Back to School

The last time I enrolled in college, I was 19, single, and highly independent.  In the fall when I pick up where I left off, I will be scarily close to turning 27, married, and will have a husband and a son who will continue to rely on me to do my part in providing a stable home life.

Weird.

Also, let's pause here to take a minute to scratch our heads over women not wanting people to know their age.  I just don't get it.  Age hits all of us in our time, and me?  I've always rather liked my age.  But I digress.

It'll be a tough transition at first, going from SAHM to College Student.  To say I'm excited, though, would be an understatement.  I am over the moon excited to begin the work it'll take to finish out my degree!  I know it will most likely mean burning the candle at both ends.  I know that I'll probably be chanting "C's get degrees" to myself over and over as I trade in my A's for time spent with my husband and son (and it'll kill me a little inside, but I know that in the long run I'll be so much happier for the family memories than the all revered A plastered on the top of a piece of shredded dead tree I turned in).  I know it'll mean fewer hours of sleep than my already shortened nights.

But I am so up for the challenge.

I am so ready to be sitting in the classroom again, drinking in the information that will be taught.  I am so ready to add studying to my daily routine.  I am so ready to complete this work that I began 8 years ago.

Let's do this.

Grace for the Postpartum Mom

NOTE:  I wrote this back in September and apparently never published it.  I have since lost 16 more of those stubborn pounds and am in my pre-preggo clothing again, but the principle remains the same.  :)


Full blown honesty session here.

I gained 45 pounds during pregnancy.  It's embarrassing to think about and admit.

25 of those came off real quick.

The other 20?  They're taking their sweet time.  No matter how diligent I am in cutting back and working out, they seem.... stuck.

So I'm doing my best to have grace with the fact that it's just going to take time.  And I'm learning to come to terms with and embrace my new, 20-pounds-heavier look.  I've come to terms with the fact that I wore maternity shorts all summer long and they still have yet to feel loose.  I've come to terms with the fact that I had to buy jeans a few pant sizes up from my old size, because if nothing else, they fit.

I'm not living the glamorous life.  I have circles under my eyes most days due to interrupted sleep, but it's ok.  The house is staying clean for the most part, the laundry is getting folded, dinner is usually hot when Josh gets home from work, and the baby gets fed and bathed.

I'm learning to let go of the old outward version of myself and wear the same smile I've always had.  It may create a double chin now, but I'm still happy and content with the way my story is panning out.  I have a family that I love to love.  They make it worth the intermittent sleep patterns, the rolling out of bed at 7 each morning, the cooking, the cleaning, the grocery runs, the doctor's visits... all of it.

Outward appearance can and will fluctuate, but the character stuff that truly makes or breaks a person?  That's what I'm choosing to focus on.  And when I do I find that I am a more content, peaceful person.

Fitness is important because God only gave me one body, but He never said anything about it needing to look like a supermodel.  I am choosing to be a good steward over it so that I can better take care of the family He lovingly gave to me.  It doesn't mean I will lose the pounds, but it means I will be healthy.  That's what matters.

Conduit of Grace

When I was growing up, my mom always had a lot to do with the atmosphere in our home.  She was the master of the reset.  If everyone was having a bad day, herself included, she would have us all pause what we were doing, turn on an upbeat worship song, and have us dance around in the living room til my brothers and sisters and I were laughing and in a much better mood.  When the song ended, she would usually say something along the lines of, "this day started on the wrong foot.  Let's reset and have a good rest of the day."  The amazing thing?  I think it always worked.

As I was praying over my family the other day, it hit me at how much I influence the atmosphere within my home.  That whole saying, "if Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy," is a saying for a reason.  I can allow my thoughts, actions, and emotions to determine the mood in my home.  I can make it a horrible day for everyone, or I can use those God-given things as a means of spreading grace.

As I thought about it, I was struck with just how badly I want to make our home a center for glorifying God through the good, the bad, and the ugly.

We have a whiteboard hanging in our living room.  I bought it initially as a way for me to learn and study Greek.  Since having the baby, that's been put on the back burner for a while.  The point being, I have a whiteboard hanging in a room of the house where it can be seen by all.  Over the the last three weeks I have been writing one Scripture a week that communicates grace.  These Scriptures are ones I come across in my daily devotions.

With the Scripture being written where everyone can see it, my prayer is that we will read it and meditate on it, whether consciously or not.  I want Scripture to be my family's lifeblood.  I want us to chew on it, write it on our hearts, live by it, and have the Holy Spirit bring it to remembrance at the right times.

My husband will often tell me that it's easier for him to go through something tough if I'm not also having a hard time with whatever it is.  He needs me to be happy and to give him the hope that everything is going to be ok regardless of the situation.  It's not always possible for me to be happy, per se, but it is always possible for me to find my strength in Jesus and His Word, and it's possible for me to point my family in that same direction.

Things are tough right now?  Let's look at some of God's promises in Scripture.
There are worrisome things on the horizon?  Let's steady ourselves with prayer.
Are we tempted to put ourselves at the center of the universe?  Let's worship Jesus and get our hearts right.

These are a few ways that I've been trying to be a conduit of grace within my sphere of influence.  It's not exhaustive, but it's a start.  I truly believe that stay-at-home moms have a unique opportunity to speak grace into the day for not only themselves but their families as well.

I want to be like my mom.  Her source of strength, hope, and joy rests in Jesus, and she always knows how to point us in that direction.  That's grace.

I want to speak that kind of grace and have a family that loves Jesus and knows where they can go to get a refill on strength for the day.  My prayer is that my home will have a grace-filled, God-centered atmosphere, and that all who enter will experience those things.

The Birth Story

I was sitting in a hospital bed holding my four-hour-old newborn son in the calm after the storm.  The room was abandoned of all life save the two of us.  I held my son and took a few steadying breaths as I tried to process the events of the day.  What the heck just happened?

Every woman has an idea of how their child's birth is going to go down.  With a textbook pregnancy like I had had, I naturally assumed labor, while being without a doubt painful, would last several hours, then I'd push for a bit and hear the first cries of my baby.  Then there would be peace and calm as Josh and I would revel in the miracle of life and bond with the newest member of our family.  All pain would be over and we would be able to just be.

Reality was entirely different.

We knew something was wrong when my water broke and it had a greenish tint to it, but I was still playing the optimist while Josh worried.  By the time we got to the hospital, it was a dark green.  It was at this point that I, the eternal optimist, began to worry as well.

We waited for about 20 minutes in the room before Josh finally hunted down a doctor (there were lots of babies being delivered that day).  When the baby's heart rate measured in the 50's, I knew for certain that the way I had mentally built up childbirth in my head was not to be. Instantly, the doctor began shouting down the hall for a labor and delivery nurse and the anesthesiologist.

Before I knew it, I was being wheeled into the operating room for an emergency c-section.  Thankfully we had an arsenal of people praying.  A couple of seconds after we got to the O.R., his heart rate skyrocketed back to normal.  The relief in the room was palpable.  I immediately requested that someone tell Josh so that he wouldn't worry any longer than necessary.  Not only did they do that, but since they longer needed to put me under, they allowed him to sit with me as they performed the surgery (which helped to calm this anxious mama).

When we first heard our baby's cry, Joshua and I both joined him.  The relief that our baby was ok was overwhelming. When all was said and done, we met our son 25 minutes after the doctor first saw us.  It was a whirlwind process.

While I was mentally prepared for recovery from a natural birth, I felt very off kilter with no idea what to expect from c-section recovery.  I will spare you the details of those first few days.  All I will say is that both Josh and I were grossly unprepared for how it went down.  Thankfully we had great support from family and friends, and a great resource in our sister-in-law who had a c-section with each of her 5 kids.  While it wasn't fun, we felt the love.  :)

Now, a little over a month later, I still have moments where I have to process through what occurred.  It all happened so fast there was no time to think about it in the midst of it.  In the past month I have struggled with envy as friends have had natural births and been able to enjoy smoother transitions than I was allowed.  "It's not fair," I have mentally cried out.  "I had to learn how to walk again and was told I had to get out of bed as soon as possible - which ended up being excruciating -  to take laps and work my muscles.  They get to at least spend a couple of days in bed resting and bonding with their baby!"

But then I remind myself of this truth: I may not have had the birth experience I planned, but it went precisely according to God's plan, and His plans are always perfect and for our good.  He showed great mercy during the c-section.  Not only did the doctor give me a horizontal cut making a future VBAC a possibility, He graciously spared my son's life just because He wanted to.  I entered this life as an enemy to God, and envying anybody else's birth story makes me very ungrateful for my own.  Not only did God plan my son's birth, He lovingly and carefully wrote it specifically for our family.  What great love is that?  Wow.

And so, I am well on my way to being more grateful for my own childbirth story.  While it may have been a more painful ordeal for much longer than I was planning on, my son is alive and well and adorable, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

God is good.  Amen.

Getting Closer

Y'all.  I'm 39 weeks along in my pregnancy as of TODAY!

I truly didn't think I'd ever get this close.  It's been a healthy pregnancy with only some aches and pains to complain of... which means I really can't complain because there are so many women out there who have it SO much worse than I do.  As for being due next week (I can say that now???), I'm thrilled, though not so thrilled about the hundred degree temperatures also headed our way.  All of this said, I married a wonderful man who bought me cold Pop Ices to help me survive these last few days of pregnancy.  Did I marry up, or what?  :)

When people try to schedule things around me these days, I just say, "plan what you want.  All I have on my agenda is make it to my weekly doctor's appointments and wait for Baby."  Seriously.  That's how close we are to the end.  Whaaaat?

Speaking of being close to the end, we are officially no closer to deciding on a name for the little guy.  I know, I know.  But it's ok.  I know he'll have a name very soon upon birth. 

At least I hope so. 

Hmm, what is his name?

The doctor told me that should I not have the baby soon, they'll go ahead and induce me at the 41 week mark, which means that by June 13th (just two short weeks from now), I will be holding my precious little baby in my arms and getting to study his sweet face in detail as I sit (or will I be lying down?) in awe of God the Giver of Life.  Two weeks.  That's the official end date.

Over these past several days, I've been pondering how God already has the baby's birthday planned out.  The day has been handpicked by God, and it's kind of a fun little anticipation I get to experience as I wait to see which day it will be!  Every night when I go to bed I think to myself, "will it be tonight?  Will we make a midnight run to the hospital?"  Every morning I wake up in my own bed and think, "well, there's always today!"  While I am so done being pregnant, I keep myself sane and amused by playing that guessing game.

And so, you have reached the end of my post.  I'm sure the next one will contain exciting details of a birth story.  Stay tuned...

Slow and Steady

I'm used to pushing myself to the max physically speaking.  I'm an athlete by nature, so rest is for the weak.  No joke.  When I ran cross country in high school, I would tell myself I could run just a little bit farther.  When I was tasked to clear the parking lot of carts at my job, I always volunteered to stay out there for the remainder of my shift because I had stamina (and working the register was boring).

Fast forward to my late teens/early twenties when I began to develop some physical problems.  When I was 22, the doctor told me I had the joints of a 45-year-old.  A few years later and I'm just not able to work with the same vigor I'm so used to.  While I still value physical labor, I'm realizing that my body has forced me to slow down, most likely because I pushed myself too hard. It's a frustrating thing.

Today marks 33 weeks of my first pregnancy.  I spent the entirety of yesterday painting half of my baby's room.  You read that correctly: half!  My palms and wrists were so worn out by the end of the day that I could barely chop veggies for dinner.  This morning I was in so much physical pain it was hard to climb out of bed.  I want so badly to finish the painting project today, but my body is screaming at me to have mercy and rest.

I'm not saying these things to garner sympathy.  I'm merely realizing the necessity of grace.  I have developed more grace for the people in my past who I thought were just making excuses and being lazy.  Some of them might have been, but I'm beginning to understand that there may have been more legitimacy to their need for rest than I was giving them credit for.

I'm realizing the need to give myself grace.  I've always held myself to a strict standard when it comes to life.  If you're going to work, give it your all!  If you're going to play, give it your all!  I'm an all or nothing sort of person.  It's hard to accept the fact that "my all" now is not as much as it used to be.

And maybe I need to have grace with myself for growing another human being.  I haven't let pregnancy slow me down too much until now.  Now I'm coming to accept that the closer I draw to my due date and the bigger my baby grows inside of me, the more tired I'm probably going to be.  And that's ok.  While I may begin to fall behind on my household duties, I am nurturing a tiny human being who fully depends upon me for survival.  That requires rest.

Rest is hard for me.

Grace is important.  Rest is important.

I'm learning a lot about both.

Radical Change

For no reason other than the fact that I love fresh flowers and that these particular ones happen to be gracing my desk, I share with you these spring-time flowers

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My husband and I were recently discussing the current state of our country.  Everyone is just so full of hate!  There's not even a hint of trying to understand someone else's point of view, my husband lamented.  As we sat in silence pondering this, I thought about how change for our country cannot come from an elected office.  There are too many opinions, sides, and prejudices.  If only there could be some kind of activist group that could teach people how to treat people and show them how to love, I thought.

Then it hit me.

I'm so stupid.

Of course.

There is an activist group tasked with this and it's called the Church.  But how do we radically change a nation and really get at hearts? The answer came to me simply: the church has been commanded to make disciples.  But, but, but... how will that work?

And I realized that that's just it.  We, the members of the Church, were commissioned with making disciples.  We aren't the ones winning hearts for Jesus - Jesus is winning hearts for Jesus.  We are simply called to obey and be used as His hands and feet to reach the lost and hurting and hateful.  We are to be examples, and take those people under our wing.  But more importantly, as we do this, I truly believe that it is Jesus who will radically change the nation.

To obey is our task.

Let's get to it.