Life's Greatest Choices

Every day offers so many choices…to get out of bed on time or sleep 15 more minutes, to skip breakfast or not, what to wear, what to say…you get the picture. But I feel there are very few times in life when you are literally standing at a fork in the road deciding which way to go, with each path leading you somewhere completely different. I can’t believe it has almost been a year since I made one of life’s greatest choices and I can’t help but reflect on how drastically it has impacted my life.

As many of you know my husband returned from Iraq last November just in time for our first anniversary (literally just in time, two hours before midnight), and though we were overjoyed to be back together we weren’t planning on him being home for a few more months. We had a plan. We had it all figured out. That was our first mistake ;) I was supposed to finish my Bachelor’s while he was in Iraq and then move down to Texas. But God, as He often does, had other ideas for us. He knew we wouldn’t last long trying to sustain a long-distance marriage for 6 more months after doing it for the last 7. Here came the time to make a choice, to stay in Colorado to finish my degree or to leave and be with my husband.

It is no secret that I packed my bags and left for Texas within 4 days of deciding to move; when God moves He moves quickly! It wasn’t an easy decision by any means. I was leaving everything and everyone I had ever known, not to mention the dreams I had always had in my sights. Yet I felt God pushing and unlike so many times in the past I was going to stop fighting Him and just follow. The first months in Texas were kind of rough. I went from working two jobs, going to school fulltime and leading campus organizations to doing absolutely nothing. I was going crazy staying in the house all day doing the same thing every day. After much discussion with my husband I decided to find a job, specifically in my field of passion: criminal justice. I absolutely LOVED working with former offenders in Colorado so I knew in my heart that is where I ‘needed’ to be. I have to laugh as I type this because once again God had other plans! I applied to be a police officer, correction officer, police clerk, and even a teacher of sorts. I made great progress, had good interviews but something was always in the way. While I waited for the right job to come along I turned my search elsewhere, I started looking into non-profits in the community.

Looking back it was nothing less than Divine appointment how I ended up at Hope Pregnancy Center. A friend has recently started working for the organization and ironically I came across them in my Google search that same day. I remember thinking, “a pregnancy center? Me? What do I know about working with pregnant women?”

Enter God….”Go check it out.”

Me: “Uh not really up my alley. Silly God. Isn’t there a prison ministry around here?”

God: “Trust me.”

Seriously the conversation pretty much went like that. I did like that the organization was Christ-centered since I had spent the last several months working for an organization that not only acknowledged God but encouraged us to share about it with clients. Long story short, from the first meeting I had with the center director to the first time I stepped into the counseling room I felt at home. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know the ‘trade’ so to speak, I knew working with people, I knew Christ and that is all that mattered.

To say that I’ve been blessed by my time at Hope would be a huge understatement. I have learned so much about myself as a person, a professional and a follower of Christ. Most importantly, I gained the confidence to share the Gospel with all God calls me to; something I am ashamed to say I struggled with before. But even setting all that aside I have made some incredible friends. The women I have the privilege working with never cease to amaze me. They listen to me complain when my husband has to be away. They supported me after we lost our first baby. And they share in our joy of our gift Baby Jasmine. Through their words, hugs and even silliness I have found my Texas family and that is something I will never take for granted.

It is hard to think about leaving this place…today I gave them a date for my final day. Such a bittersweet time this is but I take comfort in the fact that God is leading us through our newest life choices: transitioning to Colorado and bringing our baby girl into this world. It helps knowing that family (biological, church and family in heart) awaits our arrival as well as going back to work with DenverWorks. It’s funny how God led me away from an awesome group of ladies in Denver down to another group in Texas just to bring me back!

As I continue to reflect on life’s greatest choices I leave you with one of my favorite poems by Robert Frost, it has taken on such a deeper meaning from the first time I read the words in high school.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

 

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

 

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

~Robert Frost

Two roads dive  nnnn

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

 

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

 

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

 

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

 

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took t

What does color have to do with it?

*I want to preface this by saying that this blog post will deal with sensitive issues regarding race, racial ignorance, and racial identity.*

I grew up in a ‘mixed’ home as some would call it, my mother is Caucasian while my father is Hispanic. Although I really wasn’t aware, or rather I didn’t place much emphasis on it, until I went to school. I never saw my mother as being different than me; honestly I didn’t see color. But kids were quick to point out that my mother looks entirely different than me with her red hair, green eyes and fair skin while I have dark brown hair, matching eyes and needless to say I am a few shades darker. I was constantly asked if she was my babysitter or stepmom. I didn’t understand why people questioned me or why it even mattered at all.

Fast forward a few years to middle school…this would be when I really started to struggle with racial identity. Many are probably wondering what that term even means and to put it simply it is the race one most identifies with. We have all been confronted with the question on medical forms and job applications, “Please check the box of your race (select only one),” or something along those lines. But what do you do if you are equally two races? I can’t deny half of myself. Yet sometimes it was just easier to identify as Hispanic since I look more so. Then I was confronted with which group of people I identify most with. As I told my mother growing up, I am too brown for the white people (based on my looks) but too white for the brown people (based on the fact that I am not fluent in Spanish); it really was a struggle. It was only made more difficult by the comments I heard from others…

In 6^th grade a fellow student, who was a refugee from Somalia I might add, told me to go back to my own country. Umm yeah I am American citizen, I am in my country. He went on to say how “‘my’ people were beneath him and someday ‘my’ people would be kissing his feet as his servants.” No joke that is a direct quote from someone who wasn’t even an American citizen himself. A year later in 7^th grade a girl who proclaimed to be a Christian (I think that is the part that hurt the worst) stood up in class and said in front of everyone, “the only reason there are dark people is because they were burned in hell.” Yeah I must have missed that verse in the Bible somewhere. Again I didn’t understand. How could someone that proclaimed the name of Christ be so hateful and hurtful over something that doesn’t matter?

I often wondered why I had been chosen to look this way while my sisters inherited my mother’s fairer skin but more often than that I just cried. People were so cruel. I was downright outraged when a girl in 8^th grade had the nerve to suggest that racism had ceased to exist since the Civil Rights Movement; yeah easy for her to say as she sat there with her blonde hair, blue eyes and white skin. What could she possibly know about racism?? She had no idea what I had been through, what I was going through and what I would face down the road.

High school got easier but I constantly had to deal with the questions: where are you from? Um Denver. Colorado. The United States. Do you speak Spanish? Uh no, do you speak French? Is that your real mom? Yes, wanna see her c-section scars? I mean seriously why do people think it is ok to ask such personal questions, it blows my mind. I’ve seen my dad have to go through it too. He gets the dumb questions, the rude remarks about being an immigrant (which he isn’t), being told to go back to his own country and even being racially profiled by the police in some instances; all because of the color of his skin.

Baby Jasmine at 18 weeks

As I’ve gotten older I have learned to brush it off or maybe I’m just more immune after all the scars, either way I don’t let it bother me as much as I did when I was a kid. However now I face a new challenge and more ignorance. Our daughter will be mixed race (one fourth Hispanic and three fourths Caucasian), there is no telling what color her skin will be. To me it doesn’t matter because she is my daughter, she is made exactly the way God intended her to be. But other people seem more preoccupied by it. I’ve been told that ‘it would be easier in society if she was just white.’ I can handle hurtful words, I’ve been doing it for years, but my daughter should not be subject to such ignorant things. Every time I hear a racial joke I literally have to bite my tongue. Hearing the word “wetback” makes my skin crawl with anger. Such things are not funny.

I want to educate others a little bit on definitions for a moment because I feel like they are often misused and misunderstood. Race refers to a large group that includes all the ethnicities of that group for example Caucasian, Hispanic, Asian, Native American or African American. Ethnicity is the sub category of a race for example German, French, Ugandan, Mexican or Chinese.

My parents

For the record, my race is Caucasian AND Hispanic. My ethnicities are Spanish, German and Swedish. My racial identity: human being. So please think twice before you laugh at a joke at another race’s expense, use a racial slur, ask a question that may potentially be hurtful or make an assumption based on someone’s skin. After all, what does color have to do with it?

<3 JT

Renal Agenesis

Renal agenesis: the medical term used to describe a person born with only one kidney. I was 16 years old before I even knew that I fell into this category. I remember thinking, “what do you mean I only have one kidney?!” I remember being shocked and confused; there were so many questions and so few answers. But looking back I still don’t think I fully comprehended the way this would impact my life. Suddenly activities I never gave a second thought to needed to be done with ‘caution.’ Every symptom of a urinary tract infection or kidney infection needed to be evaluated immediately. Just the week before I lived fairly carefree. Now I was being told I would have to wear special padding during softball to prevent injury or I shouldn’t participate at all. Life truly can change in just the blink of an eye. But life went on, I accepted the changes. I took extra precautions. It became a part of me and I was ok with that.

Now here I am feeling the same way I did when I was 16: confused and holding onto lingering questions. I met with a genetic counselor today to discuss the pregnancy and any further testing that would be needed. In all honesty our families are pretty lucky that we don’t have many things that put our child at high risk. They aren’t even overly concerned about my nephew with Down Syndrome. I felt pretty confident that we didn’t have much to worry about.

 But then we came to renal agenesis…my kidney has quickly become the significant topic of discussion because of the pregnancy. Doctors are concerned about the strain pregnancy could place on my kidney and the risk of kidney failure. Not only will my baby be in great danger if that were to happen but so would I. More blood has been taken and I have to do a 24 hour urine collection to determine a baseline for kidney function so they can monitor it throughout the pregnancy. I have yet to do the urine collection, out of fear. What if something is wrong? What will happen to the baby? What will happen to me? Why was I even born this way??

If I wasn’t already scared enough, the counselor broke more news to me. Renal agenesis could very well be passed onto my child in the form of unilateral (the absence one kidney) or worse yet bilateral (the absence of both kidneys). A person can live a fairly normal life with one, but missing both is fatal. The baby would more than likely only live a few hours after birth if he is born alive at all. This possibility never crossed my mind. As a mother I am suppose to protect this child from any harm and here I am the one that could pass this ‘genetic abnormality’ (as they called it) onto him. But we are taking the necessary steps to get more answers. In December we will have a special ultrasound at the hospital in Temple to check for the presence of both kidneys and if they are unable to find them we will go back for at least two more to be sure. For the duration of the pregnancy I will be under the supervision of not only a doctor but an urologist as well.

I am trusting God that He will watch over me and the baby. He is in control and He will give us the strength to get through. I only wish I had more answers, but God already knows the outcome and He is faithful to provide.

Our sweet baby at 10 weeks

<3 JT

Making the Grade

There have been so many different things going on lately for us between our jobs, our families, our relationship…I could go on and on. I have had so many thoughts going through my head but I haven’t been able to collect them long enough to write about. The other day I finally realized that they all come down to one thing: doubt.

I have been so overwhelmed with numerous circumstances in our life the last few weeks, none of them within my control which made it all the more frustrating. My husband was away for about a month just to come home and find out that he would possibly have to leave again for 3 months! Needless to say I completely lost it. My anxiety shot through the roof as I contemplated what I would do alone until November. I screamed. I cried. I got angry.

When my husband started to have issues at work and we weren’t sure what would happen. I screamed. I cried. I got angry.

When I made the decision to drive to Louisiana by myself I became extremely anxious. I screamed. I cried. I got angry.  

When I found out that someone close to me was expecting. I screamed. I cried. I got angry.

When I got really ill in December and still have to continue to fight. I screamed. I cried. I got angry.

Do you see a pattern here?

I did everything I could within MY OWN CONTROL that I didn’t give it the One who does have control; I didn’t give it to God. I have never felt so helpless in my whole life but I was too stubborn to let anyone help me including my Lord and Savior.

But you want to know what happened when I did let Him help me? He took care of it! My husband doesn’t have to leave, the issues are working themselves out at work, I made it safely to Louisiana, I’ve stopped treatment with no major side effects and He gave me peace that passes all understanding (but don’t get me wrong I still get my bad days) but I now know that I don’t have to worry about tomorrow; I’m not there yet and God is. Even today with so many things up in the air, so many unknowns about what will happen in the coming months I have peace.

God has been testing us with each trial to see if we would fully rely on Him, if we would trust Him like we say we do. Maybe we keep getting these trials because we keep failing. I am not sure if I am going to ace this current test but I know I not going to get overwhelmed or anxious. I have no control. I have no power. I cannot influence what will happen. All I can do is pray and trust that God will work it out like He has time and time again. I’m just trying to set aside my doubt so I can finally make the grade.

<3 JT

To have loved and lost...

“It is better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all.”

I have been thinking long and hard about this statement today. Though I am grateful for the time I did spend with our child, no matter how briefly it was, I am still left feeling empty and questioning everything. But do I regret getting pregnant with Baby Talcott? Absolutely not. My heart aches for the day I get to meet our baby yet I wouldn’t take those 6 weeks back for anything or the painful weeks and months that have followed. I still don’t understand why this happened, maybe I never will.

It has been especially difficult lately as I’ve planned my sister’s baby shower. I can’t get the thought out of my head that this should have been me. I am eager to be an aunt again but it is a constant trigger of what I could be experiencing, what I’ve lost, what I am missing out on. I am trying so hard not to be needy but I wish for once someone would just ask, ‘how are you?’ or ‘how are you coping with all this?’

*sigh*

But sadly I am still greeted with the wall of silence. I understand that this isn’t a pleasant thing to discuss but I want nothing more than for people to acknowledge our loss, our baby. Such a tragic event is already isolating enough and is only made worse by the way others isolate you or avoid the topic. I truly believe people are tired of hearing about it. If that is the case then defriend me or don’t follow my blog because I will never stop talking about Baby T. This isn’t some scraped knee that will heal over time…no this cuts much deeper than that and not even time will completely heal this pain.

I guess in summary it is better to have loved and lost then to never have experienced that love at all, but it sure doesn’t make it any easier…

<3 JT

Strength: In all its forms

Strength. Literally defined as the quality or state of being strong, vigor. I have worked extremely hard at becoming mentally strong again after losing our baby. Some days bring more progress than others. Tonight I wanted to just cry. I missed our sweet jellybean so much and I missed my husband, who has to be so inconveniently gone right now. But even as my mental and emotional state become stronger and gain vigor again, I realize that I have lost physical strength as well.

Before our baby came into this world and inevitably left just as quickly, I had been working out on a fairly regular basis. I was running faster than I have in years and I was proud to see the beginning of defined abs. I never felt so confident in my body and in myself. But after the miscarriage, as the doctor recommended, I could not work out for 6 weeks. The emotional stress led me to eat more comfort food than I’d like to confess to eating and put a little cushion on my once abs. Tonight when I found myself feeling sorry for myself and crying over all the emotional pain I decided to start my routine again. My body punished me for the absence of exercise with pain and cracks but it lessened the pain in my heart and took my mind to a more peaceful place. It feels good to get back into my routine and I pray it helps me sleep better at night too. As I strive to get my mind back into a state of being strong, I also want to regain my physical strength. Someday I’ll see those abs again…

<3 JT

Light in the Dark

            After my outburst on Monday that erupted from my emotions being on pure overdrive, I woke up the next day feeling just as bitter. I grumbled as I rolled out bed and started my day. I rushed through my routine when I noticed that I woke up late, which added to my frustration. Finally I was in the shower, where I completely lost it. After washing and shaving through the tears I sat on the bed and wept; I wept harder than I had in weeks. I yelled out, “Why God?! I don’t understand! I can’t handle the pain anymore.” And then I admitted something I had been holding in for the past month, “I am so mad at You!”

There it was. I was mad at God. Of course He knew that all along but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words to Him. Instead I held it in and let it cause me to become bitter. I didn’t lose my faith but it certainly had been shaken. That Tuesday morning I finally had a candid conversation with God. I confessed my anger, hardened heart and ungratefulness. I truly learned how unconditional God’s love is and how unfailing His grace is for me. In that moment I finally felt something I so desperately longed for, I felt peace.

My attitude had completely shifted from depressed and cold back to happy and compassionate. Just the previous day I talked to my mom on the phone, she mentioned that I didn’t sound like myself. She could hear it in my voice and I could hear her concern. I didn’t want people to worry about me but she and my husband made it clear that they had been uneasy about my well-being for a while. They were right though, I was quickly slipping into a dark place. I had become dormant in my faith, my relationships and my life. It was no secret that I was depressed, emotionally sad, but it had become more than that. I no longer enjoyed the things I use to find happiness in, simple tasks absolutely overwhelmed me, the dishes piled up, the laundry sat untouched, I bickered with my husband over insignificant things…I lost my heart, my ability to care and my ability to love.

One of my favorite songs by King and Country, “Proof of Your Love,” really hit home to me:

“If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don't love, I'm nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate. If I speak God's Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, "Jump," and it jumps, but I don't love, I'm nothing. If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don't love, I've gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I'm bankrupt without love.”

I was merely going through the motions of the day but there was no love behind it. How am I supposed to be an example of Christ’s love when my heart was so hard? On Tuesday God softened my heart again. He took the burden that was crushing me and put it on His own shoulders.  “For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:30

The past month has been unbearable at times but I made it worse my blaming everyone and everything for the way I felt but myself.

I blamed my circumstances.

I blamed losing my baby.

I blamed people for their insensitive remarks.

I blamed the world for going on while mine was falling apart.

But in the end it was up to ME to change MY attitude and I couldn’t have done it without the help of my Lord. He gave me my life back, He restored my light. It was amazing to hear my husband’s sense of relief in his voice when I finally let go of all the negative emotions and placed it in the hands of God.

That night when we got home I looked up at the sky as the sun was starting to set; such extraordinary mix of pink and blue. It was not only beautiful to see but to feel. Finally I could see the beauty in the world again. I could see the light after emerging from a dark place.

<3 JT