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Attacked.

Thankfully, I’ve been in a pretty good emotional place as of late, but it comes and goes in waves, it seems. I’ve been trying so very hard to keep my focus on Jesus, the way He loves me, and showing that love to others. Yep, I screw it up every day, but I’m trying. I found this on my phone, however, and felt like it definitely needed to be shared. I go through times where I feel like this every now and then, and if even one person needs to see that they’re not alone in that, then I’m happy to share my bad times as well as my good. I wrote this at the end of March:

“I’m overwhelmed. I’m overwhelmed with the things I think I have to do. I am overwhelmed by the pressure I feel as a mother to care for my child, make sure she eats (but not just anything, it HAS to be healthy -haha), keep our home clean and safe for her, and teach her what she needs to know, not just for development, but also laying a spiritual foundation and just teaching her to be a good human being. I’m overwhelmed with what I’m not doing to be a good wife. But then, as I sit here, I’m completely overwhelmed by the way God loves me. It’s not complicated. He doesn’t have a checklist of attributes He’s looking for in me or of things I absolutely must do before He will consider me loveable. In fact, I am very unlovable, but He still loves me anyway. And it’s not a worldly, shallow kind of love. It’s a supernatural kind of love that I can’t even begin to fathom. When I think about this, all the stuff just melts away.

Full disclosure – I started a new birth control the other day after being on the mini pill for like a year, so my hormones are all over the place. I’m happy one minute and crying the next. But, I’ve felt so attacked the last couple of days. I feel like people are judging me (more than usual), I feel like their words have hidden meaning (again, more than usual), and I’ve taken everything to mean the worst possible thing. Poor [hubby] can’t say anything to me without me twisting it to make him sound horrible and judgy. He’s just stopped saying anything, which also sets off my anxiety. I’ve felt worthless. I’ve felt inadequate. I’ve felt stupid. I’ve felt like my opinion didn’t matter.

Then I realized that I am being attacked, but not by the people around me. Satan is in full on attack mode right now, and I haven’t been handling it very well. I just wrote in my bible journal about this the other day. He always seems to use the people around me, and it stings worse than anything else. It’s so very personal. It gets to me, and he knows it. The thing is, it takes me longer than it should to realize what’s going on. I remember the spiritual battle going on around me only after being in the trenches of it for days. And even then, or now I should say, I still try to hold on to control. I still let satan tell me that it’s because there’s something wrong with me, because I’m not trying hard enough, I’m not strong enough. I see that I’m doing it, and I keep doing it. I keep letting him whisper those words to me, and I give them value.

My prayer is to be able to let go, completely. I want to be able to tell satan that I see what he’s doing, and it won’t work anymore. I want to feel victorious in Jesus, because he’s already won this war. I don’t have to fight this battle.”

Words.

I’m kind of annoying myself with the ridiculous marathon of posts I feel like I’m making, but as I’ve said before, I knew what God wanted me to do long before I actually did it.

I’ve been writing for myself about as long as I can remember (cue the backstory about how my favorite elementary school teacher encouraged us to write in journals often, and I’ve been doing it ever since. Maybe I’ll find that journal again one day and give you all a glimpse. It’s really something.) I’ve got at least ten bible journals full of writing that I may or may not end up sharing. But, as recently as this year, when I really started hearing very clearly what I was to do (but still resisting change and attention in a way only I know how), I started typing things out in the notes on my phone. Some were random thoughts, some were memories, some were reflections on life. I’ve already posted a few of those, but there are many more. This blog was a thing before it was actually a thing.

I used to only write for me: mostly to remember – an event, a thought I had, I even tried my hand at poetry and short stories for while after high school (I thought at the time I would want to remember those… yikes); sometimes I wrote to work through something that I couldn’t quite articulate in my head. I’m so much more comfortable writing than I am speaking. I love texting. I love the fact that I can read and reread and revise my text until it says exactly what I want it to say. I stumble over my words when I speak, and I end up sounding stupid or saying something completely different than I actually wanted to. So, as much as I am uncomfortable with writing where others can read it, writing is my comfort zone. I feel more at ease, because I can micromanage word order, language, grammar… I love it.

This new adventure I’m on is still uncomfortable to me, though. I’m not used to being the one who is being directly and so overtly used by God. I’m used to being in the background, and I really like it back there. I’m an empathetic bystander; I’m like a book editor, a product rater, or a teacher’s assistant who grades papers. If you ask, I will give you an honest opinion about something someone else has done. I’m not one who does, I’m not one who creates, I’m not one who innovates, I’m not one who initiates. I’m just not. So to write for others is such a strange concept to me.

I went into this with the hope that other women could read about what my family has gone through and feel like they are not alone. But so very often, God has bigger plans than we do. The day after my husband shared my blog, he told me that two separate MEN told him how much they liked it. So much for my tiny expectations. God said, “watch what I can do!” I’m sure women will be blessed by it as well, but that just blew my mind.

I pray that God keeps doing expectation-shattering things with what little I give Him.

Grateful.

I took this picture in February and just couldn’t bear to put into words what I was feeling when I saw this scene. Everything in it means something to me.

I walked down the hallway one morning and saw this: shoes that hadn’t been put away, a goody bag from a birthday party from several days before, a trim-less wall (a reminder of just how unfinished our house really is), and some dirt that the picture caught that I couldn’t even see in person (a reminder of how I don’t clean as often as I would like.) This scene was not what I wanted to see first thing in the morning. I started to get upset, to put myself down for not picking up after myself and my family. But, suddenly my perspective changed, and I saw our mess differently.

The shoes in the floor didn’t annoy me anymore, but instead, made me feel so incredibly blessed. We had prayed so hard to have a baby; we struggled, we suffered. Those tiny shoes transformed into a symbol of a miracle, an answered prayer. The goody bag became a reminder of the amazing friends we get to share life with, and of how sweet it was that they invited my one year old to their five year old’s birthday party. The crack between the wall and the floor became a reminder of how hard my amazing husband has worked since we moved into this house. No, it’s not done yet, but it looks a lot different than it did when we started. And that dirt and dust – it reminded me that I had more important things to do than to keep my house spotless. I had a life to live and people to love.

The scene that began to cause me anxiety when I first came upon it, was now the best reminder of how amazing my life is, and how blessed I am. I’m grateful for my mess.

Change.

So, I promised to let you in on how much I detest change. I came across something I had written at the end of March, and I had entitled it “Change.”, so it seemed pretty obvious that I should share that next.

DISCLAIMER: there is a vague reference to some slightly icky things that happen during childbirth, but it’s pretty mild. Also, if you ever want to have a kid, you need to be prepared for these things. I WAS NOT PREPARED. And… if the word “breast” makes you uncomfortable for some reason, maybe skip this one.

Here’s what I wrote, with a couple of edits here and there:

Avon is getting rid of the perfume I’m using, and if you know me, you know that’s a big deal. The last time they discontinued my perfume (which was not long after hubby and I started dating) mom had bought a ton of it, and I kept using it for a year or two after that. Then, it took me FOREVER to settle on a new one. Now I have to do it all over again, and this time I’m not prepared. I had no idea they were doing away with it until tonight, and I already can’t order anymore. I’m so sad. I also thought I had like half a bottle left, and I have about one spray…

I hate change, so very much. Poor hubby usually just has to drag me through life, me resisting all the way. My mom used to always tell me that dad had to do this with her, and now I completely understand, because I’m exactly the same way. I know that change can be good. The best example of that is baby girl. Our lives are not the same, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But, I still struggled with it. We put off even trying to have a baby for so long, just because I could not wrap my head around it. Even as I was starting to go into labor at the hospital, I literally said I didn’t want to do it anymore, and that’s honestly how I felt at the time. I wanted things to go back to the way they were – comfortable, familiar, easy. I wanted to go home and go to bed. My matter-of-fact husband didn’t sugarcoat what was happening either. When I would express my concerns that having a baby would change our relationship with each other, he agreed that it definitely would, that our relationship would never be the same again. And that scared me. I liked the way things were, we were good.

Now that we’re on the other side, I can truly say without a doubt that having a baby changed our relationship. We’ve experienced being new parents together, he’s seen me completely out of control emotionally, and I’ve seen him look at me with fear in his eyes, not knowing what to do or say. I’ve seen him go buy lanolin and breast pads for his new-mother wife. I’ve seen him study the directions to figure out how to use a breast pump, and then show his wife who is scared to death of it. I’ve seen him reference the nursing guide they sent us home from the hospital about a thousand times, trying to help me be more comfortable and confident. He’s seen me puking while trying to nurse my newborn [if you can help it at all, DO NOT eat before a c-section! My poor, sweet husband, that’s literally his first memory of baby girl and I together]. He’s seen me freaking out on the hospital bed because I’m afraid I’m going to poop while I’m contracting. [Yeah, it’s gross, but it’s legit. Sorry, like I said, you need to be prepared.] He’s seen me so very out of it and so very helpless. I’ve seen him as a caretaker. I’ve seen him as a father. He’s seen me as a mother. We’ve learned so much about each other in the last couple of years (probably some things we could have done without). All these things have made us closer. These things have made me fall even more in love with my husband, and I didn’t think that was possible.

Our love for each other has only changed in that it has gotten stronger, which is a truly amazing thing. The way we got together was definitely a God thing (different post for a different day!), so I couldn’t imagine us being closer than we already were. But, here we are. And I love it.

Humble.

So, I wrote these words this morning and I just had to share.

Hubby shared my blog on Facebook last night for our friends and family to see, and I’ve been scared to death ever since. On the flip side, I also have an overwhelming sense of peace, and I think it’s because I’m finally doing what God has called me to do after all this time of making excuses, stalling, and just flat out saying, “no.”

And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.

Colossians 3:17

I stumbled across this verse this morning. I’ve read it hundreds of times, I’m sure, but today it had a whole new meaning. Isn’t the living Word amazing?! While I’m over here freaking out because I don’t want people to know my innermost thoughts or to see my vulnerabilities, I’m missing the point. My writing is to glorify Him and to help His people; it literally has nothing to do with me. I wouldn’t have words if He didn’t give me a mind to think them. I wouldn’t have experiences to share if He hadn’t given me my body, my life, the people around me. And I definitely wouldn’t have the courage to share any of it if it weren’t for the Holy Spirit, if it weren’t for the importance of what He’s called me to do. Everything I am is because of God and for God.

I will inevitably freak out again during this journey, because that’s just how I am. But, if I keep this verse at the front of my mind, I think my insecurities will disappear more quickly next time. God’s got this.

Also, I had to screenshot my “stats” from this thing since I started. Can you tell when hubby shared it on Facebook?

Mom life.

In honor of Mother’s Day today, I thought I’d share one of my mom life stories… I wrote this in February, but this kind of thing happens all. the. time.

“When you slice the rest of the apple your kid didn’t eat, get a big huge bowl of Nutella, wrap up the apple you just sliced, walk to the trash can, throw it away, walk back to your bowl of Nutella and wonder where your apple went… ugh 🤦‍♀️”

Yeah. I thought pregnancy brain was bad. Mom brain? Probably worse.

This weekend has been full of people we love. Baby girl and I got to go to a baby shower, where she got to play with her cousins. We went out to eat with friends that we should see way more often than we do. We spent today with aunts and grandmothers and my momma. I’m exhausted, but my heart is so full. My introverted self, however, is ready for leggings and quietness.

Mother’s Day

Everywhere you turn the second week of May, there is something about mothers. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s wonderful to celebrate mothers and all that they mean. However, for so many people, it’s merely a reminder of someone they’ve lost or a reminder of something they want but don’t have. Mother’s Day is a wonderful thing, but it can also be a painful time.

I feel like I have a special sensitivity to the complexity of Mother’s Day. I am so very blessed to still have my momma, and to be very close with her. My husband lost his mom when we were in high school. My best friend lost her mother shortly after she had her son several years ago. My husband and I struggled briefly with infertility, and then suffered a miscarriage a year before we had baby girl. Having these events take place in my life, and affect those around me, gives me such a deeper understanding of others’ potential grief.

Before I got pregnant with baby girl, after my miscarriage, I started following this girl on Facebook who was struggling with infertility. I had never followed a complete stranger’s blog before, and had almost looked down on people who needed “support groups.” But another woman on my friends list kept liking her posts, and I would see them and immediately feel her pain. Almost everything she posted made me burst into tears, because it felt like she was in my head. She knew the cry of my heart because she was there too. This was my first real connection to other people’s words. This was the beginning of this blog, I just didn’t know it at the time. She wrote a post yesterday that I literally could have written, except her journey so far has led her to adoption, and I have been blessed with baby girl. Does anyone else’s pastor recognize the mothers in the congregation by making them stand? Apparently both of ours do. She and I could both stand, we’re both mothers now. But, she says she’s going to stay seated, and I love her reasoning. Basically, she said it was because we are to mourn with those who mourn. She and I both have a unique perspective. We both understand sitting there while others stand, being recognized for the very thing we ache to be, longing to be able to stand and say, “yes, I am a mother.”

For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to have a family, to be a wife and a mother. I can hear feminists everywhere screaming, but it’s true. Yes, I truly believed I could do anything growing up, but that’s what I wanted. I wanted to love a child, take care of a child, teach a child. I started babysitting at a pretty young age and never looked back. I started work at my neighbor’s daycare when I was 16, and worked there for eight years. When I left there, I was a nanny for a family for almost a year. Finally, after kids were no longer my “work” work, God told me I wasn’t done. I was asked to volunteer in the church nursery once a month, and loved it. Fast forward to now, and I’m in charge of said church nursery. Children have always been part of my life, and I am passionate about caring for them. Obviously, kids are my thing.

My point here (I kind of got away from it, sorry) is that we should take the advice of Elisha (link to her post in the comments- go read it, it’s so good!) We should rejoice with those who rejoice, yes, and celebrate mothers for sure. They are worth celebrating. However, we can’t neglect those who are mourning either. There are so many who no longer have their mothers. There are more than you think who are longing to become mothers, or who have lost a child. I’m not saying we have to walk on eggshells around all women, but we do need to think before we speak. That “harmless” question, “when are you and your husband going to have a baby?” can be so painful. I’ve laughed and shrugged my shoulders to that question so many times. “I don’t know” seems like the most honest answer when you’re trying, but there’s still no baby. Even now that I have a child, I hear all the time, “when are you having another one?” I cringe a little every time I hear it. And, again, it’s not that people are trying to be hurtful, they are genuinely curious or just making conversation. It’s just that after all we’ve been through, I’m not sure a) that I am ready for another one, at least not right now, and b) that if we try again, we will even get another baby. It wasn’t super easy last time. What if we struggle again? It’s so painful.

I think this is part of the reason for this blog: to share our pregnancy story, or lack thereof, depending on the year. Before I stumbled across Elisha’s blog, I felt really alone. The doctor told me that 1 in 4 pregnancies ended in miscarriage, and I honestly didn’t believe her. If that was true, why didn’t I know anybody that had experienced it? Why wasn’t there a plethora of support and shared stories for me to cling to? Nobody talks about it. After finally telling some of my family about our experience, I learned that my cousin had suffered a miscarriage before as well. Why does no one talk about this? I feel like just in the last year, spurred on mostly by celebrities, people have been more open about their infertility and child loss. I feel like it’s just now getting more exposure, and more women are talking about their experience. I want to be that support, to offer that solidarity. I want whoever is supposed to be reading this to know that you’re not alone. I’ve been through it. I’ve been the girl sitting in church, wanting to stand and be called a mother, but I don’t have a baby to show for my pregnancy that hardly anyone knew about in the first place. It’s terrible, it’s awful, it’s painful, it’s alienating, but it’s not just you, I promise.

Revenge? Kindness.

Do you ever start to think you’re doing okay in your spiritual walk? Like, personally, I see how far I’ve come, and I feel like I’m in a good place, and I start to get confident. And that’s great, but that confidence can easily turn into complacency. I know I start thinking that I’m good, maybe I don’t have to work so hard; maybe I can not think so much about what I’m doing; maybe I can skip that bible devotion today, because I’ve got a lot to do. Satan lets me slip into comfort, and that can be dangerous. I’ve always said there’s no stagnation with God. We’re either seeking Him and moving toward Him, or we’re falling away. There’s no sitting still. If we’re not growing, we’re shrinking. And God has a way of reminding me of that sometimes.

Yesterday, I read Romans 12:19-21 for Jim’s bible devotion.

Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.” To the contrary, “if your enemy is hungry, feed him, if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by doing so you will heap burning coals on his head.” Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

Well, I’m good here, right? I really didn’t think I had a revenge issue. I’m not one who sits and plans out these big schemes to get someone back after they’ve wronged me; I don’t get joy out of hearing that some misfortune has happened to someone who is “hard to love.” I feel like for the most part, I genuinely want the best for everyone, even those who the world deems “undeserving.”

But then I read Jim’s devotion and got more than a little convicted. I’ve got some work to do, it turns out. Revenge doesn’t always look like this big, planned-out payback; it could be as small as honking at someone in traffic, Jim pointed out. Just because we don’t take this big, awful revenge, doesn’t necessarily mean our heart is in the right place either. I think I do what I’m calling “reactionary revenge” more than I would like to think. I am truly my most aggressive while I’m driving, so Jim’s random example really hit home. If you’ve ever ridden with me, you know what I mean. I really don’t even honk my horn unless something dangerous is happening, but man do I throw my hands up and yell… “what are you doing?!” “Use your turn signal!”… I get so bent out of shape when I’m driving.

I was trying to think of other areas of my life where I could improve upon this as well. I’m sure now that God has revealed this thing that I need to be aware of, I’ll start to see more. However, I did think about how when someone does something wrong to me or someone I love, I treat that person differently. I may not be as nice, or just completely ignore them. I may not be as inclined to help them. And that’s not right. I feel like that’s a really hard balance: treating someone with caution, because they have hurt you in the past, but still with Christian love. We humans sure can’t do that on our own. That whole “kill ’em with kindness” thing is easier said than done.

Older.

Today was just one of those days that was good for the soul. We went to church and spent time with our church family. We came home and hubby and I straightened up the house while baby girl napped. We met my parents and sister, and hubby’s dad and stepmom at my favorite Mexican restaurant to celebrate my birthday. Then, we all came back to our house for cake. Everybody stayed so long that baby girl ended up going to bed a little later than normal, but we all had so much fun.

I usually get super uptight when we have people over, but for some reason tonight, it was just what I needed. I told hubby that whenever we [finally] get our house finished, we really should start doing Sunday dinners here. Having everybody all together here talking, laughing, playing with baby girl, it was wonderful.

I’m going to be 31 tomorrow. I know, I know… people older than I am tell me that’s young; my 18 year old cousin thinks I’m like 90, I’m pretty sure. I tell people younger than I am how young they are. I know it’s all relative… but my body feels so old. Why do I have a “bad hip” now? (It’s the left one, by the way) My back hurts constantly, and eating almost anything inevitably gives me heartburn or a stomach ache… why, body? It’s probably less about my age, and more due to the fact that I don’t exercise or eat right, and I carried and delivered another human being. I did Zumba one day last week, for like 12 minutes… that’s something, right?

Maybe 31 will be different. Maybe I’ll finally find the motivation to get healthy and stick to it. There have been several times over the past few years where I’ve gotten really good about working out every day, only to stop all the sudden. How do people keep going? I find it especially difficult to go it alone. Plus, I like food entirely too much. One time for Valentine’s Day, I think, hubby got brave and bought a filet mignon to make for us at home. We had some at the Melting Pot once, where I discovered that I didn’t actually dislike steak, just cheap steak. Then, factor in our love for brown butter sauce, pasta, and pecorino cheese, and you’ve got a meal that’s a heart attack waiting to happen. We make this decadent meal about once a week these days. No wonder my body hates me. But, my mouth loves me a lot. Maybe I’ll post a recipe on here one day, so you can share in the amazingness that is this meal. It’s so good. Actually, I’ll have hubby write out a recipe and share it. He has become an expert at making this meal while preparing it for his wife who couldn’t have it for nine months while she was pregnant. It’s like I can’t get enough. Plus, pasta is life.

Led.

Guys, I really did start this blog because I feel God wanted me to. For quite a few years now, I have kept a [mostly] daily bible devotion journal. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve opened up an old one, only to read words that I absolutely needed to see. Words that I have already written speak to me months, sometimes years later. So, I feel like maybe I’m not the only one who needs to see these words. And here we are.

With that said, so far I’ve kept this thing pretty shallow. I’ve still been scared to write out my deepest thoughts for all the world to see. But, I’ve got to do it. I have to, because I’m called to. This is me being obedient… kicking and screaming the whole way.

A few background notes, for reference: I grew up in a Methodist church. We went to Sunday school every week, but rarely went to service unless it was Christmas or Easter or something. I went through confirmation when I was twelve (I’m pretty sure) and stood in front of the whole congregation and professed Christ. When I got too old to go to youth Sunday school anymore, I started going to my parents’ class. When I started dating my husband in college, he invited me to the college group at his Independent Christian church that met on Wednesday nights. [He introduced me as his “friend” the first time I went with him, haha!] I didn’t think about it at the time, but that was probably the best foundation we could have had starting out as a new couple. While we were dating and engaged, I would still attend Sunday school at the Methodist church, and then leave early so I could make service at hubby’s church. When we got married, I started just going with him every week. So, I’ve been at a church my whole life, but my faith has strengthened so very much since attending our current church.

Our preacher’s name is Jim. In these, you’ll probably see me reference him a whole lot. Jim is a “down home” kind of guy, who grew up in a small town. I love hearing him talk about the simplicity of his childhood. I feel like because of his background, he just relates so well to all kinds of people. The best part about Jim, though, is that he lets God use him, like really use him. And God speaks to me so very frequently through Jim, although he probably doesn’t even know. For a while now, he has been doing an online devotion where he posts different scripture and thoughts about it on Facebook each day. I am absolutely loving this. But, before he started this, there were so many times where I would do a verse or write down a thought I had during the week, and it would be exactly what he preached on Sunday. Coincidence? Nope.

Okay. Now that you’re all prepared to read… I’ve got to mentally prepare to write. More often than not, I will probably just type out one of my MANY bible journal entries. Scary. Pray for my strength, y’all. I know God can do big things if I just listen to what He would have me do. Here’s a little sneak peek of my bible journal. Sometimes a specific thought seems more important than the rest, and I have to write it again, to catch my attention later.

One of my favorite things to say.

Guys, honest moment here… my heart is racing just because I was trying to find something to picture here. I liked this certain page, but a voice in my head instantly said, “you didn’t write pretty enough there,” and “that looks awful, you messed up and scratched something out.” I passed it over, but couldn’t find exactly what I thought I was looking for. Then I came back to it. This is exactly what I’m trying to do: show my thoughts, the real me. The real me gets ahead of herself sometimes and has to scratch things out. The real me is also a perfectionist. It’s a battle.