Amazing Grace

Yes.  I know it has been over a week since I last posted.  But we've been busy with a newborn here at the Phillips house.  And yes, I know you really want to see pictures.  And we have lots of those.  However, I wanted to take a beat and reflect on this wackadoo roller coaster God used to bring Grace to us.  And it seems that Grace chose her own name, for her story is so richly amazing that there is no other explanation except to shrug our shoulders and say, "Umm, yeah.  I know it makes no sense.  It's a God thing." 
Were she to have been a boy, I suppose we would've had to name her Ebenezer.  (Praise God she's a girl.)  I say this because scripture tells us that the prophet Samuel took a stone and named it Ebenezer as a monument to God's faithfulness and help.  As a sign of restoration, literally meaning "the stone of help."  Were her story to be set to song, it would have to be a Methodist hymn.  Of course Amazing Grace would be appropriate.  But what is even more our story is another one of my favorite hymns--Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing.

Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing

By: Robert Robinson, 1735-90

 

Come, Thou fount of every blessing,

Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;

Streams of mercy, never ceasing,

Call for songs of loudest praise.

While the hope of endless glory

Fills my heart with joy and love,

Teach me ever to adore Thee;

May I still Thy goodness prove.

Here I raise my Ebenezer,

Hither by Thy help I’ve come;

And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,

Safely to arrive at home.

Jesus sought me when a stranger,

Wandering from the fold of God;

He, to rescue me from danger,

Interposed His precious blood.

Oh, to grace how great a debtor

Daily I’m constrained to be;

Let that grace now like a fetter

Bind my wandering heart to Thee:

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it;

Prone to leave the God I love.

Here’s my heart, oh, take and seal it,

Seal it for Thy courts above.

Oh, that day when freed from sinning,

I shall see Thy lovely face;

Clothed then in the blood washed linen

How I’ll sing Thy wondrous grace!

Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,

Take my ransomed soul away;

Send Thine angels soon to carry

Me to realms of endless day.

And though you may be tiring of hearing me write of God's grace and want to get down to reading about my little Grace, God has given me a daughter to be the fetter of His mercy to my wandering heart.  His grace and my Grace are intertwined and I cannot think of one without the other.

Two Fridays ago, around 4:30 in the afternoon, the phone rang.  I saw that it was the adoption agency on the caller ID and assumed it was simply to confirm our signing of papers and placement of dear little Emma Sloan.  The painters had just finished painting the nursery.  I'd registered at Babies R Us.  A sip and see invitation was ready and prepped to be sent out for Monday.  But our case worker called to say that Emma's mom had come back into the agency, along with her Aunt, and wanted to reinstate her parental rights. 

Sloan was watching TV in the family room as I was in the kitchen taking the call.  As our case worker spoke, I fell to the floor--my legs literally gave way.  My chest began heaving and I was having difficulty listening.  Between sobs I mouthed to a now obviously concerned Sloan, WE LOST EMMA.  I suppose we knew this could happen, but had had a great meeting with the birthmom and knew that the birthmom had told most of her family (who was against adoption) that the child had not survived the delivery.  We were uncomfortable with her having to live with this lie, and yet also saw it as a security blanket.  Yet every adult knows blankets are just blankets.  They can provide warmth, but that's the extent of their powers.

But then the case worker continued to talk.  She said something about another opportunity for placement.  That another birthmother had liked our profile, but they hadn't approached us about it because they thought we'd be receiving Emma.  Now with the phone on speaker, Sloan told our case worker to tell us about the child.  It was a little girl.  Born at UVA on October 22nd.  But there were some hurdles this little girl would have to overcome because of the birthmother's drug addiction and poor prenatal care.  She was in the NICU and doing well.  She was on target to be discharged from the hospital on Monday.  Originally, the birthmother had chosen another family.  But this family, because of the medical needs this girl would have and the birthmother's history, declined the placement.  This little girl had nowhere to go.  Would we consider the placement? 

Our case worker told us we didn't have to make an immiediate decision.  That we could think about it because she knew we were overwhelmed with grief and that she did not want to seem like she was pressuring us, as she was certain they could find a family willing to take her, but we were a family that the birthmother liked.  She liked that her daughter would have an older brother.  My gut reaction was no.  In fact, I walked out of the room and told Sloan, "I don't want to deal with this right now.  I want Emma."  And then I proceeded to bubble snot cry on our couch.  Sloan told our case worker that we'd call her at the beginning of next week with our decision but not to rule us out.

We sat on the couch, holding each other, crying for awhile.  Sloan looked at me and said, "Let's do this.  Let's be the ones to fight for this little girl."  Wishing it could just be easy, I said, "I'm afraid.  I don't want to risk the family we have.  Can't just one thing be easy for us?  Just one thing?"  Then Sloan sat up and was resolute.    He said, "For whatever reason, Emma was not our daughter.  I believe this girl is.  I'm afraid too, but we cannot allow our sin to get in the way of what God is doing. Let's do this.  Let's love this girl." 

His entire demeanor was something I'd never seen before. It was as if I were meeting him for the first time.  And similar to when we first met, in an instant my heart changed.  I had fallen in love all over again, and this time with both my husband and my daughter.

I wavered some the next day.  I began to think that maybe we were acting out of desperation.  I kept telling myself that maybe some other family would step forward.  In fact, the prayer I posted about felling Goliath and my unbelief was not in response to grief over Emma--but fear over Grace.  I oscillated between joy over her life and fear of giving up my smooth life I have now.  (Have I read this blog?  Smooth life?)  A friend of mine emailed me and told me to read an old blog post of mine where I clung to God as my only source of comfort, rather than the health of my family.  I awoke on Sunday painfully aware that this little girl was my daughter.  That Jesus loved her and He was asking me to as well.  That this was a good work He'd prepared in advance for me.  That I couldn't weasel out of knowing God was pretty serious when he said we were supposed to look after widows and orphans and that if Christians didn't step up and do this, who the heck would?  Once again God brought me to a place where I knew the right thing to do and yet was afraid to do it. Afraid to trust Him so completely. Gracefully, this resolve evolved into genuine joy.  We didn't tell anyone but our parents about this opportunity, but we knew that little Margaret Grace was ours.  Beyond a doubt.  And yet, what Mommy turns her child away in fear? 

On Monday, we woke up early to get to Charlottesville to meet her and her doctors and find out what else we could.  We had an appointment back in Richmond at 5 to sign all of the paperwork, as the birthmother's rights were to be terminated that evening.  We dropped off Henry at my sister's house on the way, where he spent the night, ate lots of doughnuts, chased chickens and turkeys, slept in a bunk bed, played with legos, and literally thought he was at a party. 

At UVA, we met all of her doctors.  We had been expecting a child who was easily aggitated and unconsolable (how Sunday's nurse had described her).  She was chirping a bit when we got there, but within seconds of being in my arms, she calmed down.  She fell asleep while taking a bottle.  As I kissed her sweet little head, I whispered, "It's okay, my baby girl.  Mommy is here.  You are home."  The doctor told us he was impressed with her development and was hopeful for her prognosis.  That the horror stories we hear about on TV are untrue and that more studies find that when children born addicted to drugs are completely removed from that environment, they develop normally without ANY lasting effects.  That when she had completely been weaned from the Methadone, she would have no more symptoms.  Her main physician had wanted to send her home last week, but knew she had nowhere to go and didn't want to send her to the state.  She had had nowhere to go.  She was a baby in need of a Mommy:  I was a Mommy in need of a baby. 

And as if you aren't already astounded as to my little miracle, Margaret Grace, it gets even creepier.  Creeptastic, I tell you.  Her main physician, the doctor who delivered her and was responsible for keeping her in the NICU until Bethany could find a family for her--is a sorority sister of mine.  I got home on Monday night after signing all the papers and posted pics to facebook.  I get this email saying, "Hey, EJ, you may not remember me.  But I delivered your daughter.  I've got a new last name now.  Page me at the hospital tomorrow." 

Seriously, God?  Seriously?  I get it.  You are soveriegn.  You made Grace our daughter a long time ago.  But for her to be delivered by my sorority sister just seems a little flashy.  Uncle.

So we met with Brooke and she told us the story of Grace's delivery and we both agree that despite being born at UVA, Grace is officially a Carolina girl by default. 

And in typical Carolina girl style, my daughter is freakin' beautiful.  Her fingers are long and smooth, reminiscent of the fact that her birthmother, in a former life, was a concert level pianist.  She has a precious smile and apparently has lots of funny dreams.  Her skin is smooth and oddly enough, the same color Henry was when he was born (of course, he was jaundiced for awhile).  She is a good eater--taking  between 3 and 4 ounces roughly every four hours.  She only wakes up twice in the night--around 11:30 and then again at 3am.  We have to wake up at 3am anyhow to give her meds so it all works out.  She then wakes up again around 7:30.  So she is a Phillips--loving to eat, sleep, and look pretty.

Henry adores her.  He'll point to the Purell and say, "Wash hands" so he can be near her.  He likes to help me burp her and rub her hair.  He has even kissed her feet.  He even played the drums for her, but was shocked to find out that she wasn't a fan.  He loves that since her arrival  the "30 minutes of TV a day" rule has been rescinded, and that if Grace is crying and he asks for Halloween candy, he pretty much will always get it.  He loves our new Phil and Ted's double stroller.  He loves that people from our church keep bringing over meals and that they all make us brownies.  He loves the new Lightning McQueen car that Grace brought him.  He'll even give her "Rain Man" hugs where he touches her forehead with his and then say "Kiss Kiss Kiss, Baby Gwace." 

Kiss Kiss Kiss, my sweet children.  By the way, I just love saying "the kids".  I say it a lot.  Kind of how I gestured a lot with my left hand right after Sloan proposed. 

You need to be sitting down

So, as we're grieving the loss of the little girl who was to be Emma but turned out to not be our daughter, God was being sneaky.  No means to be disrepectful, but the story I'm about to tell is a little creepy.  I think the churchy way to talk about this is to say God is mysterious.  But people, hold onto your hats, because God has gotten all kinds of crazy good.

SOOOOOO....we were picked again!  And this time, I can tell you now, that the biological Mom's rights are over with.  Her rights were teminated today at 5pm.  We have signed paperwork.  We are, indeed, this child's legal guardians and in about 6 months or so we are going to petition the Commonwealth of Virginia for her new birth certificate.

As a friend said, this is faster than Brad and Angelina.  Our case worker has never in her life seen something like this--that this is not normal and is kind of ridiculously gracious, even for God.  To have the mom's rights end on the same day and all.  Most people's response has been simply to say "OH MY GOSH!" a bunch of times.  Or my dear bestie Robin's response was perfect--"Oh EJ, you're life is such a movie!"  (Her saying this only confirms why we are friends.)

I'll tell more of the whole story, but to be short--MARGARET GRACE was born on October 22nd.  There have been some medical complications due to the birthmom's poor prenatal care and the like, and she has been in the NICU at UVA in Charlottesville since birth.  She is thriving!  In fact, the doctor's said they would've discharged her last week, but as of last week, she had nowhere to go.  She was 5 lbs, 13 oz and 18 inches long. 

We did not name her Emma Sloan, because well, we cannot grieve an Emma if we are raising an Emma.  But this little girl is pure GRACE to us.  And I'd go on and on about how much we love her and how we are stoked to be bringing her home from the hospital tomorrow, but let's face it.  You just want to see cute baby pictures.

First things first--Halloween

Help My Unbelief

Dear Lord,

I thought I'd already fought Goliath.  Remind me that it was You who felled my giants and You are eager to do it again.  And again.

Apparently, You are not done forming Your image in me.  Give me the strength to be rescued by You.  Help me to stop splashing about in my own strength.  Give me the faith the drown in You.  Thank you that it matters not if I can hold onto You.  YOU WILL NOT LET ME GO.

Help me to not believe the lie that I am alone in this.  Grant me the faith to trust You as I step out in faith once again. 

You say You are the lifter of my head.  Lift it. 

I want to see Your face.

Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come.  'Tis grace that's brought me safe thus far and grace will lead me home.

Inclined to hear my cry

This post was supposed to be about how I took Henry to meet his baby sister yesterday.  And tell you how he was more interested in playing with the toys at the foster parent's house than meeting his baby sister.  And how sweet it was to feed my daughter a bottle.  And give her kisses and smell that sweet baby smell as she slept on my chest for 2 hours.  And maybe even post a picture or two.

Instead, it is to say that Emma's birth mom has decided to parent.  We have lost our daughter.  I am certain I will have more to say about this later.  But for now, I can simply say that I'm not really sure what to feel.  Empty?  Angry?  Confused? 

But my feelings are not a barometer for truth.  What was true yesterday is still true today:  God is for the Phillips family.  God has a plan that is glorious for our family.  And God is near to the brokenhearted.

Better than waking up with Barry Manilow

We have a little song we sing for Henry and you can sing it too.  Channel your inner Barry Manilow (you know you have one) and sing "Oh Henry, yes you came and you gave without taking.  Oh, Henry."  (This is not to be confused with the praise song I butchered while feeding him.  "Open your mouth to put food in.  Open your mouth to get food.  I want to feeeeed you.  I want to feeeed you."  )

Most of the time that I sing the Oh Henry song, it is in tongue in cheek, because really, how many children do you know that come and give without taking?  But folks, because of my dear boy and his giving heart, the weather report in Elizabethtown is sunny and breezy, with relative few gusts.  (I think the fact that I was able to sleep with the help of some chemistry last night may also be to blame.)

I was sleeping soundly when around 5 am I awoke to Henry having a nightmare in his pack and play at the foot of my bed.  Too tired to really comfort him, I dragged him up into bed with me and relished the snuggles and tiny feet that always seem to burrow between legs.  Around 7:30 this morning, I was gently awakened by the sensation of a little hand gently rubbing my back and Henry, screaming at me in his best whisper voice, "Mommy.  Wake up.  Mommy, wake up.  I wake.  Watch Show.  Watch show in bed." and then he preceeded to kiss my forehead.  I returned the kiss and said, "Mommy is asleep.  We're not watching a show.  We are going to cuddle until at least 8 am."  And so my boy kissed me again, scooched his little butt up to my belly, and as I wrapped my arms around him he said, "Mommy cuddles Henwe.  Mmmmmm."

I am quite certain that this is my all time favorite way to be woken up.  It sure beats my dad's "Rise and Shine!  If you can't shine, you still gotta rise!!!" followed by yanking the covers off of me and flipping on the lights.  Note to Sloan--if you could arrange it so that every morning I am awoken to a backrub, that'd be great. 

So I began the day well-rested and quite certain that the tornado that hit Elizabethtown yesterday would not occur again.   I'd repented of trying to be in control of everything and was resting in the fact that what did not get completed before we bring Emma home would eventually get done and that the world would not cease to exist.  I've delegated some responsibilities and just decided that Emma is going to get to help decorate her room.  (And by help, I mean sit in her bouncy seat and look pretty.  Sitting and looking pretty is one of my favorite things to do and I'm pretty certain that my daughter will excel in it as well.  And don't tell me it isn't a skill.  Sitting and looking pretty saved Henry's life, need I remind you.)  So I was confident that while I certainly didn't have everything together, I had most things together.  That was until I dropped Henry off at preschool only to realize it was my week to bring in snack and I left it on our kitchen counter.  Hallelujah for Mrs. Tuck, his amazing teacher, who has back up snack on hand. 

So now, still high on the cuddles of my sweet boy, I am no longer confident that I have anything together.  But I know a Guy who not only has everything together, but has seen fit to grace me with the best son and daughter a girl could ever dream of.  So perhaps I should Rise and Shine and give God the glory glory.

9 months squished into one week...

I have less than one week until we bring our baby girl home.  That sounds like a lot of time, right?  Ummm, not so much.  I am FREAKING out.  I can't even enjoy reading anymore.  It seems as though my body is responding to the lack of preparation for a child by having me go through the hormonal tempests of a pregnancy in warp speed.  I am trying to calm down and enjoy it all, but usually find the voice in my head screaming as I breathe deeply, "CALM DOWN.  DON'T WASTE THIS TIME!  CALM DOWN!"  Needless to say, this is not helping.  I can't sleep, I'm primed to the pissed off position, and I'm going to the bathroom every five minutes.  The similarities to being 9 months pregnant I am not enjoying.
And I do want to enjoy it.  I want to spend sweet time with Henry during his last week of life at home as an only child.  I want to sew cute little pink things, not to mention the three little onesies I have almost finished for my girls Erin and Audrey's babies.  This did not happen today.  Instead of naptime in his room (which is almost done being painted!), he spent two hours in the pack n play in our room.  I couldn't handle listening to him cry for his room, so naptime became rest in your pack n play and watch PBS time.  That's some good parenting.  What was I doing?  Talking to the insurance company, the adoption agency, our foster mommy, and setting up her 2 week check up.  I'd like to carve pumpkins, go to the zoo, play with trains at Barnes and Nobles, but I'm pretty sure the only thing out of those three that'll happen is the pumpkins.  Friday night.  Not last Sunday afternoon like we'd planned because we had to prep the kids rooms.  But I'm even a bit overwhelmed as to what to do during my break while H is at preschool.  I suspect that I should go to the gym.  A spin class would probably do my head a world of good.  Give my legs a chance to crank out some of the stress and my crotch the opportunity to be thankful she doesn't have to actually give birth.

I also think it would be helpful if I was one of those people for whom cleaning was restful.  Instead, my house is a wreck and I'm too overwhelmed to do anything about it.  (And until the painters leave, there really is nothing I can do about the crib box and oodles of pink stuff strewn about my living room and kitchen.)  I tried to register this afternoon at Babies R Us and started crying because they don't carry Emma Sloan's kind of formula.  Did you even know that something like 85% of African Americans are lactose intolerant?  Em's birthmom isn't so I'm hoping she isn't, but don't want to switch her from the lactose free formula that they put her on in the hospital.  But the bonus is I test drove some double strollers and have definitively crossed out all the tandem styles. 

I was convicted of ignoring Henry throughout this process.  In typical big brother fashion, he has gotten really clingy in the past few days.  And basically, I just keep throwing sippy cups, gold fish, and the Imagination Movers at him.  Every five minutes he wants a hug.    Today at Babies R US, I had to walk down the aisles, registry gun in hand, hunched over hugging my son while he went, "Mmmm, Mommy.  Hugs from Mommy, Mmmmm."  And this made me roll my eyes.  What the heck is wrong with me?  I was really convicted of my hurried heart, my idol of wanting everything to be perfect, of wanting to be in control of everything, and of just simply wanting everything to go my way all the time.  So I had to repent and ask my son for forgiveness.  His response?  "Hugs, Mommy.  Mmmmm.  I you, Mommy.  Mmmmmm.  Mommy my friend."

I did take one thing off my plate this week.  I cancelled on work for Thursday.  I am planning on sleeping in, playing with trains, and perhaps toasting some pumpkin seeds with the boy.  Or maybe hitting Inflation Nation in the morning as Henry, me, and Auntie Robin will be visiting Emma Sloan Thursday afternoon. 

As for tonight, I plan on having a glass of wine (or three).  Watching my angel Jakob and my crumper Russell on SYTYCD, and praying the Tylenol PM kicks in around 10.