This isn’t your typical first blog post…full of joy and excitement and good feelings. There is some of all that but the first part will be difficult to read. I assure you, it’s difficult to write.
Many people have asked us how Beautiful Harvest Project came into fruition. In order to tell that story, I need to tell you the whole story. There are parts that no one really wants to hear because they aren’t light and airy, parts that our hearts often can’t handle because of the rawness of truth. God’s truth. Beautiful Harvest Project didn’t begin out of some late night dinner conversation or even a well received idea between husband and wife. Beautiful Harvest began out of small glimmer of truth placed in the heart of my husband. A glimmer that was brought forth in the midst of one of the biggest storms our family has ever faced.
So, to the beginning we go. In January of 2016, J and I welcomed our Little Man. He was a “whopper” as our OB liked to refer to him. All 10 lbs. 14 oz. of him. When he was born, EVERY SINGLE CELL in my body knew he was created especially for our family. He was beautiful. Our family was beautiful. J’s private practice was booming, I was working alongside some incredible people at our church and our girl’s were happy and healthy. We were so thankful for this tiny human. This perfect gift. While we were pregnant with Little Man, J and I felt the Holy Spirit telling us that he would be a peacemaker. We began praying this over him and believed it to be so…so much so that we chose his “life verse” based on this.
“Blessed are the peacemakers for the will be called sons of God.” -Matthew 5:9
In April, at three months old, I heard Little Man cough. Once. Something about it caught my attention and I went quickly to his room. He was gray. Not able to get any air into his lungs and we needed help. J called 911 and thus began a four-month long ordeal that would eventually lead us into the next season of our lives. Four months. Those four months felt like an eternity to this mama. Miniscule to some but I’ve learned over the past three years that pain and trauma are relative. There is no competition when it comes to hurt. There is no I’m worse off than you. Pain is just pain; trauma is just trauma.
I felt like we were at the doctor or hospital every week twice a week. No answers, no one could tell us why our boy stopped breathing at night, why he had so much congestion throughout the day. Our pediatrician worked tirelessly with me in trying to best treat him. She emailed and called to check on him. His lack of diagnosis wasn’t from lack of trying, he just didn’t fit into any mold. Despite being sick, he was happy. ALL THE TIME. He smiled constantly and loved people. Oh my, he loved people. He never acted as though there was anything wrong, but night would fall and my heart would break. Four months, I slept sitting straight up on my couch, holding my infant son, and watching him breath or not. I cried out to God, asking him to bring the morning quickly, reminding him of his promise that Little Man would be a peacemaker. (You know, because God needs my reminders.)
After several hospitalizations and still no answers, we were sent home with an apnea monitor. This was in an effort to document his apnea episodes in order to diagnose the issue at hand. On July 19, at 5:45 in the morning, the apnea monitor rang out. I checked him, he was blue and the monitor was reading low heart rate. J and I were unable to get him to respond, he was limp and not breathing. The rest of that morning is a blur. I know we somehow made it to Children’s Hospital in Savannah where we were met by a team of specialists who would eventually pin point the problem.
God sent a surgeon named Dr. Hamrick. Little Man had silent GERD or reflux. He wasn’t a typical case because he was a “very robust kid” according to the surgeon. He also never cried and a majority of children with reflux as severe as his cried non stop. Not our boy. Dr. Hamrick explained to me the reflux was not coming out but was spilling into his lungs. So while we’d been treating him for the apparent pneumonia, we weren’t solving the root problem. Reflux was causing lung issues. When your lungs aren’t able to function properly, your heart can’t function properly. Thank heavens for an apnea monitor that picked up on his extremely low heart rate. Our boy was drowning every night and we had no idea.
I am telling you this back story because I was a mess. I had come to a place where I was believing the lies of the enemy. I had begun to believe that I heard the Holy Spirit wrong. I had begun to believe that my son wasn’t intended to be a peacemaker. There had been no peace in our home. I was exhausted; I’d left my job at the church because I couldn’t hang on to all the things. All the work things and the mommy things and the wife things and life. It was all a giant chaotic mess. But God.
Do you remember when I said our little man never cried. Peacemaker. He was sick and needed his mommy. So, J and I made the logical decision, I left my job and came home. Peacemaker. J and I used communication and relationship skills we had acquired over the past year. Our children being this ill would have previously melted us like ice cream cones. Peacemaker. We began family rhythms that had been forgotten with Little Man’s illness. Peacemaker. We began saying no to things we needed to and yes to only those things that brought us joy. We were learning there was nothing so important that it should take away from our time with one another. Peacemaker.
You see, God was working in our midst even when I was unable to see His grace. I was surviving and He was making a way for our family. He was faithful when I was not. He could see the forest when all I could see were trees. He was leading me and forgiving me and holding out His hand to me each step of the way. All the while, molding our little peacemaker and allowing him to do his job.
It was during the last week of June, last year, that J made his initial trip to the reservation. He came home and began talking with me about us possibly moving there. What?!?!?! I told him he was crazy. I wasn’t leaving our island. I wasn’t leaving our people. No. The answer was no. But then the dreams started.
In October, Hurricane Matthew hit. We took a much-needed and longed for family vacation with our sweet Uncle Kite. On that trip, our boy started eating food. The first time he’d done so since having surgery to correct his reflux issues. He began sleeping at night and we were able to enjoy being a family of five. Peacemaker.
Shortly after returning, our oldest daughter began having dreams of the reservation as well. Specific dreams that detailed how we’d live on the reservation close to her pen pal, that we’d move there in August of 2017 and that J would be working in the school. I got angry with God. This was not my dream. I’d not heard one single word from Him and here He was giving my husband and child dreams. There was no way I was moving to Utah. I wasn’t leaving my island until I heard from the Holy Spirit.
Fast forward to February 2017, when J reached out to the school system on the Rez and inquired about the potential for community therapists to interact with students in the schools. Things began to get real. More angry conversations with God. Again, where is the peace in loading up your family and moving them halfway across the country? And then I did hear from Him. It was clear that I hadn’t heard because I like to be in control and I needed a reminder I wasn’t in control of His plans. My dream wasn’t to live out West away from my island but it was to be a mommy. And, truthfully, I can be a mommy anywhere. Peace.
And this is where BHP comes into play. J and I agreed that we needed to talk about what we’d call ourselves. What would it really look like to love the Navajo the way Jesus loves us? What would it mean to simply pick up our lives and give them over to God? The ultimate Peacemaker.
So, here we are, on the verge of the greatest adventure we’ve ever been a part of as husband and wife. An adventure with many unknowns and lots of uncertainties. However, without a doubt there is one thing that is certain. God. Y’all, his goodness and peace and grace are never ending. His faithfulness is unfathomable. Anything we have, we can take to Him. The good, bad and ugly. When Little Man was sick, I could not understand why he’d promise this boy to us, promise he’d be a peacemaker and then take him away. I couldn’t understand why he had to be so sick. I still don’t. I still ask and wonder if there was a different way I could have learned how to have peace. Honestly though, I’m stubborn. My brokenness was the only way to truly understand peace that passes all understanding. His grace and mercy was always there, I’d just never taken the time to reach out for it. I’d never surrendered it all to Him because I had no where else to go.
And as for control, it’s a false sense of security. I never had any control in the first place. No matter what I did, I couldn’t save my little boy. No amount of watching him breathe or taking him to the doctor was going to keep him alive. No amount of fighting J and refusing to hear his heart and dreams for our family was going to keep us from the will of God. There is peace in that understanding, friends. There is peace in knowing that despite all my brokenness, I have a Father I can turn to for ALL things. Because my Father is THE Peacemaker.
Beautiful Harvest Project 