The Birth of Lilah Grace.

 

My blog has been under construction for over a year as I’ve been working to reset my heart and soul. I needed some time of silent reflection, and in many ways still do. But so many of you dear people have been asking me about Lilah’s birth story, so I’ve decided to share it here.

I used to find new mamas to be a little obnoxious-sharing their birth stories, posting a zillion pictures of their babes on social media, complaining about how nothing fits anymore. And yet here I am, wearing 1 of 5 pairs of oversized pants I wear in rotation, taking yet another picture of my little girl for instagram, and writing about my birth story! Who am I? But it’s true that once you become a mom your perspective really does change. The entire act of bringing an itty bitty human being into the world is humbling and amazing.

September 28th, my due date. No Lilah Grace. I had yet another doctor’s appointment. I was 4cm dilated and yet no sign of a baby. Going over your due date is like some special kind of torture. It is completely depressing. By 39 weeks you’ve been trapped inside your own body for long enough, your stomach hangs out of pretty much every shirt you own, and forget about tying your shoes.

DISCLAIMER: I had an annoyingly good birth experience and some of you may want to punch me as you’re reading this, so be prepared.

On Saturday September 30th I woke up at 4am with a new kind of discomfort, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. But by 6am it was clear that I was in labor. I woke Eric up so he could help me get into the shower (because that’s what the birth class taught us), but having a contraction while standing in a slippery shower totally sucks, so back to bed I went. I called my doctor around 7:30 with contractions 3 in a row, every ten minutes. It was a weird pattern and he felt that I should wait to go to the hospital. But my body doesn’t really ever do anything conventionally, so around 8:30am we started preparing to go to the hospital anyway. I was afraid they were going to send me home, so I would scream “WE HAVE TO GO NOW” during a contraction and then sit on the couch and suggest we wait a few more minutes. Finally, when I was sure I was going to die, we decided to go. We arrived around 9:30am at the local hospital. It took us a good chunk of time to even get to labor and delivery because I insisted on walking, but had to stop every 2 minutes or so as my contractions got closer together. People passing in wheelchairs and rolling hospital beds looked at me with pity as I groaned my way down the halls.

When we made it into the initial exam room, the nurse began asking me questions about the kind of care I wanted, etc. I think I would have said yes to selling my child to her at this point, I was in no state to be in a conversation. The initial exam showed that I was 5-6cm dilated. My goal had always been to wait until 7-8cm for an epidural. Knowing how my body doesn’t follow the rules, and that it might take the anesthesiologist a while to get to my room, I elected to call him right away. No sooner were we up in my delivery room, he arrived. I was at 7-8cm.

It’s funny how much you don’t care about your own disgustingness during labor. I mean, it crossed my mind when I was sitting with my butt out towards the doctor, but he has the drugs so you get over it. After 3 minutes of complete and total hell, the epidural was in. By this point I was 9 1/2 cm dilated, it was 11:30am. Within another half hour, I was 10cm dilated (see, I told you it was annoying). However, my water had not yet broken, and I still needed antibiotics since I was strep B positive. So they started my IV and told me to hang tight…UM K? At this point my blood pressure started to drop and so did the baby’s, so in they came with an oxygen mask and some medication, speaking in doctor lingo. i remember tearing up a little bit, looking at those nurses hovering over me. I’ve never quite liked being a patient, and dislike even more not knowing what’s going on. But they were able to stabilize us and all was well. The transitional shakes started to set in. Eric said it looked like I was freezing cold, and was hard for him to watch.

For the next few hours we watched Home Alone 2 and waited.

2:30pm, my water breaks.

4:00pm, I begin to feel the urge to push.

4:30pm, In comes a midwife and off we go! I remember saying to myself “it’s just like a long run, just keep going”. I can’t even remember how many times I pushed. I had requested a mirror and so not only did I watch my baby girl’s head begin to crown, but I saw myself from a totally new and horrifying angle. Anyway, eventually she was close to being born and so I no longer was paying attention to the mirror and was pushing with all my might to bring this little thing into the world. And then at 5:18pm, out she came. Our little Lilah Grace. I wasn’t overcome with emotion like so many people say-I was kind of in shock. I remember thinking “what just happened?” “did that just come out of me?” “oh my gosh she looks exactly like Eric”. I couldn’t believe that she was mine.

When they put her up on my chest, I noticed how blue she was, and when her little body wasn’t pinking up, they took her to the table in the corner to examine her further. I watched as they put a little mask on her face. I felt uneasy, scared, sad that I wasn’t holding my baby. But I kept repeating to myself, as I have the entire 6 weeks she’s been alive, “she is a gift, not yours but God’s. have faith. deep breaths”. As the midwife stitched me up, I watched as a series of NICU doctors came in to inspect my baby. it was decided that she needed some help breathing and so off she went down the hall to the NICU.

A few hours later after I was fed and cleaned up and sewn together, Eric and I went to the NICU to see her. I had been there many times before, not as a mom, but as a social worker. It is a hard place to be. So many little lives fighting. So many mamas and daddys overwhelmed with sadness and fear. As they wheeled me over to my little girl, I was so humbled. So humbled that my little girl was okay. That she was born full term, healthily plump, and that she would be leaving the NICU in just a few hours to be reunited with us up in our hospital room. My heart ached for the mamas who would spend months visiting their babies in this sterile room, and ached even more for those who would never bring their babies home.

When the wheeled her into our hospital room a few hours later, I felt like I was really seeing her and holding her for the first time. Studying her little features, watching her chest rise and fall. This was the baby I had carried all this time. The little girl I had prayed over, sang to, talked to in the car on my way to work. Finally here she was.

So far on this mama journey that I have just begun, I am realizing that I will never survive raising my daughter if I cannot rest in the truth that God is in control and I am not. That no matter what may happen in this lifetime, no matter how much time I am given with my sweet baby girl, that God is good. I am doing all that I can to cling to that and to rest in peace and joy.

 

For The Days You Just Can’t.

Sometimes I have one of these days every couple of months, sometimes they come all in a row for months on end, threatening to never leave.

For a little over a month now the days “I just can’t” have been hovering over me like a dense fog, allowing me to function but just barely. Our family is facing great pain, I am struggling with purpose, money is tight, and each time I find a job it seems to fall apart.

Defeated.

Have you been there? Are you there right now?

The other day I spent 12 hours on the couch. I had the day off, and I sat down to watch the news while eating breakfast and decided that it was a day I just couldn’t and so I didn’t. I planted my butt in front of an NCIS marathon and did everything in my power to love myself with grace for the entire day.

I think that’s the key to days when we just can’t. Sometimes we have to go to work and meet deadlines and feed kiddoes and run errands, and so we muster up all that is within us and we go and do it.  Maybe on those days we get a scone and caramel latte and all the strength of Jesus we can get. But every once in a while, when we feel like we just can’t, maybe we don’t.

Are you with me?

Maybe some days we stay in bed. Who cares?

And maybe some days we eat ice cream for breakfast lunch and dinner because it was a really hard day and we just need to have so much grace and love for ourselves.

I am learning this.

As I claw my way through the dark days, desperately clinging to Jesus, I am learning to have grace for myself.

I am doing the best that I can, you are doing the best that you can. And when it really comes down to it, there’s a reason for the days we just can’t. They mean something. It is our psychological response to something that’s too big for us. Sometimes that thing has haunted us for our entire lives, sometimes it’s just for this season, but it’s almost always something we can take a closer look at.

Hidden beneath every struggle is a better version of ourselves, if we can just listen.

So you who are sitting in a day you just can’t, or a series of days you just can’t, YOU ARE NOT ALONE. We can Skype if you want. And it’s okay if you’re eating cereal out of a mixing bowl, and haven’t washed your hair in 4 days, because I know that place.

Together we can do this.

An Open Letter To Myself On A Wednesday In February

You are enough. You are enough. You are enough.

Hold onto that truth.

I know it feels like the world is spinning too fast and you can barely see straight in front of you. But keep moving forward. One step at a time. Moment by moment.

Deep breaths, baby steps. You got this.

Give yourself SO much grace.

Love yourself in every way you know how.

You can do hard things. You’ve always been able to.

You are not alone. Never have you ever been. The God of the universe is holding you in His hands. Can you believe it? He’s got you, there is nothing to fear! Lean into Him, let Him take it all from you.

Rest.

You are okay.

Nothing that you do or do not do defines you.

You are enough, just as you are.

Now snuggle into a million fluffy blankets, breathe deeply, and rest.

For you are so loved and you are fearfully and wonderfully made.

 

 

 

When God Lets Us Down.

God is always good.

But it doesn’t always feel that way, does it?

God doesn’t always move mountains.

Sometimes we’ve been sitting on the rough side of rough our entire lives, praying faithfully, doing everything we can on our end and God doesn’t come through for us like we feel He should.

We may spend days on our knees in prayer, we may have the faith to move mountains, we may really need Him to come through for us in a specific way. But that doesn’t mean He will.

Sometimes God let’s us down. It’s true, we can say that.

His ways are higher than our ways. But sometimes, I think we fall into the trap that He has to heal us because He loves us. For reasons greater than we could ever comprehend, it doesn’t always work that way.

So then I wonder, what if we just trusted Him to love us in those ways we can’t understand, and trusted Him to take care of us in the deepest sense of the word.

For the past week I have been praying almost continuously for a loved one who is in more pain that I can even imagine. I pray for peace and strength. But above all I pray for healing. And I will never ever stop praying for healing. But today as I drove home from work, I realized that I don’t just believe that God has the ability to heal, I expect Him to. He has to, right? That’s His job.

But what if He doesn’t?

Then He is still good. And I will rest in His peace and His truth forever.

Life is so much bigger than what is going on around me. I have to trust that God is in complete control, and that He knows what He is doing.

Grabbing hold of faith, but letting go of expectations, letting things unravel as they may.

When God let’s us down it is only because our expectations are limited to what will be the least painful for us and those around us. We assume that is what God is after too. But what if He is after something greater, something more?

It is a relief to me that no one will ever fully understand the God of the Universe. That’s one thing in my life that I can’t even pretend to control. I just look up to God and say, “thank you for taking care of all this crap down here”. And then I rest in the truth that His goodness, though it may look different from my definition, is true goodness.

 

Resting In The Arms That Won’t Let Go.

I opened my computer today to finish an article for Deliberate Magazine, and I couldn’t. I sat for an hour with my fingers on the keys, willing myself to remember how to string words together, yet I couldn’t remember how.

That’s always how I know that my heart needs to write about something else.

My heart is heavy today.

I have always been pretty good at tricking myself into thinking that I am in control of my life.

And then every once and a while, life hits me like a ton of bricks and I realize, once again, that I am not.

The heaviness that reminds me I am not in control, has become so beautiful to me.

I know it sounds odd. Heaviness is painful, not beautiful. But for me, the heaviness leaves me no choice, but to surrender. I cannot hold it on my own, and so I no longer am able to pretend that I am in control. I can exhale into the truth that I cannot do it on my own.

I prefer it this way really.

I don’t want to run through life on adrenaline, caffeine, and pride. I want to sink into the arms of my Savior. I want to release all that life hands me to Him.

So as I sit here, saddened by the pain of a suffering loved one. I am clinging to Jesus in a way that I have not for many months. And I am so thankful for the heaviness that reminds me of His presence, His goodness, His love for me.

Maybe one of these days, It won’t take so much heaviness for me to rest in the arms of my Savior. But regardless, I know He won’t let go.

 

 

 

Let It Snow.

It seems as if time has stopped and everything is on hold.

The snow is still falling steadily outside my window. The few objects left in the storm’s way have taken on obscure shapes as the snow piles on their surfaces.

On most snow days I would bake some ooey, gooey cinnamon rolls for Eric and I, brew up some coffee, and enjoy a late breakfast. But today, I have made yeast free, sugar free, grain free blueberry muffins that may or may not be edible when they come out of the oven.

I have been on a strict diet for a few weeks now and will be for a few months. It’s main purpose is to rid my body of some bad bacteria that got out of control and is taking over. It’s nothing serious but it is a royal pain, not to mention a first world inconvenience. So for now, no cinnamon rolls for me.

It’s always quite interesting when you have to monitor what you eat. For someone with a history of an eating disorder, it’s like walking a tight rope. Monitor every little thing you put in your body, read and re-read packaging to make sure you can eat that. But don’t become too obsessed. Life, once again, revolves around food, and I am suddenly very aware of how different I am from that girl 8 years ago. Stronger, wiser, gentler with myself.

These past few months have been a series of triumphs and setbacks, medical bills we can’t afford, treatments that did nothing, a spirit crushed with fatigue and hopelessness. But it has also been filled with the grace of God, the power of His goodness, the blessing of His people surrounding us.

Life hits all at once. That’s just how it works. No sooner have you begun treading water again after a near drowning and another wave hits. But i’m learning that it’s not about getting out of the way of the waves,  it’s about learning to ride with them. And I have found the only way to keep afloat when riding gigantic waves is Jesus.

And so I praise Him today for his goodness, his faithfulness. I praise Him for the times life is beautiful and for the times it is too messy to untangle.

I thank him for this snow, this forced break.

It’s His permission to us to stop trying so hard and to just be for a little while.

All we can do is sit and watch it unfold all around us. We can’t control it, we can’t stop it. It’s out of our hands.

So let it snow.

Let it snow.

 

Who Am I?

Is that not the age old question?

And although I hoped against all hope that I would escape the baggage that question brings this year, I am slowly realizing that I have not. In fact, as the years pass, the stronger the question:

Who Am I?

As a Christian I know that I am a child of God, prized, loved, pure, perfect in the eyes of my savior. But the resounding truth is often muddled with the noise of the world all around me.

Who Am I?

I am a wife, a daughter, a sister, granddaughter, niece, cousin, friend. I am a writer, a teacher, an actress an athlete. I am sweet, I am sassy, I am thoughtful, witty, sad, happy, angry, and a thousand other things.

And yet, I am none of them.

Whenever I let one of those things define me, I falter.

Sometimes I have to remind myself,

“if you were none of those things you would still be enough.”

Some days I believe it and some days I don’t, but I keep saying it to myself over and over. Because, I don’t want to live a life searching, chasing down identities that I can hide behind for a while.

“Who am I?” isn’t really the question. And while I know that i’ll continue to ask it in some form my entire life, I will not let it define me. Because who I think I am in any given moment, isn’t really who I am at all. All these things I think and say that I am, barely scratch the surface of who I am in the eyes of my King.

The Gift Of Giving.

if you’re anything like me you experience those twinges of guilt around the holiday season. We know that there are people all around us in need, and we’re stressed about getting all the cookies baked in time, and finding the perfect presents for everyone on our list. My mantra for this season is “moderation, moderation, moderation. Everything in moderation”.

Actually, that’s my mantra for all of life. I am an extreme thinker, and so I often get stuck in the all or nothing mentality. But moderation is key to so many things in life, and Christmas is no different. We don’t need to drive ourselves crazy trying to figure out how to do Christmas right. How many gifts we should buy, how many gifts we can receive without feeling guilty we have too much, how many cookies to eat a day, whether we’ve given enough to the needy this year. There is no quota to reach.

Take a deep breath.

I want to tell you a story of the greatest gift that I ever received.

I was a little girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, when I saw a pair of clogs in the Stride Right store at the mall. We were there buying sneakers for my brother, and I put those clogs on and walked around and around the store wearing them. They were a mini version of a pair of wool clogs my mom used to wear all the time, so that might have been part of my draw to them. But whatever it was I had to have them.

I left the store that day in a cloud of disappointment. I so badly wanted those clogs, but Christmas had passed, and my birthday was not for another few months. They would be gone by that time. And so life went on, and I forgot about the clogs for a while.

The morning of my birthday came. I ripped open every package with excitement and joy, littering the floor with paper. And then in came my brother, a package in his hands. He handed it to me gently and as I lifted the lid, there were the clogs from so many months ago! The ones I had hoped for and waited for. And even though I was still young, I knew how much my brother had sacrificed for those clogs, the allowances he saved, the things he didn’t buy for himself.

I will never forget the kind of love that sacrifices to buy a pair of clogs for his little sister. Never in a million years.

While Christmas can sometimes be an overwhelming time of money spent and pointless gifts, we can reclaim it. Gift giving doesn’t have to be guilt-driven, or last minute, or even expensive. It has the potential to be such an act of love, and a blessing to those around us.

So don’t get caught up in that twinge of guilt over what Christmas is becoming or how you’re not doing it as well as you could be. But reclaim it in little ways. Give modest gifts to the ones you love, ask for a little bit less for yourself this year (I’m working on it..), give generously of your time and money to those in need.

And in case you were wondering about an opportunity to give to those in need this very moment, I have something for you. Firstly read this post by Glennon Doyle Melton and as you scroll down, through your tears, you will see a link to The Compassion Collective. This is a movement to save the lives of people just like us, who are refugees right now. This is a call to action, a chance to love deeply and bravely. You will be surprised by what your gift could provide a family right now.

The Biggest Fear.

Ever since I was a little girl I wanted to be someone important. I even went through a period of time where I was convinced that I would be the next virgin Mary, destined to carry the Savior in my womb. I was 7, maybe 8 at the time, and to me, that seemed like the ultimate proof that my existence mattered.

I had lost touch with that fear until very recently. Somehow as adults we have a knack for forgetting how we actually feel, a gift for hiding pain. And so I had almost forgotten how desperately that little child had wanted to be seen.

I no longer go to a job every day. I am writing full time, in my dining room. It’s an odd transition for me. There are no coworkers, no set time I must be at the office. I am in control of it all, and yet so many things seem out of my hands.

Jobs are funny things because they are not who we are, and yet we attach ourselves to them as if they define us. Regardless of whether really like them, they offer us some sort of reassurance that we are needed, that we matter to the grand scheme of things.

Nowadays my biggest task is to remember to eat lunch amid my ceaseless typing, to meet my deadlines, and to let Max out so he doesn’t pee on the floor.  But if I forgot any of those things, only my husband, my editor, and Max would know. I can no longer tie my significance in this world, to what I am doing every day.

Many of us struggle with the fear that we are insignificant. That we will be forgotten, unnoticed, overlooked. That the world will never see us as an important piece to its puzzle. I think that we all share this fear on some level.

But there is this still small voice that reminds us of our purpose.

The still small voice is the one that brings peace, joy, and love of self and others.

Amidst all the “not enoughness”, and the moments of feeling insignificant, there is a truth I am right where I need to be.

Today I am reminded of the goodness of the creator. His steadfastness. The way he challenges me to be more like him, to find my worth in him alone. I am thankful for this journey that twists and turns, and sometimes makes no sense.

May our significance be found only in him. May our lives reflect his purpose and not our own.

 

 

 

 

I Don’t Want To Be A Christian Anymore.

I don’t want to be a Christian anymore.

I am so tired.

Lately I see too many things being done in the name of God that I can’t make sense of.

It’s hard for me to see Jesus when we’re turning away refugees in fear, or shaming our brothers and sisters for their sexual orientation.

I don’t blame anyone for hating Christians right now.

I wouldn’t like us very much either.

How often do selfishness, pride, and anger drive decisions and words?

Lord have mercy.

Can we blame those who don’t trust Christians? Those who don’t want to step foot in a church?

I don’t want to be a Christian anymore.

I don’t want to belong to this agenda, this hate, this Christian chaos around me.

I want to be a part of a different Christianity. One that seeks out love above all else. One that welcomes the homeless, feeds the poor, loves the broken. I know many that live this way. And I am thankful that there are still those living with their arms reaching to Jesus, running after Him with all that they are. Those that desire to be more like Him.

But right now, the spotlight is on a different kind of Christianity. The kind I want no part of. The kind where people speak just to hear their own voices and quote the words of Jesus to meet their own agenda.

It is sickening. And my heart is saddened that the world is seeing that and not the love of Jesus.

Is that not what we are called to do in this world? To be the love of Jesus? That is all that is asked of us. Not to condemn others, or shame them, or drag them into a relationship with Christ. But to love like Jesus.

He is in control of all else.