Meriah had a checkup with Neurology at UVA this past Monday. The EEG that she had showed that she did not have any seizures, but there was still some "irritability" observed. They decided to keep her on the Phenobarbitol and even upped her dose to keep up with her weight gain. It sounds like they want her on it until she is 6 months old. Everything else looked good. There physical exam was normal and she seems to be doing great. Her's is a miracle that is going to continue every day as she develops and grows. Please continue to keep her in your prayers. We appreciate it so much!

Here are some new pictures from this weekend

It all starts here, really, “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” This isn’t mythological or allegorical to me; it’s raw truth. He gave and we partook…we are still partaking, for that matter.


Over the past months, I have thought much on giving in to pain, not avoiding it. I have drawn parallels between the “labor pains” of the last days and those of childbirth. I have dwelt on how birthing would rid me of fear and leave me confident. It did not, however, occur to me that God might want to settle Himself even deeper into my psyche than that, going beyond pain to loss, to the absence of something, not the incessant prick that says something is there, albeit unwanted.

When I awoke at two a.m., August 17, to the awareness of a trickle between my legs, I had no idea what would come next. Not a million hours of childbirth class can prepare you for this brand of unknown. Needless to say, sleep eluded me for the next 48 odd hours. The adventure had begun.

I won’t regale you with my laboring saga. If you’ve had a baby, you know what it’s like, and if you haven’t, a written account will not do the reality justice. I will say this: Adam told me later that he had to leave the room twice to cry. Watching someone in so much pain has got to be almost worse than experiencing it yourself.

After 30 some hours, I still wasn’t ready to push, so my midwife decided to give me some herbs to slow down my contractions, hoping to give me some longer moments to sleep and prepare for more of the same. In addition, she decided to do a vaginal exam to sleuth out what was holding me up. That’s when she found the meconium. That’s when she said, “We’re going to the hospital.”

Just like that, my idealized home birth experience, tub and all, was tossed aside for the medicalized birth of my prior nightmares. But I found that after so much pain, one does not balk at the possibility of relief, no matter what form it takes, especially when your child’s life is at stake.

My doula drove. Adam sat on the floor next to me while I tried to manage contractions. Bumps and quick stops don’t aid in management, but speed is everything in an emergency.

The next hour is rather blurry for me, thank goodness. I remember realizing that they probably wouldn’t just roll me into surgery. They were going to want to monitor me, check me in, poke me. I wanted to cry. I wanted to end the madness.

At some point, they told me to push. I couldn’t figure out how at first. The moment that should have been beautiful, full of wonder, was not. It was forced and unnatural. And I was so tired. Then it was over. Just like that it was over. And I didn’t have a baby. I caught a glimpse of her body before they whisked her away. I asked the doctor if Adam could go with her. He said no, not yet.

That was it. The doctor stitched me up. I made small talk for hours, with the nurse, the midwife, others. In between smiles, I would feel my brain zoning out, falling asleep in mid-sentence. To my right was Adam. I have never seen him cry so hard or so long. He was sobbing. My heart wanted to break, but I was too tired.

People came and went. It was not until our pediatrician friend came and talked with us that the reality of our situation began to seep around the fog. Our baby, our daughter, the one I had been longing for, for years, literally, may not make it through the night. What do you do with information like that? How do you cope?

You don’t cope; you just move forward. You take the next step and the next and the next. You don’t think too far ahead, not at first.

The first time I saw my daughter was hours after her delivery. She was lying in an incubator and on a cooling pad. Tubes and wires were entering and exiting her everywhere, it seemed. Although I was relieved to see her, I was a bit numb. Having lost that initial connection of babe on chest and waiting hours to actually witness her life and reality, I had trouble believing I had, had a baby at all. Even with the numbness, though, I wanted her. I had always wanted her.

That night, lying in a hotel bed, Adam and I stumbled through our nightmare together for the first time. At the hospital we had been separated by visitors and our reticence to process, to make our experience real. Now, in the dark, we knew that whether Meriah lived or died we wanted to be present emotionally and physically. This baby was the same one that had ridden in my belly from November to August, and we couldn’t abandon her now.

The next week was one of those old-timey roller coasters, wooden and jerky, a whiplash waiting to happen. My heart was hopeful until the doctor told us that most babies on the cooling pad were responsive not comatose. In my mind, all would improve with the temperature rise. Not so. Maybe.

I can’t remember the information that Adam received from the doctor or what day, but I do remember him coming to our room at the Ronald McDonald house where I had been napping and telling me, essentially, that it was all over. Meriah was dying. The next moments were the most painful in my life but in some ironic way the closest that I have ever felt to Adam. Tragedy can either be the most divisive element in a relationship or the most binding.

It was in this context that we entered the first weekend. Friday night Adam, Christopher and Reed staid together and prayed. My mom and I just talked it out. I wasn’t angry with God. I believed there was a purpose in pain as long as one surrendered to Him. But I was confused. Did I pray for healing? God could do it, I knew. But who was I to expect miracles when so many other mothers around the world had lost babies, were losing babies? This loss would solidly place me in sympathy with the majority. I found myself feeling guilty for wanting healing for Meriah and guilty for not advocating for my own daughter.

On the way to the hospital the next morning, I had an epiphany: “I want her. I want to have my daughter, and that’s ok. God, I want her.” I smiled. The guilt was gone. Of course, I could want my own child. God may ask seemingly insurmountable things of us, but this is not one of them. We may have to give up things, but we don’t have to not want them.

Later, Reed, Adam and I stood by Meriah’s bed and took part in the biblical tradition of anointing. There was prayer and singing and reading of scripture and a drop of oil to the forehead. I just cried and said, “I want her,” in my heart.

We were still taking one step at a time. And each step seemed a bit more tremulous and scary. If they take the ventilator tube out, do we have them put it back in if she stops breathing? When should we have them pull it? Is it better to wait or push forward as soon as possible?

In the end, we opted for as soon as possible and not to replace the tube. It sounds so cut on dried on paper, but when you’re dealing with your little girl’s life, the repercussions of any decisions are profound.

Before we went back into the NICU for the pulling, Adam and I paused by the entrance, to breathe, to take stock, to cry. A nurse asked if we wanted a private room to do this in. I said it didn’t matter to me as long as we weren’t making other people uncomfortable. Adam asked me if I wanted my mom to be with us. Making one more decision seemed overwhelming. All I could answer with was a coughing, “I don’t know!”

For all the agony and anticipation, it was over quickly. The appropriate personnel gathered. We stood by and watched. Then they pulled the tube. That was it. Prior to the pulling, we had been told she might gasp or gag, struggling to breathe. But the transition was so smooth, from the machine to her own breathing, that it took me a minute to realize the tube was gone.

From this moment on our gait seemed a bit more confident, our steps a bit further apart. Each day brought new improvements that surprised us all with their speed. Hope has a way of pulling down your defenses and leaving you more open to joy. We were elated: eyes opening, the ability to cry, bowel movements, moving fingers and toes, latching on…

The day we brought her home was surreal. It didn’t take but a foot in the door of our apartment to wash away many of the memories of the past two weeks. To believe in the reality of what had happened took retelling and writing and looking at pictures. Our little girl, Meriah, looked completely and utterly newborn, no cords, tubes or wires. She slept, ate and went to the bathroom just like any other baby. She was ours, not tied to an incubator or hospital room.

I thought that my labor experience would help me to identify with Jesus’ suffering, the dull, nagging pain that leads to wonder. I had no idea that it would be the empty ache that appears to lead to nowhere, the giving away of our “only begotten” kind. This is the type of pain He went through; I know it now. That sense of loss was intense and unexplainable for me. And yet, amazingly, God gave me the willingness to let Meriah go without anger or blame. I do not understand this.

All I know is that I am partaking, and she is partaking, and the world is partaking of that love that is never ending. The power of that love brings little girls back to life and leaves parents in awe.

There are also some new pictures here.
Enjoy!

A couple of weeks ago, when we were at UVA and still uncertain about what was going to happen to our little girl, Christopher mentioned to me that he had read a recent blog that I had posted. It was all about how God had been leading us and providing what we need just when we needed it. I wasn't sure how to put things into perspective. All those little providencial things seemed so unimportant now compared with the tragedy we were facing. It almost made me chuckle. Had God really been taking care of those little things? Then how did he miss something so much more important? I think Christopher could see somehow beyond that moment. To him I don't think there was irony. You would have to ask him, but I think he felt that God was going to work this one out also.

I never was angry at God or blamed him for what was happening. I didn't understand it. I had given Meriah to Him over and over again. Even before we knew her name would be Meriah. Even before we knew we were going to have a baby at all. We prayed that if it were God's will for us to have a child he would give us one. If it was not his will he had closed many wombs in the past, he could certainly do it again. Why would he give us a child only to take it away. I could understand a little glimmer of what Abraham must have felt. It was hard for me to be hopeful. I was afraid to hope. I knew God could heal her. I just wasn't convinced that he would.

That hope was rekindled in a hotel room at a Sleep Inn in Charlottesville around midnight. I fell asleep in my clothes on one side of a big bed with Christopher sleeping on the floor under the desk and Reed a good 3 feet away on the other side of the bed. We had talked and prayed and pleaded with God. We praised him for his mighty works. For his redemption of my baby. I went to sleep with a glimmer of hope. Not very much. . . but God only needs a mustard seed.

Looking back now it is amazing to see how God has been working in this whole ordeal. When I hear people say how this experience has changed their prayer lives and strengthened their faith I can only shake my head and wonder. Was this God's plan all along? I can't answer that question. But I know He is still putting things into place. We left the NICU only 2 weeks after arriving. (I think all the doctors were surprised by this.) I had a whole week at home to adjust before school starts. God has given me just what I need, just when I need it. God don't let us forget what you have done for us. Don't let our trial and suffering be in vain. Help us to remember and to continue to be changed by your goodness and your mysterious ways.

Our baby (Meriah Gale Williams) was born on Tuesday. She is at the Neonatal ICU at the University of Virginia. Things are not looking good for her. I am not able to post much info right now. For updates see www.nolessdays.org.


Here are a few more pictures

Lord, I'm having a hard time making sense of this life you've given me.
How do I sort out what's current and what's old? And how do I let go of what's simply old? My fear of the "end times" is very similar to my fear of labor--a large, looming pain that nothing can prepare me for. I know the outcome in both cases is beautiful, but I have a hard time focusing on this. Do I have enough info to be ready? Should I be reading more? Just as with my relationship with You, I tend to put off study and practice of labor. It's a fear avoidance tactic: what you don't know can't hurt you or you can't be accountable for something you don't understand. But this is glaringly counterproductive because with both I must go through with them, prepared or not. So why not be prepared? Is not opening myself to failure a sufficient substitute to a well-informed, thus possibly more peaceful, experience? With both events, we have spent so much precious time building towers of fear and dread while we could have been focusing on the beauty of the outcome, a baby and a Savior. Both pains have a purpose; they are not in vain. So how do I embrace this new perspective, God?

We just borrowed this from the library. It is definitely worth watching. Children are the future. http://www.promisesproject.org/

This is a touching look at how the conflict in the middle east is perceived by the children.

Just a little update. . . We moved into our new apartment last week.  We only have about two weeks until the baby is due, so really she could come anytime.  It is amazing how everything has fallen into place over the past few months.  God has provided us with exactly what we need exactly when we need it.  Here are just a few examples. 

When we didn't know where we were going to get $3000 to pay for a midwife we found out that we had some money in our retirement accounts from teaching.  Even after the financial crisis and taxes we ended up having, you guessed it, about $3000.

When we didn't know how we were going to find a summer job so we could rent an apartment before the baby is born. . . I got accepted to teach summer school.  This was great because I taught Geometry which is what I will be teaching next year.  It really helped to get me back in the teaching mode.  Also it was only from 11:30 to 4:30 four days a week.

When I was not looking forward to driving over an hour each day to get to summer school. . .  our frend in New Market (only about a half hour from the school) told us we could stay in her apartment while she was out of the country which was exactly the time I was to teach summer school (she didn't know this  at the time).

When we didn't know where we were going to live when our friend retuned to her apartment. . . we found an apartment that we liked with a landlord who was willing to hold it for us for a month until we could afford it and let us move in a week early also!

Now we are just waiting for the baby to come.  She is due the day after I start new teacher orientation.  The principal is great and is happy to work with us .  He even gave me three of the same Geometry classes so I would only have one prep this year with the new baby. 

Now if I could only get our second car running. . . 

Rushes. Contractions. Sensations. Pain. It’s a perspective thing, I guess.

At least that’s what they say. Last night, sitting at our childbirth class watching three different births left me feeling uneasy, not empowered. My reaction surprised me actually. I have witnessed my mom give birth, one time the whole process, the other time I was in and out. Those experiences exist in my memory as exciting not scary or “gross.” But I was just an observer not the laborer.

Everytime my baby wiggles, kicks and prods inside of me, I want to see “her” with a passion I can’t describe. The realization of a life within, under that tight layer of skin, is almost ridiculous. Could it really be true? A living, hiccupping child in there? (That’s what the books say is happening when I feel the soft rhythmic thumps near my pubic bone.) I want to see her, to hold her, to love her.

But to do that I will have to surrender to incredible…discomfort, a more middle of the road term. I think it is the unknown that is unnerving. I may piddle along for 20 hours and then explode into intensity for two, or I may start out in agony but only have to live through it for six. The discomfort could center in my back, the water could soothe away all my tension or I could experience an orgasmic birth (These natural people are amazing!). In the end, it doesn’t matter. It’s the only way. I just have to surrender to my body and the process and let it happen. The reward is unfathomable.

Someday this constant circle of thoughts will spin off into other directions. It will all be over. But for now, this is where I am, two steps forward, one step back. Full of passion and apprehension.

Just the way some verses melded together in my mind and on paper.

Except you left a seed, God,
To wither and die
And abide alone,
We would be like the wicked,
Shallow and dry,
Unsurrounded by this mercy
That gives us life.

But here you are, God,
Bruising heads
While being bruised,
A witness to our iniquity
And the stripes that heal us
To victory.

How can you be this great,
This good
To people who needed a seed
To grow beyond Sodom?

For this we praise you, God,
Because your mercy endureth forever,
Even to us,
Sinners who love you.

Romans 9:29, Isaiah 53:5, Psalms 32:10, Genesis 3:15, John 12:24

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This song pretty much speaks for itself. The "least of these" are God to us. We are God to them.

Where is God?
Where is God today?
Doesn't he see all the starving Children?
Where is God today?
Doesn't he hear the cries of those in pain?
Where is God today?
Doesn't he care that the world is dying?

Where is God? The question should be 'Where are His people?'
Where is God? The question should be 'Where are His people?
Where is God?

Where is God today?
Is he down at the church, dressed up in his finest?
Where is God today?
Is he sitting on the couch, staring at the TV?
Where is God today?
Is he feeling pretty good, gave 50 bucks to charity?

Where is God? The question should be 'Where are His people?'
Where is God? The question should be 'Where are His people?'
Where is God?

Where is God today?
He's lying in the street, trying to keep from freezing
Where is God today?
He's fighting with the ground, and still can't feed his famliy
Where is God today?
He's forced to sell himself on the streets of New Dheli

Where is God? The question should be 'Where are His people?'
Where is God? The question should be 'Where are His people?'
Where is God?

Oh can't you see? We are His people.

My pay as you go phone gives me the countdown "You have 44 service days remaining." My service just happens to end the 21st of August. . . the same day that she is due to arrive.

God has really blessed us the past few months. Everything just keeps falling in place. We have always had just enough to get by. I have been teaching summer school for a few weeks. seven teenagers, 4 hours a day, and a Geometry book. It has been a good experience. It will get me back in gear for the school year. We are going to be signing for an apartment this week. Starting to collect baby things and hand-me-downs. I just cant seem to wrap my brain around the idea that this thing inside of my wife's belly will soon come out and be a person. A person who will be a part of my life for the rest of my life. . . amazing.

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This was written during confusing time when we were trying to get a visa to go to India. We were really confused about where God was leading us. After three attempts at getting a visa, and several months in limbo, God opened a door for us to go to El Salvador. Now we are back home and realizing that the other side may be farther than we think. Maybe we won't get there until heaven. . .

This is a rough recording I made on my H4 (portable recorder)

The Mountain
It seems so foggy on this side of the mountain
The path cut short, only a few yards ahead.
But I know once we pass through safely
Looking back we will see the course we lead

It will be the path that God cleared for us
Close to the edge, but never dropping off
Over rocks that seemed steep and jagged
Looking back it's the only way to the top.

So I will follow you now, blind though I be
What I don't know, your divine eye has seen
Each step I take is Faith itself
For steps are the measure of faith
Increase my faith oh God, Increase my faith
Increase my faith oh God, Increase my faith

Being lost is not just a matter of position
It is a lack of trust in the one who knows all
Though all around me is unfirmiliar
My steps can be sure and they'll be strong

Once on the other side I know I'll forget
The cuts and bruises and doubts I had
For what are these to be considered
When you find yourself where God has lead

Chorus

It seems so foggy on this side of the mountain
The path cut short, only a few yards ahead.
But I know once we pass through safely
Looking back we will see the course we lead

This is a test blog post. Please do not read this posting. If you have already read it why are you still reading. Stop reading right now.

You shouldn't be reading this either. . .

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The idea for this song came me one day as I was running with my College roommate (trying to keep up). As I listened to the rhythmic pounding of my feet on the road I imagined it was the beat of an eagles wings. I imagined myself being lifted off of the ground and soaring through the sky. As Isaiah says “but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”

These words have come to mind many times while on a long hike or a tiring jog. It also reminds me to persevere in my spiritual journey. Like Paul says, “I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

Adam - Guitar, Vocals
Christopher George - Vocals, Drum, Running Sounds

Press On
This rhythm pounds on sweating asphalt beneath my feet
It is my life, oh I know it is my heartbeat
To slow my pace and somehow stop would choke this life from me
So I keep on I know the prize and none can take it from me.

I press on. Oh press on, oh press on. On and on.

As my heart must keep pumping, so my stride must not be slowed
To stop running now is to loose this race I know
To lift my feet just one more time is all that I can do
One more time and one more time and one more time or two

Oh my legs were burning and flames crept up my spine
Now a numbness is all I feel or do I feel just fine
I’ve lost of sense of space or time the road keeps sliding past
The rhythm marked out by my feet is all that I can grasp

But the beat is muffled now I can’t even feel the ground
The landscape seems so far away as I am lifted through the clouds
I mount up on eagle’s wings, across the planes I soar
I know the race is finally won and will be lost no more.

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My friend Travis found the words to this song written on a piece of paper in an old Bible. He put them to music only to discover later that they were the word to a hymn by Charles Wesley. This simple song has become one of my favorites. It is sung here to the tune that Travis wrote.

Adam - Guitar & Vocals
Crissy - Vocals

Written by Charles Wesly
Dept of Mercy can there be mercy still reserved for me
Can my God, His wrath forebear, me the king of sinners spare

I have long withstood his grace, long provoked Him to His face
Would not harken to His calls, grieved Him by a thousand falls

Now incline me to repent, let me now my sins lament
Now my foul revolt deplore, weep, believe and sin no more

There for me a savior stands, shows His wounds and spreads His hands
God is love, I know I feel, Jesus weeps and loves me still

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Adam - Vocals, Guitar, 6-String Banjo
Crissy - Vocals

This is a hymn by Fran­ces R. Ha­ver­gal

Lyrics coming soon.

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This is a hymn by with a new melody. javascript:void(0)

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More info and lyrics coming soon.

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Crissy - Vocals
Adam - Guitar

This is an old hymn written by Frederick William Faber

There's a wideness in God's mercy
like the wideness of the sea;
there's a kindness in his justice,
which is more than liberty.

For the love of God is broader
than the measure of man's mind;
and the heart of the Eternal
is most wonderfully kind.

If our love were but more faithful,
we should take him at his word;
and our life would be thanksgiving
for the goodness of the Lord.

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More info and lyrics coming soon.

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More info and lyrics coming soon.

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More info and lyrics coming soon.

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More info and lyrics coming soon.

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More info and lyrics coming soon.

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Adam - Guitar, Vocals, Harmonica
Crissy - Vocals

More info and lyrics coming soon.

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More info and lyrics coming soon.

By Christy Barko

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This song was written by Christy Barko for a friends wedding.

Lyrics not available at this time.

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I heard someone say once that you shouldn’t get into a dating relationship until you can honestly say that you would be satisfied with God alone. Until God has become first, and you are satisfied to have nothing more.

I often wished God would just show me who it was that I was to marry some day. That he would make it unmistakably clear. The same way he did with Issac and Rebekah, or even Adam and Eve! I believe that God does want to lead me. Love is not to be left to chance. If I put God first, he has promised to take care of the rest (Matt. 6:33). Now I am happily married. God has blessed me with an amazing wife and best friend. I know that he led us together, and I know he will continue to lead us as long as we keep him first.

Adam - Guitar, Vocals
Christy Barko - Vocals

First Love
I wish she’d come offer my camels a drink
So long waiting at this well I’m beginning to think
Do you really want me to wait for some sign?
Or will anyone who seems good to me be just fine?

Am I looking to hard, maybe not hard enough
I know you have a plan, But sometimes following’s though
How can I think I know better than you
You said “seek me first” so that’s, that’s what I’ll do

You are my first love. You are my first love and
Let me be only in you, only in you
Only in you . . .

I don’t want to work 7 years for the one I love’s sister
I want to do this right, but I’m afraid that I’ve missed her
Just sing me to sleep, take the rib from my side
I’ll do it myself, these scars show I’ve tried

I don’t know anyone who falls on purpose
So why is falling in love good enough for us?
Can I follow God’s plan and leave things to chance?
God please teach me the steps before I start this dance

Chorus

Have mercy, Oh Lord, I cant seem to remember
When I was unfaithful, your word’s were tender
You called me your loved one, called me your own
You planted me in the land, and made it my home

To be known by you, my only desire
No one else has saved my life from the fire
No one else has ever loved me like you
I will honor you Lord, first in all I do

Chorus

You are my peace you are my joy you are my song
And I will sing you all day long, all day long. . .

• No Less Days Album - The first project out of Paulington Studio. Most of these songs feature Christy Barko singing backup vocals. Several also feature Crissy. A few of these songs were recorded with a friend up in Detroit back when we were just starting to record. (Download entire collection - Coming soon)

• Hymns - This collection is still growing.

• Uncollected - These are songs that are not part of a group as of yet.

• Rough Cuts - Leave some feedback on these works in progress

• Oldies - Nothing here yet. I would like to upload some old recordings that I made back around the turn of the millennium. We'll I guess it wasn't that long ago. . .

What should we name our baby. Isaiah really likes "Flowerbed" but I had an aunt with that name who wasn't a very nice person. She kind of ruined that name for me.