Wear It On Your Sleeve

It's one of those days when I have a lot to say. A lot to get off my chest.  That's why I write. I have this NEED to  get things out, and until I write them out, I still carry them around, like burdens.

I want to write a break-up letter to Facebook. You know, the kind you write, but never send, cause you're just not ready to do the damage yet.

I want to address all the frustrations of postpartum dressing.   Nothing fits, on top or on bottom.

Goodness, I want to address all the frustrations of the postpartum period... period!  Hot flashes, night sweats, leaking, birth control, calories, sleepless nights, emotional roller coaster rides.

Weariness. Physically and emotionally.

I'm not quite sure what this post will become, but this is what is mainly on my heart:

We need to be real.

I don't believe in covering up the truth with made-up happiness and plastered on smiles.

Why is it that we feel the need to do that? To pretend everything is okay when it isn't? Even if it's a small thing that isn't right (like pants that are too tight?), why are we so afraid to confess it?

For my own part, it's because I don't want to be a complainer.  The last thing I want to do, in the precious days following the birth of a sweet child, is to be complaining about all that goes along with it.  I didn't want to complain my way through the discomforts of pregnancy, either.

But isn't it okay to talk about the realities of these things? Like varicose veins, leaky breasts, and the worst part of having a newborn, which is worrying about getting pregnant again.

Words have a spirit in which they are said.  And therefore, they are received according to their spirit, not so much the words.  I'm no fan of complainers. Lord knows part of my reason for wanting to break up with Facebook has to do with the complainers. I want to start a campaign called "Can't We Just Keep Facebook Fun?"  But at the same time, there is a spirit in which we can speak the hard things and be real, without being a complainer.

We just had Easter Sunday at church, and part of my role is making sure our children's ministry is staffed and running smoothly.  Easter Sunday can be a hard time to serve, for many reasons, but often because it is THE Christian Holy Day and we all want to be in the service, partaking with others in the celebration of the resurrection of Christ.  Serving in children's ministry can feel isolated and lonely and maybe even anti-climatic for such a special day. And I fully understand this.  A sweet mom, who was scheduled to serve, confessed these things to me. And later wrote me an apology for complaining.

Her words were not in the complaining spirit at all. They were just real, flowing from a heart that was weary and a little sad and lots of other real things. But not complaining.

There are those whose default is negativity and complaining.  They don't even realize it, I think. But then there are those who will never admit their struggles, pains, sorrows, and daily realities because they are afraid it will drive people away or that they will be judged.

I have made no secret about the difficulties I have experienced since we moved over three and a half years ago.  I don't pretend, nor will I, that I am perfectly happy where we are and with what is on our plate right now.  Yet, I don't dwell on these things continually and I try to check my heart to make sure I'm not complaining.

I am extremely uncomfortable with people who are always positive, whose lives are always wonderful, who will never tell you the hard things they are going through, or ask for prayer.  I can't live up to that.  Frankly, I am desperate. Every. Single. Day.

I don't want to dwell on the difficulties, but I don't want to dismiss them either.

I have many incredible joys in my life right now. And many struggles too.  I want to write about them all, and I probably will, but some of those will be the things that don't get published.  Not everything needs to be shared.

But the things I do share, even if if they seem wrong to you or you disagree (no comments on birth control, k?  I've told you nothing.) just be gentle. Just listen.  Just realize I am a REAL person who is not perfect and not a clone of you.  Or stop reading my blog (smile).

And please feel free to be real with me.  No, I don't want to listen to your laundry list of complaints and injustices, but I do want to listen to your heart.  Wear it on your sleeve.

You're prettier when you do.

The Story Isn't Over Yet

"It's Friday... But Sunday's coming!"

The message of the past two years of my life has been "The story isn't over yet."

Maybe this has been the message for *all* of my life.  Because how many times have I thought I'd come to the end?

Thinking nothing good was ever going to happen again.

The present so dismal and dark that the light of the of the future just couldn't penetrate.

I'm so serious, that way.  I always have been this way.  I don't see the world with rose-colored glasses and I sure wish I could.

It's been job losses and baby losses.  It's been Wall Street failing and the outcome of elections.  It's been having babies and raising babies.  It's been standing still and it's been moving.

At the beginning of the year, I wrote about the depression (and I hate to admit that's what it was) that I had been in since we moved three and half years ago.  I was at the place of dreading each day, waking up to the same discouraging circumstances, the same loneliness, the same old story.  And I wrote about how I decided it was time to live again.

And the Lord was whispering "The story isn't over yet, girl." (And HE is the only one who can call me "girl". Cause he says it with such love and sweetness.)

And my story wasn't over yet. It isn't over yet. Why, we've just had a baby, so hasn't it, in some ways, just begun again?

But this week, as I have sat on my bed pondering, and as I have sat on my nursing couch, mulling, again, this voice, that lying voice, whispers, "This is it.  There is no more.  Things will never change."

And I wanted to cry.  Such a heaviness on my heart when I listened to that voice.  But thank God, I've got HIS voice.  It straightens things out, it makes all things new.

In my heart, maybe not even in my head, I think I asked God for the truth.  And this is what He said. And, oh, He is the sweetest.

"Remember not the former things;

nor consider the things of old.

BEHOLD, I am doing a NEW thing;

now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?

I will make a way in the wilderness

and rivers in the desert."

Isaiah 43:18 and 19

I came bounding down the stairs, thinking these words, this promise, over, and He said it again.

"The story isn't over yet."

And isn't that the message of Easter?

Think of it.  The disciples, they have lost their Teacher, Master, the one they dared to believe was Messiah.  The women, they have lost their Hero, their tender Rabboni.  All they had dared to hope in Him, and believe about Him, all the love in their hearts for Him, and He was now dead. In the tomb.  No doubt about it, cause they watched him beaten and literally torn apart. They watched him dragged off the cross and tossed into the cave haphazardly,  They saw the stone no one could move rolled into its place, sealing the grave.

It was over.

The two men on the way to Emmaus from Jerusalem, they just trudged along despondently.  Along came another traveller who asked why they were so sad.  "We had hoped he was the one..." they said.

And Peter and Andrew, James and John, what else was there to do but go back to their fishing gig?  The one they had given the last three years of their lives too, he was gone.  Dead.

 It was over.

No hope for tomorrow.

But the traveller on the road to Emmaus was Jesus, come back from the dead.

The one calling to the fishermen from the shore was Jesus,  risen from the grave.

He showed his hands and his feet.  Yes, that part of the story had been real,  But so was this.  He was alive!  Death could not hold him down.  There was no power stronger than him.

And there is much more to the story.  The book of Acts, the story of the disciples afterward, that is only the beginning!

What it is I long for in the pages of my life, I cannot even say.  All I know is, my heart cries for "More!" and it has pleaded for this for so long, and the promises seem so far off at times, that I despair.  But then Jesus appears to me and renews my hope.

"The story isn't over yet, girl."

There is this old hymn I used to love to sing in my growing-up days.

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow.

Because He lives, all fear is gone.

Because I know He holds the future.

Life is worth the living just because He lives.

This is the Easter story. HE LIVES!

And because HE LIVES, though there is death and sorrow, there is also life and joy.  And so long as I live, there is a story unfolding.  It is not over, nor will it be, until my own glorious resurrection, from earth to heaven.

And even then, my story just begins.

"May the God of hope fill you will all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope." Romans 15:13

Happy Easter!

Setting Apart and Celebrating

Yesterday, Brown-Eyed Girl asked me why I don't like to celebrate Easter.

What she was really asking, was why I didn't want to have an Easter party at our homeschool co-op.  We had a Christmas party and a Valentine's Day party, why not an Easter party?

It was Palm Sunday yesterday, the beginning of what I call Holy Week.  I explained to her my thoughts and feelings about this precious time of year. The sacredness of the days leading up to Easter Sunday, in which I like to follow Jesus on his path to the cross. And lay aside other things in order to truly seek him and realize afresh what his death means.  It is a Holy-Day, a holiday in the truest sense.  A time to set apart.

But shouldn't we celebrate Jesus dying for out sins? She asked

Oh, we will celebrate! I assured her.  We will celebrate Jesus being resurrected from the dead on Easter Sunday!  That is a day of celebration!  But this week, we will follow him to the cross.

Growing up, Easter was a really big deal. At least to my little girl heart.  Yes, it was exciting to get new Easter clothes ( a dress made by mom,  new shoes, socks with lace trim or tights that weren't an inch thick).  My brother and I set out Easter baskets that were filled by the  Easter bunny. We would wake up to discover candy hidden around the house or come home from church to an egg hunt.  But it wasn't just these things that made Easter a big deal.  I don't think I realized it, but as a girl, I loved hearing the message of the resurrection on Easter Sunday.  It was the one sermon of the year when I clung to every word of the pastor.  He would always bring out the big guns, so to speak, and the message of Jesus dying for my sins, and then coming back to life, always gave me tingles, from my head to my toes, and left me in awe and wonder.

We make the traditional hot cross buns on Good Friday... but no currents in ours.  Often, it's chocolate chips!

There were the Sunrise Services. The church breakfasts.  The special Easter cantata sung by the choir. The hymns about Jesus being alive.

There was a time when I rejected all the Church-y things in my life, beginning in high school. But even then, I loved Easter Sunday.  It would tug on my heart to come back to the cross.  And finally, it was an Easter Sunday, in1999, that I did come back to the cross, lay my burden of sin down, and began walking a new path, the one that followed hard (yet imperfectly) after Jesus.

This time of year has deep meaning for me.  When Lent comes around, I long to mark it with significance.  Not necessarily by giving something up, but by focusing those forty days on Christ in one way or another.  There is no mention of Lent in my church or from most of my friends.  A few people I know participate, but typically by giving up chocolate or coffee or the funny papers.  We don't wave palm branches on Palm Sunday.  We don't have Maundy-Thursday services to remember the Last Supper.  We don't go to a Good Friday event.  Even Easter often seems like just another Sunday.  I often feel that in our rejection of Church tradition, we have lost some things that are rich and valuable.

Passover lap books from 2014.

And so, as a wife and mother, I set apart Holy Week for my family.  We set aside the usual school work and do something special.  We follow the Scriptures from the Triumphal Entry to the Last Supper, the agony in the Garden, to the ascent up Calvary, to the sealed tomb, and to the empty tomb.  We make hot cross buns on Good Friday.  We take communion as a family.  We have driven nails into wooden crosses. We've washed each other's feet.  We have studied the Jew's Passover celebration and seen how it all points to Jesus, the Lamb of God who was slain for our sin.  This year we will read Dangerous Journey, Oliver Hunkin's version of Pilgrim's Progress for children.  I pray that my children will be enriched spiritually by this allegory of the Christian's journey to heaven.  And that I will be too.

We will eat ham.  I will hide plastic eggs filled with candy.  My children will have something new to wear.

Lil Miss Petite in her new Easter clothes 2013.

We make memories, we mark days, we day-by-day build a heritage that can't be fully seen as yet.

We set apart. And then we celebrate.

Postpartum Thoughts

It's been a long week.  And a whirlwind of a week.  Funny how that seems to happen with the best things in life.  Both fast and slow.

Pregnancy seemed so long.  I was happy to deliver Baby  B three weeks early, just to be done with the giant belly that prevented me from bending over, from sleeping, from normal digestion. And now, a week out of pregnancy and into being mama to a newborn, I think "It wasn't so bad." And it wasn't. But it does still seem long.

Here we are.  Healing from the c-section.  Still in various degrees of being sore.  Sweating profusely every night and waking up freezing (this is normal for me after giving birth).  Trying to find something that fits.  Sleeping like a rock- hallelujah!

It's been an emotional week.  Discouragement on day two because I felt so much discomfort.  Elation when my baby was sleeping skin-to-skin.  Crying and laughing at the same time on Monday night because the postpartum emotions were overflowing as wildly as my milk was coming in.  I have come to know it and expect it after four babies... and it makes everything feel like too much.  It is hilarious at the same time as it is real.

I've shed some tears this week.  I've got a five-year-old that has been just a wee bit naughty since baby brother came home.    I can't seem to follow a recipe anymore, as evidenced by two fails making pies for Pi  Day (3.14.15).  And one pie was a kit from a box.  My family went to church in a snowstorm without me and I cried, thinking they'd be killed in a car accident and that would be the end of our newly begun, precious family of six.

It may all be irrational, and that is to be expected.  I just had a baby, after all.  I am elated, on cloud-nine, blown away by the miracle of this little life entrusted to us.  And then hiding in my room, crying about something I saw on Facebook.  I've used nursing pads to wipe my tears.   I've laughed at my first "christening" by Baby B.  I've looked lovingly at the drawings stuck to the refrigerator and looked the other way at the Lego mess.

My first full day home, I wrote myself some reminders regarding this postpartum season, and I am publishing them here to re-remind myself of them.

-Be easy on yourself.

- This body will take time to heal and to recover.

- Don't worry about your size and weight and clothes right now.

-  But try to feel pretty.

-Take time off from all the "shoulds" and responsibilities.

- Take time to bond with each child.

-Take time to bond with Josh.

-Seek God everyday for even one verse to dwell on.

-It's okay to cry and be a ball of emotion.

- Anything outside your family doesn't matter right now.

-Take breaks.

-Don't multi-task too much.

-Eat to nourish your body; not to lose weight.  You and your baby need nutrition right now, not a diet.

-Say "yes" to any offers of help.


Pregnancy and the postpartum period are vulnerable times.  We tend to want to overlook that fact as a culture.  We want to be the Superwoman who leaves the hospital in her pre-pregnancy clothes.  We want to juggle the responsibilities of home, work, and a new baby without dropping the balls.  We want to look like we got a great  night sleep.  We want to resume all our previous commitments.  All of this is most likely because of the pressure we feel from the outside.

It's a time to rest and be taken care of, as long as anyone is offering.  And if no one is offering, it's time to put our feet up and take a nap with the baby on our chest, put in a tray of chicken nuggets and fries, and let the older kiddos watch a movie.

This time will fly by.  Superwoman can wait.

Welcome Baby B!

If you've been following along with the story of our "placenta previa" pregnancy, you can find the  blessed outcome here!

February!

The other day I realized, with some surprise, that it was February. February!

What's so surprising about that? you may wonder.  

Usually, there is nothing surprising about February.

But it wasn't really February, the month, I was realizing.

It was the fact that we've made it this far!

We've made it to 33 weeks, and beyond, in relatively normal pregnancy fashion.

You see, back when I found out that I had placenta previa, and did some research on it, and got referred to an OB specialist, I really wondered how long we would go.  Without a serious bleeding incident.  Or before I was put on bed rest.  Or had to call the ambulance and spend a few nights in the hospital.

I thought for sure that by February, I would be on bed rest.  That I'd have to have someone near all time, just in case.

I figured I would be like a ticking time bomb, waiting to go off.

But it's February!  Just 25 days til the baby is delivered.  We've made it this far!

The planner (okay, control freak) in me stressed greatly over the whole third trimester before it even began. 

I wasn't sure what to do about the homeschool co-op, as I lead it and teach two classes.  I wasn't sure if we could proceed in the new semester.

I vowed not to lift anything heavy, including nursery kiddos at church.

I decided not to venture far from home, as it just wasn't safe.

I prayed a lot about how on earth to approach this precarious season in my life.  I didn't want to stand still, paralyzed by fear. But I also didn't want to over commit and over stress myself.

But then I realized, life just had to go on.  My doctor gave me no major restrictions regarding my activity level.  (My mom didn't want me to mop my floors before Christmas.  So I asked my doctor if it was okay.  He said normal, every day activities were just fine.)  I decided that I would proceed with life as normal, anticipating the best, but ready to make big modifications if I had to.

And here it is February. We're about to have our Valentine's Day party at co-op on Friday.  No bleeding.  No drama.

All I can say is, God is so good.

Because when I read the real-life stories of previa pregnancies, there is usually drama, sometimes even before the third trimester, and almost always when you hit 30 weeks.  Of course, every story is different, and I haven't read of one story not turning out well in the end, but we have made it further than most without incident.

And I'm so thankful.  And hopeful that we'll keep counting down, 25... 24... 23...22... all the way to B-day, when our baby boy will be born safe and sound.

It is so like me to want to stand still in fear.  To hold back based on the "what-ifs" in life.  But I'm learning to keep moving.  Even with the little things.  Even if I'm still afraid.

February might still hold some surprises... but each day is another day closer to March 6th!

Notes From a Not-So-Cute Pregnant Lady

At the start of this pregnancy, I had high ideals. I always do.

I was going to eat the Trim Healthy Mama way. (Essentially, no fat with carbs and always protein).

I was going to look cute. Every single day.  Do my hair. Do my make-up.  Wear something nice. Every. Single. Day.

I was going to savor every little moment of pregnancy.

I don't know how many days I went before reality set in.  Maybe I even went weeks.  My first trimester wasn't too exhausting.  I didn't gain very much weight, though my belly popped unexpectedly soon.  I was tan because it was summer.  I had been running and lifting weights, so my body felt strong and ready for this.

But I was ravenous, as I always am in the first trimester.  But then I'd eat and feel nauseous.  Everything I thought I wanted to eat, after I ate it... I never wanted to see it again.  I still feel that way about the Mexican place we ate.  At the time, it was great.  Now? Never again.

First trimester craving for Mexican food.  Oh those chile relanos were delish...  But how can I ever go back without flashbacks of early pregnancy nausea?

I wasn't exhausted, but I was tired by noon. And it hasn't let up, even now that I'm in my third trimester.

I'll be honest. I've got varicose veins.  First time ever.  I've got melasma (the mask of pregnancy)- dark circles under my eyes due to hormones.  I look exhausted and pale, even after applying foundation and bronzer.  My digestive system is whack.  Nuff said on that.

The truth is, there is no season quite like pregnancy to lose control.  My meaning is two-fold.  You'll have no choice, no control over so many things.  So you might as well give up control. Lose it.  Let it go.

I would never choose the things that are ailing me and disfiguring me.  I certainly wouldn't choose the placenta previa, the low amniotic fluid, the blood pressure that's higher than normal.  I wouldn't choose the c-section.

Even though I've made many wise choices this pregnancy regarding supplements I take, medications I don't take, foods I'm eating for nutritional quality, and getting enough rest, none of it has prevented the unwanted from happening.  To a very large degree, I am out of control.

And I have to make peace with that.

Having a "high risk" pregnancy is teaching me a lot.  I have moments of guilt that come out of nowhere- Did I do something that caused this?  Thankfully, I don't dwell on this as I know there isn't, but it makes me think of all the other women out there who have less-than-adorable pregnancies, or complicated pregnancies, that also feel the guilt.

The guilt of gaining "too much" weight.

Of getting gestational diabetes or preeclampsia.

The guilt of a possible birth "defect" that was detected via sonogram.

Guilt for the exhaustion. For wanting to just stay home in stretchy pants.

Or guilt for needing to get OUT, even if it is in stretchy pants.

Guilt for the roller coaster of emotions you take everyone in your home on.

I look at pictures of myself, even from those first weeks of pregnancy, and I think "I was so cute! I was so in shape! Now look at me!"  I feel giant. Inflated.  I've never been a skinny minnie, but compared to how big I feel now, I looked like a size 2 just a few short months ago!

But I can't live there. I can't dwell on that.  I've had three babies previously and I know... that body can come back.  Kinda. Sorta.

I hear tell that the nasty blue veins will diminish after the baby arrives.

I don't do bikinis, so a Cesarean scar is no big deal.  I hope. Right?

I want to tell all the pregnant girls, Chill! Let it go!  Don't let yourself go, but don't try to control. Stuff is going to happen that you don't like.  Accept it.  Make peace.  Focus on your health and baby's.

My very dear friend and I, due just a week apart!  We have been friends for over eleven years!  I joke that we are Elizabeth and Sarah from the Bible, two old ladies having babies.  I'd say we look a little tired, but we do have a certain glow as well.

Take a nap if you can.

Give in to that craving and for goodness sake, stop mentally calculating every calorie!

Moving, getting out, putting on some make up really will help you feel better.  But it only goes so far.

Embrace the growing belly and the stretchy pants that so comfortably enfold it!

Dream of how much better you'll feel postpartum, but enjoy this glorious process of creating life.  The hiccups (my babe's got em right now!).  The kicks.  The hard spot you can nudge and that responds by moving.

It is such a short, short season.   And I'll be you look a lot cuter than you think or feel.