On January 1st, I celebrated the 4th Birthday of my new and improved heart.    I can hardly believe that four years have passed since I underwent bypass surgery, since life as I knew it was forever altered.   As I sat on the floor, playing with my youngest daughter yesterday, I remembered how uncertain I once was about the likelihood of my survival into her childhood.  The fact that I am here, making memories with the ones I love is an unmeasurable blessing.

This day causes me to reflect upon the state of my heart, both before and after my heart attack.   But I realize that this evaluation has to be so much more than just a physical one.  As I begin the New Year, I find myself reflecting on the health of my spiritual heart in 2008 and the many weaknesses that I hope God will bypass in me in 2009, to give me a heart more like His.

This has been the most beautiful Christmas I can remember.   What made it different than the others?

I stopped.

I won't lie-- until some time on December 23rd I had been running around like the proverbial headless chicken in preparation for THE BEST CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION EVER!!!  But at some point, God's enormous grace took over my heart and I ceased worrying about what had to be done, who wouldn't be happy with the food, gifts, entertainment etc. and I just began living each moment.  I sat and talked with family, even though I had a sink full of dirty dishes waiting.   I cried with my husband watching "Its A Wonderful Life" when I should have been fast asleep.  But most of all, I took pause, looked around, and thanked God for what I saw.  Blessing upon blessing upon blessing. 

When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves.-- Genesis 3:6

Since the beginning of time, humans have had an insatiable appetite to KNOW.   We revel in the false safety of cause and effect.  We want to know that if A happens, B will occur- every single time.  We assemble theories, piecing together our own grand ideas, but like our first parents' fig leaves they are often insufficient covering for the inexplicable events of our world.

Well, you can tell it's December.  I'm having a hard time going to bed at night.  Let me explain.

The night before I had my heart attack, December 31, 2004, my husband and I rang the New Year in with very little fanfare, holding a two week old baby in our arms.  Soon after the clock rang 12, I retired to bed, exhausted.  Tom was taking the first night feeding, and I'd be on for the second.  I figured I'd better go to bed ASAP to maximize whatever sleep I'd get. 

As soon as I crawled into my bed and lay down, I felt it.  It was a weird feeling in my chest, almost like pins and needles.  With a little shortness of breath.  I sat up and It stopped.  I lay down and it started again.   I remember saying to myself,  "First thing Monday morning, I am calling my Doctor-- this is starting to scare me!"  But at that moment, I was so tired, and I knew that my little girl would be waking up in a few hours for her next meal.  I got as comfortable as I could, in a half-laying, half-sitting position and fell fast asleep.

It is with great hesitancy that I confess to you that I am afflicted with a most unfortunate disorder.  I was diagnosed as a young child and have suffered chronically with this condition for most of my life.  In addition, I seem to have passed this infirmity to both of my children.  My older daughter suffers from it more severely than my younger, but both have been identified as victims of this malaise.

The affliction in question?  Shyness.

I can't hide it any longer.  I am a chronic introvert.  Since my youngest days, I have been the quiet one, always listening, always observing.   I never saw the need to draw attention to myself, always felt more comfortable in a more intimate setting than in a large group.   The symptoms check out.  I. Am. Shy.

As a shy young girl, I always found it difficult to make friends.  I always felt like I was on the outside looking in when it came to social situations, and I wondered if I'd ever have good friends that I could truly count on.

So I am surprised and grateful to find myself an adult with friends of all sorts.  If there is one thing that all of my friends have in common, its that they hardly resemble each other at all.  They are a very diverse group of individuals, each of whom bring out something different in me.  Some of them help me cultivate my silly side, while others challenge me intellectually and spiritually.  With some of my friends I share an amazing history; others it seems like I'm still just getting to know.

The few things that all of my good friends do share is a passion for God and a steadfast genuineness.  I can count on each of them to bring an honest voice to our relationship, even when they're speaking words I may not want to hear.  I trust that they have my best interests at heart and will love and support me even in the times when it's not easy.   I sometimes find myself overwhelmed by my daily  responsibilites, which makes it increasingly difficult to stay connected to the friends I treasure most.  I am so grateful for the many ways they continually reach out to me to let me know that our bond is still alive.

Five years ago today, as I sat in a dark examination room looking intently at the sonogram screen, my OB/GYN turned to me and said the words I will never forget.

"There is no heartbeat."

At that moment, it seemed as though the universe came crashing down on me.  I was too stunned to speak, too stunned to cry.  The doctor and nurse left the room.  I got dressed, called my husband and delivered the terrible news.

Unfortunately, there were still formalities to be dealt with.  My Doctor gave me all of the particulars-- who I'd have to call to set up the appointment for the D&C, how the procedure would go, when I'd have to come back for a follow up.  And in an attempt to comfort me, (by now, the tears had started to flow) he assured me that none of this was my fault; that I'd had one full term pregnancy before so he was sure I'd get pregnant again, that there was probably something horribly wrong with this baby that caused it to die so suddenly within my womb.

I have a love/hate relationship with my body.  Truth be told, it's more hate than love.  I can only remember a handful of times where I have been content with the way I look.   I have been trying to lose my last 15 pounds of baby weight for almost 4 years now- I have a feeling it isn't going to happen.  I was looking at pictures of myself in my 20's and wondering why I was so unhappy with my appearance.  It then occured to me that I will probably look at  pictures of myself today tfifteen years from now and be thinking the very same thing. 

I am trying very hard to be thankful for the body God has given me.  Despite its visible flaws, it is currently serving me quite well.  Remember, it hasn't always lived up to its full potential.  When I recall the dark time after my open heart surgery, I don't remember being concerned that I might never fit into my 'skinny jeans' again.  At that point, I was content just to feel my heart beat in my chest and I hoped and prayed that it would continue to do so for just a little bit longer.   While I would never voluntarily go back to that time in my life, I do miss the intense appreciation I felt about just being alive.

There is a lot of bad music out there.  I'm not coming down on any particular genre.  I listen to and enjoy all types of music,  but I abhor inauthenticity and have zero tolerance for schmaltzy lyrics.

That is why I am so grateful when I come across a song that moves me.   At various crisis points in my life, God has used music to speak to my heart in ways that I didn't even know I needed to be spoken to.  For me, those have been some of the most intimate times of communion with my Lord and these songs serve as reminders of His faithfulness to meet my deepest needs.   The chorus of Jars of Clay's "The Valley Song" transports me to the room where I cried copious tears over my lost child.   Play the opening bars of Audio Adrenaline's "Million Pieces" and I'm back in my kitchen dancing wildly with my four year old, having just confirmed my third pregnancy.    

Still working out this gratitude thing. 

Tonight, I am tired.  It has been a looooong day, filled with taxiing my girls to various appointments, folding piles of laundry and moderating an ongoing debate between my daughters regarding who is loved the most.   I am physically and even moreso, emotionally exhausted.

In my fatigued estate, I find myself most thankful for my bed.   At the end of the night, I can fall into my queen-sized refuge, close my eyes and drift off to sleep (At least until one of my girls wakes me up for a midnight drink or a run to the bathroom.)   Feeling my muscles relax, I think about those who are less fortunate than I, the homeless man sleeping on a park bench, the child sleeping with sounds of war threatening to invade their retreat.  As I drift off to sleep, I pray for those who have nowhere safe to go, and thank my Father in heaven for my own place of peace.