Cradled in Hands of Grace: HOBBIES, INTERESTS & MORE

Cradled in Hands of Grace: HOBBIES, INTERESTS & MORE: I love constant relationship with God.  I am  Mary with very little Martha in me.  I especially love being with my family and sharing our lo...

Cradled in Hands of Grace: Specific Life Experiences

Cradled in Hands of Grace: Specific Life Experiences: Trying to remain single focused on a certain event or experience is often difficult for me.  I am a scatter brained, middle aged wife and mo...

Cradled in Hands of Grace: ABOUT ME

Cradled in Hands of Grace: ABOUT ME: My name is Annette Monts Falls and I am working diligently to honor God's hands upon my life through the avenue of writing and with aspirati...

This OLD DOG is New Trick Challenged ~

I am learning some things in an abstract way, but implementing things in a concrete way is a different story.  One of the consequences of spinning on the Potter's wheel is the fact that my concentration skills are not as good as they were before God really began molding me after high school.  I was quick.  I was smart.  I was energetic.

Thirty plus years of being stuck on God's wheel has made me very pliable.  I may be old, but my soul has been very pliable in nature.  This has not come easy.  I would have preferred to be that clump of clay placed on the wheel that immediately became the vessel it was supposed to remain.  However, God has had every intention of teaching me how to react to different lessons of adapting to a new mold.  I think I broke every mold; maybe that is why I'm not finished yet into a final vessel.

He remolded me when I graduated high school and started college.  Then with each following event, God kept changing my original form into a very different vessel.

Marriage ~ August 18, 1979

Relocation to Tulsa, Ok ~ July, 1980

Building a new home ~ early 1981

Pregnancy ~ I found out we were pregnant on New Year's Eve.  Perfect pregnancy until May 21, 1981~ Firstborn son emergency delivery.

Premature labor ~ Loss of firstborn. Taylor Monts Falls, died May 22, 1981.

Move into new home date ~ May 22, 1981,  Fred's mother & brother in route from SC to OK to help us move & to set up the nursery.  Station wagon is loaded w a cradle, dozens of brightly wrapped gifts & cards :-(

Shattered dreams, first time as a patient in a hospital, recovery from major surgery, possession of new home, weeks to heal physically.

Father's Day, 1981 ~ days prior had arrived in SC to bury Taylor in my home church's cemetery.

Another pregnancy ~ conceived in July~

Premature labor ~ around 26 weeks early December, I knew what it was this time around; lots of precarious moments and several hospitalizations and medications endured.

Birth ~ March 7, 1982, Brandon Montgomery Falls enters the world.  Four weeks early, respiratory distress, admitted to the same NICU his older brother had died in only nine and a half months prior.

Homecoming ~ April 1982, Brandon is allowed to come home with us in Tulsa.

Baptism ~ June 1982, St Thomas Lutheran Church, Chapin, SC the same place Taylor is laid to rest.

Job loss ~ late spring, Fred gets laid off and begins looking for new employment.

Relocation & new job ~ summer 1983, move to Boulder, Colorado.

Bliss ~ we loved Boulder & the Rocky Mountains; tests towards another pregnancy; nothing wrong found.  Given green light.  Clay is conceived.  Love is growing and all is well.

Emergency ~ May 19, 1985 Clay quits moving inside me; I panic, we go to hospital, he starts to kick in parking lot, go in for exam, into emergency delivery.  I was impending uterine rupture.  We were close to losing both Mom & Clay had I not been worried for Clay.  I was in terrible pain but hid it well.  Great delivery.  Fred at bedside during delivery.  JOY!

CRISIS ~ after birth, Clay's lung ruptures.  He is four weeks early yet weight is 6 pounds and 15 ounces. Clay hovers near death for hours as many specialists attempt to stabilize him.  I am bed wheeled into a tiny room to see him possibly for the last time.  On public display; visiting hours, flowers, joy, laughter, gifts, balloons pass by me.  The bed does not fit into the room for privacy as I see Clay dying.

Hell ~ how do I describe hell?  It was harsh and unrelenting.  Clay on a respirator in Denver for four months, a respirator the first three months.  Fred again becomes jobless just as Clay finally seems to turn the corner.  Geologists severely suffer the oil industry decline.  Clay is transferred back to Boulder step down unit.  Fred flies out a few days later to OKC, OK for job interview.  Clay can come home.  I bring him home by myself so that we could celebrate regardless the interview outcome.  Interview well.  Fred returns home.  Clay is very, very ill.  Back to hospital.  Seizures & more.  Full sirens back to Denver to the PICU this time.  We got ahead of the ambulance in downtown Denver traffic; NO ONE would get out of the ambulance's way!

I realize that I gave an overdose of medication to Clay after bringing him home by myself.  It was supposed to be .5 cc of medicine.  I gave him 5 cc of this medicine.  How?  Why?  The decimal point was not close to the 5; it was very nondescript.  I simply did not see it as a POINT 5 cc dosage.

In Denver, Clay's life is uncertain again.  A doctor calls us on the phone in Boulder to tell us on a Sunday evening that he did an exam on Clay and that his findings were ~ blind & mentally challenged!

Hell ~ it continued, on and on and on.  Some might say it still exists.  I believed that for a long time; our lives were living hell.  I don't feel that way anymore, but I was well justified by feeling trapped in total darkness with event after event after event.  "Will this hell ever end, LORD? What is the purpose, Lord?  I know there has to be a purpose.  I wish I could understand it, but I don't.  I am not angry with you LORD, but I just don't understand our life as is.  I placed it in your hands; I promised I would abide by your will if Clay lived or died.  I am so overwhelmed and upset, but I do not hold bitter anger because of the promise I made with you the day Clay died in front of me before surgery."

Hell ~ greater details of the darkest of days which were yet to come after I've had a long doggy rest.

Tonight I rest, a survivor.  I am cradled in God's hands of GRACE.
<')))><

It's All About GOD

The enemy knows where I am vulnerable.  To be completely honest here, I am very vulnerable.  I cannot hide that from God.  I see the pages and blogs of other Christian women in ministry, and I see how they are rapidly multiplying numbers of followers, multiplying likes and multiplying comment exchanges which leads me to feel less than because I'm not seeing the same growth.  It's like that question I wrote about years ago on Clay's 21 birthday; Infertile Soil or Sterile Seeds?  I have come to the conclusion, well, I am trying to accept the conclusion, that some seeds are slow to germinate and some soil is better than other soil.  The important thing is that I keep sowing seeds.  I cannot allow the enemy to rob my seeds or my desire to sow them; I must obey the voice in my heart that it matters.  The voice is God's voice.  HE is happy with my efforts.  HE is happy I've tried diligently to nurture seeds I've scattered all over the place; some I don't even know where or who the wind might have carried them to.  I went to an amazing event with more than 650 other women called into ministry.  It was the first thing I have ever done for myself, by myself.  I came away with my personal vessel spilling over in joy and encouragement.  I have acted upon some of the lessons I learned from the experience, yet I'm not noticing any minuscule evidence of green beginning to grab attention to my naked eyes.   Lord, where is the green?  Have I simply not succeeded with my attempts to garden my soul the last 30 to 50 years? I've tried!  Why can I not see green evidence?  I want to see lush green results for my diligence; for my persistence to try to be a successful nurturer to bring kingdom glory.  YOUR KINGDOM, LORD!

HE hears my plea.  "Child, I KNOW the seeds you have tendered so carefully and lovingly.  I know it seems futile at times.  You need to remember all I ask you is to sow.  I am growing them on my time frame.  Remember the blink of my eyes can be as a hundred years to you.  I am the one developing the root structure to the seeds you cannot yet see emerging.  Without a good root structure, the most precious seeds I need you to sow will not survive.  I've trusted you with extremely rare seeds.  Trust me to bring the green pastures you want to see.  Green pastures are where my sheep graze in safety under my care.  It is a special place.  You have weathered the harshest of different storms that I have trusted you with rare seeds of safe shelter.  You are sheltering my precious sheep more than you realize.  Don't doubt your significance.  Remember KINGDOM SIGNIFICANCE.  I AM proud of you.  I know your heart and I know your efforts.  You are a chosen child.  Trust me.  You are of great importance.  Don't give up; keep sowing.  Larger green pastures give safe shelter to a greater number of sheep under my care.  You are growing my pastures."

I am awed and humbled at the same time.  God has me cradled in the hands of HIS GRACE even when I forget the feeling of His Hands upon my vessel.  Sometimes it seems He has removed them temporarily, but you can bet, HE knows how to speak to me as only a FATHER knows how to speak to his daughter with great love and devotion.  I know I rest in His Hands of Grace.  His Hands are warm and often delicate, gentle yet strong at the same time.  He is the Master Potter of our personal vessels.  I need to constantly remember it's not about me.  It's not about you.  It's not about Clay or the Falls Family.  It ALL about GOD.  Leave it in His very loving, very capable hands.  Allow him to keep you cradled in grace.  <')))><

My Broken Vessel

My Broken Vessel

Our baby boy, so sweet
we were waiting to meet.
A brother eager to play,
with a new bundle named Clay.
When on a Sunday afternoon,
it suddenly seemed much too soon.
The baby quickly ripped away,
an emergency is what they say.
I cried to God, prayed to him with much fear,
please, Lord, this baby is so very dear.
Mother and child, both seemed in danger,
could we remember, the love found in the manger?
It all happened so fast,
yet the mold had long ago been cast.
Time to finish the knitting in my womb,
this new life assured from an empty tomb.

When your lung tore open wide,
they said that you could not survive.
Even before the physical touch of our love,
your breath, freed from confinement
was wrought with excruciating pain.
You were cradled by the wings of a dove,
took flight to be with angels above.
He carried you securely through tears
that fell like rain,
The will to live, to all of us, God above did give.

You are a child of God, molded by the Potter's hands. A miracle you are, our angel sent from up above, to teach us His unconditional love.

Your body still is broken and bent,
yet there is good reason that you were sent.
A shattered vessel perhaps to some,
yet you are the Potter's perfect one.
You have shown us all so much,
by always resisting Satan's clutch.
Even when the chips seem down,
your face never wears the hint of a frown.

You have waited so long, to God you MOST belong,
mount up your wings and fly, keep us all aiming high.
You have taught us how to trust,
even ashes to dust.
Let your light so brightly shine,
you are God's gift of mine.
You have already traveled a very long and dusty road,
and we have tried to feel the burden of your heavy load.
Yet always in that incredible smile we can see,
that life forever has been granted to you and to me.
Those trips when Heaven called you back, and held you,
oh so close,
it is Jesus you always managed to show us, that you
remember most.
So many times you would briefly leave to make a visit there,
it was Christ who kissed your head so soft,
so blonde and so fair.
In your brightly shining eyes, it is Jesus we can see;
so lovely and so pure.
These are the things, we are all so certain,
we can be wonderfully sure.
Jesus with the children, all looking upon His welcoming,
most radiant face,
Cradled you against His chest, warming you in splendid
and peaceful embrace.
He lives forever in your heart, in that most special place,
the glow of your spirit is our constant reminder of
His grace.
The love you give away to those who cross your path,
can help prevent the deep, dark fall into the
Devil's wrath.
It is you, our special angel sent from up above,
you are the reason we can feel so much of His love.

You have lived in God's most beautiful space,
it is written well all over your face;
the Devil in you simply can't find trace,
you are so strongly held in place,
within the loving arms of such amazing grace.

You are a child of God, molded by the Potter's hands. A miracle you are, our angel sent from up above, to teach us His unconditional love.

You have waited on our Lord,
with quiet dignity and endless faith,
In His arms you have shown to us,
we are all kept warm and safe.
As our future continues to unfold,
God will forever steady the mold,
A beautiful vessel made out of clay,
before we ever met you that first day.
He refines you more each and every way,
even in the ways that you have learned to play.

Our lives ahead look bright,
shining in God's pure light.
More miracles will truly come,
proof that we have a Holy home.
No more broken we will be,
we will all be perfect, in God's majesty.
Turn around all words of doubt,
non believers someday to Him, will shout!
Thank you for the love you have shown,
You have given us the greatest joy ever known!

We are all children of God, molded by the Potter's mighty hands. Keep sending angels from above, to teach us how to love. Show us how to care, teach us how to share, and help us all be vessels of your unconditional love.

Help us find in broken vessels,
more miracles sent from above,
Help us find in broken vessels,
the truth of Heaven and Eternal Love!

Clay Falls, you are a child of God, molded by the Potter's hands. You are a miracle of love, our very own angel mended and sent from up above. You have given us so very much: the capacity to give and to receive His unconditional love and such.


Written about my third special angel,
Clayton Alexander Falls, Sunday, May 19, 1985 in Boulder, Colorado

Taylor Monts Falls, Thursday, May 21, 1981 in Tulsa, Oklahoma; bore witness with a tiny footprint before blossoming wings to stay a true angel above

Brandon Montgomery Falls, Sunday, March 7, 1982 in Tulsa, Oklahoma; another angel who managed to stay earthbound, strong in faith and love

Written with much love, hugs, and more, I am proud to be your mom.

Annette Monts Falls
August 2, 2002

Remembering

This morning I found myself looking through all the photos of Clay's time in Denver.  I suppose it is easy to say put them aside because he made it through all those grueling months and grueling surgeries. Yet, I have not posted the most terrible pix from that time.  I will not subject readers to that degree; however, they remain important because it shows what he endured as a newborn.  It shows how he ended up with severe Cerebral Palsy.  It is a miracle of God that he retained his mental capabilities and that it has been all physical challenges he lives with.  That isn't to say that the physical challenges are easier than mental.  They are just different.  Clay cannot sit by himself, he cannot dress himself or feed himself, he cannot talk like we talk, he cannot toilet or bathe like we are fortunate to be able to do all by ourselves.  Clay is on a feeding pump as a consequence to his medical crisis and near death three years ago.  He is diapered; not because he does not have the intellect to toilet but because of the nature of his body, it isn't justifiable to put him or us through the additional physical strains of trying to lift him, undress him, maintain him on a toilet.  To be out of the house would really be impossible, so he remains in diapers.  We are so very fortunate and blessed that he has persevered to remain in our family.  He has done so only through the purposes and by direction of God.

Sometimes I question why do I try to start a new blog?  Who really cares?  Truthfully it can be extremely discouraging to attempt to spill my heart, Clay's heart and see little, if any, difference it makes outside of us.  There are days I wonder, why bother? Yet despite it all, God still whispers to me not to give up writing.  He whispers, "Child, I did not give you this life story not to share it.  It is the story I have written for your lives.  Never assume it is not important."

And so, because I hear those whispers, I have to put words to my (our) life as a family.  Maybe it doesn't matter much to outsiders, or maybe it does and I just don't 'see' it in stats and reports that can make one feel so inferior and intimidated by writing.  Maybe I just need to let it go and let God.  I need to simply trust His opinions, His purposes, and His Hands working behind scenes I cannot see.  The reason I write is to bring God glory.  I need to remind myself of that more often; more of HIM, less of me.  Why should I care about tracking where the story goes and just release it more fully into a life continued to be Cradled by His Hands of Grace to use it as He decides.  <')))><

Itsy Bitsy Spider & You Are My Sunshine

A photo has been going around facebook of a twin hugging his baby sister.  They had been placed in separate open cribs before a nurse took a bold step and placed them together.  When she placed the little girl by her twin, he immediately wrapped his arm around her and she began to improve, simply from being comforted by the arm that surrounded her in their mother's cramped womb.  It makes me think of time in NICU with Clay month, after month, after month.  Brandon used to sing Isty Bitsy Spider and You Are My Sunshine to my growing belly before Clay was born.  We asked him to sing to his baby brother one of the first times we took him to Denver to meet Clay.  When he started singing, Clay's oxygen levels started climbing.  Clay's little finger had an oxygen monitor on it making his finger look like an ET finger; it continually monitored how well his body was producing and using oxygen. Brandon was entranced by the glowing red finger and then he would begin singing. Clay's oxygen levels would start to rise, point by point.  This happened so many times that often the nurses would ask us if Brandon was in the hospital because if they were unable to get a better oxygen saturation, they wanted Brandon to sing those two miraculous little songs so full of life, joy and love for Clay to hear.  Brandon was always happy to sing and NICU did not intimidate him; all of Brandon's newborn pictures looked a lot like the NICU Clay was in.  Brandon probably thought all babies came into the world wired and under lights.  It gave him no fear.  At three years old, he would come into NICU and gregariously steal every one's hearts, including Clay's heart and lungs. 
I say heart and lungs because I feel that Brandon played just as big a part in Clay's fight to survive as the rest of us did.  Clay's heart could remember the sound of Brandon's voice and then Clay's lungs would function better with desire to heal.  Many times the docs would stand around and watch as low nineties became mid to upper nineties.  It was magical.  It was also soothing and healing to us, realizing the special bond that was already strongly stitched between the two.  It could not go unnoticed.
My post tonight isn't grand or well prepared because I've not felt well, but I sort of know how Clay felt when Brandon would sing encouraging words to him as Clay fought to hang on.  Last night, today and many times in the past, it has been the sound of Clay's joy, of Brandon's gregarious personality, the sound of them picking on each other, that has given me the fight to feel better and to lift my spirits.  Invisible disabilities such as Fibromyalgia, Trigeminal Neuralgia, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome can seem very debilitating at times.  There are many women who battle through life in physical pain that never fully abates.  If you look at us, you can't see the pain our bodies continually have to endure; we look amazingly well.  We have become very good at wearing the masks of everything is great; of putting on the smile; of getting dressed and made up to look 'normal' on the outside.  That is okay because we know who our sisters are.  We hold each other up when one feels like throwing in a towel.  We lift each other in prayers that tomorrow will be a much better day.  We adapt the best way we know how.  We've learned to cling to Jesus.  So just as Brandon comforted Clay by singing songs, Clay now comforts me when he is feeling healthy and he is singing songs with angels we cannot see or hear.  Clay sees them and Clay certainly hears them.  How?  It's a GOD thing. It isn't for us to question, but to accept it and acknowledge the gifts for what they are.  Treasures.  Tidbits of Heaven.
Yes, life started hard and shattered into lots of bits and pieces along the way.  It has remained difficult much of the time.  However, now and then someone comes to our side and is willing to sing Itsy Bitsy Spider and You Are My Sunshine.  Just because of something so simple, done in love, our hearts and our emotions feel happy and complete.  I love those happy sounds the most in my house from my sons.  I do not take them for granted.  I inhale them into my soul, and I thank God for allowing us to keep Brandon and Clay physically here with us.  I encourage all of you who may need someone to sing such encouragement and love into your souls to know that Jesus is always that willing comforter standing right next to you; He is lifting your spirits, providing you rest, and is always available.  All you have to do is open your heart and your ears to listen to the love songs God provides to you. May He cradle you in hands of comfort, relief, release and peace.  My prayer is that you learn to put it all into His Hands of Grace. 

 <')))>< 

Cradled by God's Mercy

As I reflect more on the first days and weeks that turned into months, then years of spinning upon the Potter's wheel, I thank him for cradling us in mercy, courage, and unconditional love.  What we could not do on our own, God provided.  It was not our strength, but His.  It was not our plan, but His.  It was not for us to understand; only HE could.  It wasn't the family we wanted to be, yet it was the family HE designed us to be.  Nearly three decades later, we are still spinning upon His wheel, grateful that He has kept us molded together by the plans in His Hands.  His ways are not our ways; His desires are very different from our own sometimes.  I am finally beginning to grasp that His desires are much more important than my own selfish desires.  As an innocent little girl long ago I would often converse with him during the moments leading to my eyes closing to sleepy dreams.  I asked him if I could be loved and chosen like He had chosen Mary.  Though I did not comprehend in my immature mind, my heart was sincere and His answer has been granted.  For many unknowns, He has loved me and chosen me in many similar ways to Mary.  It has taken the entire journey to realize that God was paying close attention to my little girl's deepest heart prayers.  He still knows the desires of my heart.  I know I've continually given it all to him year after year.  I am alive only because HE has cradled me in his tender arms of mercy the entire journey.  HE knows the final turn on the wheel for all of us.  I leave it all as an offering from my heart, and I place it into HIS Hands forevermore.  I'm learning the value and treasure of turning us into vessels of glory to water the souls of the thirsty He places alongside us.  <')))><

The Silent Cry

One of the things I will never forget was the silent crying Clay did while intubated.  His face was very expressive even when critically ill.  He was amazingly alert to be so physically compromised; just as he is still amazingly alert today.  For more than three months he remained intubated with numerous chest tubes necessary.  At five days old, he was rushed into surgery; more on that in a later posting.  At five days old, Clay had seven, yes 7, chest tubes in his newborn body. I was watching NY MED on television the other night and the doctor was saying that chest tube insertions are one of the most horrific medical procedures a patient endures.  Yes, my  baby had seven at one time; the silent crying shattered my heart each and every time I witnessed his cries of pain and cries for me.  It would be forever before I could cradle him in my arms in comfort and love.  God kept Clay here.  Jesus did the cradling when we could not.  Clay remembers Jesus very well; his faith and spiritual gifts cannot be comprehended.  To those who know Clay, it is clearly evident that God has done the molding and the shaping with Clay cradled safely in HIS HANDS of GRACE.  <')))>< 

 

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WHY? The Cycle of Self Blame

Having three very ill babies delivered in a four year time frame was brutal.  The fact that Clay came two days prior to the four year anniversary of Taylor's birth then death was excruciating.  Why God?  Why couldn't I have what my friends have had; normal pregnancies with perfectly healthy babies and all the hoopla that went with a happy outcome?  Three out of three attempts had all ended with fear and desperation.  God, why haven't I succeeded with a happy birth?  They have all been greatly compromised; what have I done wrong?

Then I remember and I decide upon an answer to the questions of WHY me God?  I certainly knew it was my fault.  The common denominator of all three outcomes was after all me, MOM.  Conception came easy and nearly immediately, though we were told the opposite would be likely.  I felt blessed that I could indeed conceive with no medical interventions or desperate heartbreaks of  enduring months or longer of non success.  Why could conceiving a child be so easy only to have my body attempt rejections at six months gestation? And then an answer begins to surface.  An explanation that must be the reason; an explanation that shouted from the depths that it was all my fault.

From before I could even begin to form memories, I was a victim of inappropriate affection.  It probably started out normal, but as time went on, this person began to bit by bit, step out of the boundaries of affection into the sickening steps of molestation.  I don't think he knew what or why he was doing these things to me.  Maybe I still enable him in my memories to this day.  I know he had a harsh life and he had lost much in his life.  I know he received little affection after those losses.  Everyone desires and needs physical touch and affection.  He was no different.  I knew he loved me and I loved him.  But with time his shows of affection became too intimate to be normal, yet I allowed it for years to occur.  This continued the length of my childhood years into adolescence; finally I had the strength and power to not enable the shows of affection that were inappropriate.  I would isolate myself from him where he could not find me.  I would always be certain someone was around us at all times.  

During my childhood, times were difficult for my parents.  I was the fourth of five children.  Back then I would say I did not feel loved for reasons that get very complicated.  But the truth remains that I often felt unloved and unworthy.  I did not receive the much needed affirmations as a child at the time.  My friends got gifts, had birthday parties, sleep overs, etc.  I did not.  At an early age, such things help us to understand we are loved and affirmed.  Because I did not experience those marvelous moments my friends so excitedly talked about, I began to internalize that I just was not worthy of the same experiences and displays of love they received.  I was less than.  Combine feeling less than, unworthy and add in molestation; it told me I was a bad girl.  I was bad because I allowed someone to molest me and of course, it had to be my fault that he did so.  I was bad because I did not have the same experiences as my friends did growing up.  I did not deserve the things they got to experience.  I felt unloved and unworthy.  I still had the immature mind of a child; to me, it was all because I had to be really bad to feel so unworthy or unloved.

Into my school years and teens, I poured myself into academics and pleasing teachers.  I was good at pleasing teachers.  They affirmed me; often I was called the Teacher's Pet.  It made me feel worthy to be a teacher's pet student; often I felt rewarded in ways I never did at home.  I never shared with any of my friends how I felt unworthy at home or that I was being molested, year after year.

I learned to push it out of my mind once the molester died and I got older.  The threat had left.  I went on to college and found the love I so hoped for.  A young man had become smitten with me; how could I have gotten so lucky?  His family fell in love with me.  His mother doted greatly on me; I was the daughter she had always longed for but did not have until I became a constant presence in their home.  We married and soon after marriage, we moved to the mid west to start a life and to build our own nest.  It took time but finally I fell in love with Tulsa, Oklahoma.  Our lives were full.  I conceived quickly, rather miraculously said the doctor.  All was wonderful until at 26 weeks I began labor but did not know it was labor.  We were moving into a home we had just completed building the very next day.  I was filled with joy and anticipation.  My mother in law and brother in law were in route to Tulsa from SC.  So excited were my inlaws as this would be their first grandchild in the family.  They were bringing a station wagon laden with baby gifts and a cradle that Dad Falls had lovingly worked on as well.  The excitement was sky high; a brand new house and a new baby coming soon.  Yet, the excitement came to a sudden halt.  A friend had suggested I be checked out as I was feeling "different" than normal.  I was actually in full labor and was dilating at six months.  We went to the hospital and they tried everything they could possibly try to stop the labor.  However I was too progressed into labor and dilation that nothing worked.  The decision was made to take me into an emergency Cesarean delivery.  Everything was spinning like a vortex around me.  I delivered a little boy, Taylor Monts Falls weighing 2 pounds and 2 ounces.  He was 14 inches long and very premature.  He was whisked into NICU and I did not even get to see him.  Within 24 hours, Taylor died of extremely premature lung development.  Fred's mom and brother arrived and I felt like a huge disappointment.  My emotions were all confused.  I was in a state of complete shock.  As I began to process all that had happened I also formulated the reason it had happened.  I had been a bad girl.  Because I had been a bad girl, molested in childhood, I did not deserve a baby.  I convinced myself it was all my fault and it was what I got for being the bad little girl.

When Brandon arrived less than ten months later, he too was sent to NICU in the same hospital.  I managed to maintain the pregnancy to 36 weeks with lots of medication and trips to the hospital to fight off labor.  This time at 26 weeks I was educated about what a contraction was and how it felt.  I immediately went for medical help.  Brandon spent a month in that NICU.  God blessed us by allowing Brandon to thrive after that initial month of hospitalization.  Finally we experienced joy as we had never experienced before, yet I still internalized the blame on myself because of course, I had been the bad little girl.  That surely was why I again almost lost another son.  I was the common denominator.

So when Clay arrived suddenly saving my own life that Sunday afternoon in Boulder, Colorado we thought at last I had made it to a safe place and that finally we would have a fairy tale ending.  It wasn't to be.  Had we not gone to the hospital that afternoon, within an hour or two at most, my uterus would have ruptured and very likely both mother and child would have died had that happened.  It was precariously close when they took me into yet another emergency c section delivery.  We knew the baby was big.  Everything indicated he was healthy.  But for reasons unknown to this day, at some point after his delivery, his lung ruptured.  Then hell broke into our hopes and dreams.  He was not expected to survive whatsoever.  I was okay, but the baby who saved my life, was now in the fight for his very own.  Again, it had to be my fault because for a third time, I was the common denominator.  I had been a very bad little girl and this was punishment for being the little girl who was constantly molested.  I was at fault.  Somehow as a little blonde haired toddler, I asked to be inappropriately shown affection that happened before I can remember the start.  It had to have been my fault.  Because I had been bad, my baby boys all came into the world severely compromised as punishment to me.  The cycle had started and the cycle would take years to resolve itself.  The self blame turned into self punishment and over the years I acted out in ways that self punished.  Certainly I needed to find ways to be punished because I was the guilty one who needed to be held accountable for the WHY?  It all had to be a result of being a bad girl who deserved punishment.  If from no one else, I deserved punishment of self.

"We've saved you, but we don't think your son Clay is going to survive!"




Visiting hour & I am on full display to all the friends and families who have experienced GREAT joy but Clay is not expected to live.

status: EXTREMELY CRITICAL

"Don't be afraid, this is a big, healthy baby. Everything is going to be what you've hoped for. "

Mother's Day; One week before Clay's emergency arrival





Sunday, May 12, 1985 in our back yard, Boulder, Colorado



Under Contruction~ Shaping a Place to Share Lessons and Treasures From My Vessel Named Clay

On Sunday, May 19, 1985 in Boulder, Colorado, God orchestrated events to save my own life through the cessation of fetal movement of my third son named Clayton Alexander Falls.  This was the shattering end of my third birth experience in a four year time frame, beginning with the unexpected loss of my firstborn, Taylor Monts Falls on May 21, 1981 in Tulsa, Oklahoma. It was the eve of our highly anticipated move into our first real home.  Taylor, lived a short number of hours after birth, but forever left a single tiny two inch footprint before blossoming wings on May 22 to dance among moonbeams and stars.  Brandon Montgomery Falls followed nine and a half months later on March 7, 1982, spending his first month in the same NICU where his brother died.  Then after much joy, a job loss and a relocation to Boulder, CO, I was determined to have a final healthy, normal birth experience.  It wasn't to be.  This is the beginning of a story including how Clay saved my life then suffered severe consequences of a torn lung soon after his birth that shattered all our lives, hopes and dreams in the blink of an eye.  God has cradled me in Hands of Grace in a way that leaves the profound mark of the Potter upon me, our family, and those we meet.  He has shaped us into vessels of His Glory by His purposes and plans.  The journey has been long and hard.  The potter's wheel has often spun out of control and severely off balance, yet in all things, we have learned that HIS HANDS have held us the entire voyage, transforming us into the beautiful vessels He has intended for us to become.  To God be all the glory as we've learned to live our lives in the hands of His Amazing Grace.