Waiting with Pregnant Expectation

The past few days have been an exercise in waiting...with pregnant expectancy. Contractions that come and go have me thinking one minute that its time, only to be doubting myself the next. The days and weeks before you meet your baby are absolutely full of an array of emotions. I find myself vacilating between  excitement and nervous anticipation (of labor). I lay here and see my belly rolling like waves on a sea, and I know that my baby is living and fully formed, ready to greet this place we call life. There are pictures to be taken, stories to be told, eyes to be met, tears to shed, smiles to glisten. And it could happen anytime. Anticipating a first child is an experience unlike any other. But so is anticipating future children...because you know the magic that is about to happen. You know the pain, you know the depths to which you are about to go to bring this child into the world. You know the smell of the beautiful newborn. You know the feeling the first time you meet his eyes. You know the feel of that tiny body scrunched up on yours, fully dependent on the one who carried him for nine months, only now in a more tangible way. You know. You know that infant so quickly changes into a smiling baby. And that baby into a crawling, walking, running toddler. And that toddler into a boy who like tractors and trains and says the silliest things. You know that boy turns into a middle schooler who still, on occasion flashes you that same look you saw in the delivery room, the first time your eyes met. You know. You know to treasure those moments. You know to let criticism roll of your back, and you know to trust your instincts. You know its ok to spend a little extra on that bottle of Dreft, and that its ok to open and close the drawer containing the baby clothes at least 400 times in the week preceding birth,  just to drink in the smell of impending baby. You know the miracle about to happen.

And when it is your last...I have found...you want it to happen so badly. You cannot wait to greet those eyes, and to write those stories, to take those pictures, to live that life, to meet that baby. But part of you, a tiny part is almost afraid for it to happen. Because you know that once it happens, its fleeting. Its so magical that you want it to last forever. I already want to savor each and every moment with this new child. I have given all I had to bring him to this point, and once he is born, every moment is a step of independence on his part. And a process of letting go for me. I know that. I have been through this three times prior. And even the letting go, is a beautiful story, an amazing process of hope and fear, success and failure, a blending together of life and love and grace, the continued process of the creation of a life. We as parents have that amazing responsibility. Its not just the carrying of the baby...it is the raising of the child, the creation of the adult. God gives us a part in it all. Its sobering and scary, but beautiful and redemptive. Just like birth.

It is a crazy feeling to be on the cusp of meeting a person who is going to change your life and family forever. And to know it is coming...any moment. It is as though life is literally pregnant with expectation...every moment of every day. Watching my children anticipate this event is magical too. Their eyes light up. They are each preparing in their own ways, and while I know they each grasp a little of what is about to happen to them, I know the truth. That they are about to gain a friend for life. A sibling who will share their experiences and secrets, who will laugh with them and cry with them. I know the gift they are about to receive. I know the sacrifices it will cost them, but I also know the gift. Because I have siblings. And for all the bad we may have endured (JASON ;-) ), when I look back now I can see the incredible value of the fact that we had each other. That our histories are intertwined in a way that no one else can understand. That Brenn and I can commiserate because of our shared life, and that Kelly and I have a lifetime of memories and Jen taught me all I know about the important things in life from all of our basement bedroom discussions, and that Jason and I had each other when life was tumultous and uncertain. My children are about to gain a sibling. Its an incredible gift.

And so I wait. With pregnant anticipation. Six days or less and the story begins. A new story. And oh how we can use this new beginning with all of its ups and downs. I am pregnant with anticipation at the joy and wonder I know is a breath away. Literally, a first breath away.

A Search for Redemption

Its July 23, 2013.  It was close to this date last summer that the beginning of the end began. The signs that inevitably led me where I had no idea I would end up. The beginning of the end of a plot line that I had no idea I was taking part in. A story with an ending that didn't exist. Will never exist.

When I started this new blog I mentioned that I felt I would forever hate August because of the association it had with what happened. But that this baby was due in August. And that felt redemptive. And it is. And I have hope for that. Because so much has gone wrong since August. What I thought was the end, was really just the beginning of more. I remember running every evening last August and September to the tune of Tenth Avenue North's song, Worn.
I would try to pound out on the pavement what was haunting me throughout my day.  Its July 23 of the following year...I am still looking for that redemption. Still waiting for life's circumstances to get better, not worse. Someone asked me today if the hardest things I have been through in my life make sense to me in the now. I am close enough to this person to be honest and I had to say that no, most of them, certainly everything from the the past 365 days have yet to be redeemed. I am so glad that I didn't know then what I know now. I wouldn't have wanted to know that life would make less sense now, a year later, than it did in the thick of it. That August was just the beginning of a whole series of unrelated and yet life altering events. There isn't one area of my life left untouched. I feel like this year was meant to crush me. To change me. To attack the core of who God made me to be. And it has, at times. And I have changed. But I don't know how it will end. The story is still being written.

I told my friend today that I am weak. She told me that I am strong because I am not hiding or dulling the pain. I don't feel strong. Its not just what happened, it is the emotional wreckage that has been left behind. The fact that these things were fashioned with pointed tips, specifically for my heart. The fact that try as I might to sift through it all, I can't find a place to land. I am not fully confident what the ramifications should be for my faith, my life, my calling, my relationships, my heart.

I know most of you who read this don't know what has happened, and very few know all that has transpired. I can't share most of it, for various reasons. Its not about the details anyway. I hate when people "vague post" and it is clear that they are really just hooking us making us wonder on so many levels what in the world happened. I promise I am not trying to do that. I ask that you don't ask me what happened. That you respect the fact that I will share what I can with whom I can, when I am ready.
I guess as I listen to Worn now, a year later, I am also reminded that we are not promised that all will be redeemed (make sense) this side of Heaven, nor that we can tie difficult things up with a neat little bow. I think Christians (humans) are so quick to look for meaning and "the lesson to be learned" that when we can't figure it out, or when we are unable to name the silver lining, we panic a bit. As though our trials are worth nothing. They are never worth nothing. But sometimes, sometimes, you just have to hunker down and cling. As I teach my Stress students, there are times that you don't have to keep swinging to stay in a match...you just have to stay upright. You just have to keep that tiny seed of hope so that you don't give up. And as tempted as I have been, I think I have learned that times like these are NOT the best time to give up on all you have always believed in, lived for, stood for. Those things may have been taken, I may have handed some over, but I am clinging to what is left for dear life. Choosing with my mind, when my heart fails me. Do I know that God will redeem all of this? Yes. But I am not certain it will be this side of Heaven.

Nine months ago I said that God redeemed the month of August by choosing that as the month of birth for our new baby. I think there is some measure of truth to that, but it doesn't take the flashbacks away. The questions still come. The tears still spring up. I am distracted by the waiting...the beautiful expectancy of a new life. That helps tremendously. But to think that this whole year (or really almost 2 if I go back to the start of the unravelling) will make sense is perhaps a bit unrealistic. I think perhaps the redemption comes in the laughter of my two year old, the sense of adventure I see in my almost 10 year olds eyes when he tries something new and exciting, and the endless zest for life that exudes from my 6 year old. The glimpse of a setting sun, the rising of a new one, the timely encouragement from a friend, the promises of Truth that I am choosing to believe in the face of trial.
So I face August with an aire of expectancy. The pregnant expectancy of the new life moving within me. But not with the expectancy that this month will be easy. Or the one to follow. I will take a day at a time. If I have learned anything this year, that is it. If nothing else, as this baby enters the world I will gain back my physical strength and I have a sense that hope will come with that. I will labor this child into the world, as a symbol of the fight I have for life, as it was meant to be. What that looks like, I am unsure. But I will fight. I will stand. I will hope.

Perspective

Last night I had an awful dream. I dreamed that we were at a pool and Everett was a the bottom of the pool, struggling, but unable to get up. I jumped in immediately and swam down to get him. He was crying audibly in the water (not possible) but in my dream, it struck me how odd it was that he could cry under water. Anyway...I got him up and out and he was crying really hard and saying over and over, "Mama, save me?" Questioning me and longing for the right answer. And I kept telling him, "Yes, Mommy saved you. Mommy got you out, its ok!" I woke up and everything in me wanted to go get him out of his crib and just feel the warmth of his body and feel the rhythmic breathing of his little body. I literally ached for him. And then I thought of what it would be like if that happened and I didn't get there fast enough. It happens to millions of parents every year. And if it isn't drowning, its something else. Some tragedy that flies in unexpected...always unexpected...and changes every part of life as you know it.

So today was one of those days where I cherished moments instead of hurrying through them. The terrible mess of corn on the cob and baked beans and turkey burger crumbs strewn all over the kitchen didn't look like an hour long mess to clean up, but instead it looked like my kids ate well and enjoyed themselves. I savored watching Everett shove the corn in his mouth by the fist fulls. Even the poopy underpants...I can't say I savored cleaning them out... but I thanked God for the boy who could soil them. When I found Landon's "potion" concoction under the sink, instead of thinking of all the ways it could spill or cause a mess, I thanked God for the ten year old creative brain that concocted the science experiment. When I went to vacuum Landon and Noah's room and found it full of army men strewn about every flat surface...I felt a sense of contentment that my boys could create this play world in the safety of their own home, flexing the muscles of their creativity. When Noah dumped an entire bucket of leaves on my kitchen counter declaring that they were salmon that he caught "fishing off the deck"I left them there all day...telling him I would "cook them up" and "oh how good they would taste." These little "inconveniences" that we often bemoan as parents because they make our jobs that much more difficult are actually the gathering of beautiful memories. It is all in the perspective.

And oh how I have lost perspective lately. I am just done with pregnancy. Done. All I can see is that I have another day, another night (those are long too due to pregnancy insomnia), another week. I want to feel healthy, have energy, not fight constant nausea, not be a slave to food, be able to bend over, have mental and emotional energy for my existing children. I want my life back.

But that perspective thing. My body, although it hates pregnancy and causes me great problems with nausea and vomitting, has housed and nurtured and birthed (almost) 4 human beings. Four beautiful souls. And I am about to meet this one. I am on the cusp of receiving the fruit of my labor. I have lived every one of these ten months in agony, but it all becomes worth it in an instant. When I see that face. And meet those eyes. And feel the quick little breaths as that new baby sleeps on my chest. I would do it all a thousand times over for the children I have, and this one is no different.

Anyone who has a child knows how difficult it is. The relentless work, the bickering, the monotony, the snot and poop and puke that we clean up and clean up again. But in an instant, truly a fleeting second, my children can make it all worth it. A smile. An eyebrow raise. An extra cuddle. Watching them learn, create, imagine, make right decisions, be kind, care about another soul, love. They exhaust me, regularly. But they fill my life with everything that means the most to me. And I thank God that for this moment, I have three sleeping children in the safety of their beds and one in the safety of my womb, my uncomfortableness a daily reminder that the child is growing and healthy. Perspective. I will lose it again...possibly even tonight. But my quest is to keep it ever before me. To be thankful more and critical less. To enjoy more than complain. To love more than judge. And to seize the moments that make up the days...because this life is ever so short and none of us know anything beyond this very moment.

My How Time Flies

I have sciatic nerve pain radiating down my leg and I am so tired I could cry and the cereal I just ate to help my vitamin go down may or may not come back up, but I HAVE to take even just five minutes to document this night.

Tonight started the baseball season for us. Landon hasn't played since Kindergarten and this is Noah's first year. They both had their first practice at different fields and an hour apart...and Jonathan came home with a migraine. So that meant dinner was done by 5:15 and the next 4 hours were spent driving back and forth to the fields and home, dropping kids at intervals. It was great fun. But here is the part that I have to get down into writing...in case I forget, and how easy it is to forget.

Noah's t-ball practice is at the same field that Landon played at when he was in Kindergarten. It was like deja vu going back. Watching Noah play in the dirt and miss the fielders, watching the little boys swing mercilessly at the t, missing almost every time. But the real kicker was when I took Everett to the play ground at the field. You see, three years ago, Landon was in Kindergarten and Noah was not quite 3 years old and playing on that same playground. And Everett was a gleam in my eye, albeit soon to be growing in my belly. As I watched Everett climb the dragon shaped stairs and sit at the top of the slide I kept having flashbacks to Noah doing the same thing. As I watched Noah running and playing on the field...I kept flashing back to my white blond haired 6 year old Landon doing the same thing. And it hit me. Just how fast the time has gone. How much growing up these boys have done. How they have switched places in the blink of an eye.

And then I went to Landon's third grade team practice...the one with the fast paced pitching machine. And I watched as the boys took athletic stances and nice strides into the ball when batting. How tall and old my boy looked out there on the field. And I knew in an instant, that I will blink and it will be my red haired, freckle faced Noey out there on the 3rd grade field. It happens so fast.

As I walked back to my car I couldn't help but breathe in the air and flash back to my days on the field. And how they felt like yesterday. How the sound of the bat against the ball made me automatically want to reach for the ball. It went so fast. Its been 14 years since I was a senior in high school.

And that is when I decided I had to write this down. Because SO often I want to rush my children out of a "difficult" stage. I yearn for more freedom and independence. When the days wear long and the kids are sick, or Everett won't eat, or Noah gets over tired...I see myself just wishing the day to end. But tonight I was reminded of how fast all of these days turn into weeks, and literally in what feels like the blink of an eye...years. How kids change places and grow up while we watch unaware because we are so stuck in the day to day. I don't want to forget. I don't want to wish them grown. The white blond haired Kindergartner turned into my tall, loving, wonderful almost 10 year old overnight. And the red haired, pudgy almost three year old...he turned into my tall, slender mischievous joy boy who can read and do math problems at the speed of light. And that gleam in my eye...he talks and climbs stairs and goes down the slide all by himself straight into my arms and laughs all the way. So much before them. So much behind them. I was reminded tonight...just how fast it goes. And I needed that reminder because the day to day can be wearing. But its the day to day that makes up the living...our life...our memories...and they change in the blink of an eye.

Silenced

I like to write. A lot. It helps me to sort out what I feel inside. And I feel a lot. Too much. I sometimes wish I was one of those people who could just go about life without the inside turmoil that I often feel. But then I wouldn't be me. Which doesn't seem so bad sometimes, depending on how I feel inside. ;-)

But I feel silenced as of late. For awhile I guess. Something happened (obviously) last summer and nothing has been right since. I can't discuss the details of what happened, nor am I ready if I could. For months, I couldn't blog. I had to actually lock my blog as it was an access point for this person. So until I got everything switched over to here and made this blog as anonymous as I could (no personal name, info, etc), there was no blogging. I like blogging better than journaling. I am afraid to journal, literally terrified of what may spill out onto the page. But blogging requires a certain filter and having that in place makes me feel safer and the writing is somehow more therapeutic.

And yet there is so much I need to say. Its not just this person who silenced me. It is the expectations. People expect me to have it together. Always have. And when I don't, it makes me want to hide in shame. Truth is that people don't like messy. When something is wrong, the first question people ask is what happened. We want there to be a cause, a series of events that we can walk through and tie up with a neat bow. But what happens when so many things run together that it all becomes a tangled mess. When up and down appear in the same direction. When you don't have an answer for the question, or when you feel if you even began to try to explain, you would get stuck three words in. Time moves on. People expect us to move. And I have moved. I have always looked for the silver lining. Reframed. Sought to grow. Looked for the lesson. Hoped. I have moved considerably in the past 9 months. In the past year and a half. But the questions were never answered. And its as though they demand an answer because life keeps hammering on and with each defining event the questions echo louder and louder.

But our Christian culture, in particular, doesn't like questions. Questions mean doubt and that scares people. Its a chink in the armor. But is it? Christians have silenced me. Its not about last summer. Its about the deep, raw pain inside that has always been there. Its about the questions that have arisen as life has continued to happen the past 11 years. The questions that cliches just don't touch. That platitudes just make worse. When will we wake up and realize that people are going down all around us? Going down in depression...yes, but also in disbelief, in tradition, in selfishness, in guilt, in fear. When will we choose to be courageous enough to sit with someone who is there? And not feel the need to open our mouths with neat answers when none really exist. When there aren't words or easy explanations. Jesus wept when Lazarus died. He knew He would raise him from the dead, but he still wept. Why? Why didn't he just turn immediately to joy? I think it is because so often to feel the joy, we have to learn to experience the grief. Experience...not just feel, but EXPERIENCE. That takes time. Stop running from it. Stop bandaiding it. If Christians could be honest we would sit down together and say the real stuff: "I am apathetic." "I don't understand where God is in all of this tragedy." "I want to feel loved so badly I am afraid of what I might do." But we don't. We go to church, with this mirage that we are ok. So everyone else does the same. And no one is really real. And when they are, we call them struggling. We should ALL be struggling. Living in this world which we were not meant for, should be a struggle. We see half the picture here. This life is all about the struggle. Admit it. How much encouragement and growth could actually occur if we could just admit this and meet together in this place. People could be real. Instead of fake. You can't deal with fake. It isn't real. We need to learn to speak to real needs. But first we have to stop denying that they exist, or worse, judging those that have them. We judge out of fear. Fear out of what is lurking in our own souls.

I would love to just put it all out there. But experience has taught me to keep my mouth shut. To keep on keeping on with the mirage that it all fits together nicely. People have continuously taught me that they cannot be trusted. Not that everyone lies or gossips. But have you ever asked yourself why it is so difficult to be honest with someone about the reality of your heart? Very few people are able to deal with the reality of a pain filled heart. And those that can...are those that have been there. That stopped denying. That stopped faking it. That asked the difficult questions. That persevered. That aren't afraid of others pain because they know the raw darkness from personal experience. They have been there, so journeying with you through yours doesn't terrify them. They know that the night is darkest before the dawn, but that sometimes the dawn doesn't come when we think it should.

Emotion is not sensationalizing. It is real. It is God-given. No we should not run our lives based upon emotion or feeling. But good grief. Can we please admit that it has a place. Sometimes that place is that it needs to be controlled (anxiety). But its still real. Sometimes that emotion is related to something physical (clinical depression) but the emotions involved with depression are absolutely real...hopelessness, sadness...so real in fact that people describe severe depression/anxiety as absolutely hellish. And how could it not be? Many people experiencing it end their lives rather than enduring another day of it. Pain is absolutely universal. Every single person reading this has experienced pain. Our sources are all different, but at some point they intersect. And that point is where real relationship has the potential to grow into something beautiful.

Stop hiding. Stop judging. Admit and face your own. And then use it...to join someone in the trenches of doubt, fear, hopelessness.

You know why I love people who are "struggling" so much? Because they have the courage to admit it. They are the few who are real. And only when we are real, can anything truly happen. Everything else is just fake. Like most of us. I thank God for the real people in my life, and I hope that I have the courage to continuously admit that I don't have it all together, and that I question, and that I don't understand, and that I have done a lot wrong, and that I have known darkness, and that I fear the judgment of others, and that I am not ok. Its the very fact that we are not ok, that makes us need saving, often from ourselves. Someone offers that saving, but to accept that, we must be real. And to be real we must stop judging everybody else and take a look at what lurks within.

And with that I hit submit...heart pounding, and the safety of silence begins to feel more and more appealing, albeit it incredibly lonely.

Crisis of Faith

So it is no secret that we went through a crisis this summer, and looking back it was as though the event at the end was the crescendo. So many little things led up to it, and then BAM. I had so many deep questions coming into the summer, but going out I was most certainly in a crisis of faith. You know that spot, I am sure. Where nothing seems certain anymore. Where nothing makes sense. Where you feel like you can't voice anything to anyone because they will certainly write you off as a heathen. Or you will cause someone else to stumble because of your own unbelief. So for the most part, you hold it in. Except I had these amazing friends. People that know me so well and that saw past the hurt and the questions and the crisis of faith, to my heart. They encouraged me, loved me, blessed me, talked to me endlessly, cried with me, told me truth in the face of lies, and refused to let me give up on what God had called me to. I will forever be grateful for these people. I want to be what they were to me, to anyone else who is ever in that spot. It was as though they were the hands and feet of Jesus. Really...they made Him feel tangible to me...His love, His mercy, His forgiveness, His grace, His tenacity...all of it.

During that time I listened to truth at every chance I had. Christian music spoke more to me than anything else. One of those dear friends made me a mix cd of songs that she thought were for her, but ended up being meant specifically for me. I have everyone of them memorized. But as I started to come through, I have stopped listening so intently to music. It began to remind me of the person and the season that was last winter, spring and summer. I realized this in the past few weeks. That I had developed an aversion to the very thing that got me through because of its association with the person who put me in that spot. And then I realized that if I let that person take my music, it was just another victory for them. Yet another thing that they stole from me. Because God has always used music to speak to my heart. So I put Pandora on this morning...on the docking station. And I even turned it to the old channel that meant so much in August and September and then grew so cold in October and November and December. I turned it up LOUD, and Everett and I listened all morning. The memories did pour in, but I pushed through. These songs were meant to encourage my heart. And they did.

I remember going through a tough time in high school around the time that Twila Paris's song, "I Will Listen" came out. I think I may have just seriously dated myself, but ah well. Anyway...the lyrics of that song ministered so greatly to my heart during that time. Recently, someone posted about the song on facebook. I had all but forgotten about it. So I jumped on itunes and bought it, and as I listened to it, the words had the same exact effect on me that they had all those years ago.
Hard as it seems standing in dreamsWhere is the dreamer now?Wonder if I wanted to tryWould I remember how?
I don't know the way to go from hereBut I know that I have made my choiceAnd this is where I stand until He moves me onAnd I will listen to His voice
This is the faith, patience to waitWhen there is nothing clearNothing to see, still we believeJesus is very near
I cannot imagine what will comeBut I've already made my choiceAnd this is where I stand until He moves me onAnd I will listen to His voice
Could it be that He is onlyWaiting there to see?If I will learn to love the dreamsThat He has dreamed for me
Can't imagine what the future holdsBut I've already made my choiceAnd this is where I stand until He moves me onAnd I will listen to His voice

See...I am through the crisis, but the wreckage remains. I recently had a dear friend ask me how I came through that crisis of faith because she is in it. I think about her question every day, and have yet to owe her an answer. At the end of the day, I just made a choice. Either Jesus is Who He said He is, or else everything is meaningless. All of it. Everything. I would rather be deemed a fool for believing, than live my remaining years in the hopeless meaninglessness of this life being just about me and my 75 measly living years. So much does NOT make sense. It never will. Which is, I guess why He asks us to have faith "like a child." If we could answer every question, there would be no reason for faith. I know that it is so much more complicated than that...but there is a peace in my soul that God is Who He says He is, in the face of the uncertainty of this world and the confusing, earth shattering, death and dying tragedy that occurs in this world. I don't think God causes it, but I choose to believe that He is in it and over it. I have made my choice. 

Can I encourage you today that if you know someone questioning, or hurting, grieving or in pain, to MEET THEM THERE. Don't lecture them, or inundate them with should's. Support them. Love them. No matter how long it takes. Speak truth in love, but show them tangible grace and mercy and love. In so doing, you may have the awesome privelege of being part of the bridge that crosses the gap for them. No matter where you are today, listen to His voice, in whatever way that comes through for you.

Its Worth It

I had grand intentions of enjoying this pregnancy to its fullest extent. I wanted to cherish it, knowing that barring something totally unexpected, this will most likely be the last time I will ever experience this. I never thought I would be ready to say that, but as the pregnancy sickness started rolling in, the deal was pretty much sealed. I have decided, I just can't do this again. And I don't want to. I feel inexplicable peace with 4. I am SURE I will have baby fever again, but to the greatest extent that I will ever feel done, I feel done. But then again...I am in the throws of barfing...

So yeah, the enjoying went out the window...oh, around a month ago. The first week of being sick (started at 5 1/2 weeks), I tried to talk myself out of it. But after a week of it, and week after week getting a bit worse, I just succombed. I am not enjoying this. I am a slave to food. If I don't eat it, I get sick...but if I do eat, the wrong thing (and I have NO good foods this time), I get sick. I can't even hear Jonathan getting a glass of water without having the urge to gag. So, I am down to drinking white cherry gatorade and cranberry juice. And I fight myself to get those down. I have only lost 2 pounds, but with Everett I was able to gain in the first trimester. I have been hibernating in my home for this entire break and its made this manageable. But the kids go back to school tomorrow, and reality is going to quickly settle in as I start work the week after next. My busiest semester yet. Yeah, I didn't exactly plan this beautifully. But again, I dropped the control aspect, so it is what it is. I am teaching 17 credits this semester, and that includes my first time teaching for Cedarville, online. If your a praying person, I can use the prayer. At this point, I know I WILL do this, but I have no idea how. I have already talked to the school about barf bags hiding outside my classroom, and a closer parking spot. I wish I was kidding. I also wish I was like normal women and this would be over in three weeks. I can't even imagine. I am still holding a shred of hope that it WILL go away after the first trimester, but if my last three pregnancies were any indicator...I am in this for the long run.

The good: I am so thrilled to be pregnant. I know this is a privelege not to take lightly. I also know that this will pass. After 39 weeks, I will get my life back and a precious baby to boot. I am not fighting for my life, and I have the privelege of carrying a life. That is a lot to be thankful for. So I am trying to savor the little moments...like when I wake up in the morning and for the first moment, before I move...I feel nothing. I treasure that minute. Or moments like this picture I just posted on facebook where Everett and I say "Cheers" and knock our squeezable applesauces together while cuddling in my bed. Yes, I wish I could feel better, but for now I am still able to bask in the awe of what my body is doing, and the privelege that I have been given.

So we didn't make it to church today. Instead, we listened to my favorite pastor, Alistair Begg on Truth for Living. He gave a great message on Jacob and his personal encounter with God. Got me thinking. So often when we encounter God, it is NOT a great, amazing experience that we want to live through again and again. Most often, God uses suffering to get our attention. Note, I did not say causes suffering...but uses it. So often, this year I cried out wondering where God was in the events of our lives. It felt like so much was crumbling. And in many ways, I feel like I was on a crash course headed straight for what came my way. So many different things played together to make the awful crescendo that finally occured. We don't know that we are in on the brink of crisis, until that moment when it happens. So often I have gone back in my mind to the moment before I knew what I now know. It was as though I was on a cliff and had no idea that in 2 seconds I would step off. I have debated, sought counsel, and read so many books on the source of pain and suffering. Who causes it, what the purpose is, where God is in it. I decided that Satan meant it all to destroy me. And it almost did. I almost gave up on nearly everything I believed to be true. It was an attack on the core of who God made me to be. For a few weeks, I even decided that I didn't want to care about people anymore. It felt so much safer to only love those closest to me. And that even felt risky. But God showed up. He met me in the darkness. He didn't let that which He gifted me with, to be stolen. But He did prune me. I wrestled with so much (and still do). I wrestled with God. I wrestled with myself. What am I getting at? Well, I am not sure who caused what and how much human free will played into it. But this I am sure: God used it. And He got my attention. And I am different because of 2012. I don't want to relive it. I would do it all VERY differently. But that is because I learned. Pain causes us to move. Jacob came through his struggle with God a changed man. Everyone knew it. He was changed on the inside, but it came at a price. He walked with a limp for the rest of his life. But it was worth the change. And I felt that this morning as I listened to Alistair. I felt that it was worth it. And that, my friends, is huge. If your not there yet, its ok. I needed people to remind me of that when I was in the throes of disaster. Be patient. Your only responsibility is to be obedient. Whatever that looks like in this moment. Moment by moment.
I by no means have this all figured out. I am largely still in the middle of the mess in my head and heart. But I wanted to share the little tidbit of encouragement I received this morning while laying on my couch. After all, its the little things that keep us going...like sharing applesauce with your almost 2 year old while listening to his sweet voice saying, "Cheers Mama!" Yep...its worth it. ;-)