The Ridiculous, The Unexpected and A Liquor Store Parking Lot: An Anthology

On March 26, 2004, I received a phone call from a woman I knew,  Frenny, (not her real name 😉). I will euphemistically call her my frenemy, but in reality-Frenny wasn't even that. I was not at all fond of her and wasn't great at pretending otherwise. I'm ashamed to admit that my lack of enthusiasm and confusion at hearing from Frenny was probably audible. She quickly told me that God told her to call me to let me know everything was going to be all right. She said she had no idea what was going on with me or why God entrusted her to  make the call, but that He did and so she did. She continued, "I will be praying for you, but most importantly, God asked me to let you know that everything is going to be okay, great even. At times, it's going to feel like that's not possible, but it is. Trust Him." She said a quick prayer and hung up.

Now, I've got to tell you, God could have used any other person, any other person, to give me that message and I would have been happy to hear from them and behaved much more graciously. But, as it turns out, Frenny, was the perfect messenger. I didn't doubt what she said-there was no way she could have known what was going on (we wouldn't even know I was pregnant for a couple of months), and she wasn't close enough to get any "vibes" from me anyway. I would not have chosen to get a message from God through Frenny, but that's exactly what I got. I've thought of this call many times throughout the years and I always get chills. I am awed by this first peak at God's work through Hart's life and how very unprepared I was for it. It also serves as a good reminder for me to see God wherever He is revealed, which probably isn't where I'm looking.

I was extremely sick while I was pregnant with Hart. I became very skilled at vomit-drving, vomit-walking, vomit-sleeping, vomit-playtime-everything I did, I did while vomiting. (Unfortunately it's not a marketable skill, but I'm proud of it nonetheless.) I also became adept at gauging how much time until the actual regurgitation commenced. One morning, I was on the interstate and felt like I was about to get sick-but I knew I still had about 4 minutes. I took the first exit, drove to the nearest parking lot and was able to grab a bag and step out of my car before getting violently sick. (Because it was always full-throttle aggressive, rage puking.) When I was finished I looked up and realized I had an audience 😳 and was standing in front of a liquor store. It was 10 AM, I was visibly pregnant, and I'm sure my new friends thought I was just clearing some space for my next bender. I just didn't have the energy to try to explain, so I just started laughing, threw the bag in the trash, got in my car and drove away.

Ten days after Baby Hart died, our dog, Emerson died. I believe that if our story were a piece of fiction,  the editor would recommend removing "the dog dies" part because it is just too much-and they'd be right. It was too much-I was done! Fortunately, my sister, who was in the country (she was living in Beijing at the time) for Hart's funeral, sat up with him that night and was with him when he died.