Abundant Inheritance

So, it's been a long time since I left my ex and started my journey toward healing and these are some thoughts along the way. When I left, it was more than just leaving a bad situation. It turned into a healing journey, both from the effects of that relationship and I think maybe moreso, from patterns and paradigms which had formulated into a false concept of my identity.

There were a number of people that were integral in this healing, these people who started as my church have become my family. They saw my true identity and they were intentional about calling it out in me. They were intentional about holding my hand in the various moments of grieving and gently pushing/puling me on toward my destiny.

Part of this process for me, was learning and understanding my identity and what comes with that. Do I have this concept down pat? Is it solidly within the deepest recesses of me yet? Nope! But I am getting there. For instance I am beginning believe that I do deserve good things better yet, i deserve the best of things and this boils down to one reason: I am a King's daughter and as such the inheritance that I get from my Daddy is abundant beyond my wildest dreams.

That is what I get simply because I am a King's Kid. The amazing thing about my inheritance is I don't have to wait til the King dies to live in my inheritance for the required death has already happened. Which means I get to live in my inheritance now.....and this inheritance is turning out to be far more abundant than I had even in my wildest dreams thought possible.

For you see, I am sitting on the crux of a situation which sees the realization of these dreams. Ah...correction, the dreams I had and hold pale in comparison to what lay before me.

An inheritance of abundance....

15 years ago....

I was a scared 20 yr. old girl with a newborn embarking on a life that I had high hopes for. After 12 hours of labour I held my first born in my arms and knew life would not be the same. Little did I know. I had a beautifully perfect gift from heaven whom I named Jeffrey. I loved him to death, as many did and as many have. Those that know my boy do....it's hard not to....his heart is amazing despite everything that has happened in his young life.

Two days after his beautiful being came into this world, Jeffrey got sick. I woke up on a Thursday morning, the day we were supposed to go home. His dad walked into my room with the car seat, all prepared to take us home. I looked at him.........my words......."we aren't going home....."

The next week was a hell I would not wish on my worst enemy. For you see, Jeff and I woke up....both he and I were covered in a mustard yellow puss, as was the bed.....upon discovery i was able to determine that it was pouring out of boils from the crown of his head. A sight that is burned in my brain.

I called the nurses station, they sent someone immediately. That nurse didn't know what was going on. They immediately got my GP there. He didn't know. By now....they have taken my baby and no one could tell me why.

Two pediatricians later.....no one knows what is wrong. The result? Jeffrey doesn't get to come home but I have to go.  They refuse to let me be with my baby. What have they done with him? Where did he go?

To special care nursery. And not only did he go there, he went into the isolation room. He was too sick. We were not allowed to be with the other babies. And they could still not tell us what was wrong.

So began the tests. A spinal tap that didn't take so that called for a second spinal tap. It put him in so much pain they refused to let me be present....both times. Then ran the heart monitor, and the seven medications, each one ran four times a day.

Next in came the photographer......with a camera and a ring flash ( a flash that circled the edge of the lens). I was asked to hold Jeffrey so that his face was against my chest. Then once positioned, I was asked to turn my head and look away........why?????  Well the flash was so bright it would blind me should I look.

Then began the endless days of waiting, the endless hours in the pumping room so that my son had the best source of nourishment in the world. I had so much milk stored I could have fed a few babies. And the days of leaving the hospital at 1 or 2 am and returning at 5 or 6 am. The long days of holding him, loving him as best I could, never knowing if he would be there the next day, never knowing if this hug would be the last, never knowing if this would be the last time I would look on his face, kiss his forehead, smell him, love on him, hold him, never knowing if tomorrow when i wake up, if he would still be there.

I was envious of the other mothers in the NICU for at least they knew what was wrong and they knew a prognosis. I was not given that luxury. Maybe....if i left him for four hours....just maybe....when I came back....he would be dead. That nightmare, that possibility haunted me everytime I was away from him, even if it was just to go the bathroom.

The fear gripped my heart. The days pass in a blur. And those days set the pattern for my life with Jeffrey. Just as I fought for his life then, I do now on a daily basis.

Then came the day of glorious news.....or so I thought. My baby, my son....had developed strep/staff from sitting in the birth canal for so long. How did that happen? Well I was a carrier. I made him sick. I nearly killed my boy........

So, a week after we were supposed to, we went home. A glorious day! and then it happened. The guilt set in. I nearly killed my son. I was responsible. For had I not been a carrier, Jeff would have not been sick. He would have had a good start to life. But I, ME, HIS MOTHER, nearly killed him.

Not something you can outlive. Especially when your son looks at you and says I hate you! My mind goes back. And it tells me,,,,,"he has every right to hate you, you nearly killed him!" And so somewhere I made a promise to him, to not let anything hurt him ever again.

Well if you know anything about parenting that was something of an ill made promise to myself. You cannot raise your children in a bubble. However, that said, I have fought for this boy tooth and nail. And many, many times it looked very hopeless. And then.....

I woke up one morning to a 15 year old....and you know what? As it turns out he is a pretty amazing young man. Sure he has some troubling areas but then again we all do. But looking at this young man that lives in my house, well I am pretty proud of who he is becoming. As we spend his last few years together, I make another promise to myself....cherish every moment that I have left with him. I remember back when he crawled up on my lap, sobbing uncontrollably because he realized that if growing up meant moving out of my house. And how that devastated him, he didn't want to leave his mommy.....

Well this weekend, he left his mommy. Not so much in an 'move out of the house' manner but most certainly in a 'first time to the movies with a buddy and not mom' manner. So that little boy who sobbed uncontrollably on my lap for fear of growing up and moving out, took that first step toward that very same goal.  He survived....me? not so much!

But over above all, despite the forces that would see otherwise, I think that I have raised what is turning into an amazing young man. So to Jeff: know this, I love you dearly and would never withhold anything back that is in my power to give you, so long as it lies within your best interest. I love you and I couldn't be happier or more proud that God saw fit for me to be your mother and lent you to me.

Happy Birthday Jeff.

An Enigma Wrapped Up in an Anomaly

Alright, as any good psychology student before we get into the meat of this, we need to define our terms.

Dictionary.com defines enigma as a person of puzzling or contradictory character.

Further more Dictionary.com defines anomaly as:
 an inconsistency or incongruity

Some of you may have heard me say this, in fact I KNOW that some of you have. Within the last year or so, I have begun to refer to myself as an enigma wrapped up in an anomaly. So if we go by our definitions that means, I am a person of puzzling or contradictory character wrapped up in inconsistency or incongruity. What a mouthful. And yet...

For many years, in fact for 32 of my 36 years, I was the person who shaped herself into what those around her either wanted or demanded. If people wanted something, I became it. For you see, life taught me early on that my worth was in what I could do or provide for people. But, as everyone is different, that changed. I became something of a shape shifter. Whatever shape was demanded or desired but the people that I was currently in company with was what I became. The result is, I lost who I was in the process.

That seems to be something of an oxymoron. How could I lose myself if I have previously identified myself as being something akin to a shape shifter? Well, here's the kicker. When you continually become whatever someone else wants you to be, you end up not knowing who YOU are because you end up being so many things.

BUT...........

Since my split, I have been able to discover who I am. So who is that you ask? And rightfully so. Well, who I am is almost undefinable. I cannot find words for it here, if I could I would write them to you. But what I do know is this. Life taught me to be many things to many different people and often times those things either a) don't make sense to anyone but me and/or, b) don't make sense in the day to day world. I think differently. That has been identified by many people. I have insight and wisdom that most cannot comprehend. This is not to prideful or arrogant, it is what has been identified in me by external sources. I see things differently therefore I react differently. And oftentimes, it puzzles people and they are left to wondering how and why to make sense of it all. What may work in one situation, may not, or likely will not, work in another situation, given the context differs. No two people or situations are the same which means that things could be diametrically opposite but the same thing.

Because of this, people can't make sense of me and often question me. And yet, if they choose to sit with me awhile and listen to what I have to say with an open mind and willing to set aside their preconceived notions, they may find that I make sense.

It's an odd conundrum to be me. I sit in a position where I am seen as being puzzling and inconsistent. But you know what? I am ok with that. I am ok with being an enigma wrapped up in an anomaly.  And you know why? Because I can finally be me. It's been a fight to be me, no it has been an all out war. There have been many decisions that I know in my deepest recesses that have been right but because they did not fall into the norm they were not only questioned but openly and brazenly attacked with the goal of undermining my credibility. It has cost me a ton, to be me. In fact, I have lost what most cannot fathom. Was it worth it? You tell me......would the freedom to be yourself, in all your faults and in all your amazing qualities be worth it? Would the freedom to be who you were destined to be without fear of judgment be worth it? Can you put a price tag on that?

I can. It cost me my reputation. It almost cost me my career. For a time, it cost me my children. It cost me the faces of those I love (d?).  It cost me pain unfathomed as I looked around me and came to the conclusion that what remained was God and me. It cost me anguish untold. It cost me tears, sleepless nights, days of living in fear for what was around the next corner, it cost me peace for the years I had none, it cost me lonely dark nights in the depths of unrelenting despair, it cost me nights of lying awake while tears soaked my pillow and brought warmth to my body, it  cost me days of hypervigilance, it cost me constantly checking over my shoulder for what might materialize, it cost me a near breaking of my spirit and an unrelenting invasion of my soul.

Step back, be objective, would that be worth it to you? And yet, those words above are a paltry description of toll it has cost me. So, in all the inferiorness of the words described above, would it be worth it to you? I cannot answer that for you, only you can.

I can tell you one thing, from this perspective it was worth it. In the moment? Not on your life. The pain felt unbearable. I thought it would kill me. It nearly did. The utter complete and desolating loss of what my world consisted of, the only me I knew, all gone at the stroke of one hand. And yet, had that stroke not occurred, had those events not happened, I would remain unaware of who I am.

And yet, on this side of it, it was worth it. Don't get me wrong, I have my moments, when I wish things were different, when I wish the loss was not so great, when the cross was not so heavy to carry. But it has allowed me this: it has allowed me to find me, to be me, and to discover that miracle of all miracles, I can be loved.

So where does that put me. It continually frames me as an enigma wrapped up in an anomaly. I don't make sense to people and that's ok by me. Because bottom line is that, for once, i am being true to being me.

So if being an enigma wrapped up n anomaly is what defines me, then I love it, for finally this enigma wrapped up in an anomaly is finally being true to who she is.

Take it or leave it, it is ME

What Canada means to me

 

Ok. So as horrible as this sounds, I was somewhat hesitant to throw my support behind the Olympics at the beginning of the year. I see a lot of different areas that our taxpayer dollars could have done. Therefore, my support began somewhat reticent. And as the days got closer I figured I wouldn't be watching a lot of the games. I had other things to do. 

Then it happened.

The opening ceremonies. It was while I was watching the opening ceremonies that a stirring inside me began. I became a little bit more proud to be a Canadian. Then as the days wore on, the patriotism that was inside me, reared its head. See, I have always envied the states their patriotism. You don't see it readily displayed here and so largely we are unaware that it even exists. But it stirred and as the Olympic days wore on, it stirred more and more. I went to some events. I took the kids downtown. And I can sit here and honestly say that I am glad I did.

Then today came. The ultimate teller. THE GAME OF ALL GAMES! Men's hockey for the gold. And who do we verse? But the states. I felt quite calm going into the game. Midway through when others were freaking at the intensity, I was calm. I was texting with a buddy in TO who NEVER watches hockey. Well he chose to watch this game, and he was a nervous wreck. I think I turned him into a hockey fan! What a game to become addicted on. LOL

So third period midway through we are sitting 2-1 I still was quite calm, thinking: "this is our game and they will not take this from us." Five minutes left, the intensity was hitting me and I started to become on the verge of tears as the intensity heated up. I knew that when that final buzzer went, I would cry. And then the unthinkable. The last 24 seconds of the game and they scored!

I was in shock! I didn't believe what I just witnessed. And now my heart was beating and pulsating like never before. Intermission. OT period starts. Seven minutes in, Crosby scores! I cried.

For you see, for me this was not simply a hockey game. This was not Canada breaking Olympic records. This was not about our victory. This, for me, was about Canada. Canada came together. We put whatever differences we may have aside and we came together in all our glorious patriotism and we did this!

That is what makes us Canadian. That is what distinguishes us. We may not go around and ram our country down the throats of others. We are far to well-mannered and gracious to do that. But when we want to, we exhibit our glorious patriotism for our wonderful country. Many amazing words have been spoken about Canada, including the gentleman from the opening ceremony who declared "We are More!" and I believe that.

Canada is More!. We are in some ways set apart from other countries. The fact that we can set aside our differences, for they are their within this country, and we can all pull together under one banner: the love or our Red and White. 

I heard it best from an announcer at the women's two man bobsled race. East and West came together and brought us the gold!!!

So, Canada, I salute you! Thank you for being a part of these glorious moments with me. Thank you for allowing me to be a part of them with you. Thank you for granting me the honor of being able to say I AM CANADIAN. For never in history have better words been spoken. 

Canada: I salute you and I AM CANADIAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!