A Heart At Home

So my husband challenged me to do something to benefit my Spiritual growth and richen my time with God. I got to talking to him about how I love to read the Bible but I hate to take notes because they don't stick in my head and I have a hard time formulating my thoughts down on paper and that has been becoming a hindrance to my study time in the word.

He suggested since I love to blog so much and am really passionate about it that this would be a natural way of study for me that will help me document what is being learned and paves for me an avenue of studying God's word that is easier for me to understand. I agreed! And have really been enjoying Hebrews!

I read quite a bit of Hebrews but got really behind because I forgot everything I read about because it was so deep and blogging just makes everything easier to remember so...I had to start over from the beginning!

So Hebrews, Chapter, 1 is where I will start! Are you ever puzzled by the grandeur and majesty of God? Have you ever asked yourself what genuine worship unto our Savior really looks like?

I ponder these questions often and I think about all of the ways worshiping God can happen. It can be through service, through song, through spoken word, but I think worship unto God goes beyond those things. Way beyond ourselves and what we have to give or offer up or do. Even God's angels in Heaven are bowing down in worship and praise to Jesus.

So how then does genuine worship unto God look like? The glory of God is something that I can't wrap my mind around. Even more so, I can't seem to wrap my mind around the fact that though my righteousness is nothing but filthy rags; it's that human, broken adoration and praise rising up from a weary sin bent heart that God receives glory from. He takes delight in knowing that in our brokenness and frail selves we are still able to give Him the glory He deserves.

Going even farther than that, the fact that God takes delight in using our brokenness to help build others up for His glory and the good of others. Can you believe that? God takes delight in using my wretchedness as stepping stones and building blocks for me to grow, learn and climb up and out of my old sinful state into a whole new world of sacrificial love for Him.

Everything is backwards with God. Isn't it usually the other way around? God refines us like fire. We are broken, then He takes us through the heat of the fire, we burn, and then come out whole and shining for His glory. That's backwards.

The popular idea is to be whole and remain whole. Once you get broken down and brought through the fire, you're a goner.

It's interesting to me that God doesn't think this way. It's interesting to me to know that no matter how foolish and stupid I am regardless of whether or not I am going to make good Christ-honoring decisions; God is going to get His glory one way or another. The point is, is that the majesty of God goes far beyond my tiny human existence.

God doesn't need me. He wants me. He's a jealous God.

It's this idea that, no matter what...nothing can take away from God's glory or add to it. It's just that great, that grand and that huge. God will not share is glory with another, nor will He cease to receive glory when we cease to give it. The glory of God is endless, magnificent, vast, wide, huge, massive, and over arching above all anything and everything.

"He also says, "In the beginning, Lord, you laid the foundations of the earth, and the Heavens are the work of your hands. They will perish; but you remain; they will all wear out like a garment. You will roll them up like a robe; like a garment they will be changed. But you remain the same, and your years will never end." Hebrews 1: 10-12.

Through this, it has helped me to see one thing that puts all other things into perspective:

I am so very small. God is so very big. And I so desperately need Him.

*Words in light gray are links to videos you can watch of the actual situation. Some videos contain graphic images. Watch with discretion. *Please do not use my pictures and videos for your own personal use.

This time last year I was prepping my 9 month old for surgery. Wiping her down, trying to make a polka dotted oversized hospital gown fit tighter. Exactly 1 year later, I sit with her in the hall and dress her for the day and have to squeeze her, into her clothes. She looks up at me, all smiles and laughs, even a few small words. This is a great start to a morning 1 year ago that wasn't so great. Though, grateful she's Craniosynostosis free, I am beyond, over the moon, ridiculously, and wholeheartedly, thankful we get to start our morning out like this, this time. Praising Jesus for even the small blessings.

A lot has changed for our family over this past year. All hard things. All good things. So many changes. Exactly this time last year...

I sat down in a hospital waiting room chair. Body shaking, heart racing, palms sweating, fingers twiddling, hair twirling. My anxiety was at it's peak when I got the call that they were upstairs with her, prepped her and heard their nervous voice say, "She is sleeping good. We are about to make our first cut now."

I slipped down into the worn out hospital chair with my head in my hands. I remember taking one big breath in and let it out slowly thinking to myself, "this is the last breath of relief I will be taking for a long while." I got all these images in my head of what they were doing to my little baby. I was trying my best not to dwell on it but didn't have any choice. A part of me was up there getting cut into.

Though I was separated from her for 7 hours. We were united in some ways. When the surgeons made their first cut, I felt it too. Right. Down. The. Middle. Of. My. Heart.

At that point I had to really let go. My head fell on my husband's shoulder. He sat next to me blanked faced and white as a sheet. Our faces, dripping with our tears onto each other. We had the support of friends and family around us but in that moment, only he and I and our baby existed. We became numb as we continued to get calls each hour as the surgery became more and more invasive.

About 5 hours into it, I turned my weary head towards my husband's and said, "There's no turning back now." It was just the idea of knowing that the daughter we placed into the hands of those Drs. was not going to be the same baby we would be handed back.

I'll fast forward through all of that and take us to the moment they made there last call the 7th hour telling us with relief in their voice, "We're all done. We closed her up, and she is doing great now. All of her vitals look wonderful. She is a little sleepy still coming out of the anesthesia and it took her a while but Abigail's doing good. In one more hour the surgeon will be down to see you. Oh, and when you see her, don't be alarmed. She will have some black and blue bruising and swelling around her nose and eyes. I'm not trying to scare you, I just want to warn you so that you know what to expect."

We thanked them for their last call. Hung up the phone of that little private room and fell into each other's arms. Gasping with relief. We could finally catch our breath. Our daughter is alive. And whole. Finally, she is Craniosynostosis free. We were so glad. Though, we knew this wasn't the end of our heart ache as we anticipated hearing from the surgeon and ultimately, seeing her.

That last hour was the longest one of my entire life. I heard the back door of the waiting room open up. One surgeon after another were coming in to let the family know of their daughter/son's condition. I thought to myself, "we're next!"

An eternity passed. I heard the back door to the waiting room fly open quickly. I looked up and it was him! Our surgeon. I excitedly said, "DR. Goldstien!!!" He burst into a smile from ear to ear. (The first time I had seen it.) I was slightly embarrassed by the fact that I couldn't hold back my excitement to see him and to know that he was done and the surgery was all over. I ran over to him and he, my husband, and myself all went into the private call room. He shut the door smiling, sat down, took off his scrub cap threw it in the trash beside us. Still wearing blue and bright eyed said to us, "Abigail looks great. The surgery was a huge success. She is recovering well, no problems. You will see her very soon. Congratulations Mom and Dad." At that moment, we showed him our thanks and shook his hand in tears, (I so wanted to hug that man! He just saved my daughter I mean c'mon!) But, I refrained, and he opened the door for us to go back out in the waiting room to update our family and friends.

On the edge of their seats, every eye was on us. You could see their ears itching to hear the news. In tears, we burst out the good news and in return got a burst of excitement, praises, and relief back. It was the most relieving, frightening, wonderful, moment of my entire life. So many crazy emotions. At times, I wasn't sure to pick which one to feel. I just knew that I was thankful she was done after all of that agonizing waiting.

Thirty minutes or so passed and my husband and I made our way up to see her. They were wheeling her out of the post-op recovery room about to transfer her to the ICU. And this was our first glimpse just moments after surgery...

Just a few hours later... then...THIS

Restless with pain. She begins to wake up from the anesthesia completely.

It was just her and I and a dark hospital room miles and miles away from everything we've ever known. New life, new city, new baby. This was my introduction to KC.

I woke up from a nightmare. To a nightmare. Where I was met with blank stares.

Weak coos trying to cry out for security.

Long nights, bloody uncomfortable nursing sessions, bandage changes, blood bag empties, scar swabbing.

The day in the hospital where it seemed to get the worst was the moment we finally began to see light again. It was 4 days post-op. Her eyes were swollen shut since surgery, they opened that 4th day, she too saw the light for the first time in days of complete darkness.

4 days post-op. The day her eyes opened.

I cannot describe to you the feeling of joy that overtook me when I saw one of her eyes open ever so slightly. It was open enough for her to see me again. The moment she did her mouth cracked the widest smile she ever gave us. She squealed and screeched with joy and excitement at even the slightest sight of light coming through the hospital window. THIS day was such a HUGE relief for all of us.

Since that day...