Trust

God says trust.

Psalm 62 keeps sticking out to me.  David wrote this Psalm and to me, He is one of the most relate-able bible characters.  I think because he really loved God, he just lost the battle between flesh and spirit so often.  I feel a lot like David most days.  Wanting so desperately to be this spiritual giant for God. Campaigning for what He's done in my life.  I want the work I do to be purely for Him and His glory and not my own but I struggle with pride and wanting the praise of mankind when I should only be seeing the praise of my God. My Savior.

Lord Jesus I pray that you take the focus off me and place it on You.  I beg that my life be glorifying to you.

My words.

My actions.

My thoughts.

My dreams.

I wait quietly for you God, my victory comes from You.

You are my rock.

My salvation.

So many enemies...

 

Satan.

My own brain.

The world.

All trying to kill me spiritually, mentally, emotionally.

My hope is in you, Lord.

I will not be shaken.

By doubt.

By fear.

Victory alone comes from God. I will trust you at ALL TIMES. Even when it's hard. I will pour my heart to you, my refuge.

Oh Lord, you know my anxious heart.  You hear my thoughts and prayers.  The deepest longings of my soul.

Jesus I give it all to you.
I owe it all to you.

I need rest that can only come from You.

Crazy Ever After

Over the years, I’ve heard people (mostly pastors) warn couples with children that you can so easily slip into being a child centered marriage instead of a Christ centered marriage. I always found this so interesting, that somewhere deep entrenched in the life of practices and school that you could actually ignore the fact that “Dad” or “Mom” who used to be just your spouse, would suddenly lose that priority and fall into a deep abyss to only be found after the kids went away to college. 

It wasn’t until one sunny afternoon drive home that it dawned on me.  You don’t have to have children to have a child centered marriage.  It is in these moments of solitude that God speaks to me through the most profound thoughts that just appear.  I am awakened in these moments to truths so deep they make my heart hurt.  They shine a light on a dark place in life that I shamefully realize is pointed directly at me. 

My life.

My marriage.

Child centered?

How so, we have no child to blame this chaos on?

This disease.

"My daugher, you don't have to have children yet for this to overcome you." Says my King to me as I antagonize over this truth.

I start to cycle through, thoughts flood my evening commute.  My man and I have spent our first precious days as a married couple plagued by this disease.  And let me tell you, it is flesh eating, life sucking, full blown love strangulation. 

Life became all about baby.  The baby we had, then lost.  The baby we had, then lost.  I wish that repeat was a grammatical error, but you know just as my heart knows, it’s not.  These unplanned babies conceived out of pure newlywed love took over our lives and changed us forever. 

Let me tell you what happens to those beautiful moments of undying love and sacrifice that you vow with tears welled in your eyes and the dreams of happily ever after when you take Christ out and put child in…

You want to wring each other’s necks.

Every. Single. Day. 

Over the silly things! Of all the challenges we face in life, you begin to act like a crazy (woman) person because cups are on the bottom rack of the dishwasher instead of the top rack.

And coffee makers.  Oh dear. A Keurig gets threatened to sail across the room while one you (me) fiercely barricades it to protect itself and your walls. 

And where to spend a weekend.  What do you mean sleeping in a one room building with your in laws isn’t your idea of a romantic, relaxing weekend? The NERVE!

You start walking around life aimlessly.  Marriage becomes lackluster because it’s just a title you wear.  You share a last name, but not a life.  You live day by day. Sometimes people say this is the only way to survive a tragedy.  One day at a time.  But those single days, well, they suck.  And Jesus doesn’t tell us that’s how we survive.  He tells us no matter what this life gives us, that He offers more.  That because of Him we have a constant hope.  We have a reason for joy if for nothing else than because we have salvation.  He tells us to keep on praying. 

But even when you know that His Word gives that truth, those days can feel hopeless, and joyless, and like you’re having an out of body experience. 

You spend countless hours reading about fertility, and charting, and cycles.  Trying desperately to grasp some inkling of control so you don’t feel so helpless.  This leads to planning, this façade of control.    

All of the sudden your planner becomes your bible.  It holds your body’s deepest secrets and rhythms.  You pee on a hundred sticks a month and you take pictures of them to compare the next day to the one before.  You start conversations with things like “My LH surge is peaking today” and ask your husband crazy questions like “Do my boobs look different today than yesterday?”  And then you do the unthinkable.  You plan baby making.  Not the weekend rendezvous that your husband doesn’t know about kind, but the OMG WE HAVE A LIMITED WINDOW OF OPPORTUNITY HERE AND YOU HAVE TO BE HOME, MOVE THAT SILLY BUSINESS TRIP AND BE HERE BECAUSE WE CAN’T WASTE EGGS!  I ONLY HAVE SO MANY, I’LL NEVER GET ANYMORE kind. 

 

It’s official. You have the disease.  You don’t even know you have the disease because you’re so far in the deep end you can’t see the shore. 

Then one night it all comes crashing down.  Every thing around you crumbles.  You can’t chart any more.  You can’t keep being psycho over inanimate objects.  You can’t fake it to the world and yourself and your spouse anymore.  You just can’t do it.  You are broken and hurting.   You have to get help.  Not the medical kind, but the Jesus kind.

 

For us, that help came through a Spirit led coupling with G & T.  This unbelievably invaluable and amazing married couple of 30 years who were so much like us that it sometimes felt like looking into our future.  A couple who had been through loss and infertility.  A couple who had two beautiful grown daughters.  A couple who lived on a farm.  (Ok, so that last part doesn't matter to our journey, unless you know our dreams of horses, chickens, and bee hives.) But this couple who knew how to help us work through slamming doors, silent treatments, and button pushing.  They knew how to get us back to the newlywed phase.  And with one simple question our whole life changed. 

 

"Have you guys talked about taking a break?" G questioned gently.

 

I sat there pondering for a moment. What a novel idea.

 

Meanwhile, D is thinking it might be time to bail on this whole mentor thing.  Break? Like, separation? (Oh, my sweet extremist, not so literal.)

 

Break. Like a set amount of time where a couple might throw away things like pregnancy tests, ovulation strips, progesterone injections, fertility books, and all other things baby.  (Don't stress, I didn't throw away $20 worth of pregnancy tests or the half closet of Ralph Lauren Baby.)

 

I never expected this recommendation. To be honest I didn't know what to expect.  I wondered for days what they would say to us, what their solution would be.  I shouldn't have been surprised that my extrodinary God worked through an ordinary married couple. I feel myself smirking as I look to Him, you never cease to amaze me, I quip. In my heart He's responding with a wink, reminding me that He always is carrying me along, even when I feel like I'm dragging myself through life. Like He's done so. many. times.

 

We left feeling like this huge boulder had been removed from our arms.  No more carrying around saddness.  No more bitterness. No more anger.  Sweet mercy, we were not going to let our marriage be centered on baby, we were declaring our marriage to be centered on Christ.

 

Can I tell you what a difference that has made? 

 

We are genuinely happy.  We are playing again.  We are silly, and laughing, and consumed with enjoying the hundreds of blessings God pours out on us daily. We are us.

 

This first year isn't anything that I could have ever dreamed it would be. 

Somedays I feel like it's better. 

 

Somedays my blinders are off and the enemy moves in to remind me that seemingly everyone around me is welcoming a baby to their family.

 

But every day, I get to wake up knowing that God is shaping and molding my heart so that I can further glorify Him.  This is Kingdom work, ya'll.  I don't know yet where this journey of infertility will lead, or where these lessons learned about marriage, and friendship, and the love of a Savior will come into play... but I do know one thing for sure; God is at work.

 

G & T- if you ever read this, please know how deeply we love ya'll and your authentic approach to marriage mentoring.  Our time with you will forever be a part of us.  We thank you for answering God's call to the marriage ministry so that you could touch our hearts and save us from ourselves. 

 

"So let's not get tired of doing what is good.  At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don't give up." Galatians 6:9

A Letter To My Husband

It's like I'm dancing around the house in a dress and pearls with a smile on my face but underneath the facade my skin is decaying and my heart is slowing because inside I'm dying a slow death of guilt, anguish, confusion, pain, and frustration.

When no one is looking though I take my dress off, I lay my pearls in the box and the one man who is supposed to get the best of me gets the worst. My tongue lashes at him when he offers to help me do something, my eyes roll so hard they almost fall back in my head when he does something "his way" instead of "my way."

When I lay to sleep at night I can't feel him touching me because I've rolled over and shut down, not ready for another night of scripture reading or prayer that feels so empty because my heart is so empty.

I'm scared for him to see my heart, because if he does he will know that it's different, he will know that it's not what it was the day he met me, and it's not what it was the day he married me, and it's not what it was the first day we took that test and it was positive.

It's not what it was the day we watched an empty ultrasound monitor, it's not even what it was the day we watch a motionless ultrasound monitor.

It's worse.

It's dark and twisted and jaded.

My pearls look so pretty with my work clothes. They look good with my swimsuit. They look even better in my new house.

I cover my pain with the excitement of a new job.
I cover my pain with a vacation.
I cover my pain with a new house.

Baby clothes hang in the closet, but office furniture sits in the room.

I can't cover the pain when no one but him is looking. It spills out. It erupts from my body with foundation rocking force. Sometimes it doesn't erupt at all, it simply boils deep inside and forces silence. This silence builds a stone wall between us that makes me wonder how it will ever break down.

Couples entrenched deep into the joy of pregnancy are surrounding us. Their excitement is contagious, yet temporary. Each time the story breaks I feel the sting. The twinge of pain deep in my heart that crys out to God, why not us? I am fearful they will see the hurt wash over my glazed eyes, I don't want them too for I fear they will feel guilty for their joy and I cannot be responsible for stealing it. The emotions compound one on top of the other until I feel like my pearls are strangling me.

I spit hurtful tones at the giver of my pearls. He swallows them and looks at me with a rage in his eyes that I've never seen before and couldn't once imagine was in him. I have brought this out in him. This crazy.

I realize the rage in those eyes is his pain that I've failed to acknowledge. He isn't a father any more than I'm a mother and in that moment if I could have seen those eyes as hurt instead of anger I might have changed my tone. I might have backed down. I might have grabbed tight of his hand and pulled him to his knees and cryed out to Jesus to break this wall we've built.

I might have realized he isn't my enemy, he is my friend. I might have remembered they weren't just my babies, they were our babies.

I might not have drank so much wine that night.

Rebelliouness rises up within me with such force that I stop guarding my heart. I start letting stuff back in that pushes Jesus out.

And night after night, in my pretty little gown, in my king size bed, I fall into the blissful sleep where I can forget all that has happened in the first year of our marriage. Where I can pretend that Satan isn't creeping in and trying to destroy. Where I can dream of a new day that I don't wake up and wonder how the man I fell so crazy in love with and married in less than half a year has become this body that I walk through life with motionless.

I wake up and realize it won't go away. I can't continue to avoid it. I can't continue to be strong. I can't continue to walk along and allow people to think that just because I'm wearing a dress and pearls that I'm gracefully handling the turmoil seated deep inside my soul.

I want to go home. And strip it all off. To let him see me without my pearls. Without my dress. To hold me as tears well up in my eyes with so much force that I can't choke them back. To rock me back and forth as I tremble and finally seek comfort in accepting the empty womb.

To seek peace.
To seek mercy.
To stop looking for reasons.
To stop questioning.
To just accept.
To just breathe.

I want to love him. I want to embrace him with that fierce desire that used to consume me about him. I want to feel the way I did the moment he walked in my front door. The moment he kissed me in the car. The moment he fell to his knee. I need to love him like that.

I imagined our first year so different.

If I take my dress and my pearls off, will you pick up a hammer with me and start breaking our wall down?

Cinco de Misery

Today is Sunday, May 6th. That is important, you'll understand why later.

Our road trip began Saturday, May 5th at 9:30 am.  Actually, the trouble began about 6:30 the night before.  I feel the need to document this epic trip now before I forget all the details.  Who am I kidding? It will take years of therapy to erase the memories of this trip.

It all began as I left the house Friday for my requisite manicure/pedicure before vacation. It was 6:30 on Friday eve, I am already in a semi-irritable mood over who knows what at this point, and I jump in my car, kiss my husband goodbye, and turn the key. Nothing. Nada. No lights, no sound, no action.  You have to be kidding, I never leave the key on, did I leave the key on? My husband thinks I left the key on. No big deal, we'll jump it off the other car.  No time though, gotta be at salon asap as Mom is waiting on me.  Jump in the other car and head off. 

TWO HOURS LATER I finally leave the salon. A relaxing appointment that should have taken an hour tops takes double.  The shellac polish on my nails keeps bubbling and the sweet nail salon owner is a perfectionist and refuses to let it slide.  He paints them, dries them, removes it. Rinse and repeat atleast four times. I am slightly dissapointed in this process as there have been countless other patrons come and go for practically the same services in half the time.  Mom leaves me, she's been finished for an hour.  He finally completes and I get a $10 gift certificate for my trouble, even after my famous last words; "Please, don't worry, I'm on vacation starting today, there isn't anything at this point that could stress me out."  I am conviced the devil heard me say those words.  And I had to chew on them ALL DAY yesterday.

I run to my parents to get my dresses for our trip, I stop and visit my grandma, I think I have everything I had on my list to get from my Mom's.  I get home and realize I got everything on my list from there except the main reason I went there, my DRESS! Seriously.  Ok, fine. I'll just run back over.  We load the entire car.  Then we put the bike rack on and the bikes. Done, ok I can put the dress in the backseat and we'll be ready to hit the road at 5am.  I turn the key. Nothing. I can see the stress wash over my husband's face.  We jump the car, again.  I drive to my parents. I shut the car off multiple times and it always starts.  Just a duplicate fluke, right?

It's almost midnight and we're laying in bed.

"There's no way I'm getting up in 5 hours to drive 12." Dale claims.

"I'm okay with that, let's just sleep until you wake up and we'll go." I reply, knowing that he'll most likely be up by 7.

"I'm going to start the car in the morning early and if it doesn't start I'm going to get the battery replaced instead of jumping it."

"Okay."

Storms through the night are terrible, and so I sleep like a rock. I wake up at 5:30 to the sound of the car starting.  I lay there a minute wondering what he is doing.  It started, so should I get up and shower? Maybe not. It is pouring the rain, we should wait until it stops.  I'll just lay here until he comes back in. ... Okay maybe I won't he's taking too long. 

"Did it start?"

"Yes, but it was so weak sounding. I want to replace it."

"Okay, let's go back to bed and we can replace it when the dealership opens."

So we go back to bed, Dale gets up at 7:30 and heads out to get the battery replaced.  By 8:30 he's back, and I'm in the shower.  Mind you, during all of this we've had to remove the bikes and unpack the trunk because the battery is in the TRUNK! By 9:30 we have reloaded the entire car, checked every window and door in the house (twice) and are ready to go.  We hit the road and I tweet this:

"Two bikes, one dog, the Bible, and a 9mm. I think this is what you officially call locked and loaded." 

I was feeling so clever, I read it aloud to Dale.  He chuckles.  I mean if you've got eachother, your
baby dog, the Word of God, and a weapon what else do you need?

Fast forward three hours. This pops up:

We look at eachother in bewilderment.  What? Overheat? Why? How? Weird.

Dale immediately begins to melt on me. "First the battery, now this!"

"It's not that big of a deal.  The battery has never been replaced, the car is six years old, it's expected.

This is just a coincidence." (As I'm saying this it's ringing in my head that Uncle Ed says there's no such thing as coincidence.)

We stop, we decide to eat while the engine cools.  Then we'll be on our way.  We start the car, the message is gone.  Dale is insistent on stopping at an AutoZone to check the coolant.  We do.  It's full.  We are good to go.  Back on the road we go.  Fifteen minutes later it pops back up. 

We pull over.

We turn off the air conditioner.

You can feel the stress enveloping the air.  It's so thick I can hardly breathe.  Oh wait, that's just the heat.  We're back on the road, message is cleared but windows are down and the heat is blasting at 80 degrees with 90 degree fresh air blowing through the windows.  I'm beginning to sweat, but it's no big deal, this too shall pass.

It happens again.

And again.

We call BMW. The closest one is Chattanooga.  We're one hour away and they close in one hour and thirty minutes. I am praying in my head the entire time.  We can do this. 

No, we can't.

We make it 30 of the 50 miles.  It keeps doing it. Dale is panicking that our engine is going to blow.

We pull into a RaceTrack gas station in Georgia.  One of those little spots where you're in one state but you cross into another for a brief moment.  Dale calls AAA and the roles have suddenly reversed.  He is calm. He is handling business.  I on the other hand am melting.  Physically and emotionally.  Tears well in my eyes as I dial the rental car company.  I realize I'm not about to cry over the car situation, I'm about to cry because I'm sweating so bad that my clothes are literally soaked through all layers. I'm sweating in places I didn't know had sweat glands.  I hang up on the rental car agent after he asks me twice for my reservation number and I repeatly tell him I do not have a reservation that's why I pressed 1 for NEW RESERVATION! So now I'm not only sweaty, but I'm a jerk.  To the rental car representative, to my husband who is trying to be positive. (Seriously, Susie Smiles, since when did you stop having a temper tantrum and get all logical on me?) 

We sit in this heat for 30 minutes waiting on a flatbed.  It arrives.  I almost cry again as I realize we have to take our bikes off again so he can put it on the truck, and then back on again for the trip.  Dale handles it all as I stand on the side of the lot looking like a hot mess.  Wet clothes, yorkie in one hand and fresh fountain drink in the other.  I climb into the back of the truck, with no air conditioner, my dog, my husband, and the nicest southern tow truck driver ever.  He talks incessantly and I can't even hear what he is saying over the engine of his truck.  I call my Mom.  I mean what else is a girl to do in this situation?  She makes me laugh. I make her laugh harder.  I can do this. Unfortunately this isn't my first ride in a tow truck.  We only have to go 20 miles, I've riden 200 in one before.

The body odor in this truck assaults my nose.  And I'm left to wonder at this point if it's the tow driver or myself.  At this point in the game it could totally be me.  I am cracking up at myself and my attempt at relieving the pain of the situation with humor.  You know, because that's what we do, we laugh it off. 

Our super niiiiice (read that in Dale's drawl) tow driver offers to take us to the airport to pick up a rental car.  In what could only be divine intervention, I had just learned not two hours prior that my sweet friend Cassie now works for Hertz.  A frantic text message and phone call later she has reserved us a car at the Chattanooga airport for $100 less than her competitor.  We make it to the airport shockingly fast ( I may have blacked out from the smell, not completely sure) and I shamefully walk myself in to get the keys.  Not only am I in my janky road trip comfy clothes, but they are soaked with sweat, and in true comfort fashion I am not wearing a bra.   I casually conceal my missing undergarments with Sully in one arm and my LV in the other.  My prayer is answered when I find the Hertz counter is a young female who not only sympathizes with my disheleved appearance, but wants to pet Sully.  She has us in a rental car within 10 minutes.  And not a terrible cartoon car either, but a legitimate full size, four door, sedan complete with new car smell and leather.  Things are beginning to look up.

The BMW dealership is just a couple miles from the airport, we arrive for yet another opportunity to unload the bikes, unload the car, reload the car, and then reload the bikes on the rental car.  At this time we have now officially moved the bikes a grand total of five times.  I take the opportunity to get to the suitcase to dig out dry clothes, my makeup bag, and wet wipes.  With determination I head into the dealership with D as he arranges the service on the car.  In minutes I find myself in an awkwardly exhillerating moment as I stand completely naked in a public restroom.  I have never done this.  This feels weird.  Yet, so good because I am out of those disgusting clothes.  After a quick wet wipe rub down I change into dry clothes, wash my face, and shove my wet clothes into my LV.  I sit in the car and decide while I'm waiting I'll put mascara on, it is sure to make me feel better. 

It is now 6:30pm.  We should be arriving in Jax in 3 hours. GPS says we have 8.  We keep cracking jokes on ourselves, the trip, and the first thing that finally makes me genuinely laugh...

"I feel like Clark Griswold."

I love this guy.  He is the only person I could do this trip with and still have fun.  We have this bizarre chemistry that when one of us throws a tantrum the other is calm.  We didn't realize it until many hours later, but in reflection it is true. 

 We don't have time to spare at this point really so we decide to drive until 8ish and we'll grab McD's.  We find one outside of Atlanta and stop.  We order. I'm filling up my Coke and Dale is adding creamer to his coffee.  Then he decides to add coffee to my white leggings.  I burst into laughter again as I do a fancy dance to escape the scalding coffee, I can't miss it completely and so my right leg is half white/half brown.  We clean it up, we eat, we leave.  I take the wheel as I am determined to find the Mark in me and shave some hours from this trip. 

The moon is full and roads begin to clear.  8 hours drops to 6 1/2, then to 5, and we start making some actual distance.  I'm getting my second wind (as I always do around 10) and the caffeine is kicking.  I'm having a solo dance party in the car and it feels like we're going 100 mph. (For all the jokesters out there, I know I have been known to do this, I was actually only doing 70 this time.) To say a Ford Fusion does not hug the road like a 5 Series BMW is a gross understatement. 

We play the "it could be worse" game for a while.  We do, afterall have so much to be thankful for.  We are going on vacation. I was begininning to feel like we could have hashtagged our trip troubles as #firstworldproblems.

2am finally rolls around and we have finally arrived in Jax Beach.  Relief begins to set in as we realize we have finally made it.  We navigate the streets and find the condo. There is a light on inside. Strange. I pull the lockbox code from the sheet and open it.  It's empty.  I turn around and look at my husband and realize it's his turn to meltdown.  I peek in the door and I see a dog. 

"Well, are you going to call this guy and see what is going on."

I have this sinking feeling in my stomach.  I better check the reservation before I haul off and call the owner at 2am and act like a psycho.  I can't find it on my phone.  No matter what we have to get a hotel.  We leave and stop at the first we see.  It's PACKED.  Dale goes in to see if there is anything available and I use the chance to search for our reservation. I find it.

"There are no rooms available."

"Why is it so packed, it looks like spring break out here tonight, it's May."

"Cinco de Mayo."

"Wait, what is the date?"

"May 5th."

D'oh.

"Our reservation is for May 6th."

Silence.

"Oh my gosh, how on earth did I not realize I made our reservation starting tomorrow. We just knocked on those people's door.  I almost called the owner at 2:30am! What was I thinking we would do?! Why didn't we just stay the night half way?"

"It doesn't matter, we have to find a room. Tell Siri to find us a hotel so we can start calling."

We drive to another hotel off the main road.  It's full but they send us to a different hotel about three miles away. They have one room left.  We take it and drive there. We arrive and there are two cop cars in the parking lot and the hotel is sketchy.  I sit in the car while Dale handles the reservation.  He comes back, we got the room.  It's around back.  We drive around and park.  I load my arms up and we walk in.  There is trash everywhere.  I am not feeling great about this.  Then I realize the room is on the second floor. 

"There is NO WAY we are staying here."

"Then what are we doing?"

"We are not hauling all of our luggage and two bikes up two flights of stairs! I am calling Uncle Ben."

"You're right." (Those words never get old, haha!)

"Why are there no rooms,what is going on?!"

"I told you, it's Cinco de Mayo."

"Exactly! It's Cinco de Mayo, not Cinco de Florida!"

We drive around front, Dale walks in to cancel the reservation, I call my Mom, again.  My Dad tells us the only people who take trips that take 24 hours are called astronauts. Ha. Ha. Ha. I get a home phone number for Uncle Ben.  I call.  We have a place to stay.  It's almost 3:30am. Dale has offically had a meltdown at this point.  I am delieriously awake and energized.  I snap.

"Would you put on your big girl panties and chill out?! We have a place to stay, we can sleep in, you don't have to work tomorrow.  Or the next 7 days for that matter! It's going to be okay, we're on vacation and you are acting like a three year old!"

"You're right, I'm sorry, I'm just so tired."

"So am I! I've been up as long as you have and have driven more than you have!"

We call truce.  It's been a long, hard day.  We are on the same team.  We did it, we got here in one piece together.  We have seven glorious days of relaxation ahead of us. By 4am we are finally in bed.  Exhausted. Sweaty. Short tempers simmering. We dig out a toothbrush. It's all we can do to find one.

We call it a night.

We wake up to this sweet note.  We indulge. In showers, in breakfast, in our own toothbrushes.
And now, just 18 hours later we are sitting in the amazing beach house we rented, listening to the waves crash, blogging, reading, and relaxing. 

History in the making.

Why I Don't Like Clean Jesus

I feel scattered today.  Like the thoughts in my head are just floating fragments, so if they come out that way, welcome to my brain.  Sometimes these fragments are profound, others they're just, well, they're something. 

I decided yesterday, Good Friday, when reading an article with a picture of Jesus hanging on the cross that I do not like clean Jesus.  And this is what I mean:

This is not the way Jesus looked when He took His last breath.  I know I wasn't there, but this is not what a man who was beaten and crucified looks like.  And I'm sorry if that picture doens't fit nicely into the clean cut view of Christianity but the TRUTH is not always pretty.  Please someone tell me who thought it was a good idea to give us this image to tuck away in our heads when we try to grasp the reality that Jesus hung on a cross to save us from ourselves? 

No wonder people forget about it until those delicious ridiculous marshmellow peeps stare at us with their beady little eyes in stores everywhere February 15th. 

No wonder people aren't phased with the thought of their sin costing a perfect man his life.

No wonder that a furry bunny that was CREATED by the man who hung on the cross has taken over this holiday that we call Easter. 

What if you hurt someone really bad, did something awful, and when they came to pay you back a completely innocent person stepped in and took all the blame, and in fact, took a physical beating? What if when they were finished he looked like this:

Would you be thankful? Humbled? Honored? Ashamed? Remorseful? Because you should be.  We all should be.  Because it happened.  Not today, in this lifetime where you could witness it with your own eyes but IT happened.  An innocent man, a perfect sacrafice, and pure and righteous Son of Man stepped in and took all the blame for our sin.  He saved you. He saved me.  He saved generations that haven't even been born yet. 

As I sit and reflect on Jesus' death on the cross I think about how selfless His love is.  How a sinless man, who was sent to Earth to save us, faced the harsh reality of human fleshly desire to save himself, yet still fulfilled the will of God. 

No one else could do this.  No human could harness the pride that wells up when falsely accused.  Time and again Jesus was questioned.  He was told to prove himself, to save himself, and not only did he humbly hang there and accept his fate, but he pleaded to God in his dying breath to forgive us.  Who does that?  Jesus does.

I love bloody Jesus.  He's the real deal.  He's the one who took the blame for all of my transgressions.  He is who deserves the glory, the respect, the love, and my whole life. 

Is it painful to look at bloody Jesus? Sure it is, but when I look at bloody Jesus I am reminded of his sacrafice and driven to glorify him. 

This Easter, let's not forget that the Jesus in a beautiful, snow white robe is the Jesus that fulfilled the promise by first being the Jesus on the cross. 

Jesus paid it all/ all to Him I owe/ sin had left a crimson stain/ He washed it white as snow

"Whatever happens will be the best thing that could have happened." -Dad

this is my story

this is my song

praising my Savior

all the day long

I've browsed more than my fair share of Kelly's Korner SUYL posts.  But I've only been able to participate in one since I began reading her blog.  I wasn't discouraged by this, just simply didn't have a place to connect among the schedule of upcoming events.  No big deal.  I'll look another time.  To my surprise/dissapointment/uncertainty I realized the first one I could join was March 16- Going through infertility.  Wow.  That is not a SUYL that I ever imagined and definitely didn't hope to join.  But perhaps, just maybe, in all of His grand work God knew that my story, my song, would matter to someone else in the world and might be a connecting point and therefore He put me in a position to be able to post on that very day.  Sometimes I get discouraged by all of the unknown of the world, the uncertainty of things.  And then other days... well, other days I just sit enamored at the work of the Lord and the way he weaves us into each others lives so flawlessly.  As I endure the triumphs and tragedies of this life, I grab hold of the idea that God's will for my life involves using my experiences to touch the hearts of women somewhere, someday, so that just maybe something I said or did will show hope to the broken, faith to the uncertain, and truth to the unbelieving.

This isn't a journey I expected to be on at 28 years old, with zero health concerns, and an overall history of healthy lifestyle choices.  Don't get me wrong, I'm no picture of health.  I loathe exercise and I crave fountain drinks like an addict.  But in general, I am active, healthy, young, and had no reason to believe that having babies isn't as easy as teen pregnancy statistics lead you to believe...

Our (what we can now call "fertility") journey began last July almost immediately after we got married.  We honeymooned in October and shortly after returning home we found out we were having a little pumpkin in June.  We were ecstatic.  We told EVERYONE. Like seriously, announced it to the world because once my female fear of being able to get pregnant was solved, I figured I was invincible.  I mean I've been through enough stuff in my short life right? Eh, not so much. 

In a well documented blog post you can find here, you will find that our first pregnancy ended in heartbreak on November 23rd when we sent our first angel baby to Heaven.  Devastation didn't even scratch the surface of my broken heart.  It was a terribly difficult time for us and didn't set the stage quiet like we'd hoped for our first holidays together, but as He does, the Lord comforted us during this difficult time and I was taught a valuable lesson on peace that comes only from Him.  To those around us we appeared strong and hopeful, and deep down we really were, but the sadness lingered in our house through the holidays and honestly probably remained until we got another positive pregnancy test on December 28th.  It was the best belated Christmas present either of us received.  Again, we told our families within days and those close to us because we stood firm in the belief that regardless of the past, we wanted to share our joy and we also wanted our prayer warriors in place.  The second pregnancy proved to be better than the first, at eight weeks we had an ultrasound and were able to both see and hear our baby's heartbeat.  Although I was still anxiety ridden, I fought the battle daily to remain unwavering that God was at work within me and I read that as "is protecting our baby" when it reality it might have been more "shaping you into the woman I created you to be."  Regardless, at our 12 week appointment we were once again broken after a heartbeat couldn't be detected and an ultrasound revealed that our second baby had stopped developing not long after we heard it's precious heart beating.  The all too familiar pain resurfaced and was then doubled because even though nervous I just knew that everything would be okay because these things don't happen back to back, right? Wrong.  They do happen back to back.  So often that there is a term coined for it. Recurrent miscarriage.  So on February 23rd, just three months later we sent our second angel to Heaven. I didn't really document that loss like I did the first, but it's resounding effects on my personal prayer life can be found here.

Infertility didn't seem like the right word for me to convey our circumstance.  I always thought infertility was more of a term for couples who struggled to conceive.  So when our ob/gyn told us he thought it was time for us to see a reproductive specialist, aka infertility doctor, I was a little surprised.  I was grateful for the recognition that something was going on as I am aware some doctors will not evaluate until after three miscarriages, but still a little confused.  I learned very quickly though that infertility is not just about getting pregnant, but maintaining a pregnancy to full term, which is where we fall in.  So just two short weeks after losing the second, we had an appointment to meet with the specialist.  To say that this appointment was overwhelming would be an understatement.  My already fragile state of mind was tempted on Tuesday as we sat in a new doctor's office where I would be asked to verbalize our journey in its entirety. 

We were presented with five possible causes that we would first explore.  It was no consolation to me that the doctor seemed surprised that we were having trouble considering the appearance of being healthy and young.  Neither did it make me feel any better that the literature he gave us to review noted that less than 5% of women will experience two consecutive miscarriages. Thanks doc, for confirming that I am special in a way I never hoped to be!

1- Genetic/Chromosomal Causes
2- Hormonal Abnormalities
3- Uterine Abnormalities
4- Antiphospholipid Syndrome
5- Thrombophillias

For those of us who aren't doctors it boiled down to this to us, our best case is that we fall into the 50% of couples who they find no cause because there isn't an issue and it is simply the human body.  Our worst case is that because of our genetic makeup we won't be able to create a child together that is viable to carry full term.  In the middle there are some causes that would be treatable with hormones, shots, and possibly even baby aspirin.  By far the most overwhelming part was the information about genetic mutation and the conversation that followed it that involved donors and decisions that we are in no way emotionally prepared to acknowledge at this stage.

Today we received the first phone call with results, nice timing for the blog connect, huh? :)  Today we found out that the blood tests on my thyroid, vitamin D, and prolactin all came back normal.  The only issue from this battery of tests is that my HCG level is still at 42 and it needs to be at 0.  It can take up to six weeks for the pregnancy hormone to leave your body and it looks like it is going to take that full time for me.  Next week I will go back for a follow up blood draw to confirm that it is at 0.  If it's not, I honestly have no idea what that means.  As for the other three tests, after much Google-ing I have educated us enough to understand the general fact of the results is that A-it's great that those things are all normal, but B- those could have been the easy fixes we were hoping for so for now we are still left with uncertainty. 

And this is where we are... waiting.  Which is okay, and although it has taken longer to get here this time I think we are finally ready to accept it.  I will be honest, until you endure these trials, you cannot imagine the strain it places on a marriage.  Our first loss was so quickly replaced by a second pregnancy that it took away the sadness, but this time is just, well, different.  It's harder.  The pain is deeper.  It has created this distance that took us both saying "we are different, there is something between us that has to go because we don't feel like 'us'."  I can't say what changed Dale's heart this time, but for me it was a perfectly timed Night of Worship at SECC and a Bob Russell blog post that reminded me, God isn't required to hand out blessings, and that comparing my blessings to others will only lead to discontentment and disappointment.  So today is a new day, and I am ready to face this pain with a new, softened heart.  Bold and confident.  And while we're waiting, we will serve our Lord.

Silent Treatment

It struck me in the car the other morning as I was idly listening to secular music and completely ok with the silence... am I giving God the silent treatment?

The answer was painful.  Yes.  I was.  Not intentionally I didn't think, but when my normal morning routine is to pray and listen to worship music I realized that my silence and jamming to something about living young and free was the equivalent to me stomping my feet and slamming doors and outright ignoring the fact that God was standing there waiting on me to say something the entire time.  It would seem natural to assume at this point that I immediately turned the radio off and began praying (see: begging) for forgiveness, but I didn't.  I thought about it some more, trying to analyze the situation and figure out what I was doing and what changed.  As I continued my psychological approach with no conclusions I arrived at my destination for the day and didn't think much on it again until much later, when I found myself in the same situation. 

 

But being in the situation didn't make me want to change it.  I just continued to wallow in this uncertainty of what happened.  Where did this distance come from and why do I feel so strange about it?  None of which mattered and I knew how to fix it, but I just couldn't bring myself to it.  To praying. To speaking to God.  To asking him what was wrong.  To acknowledge the fact that I had barely acknowledged him all week outside of my routine prayers. 

 

The reality of the situation is that I do know where the distance comes from.  I know why I'm hurt.  I know exactly why I can't bring myself to conversational prayer that I usually have with my Savior.

My heart is broken.  A feeling I know all too well.  And as much as I can see the truth in not being able to see the big picture, as much as I understand I don't have a right to know everything, and as much as I love him, I am upset with him. I am heartbroken that yet again we have lost another baby and my wish to be a Mother is again put on hold.  I am fully aware of the truth that my life is not my own.  As I'm equally aware that I am neither commanded to be in charge of my life nor to be happy with the way things go.  God has this huge plan and I'm just a tiny piece in the middle of his puzzle.  So how is it that I know these things yet still find both strength to hold back the tears and equally find the anger to hold against him via my silence?

 

Trust me, I'm confused too.  Friday I read a blog by Lysa Terkeurst (who if you don't follow, you should) and in true God character, it was written just for me.  It was how to deal with disappointment.  Her three main points were to PRESS INTO HIM (which is what I've been avoiding), PRAISE HIM (been avoiding that too), and KEEP IN COMPANY OF THE TRUTH (yep, you guessed it, avoiding those convos with those people).  I even wrote it in big capital letters on my planner to see everyday.  As much as I would like to claim that as a definite way to remind yourself of something, if your heart isn't in it, it doesn't matter how BIG or how bold the writing may be. 

 

So how does God work when you aren't seeking him?  For me, it's always an attention getter.  It is almost guaranteed that if I avoid God, he will do something so fierce that it makes it impossible for me to avoid him.  And he did just that.  As Satan crept into my open heart and I began to spiral (as if destroying everything I have worked to change & have is a good way to rebel against God) it became so clear all of the sudden that the only thing that giving God the silent treatment would do is ruin my life.  Literally.  Ruin it. I am not being dramatic here either, this is truth.  Separation from God equals a waste of life. 

 

In case you haven't noticed, I've avoiding blogging like I have prayer. I didn't do it with intentions of using it as an analogy, but there you have it.  Honestly, I've avoided this post because I felt it would take away from the way people see my walk with Christ.  As if it says I'm not real, or it's just a hat I wear.  But none of those are true.  The truth is that my relationship with Jesus is so real that I get hurt when I feel he's not listening to me.  I miss him when I'm not talking to him.  And maybe, for the first time, I have come to realize how much I do really recognize his presence even though I sometimes think I don't.

 

I don't have anything poetic to say to close with.  I'm not healed of my brokeness.  I don't feel any better about where I am with God and I can't say that I have been magically healed and everything is good between us... but I can say that seeing the truth has caused me to seek resolution and it's a start.  The Christian life isn't one of all happy endings and answered prayers.  It's one of laying our own heart's desires down and following Jesus.  And when God makes you Type A, and then asks you to follow and not lead, it gets messy.  It gets real.

Oh, Baby!

Just as promised, it's been two weeks and we I am super excited to finally show off the inspiration behind my chalkboard project! Some may think I'm doing this too early and that's okay, fortunately we all have our own lives to live as we chose, so here goes!!

Drumroll please.... ;)

6 Weeks! Craves sleep, breakfast, & food! Weight 137.4 (Pretty sure scale at work doesn't match doctor's office)

Week 8! Craves: sleep, Ginger Ale :(, salads, & peanut butter. 134 lbs & we heard the heartbeat today!

You can imagine how hard it has been holding this kind of news in! Although most of our immediate friends and family knew I still wanted to walk around shouting out, "We're having a baby, AGAIN!"  The "again" joke has become something of dead horse around our family.  When we get a good joke we don't let it go, we beat it dead and then just to be sure we've worn it out we beat it some more.

After the loss of Hall Baby Uno I have been so anxious about this pregnancy.  We were so blessed to be pregnant so quickly and I know it's all part of God's plan for our growing family.  In retrospect I really feel as if God was teaching me how to trust him through these last four months.  His way was hard, but I always have learned best the hard way (just ask my parents of teenage me), and who better to know that than my Creator himself?!  Although his lesson was hard it taught me a lot about blindly trusting the will of God in my life and how to listen to the Holy Spirit speak to me when no human words could comfort my soul.  In the last couple days there have been little signs I felt God was sending me, scriptures that spoke of life, a sonogram picture on the mega screen at church yesterday as we honored human life, and the not so nice sign of morning (aka all day) sickness. I believe so deeply in God's timing and so when I flipped ahead to see my calendar for today I knew God was speaking to my nervous heart...

Jeremiah 29:11 has been a recurring verse in my life, it always pops up when I need to hear it most, so you can imagine my delight in seeing it on today's date, the day of our 1st appointment! And it stops! It doesn't even finish the verse, it leaves it hanging at "for good...." So perfect!

Today has been the best day of 2012 by far, not only did we get to go and see Baby Dos today, we were able to hear a heartbeat! That is the sweetest sound I've ever heard and today couldn't have been any better. 

There is so much more I want to say about how gracious and loving our God is, but I am still so excited about today I feel as if I can't put sentences together because my mind keeps bouncing!

Welcome to our journey, and PRAISE the LORD for answered prayers!

"For this child I prayed and the Lord has granted my petition that I made to him"1 Samuel 1:27