2021 Stretched Me Beyond the Vision Board: (3 of 4)
It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I discovered a musty smell coming from underneath our kitchen cabinets. I knew I smelled the beginning stages of mold.
With me being pregnant and having small kiddos, I knew it was only a matter of time before things could possibly escalate into a dangerous situation.
**If you missed “Part 1” and "Part 2" of me retelling some moments that occurred during the last six months of 2021, trust me, you want to read it! This blog post is a continuation of such.
That night, I went into my prayer closet and pulled out my journal.
“Lord, thank You for our health.
Thank You for our home.
Thank You for my marriage.
Thank You for these children.
Thank You for the AC Unit that is allowing us to stay in our home.
Thank You for allowing us to be home to quickly catch this leak.
And can You give us $12,000 in the next few days?
I know You can do it.
In Jesus’ Name, Amen.”
Over the next few days, it appeared that the water leak didn’t cause any noticeable damage.
I was thankful because it didn’t feel like I had any more room to add to my plate.
We were still waiting for our AC to be fixed. At night, we’d carry a AC window unit to our bedroom, and my husband, myself, and two kiddos would all fall asleep in the same room (our three-year-old son loved this), and then during the day, my husband would carry the 60-pound AC unit downstairs to cool the downstairs while I stayed home with our two kiddos.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I discovered a musty smell coming from underneath our kitchen cabinets. I knew I smelled the beginning stages of mold.
With me being pregnant and having small kiddos, I knew it was only a matter of time before things could possibly escalate into a dangerous situation.
I called a mold specialist to come out and evaluate our home.
On the morning that the mold specialist was scheduled to visit, a bathroom tile fell from our bathroom wall fell while my husband was showering.
“******,” my husband yelled in frustration. “That’s it. I’m so done with this house.”
I knew that my husband was joking (maybe he was slightly serious), but if we had a nice little down payment sitting in our bank account and if I weren't pregnant and well into my third trimester, I would have begun packing myself.
By this point, despite our inward thoughts and frustrations, my husband and I tended to abide by an unspoken rule between the two of us: when issues arise, keep your head down, refrain from complaining, and move forward by focusing on the solution rather than the current problem.
Within a few minutes, the mold specialist arrived.
He only confirmed what I knew to be true. The molding at the bottom of our kitchen cabinets were beginning to rot and we most likely had mold growing underneath the cabinets as well. The only way to verify this suspicion would be to completely gut the entire kitchen in order to mitigate any potential mold.
I braced myself before hearing the cost to do all of this.
“I’d have to go back to the office and run a few numbers before sending you a quote,” the mold specialist said with calculation. His eyes held empathy as I noticed him glancing every now and then to my growing womb, my messy living room filled with overflowing children's books, and my two small kiddos who found it perfectly fine to continue spewing out their morning demands in front of a complete stranger.
I took a deep breath.
“Okay cool. Hey, before you go, do you mind looking at our master bathroom? We had a bathroom tile fall from the wall, and I just want to make sure that there isn’t any mold there too.” I have no idea where I got the idea to ask this.
“Yeah, of course,” he complied.
It didn’t take the mold specialist long to give his analysis. We definitely had black mold in the wall of our bathroom shower. This mold had nothing to do with the water leak we’d experienced weeks prior. The mold specialist theorized that the mold had probably been growing behind the tile of our bathroom wall long before we even bought our home, which was less than two years ago at the time, due to a lack of sealing around the tiles of our bathroom wall.
Here we were…requesting a mold specialist to review our kitchen for mold, not knowing that we had mold growing in our bathroom shower all along. What stunned me was that we wouldn’t have known that we had mold in our bathroom unless a bathroom tile fell on the exact morning that the mold specialist planned to come to our home.
You can’t make this stuff up.
God seriously takes care of His children.
The mold specialist awkwardly smiled before leaving. He was young and newly engaged. I hoped that the very felt chaos witnessed in our home didn’t traumatize him from ever wanting to have kids.
Before stepping out of our front door, the young man turned around and tried to piece together a word of encouragement.
“You know…I noticed that you have a lot of scriptures up in your home. You guys are doing something right,” he said without really pausing for me to reply. I knew this was his way of saying that everything would be all right. His pace picked up as he walked back to his truck.
“Thank you,” I said, whether to him or to God…I’m not sure.
A few hours later, we received the quote from the mold specialist.
I braced myself. After reading the report, I told my husband the amount to simply treat the mold (never mind the cost to repair and buy new cabinetry, countertops, backsplash, and bathroom tiles, etc. after treating the mold).
“Okay,” he said.
My husband didn’t flinch upon realizing the scope of work that would need to be done. He didn’t say anything either and just nodded his head as if to note that this was beyond his control and that he wouldn’t worry about it.
His response felt reminiscent.
It reminded me of the time I sat on the barstool of my parent’s kitchen counter as a little girl. At the time, both of my parent’s cars had just broken down. It was a Sunday evening and I vividly recall my dad sitting at our kitchen table figuring out how his four little girls would get to school in the morning, as well as him and my mom to work.
Even as a little girl, I knew that my dad’s demeanor didn’t make logical sense. It just seemed like one bad thing was happening after the other, while he seemed like a little bird perched on a frail branch, singing to his heart’s content without fear of falling.
I sat at the counter confused.
“Daddy.”
My dad looked up from his notepad.
“How are you not worried about what we’re going to do?” I inquired with genuine intrigue. I anticipated a concrete answer, as I would if I had asked, “Where does rain come from?”
I don’t remember what he said, but I recall the instantaneous smile that swept across his face and the sheer calm that illuminated his eyes.
Yes, a familiar calm pierced my husband’s eyes too.
What do they call it? A peace that surpasseth all understanding (Philippians 4:7)?
I went to sleep and my husband and I didn’t speak any further about the matter.
The next morning, my husband asked me to reach out to a family friend who was a contractor.
“Ask her for advice, Jess,” my husband casually requested the next morning while walking out the door.
I texted our older family friend and she called shortly after.
“You need to file a claim with your insurance,” she advised with a sense of urgency.
“Oh. I know we have a pretty high deductible. I ruled out this option.”
I told her our deductible and she paused.
“Still call your insurance company and file a claim,” she advised. Her tone was that of a mother instructing her daughter.
“Okay. I’ll do it right now.”
I called our home insurance and filed two separate claims. Our insurance scheduled a time for an adjuster to come out to evaluate the damages. Come to find out, our deductible was much lower than I initially suspected but still high enough to make me think that this process was a lost cause.
After a few weeks, we received the adjuster’s final assessment.
I called our family friend again for advice.
“Oh, no! ” she exclaimed after reading through the report. She began rattling off terms that I knew nothing about.
“We will fix this,” she assured.
And she did.
After much back and forth with our insurance company, we received a check for close to $30K six weeks before my due date.
Instead of $12K, God blessed us with MORE THAN double the amount that I requested of Him that night in my prayer closet. Praise God for the wisdom, counsel, and work done through our family friend. She was literally a God-send to us.
In December of 2020, I placed on my vision board to have a new backsplash and countertops in our kitchen in 2021. My husband had just left his corporate job and was starting his own business. With the uncertainty that comes along with beginning a business and with the instability of the market during a pandemic, I wasn't quite sure how we’d possess these tangible items in 2021. All I knew was that I was tired of looking at our old tile countertops. I was also tired of scrubbing the grout hoping to get rid of stains, dirt, and bacteria.
Do you know that the Lord blessed us with every material item I placed on our vision board (except for a used piano for our son, but hey, the year isn’t over!)? My vision board included large sections on what I planned on doing in 2021 and prayers for the woman I desired to become. But to be honest, I most enjoyed writing my “what to have this year” portion of my vision board! From a specific vacuum cleaner that I wanted us to have… to a particular map of the world…to funds for an incredible family photoshoot. The Lord blessed us! The largest of all was a new kitchen entirely. I had no idea the Lord would provide a new kitchen for us…by means of a frustrating water leak.
With six weeks left until my due date, we prayed that the renovations could be done speedily.
Again, I didn’t predict what was about to transpire next.
Before
After
(*This picture was taken before our drawers and cabinet doors were installed. ’ll update this when I get a chance).
2021 Stretched Me Beyond the Vision BOARD: Here's HOW Part 1
If you’re curious to know how the last six months of my life have fared, join the adventurous journey by reading along. It’s been…. ”interesting” to say the least.
In late December of 2020, my husband and I wrote out our visions, placed them on four large whiteboards, and hung them up in our office. I took the extra step of typing them, printing them, and laminating them to be fully displayed in our kitchen for a constant reminder.
I wonder if I can write a blog post within 30 minutes.
I’ve never done so in the past.
But this is also my first time writing a blog post while having three children aged three and under.
This is new. So, here we are.
If you’re curious to know how the last six months of my life have fared, join the adventurous journey by reading along. It’s been…. “interesting” to say the least.
In late December of 2020, my husband and I wrote out our visions, placed them on four large whiteboards, and hung them up in our office. I took the extra step of typing them, printing them, and laminating them to be fully displayed in our kitchen for a constant reminder.
We had plans. Rather we had a vision.
Therefore, by the end of May 2021, still high on what 2021 could bring, my husband shared with me that he would be embarking on a 3-day water fast with a group of spiritual brothers to pray for the remainder of the year. More specifically, my husband determined himself to pray for our family’s spiritual growth and for wisdom regarding preparation for what was to come.
“Pray for me love, seriously, while I fast,” my husband said in passing while pouring a blueberry smoothie into a sippy cup while not stepping over our recently turned one-year-old daughter who still loved to crawl. Completing the latest feat, my husband straightened out his navy blue suit pants and gathered a list of items to rush out the door for the morning.
“I got you, bae,” I said after receiving his distinctive goodbye kiss.
At the time, I was in my third trimester, very much pregnant, and tested daily with a 3-year-old and one-year-old at home.
“I should be the one asking for prayer,” I thought, while staring at our beautiful children and wondering what the coming day would hold.
My husband’s water fast began.
And so did our year…it seemed.
Let me give a disclaimer. The second half of 2021 proved trying, but it wasn’t bad. I prefer the words “adventurous” and “glorious.” So if my tonality conveys anything less than…consider that I’m typing feverishly while it’s “nap time” for the kiddos.
It started with a small cold caught by our one year-old daughter, Ada. That cold soon spread to her older brother. No, I wasn’t panicking at this point, nor tired after nursing them to health for a week. It was at the “one week and one day” mark that tested my limits.
On day 8 of being sick, my son gripped his ear and began tugging it in clear discomfort while my husband and I took a casual Sunday drive to grab food. One look at our son and I knew this was serious.
“Bae, he’s in a lot of pain. Go to Whole Foods. We need to get some raw garlic and one raw onion ASAP,” I griped. All plans for a quiet Sunday evening were put on pause.
It didn’t matter. It never does.
My husband, at this point in our marriage, rarely looked at me crazy upon hearing my strange medicinal requests. Instead, he kindly did what was instructed when it came to me nursing our kiddos to health ( as long as my husband had a full stomach..please don’t catch him hot or hungry).
We made it home and I immediately began making garlic and onion poultices to be placed on my son’s ear. I think this is the point in which I began showcasing my third-trimester waddle in full force. My husband placed a movie on for our son to watch while I carefully placed the poultice on my son’s ear.
Instant relief. (Weeks later my son would pull at his ear in hopes that I’d put a movie on for him to watch.)
I could breathe. No mom cares to see any of her children in pain. I waddled upstairs with our daughter to change her diaper. By the time she and I made it to the top of the stairs, my daughter began projectile vomiting.
“What in the….” I stared in disbelief, as her vomit settled more firmly into our carpet.
“EVANN!!!!” I yelled.
Her temperature then spiked. For the next 4-5 hours, our daughter would nurse (yes I was breastfeeding and very pregnant) and would then throw up an hour later. We called our pediatrician.
“Has she stopped vomiting? Okay, good. Give it another 48 hours. As long as she can keep a good amount of liquids down…” our pediatrician graciously instructed.
And thankfully, our daughter did just that.
Except her temperature remained the same for the next two days.
I made a same-day appointment.
Her diagnosis? A double ear infection.
I broke down in the parking lot of our pediatrician’s office in tears. Later we discovered that Ada had a severe food allergy to peas. She’d been drinking pea protein milk for weeks. I thought I’d done well in finding her a drink she liked. I didn’t know.
I grabbed my daughter’s prescribed antibiotics from Walgreens and drove home, following the smell of normalcy coming within a few days.
I closed our garage door and grabbed our two kiddos out of the car and walked into our home, only to see my husband sprawled out on the couch in the early afternoon on a weekday.
He had a 102 °F fever.
I became the nurse in the house. Going upstairs, downstairs. Touching foreheads. Giving out water. Studying all behavior like a scientist in a laboratory.
My husband's fever continued to spike, at one point in the night, going up to 104°F. We couldn’t go to an urgent care clinic, at the time, lest we had a negative COVID test. I called my mother-in-love for help. She brought over the entire Walgreens cold and flu section late that night. The very next morning, I drove my husband to get a COVID test. We waited a few hours and found out it was negative. I scheduled an appointment for him to see our primary care doctor the very next day. All the while, his fever continued to spike the moment any meds wore off.
My sister rushed over the next morning to watch our kids while I took my husband to the doctor. I drove while saying prayers over my husband, who was ready to take whatever pill to make his sickness go away. At this point, my concoctions of cayenne pepper, apple cider vinegar, raw garlic, and ginger made him look at me with the utmost distrust.
I knew he was really sick, considering he obliged to sit in the passenger seat while I drove him to the doctor.
It took only one look from my husband’s primary care doctor for her to know that my husband was seriously sick. She hooked him up to an IV to receive fluids, fever reducers, and antibiotics. A few hours later, we picked up my husband’s Z-pack and went home. I walked in the house. Empty cups of cranberry juice and crackers sat on the counter, reminders of how many times we did communion and said prayers over the course of a few days.
I could sit and rest.
Okay, Lord. You are so good. We passed these tests. My husband was not yet 100%. My daughter's ear infections weren’t all the way healed. And my son still had a cough… but God was good.
The year could now begin.
The blessings could be poured down.
We made it. And I could sit down and stop showcasing my perfected waddle.
I watched the premiere of Washington Heights and smiled.
I didn’t care if the house was in complete disarray, or that the kids hadn’t bathed, or that I could barely walk across our living room floor due to miscellaneous items encroaching my every step.
I could sit and laugh with my husband, while we stared at the music scenes beautifully displayed across our screen.
It was over. I propped up my slightly swollen feet and breathed a nervous breath. “It” was over.
What was the “it?”
The influx of physical ailments assailed on my immediate family? Perhaps.
My husband sat on the couch, still weak…not really watching my recommended musical but happy to see me smile.
Something felt all too spiritual about the days: the timing of sickness right after my husband’s fast, the random texts received from those who knew nothing of our situation—commenting “thinking of you”, “just calling”, “on my mind”—and the severity of my husband’s sickness (one in which had never occurred in my thirteen years of knowing him).
I thought “it” was over. But things were only beginning. I felt warm air. Not exactly warmth as in the sweet presence of the Holy Spirit—although He was definitely there.