Day 4: Your Views on Religion

Now, this is a blog challenge question I can get behind! Any time someone asks me about "religion," a very clear picture comes into my head: There's a scene in the movie "Jesus of Nazareth" where He is teaching at the temple, when the Pharisees ask Him what to do with some chick who was caught in the act of adultery (John 8:1-11). He doesn't say a whole lot; rather, He bends down and draws something in the sand.

This is the scene from "The Passion," but you get the point. Evidently, in that film, Mel Gibson's Jesus draws a line in the sand. Not biblical, but I understand his point...Anyways, when I hear the word "religion," that's what I think of: Pharisees, AKA "Painted Sepluchres," throwing accusations and stones at people, when the One Who is right, the One Who is kind, loving, just, gracious, and merciful, simply stands there and offers forgiveness.

Religion is rigid. It's harsh and commanding, judgmental and cruel. It's regime and ceremony, it's habit and hard lines. "Religion" is why the gay community is almost unreachable by Christians--we offer NOTHING when we go to people with brutality and condemnation.

My husband once preached a sermon about the difference between condemnation and conviction. Religion preaches condemnation; love gently convicts. When you go to people with your list of "should nots," you beat them down. Love meets people where they are, and gently builds them up into lifestyle changes. The Holy Spirit works on them from the inside, out--not beating them down from the outside, in. That's love. Religion is NOT love.  Religion is a well-used tool from the enemy that Christians have used in horribly misguided attempts to cause people to "come to the Lord" under a mantle of feeling like crap about themselves. 

When Jesus knelt down and doodled in the sand, He spoke volumes. He didn't jump up and yell at this woman (which, BTW, we have no idea why she was caught in the act of adultery, or where in the world was the guy!?!?!?!?). He didn't grab a stone to throw at her. He kind of physically turned His back on the Pharisees and on the situation, as if to say, "You are so petty." I mean, HE DREW IN THE DIRT. That was His reaction--to doodle! I can't get that image out of my head. Religion grabs rocks. Love acknowledges the situation, but puts it into perspective. Love awakens us to the reality that we are all equal--equally messed up, but equally redeemable.

“Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.

But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” Again he stooped down and wrote on the ground.
At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. Jesus straightened up and asked her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”
“No one, sir,” she said.
“Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.” [John 8:1-11].

He had so many things that He could have said, and the Pharisees would have jumped on it. They were looking for a way to trap Him. He could have responded in judgement; He could have responded by grabbing a brick. Instead, He responded with simple, uncomplicated love.

The woman--she is me. She is all of us. She was confronted with death, but given grace, and she has no idea what to do with herself. Rather than run off as soon as the Pharisees began to go away, she's shell-shocked. Jesus stands up, looks her in the eye, and gives her that beautiful reality of freedom and forgiveness...That's what Love does.

So, that's my view of "religion." I don't like it. I'm guilty of playing that role, of living that lifestyle...but I don't want to be. Religion leaves no room for Love, and since God is Love, well, looks like those two are diametrically opposed.

"It's not a religion, it's a relationship." Yeah, that quotes' been overplayed. It's Christianese 101...but my relationship with God brings me closer to Him, and the closer I get to Him, the more I learn to love, which is right about where I think I'm supposed to be. Love all. Be Jesus. Judge none.

Day 3...Your views on alcohol and drugs

Who thinks of this stuff? This may be my shortest blog EVER.
I can happily live in a world without alcohol. That being said, I'm not opposed to the occasional glass of wine.
However, having been on the "receiving" end of someone else's drunkenness, I can honestly say that I'm 100% opposed to getting throw-your-guts-up trashed. I've never done it, and I've seen it far too many times. If you're using alcohol as a coping mechanism, that's not a good way to live. I think drunk drivers that kill people ought to be tried as murderers. I don't believe that writing off alcoholism as an addiction is right. As a fat person who has a problem with food, I choose what I eat. Could I argue that I have a "Fat" gene? Heck, yeah. Do I still pick up a Whopper? Yep. I am responsible for my behavior, regardless of genes, addictions, whatever. I choose. I've lost far too many people I love from alcoholism, and I genuinely feel sorry for them...but they made their choices. Choosing not to drink, for the most part, is how I handle having the genetic propensity toward alcoholism. Too bad I couldn't exercise that same restraint with food! :)
I'm pretty certain I'm cool with the legalization of marijuana for medicinal purposes. I don't have much of a problem with it, as long as it's controlled; I really don't think we need to fill our prisons with potheads. I've never tried it...in fact, I've never smoked anything.
So there you have it. Alcohol is fine in moderation; I think marijuana has its place. Drunkenness and states of permanent stoner-hood are not a Godly way of life.
The end! :) (That's such a silly blog topic!)

Day 2: Where I'd like to be in 10 years...

Funny you should ask.
6 months ago, I would have said that I hoped I still worked for the same company, or that I hoped I had my graduate degree...that I hoped I was teaching at a good school, and that I hoped I was out of debt.
Things have changed.
My goals have changed.
In 10 years, I would like to be alive. Healthier. Skinnier. More disciplined.
In 10 years, I would like to be debt-free.
In 10 years, I would like to say that the two things I struggle with the most (money and food) are hard-won battles that I am finished with...
In 10 years, I would like to know Jesus closer, better, more intimately, and more decisively.
I would like to say, in 10 years, that I have learned from my mistakes,
That I have learned to be a better parent,
And that my son never felt like I passed him by for my own devices.

I would like for my son to understand at least a small percentage of how much he is loved...

I would like for my husband to still want to hold my hand when we cross the street...to still be by my side...but not to snore any louder. :)

I would like to have a bigger garden, and to have continued my streak of avoiding speeding tickets.

I don't know if I'll make it back to school; I'm torn on the subject right now, even as I'm looking at a calender that has an academic adviser's meeting scheduled for next month. I don't know if I can physically handle the demands of the job, the home, the parenthood, the...etc.... I'm afraid. I'm walking on ice, and I feel like I could break through any second now....or fall under.

10 years from now, I hope I look back on this little blog, and I say, "Look at that--I did it. And it was just fine."

I don't know what my future holds, and I can't sit here and worry about it. My 6 month-old is teething, and we are at our wits' end as to how to bring him peace. All I know about my next 10 years is this:

No matter what happens...no matter what I do or do not do...no matter if I get that graduate degree, find a better-paying job, or stop working altogether...no matter if I ever get to sing background vocals for Jewel (!) or write my Great American Novel...No matter what happens,

Jesus loves me.

And that's really all I care about.

Day 1: Accepting the Challenge

The 30 Day Challenge…

Nah, it’s not a diet (like I’d go public about if it was! Sure, let me just post that, and then you can all watch me FAIL MISERABLY!!).   It’s a kinda-cheesy little blog challenge that a friend of mine posted. I’ve discovered that I have all of these ideas in my head, and I keep forgetting to just sit down and write it out. My hope is that a little challenge like this will help me get my head back in the game. After all—isn’t writing what I REALLY want to do? (Yeah…it is….along with speaking/singing/teaching/painting…and I wanna be an astronaut and a farmer and a President and a…….Oh, wait, you mean I AM a grown-up?!?!? Bummer).

So, this little challenge will hopefully get me in the right mindset of the bigger blog challenges that come with promoting increased readership. That’s what I’d love to see happen—more readers, and maybe a mini-career out of this writing stuff that I’ve loved for so long. It’s a small start, but here we go….here’s to sticking to it!

Day 1:  Your current relationship; if single, discuss how single life is

Seriously? That’s the first question?!? Sigh. Not very original…but I did say it was cheesy!

I’m married. I’m married to a man whose name means “Beloved,” and it’s engraved on his wedding band. He is my beloved, and I am his, and we are a combination of happy circumstances that were ordained by God. I’m married to a man who chases God, who constantly reads, researches, studies, and seeks to understand the very heart of the Lord. I’m married to a man who has pushed me to my ultimate limits, who has broken my heart into a thousand pieces, who has held me together and kept me off of ledges, and who has the strongest shoulders I have ever seen…I am married to a man who likes me a little bit crazy, but who can handle me when I’m off of the deep end. I am married to a man who has an insane love of furniture and home décor…who has a palette that rivals Gordon Ramsay, and who missed his calling to be an Executive Chef of Southern Home Cooking.

I am married to a man who has shown me what I already knew: He is an incredible father. There’s nothing more attractive than a man who a.) loves God and b.) loves his child. David and his mini-me are my favorite guys on this planet . The Journey to JD (our son) was a long, arduous, insane path, and David stayed on it with me. I don’t understand his thought processes any more than he understands mine, but I do know this: He has stayed.  He has stayed, and he will stay (God-willing), and he will raise our son to be a faithful, kind, loving man, just like he is.

I am married to a man who is far from perfect. I find socks in the recliner, T-shirts on the floor, and toothpaste in the sink; he is known for volcano-like eruptions at stoplights.  He forgets to tell me I’m pretty, he expects praise for the mundane (yes, honey, you’re great—you did the dishes. Which I have done, in anonymity, for days. Would you like a parade? You would? Okay..but you’re cleaning up the confetti.), and he drinks the last of the coffee creamer without telling me. He also steals Nutella, which is a cardinal sin.

I am a wife who flies off of the handle. I am emotional, possibly slightly bipolar, and I have struggled with depression for years. I can be a complete know-it-all; I am messy, boorish, obstinate, and disobedient. I fight with what it truly means to be submissive. I am high-maintenance, and my health issues have caused us no end of financial and marital stress. I can be very unstable, predictable in my unpredictability, and I constantly struggle with filtering what comes out of my mouth. I struggle with my faith, with reading the Bible over reading a good book, and I do not use my talents for the things that I’m sure God would like for me to use them on. 

I am a mother, and I’ve been one for 7 years. I am a mother, and I’ve been one for 6 months. I am confused as to various parts of my identity as a woman, as a Christian, as a church member. I feel useless but overused; ignored, but too loud. I am fiercely protective, and if you harm my child or flirt with my husband, I will end you. That’s a promise.

I can be a cutthroat B if you cross me, and I find myself constantly fighting against that tendency. I lose more than I’d like, at least, mentally. I’m incredibly thankful for grace. I am faithful…I am expressive…I am an individual who is not often understood, but David gets me (most of the time). If he were writing this blog, I’m not sure how he’d describe me (Spender? Undisciplined? Spoiled? Drama Queen? Micromanaging psycho?), but I hope he’d remember that I’m still that blonde in high heels that agreed to go on that second date…

Without my husband, I am still me…but I am not a happy me. I am not a fulfilled me. I miss my other half, when he’s not around; I feel exposed and vulnerable. As time goes on, I feel more and more naked when he’s not around, and I don’t like it. He’s become my covering, which is as it should be. We may forget to say certain niceties to each other, but at the end of the day, I think we both find the bed feels warmer with both of us in it. Our little family felt complete before, during, after, before, and during children, and dog, and everything else…but as time goes by, it feels more complete than ever.

When we got married, we looked at the broken homes that we came from, and we made a promise to each other: We would not go down that path. The “D” word is not spoken in our house. We recently had a major disagreement that was loaded with hurt and pain—we’ve been through a lot lately. The question of single parenthood came up, and was immediately shot down—the thought is worse than a horror film. We do not stop. We do not back down. We stay together, through hell, high water, hurt, and happiness. We are welded together in steel, and we ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya’ here? We made a vow before God, and we meant it.

I mean it, every single day.

I love that man. I’d lay down my life for that man. He makes me crazy (and that's MUTUAL!), but he makes me happy. Where he goes, I go; where he stays, I stay. His God is my God, and his people are my people, and that’s all there is to it.

We are a combination of our best and of our worst, and of our everything in-between. I can’t say enough about how much I love being married, or about how many times I’ve wondered if we both have lost our minds. I can’t describe to you, the peace I feel when he takes my hand (even if it’s just to keep me from wandering into traffic). I’ve blogged about marriage before, and maybe in my head, I have a crazy, romantic notion of it that might be different from how it is when I walk in the door after a long day…But if that’s true, then it’s a delusion I’ve held for almost 9 years, and I’ll keep it.

I married a lover of God.

I married a lover of me.

Through fire and fury, we’re bonded together in grace, laughter, pain, and hope…

And we belong to Jesus first,

Each other second,

To our children, third….

And to the dog, of course….

Stripped...

Every now and then, I run off into uncharted territory, for me. Sometimes I blog about mundane, trivial things; sometimes, not so much. This is one of those blogs that requires more transparency than I feel ready to give, yet I'm so troubled, I feel like I have to  write it all out. Maybe by bringing things into the light, I will be able to stop struggling with the dark...

For as long as I can remember, I have struggled with purity. There's been an inane curiosity where sexuality is concerned, that has not served me well. In spite of my mother's best efforts, there were things I was exposed to at a very early age that left an indelible mark. I don't talk about these things--they're embarrassing, invasive, and nobody's business.

Yet, the older I get, and the more I see, the more I realize that the exposures I had are NOTHING compared to what our young people are experiencing now. This tells me that the struggles I've had are NOTHING compared to what our young people are experiencing now--they've seen so much, they don't even know it's a battleground. My stuff doesn't seem so bad, really...It's such an incredible loss of innocence...

We put ourselves in the position to be exposed. As women, it's accepted for us to have a collection of steamy romance novels. "50 Shades of Gray" made S&M "cool" last year, and "Magic Mike" made it all right for women to ogle men. Men think nothing about checking out the girl in the tiny bikini or grabbing a graphic magazine. Stuff sneaks in on you--David and I went to check out a new series on Netflix that had rave reviews; within the first few seconds (as long as it took for the scene to register, and for a remote to be grabbed), there were bare breasts and two women in a shower. I was shocked--NONE of the reviews I'd read mentioned anything about it. Today, itt's not even worth mentioning in a review.

We're raising a generation of people who are defined not by who they are, but by who they choose to  sleep with (or be attracted to). They're basically finding their identity in sex. I'm straight, so I'm this/I'm gay, so I'm this. It's maddening. When a person has a major accomplishment, it has ceased to be about their accomplishment; it's about their sexual identity, and THEN their accomplishment (if they're gay). I don't mean for this to be offensive, but I just don't get it. I'm not defined by the fact that I'm straight. I'm Cassidy--I'm not "straight" Cassidy. I don't wear it on a shirt (and no, I don't feel like I could/should). I don't have a parade to celebrate it, and I don't flaunt it in the work place. I think the ultimate example of equality is not feeling like you have to mention it in the first place. Be who you are, not who you sleep with/want to sleep with. If you start our conversations out by telling me your sexuality, it's going to take me a while to be able to converse with you, without thinking about that. I'm just being honest. I'm not saying "don't ask, don't tell;" I'm just saying "who cares?" I don't. I'm going to love you either way.

It's a struggle for a lot of people. When you push sexuality, and you push the agenda (gay or straight), you are pushing imagery at people that is difficult to process. We are surrounded by sexual imagery from a very young age, and it is messing us up.

Don't tell me that "oh, they're so much freer about sex in Europe." I don't care. I don't live in Europe, and I don't want to. I don't want to turn on a new show that sounds really interesting, and be accosted by nudity in the first 30 seconds. I don't want to have to process that for the rest of the day--I don't want to have to ask forgiveness for putting myself in that situation. I don't need anymore junk in my head. I have too many years of reading stupid romance novels, and too many years of a vivid imagination for garbage. Purity is a huge battleground, not just for me, but for the past few generations.

It's worse for every following generation.
Do we even know what purity is, anymore?

 I know how sexual things can get trapped in your head. Joni Erickson Tada wrote about how, after she was paralyzed as a teenager, she would get lost for hours in sexual fantasies ...It was her escape, and her rebellion against her accident. It took a lot of deliverance for her to get free of that. No, she wasn't acting out her fantasies; but diving into those, getting caught up in your imagination--that's a huge trap, and it can easily turn into an addiction. Your head can be your worst prison; getting freedom in that area is incredibly difficult, and once you've gotten it, you'll do anything to maintain it.

I understand Joni Erickson Tada. I get it--been there, done that...and it's hard. It's incredibly hard to break free, and it's  a lifelong battle. The littlest thing can send you on a spiral, where it's all you think about; it's a mental drug. Only Jesus can break the addiction. He's the only One that can break addictions: mental pornography, actual pornography, sexual immorality, whatever. He can cleanse it all...

But it doesn't do us much good if we march out into the mud as soon as He's cleaned us up.

Once you've made a commitment to purity, and you're in the process of cleaning house, you start to notice what your triggers are. Certain songs. Certain books. Certain advertisements that pop up on your list of "recommended reading." Certain jokes. Even the news...These things either trigger a "relapse," or they make you sick. I pray they always make me sick. I hope the mention of these things continues to appall me. The iTunes account is in an ever-ongoing process of getting cleaned out; the books have been cleaned out...I just wish I could somehow set filters on Netflix, so that I couldn't even see the titles of things. That's where the curiosity gets me--I don't even want to wonder what some of this stuff is about. Am I closing myself off? Yep. But it's not much different than an addict who gets rid of all of his friends, so that he's not surrounded by drugs anymore.

I've gone back and forth, for decades. I'd go on a "bender," and read every romance novel I could get my hands on. I'd get lost in fantasies for hours--I guess it's like being high, although I've never done drugs. Then I'd feel convicted, and beg for forgiveness....then I'd clean everything out (although I'd never REALLY get rid of everything), and I'd feel great...and then I'd go on a bender. This cycle repeated for YEARS...and this is the first I'm telling of it.

Nothing like going public, right?

But I feel like I'm finally free. And no, I really don't want to have an actual conversation about this...even though I feel like I'm really free, I still feel ashamed to have ever let such garbage into my life. I know I'm forgiven. I'm just embarrassed. Writing about it is much easier, for me, than talking about it. Besides--conversations about such things feel very condemning, rather than liberating, and I'm not into that. I don't need anyone to naggingly remind me that "garbage in = garbage out." I got it. Jesus gives freedom. Period.

Like Joni Erickson Tada, I always knew that getting lost in such fantasies, and fueling those fantasies, was wrong. But I didn't think it was "really" wrong, and I think that's the lie that we're all buying these days. If we're not actually going out and sleeping around, we think our little fantasies are okay (male and female--guys, you're not innocent, here). It's okay to see the exposed breasts on TV, or the "covered" sex scene. It's okay to read the popular book--I mean, everybody's doing it, so what's the big deal?  The big deal is that purity is priceless, and that once it's gone, it's a painful and long restoration process. It takes a lot of discipline, and it's a lifelong battlefield. I don't want my son to have that battle.

When I finally got pregnant, I made a commitment to filter everything I listened to, everything I read, and everything I watched. I wasn't perfect. But over the past year, I've seen God strip these things out of my life. He's bigger than my curiosity; He's stronger than the triggers. He's given me the strength to turn things off, or to keep something out of my house. And yeah, maybe I'm a little crazy with it right now; and maybe there are a few things I've let slide, that I shouldn't have...But for the most part, I'm trying to do what I can to not only keep myself pure; I want to raise my son with that same purity. My mom did her absolute best. She kept stuff turned off; she tried to keep things and people out of our house. She was vigilant, and I want to be able to say the same thing. I also know how with so many parents, the stuff still creeps in, in spite of the vigilance; that's where prayer comes in. So that's what David and I will do...We will do what we can, to instill purity into our son, and we will trust God to protect him. Whatever he may be exposed to, we will trust God to keep him safe and restored.  It's all we can do.

This generation is carrying a burden of sexuality that is too heavy, and it will cause them to collapse. It's Fahrenheit 451, and society cannot possibly handle it.  I feel like to the mainstream society, purity is lost; being a family that strives for it will make us outcasts.  That's a journey  worth making.  We will be outcasts for the cause of purity.

I look at my son, and I think to myself that someday, we will have to discuss these things. He will have questions, and I and my husband will have to provide answers. Corrie Ten Boom talks about how when she was a very young girl, she asked her father, a watchmaker, about sex. His response was to ask her to pick up his briefcase--a very large bag, full of metal parts to repair watches and clocks. She couldn't pick it up; it was far too heavy. Casper Ten Boom looked at his little girl, and told her that was his response: The answer to questions on sexuality are far too heavy of a burden for a child to have to carry.

It's not ignoring the question; it's protecting the questioning. We will cross that bridge when we get there, and when we do, I hope that I can share my struggles, and the struggles of many others, with my son. I hope that he values the simplicity of purity over the complexity of flagrance. I hope that he values himself and his identity in Christ...

If this post has been offensive, I'm sorry. It's just that in my own quest to regain purity, I find myself frustrated at the level of exposure that I face in daily living. I don't seek things out; I try to censor what gets in, and even with that, stuff still creeps up. Old thoughts creep in, old garbage that I've read, whatever, and it's frustrating. I wish I could erase my brain, and start over. I wish I could stop the things that creep into my dreams, slap my face, and erase the things that I've read. It's hard to deal with imagery from the past, and imagery in the now, and walk in purity. It's hard to get made fun of for going postal over something on the television that you weren't warned about. I find myself watching a lot of Disney movies when I'm home alone, because I know they're clean, and I won't have to worry about seeing something I shouldn't--how ridiculous is that? But I've had to get ridiculous. It's worth it.

So, this is where I am. And right now, I feel pretty exposed. My husband knows about the things I've struggled with, but I'm not really sure even he's understood the magnitude of the issue. I'm really, really good at hiding these kinds of things. He's definitely noticed the issues with what's on the television/radio; hopefully, he gets my reasons for being so quick to turn things off. I'm hoping that he's seen that I'm serious about cleaning out my books and my music. I've shrugged the idea off for so many years; this is the first year I've truly gone after it. One of my girlfriends was very open in her struggles with "mental pornography," and with her husband's struggles with "actual pornography." It almost cost her their marriage. She has been far more open with this stuff than I've ever been, so I have the greatest of respect for her. She survived this process...so I know I can, too. I've written a lot of fluff pieces over the last few months...a lot of random thoughts, etc...and I think it's been because I've been afraid to get real over the struggles I've been facing. Well, I don't want to be fake. And I know I'm not alone. If you're someone who's struggled with this kind of stuff, then maybe we can walk through this process together. You're not alone.


(It's taken me almost 10 minutes to hit the "publish" button. I feel like I'm going to throw up.)

Debbie Downer: Somebody, give this girl a cheeseburger!

I don't like to post negative things. Sure, I may post a lot of Grumpy Cat quotes on Facebook (Grumpy Cat is my BFF, y'all). But generally, unless I'm doing the old-lady-grump-harumph, I really do try to keep things positive. Cyberspace is permanent, and I want to be remembered for happy things...
But I feel like crap.
Food is my coping mechanism.
But it's making me worse.
And fat.
I've gained 20 pounds since I started the zoloft, and I'm now in the process of coming off of it. Meanwhile, my stomach mutinied. I've never had stomach problems in my entire life, but right now, I'd like to cut it out of my body and throw it under a fender!  I started having episodic stomach pain toward the end of March. After the 4th episode, I went to Urgent Care (which was, as usual, a complete waste of time), where they figured it was gastritis. Since I'd had to be on so much ibuprofen during my pregnancy (it can slow pre-term labor), we figured it was from that. I was told to follow up with my PCP, so I did; she referred me to a gasteroenterologist, who ordered an ultrasound, blah, blah, blah, and my gallbladder showed itself.
Filthy, traiterous, wretched, foul beast of an organ! 
It was full of stones.
D@#$#t, that required another surgery.
#8.
Surgery #8.
And at this point, I'm A LITTLE TIRED OF GETTING CUT ON.
I thought getting my GB out would wind up being a good thing. It was done last Friday, but I am miserable.
Sure, the surgery hurts...but my stomach feels like someone threw a burning torch into it, and kicked me for good measure. It's not the surgery site...it really does feel like the description of gastritis, and I am totally, miserably uncomfortable right now.
I want to eat ice cream to make myself feel better, but the last cone I looked at had 16 grams of fat, which is sure to set my lack-of-a-gallbladder over the edge.
I can't eat to make myself feel better....and it's made me realize how emotionally dependent on food, that I am.
I've had difficulties sleeping this week, in my low-fat land.
I want a cheeseburger.
I haven't lost any weight, to motivate me....and I want pizza.
I feel like a whiny, petulant 5 year-old, and if my Mama reads this, she's going to swat my ample behind.
Speaking of, as tumultuous as my relationship with my mother can famously be, she is an absolute rock star. She took care of my son and I for 7 days of recovery, until I was able to get back to work. She and my dad grabbed ice bags, changed diapers, got medication, cuddled my boy, and practically carried me up stairs. I'm so grateful for them--I couldn't have made it through the surgery without them.
That being said, I'd celebrate with cake, if I could eat it without getting sick...
Sniff.
This is me feeling sorry for myself....
And this is you, probably sending me an e-mail to remind me to get my head out of my rear....deservedly so....

In Awe of A...

One of my friends (A) who hasn't blogged in a while, just picked it back up again. Reading her blogs almost always makes me tear up. I love people who love life...who appreciate the sunrise and sunset, and everything in-between, and she is one of them. She never takes it for granted, although most would say that she has every right to.
She's pregnant with her 14th child. Yep, you read it right: 14!  And though I am amazed at her physical fortitude, I am more amazed at the fact that it has never become mundane in her eyes. I think that's why God has blessed her so abundantly: Every little person is cherished and loved. They're valued at an incredible cost, and she and her husband appreciate the wonder of family.
I'm not going to lie--her last few pregnancies have been a struggle for me. To be on the outside, to want a little one for so long, and to see someone prosper in an area that felt like a failure for me, was a hard pill to swallow. Although I was always thankful for her blessings, more than once, I felt like the ugly wallflower at the prom. :)
So, now, finally, I have my own little guy. I kinda want to grab her, hug her, and say, "Finally!!!!!  I have one, too!!!  Let's dance!"  In A's last blog, she stated that when her firstborn came along, two walked into a hospital; three came out. I like that phrasing. So, David and I are now David and I and JD (and Holly-dog:), and we three make up this amazing little nucleus called home.
My appreciation for A has grown by leaps and bounds.
I love life. I adore life. I'm incredibly thankful for life, and I was before I had my loss. Losing Hannah didn't make me appreciate life any more; rather, it made me appreciate LOVE more. It made me understand love on an entirely different level. Motherhood will do that to you. Hannah's loss DID make me appreciate the wonder of pregnancy to a much deeper extent. I still remember her kicks, her rolls, her flutters...and I CLEARLY remember the jolts, kicks, somersaults, sumo stomps, and occasional punch of JD :). Every pregnancy is different--I couldn't have understood that until JD.  A has got to experience this awesomeness 13 times! (One of her blessings is adopted)!!
She appreciates every single one.
To be completely candid, I really have a hard time hearing people complain about their pregnancies. Yeah, it's uncomfortable. But you're baking A PERSON--did you think it was a cakewalk? CELEBRATE IT. Yes, there are times when your back hurts, or your hands hurt, or you feel like a whale on stilts.  Every now and then, some grousing is acceptable. But I'm seeing people who whine and moan every single day of their pregnancies, and I have to say, after what I've been through, my level of compassion is fairly nonexistent. Sorry. (And yeah--there's a small part of me that feels like I ought to get a medal or something for that last pregnancy. Maybe I can't run a marathon, but darn it, I sure as heck showed some endurance!:)
A could teach a class on graceful pregnancies. Yes, she gets tired (for Pete's sake, I wonder why?!?!?). But every time I see her, pregnant or not, she is happy. She has her struggles, and she doesn't candy-coat it....but SHE APPRECIATES THE LIFE WITHIN, and she celebrates it. The aggravations of the physical toll of pregnancy is so minor, compared to the payoff...You are given this tiny human...this ball of personality and soul...and they belong to you. You are responsible to give them back to the very God that breathes life into them...to raise them to love Him. There is NO greater joy.
I would like to add to our little family. I don't understand why I've had the physical issues that I've had..but does anyone? I have friends that have had 5 healthy babies, 3 healthy babies, etc--how are they able to have normal pregnancies/deliveries, but I'm not? I'm not whining here--it's just an honest question. I don't understand the reasons for all of this. I'm at peace with it--this is God's plan, and I'm okay with it. He has His reasons, and He's not required to explain them to me.
What I do know, is that I am so incredibly thankful for the lives that I've brought into this world. I'm thankful for my beautiful Hannah...I'm thankful for my beautiful JD. I'm thankful to be a parent, and I embrace every day of it with the greatest of joys.  For most people, I would say (okay, arrogantly) that they couldn't possibly understand the joy that I feel when I see my son...they couldn't understand how happy motherhood has made me, how miraculous this whole process has been. They couldn't appreciate the life in front of me....
But I believe that A gets it. I think that every time she sees her children, one-by-one, she is as thankful for each of them as I am for JD. I don't even know how the human heart can hold that kind of love. It's explosive. It's why every time she writes about her children, I cry--because the love just kind of blows up off of the computer screen. It's so reflective of how God feels about us...
Every time He sees us, He celebrates us. Every time we talk to Him, He listens with both ears. His Words explode in love off of the page...His delight in us is a blanket of grace. I don't know that I really understood what it meant, to be "delighted in," as as child. Sometimes I still don't. I hope I can teach my son what that means. I believe that A has successfully taught her crew what that means; if anything, they can see it on her face when she talks to them.
Maybe I have A on a pedestal.
But maybe I don't.
Maybe I just recognize how beautiful her heart really is...
Maybe her words encourage my words...her celebration of life makes me stand in awe of the One Who creates...
Isn't that what this blogging thing is supposed to do? It's not just a way to vent, to sort out the thought process; it's supposed to encourage, to praise, to show His love. I don't always do a good job of that, but it IS my whole point....
I am excited for my friend...and more than a little in awe of she and her incredible husband...I am excited that JD will have more contemporaries from this family.
Now if only I could figure out how to schedule in that playdate....<3 br="">