Honestly, it seems like it’s not even possible for the Christmas season to be upon us. Thanksgiving didn’t shake out the way that I had hoped. Our friends from Brooklyn came to visit. After a hike in Forest Park, I came down with a weird bug and was laid out in my bed for 24 hours. Thankfully Natasha made a feast, and Tyler made sure the day went on without a hitch. I night capped with my first tablespoon of mashed potatoes in bed, and by the next day, I felt a bit better. I could stomach a smoothie and even went to a winery while Tyler went to Mt. Hood with the boys to sled and cut down our first Oregon Christmas tree.
That night I dropped our friends at the airport and felt deeply disappointed. Every part of me wanted to jump on the redeye with them back to New York City. Maybe it was the holiday that stirred up the feeling, not sure.

I miss the buzz of the city; I miss feeling known, the chocolate croissants, and, believe it or not, the smell, which I would describe as a mixture of halaal and trash:) I think after a few months, I feel exhausted. This pregnancy has been a nightmare. I have not been able to turn my neck for almost three months, and the new weight of being excited about a new baby but having no clue what those early days will look like have sent me into a bit of an emotional tailspin. I’d prefer to retreat rather than trudge forward. I want to go home or back to my old home. I don’t want to learn. I don’t want to grow.

When discerning if Portland should be on the table, I went through Gemma’s discernment document. I wrote down: When I am 80, I want to be rich in wisdom, prophetically discerning, have lived a part of my life in nature on the West Coast, discipled by older women, and most of all, I want to be in a position where I NEED God.

Portland is where God has called our family for this time; no doubt about it. (I could write a novel about how WONDERFUL people have been to us)!!!

My intention is not to complain or even lament. God is answering my prayers. This season hasn’t been particularly FUN, but it does feel like the pains of growing.

Psalm 20

It is Saturday morning, the first time I catch my breath from a week jam-packed with activity. Tuesday, we hosted our first community group, Wednesday we attended a deliverance workshop at our church, Thursday a worship event, and Friday, my first client in the PNW had her baby via c-section. We bookended the week with a beautiful dinner hosted by Pam for the elders and board of Bridgetown. Simon was out of school all week due to a classmate with covid, so the two of us had full days with lots of visitors, playdates, and reading curious George 150X each day. I am thankful to be busy. I am grateful to spend my days getting to know people and hearing their stories.

I feel 97% at peace with Amos’ diagnosis, and I would say 3% full of anxiety, fear, and doubt. 3%, I’d say, is pretty good. Praise God. That percentage lies in the area of genetic unknowns. On Tuesday, Hank was at soccer practice, and Simon was surprisingly playing on his own with a lego motorcycle when I found myself idle. I whipped my phone out and started to analyze the lab reports, images, and notes from our cardiologist. I texted Peter, called the office to ask a few questions, and even read some medical abstracts on TGA’s association with genetic abnormalities. Should we have done more genetic testing??? All moms become experts on their children. However, my eagerness to learn is based on fear, not trust. 

Our family is committed to praying in the morning and the evening for Amos. We are memorizing Psalm 20, and we declare he belongs to Jesus. I hope that eventually, the words of David will pop to the forefront of my mind before the words of Google. One day at a time. 

May the Lord answer you when you are in distress;

    may the name of the God of Jacob protect you.

May he send you help from the sanctuary

    and grant you support from Zion.

 May he remember all your sacrifices

    and accept your burnt offerings.

May he give you the desire of your heart

    and make all your plans succeed.

 May we shout for joy over your victory

    and lift up our banners in the name of our God.

May the Lord grant all your requests.

Now this I know:

    The Lord gives victory to his anointed.

He answers him from his heavenly sanctuary

    with the victorious power of his right hand.

 Some trust in chariots and some in horses,

    but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.

They are brought to their knees and fall,

    but we rise up and stand firm.

 Lord, give victory to the king!

    Answer us when we call!

While in eighth grade, I went to a hippie gatherning. I drove with my friend’s family to Ocala National Forest. I stayed in an RV for a week. I went to the bathroom in a hole outside, and spent the wet February nights around a fire with dirty strangers who lived in the forest full time. This lifestyle was more intriging to me than my dull Thursday mornings learning about economics. One morning my friend and I were bunked up in the RV, and a laboring woman came thrashing through the front door. Groaning and moaning, she was in labor. These sounds were unfamiliar to me. Until this point in my life, when I had thought about labor, I had assumed it was the way it was in the movies. I mean, how could I not? We are taught about menstruation in a very vague manner in middle school, but when it comes to reproduction or even the basic anatomy of a woman, the education is lacking, to say the least.

Your loving partner drives you to the hospital; you get hooked up to wires, you breathe a few hee ha hee haas, and out pops the baby. There is no blood, weird fluids, and heaven forbid you would throw up multiple times. When I was little, I remember asking my mom how I came into the world, and she said, you get a giant needle in your spine to help numb the pain, and that was it! (In her defense, I am sure she didn’t want to tell her six-year-old daughter the real gore and mystery of birth, and for that, I don’t blame her one bit: Back to the RV. The animal sounds coming from this woman continued and continued annnnnd continued. She labored, waiting for the midwife for what seemed like an entire month. I do not believe I let my eyes wander for even a second the whole time. I was hooked, fascinated, enthralled. I even got to sterilize a pair of scissors! I watched and saw this woman bring a life into the world. How could this be how this is done, I thought to myself? She never seemed afraid, not even for a second. I will NEVER forget it. Fast forward to adulthood; I am a birth doula. I have not seen any other babies born in forests. However, I have birthed two babies of my own and witnessed the miracle of many others being ushered into the world. Maybe if I were an L+D nurse and saw 20+ babies born in a day, the adrenaline would diminish, but I have yet to have that experience. When I had both my boys, I was the one harnassing those sounds, and when each was delivered, the euphoria that I experienced was a complete out of body one. (Small caveat—I have no issues with modern medicine and would happily have accepted at many different points throughout each labor, however for ME, I wanted nothing to rob me from experiencing something so surreal). However, I remember looking out the window seeing a flag waving on the Brooklyn bridge, and thinking, man, this is unfortunate. I am going to DIE on this bed before Hank makes his grand entrance. In my defense, his head was entirely sideways, and pushing him out took a total of 3.5 hours. Ouch!

When we received Amo’s TGA diagnosis, we later talked briefly about how he would come into this world. Among the mountain of grief, I felt knowing he would not be a normal baby; I felt a punch in the gut knowing I would be robbed of one of the biggest joys of my life–the process of labor and birth. I went from a soothing homebirth next to a fireplace to induction of medications or worse, a c-section with a panel of doctors waiting for the birth to take him away from me. The chances of me locking eyes with his are slim, and forget “the golden hour” meant for bonding with your baby skin to skin. Of course, his safety trumps everything, but it doesn’t take away the pain I will feel being separated from him so suddenly. My mind jumps from one scenario to the next. Will I ever get to nurse him? Will I be a slave to my breast pump? Will his cognitive development be impaired due to the lack of physical touch? Will he have a depleted immune system from the start due to the numerous medications and antibiotics that will be injected into his tiny veins?

When you deliver a baby, you are learning the act of surrender. When the baby comes on its own, you know to mentally and physically surrender to your body. It is a mind game. A baby headed straight to the NICU will need a spoonful of surrender as well.

I will have to ask God to help me surrender my desires and my needs on his behalf. This is a tough concept for me to think about and one I will def need God’s grace and strength to help guide me through.

I sat at the table with a group of girlfriends. I was a junior in high school, and my cricket phone buzzed on the table. Hello? The other person on the line was a stranger. Yes, are you kin to Van Beasley? (sidenote kin? What a weird way to ask that). He has been in an automobile accident, and he has lost his legs. Are you his mother? Would you please inform your family? I hung up. Dialed my parent’s home phone, told my dad the news and demanded he NOT tell my mom. After the concise conversation with my dad, I proceeded to sit at the table and spoke nearly a word of what all this commotion had been.
I ate the breadsticks on the table and even finished the meal. I was not OK, but I did not feel rattled or shaken. I felt almost nothing. The feeling of nothingness didn’t stem from my lack of love or affection for my older brother. If anything, he was who I looked up to most. Not only did I look up to him, but I also LOVED being with him. I anticipated going to school most days because I knew I had 30 minutes of locked-in time with just me and him. Any memory of my childhood that included him was a fond one. I remember the two of us getting a stomach virus. My mom made a pallet on the floor and hooked us up with sprite, crackers, and movies. Van turned, throwing up into a game. He beat me 6 to 4.
Van was OK.
The rest of his friends in the car were OK. The accident caused traumatic injuries, stress, guilt, and shame.

Fast forward. I am living in New York City and Tyler, and I have two boys. We were at a marriage conference when my phone rang. Thankfully this time, a sleek iPhone. It was my dad. His voice was shaky. Van is scheduled for his second open-heart surgery, and this time the doctor is saying there is a slim chance he will make it. I hung up. I had no tears. I felt nothing. I reengaged with the worksheet we were working on and even asked about something we had missed. We got home and booked flights out the following day. I am not a psychologist, writer, intellectual, etc., but I believe that the mind and body work simultaneously to provide coping mechanisms. I am so thankful for that. I also know that within me lies dysfunction. Dysfunction often forms when we are so tiny. It intertwines with our unique personalities, making it challenging to understand what is me and what is not. The little I know is that when grief lurks around the corner, I shut down or off. I suppress. I move on. I do my absolute best not to feel. The feeling makes things natural, and I would much rather live in an alternate universe with no pain or suffering. Wouldn’t we all ha?
The problem with avoiding grief is we miss out, and we miss out on the presence of God when he accompanies us in that dark place. When we suppress, we often do it alone, not allowing the presence of God to wrap His arms around us. The other issue with this avoidance tactic is when the grief or darkness is gone or even lifted momentarily, we miss out on the joy that comes with that. When I received the diagnosis for Amos, I was determined to avoid it, but within seconds I knew this time I simply could not. Amos is growing inside of me. I feel his kicks and jabs every 3 minutes and am reminded if I self isolate, I rob myself. I rob my community, Tyler, Amos, and my other sons of this promised presence from God. As a mother, my ultimate desire is to protect my children. I long to protect Amos from feeling any pricks or pain. For goodness sake, I cried my eyes out when my other two were circumcised. When Hank asks why I am crying, I want to protect him. I don’t want him to know of the pain in this world, especially when I don’t know how to explain it. The truth is. I can’t protect him. I don’t want to miss out on the presence of God and the joy that only he can bring. And you better believe if a miracle happens, I will be so mad for not letting others feast in that miracle with us.

At this point, Van has been miraculously healed/protected/saved, whatever you want to call it, from a horrific car accident, falling off a roof, and two consecutive life-threatening open-heart surgeries. I witnessed the pain he went through after those surgeries, and I saw the cords, the tubes, the bruises, and the scars. I immediately felt angry at God for allowing me to know/see that pain firsthand. Now I know what to picture when my 7-pound baby endures that same procedure.

I hope I don’t miss out on the grief because I know and am learning that God’s presence is so much better than any darkness that could ever be.

Ainsley texted me saying Gelayol (another amazing woman from church) was coming to pray if I wanted to join. I said yep; I would be there though I wanted to be anywhere but there. If anyone knows me crying on someone’s shoulder, being vulnerable, etc., is my worst nightmare. Sure enough, I was center stage, and the tears weren’t just flowing. They were spewing out of my eyes. I could barely catch my breath. I sat there as they prayed over me and felt like it was time to get involved in my own story. God was asking me to speak aloud some of the lies I had allowed Satan to tell. I knew they were lies, but I felt they had attached somewhere in my DNA, and I was ready to get them off me.
-God had spoken to Tyler and me about foster care, and I irresponsibly got pregnant. Not out of spite, but he was allowing this to happen because I disobeyed.
-God is MORE disciplinary than loving. He allows suffering because He wants us to grow.
-There is more corruption and dysfunction in the world than this tiny baby having a backward heart. How could He have the same compassion for me when my life is pretty kush.
LIES, LIES, LIES.
As I confessed each of these ugly words, they detangled themselves and left my body. I was reminded this baby is a gift to Tyler and me, but he does not belong to us, and we are called to be his parents regardless of what his interworkings might turn out to be. We have ONE option: to plead with God that we would get to glimpse the kingdom of God on this side of heaven. I felt different going into this scan. I guess you could say I felt at peace—what a gift.
We entered the same doors as the day before: same gloom, but a bit of new hope. We met Dr. Chan, our babe’s cardiologist. Dr. Chan’s voice is tender and calming. He thoroughly looked at the heart and gave us some good (if you can call it good) news. His delivery was quite different. TGA is complex but fixable. Most babies do well since they never get a chance to live with a normal heart. He explained the intricacies of the surgery. They take the walnut-sized heart out of their little bodies and perform an Arterial switch operation. Chances of stillbirth are low, survival of surgery is high. Kids with TGA go on most of the time to live a semi-normal life. Genetic issues are still possible, and complications from the surgery causing more surgeries in young childhood are a risk. Still, if I allow my mind to rabbit trail into all of the what if’s, I will be back throwing up in my toilet, and honestly, I don’t have time for that.
The cherry on top of the day is that I just so happened to interact with two other moms (one through insta and one through a friend) who also had Dr. Chan and the same surgeon we will most likely have.
The familiar feeling came back —the sense of breathing for a second, and I guess you could call that feeling peace.

• 

• 

This is long buckle-up.

Tyler came home from London HALLELUJAH LORD ALMIGHTY! I was anticipating him being at home so he could help me wrangle, but most of all so I could feel less isolated in this weird in-between of unknown. I dropped Si off with a friend, picked up T from work, and we drove the wet, cold, dark, depressing drive to the doctor. The technician did a comprehensive scan of his heart. After she was done, we were asked to go to another room to chat with the doc. My heart sank. This. Was bad. We looked at one another; we knew it. We sat in the room, and the doctor proceeded to tell us that our baby had transposition of the great arteries-TGA. TGA is one of the rarest and most fatal congenital heart defects. There is no cure; the chance of stillbirth is high–if you make it full term, open-heart surgery will be done the first week of life. This surgery is a milestone if he does make it. There is a higher chance of other genetic disorders, a higher chance of abnormalities, and lastly, not sure if this will be one of many surgeries, etc. etc. etc. blah. blah. blah. She reminded us we had two weeks to terminate and I completely tuned everything out from there. I became more concerned I would throw up on the table than listen to anything else this woman had to say. I wanted to punch this innocent doctor in the only spot visible on her face, right in the place between her protective goggles and covid mask. We made an appointment for the next day with the cardiologist and the elevator shut. I began to wale. The waling did not stop.

We got home. I curled into bed, only getting up to vomit here and there. We put the boys to bed, and Tyler and I looked at each other, still in shock. He said, ok, let’s figure out how we are going to move forward with this. What do we think? What do we believe? I said, well–it’s our responsibility to believe in a miracle. If we have based our lives on the belief that our God cares, sees, and heals, then this was our test if we believed it or not. I wasn’t sure.

Tyler had been in London for the week. He brought a new team from Bridgetown to visit our sister-ish church to KXC. His week was busy. He preached multiple times, had tons of meetings, and was installed as the US director for 24/7 prayer. No big deal. HA. The Monday before the team left, we sat in our living room full of expectation, knowing that these folks were most likely going to have a fantastic trip with incredible stories of crazy encounters with the Holy Spirit. The anticipation was palpable.

My mom (Mia) had flown to Portland, our new home, for the first time to help me take care of the boys/keep me sane while he was away. I dropped her off at the airport on Monday morning; both of us were a little more sleepy than average, not from the boys, but more because we stayed up way too late every night binge-watching Maid. (So GOOD). We said our goodbyes, and I returned home. Simon and I were playing with magnet tiles by the fire when Karen, my midwife, called. She asked if I had made an appointment for a heart echo. I had NO clue what she was talking about. Last I heard/saw, I had a 20-week anatomy scan just the week before where I was told my boy was perfect. Perfect baby, ten fingers, ten toes, a wiggly body, and a perfect little face– There was no mention of any issues with his heart. I didn’t panic as that’s usually never my MO and said, “sure, ok, totally, got it, I’ll call and make an appointment.

I set up some play-doh for the boys to play with, finished cleaning, and then sat for the first time. The worry set in. I obtained a copy of the actual scan (MISTAKE) because questions began to fill my mind. I bet it’s just a hole in his heart. Hm oh wait, probably a murmur or an arrhythmia, oh wait, what if it is what Van was born with and his heart needs severe operating on when he’s an adult? I looked at the scan and read a bunch of medical terms, and then instead of turning to God went straight to good ole Dr. Google. Perfect. Mistake number #2. LVOTO is all that showed as abnormal on the scan.

I couldn’t believe what I started to read once I typed those five daunting letters into my search queue. I shut my phone off, determined not to look one more thing up. I went to pick Hank up from school and tried my hardest to shove this weird news down deep into my stomach. Later, I texted Peter and Stephanie. Peter is a doctor and an elder at Bridgetown. I knew he’d tell me what was up, but most of all, I knew this couple would PRAY. They did just that. I knew as soon as I sounded the alarm they would be on their knees contending on behalf of my unborn son. 

I woke up the following day. I opened my eyes and immediately was devastated that I hadn’t had a nightmare. Hank and Si came running into my bed. This usually is very unwelcomed, but this morning I was just fine with the distraction. Hank grabbed my face. “Why in the world are you crying, mom?” Every part of me wanted to toss the news back into the bottomless pit, but I knew my son would not find that satisfactory. I said, look, Hank, your brother’s heart is sick, and it makes me angry and sad and confused, and that is why the tears. Hank, in Hank’s fashion, grabbed my face put his hand on my stomach, and said, “Mom, don’t worry, everything is going to be just fine. His heart is beating just a little too fast-he is going to be just fine”. (He is his father’s son). We will pray. You told me God could fix anything”.

I guess God knew at that moment that those words were more powerful coming from my 5-year-old than Mother Teresa herself.

.

The boys were racing around in their costumes from the moment they woke up. They had been anticipating this day for a while. Pumpkins, “spooky” activities, being with new friends, and most of all candy DUH. It was our first Halloween in Portland, and I must say it did not disappoint. We indeed ended the night too late for all our good and with stomachs coated with sugar. I will remember this day as the last before finding out our perfectly forming baby’s TGA diagnosis.