Friends.

What is a friend? It's a good question. Is it someone who won't let you down?  Someone who won't betray you?  Perhaps it's someone who agrees with you or even someone who will disagree with you.  Maybe it's someone who will be honest with you, even if it hurts.  I really have no idea anymore. So many of these things are relative - what's honesty to you may be brutal and uncalled for to me.  I look at Facebook and I see all these people labeled as "friends" and it makes me think about what the word "friend" has come to mean in our culture. For instance, there are some folks I see a lot but I don't really know them at all - nor do they know me, but on Facebook, they're labeled as a "friend". There are some who I rarely get to see but it seems they know me better than I know myself. And then there are those that you can count on to always go on a political or religious rant with no thought on how their words will affect others (I'm guilty of this, I'm sure you are too) and you roll your eyes and keep scrolling.

Then there's the others, you know the ones...they're the relationships that you don't want to think about but still obsess over. The people that you thought you knew but now that there's been some distance, you realize one or both of you had on rose colored glasses.  Maybe it was a one way relationship, you thought you were great friends only to find out they never viewed you the same way.  Maybe you see pictures of a bridal shower or birthday party and think to yourself, "Really? No one thought about inviting me?" Then comes the harder question: "Why?"  Maybe you've had a falling out, feelings were hurt on both sides, and reconciliation seems like a pipe dream.  Perhaps you just grew apart, slowly, with no major fights or letdowns - you're just different people now.  I'm not referring to specific people in my own life as much as I'm referring to situations that happen to each of us, all the time.  Whatever the cause of these rifts - the result is hurt and if we're not careful, hurt leads to anger, and anger leads to bitterness.

When you start nearing 30, you start to realize that life does not go as planned.  Perhaps you're like me and you've suffered loss and depression and at your lowest point, a crisis of faith.  Perhaps you've suffered far greater pain, like losing a child or a parent, or are a victim of abuse.  Perhaps you or someone you know struggles with their sexuality or with an addiction and everyone you meet seems to offer their judgement and an easy fix instead of really listening or caring.  You start to realize how small your little part of the world really is and it's frightening.  You come face to face with your mortality and it scares you.  What do we make of all this?  How do we deal with it?

Kevin has been preaching a sermon series about those who shaped us in the faith and those who we are shaping.  How we're all "raw materials being shaped for good work", a reference to God as the Potter and his children as the clay.  At the beginning of the series, he and I sang a song titled "Search Me, Know Me". I've always loved this song and I've sung it countless times, but this time was different. This time, I felt every one of those words flow from the deepest, darkest part of my soul.

"Search me, know me, try me and see every worthless affection hidden in me.
All I'm asking for is that you'd cleanse me, Lord.
Create in me a heart that's clean, conquer the power of secret shame; come wash away the guilty stain of all my sin.
Clothe me in robes of righteousness, cover my nakedness with grace; all of my life before you, now, I humbly bring." (Words by Kathryn Scott)

The words that struck me most were "conquer the power of secret shame." I carry around the secret shame of depression and anxiety every day.  There are days that it seems like my soul weighs a million pounds. While my depression has improved somewhat, I am still in a time of immense struggle and I've given a lot of thought to what I need to do to put myself in a better place and I encourage you to do the same, wherever you are in your journey. For me, a big change I want to see is to stop being motivated by guilt and fear and instead be motivated by the Holy Spirit and good will.  I also want to stop pouring my energies into relationships and outlets that give me nothing in return - others' happiness is not my responsibility and too often, I try to make it my responsibility.  Those who have shaped me and those I am shaping- they are the ones who are deserving of my time and energy. My Lord, my husband, my children, my parents, my sister, my in-laws, my church, the friends and mentors who have proven themselves faithful - they are the most deserving. It's not that I don't love others, I most certainly do; but when I fret and worry and allow these other things to suck all the life out of me, there is nothing left for those I cherish most and who depend on me to be wholly present.

It saddens me to look behind me and see broken friendships - some my fault, some their fault, some both, some neither.  But I cannot continue to steep myself in feeling guilty over them when I have done what I can to make things right; the time has come to move on. How about you?  Do you need to move on?  Who needs you to be wholly present? Who has shaped you and who are you shaping? It's worth thinking about.

Let's talk about postpartum depression.

You may have noticed that I haven't written anything in a while. The truth is, my mind has been so jumbled that coherent thoughts were hard to come by. Why? Two words: Postpartum Depression.

It's really no surprise that PPD became an issue for me, I struggled with prenatal depression through both pregnancies and only avoided true PPD the first time because I was still on Zoloft. A while back, I decided that I wanted to actually attempt to heal my psychological wounds instead of just masking them, so (with the guidance of my therapist), I stayed off Zoloft after Jacob was born. Did I know that this increased my risk of PPD? Yes. Was it worth it? Now that I can see things more clearly, yes, I think it was because there are many deep wounds that have begun to heal. However, just because I wasn't on a medication doesn't mean that I ignored my depression or didn't seek treatment, I did. I continued to go to therapy and I let those close to me know what I was going through so when I seemed crazy and irrational, they would understand why - or at least begin to understand why.

Today, I'm writing to shed some light on what postpartum depression looks and feels like. I know I'm not the first and I will not be the last. If you are suffering from PPD, know this: you are not crazy, it will not last forever, and there is no shame to be had. You cannot control it anymore than someone can control cancer. You WILL feel normal again.  If you know someone suffering from PPD, know this: they are not crazy, it will not last forever, and YOU are one of most important components to helping this person recover.  I'm putting this in bold type because it is so very important: having a support system is one of the best things that anyone suffering from depression can have. Having someone to cling to when the pain takes over is of utmost importance. Everyone, at some point in their lives, needs help.

So now that we've covered that, let's talk about some of the stigmas and lies surrounding depression in general and why they are ridiculous.

Having depression does not mean you are crazy or broken.

Depression does not equal weakness.

Depression is not incurable, it does not last forever. It may recur, but it will not last forever.

Depression does not mean you are a terrible person or a terrible parent.

Depression does not define you as a person.  Much like having cancer or diabetes or multiple sclerosis, depression is something that can happen to you - but none of these things define you. They may be hereditary, they may be caused by a particular event or string of events, they may appear out of nowhere. Depression is the same way - it happens to you but it doesn't define you.

Did you know that some of the smartest and strongest people in history struggled with depression? Abraham Lincoln, Beethoven, Charles Dickens, Winston Churchill, and even Albert Einstein are all said to have struggled with depression throughout their lives. However, they also went on to accomplish great things despite their depression - and guess what - so can you!

Postpartum depression has many of the same effects as regular depression, but it is thought to be brought on by the hormonal changes that occur during pregnancy and childbirth. Many of the negative thoughts surround being a parent and your children - particularly the new baby.  Each person (and I say person because fathers can suffer from it as well) is different, but here are some of the symptoms I experienced: extreme sadness, intense rage, being incapable of logical thought, inability to concentrate, obsessive thoughts, sleep issues, panic attacks, crippling anxiety, feeling like I was the only person who could properly take care of Jacob while simultaneously being afraid of hurting him, feeling like the most horrible mother and person in the world, feeling as if the world and my family would be better if I had never been born, feeling desperately afraid that I would never be taken seriously again, being so afraid of the "mentally ill" label that I would deny myself honesty and treatment. If you've never experienced it for yourself, here is something I wrote after coming out of one of my worst episodes: 

"It takes over, like a wave; the intense pain, leaving behind the wreckage of my rationality and joy.  I only feel pain and sorrow and it hurts so deeply.  I never know what's going to set it off and I never know when it will abate.  When it hits, I feel so broken and spoiled, left to rot in a world that doesn't care.  It is the deepest pit imaginable.  First, I get angry and I hang onto the anger so desperately, because I know when I let go, I will fall and the pain will engulf me again.  Sometimes I don't know how many more times I can handle it, I just want it to go away.  I'm so ashamed to let anyone see me like this.  It's not fair to Kevin, me, our kids, our church - no one.  So I ask God, 'Why?  What is the reason?  Was my painful pregnancy and the fact that I didn't want another child not enough?  Why am I being punished?'  It often seems there are no answers.  It leads me to think that maybe I just deserve to feel this way.  I'm not sure actual hell could be any worse."

 Sounds like a load of fun and sunshine, doesn't it?

There are many people out there who don't understand it. There are even a few that deny its existence. These people will make you doubt yourself. They will make you feel crazy. But that's just it, they can only do that if you let them.  You cannot control other people and their actions, but you can control your reaction.  

"But how?" you may be asking. Well, here's the cool thing about our brains - many of the things we once believed to be "hard-wired" or unchangeable are actually more malleable than we thought. Through reforming habits and thought patterns, we can actually change our neuro-pathways and default them to be positive and uplifting instead of self-degrading. What's even more amazing is this can happen no matter what age you are or what issues you have, even people with severe autism can learn things like social skills and empathy (see, you can teach an "old dog" new tricks, he just has to want to learn them and it has to be done the right way). Scientifically, it has a lot to do with mirror neurons and such - I've done a lot of my own research and I encourage you to do your own and not just take my word for it - but what it means for us in the real world is this: healing is possible. Postpartum depression, in particular, responds very well to talk therapy. Talk therapy (cognitive therapy) helps us learn to "retrain" the way we think. All those little lies depression tells you about yourself and others (You're worthless, no one loves you, you're unloveable, you're broken, they're all out to get you) are just that - lies. Lies that are part of a disease that has happened to you but doesn't define you. And because it does not define you, you are still free to make up your own mind about what does define you.  Start by recognizing those feelings as they come and then tell yourself what you are going to do with those feelings. Here's what I like to do: "Right now, I am feeling very angry. I'm angry with myself and/or this person. I will not allow this anger to control me, but instead, I will do [A, B, or C] to help me calm down."  Sometimes, I just need a minute to breathe and acknowledge what I'm feeling and then put it away. Sometimes, I need to run to the store by myself and just have some quiet time. Sometimes, I need to call Kevin home from a meeting because the baby is screaming and I know that I cannot be rational about it. The key is having weapons in your arsenal that are so familiar to you that you begin to default to them instead of the depression, but you must learn to intervene early, before the feelings escalate. That was the hardest part for me - recognizing where these feelings were going before they get there.

When the depression first took over, I would get so angry. That anger would build and build and then all of the sudden, the bottom would drop out, and I would plunge into utter darkness. It happened over and over. Finally, I talked to my therapist and she told me the best way to combat this was to try controlling my thought patterns. Instead of saying "I can't handle this", to try saying instead, "I am feeling very stressed and I need some help." It took a while to get the hang of it, but slowly, I started to be able to intervene and control my symptoms before they spiraled out of control.  Depression is tough. When you're in the middle of an episode (and it is often very episodic) it feels like it will never end...and there's a strange comfort in that. You're angry and you hold onto that anger, you don't want to imagine not being angry. You're sad and you hold onto that sadness and you can't imagine not being sad.  This is what I had to learn to control and it was hard. Very, very hard. But that's also when the breakthrough came.  So today, I encourage you don't give up. Don't let the depression lie to you. Acknowledge it and put it in its place, it cannot control you if you don't let it.  You may need medication to help you through the worst of it, but don't let the medication mask issues that you need to deal with, it will only prolong your pain - believe me, I know from experience. Therapy is more expensive than medicine, it takes work and patience, and some people just need medication - but in most cases it is so worth the cost and the work, so if you need help, get help.

Above all, remember this: You are not crazy. You are not broken. You are not alone. You are loved by someone. You are loved by Someone. Depression is not forever.

Grace and peace to you all,

Andrea

  

Living in the present moment.

We've been having a bit of a 3 year old issue lately, perhaps you've encountered this yourself. I find myself having to repeat instructions 3 or 4 times to Karis, only to still have her not do what she's been asked. The problem is not that I'm not being clear - the problem is that she is not listening to me. Sure, she hears me, kinda, but the things already occupying her mind seem to drown me out. I realized that it's much the same way with God. I've heard people say, "Well God doesn't speak like he did in the Bible", but I beg to differ. In fact, it's a conceivable notion to think that since Pentecost, God speaks more. Not in a literally audible voice, but it might as well be, because it really is that clear. So why don't we hear him? Just like sheep recognize the shepherd's voice and a child knows his parents' voices, God's children know their Father's voice when he speaks. The problem is not that God doesn't speak, the problem is that we don't listen. The muddled mess that's going on in our heads often drowns him out. The way of God is not the thunder or the fire or the earthquake but the gentle whisper. As I've said before, He will not force Himself on you, to do so would go against free will. He longs for you, he beckons you, he stands outside your window with a boom box blaring a love song - but he does not force or coerce. God's love song to me lately has been "Live in the present moment."

About a week after I had Jacob, I realized that though I had brought my Zoloft (an antidepressant/anti-anxiety medication) with me to the hospital and back home, in the hubbub of having a newborn, I hadn't taken it for several days. Usually, I would've realized it soon before then, since the withdrawal effects (I mean "discontinuation syndrome" ...) reared their ugly heads about 48 hours after a missed dose, but this time it was simply seeing the bottle that made me realize I had gone so long without it. I had been on it since I was pregnant with Karis and had longed to be able to quit, but between me, my doctor, and my therapist, we knew that would be a long, challenging road better taken after Jacob was older. I wasn't sure what to do, I felt fine but I knew quitting cold turkey wasn't recommended, so I scheduled a meeting with my therapist and asked her advice. She told me if I was feeling good then I was fine not taking it. The reason quitting cold turkey isn't recommended is because of the withdrawal effects and the risk of a relapse if you stop taking it too soon, usually 6 months to a year after starting. It's easier to go back on if needed than it is to go back on just because and then come back off, so I took her advice. We're going on 5 weeks now and though I do get overwhelmed and stressed at times (what new mother doesn't), I haven't had a relapse.

So now what? As I've said before, HSP's have a neurological system that is biologically wired with a lower level of serotonin than most "normal" people. (I use quotes because that's such a relative term.) This means I will get stressed before others, I will feel pain before others, I will feel anxious and depressed in a situation that wouldn't affect others. But, it also means that I can experience immeasurable joy and purpose, things that were deadened by the meds. There's two sides to every coin. At this point in my life, through natural maturation and therapy and lots of prayer, I have healthy coping mechanisms in place and the best choice for me, right now, in this present moment, is to forego the meds.

We live in a world of seemingly perpetual horror. There's always a disaster lurking around the corner, whether its sickness or job loss, a hurricane or a flood, a bomb or a gun. Many of us live in perpetual fear of these disasters, constantly on guard against anything that can harm us or those we love. We struggle daily, hourly, to build walls of steel around us. "If I can just get this one last thing into place, I will finally be safe, because last time, I wasn't ready." This is a normal human reaction, if we can control it, it can't happen again, right? Well, no. Trouble is, we can only react to these things, we can't really prevent them. Haven't you heard the phrase "Where there's a will, there's a way"? On this old earth, there will always be deeply disturbed people, uncontrollable wind and water, deep hurt and searing pain. It really doesn't much matter what we do, we will never "stop" the evil. There's the matter of free will again. It's true that God has conquered, but the hurt is still very real. So what can we do? Should we not prepare? Should we not worry?

Yes. No. Maybe.

The only thing we can do is live in the present moment. Not just exist, but really live. Now, I'm not advocating being impulsive or "YOLO" type behavior born from stupidity or selfishness, I'm advocating what's called "mindful living".
Here's an example: Right now, there is not a crisis in my house. Both kids are sleeping, Kevin is smoking a pork shoulder, and I'm writing. Could I create a crisis? Sure I could. I could worry myself over whether or not this latest storm signals an active hurricane season. I could sit by Jacob's cradle and agonize over every breath. I could worry that someone will break in and hurt us. I could convince myself that Karis' inattentiveness means she'll do horrible in school. Or I could take a deep breath and live in this moment, this moment that simply is what it is. To feel the keyboard under my fingers, to see the sunshine glinting off the wet leaves outside, to smell the aroma of smoking meat, to hear the song of the birds. God HAS worked in the past and God WILL work in the future. But right now, in the present moment, God IS working, living, breathing, and yes, even speaking all around us. But unless we learn to really look and really listen - right now, in this moment - we will not be a part of it. Every part of life can be a prayer; a child's laugh, a beautiful sunset, a backyard BBQ, police officers running to protect innocent people and help the hurt. God speaks through ALL these things, but do we hear him? Are our eyes open?

When we first moved to Florida, we got a chance to see the space shuttle launch for one of the last flights in history. I did as any 20-something with a new smartphone would do, I got my phone out and turned on the video camera. The smoke billowed, the crowd roared, and I struggled to find the perfect angle, moving here and there, frustrated that no spot seemed perfect - until I looked away from the screen and into the sky and saw the brilliance there in front of me. We got another chance to see a launch a few months later, even President Obama was in town for this one, it was a big deal. However, this time, I let everyone else film it and I just stood and absorbed the beauty and awe and monumental-ness of the moment. I knew that anyone who wasn't there could see any number of the thousands of videos taken, most with a much better angle than I had - but I still had something they didn't have.

I was THERE.

Not just there - THERE, every sense ignited and participating. I felt the tremors of the millions of pounds of fuel burning, I saw the light that is so bright it's like looking at the sun. I smelled the ocean breeze and tasted the salt in the air. I heard the rumble of the shuttle, far after it had left my gaze.

So today, I ask you: Where will you be the next time God speaks? Will you be present, ready, anticipating? Or will you be lost in the past? Wandering and wondering in the future? Don't miss it. Today is the only day that will be today.

Cleaning house - a spiritual discipline?

There is a sign hanging outside my front door. It reads as follows: "If you came to see me, come any time. If you came to see my house, make an appointment." Now don't get me wrong, I like having a clean house, but I hate actually cleaning and de-cluttering. I mean I absolutely loathe it. One of the reasons is because I'm a tad OCD about some of the physical aspects. For instance, I hate it when water drips on me (especially if I'm wearing flip flops or barefoot) and I especially hate when my hands are wet and/or dirty and then they drip all over me, I want to just jump out of my skin. It's even worse when there's not a towel handy, it seriously makes me start to go a little psychotic. It's just not my thing. Need someone to create something artsy for you from scratch? I'm your girl. Need someone to give an impromptu speech or memorize a song and perform it? Call on me. Need something organized? Run far, far away from me.

So, besides being a little OCD (no offense to anyone who suffers from real OCD), why do I hate it so much? Mainly because I'm so bad at it. My brain just does not function in an organizational way, which has proven to be extremely frustrating throughout my life. Asking me to organize a stack of books or a bunch of files incites the type of horror in me that most people feel when they're asked to speak in front of a large group of people (How?! By color? Title? Author?? Height?? Thickness??? Gah!!!). Nevertheless, it's simply not an option to NOT clean my house, especially as a stay-at-home mom, so I've started searching for ways to help me get past the oogy-ness and embrace my inner June Cleaver. I started by thinking about what I'd rather be doing. In all honesty, I'd rather be focusing on some spiritual matter or a ministry issue and grappling with that instead....how do I incorporate that desire into cleaning? Suddenly, I had an idea. What if I could change my thinking to regard cleaning as something positive rather than negative...what if I could treat cleaning as I've treated other struggles in my life - as a spiritual discipline? As it turns out, this is not a new idea.

In Benedictine monasteries, each monk is required to perform kitchen duty on a regular basis. The reason for this is to invoke a sense of servant hood and humility in and to their fellow brothers. This strikes a chord with me since my husband's "love language" is acts of service. In other words, washing his car means way more than buying him that new Rolex. Furthermore, we have scriptures like Colossians 3:23 (among various other passages) that say things like this:

" Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters."

So, in an effort to become more like Jesus and serve my family in humility and thankfulness, I will be practicing my various household tasks as a spiritual discipline, committing time each day until it becomes a habit. I have discovered that once I get started on a task, it's not hard to finish, as long as I don't allow myself to become distracted. Yikes! That's a hard one... I also figured putting on my blog would help keep me accountable.

That being said, tell me your opinion: would you rather sing a solo in church or clean your toilet?

3.28.13 - The day our lives changed again.

He's here!  Jacob Andrew is here!  He's actually 3 weeks old already, sorry, I've been so busy enjoying him (and the total sleep deprivation that comes with him) that I haven't gotten an update posted yet. 

I'm still in state of shock. Pregnancy is over.  Gestational diabetes is gone.  All the aches and pains and waiting - all done.  And what do we have to show for it?  This guy:

This is what we call a milk-induced coma.

When they say, "It's all worth it in the end", I have to completely agree.  Here is his birth story, complete with Mom's thoughts.  You know the verse in the Bible that says "Mary remembered these things and treasured them in her heart"?  These are my treasures. Also, if you're faint of heart or easily grossed out, stop reading now.

Let me start by saying that my goal for this baby was a natural, unmedicated, relatively fast birth.  I didn't start out wanting that, nor did I advertise that's what I wanted, as usually we "all natural" moms are regarded as slightly crazy.  I think it's a fair assumption, we are crazy!  But, for most of us, it's born from a deep desire of wanting what we feel is personally best for our children and ourselves, as well as lots of education about actual childbirth.  It's rarely a medical emergency, although it can be, which is why we chose to still use a hospital and get regular prenatal care.  Kevin and I used a childbirth course called Hypnobabies this time around.  I researched a lot of classes, including the Bradley method, and this one seemed to fit my personality well and it involved Kevin deeply in the preparation and actual act of childbirth, which I really liked.  I didn't want the movie set birth where the husband sits idly by and the wife screams how much she hates him until she gets her epidural and then everything is fine.  I had an epidural with Karis and I knew from experience that not only did it not knock out all the pain (I still had back labor) but it resulted in a longer pushing phase and a long, painful recovery.  I didn't know how to help Kevin help me and he felt, well, rather helpless during my birth experience with Karis.  That experience scarred me so deeply that for years, I said I didn't want any more children, I was done.  Even when I found out I was pregnant with Jacob, I found it hard to be excited.  Nevertheless, I set out to educate myself because rather than wallow in my fears, I seek to understand them and have a plan in place to face them.

So fast forward 9 months.  I had been listening to my scripts to help me learn to relax and breathe through contractions.  I've listened to affirmations about how my body knows what it's doing, it was designed to give birth.  I had faced many of my fears about pregnancy and childbirth.  When Wanda died, it sent a few of our "plans" into a tailspin, but luckily for me, I have the greatest in-laws on the planet (no really, I do) and Kevin's sister flew into town to stay with Karis while Kevin and I were in the hospital.  She arrived on Wednesday afternoon, I went into labor at 4:45 AM on Thursday morning.  Apparently, Jacob was waiting on Leighann!  Kevin's mom and I had discussed the idea of God's perfect timing through my pregnancy and I am so glad he had his hand over us and held off labor until the chaos died down.  My contractions started out 1 minute long, about 6 minutes apart, and I could still talk and walk through them just fine, but there was no mistaking that they were the real thing. I timed them for a while, took a warm bath, drank water, all the things you're supposed to do to determine "real" labor and they stayed very consistent. About 6:30, I woke Kevin and asked if he wanted to help me time contractions. They were still regular so we went about getting things ready for the hospital, hoping we'd actually get to go and it wasn't another false alarm.

Around 9:30, they started getting closer to the 5-1-1 rule and though I still wasn't having any issues walking and talking through them, we decided to go ahead and drive to the hospital. Sure enough, as soon as we pulled into the parking lot, they spaced to 10 minutes apart! I knew that if I went in one of two things would happen: I'd be sent home or essentially tied to a bed with all the monitoring they require. I wasn't keen on either idea, so we decided to head over to a local store and walk around to see if that would get things going again. They sped back up to 5 minutes apart, 1 minute long, but again - I could walk and talk through them. Kevin suggested going back home to relax and though I was eager to get the show on the road, I knew speeding things unnecessarily wasn't a good idea and I'd be more comfortable at home, so back home we went.

Once we arrived, we updated Leighann and I went in the bedroom to listen to my script and relax. I had been in there a while and was getting hungry but knew making myself some food wasn't going to be easy, so I sent Kevin a text message asking for a sandwich. (I know, lazy, but I was still huge pregnant and in labor!). As soon as I sent that message, I had a really intense contraction that felt like it was going to break my water. As it was winding down, Kevin poked his head in the door to ask about the sandwich and noticed I was breathing pretty hard and couldn't move or answer him. When it was over, I looked at him and said "We need to go. Now." He kicked into high gear, shooing me to the car and grabbing the stuff we'd forgotten the first trip. I had another big contraction in the garage, so I immediately got down on my hands and knees and breathed through it. At this point they were definitely getting more painful, but it wasn't unbearable, just took a lot of concentration to get through it. I was still having a good 4 - 5 minutes in between contractions and they came in sets of 3 or 4, like ocean waves - one big one followed by a couple of smaller ones, etc.

We got to the hospital around 12:45, on the way I ate my sandwich and chatted with Kevin. One of the things I told him was that if I started saying I couldn't do it anymore and asking for medicine, it probably meant I was in transition and to just remind me it would be over soon and I could handle it. I also told him if he noticed my hands tensing or noticed my face or toes tensing to gently remind me to relax. We went in through the ER, like we were told, and they took us up to triage to be checked out. When they finally checked me around 1:30, I was at a 4 and 80% effaced. This was disappointing as I was sure I'd be further along than that because of how intense my contractions were getting. They checked again a few minutes later and said I was a 5 and paper thin. At this point, I was really starting to hurt and told Kevin that if I was only a 5 and this could take another 5 hours, I would be too tired to push and that I was going to ask for an epidural. I could tell by his face that he was internally debating how to respond, so I told him that I remembered what I said in the car, but I knew at this point I would physically be too tired by the time I got to transition. Looking back, I should've trusted my body and not the "numbers" because I was already in transition, my body just hadn't caught up yet. They came back in and told us that my Dr. gave the order to admit me and about that time, a contraction hit and my water broke. I told them I thought it had broken, they checked and sure enough, it had. They unhooked me from the monitors and another contraction hit and this one HURT. I flipped to my hands and knees and felt my body start pushing. "This can't be happening," I thought, "I'm only a 5..." One of the nurses asked "Are you feeling pushy?" to which I responded "Oh yes!" They started to wheel me to a room and this is when things started to get CRAZY.

The ride to the labor and delivery room took maybe 3 minutes and at this point I was praying VERY loudly for God to please please help me make it through until I could get my epidural. Kevin reminded me to relax and i said "Forget that, squeeze my hand as hard as you can!" He, being the good man he is, did just that! Nurses were running around to get things ready and in between contractions I asked one of them if I could get an epidural or anything to help the pain. She looked at me and said, "Umm, well, we'll have to see where you are..." Another contraction hit and she checked me during the contraction. Nonchalantly, she turned to someone and said "She's a 9."

Wait. It had been maybe 5 minutes since I was a 5!

"Did you just say I was a 9??!!" I asked. "Yep", she said, and at that point I knew there would be no epidural, there was no time, I was about to do this all natural and I was elated and terrified and pretty much in total disbelief all at the same time. Dr. Hyler comes waltzing in, big smile on his face, took a look at me and said, "Okay, on this next contraction, we're going to push a baby out!" I just looked at him and then asked if I could have something to brace my feet on because once the pushing sensations took over, I had no control over them without being braced against something. Apparently he told me to push against him if I needed to but I don't remember that. At this point, Kevin, poor thing, is about to pass out as he does not handle his loved ones being in pain. He sits in a chair and waves the nurses away, telling them to help me, he'll be alright. I hardly notice because with every contraction I am varying between my loud prayers, hulk growls, and shrieks of pain. I had pushed once or twice and could tell Jacob was close. The nurse kept telling me "Push through the burn, don't stop!", so I did. In the small, maybe 30 second break, I heard Kevin say, "He's right there, honey, one more push! You're doing so good!", echoing the doctor and nurses. Dr. Hyler said, "Okay, with this next one, put your chin on your chest and push as hard as you possibly can." The next one hit and I bore down with everything I had, convinced I was going to rip the handles off the bed. Jacob came sliding out all at once- head, shoulders, body, and legs - and suddenly, it was all over. I saw him in Dr. Hyler's hands and all I could say was "Oh Jacob! Oh baby! You're here! You're finally here!!!" He was born at 2:25PM, just short of 2 hours after arriving at the hospital, still at a 4. He was 6 lbs, 15oz and 19 inches long.

I remembered to ask if they would delay clamping the cord and if they would put him on my chest, to which they happily obliged. He came out so fast that they had to work to get the fluid out of his lungs, so he didn't get to stay there very long, unfortunately, but he was fine after a few minutes. Kevin thought it was great to get the picture of him below in the bassinet because the name Jacob means "Grasper"! Boy, what a grasp he had!

Overall, it was an amazing experience, albeit intense. What they say is true though, I remember many of the details, but I don't remember the pain. It has to be the endorphins, or just the way God made us, but this birth was much easier than Karis' and I had a much quicker recovery. He's only 3 weeks old and I'm already completely back to normal, including 3 lbs under my starting weight. I was lucky that I had no tears or stitches, thanks to Dr. Hyler's delivery skills.

My only disappointment was I felt that I abandoned (or was abandoned by) my Hypnobabies skills at the end, but after talking to Kevin, he felt that they had served me well. I managed to stay home until transition and get through a natural childbirth without fear and anxiety and that was a major accomplishment. One of my dear friends calls Jacob my "healing baby" and in many ways, she's right. I was forced to face many fears through this pregnancy and delivery and in the end, I came out on the other side a stronger, more confident person. I can trust my body, I can trust my Creator. I CAN do it.

We've since encountered some reflux/gas/breast feeding issues, although he rarely cries, we can tell he's in pain sometimes. Due to my own unrelenting pain that wasn't a latch issue but a circulation issue on my part (my fingers are numb as I type this) and his upset tummy, we've switched to formula. While it's disappointing, I do feel a bit relieved and I enjoy bottle feeding him much better than nursing, I'm just not cut out for it, I was always tense, stressed out, and in pain. I know they say "if it hurts, you're doing it wrong" but sometimes, the problem is out of your control. I consider myself blessed to live in the 21st century with lots of intelligent, loving formula fed babies (myself included) walking around. Honestly, I wish women would stop ganging up on each other and just realize no matter what you choose - epidural or all natural, formula or nursing, working or staying home - we're all in this together and we need each other.

Anyway, we're blessed to have two beautiful children and I already cherish the bond they have. When Karis comes near Jacob, he turns his head to get a look at her. She showers him with kisses and begs to help take care of him. I can't believe that I almost succeeded in denying our family the chance to experience this blessedness that is our Jacob.

Tonight, she asked me, "Mommy, where's Cubby?" (Our nickname for him.)
"He's sleeping, honey."
"Oh... Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"I love my Cubby."

I do too, sweetie. I do too.

Wanda.

This blog has become an outpouring of what's on my heart. Today, a woman named Wanda is on my heart and I want to share part of her story with you.

Just a few months after we moved to Orange Park, we met Wanda. Wanda was an older, single woman with a big, beautiful heart. She suffered from numerous health issues that kept her from working the job she loved dearly, nursing. However, she also dearly loved children and she bonded quickly with my daughter, who was just over a year old at the time.

I had begun teaching a Bible study on Wednesday mornings and needed someone to watch Karis for a couple of hours every week. Wanda offered to do so, for free, that was just who she was, but we compromised and we paid her a bit here and there, while also helping in other ways, rides to doctor's appointments or the store, etc, since she didn't drive. Through the next two years, she and Karis foraged a special bond and Wanda became a big part of our family. Even when I stopped teaching due to pregnancy, Wanda was still there, willing to give me a break from my sweet but demanding 3 year old. I never worried about Karis when she was with Wanda, and that's really saying something when a mom can not worry about her child. Every time Karis came home, she would have a new craft and a ton of stories about what she and "Deeda" did that day. We would sit in Wanda's living room, urging Karis to put on her shoes and chatting for a few minutes before we headed home. Her pack n play took up permanent residence in Wanda's apartment until she outgrew it. She would often beg to go play at Deeda's house, even when we had nothing going on and if Wanda was feeling well, she always welcomed her.

Today, around 9:30 this morning, my husband showed up unexpectedly at the house. I could tell right away something was off as he went directly to Karis and greeted her and then came in the bedroom and sat on the bed beside me, without saying much. I knew he wasn't angry and not really thinking about his silence, I began chatting about our morning when I could tell by the look on his face that wasn't why he was home and I stopped talking.

He took a deep breath and started with, "I really hate having to tell you this..."

My heart sank. I knew what was next. I don't know how or why, I just knew.

"...but Wanda died. They found her this morning."

I was shocked, but not surprised as Wanda's health had recently taken a turn for the worse. The last I'd heard from her was a voicemail a few days before. I was helping Karis and couldn't get to the phone, telling myself "If it's super important, she'll call back, she always does." The phone never rang again. Later, I listened to the voicemail and was struck by the difference of attitude I sensed in Wanda's voice but didn't put 2 and 2 together until later. She was just calling to tell me she was sick again and that she wanted to let me know and to call her back to talk when I could. Not being a big phone talker and totally lost in my own pregnant world, I took a moment to respond to her on Facebook (a normal way for us to correspond), letting her know I was sorry to hear that and we had backups for Karis in case I went into labor before she got better, but I didn't call back. I had become distracted again by my own thoughts. Was I ever going to go into labor? Was Jacob small due to just being small or was he not growing? Which backup were we going to call if I did go into labor?

While I rejoice that Wanda has now experienced the ultimate healing, I grieve that I didn't answer the phone. I grieve that I didn't call her back. I grieve that I let my own thoughts and desires cloud my intuition and showing this special woman that she was loved and cared for. I'll never get that time back.

I'm under no illusions that I could have prevented her death. I truly believe it was her time, her body was tired, as was her spirit. But perhaps I could have provided some peace and assurance that despite her problems, she was deeply loved and appreciated by many, many people. I'd told her Happy Birthday on Facebook the day before and planned to buy her a gift and drop it off with her monthly check, but I never got the chance. She was always forgiving of my scatterbrained ways, knowing that I often forgot things like that. Now, I'll never get that chance back. It seems that self-centeredness, even with a "good reason" like pregnancy, is no comfort in the face of loss.

When we told Karis, she asked if she could go play with Deeda when she got back from seeing Jesus. With tears in my eyes, I told her I wish it worked like that. She is only 3, so she doesn't yet realize the permanence of death. I don't know if she will remember her times with Wanda at all when she's older - but I do know that I will. I will remember the beautiful, loving woman who loved my baby girl without reservation when we were so far from our own families. And I will grieve the loss we feel here on Earth. I may not be able to attend her service since I'm due to have our Jacob any day now, so here are my parting words to our dearest Deeda.

Wanda - I am so sorry for the pain you endured in your life. I miss you already. Karis misses you already. You were and still are dearly loved. I rejoice that you have finally found peace and rest in the arms of your Savior and I know he greeted you with the the salutation of "good and faithful" servant. You brightened our days and most of all, you loved others in the best way you knew how. Especially your "short person friends". There's a big, giant Wanda-shaped hole left in our hearts and it will not be filled until we see you again, on the other side of this life. I hope that Jesus had a big pile of snow waiting for you when you got there. We love you and we'll miss you. I love you and I miss you. I can't believe that you're gone. I can't believe that I'll never again sit in your apartment, rolling my eyes at my crazy daughter and listening to your stories. I grieve that you didn't get to see Jacob in the flesh. I wish I had taken the time to cherish every moment just a little bit more. Life hasn't stopped, the world continues to turn, but it did get a little less brighter in our little corner.

Goodbye for now, my friend, our Deeda.

I'm still here. By choice.

Well, it seems I've accomplished the near impossible and avoided early induction, despite being a gestational diabetic - can you believe it??? I went in for my 39 week appointment today and was surprised when there was no midwife or doctor around, just the lab girls and the sonographer. (By the way, they were totally using the flower pens I made them from my extra supplies, lol!) I had my weekly NST and ultrasound to check the placenta and all that good stuff, and as usual, everything looked fine. I've kept my blood sugar controlled with diet and haven't had any abnormal numbers, in fact, Jacob is only measuring about 7 lbs, perfectly normal size. I was told my OB would take a look at the NST and ultrasound results and if there was a problem, he'd call me. It's now close to 7PM and I've heard nothing. I called before they closed just to make sure I was good and they gave me the all clear - "Come back for your appointment Monday if you haven't gone into labor." I guess since all my numbers (weight, BP, sugars, etc) have been holding steady, there's no need to worry or mess with nature.

So how do I feel about this? Overjoyed. Terrified. Disbelieving. Wow.

Being 39 weeks pregnant is not comfortable if you're 5'2". There's like, no room left in your torso for more baby, and you sometimes feel as if you need a rolling cart for your rapidly expanding abdomen. I don't think it's very comfortable for any pregnant woman, but I seem to encounter a lot of people that just can't believe I'm still pregnant, even when I say I'm only 39 weeks. (Only?!) I guess induction really is that common? I don't know. And even more unbelievable to most is that I'm choosing to stay pregnant, I'm not one of those poor women who begged to be induced and was told no. In fact, I haven't even employed many of the "natural induction" techniques because as hard as it is, I really do believe in God's perfect timing. After last weeks appointment (in which I was told for the first time that Jacob was measuring "small" and that was scary), I was extremely emotional. While I had effaced a bit more, I hadn't dilated past a 2 or 3, and I've been having mild contractions on and off for weeks. I've been convinced, more than once, that it was "time", only to try resting and timing contractions and have them stop.

It hasn't been easy. I haven't been strong all the way. I've prayed and worried and begged and resolved and resigned and prayed some more. Most of it consisting of "God I just can't do this anymore.... but as Jesus said, not my will, but your will be done" or "Lord, I believe, help my unbelief." Sometimes it was "Seriously, Lord, this early labor thing has GOT TO STOP." But, in my heart of hearts, my biggest desire is to see how God is going to work all of this out. To look back and realize that I was in the middle of His working plan. Today, when I got to my appointment and there was no one there to tell me my progress and give me a deadline, I freaked out a bit. I had resolved to submit to a stretch and sweep to get things moving. I was ready to believe my body was broken. And no one was there to confirm that. It's like God was saying, "Will you just chill? I got this, just like you asked." And so I said, "Umm, is that you God?? Better call and make sure." So I did. And was reassured - I'm fine, Jacob is fine. And God said again, "Chill. I got this."

Many believe that before our children are born is when they are closest to God. Even David said God knit him together in his mother's womb, although I prefer to think God crocheted him.... Could it really be that God and Jacob are in cahoots and I'm just a spectator? It's an interesting thought to ponder. Kevin is convinced he will be born on Maundy Thursday. The full moon is Wednesday, so he could be right. Wouldn't it be awesome to tell Jacob the story of his birth, that he came on the day we celebrate "the mandate", the new commandment from Jesus, to love others as he loved us?

I wait with anticipation.

And, until then, yes, I'm "still here", larger than life, uncomfortable, but still joyful in being part of a modern day miracle, the birth of a child.

And now for something completely different.

So I usually go off on my theological tangents here on the blog (hence the name) but today, I'm doing something a little different - a tutorial!

The childbirth class Kevin and I have been taking recommends taking some goodies with you to the hospital for the nurses, to thank them for their hard work.  This seemed like a fun idea to me, so I asked my sister, the nurse, what would be a good treat.  She told me that they love to get candy and pens.  I was surprised at first, since our class recommended baked goods, but the more I thought about it, candy and pens seemed way more useful and...well...sanitary - I mean, we're are talking about nurses here.  So here's what I came up with, I loved the way it turned out, so I thought I'd share with y'all!

I thought a springy Easter basket with hidden surprises would be fun, so I made the pens look like flowers.  The main thing I'll concentrate on is how to make the pens, the basket and the candy are the easy part. You can use any basket and candy you like.  We got our basket at World Market for $5, I liked the fun, grassy look it had.  We got a huge bag of assorted candy (Hershey's brand) at BJ's for $10, and even had some leftover for our munchkin.  I didn't realize until I got home that I got retractable pens instead of regular pens, so I had to get a little creative. They were bulky at first, but I tested them out and the bulk made them easier to grip, so I didn't mind it so much.

Okay, so here's the materials I used for the pens:

We have a stalk of Easter colored daisies from JoAnn (40% off! Woot!  I used several stalks), a couple of retractable (or as I like to say "clicky") pens, wire cutters, and Mossy Oak duct tape.  I started with floral tape, but it was sticky on both sides, so I had to find something else that I already had and the duct tape did the trick quite nicely.  How Duck Dynasty of me, huh?

First I measured out the length of each flower I would need:

I marked a line parallel with the pen grip with a permanent market, making sure to leave room at the top to click the pen, and then measured out the rest as well. (You may be able to eyeball it.)  Then came the wire cutters!

I would recommend actual wire cutters and not just scissors because the middle of the stem is fairly thick wire and while scissor will cut it, they'll never be the same afterwards.  After I cut the flowers, I got my tape ready to go and lined up the flower stem next to the pen.  I put the clip part right up next to the flower stem to reduce the bulk and started taping from the top down, winding at a slight angle.

Once I got to the pen grip, I wrapped only until the plastic part of the pen started to taper, then cut the tape and pressed it into place.

It's as simple as that!  I did the rest of the pens, then used the candy in the basket as a foundation to hold them in place.

Here's the finished product:

I hope the nurses love it!

Perfectly awful timing.

Well folks, we're in the final countdown.  From the information I'm getting at my now weekly OB appointments, it's not going to be long until this baby boy is here in the flesh.  Could be Easter, could be earlier, probably won't be later though.  By the way, if you haven't heard, his name is Jacob.

Here he is at 35 weeks, 1 day!

So, how does that make me feel?

A mixture of emotions, really.  Overall, I am ready and I am calm.  I cannot wait to meet my Jacob.  I talk to him all the time, telling him how welcome he is, how much we love him, how much we can't wait to meet him.  I have to go for weekly NST's now that I have gestational diabetes and I got to experience something really cool yesterday - every time I would direct my thoughts to him (I personally believe Mom and baby are connected on levels that far surpass spoken language), his heart rate would go up!  It was like physical proof that he could feel that connection.  I've spent far too much of this pregnancy being worried and anxious, afraid to get too close to him for fear of losing him, so I'm glad to finally be feeling confident and happy and connected to him.

Now, I don't necessarily feel these positive things because my house and logistics of having another kid are ready - they're not.  Most of it's a total mess, I'm not sure exactly where he's going to sleep or how his clothes are going to fit in half of Karis' dresser, or why we thought it was a good idea to look into moving into a bigger house in a couple of months with a newborn and a 3 1/2 year old - but for whatever reason, none of that is bothering me that much lately.  Why?  Because I've learned that I have to trust in God's timing.  There is simply no other option.  God's timing is perfect.  But sometimes, it's also perfectly awful.  It's no secret that I went through deep deep struggles after my pregnancy and delivery with Karis.  I was floored when I found out I was pregnant again.  I was scared...no, that's not strong enough... I was abhorrently terrified.  I just knew I couldn't do it again.  But what choice did I have?  I prayed "Why, God, why?".  And you know what he said?  "Because you asked for it."

You see, I've really been learning a lot about prayer lately.  Kevin mentioned in a sermon, months ago, that sometimes Christians find it easy to pray because we don't really think God is going to answer us. Think about that for a minute.  So many things we pray are pretty human-understanding based.  We ask God to heal someone and then they die and we think "Well, what good is prayer anyway... it was just God's will that they died..."  And maybe it was. Or maybe it was the result of an awful accident and it wasn't part of God's perfect will, but nevertheless, it still happened. (Andrea, did you really just say that?  Yes, yes I did.) Those of us who are pretty devout to our faith keep praying anyway, but a lot of times it's born out of anxiety or fear, not faith.  We're not sure how to handle things in a faithful way because so often we don't know what God actually thinks or says about certain issues, so we just pray to ease our minds and go about our business.  Are you guilty of this?  Boy, I am.  But when you start studying how Jesus taught us to pray, you suddenly begin to realize some things about prayer.  First of all, you don't have to butter God up.  Jesus said acknowledging his holiness was enough.  Because that's so easy - you know, truly humbling yourself before God and realizing that he is HOLY.  Piece of cake, right?  Yeah, right.  So, once you get past that, you can then go on to pray that his Kingdom would come and be completed and that his will would be done on earth as it is in heaven.  Wait - what??  So I'm praying that God's will be done in my life as perfectly as it would be if it happened in heaven?  So, basically, I'm just giving up all control???  So, you would think Jesus would give us a break here - but no, he goes on to teach us to pray for daily bread - not just the physical stuff but the spiritual bread that keeps our soul alive.  Like reading his word and struggling with doubts and questions and clinging to him to know the truth.  Desperately seeking and asking for him even when your whole world is falling apart.  Okay, so what am I getting out of this God?  Forgiveness.  But wait, not just any forgiveness - no - forgiveness like I give to others.  Ouch.

I can see why people don't like to pray this prayer.  I don't remember ever praying it out loud growing up.  That doesn't mean that we didn't do it, just that it wasn't common enough to remember.  Sure, we claim it can be just vain repetition, and it certainly can - but so can every other kind prayer! When you pray over your food, are you really thankful, or are you just doing it because it's the right thing to do or it's what you always do?  I think a deeper reason we don't like the Lord's Prayer is because it removes OUR specifics and replaces them with GOD'S specifics.  It's communication, it's a relationship based on trust and freedom of choice and then realizing that freedom can be scary and awful sometimes and leaning on our own understanding doesn't work.  To pray the Lord's Prayer with honestly and conviction means to take on responsibility for our choices and to pray for God's leading in every choice.  We are no longer able to "blame God" when things go wrong in our lives because we know deep down that we're trying to live inside his will and we know sin is still a powerful force in our world - God has conquered sin, but he has not removed it.  The kingdom isn't complete yet. We hear "everything happens for a reason" and sometimes that "reason" is because we or someone else made a careless decision and now we all have to live with the consequences.  Sometimes, there is no reason at all.  Sorry folks, the phrase "everything happens for a reason" is not actually in the Bible.  People will try desperately to make it say that, but they're totally missing the point. Again - ouch.

Karis was very much God's grace through my own plan for my life.  I wanted a child, so we planned that.  Pregnancy was rough, delivery was rough, I was scarred and never wanted to do it again.  In the midst of this pain, I had an unexpected pregnancy and miscarriage.  I definitely didn't ask for that and that produced more pain and scars. If you're a big believer in the idea of "God causes everything", tell me the "reason" for my miscarriage.  Tell me the reason that I couldn't bond with Jacob due to fear that I would lose him too. The only ones who will try are the ones who have either never experienced that kind of pain or believe in a different God.  Now, I'm not saying that God didn't use that situation to teach me about his grace, he did, but you will never convince me that he caused it to happen just to teach me a lesson.  I really don't think God is that petty.  I am a sinful human being and I would never, ever wish miscarriage or losing a child on anyone. Not even Hitler or bin Laden. Again, I'm not saying God can't or won't use situations or circumstances in order to draw us closer to him (Romans 8:28!!!), but to say he causes them for that or any other reason is a whole 'nother thing entirely and I think you need to check yourself before you start proclaiming you know the mind of God to hurting people. Free-will is a difficult thing, my friends.

As a result of these fears and scars, I had many conversations with God that went kind of like this:  "Okay God, I am NOT HAVING ANOTHER KID.  Just wanted to get that straight.  But...I do want to live deeply inside your will and in my heart of hearts, I really want nothing more than for you to be in control of my life.  But seriously, don't want another kid.  I just can't handle that pain again." 

I laugh when people give me yet another "biblical" cliche, that God won't give you more than you can handle.  I understand where they're coming from and where the idea came from, but in my experience, we often have no idea what we can handle, so how do we know that's a fact?  Our idea of that is very different from God's.  When I found out I was pregnant with Jacob, I said "God, NO!  I can't HANDLE this!!!"  And God said, "My grace is sufficient."  When I had horrible back pain (kidney stone) and was sent to the hospital by my OB office and I was convinced I was miscarrying Jacob, I said, "God, NO! I can't HANDLE this!!"  And God said, "My grace is sufficient."  When I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes, I said, "God, okay seriously.  I cannot handle this.  I can't."  And God said, "My grace is sufficient."  When I started to get scared about labor and delivery, I said, "God, I feel really scared.  But your grace is sufficient.  Lord, help my unbelief."  And you know what?  He did.

I look back over this pregnancy and I see God's hand all the way through it.  God's perfect and perfectly awful timing.  God never promised to remove circumstances or consequences or prevent bad things from happening.  He never promised to do everything our way.  He never promised easy.  He promised sufficient grace. He promised to provide for our needs and give us abundant life.  He sends a friend who offers the swing, bouncer, and carrier set they bought for their granddaughter that she's now outgrown.  He sends another friend who had a big baby and sent you all the newborn clothes he never got to wear.  He sends a church member who heard that shipping the handmade cradle from Texas to Florida was something we couldn't afford, so they did it for us.  He sends us grace.  Amazing, unfathomable, undeniable, unrelenting, marvelous, match-less grace. Not always answers - grace.  Divine grace.  In Greek, it's χάρις, pronounced Charis.  (Sound familiar?)

Oh God, you are so gracious.  Your grace is sufficient.  Thank you.

How will you spend your Saturday?

I apologize for having gone so long without posting, it's been a little crazy around here, with babies being due next month and such.  I had the honor of preaching my first sermon last Sunday at our church in honor of Marsha Stearns Marshall Month of Preaching. (And no, I'm not getting into the whole should women or shouldn't they argument right now. Study it for yourself and form your own opinion.)  There's nothing like preaching for the first time at 8 months pregnant.  Just to add to the hilarity, here's a picture:

 

I promise I am wearing shoes, they're just nearly invisible for some reason...

If you would like to hear the words that go along with the picture, you can hear the sermon here.

Anyway, as you can probably tell from the purple in the picture, our church follows the Christian year and the lectionary.  This is the season of Lent.  For those of you unfamiliar with it, it's a period of 40 days of "fasting", with each Sunday counted as a "mini Easter" or a feast day.  It begins with Ash Wednesday and finishes with Easter, with Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, & Good Friday sandwiched in the middle.

In our Wednesday night studies, we've been reading through a really interesting book by John Ortberg:

You can find it at: http://www.amazon.com/Who-This-Man-Unpredictable-Inescapable/dp/0310275946

He really goes into a lot of the historical impact that Jesus has had over the last 2000 years, it's more than just a theological commentary, it's really a great book for anyone who as any interest in who Jesus was.  Last night, we covered our last study which is called "Friday...Saturday....Sunday".  Now being in the middle of Lent, it only took me a second to guess what he was referring to - can you guess?  Good Friday, Good/Black Saturday, Easter Sunday.  He goes into detail about what happened on each of these days and many of the interesting things we often skip over.  He talks about what may have happened if Jesus did choose to call down legions of angels, or to fight along with his disciples, etc and how Jesus chose the best thing for everyone - except himself.  Any of the other choices would have most likely included the death of countless others, only to spare himself.  I had never thought about it that way.  It seems to me, we often make Jesus into this victim and if he had just done this or that, he could've been spared.  But Jesus was not a victim - read John 10, he chose to lay His life down and had the authority to pick it back up.  Jesus could've been a hero.  He could've gone down in history as the man who conquered Rome.  But Jesus chose the road less traveled.  Everyone wants to be a hero and these days, it's fairly easy to be a considered a hero.  You know what's really hard?  Being a servant.  Making the choice that hurts you but benefits everyone else.  Ouch.

So that's Friday, let's skip over to Sunday.  Easter Sunday, we all love it.  Pretty dresses, fancy ties, lots of candy, bunnies and eggs, it's just fun.  It's the day of hope and we really like hope.  Jesus first appeared to the women, sent them to tell the men, and really just went about scaring the daylights out of people.  Apparently, the disciples had a hard time remembering that Jesus told them that this is what would happen.  Dr. Ortberg points out that Jesus first words out of the tomb were remarkably unimpressive. They were equivalent to today's phrase, "Hey, how y'all doing?"  In others words, "Why are you so surprised? I told you this would happen!"

So Friday is painful and Sunday is joyful - where does that leave Saturday?  You know, I had never thought about it until after I went to my first Good Friday service.  At the end of the service, they extinguished the Christ candle, turned off all the lights, and we left in darkness and silence.

And then we waited.

It began to occur to me how real  this all was. 2013 or so years ago, this actually happened to real people just like you and me.  Can you imagine how the disciples felt on Saturday?  Their hope was gone.  Everything - gone.  Dr. Ortberg brings up something I'd never thought about:  That Saturday was the only day in history that no one believed Jesus was alive.  Wow.  You mean there was a day that Jesus wasn't alive??  Why hadn't this occurred to me before?

Death gave way to silence.  God was silent.  He left space for waiting, wondering, grieving, and separation, even in the death of his own son.  He could have spared him, but he didn't.  Jesus could have saved himself, but he didn't.  And so we wait.

But God didn't stop there.  Death gave way to silence and silence gave way to hope.  Jesus had every chance to take over and prove his power.  He could've taken over the government and freed Jerusalem.  He could've reigned forever over the earth.  But he didn't do all those things, he chose to love and respect God the Father and then to love and serve his neighbors.  He gave up all of himself for those he loved and for those who would never love him.  "Father, forgive them, for they don't know what they're doing."  Does that sound like an angry, vengeful Savior to you?

This past Sunday, after I was done, we got to enjoy a solo by a very special woman named Jodi.  Jodi is our music minister's daughter and about 2 years ago, she was diagnosed with a horrible, inoperable, malignant brain tumor and told she didn't have much longer to live.  Two years later, she is cancer free and the doctors have no idea why.  The song she chose to sing was "In Christ Alone".  I had heard the song before, but hearing it from her had an incredible impact on me.  The one phrase of the song that stuck out to me this time was this one:

"And on the cross as Jesus died, the wrath of God was satisfied."

Now some disagree with the wording there, but I think we can all agree on the idea.  Through Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, we were justified in God's eyes by the blood of Jesus.  Wow.

There's a joke video called Djesus Uncrossed, a spoof on Django Unchained, and it features Jesus, after the crucifixion, coming back to take down those who made him suffer.  It's disturbing and laughable all at the same time.  What bothers me (and others) is that there are many people who seem to think this is what is going to happen in the end times when Jesus comes back.  Even Jerry Jenkins once said that the amount of people that take the Left Behind books as gospel truth is disturbing to him.  Now, I don't claim to understand everything (or even half) of what is spoken about in Revelation, but it certainly bothers me that most of us spend our time trying to interpret these symbolic things into things that will literally happen and trying to make sense of all this stuff, often completely ignoring the first part of the book where Jesus starts removing the lamp stands of churches for not doing what he told us to do.  Shouldn't we be more concerned with that?  Jesus told us that not even he knew the day or the time, so shouldn't we be focusing on doing what he told us to do, like loving our neighbor and being servants?  That is how we remain watchful, vigilant, faithful until the coming of Christ. 

Folks, we live in the "Saturday".  Friday has happened, Jesus lived, died, and was resurrected.  The ultimate Sunday is still to come, no one knows when or how.  Right now, we are in the Saturday, we're waiting, wondering, grieving, overwhelmed with the silence.  Sometimes we just can't take it anymore and in our desperation and anxiety we start searching and reading until we finally come up with our own answer and we experience this relief that we don't have to wait on God anymore.  But that is not how God designed it. All the worrying and wondering in the world will not make Sunday come any faster.  You cannot get to Sunday without first waiting through Saturday.

So I ask you this: how will you spend your Saturday?

Experiencing faith.

"Faith is the art of holding onto things in spite of your changing moods and circumstances." - C.S. Lewis

Boy, have I learned that the hard way throughout this pregnancy.  I'm still in a giant learning curve with this whole diet thing, but I have started learning a few things about myself.

During Lent, I decided at first that I would be really good Monday - Saturday with my diet and testing and then allow myself to enjoy a "feast" day on Sundays (I had been told by my OB office that I didn't have to be so strict now that I had proven I could keep my numbers under control). Now, I'm not stupid, so I didn't go overboard, but I did have more refined sugar than I normally do on this new diet. I still checked my levels and they were within range, which brings me to my next point: I am now totally convinced that refined sugar is closely related to poison. It's a proven addiction:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sugar_addiction

Why do I think this?  I'll tell you. As to be expected, I went through detox again yesterday (Monday).  I. Felt. Awful.  The exhaustion was back.  The bone dragging fatigue was back.  The depression and anxiety were back.  I really did feel poisoned, I could hardly get out of bed all day.  But, true to my decision, I spent yesterday sticking strictly to my diet, all good carbs and lots of protein and fiber.  And guess what!  I woke up this morning feeling incredible. Coincidence? I think not.

The hardest thing, for me, about this diet and diagnosis is being told "No."  "No, you can't eat that.  No, you can't drink that.  No, you can't skip meals.  No, you can't carry until 41 or 42 weeks."  No, no, no.  And like any good toddler, I mean human, I don't like being told "No".  I tend to get all stubborn and huffy and decide I'm going to do it anyway because they don't know me!  Except, they do, because I'm human, like every other woman they see, and when you eat crap, you feel like crap, and your body doesn't work like it should.  I've come to realize that in food talk, "refined" simply means "removed anything healthy to extend shelf life and make it taste better to our sugar obsessed culture."  It means it's cheaper for everyone, the producer and the consumer, so more money ends up in our pockets and we like that.

I think as Christians, sometimes we make food into an idol.  We often don't participate in "worldly things" like drugs, rock music, alcohol, meaningless sex, etc, so we use food as our "outlet", our stress relief.  Go to any good Baptist potluck and you will find every sort of comfort food you could imagine - and that's not even getting started on the dessert table.  We do live in America, after all, so we do everything in excess simply because we can - and food is no different.  There are countless TV shows about food.  We have a network on cable that's all about food and another that's all about cooking. Our parties and vacations are centered around the table and what we're going to eat.

One of the key focuses of Lent is a sense of unity with other Christians around the world and from the past.  This got me to thinking about what my brothers and sisters outside the US eat on a daily basis.  Instead of spilling a bunch of statistics here, I encourage you to research it for yourself.  Go ahead, I'll wait.

Staggering, isn't it?

A lot of churches focus on missions during Lent, leading up to Easter, and our church is no different. This also got me to thinking.  (I think a lot.)  Instead of focusing so much on what I can't have and my "feast day" that I think I "deserve", why don't I use this diet as a chance to share some solidarity with my global family in Christ and eat the way they eat?  Why don't I get myself out of my spoiled American mentality and go without for a little while - and risk having it actually change my life?  I've heard many people return from mission trips and say "I went because I wanted to change them - but instead they changed me."  A friend of mine was on a mission trip in Africa and she had the chance to meet the child that her own family had sponsored through Compassion ministries for years.  When she arrived, the family welcomed her ecstatically.  They showed her how they had saved every book mark and picture that her family had sent over the years.  When it came time to eat, they had prepared a huge feast for her.  She later told her mom that from looking at their house, kitchen, and their food supply, she was sure they had used almost everything they had just to make her feel welcome and to show their gratitude for the help her family had provided over the past several years. They went without because they were grateful.  Hmmm, makes me think twice about Thanksgiving dinner.

We have this idea that going without something we really want is this awful thing.  It's counter cultural to us. Look at the debt we've built up as individuals and a country.  We simply can't tell ourselves no.  We don't have to.  Got too much debt?  Just file bankruptcy, print more money, or raise the debt ceiling.  Not enough money left until the next check?  Get a payday loan or buy a lottery ticket .  It's easy.

This is why self-control is such an important fruit of the Spirit.  Our culture will never teach us self-control, but if we let God in, he will.  You don't even have to travel to Africa, you can start in your own home. He will not just give it to you, he will teach it to you.  Are you willing to give it a try?  What's an area in your life that you can use a little more self-control?

The perfect picture.

I have a very non-Baptist, non-American confession to make:

My favorite holiday is not Christmas, it's Easter.

My favorite journey in the Christian year is Lent, not Advent.

To those of you who are not familiar with these terms, Advent is the season of waiting that leads to Christmas.  Lent is the season of reflection that leads to Easter.  Now, it's understandable that any pastor's wife who is also a mom may not particularly enjoy every part of Advent and the Christmas season, it's so busy, you don't get to see your husband a lot, you rarely get to see your family, it's stressful - but why on earth, you may be asking yourself, would I prefer Lent?  Lent is hard, too.  It's sad.  You give up something you really enjoy.  You sit through a Black Friday service and leave in total darkness after the Christ candle has been extinguished.  And you wait, as the disciples did, until Easter.  How is this more fun than snowmen and Santa and presents and baby Jesus?

Well, I don't enjoy it because it's fun, I enjoy it because I feel that it more deeply connects me with God.  Concentrating only on the negative gets us no where - we must ask ourselves, where does the pain lead?  We choose to give something up so that every time we crave it, we're reminded of God's sacrifice and it leads us closer to God.  On Sundays, or feast days, we get to enjoy our "forbidden fruit" and it makes it taste just a little bit sweeter.  We choose to sit through Black Friday so that we can experience the pain and the grief the disciples must have felt.  We sit through it because it reminds us of the incredible sacrifice that Jesus made on our behalf.  It reminds us that real prayer produces drops of blood mixed with sweat. We sit through it and then we wait until Easter.  The experience of that grief makes the hope we find on Easter morning just a little bit brighter.

I've come to realize that I have a unique opportunity this year.  My due date is Easter Sunday.  Being in the third trimester of a hard pregnancy introduces a new understanding of pain, fatigue, and sheer will power.  I have given up much for the sake of the child I'm carrying.  In fact, I had a hard time coming up with anything to give up for Lent since most of the things I enjoy I was forced to give up months ago.  At first, I wanted to do nothing but complain and cry and wallow in my self pity.  It just feels so good, sometimes, doesn't it?  But I soon came to realize that if I couldn't just stop there.  If I did, how would I truly encounter God?  I've said a lot that God accepts us as we are, but he doesn't just leave us there.  But he doesn't force himself on us either.

Throughout this pregnancy, I decided I would "take charge".  There were too many unknowns, too many "I should have's" in my pregnancy and delivery with Karis and I was determined not to let that happen this time.  The further along I've gotten, the more that control has been ripped out of my hands.  "Why, God, why???  Why is this happening???" I asked.  You know the answer I got?  "Because you asked for it."

Hold up, God, say what?  And then I realized, I did ask for it.  You see, the main thing I pray for, above all else, is that God would transform my heart to look more like Jesus.  That I would seek holiness and humility over everything else.  It's a good thing to pray, right?  More than that (gulp) I prayed that God would be glorified through this whole experience.  The problem with honestly praying things like this is that God actually answers those prayers.  

Could it be that, besides a beautiful child at the end, God intended this pregnancy for more than procreation, that maybe he intended it to teach me more about him?  Could it be for a purpose that the hardest part of this pregnancy directly coincides with Lent?  Could it be for a reason that the joy of Easter - which is new life in Christ - will also mean the joy of a physical new life for our family?

I don't know the actual answers for these questions but I will tell you that I do not believe in coincidences.  I do, however, feel that I am in the midst of God through this journey.  I can feel him strengthening me, carrying me, helping me to keep walking, even when all I want to do is give up.  I'm in the middle of God writing my story.  I've had to give up my picture of the perfect pregnancy and birth.  Man, that was hard.  A friend of mine and I were discussing this just yesterday - often our own mental pictures of what life or a person is "supposed" to look like are not only completely inaccurate, but commonly get in the way of our ability to listen to and follow God.  I got to thinking about that.  It makes sense, we have no pictures of Jesus.  We have no idea what he or any of the disciples or prophets looked like.  If pictures were all that important, don't you think God would've left us one?  So what do we have?  We have stories.  That's what the Bible is.  I've always hated the old phrase that Bible means "Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth".  Not that the Bible doesn't teach us the right way to live, it certainly does, but it is far more than a book of rules.  If it were just a book of rules, it would be about as popular as Robert's Rules of Order.  The word Bible comes from the Greek τὰ βιβλία or tà biblía, literally meaning "the books".  What do we associate with books?  Rules?  Rarely.  Stories? Most definitely.

I've come to realize, in my own life, that I had this "picture" of what a Christian looked like.  Clean cut, carrying a Bible, handing out tracts or pamphlets, always smiling.  It has crippled me through the years.  Anyone I encountered that didn't fit my "picture" was automatically regarded with suspicion, which resulted in judgement upon their hearts.  What did Jesus have to say about that?  "In the way you judge others, so you will be judged."  Ouch.  Do I really want someone that encounters me to automatically assume that I don't have a relationship with God based on my appearance?  What if I'm having a bad day and I'm not acting very nice - do I want them to assume I'm not a Christian because of that?  No, I don't, so maybe I should stop doing that to others.  Thank God for forgiveness and a million chances to get it right.  Even the apostle Paul said that he constantly did the things he didn't want to do and found himself not doing the things he did want to do, so even basing those assumptions off of someone's behavior isn't any better.  We truly never know the heart of another person.

So here's my question to you:  What picture is God trying to get rid of in your life?  What journey is he ready to lead you on?  Are you ready to ask those questions of God and of yourself?  When we start praying in honesty and earnestness, God is ready and willing to answer.  What will your answer be?

God bless.

Sunday Morning Musings

We know from the parables and the sermon on the mount that Jesus came to bring the Kingdom of God to earth and to make it available to everyone. He paid the ultimate price. Think of it like going through the line up to the ticket window of your favorite NFL team and finding out someone already bought you the best seats in the house. And the great thing is, this person also did the same for the mayor of the city...and all the homeless people outside the stadium...and the ticket scalpers. Everyone has tickets to the best seats in the house. So my question is this: When will the church stop imposing their heavy, rule-laden, Scripturally "justified", legalistic burdens on their neighbors and trying to make Christianity an "exclusive" club? When we will learn to trust the Spirit to lead people instead of blaming him for our own opinions? The only truly "harsh" words Jesus had to say were aimed directly at the church leaders of his day who claimed that anyone who didn't follow their rules had no place in the Kingdom of God - and that God told them that it was supposed to be like that. Jesus told them that it was THEY who had no place there because they had completely missed the point. The very being of God was standing right in front of them and they could not see it. If you claim to know God, shouldn't you recognize him - even when it's unexpected?

The point the Pharisees were missing is love. Not conditional "I love you because you're just like me", because that is NOT love. Love LOVES because we have first been loved. It spills over onto everyone around us. It is not proud, it does not boast, or envy, or keep a record of wrongs. It it not easily offended but hopes and believes the best about everyone. It grieves with real tears and broken-heartedness with and over those who are broken and lost and hurting. We all know the shortest verse in Bible, "Jesus wept." Do you know who and what he wept for? Do you know what made Jesus cry? Don't take my word for it, go read it.

I'm asking you, church of God. I'm asking me. When are we going to stop hating each other and everyone who isn't just like us and start loving people like we have something to be joyful about? Did Jesus discriminate against people because of race or sexual orientation? How about because of status or money? What about those struggling with addiction? The spiritual abuse we as the church have inflicted on hurting people, regardless of the reason, is inexcusable. Luckily, it is forgivable and we can repent. Yes, I said WE, not they, need to repent because without there first being genuine, burden-sharing love, there would be no repentance from anyone. It is not guilt, or fear, or exclusivity that draws people to Christ, it is his love, embodied in the Spirit and in his people.

The wise words of John the Baptist told the crowds, "Repent, for the Kingdom of God is at hand!" But he wasn't just talking to the "unsaved" - he was talking to the church as well. Repent, church, because the best seats in the house are for everyone, whether you have deemed them "worthy" or not.