Jim Rohn talks about moving your dreams into reality by planning & list making around them! So, here goes... I've done the huge 10 year goals... How about some bite size dreams turned goals in list form? On we go!

Places I plan to take my children:

To the end of as many great books as possible!

To Belgium to visit Hank and Beryl and family!

To The Ozark Mountains with Eileen and Elwood and Grandma and Grandpa!

To Vancouver so I can show them Granville, and the Sea Bus, and Lonsdale Quay Market, and the Art Gallery!!! Oh man I miss Vancouver!!!

To NEW YORK CITY for NEW YEARS! We'll have tuxes for the boys, and ball gowns for Selah and I, and we'll ride to a Ball in a very Large Limo..... and then we'll arrive at a sparkley spectacular venue with a grand piano, and tons of horns, and Harry Connick Jr. plays, as we dance the night away until just before midnight, when we dash off to Time Square to watch the New Year come in!

I've had MANY more dreams around NYC, but this is it for now.... much more to come!

Healthy Food for Thought:

You know how you're always coming across favorite quotes? Well I am... I'm so excited because NOW I can actually have one great place to keep them: RIGHT HERE! And hey, if anyone ever actually reads this, they could leave THEIR favorite quotes in the comment section! We'll have our own "Planet Organic" for the mind!

"Jesus said: I am come that you might have Life, and that you might have it more ABUNDANTLY."

"For I know the thoughts I have towards you says the LORD, thoughts of good and not of evil, to give you a future and a HOPE."

"For I have not given you a spirit of fear, but of POWER and of LOVE and of a SOUND MIND."

"Be transformed by the renewing for you MIND by the washing and the regeneration of the Holy Spirit."

"He came not into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him, might be saved."

"You are a child of God. Your playing it small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that others won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us, it's in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine we subconsciously give others the permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others" Nelson Mandela

"Prayer is God's invitation to us, to join Him in His work."

"You will be the slaves of other man's dreams, or you will work for your own dreams... but you will work."

Casting Crowns: Voice of Truth

Oh,what I would do to have
the kind of faith it takes
To climb out of this boat I'm in
Onto the crashing waves
To step out of my comfort zone
Into the realm of the unknown
Where Jesus is,
And he's holding out his hand

But the waves are calling out my name
and they laugh at me
Reminding me of all the times
I've tried before and failed
The waves they keep on telling me
time and time again
"Boy, you'll never win,
You you'll never win

But the Voice of truth tells me a different story
the Voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
and the Voice of truth says "this is for My glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the Voice of truth

Oh, what I would do
to have the kind of strength it takes
To stand before a giant
with just a sling and a stone
Surrounded by the sound
of a thousand warriors
shaking in their armor
Wishing they'd have had the strength to stand

But the giant's calling out
my name and he laughs at me
Reminding me of all the times
I've tried before and failed
The giant keeps on telling me
time and time again
"Boy you'll never win,
you'll never win."

But the voice of truth tells me a different story
the Voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
and the Voice of truth says "this is for My glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe the Voice of truth

But the stone was just the right size
to put the giant on the ground
and the waves they don't seem so high
from on top of them looking down
I will soar with the wings of eagles
when I stop and listen to the sound of Jesus
singing over me

But the Voice of truth tells me a different story
The Voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"
And the Voice of truth says "this is for my glory"
Out of all the voices calling out to me
I will choose to listen and believe
I will choose to listen and believe the Voice of truth

I will listen and believe
I will listen and believe the Voice of truth
I will listen and believe
'Cause Jesus you are the Voice of truth
And I will listen to you.. oh you are the Voice of truth

"Money in and of itself is of no value. It is simply a tool for the enlightened mind to use."

"The Spirit of the LORD is on Me, because the LORD has anointed Me to preach good tiding to the poor, He has sent Me to heal the broken hearted

to proclaim liberty to the captives and the opening of the prison to those who are bound....

to console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes-

the oil of Joy for mourning

the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness."

The Death of "Normal"

Taken from a journal I kept when Tristan first got sick...


April 10, 2007

To all of the people that hold a piece of our hearts:

“The kingdom of Heaven suffers great violence, and violent men take it by force.”

As I’m sure you are all aware, we’ve been travelling down a very unexpected road over the last few months. Even though for most of you this will be old news, if you know me, you know I’m never good at keeping things short and sweet, I just have this need to tell the whole story, right from the beginning! It all started about June of 89, when I met this long haired drummer who scared the willies out of me… no just kidding, I won’t go back that far.

I’ll start around Tristan’s 7’th birthday…. Just a couple of nights before his birthday, I had one of the worst nights of my life… or so I thought at that time. Glenn and I had been talking about what our role, or ministry could be, in a revival that we had been praying for in Camrose. He thought he would begin to pray for each house as he delivered their papers to them, we prayed together, and off he went to work. I was lying in bed, and literally felt something jump on my back. I was instantly aware that I was in a spiritual battle, and needed to fight. I began to pray in tongues, and seek the Lord for help. Just a few minutes passed, and River, who was sleeping beside me started throwing up, retching, and having the most diarrhoea I‘ve ever seen. Let‘s just say he was living up to his name. That same night Eli was also sick. Glenn didn’t feel well at all either while doing his paper routes. He could hardly walk as his back suddenly went out. Tristan also began not feeling well, although he never threw up, or had a fever. The week went by, and River and Eli were back to their bouncy selves, while Tristan, even though he hadn’t ever gotten as sick as his younger brothers, just wasn’t himself. He became more and more tired, and pale. Over the next week end, he began having occasional nose bleeds. We took him to church still, and prayed over him, while he slept mostly, just curled up beside us. I remember Glenn and I looking at each other wondering what was going on. We decided that we’d take him in to the walk in clinic Monday just to make sure he was ok. That morning, it was prophesied over Glenn that his head would be anointed with joy, that he would be supernaturally made aware of the specific ways Satan was going to try to attack his household, and that our home would be a place of joy and peace, amidst chaos.

The next morning, February 26, Glenn returned home from his papers, to find Tristan lying on the couch with blood soaking his face, neck and hair. He called me and said that we needed to take Tristan in to the hospital, NOW. Tristan almost passed out in the bathroom after Glenn helped him in to the tub. He had me call 911, but once he saw that Tristan was still somewhat conscious, he thought we could take him to emerge ourselves, so I hung up, and helped Tristan get dressed quickly, and we were off. I remember looking back to see Eli smiling at me from his crib, and I told him “it’s ok, Mommy will be back soon” so he waved his little hand, and we left the older boys in charge.
When we arrived at the Camrose emerg department, the doctor was about to dismiss us, saying that his nose bleeds were just from our new climate here in Alberta. “Just take him home and make sure you put Vaseline up his nose daily” was their prescription. Until they took a blood test. They’d opted for a blood test after I mentioned again how tired and pale he was… and had been for the last few days. I noticed a marked change in the atmosphere after they got the first results back. We were no longer dismissed, or fluffed off. Suddenly there was mummers of paediatricians, and checking for body bruising, bone marrow, and serious illness. Tristan asked to go to the washroom, and collapsed in my arms before we made it to the toilette. They gave him a blood transfusion there in the emerge, and we were told that once he was stable enough we would be going to the city via ambulance. The worst part about that day was the not knowing. All I knew was that people were whispering around us, not looking us in the eye, and were looking at Tristan with such sadness in their faces. I actually regretted naming him Tristan then, remembering how our friend had told us that his name came from the French word for sadness. I remembered how Glenn and I had prayed over him as a baby just days old, in his crib. I remembered saying to Glenn, “You have to pray for him, he just looks sad. He looks like he’s worried to be here.“ In the days to follow our prayer over him, he became just a joyful little person, even as an infant… he attacked everything with such gusto. His eyes took on a sparkle that longed to engage everyone, to suck all of the joy he could handle out of life, and more! I don’t know how many times I’ve said to him “Tristan do you know you’re Mommy’s Joy?” I remember wondering then, if he knew somehow even as a tiny baby days old, that he was going to be asked to walk a difficult path.

They couldn’t tell me anything except that they’d never seen anyone with blood levels like his…. I had no idea what they meant. I still wanted to believe that maybe he’d just had one too many nose bleeds, and would be fine after a transfusion. That sadness of the nurses, the battle with fear that I had over the unknown, and the absolute lack of all colour in Tristan are the things I will remember most about our stay at that Emergency Department. He was literally the same offwhite colour of the hospital nightgown they gave him to wear.

My whole job that day was to offer him sips of my tea, and read to him. I noticed that even though he still chattered away to me, as the day went on, he wasn’t making sense all the time. He would ask me what our new place in Edmonton was going to be like, and how would we have room for everyone there? When I would ask him simple questions about the Junie B. book I was reading to him, he really had no clue at all what the answer was. We’d arrived at the Emerge around 7 in the morning, Glenn had come and gone, only knowing on that we were waiting for a transfusion, then a trip to the Stollery.

Finally around 5:30 we were off to Edmonton via Ambulance. Tristan was awake, but very quiet for the ride. We arrived at the Emerge department at the U of A hospital, and were in the process of getting registered there, when Tristan started into a seizure. We had been chatting quietly in the hall, and I was actually a little encouraged that he seemed more aware, or awake or something. Then he just looked away from me, and started blinking. My heart dropped. I told the EMT with us that he was not responding. They called his name”Tristan… hey buddy” but he began jerking and flailing his arms, and legs. I just remember hearing them say quietly to each other: “Point of Entry”, and wheeling him down a long white hall, I follow them saying “Oh God, Oh God”, as I hear: “All available Pediatric doctors to Trauma room 8, STAT” being repeated over and over again. They wheel him into this huge room, and now just seconds later, there’s swarms of people around him talking, and shouting things to each other. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I was actually afraid to look at him, and even be in the same room with all of them. I turned to leave, thinking I’d wait outside the doors, when one of them comes and gets me, and shows me where to stand, smack in the middle of the chaos. They ask me all the same questions I’d answered all day: “Has he ever been sick like this before? Has he had any bad falls? How did this all get started?” I remember thinking how strange it was to hear them saying his name over and over again, almost like this “Tristan Ryan” couldn’t be my Tristan Ryan…. Not the Tristan who was always climbing walls and trees, and whatever else he could manage… not the Tristan who couldn’t sit still long enough to be allowed in Noah’s park his first thousand attempts…. Surely this wasn’t the same one that was now lying there. He’d always run after any opportunity to be the centre of peoples attention, but not this way. “Oh God, please no.” It was at this point that I began to realize that I needed Glenn. I actually wondered if my encouragement for him to go home, keep things as normal as possible for everyone else, would cost him his last chance to say good bye to his little boy. Just at the time that I was trying to get a call through to home right from the trauma room, my friend Laura was put through over the phone to me. She got things under control at home, and sent Glenn off to Edmonton with her husband Marty…

Eventually the seizures stopped. They put a breathing tube in his mouth, to protect his airway. As soon as he was stable enough, I followed them for a CT scan, where they thought they might find a bleed in the brain. One doctor told me it was almost good news if it was a bleed in the brain, because most times, they could fix it, and if it wasn’t it was “a crap shoot” to try to figure out what the bleep going on to cause all of this.” I remember kneeling down right outside the doors, praying and shaking, and repeating to myself, I will not accept a spirit of fear. You have not given me a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and a sound mind. I repeated that over and over again, and asked for a viable miracle… or the strength to get through whatever lay ahead. I thought often of the family we’d known in Vanastra, who’d lost their little girl to meningitis… and wondered what would happen to my sanity if that was what God was asking me to go through… I remembered how mad I was one summer at my Mom, after she’d cut the boys hair so short with the clippers that I thought they looked like cancer kids. I wondered if I’d have one for real this time… I asked God for a word to get us through, I felt like Peter being swallowed up in the waves… But God was so faithful. Each time I opened the Bible, my eyes went right to where I knew God was speaking just to me. I first went to the passage where an angel was telling Daniel he’d been held up by a battle with one of Satan’s angels… then I went to the verse in Matthew were God says that no one who offers a child a cup of water in His name will lose his reward… my mind went back to the times I’d tried to get Tristan to drink that day. God met me on those pages that night. He whispered to me of his love for me, and for Tristan, and of His sovereignty.

Soon enough, the swarm of Doctors and nurses that surrounded Tristan floated out of the scan room, and we were rushing down a different hall. On route they explained that they hadn’t found anything unusual on the scan, and that they were taking him to the Pediatric ICU, where they’d run more tests. I followed them into the unit, but one of the head doctors quickly whisked me out to a waiting room outside big double doors, with a phone you had to call each time you wanted to go in. He said, call in about 15 minutes or so, and after we get him settled into a bed here, we’ll come and get you. When they finally let me in to see him after what felt like hours, I just remember thinking “Oh God, where do I touch him?” Everywhere but one foot had multiple tubes going in and out. Machines were beeping, and breathing for him. I remember being scared to touch him… scared to hurt him, and just plain scared. I remember thinking, how could he be this sick, and I didn’t know? Maybe it’s true, maybe we do have too many children to care for them properly I thought…How could I have not known something like this was going on?

Suddenly that same doctor rushed into the room and said “It’s his kidneys! We know what’s been going on now.” He talked to me, and to the other doctors still swarming around him, saying something about “We’ll need to insert a catheter in his groin for hemo. I remember my knees buckling, because I thought he said chemo… He took a hold of me, and explained that no, he wouldn’t need chemo, but hemo dialysis. At this point I remember being slightly relieved, but I just didn’t know whether this option was better or worse? I didn’t know what it was… I just remember the words: “Your son is in accute Renal failure”… and thinking ok what does that mean? Where do we go from here? The doctor asked me to leave while they put in the catheter, and as he was leading me out, he was introducing me to some of the staff there. He was so calm and warm and friendly. I remember him saying: ”Don’t worry, you’ll get to know all of us pretty soon” and inside I’m shaking and screaming “NO! I don’t want to know all of you… I don’t want to become the kidney expert you’re telling me I’ll be, I just want to go home! I miss my babies. I miss my Tristan. I just need to go home. I missed my family so terribly at that moment, I wasn’t sure I could actually keep breathing. For the first time that day, I totally broke, and instantly a nurse was there wrapping her arms around me, and leading me to a “Quiet room” just down the hall. She asked me if I had any questions. I told her through my sobs that I didn’t know what to ask… except were they sure he didn’t have cancer? Was this worse or better? She said neither option was a good option… I told her that I have seven children, and I needed to know what to expect, to know what to plan for the ones at home. She told me, (she was about the tenth person to tell me that day) that my son was a very, very sick little boy, and that I should expect at least a week in intensive care or more, and then weeks, maybe months, in the wards after that. I kept saying, is he stable now? All she could say was that they didn’t anticipate anything happening quickly now, and that he would have one to one care. She left, and I cried some more, and then Glenn and Laura and Marty got there.

The four of us did some major praying in that little room… I think that was the first time Marty looked at me, with excitement in his eyes, and said: “Do you believe God can give Tristan a new kidney?”. I also remember Marty telling us that he was going to take the next day off of work to pray and fast for Tristan’s full recovery. I was amazed at the closeness of these two people whom we’d just met months, not years before. They had chosen to join us in our battle. I’m so thankful that God orchestrated that… Not surprisingly, our paths had crossed through music. A friendship had formed while doing worship together. His timing is perfect. The night we first got together with them as couples came to mind. Glenn and I had been sitting in a park in Camrose, and I had been counting the true cost of our move away from our life in Goderich. I told Glenn, and God, “Do you realize how many friends we’ve just walked away from? And now there’s really no one here that we can share our every day lives with. “ This was early June, about six months in to our Bethany Homes Adventure, and let me just say that we longed for our own lives, outside of that place. We absolutely needed that. The words: ”I hope God gives us good friends by Christmas” had just sulked off my lips, when Laura, Marty and Isaac, their two year old little boy walked by our bench. We got together later that night, and had coffee. I will always remember most the atmosphere of prayer from that very first night. We’d prayed together, and shared our hearts, and God had moved mightily, in a way Glenn and I had known only a few times before. Now, months later, we found ourselves at the foot of a mountain so much larger than the last. But at least we had practice.

I honestly don’t remember too much more about that time. Amazingly enough the well of my remembrance is drying up…. Cardboard pizza, and a difficult call to my Mom. I remember how hard it was to tell her even a fraction of what had gone on in that day. I’d spent so much of my life trying not to upset her, and here I was, about to tear out a piece of her heart… but I remember knowing that my other children needed her. I just could not think about any other option for them, than having Grandma there. If I couldn‘t be, it had to be her, or at least my Sister, who had just become a grandmother that same day. I remember thinking, almost numb, when Mom told me about Jason’s little girl, how just like life that was… death, and life ushered in the same day…. Blessings and curses around every corner.

After our friends left, Glenn and I were allowed to go back in and see Tristan finally. He’d had a very large cathader inserted into his groin. I remember worrying for Glenn, wondering how he’d handle seeing his little son lying there. But we got through, together. There was still a measure of unbelief, or awe hanging over me… I remember all these fleeting thoughts of our other children. My heart felt like it was being torn in pieces as I longed to be in two places at once. How many times through the day did I think of that little smile and wave from Eli? I couldn’t believe it would have to do me so long. I took those memories out and nibbled on them like the last cherished morsel of bread on a deserted island… I could only handle a little bit at a time, or I was sure I would crumble.

We met our first Nephrologist that night too. Dr. Yu. I remember asking her to give us the worst case scenario, and since the words: fairly normal long life fit in there somewhere, we could breathe for the moment.

They set us up in a Parent’s room just down the hall from the PICU, over the next four nights, that was home for Glenn and I. I remember thinking something must be wrong with us, because we were just so thankful to be together even that night. I can’t remember what anymore, but something even made me laugh a little, and I thought, “What’s wrong with this picture?” But honestly, we were just so incredibly relieved to not be planning a funeral. I remember snuggling up with Glenn, wanting to crawl inside of his mantle of protection and just breathe. He whispered to me something I will teasure in my heart for always. He told me, and only me, that he’d seen the Lord Jesus standing at the head of Tristan’s bed the first time he’d seen him… while I was still in the quiet room waiting for them to come. He said he saw him rubbing his face, and telling him that he loved him. I remember that even though it amazed me, I still wasn’t quite sure I should think of this as a good thing… Selfish or not, I wondered if Jesus was there to walk him Home. I remember now, how hard I tried to be ok with that, but inside pleading at God to leave him with us. I thought sure I had to prepare myself to let him go. I tried so hard to be strong, but inside, I knew my sanity would go with him.

I thought often that night, and in the nights to come, of the journey the Lord had taken me through a couple of years before, when He’d allowed, our unborn baby to join Him instead of us. I remember how many months I’d battled with Him about this… how despair and mistrust seemed to lurk in the back of my mind for so long, until I finally met with God on the alter at Bethel. As my friend Becky prayed for renewed hope in my life, I had a very real encounter with God. He’d specifically asked me to let go of my children. He waited. Patient, yet persistent, for me to finally yield. “OK! You win.” I screamed inside. “If you are in charge of when my babies come, You have to be in charge of when they go. My children are no longer mine. They never were. They are yours Lord. I release them into your hands. He told me that night so clearly it was scary, to: “Hold on… it was going to be quite a ride.” These words I’ll never forget. He said: Even if everyone else in your life falls away, I have to be enough.” While I know that should have scared me silly that night in Edmonton, for some strange reason, I found peace in it. I knew He had been preparing me for this night back at that alter. I renewed my covenant with Him again and again over the next few days and nights… and I cried out to Him. In my tears, he met me, with such intimacy and care, I can’t begin to share it with you. I’ve just never experienced such tender conversation as what he opened my heart to. I knew I was being asked to walk much closer to the flame than I’d ever been asked to do before. I wasn’t at all sure that I could rise to the challenge, but I knew He was right there with me, and with all of us. I remember falling even more deeply in love with my husband over that first night as well. I honestly never imagined that he could be so strong, and so tender at the same time. I remembered a poem I’d written long before we married, saying how. in the end, after all of the pain, and struggles, I would choose to be beside him. I was overwhelmed that God had chosen to see that desire come to fruition, and here we were, so many years later, still finding comfort in that place.

There was an atmosphere of care and competency in that hospital that offered us at least some rest. As long as Glenn was there, or I was reading scripture, or praying, I was ok. But it was a moment by moment challenge to stay afloat. When the waves of fear and shock became to difficult to navigate, one or both of us would wonder back to Tristan… who since the seizure, had been in a drug induced coma.

The next days for Tristan, I’m sure must have been horrible. I’m utterly thankful for the fact that he has no recollection of them at all. He was heavily sedated still, mostly I think, because he still had that tube down his throat for breathing purposes. The thing was, even in PICU, Tristan was his usual busy little self. He would partially wake up about every fifteen minutes or so, and try to pull the tubes out of his mouth and nose. I remember seeing such fear in his little eyes at those times… Many many times we had to wrestle with him, even though they already had his hands tied down. He could wrangle out of them pretty quickly. They just kept having to administer more and more drugs… until he’d colapse back on the bed for the next few minutes when the drill started again. Even then though, there were times when I knew he heard my voice. His first two days he had two brand new, nice, but young nurses. They tried to talk to him with a sugary tone, and of course he completely dismissed them. That actually tickled me. He was still him! Those poor nursed though, regularly had to call others in for help. Early on, we found out that he had only one kidney, and that one was severely malformed. My first thought was, “How could that be? You made it Jesus… what happened?”

I remember meeting a social worker our first full day there. She came in to the room with Tristan and I. I know now that everyone is assigned a social worker, if you have a child in the PICU… then however, I immediately went on guard. All those things you hear as a homeschooler about ”What to do if a social worker shows up at your door” flashed through my brain. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. God was revealing to me my hard heart, and prejudices. She was so kind and caring. I found myself just breaking down at her kindness. All she had to do was ask me if I had any other children, and I bawled. I blubbered all about the little ones at him, and the not so little ones… and answered any other questions she asked, about Glenn’s job, how we were coping, and so on… then she went off to start her battle on our account. I thank the Lord for her now. She made me remember my fleeting desire once to go into social work. She helped us met the needs we didn’t even know we had yet. I don’t know if she knows the Lord, but she was definitely a tool in His hand. Even now, we have two other social workers working on our behalf, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Marty and Laura came back to see Tristan and I that day as well. Marty and I went in to pray over him, and annoint him with oil. I felt thankful to be able to once again, follow the steps laid out in scripture for dealing with sickness, but as Marty’s prayer went on, I began to feel more and more uncomfortable. Although he began his discourse with thankfulness for the care Tristan was receiving, he seemed to be dismissing all of the medical input, while asking God for a supernatural miracle…. One that would astound the doctors and nurses, infact anyone who heard of it. He began to speak as though he knew this miracle had already taken place, and in my heart, there was that unruly nature of mine, trying so hard to go with the flow, but not willing to stake my whole hope and expectation on this “Give it to me NOW!” approach. To my thinking, approaching God like that just seemed like a spoiled child throwing a temper tantrum…. And what’s more, I couldn’t help but think: ”Now, if we are going to act on what we’re praying, showing that we really believe what we’re saying, walking the talk, we would demand that all of these machines be unhooked, and take him home! I just couldn’t do that. I wondered if I should leave the room… if my lack of faith would thwart a move of God… I began to feel like that foolish man, driven and tossed by the winds of doctrine. It’s one thing to have a theory, and to have all of our beliefs stacked up on a shelf of assumptions, I’ve learned it’s quite another when the cost is your son.

Tuesday was also the first day we met our dietician. I knew so little about kidneys at all at that point, that I wondered what the heck a dietician was doing coming to see my son? She introduced herself with such confidence it kind of threw me. She quickly proceeded to let me know that we’d not be getting rid of her for years and years to come, and it was another one of those moments that inside I screamed at her…. I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to have this pushy lady in my life till Tristan was a teenager. No thank you! I hated that I didn’t seem to have a choice. She did give me some books and a binder to read from the Kidney foundation though. For that I was incredibly thankful. Now at least, I thought, when the doctors ask me for the thousandth time if I have any questions, I may actually have some they could answer.

Wednesday was a turning point for me. It was probably my favourite day there for my sake, if not Tristan’s. I’d stayed up all night reading all of the literature I could get my hands on, and I felt armed with new understanding… like I’d just joined the team of people trying to help. The fog of shock and ignorance was dissipating. Glenn had left mid day the day before, to be with the other children, and then pick up my mom from the Airport early Wednesday. He took Jordon with him, so it was the three of them that met me outside the doors to the PICU in the wee hours of Wednesday morning. I know I missed my mom, but my heart just sang at being able to see Jordon. I’d grown accustom to being away from my mother, but not my son. Soon after they saw Tristan, they were off to deliver Grandma home to the not so little family awaiting her. With them being cared for, I went in to start the next phase of my life, as a part of Tristan’s health care team.

I just knew the day was going to be a good one as soon as I walked into Tristan’s room. It’s funny how you know these things. Probably the first thing I noticed was the sheer volume of help we had. There was a nurse there sitting beside a large machine that was hooked up to Tristan. I soon learned that his Hemo Dialysis was underway. Because I’d been reading all night, I knew that the machine was pumping out his blood, cleaning it, and pumping it right back in at the same time. While all of this was going on, he was receiving his third blood transfusion as well. You may wonder why this was a good thing, but understand, I now knew more what to expect, and what needed to be done, and I knew this was going to help, so I was all for it. There were also two other nurses in their both assigned to Tristan’s care that day. They were both older, (a refreshing change I must admit) but one was transferring in to the ward, so she was being trained by the other. I became a student of that wise nurse that day. I will bless her for her input each time I remember her from here to eternity.

I remember so clearly, her looking me in the eye, and telling me, “Don’t treat him any differently, or you will make him different.” Those words ring in my head almost daily. It’s a hard instruction to follow some days, but it’s one of my goals. I learned that she has a son who had a liver transplant 18 years ago, and is still going strong. He had had a stroke though, at five or so, due to some of his meds, and he’s now autistic. But she had the best attitude. She went on to become a nurse, and a nurse educator. Her life didn’t end, just because she was handed a difficult situation. I left the room that day, feeling like I could think more clearly, and hope more passionately, than I thought possible a few days ago. And it wasn’t just me who responded to her instructions. Tristan, who’d spent the last few days partially waking up every few minutes, and grabbing for the plethora of tubes in his nose and mouth, almost instantly responded to her firm, but caring tone. She would put her hand on his forehead, tell him to look at her, and God love him, he’d work so hard to just open up one or both of his eyes for a second. She’d tell him not to be afraid, that the tubes were there to help him, and that he needed to leave them exactly where they were. Yes, he still needed to have more sedation, but he actually responded to her. The sight of that gave me such hope. She had first tried to get me to be the tough guy, and tell him to stop in my “mother” voice, but at that point, I just couldn’t. They would have to grab him, and hold him down, and he still had tubes everywhere. I remember saying, “You’re gonna have to trust me, that I usually try not to let him get away with too much at home, but for now, I’m not ready to pick up that role again yet. I still don’t know where to touch him without hurting him…. And at this point, I don’t really care how he’s acting, I’m just glad he’s here.” I gave her permission to be a bit of a heavy with him, and I think it did his heart a world of good. There was that first little bit of normalcy coming back to his rapidly changing world.

That day, we spent waiting for surgery for him. I met with the surgens, and they assured me that it was only a small, uncomplicated thing. They needed to insert a catheter into his abdominal sack, or the peritoneal cavity, to perform the PD dialysis when he was ready for it. They had to use hemo at first, because the toxins in his blood had risen to such alarming levels. Doctors there had literally never seen any child with levels like his. I remember feeling like such a terrible parent when they’d say stuff like that, because I thought: “How could I not see this? How could I not know that my child was being poisoned by his own blood?” They’d assure me, that unless he’d had a blood test, there was no way of knowing, until things became critical, like they did. The nurses that day tried to encourage me that after the surgery, things should begin to get much better. We’d be able to get him off of the breathing tube, and eventually, the sedation drugs he was being pumped with. I was really worried that all of his slow responses, and such, wouldn’t go away. The doctors couldn’t make my worries go away either, as that was one of the things they were wondering too. They knew the seizures he’d had could have been explained by the blood poisoning, but they didn’t know how much, if any permanent effect we would be dealing with once he did come off of things.

Glenn came and went, and came and went that day. He found it so hard to see Tristan like that. I remember feeling a little irritated with him actually. Terrible wife that I am… I tried to keep him from crying at Tristan’s bed side, because I didn’t want Tristan to know things were as bad as they were. I chose to ramble on and on to him instead, about the puppy Dad had found for him, and what I was sure the other kids must be up to at home. Finally, into the evening, they came to get him for surgery, and Glenn convinced me to run out for a quick bite to eat. I remember we actually went off hospital grounds, just to a near by restaurant, and as soon as I walked into the place, anxiety almost overwhelmed me. This was the first time out of what had become my “safe zone”. What was I doing away from the hospital? Didn’t Glenn know I had to be there? I couldn’t just break down here, there were normal people here, who still had normal lives. I remember thinking, no, KNOWING, that this wasn’t my life anymore. I’ve never had such a strange, and horrible meal in my life. It was all we could do to choke down a few bites, and then we went literally running back to the room.

Not a second too soon either. As I was racing in there, the sounds in the room overtook me. They were back again, the cloud of green suits, with the same level of anxious activity I’d seen a few days ago. This time, they were yelling Tristan’s name…. “Breath Tristan… Come on buddy”, but it wasn’t their coaching I heard…. It was the sound a parent never wants to hear their child making. Even with all of our bouts with Asthma, I’d never heard anyone clamouring for breath like I heard Tristan that night. Apparently they’d taken the breathing tubes out way too soon… and were on the verge of having to put them right back in again. We were able to calm him down a bit, just by talking to him / yelling for him to breath, but that was definitely one of the worst nights of my life. Second only to the one a few nights before that,

His breathing issues where what kept him in the PICU for another week or so. They figure he had such a hard time coming off of everything because of all of the sedation he’d had to go under. His blood just couldn’t clear it, so it took days upon days. He spent some time just with oxygen in a regular mask, then in a special mask that actually delivered pressure to make him take breaths when he wasn’t on his own, then very quickly, once he was really really getting better, he didn’t need any mask at all. Soon after that, we were sent up to the wards, to embark on the next phase of our getting better journey. Before we leave the PICU though, let’s get back to our “Nursing Allstars”. I had really only one other nurse that was of the same calibre that my first well loved nurse had been. One was of the same extreme, only this time for the negative. Again, it was first thing in the morning, and she made some comment about Tristan possibly needing an enema. I was basically talking to myself at this point, saying that at least he was still pretty much out of it, so it shouldn’t bother him too much. She chose to use that time, at our first meeting, to lay what she thought were the hard fact about our new life on both of us then and there: She said: “Look, you’ve got to come to terms with the facts here. Tristan’s whole life is going to be made up of difficulty after difficulty now. You are just going to have to come up with some coping strategies, because this is how it is from here on out.” I don’t know which I wanted to do more, bawl, or hall off and smack her---- really really hard. I must tell you, this was a big decision for me! She spent the day pawning off her duties, giggling at her math errors, while figuring out his dosages, and counting the minutes till break. To say that I hated her was an understatement. Sad but true. And yes, I did have a long heart to heart with her supervisor. I really hope she’s searching for a new line of work today. But let’s get back to his other really super fantastic nurse before my blood pressure rises too much. Our “good nurse the second” actually snuck Tristan in a orange popsicle one day, and the look on his face! I hadn’t seen such delight since I’d seen him eating the icecream cone the Angels were feeding him. This really did happen… I know it. One day, he was lying there in his bed, with just the regular oxygen mask on, and suddenly he perked right up, and started licking and slurping in his mask. They poor kid went almost a week without anything by mouth, so this was heart wrenching to watch. I asked him what he was doing, and he says: “I’m eating” like as if to say, “What do you think I’m doing Mom?” I asked what he was eating, and he contentedly says, between licks, “Icecream”. But that orange popsicle was from an actual nice person, this side of eternity, and I honestly contribute that one act of kindness to Tristan’s change in outlook. Before that, he was difficult to draw out at times, and often slow in his speech, but that one popsicle seemed to remind him he had an awful lot of living to do, and at least some of it was going to be pretty fine!

Thoughts on Gentrification, or at least my version of it!

I have this really incredible neighbor whom I absolutely love! She makes me think, and ponder life in ways I haven't had the privilege to in years.... Thank you Carrissa for stretching my thoughts and for being a living breathing example of God's version of a neighbor to me and my family. We live an a rather adventurous part of Edmonton, her and I.... Carrissa is wrting an article on "gentrification". She asked some of us from the area to give her our thoughts on the issue, so after asking her for a lovely little definition, here's what came to mind:

I'm going to do my best to give you my thoughts, as scattered as they may be, on this issue. Please keep in mind that honestly, I haven't thought about it, either in it's complexity or quite frankly very much at all, in.... well I don't care to count the years since I last found myself sitting in Sociology. But you've awakened in me, the girl who loved to sit and ponder this stuff! I think that's one of the reasons I'm excited to count you as a new friend!

Gentrification:

One of the things that troubles me when considering this issue, is that there seems to be a real "us" and "them" mentality. So the question is, on which side the the scale do I find myself?

As someone who has seen my own share of challenges in the financial department in the last few years, I have to tell you, I see a real value in walking through life with Strength in the financial department. I don't like the idea of limitting the market, or even pondering the question: "Should I be fixing up my back yard even though it may feed the market, bring higher property values, and displace the poor? I honestly have never even considered it. Should I? Honestly, the whole concept seems very backwards to me, but maybe I need some more education.

My thinking has always come at things from the opposite extreme: I've always thought that it was my responsibility to make sure I took the best care possible of my environment. (don't judge this by my yard! Oh how the mighty have fallen, in my expectation department!) I've never considered how pouring Beauty and Care into my environment could actually harm my neighbours if they didn't happen to be the most advantaged ones. Infact, in the book: "The Tipping Point" by Malcom Gladwell, the author discusses how the entire crime rate of New York City fell dramatically as a result of a huge Community Clean Up on the Subways and inner city Neighbourhoods. When the appearance of things looks like no one cares, frustration, despair, and disallusionment settles in on residents. He says that when we start to take initiative, clean up graffiti, fix the broken windows, and not allow a general state of disrepair, we take back our streets!

But then, maybe someone on the other side of this discussion would ask: is that the goal?

Our eyes are a gate to our souls. What do we allow them to see day in and day out? Disrepair? If we go to an extreme in this issue, and choose to take a stand against developement and property value increases through neglecting any improvements, exactly what message are we sending out about our expectations, hopes and dreams? Honestly, sometimes I really struggle with what I have to see when I walk through our neighbourhood. These are the things that run through my head. But closing my eyes, or moving away, doesn't make the derilect building or despair go away. Ane even over the short time I've been here, the air has changed so much! Thanks to community efforts of others, we can all enjoy the talents of so many from right here! There is so much talent in this little community, and I am so thankful for how it is beginning to be celebrated! I won't despise the day of small beginnings. There's a part of me that feels the energy of this place. I can almost feel the change that's coming... and I for one, am excited for it.

I guess now would be a good time to let you know, I am a Dreamer. I tend to dream Big. The other thing I don't like about this issue, is that there seems to be almost a negative around people who have means. Is this issue asking me to make a choice between economic progess and helping the poor? This seems again, so backwards to me! I may not have many means right now, but honeslty, I plan to. Do I want to live in a gated community where I am surrounded with people who make six and seven figure incomes? No. I don't have any interest in that. Nor do I think that's neccessarily a great goal to have for myself. But that being said: If I am making six figures, will I no longer be welcome in this community? Would others preferr me to NOT to build a new house here? Am I not to invite other larger income earners to buy in my fabulously talented and spicy neighbourhood? Will we complain when a Starbucks finds it's way to our door? I guess I have to ask: Why can't I have both diversity and affluency? To hold back on market progress almost hints of a socialist premise that I am just not comfortable with honestly.

So what's the answer?

I don't really have it. But here's what I do have: A desire to pour strength and hope and belief in the possibilities around every corner. For EVERY ONE. What if we who have eyes to see, got out of debt and got some strength in our family's finances? What if those of us here, in this very neighbourhood were to start buying up the derelict buildings? What if we made them into apartment buildings, and actually kept the prices low enough to help the single mother be able to provide a descent home for her family? What if we, as neighbours on the Ave, created "living spaces" for the temporarily broken, the temporarily homeless families. What if we gave people the skills and address needed to get a job? What if we connected them to child care? What if we just gave them a cold drink of water, and hope for tomorrow? What if we were the bridge to hope?

I really don't feel like holding back progess is the key. I think the key is involving EVERYONE in that progess.

Is it a possibility? Probably not on a human level. But we're not left to merely human abilities.

Just a few thoughts. Maybe I don't even have a true understanding of the conversation you're looking to have.... but hey, this is what's on my heart so far

I Believe in World Changers

I was asked not long ago by one of the mentors in my life, to write on why I do what I do... Here's what came out!

I believe I have a vehicle that will move those who see it, from uncertainty, to knowing that they have not been forgotten. That their dreams matter. I believe that what I'm involved in is pouring strength into the homes of those whom some would call "Normal Families". I would call them Visionaries. I would say, what I have in my hand is the fuel that feeds the fires that are already burning in the hearts of those who have just enough spunk left to say: "I want more." "I want to do more." " I want to give more." " I want to live my life out, in an extraordinary way, but hear me: I will NOT trade in on my highest values to do so."

For a moment in my life, I thought that my choice to enjoy more than the average number of children in my family would limit my choices as far as how I would be able to provide for them. But Someone was always whispering in my ear: "Trust Me." "I am your Provider." "Don't worry about finances. I'm going to surround you with people who Believe in what you're doing." And I would say in my heart, "What am I doing God?" but now I know.

I'm offering a fresh reality to the Dreamers and the Misfits. I'm shouting out, for all who can hear: "Live your life out in such a way that makes your heart sing. Don't listen to the lie that says you can't. It's right here!"

I just find those fires in hearts. I keep my eyes open for the smallest spark, and I pour on the fuel. I show them their new choices. I pour on belief, great expectation, and words of faith. I whisper to their fragile dreams, the ones that were hidden there from before time-- till I see them change the world!