The Reason for the Season

Well Christmas is over. We had a wonderful week last week on a family vacation to Galveston. We were then given the not so great gift of the stomach flu, that sent me to the laundry mat with 16 loads of laundry. (Dryer broke!) Everyone got it, except for me. Hopefully the bug is not lurking in my belly waiting to show itself.

I did want to post my story about how Christ found me. As his birth was just the beginning of the story, I thought it appropriate for me to share (just a tiny bit) of my story. After all, He is the Reason we celebrated, right? We did sing "Happy Birthday" to Jesus on Christmas Eve, with a cake and candles. I think that was a nice tradition to start. :)

I didn’t start out in a family that went to church – not even on Easter or Christmas. We didn’t talk about the “reason for the season” or even say a bedtime prayers. I can’t say that I even remember having a Bible in our home, although I’m sure that somewhere in one of my mother’s dresser drawers there was one.

I had an interest in church as a little girl, and would sometimes go with my cousin. I really liked it there. I just liked being a place that had routine and “normal people” – people who didn’t drink too much, smoke too much, or scream and hit others. My childhood was filled with an alcoholic stepfather that did all the above things. I knew it wasn’t normal. No one else’s mother picked them up at school to “go away” for a while, and no one else that I knew had a packed suitcase under the bed for when the times got too tough.

When I went to college, I attended church a couple of times with girls in my sorority. When asked my “religious views” I just said I was a Christian. Really my only religious experience was with my Jewish high school boyfriend’s family rejecting me because I wasn’t Jewish. I guess I HAD to be Christian since we celebrated Christmas and Easter, right?

When I married the first time, I was determined it would be in a church. I searched high and low for a church on the same street as the place I was having the reception. For a donation of $250 they would marry us. What a deal.

When I got pregnant with my first child, I suppose as most people do, I figured it was time to get my priorities right, and that I wanted to raise my child going to church, so that the child would be around normal, good people. (Remember my childhood experience?) I had unfortunately married a man that mirrored my stepfather, and desperately sought “normalcy.” We did try a few churches but like many people with good intentions, we didn’t follow through on regular attendance. I still didn’t understand what being a Christian meant… I still held to the fact that if I put up a tree at Christmas and the Easter bunny comes on Easter morning, I’m a Christian.
I did have a feeling, when I was pregnant with my first child, that something might be wrong with her. Call it intuition, call it pessimism, call it depression from a situation where I caught my husband doing very bad things… I just had a feeling. I began saying the Lord’s prayer every night that I was pregnant with her. I knew it by heart from just the few times of going to church, although the end I wasn’t sure if it was “divine is the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,” or “divine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory”… so some nights I would say it one way, and some nights I would say it the other way. I also didn’t know if I needed to do the Catholic cross when I finished it, or what the exact order of the sign was, so I fumbled through that most nights. (I now know the real version of the Lord’s prayer, and that the cross sign is not required.) I did think I needed God, though.

The day my daughter was born was a great one. I went in to labor and it was not a difficult birth. I finally got her in my arms in the evening. Friends came and visited before I went to sleep. The next morning, I said to myself, “You look like you have Down Syndrome, but I guess you don’t – because the doctor would have told me.” On cue, the doctor entered. He confirmed my thoughts. The cry within me was primal. I was frightened beyond belief at what this meant for her. I thought, “Who is going to take her to prom?” I know, how shallow – but honestly this was my first thought. I then thought of a mean lady that sacked my groceries that was mentally challenged, not with Down syndrome, but some other challenge; I wondered will my daughter’s best bet for a job be a grocery bagger?

My husband immediately requested that we give her up for adoption and try again. My heart filled with emptiness. I felt alone, except for this little bundle of joy in my arms. She was a wonderful, beautiful baby. I had no idea what her future held, or mine for that matter, but I would not abandon her. (By the way, that was my first husband.)

My hospital room was quarantined as if we had some terrible disease. Meals were left at the door, not brought in. The hospital Chaplain came in and told me that it was okay to be angry with God. He left me a small bible (a tiny white new testament) and left. The picture lady that comes and takes pictures of all newborns was not allowed in our room. (By the hospital staff.) My father said “They’re wrong honey!” My mother, a rock, said “We just need information.” My doctor prescribed a mood stabilizing drug which my husband took all in one night. He refused to allow his friends to visit or come to the house when we got home. He didn’t tell his co-workers for months about her.

The first year was honestly a bit fuzzy. The first two months I operated the best I could – caring for her and taking her to lots of doctor appointments, physical therapy sessions, genetic testing, etc. She started smiling at six months. She has always been a wonderful, happy, joyful child. None of this bothered her. Not even her heart surgery (except when she came out of the anesthesia) bothered her. 7 days in the hospital for RSV pneumonia, and the angel smiled the whole time. She was a good, good baby. I relied on my mother to help me emotionally. My mother carried a large burden for a while.

Somewhere after her first birthday, I was doing laundry, and I was overcome by the Holy Spirit. Here’s what He whispered to me: “I love you as much as you love her.” It didn’t come in a church. It didn’t come when I was in the Word. It didn’t come when someone was sharing the good news. Quietly, as I sat folding laundry thinking about my beautiful girl, I realized that I would not change her in anyway because to me, she was perfect, despite any diagnoses of Down Syndrome, ability (or inability) to walk, crawl, or speak. Despite what her future held. She was MY CHILD. And my love for her is so deep and so pure. And I knew right then and there that God loves me, and to Him I am perfect, despite any of my failures, shortcomings, or sins. I am HIS CHILD. And He made me for a reason.

Shortly after that I found a church and was baptized. But that was just a public proclamation of my rebirth in Christ, because I gave him my heart that day I was folding laundry.

Now, every time I am tempted to worry about Cameron's future, or any of her four siblings, I remember that God made her for a reason. I believe that God made Cameron to bring me to Him. Can you think of a more important mission in life than to bring someone to God? I can’t. I don’t think that any of my deeds shall amount to hers. Yes, God made me for a reason too. And it is up to me to share the good news of His love and His salvation. I only pray that I will do it as well as she did for me.

There is NOTHING too great or too big for God to overcome. He blessed me with my dear husband and all five children. He has helped me through all my adult life challenges, I and really wish I knew Him when I was growing up, so that he would have shouldered my pain, fears, and uncertainty. But, I know Him now, and I am so grateful.

Happy New Year... "C" you in 2010~
I look forward to a very STRONG year.
Mecca