Almost seven months ago we began a journey. A lovely, hard journey. One that included a perfectly knitted-together baby girl who was gifted to us after a very long wait. A journey also filled with lows and fear and self-doubt. I can remember sitting in NICU. That’s practically all I did for fourteen days; sit, and worry, pray, and cry and pray some more. Time had escaped me. The world had escaped me. I was in this vortex of confusion and worry for our baby, yet I had joy. I remember feeling a twinge of emotional force. I felt propelled in a direction I had not expected and, if I’m honest, I resisted it. I didn’t want to recognize it for what it was. There were times I simply would have rather crawled into a hole far, far away from many people who loved me well because saying it aloud would give it purpose and giving it a name meant giving it life. Quite frankly, I was afraid of stepping into that life I knew was waiting for me, for us, on the other side of our joy-filled grief. But, as a propelling force can often do, it thrust me forward and I gave in. I am so thankful I had the courage to do so. We started this blog.
I hesitated, for quite some time actually. I kept telling myself “No. You don’t want to expose yourself or your family like that.” “What if people don’t (care to) understand?” “What if people think I’m making myself/our family out to be a martyr?” “What if they think our life is simply all one gigantic sad scene from a daytime drama?”
No. No. No, no, no. I simply needed to know I was doing it for the right reasons. These are not them:
To cast a spotlight on my child.
She is beautiful. She is uniquely made. She is a “masterpiece”. But so is our other daughter, Aubrie. Charlotte is our Lovie Dove. She is so precious to us but that doesn’t make her more or less important to us or more or less loved by us than anyone else in our family or even in our community. It just simply happens that her story is one that we want to share to give others hope.
To generate income.
Money has never been a driving force in this family. We know and trust we will always be provided for. As someone who has spent the past decade in education or ministry my goals are clear; to help others in whatever ways I am capable and called. And I am called. As much as I have fought it, as much as I have said, “Nope. Not happening.” here I am, my path being laid out before me. I follow those nudgings, even if I do it cautiously, I will always follow. Here I am. Send Me.
To draw attention to ourselves.
I hope this life never points back to myself (or our family) and instead always up. Yes, there are times of brokenness and selfishness in anyone’s life. We’re human. This is not one of those times. This is the antithesis of that. This is our family, The Lewis Pride, being selfless and vulnerable in ways that may make us feel uncomfortable and awkward sometimes. We may even make other people feel uncomfortable and awkward. We’re ok with that because sometimes we grow most when we’re uncomfortable. Our vulnerability takes strength, strength others may not have yet, so we will lend it to them. (Thank you, mentors and friends, Janet and Doug Newberry for sharing that truth with us.)
No. Instead, we want others to know there is a protected place. There is a place they can share those feelings so many feel without this unspoken desire to put on a happy face. We get it. We know that feeling of putting on a mask of happiness so others don’t feel uncomfortable with our confused joyful pain (maybe that was just me). In any event, these are the reasons we started this blog:
To know the struggles from a true perspective.
The beauty and struggles are simultaneously real. We have been gifted a precious baby girl, who is so full of joy, loves her people so well already, and happens to have Down syndrome. We want the world to know her beauty. We want the world to see her for who she is, not what she has. The emotions feel real, but for us, when we hault our preconceived ideas of what we think she deserves in this life and open our eyes to what is better than those ideas, we understand this way is actually better. (Yes, that is present tense. We need reminders every now and again. We give ourselves permission to fail once in a while.)
To know they are not alone.
Families journeying through something like a diagnosis for their unborn, newborn or child can feel isolated. There are several groups that offer support and resources. We want to be one more way others can know they are not alone in this. We’ve said from the start: our voice only matters if it helps even one person. Our voice matters because of our obedience to use it in the first place…even if it was hesitant.
So religious communities can mature.
We want every community to have access to the resources and tools they need to ensure they never have to make the choice to tell someone with an ability difference (aka “negative behavior”) or their family they are not welcome. Ever. Period. In a time when the worldview is embracing the disability community faster than the church is, maturity in this way is necessary more than ever. Our Lovie Dove is a treasure. She’s our treasure, but she’s a treasure to this world too. If your church community isn’t yet embracing and nourishing this part of the ministry of the very Man we follow, something is amiss. If you read that and you felt that twinge…that’s the feeling I had in NICU. We urge you to not dismiss it. You might hesitate but please ask for help. We’re here.
At the end of the day, when I look at myself in the mirror, I can honestly say I am doing what I am made to do. It’s hard. It’s messy. And it is absolutely vulnerable.
Have courage dear friends.