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When I sat in that doctor's office over a year and a half ago, being told I should consider terminating my Zoe because I might have a genetic condition that I may pass on to my daughter, I knew deep in my heart, she was- and is- a gift.
I knew that even if some cold, detached doctor did not, could not, would not see her value, she deserved life.
And when she was born, a beautiful, squiggly girl of seven pounds and seven ounces and a long twenty inches, the precious gift I was blessed to carry for thirty-eight weeks entered the world, full of curiosity, attentiveness and hunger.
Zoe Lyne Hope. Zoe means "life". Abundant life.
The first time I held my precious little Zoe.
The thing is, while I had all the hope in the world...
Me after the 8AM service on Sunday. All these pics are of my church, taken by me.
Despite being Unapologetically Episcopalian... well, liking it on Facebook, I've been feeling something like sorrow for the denomination to which my church belongs. It seems every other day there's yet another story about it's decreasing numbers and entire parishes breaking off to become Roman Catholic or join up with other theologically conservative Anglican communities.
And little by little, I've been feeling out of step, too. There was the little devotional that left me at a loss for words. Then there was this post based off of last Sunday's Liturgical Gospel Readings. It was written by David Henson who is currently undergoing training to become...
I don't get very many invites these days, so it's very striking I managed to get three for events all on the same day, May 19th.
Three parties celebrating three very different occasions. But all for beautiful women who are about to experience life-changing events.
Candace has been my friend since before Dawson and Pacey but after the Macarena. We were both transfers to a now-shut down Christian school, new girls in the eleventh grade.
She was-and is- everything I'm not. Tall, thin, charismatic and adventurous. We clicked immediately.
After college, she moved to Miami, preferring the heat and sun to Jersey's cloudy gray. She's traveled the world- London, Port of Spain, Acapulco- with aplomb. So it makes perfect...
We sat, mouths slightly agape, staring. We were shocked and hurt, K and I. We had just been counseled briefly that the child inside me might be genetically "defective". And then asked flatly, if we would like to consider terminating the pregnancy?
Six weeks ago, K and I left work early to go the hospital where I plan to have Z, named after an early Christian saint and martyr evoked at times when peace is needed.
We sat in the full waiting room with other expectant parents, waiting to be called. After an hour, a doctor assigned to be our genetic counselor came out and said she needed five minutes to review my file. I suppose she hadn't expected the additional medical records I had...
I'm sitting in the local diner writing this on my laptop, the diner being every good Jersey girl's version of "The Max" that Zack and Slater hung out in "Saved By The Bell." But I'm by myself, sans Lisa and Screech, so I guess this would be like a deleted "Jesse studies alone” scene that wouldn't even make the DVD collection. Of course, circa 2010.
I've got "Eat Pray Love" with me, which is pretty sad because I've been lugging this now worn book around for a month and Liz is just in India. Considering I typically devour books the way I just devoured the tuna triple decker I ordered, quick and easy, my inability to read this book straight through is beyond strange. I mean, I got through 3 Hemingway novels in less time than this...