Alignment

So I have recently embraced another season of growing and changing and with it came a boot camp for my business. I told myself I was ready for big change and to really hustle and work hard. We are in week 6, as of today, but I couldn't get really through week 4 or 5. The push back emotionally started when the action steps became uncomfortable. I haven't done them. I told myself I would re-listen to the training but I haven't...and we slipped into week 5 with sick kiddos and with the reality of being pulled in oh so many different directions.

So when the training went deep and started with hard questions I stopped it. I did the other action steps but I never quite made it through the training. I tried again yesterday and ran into the problem again.

So today I cleared a little space in my calendar and sat down with the question and landed right here in the middle of needing some space to lay it all down here in black and white.

You might ask what is this burning question that is searing my conscience to the point of inaction? Before we go there, I must ask you a question. If I invite you into this space will you be real with me? Will you be a safe space? I often avoid writing and sharing into the empty space for fear that it will land wrong.

The question?

What do I believe in so strongly I would NEVER compromise it?

My answer....nothing.

There is NO belief that I hold that is strong enough to withstand compromise. Or perhaps the truth is even harder than even this. Perhaps the truth is I don't believe what I think I believe.

Profession is different than belief.

There is no alignment between my profession and my, lived out in the daylight, life.

Examples? You want examples?

I profess to believe that God loved me enough to give His Son, His most beloved Son, for me and for the world. I profess that He lavishes His love and grace freely upon the world. I profess that my body is His temple. My children are my heritage from Him. I profess to believe that my first ministry and mission is my home and is my children. I profess that He is the supplier of all my needs and that His service is one of Joy. He gives the more abundant life. He is Life, Love & Joy. He is my everything. I am complete in Him.

I don't like the way this question strips me bear. I really don't like the truth right now.

I feel worn out and empty. It isn't because of His lack. It is because I am not aligning my life with the truth.

It is tiring,
exhausting actually would be a better word for it,
to live the out of sync life.

My body is worn down. I have been burning the candle at all ends because my best isn't enough. I am not enough. This, is in itself, a revelation of the lack of alignment. My belief is not in my sufficiency. My belief is in His sufficiency.
At least, that is what I "profess."

If I am deeply and fully loved without a need to be "other," why do I chase "other" so hard?

Why am I living as if the applause of man matter, if my belief is that my calling is to live for the applause of only One?

It is irony at its greatest depth, to live apart and different while not living with integrity. It is the "pasted on fruit" life to hold one's self apart to values in ways that can be externally judged while also not actually living according to ones beliefs. There is a word for it.

It is not a nice word.

Hypocrisy.

Why bother?

Why bother to eat different while not actually nourishing your body & soul?
Why bother to raise your kids different or to live different? Why go through the motions of a set apart life if all it is is propped up pride and nothingness? I cannot both be eating unto the glory of God while not sleeping as if I could hold the worlds together by my busy-ness.

It is impossible to live as if I am surrendered while holding onto my sleep schedule as if it is mine, all mine,
while holding on to my negative thought patterns,
while holding on to my life.


I cannot be surrendered while holding on.

I cannot let go while clinging hard.

I cannot both accept my neediness and His grace while hustling for my worthiness.

I cannot be both His and my own.

I cannot talk about the abundant life while chasing hard after the things "others" tell me are more important. I cannot have contentment while being jealous and distrustful and wistful for what I do not have.

I cannot judge my life by other people's standards or even by my idealism and also settle into the reality that my only need is to live here in the moment and do what He calls me to in the now.

I am really really not any good at alignment.

Perhaps part of the problem is the extreme idealism that drives me...but if I am to really boil down my stripped down need it is to believe Him more.

He says...I am loved.

Here.

Now.

In the imperfection.

In the mess.

In the place where things aren't "enough" for my perfectionistic heart.

He says that I am strong, in Him.

Strong enough for this moment and all the things that are in it.

He says that He won't leave me. I am not alone. He will uphold me here.

No matter what is before me. It doesn't have to get easy for me to be loved and enough. It doesn't have to get perfect. It doesn't have to look like success to anyone else. Here He is with me. In my mess. In my brokenness. In my emptiness. In my lack of integrity. In my utter nothingness. He loves me here.

Here.

I want easy.

But I hear Him whispering, "be in Me, I am strong enough for you too."

Fortitude is built in difficulty.

If you stayed with me to the end of this I hope you can hear "this" for IT is true.
You are fully loved right now. The disaster doesn't matter. Right here, right now you are enough. You are FULLY loved here. The more abundant life isn't something that happens when you hit a $ amount in income. It doesn't happen when you achieve something. It isn't a status symbol that will be awarded you when you arrive. The more abundant life is found in abiding with Him...right here...right now.

He loves YOU here.

HERE!

The Spaces In Between

It is October again.
It is the month of one in four and all of the memories that could come, but usually don't.

But today they come.

They come in the moments while checking out a friend's pregnancy photos. A strange moment perhaps. Yet there, in the moment of her joy, I remember my loss. There are multiple layers to my grief.

I have lost two babies and my last full term pregnancy, was traumatic. I think it is hard sometime to roll back the layers of grief because it is a grief mostly un-embraced. I find I do busy rather than do connected. I avoid connection with others and I avoid connection with myself and I avoid connection with God. It is hard to pull back the layers of it all. Why do I struggle so with being sad and anxious when she is here with me? She is living and full and vivacious and crazy and wild and untamed. I love her. Yet, I grieve also. I grieve for what I missed out on. Then I carry the weight of guilt. Surely this grief is just a poor use of time for she is here and she is healthy.

When most of my memories of carrying her are tied up with trying not to get emotionally attached because I lost one already and I woke in a pool of blood every two weeks while pregnant with her. It is hard to attach because I am afraid my heart won't be able to stay together if she doesn't make it. When I try not to think too much about what could go wrong... I read up on EMT's and bleeding in pregnancy. Bed rest while watching a toddler. I probably don't need to say more. It is hard to move through it all.

But perhaps what I mourn tonight is not the pregnancy but the lack of the memories. Because I didn't take pictures. I didn't even really take selfies. There are no momentos of your time in the womb, sweet little love, because I couldn't cherish you the way a mommy should because I was afraid and lived in fear rather than love. I didn't live in the moment. I lived in the past when I birthed your brother or sister at home into our toilet after being told there was no heart beat and perhaps I was miscarrying or perhaps I had two uteruses or perhaps I had an ectopic pregnancy or perhaps.

Perhaps.

There are no words for unassisted home birth in the context of a miscarriage that can cause those of you who have not been there to understand. I don't really need to go into details to share the grief. Perhaps the medical world will one day remove the word abortion from the paperwork. But there it is. Spontaneous abortion.

Maybe.

There was no one to walk me or my husband through that process. No one stood by to shush the silly comments about God's will or His reasons or to give a sideways glance to the one who might say "at least you know you can get pregnant".

Sometimes, dear readers, silence is golden.

There is no at least.

If you don't know what to say then just be silent with me. Don't speak platitudes about God or sovereignty or talk to me about it being for the best.

Trust me. You do not know enough about the sovereignty of God to be able to expound upon it in the moment of my valley of the shadow of death.

The sound of silence is what I longed for.

In the end you came 9 weeks early.

We thought we could buy a bit more time by not figuring out a middle name. We thought we would be in the house.

We thought.

And yet the bleeding started again and would not stop and we ended up in the hospital. And it would not stop and they transferred me to the wrong hospital. And it would not stop and we made some hard decisions. And you came into the world so early and so small. You were a fighter. You are a fighter. You take on the world and don't back down.

I must be so careful not to create things for you to lean into and resist just for the sake of practicing your fighting stance.

There are no pictures of you snuggled up inside, with us being loving and longing for you. There are no pictures of your brother touching my tummy or the 3 of us before there were four.

There are lots of pregnancy pictures of your brother. I hope you don't think that it is because we wanted you less.

So I lost my first.

I also lost my last.

In some ways it was harder. This wasn't a pregnancy we tried for. The trauma was still so fresh and so palpable. I tend to research too much. Placenta previa increases your risk. C-section increases your risk. Older maternal age increases your risk. The fear was so large. The anxiety was overwhelming.

No one knew except your daddy.

Oh how I wanted you.

But how scared I was.

When I started miscarrying this time I was angry and I was relieved and I was overwhelmed again with guilt. What kind of momma feels relief at the loss of her baby? The broken kind who struggles so hard to love because of the fear of loss.

I miscarried on the streets of New York City the day after Thanksgiving.

There was no thanks.

Only tears in a broken heart. We were with family. But no one knew and so I cried alone with Mark when no one was around and pretended the rest of the time.

My heart was in pieces.

"At least your not pregnant," should never be a phrase used.

Ever.

It was an especially harsh jab during this time by someone who didn't know...and couldn't have known.

I don't know why tonight while looking at my friend's beautiful pregnancy pictures it unleashed the torrent, but it did.

I don't think I have ever learned how to grieve and walk into the pain and lean in. I tend to rush away to think about something else, to do something else.

But sometimes I sense that freedom is on the other side of that grief journey. Where you lay down with your story and you feel it all. Where you step into the pain and allow it to embrace the broken pieces and don't run away from the cutting that comes, but lean in.

There are those of you who would comfort me with angels. I honor your journey but I don't share it. My sweet little ones are resting and I am looking forward with longing to the day we are re-united. Your angels comfort you, but for me they are but another layer in the spaces between us, where I struggle to enter in and talk of my story for fear that my journey will disrupt yours.

So tonight I sit here combing back through it all. The fear when thinking of my pregnancy with my third is still just as large. I am sure it changes my heart rate. I know I need to go down deeper into this space but it is so hard and the guilt is still there and the anger.

Many of you sweet mommas talk about your stories and how your hearts cracked open and you bled a million heartbreaks and you journeyed into grief. You remember the day, the hour. You know how old your sweet little one would have been. You named your sweet little one. Someday, maybe I will be brave enough to go so deeply into the story instead of hold my grief out at arms length.

I don't know how old my babies would have been. I didn't name them. I sometimes feel cold and unfeeling because I don't walk the path some others walked. This too is a part of the spaces in between. The loneliness of the journey.

Grief is a lonely path. No one can walk it for you.

There is no one right way to walk it.

My babies were just as wanted and just as loved.

My loss is just as real.

There is no easy with loss.

There is no right way with loss.

But perhaps in the sharing there can be some easing of some other momma's heart who feels guilty.

Someday perhaps I will be brave enough to step into the pain, to write more fully, to paint, to draw, to allow the bleeding to purge and bring healing.

Tonight, again, I just long for the sound, of silence.

Laughter and Contemplation

I have been startled at times by my sweet little one's apparent confusion regarding mom and dad's intentions. I realize, in part, we are probably just dealing with a stage of development that is trying out the "no" word and other various versions on non compliance with requests.

About a month and a half ago we had a great laugh out loud moment.

At our house we tend to have a no thank you serving policy. This means that food that is being refused must still have one to two bites eaten. Now we tend to be generous in what we offer in the first place. I am not expecting my cute little one with one to two molars per side to eat salad greens in salad form, or anything like that, but we do encourage the tasting of most veggies and fruits that have the appropriate chew-ability for our little one.

He actually eats quite well and has a variety of favorites that are good healthy food. He loves beans, broccoli, green smoothies, almost all fruit with a special love of strawberries, cantaloupe, mango, apples, grapes, pineapple and watermelon. He likes potatoes regular or sweet. Anyhow, he pretty much is pretty easy going about food.

The other thing we have done to encourage a greater variety being consumed, and not just his favorites, is to use a bit of bribery. I figure we have the rest of our lives to develop intrinsic motivation. We bribe with strawberries, watermelon, nuts and raisins or whatever is the day's favorite. Anyhow, it works like this. He has eaten a variety of food but has eaten mostly his favorites and left the 2nd and 3rd favorites and is asking for more of his favorite. To which we respond "ok I will get you ____ when you eat 2 bites of _____." Usually, he will say no. To which I smile and respond, "ok that is fine, you don't have to have ______" (more of your favorite). I then return to what I am doing and the choice is left with him. He can eat 2 bites and have more of his favorite or he can choose not to and be done.

We don't usually do repeats of a meal except cereal, which he will ask for every single meal, or at least 2x's a day. If he doesn't finish all his cereal I ask him if he would like it to go in the fridge. Usually he says yes, so in it goes. He is so excited to be allowed to have cereal a 2nd time that day(he can have the leftovers at the next meal, but that is usually it for the day for cereal).

So now that I have laid the ground work for the story, and lost probably most of my readers ;) I turn to our crazy laughing moment.

One evening we decided to have waffles with lots of various types of fruit on top. We had cut up fresh strawberries and mango and thrown in some blueberries and poured some maple syrup (the real stuff) over the top. It was super yummy. When we finished our meal there was juice in the bottom of the bowl, you know a fruit syrup developed from the fruit and maple syrup mixture. It was so yummy I just knew little love would love this...so I offered him some.

Ok, did I mention he is 2? So let's just say it didn't quite go as I originally pictured it. You know where the mom kindly offers to give her sweet little child a bite of something delicious and he is excited, tries it and is profoundly grateful? It didn't go like that.

Now, I probably should have just let it go...but it was sooooo good. I just knew he would love it so I participated in a moment of pooh bear torture, you know the type, where you, as a parent decide that this particular mole hill is the mountain you are going to conquer or die on? So I continue to push that he needs to, at least try a taste. To which there is much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Yet, I persisted and finally he tasted a tiny little taste. It sounded a bit like this "waaaa, nooooo, waaa, noooo, noooo" shaking of head on floor, "noooo, moore? More!" (except more is more like moar)

We were laughing pretty hard, but this led into a pretty serious discussion on our little one's perception of us.

Now I can say, while we do insist on eating a bite or two, I do think there is plenty of great food out there that is healthy. There is no need to offer the least favorites and insist that he must come to adore those. I love food. I want my family to enjoy eating. I want food to be a pleasure not a battle. I want it to be tasty, good for us and beautiful. I love food.

I could be wrong but I can't place where he has gotten this wrong perception. I mean, other than the fact that he is 2 and 2 likes to say no? Anyhow, he definitely responded like he thought we were offering him dog food, or something we knew he would hate.

Immediately, a question developed...When was the last time my Heavenly Father offered me something, and I threw myself on the ground whining and moaning no, assuming the worst? Certainly I don't do that, do I?

The picture doesn't mesh with reality. After all, I have not found that my Father gives bad gifts. I have found Him good and generous, and found even His denials to be in my best interest. Yet, in the moment, truthfully, I probably resemble my 2 year old.

I can speculate how I ended up in this state, but I guess the easiest explanation is I have accepted a false picture of my Father. I am acting on a false picture rather than clinging to what I know to be true. Now perhaps, it would be a stretch to expect my 2 year old to be able to reason through mom and dad's love and all the consistently wonderful things we have given him and come to a rational conclusion when offered the next adventure. Mom and dad must have something wonderful for me here. Yet, in my personal Christian experience I would hope that maturity might give me a better response.

In moments like these I understand how kids reveal the truth about ourselves. The layers are pulled back and we begin to see what others and God see so clearly. She still doesn't trust the way she should considering x, y, z, at least not yet. Thank goodness He isn't done with me yet. Now, with open eyes I can begin to replace the false picture and responses with the real.

Number Two

The blog has been silent for so long. The little feet have grown and they run and jump and climb these days. At least one pair of little feet run and jump and climb.

There are another pair of little feet. They wiggle and dance and in the end her little feet are creating a new havoc of my life. I am 30 weeks pregnant with number two. It has been a long pregnancy. There have been many bumps beyond the baby bump that daily enlarges around my mid-section. There are the bumps of bleeding and bed rest and placenta previa. There is the bumping out of my dream of one more natural birth, albeit in a hospital, to be replaced by a longing desire to see 20 weeks at which point viability is considered, 24 weeks when viability becomes more realistic, 30 weeks today where complications become less intense. Yet the longing continues, as I reach forward in hope to 36 weeks and our sweet little girl still in the womb. There is the coming to terms with scheduled c-section being a desired date as opposed to the option of extensive excessive bleeding and an emergency c-section.

C-Section...
It is not that I am afraid of surgery. I have had my share, from pins to reset bones to a 5 level fusion that allowed me to actively pursue life again. Yet, I struggle so much with the idea of this one. I want me and my baby to be undrugged for her entry into the world. It seems decidedly wrong to have to cut a baby out rather than to push the baby thru the birth canal. It is like I have a grieving process that needs to be done...a loss of a dream.

It has been a hard pregnancy because of the constant emotional roller coaster. Every early bleed threw me into panic. Lately the spotting has become more common place but the occasional heavy bleeding, even though it has been short in duration has tended to send me over the edge.

The Blessings...
We have made it to 30 weeks. The house is making some steady progress. My in laws are here and bed rest with a 2 year old is now really possible. I am getting a little better at not feeling resentful and at making my needs known. I am learning to ask for what I need and not feel guilty for being so incredibly useless. My husband is infinitely supportive and keeps telling me that I am doing what no one else here can do...grow a baby. It is hard not to feel entirely inefficient at growing a baby when I have friends and acquaintances who are growing theirs while working full time. However, he reminds me often that they aren't doing that while placenta previa.  Ultimately I must concede his point. 6-7 more weeks isn't that far off, which is both a blessing and a ticking time bomb...the house that is not live-able yet, the many things we have not done yet to prepare for sweet little girl...My inability to participate much in what needs done. Yet this too is a blessing. I am being given a precious gift. I am learning to wait on God and to not be in control. The blessing is at times hard to receive but still such a wonderful gift if I can open my heart to it.

Crawling, Standing, Falling and Learning to Walk

4/22ish/2013
Our little love has mastered the super crawl. And the time is fast approaching when he will be running around faster then we can keep up with. It has been emotionally bumpy the last couple days.

We are in a transition time and there are so many parallels between my pooh bears developmental stages and my spiritual walk. I am sure this isn't a compliment to my spiritual state but since it is a reality perhaps we will just say it how it is.

The house is a disaster. For those who have known me for longer then 5 minutes I am sure this goes without saying. Yet I arrived back from our vacation to a wonderfully clean house. It has since exploded into the full tornado potential.

It seems that all the stars are going to align to make sure that my inside reality matches my outside experience. Enoch had his first temperature this week. He was so pitiful and cute and needy and I felt so bad for him. We will be moving in less than 2 months. I don't know where we are moving.

We hit the ground running upon arriving back to Wonderful West Virginia. We basically stepped off the plane into 10 days of evangelistic meetings hence the house explosion and the news that we are moving. In many many ways both of these events are amazing adventures and answers to prayer. I am just having a hard time keeping a good hold on that reality while I am also sick and overwhelmed.

I found out today my friend died.

I did not know her well and she died way too young from cancer. Perhaps this is what added to the tragedy of the event. I wanted to go visit one more time before she died but the money has been tight and now it is too late.

I see in little loves slow progress toward being a biped the stumbling attempts at trusting my Heavenly Father. It is understandable for my precious son but not so understandable for me and God. He has always been faithful. So why this lack of faith?

God has a perfect plan.

He owns the cattle on a thousand hills.

He knows the plans that he has for me.

For us. He has promised to provide and is so very faithful.

Lord teach me to keep getting up.
Teach me to never give up.
Help me to trust you.

Object Permanance

There are stages that children go thru. I have heard that it is possible for growth to be a daily experience and yet each stage, each step is good in itself. Enoch is developing object permanance. It is good that he is learning to accept that mommy and daddy continue to exist when we step out of view. It is a sign of growing up.
Enoch is beginning the early stages of trust.

The spiritual ramafications cannot elude me. I find they rise up to ask their own questions. I hear God's gentle nudge and tender question. Yet at times I fear what the answer suggests.

Implications of growth are played out in Enoch's looking for the object that has disappeared. He expects it to reappear. He expects to find the ball in my other hand.

What does my tendency to display a lack of spiritual object Permanance say about the level of spiritual maturity? Is it enough to trust God when He shows Himself large and powerful in demonstration and miraculous intervention? Or is it instead a sign of spiritual immaturity that needs signs and wonders to believe? I used to think Gideon a great story because God made his will clear. And it is. But it is also a story of how God stoops low to meet His children where they are.

What is my response to God's disappearance? To His silence? To His stillness? Do I look expectantly for where I expect Him to manifest Himself next because I know He is there even if I can't see Him? Or do I act like Israel and plot my way back to Egypt along the nearest highway?

I sit here nursing Enoch and wondering how the time got away from me. Somehow I went from expecting to a mother of an eight week old baby. I had every intention of writing more. Every intention of having a written account of the whole experience. Instead there are these empty spaces. The unwritten account. The treasured memory. The thoughts and feelings refuse to be nailed down. They defy the pen or the attempted typed page. The memory is haunting, but memory is such a fluid beast that it is hard to confine it to a specific shape. The birth story needs told. There are other details that also need to be given account of. Perhaps one day soon. For now there are the memories.