A Courtship...An Unused Passport...and a Sad-but-True Tale of Unexpected Visitors

Before writing my last post, I had quite a debate with myself over how to proceed.  To be completely faithful to chronology, I would have actually transitioned from Daniel to my son-in-law Nick, then onto our decision to pursue adoption before I wrote about Mary.

I consulted with my advisors, PR managers, and talking heads, and they all seemed to have their own agendas.  Some are sticklers for a timeline; some (whose names rhyme with "Krystal") are the presidents of Nick's fan club; some gave me the non-committal "It's your blog...do whatever you want!" 

Since it's not every day that I get to do whatever I want, that seemed like fine counsel!  However, I also have a long history as a people-pleaser, so I'm essentially using this post to address a little bit of all of the above.

Perhaps you will recall that we ended our last post with Mary.  As I mentioned, a lot of important stuff happened in the short two years between Daniel and Mary, but in the final analysis, I decided that these three kids really needed to be lumped together:

Hannah, Daniel, and Mary

They are our reversal babies.  (Sweet Jimmy B really thought I should have taken the picture of the backs of their heads.  Get it?  Reversal babies!)  If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you might want to take a peek at the Pregnant Pause posts.

While I'm certain that there are no shortage of folks who are relieved, no one has ever come out and asked me why we haven't been back to the delivery room in over six years.  I mean, really...we made that trip three times in 3 1/2 years, after all, so it would actually be a very good question!  The OB nurses at the hospital where Mary was born, upon hearing the story of our family, fully expected to see us again within the next couple years, and we figured that sounded like a pretty safe bet.  So, you may ask, what's up with the gap?

No idea.

Well, I guess that's not altogether true.  I know precisely why I haven't found myself playing "Is That A Line?" for quite a while:  God is sovereign, and He knows what He's doing.

(This is going to come as a grave disappointment to anyone who has been laboring under the delusion that, after Mary, we decided to "wise up" and embrace "reason."  Sooo sorry.)

Like I said before, if I were going to approach the story of our family using the purest timeline, I actually would have written about Nick after Daniel.  I love a nice, logical sequence of events as much as the next old English teacher, so it was very tempting!  And, of course, Krystal lobbied pretty strong on her husband's behalf.  Further complicating my decision-making process is that I can't fall back on the ol' blood-is-thicker-than-water standard, because barely more than half my children are related to me by blood.  

So I drew the line in a much weirder place.  

Receiving preferential blog-positioning are the children with whom I have shared a home at any point in the last 25 1/2 years.  I figure if you've had to participate in the madness of the 30-second clean-up when someone pulls into the driveway unannounced...if you've had to watch me dash though the house in a panicked freak-out because I've just realized that I'm not wearing a bra, and the aforementioned pop-in visitor is almost to the door...if you have had to run and sneakily fetch me said bra because I've become trapped with my bedroom on one side of the front door and myself on the other...you have earned your right to be written about first.

So, if my sons-in-law are reading this, I'm sorry to bump you...but considering the cost, it's probably a small price to pay!

I will share just one little teaser about Nick--sort of a prelude to the day I will discuss him at greater length:

Nick is the younger of two reasonably-spaced children.  He knowingly married into a family that had eight kids and two foster-children at the time.  And that's just one branch of Krystal's family!  She need never question the depth of his love for her.

Nick with little, tiny Daniel and Hannah.  

To this day, when Nick arrives at Stately Bennett Manor, 

he is almost immediately covered with children!

So Nick arrived on the scene in earnest while Daniel was still a baby.  It was also during Daniel's infancy that we decided to take a step that had been a long time coming:  We decided to take James 1:27 to heart and follow God down the road to adoption.

Like many other major decisions we have made, adoption was a seed that was planted in our hearts in Minnesota.  We knew families there who had adopted because of infertility and families who had brought an adopted child into a houseful of siblings.  There were children adopted from Korea and China and Guatemala; children adopted cross-culturally from within the United States; children adopted out of the foster care system.  Young parents; brave, obedient middle-aged parents.  It was beautiful!

It wasn't until we moved back to Illinois, though, that the seed of adoption began to sprout into something large enough that we had to decide what we were going to do with it.

This is one of the times in my life upon which I look back and almost laugh (or cry), because I let so much false information, faulty logic, and fear creep into a decision that should have been pretty scripturally simple.  Instead, I kept finding myself distracted by nagging little questions:  Were we even allowed to adopt when we already had so many kids?  Could we ever afford it?  What would happen when a social worker asked us how we discipline our children? (I think you know what I'm getting at here!)  What if the birth parents wanted them back?!  What would people say?!  (You'd think I would have been past that one!)

To make a really, really long story a little shorter, I ended up doing a lot of research (surprise!), and I found a wonderful ministry called The Shepherd's Crook.  They aren't an adoption agency; they share information from a number of different agencies about children who are difficult to place with adoptive families.  Some of the children have serious medical concerns, and some are simply considered "special needs" because of their age or gender...or because they are part of a group of siblings.  The fact that The Shepherd's Crook focuses on children who are the least adoptable touched my heart...and on their website, I found two precious little girls from Romania.

By this time, Romania had largely closed its doors to international adoptions...with the exception of special needs children.  Madalena and Camelia qualified because they were siblings and because they were of gypsy descent.

And so it began.  The search for a social worker; the home-study; the mountains of paperwork; bureaucratic red tape.  Whatever horror stories you have heard about international adoption...haven't even come close!

This is the picture we had taken to send to Romania along with our home-study in 2004.  

(Back row:  Krystal and me.  Middle row:  Lyndsay, Grace, and Jim.  

Front row:  Jamie, Hannah, and Daniel.)  

More than once during the home-study process, our social worker reminded us that, if we ever decided to become foster parents, the work was already done.  We would just have to take a few classes.  

Not interested!  And we had a LOT of really sound reasons why foster care just wasn't for us.  Really!  Very good, well thought-out reasons!  (Can you almost hear God laugh?)

Then a series of interesting things happened.  For starters, we found out we were pregnant with Mary.  Then--in a story that would (and might!) make a blog post all by itself--Jim was called to become a pastor, so we moved into the parsonage of Rozetta Baptist Church.  But while all this was happening on the home-front, interesting things were happening in Romania as well...

Rumors began to circulate that the Romanian government was considering closing down all international adoptions--even of special needs children.  No one seemed to know if that would include adoptions already in progress.  But even as we were praying and wondering what would happen, we received a call from our adoption agent that Camelia's foster mother had decided to adopt her.  

I don't know if I can clearly articulate just how unusual that was.  Romania is such a poverty-stricken country that foster parents virtually never choose to adopt their foster children, because that would mean losing their monthly stipend from the government.  Our adoption agent and our contacts at The Shepherd's Crook were shocked!  It was something that just never happened.

But only a few days later, we received a call from The Shepherd's Crook, telling us about another little Romanian girl who needed a forever family...and since we had already been approved to adopt two girls, would we be willing to pursue her adoption?  Of course, we agreed.

Not long after that, though, we received yet another call from our adoption agent...telling us that Madalena's foster mother (the girls were placed in different homes) had requested to adopt her as well.  It was like being struck by lightning twice.

As it turned out, it was a moot point anyway, because shortly after that, Romania closed down all international adoptions...even those that were nearly completed.

I felt like I'd been through a wringer!  And I couldn't help but feel a little confused.  I had been so convinced that God wanted us to bring those little girls into our family!  What had I missed?

This side of Heaven, I'm sure I'll never really know what all God was doing during that time, but I can report on the effects it had on me.  Had we made an error in pursuing our Romanian adoption?  I don't think so.  Caring for orphans is very close to the heart of God...and our decision was a prayerful one.  And each step of the adoption process--and each stage of disappointment as it all crumbled--only served to draw me nearer to the Lord.  

It also served to broaden my focus.  As if scales were falling from my eyes, I finally began to consider all the children in the foster care system.   And for the rest of my pregnancy with Mary, it was as if I was also carrying a new, growing vision of what God wanted our next step to be.

But that will be part of Mercy's story...

Blessings!

Missy

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: 

to look after orphans and widows in their distress 

and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

James 1:27

A Chronic Case of Advanced Maternal Age (or Pretty Is as Pretty Does)

I'm not always very nice.  I might as well clear that up right now.  


Case in point:


When I found out I was expecting Mary (pregnancy #6 and child #8, for those of you who have lost count), I had reached the saturation point with snarky comments.  I mean...yes, we knew what caused that; no, evidently we weren't done; not really working on our own baseball team; blah, blah, blah...never heard that one before!  At best, I got a lot of blank stares, along with a side-order of whispered "Seriously?" whenever I would announce that I was pregnant.  Again.


So when Mary was in-bound, we didn't tell anyone outside the house until I was fully three months along and really couldn't hide it any longer.  And in-house, we only told Krystal and Kayla.  Both hold masters' degrees in my pregnancy symptoms, so it would have been an exercise in futility to even try to keep the news from them...and besides, someone needed to help keep the plates spinning while I was in my nausea-infused coma.  Besides them, we didn't tell another soul. 


Did I mention we lived next door to my parents at this time?


See?  Not very nice.  


And then (sorry, Mom!) when I finally gave my mom the news, I told her in front of her grandkids...so they got to see her panicked initial reaction, followed by a quick recovery ("I am excited!"), with a qualifier ("It just scares me to death!").


I would like to let it be known to all in summary that, since then, I have had daughters reach their child-bearing years, so I have to confess that I totally get that now.  Pregnancy, childbirth, bringing a whole new person into everyone's lives...that stuff all really puts you out there emotionally.  And it's one thing to go through it yourself...it's quite another to watch your beloved child go through it.  Kinda puts you on pins and needles in a whole new way.


So, again Mom...sorry I put you on the spot like that.  Kinda.  It was sort of funny though, right?  Right?


But THEN my first public announcement was at a homeschool moms' meeting...at which, one of my friends literally took flight, did a backflip, composed a cheer on her way across the room, and threw a hug on me that I can still feel when there's a snowstorm brewing.  Well--I thought to myself--that's more like it!


And so, for the remainder of the pregnancy announcement period, we assigned a grade to every response...using my friend's reaction to set the curve.  This is totally not hyperbole like the backflip.  I would--no kidding--actually look people in the eyes and tell them they got a C...or a D-.  


I know!  Terrible!  What was wrong with me?!


(I knew a lot of folks with really poor GPA's though.  They might need to enroll in a little remedial enthusiasm.  Retake Social Graces 101.  Something.)


But I'll tell you what I LOVED about my pregnancy with Mary:  my doctor!  (Well, Mary too, obviously...I'm getting to her.)  Having had a wonderful Christian family doctor/OB in Minnesota, I absolutely could not bear the thought of not having one ready to go if (HA! IF!) I needed one in Illinois...and Sweet Jimmy B found me a winner!  Not only is Dr. Polaschek a godly woman...she doesn't do anything at all related to conventional birth control.  So I got to spend my entire pregnancy receiving excellent care (and with gestational diabetes and c-section deliveries, I require a little extra care) AND I never once had to fight to keep my fallopian tubes intact beyond the delivery!  Wow...most doctors just can't stand the thought of leaving a fallopian tube alone "while they're in there anyway"!  But if Dr. Polaschek's name is on your hospital bracelet, everyone on staff knows they don't even need to ask!  Pretty. Much. Rocked!


I know...to a normal, sane person, that would seem like a fairly small matter.  Please consider that, at 9 months pregnant, I'm neither sane nor normal...and I'd had to fight the good fight against the convenient tubal ligation too many times.  I was worn out!


It didn't help that I turned 36 while I was pregnant with Mary, so I also qualified as being of "advanced maternal age," which was just what I wanted to hear.  Dr. Polaschek tried to make me feel better by telling me she had recently delivered the healthy baby of a 47-year old!  I didn't find that to be much of a comfort.


But, like they say, any landing you can walk away from is a good landing...and Mary and I managed to shuffle through pregnancy and delivery without breaking a hip, and she was (of course) stunningly beautiful!

But are you familiar with the phrase "Pretty is as pretty does"?


Mary was what I will affectionately call a challenging baby.  For a time, her nickname around Stately Bennett Manor was "Bully," if that gives you a little insight.  I really shouldn't be allowed to complain because, per capita, I have had some of the best, happiest, most sleep-loving babies ever (with the notable exception of Jamie, who, you may recall, never slept).  But most of you will probably forgive me when I explain that Mary brought something new into our parenting lives:  Thrush and colic.  


I'll give her a break on the thrush, because she was merely a fellow victim.  It hurt her to nurse; it killed me to nurse.  I'll save you the gory details, but suffice it to say that it was one of the most disgusting, horrifyingly painful experiences of my life.  It was so bad, in fact, that even those closest to me--those most familiar with my absolute, unwavering, almost militant devotion to breastfeeding--suggested that maybe it just wasn't going to work out this time.  


Who knew my head could spin all the way around like that?!


We both took our medicine like good girls; I pumped; she switched to bottles for several days...then we got to experience the trauma that is switching a bottle baby back to the breast.  There was screaming and wailing...there was a hunger strike...and Mary was really, really mad too!


At one point, I may have looked into her red, squinched-up face and said, "Kid...we can do this the easy way or the hard way, but we're gonna do it!"


Oh yeah...fighting with a 3-week old.  Clearly some of my best work.


But we did work through it...just in time for the colic to hit.  Almost made me look back fondly on the thrush.


If you know anything about colic, you are probably aware that it is based on the rule of 3's.  In a healthy infant, where there are no other concerns, the doctor decides to call it colic if the baby cries for at least 3 hours a day, at least 3 days a week, for at least 3 weeks.  No one is really certain what causes it, but it is most often attributed to the immature nervous system having a hard time processing the stimuli of life.  


That sounds totally made up.  


Yet, there we were...and since Mary was an over-achiever from the start, she decided to scream bloody murder every evening.  Because anything worth doing is worth doing right.  


By this time, Krystal (who was 19 when Mary was born) already knew she was going to be heading off to nursing school in the fall, with the dream of one day becoming an OB nurse.  (I love it when a plan comes together like that!)  So Krystal was my right-hand man (?) when it came to baby-care.  And almost every night, she and I faced the colic together.  One of us would walk around, bouncing baby Mary in a variety of holds, pleading with her to stop crying, while the other one of us read the colic passages of What to Expect the First Year over and over again.  As if some new, magical piece of information would have appeared since the day before!


It never did.


But the funny thing about colic is that one day, you just sort of realize that you haven't dreaded evening for a while...and that you seem to have plateaued at stress level yellow...and that you're enjoying your baby a lot more.

This is Mary with her Great-grandma Hall.  

To my knowledge, this is the only picture of the two of them together.

With thrush and colic in the rear-view mirror, my general quality of life had improved dramatically, but Mary still didn't seem like a very happy little person.  Whereas Daniel had been content to just hang out and watch his big, crazy family do all their big, crazy things, Mary seemed...well...mad that she couldn't join in.  I kept getting the feeling that once she was big enough to sit up on her own and play with toys under her own power--or once she was able to get around--she would be so much happier.  


I mentioned this to our pediatrician during one of Mary's check-ups, really sort of assuming she would laugh at me--but we have a relationship that has lasted longer than a lot of marriages, so I felt pretty secure just throwing my concern out there.  And not only did she not laugh...she actually agreed with me!  She has seen hundreds of babies grow up, and she said that some are just happy being babies, while some are frustrated at being trapped in a baby's body when there are obviously better things to do!


It didn't make Mary any happier, but it sure made me feel better!  And sure enough...about the time she could sit up and play, and then crawl around, it was like having a different baby!


But the funny thing (and by funny, I mean not really very funny) is that Mary continues to be one of my most challenging children to raise.  I think it's because she thinks she's smarter than I am...and she may well be right.  She comes up with some things that positively blow my mind!  So I understand that it must be very difficult to maintain a cheerful disposition when you're being raised by an imbecile...and sometimes that frustration comes out as anger and pathological bossiness.  (Bully...remember?)

This is actually happy Mary, enjoying a bath...but if you look closely, 

I think you can probably see what I'm talking about.

But the flip side is that Mary is one of the most loving children ever!  Don't get me wrong...all my kids are love-bugs, but Mary is over-the-top, fiercely demonstrative about it.  And it's amazing how far that goes toward smoothing over some of the rough spots.


What's more, Mary has given me so many opportunities (ugh) to see myself--especially as I function in relationship with God.  


It was so frustrating--and painful--to work through thrush and colic with Mary, yet how many times have I thrown a ridiculous, screaming fit over nothing...or over something that God was going to do with or without my enthusiastic participation?


How many times have I acted like Mary did as a baby:  mad at the world and just plain grumpy that I can't do or have what I want...and right now?!


How many times have I railed against the constraints that are designed to protect me...rather than just be still in the loving arms of my Father?


How many times have I acted like I was so sure I was smarter than God...like I could come up with a better solution, in better time, with better results?


Pretty much every day.  <sigh>  But unlike me, God didn't get to realize one day that things had improved over time.  Nope...I've been a big colicky baby for 42 years!


But here is my hope:  I hope that my love for Him--my desire to live in obedience even when the reality of my performance misses the mark--covers over a multitude of my flaws.  (1 Peter 4:8)

Mary enjoying her 6th birthday party in January!

Blessings!
Missy

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
   and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
Though she may forget, 

I will not forget you!
See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;
   your walls are ever before me.

Isaiah 49:15-16

A 10-Pound Baby...a Zone Defense...and a Gentle and Quiet Spirit

It's a quote we've used many times over the years when people ask us how we can juggle so many kids:  Any more than three is no big deal, because you have already learned how to make the switch from a man-to-man to a zone defense!  

(I don't know who first said this, but I thank him...and I figure if my basketball star brother ever finds himself reading this post, he might enjoy the metaphor!)

Regardless of who deserves--but, alas, will never receive--the royalties for all the times we've said it, that little witticism bears more than a grain of truth...as anyone with more than two kids can probably attest!  With one, you can play hot-potato if things get crazy; with two, you can still tuck one under each arm and make a run for it in an emergency; three requires the grace of God and good juggling, no matter how you shake it out.

So...by the time we found out we were expecting Daniel, we were already fairly proficient at the skills required for corralling a larger-than-average herd of children:  advanced whip-and-chair techniques, ability to see through walls, plate-spinning at the 400-level, upside-down reading...the whole nine yards!  All we would need to do is re-shuffle and deal the baby in when he arrived!

Look at those cheeks!  Couldn't you just eat him up?!

From the start, my pregnancy with Daniel was marked by an unusual peace.  Now, some people would say that makes perfect sense.  After all, he was my fifth pregnancy, so I pretty much knew my way around.  Hannah was only going to be 18 months old when Daniel was born, so I was still in baby mode.  I was totally in the zone!

But it was MUCH more than that.  I know me.  I'm not capable of producing this one on my own...especially not over the long haul.  No, the kind of peace I'm talking about can only come from God...and it started from the earliest days of my pregnancy and continued clear through Daniel's infancy.  That is plenty amazing when you consider that we were getting ready to add a newborn to a household that already contained two teenagers, two pre-schoolers, two cats, and a toddler...but there was a lot more going on than just getting ready for another baby.

The many faces of toddler Daniel.  

It was a sad day when one too many people had finally told Sweet Jimmy B 

what a cute little girl he had, and I had to get those curls cut off!

Months before we got pregnant with Daniel, Jim and I had both begun to sense a nudging of the Holy Spirit that we should be thinking about moving back home to Illinois.  On a personal level, it felt like a good idea.  We missed our family.  It was heart-breaking to watch my children (and their Momma) fall apart every time we left Illinois to go home after a visit--or when Grandma and Grandpa would drive away after visiting us.  

But it seemed like more than that.  We both truly felt that God was preparing us to take all the things we had learned during our time of intense spiritual training in Minnesota...and return back to where we had started, armed and prepared to join Him in His work there.

So we sent Jim's resume to the Christian radio stations back home, we asked a select few friends and family members in Illinois to be in prayer for God's leading, and we waited to see what He would do next.

We waited for almost a year.

In that time, we grew even more deeply attached to our dear Minnesota friends...we became more actively involved in our church and our homeschool group...and we began to think that maybe we needed our spiritual hearing checked!  (Because we must have mis-heard God's message!)

And then, on the day (yes...the very day!) Daniel was born, Krystal called us at the hospital to say that Moody Broadcasting had called Jim, requesting a phone interview.  They had a position open at WDLM, their affiliate back home in Illinois.

How's that for hilarious timing?

Well, Jim ran home to spend a little time preparing himself for a job interview while I spent some time getting to know the dainty little bundle God had blessed us with.  The nursery nurses loved Daniel because he was so round and plump---and, they said, big babies are more content.  Maybe because they are more drought- and famine-resistant than their standard-sized peers?  I don't know.  Whatever the reason, Daniel was content...and it was contagious!  And what a blessing that proved to be.

Because, on top of the general busyness of our household...in addition to the looming possibility of needing to sell our house and move...beyond all that, Jim's mom had become very sick.  At first, it didn't seem all that serious...then it dragged on...and it started getting scary.  In fact, in the days before Daniel was born, Jim and Kayla had made a quick, nervous run back to Illinois to see Jim's mom in the hospital, trusting the Lord that nothing would happen baby-wise while they were gone.

In God's merciful timing, Jim's mom remained stable until Daniel was ten days old.  That morning, we received word that her condition had become much more critical.  Daniel and I were scheduled to see the doctor that day for a check-up, so while we were there, I explained the situation to our doctor, who was also a deacon at our church.  I asked if there was any reason Daniel and I couldn't make the six-hour drive to Illinois.  He looked at me with loving concern and told me he thought we absolutely should go.

So we went home from the clinic, bossed Krystal and Kayla through the fastest-ever pack-up of eight people, and left for Illinois, praying we wouldn't need to pull out the dressy clothes we had thrown in "just in case."

Unfortunately, we ended up needing our funeral clothes.  It was devastating.  But God was so there...and in His beautiful, providential timing, we had Daniel to soothe our broken hearts.  The house was filled to overflowing with grieving people, and the moment we arrived every day, Daniel was promptly taken off my hands and passed around, sleeping happily, until he started to act hungry.   Only then would someone grudgingly bring him to me, along with a reminder that someone had dibs on him after he had eaten.  (Good thing I was nursing him, or I wouldn't have seen him at all during those days!)  He never cried...he just loved to snuggle...and he was such a comfort.

I'm sure that any baby would have been a welcome distraction during that time.  I think it's in our nature to want to hold on to the evidence that life goes on, even in our grief.  But I can tell you that I've had babies who would have been...let's just say less of a blessing under those circumstances.  

We arrived back in Minnesota, worn out and grief-stricken after a week in Illinois.  And to top it off, I hadn't really had a post-partum recuperation period--unless you count hanging out at the hospital every day for IV antibiotics when I popped a crazy fever 3 days after Daniel was born.  Personally, I don't count that.  What are you...crazy?  

I know me pretty well, and I can say with reasonable certainty that, under those circumstances--new baby or no new baby--I normally would have been caught up in the whirlwind of stress...and taking everybody else down with me.  But at that time, I was very tired, and I was so sad, but I felt God's peace and His comforting presence just as plainly as I could feel Daniel in my arms.

And it continued in the weeks that followed when Jim got called back to Illinois for an on-site interview at WDLM...and when we received a job offer...and when the preparations began for moving.

There are those who would look at this 1-year segment of the ol' Bennett timeline and think it reads like a pretty good advertisement in support of birth control.  Unscheduled travel, an unforeseen death in the family, a hurried interstate move:  All these events are stressful...and even more so with children in tow.  But with six children in tow?  Insanity!  And one of them a newborn!  Talk about adding insult to injury!  (And I didn't even mention the horrifying case of mastitis I got just as the packing was building up to a crescendo!)

But let me tell you how it looks from this side...

The hormone that enables a woman to breastfeed--prolactin--is also one of the body's best stress-fighting hormones.  This means that a breastfeeding mom is able to handle stress better than her formula-feeding comrades...and better than she herself could at any other time.  What a fascinating coincidence!  (Hee hee!)  

Plus, it is my experience that nursing a baby is best done in a position of rest.  Now, I do have a friend who could actually walk around nursing her babies!  Yes, seriously!  But for those of us who are mere mortals, seated is really the way to go.  And check this out:  The time that a mom's body most needs some extra rest (like in the early weeks after giving birth) is the same time that a baby needs to nurse the most often.   

Boy, it's almost like Someone planned this!

And what a blessing that was during those crazy two months after Daniel was born!  Several times a day--every day--I would have to step away from the crowd, pull myself away from the stress,  stop packing for a while...and just be still.  No one could look at me askance or call me a slacker...I was doing a job that no one else in the house could do!  God knew I would really, really need that.

And, to this day, Daniel is still Captain Mellow.  He never did out-grow it!  Among my children, he is the least likely to pick a fight and the most likely to pick a nap.  He loves to hang out...and to snuggle.  (Just like he did from the very beginning.)  He's everyone's buddy...and that serves you well when you're the seventh of ten children!

Daniel with his big brother Jamie, 
turning school time into an engineering marvel!

And as for me, I have spent a lot of time this week thinking about what it means to be in possession of a gentle and quiet spirit.  1 Peter 3 refers to it as an "unfading beauty" which is "of great worth in God's sight."  Mmm...I'd like to have some unfading beauty please.

I would never endeavor to add to scripture, but if I were so inclined, I would tack a study note onto this one:  A gentle and quiet spirit is of great worth in the sight of my family as well!  Right or wrong...for better or for worse...the condition of my spirit tends to set the thermostat for the entire household.  If Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy...yes, it's true; but when Momma allows herself to be a conduit of God's peace, everyone in the house benefits.

When I think back on the wild ride that was Bennett-land during 2002, I can't help but fall heavily under conviction. I mean, if I can keep my cool (and lead my family to do likewise) under those conditions, how sad is it that the simple irritations of daily life can so easily turn my skin green and send my monkeys flying?!  There are lots of days my sister better watch out for falling houses!

It's sad, but do you want to know what I discovered?  I haven't spent a lot of time asking God to create in me the gentle and quiet spirit I would love to have.  To paraphrase James 4:2, I have not because I ask not.  Jeremiah 6:16 tells me that I should "ask where the good way is and walk in it" if I want to find rest for my soul.

And I do.  I really, really do.

Blessings!
Missy

Matthew 7:7

Ask and it will be given to you; 

seek and you will find; 

knock and the door will be opened to you.

A Pregnant Pause...Part 2 (and Hannah makes six!)

I must say that I was pleasantly surprised (and by that, I mean completely astounded!) by the incredible number of hits received by yesterday's blog post.  The subject matter was sensitive, controversial, and...well...pretty radical.  I knew the post had the potential to ruffle some feathers, but this part of our story--from disobedience through conviction to restoration--is so utterly foundational to the rest of our story.  Without this, you really can't have a full understanding of our spiritual timeline, and you can't fully appreciate the introductions to the rest of our children!


As I said yesterday, Sweet Jimmy B listened patiently while I grieved over our decision to take our family planning out of God's hands.  Many husbands would have dismissed such an outburst as foolishness; most would have laughed at the mere hint that they might once again be asked to face a scalpel-wielding urologist.  But as he so often does when confronted with God's truth, Jim immediately agreed that we had made a mistake...and he committed to finding a way to restore us to obedience.


What we discovered very quickly was that we weren't alone.  Many, many Christian couples were allowing God to be in control of the size of their families...and, like us, many others had realized their error only after having snatched that control away from Him.


One website that was a wonderful blessing to me at that time was Quiverfull.com.  Although I was still struggling with grief and remorse...and though I didn't see how we could ever really make things right...it was such an encouragement to be able to interact with a community of people who truly understood what we were working through.


In fact, it was through Quiverfull that we received a valuable tidbit of information:  Even though a vasectomy reversal cost around $10,000.00 at that time (and was virtually never covered by insurance), there were a few godly doctors who considered it their calling--their ministry--to perform this surgery for a fraction of that cost for couples who desired to return their fertility to God's hands.


However, for us, even the modest cost required by one of these doctors was far beyond our budget...plus all of them were far enough away that it would require a flight or a long road trip to get there.  More expense.  But in the midst of my discouragement, God was merciful, and He provided the means for Jim to fly to San Antonio, Texas to have his vasectomy reversed by Dr. Cary Leverett, a wonderful Christian doctor who truly loves his patients...and his work.


Of course, it shouldn't come as any surprise that satan would try to stand in the way of such a major step in our walk with God, and he didn't disappoint!  A problem with Jim's rental car reservation nearly left him stranded at the airport; a straight shot on the map turned out to be a long, difficult walk through a construction zone--post-operation!  And meanwhile, at home, I was a mess knowing what he was going through and knowing that I couldn't do anything to help him.  


Finally, the whirlwind of air travel and surgery recovery and rental car nightmares settled back into the rhythm of daily life, and I found myself with the time to consider some things that had kind of been lost in the crazy shuffle of the procedure itself.  For starters, in a lot of ways, I found myself emotionally right back where I had started when we were trying to get pregnant with Grace:  fearful and frustrated.  Dr. Leverett--along with any other doctor who performs vasectomy reversals--couldn't guarantee that this grueling process would actually result in a pregnancy.  That is God's work alone.  Plus, I was troubled by something I had read during my research.  Someone had posted that sometimes, part of deciding that you will let God bless you with as many children as He wishes means also accepting as few as He sends.  I didn't want to think about that.


Some couples went through the pain and expense of restoring their physical fertility but never had another baby.  They had returned to God's will in obedience, and their obedience itself was their blessing.  To be embarrassingly honest, that was a possibility that haunted me.  I desperately wanted to be faithful...but I also wanted to have another baby!  And in the darkest places of my heart, I feared that an unsuccessful reversal was probably a fitting reward for our previous rebellion.


And while I was looking for trouble to borrow, I couldn't help but think about what we would tell people if we DID get pregnant!  We hadn't told anyone about the reversal because we really just wanted the decision to be between us and God this time...but I also didn't want to be responsible for anyone's myocardial infarction!


See what happens when I get a little time to think?!  Impatient AND neurotic...great combination!


But God is so merciful to His children.  Even when we're weak and fearful and doubting, He still loves us, and He desires to give us good gifts.  And in December of 2000--just five months after Jim's surgery--we found ourselves playing everyone's favorite game:


Is that a line?!

We were overjoyed...and humbled.  God had chosen to bless us.  We had given Him plenty of reasons not to...but He is the God of second chances!


Then we went to the doctor for one of our monthly check-ups...and he couldn't find a heartbeat.  Because Jim liked to go with me to my appointments, we were at the clinic at the very end of the day, and the ultrasound tech had already left...so we had to wait until the next morning to have a sonogram.


That night was one of the longest of my life.  But just like the night I had spent in the hospital a few years earlier, waiting to join baby Grace in the NICU...just like the panic-stricken drive I would make to where Jamie had been hit by a car a few years later...that night I spent waiting to find out if my unborn baby was still alive was a time of incalculable importance in my relationship with the Lord.


Here's what I learned that night:  

...do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; 

or about your body, what you will wear. 

Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, 

and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. 

Are you not much more valuable than they?

Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?

Matthew 6:25-27

Well, I had actually learned that long before--academically anyway.  But I'm not sure I have ever really learned something well until I've had to wrap up in it like a blanket...and all that night, every time the specter of worry tried to haunt me, I would wrap myself up a little tighter.  


What if we'd lost this baby?
This baby is more precious to God than the birds of the air, and He cares for them!
What if we'd lost this baby?
Could worrying add even a single hour to a life?
What if we'd lost this baby?
God is sovereign, and He knows what He's doing.


Early morning found my nauseous self chugging way too much water in preparation for an ultrasound that showed a perfect 13-week baby with a beating heart.  And a placenta right in front, blocking the heart tones.  Almost funny.  Almost.


It is my guess that anyone who has had a reversal baby (because that's what we in the biz call them) has an extra-special story to tell about the birth of that child.  I am no different.


Hannah has heard her birth story many times, and she would certainly be the first to tell you that she was my best trip to the delivery room.  And it's true!  I didn't spend her delivery with my face in an emesis basin...I felt great...she was healthy (a refreshing change of pace after having two babies in a row with breathing problems).  She was born during a stretch of beautiful July weather, and from my hospital room, I could watch the tents going up for the circus that came to town that day.  It all felt a lot like an extra hug from God.

Here are the kids as they were when Hannah was born 

(minus Lyndsay, who was in California).

And every time I looked at my new baby daughter, it was so hard not to cry...so often I just went ahead and let the tears flow.  I'm good like that.  Only it wasn't the baby blues, and it wasn't just the usual overwhelming joy at getting to join God in the miracle of new life.  It was more than that this time.  I couldn't look into her eyes without thinking, "This is the child I told God I didn't want."  

Maybe that sounds a bit harsh.  To some people, it may not make any sense whatsoever.  But having gone through the entire process, I couldn't look back at the vasectomy as simple birth control.  That sounds so easy...so neat and clean...so vague.  It's nothing personal...I'm just taking control of what happens to my own body!


But it was very, very personal...and the person had a name.  We named her Hannah after the prophet Samuel's mother:  a woman who had pleaded with the Lord to remove the shame of her barrenness...a woman who had faith that her God was able to make a way when the way seemed impossible...a woman whose God was found faithful.  Our Hannah Faith Bennett is a person who wouldn't be here if we had never realized the error of our foolishness...or if we had continued to ignore Him when He made His will very, very clear.  


To have Hannah is to have a reminder of what we almost lost...and to have a reminder that God is mighty and merciful!


Blessings!
Missy

"I am a woman who is deeply troubled...

I was pouring out my soul to the LORD. 

Do not take your servant for a wicked woman; 

I have been praying here out of my great anguish and grief.”

Eli answered, “Go in peace, 

and may the God of Israel grant you what you have asked of him.”

I Samuel 1:15-17

A Pregnant Pause...

Having reached the half-way point of the Bennett children, we have arrived at an important landmark--one that warrants a brief hiatus between Jamie and Hannah.

Before I take you on a guided tour of those three years of our lives, I feel it is important to issue a few cautions:

• Please keep your arms and legs inside the car at all times. 
• This ride may not be suitable for the very old, the very young, or the infirm.
• This is an exhibition; not a competition.  No wagering, please.
• Management is not responsible for TMI-induced nausea.
• If you are easily offended by terms such as birth control, quiverfull, and vasovasostomy, you may wish to step through the turnstile to the exit.  You will be issued a refund.
• The thoughts expressed in this blog post absolutely reflect the opinions of the producer, director, and entire creative team. 

Still here?  Please lift your hands while the safety bar lowers into place...and enjoy your ride!

I never cease to be amazed by God's ability to make something out of nothing.  Case in point:  creation.  Whoa.  But even on a much smaller scale, God's power to evoke a change in a simple human life is just staggering.  And sometimes almost funny, when I consider all the things I swore I would never do.  You know...all the things I called foolish when I filtered them through what the world considers wisdom--the very things God eventually showed me to be His perfect will for my life.

Here's one:  Homeschooling.  Here's another:  We don't do Halloween.  Want one more?  We don't use birth control.

Yeah...I know.  You probably could have done without that information, but it's almost impossible to get a complete picture of God’s work in my life without this important chapter in Bennett lore.

But before I tell you the story, I just want to point out that all three of the items I listed (and those are just a few high points...there are lots, lots more) share one thing in common:  Until God showed us that His way was not necessarily the world's way, it never really dawned on us that there was anything wrong with how the world does things.

It never occurred to us that normal people would opt not to send their kids to school or that there was anything wrong with observing Halloween or that God would want to be left in charge of the size of our family.  Like so many other things, these revelations came gradually over time.  God would show us His will in one area...and just when we joined Him there in obedience (thinking we finally had it all figured out now!), He would shine a light on something else we hadn't considered.

Nothing like living the life of a constant work in progress!

Well...Jamie was born in June of 1998, and I may have mentioned in my previous post that Jamie made five.  And that there were only fifteen months between him and Grace.  AND that he never slept!  Jamie's early months are sort of a blur.

But then, out of the haze of my sleep-deprivation, I became aware that an increasing number of voices were asking me if we had thought about what we were going to do to prevent this from happening again.  (As if I'd taken a nasty fall in the tub and needed to throw down a few rubberized daisy stickers.)  Some voices flat-out told me that we should consider taking permanent action.  And a few went so far as to share their own personal vasectomy "success" stories.

In their defense, I fully believe that the overwhelming majority of the people who encouraged us to sign up for a permanent form of birth control thought they had our best interests at heart.  Babies are expensive--emotionally as well as financially.  Our house was small.  My pregnancies were complicated by gestational diabetes and c-section deliveries.

But, in all honesty, I think it was much simpler than that.  I just don't think I knew anyone at that time who knew anyone at that time who had chosen to trust that God knows what He's doing when it comes to family planning.

So we went to a preliminary consultation with the urologist, where the doctor asked me if I was fully on board with the whole vasectomy thing.  Frankly, I lied.  

I mean...I understood why it was a good, practical, common-sense decision, and I was going to sign for it, but I was hearing a sound in my spirit I had never heard before.  It was sort of like when a truck with a bad muffler drives by with the bass cranked on the stereo...and in the distance you hear a siren...and a baby cries...and you feel in your gut like something is really, very wrong, but you can't figure out why you feel that way.  It's a hard-to-pin-down and dreadfully unsettling feeling.  An inner turmoil.  And for some reason, it showed up every time we discussed our plans to render my husband--and, by default, myself--sterile.  

And meanwhile, Jim was having his own struggles with the decision.  After all, he was the one having to face the surgery!  Plus, he was also feeling pressured from several directions.  People he had always trusted--people he should be able to trust--were telling him that sterilization was the godly decision.  Their counsel just didn't ring true to him, but we were such spiritual infants that we didn't have a good response to the contrary.

On the day of the procedure, we were to stop by the pharmacy and fill a prescription for one valium, which Jim was supposed to take in advance of his appointment.  We got it; he popped it; and we walked up to the desk to check in.  However, when we spoke to the receptionist, she seemed concerned that he had already taken his pill...she wasn't sure if he could sign the consent if he was "under the influence." 

In my spirit, there was a sound like a host of angels singing...and a feeling of overwhelming relief!  I had been granted a reprieve...a little more time to try and figure out why I felt so uneasy about this!

But when the receptionist came back from speaking to the doctor, she had the consent form in her hand.  

And somewhere far away, or deep inside, someone started weeping...and it built up to a scream.  It sounded a lot like me.

In retrospect, I came to realize that what I had been experiencing was the clear ministry of the Holy Spirit, imploring me to listen...and obey.  

Fail.

But life went on.  We followed God to Fairmont, Minnesota...or, as I like to call it, our spiritual NICU.  We found ourselves surrounded on all sides by a church family, a homeschool co-op, and a Christian radio station full of Believers the likes of which we had never met.  These were amazing people who truly sought the Lord's will in every facet of their lives!  Impossibly impractical...but beautifully fruitful!  Perhaps God's wisdom trumps common sense?

At my first homeschool moms' night meeting, I found myself completely drawn in by these wonderful Christian women--women who were whole-heartedly devoting their lives to their Lord, their husbands, and their children.  One mom had her tiny baby with her, and as our conversation went on, I lost track of how many children she had mentioned.  Finally, I asked Chris how many kids she had, and she replied, "Oh...only six."

Slowly, I realized she probably knew what caused that (a personal favorite of mine)…and that she was having an unreasonably large number of children on purpose!  Well, really, that wasn't exactly it either.  She and her husband were allowing God to show them how many times He wanted to bless them with a new baby.  Whoa.

Over time, as I meditated upon my initial visit with Chris, and as we became friends, I learned much, much more about what God has to say about children.  For instance, did you know that God twice issued a command to be fruitful and multiply--once to Adam and Eve, and once to Noah's family--and that command was never rescinded in the Old or the New Testament?  I didn't either.  Or that, in scripture, children are described as a blessing from God--not a burden:  

Sons are a heritage from the LORD, 

children a reward from him. 

Like arrows in the hands of a warrior 

are sons born in one's youth. 

Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. 

They will not be put to shame 

when they contend with their enemies in the gate. 

Psalm 127:3-5 (NIV) 

Yeah...it came as a surprise to me too.  Only not really, I guess.  As I learned more, it became painfully clear to me that the quiet but insistent urging of the Spirit leading up to Jim's vasectomy was God's attempt to call me into obedience before I made an error I would regret bitterly.  I think I probably knew that all along...but, boy...the voices of the world are so loud!

Here's something you kind of need to understand about me.  At that point in my life (30-ish), I had simply never been a depressed person.  I wasn't prone to periods of melancholy, extended funks, blank-eyed fugues...none of that.  Even my post-partum depressions only lasted about 45 minutes.  

But as it became clearer and clearer to me that I had willfully chosen to ignore God's direction in my life...as I gradually realized that I had closed a door on one of His wonderful avenues of blessing...as I thought about the babies we might have had...I fell into a sadness like I'd never known.

And I carried it around for a long time without sharing it with anyone--not even Jim.  By then, it hurt so much just knowing what I knew that I couldn't even imagine saying the words.  And I didn't want my dear husband to have to suffer with it too!  Plus, I knew how he would respond:  He would want to fix it somehow.  That's just how he rolls.

But, see...I had already looked into that in my research, and a vasectomy reversal (or vasovasostomy, if you'd like to impress people with your smartitude at dinner parties!) was nothing I would want to put him through.  It was a moot point anyway, because at $10,000.00, it was utterly out of the financial question.

Still, one day we walked Grace and Jamie to a nearby park, and while they played, the two of us were semi-alone.  As we talked, I was just overcome by grief, and I knew I couldn't bear up under it alone anymore...and I completely broke down and told him everything:  The sense of warning I had experienced before the vasectomy...all I had learned in my Bible study...the truth that God had revealed to me...my mourning over an irreparable error.  And the beautiful children we had rejected.

I was quite a spectacle.  And imagine poor Jim!  I had spent months working myself up into this frenzy, and then I dumped it on him in one barely-sensical freak-out!  At the park, no less!

The man puts up with a lot.

And no surprise...he responded exactly as I had known he would:  with an assurance that we would make this right.

But I sure didn't see how.

Until tomorrow...

Blessings!

Missy

Before I formed you in the womb,

I knew you;

Before you were born

I set you apart...

Jeremiah 1:5a