our room while I tried to get ready to leave for the hospital without losing too much blood. The reality of this awkward unknown experience meant the baby was placed in a plastic container and wrapped in a special towel our son had sewn onto to memorialize his brother who had died two years earlier. Steve kept poking his head in the room to ask if he should show the baby to the kids. Stevie Jr. our second was adamant about wanting to see. I was torn between distraction of my physical condition and fear of scarring our children. Ultimately I figured if they want to see so badly, let them.

I was curious about their reaction…but a little afraid too. I had determined this latest child was beautiful no matter what. I also knew that children can be blunt and uncensored. I peeked around the corner of the door ready to dive back in the room to protect my vulnerable heart. I saw Steve in the midst of all but our eldest who was the only one who did not want to see this sibling. Gently he uncovered the baby and there was a collective gasp followed by a unanimous “aaaawwww.” The children began to blurt out their observances. “I can see a leg!” “Look! There are his fingers!” Our four year old peeked over Daddy’s hands and exclaimed, “he’s soooo cute!” They peppered Steve with “is it a boy or a girl?” And Steve was honest in telling them it was too early for us to know. He then said to the clustered group, “this is why we don’t believe abortion is right. This is a baby…not just a bunch of tissue in your Mommy.”

I can confidently say I think that’s a lesson they will never forget.

Though I chose not to hold the baby at that time I was given an opportunity to hold him or her later that afternoon in the quiet calm of my hospital room. The nurse had done her best to take photographs that would honor our child and there was even the tiniest bit of ink on the edge of an even tinier foot from attempted footprints at my request. We marveled at the intricacy of a 16 week formed human being cupped in the palm of my hand. Yes, we were saddened by the telltale sign of abnormality shown by the distended abdominal wall. And we trusted that this child’s Creator called him or her home when He knew it was the right time. But we also knew we were experiencing some part of wonderment that accompanies any great creation. We were viewing a miraculous sight that very few will ever have the privilege to see in the flesh.

Little one, how honored I am to have been chosen to house you as your fingers, toes, arms, and nose began to take shape. You are of my flesh and blood and that tie is no less real in death as it would be in life. I love you and long for the day when, perhaps unexpectedly, you rush up and lift me off my feet that were walking the golden streets of Heaven. The alarm of being grabbed by a stranger melts into pure delight as my heart is filled with the recognition of you. I imagine my tears will burst forth as you wrap your arms around me with the vigor of a ruddy youth. Tears of gratitude and inexpressible mirth slide down the curve of your cheek as we both begin to understand that your short life on earth has been rewarded with an eternity of joyful discovery within each others company. Lord, Your ways are far above our own!

Just Write!!!

I don't know about anyone else... but I definitely have a hard time staying on task when I feel the heavy panting of perfectionism breathing down my neck. Take this blog for instance... could I write every day? Yes, without a doubt I could fill at least three notebook pages with the ramblings that rattle through my mind. And yet, balance that ability against the thought of sending those words out into the wide unknown and I lose my nerve and begin cleaning my desk. Why is that?

I freeze when I get overwhelmed. This is such an annoyance! I suppose I ought to look at the root cause of why I feel overwhelmed to understand why it locks me into a straight jacket of non-productiveness... My thought is that I as the writer I begin to put words on the page. Then I immediately begin to assume the readers thought process. This immediately propels me into the editors chair. Soon I am hacking at each sentence. Mercilessly, I slash words that might offend, reveal too much of my own weakness, not make sense to another... basically, words that make me look "less than".

This certainly isn't helpful to my writing process. I think of other's phrases that have drawn my attention. I am most often inspired and intrigued by artists who are not afraid to be themselves. I will always remember the advice offered from a friend just before going in front of a news camera, "just be as real as you can be."

Authentic. Easy to relate to. Yep, that resonates with me. That's all I want to be... in that way I can simply say, "Here I am Lord, I come to do Your will." Besides, God uses the weak to confound the strong... who would I be fooling anyway if I were to appear as "more than?" I am weak...yet, I still come to do Your will, Lord. Please help me achieve the fullness of all You've created me to be...strengths, cracks, humor, faith...all of it as You've intended for Your purpose.

Beloved...

[Years ago Christ reminded me of His UNCONDITIONAL LOVE as I sat in front of Him in Adoration...May these words that flowed from His grace to my pen be a comfort and reminder if you should ever find yourself tempted to think you've strayed too far to seek His face...]
You have brushed my hair and anointed me with Your oils. You have groomed me with Your most experienced talents. You have called me forth and called me beloved...

At one time fires raged around me and I was drowning in stupidity, blindness, and drudgery from Your enemy's hand. It only took a moment of "guard down" and he was upon me. Delighting in the destruction of Your precious, prized possessions, he mutilated them until they fear they are too ugly to return to You in such disarray.

Slowly, with great pain, I heard You still calling out for me. Urgency and longing in Your voice. Desperate for sign of life You searched the darkness with Your lantern in hand. Daily, You set out food and signs of welcome on the chance would be alive and return to You. Your messengers hunted and did Your Will. You NEVER stopped calling. Finding me... You waited until I was ready.

Bedraggled, I have come forth. Disgusting in appearance I have shamefacedly approached Your courts. Summoning a last ounce of abused strength I raise my hand to the door.

You sense that I am near...
Rushing the remaining span of distance You throw open the heavy doors that are separating us.

I am in Your arms and You are cherishing the beauty of my cracked and disheveled face. You are smoothing my knotted, filthy hair that used to shine gloriously and crown Your creation. You are crooning LOVE and I am HOME. I am ashamed to cause You hurt and You are happy I am back. Tears are brushed from Your eyes to wipe the filth surrounding mine.

Beloved...

Who am I?

This is ridiculous... I am nervously sitting here, stress eating a Kit Kat bar while I ponder what to write in the Meet Susan/Bio section of this blog.  "Who am I"? How does one sum up their personality and productive qualities in a few "simple" lines?

  Here goes... I love God. I love my husband and children. I love the creative spark that God instilled in my soul. It is this spark that has consistently brought this very endeavor of a website to mind... and I mean to the point that if I knew where to file harassment charges for these persistent ideas~ I just might do it. Yet, persistence paid off and here I am... opening my life before the world in the hopes that God might touch a soul through something read here. A person just might be moved enough to really look closely at the gifts and talents they've been given (and possibly hidden), and follow the inspiration to actually use them!

This world NEEDS people to do what they love! Those talents and desires weren't just thrown into their DNA by random ingredient selection.  Our Creator had a definite plan for the overall grand design while He blew His breath of Life into each of us.  It was within that design that a mission was created to reveal a particular aspect or dimension of God's own character. His word states that we were created in His own image. Each of us were given a unique aspect of His image (another way to look at how we all make up the one Body of Christ). We need one another to be faithful to sharing that individual "element" of God with the world. It's like fitting puzzle pieces together to see the bigger picture.

How exciting is this!?  The world would be a better, more beautiful, place if people actually did what they loved and loved what they did.  Why?  Because we would be contributing to the world as God intended.  I understand the need to be responsible.  This could be a small start if need be.  Open your heart to the possibility and begin to take notice if doors open or supplies find their way to you.  Always ask God to reveal His Will to you and to provide the way that His will be done. 

You know what I'm writing about if you've ever had an idea that produces a burning deep down and seems a bit silly to discuss~ yet intrigues you with possibility.  Perhaps, just for this moment you could take these words "as a sign" that you are to follow through on that idea.  Maybe you are being called to live out your talent...why not?  Only you have everything necessary to be you...and we need to see and experience what God would reveal about Himself through you!

I recently heard someone say "NEVER GIVE UP ON SOMETHING THAT YOU CAN'T GO A DAY WITHOUT THINKING ABOUT."  (I apologize I don't know who to give credit to for that quote.. it's awesome though, isn't it?) 

Let's do this together!  It's obvious my site is under major construction...I'm just beginning.  So start this journey with me.  Let me know what ideas have been percolating (or persistently pestering) you.  I will try to get a message board going so we can inspire and support one another in these efforts.  In the meantime shoot me a comment about your dreams.  You never know what new beginning or exciting addition to your life is awaiting your decision to move in that direction...

 Ok... so the "Short bio" section will have to wait a little longer... maybe you've gotten to know a little about me through this post anyway~ such as I am frequently given to tangents... and I follow them. 

All Will Be Well

“All will be well. All will be well” … the song plays to me from memory…

This past Good Friday we celebrated the second birthday of our seventh child. This child, our son John Michael, was born with a genetic disorder affecting the 18th chromosome (Trisomy 18). Though this condition proved fatal, we were so very blessed to be able to cuddle and sing to our sweet baby boy for two miraculous days of life . I’ve been in the process of writing a book about this experience. I try to quiet my mind so that I can go back in time and write from memory. Sometimes this process is excruciatingly painful… always, it is healing.

Shortly after my son’s death, a friend gave me a CD with various meditative songs. These songs were composed to help people experience Christ as they sit in adoration of Him. I clearly recall those days of heavy sadness as I lay there with empty arms so hungry for my baby. I was heartbroken without his soft fuzzy hair to bury my nose in. My tears would flow without ceasing as I would listen to this music over and over. The one song that I clung to repeated the words, “All will be well…all will be well”. Those words stirred my faith to believe that I would one day have the strength to smile again. Those words enabled me to pull through the darkness that I’m sure would be similar to the loss and immense grief the apostles must have felt during that second day Christ lay in the tomb.

On Good Friday. My husband, sister, and I stood by our little boy’s grave singing Happy Birthday as our tears mingled with the pouring rain. It seemed the whole world was crying. Next came Holy Saturday… I still missed my son. Jesus still would have been in the grave. And then came Resurrection Sunday. This year we celebrated the second anniversary of John Michael’s death on Easter.

I had originally felt the timing was backwards. Good Friday seemed a better fit for the sadness of John Michael’s death. And the Joy of Easter seemed a better time to remember the elation of his being born alive as we relished his every breath. Yet, God revealed His perfect timing to me as I sat in the solemn church on Good Friday and thought of the sadness Blessed Mother must have felt at her Son’s death. I realized that both she and I knew our sons were born to die. I had learned that Trisomy 18 is a condition that occurs during conception. John Michael was conceived with this disorder that doctors had termed “incompatible with life”…(more on that another day!) We knew he would not have long with us yet we were certain he was here to share God’s love with all who learned of him. And though the connection of our son’s death with Easter may have been very clear to others it was slow to dawn on me. I now know that this Easter Sunday, we not only can remember the sadness of John Michael’s tiny body falling prey to the sting of death but we can also celebrate his soul’s rising to God’s presence.

Thank You Father for the gift of my son. Thank You Father for the gift of YOUR Son. Because of Your Son’s death and resurrection, John Michael can rest in Your arms and I can rest assured, knowing that “ALL WILL BE WELL”.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

Welcome World! Here it is...the very first (ever) blog launched by Harborlily Creative! I couldn't be any more excited to begin this journey with you!

And just like any new "parent" this birthing process has tired me out... and so I bid you a good night (or morning, depending on where you live). Can't wait to see what new adventures await us together!

Peace and Joy,

Susan