It’s a pleasure to introduce you to Jessica who’s sharing her unique journey to and through motherhood as part of our month-long guest post series, Special Mamas. I first met Jess three years ago at (in)RL Minneapolis, an “in real life” gathering of women who met and engaged with one another online. Anyone who knows Jess knows she’s equal parts smart and sweet. She’s mama to two boys and one girl, and today she’s sharing the undeniably divine story of how each of their three children entered this world – quickly, patiently, and unexpectedly. It’s a beautiful story filled with twists and turns, and proves that God’s plans for our families are higher and greater than our own. Please extend a warm welcome to Jessica! She’s undoubtedly one very special mama. (Pssst…Jessica’s giving away a bracelet, so be sure to read all the way to the end and enter the giveaway for a chance to win!) 

If you would have told me as a new bride full of grand expectations and anticipation for a someday family based on my plans, I would have scoffed at the idea of having an eight year old, a five year old, and a newborn. My plan was to have three or four biological kids and then consider foster or adoption to grow our family. My plan would be to continue to teach in an elementary school so I could savor the summer days and nights with my family and live a contented and seemingly “uneventful” life.

Looking at what my days hold now I can see His Plans are higher than our plans and His Thoughts higher than our thoughts.

My journey to motherhood began as my plan intended…we welcomed our firstborn son in September 2007 with little to no complications and it was beautiful. He allowed me to understand the meaning of the quote by Elizabeth Stone, “Making the decision to have a child – it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” There he was, a piece of my heart in my arms. A blessing then and still to this day.

Then there came an unforeseen change in my plan. My husband was a navy reservist and was called up to deploy to Iraq when our son turned one year old. It was a season where my son and I thrived on routine. Thankfully I was still teaching full time so our days were busy with work, a few hours at home together, time at church, and me growing in ways to be a provider and playing the role of mom and dad. Thankfully our son was young enough that when his dad returned nine months later it did not take long for us to reconnect as a family of three. While Paul was overseas, we discussed the desire to grow our family and anticipated little to no troubles in doing such when he returned home. My plan was to have a summer due date in order to have more time home with the littles and all would be well.

Oh friends. His Plans are higher than our plans and His Thoughts higher than our thoughts.

Months passed along with those planned “summer due dates”…and then with those for fall, winter, and spring. Since I was in my mid-twenties we had to wait for a year of “trying to conceive” before we could be recommended to any specialists for fertility issues. This began a series of doubts, questions, and fears in my heart and mind. I would search the internet for answers—which looking back, I would discourage anyone struggling with growing their family from ever doing—there are so many ideas, tricks, supplements, advice and wishes from those who mean well, who are grieving, who are angry, who are searching for the same reasons as you. Instead of providing comfort for my confused heart, it only created more questions and uncertainty into what was happening. I didn’t understand why we were undergoing this struggle when we already had one babe fairly seamlessly. I didn’t feel like I truly fit in with those who cried out because they were unable to have a baby, because I did have one. And I didn’t feel like those with multiple kids because they seemed to conceive simply when they held their spouse’s hand. I was there–somewhere in the middle–trying to be content and savor my time with my son who was growing and delightful and amazing, yet feeling a wound grow deeper for more to hold.

While we passed through that first year of “trying,” we were then referred to doctors who would run tests and could not find any reason for our inability to conceive. We were diagnosed with “unexplained secondary infertility” which really did not give us any answers. We tried a few months of hormone shots, a round or two of prescription meds to increase egg production, and a lot of hope and prayers. Nothing resulted with that coveted “+” sign. It was hard. I dreaded my cycle. It came and went each month like clockwork. Again I mourned the unknown. I did not want to wish the days away with our sweet boy, but I was struggling with God’s goodness. Why was this happening to us? Was there a deep-rooted sin I was harboring? Was I cursed? I was both of the “haves” and the “have nots.”

After the year of “trying with interventions,” it came to a point where we could no longer put our hearts and our finances on the line each month. I needed to come to a place of accepting this was what our family was to be and move forward. Time to look up and not down. Time to embrace the child I was given and give praise and thanks for life. My husband felt contentment with our family of three. I could accept it, to a degree, but always felt a stirring for more. In Summer 2011, we made our annual trek down to the cornfields of Illinois to attend a Christian music festival. This particular year I went to a seminar on adoption under the blazing summer sun. Waving a makeshift paper fan, under the striped circus tent, I found my heart began to bear a new hope. A new plan. I believed our initial “want” of adopting that was fairly lofty in our dreams as a young bride and groom were resurfacing. Was this what we were to step into? Was this how our family would grow? Was this why those years of trying and waiting had resulted in a void?

His Plans are higher than our plans. His Thoughts are higher than our thoughts.

Two full years after Paul’s return from Iraq, we began to pursue adoption as the means to growing our tribe. Through beautiful and intentional circumstances, we learned about a little girl who was just over two years old in Bogota, Colombia. She had several medical needs but was described as, “happy, healthy, oh so sweet!” Nine months passed from the time we started our adoption journey until we were back home with her in our arms. Nine months for an international adoption to occur. Nine months that takes for a babe to grow in a mama’s belly was the same duration it took for this daughter to grow in our heart and be home in our arms.

Becoming mom to an instant toddler is not for the faint of heart, let alone a toddler who needed to be seen by various medical doctors and undergo a few minor surgeries in her first months with us. I left my full-time teaching job to create a space for time to attach and bond. Add in all the expectations and ideals you have for becoming a family of four and it can make for some challenging situations in your heart and home. When I wrestled with the desire to have more babes in my home and arms I never anticipated what it would look like to raise a child from a hard place. She was greatly loved in the orphanage that cared for her before we could get to her, but I needed to remind myself that while I had wounds from a desire to grow my family, she too had wounds from a desire for a family, and we both needed healing. We have been home with her for nearly four years now and the days are sweet, but they are also hard. Unique behaviors and mindsets arise when raising a child with a history you know little about. There have been tantrums and meltdowns—from both of us—but I am slowly putting more tools in my parenting toolbox as I become vulnerable and transparent with my struggles. I know this girl is meant for us…there are too many fingerprints of God on her story and His provisions and timing to deny it. But I am learning more about how to coach and guide my children as their mom and not to be the ‘warden’ for their behaviors. These ideas have come to me from help in the form of books and connecting with communities of mamas that have walked a similar road. However, the biggest surprise came in the form of a fresh baby boy.

In March 2015, that “+” sign I desired for so many years showed up in a most unexpected time. There was contentment that this was our quad and we were pressing in and on in our normal days. I was still home, keeping tabs on my then first grade son and pre-K daughter when His plans collided with my own. There was so much fear of loss at first. What if my body could not do this? Could I handle such grief? Was this really happening to us? Could I entrust this new life to Him and remember His plans prevail? Would I be able to trust Him in the good, the bad, the raw, and the beautiful? I did. I had to. What else can we do? My body sustained this new hope and this new life as we welcomed our third into our home on a warm November morning. Boaz Josiah Deem—a namesake to remind us of our “kinsman-redeemer” and that “the Lord heals.”

When I caress Boaz’ cheeks, draw him close, breathe in his fresh smell, and stare into his eyes I am reminded that my daughter may never have had such moments in her own fragile stages. I needed to do the same for her in all the same ways. Hold her face in my hands, whisper how beautiful and precious she is to me, and breathe life into her with my words and actions.

Each one of my children came into my arms in ways I never expected: quickly, patiently, and unexpectedly. There are moments I still meltdown; I struggle with what I want to do above what He is calling me to do, but I know I need to hold all of these days with them in my home as ones that are fragile and forming. We are certain to have days full of beauty and love and light, and those that are hard and dark and challenging. In them all may I strive to follow His Plan above my own, that He may make His Thoughts known to me and guide me in this journey of motherhood. It is a coveted calling and gift I will not take for granted.

 

 

 

Jess describes herself as a daughter, a wife, a mom, a teacher, a student and a friend. For the past three years she has worked as a Compassionate Entrepreneur with Trades of Hope to spread awareness for their artisan partners and support their work through sustainable business opportunities. Her main objective as a Compassionate Entrepreneur is to help families remain intact and prevent child relinquishment due to poverty. Jess is giving away one Trades of Hope Pure Love bracelet to one reader. It is made from cereal box beads that were rolled by the hands of mommas in Haiti. If you would like to enter the giveaway for the bracelet, please complete the Rafflecopter form below! You can find more information about Jess’ work by following her Facebook page at facebook.com/JessArgetsingerTOH or on Instagram @jess_sharinghope. Professional photos courtesy of Shelby Wright Photography.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

This post is part of a month-long guest post series titled Special Mamas. The series runs all May and is in honor of moms who have unique journeys to and through motherhood. To read all 10 posts in the Special Mamas series, CLICK HERE and you’ll be directed to the introductory post. There, you’ll find all guest posts listed and linked for easy reading!

It’s an honor to introduce you to Lisa who’s sharing her unique journey through motherhood as part of our month-long guest post series, Special Mamas. Lisa is a mom to three boys. Her oldest son, Micah, was born with a rare metabolic disorder. As you can imagine, it’s incredibly challenging to communicate a life-changing medical diagnosis in one short blog post. So today, Lisa’s journeying back to Micah’s infancy, recalling the earliest of days when he nearly lost his life. Lisa met the challenge with an incredibly intimate, honest and hopeful post. Soak it all in and send Lisa a special word of encouragement for her unique journey through motherhood.

My husband almost shouted at the lady behind the glass window. She stared back, deadfaced, then chomped her gum. “It will be at least thirty minutes.”

It was the third time we had received that same answer. Somewhere behind that door to the right was our six-day-old son who had just arrived by helicopter. I’ve always heard that giving birth is the hardest thing I’ll ever do. I believed it until I stood outside the ER and watched him being put onto that helicopter. Watched it take off without me.

Sometime later a solemn nurse led us back to his room. There were tubes and wires everywhere around his bed. A doctor, with an accent almost unintelligible, mumbled facts about a condition we had never heard of and we weren’t sure he had either. He handed us a stack of papers and left; we never saw him again. That same solemn nurse told us, fumbling for words, that Micah wasn’t doing well. I wanted to scream at her, Tell me something I don’t know. Can’t you do anything?

I sat in the rocking chair and stared at his bed. There was no offer to help us hold him and what little I knew of motherhood seemed ripped away by this unexpected day. It wasn’t a family-friendly hospital: we couldn’t just stay in his room and breathe the same air as our baby. They closed down the unit when they did surgeries or brought new children in and parents had to leave.

I could walk you to where I was sitting in the waiting room when my parents arrived. They had left work as soon as Justin called them and driven the four hours to the hospital. My dad hugged me and we sat and waited while Justin went for some food. I think he needed the fresh air and space more than the chicken.

The main hallway marched through that floor of the hospital and intersected with a perpendicular section where one side led to the doors of the NICU and the other side had parent rooms and a bathroom. While I stood in that dull hallway trying to resign myself to my baby dying, a family with a little girl pushed a new mom in a wheelchair through the main hallway in front of me. I had already figured out that you didn’t want to ask about anyone else’s story; you didn’t have enough emotional energy to carry that too.

I pretended to sleep that night in a tiny, uncomfortable bed. Some stuff, most of which I didn’t need, was spilling out of a suitcase in the corner. We had gone home and packed a suitcase before we had followed the helicopter up the interstate. We had touched all the baby things in our apartment wondering if we would still need them. We even debated making a Facebook post to notify friends and family. We didn’t because we realized we didn’t know what to say. In that crowded room with faded carpet I relived the day’s events and tried to surrender my baby to God. The night dragged on but the sun finally rose and I could see out the window, across a roof, and into the pharmacy where employees were changing shifts.

That morning was a lot like the previous afternoon except they had intubated Micah during the night. One more tube snaked its way into my little boy’s body in an effort to keep him alive. Around lunchtime I sat in a booth at Fazoli’s and stared across the parking lot at a maze of flowers that decorated the front of a nursery. It was beautiful, full of life and spring, and I felt like I was dying inside. My food sat untouched except for a few bites that I ate to appease Justin.

After we visited Micah for a while I was standing in the back hallway of the NICU when a door opened and I realized that same mama with the little girl was holding her new baby while the little girl danced around. They had unplugged the baby to let the mom hold him while he died. I cried for her, my heart splintering, while I wondered if that was in my future.

A new resident came on shift and asked us to sign paperwork for a transfer to another children’s hospital. “There’s nothing we can do here except wait and see what happens. It won’t be good.” We signed the paperwork and sat with our pastor and his wife while they made the arrangements. When I stepped out for some water Justin told them how small the chances were that Micah was going to live. A nurse came and told us we could go see Micah before they prepared him for transport. The unit was closed because of a surgery but his chance of survival was so small they took us in the back way to see him one more time.

I stood and stared at my baby in that bed. Tubes covered him; he was so puffy from fluids that he didn’t even look like the child I given birth to less than a week earlier. I sobbed into my husband’s chest and realized I wasn’t the only one crying. The resident who had arranged for the transport stood in the corner of the room with tears running down her face.

As they prepped him for the move and started transport we walked through the parking garage for the last time. They listed him as ‘unstable and nonresponsive’ and we strapped on our seat belts. That morning we had paid for a week’s worth of parking not knowing we would be leaving four hours later. We drove down the interstate. Somewhere in front of us our child was surrounded by strangers and dying.

Micah has Isovaleric Acidemia, a rare metabolic disorder which causes the body to be unable to break down the essential amino acid leucine. Thanks to the work of the talented staff at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital he did survive his metabolic crisis. We spent an agonizing month in the hospital with him as they performed a risky dialysis procedure to remove toxins from his bloodstreams and then allow his body to adjust to taking in food on a controlled diet again.

Anyone who has been in the NICU knows it’s a rollercoaster of emotions, a seesaw of good news and bad news. Right before we were scheduled to be released he developed pyloric stenosis and we stayed another two weeks for diagnosis and surgery when they also placed a g-tube. (A g-tube is a feeding line that is inserted directly into the stomach through the abdomen.) It was originally intended only for emergencies but he refused to drink his medical formula until he was over a year old and I fed him through his g-tube most of the time. It was a blessing and a nightmare.

We visited the ER several times a year because of g-tube complications until he was almost five and it was taken out. It came out frequently and if we found it immediately we could replace it ourselves but a g-tube tract closes quickly and we needed medical assistance if it had been out for more than an hour. More than once, we have stood in the ER and explained to a doctor how to insert a new g-tube. We actually had one doctor refuse to replace it because he had no experience with pediatric g-tubes.

Because Isovaleric Acidemia is so rare, we know more about it than any doctors we see besides metabolic specialists. We have learned to advocate for Micah’s care because his disease is so hidden. Twice this year he has been hospitalized for complications of contracting a stomach bug. Our local hospital has been amazing dealing with us but we have had to explain the urgency of getting him treatment, which can be difficult when you arrive at the ER with a five-year-old who has thrown up three times. However a phone call from a specialist at a children’s hospital helps. Thankfully the same physician’s assistant has seen him almost every time we’ve been to the ER so we haven’t had to start at square one very often.

Micah turned six in April 2016 and one of the biggest challenges we have faced in dealing with Micah’s IVA has been not making it his “thing” yet taking it seriously. I don’t want him to use IVA as his excuse or see it as his defining characteristic. He drinks a medical formula and eats a low-protein diet as treatment of his IVA (because the amino acid leucine poisons his body in large amounts). While I count his protein now we will be starting to teach him how to manage his own diet. There are a lot of things he can’t eat – meat, dairy, and other high-protein foods – but he loves the foods he can have.

God has blessed our family with amazing people to help us care for Micah. About a year ago, my husband looked up that resident who arranged to have Micah transferred to Cincinnati Children’s and called her to thank her. She remembered Micah and said she often wondered what happened. She was thrilled to hear he was doing so well.

 

 

 

Lisa Hensley is a writer and podcaster who dabbles in other creative pursuits. She and her husband have three boys and live in small-town Kentucky. Her online space encourages women to know Christ and embrace their work. You can find her at her blog www.lisahensley.me/blog/, on Instagram at instagram.com/delighting_days, Twitter at twitter.com/delighting_days, and Facebook at facebook.com/delightingdays.

 

This post is part of a month-long guest post series titled Special Mamas. The series runs all May and is in honor of moms who have unique journeys to and through motherhood. To read all 10 posts in the Special Mamas series, CLICK HERE and you’ll be directed to the introductory post. There, you’ll find all guest posts listed and linked for easy reading!

Today, I’m pleased to introduce you to Katie who’s kicking off our month-long Special Mamas series with a guest post about her unique journey to motherhood, including falling in love with a father of twin boys who’d lost his wife to Acute Myeloid Leukemia. I so appreciate Katie’s heart, and the way she’s embraced her new role as wife and mama with such grace. It’s an honor to host Katie and the beautiful story God is writing through her life. I’m certain her words will touch you as much as they did me. Enjoy, friends.

This is Ben and Jake. I became their mom on April 2, 2016, the day I married their dad, Sam. I didn’t give birth to them, and their biological mom didn’t want to give them up. She fought for them and she fought hard. So here is my bittersweet story of how I became a mom at the age of 37 in a way that wasn’t MY plan, and how I have learned to unconditionally love someone else’s children.

For many years I wondered if I was ever going to be a mom. I was in a long-term relationship that was pretty unhealthy and at times, attacked my soul. I gave up dreaming. I knew I wanted to be married and to have children but I was letting someone else control my life plan. And in the process I was losing myself.

I met Sam in 2013. He had lost his wife, Erika, from complications of Acute Myeloid Leukemia in December of 2012. She was 39 years old. Erika and Sam, were the parents of Benjamin and Jacob, twin three-year-old boys. They tried for four years to have the boys. After a round of successful IVF, the boys were born in 2009.

I knew Sam’s wife Erika, not well, but I knew who she was. I knew her heart, how kind she was, how smart she was and how beautiful she was, inside and out. Years prior, she was a patient of mine at the dental office where I worked as a hygienist. We would talk every six months at her appointments, and got to know each other in a casual way. I had been following Erika’s story through her CaringBridge page. I ran into her when she was sick. We reconnected after not seeing each other for years. When she passed away after a long battle with leukemia (and eventually pneumonia which was caused by complications from her bone marrow transplant), I knew I wanted to pay my respects and attend her funeral. I didn’t know her husband, Sam, at the time. I just remember seeing this man holding his twin sons in his arms, and following her casket out of the church when the funeral was over. I thought to myself, “now what is he going to do?” I knew that his faith in the Lord was what was going to pull him through his grief and I accepted Christ into my life that day, too.

On the drive home I found myself in tears. Angry at the way I had been living. Knowing how hard Erika fought to live, I knew that I had to change my life. I wanted to live, not just be alive. I wanted to be a mom and have a family. So I knew from that day forward that I needed to get out of my relationship. I prayed hard for God to heal my heart and help heal the pain from my past.

Fast forward to almost a year later. Sam came and spoke at a leukemia event where I was running a marathon with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. That first night we talked for six hours and eventually became best friends. We were both so broken, and I truly feel like our friendship over the year or so saved both of us. Neither of us were ready for anything serious that first year as our hearts were still in the past. But we found comfort in our friendship and had hope of love for our future.

Over the past year and a half I was dating Sam, who was a single dad. He was trying to do it all by himself. Trying to give the love and cuddling touch of a mom, and the stern disciplinary hand of a dad. He was running himself down. I knew that it was my calling from the Lord to step in and take over the “mom” roll. I had visions early on that God was calling me to do this.

We became engaged on August 14, 2015. I couldn’t be more excited to marry my soul mate. On April 2, 2016, I married Sam and became a mom to Ben and Jake, now six years old. Stepping in as the mother figure of these two boys had many highs and many lows. I had always been an “auntie” to everyone else’s kids. I never was actually responsible for my own. I didn’t know how to be a mom. I wasn’t feeling that natural “motherly instinct.” I remember times where I actually shut the bathroom door and cried, thinking “I used to have no one who needed me but me. I don’t know how to do this.” That is where God came in the picture. I started praying and asking for wisdom, for strength, and patience. I turned to him for guidance on how to be a mom. I wanted to know what little boys need from a mom. How can I make sure they know how special and how loved and wanted they are? How I can be a role model to them? How I can love their dad in a way that they can learn to love a woman from? How I can raise loving and respectful young men who don’t have to recover from their childhood?

As most moms go through, I found days where I couldn’t handle it one more minute and then something would happen that would make my heart melt. The love and acceptance I had from these two little boys was nothing more than a complete gift from above. The snuggles, the kisses, the comments about how I am “perfect just the way I am,” and how much they loved me. The love I felt from Sam and the support he has given me from day one has been priceless. He is my true soul mate and the most amazing partner.

Loving someone else’s kids has come with the challenge of trying to get them to recognize me as their mom, while still keeping the memory of their biological mom alive, too. Her soul purpose in life was to be a mom and a wife. She fought hard to live for them and they should know that. They should remember what she looked like, what some of her favorite things were, what parts of her are apparent in both of them. Jacob has her eyes and Ben has her hair. Jacob has her fighting spirit and Ben has her stubbornness. I remind them of their mom as often as I can. Who she was, and how much she loved them.

God has a plan for our new family and we pray that he will be the leader and will guide us in the direction we need to go in. We trust in his plan, not ours.

Thank you Jesus for this life, this love and this opportunity to really “live.” I don’t take any of this for granted. It is Grace at its finest.

 

 

 

 

 

This post is part of a month-long guest post series titled Special Mamas. The series runs all May and is in honor of moms who have unique journeys to and through motherhood. To read all 10 posts in the Special Mamas series, CLICK HERE and you’ll be directed to the introductory post. There, you’ll find all guest posts listed and linked for easy reading!

Special Moms

There it was, nestled in a March 11, 2007, journal entry titled “Brainstorm of Topics for Books on Mothering.”  More than seven years before I left my career as a speech-language pathologist, I set a goal to write at least one book on mothering.

Special Moms was one of many titles I brainstormed that day. I wanted to share stories about moms who had unique journeys to and through motherhood. There’s beauty to be found in any battle, especially motherhood.

When I started dreaming about writing way back in 2003, the original vision was to become an author of real, relevant and raw books on mothering. That dream has since morphed. I’ve never claimed to be a “mom blogger,” but I’m not afraid to blog about motherhood. I no longer envision a future as a sole author of mom books, but I’m sure there’s a book or two about motherhood in me.

While this isn’t a book, the heart of Special Moms is alive and well!

In 2013, I made the Special Moms dream come alive with a month-long guest post series titled Special Mamas. In 2014, I intended to run the series again, but time got away from me, so I wrote a series titled Motherhood Unraveled instead. In 2015, I resurrected Special Mamas as the annual guest post series I originally intended it to be, and went ALL IN with a total of 13 guest posts!

So here we are. It’s time to launch the Third Annual Special Mamas blog series!

During the month of May, I’ll be hosting 10 Special Mamas.

10 Special Mamas will write guest posts.

10 Special Mamas will share their unique stories to and through motherhood.

10 Special Mamas will reveal their hopes and dreams for motherhood.

10 Special Mamas will get vulnerable.

10 Special Mamas will expose bits of themselves that are raw and real.

10 Special Mamas will impart wisdom.

10 Special Mamas will uncover beauty in least expected places.

10 Special Mamas will proclaim the hope they’ve found, the love they’ve shared.

10 Special Mamas will share the newfound perspectives they’ve discovered along the way.

Katie fell in love with a father of twins who lost his wife to Acute Myeloid Leukemia. Click here to read Katie’s guest post, Grace at its Finest.

Lisa’s son was diagnosed with Isovaleric Acidemia, a rare metabolic disorder that threatened his life within days of his birth. Click here to read Lisa’s guest post, Dealing with a Rare Disease Diagnosis. 

Jess became a mama quickly, patiently through international adoption, then unexpectedly after a long road through unexplained secondary infertility. Click here to read Jess’ guest post, Quickly, Patiently and Unexpectedly.

My younger sister, Tiffany, has a diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder – bipolar type. Tiffany honored our mom’s unique journey through motherhood with a guest post thanking her for all the ways she’s supported my sister from childhood to current day. Click here to read Tiffany’s guest post, Thank You, Mom! 

One year ago, Cindy and her husband adopted a sweet boy with Down syndrome, which added to their already beautifully-formed family of 2 biological children, 3 adopted foster children, and 1 biological daughter with Down syndrome. Click here to read Cindy’s guest post, What I Couldn’t Tell You Then.

Aprille is a special mama of two. Her son has multiple behavioral diagnoses, and her husband is an Afghanistan veteran who struggles with anxiety. On the best of days, Aprille feels like she’s barely managing. Click here to read Aprille’s guest post, When Your Special Needs Family Wears You Thin. 

Dawn’s 11-year-old daughter has a rare genetic abnormality which resulted in severe neurological issues, severe intellectual/developmental disabilities, neuromuscular issues, G.I. issues, common variable immune deficiency, vision issues, and cardiac concerns. She will require full-time caregiving for the rest of her life. Click here to read Dawn’s guest post, Through the Darkness of Our Challenges, the Light of Joy Prevails.

Jill grew up in a family in which “denial, shaming and blaming were key coping strategies.” When she became a stepmom, she was forced to face the pain of her past. Click here to read Jill’s guest post, How Being a Stepmom Helped Me Understand My Mother.

Caroline and Mike tried for years, met with fertility specialists, tried infertility treatments, and experienced more than one miscarriage. They have now decided to grow their family through adoption! Click here to read Caroline’s post, Our Journey of Loss, Faith and Hope.

Disa is a mom of FIVE, including a set of QUADRUPLETS! She’s discovered many hidden blessings as a mama of quads. Click here to read Disa’s post, Hidden Blessings.

10 Brave Mamas.

10 Special Mamas.

Friends, you are going to LOVE these mamas. I’ve found great authenticity and hope in their stories, and I know you will, too.

Motherhood is beautiful, life-changing, and of utmost importance. Motherhood is indeed a calling. But motherhood is also incredibly real. It tests us and takes us on journeys we never imagined in our wildest dreams. It brings all varieties of special circumstances we never thought we’d have to face. When we whole-heartedly embrace our unique journey to and through motherhood, beauty emerges, hope emerges. Motherhood produces fruit in our lives like nothing else.

So let’s be real. Let’s be raw. Let’s learn together. Because the truth is, we’re all Special Mamas.

This post serves as the landing page for Special Mamas 2016. ALL 10 guest posts will be linked in the post above. I put the Special Mamas graphic in the right sidebar of my blog’s home page. Anytime you want to read a post from the series, go to the blog at amybethpederson.com, click on the Special Mamas graphic, and it will bring you to this post. We’ll be writing a little book here throughout the month! Come. Enjoy. Be filled with beauty, hope and truth about motherhood.

 

This is a guest post written by my younger sister, Tiffany, who has a diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type. Tiffany has shared a monthly guest post on my blog since February 2015. The purpose of these posts is to raise awareness of what it’s like to live with mental illness. I’m also hoping the posts will help readers recognize that we all have hopes, dreams, challenges and mountains to climb regardless of our mental health status. If you’d like to read the posts I’ve written about Tiffany’s journey and all the guest posts she’s shared on this blog, check out the mental health page. Without further ado, here’s Tiffany.

I took the morning off to attempt to find myself. I planned on writing while my son, Xander, walked around the beach. My greatest weakness is giving up on myself. I doubted all the thoughts that were going through my mind. Tears were about to flow out of my eyes, but I have responsibilities and I can’t give up. Not now.

Why is the feeling of happiness so difficult to find so many days lately? I thought I had moved past that feeling of trying to be happy. One of the mental health professionals I work with brought up a good point. “Imagine you’re going to a party, and you keep telling yourself to be happy. How are you going to feel the entire time?” “Probably extremely anxious,” I said. I always seem to be in one of the stages of grief. I asked the mental health professional if happiness can happen while you’re grieving. The next day, I felt a glimpse of happiness in the car with the kids. I turned up the radio and just enjoyed the moment. The secret? I wasn’t forcing the happy feeling. I found that happiness can happen at unexplainable times, in unexplainable ways.

Matthew 7:7 says, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.”

God works in unusual ways sometimes. The thought of mentioning God and a verse in this post kinda freaks me out. For many years in my life, the thought of religion was a dark place. There are times when I would take religious views to extremes. I am happy to report that over the past few years, despite what is going on, GOD has brought light into my life, even during the darkest moments. Ask and it will be given to you. But God, this is not what I asked for? I know he has a plan for all of our lives.

Seek and you will find. Dear God, please help me learn how to discipline my kids and for them to obey me! I love them to death, but I’m a single parent and this is difficult. The job is hard. Every situation is unique and different. So those who post about mother/father rights, please keep in mind that each situation is unique. There is no right or wrong way. I never expected to run into my kids’ dad at the store today, and he was with his girlfriend. Ugh! I avoided that completely. At this time, there is no need to create additional stress in anyone’s life.

Seek and you will find. Last week, my sister and I, and my mental health professionals discussed ways to effectively deal with my kids. I’m sick and tired of constant tantrums from my five year old over what clothes she will wear each day. We came to this conclusion, and it has been working so far. Organize the room and the clothes that can be worn. Throw away clothes with holes. Get rid of clothes that should not be worn. Pick out the clothing that is going to be worn the next day. This is working so far! What to do about random fits? I am now giving 10 minutes of playtime for every 15 minutes that my daughter behaves. Cross my fingers, that has been working. I need to find solutions, so your feedback is appreciated. I am also working with a professional who teaches “Love and Logic” classes. Her plan is to help me once a week, as long as needed. Pick and choose your battles. Take time, if needed, to say “yes” or absolutely “no.” May I seek parenting solutions and find them. Good luck to me and others on this quest.

Knock and the door will be opened to you. Amongst the nonsensical chatter in my mind, I heard “Tiff, come out and play.” Sometimes, I just want to tell the voices in my head to be quiet. Rarely do they listen, but I have to respect my mental illness, because it’s with me for life. When I don’t feel like I have any friends, I always have the voices. When they asked me to come out and play, I asked them this, “What are we going to do?” There was no need for an answer because I knew all I needed to know. We were going out to play. Whether we were friends, are still friends, or you’ve thought about being friends with me, you probably have memories about our playtime together? At any age, how innocent, how appropriate, how real? I used to knock on neighbors’ doors and ask my friends to come out and play. Now my daughter does that, and soon my son. I need to realize how precious those times are. They just need to be controlled. Because as one of my mental health workers said, if I knocked on people’s doors and asked them to play now as an adult, I’d be locked up in a facility. I have to tell you the truth, I’ve always been obsessed with making random appearances at peoples’ doors. When I was younger, I loved sales. I’d go door to door and learn something at each place. Many times they’d let me in to talk. I usually had something to sell, even if it was spoons glued together and decorated. Those days are gone, but we have to realize the innocence and joy of knock and the door will be opened to you.

My daughter is with a friend for the evening, until bedtime. Once, I wished she’d have friends. Now, she has so many friends. The sun is out and the knocks continue to happen on my door. You know what? Thanks for the knock. You are a beautiful person. Let’s have a conversation. I can handle this. I just need to handle everything with love.

Thanks for reading! Peace out and see ya!

Tiffany