The mamas were giving their testimonies.

One by one, they came to the front with their babies, sharing how much of a difference Compassion’s Child Survival Program made in their lives.

One special mama had two babies, not her own. People didn’t understand why she’d taken them in. She couldn’t afford to care for the babies. She was shunned and found herself all alone crying near the street one day. A Compassion Child Survival Program staff happened to pass by and told her about the program, that she’d be able to get support as she raised those babies. She agreed and the children were enrolled in the program. The translator prayed over her, “even though family might not understand you, God does,” he said.

There was another woman with a baby of her own. But she’d also taken in her deceased cousin’s baby. Mid-way through her story, she broke into song. I had no idea what she was saying because there hadn’t been translation yet, but there was something beautiful and tremendously sad about this song long before I knew the words. She sang with courage, she looked up, towards the back of the church as she poured this heart-song out from her soul. There was hope and promise in her words, but in her eyes, I saw the sadness, the depth of pain. She said the Compassion Child Survival Program staff taught her to sing this song when she was feeling tremendous sadness and despair. They encouraged her, “You need to sing this song whenever you feel sad, and you will feel better.” The song, my heart be happy.

And then there was Archille.

She came to the front, holding her son close, tight in her arms. She spoke quietly and tears came to her eyes the second she started talking. She appeared to be hiding a bit behind her son, as if protecting him from her own pain. He was near and dear to her, you could tell. She felt alone, very alone, and I sensed that the moment she started talking, even before I knew why.

Archille shared with us, her son was born with one leg.

She’d been shunned and teased, disowned and laughed at for having a son with one leg. It was and has been immeasurably painful. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know where to turn. Her tears, the depth of her pain, visible. If there was a way I could’ve reached out to her in that moment, I would’ve.

Archille then proceeded to do one of the most brave things I’ve ever witnessed. She started taking off her son’s pants.

In that moment, we saw his one leg.

It was holy, intimate. We knew the reality she’d been telling was truth.

Archille was advised, Compassion’s Child Survival Program was the best way to care for her boy. Through her involvement in the Child Survival Program, Archille has developed “good friendships and relationships in [the] center.” Home visitors encourage her. And Compassion’s staff have compassion for Archille. They’ve worked with her and she’s “thankful for all they’ve done to help with [her] boy.”

The translator prayed over Archille and her boy, “If God accepts the boy as he is, as we do, we must love him.”

I recognized Archille’s pain the second I saw her hide behind her son, the second I saw the tears in her eyes and they couldn’t be held back anymore. I’d known that pain myself. When tears are so close to the surface that you cry if you speak even one word, you just need someone to listen to you, care for you, act on your behalf.

Perhaps there’s a purpose for our pain, that we might be able to more readily recognize it in others. And help.

We had an opportunity to ask the questions anyone would ask at that point. How does he get around? How would Compassion help this boy with his leg? Mama answered, indicating her boy is able to stand on one leg, gets around by crawling, and is often carried. Compassion has already sent mama Archille’s and baby to Port-Au-Prince where they’ve seen doctors about baby’s leg. He will get a prosthetic when he’s older, but for now he’s too young, so they have to wait.

Yvonne, our trip co-leader and Compassion representative, held the sweet baby boy as we sang songs and prayed with all the mamas and babies. Safe in Yvonne’s arms, Archille’s boy led our way to the Child Development Center.

We spent the next hour or two meeting children and engaging with teachers in the Child Development Center. (I’ll share more about that later!) But Before we knew it, it was time to visit the Child Survival Program building where mamas and babies meet with Compassion staff. It was a lovely space with boards tracking immunizations and child growth, as well as toys and cribs for the babies. This felt like a safe haven, and it was.

I was one of the first to enter the building. The seat next to Yvonne and this beautiful boy with one leg was open. So I took it. There was a part of me that thought the seat would better be taken by someone else, all the others who cared about this boy and wanted to be close, too. But there was me. Perhaps it was God who brought me in among the first. Perhaps it was He who left the seat open.

I had an opportunity to talk with Yvonne about this boy as others entered the space, the hope I had to share his story. We talked about the possibility of getting crutches for this sweet boy, as usually, he’d be walking around this age. Yvonne commented how heavy it must be for mama to carry her boy around all day since he’s getting so big. And I asked, did mama have a sling in which she could carry her son?

Before long, we noticed mama standing right behind us, outside. We invited her in to join us in conversation.

Yvonne told mama Archille that she’d like to work with the project director to try to facilitate getting her boy some crutches so he can start moving around and develop muscle tone in his leg. She couldn’t promise it would be done, but she was going to talk to the director and do her best to help. And Yvonne asked mama, “Do you have a sling you carry him in?” Mama Archille said “no.” I asked mama, “Would you feel more comfortable carrying him on your back or on your front?” “I’d prefer to carry him on my back,” mama said, “but he likes me to carry him in the front.” Yvonne reminded mama once again that she couldn’t promise, but that we’d try to get something to help.

An opportunity came for me to ask mama Archille questions that had nothing to do with sweet baby boy’s leg. “How old is he?” I asked. “Two,” mama said. “When will he be three?” asked Yvonne. Mama replied, “December.”

“Same as my baby” I exclaimed! “Three in December!” Mama Archille and I smiled big smiles, huge, like divine appointment huge. We discovered, our babies’ birthdays? Only NINE days apart!

Everyone was elated. It was a moment out of time for the folks that had gathered. Well, a moment out of time, at least for me. I’d barely even noticed the rest of the group had arrived until I looked up and realized, they were there.

Yvonne, still right next to me, stepped in at just the right moment, with just the right words I would’ve never imagined possible – “You know you can sign up to sponsor him even before he’s officially enrolled in the Child Sponsorship Development Program? I don’t want to put you on the spot, though.” Um, ya. There was no putting me on the spot. It was a no brainer, taking the opportunity to sponsor this little guy. Of course, I’d say yes.

After some brief conversation with the translator, Yvonne, and another Compassion staff, it was determined that I’d need to take with me the baby’s name, baby’s date of birth, mama’s name, and the Compassion Child Survival Program in which which he was enrolled. Then, when I get home, I’ll need to contact Compassion and indicate I’d like to sponsor him when he becomes old enough to enroll in the Child Sponsorship Development Program.

We all decided, this was meant to be. I’ll be the boy’s sponsor when he comes of age.

The translator spoke with Archille and wrote down all the information I’ll need when I contact Compassion back home.

Before mama placed her boy on my lap for a picture, I’d noted, her beautiful baby boy’s name was Charles.

Pain, it’s true and real for all of us. Pain, it pulls us down, makes us want to run and hide or grab ahold tight of anything that’s near.

Hope, it comes in any package. Hope, a promise of better days to come.

Would you like to give hope to a child in desperate need of it? Check out the Compassion website to take a closer look at all the children waiting for a sponsor. These are real. live. children. Not just pictures on your computer screen. They’re real children with real families with real lives, and they could use your help. If you’d be here, you’d see. You’d choose to say yes, I guarantee. We have so much, it’s time to give. And hope’s where it’s at.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

Gate D24 was just ahead. Gate D24, it’s where our plane was parked. Gate D24, it’s where I’d meet 23 strangers for the first time.

I passed Gate D24 and fled to the bathroom which equated to one part actually using the bathroom, and the other part hiding away praying to God, Lord Jesus, that He would be with me every step of the way. He assured me – I’ve prepared the way, I’m here, you’re more than prepared for this trip.

I opened the door to that bathroom intentionally, knowing once I walked out, there was no other choice but to go meet those strangers at Gate D24 and embark on this life-changing trip. I washed my hands, grabbed ahold of my overstuffed carry-on suitcase, and started walking.

It was strangely beautiful, stepping into this risk I’d chosen, this risk He’d chosen for me. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed a little crazy.

She was the only one I could see as I approached. She was engaging others from the group, and she looked warm and welcoming and before I even met her, I knew we’d get along. It was comforting, this knowing, this feeling before I even walked into Gate D24, that there’d be at least one person I’d mesh with instantaneously.

I approached. Tonya, the woman I noted before I entered Gate24, introduced herself immediately. She was just as great as I thought she’d be. Marcia and her daughter Gaelyn were there, and Jenna and Kayla too.

It was strangely beautiful, this meeting of strangers gathered together for a singular purpose, to love on the people of Haiti and specifically, those served and blessed by Compassion International.

A woman approached. “Are you Jillian’s friend,” she said? “Yes!” I exclaimed! The woman introduced herself. Joy was her name. She was friends with Jillian, our family friend who’s adopting two children from an orphanage in Haiti. Ya, the Jillian I told you about a couple weeks ago, the Jillian that got me going on this whole Haiti thing in the first place. And the odd thing was? I knew already Joy’s last name, because I’d seen it pop up through Jillians’ Faceboook feed and on the orphanage Facebook page I’ve follow faithfully since we sent those gifts.

Joy was on her way to visit the two children she’s in the process of adopting from Haiti, a 2-year-old and a 9-year-old. I asked her if she was traveling by herself. She noted casually, “I’ve been to Haiti gazillions of times. When you’ve been here that many times you kind of know your way around.” (or something like that) I shared with Joy that I’m traveling with Compassion, that I’m not exactly sure the name of the city we’re going to first.

Conversation between the two of us was brilliant, so natural. Like I wanted to be Joy’s best friend right now. I shared how I’m already fairly confident this won’t be my last trip to Haiti. “Ya,” she said. “I’ve never met anyone who went to Haiti just once.”

Ya. Perhaps it’s best we don’t even talk about that quite yet.

It was strangely beautiful, this meeting of Joy at Gate D24. And I couldn’t help but think as we parted ways, how equally beautiful it would be to hop on a taxi with Joy to the orphanage, as it’s going to be to spend this week with Compassion. Pretty sure my heart could be pulled a whole host of places in Haiti and find a place.

“I’ve never met anyone who went to Haiti just once,” she said.

Strangely beautiful.

I got on the plane and found myself seated, once again, in-between two grown men my dad and father-in-law’s age. So what’s the deal with me being plopped in-between two men on this trip, God? Yesterday AND today? One thing I knew for sure, my dad and father-in-law would be happy I was in good company. They were gentlemanly Alabama men with long drawled out accents. They spoke of their trip to Haiti where they’ll be building a school and desks. Just men on the trip, 15 to be exact. They even brought nails, because apparently when a group of them came last year, the nails made in Haiti split right in two. So they brought their own “American-made nails” this time around. Our conversation was blessed, natural, filled with the Spirit. We parted ways as the flight landed, saying good-bye three, four, five times to these strangers I’d just met. But they felt like family.

Strangely beautiful.

Groups gathered just outside the gangway in Haiti, as in, the most group travel I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. It seemed everybody was traveling with a group. It felt good. It felt right. It felt like community. It felt purposeful, life-filling, it felt like this is the way all of life is supposed to be.

Strangely, strangely beautiful.

A sea of ebony faces were waiting just outside the airport exit. It nearly took my breath away. I held back tears as I walked forward with my overstuffed carry-on. As I peered to my right, the first vehicle I noticed was open air, “tap tap” they call those vehicles here in Haiti. Painted on the creme canvas was UN. It was all like a movie. Only this time, I was in the movie.

Strangely beautiful. Strangely, strangely beautiful.

We got in the van. Some men threw the extra luggage on top of the van next to us. My red suitcase, filled-up to 48 pounds, was one that landed on the top of the van. And we thought that was crazy until another van piled high with suitcases on top passed on the other side.

And as we drove to our final destination for today, one they said would take an hour and a half but I have no idea how long it took, we saw the real Haiti I’d been called to, the real Haiti I’d been longing to see.

People bathed in streams. Laundry hung from lines. Cows and goats roamed free. Shanty houses salt and peppered the barren mountainside. Men sold big piles of bananas on street corners. And women carried big pots of fruit and supplies in buckets on their heads. There were tent communities and broken down buses right aside palm trees and scenic ocean fronts. I wanted to step right in to it all, the same way I want to step into the wetlands when I take summer runs in the evening back home. I wanted to jump right out, immerse myself, be right in the middle of it.

They say there’s a honeymoon period when you travel to developing countries. So be it. Bring on the honeymoon, God. And let me stay right in the middle of that honeymoon. Because these feel like my people, this feels like my place.

And it’s strangely, strangely beautiful.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

Today I am honored to share with you a guest post written by a friend from my childhood, Jason Erickson. Jason’s dad sustained a significant traumatic brain injury two years ago. Since the injury, I have been following Jason’s posts on CaringBridge, and have been continually moved by their family’s faithfulness and love for one another in the midst of such life changing trials. Before I launched the blog, I asked Jason if he would be willing to guest post about his dad. Although I originally intended him to guest post months ago, Valentine’s Day seems a perfect fit.

In this post, Jason shares the heart-warming and inspiring story about his parents – their love for one another, their love for their family, their love of an Almighty God, and the promises that remain true even in the face of a significant traumatic brain injury.  Jason so beautifully reminds us that we should not “take even one day for granted with those we love and cherish most.” 

Her words and the panicked sound of my mom’s voice will forever be etched into my mind. “Jason, come quickly, your dad is hurt really bad.” These were the words that introduced me to a life-changing chapter in the life of our family. As the helicopter made its way to the parking lot of our family-owned lumberyard to airlift my dad away, I was beginning to wonder if my life had changed forever, in the blink of an eye. What I would later find out on January 12, 2011, is that my dad had sustained a traumatic brain injury from a fall while working on an overhead garage door at our business. His initial prognosis was very dim, but now, over two years later, our family has grown closer and I have witnessed first hand the covenant my parents made to each other and before God.

The story of their marriage began on a typical fall day, for most of the world it would prove to be a very ordinary day. For a young couple, this day though, would mark their beginning. The beginning of a life together, one that would have many more ups than downs, many more smiles than frowns, and one unshakable foundation. On that fall day, October 24, 1970, I was not even a twinkle in my parents’ eyes, and little did I know how much of an impact that day in history would eventually have upon my life.

When I arrived on August 12, 1974, I was completely unaware of what had just occurred. Unaware of whose gentle hands tenderly held me, unaware whose loving eyes stared into mine, and unaware of whose hand caressed my head while whispering in my ear, “I love you.” Over the next few years, my love for these two people would grow exponentially. Initially, not even knowing who they were, to being the ones I looked to for love, support and strength.

My parents would provide all I would need growing up, including a foundation of faith. I remember growing up how important it was to show and tell how much we loved each other. I remember feeling my “love tank” fill up as my dad wrapped his arms around me to give me hug. I remember the special moments Jill, Mom, and I shared on the deck eating lunches during the warm days of summer. As I grew older, I began to admire more the relationship my parents had. Throughout my dating years, I recognized their marriage as one I would like to model my own after. Granted they were human, and their marriage was not perfect, but considering all life tends to throw at us, it was a very healthy relationship.

Growing up in our home, it was always comforting to hear my parents say that they loved each other. The love they shared was more than just words, it was nurtured and followed up by actions. Actions, not in the sense of expensive gifts, but in simple gestures of kindness – my dad scrubbing the kitchen floor at night even after a day of logging in the woods, my mom leaving supper for us when she had to work evenings at the hospital, and the fun-loving sight of seeing my dad steal a kiss from my mom as they walked into a restaurant. To some this may seem irrelevant in the greater scheme of life, but to a son and daughter, it helped provide the security needed in order to form the foundation of who we are today. Our home was a home in which two children knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that their parents loved each other, loved being together, and would stay that way until one day God would call one of them home.

Our family had the blessing of being a pretty normal family, even as Jill and I grew older and had families of our own. We all lived relatively close, so we could spend time together. Jill and I had all of our grandparents still living and we were all generally quite healthy, so life was very good.

The “normalcy” of life abruptly changed on that brisk winter January day in 2011. Initially, after the surgery to stop the bleeding on his brain, I didn’t know if my dad would live through the night, and even if he did, our family would have a new “normal.”

Since that difficult day in early 2011, my mom has not missed one day, or may I say, one opportunity to be with my dad. She has been with him, by his side each day, encouraging him, spending time with him, and making the most of what time they share together. Granted, it is not what she would have chosen for this stage of their life or their marriage. But on that fall day in 1970, her covenant before God and with my dad did not have an exit clause. As they stood in that small town Minnesota church, their promise to each other was not only for the good times, the safe times, or the easy times. It was a promise made for life, and included the words for better or worse, in sickness and in health. I’m sure they never would have envisioned this present day scenario, but then in reality, on one’s wedding day, who does envision such a tragedy?

While growing up, I admired my parents and their love for each other. Since my dad’s accident though, I still not only admire their love and devotion, but I now cherish it. I have witnessed, specifically on the part of my mom, her love for my dad lived out on a daily basis. A love that at this point, is not reciprocated in a way that she would choose, but nonetheless not prohibiting her from continuing to share it with dad. Considering the fact that my dad is still in a transitional care unit, I don’t necessarily know what my dad ponders as he is in his hospital room. We are hoping to eventually move him to a rehabilitation center, but for now he is still bed ridden and on a feeding tube. One thing I know he is not concerned with however, is the dedication and devotion of my mother. Each morning, whether sunny or snowy, when he opens his eyes he sees his bride, and each night as he closes them, he has the assurance that she’ll be there tomorrow. As a wife, she understands her need to make time for herself in order to remain healthy and “charged,” but there is always time and a place in her heart for dad.

My parents’ love for each other during this difficult time did not just happen. It is a love cultivated by many years of loving on each other. Years of loving acts that continued to bring them closer to each other, and in that, formed a bond that nothing in this world can break. As much as my parents love each other, and thus demonstrate that love for each other, that is only part of their story. On that day in October 1974, the covenant that my parents made with each other, at the same time, they also made with Christ. They promised themselves to each other, and their marriage to Him.

In a world that is not always conducive to keeping one’s marriage a priority, He was and is the rock that my parents have built their life on. I recently heard someone say, “sometimes God allows you to hit rock bottom, in order for you to find out, He is that rock.” That fact somewhat summarizes the past couple years of my parents’ marriage. This life is not always going to be easy, and there will be times we may wonder “why?” My dad used to remind me that in this life we were never promised it would be a rose garden. It is in the midst of these difficult times though, that we hold to our faith in Him, and His plan, even though we sometimes have many more questions than answers. It is this simple act of trust that brings us peace, knowing that His plan will ultimately work out for good, if we continue to put our faith in Him. Work out for good, not necessarily on this side of eternity, but we will one day understand “why” it had to occur.

One day my parents will say good-bye to each other on this earth. One day they will hold hands one final time. When that day arrives, they will let go of each other, knowing that this though, is not the end of their story. For there is coming a day when they will be reunited again and their tears will be wiped away, never to return. A day when the Rock they built their life on here, will welcome them home for eternity. It will be on that day, that their story, will simply become a smaller part of His-story.

As Valentine’s Day is upon us again, may we each remember our closest loved ones. May we not take even one day for granted with those we love and cherish most. As we celebrate the day that celebrates love, I am reminded of a few verses.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these…is love.  1 Corinthians 13

Jason Erickson

You are a special mama.

I hear you.

I see you.

I understand you.

I am with you.

That look, I recognize it. I see it. The way you look at your child. Your quiet, wondering eyes tell all. The way pain has settled in. What does this child’s future hold? Will everything be ok?

That voice, I hear it. Your anxiety, your worry, your being on the edge every moment. Your wondering who has the answers. Your wondering who can help me with this child? Your need to know you’re not alone. You’re not alone, that’s what you need to hear.

That feeling, I get it. That others simply don’t understand. They know not what you have been through. They know not what your child needs. They know not how to respond. Their understanding of what your child says and does is limited. Not by their own fault, but by virtue of not being you, not being in your shoes. You take not a single thing for granted when it comes to your child. Embrace that gift. Use it to hear, to see others better, more deeply. Live more fully.

That gut horror of yours, stop overanalyzing it. Did you do something wrong? Too much of this, not enough of that? Could you have done something earlier, something more, something better? Could you have prevented this from happening? Would a different parent have been better for this child? Accept this gift from me. You have done nothing. Your guilt is not warranted. Your gut leads you astray. You are the parent your child needs.

That joy of yours, that pride, I sense it. It comes overflowing in that moment. It takes your breath away. You never thought your child could do that, could be so great, could meet, exceed all your expectations. Believe it. Your child can do anything. Anything is possible. That triumph is yours. That triumph belongs to you and your child.

Because you are great.

You are courageous.

You are strong.

You are an amazing mama.

You can do it.

You can do this.

This is hard, but you are doing it.

You are doing it.

You are a special mama.

And I see you.

May the gift be yours to embrace.

But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. Luke 2:19

Amy

It is my honor to introduce you to two living miracles, my sister Tiffany and my niece Raegan. Tiffany and Raegan are thriving against all odds.

My sister has given permission to share this story, and my parents have given their blessing as well. If you start reading this post, I suggest reading to the end to ensure you hear the story in its entirety, but warn you it is much longer than any blog post I ever intend to write! Here, I attempt to reduce a six-year story, (originally documented by me in a raw,  unedited, 200-page single-spaced document) into a readable blog post. When I first started writing this post, I spent hours crafting sentences to summarize ugly details of the first half of the story. While referring back to my journal and writing about the events of December 2007, I couldn’t endure the raw pain, couldn’t relive the unbelievable details of that month, couldn’t believe what I was reading in my journal actually happened, couldn’t bear to lay out for the entire world the worst moments of our lives. I just couldn’t bring myself to put it all out there. I am confident I have been called to share the story, but for now I must omit details and summarize the events of those six years as simply and with as much heart as possible. It is my desire that you will see this is ultimately a miraculous story of triumph over extreme pain and suffering.

It is difficult to know how to begin to tell the story that forever changed my life. The events that occurred with my sister over the course of six years impacted my family in ways I never, ever want to experience again. To retell the story means to open my heart, make myself vulnerable, bring to the surface feelings of desperation and helplessness, to put myself, my family, and my sister at risk for criticism and judgment. However, it is impossible to deny that God performed miracles in my sister’s life, so I feel compelled to tell everyone the story no matter how much it hurts to recall the details, no matter how much I want to hide it away and never talk or think about it ever again. I share the raw and real details of these worst of life’s trials in an effort to help you realize that God is still in the business of performing miracles, and that joy and healing are available to everyone regardless of their particular set of circumstances.

Let me step back and tell you a little about my sister before the chaos and destruction began. Tiffany…daughter of public school teachers, my younger sister, sister to our “baby” brother, blonde, beautiful, part of the popular crowd in high school, participated in band and choir, worked at a renowned resort where she earned large tips waiting tables, graduated from high school with honors, given a large scholarship from Minnesota Broadcasting Association, graduated from college with a bachelor’s degree in communications, and held professional jobs the first two years after graduating from college.

And then it all came crashing down…the snares of addiction and mental illness were about to trap my sister.

Herein lies my sister’s six-year journey from June 2004 through July 2010 and just a taste of its impact on me and my family, told in as few words as possible…

Quit her job in Minnesota, moved to Los Angeles to attend fashion school, dropped out within weeks, family unaware. Spent thousands of loan money. Experienced a crash due to drug use, let homeless people in her apartment who trashed it and robbed her, claimed she was being chased by men and was going to be killed.

Entire family flew to Los Angeles in attempt to coerce her to come home. Venice Beach, homeless, theatrics, people claiming to be Jesus Christ and the “real” Christopher Robin, momentary show for tourists but real life for us. No thrill of Hollywood here. Walking ahead, running, chasing for one week. Let it Be. Heart-wrenching and ultimately unsuccessful attempt to coerce. Left her in Los Angeles in very poor condition.

Crashed again due to drug use, family convinced her to fly home to Minnesota, drugs coming out of eyes, hospitalized until stable.

Back in Los Angeles, crashed in drug-induced psychosis, driven back to Minnesota by mom.

Seven person, seven hour intervention in Minnesota, difficult to tell if psychosis due to mental illness or drugs, emergency room, hospitalized for two weeks. Chemical dependency rehab, diagnosis of bipoloar disorder, began medications.

Suicide attempt via overdose, hospitalized, outpatient chemical rehabilitation, stabilized with medications.

Another suicide attempt via overdose, hospitalized in intensive care for three days and nearly died, seven additional weeks in the hospital, back on medication, frontal lobe damage, schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. Prayer requests abundant.

Ward of the state, monitored by nurse and social worker for months.

No longer ward of the state, suicidal, emergency room, discharged and diagnosed as having “insomnia” and told “get some therapy for her drug use.”

Back to Los Angeles in apartment, an extra in TV shows and movies, healthy and productive for three months.

Living in commune, psychotic, not reachable. Did not recognize our dad.  Hospitalized four days, back on medications, psychotic again just as dad was trying to bring her home, Christmas presents in the rain. On drugs, kicked out of commune, homeless in Los Angeles. Missing for two days then shows up at commune intoxicated, fight, police. Hospitalized again for five days, discharged. Bill collectors calling. Family in turmoil trying to figure out how to get her home, calls to say she wants to come home, mom flies to Los Angeles, mom drives her home to Minnesota.

Car repossessed. Suicidal, hospitalized three days.

Dysfunctional, confrontational, argumentative, moved in with boyfriend.

Brother in accident & hospitalized for a week, going downhill fast, given medication, scenarios that felt like episodes of the “Twilight Zone.”

Moved back home, talking non-stop for two hours, hospitalized, diagnosis changed to schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type.

Tells sister she is pregnant, tells mom she is pregnant, tells dad and brother she is pregnant, family devastated, appointments, ultrasound, fights, not sharing due date.

Visit to emergency room, discharged because “not suicidal” and “not needing immediate medical attention.”

Considering adoption, arguments, searching,15 weeks into the pregnancy.

Arrested, on 72-hour hold, mom visits social services offices, court hearing Christmas Eve morning, ultrasound indicated she is having a girl, ordered to lock-down facility, packing for long stay, parents fighting, family in upheaval. All during Christmas and New Years, just as two years prior.

Ultrasound revealed mass in baby’s lung, mass pushing other organs out of place, appointments with specialists made, dad with stress and rare lung disease moved to another state.

No longer considering adoption, confusion, arguments.

Appointments with perinatal specialists, soul damaging conversations, messed up relationships, court ordered and transferred to different facility in metro closer to hospitals and perinatal specialists.

Yelling, arguing, disrespect. More appointments with perinatal specialists, cardiologists, baby diagnosed with biggest Congenital Cystic Adenomatoid Malformation (CCAM) they’ve ever seen, baby’s lungs might not have room to form enough so baby can survive, baby might not have enough lung to ventilate or keep baby alive. Tears. Devastation.

Heads swimming, more ultrasounds, appointments with surgeons and perinatal specialists.

Special pass granted for pregnancy photo shoot arranged by me, one normal joy of pregnancy. Living with no regrets.

Agitated, leaving facility without permission, on lock-down.

Appointment with surgical director, team of doctors, review of baby’s case on weekly basis, surgical options reviewed, mass has remained stable in size.

Accusations, tears, insecurities, distrust.

Baby registry, preparing for the unknown, rejection.

Fighting, phone calls, tears, anger, perceived failure, dysfunction, longing for normalcy.

Ultrasound, stress test, perinantal specialist appointment, social worker, mass in baby’s lungs still stable.

Another appointment. yelling, more feelings of “Twilight Zone,” unhappiness.

Released from facility to visit my house. Chatter, disturbances, opening and closing of doors, intense words peaking, disrespect, accusations, back to the facility we go.

Phone call, has not slept for two nights, in poor condition, brought to emergency room, admitted to hospital, praying for peace and God’s will. Tears, exhaustion, frustration, regret, longings. Fear of failing. Asked us to consider adopting baby. Doing better. Discharged. No longer considering adoption.

More appointments. Preparing for birth in hospital where there is better equipment for delivery and baby with special medical needs. Discussion of c-sections, MRIs, heart-lung bypass machines. Told “there is nothing sure with this baby.”

Confusion. Compromise. Pastoral promises of a better future in eternity with God, suffering will seem like a blip in time compared with glory of eternity we will spend with Him.

More doctor appointments, mass same size, heart moving to left where it belongs.

Heated discussions. Accusations.

Baby shower in the facility. Expectations adjusted, this is real life at this moment. Kind women. Humbled.

Five appointments at the hospital. Feelings of neglect, mean words, more dysfunction. Laughing at inappropriate times, paranoid. All preparing for worst-case scenarios.

More doctor appointments. Baby’s mass appears to be reducing in size.

Mental health declining, inappropriate comments, laughing, humming, singing, talking, manipulating objects inappropriately. Deteriorating, wondering.

Praying and reciting Philippians…“Do not be anxious about anything…” Overwhelmed. Needing resolution.

Claiming the baby’s mass has disappeared. I heard reduction, not disappearance.

Staff in facility no longer able to provide care needed. Asked me to bring her to the hospital, emergency room. Agitated, crying, trying but unable to reason. Passage from Matthew about healing. Admitted to hospital. Agitated, asked me to leave.

Told she will be in hospital until baby’s birth. Transferred from one unit to another.

Frustrations, hurts, boundaries set.

Arguing disappearance of mass vs. reduction in size of mass. Persistence from both sides. Me feeling crazy, knowing I did not hear wrong. Lack of trust. Setting boundaries.

Preparing for baby, yet still a possibility the baby might not live.

Perspective, boundaries. Fatigue. Fights. Fear. Accusations, misunderstanding. Not feeling heard or understood by anyone; one, Kelly.

Still in hospital, baby overdue. Family fights, feelings of inadequacy.

Prayers. Lots of prayers.

Induction. Unexpectedly, me as birth partner. Mom on the side longing to be closer. Demands, panic, escalation. Two doctors, mental health assistant, three nurses, staff waiting for baby. Forcepts, vacuum. Raegan was born!

 

Three nurses to baby’s table, baby to special cares nursery with me, mom stayed as post delivery companion, blood analysis, x-ray, monitors, neonatologist. x-ray showed there was a good sized cloudy white mass on lung.

Another x-ray and CT scan for baby. Surgery for mass removal scheduled three days after birth.

Disrespect. Guards up. Boundaries need to be set. Nurses strike adds to dysregulation.

Private baptism. New mom discharged. Radiologist and surgeons met, baby’s mass bigger and more complicated than originally thought. Going to remove entire upper left lung lobe.

Baby transferred to NICU. Insecurities. Pre-op, baby in isolette. Surgery, upper left lung removed successfully!

Protection vs. paranoia.

Two living at hospital for days, one getting a needed break. Baby on oxygen and ventilator. Unfounded beliefs. Accusations of selfishness. Confusion.

Baby fully recovered. Baby discharged. Drove home, baby and new mom living with our mom. Dad still living out of state. Regrets. Anger. Marital discord. Deadlines created. Exhaustion.

Propping up and enabling vs. supporting. More discord. Crying.

Weekly home visits for baby by nurse. Very little sleep. Pacing. Confusion and clarification of identities and roles. Control. Psychiatrist appointment, new medication.

Visit to the house. “Take her.” Wild goose chase to AA meeting. Break time. Mom overworked and stressed, very alone, crying, red face. Drove away, helpless.

Baby shower discussions. Guilt, principle, confusion, longings vs. reality, too much to process. Grateful for others stepping in.

Accused as paparazzi. Argumentative, isolated from baby. Losing energy. Artificial deadline looming.

Break needed, unexpected request to come and take baby for a week or two. Urgency, prayers, phone calls to in-laws, phone calls to mom to verify need. Plan for next day. Baby sleeping peacefully. New mom with mom. Phone call, “major problems here.” In and out, lethargic sounding, pottery broken, crisis in the background. Offer to come now for baby. Baby still sleeping peacefully. Calm after the storm. More phone calls. Verify plan for next day. Husband makes trip for baby. Baby at our house for one week. Contact nurse to communicate temporary transfer of care at new mom’s request. Many calls from new mom to check on baby.

Series of last minute unfortunate events leads new mom missing baby shower. The show must go on. Drive baby to shower. I’m not mom. Old friends. Gratitude. Grace. Forever a memory.

Blankets and onesies prepared for arrival back home. Missing baby. Baby transfer. Met half way. Wandering, wondering. Baby back home in mom’s arms.

Ongoing discord. “God, I lift this to you.”

Visit. Things are good. Haven’t seen her like that for six years…

You might be asking, so that’s it? That’s the end of the story? Yes and no. That is the end of my sister’s six-year saga of trauma that forever changed the lives of every individual in our family.

I choose to view this story as one in which humans were brought to their very end, not once, but on multiple occasions. As humans, we had done all we could do, tried as hard as we could try, worked as hard as we could work, tapped all the resources we could tap. It was during the moments that we were at our very end, that the only hope, the only option that was left, was to pray and leave it in God’s hands. God saved my sister’s life and brought her restoration, not once, but on multiple occasions. This is truly a miracle. Not only did God save my sister’s life, but he also saved the life of my little niece Raegan. Humans, very educated ones, told us repeatedly over the course of months that little Raegan may not survive. Humans were preparing for the worst (possible death), while God knew all along that Raegan was going to be here on earth to live a great, divinely inspired life of her own, but also to bring my sister real hope, love, a reason to live, and promise for a better future for our family.

This month marks two years of my sister’s health! Tiffany has been virtually drug and alcohol free for two years, and with the help of a good psychiatrist, has found a medication that is working very well to control her schizoaffective disorder, bipolar type. Tiffany and Raegan live in Minnesota in the same city as my dad and mom who provide her and Raegan with a strong support system and love. Tiffany and Raegan have their own apartment, and they spend a chunk of every day at my parents’ home. Life is certainly not perfect, although is it for any of us? Raegan has a clean bill of health and just celebrated her second birthday. Raegan’s dad, paternal grandfather, uncle, aunt, cousins & great aunt love Raegan and are a part of her life as well. My parents (married 39 years this summer), although torn apart and very close to the end of the road through this ordeal, are now back together in Minnesota and have been navigating a path back to marital health. I am so proud that they managed to walk through this trauma, and wish them a lifelong marriage that they so deserve. I have been blessed with the sister I missed those six years, a beautiful niece who has brought joy to our lives, and the freedom to do what I needed to do to enhance my own well being, including pregnancy and birth of our third child and following my dreams to write.

I want to take a moment to acknowledge that I believe with all of my heart that my sister is living for a reason. I believe she is meant to do something awesome with her life. Maybe it is as simple as being an example of a miracle for those who doubted, maybe it is as simple as being a great mom to Raegan. Perhaps she can use her passions to start a tie-dye business, or maybe God wants her to volunteer at Teen Challenge and become a mentor. Could it be possible that God wants her to tell her story to youth and families, to share hope with people who struggle with mental illness and addiction? Maybe God wants her to go back to the streets of Venice Beach and reach out to those in need. I do not know what it is, but God knows.

Finally, although Tiffany is not currently dating anyone, I want to say to any of her future suitors…do not be overly afraid of my sister’s story. Yes, it might be scary to hear what has transpired in her past, but you have the opportunity to date a real, live miracle. God thinks Tiffany is special. God thinks she is worthy. God thinks her life is precious. And I hope you think she is precious too. I hope you love her and care for her from the depths of your heart, that you see Tiffany for who she is and not what she has experienced, or what labels she has been given by humans. God has labeled her as special, precious child. Love her, care for her, cherish her, empower her to grow and use her life, lift her up, treat her with respect and dignity, and do not be afraid. You have the opportunity to fall in love with one of God’s miracles.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

Amy

I can honestly say that I am feeling good about myself right now. I love my family and have so many wonderful friends. We are now working on my anxiety and independence. I’m working on making a life not out of worry. Working on staying positive. I learn more about myself every day. I always jeopardize good feelings by thinking of something negative. Why do I do that? Seeing myself as beautiful. I’m beautiful and I have reasons to live. I need to tell myself that more often. Life can be good. I have reasons to live. I am loved. My heart is big, and I’m a friendly person. I am more than just a face. That is what this message is all about, and it feels good.

I told my psychiatrist how I wish that my mental illness would just go away. It’s the constant conversations that stop in only at times. I can’t fall back, ever! I have to stick with a routine and be the person people know I can be. It’s tough at times, but I must stay strong. DO NOT FALL! For years, I was trying so hard to prove that I was successful. I did not want to give up on my lifestyle. I had to give up that past lifestyle to begin to be the true person that I was meant to be. I am happy now without the drugs and numerous relationships. My new life has been a time of self discovery. I know that the right opportunities will come around if I stay strong and true to myself.

The reasons to live are so powerful and real. So good! Life is wonderful. There are so many beautiful people in this world. We should enjoy what we have. I feel that the only true feelings come when there is a love for what you’re doing. That love may come and go, but you have to cherish it while it’s there. To never give up on what’s there. We have to enjoy each moment. I used to just live. Now I am living for a purpose.

Tiffany

UPDATES AND ADDITIONAL POSTS ABOUT MY SISTER ON THIS BLOG:

Because We’re All Homeless Without a Savior {With Slideshow}

When He Wakes You and Says Write. Write!

How To Love Like Jesus Every Day After Christmas

When You’re a Single Mom Who’s Living With Mental Illness