Forever His

It is so easy to get wrapped up in the things of this world.  It is so easy to let the junk, the details of the day-to-day overwhelm.  We are called to be content in all circumstances.  Find a quiet place, reach out to God and let His love change you and make you new.  Let Him open your eyes, your mind, your heart to what He wants of you.  This world is not about you.  This world is not about me.  This world is about Him.  This world is about giving Him the credit He is due, the glory He deserves.  We deserve death.  It is humiliating and humbling to admit this.  It is freeing to admit that we are nothing without Him, that we need Him to be better, better than who we were, who we are.  We know nothing.  All that is, came from Him.  Everything we think we know is nothing compared to His knowledge, His understanding.  To acknowledge our insignificance is scary, because it means acknowledging this life really isn't about us.

If this life isn't about us, and it really is about Him, then why did He do what He did for us...for me?  If we were created to live for God, then why did He take on death, the death I deserve, you deserve?  Because of love.  Because of His love for us.  That painful, torturous death of Christ was supposed to be mine.  Yours.  I should have taken those lashes, those taunting blows.  I should have carried that cross.  I should have hung...for hours...desperate to breathe.  I should have expired on that fateful day.  I should have descended into the darkest depths of hell.  I should have died an eternal death.  I should still be there.

The beauty of this whole existence is that Jesus Christ stepped in and took my place.  He took your place.  He did that for me.  For you.  I am, you are, so insignificant, and yet, so significant that He took on our deaths.  Mine.  Yours.  Everyone's death.  All He asks is that we believe.  That we thank Him.  How could we not?  I am forever changed...because of Jesus.  He's comforted me when I felt like life wasn't worth living.  He's given me something to live for.  He's forever with me, and I will follow Him forever...wherever, whenever He leads me.  How could I not?  He saved me from death.  I am forever his.  Are you?

The Loose Teeth of Life

It has now been a week since Abby allowed me to begin wiggling her remaining front tooth.  Night one, I spent almost an hour negotiating a couple real shots at wiggling it.  Night two, about a half hour.  Night three, similar story.  Night four, I gave her twelve minutes to allow me to get the job done.  No go.  I refused to approach the topic over the weekend.  It upset me too much.  She taunts me, wiggling that darn tooth in front of me, showing me how loose it is, practically screaming to be pulled.  I tried talking her into letting me try again tonight.  Off and on, for about a half our, we went.  She says, I want to sit here...I want to sit there, all the while putting off allowing me to pull.  It's driving me NUTS! 

Through this exhausting and maddening experience, God is revealing new truths to me.  Watching her cower in fear, knowing full well that it will hurt when I perform the extraction, I get frustrated, telling her that it'd be better for me to just pull the tooth so the gums can begin healing as the new tooth emerges.  She seems to understand what I'm saying.  She seems excited at the idea of having both front teeth gone at the same time, as well as the potential reward from the tooth fairy (another talk for another time).  Yet there's this fear that's overtaken her.  She, many times over now, has been brought to tears, merely by the idea of me pulling the tooth.  Mind you, I already pulled her other front tooth out about two weeks ago.  She now has first-hand experience of what it is like, and let me tell you, it went pretty smoothly the first time around.  She didn't seem aware that I'd actually pulled it until I said, "I got it", and she looked down at the little treasure in my hand.  Then she smiled and became curious about the tooth then excited about the whole ordeal.  Her reaction in both cases seems to parallel our human response to God in our lives. 

When something strange occurs in our life, something different and unfamiliar, how do we react?  Do we get excited, proceed with caution, explore with adventure, or withdraw with fear?  In the case of Abby's first loose tooth, she was super excited, a little concerned since it was uncharted territory for her, but overall curious and looking forward to the new chapter in her life.  When I did the deed and showed her the tiny tooth that caused such a stir in her world, she seemed interested and looked forward to sharing the tooth with the tooth fairy, and the story with her family and friends.  We do this sometimes, don't we?  A new person enters our life (friend, coworker, neighbor, family member), and we are captured by the event.  We want to explore it, talk about it, share it with others. 

Abby's second loose tooth, the one still dangling, begging for departure, but held captive by it's "boss" as Abby puts it, is a whole other story.  This is a tale driven by fear.  She asks for help, she wants help, she longs for the tooth to be gone, so she can share the tooth and the story like she did the first time around, yet she is gripped by fear.  I ask her what she's so afraid of.  She says, "It's going to hurt".  I try to explain that it'll be okay, because she's been through it before, she knows what to expect, and it's really not that bad.  Dwelling on the pain is only going to make the whole event even more difficult for her.  My words bring no comfort.  I can't seem to get past this mentality that the pain is what matters, not the end result.  She is trapped by, obsessed with, and overwhelmed by fear.  It is eating me up inside to witness this as well as be teased by her struggle.  She tells me she wants my help, then refuses to allow me to help.  Sound familiar?  We've all done this to God at least once in our lives (okay, once a day, or more like once an hour).  There He is, trying to help us with some part of our life just like we asked, and there we are holding on to the same part, refusing to actually allow Him to help.  He tells us, "don't worry.  Trust me, it'll be okay."  Something I've said numerous times to Abby, as has Matt, "I've done this before, I know what I'm doing."  It's true.  God knows what He's doing, yet for some reason, we hold on as though our life depends on that one thing, that one area of our life that clearly needs tending to, but scares us way too much to really address.  Why do we do this?  Why do we tease God like this?  I don't have any answers.  All I know is that our one saving grace in this regard is the fact that God is more patient with us than I have been with Abby and her tooth.  Thank You God!  

Any Day Now...

Wow, how life has changed since we found out we were pregnant with twins.  We've had multiple ultrasounds to follow the growth and development of the boys; our insurance through the Navy expired and we switched to Medicaid until Matt is able to include us on insurance through work; Matt started a new job with a government contracted company, hoping to get his foot in the door to a federal job to finish out his time in so he can receive his pension later.  We are in the process of trying to find a different living arrangement, since my mom's house is already full to the brim, and adding two more babies to the mix just complicates things further. 

As for the actual pregnancy, by my original due date of April 14, I'm 38 weeks pregnant, but my due date was changed by my original doctor at the midwife office to April 22, since the babies were consistently measuring about a week behind my dates.  Since my OB appointment a week and a half ago, I've been dilated two centimeters and both boys are head down.  Our ultrasound two days ago showed Caleb to be weighing around 5 lbs 9 oz and Christian to be weighing around 5 lbs 4 oz.  I'm so stoked that they're both over 5 lbs, because at our last ultrasound a month ago they were both right at 4 lbs each. 

In regards to delivery, I am planning on a vaginal delivery of both babies unless an emergency arises.  I do plan on having an epidural in the event that the doc needs to help reposition Christian (baby B) after Caleb (baby A) is delivered.  He's informed me (as I've heard from others) that this process is NOT comfortable and an epidural would be ideal.  As well, it would be good to have the epidural in place in case for some reason an emergency cesarean becomes necessary.  Considering my adjusted due date of the 22nd, I would be 38 weeks pregnant (full term for twins) on Easter Sunday (April 8th), thus, my OB has suggested that we induce on Tuesday, April 10, if nothing has happened by then.  That way, no matter what due date we go by,  I'd be at least 38 weeks along. 

How have I been doing?  Well, ask any pregnant lady who's near the end of her pregnancy and she'll tell you there's a point where you just say, "I'm done."  I'm past that point.  Overall, I've had a wonderfully smooth and healthy pregnancy, especially considering I'm having twins, but I'm at that point where I'm READY to have these boys and meet them face to face.  I've been incredibly blessed to have avoided edema (swelling) most of this pregnancy, but it recently decided to move into my lower legs, feet and hands (though my hands have been swollen in the mornings for a while).  I feel like my whole pelvis is bruised, so it hurts to walk.  My lower back pain has worsened and I get bouts of moderate cramping in my lower abdomen.  I still get Braxton-Hicks contractions, and some quite long and strong, but nothing that's regular.  Physically, I'm done.  I'm so ready to have these boys and get back to being able to move like a normal person.  Emotionally?  I'm still so shocked that we're having twins and that I'm going to be a mom of FOUR children.  And not only FOUR children, but TWO of those boys!  I always thought I'd be blessed to have even ONE boy, but two NEVER entered my mind.  God has definitely surprised us! 

I have to say...it has been a lesson in faith to witness and experience this blessing God's bestowed upon us.  God has shared with us the miracle of His good and perfect timing by giving us these children when Matt was without a job for so long, while we've been living with my mom and adjusting to civilian life.  He has shared with us His amazing creativity giving us not only two babies, but two boys with this pregnancy.  He is sharing with us a huge responsibility by giving us TWO MORE children to care for, expressing to us how much He expects us to rely on Him in raising these children.  He has shared with us His unbelievable provision by providing us everything we need in this time when we have needed quite a bit.  He has provided us a place to live, food to eat, transportation, the love of family and friends, financial assistance, emotional healing, and through all this, an opportunity for Matt and me to grow in our relationship.  I have grown so much in my Christian life lately as well.  I am still struggling with many areas of my life, but going through all the changes that have occurred lately and seeing God's hand working so meticulously in my life ALL the time, I am immensely baffled by His works.  God has continuously provided for us not only through the many things He's given us, but MANY times through the things He's taken away from us.  I'll spare you the detail, but even when something we thought we needed was no longer there, God was using its absence to provide something else for us.  It is complicated, but trust me in this...God knows what He is doing and we are dumb to think that we have ANY inkling of what is best for us. 

Death and Life

To say a lot has happened since my last post is a gross understatement.  Please bear with me as I try...try...to summarize.

My dad, Donald R. Witte (60y) Christmas morning 2010.

One Sunday evening in late February, my dad was laying on the sofa resting--a new habit of his since his cancer struggle had progressed--and my mom noticed that he wasn't making sense when she spoke with him.  Sometimes when she would talk with him, he'd respond with nonsensical answers, and other times he wouldn't respond at all.  She became very concerned, so on Monday, she called the Cancer Center where my dad was being treated, and spoke with their nurse.  She said to take my dad to the emergency room immediately.  My mom and brother weren't able to get my dad up off the sofa (since he wasn't responsive, thus unable to assist them), so they called an ambulance.  The paramedics said his blood pressure was extremely low.  That was why he wasn't responding well or making sense, also why he wasn't able to help them get him off the sofa.  He didn't have enough blood pressure in his body to be able to even sit up or stay lucid.

At the hospital, the doctors figured he had some sort of infection that they could not detect, but got his blood pressure under control with meds.  They'd also determined that the cancer had spread.  It was not only littering his chest, but was completely surrounding his heart.  He'd been given very little time.  His oncologist said maybe three to four months.  When I spoke with my mom on Monday, March 7, the doctors said he could go home soon, but he would need full-time care at home.  My mom said she wasn't sure how they'd provide that since insurance would only cover at-home visits from nurses and physical therapists.  She said he was more himself, but some of his meds made him behave strangely and not make sense.  She said if I wanted to spend time with him, I should do it soon.  I spoke with Matt and we decided to leave that Wednesday so Abby could go to school Tuesday morning and we could get prepared for a spur of the moment trip.  Matt took 10 days of leave and we were able to leave town Tuesday evening instead, spending the night western Kansas, then finishing the trip Wednesday morning.

When we arrived in Lee's Summit Wednesday evening, we dropped our dogs off at our friends house to dog-sit them, and we went straight to the hospital.  It was quite a scary sight when we arrived.  My dad had (in a medicated mind) decided to use the restroom.  My mom and his friend did what they could to help him with his walker into the restroom.  When he went to turn around to leave the toilet, he lost his balance and fell onto the toilet (thank God he didn't fall to the floor!).  He'd scraped his already sensitive skin against the wall and my mom hit the nurse call a few times until someone finally responded and arrived to help.  Our visit with my dad that evening was unsettling.  The medication they'd continued to give him for pain made him extremely loopy and anxious.  They'd given him a diuretic as well, but told him to urinate in the bottle while in bed.  Yeah, right.  The concoction of medication made for a frightening evening.  My dad was confusing people, saying things that didn't make sense, and behaving quite strangely.  It scared the heck out of Abby, who I tried to keep out of the room as much as possible and it scared me, because I didn't know if this was who my dad would be, or if I'd actually get to visit with my dad.

My dad came home the next day, after medical equipment had been delivered to the house and we began our journey of 24-hour care for him.  He could do very little.  We had to have at least three people at home at all times in case he needed help using his bedside toilet, or so we could lift him out of bed for his daily exercise of standing, stepping, and sitting up (outside of the bed).  We'd adjusted his medication so that he didn't need the meds that were causing him all the anxiety and confusion.  This helped immensely, since we were then able to talk with dad, not the guy he'd been in the hospital for two weeks.  It was surreal to be doing all this for my dad, my dad, the kind of man who took care of himself, his family and those around him.  My dad, who had already fought so hard to beat the wretched cancer that had made itself at home inside of him.  My dad, who rarely ever needed help with anything--at least anything having to do with his own personal care.  My mom, brother, sisters, aunts, cousins and I did our best to nurse my dad back to health.  There were times when he would get up a couple times a day and do very well with getting around and getting stronger (or so it seemed), and he had days where he didn't even have the energy to get out of bed.  It was rough, but we endured.  We kept a close eye on his meds around the clock.  Two to three times a week a nurse, physical therapist, or occupational therapist would pop in for a visit.  It was good for my dad to have someone outside the family talk straight with him about his condition.

For more about my dad's journey, visit: www.caringbridge.org/visit/donwitte  (You will need to create a login).

Fast forward to Friday, March 25, My dad had weakened immensely and we were having difficulty getting him to swallow.  After some talk with the physical therapist, my mom decided to have my dad transported to the hospital again for some fluids--he'd become extremely dehydrated.  In the emergency room, dad received IV fluids and a bag of blood, since his hemoglobin level had dropped even further (about half of what it should be for a man his size).  Around midnight that night, my dad returned home.  He was doing a bit better, but it had been established that he would no longer be allowed more blood because his body wasn't producing anymore red blood cells.  It was using up the cells in the fresh blood, but not replenishing what it's using.  Also, he wasn't allowed to receive IV fluids at home, so at this point, I knew it was a matter of time.  The body can only live so long without water, and because he still wasn't able to swallow (first from dehydration, now from mucus as a result of the fluids), he couldn't eat, so no nourishment = not good.

Sunday morning, I took my girls to church for the first time since I'd arrived in town.  It was difficult since Matt was no longer with me (he'd returned home about a week and a half before), and both of my girls were desiring my attention.  There came a point in the message that I'd slipped away to the back of the room to deal with my girls.  I knelt down on the floor to speak with Abby briefly.  Just then, Dave started to sing the lyrics to an old hymn that clenched my heart.  As I knelt at the back of the church, Madison in one arm, hugging Abby in the other, I let go.  I let go of the fear and the pain I'd been trying to hide for that month prior.  I let go and listened to God's loving words.  I knelt there and bawled.  I sobbed.  I was so exhausted, so drained, so sad, so confused, so pained, and so hungry--hungry for healing.

When I got home that day, I'd heard that dad had opened his eyes for a little while, but he was asleep again when I got home.  He'd had a good morning, considering.  As lunchtime passed we noticed a concerning drop in his oxygen saturation.  We called Hospice (which my mom decided to sign up with the day before), and the nurse soon arrived to assess dad's condition.  His oxygen was dropping fast and there was nothing we could do.  As the hours slipped by, we made our calls to family and friends to inform them of his condition.  I updated his Caring Bridge site as well as Facebook so those who weren't at the house with us could follow along online.  Friends and family arrived off and on, visited with dad, and shared their love and support.  We sang songs of praise and peace over dad.  We prayed over him.  Pastor Dave read scripture over him.  My mom, siblings and I sat by his side, held his hand, witnessed his slowing breaths, felt his body grow colder, as color faded from his skin.

After while, I slipped out of the room as did my other siblings, and updated the sites.  I called Matt and sat in a stupor.  A short while later, my Aunt Barbara (dad's sister) popped out from the other room and said, "he's going, guys!  He's going!"  She said we should go say goodbye if we wanted to.  I decided not to.  Then changed my mind.  I made a brief visit to the other room where dad's breathing had slowed dramatically. It was almost unnoticeable.  Moments later, the nurse checked his vitals again.  He was gone.  All that was left of my earthly father was his cancer-ridden body lying still, cold and pale in the living room of the house I'd grown up in--the house my father worked so hard to provide for his family.  He was gone.  I returned to my laptop to update the sites again as my mom and the nurse made preparations for my dad's body to be taken away.  Through the chatter in the other room, my mom and aunt had come to an amazing revelation--my dad's passing was 85 years to the day of his father's birthday.  My grandpa Wilbert Witte had been born on March 27, 1926, and my dad passed on March 27, 2011.  God is so amazing, isn't He?

Matt got on a flight the next day to join us (he'd have been there sooner, but to take emergency leave for a death in the family, naturally, the death had to take place first).  Matt stayed for another ten days, then I remained for another month.  I returned home the April 30.

It's been rough.  Every day there's something that reminds me of him.  It's hard to go a day without at least getting teary-eyed thinking of him.  I am so happy he is no longer hurting, but I am so sad that he is gone.  It brings tears to my eyes every time I think of the welcome he received in Heaven.  He was such a loyal and obedient servant of God on this earth.  I can't even imagine the job God has for him in Heaven.  I am jealous to a degree that he has finally gotten to see our Creator and Father...something we talked a lot about.  But I know I am needed here still.  I have two beautiful girls to raise and a husband to love and support.  My mom still needs love and support with her battle against cancer as well as her grief.  God is doing such amazing and truly awe-inspiring things in my life right now.  Words just cannot express.  You know me...a talker...a writer...I may try to express the wonders of God's work in my life right now, but in all honesty, His works are ineffable (indescribable).

One thing that stuck with me through the visitation and funeral for my dad was what one of his friends from work told me.  He said that my dad not only taught him how to live, but he also taught him how to die.  Wow!  What amazing words!  Dad, despite having cancer for the last eight years, despite his constant pain for the majority of those years, worked like he was working for Jesus, he studied God's word daily, prayed for his family and friends and countless others on a regular basis, he witnessed like there was no tomorrow, and he set the bar high.  He was one of those guys that, simply by his actions, set the bar high for everyone around him.  Just witnessing my dad's life, one would strive for higher, better, and Godlier.  God truly has a remarkable place for him in eternity. 

It is crazy how death plays such a big role in our living on this earth.  I've known about Jesus all my life.  I accepted Him into my heart when I was 13, then through depression I grew even closer to Him in my early 20s, but now...at the age of 30, after having witnessed my dad's journey with cancer over the years, his faith deepening, and his eventual passing into Jesus' loving arms, I, naturally, have an even deeper appreciation for life and it's purpose.  I have a deeper faith and reverence for my Heavenly Father.  He has truly changed me, altered me, and graced me with his eternal love.  To feel His presence, like I do now, is beyond words.  It is beyond explanation.  I hope one day each of you will experience this if you haven't already.  Trust me, you will never be the same. 

Abby (3 1/2 y) with Grandpa Witte (60y) a few weeks before his passing. 

Madison (6 1/2 m) with Grandpa Witte (60) a few weeks before his passing. This trip back to MO was only their second time seeing each other.  The first time was Christmas 2010 when Madison was 4 months old.

...and God said YES!

Last week in the middle of the night as I dragged myself out of bed to go to the bathroom, Matt stopped me. "You're going pee, right?"
"Yes."
"Will you take that pregnancy test in there?"
"why?"
"just please take it. I've been tossing and turning all night and dreaming that you were pregnant."
I told him it was too early to know, but I took the test anyway so he could get some sleep. As I expected, it was negative. I was not pregnant. It seemed to be enough to calm his mind so we both went back to sleep.

I had a recipe exchange party on Saturday evening and it went well, despite my growing sinus issues. That night, what I'll refer to as "the nastiness" hit Matt And me like a bus. We stayed home from church Sunday, nursing our achy bodies and gunk-coated throats.

This morning when I woke up, I didn't feel any better. Thankfully through all this Abbigail's gotten away with only a little congestion. Sadly, Matt still had to work, even through the headache, 100 degree temp, his horrible cough attacks and him STILL dealing with Bell's Palsy in the right side of his face. It exhausted him, but life goes on and work doesn't always wait for one to get better. Similarly, at home, I tried to work on my homework for the last week of classes. This proved difficult and I didn't get much done before Matt got home from work and we headed out to take care of a few errands.

When we got home, I finally took a pregnancy test so we could put to rest this curiosity of pregnancy. I was about 2-3 days late already and nothing. To my joy and amazement it came up positive! God did hear my prayers. I always knew he did, but for the last year and a half His answer was always "not right now". This time God's answer was "YES!"

God is truly amazing. He cares about us so much. He knows exactly what to do and when. We just have to learn to trust Him.