Bits and Pieces - Again

I've had these words in the notes app of my phone for about a month. As December happens and January looms I enjoy the not abnormal activity of reflection. I'd like to be original, but come a new year, I'm not. But as I transferred those notes into my blog it asked me for a title. As I typed the first thing that seemed fitting, I almost laughed. Because "Bits and Pieces" is what I named my original blog, about 2 decades ago. Apparently some things have long lasting impressions. Or maybe, some things I feel about myself come around again. As much as I remember without going back and reading what may be that painful first blog, I've always felt a bit, disjointed. Or that I wanted to share bits and pieces of my life, because I felt like I was different pieces, random at times, joined together in a weird assemblage of a person. Almost 20 years later, I see now how dissociated I could be in unhealth, and how God has been weaving the pieces of me back together. Now for the thoughts.  

I feel like I found a piece or three of myself this year, 2023. I would have thought I could say that previous years, and maybe I did. Or maybe I found some ways to build a path of healing to find these pieces of myself. Maybe I WAS FOUND in ways that allowed that healing by a God who knew where I’d left these pieces all along. 

What pieces did I find? So many. 

~I found some tangible, like the kind that can say “I love growing things” and "I am pretty good at learning to grow things" and "I love growing things" I never knew that before. 

~The piece that does love the change in seasons. The chance to change my focus and my hobbies. The chances to grow and stretch to keep good practices even when the weather changes. 

~The piece that loves to read. Not just to expand my mind, but to enjoy the story and characters. I rediscovered the part of me that loves fiction. But I found a new piece of her, the part of her that doesn’t have to love every part of each story or relate or to stop because it hurts too much. I found someone who can read a book without it destroying her emotionally, because she’s okay emotionally. 

~I found a piece that loves to nourish not just with her baking, but her cooking food. To be brave and try a new recipe. That part still scares her a little, but it also invites courage. 

~I found the piece of me that WANTS to knit and create. The pieces that can have her hands be busy without her mind desperately searching for distraction, dissociation, or numbness. I found creativity a friend again. 

~I found the piece of me that knew I was a hard worker. That can wrangle multiple schedules and jobs and give her whole effort. Who can make new connections and acquaintances. 

~I got to rediscover the big piece of me that loves to be alone. That relishes the quiet and clarity it can bring. I found though that she likes herself now and can’t wait to hang out with herself and God and give space to hear the Spirit in the quiet. 

~I found my voice again, not in writing many words like I thought I would this year, but in listening first, of speaking up when needed, but in humble and thoughtful ways. Definitely not always getting it right, but trying again and again.

~I found my voice as a teacher of God’s word, who needs lots of learning and practice and time, but oh she’s a joy filled and thankful piece. Thankful for church leaders who gave her space and a chance to learn and grow and make mistakes. So much thankfulness and respect for their pieces in my story. 

~I discovered a piece of myself that likes hanging out with teenagers. They’re amazing. Who knew?! 

~I found the pieces of myself that still need so much work, so much more of Jesus in them. And I found that all of me, is okay with that. That I like the process and who I am becoming. That I don’t need perfection right now. That there’s so much space for God to change us when we live in redemption, peace, freedom, and love right now. 

I read a book in 2023 titled "Liturgy of the Ordinary" and while written from a different denominational perspective than I hold, the truths were unmistakable. I read it by listening to the audiobook, and it's on my list of books that were good enough to purchase the paper copy of so I can go back and re-read sections again. The premise and writings based around how all the "ordinary" things we do in our lives, are liturgies. Liturgy by dictionary difference relates to things we do as public worship, but really, anything we do can be worship, even if not in public. Liturgies in church services are things we do every week, or repetitively, like singing, praying, reading scriptures, the Lord's Supper, etc. But our daily lives, making food, cleaning, reading, etc. all can be liturgies too. 
I think that's a bit of the point of things I rediscovered this year, pieces that make me who I am, that add to how I worship and serve God and bring joy to my life and that joy pleases God too. That everything we do, including rest, are worship for God. I'm leaning into what a sabbath actually means for us, and I keep coming back to the words of Jesus from Mark 2:27
“The Sabbath was made for man and not man for the Sabbath." 
I don't have it exactly right, I'm just learning, but I'm seeing rest as a gift from God, and we'd do well not to ignore it. 

January is now half over, but I love what Emily P. Freeman says "January is the new week between Christmas and the new year". I think most of us can imagine that place of "in between" we often feel in the week between December 25th and January 1st. We are relaxed and out of schedule and yet life goes on and we feel the anticipation of a new year. Emily's premise is take the time, don't rush the reflection, we're not behind. I love that. We don't have to have it all figured out in January, or even July. So many of the pieces I discovered weren't just in January, one or two even solidified in December. So as we start this year, I hope to be alert, to start habits that will last more than a year, and to really lean into Sabbath rest. To be open to finding more pieces, and embracing the ones that are given by God.   

To Everything There is a Season

     How does one greet someone who feels like an old dear friend who you have shared some of your most formative thoughts and experiences with, but haven't been close to in several years? There's so much history and intimacy shared, yet the space of time has left gaps, missed moments, and stories untold. Whatever the answer, that's how I feel about this space. I shared so much at pivotal times of my life, when writing was my outlet and way to process all that God was doing and all that was happening in my life. It would be futile and exhausting to try to "catch up" in this space to fill in all that has happened in the past years. Yet, they are so important to the story, my story, God's story in me. So what to do? 

    When my kids went back to school this September, and my youngest went to Pre-K three mornings a week, I thought I'd dedicate so much time to writing and reflection. The title for this post was started on Sept. 19. Now it's October 26 and I'm just now actually writing. Oddly I don't have a thought or subject just burning to get out. But I know to be a writer I simply need to write. Words are rarely at a loss either way. I'll just dive in and be okay with imperfection and less than riveting material. 

    Seasons. I used to love them. I probably still do. But this year, seasons have held all the conflicting things at once. They've held nuance, and glaring changes, slow steady rhythms, and quick hurried changes. I spend the spring and early summer planning on writing about the many lessons to be learned from planting a garden, annual flowers, and perennial plants. There were many lessons God worked in my heart as I dug in the dirt, tried new things, hoped for life, both in my plants and my own soul. You see, this last year, well more than a year now, was so full of anxiety for me. I didn't know what the root was. It took a dark and ugly turn in December, right at Christmas of course, and I spent weeks, months even, desperately seeking answers, healing, and change. I felt so many feelings. Failure and shame tried to be dominant ones. Why was someone who had chased healing and health in the Spirit so relentlessly the past few years suddenly battling crippling anxiety? Why was picking my son up from school enough to make me fight a panic attack? Why was the simple act of going away for a fun family weekend at Bible camp causing me the worst panic attack I'd ever experienced and horrific physical and emotional issues? I didn't have answers. I continued to go to counseling, even more often, I sought spiritual wisdom from my mentors, physical relief from Dr.'s and chiropractors, and read everything I could get my hands on about anxiety on all levels. And yet, nothing "healed" me. 

    As spring approached I got outside as much as I could. The very act of digging in dirt and planting things brought momentary relief. And I realized, as hopeless as I'd felt in the past 5 months, I wasn't. Here I was hoping that things I planted would survive and bring me future joy. Maybe, just perhaps, if I could find some hope in this, there was hope for my weary soul. I kept hoping for immediate healing. Yet, this summer God worked in my heart and revealed to me that I hadn't actually asked. I'd asked others to pray, I'd asked for help and wisdom and answers, but I hadn't out loud asked God to heal me. It took much more courage and humility than I thought I would need to do so, but with the insight of some mentors who love me, I finally asked God to heal me. I can't say it was immediate, but what did change was a realization of how God felt towards me. I've been running, crawling, inching and fighting towards true healthy relationship with God the past few years. So many lies and trauma and abuse in my relationship with God from others and the enemy affected so much. But after this season, which I finally can believe was just a season, albeit a painfully long one, I can truly say I'm closer than I've ever been to a really harmonious true view of God and how he views me. 

    Anxiety took a load of work to deal with this year, as I've shared, on all fronts. And as the seasons outside changed yet again, I found myself unready. Fall is usually my favorite, I look forward to cooler temps, sweaters, warm mugs, and the reflection that often comes with it all. But this year, I was dreading it, crabby at the slowing growth in my beloved plants, and seriously annoyed at frost warnings. I ached for the familiarity of my morning coffee (decaf now thanks to caffeine affecting my anxiety) spent on the side of my garden with my Bible and journal at the ready. The daily walks through my flowers checking stalks to see what was ready to be cut and grace my table and our home with their beauty. I missed the imaginative plans for next year and what I'd grow, while still enjoying the fruits of this year. If spring brought hope, fall was bringing dread and longing. 

    As the weeks have continued to get colder and days shorter, God has kept working in my heart. I'm still excited for next spring, but I'm reminded God works in the "resting". In fact, despite my outdoor workings this spring and summer, that's all this year has felt like. Like I have to rest. Physically, anxiety required more sleep and less pushing and hustling. Emotionally, I kept digging and working hard, but this time it looked like waiting on God to reveal what needed his healing and my attention. I felt I'd learned the immense value of what God designed rest to be to us. How all our striving can't bring about as much of God's work as our resting in him. And yet, here I was, finding myself fighting and resisting these physical representations of rest that the natural world was bringing me. Perhaps God has had more to teach me. 

    Anxiety has taken a rest lately. A new and less physical medication has helped, but before that even, my soul was slowly coming back to a less anxious life. Many hours of EMDR and seeking God's face helped I know. And some of it, maybe unexplainably, was just God. Allowing me to slowly come back to a new and better life. One where I know deep in my being, God just wants me, not all I can do or felt I should do. Just a relationship with me. Out of that alone, a relationship with my loving heavenly father, can a life of peace come. For HE alone is my peace. More on that another time. 

    A beautiful theologian I adore (I hate that I have to qualify it with the fact she's a woman) has written about God's abundance. And produced a t-shirt I know wear when I need reminders. It reads "May His abundance never scare you" (linked there). She says it so much better than I ever could, but basically, we've been trained to see God in the hard stuff, and wow does he work in the hard stuff, but he is also a GOOD God who loves us and works in his abundance as well. I'm leaning into that currently. I feel I've spent my adult life always waiting for the other shoe to drop. That if there was a "good season", suffering was always close behind it. Maybe that's why I dreaded fall this year. I was scared God wouldn't still meet me, inside my house as the cold rages outside instead of next to tangible reminders of growth and hope. Maybe God would bring back the anxiety that crippled me last winter. And maybe, maybe he won't. Our good seasons where we experience God's abundance and generosity do not have to be filled with fear of "the other shoe" dropping. I don't know the plans of God, but I know his heart. He is a good God full of blessing and relationship for me, for us. NO matter the outside season, there is a new season in my heart. One of deeper relationship with God, and leaning into his abundance, even if that abundance is in the midst of struggle. Fear can go to hell, and shame can go there to (to quote a worship song I just discovered). 

    I don't know what this fall holds, but I hope it holds more writing, more leaning into my kids faces as we share laughter over some silly antic, more warm mugs with friends discussing God's works, more knitting maybe, more hopes and dreams for the next season of growth, more hand holding with my beloved husband, more laughter over meals with friends, and more peace. I pray my peace continues to find it's strength from God, who is my peace. 

Ten Years of June 21st

        June 21st matters. For ten years I either dread it, or I forget until a day or two before and feel caught off guard. This year was the latter. 

        I've been fairly forthcoming about our story of infertility and multiple miscarriages. Most days of the year I'm thankful for the story God has written and the way he's woven our lives for his glory, and how he's pursued me with unending and unfathomable love. But 3 days a year, I don't care very much. All the growth, pain, heartbreak and heart-mending, the person I am today because of it all, I would willingly trade it all on these 3 days, just to hold my babies. June 21st is one of these days. 

        Today, I would trade all that God has done just to know who my babies could have been. To memorize their faces I've never seen, the curve of their jaw, the texture of their hair, the color and depth of their eyes, the long lashes they're sure to have, the button nose they've all inherited from me. To hold them and know their smell and the feel of their weight in my arms. 

        It's been 10 years since we learned we were expecting again, after infertility, one miracle premature son, and a miscarriage that almost destroyed my heart and body. I begged my Dr. for weekly visits, just until we passed "that point". She was willing. I saw and heard a heartbeat on the screen, I started to hope and to breath. Then another visit, thank God Andrew was with me. The Dr. struggled to find the heartbeat we'd seen a week before. "Let's try an internal ultrasound". She left the room so I could change and I just looked at Andrew. "I can't do this again" I whispered, so scared. But we would. Because not only could she not find the heartbeat that should have been there, but she found two tiny bumps of our babies, both heartbeats gone, but there had been two. We talked about options and how long and painful my previous miscarriage had been. Both she and Andrew wanted to spare me that pain and since my body wasn't showing signs yet, surgery was scheduled. 

        I spent the night before barely sleeping, fitful and awake so often. I was waffling between feeling like God doubly answered my prayer to get pregnant with these twins, with severe disbelief he'd let us experience this again. I wanted to express all my doubts and anger and hurt, but I clung to faith. If I had enough faith I'd make it, I was sure. The song "Blessings" by Laura Story was newly popular right then, and all night when I'd wake, the lyrics would run through my mind. "What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know you're near?...What if you're blessings come through raindrops, what if you're healing comes through tears?" I clung to the hope these words were true, but my body and soul knew I hadn't experienced all the breaking yet, so how could I even begin to heal? 

        June 21, 2011 was stormy and rainy. When I awoke after surgery, I was already sobbing. My body was grieving before my mind was even present. There are so many private and personal details to this story that I could share, but they're mine. And that's how I've felt about these babies for so long. When someone would bring them up without asking, would express their grief, I feel as though I'm being robbed of the respect or chance to express my grief. For too many years, I thought to be truthful to God about my anger, hurt, and loss, would betray any faith I had. Through more living children, another miscarriage, more trauma, and a lot of counseling, I've learned that's not true.

        I can believe God is faithful, trustworthy, good even, and still not understand and have hurt and anger. They are not exclusive. I can express my humanity, how broken and grieving I am, while expressing his deity, how good and faithful and worthy of praise he is.  

        But 3 days a year, I just grieve. I tend to feel crabby and angry. I still don't always know why. I know I'm grieving more than my babies. I'm grieving the aloneness I felt at that time in our lives. The situations I was in that made me feel as though I had to heal, trust God, be okay, be a testimony, and move on, before I'd ever actually felt the weight of my loss. I grieve how people who should have asked how I was doing and acknowledged our loss, just ignored it. I grieve how friends who'd experienced what I had tried to help, but I was determined to express faith, believing faith and pain (which must be distrust) couldn't co-exist. I grieve that I know without losing these babies, I wouldn't be who I am today. I wouldn't know the love of God in such an intimate way if I had not walked through the valley of the shadow of death. That depression, anxiety, anger, trauma, repressed trauma, and all the pain I kept stuffed inside, would one day almost kill me, and then it would save me by God's rescue. 

        Every Mom and Dad who have lost a child is different. We all grieve differently. I would never claim my story is someone else's. But today, 10 years after the day our twins were gone, I don't know if I'll ever be "okay". I don't think I'll never not answer the question "how many kids do you have?" without hesitating. I don't want to burden others, but I'll never forget the real answer is 8, not 4. I don't know if one of these anniversaries will ever not affect me. And I'm learning to be okay with that. I'm okay not being okay. 

    

        I like things wrapped up in a tidy bow, but this story isn't. Oh, there are amazing and beautiful answers and changes and healing. God as I know him today is so much bigger and more loving than the God I was clinging to 10 years ago. I know now he can handle my grief, my unbelief that he'd allow this yet again, my feelings of unfairness and jealousy to those who've lost children they've met and go to see their faces. Pain isn't and shouldn't be comparable, but we like to do it anyway. I know I can believe the sign that hangs on my wall "And if not, HE IS still GOOD" and also cry over all I have lost. I know I can be sad today, can speak their names to my other children, and still be thankful for what I have and who I am.  

         It took years, but we named our twins. You can argue theology all you want, but I firmly believe our children are in heaven with God. I don't think it matters the genders we assign them here and whether they're babies, their "earth years" old, or adults automatically in heaven. What I do believe, is the Holy Spirit knows our pain. He bears witness with our spirits and prays for us when we can only groan in agony. I also believe he gives good gifts, and he's still active and moving in powerful ways in God's children. I believe he's given me thoughts, visions, pictures, whatever you want to call them, as a comfort for what my human mind can understand. So, we named our twins as boys last year. Samuel and Josiah. Samuel can be translated to mean "God has heard", and Josiah means "God has healed (or saved)".  

        These two boys' lives and deaths broke me in ways I'll never be able to articulate or fully grasp. Their names give evidence to God's answered prayer, hope that in begging for a baby, God heard and gave us two. And their names give evidence that God healed them in their deaths. They will never experience pain or tears again. And God saves. He saved them, but also me. God used their lives and death to allow me to break in ways that wouldn't be let out for years to come. But even today, their stories save me. Save me from being comfortable here on earth. Their lives and their sisters' lives leave me longing for heaven. Not just to meet them, but to know God in the way they have always. To be so enraptured with the God who loves me and wiped away my sin, that the hurt of my children will no longer matter.  

        Today I tell you all this, and then I weep. Weep for the boys faces I will never memorize, personalities I can only imagine when I look at their brothers, and bodies I will never hold on this earth. I grieve and miss them. I can rage at God for taking them. And then I rest, in God who loves me as much as he loves them, who can let them see their family remembers, has never ever forgotten, and can hold me and fill me with his love and peace. It all doesn't make sense humanely, and today the pain brings the tears. But instead of doubting secretly the God I want to cling to because what else is there, I say "I don't get it, but I know you. Papa, you are good and your love for me is bigger. So, I trust you and I cry."  It's a tension I think I'll walk and live in until I die. The tension of trust and pain, hurt and not understanding, of my heart being here in the 4 children who I hold in my arms and my heart longing for heaven and the God who holds my 4 children there. 

This song has always had meaning for me, but today this line is my anthem: 
                            "Such a short time, such a long road, all the madness, 

                    but I know, the silence has brought me to HIS voice" 

It was such a short time I carried our boys, and this road has been longer than I ever dreamed. So I choose, to let it keep bringing me to God's voice, to his heart, love and comfort. 

Am I weak, strong, a quitter?

As I mentioned in my previous post, I recently took the "StrengthsFinder" assessment for my current class. What I found intriguing, beyond all the valuable information and insight into myself, was the information they shared about strengths in general. Did you know that it's proven research that we try to often fix or strengthen our weaknesses by focusing on them? But that's been proven to be VERY ineffective. However, when we focus on our strengths and work on growing even more in them, then both our strengths and weaker areas are both strengthened?

I haven't been able to shake that fact. It makes sense in almost every area of life. My parenting for example, how motivated are my kids to change when I critique and "fix" everything they do? I'm not saying we never correct or discipline our kiddos, there is a place for boundaries and consequences when you cross them. If I'm seeking to get my kids to clean their room or do their homework or be kind, it's pretty ineffective to motivate them negatively. But it's generally what I default to. I think we all do at times, especially those from the church culture that taught "you do what you're told because you were told to do it". I agree obedience needs to happen at times without knowing why, this is what helps kids from running into the street when we yell "STOP!". I do however believe there's way more beauty than we realize in explaining reasoning to our kids and helping them learn why we believe or do things.

It is our privilege and perhaps biggest responsibility, outside of sharing Christ with our children, to speak life and truth into them about their identity. They are not our carbon copies. Even the one who seems SO MUCH like us that it's almost painful, they are their own different person. And God has made them unique and beautiful and full of amazingness. One of my biggest regrets in parenting already is being so hard and controlling with our oldest when he was a toddler/preschooler. I was so afraid of so many things, one of them being a "bad mom" and having him out of control, that I responded so far the opposite way. I tried to control his every emotion and feeling, and in so doing, not allow to have any I couldn't handle. What I've learned since, is that I can't. I can't control my children and they ARE too much more. Because I am a weak human with my own hurts still healing. My emotions feel too much for me a lot of days. That doesn't mean our feelings are not valid however. What I want to walk into as a Mom is speaking truth about my children to them. About how amazing and beautifully they are created by God.

Which leads me to a slight rabbit trail...When did our Christian culture take on such a twisted view that to compliment the creation is to instill pride? Instead of seeing that when we acknowledge the beautiful ways God made us and the amazing gifts he's given us, that we are giving him glory? If all creation cries out to the wonder of the creator, that includes us! I don't look at the beauty of a tree to tell the tree it's so amazing by itself. No, I remark at how beautiful God's created it to be in all it's splendor. Why do we doubt that we will as sinful humans not act as the redeemed children of God we are (or can be) and not point back to God? I can give my friend a compliment on her peace that she is exuding, and my other friend her beautiful way of leading in worship without instilling a prideful thought in them. It's literally saying "Thank you for using the gifts God has given you. He's made you a beautiful reflection of his glory". Oof anyway. Back to parenting.

I want to be a Mom who helps my children see the amazing gifts and strengths they have. To help them excavate them. So yes, sometimes I need to teach a skill, like cleaning their rooms, and taking joy in organization. But I can do it while telling them what great gifts to see how to do that they have. Not lying, but finding the good in what they can do. They will be SO much more willing to do it then. And I can work alongside them. I thoroughly enjoy "mundane" tasks in my life so much more when my husband or a friend is alongside me sharing the burden or just talking me through it. I can at times do the same to my children.

What about our spouses and friends? What if we call out their strengths and call out their worth when challenging them? We could literally change the world. My life has been changed the last few years by some dear people who know a lot of my ugly and struggles calling out and speaking truth into me. Even when I couldn't believe it, they believed it for me and kept speaking it until I could believe. Which leads me to 2 Corinthians 12:9-10:

9 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 10 For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

The truth is, God has given me strengths, but oh I feel so weak. I can choose to speak the truth to myself, to others, but there are days I just don't believe it, or I have nothing left. I know the truth is that God is working and has already done great work. That everyday I am stronger in Him and who I am in Him. But there are still many moments when I am beyond weak and disqualify myself. When I just want to quit. I hit a major scheduling mishap with my plan to graduate with my bachelor's degree in May of '21 this month. The program had cut a learning track and with that had displaced my academic plan and I was 2 classes short. I couldn't see a solution and had to wait on my adviser and department head and a less than ideal hopeful plan. Wait. It's not in my control. I didn't want to wait. I wanted to throw in the towel. I'm sacrificing, my family is sacrificing, and it might not even happen "right". Nope, just be done. This made me realize how often quitting is my first instinct. This person hurt me? Walk away. My child is frustrating? Put them in time out versus talking them through it. My husband and I aren't communicating well? Quit the conversation and push him away. OUCH. Quitter. That's not a label I ever realized I was carrying. Then I read those verses, and God whispered, "Just because you feel weak doesn't mean you are when you go to me for your strength. Just because you often want to quit doesn't mean you're a quitter." And he's right (duh). I am NOT that label. I am NOT a quitter. When school is hard I keep trying. I keep emailing my adviser and getting answers. When misunderstanding and hurts with a friend happen I choose to press in and apologize and resolve. When my child is having big emotions and I blow up? I go apologize and hold them. When my husband and I aren't communicating well? I start talking, even when it's hard. I choose to press in and stick with it. Or I'm trying anyway. Because I'm not a Quitter.

I am weak, so weak. Right now I feel weak in many areas. The tears seem on the brink quite often. I feel stuck in waiting and the pain of growing. And that's okay. It will all be worth it. I am weak so that He is strong. And HIS strength makes me strong. I am STRONG. I do NOT quit what I need to stick with. I hear Him and obey his voice and welcome the calamities that make me even stronger in Him.

What about you? What label is the enemy trying to give you today, or has perhaps made you believe for too many years of your life? What does God say about that? Will you ask him today? Will you bring your weakness and labels to him and ask him for HIS truth? The Spirit is waiting, waiting to speak truth to our souls when we don't know it. And find a friend, find a person who will speak truth to you until your heart believes it and can sing along. Know you are loved friend. In our weakness He can shine. You're right where He can use you. Strong, weak, pressing in.

This Writing Thing

The internet is a crazy place. I found myself staring at this white blankness for a few minutes pondering how to start. Do I re-introduce myself back to this inanimate soulless piece of cyberspace? Or to the potential people who might actually read it? Or simply start anew? When did the internet become this void of expanse that doesn't really exist but makes our words reality? Just some philosophy for you today.

It's been almost 3 years since I last posted. My world got smaller and more private with the birth of our 4th child. Malachi Jonathan joined our family on October 8, 2017, overdue and our biggest baby at 9lbs 9oz. I hesitate to say completing our family because God's bigger than our plans and goals. But perhaps saying completing our biological family.

The path I've been walking since his birth has too many twists, turns, and stories to give you a summary here. I hope they will come out in the days to come. Because I need to be here, writing, sharing, maybe over-sharing, and pouring my heart out.

I hid from vulnerability in the "public" eye so much in the past 3 years. Fear, trauma, hurt, more fear. No more. This week, something has changed.

A little note if you don't know me, last July/August God seemed to move in my heart and make it plain I needed to finish my 4-year bachelor's degree. So since the beginning of October I've been taking classes through Bethel University for a degree in Christian Ministries. I said and have said, I don't know what I'll do with it, but God does. This is just obedience to the next right thing. The classes are designed for adult undergraduates, so they are set up in 5 week block classes of one 3-credit class at a time. Not going to lie, it's super intense. It's exhausting. I feel inadequate and weak most days. But I love it. I love learning and growing. Especially about God and myself.

In my current class, we had to take the "StrengthsFinder" assessment. In short it's a large set of questions that help you specifically know your top 5 "Strengths", of which there are 34. It's developed by Gallup and very sound and accurately tested and used worldwide. I find it fascinating how these 5 strengths could also compare to a Spiritual gifts inventory, your Meyer-Briggs types, and the Enneagram. It's all fascinating stuff to someone with a strength of "intellection" like myself. Basically we like to think about thinking. So much of my life makes sense now in an almost humorous way.
My top 5 strengths if you're curious (and I hope you are), were Empathy, Intellection, Developer, Connectedness, and Restorative. Diving deep into some of these provided me some really interesting info, and a new perspective of looking at myself. I've been learning to see the beauty and gifts God has put in me as they truly are. One caution in the Restorative and even in the other strengths, is that I can be VERY self-critical in my introspection. This is very true. I give more grace to others than myself. In being very hard on myself and holding myself to a standard of perfection however, I can come off as if I'm holding others to those standards as well. When I'm really not meaning to or having a heart that way. If I truly believe God made me as unique and special as he says, I need to start treating myself as such. Which means the truth needs to win.

Another intriguing thing about my 5 strengths that led me back here, is that no less than 3 of them talked about how writing is not just a good outlet, but an essential element to my processing, learning, growing, and even teaching. All 5 in fact, talked about how words carry weight and importance and are a gift.

So why did I stop writing? I'll be honest, fear is a big one. Fear and confusion. I've worked through some things in the past 2 years that I'll probably get into in the future. One being anxiety attacks caused by stuffing so much internally rather than dealing with it. I have felt super messy. As I described recently, I feel like my entire world is a snowglobe, and someone has just picked it up and shaken it so hard that everything is still spinning and I don't know what's up or down or right or true anymore. But I'm learning and trusting. Learning to trust God again and more fully. So my words need to come again. With them probably fear I need to battle of not getting it all right or being misunderstood. This time I think that's not the point though. I truly choose to believe God's gifted me with words, and I need to use them. For myself, and for others. I pray my meager offerings here will be a blessing not just to my own soul, but to yours.

So here I am. Beth. Wife of almost 14 years, Momma to 4 living kiddos, now ages 2-10. A student again. A bit lost and not sure of the future. But firmly planted again on the one who's always been my foundation. God is my first love, and the lover of my soul. I pray He is evident in all I say and do.

Thanks for hanging out with me, I think you can "subscribe" or some thing to never miss a post. :) I love conversation, so I'd love comments too. Let's see where God takes us.

Erasing Maternity?!

I find myself with a few "kid free" hours this morning and my heart turns again and again to this crazy frustration I'm feeling on a daily, almost hourly basis lately.

I am 24 1/2 weeks pregnant with our 4th living child. I take every 1/2 week I can count. Because it's been a long 20+ weeks already. And our prayer for God to not choose to have us have another premature baby becomes more impassioned everyday as we draw closer to that mark when my water broke with Levi (our oldest).

Even this morning I found our baby being fairly still and I started poking my expanding belly to encourage baby to move to make sure everything was "okay". After 3 miscarriages of 4 babies that fear never really fully subsides. I find myself holding my breath while walking in faith that God will bring this baby to us to raise and to love for a long time, not just weeks. But we're never promised forever. In the Book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible, chapter 3, the very one that talks about "A time to mourn, a time to rejoice", we find this verse:

11 He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. 

God has placed eternity into our hearts. We were made for another world, not just this passing one. The 70-100 years we hope for and expect on this earth are so fleeting. The older I get the more I realize how true it is what adults tried to tell us when we were young. "It goes so fast." But the days of raising small children who NEED YOU what feels like every second of every day make those days feel so very very very long. But the saying is also true that "The days are long, but the years are short." I look at my 7 and half year old who's legs are getting longer as his face concentrates so hard on learning a new cursive letter or reading his next chapter or creating his next lego or magnet masterpiece and I realize how not very long ago he was my tiny 4 pound preemie who we prayed would take his next breath. And then we blinked.

So this baby is longed for, prayed for. We beseeched God in the Spring of 2016 about the look of our family. What He would have it look like. Was it complete? Was He done? I wrote before that the answer that came back was No. We weren't "complete". So we prayed and tried and saw Dr's (because fertility never comes easily for us) and held our breath when the pregnancy test read positive, and held it again when the ultrasound didn't look great and we were told to come back the next week. Then I cried and we prayed for grace as the next week we learned this baby wouldn't be joining our family on this earth, but rather our already 3 given over babies in Heaven. And we trusted that God was still GOOD. I wrote back in September I believe about this. And IF NOT, He is still GOOD. And He was and is. That has never changed.

So we continued to walk in trembling and faith. That the answer we'd prayed for was still true. If our family wasn't complete, we needed God's grace. In January I was so discouraged because it would seem that again God wouldn't be adding to our family. Except this time I was wrong. Dates never matter in my pregnancies, and God in HIS timing gave us a positive. And again I held my breath. Believing and wanting it to not be in vain, that this was going to be a baby we got to hold on earth, not just in our hearts until Heaven. The weeks passed, the ultrasounds showed a strong heartbeat and a growing baby. And my heart sung as my stomach heaved and my spirit weakened.

Because while previous pregnancies I had until at least 7 or 8 weeks along before the low blood sugar and incredible nausea took over my life, this time by 5 weeks when some women don't even know they're expecting, I was fighting every day to keep food in and be a functioning human being. Never have I been more thankful for a husband who is an involved Dad who can take over the moment he walks in the door. We were both walking through this.

Andrew and I just celebrated our 11th anniversary last week, and as we went and shared a meal together, we reflected as we often do on this occasion on the last year of our marriage. Taking an account if you will, of the year. Some years this can be discouraging and we strive for better. This year as we talked through the grief, and the faith, and the hardship and sickness, we summed it up as being a "better year". Because even though the outward circumstances pulled and pushed at us, we were walking in the faith that the God who called us hadn't left us, so we pulled together and faced it all as a team. Mostly. Marriage is a war after all. A war against all that would divide us. Against the grace and love we seek to shower on each other every day.

So 24+  weeks into this pregnancy I've finally so far stopped puking, stopped wondering if the next bite of food will help or hurt, stopped mentally just having to fight to function and provide a meal and clean clothes for my family. I don't avoid many texts and phone calls from people or friends who need me because I have zero and even less to give. The depression and fog is lifting I pray. People thought by 14 weeks I'd be "getting there". That wasn't God's plan. After a year and more of seeing God move mightily and grow my faith and person and spirit, it was depressing and discouraging to be left clinging for a bit of a piece of God when mentally I didn't even have the strength to pursue Him. When I was left feeling guilty because the energy to even open my Bible was too much and I didn't know how or where to meet Him. Except church. We'd go to worship on a Sunday morning and the presence of the Spirit would overwhelm me, that I was seen and held and loved. That the Father saw me and loved me and planned this road and had not abandoned me. That I could trust and just walk in it. The journey mattered as much as the outcome. Those Sundays became a lifeline and a lot of tears for me.

It's amazing how when you're walking in something, you don't even realize how dark it can be. Now as I'm feeling "more normal" again, I see how dark it was. How God sent angels in disguise to watch my kids or just listen to my whining and frustrations. Who didn't have to understand to be there. Who rejoiced over our little ones life even when I questioned why it had to come at such a high cost to me. I've dealt with Post-Partum (after baby) depression before, but this depression IN pregnancy was so overwhelming. How could I be so distraught and discouraged and just barely functioning when we prayed and longed for this life so much? How could I almost resent and wish it away when I would be devastated if that happened? Depression and anxiety are ugly ugly tools of the evil one, and my compassion and prayers for those who deal with this on a daily lifelong basis have only increased. Because in it I couldn't even explain how dark it was to others. Only pray and hope for another day and another bit of grace. And grace to forgive my self-condemnation and what felt like selfishness.

Maternity and Motherhood is a curious and amazing thing. Our bodies are created by God to create and nourish this life, that starts as just a few joined cells, and so quickly becomes an unmistakeable whole person growing in us. God didn't give this to men, this task, but to women. And the evil one, Satan, in all his scheming and wiles, fights this miracle of life every step. From obvious death and stealing life like the thief he is, to resentment from unwed or unplanned parents, to a skewed view of the sacrifice being a parent really entails.

Our secular and even our Christian culture has bought into the lies that parenthood doesn't have to change us. That sacrifice doesn't have to be part of the story. That we as mothers should have these "fit and healthy and stylish" pregnancies that make it almost impossible to see the affects of pregnancy. And for some women, this is possible, while possibly mentally damaging. I could go on and on about the lies in our culture (again, even Christian) that our bodies are so important. We talk in church about "being a temple for God". We talk about our health and how important it is to be "in shape" to really glorify God.

But let's consider for a moment while our health and being active is vitally important, mentally and physically, it should never lead us down the road of our "temples" becoming and "Idol".

I get it. I learned to run when our 3rd child was 3 months old. The next year I pushed my body and mind to great lengths to run a half-marathon. A goal I thought would be satisfying and final. But almost the moment it was done I was mourning the 4 extra minutes it took me beyond my goal and hope. And I let those 4 minutes define me, no matter how I denied it. I strove to get faster, to be a little "better". I found a new running partner, another Mom to push me. Running stopped being about the run and about the appearance or goal. Which we achieved. Together she and I ran a 10k that fall in a time faster than I'd hoped. And I was left feeling angry and disappointed in the coming months. My running tapered off as we got busy (remember those 3 kids?) and I was tired of feeling like a fat failure. Because running 10's of miles a week didn't make the pounds shed off. The change in diet helped a bit, but I was still left with this flubber of a tummy that made me dread going out in public. I talked big, I said it didn't matter or whatever. I don't even know, but inside, it defined me. I stopped working out so much because I hated who I had become. Not in body, but in spirit and attitude. I FOUGHT it defining me. And then the miscarriage and all that physically entails. I would still go do some workouts, but I had taken a step back. Because why? I know how pregnancy affects me. If God was to answer our request with a "yes", I knew I wouldn't be this "stylish" pregnant woman.

I'm smiling as I type because even this week I've gotten asked how much longer and those sympathetic "oh you poor dear" looks when they learn I'm not quite into my 3rd trimester yet. But what I've learned in these past 20 weeks of sickness and despair is this.
I'm so much more. I'll run again Lord willing. I won't shed a ton of weight even in that first year if God allows me to nurse and nourish this baby. But that will be who I am. What this body is now, a life source to this baby.

I am going to turn 32 years old in about 5 weeks. I'm "young" by some standards, but my body feels  a bit old. I feel the affects of carrying 4 babies this far, and 4 others for a few months inside me. I feel the affects of being a "bigger girl" who doesn't always have the mental energy to make the best eating habits. I feel the war and the struggle to find balance and the scars that has left on my mind and spirit. How I again and again war against the grain and say "NO! This lie of our culture isn't going to define me!" And then break down an hour later when I see a photo of my pregnant body that is so round and my face which has grown and I beg my husband to just affirm me.

But here's the rub. I have zero control. I could have forced and dragged my body to the gym everyday of this pregnancy. And had spent all the energy I had so that there was none left for my children. I could have guilted my heart and mind when people would say "oh have you tried ginger or this or that?". But I laugh even now. I've tried everything, homeopathic and medicinal. Drugs and herbs. And  I finally accept this was my path. I was NOT going to feel good except for those few days God extended grace to my body to function off the couch after 3pm. And it is OKAY. These 9 months, hopefully 40 weeks are so fleeting. They felt like those "long days" we talk about, but in reality are a "short year". And it's worth it. The toll on my body and mind and spirit is so worth the struggle and sacrifice, to meet this little person God has designed for us.

Am I working on being active now that "normal" is a little more attainable? Yes, but to have the strength to parent the 3 children I can see, and the strength to deliver this one who makes breathing so hard these days. And I rejoice, over a husband who never pressures or condemns, just holds me through it. I rejoice over the look of wonder and exhileration on my 7 and 5 year old children's faces as they feel their sibling kick their hand super hard through my swollen belly. I am thankful, that even though my hands and feet are swollen like never before (It's taken to this 4th baby to be so pregnant in the hot summer thankfully), I have a wedding ring given in love to take off and wait for the day it can be worn again as I hold our baby.

And I'll continue the mental fight. Now and until death. Because today I can say easily "it's okay" This body was designed for this, and it comes at a cost. But tomorrow when the girl due 2 weeks after me and half my size walks by I know my spirit will take a beating again. But then I look at my 5 year old daughter, and I think to myself "How do I want her to view motherhood and pregnancy?" Like an inconvenience? A period of time to wish away and say "I'll lose it after baby so fast with hard work." I'll count calories and use oils and see a plastic surgeon and erase it all? My heart would break. Because I know if God gives the gift of motherhood to my precious Emelia, I'll look on her and her growing and changing body with love and wonder and be so excited to hold my precious grandchild her body has grown by God's grace. So why not extend that grace to myself?

So I come before you today and share this video (at the end of the post) that I found last week, from a secular source, (one or two harsher words in it, be warned) that so exemplifies how God I think views pregnancy and maternity and motherhood. "Maidenhood" as she calls it in the video, is something our culture wants to stay in or regain longer and longer. We view it as a standard of beauty. But I'm joining her voice, to decree that Motherhood and all it's scars and changes is what we rejoice in. If this is the path God has laid our for me or you or anyone, I will gladly embrace the sacrifice. The sacrifice that means sometimes my child's heart needs to be nurtured more than my run needs to be had or my dinner needs to be 5 courses of "health". That somedays motherhood means I NEED TO GO RUN, to be a good Momma, but some days, I need to stay, to be a good Momma.

There is no balance until Heaven. But I'm done. I'm done trying to erase what Motherhood has brought me. Because God is good, and He's given us this life, and I ache for it to be in my arms.

Mental health stigma needs to end. Our mental health sometimes defies our physical health. They go hand and hand and war at each other at the same time. ANYTHING that consumes us is unhealthy. The run or weight lifted needs to bring me closer to sanity and more of Jesus and the work He's doing in me, instead of consuming me. It needs to be a tool alone. I've got a running goal in the future years still. But this time? I'm praying I'll do it for the love of having done it. My times be what they are. That they won't define me, but rather the joy of doing and being with people who love to run be a goal.
Levi (7 1/2) reminded me this week that about a year or year and a half ago he ran 2 miles with me. And I remember that run, I pushed him a bit, because I wanted to keep my time up, but I was so proud of him. And what he remembers is the doing with me. That's my new goal. To run with my kids, to be a family who does together. And my time be in the trash. I don't care if it's a 10 minute mile or 15 minute mile. It will be done in love. That's the prayer.

Because if this push and this self-hatred of a body that's given life to 4 children continues, it will destroy me. I started following this encouraging Instagram account the past few weeks "Take back postpartum" and this quote this week resonates with me.

"loving yourself to health is not the same as hating yourself to skinny" -january harsh

The Creator of life created me, and this little one I carry. And that is what I take joy and pleasure in. And find my thankfulness in. We are His masterpiece. And I will no longer wish to erase maternity from my created body.

You'll have to follow this link to watch the almost 5 minute video. But it's worth your time.

http://www.allure.com/story/alexa-wilding-post-pregnancy-plastic-surgery?mbid=social_facebook