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The great irony of my life is that when I proclaim something, I often end up eating my words. I had finally settled into being home and I was in the process of coming to terms with what life might look like for me in the near future taking on some small side paying jobs, starting Oscar in a preschool, and mapping out some goals with Casey for his music. I was trying to establish a routine and a schedule for us. I was finding my identity again and that was largely reflected back to me through this place that I feel in my bones: home. My last blog post was all about the healing power of this place for me and how intimately we know one another.

But, as life goes, God took me for a 180 that I could never have guessed. Again, I was reminded that “surrender” is the word of 2018. On our way to drop off an application for an apartment in Monterey, a series of events occurred that drastically changed our route. The short of it is that we will be moving to the Nashville area in August to work on a farm and dig deep into that music world. A world that we’ve carefully skirted around for years, but Casey is ready to go at it again. As much as we both wanted to fight it, we just had to say yes. It was all divinely falling into place.

We partly had to say yes out of desperation, too. The Monterey Peninsula is just too expensive. It breaks my heart to see my fellow Californians being pushed out of their hometowns because the cost of living is unattainable for most of us. We’ve all heard it over and over: my generation was told to go to college and promised you’d get a good job and you’d be better off than your parents. We all know where the rest of this goes.

I have a complicated relationship with Nashville, which made for a tearful and reluctant muttering of yes. Little did I know Casey was praying that I would have an open mind and heart about the whole thing. See, I have said countless times that we would never move back there. I would never move back there. I couldn’t help but be baffled at God’s timing of this all. After the last year that we have had now is the time that I have to surrender again? But, I couldn’t deny this tugging feeling that home was telling me to move on. And as I rolled my eyes and agreed to the move, it finally made sense why I had to say “yes” all those other times. For anyone that knows us, a move to Nashville has been discussed and reworked a dozen times. In the end, it was never right. Each time I agreed to this move before and it didn’t happen, it was like God was softening me so that this time, in His time, I was ready to do it. He knew that I wouldn’t have agreed so easily if this was the first time because this move is and will continue to be complicated with a 2.5 year old and a 6 month old with a rare skin condition and a lot of medical needs.

An adventure awaits us that we are being called to undertake. I am heartbroken to leave my precious California and to leave my family and friends. We live in literally one of the most beautiful places on earth. I can barely think of the Pacific Ocean without feeling a lump well in my throat. This place and this community has been so good to us for so long.

As you can imagine, moving across the country is expensive. Transferring all of Olivia’s medical records and history continues to be a saga of terrible hold music and a glaring verification that bureaucratic systems are made at the hands of flawed humans. But, we will make it work and it will be okay. As my very wise aunt, Gina, told me in a voicemail recently: “…it all works out in the bigger picture. You don’t know what’s in store for you.” So, off we go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On April 7th, the Saturday before Divine Mercy Sunday, Olivia was discharged from the hospital. It all happened so quickly that I was certain something would stop us from leaving. Olivia had a procedure for her ears on that Thursday and recovered well. During rounds the doctors looked at me and asked, “So, do you have any reason to stick around?”

I was dumbstruck.

Of course we wanted to go home, but by responding with, “No, we have no reason to stay” I knew I was also saying, “Yes, we are ready to take this on at home.” And that was the part that felt the most overwhelmingly.

Taking on Olivia’s cares without a full time nurse has been a challenge, but we continue to find a routine that works for our family. A routine that is full of appointments and phone calls and lots and lots of coconut oil, aquaphor, feeding tubes; and a whole lot of trial and error.

After our first few appointments and the first couple weeks home, it was pretty clear that I wasn’t going to be able to go back to work full time. Since leaving the hospital Olivia has unfortunately stopped eating from a bottle, which means that we are relying on a feeding tube to keep her nourished and hydrated and it’s breaking me. She will nurse, but not often because she rarely feels hunger. Her feeding has been the biggest knot so far because there are so many variables – she had thrush, we changed her fortifier and then changed it back, she no longer latches to the bottle that she took before, and the list goes on.

We avoided talking about my job, knowing the inevitable, until Casey and I finally had a “come to Jesus” moment. We knew it was the right decision to make, but it was also scary. My paycheck has always been the constant that we could base our budget around. The line in the Our Father when we simply ask God, “Give us this day our daily bread” comes to mind regularly these days.

The silver lining in all of this is that it’s giving us the opportunity to really focus in on Casey’s music; and me being home is giving us a lot of time as a family. We know that this is what we’ve wanted for awhile, it just didn’t show up quite the way we expected.

We have been welcomed home in such a sweet way by the familiar and I am so grateful for that. This weekend I went on a run/hike at Garland and found myself huffing up a trail looking at all of the purple around me. Suddenly it hit me that the last time I was on that trail I was only a few weeks out from Olivia’s birth, but I had no idea how soon she would come or how much our world would be turned sideways. This was the very park that I saw those first two coyotes. It was a sense of home when we were in the city not knowing when discharge would come and my mom would say to me, “when you go home we can finally take Olivia to Garland and you can run and I’ll stay back with the kids.” It felt so far off when she said that. But on Saturday I found myself zigzagging on trails that I know like the back of my hand breathing in the smell of dirt and the familiar native plants. Part of me didn’t really feel home until I got sweaty and dusty in this land again. These runs in Garland and along the Pacific are therapeutic for me and I need to remember that because I need a lot of healing and I am working on a lot of forgiveness on events that surrounded Olivia’s hospital birth.

I try to keep these simple comforts and the joy of my kids at the forefront of mind as each day brings its own set of challenges. Luckily, two year olds give you a lot of laughter and preoccupation from adult worries throughout the day.

Current Prayer Requests: Olivia’s feeding, our family as we settle into our new normal with me at home and one income, and for the families that are still in the NICU.

Warmly,

Natalie

+JMJ+

93 days in the NICU. Nearly 93 mornings that I have walked by this view and thought I should take a picture. The lighting is always just right and the natural earth tones starkly set against the concrete is a visual reminder of the tension between tender new life living in such a sterile and medical environment. These 93 days have brought us from Christmas to Lent and now (im)patiently awaiting Easter.

One of the (many) reasons I love the Catholic Church is the opportunity to engage with the liturgical calendar. Every season is meaningful and throughout the year there are repeated opportunities to practice patience and penance only to be rewarded with feasting and celebration. As humans we seek ways to keep track of time, often for the purpose of remembrance. Liturgical living does this on an even deeper level.

This year I am finding myself especially focused on Holy Week as we conclude Lent and look towards Easter on Sunday. Spy Wednesday (remembering when Judas betrays Jesus and reflecting on the times we have failed and have also betrayed Jesus), Maundy Thursday (when we remember the Last Supper: the institution of the priesthood, the mass, and the Eucharist – the alters are stripped, feet are washed, the Eucharist is removed, and we enter into three very intense holy days called the Paschal Triduum), Good Friday (reflecting on Jesus’ crucifixion and death), which finally brings us to Holy Saturday and the Easter Vigil. The mass starts in the darkness of Lent and by the end we are in the light of Easter. We have welcomed new Catholics through baptism and confirmation, Jesus has given us his body and blood, and Jesus has risen.

Lent is heavy, but there is light at the end of it. The darkness of winter is ushered out by the light of spring. And how much more sweet and warm is that light after enduring the last days of the darkness. I see Easter celebrations starting and I understand the temptation to hurry Lent up to celebrate. But, I pause. We must wait. The parallel of wanting Lent to end already and my impatience for discharge from the NICU is not lost on me. Now that we have a tentative timeline for discharge I just want to hurry up these last days so that day will finally come. But if we are deliberate and prepare for that Easter Feast it will be that much more sweet and deserving, won’t it? As will be the day that I trade urban cactus for the coastal oak trees of home.

Today is Tuesday of the Fourth Week in Ordinary Time and the Scripture readings for today’s mass hit close to home. Begging God to be close, contemplating Jesus’ miraculous healings, and remembering that this sacred scripture is full of stories and histories that deal with suffering, death, and mourning. At the end, though, there is always redemption. Right now in this turmoil and this oscillation between thanking God that our daughter is alive and wishing this wasn’t happening each day starts to feel monotonous. We have ridden this roller coaster too many times to get the thrill anymore. We get up to do it again to come back to this room that is not our home. I question if I am praying for the right things. I wonder what I will find wisdom in when I look back on these times. And I keep coming back to miracles and wondering what miracles are ahead of us.

Our baby will come home with us. Now we know that. Some parents here don’t know that. There are so many things to be thankful for in Olivia’s prognosis, but there is still so much we are mourning. And I find myself in this space of wanting a miracle and simultaneously floating through each day grasping for a normalcy that I hope will go away.

Psalm 86:1-2, 3-4, 5-6

R. (1a) Listen, Lord, and answer me.
Incline your ear, O LORD; answer me,
for I am afflicted and poor.
Keep my life, for I am devoted to you;
save your servant who trusts in you.
You are my God.
R. Listen, Lord, and answer me.
Have mercy on me, O Lord,
for to you I call all the day.
Gladden the soul of your servant,
for to you, O Lord, I lift up my soul.
R. Listen, Lord, and answer me.
For you, O Lord, are good and forgiving,
abounding in kindness to all who call upon you.
Hearken, O LORD, to my prayer
and attend to the sound of my pleading.
R. Listen, Lord, and answer me.

To all the saints in heaven, pray for us.