Finding Yourself in Motherhood

Four days after my son was born, I bawled like a baby as I heard the little cry start again.  It was 3 am, I was utterly exhausted, and this was the fourth time I had tried to lay my new son down and slip into bed.  Thirty minutes later, I fell asleep with him draped across my chest…something I vowed to never do…something the pediatrician who had checked him out in the hospital had told me to never, ever do.  As I slipped into sleep I cried again, feeling like a failure as a mom. 
I’d always wanted to be a mother.  I was pretty sure that, when the time came, I would know exactly what I was doing and that motherhood would come naturally to me.  I was so wrong.
Sure, I had those amazing feelings of love you always hear about.  Changing dirty diapers didn’t make me cringe a bit.  Once the struggle of the first tough month was over, I even enjoyed nursing.  What I wasn’t prepared for were the feelings of inadequacy and uselessness.  My filthy house, dirty dishes stacked high, and inability to get one decent meal on the table made me feel completely incapable as a house wife.  The fact that my son was not a “typical” newborn (as I thought he should be) made me feel out-of-control.  My exhausted frustration at my son when he would scream for hours every night from colic made me feel like a terrible mom.  Most of all, though, I felt like I wasn’t accomplishing anything all day.  I struggled with feeling a sense of purpose.
I knew that taking care of my son was my purpose for this season of life, but there was a disconnect between knowing that and feeling it in my heart.  I knew I was doing something very worthwhile and purposeful, but most days I felt like I was just treading water.  The problem was that, deep down, I wasn’t just a milk-producing, diaper changing, baby holding robot…there was a very real and individual person just dying to be let out!  The challenge in any change of seasons is finding the balance between who you are as a person and the tasks God has put before you for today. 
For me, finding this balance meant two things.  The first was that I had to change.  I had to let go of my need for control and desire to do things the “right” way and instead be flexible and learn to be the mom my son needed…not the mom I wanted to be.  Anytime God refines us, the process is far from easy and painless.  There were days that I despised the new mom posting on Facebook asking for ideas of things to do because her baby was so easy and she was bored.  Yet, I have come to realize that God gave me Miles with all of his out-of-the-boxness so that He could mold me and force me to let go of my controlling tendencies.  He gave me a very real little individual so that He could change my individual self.
Finding the balance for me also meant fusing who I was as a person with the role of mother.  Again, this isn’t an easy process.  I have come to believe that, in any season or role we find ourselves in, our personality should still shine and show through.  I don’t parent the same as any other mom because I am not any other mom.  I am a tea-drinking, outdoor-loving, greenthumb-wannabe who loves traveling and good food.  Consequently, my son spends a lot of time outdoors, is well acquainted with garden tools, has traveled more than most people will in a lifetime, and will eat just about anything…including spicy food or strong-flavored ethnic cuisine.  He is his own person, but his daily life is the way it is mostly because of who I am as a person.  God placed Miles in my care because He knew that the mama I am is the mama Miles needed.   
As I approach my two-year anniversary of being a mother, I’ve gotten into a better groove.  I have a system down for at least keeping the house manageably clean.  We do eat a home-cooked meal most nights, even if it was something I stuck in the freezer two weeks ago and just dumped in the crockpot that morning.  I already have long lists of freezer meals to assemble and preparations to make for whenever Baby Baker #2 decides to enter our home, knowing very keenly how needed those will be.  I feel very purposeful as I order our home, chase my toddler around, and reach out to other moms in our community. 
I am not the same person I was before my son was born.  And yet, I am more than just a mother.  I am Caitlin Baker, wife, mom, homemaker, and very real person…something that brings me very great joy.    

Dear Single Girl: Would You Follow Him?

Dear Single Girl Who’s Wondering if He’s “The One”:
When I was twenty years old I did something crazy: I got married and moved a thousand miles away to the hills of rural Arkansas.  My husband and I didn’t have much to our name and I was still in school.  To top it off, I had never lived away from home before. 
Four years later, I look back and am shocked by that bold step.  Yet, I’ve never once regretted that decision.  Our marriage has had its ups and downs, just as any marriage does, but we are very, very happy.  I do miss my family and the endless sunny days in Arizona, but I have never once cried from homesickness.  In all honesty, that move from Arizona to Arkansas was not terribly hard for me. 
I get asked almost daily why it wasn’t that hard.  I’ve come up with all sorts of answers.  My personality.  I was ready to have my own home.  I was raised to be independent.  Modern technology makes staying-in-touch easy.  All true reasons, but not enough in and of themselves.  The real truth is that it wasn’t all that hard because of Andy.
When I was a young teenager, I got it in my head that I wanted to marry a man that I could follow.  For a stubborn, bossy first-born such as myself, that was not an easy requirement.  Yet, in my heart I knew that that criteria would be the make-or-break factor for my marriage.  “Would You Go With Me?” by Josh Turner became my anthem.  I longed for a man who would ask me if I’d go with him “to the ends of the sea”, and with whom I knew that I would.
I thought I knew what such a man would look like.  He’d have to be loud and outgoing to balance out my quiet side.  He’d have to be a good speaker, but a poor writer, so that I could be his helpmeet and write for him.  Oh how wrong I was!
Thankfully, I would indeed follow my husband to the end of the sea.  Yet, this man of mine is not what I thought he would be.  He is quiet and reserved and gentle.  When describing him, his grandmother once told me that still water runs deep.  He has a tender heart, yet he can be sarcastic.  He’s a good speaker, but he doesn’t like to be the center of attention.  And he’s a wonderful writer.
When I married Andy, I knew I was marrying a man I could follow.  I have come to realize that it is for this reason primarily that moving away from everyone and everything I ever knew wasn’t so very difficult.  You see, when you marry a man that you can follow, actually following him isn’t all that bad.
You may never follow your man to the ends of the sea.  You may end up getting married and never living farther away than the house next door to your parents.  But I can promise that the time will come when you will have to follow him, and you will be asked to give up or move away from something or someone that you love.  The question is, will you be able to do it? 
And so, as you look for a man to marry, I encourage you to not settle for anything less than a man you can follow.  Don’t look for a man who is good looking, or well off, or charismatic, or seems to have to have it all together.  Don’t look for a man that you will always agree with or that will go along with anything you want.  Instead, look for a man you can follow. 
I know all too well how important that is.

Of Hymns, Drums, and True Worship

Music is something very near and dear to my heart.  As a musician, music worship is one of the single greatest ways I connect with God.  I love and crave the times when I get to sing songs of praise to the Great Lover of my soul, and I’ve experienced the whole gamut of music worship types.

Before getting married and moving to Arkansas, I attended a Conservative Southern Baptist church with my family.  We still sang mostly hymns, the choir still wore big, shoulder-padded choir robes, and quarterly business meeting/potluck were known to last for hours. 

I played my violin and sang in the choir almost every Sunday.  I even accompanied the choir on the piano for some of our bigger performances.  The music was traditional, beautiful, and very much like a performance. 
I’ve also been at churches where the music was all contemporary, loud, and emotion-driven.  I appreciate aspects of both.  I like both.

However, in the past few years, my view of what worship should be like has been shifting.  I’ve come to realize that, in truth, music worship is not about what we like or what makes us feel good or comfortable.  Music worship is about worshiping God.  Plain and simple.

Those that lead us in this area should be focused on worshiping God themselves and leading everyone else into true genuine worship.  It’s not about how great the choir is, or how well the musicians play.  All too easily, “good” music can turn into a show instead of a time of worship.  While it’s important that music be pleasant and sound good (otherwise it’s distracting in and of itself), that’s not the most important thing.  The real question should be, “Am I truly worshiping?” 

I’ve been in many “traditional” services where the hymn singing is rote and completely unemotional.  No one is truly worshiping…they are merely going through the motions and enjoying music the way it “should” be. 
Conversely, I’ve been in many “contemporary” services where the music worship is nothing more than an emotional high.  There is no true substance…no true, genuine worship.

It doesn’t have to be that way.  Thankfully, I’ve also had the privilege of seeing this first hand.  I’ve watched a congregation of mostly senior adults, moved by the spirit while singing “How Great Thou Art”, stand to their feet, one older woman with her hands raised high.  You could just feel God there.  I’ve also watched as 40,000 college students worshiped honestly and genuinely to the tune of loud, beat-heavy music. 

I believe that we can worship anywhere, in any place.  We don’t have to have “contemporary” music or “traditional” hymns.  We don’t have to have a choir or select instruments.  We don’t even have to have the type of music we prefer.  All we have to have is a pure, open heart that is focused on worshiping our God, simply and fully.     


Here are a few questions to ask yourself as you worship:

-Where is my heart?  Is it on adoring and thanking my King, or is it on the girl wearing the mini skirt in front of me?  Am I having a moment with just God and me, or am I thinking about how off-key someone in the choir is?

-Am I listening to the words and truly meaning them? When I’m singing “Holy, Holy, Holy”, am I thinking about every word and truly standing in awe of my God?  When I’m singing “with arms lifted high”, are my arms actually lifted high?  Am I just going through the motions, singing familiar songs?

-Does this music make me say, “Wow, that was awesome!” or “Wow, God is awesome!”?  Is the music so showy or polished that it distracts me from the meaning?  Is this music a performance or a worship experience?

-Does this music speak to my head, my emotions, or my heart?  Is this music a mere emotional experience?  Is this music pure rote memory and nothing more?  Am I actually worshiping from my heart?

While you can learn to worship anywhere, to any music, sometimes (okay, many times, sadly), you will find yourself in a church where the music is either all for show or all about tradition.  These factors may simply be too distracting to your worship experience.  I would encourage you to pray fervently about where God would have you.  While we need to follow God’s leading regardless of our personal preferences, I don’t believe that God would put you in a church where you can’t truly worship Him.  Sometimes distractions are a sign that God is leading you elsewhere.

Whatever the case, remember that the style, setting, and volume level of the music is not important.  What matters is that you can worship there.  Personally, I would rather be in a church where the music is boring, simple, and flawed with a worship leader whose goal is to lead us into worship, than in a church that’s missing the point of worship.  True music worship is not a performance…it’s a time of praising, adoring, and thanking God together with your fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. 

Of Dreams

Dreams.  We all have them.

I use to have so many dreams.  Horses.  Love.  Marriage.  Children.  Travel.  Writing.  Security.  The list was never ending!

The past few years the idea of dreams has been almost constantly in my thoughts.  God's been sifting my heart and my life, and as a result I've been questioning what place, if any, dreams should hold in my life.

If I say that I want all of me to die and all of Him to live in me, does that mean that my dreams have to die too?  Is it even okay to dream?  What does it mean to dream God's dreams?  How do I know that my dreams are His too, and not just mine?

In the midst of all this, I've let many of my dreams slip away into the background.  I've busied myself with the things of the day, and in turn all but forgotten what those many dreams were.  And yet, I found that no matter what I did, there were burning passions and dreams deep in my heart-of-hearts that could not be stifled or quenched.  Like embers, they remained.  It was like they were waiting for the perfect time to once more burst into flame.  

You see, the thing about dreams is that they're not all bad.  Yes, sometimes they can be selfish.  Sometimes they may be good things, but just not what God has for us at this time...or ever.  But sometimes--just sometimes--they're things that God has placed in our heart and soul for a reason.  We may not understand how they fit into His plan ultimately, but make no mistake...they have a purpose.

Its okay to dream.  It really is!  Those things that stir our very core are there for a reason.  Yet, to fully experience them and see them blossom, we must first lay them at Christ's feet.  We must let them die in Him.  We must trust that, in His perfect timing, the small seed that dies and falls to the ground will sprout and grow into something beyond our wildest imaginings.

And so, I've been digging into the treasure chest of my heart, once more.  I've been rediscovering those many dreams I dreamed.  Some big, some small.  All buried away for a time.

Some of the dreams I dreamed have faded away.  I can hardly remember why I dreamed them in the first place.  Others I've seen bountifully fulfilled.  Still others I'm still waiting on.  The strangest are those dreams that have changed.  They hold glimpses of the old dream, but they have been transformed into something far different...something far better.

You see, that's what happens when we let God have our dreams.  He takes those burning coals, molds them and refines them, and makes them His.  He takes those passions He created in us and uses them for His plan and His glory.

Dream big, little passionate one.  Just don't forget to place them on His shoulders.  He can be trusted.

"For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope." ~Jeremiah 29:11   

Not In Control

I'm one of those people that likes to make lists and schedules.  I like to feel like I have it all together.  In all honesty, I want others to think that as well.  I want them to think I'm great at juggling being a wife and mom.  I want them to believe that my house is always clean, and that I always have a delicious meal ready at supper time.  

You want to know the truth, though?  I have never felt so disorganized in my whole life as in these seven months since Miles was born.  There have days when my house has looked like a complete pig-sty and my only "accomplishment" for the day was getting my makeup on.  I can't tell you how many nights Andy has come home from work to find dinner not even close to being ready, and me asking if we can just go out somewhere....again.  I've had to drop a lot of my outside commitments.  Hey, blogging, something that I truly love to do, has even fallen through the cracks.  The weird part, however, is that I've become surprisingly okay with all of that.

As I've written about before, Miles is no easy baby.  These days he's mostly happy during the day, and I can breathe a little bit easier.  But he's still not one to happily play in a bouncer seat or spend hours on his playmat.  Usually, me trying to tackle the pile of dishes in the sink consists of Miles sitting on the floor at my feet, with me giving him something new to play with every minute or so.  Even then, that might last 10 minutes and he's bored.  He is thoroughly unpredictable.  I'm not even going to tell you how many times he was up last night.

Miles has challenged almost every pre-conceived notion I had about motherhood, babies, and parenting.  I found that a lot of my time and research during pregnancy went out the window within days of his birth (okay, hours).  And yet, through it all, I've felt that Still, Small, Voice consistently telling me to "let go, and let God".  I have been learning to daily let go of my need for control, and instead surrend everything to the One Who is Able.  I've been laying down that image I have of what it means to be the "perfect" wife and mother, and instead letting Him mold me into the wife and mother He wants me to be.  Through it all, I have found the most amazing peace.  There is so much joy in not being in control...in not even thinking you need to be!

Recently, I heard another new mom described as "having it all together".  Her baby was sleeping well at night and was on a good schedule.  She seemed to be effortlessly keeping up with all the demands of life.

For a minute, I felt a twinge of jealousy.  I wanted to be the mom that everyone described as "having it all together".  I began plotting ways of "proving" how truly on top of things I was.  But then that Still, Small Voice tapped quietly on the door of my heart.  

"Remember," It said, "that's not who I'm calling you to be.  That's not the kind of mom Miles needs, or the kind of wife Andy wants.  That's not the woman I want you to be."

I realized that in not being that mom,  I was taking the path that God was calling me, specifically, to.

We all have areas of our life that He is refining us in.  For me, it has been a slow, steady chipping away at my need for control.  I could never have dreamed that God would use one sweet baby boy to change me so much.  Yet, I know that every refining moment, no matter how difficult, is all a part of His plan.  It's all a part of His process of shaping me into the woman of God He wants me to be.

Today my house is fairly tidy.  Dinner is cooking in the crock pot, and the floor doesn't look like a muddy bear invaded.  But there are still dirty dishes in the sink.  There's still laundry waiting to be folded, a checkbook that needs to be balanced, and a toilet that needs a good scrubbing.  I couldn't imagine having free time to work outside of the home, or get busy on a sewing project.  I certainly don't have everything together, and I'm far from in control of my daily life.  And that's okay.     

In the Way He Should Go

As I write this my little son is asleep in his car seat.  This is a rare moment for him, as he usually screams his head off back there until we take him out.

There are those that will tell you all babies fall asleep in the car.  Those people would be wrong.  If there's anything I've learned since becoming a mom, it's that every child is different.  Personalities are not shaped, they are born.  My baby boy has had a strong personality from the moment of his birth, and he most definitely hates his car seat with a passion.  It's just the way he is.

My son has also turned into a very poor sleeper this past month.  Until then, he was sleeping at least one 4-6 hour stretch a night.  Last night his longest stretch was two hours...and that was a good night.  I've already had people scold me for not "sleep training" my babe...or for not putting him on a schedule set by me.  I assure you, we are working on helping him sleep better again.  However, I'm not doing it in the way prescribed by some "expert". 

You see, the truth of the matter is that no expert knows my son.  He is a unique little person, and there is simply no one-size-fits-all solution.  I'm using what I know about my son, God's wisdom, as well as my own instincts l, to parent.

There are so many Christians that are quick to say "train up a child", yet they miss out on one of the key parts: "in the way HE should go".  It doesn't say "in the way you think he should go", or "in the way experts say he should go", but "in the way HE should go". 

As parents, it is our duty and privilege to find out what that path is for each precious blessing entrusted to us, and help him or her walk in it.  Honestly, that's sometimes a hard task.  We crave control and security, yet our children often challenge that simply by being them.  Now, I'm in no way advocating an absence of discipline or training...that would be just as bad!  What I am saying is that our discipline and training should be tailored to each individual child.  And, frankly, there are definitely areas we need to let go of.  We need to give our children space to grow and bloom into the person they are meant to be!

And so, as I work with my little man, helping him to sleep better, I'm going to do it in the best way for him.  I'm going to be patient, loving, and supportive.  I'm not going to see his cries as manipulative or controlling, because I'm not so needy for control that I turn his own needs into wants.  And you know what?  If he's not the best of sleepers, that's okay.  In the long run, some extra night cuddles aren't going to hurt anyone.

Of Snake Bites and Adoration

Last week was a long week, to say the least.  Andy and I were both exhausted by the end of it.  So, we enjoyed a quiet dinner at the Mexican restaurant, then came home to watch a movie we had been wanting to see.  As you can imagine, our peaceful little evening didn’t last long. 

Out in the yard, one of the dogs yelped, and then both of them started barking incessantly.  I stuck my head out of the door, and it was quickly apparent that there was something on or under the back porch.  Thankfully, it was still light to see that much. 

Andy headed to get a rifle, thinking it might be a possum or something.  As it turned out, it was not a possum, or anything of the sort.  It was a lovely little copperhead, coiled up on our back porch.  The dogs were barking at it, but holding their ground.  Little Elsa, our fearless cat (who, by the way, is a very small little cat), was up right next to it batting it.  Apparently she wanted to show the dogs how it was done. 

Andy was afraid of hitting the dogs or the cat, so he went in got his old BB gun instead.  Thankfully, once he got out there, the dogs and cat decided to let him take care of it.  And so, take care of it he did. :)

Only thing was, it was soon obvious that all was not right with my little beagle, Sam.  She was acting very drowsy and lethargic, and Andy discovered fang marks right on her nose.  Poor girl, she probably didn’t know what hit her.

By now it was nine o’clock, and we had no idea what to do.  We tried to get a hold of someone who could get a hold of the vet, but to no avail.  Andy called an emergency vet clinic in Little Rock, who told him to bring the dog in quickly. 

“Um, ma’am, I really can’t do that.”


“Why not, Sir?”


“My wife is nine-months pregnant and Little Rock is over two hours away.”


In the back of my mind was the thought that I could quite easily go into labor right then, and here was poor little Sam with her snout swelling by the minute. 

My man is a persistent one, though, and he finally found out that he should squirt children’s Benadryl down her throat.  Since we had none, he drove into town to get some.  Then, when we finally did get a hold of the vet, Andy took Sam over to see him at 10 pm.

Thankfully, Sam is doing fine now.  You can’t even tell where she got bit, although she’s definitely a little slower than normal.  The funniest thing has happened, though.  She suddenly adores Andy. 


Now, don’t get me wrong, she always liked him before, but she was never really his dog.  Suddenly, when she sees him her tail starts wagging like crazy and she comes running up eager for a pat on the head.  Apparently he is now her hero.

It got me thinking about how much we are like little Sam.  Our heavenly Father has the ability all along to take care of us and do wondrous things for us, but rarely do we recognize and adore Him until He really does.  Yet, how many times is He working and we just don’t see it?  How many times are we missing out on His goodness and majesty, or forgetting to remember the wondrous things He’s done for us?

May it not take a snake bite on my nose for me to learn to love and worship Him as He deserves.

To “Anonymous”

The other day I received a comment from an anonymous person on a post I wrote back in February, which you can read here (be sure to read the comment as well).  It was rather mean and vindictive, and my first reaction was just to delete it.  I’ve decided to address it instead because, quite simply, the more I thought about it, the more the comment made me sick.  If I’m brave enough to put my views out there into the blogosphere, then I should be able to defend them when they are attacked.   

To “Anonymous”:

I don’t know who you are, or whether I know you personally or not.  Apparently you didn’t have the guts to write a comment like that publicly.  I’m going to take the higher ground and address your comment…publicly.

I don’t know where you got the idea that I support rapists’ rights.  In the post you commented on, I only mentioned rape twice, and very briefly.  I think that rape is a terrible, despicable thing that no woman should ever have to go through.  Unfortunately, there are some very evil people in this world who should be locked up forever.  Sadly, many times our government doesn’t realize this until its too late, after many women have already become their victims.

I fully agree that no woman is deserving of such an unspeakable crime, nor should she have to bear any further “punishment” for something that was not her fault.  That being said, I know without a doubt that, should I ever be in the situation of finding myself pregnant due to rape, I would keep the baby and either put it up for adoption or raise it myself.  I would never, ever choose an abortion.
The crux of the matter goes beyond merely thinking that “two wrongs don’t make a right”.  Instead, it is found in the fact that a life, no matter the circumstances of its conception, is still a life.  A baby is still a baby.

You referred to a woman carrying a baby conceived through rape as a woman forced to “contaminate their family gene pool with the genetically damaged spawn of the criminal”.  Frankly, this made me sick to my stomach.  Why on earth is a baby conceived through rape “genetically damaged” or “contaminating” to a gene pool?  Yes, the father is a monster who should be locked up for the rest of his life, but how does that make the baby a monster as well? 

If we are solely the product of our genetics, then what hope does that give any of us?  Where does nurture come in (versus just nature)?  I certainly am not my parents, and would resent anyone who tried to state what the course of my life will be based on their lives.  Furthermore, why bother to parent, discipline, or teach, if our children are destined to be exactly what their DNA is coded to be?
Yes, genetics plays a role.  It determines what we’ll look like, what our talents will be, and if we’ll find school easy or hard.  It certainly gives us a tendency towards certain things (eg., a quick temper, shyness, poor public speaking skills), but how we are raised and the choices we make in our life play a much bigger role.
    
I have two sisters that were adopted and who, quite frankly, could tell you story-after-story about the kind of scum-bags their biological parents were…and I’m talking despicable stuff.  Does that make them somehow inferior to those who had “good” parents?  Does that mean that they themselves are “despicable”?  Perhaps, because their parents were such awful people, they should be “done away” with too, just like the “genetically damaged spawn” you speak of.  I highly doubt you would think this, though.  Why?  Because they are people who are living and breathing, who have the right to their life.  Yet, so does the tiny baby in my womb.       


If it is not genetics that makes a baby conceived in rape “genetically damaged”, then I can only conclude that you are speaking of the way in which they were conceived.  If our conception is what defines us, then we’re all in big trouble.  Most of us probably don’t even know the circumstances of our conception…do we need to go ask our parents in order to verify our validity as a life, as one who is not “genetically damaged”?  If our lives, and our rights, are defined by our conception, then does that make the child conceived out of a one night stand any less worthy than the child conceived out of an act of love in solid, committed marriage? 

What about the babies conceived in rape who are kept?  Once they are born, are they any less worthy of love and respect than any other baby?  Do they not have them same right to life and the “pursuit of happiness”, or must they live their entire lives being told that they are “genetically damaged spawn” that their mother should have “ripped out” of herself…that they are merely the “damage” from rape? 

Rape isn’t fair.  It’s not fair to have to experience a violent sexual assault, nor is it fair to become pregnant through no choice of your own, and through such a terrible act notwithstanding.  Yet, it also isn’t fair to the baby to “rid yourself” of its tiny life.  It isn’t fair to let a baby, who relies on you alone for nurture and protection, to die unwanted, unloved, and uncared for…as the “genetically damaged spawn” of a rapist. 

A woman who makes the brave choice to save the life within her, despite the circumstances of its conception, does not walk an easy road.  She will bear pain and suffering that she shouldn’t have to.  She will have to make the choice to give the baby up for adoption or raise it herself.  She will, no doubt, experience criticism and pressure from those around her…perhaps even those she loves most.  Yes, the baby within her will be a constant reminder of the horrible act committed against her.  Yet, she will do so with the knowledge that she is doing what she must to safe the tiny and, yes, precious, life within her…giving it the chance that only she can give.  Nobody said it would be easy, but we are women and we are endowed with a strength that no man could ever possess.

“Anonymous”, I don’t know who you are or what your background is.  I don’t know what kind of pain you’ve experienced in your life, or if you’ve ever gotten to experience the miracle of carrying a child within your womb.  What I can tell you is that the tiny life that you may call an “embryo” or a “fetus” is a life.  I’ve seen it with my own eyes!  I’ve seen a baby the size of a lima bean kick and flail around…and I’ve heard his little heart clearly beating. 

I am no supporter of rapists rights.  As for rapists trying to claim paternity of a child, I believe that no rapist should be given any parental rights, and that he should instead be locked up for the rest of his life.  Yet, neither do I believe that that child is merely “genetically damaged spawn”.  Saving the life conceived out of such an evil act as rape is not letting the rapist “win”.  Instead, it is rising above what he has done and saving the helpless, innocent life within you.  (And, yes, I said innocent…a baby should not be punished for the crimes of his parents).  Making the bold choice to keep a baby conceived out of rape is taking what the rapist, and Satan, meant for evil, and turning it into miraculous good.

Baby B is Changing My World Again

Yesterday we went in for our anatomy scan.  Pretty quickly, the ultrasound tech smiled and said, “See that…it’s a boy!” 

I had a feeling it was a boy, but there was something completely surprising and life changing about knowing for sure what this sweet little baby growing within me is.  As he kicked and flipped, scratched his head and flexed his muscles, I was in awe.  To know that this little life, this little boy, has been growing within me, perfectly formed by the Father, was incredible.   And to think, too, how miraculously this little one was created.  Half me, half Andy…already a little boy, full of spirit and energy. 

We looked at the first ultrasound pictures, just 10 short weeks ago, and marveled at how he’s grown and changed. 

From just a little tiny thing, with stubby little arms moving around, to what looked like a real, true baby. 

No surprise to us, the ultrasound tech said he “looked long”.  Yep, he’ll be a tall one.  And to think he has about 20 more weeks of growing ahead!

    

Suddenly, I started to think about how my life was going to change in 20 weeks.  A little boy.  The first boy for my mom’s side of the family in literally 50 years.  Both of my cousins on that side are girls, I have only sisters, and only nieces.  And now comes a little boy.  We don’t know the first thing about a little boy!
But, oh, how fun it will be.  There’s already been talk of little fighter pilot outfits (thanks to my dad), and the manliest toys and colors we can find.  Suddenly into the lives of all these girls there will be Tonka trucks and cowboy hats, dinosaurs and bb guns.  I know we will love every minute, and you better believe this little boy will be spoiled and doted on to no end.

But best of all to me was Andy.  He’s been quiet since the ultrasound, taking it all in.  He kind of wanted a girl, but I think he forgot all about that once he saw our sweet baby boy on the screen.  Last night we walked into what will be our little boy’s room, thinking about just a few months from now.  Out of the blue, he grinned really big and started talking about getting cowboy hats and John Deere signs.  All thoughts of “his little girl” and pink ribbons and curls had gone out the window.  And he was so happy when he thought about having a son.     

Andy’s never been one to be prideful, or want a “firstborn son” or even an heir to his name.  That’s the sweetest part about it.  Yes, he will have both those things, but that’s not why he’s excited.  He’s excited because God knew exactly what he was doing when he gave us a boy.  We’ve been blessed with an incredible blessing…a son to raise up for the Lord. 

Two little girls already changed my world.  And now one little boy’s doing it all over again.

It’s Not My Body

From the beginning of creation, women have been experiencing the wonderful gift of pregnancy and childbirth.  They’ve marveled as their belly grew, and at the love they felt for the child the first time they held them in their arms.  But somewhere along the way, they decided that their body, this miraculous creation of God perfectly made to form and nurture the tiniest life, was theirs to control.  They decided that, because the tiny life within them was still a part of them—still within them—that they had the say-so to keep or end it.  And so many women do.


I am a woman.  I know what it’s like to be a woman.  I know how we think and how we multi-task.  I know how we have dreams and aspirations.  I know that a baby can be unexpected and unplanned, ruining our plans and our dreams.  But I also know that life is an incredible gift, not to be taken lightly.

For years we women have been lied to.  We’ve been told it’s not a baby—that it’s just a tiny clump of cells.  We’ve been told that we shouldn’t bring an unwanted baby into this world.  We’ve been told that it’s better off for the baby.  We’ve been told that it’s our choice. 


I’ve never been in the situation of even considering an abortion.  I’ve never been pregnant and unmarried, been financially unable to support a child, or been raped.  But I know people who have.  I know the fear, the guilt, the shame, that comes with those babies.  I know the pressures that society, friends, and family puts on you.  I understand why the easy road would seem to be simply “taking care of it”.

But I’ve also seen the tiny life within me on a screen, only eight weeks after conception.  I’ve seen it’s little heartbeat, and it’s sweet little head.  I’ve seen it kick and move, full of life.  I’ve heard the sound of the tiniest heart pumping blood, pumping life, through its little body.  I’ve had a glimpse of what life truly means…to be knit together in your mother’s womb.  And I know that each tiny life is a miracle, crafted special and with its own plan for its life. 

I know too that it’s hard.  A baby could change your life forever.  But what about adoption?  What about all the wonderful families out there that are just aching to make the baby growing inside of you their own?  Yes, there will be shame and guilt.  No, you can’t hide a pregnancy from the world.  But isn’t it worth it if only to give that tiny life a chance to blossom and grow?

You may say it was all a mistake or, if you were raped, that this child growing inside of you could be nothing more than a monster.  You don’t deserve this.  But, then again, neither does your child.  It doesn’t deserve to have life snatched away from it without even being given a chance.

No matter the circumstances behind its conception, a baby is still a baby.  It’s a helpless, fragile life, depending on you to care and nurture it…depending on you to bring it safely into this world.  So I ask you, knowing the miraculous work inside of you, can you still say “it’s my body”.  Don’t you know that you were intricately woven and fashioned, just as this small child is?  Who are you to stop this process?  Who are you to end this small life?  No, it’s not, and should not be, our choice.  It’s not our life to choose.

Sweet child, growing within my womb, know that I will always nurture you, guard you, and protect you, because you cannot yourself.  And with tears in my eyes I pray for the millions of little ones who will never know this love…never know the sacrifice that not “taking care of it” is.  May they be safely welcomed into the Father’s arms, who cares for even the tiniest life. 

Passion 2012

I know, it’s been almost a month, but I’m finally getting around to writing about Passion 2012 in Atlanta.  Not that it wasn’t amazing or exciting…I’ve just been busy!

A little over a year ago, my husband and I felt led to start working with the college ministry at our church.  Most of the college students in the class were kids that had grown up here and either stayed here to go to college, or left but came back for breaks.  Since neither of us grew up around here, we didn’t know the majority of them.  The big trip to Passion 2011, an amazing college conference in Atlanta, was coming up and we thought that it would be a great opportunity to get on board.  One of my sisters from Arizona was also signed up to go with us (no one she knew was going).

A couple of days before we left, however, Andy decided that, with work and all, he really couldn’t go.  So, I went with out him and took my sister.  It was an amazing four days, and learned a ton, but something was missing…Andy.  Not only was I lonely without him, it was just plain hard to take back what I had learned and share it with him in a way that would have had the same meaning had he gone himself!

A wonderful year passed, in which the college ministry was growing and we were loving working with the kids.  Passion 2012 came up and, this time, Andy got to go!  So, at the beginning of January we loaded up three vans and headed east. 

There are so many things I could share with you about our trip.  If you’re not familiar with Passion, it doesn’t have an equal.  It’s chock full of inspiring speakers, music, and encouragement to step up and make a difference in this world…despite only being a college student.  Not that adults can’t get anything out of it too…it’s just geared for 18-25 year olds.

The overarching theme this year was “Do Something Now”…an aspect they’ve always had but that took center stage this year.  Did you know that there are over 27 million slaves in the world today?  Yes, 27 million!  And guess what, before you dog on college students, they were able to raise almost 3 million dollars at Passion this year to free these slaves.  3 million dollars!!!


What hit me the most about Passion was not that, yeah, it’s awesome that all these college students got together to give money and praise Jesus, but the thought of what am I supposed to do about what I’m learning? 

Most Christians in America live in a bubble.  Somehow we think that if we’re going to church twice a week, paying tithe, and leading a Sunday school class that we’re somehow serving the Lord…somehow living how Jesus wants us to live.  But is that what it’s all about?

Sure, it’s great to serve in the church and, yes, many of us work hard for our “easy” lives full of nice houses and clothes.  But people are dying each moment and going to hell, and there are 27 million slaves in this world needing the hope of Jesus.  So what are we going to do about it?

For Andy and I, we left Passion examining our lives and our goals.  We felt like much of our own lives and what they about is a waste.  We have so many opportunities around us to reach out and spread Christ’s name.  And yet, do we?  And, compared to so many in the world, we have been incredibly financially blessed.  But do we covet things and call them “needs”, or do we use the money God has blessed us with for His kingdom?

Before Passion, I had been really wanting some new brown riding boots.  I’d been looking everywhere for a good pair, and I’d been saving up my money.  At Passion, it seemed like every girl around me was wearing brown riding boots.  And yet, here I was, without them.  But as Passion progressed, I suddenly realized how foolish my coveting of those boots was.  I started thinking about how much the money I would spend on those boots could benefit someone in need…could help free someone from slavery…could help bring somebody to Christ.  All of a sudden, those boots seemed very insignificant. 

There’s nothing wrong with looking nice and getting new things.  I, myself, am a firm believer in representing Christ by dressing nicely and with thought.  But how many things do we really need?  How much could we actually go without?


One of the speakers, Francis Chan, spoke about taking the Bible literally.  One day he was reading the Word and stumbled upon the parable of the feast.  He realized that that’s what God wants us to do…and so he did.  He and his wife found poor, destitute people and invited them to an incredible feast.  His wife took them shopping and bought them new clothes, and they were thoroughly pampered for the occasion.  Everything was planned to a “t”…a dinner party nicer than many of us have come to.  And what an incredible witness?  Isn’t this how God wants us to live?


Dare we live boldly for Christ and reexamine our very lives and what they revolve around?  All the answers are not found in the traditions of the church.  They’re found solely in God’s Word. 

Just a little food for thought.   

Wet Toes

It’s 5:30 on Friday night.  Andy is later getting home than he usually is, trying to wrap up everything for the weekend. 

He ate a very late lunch at a work meeting, so I’m not starting dinner yet.  There’s no telling when he’ll be hungry.  Instead, I sit at my kitchen table, sipping a cup of hot chocolate and gazing out the window.  Gazing at the mist.

It’s been foggy all day.  When I woke up this morning, I looked out our bathroom window to the field beyond and watched a cloud of mystery descend from the mountain.  We never had days like this in Arizona.  No rain, no snow…just cold.  And everything is wet.  It’s the kind of day that could seep to your bones, making your eyes droop and body sag.  Winter in Arkansas.


Three times today I went out in our yard, training our dog with the new wireless fence.  Part of me wanted to just stay inside, but I knew the training was crucial.  So I pulled on my hat, my scarf, and my gloves, and trudged out to get Sam.  Since moving to Arkansas, I’ve acquired thick rain boots.  They would have been perfect for a day like this.  But, not wanting to take any extra time, I left on my brown cloth ones that I wore to work and ventured out.  I found myself involuntarily looking down, letting the grey day direct my emotions.  But something caused me to stop.  The toes of my boots were wet.


Instantly I was transported to a different time and place.  Can it really be four years ago now?  Can it be that long ago that my friend and I went to England in the dead of winter, traipsing all over the countryside in our cloth boots?  My toes had been wet then too.


But somehow, back then, it didn’t matter.  It was thrilling to experience the newness of grey days and mist, of walking in the rain.  The locals thought we were crazy roaming around in it…without any “wellies” even.  But we loved it.  It was so new, so different.

And with my wet toes came a turning point in my life.  A time when, sitting beneath a giant tree in sheep field, I decided to stop trying to live my life by my strength and instead let Christ live in me.  I decided to let me die and He live.  My life has never been the same.


In one instance, everything was brought into perspective.  The meaning of my day-to-day doings, even the trivial task of training little Sam in the fog, meant everything.  They meant letting Him live in me, giving up all that I am, was, and ever hope to be for the sake of His will, His path, and His leading.  Nothing He sets before us is trivial in His eyes.  It’s all a part of His plan to bring glory to His name.  Each little task, even cooking dinner or training a dog, when done at His leading, becomes a puzzle piece to His grand design.  Oh, how much I miss out on each day.  How I needed that reminder!

And to think, it was all because of some wet toes.

Bare Trees and Seasons

Another typical day.  Another day of working hard, each moment consumed by some “important” task.  But on this day, I take a moment to look up around me.  I am startled to realize that some of the trees are already bare.

Suddenly I realize that Fall is slipping away all too quickly.  In the midst of my busyness, I’ve forgotten to savor each magical moment…each enchanting leaf.  I’ve yet to make a pumpkin pie.  I’ve yet to savor a hot cup of cider.  I missed the way the maple tree turned from green to yellow to red.  And I forgot to watch the leaves falling softly to the ground.

I feel in a panic.  “Wait!” I want to shout, “Come back!”

But they can’t come back, all those times I’ve missed…all the opportunities I wasted to delight in glorious Autumn.

Like a soldier marching on, time does not stop or waver.  It does not hear my mournful cries.  It just keeps pressing on.  On to another season, and another time.

And as I watch Fall march away, I realize something very sad: that in the midst of tackling my to-dos and tasks, I completely missed a season that I can never again get back. 

And so, with eyes wide open, I step into a new season, a new time—this time determined to not let those precious moments slip away…those simple, little gifts. 

Lord, may I never be so busy with life and living that I forget to stop and delight in the gifts of the season I am in.  May I not let these seasons of life slip away like Fall…never to get back again.   

The Big "C" Word

Compromise.  Usually it’s portrayed in a positive light, as far as it relates to relationships.  But compromise in the way we live?  I think we’ve taken it too far.

Nobody’s perfect, and Christians even more so.  But I’m sick of the compromise that’s going on.  I’m sick of us professing Christians living just like the world, instead of being the lights we should be.

Take purity, for example.  Often, we draw the line at the big “s” word.  Yet, in our dress and our actions, we are sending the message that we want to be as close to the world as possible.  Why do we compromise so much in this area?  No, you may not have had sex, but have you preserved your purity?  Purity is about so much more than just sex.  Purity is a mindset and a lifestyle. It’s a direction to go instead of a line to get close to. 

Now, I’m not saying that everyone has to wait for their wedding day to share their first kiss, like Andy and I did.  That was just something that Andy and I decided to save.  What I am saying is that, as Christians, when approaching the subject of purity and boundaries, as well as any other area of our lives, we need to think about our witness.

Last week, I saw some things posted online by a fellow believer in Christ.  They were very sensual and, to say the least.  There was nothing about them that was honoring of God.  Furthermore, this was public online for everyone to see.  Unfortunately, this is nothing new.  I am constantly let down and disappointed by the compromise I see in fellow brothers and sisters in Christ.  I struggle with compromise myself. 

So, my question is, why compromise?  Why see how close we can get to being like the world while still proclaiming Christ?  God doesn’t want lukewarm, compromising followers.  He wants followers who are truly sold out to Him and willing to live a life that’s radical in the eyes of the world in order to follow Him. 

I have news for you: the world isn’t drawn to themselves.  They’re empty, so why would they look to other empty people to fill them?  What they are drawn to is Christ as He overflows out of His followers.  And they can’t see Him when we look like the world.

Are you ready to stand up and be different?  Lets start running the race with our eyes fixed on Jesus instead of on what others are thinking of us. 

Not compromising.  It’s about so much more than toeing the line.  It’s about being different for Christ…and being okay with that.  

Learning to Trust

This past week has been chock-full of craziness.  It began with a truck in the shop, meaning a bill of well over a grand, and ended with finding out that the back tires on my car are dangerously worn.  In between, we’ve had two friends in the hospital (one with a broken back, that I mentioned last week), one set of friends miscarried their little boy, I had a weird reaction to a bug bite and had to see the doctor, and things with the house haven’t worked out as planned.  Oh, and my sister came to visit.  I’m tempted to say that that’s the only positive part of last week, but that’s not true.  I got to go on a sweet and special date with my husband to the home improvement store and Olive Garden.
Most of all, this past week, my husband and I have been earnestly seeking God’s will for our life a certain decision.  Strangely enough, the craziness and stress of the past week have linked with this decision hand-and-hand.  Why?  Because God has been really working in our lives and on our hearts. 
I’m a planner.  I love to have organized lists and schedules, and having a large safety-net of money means the difference between peace and worry for me.  The last week obviously aligned with none of these desires and comfort zones for me.  But that’s the point.  God’s really been revealing to me that I’m not relying on Him and His strength…I’m relying on my own efforts and careful planning. 
Sometimes I wonder when I’ll quit stressing and worrying about my plans, and start letting go, knowing that God’s plan is so much better?!  This worry and control on my part is only a stumbling block between me and the Lord.  How sad is it that I let my worries and plans get in the way of my relationship and sheer and utter trust in the Savior of my soul?! 
Letting go is not an easy process.  But slowly, faithfully, He is chipping away at what I’ve made myself into, and forming me into what He wants me to be. 
Oh, the wondrous plans I know He has in store for meIf only I will let Him dream instead of me.