Chandra's Journal
June 29 -- July 1, 2006
I’ve let time get away from me and now I don’t know where to start. With the details of our move and efforts to make a new house a home? With the amazing story of the Paddock twins’ arrival that has touched my life and heart the last week? With the latest on what Canon and Creed are up to? I’ll start there because talking about them comes so easily.

Things I’ve Learned About Canon During June 2006:
Things I’ve Learned About Creed During June 2006
Since the incident with the high Prograf levels, Canon has been healthy and happy, thank God! After his lab work from a couple of weeks ago came back perfectly, they actually cut five of Canon’s meds! We’re now down to Prograf, Cellcept, Ursodiol, Bactrim, and Periactin. It feels entirely mangageable.

Well, we are no stranger to life’s unexpected turns, but we had a wonderful surprise come to fruition the past month. Our friends from whom we bought our new house when they relocated to Dallas moved back to Amarillo! Andy, Jennifer, and Ardyn decided after a couple of months that the big-D was not for them. They made the decision to cut their losses and get back home as quickly as possible. They closed on a new home here a week ago and are going through the same process we are trying to feel at home in a new spot (Drew kept joking with them about making them a deal on a house he just “stole” from a guy). Who knows what God had in mind through these events? We went to lunch with them after church on Sunday and decided that when you sit and think about it for a minute, it’s just so funny! Nevertheless, with them back home all’s right with our little family up here.

So, it’s July now. It crept up on me. A year ago, we were making the final preparations for Creed’s arrival. Five years ago, Amberly was born.

It does and doesn’t seem possible that it’s been that long. Most of the time, we’re so occupied with the boys that, though it’s ever-present, it seems to float just beyond consciousness. But then there are those things that come up that jerk the memories back and eclipse everything else.

Last week, our friends Chris and Misty Paddock (Chris is from Abilene, Misty is from Hereford) met their long-awaited twins. Ethan and Hadley were born via C-section at Northwest (same hospital as all of our kids) on Tuesday. When my friend Jessica called to tell me they were here, I was so happy for them. After many years of fertility issues and multiple miscarriages, a boy and a girl at once seemed the perfect happy ending to the waiting. But early in her pregnancy, doctors became concerned with Ethan. His bladder was not draining on its own and they actually went in and surgically drained his bladder in utero twice I believe. It was causing severe bloating and toxic fluid build-up. Misty’s doctor (who is the husband of my doctor) gave her a shocking dose of reality early on. He advised her to prepare for some serious complications with Ethan and suggested that perhaps his purpose was to hang on long enough so that Hadley could grow and be born healthy, for as long as his heart was beating he was giving his sister a better chance at life. I first heard that in February while we were discussing prayer requests at my Bunko group dinner. I drove home that night in tears, praying that God would heal Ethan and not let Chris and Misty deal with the unimaginable stress of carrying one healthy little girl whose existence seemed to depend on her very fragile twin brother being strong enough to make it to the end of the eight month window.

About a month or so later, we heard a wonderful report from Misty’s ultrasound that the problems Ethan had seemed to be resolving themselves. Perhaps this was the miracle we had prayed for! We celebrated their upcoming arrival with a baby shower early in May and we were nothing but optimistic, drenching ourselves in the anticipation by cooing over coordinating pink and blue outfits, blankets, and teddy bears. So when Jessica called and said that, at 4 lbs. 15 oz., Hadley was doing well in NICU, receiving some oxygen, but that they hadn’t been able to stabilize Ethan yet, who had arrived at 3 lbs. 15 oz., I still was not ready to let go of my optimism. Jessica said that they had put in three chest tubes in an effort to drain fluid out of his lungs so he could breathe better. The doctors told Chris and Misty that if and when he was stable, he would be transported to Dallas for the very serious procedures he would need. Even then, I just knew he would make it. I heard the tears welling up just behind Jessica’s voice, but I just knew he would make it. Then the next morning, she called to tell me that Ethan had died in the middle of the night.

Words are one of my strengths, but I don’t know the right words for what I felt at that moment. I just knew I had to get to Misty. I called Judy who came right over to stay with Canon and Creed while Drew and I jumped in the car and went to the hospital. Drew stayed in the hall because of a sore throat, but I went in to Misty’s room where she was awake, but swollen with tears and fatigue. I just sat down and hugged her and said I was so sorry, reminding myself not to say anything that I thought would be wise or magical. She showed me pictures of her twins, Hadley with the delicate features of a porcelain doll and Ethan, who might as well have been born in a suit of armor for all the fighting he did to get here and for the hero he is to us all. Misty just said, “Isn’t he beautiful?” I agreed wholeheartedly.

Ethan passed away at close to 1:30 last Wednesday morning and the minute he died Hadley let out a wail and was inconsolable. After trying everything they could to comfort her, they put Ethan’s body in Hadley’s bed with her and she quieted immediately. What a strange feeling for her to have been without her brother next to her after months of his protection. The nurses wisely took pictures of the twins.

In the days that followed, I know I felt the spirit nudging me. Like I told Kyle a couple days ago, I have never been a very good discerner of what I’m being LED to do versus what I just feel like I need or want to do. But I woke up every day with a mission on my heart to be present for this family, whether that meant taking dinner or helping with Ethan’s memorial, I just needed to be there. It would have gone without saying if Misty and I were best friends, but we hadn’t been really close in several years. But I could almost REALLY hear the Lord saying “treat your neighbor as yourself” and when I looked at Misty I saw myself. I saw me, five years ago, lying in shock in a hospital bed. And I could almost hear God telling me “People are praying for this family, and I’m sending you. Be my hands when you hug her and be my voice when you tell her I love her.” I felt many things over the past week, and one of them was this feeling of enormous responsibility. Not burdensome responsibility, not begrudging responsibility. Quite the opposite, really. When I felt God calling me to help, I felt flattered, honored. Like perhaps this means that God thinks I have grown in a positive way and He can trust me to work for Him now. I had friends that were worried about me getting too close to her pain and re-opening my own wounds in the process. But the truth is that I ripped them open willingly so that she didn’t feel alone. And I’m proud of any help it was to her.

I went to the hospital every day she was there to help with whatever I found. My hands felt restless for something to do for them. I now understand why we had so much food brought to our house five years ago. One thing that I felt the Spirit tell me to do was make a black and white copy of the picture taken of Ethan and Hadley together shortly after he passed. When I saw the color copy, my heart broke unable to ignore the difference between the precious babies. I remembered my mom making tons of black and white pictures of Amberly and to this day those are the ones I still look at. There’s something more sacred, less worldly about the black and whites. For me, it helps evoke more of the good memories and protects me from harsh medical truths. So I brought the original home and asked Drew if he would go make black and white copies for them and on one of the copies I asked him to print the verse “For the kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these” on the picture and put it in a nice frame. He was of course willing to do that and later that night Creed and I returned to the hospital to bring them the prints. Nobody was in her room when we arrived (they were in NICU with Hadley) so, nervously, I left the pictures on her tray with the framed picture on top with a note.

The next day Misty said that the black and white picture was the only picture that Chris was able to look at and that he took the framed print home the night before to keep it with him. She wanted lots more copies with the verse and their names to give to their family. I felt so relieved and began to be confident that I was doing what God needed me to do. I hope I don’t sound boastful. I should be confident that I’m doing the Lord’s work every single day, but it’s become obvious to me that I don’t. But now that I know what an incredible feeling that is – to let yourself be led – I hope that I will be quicker to lay down my own agenda for God’s in the future.

In helping Misty decide what she wanted to do for Ethan’s service, I ventured into Amberly’s big box of things I kept. Three weeks of our life in a big Tupperware storage box. It’s been kept out of sight for years and even if I had to go to the storage shed for something and I let my eyes land on that box (sometimes even if I didn’t look at it, just knowing it was there) my stomach clenched up and my throat turned to stone. But I wanted to find Amberly’s program in case it would be of any help to them. So late one night last week, I went to open it. I didn’t pore over every single item – I just wasn’t in the right mood, but after wading through several hundred cards and letters, I found the program and also a music box that Casey gave Amberly when she was born. I wound it up and listened to “Thank Heaven For Little Girls” until it faded away.

Ethan’s service was on Monday of this week. They chose the same cemetery that we did, so we were about ten feet from Amberly’s spot during the service. A lot of the time I just stared at it. I waited mostly in silence for the memorial to start, holding tight to Drew. Chris and Misty were nowhere to be seen until the first song started playing. It was “Praise You In This Storm” by Casting Crowns. Misty’s dad walked to the passenger side of their car and helped her get out (she did just give birth less than a week ago) and Chris held on to her other side as they walked to their chairs while the song was playing these words:

I was sure by now God
you would have reached down and wiped our tears away,
stepped in and saved the day.
But once again, I say “Amen”, and it’s still raining.

As the thunder rolls,
I barely hear you whisper through the rain, “I’m with you.”
And as your mercy falls,
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives and takes away.


Watching them walk from the car to the little tent was heart-wrenching. Mostly because I remember that walk so clearly. So much of that time for me is a blur of shock and pain, but I remember the drive to the cemetery and walking to the chair. I don’t know why.

Brian Mashburn spoke first and did an amazing job of honoring Ethan as an usher for Hadley. God put it on his heart that Ethan had a mission – to bring Hadley safely into this world. After his job was over, Jesus welcomed him and said, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” He talked about the guilt that Satan will insist Chris and Misty should feel when they experience Hadley with joy. And that Ethan’s response to that would be “If you want to truly honor me, you celebrate my sister with unrestrained joy.” It was a beautiful tribute. I couldn’t help but remember the words of one of the funeral home employees that I spoke with on the phone trying to get together some information for them. He said, “There’s not much eulogizing a child.” I know what he meant, but for this child he was so wrong. Ethan was born a hero and died a hero.

I managed to hold it together for the most part, and what I couldn’t hold back I buried in Drew’s shoulder. It was “I Can Only Imagine” that did it. I know that song is personal to so many people by now. But I will always know it as her song. I heard it for the first time between the day she died and her funeral. Kyle Wade had just returned from YouthWave in Austin and he heard it down there. When he was talking to us about songs we wanted to have at her service, he mentioned it and said that he would put it on a tape for me to listen to. I remember him saying “This is really what it’s all about anyway.” I put the tape in my car and listened to it while my mom and my sister were with me. That night, for the first time since she died, I was able to see a picture in my mind of how happy she was. For the first time I realized that IS what it’s all about. It’s about getting there someday – to share the unrestrained joy that she is already experiencing, with Ethan, and Jordan, and Conner, and all the other perfect babies up there. You would think I should be smiling through that whole song. I guess my tears come from wanting so badly to be a part of that with her, from not wanting to wait any longer where hurt just keeps happening.

After the service we stayed until we were pretty much the last people there except mostly their family. We all watched as Misty walked over to the tiny little box and put her hand on top. She stroked that box and closed her eyes. Nobody moved a muscle. But I felt this unbelievable push to approach her at that moment. I just felt like I knew exactly what she was thinking, that she couldn’t get in the car and go away, she couldn’t leave him there alone, she’s his mother.

I walked to her and put my arm around her and said, “He’s not in there.” She just buried her face in my shoulder and cried. I repeated it a couple of times just so I knew that she heard it. I told her that we couldn’t ask for a better babysitter than Jesus. Nothing will ever hurt him. Nothing will ever hurt him. I remembered how against my human nature as a mother it felt to leave Amberly in someone else’s care. But I had to come to grips with exactly Who that someone else is.

Later as Drew and I were driving away, Brian Mashburn came up to our car. He came to my window and said, “That was holy ground that you just walked into. None of us could have entered that place where Misty was… except you. God just granted you priesthood to approach that sacred moment with His authority and tell her exactly what God wanted you to tell her. God bless you for allowing the Spirit to move you.” At that moment I felt like I exhaled a breath I had been holding for a week. I pray that he’s right and that I was doing and saying the right thing.

Chris, Misty, and Hadley are all back home now and doing well. Their journey through so many new emotions is just beginning and they’re going to need a lot of prayer.

I know that was a lot of information about people most of you don’t know, but that story was very significant to me. God taught me many lessons over the past couple of weeks.

Ethan’s funeral was Monday. You would think that would be it as far as big emotional happenings this week. But then on Thursday morning, Jere had to call 911 when Tatum (her eight month-old) was having a seizure. She was running fever over 105 when the paramedics arrived and was whisked to the hospital. That had all of us on the phone or waiting by the phone for hours to hear updates. Basically they ran a lot of tests to rule out things like meningitis and they all came back negative, so they attributed the seizure to the high fever and the high fever to an ear infection (but not even a very serious one). She’s back home today with no fever and doing fine, but that left all of us quite shaken up. Jere said that even walking into Tatum’s room again today gave her flashbacks of walking in and seeing the seizure. Images like that are not erased any too soon. I’m praying that she has peace and confidence that Tatum really is going to be okay.

Then last night Rhonda found out that her dad passed away of a sudden heart attack in Kansas. I’m not going to talk a lot about it out of respect for her and the fact that I don’t know a whole lot about it. But just to say that she’s having a very hard time wishing that they had been closer. Rhonda is so special to us and when her heart is broken, so is mine.

Sorry to end on such a sad note. It’s been a hard week on my friends here.

Chandra
2 Corinthians 1:3-4

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort,
who comforts us in all our troubles,
so that we can comfort those in any trouble
with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.”