Heavy Love

It's hard to love like Jesus does. He loves everyone. Every. Single. Person. And He all loves us all the same. He loves us so much that he died to save us from our own weak, sinful selfs. Think about that kind of love for a second, and tell me that you can love every single person on this earth that way. 

Love every single murderer, rapist, and pedophile that way. Jesus does. 

Love every single racist, radical Islamist, and Neo-Nazi that way. Jesus does. 

Love every single homosexual, heterosexual, Democrat, Republican, black person, brown person, white person that way. Jesus does. 

Love every single sinner on this planet that way. Jesus does. 

He loves us. All of us. And there is not a single string attached. All we have to do is accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior, ask Him into our heart, and live our life walking closely with Him. 

That kind of Love can be heavy. 

I've watched it become so heavy that I can no longer tell who has that kind of Love in their heart and who doesn't. Even when I'm sitting inside a church. We shouldn't have to play a guessing game to tell who follows Christ and who doesn't. It should show with every word we utter and with every step and breath we take. 

I've watched while a country, who should be rallying around and comforting each other, break out into social media wars over gun rights and presidential candidates. Our job is to spread the Gospel, not anger. Get out there and do your duties. Love your fellow man, all of them, and show them the Love that changed your life so that it can bring them the same Peace it brought you. 

I've watched Christians assign weights to different sins and arrogantly decide that they are somehow better than others because their sin doesn't show quite as badly. Visible sins are not greater than invisible sin, and invisible sins are not invisible to God. They're all the same, and you'll never be able to love like Jesus if you can't see that.

I've watched finger pointing and read meaningless arguments over whether Christianity is more or less violent than Islam. We shouldn't have to argue it or prove it if we're showing it. And sadly, a lot of us are not showing Love. We're not showing anything. 

I've watched Christians spin a moment in which they should've been sharing the Gospel and spreading a message of Hope, Peace, and Love into a moment that's prime for arguing over the reasons why. It's not 'us against them,' it's 'us against the devil,' and we let the devil win every time we choose pride or fear over sharing the Love of Jesus. 

These attacks. These disasters. These horrible, terrible things that happen to our people, the American people, are not a surprise to God. Each and every one of them is opportunity to serve, love, and teach our fellow man. 

Get out there and do it. 

Dear Students: What I Really Want to Say But Can't

Dear students,

There are so many things that I've wanted to tell you all year but I just couldn't say. Whether the reason be legal, logical, personal, or whatever, I just couldn't tell you what was on my mind. 

Well, I've never been very good at keeping my mouth shut, so I am going to tell you everything I've wanted to say. Right here. Right now. 

#1 

There is a such thing as a stupid question, and you, my dear, just asked one. Close your mouth before you do any more damage. 

#2

If you're going to choose to be dumb, you need to at least be pretty...or funny...or really athletic. You're none of those things. Pick up the dadgum pencil and let's do this!

#3
I die a little inside when you do the thing that I, just seconds ago, told your classmate not to do. I think the energy drained from trying not to yell in these situations has aged me at least a decade.

#3
I do not fail you. You fail you. All I do is deliver the information and mark your assignments when you turn them in. It does not make me happy to mark answer after answer wrong on your tests. I feel like a failure each and every time that I have a student fail my class. And yes, I guess I could just 'bump you up' that few points every semester to get that grade up to passing, but then I really would be failing you. And I refuse to do that.

#4

High school has absolutely nothing to do with your ability to solve a quadratic equation. It's not really about learning the causes of the Civil War. And no, your knowledge of covalent bonds will not affect you in the "real world." What you're really supposed to be learning is how to do crap you don't want to do while working with the people that you don't necessarily want to work with. You're supposed to be learning how to think critically and problem solve. What you're really supposed to be learning is how to survive college and the workforce and hopefully one day be a productive citizen. Many of you are failing. Miserably. Congrats. Now change it. It's not too late; try when you want to quit, be kindness when your world stacks up against you, and be humble even when you feel like a superhero. 

#5

The teacher that snapped on you that day that you didn't bring anything to class may have just found out that her sister has to start chemo tomorrow. That teacher that was less than patient that day that you just couldn't get MAC factoring may have just gotten a picture text from her husband of the headstone she recently had to design for her baby. Your teachers are only human. We have bad moods, we have bad days, and we sometimes make poor decisions. Give us a break every now and then. We both know your teachers have given you the benefit of the doubt more times than any of us could count. 

#6

Contrary to what you think that office referral, Saturday school assignment, or parent phone call may mean, I really do care about you. The only reason I discipline you is because I care about you. Trust me, it would be a whole lot easier if I just ignored that bad behavior or just 'let you fail.' (See #3) There may be times when I don't particularly like you, but I always, always care about you. The moment you stepped foot into my room, I worked to help you grow just like you were my child. Sometimes that growth requires some hard lessons, like summer school. Sometimes that growth required an abundance of grace, like the day you couldn't gather your emotions so I let you retake the test when you were feeling better. Every decision I made concerning you came with the subconscious thought, "What if he/she were my child? How would I want this handled?"

#7

This one is a biggie. This one was on the tip of my tongue every day, every time I saw your cuts, your tears, or your silent (and sometimes not so silent) cries for help. But I could never say it because...well, because we live in a broken world that has decided that your teachers can never, ever talk to you about this...

Jesus loves you. 

And even though your world and heart may be broken, in Him you will find only Peace. I desperately hope you find Him. Sadly, I can't lead you to Jesus with words, but I hope you witnessed His Love through me as you sat in my classroom.

Love,
Mrs. Rich

The Blank Basket: It'll Still Hold Eggs

I had a familiar feeling come over me yesterday while driving to my sister's house. As I crossed the 'four-lane' (as we southerners like to call it), I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to get J's Easter basket monogrammed like I had totally planned to for weeks. I even bought his basket in February so that I could take it to my monogrammer in plenty of time for Easter. In the middle of my pity party for myself and my forgetful brain, I had another startling realization -- I forgot to get Jasper an Easter outfit, too! I had even had whole conversations with coworkers and friends about Easter outfits for our children. After this realization, I had an avalanche of unchecked To-Do's flooding my brain, and I got very overwhelmed with life.

When I finally got to my sister's house, she mentioned that she'd be going shopping later that day and asked if I needed anything. I asked her to pretty please pick up something for J to wear to church, and we began a conversation about all of the stuff that I forgot to take care of for Easter. I told her in my best whiny, poor me voice that (gasp!) I forgot to get Jasper's basket monogrammed. In a way that only she can do, she looked at me with what I can only describe as "loving disgust" and told me in no uncertain terms that I was being ridiculous. She said, "But guess what?! It'll still hold eggs."

I laughed in response and went on my way, but her comment started me thinking. Okay, so yes, between raising a little boy, building a house, nurturing a marriage, rocking my full-time career as well as my new part-time job, and trying my best to walk with the Lord every day, I guess that I forgot to do and buy all of the 'stuff' that I've been brainwashed to think I need to have for Easter. But does any of it matter? Yes, those adorable knee socks and a darling little heirloom Easter basket would make for some precious pictures, but does it really matter? No.

Do you know what does matter? The fact that I asked my two-year-old if he knew why we were going to church this morning, and he responded, "Jesus!" No, he doesn't yet understand that Jesus died for our sins; he doesn't yet understand that he died and on the third day arose from the dead; and he doesn't yet understand that Jesus' resurrection is the cornerstone of Christianity...but he will. And that's what really matters. 

So, yeah, I'm the mama who picked her child's Easter basket goodies at the very last minute. I'm the mama who, because of a very busy schedule and slightly poor planning, had to stay up late to get Easter goodies ready. We're the family walking in to church ten minutes late because we had to turn around twice for forgotten things. We're the family surreptitiously pulling tags off of new clothes in the middle of a sermon because we didn't buy said clothes until the last minute and are always so rushed on Sunday mornings that we forgot to pull the tags off. I'm the mama who is just as likely to forgot the basket at home and force her son to hunt eggs with a grocery bag. 

But we're also a family that is overwhelmingly thankful that God hold us to a standard of Grace. And we will do our best to make sure that our son understands that Easter is less about your Sunday best and hunting eggs and more about a celebration of God's Unending Love and Amazing Grace.

By the way, we did hunt eggs using that blank Easter basket, and my sister was right...it did still hold eggs! 

Finding Peace in my Not So Quiet Time

I have struggled for as long as I can remember to find the time to read my Bible and really be still and listen to God. I'd try different times in the day, but, in the words of my uncle, God's cow always dies. The hour Id try to set aside before I went to bed would be stolen by time with my hubs, time to clean, or time to rock my sweet baby one more time. After years of trying to find a place and time to spend time with Him, I finally decided that I was just going to have to make time. Carve it out of my busy schedule and make it a priority.

Each morning, my alarm clock goes off about thirty minutes before I actually have to wake up, and I drag myself out of bed to sit in my oversized arm chair with my Bible and a cup of coffee so I can listen to what God wants me to hear. I make it a priority and I prepare for it. I know myself and I know that I will not wake up on the first alarm, so I set a second alarm in the kitchen. (Yes, it really is that hard to wake me up.) I'm not all about mornings unless I have a cup of coffee in my hand, so I make sure to set my coffee pot every night before I go to bed. The blessings that I receive from my mornings spent with God are so rewarding that I am happy to sacrifice the half an hour of sleep to do it. 

For the past week, my quiet time has been interrupted and sometimes abruptly halted by a certain little cutie pie. He has been going through a sleep regression (or maybe it's the time change), and he wakes up with the chickens every morning. Sometimes he wakes up before my alarm clock even goes off. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of my bible study. Either way, he's been a hindrance to my ability to be still and meditate on God's word. I'd be lying if I said that this hasn't bothered me. My unfinished business plagues me all day when I have these adorable little interruptions. 

After praying over my new dilemma for a few days, I thought maybe God is trying to teach me something here. 

At first I thought He was definitely trying to teach me patience. I prayed for patience when J was about three months old after I'd had some struggles at work while I was also trying to get a handle on juggling a new school year with an infant. It was only afterwards that I truly understood that God doesn't just give you anything. You have to earn it, and boy did I ever earn patience! So in the first couple of days after I started having a little partner during my Bible study, I just thought He was continuing my lesson in patience. Until, that is, I saw my sweet baby bring his Bible story book to me to look at in my lap while I was reading my Bible. He watched me intently and if I picked up a highlighter to mark a verse, he needed one for his book. If I reached for a pen to annotate, he'd immediately need to jot down a 'note' in the margins of his little book. It was like God was telling me, "He learns by watching, mama, and you are setting a great example."

I broke down in tears. Not from pride, but from shame. I was so ashamed of myself for thinking of his presence in my quiet time as a nuisance when it was actually the most positive influence that I could ever really have on my child. Don't get me wrong, teaching him to survive in his earthly home is pretty important, but teaching him how to have a relationship with his Heavenly Father is the most important

I spent years craving a real relationship with Jesus Christ, never really knowing how to achieve one. Just going through the motions hoping for a miracle. But, I have the opportunity to let my child learn how to have a meaningful relationship with Him by being a good example of how to make God a priority not an afterthought. 

Maybe he will always know what to do.

Maybe he won't ever have to know what it feels like to miss God.

Maybe he won't ever have to wonder what a blessing it is to feel God speak to you. 

And maybe that's all because mama showed him what it meant to put God first. 

Proverbs 22:6

Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.

Holding on Loosely

The sun had just risen on a beautiful south Alabama October day. (This means that it was sunny and 85 for all of you who aren't privy to the average temperatures of our odd climate.) I was getting J up and dressed for his first trip to the zoo and pumping him up with tidbits of information on all he'd see. The lions, the tigers, the bears! Oh my! On the drive, J entertained us all with impersonations of dogs and bears and, everyone's favorite, the monkeys. 

As J and his Pa explored the South American bird exhibit, I caught myself trying not to grab him away for fear that he might touch something germ infested. When the birds got old and our group began moving towards bigger and more carnivorous creatures, I felt that ever present urge to pick J up. To protect him, as if I could do anything more than the twelve foot tall wall could. My daddy, who was very good at fostering independence in his children, could sense it. He was constantly telling me, "Just follow him and see where he goes." As I'm standing ankle deep in playground mulch and wrestling a tantruming toddler who has absolutely no intentions of swinging in the baby swing, my daddy gently reminds me to 'let him go.'

Let him go. 

Isn't that the hardest thing a mother can do? When they learn to walk, we hold their little hands as long as they'll allow. When they start practicing their independence and walking by themselves, we use our own bodies as human forcefields to protect them from bumps and scrapes. We don't want to let them go. We know what's going to happen. They are going to fall. They are going to fail.

As a teacher, I wish more mothers would allow their children to learn to fail, but as a mother, I know it's very hard to chose to let your child make their own mistakes. Lessons learned 'the hard way' are oftentimes the lessons that leave the most lasting impression, but it's a difficult thing to watch your child make mistakes that you know are going to hurt them. We are hardwired to push our children towards success. Failure isn't something that we want to see our children encounter, but we're lying to ourselves if we believe that they will never have to feel what it's like to not be good enough. It will be beneficial to our children if we make it a point to let them learn what it feels like to fail and how to handle the emotions that inevitably follow.

As Christians, we have a responsibility to allow our children to experience failure and teach them to turn to Jesus when what they bring to the table just isn't enough. Children need to know that what they are will never be enough without The One who makes them whole, and isn't that our one most important role as their parent? As my new bible study leader said, "We continually struggle with letting them go, but they're not even really ours to begin with." Our most important responsibility as a parent is to raise our children up in a way that is glorifying to God. Teaching your children to fall at His feet when it seems like their world is falling apart is a great place to start. 

If I'm telling myself the truth, I have had an internal struggle between holding on and letting go for as long as I've been a mother. I am always debating whether I should hold his hand and protect him or let him go and let him explore. In the short time that I've been a parent, I've come to realize that parenthood is about continually letting go and the emotions that come along with it. Each milestone has been a celebration but it's also been marked with tears. From the big milestones like first steps and first haircuts down to the small things like changes in diaper size, a mother's world is a hodgepodge of bittersweet moments. And I'm constantly reminded that these little milestones are going to gradually be replaced with much bigger, and harder to handle, life events like driving, college, and marriage. These moments are like water slipping through cupped hands...you can try to hold on, but eventually your hands will be empty.

We are in a constant state of holding on loosely and always letting go, but we will never have to worry about what happens when we 'Let Go' as long as we teach them to 'Let God.'

James 1:2-4

Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. 

Our society: Christians are bigots and we accept everything but God.

Reading the news (loosely used) posts
on social media can easily leave you despondent and sad these days. Even when you see posts that should make you happy, like people lifting up Christianity, all you have to do is scroll through the comments for a little while to lose your short lived smile. Case in point, a picture of a GOP Presidential candidate holding up a sign that says 'I am a Christian' quickly got him labeled a 'bigot.' I went from optimistic to tearful in about two seconds flat.

How is he a bigot? Because he's a Christian? Because he has conservative and yes, Christian, views? Do we really live in a world where we aren't allowed to have our own religious views without being labeled? Bigotry is the act of being intolerant of the views of others...not the single act of having an opposing view. Since we're throwing words around, I've got one, too: hypocrite. Hypocrisy is the act of having moral standards or beliefs to which one own's behavior does not conform, and I am sure that calling someone a bigot for simply holding a different view than yours is a prime example of hypocrisy. Simply being a Christian cannot make a person a bigot.

So why the labels? The biggest reason, in my opinion, is that society has a skewed view of Christianity. I think, for the most part, the most vocal non-Christians believe that Christians are arrogant, holier-that-though, bigots. Part of this is human nature. We as humans are naturally sinners and we're worldly, prideful creatures. Non-Christians hear that they are sinners and incapable of ever being 'good enough' and immediately they rebel. The fact so many of the non-Christians with this clouded, negative view of Christianity are very open and vocal with their opinions only compounds the negative impact that they can have on our witness to the world. 

Another (harder to talk about) reason that the world's view of Christians is clouded is that we as Christians have done a poor job of being the body of Christ. We've been complacent, for the most part, and the world has risen up to meet us. Many people are pushed away from Christianity by Christians, the very people that are supposed to be leading others to Christ. For example, I read about how Justin Bieber has discovered Jesus Christ and wants to model his life after Him. As a high school teacher, I see students every day who are trying to model themselves after celebrities,  and I was ecstatic to see one of those celebrities admitting that he needs Jesus and wants to live his life for Him...and then I read the comments. There were so many Christians who were saying things like, "I'll believe it when I see it" or "all he knows is the liberal, love-everything-and-everybody version of Christ." Is that really our job as Christians? To question every new believer's authenticity? I'm sure it's not, and we need to do a better job of being the body of Christ and nurturing new Christians. 

I recently spent some time reading and praying over a few verses in Ephesians explaining how a follower of Christ should live. I was surprised and humbled by many of the guidelines. As many of my readers know, I asked Jesus to come into my heart when I was very young. I lived as a 'Christian' for fifteen years before I realized that I was completely wrong about what it meant to really be a Christian and what it really looks like to live as a Christian. Christianity is not about being perfect, it's about recognizing that you will never be perfect and that you are in desperate need of God's Saving Grace. I think that Christians, as a whole, are doing a poor job of displaying the humility that it takes to carry yourself as a recognized sinner every day. 

What I think this (increasingly non-Christian) society needs to understand is that just because we love someone doesn't mean that we have to accept their sins...and that accepting their sins as 'the way they are' is definitely not loving them. Especially if you are a follower of Jesus Christ. Christ has a love for us that surpasses all knowledge, but he will still deny us in front of The Father if we do not accept Him into our hearts as our personal Lord and Savior. This sets an example for us, I think. We are told to love our neighbors as more important than ourselves, but that means we are to love them enough and so much that we don't sit by and unconcernedly watch them sinning.

And don't even get me started on the 'Christians' who openly condone sinning in the name of 'acceptance.' You can't watch a talk show without seeing sin being openly celebrated and excused by celebrities saying, "If that's what makes him happy, who am I to stand in his way?" Really? Don't you think you are opening yourself up for interpretation there? There are a lot of things that make a lot of people happy that are not okay even by this society's low moral standards. Some people are sexually attracted to animals, so "who are we to stand in his way" if someone wants to marry his shih tzu? Do you see what kind of terrible turns that road can lead you down? Regardless of your religion, society CANNOT keep this up; we have to draw a line somewhere.We need to stop sinning by silence and hiding behind 'don't judge lest ye be judged.' Those verses explain that you must remove your own sin before helping your neighbor to remove his, not that we should ignore our neighbor's sin completely under the guise of 'acceptance.' We also need to stop using God's Grace as an excuse to keep sinning. Yes, God loves you no matter what and yes, he will forgive you an infinite amount of times, BUT you have to genuinely ask got His forgiveness. Perpetually living in sin and occasionally (and casually) asking God to forgive you for those sins misses the mark completely.

Loving a Man with a Servant's Heart

Your grass needs to be cut. There are weeds threatening to take over your patio. The back splash in the kitchen isn't sticking to the wall properly and your coffee bar has been slightly unfinished for the past six months. Your husband has a list of honey-dos a mile long, and he never seems to get a single thing accomplished around the house.

He isn't lazy. Oh no, he's the antithesis of lazy. He's always busy. He almost never gets a spare minute to himself, let alone to spend with you or the kids.

So, what is he doing with all of his time? He's helping. It's what he does.

Does this sound familiar to you? Well congratulations, sister, you have the privilege of loving a man with a servant's heart. It may not be convenient for anyone in your family, but your husband was blessed with the ability to help those in need. It goes deeper than that though, this man wants to help people. He is at his best when he is doing things for others. God blesses each of us with a gift, and this desire to help happens to be his.

I've gone through many emotions loving and learning to live with this man with a servant's heart. We have fought over unfinished projects and cluttered storage sheds. We've argued about uncut grass and unfixed appliances. I've bickered over ungrateful friends who always lean on him but never return the kindness. I've stewed silently in my own anger over the fact that we had to spend yet another afternoon waiting on daddy to finish doing someone else a favor.

I've been neglected. I've been pushed aside. I've been told that my needs are going to have to wait more times than I like to think about.

But I've also felt pride on a level that I didn't know possible. I've felt love grow bigger than life for unassuming reasons that sometimes make me laugh. I've watched my husband work, and I mean really work, until midnight just to get his lawnmower ready and loaded to go help someone cut grass the next day.
My child and I have been dragged out of bed on Saturdays because my husband has to do something for someone. While we're both sleepy eyed and grumpy, he's just as chipper as a song bird because he thrives on helping people. He's the type of person that will literally give you the shirt off of his back and smile while he's doing it.

He never expects payment or repayment; he usually won't accept if it is offered to him. He doesn't even want it. He is content just to know that he has helped someone in need. Whether it's help with some type of work or help with money, he is just happy to help. He is generous in a way that I find inspiring.

It's sad that I haven't understood that until now. We could have saved ourselves a lot of arguments and hurt feelings had I figured this out earlier.

So why the change of heart? I've spent years concentrating on the parts of my husband that I think need to change. (I think that's a practice that I learned from "How to Ruin your Marriage 101") This desire to help people was close to the top of my list. I just couldn't stand the way that people always took advantage of him. I would always ask him, "would he do the same thing for you?" when G was asked a favor. Regardless of the reply, he would always go do whatever it was that was asked of him. Then one day I realized that the way I was living and thinking wasn't glorifying to God. I prayed that Jesus would come into my heart, my whole heart, that he would look into the darkest, dustiest corners and shine the Light in. After this literal change of heart, I started seeing these selfless acts that my husband was compelled to do as God's Work. He might not have been raised in a bible-thumping, pew-jumping household, but he is more Christ-like than me in so many ways.

He sees a need and he fills it. He shows his love for other human beings by just simply doing what God has called him to do with the abilities that God blessed him with. I always talk about how Christians should do a better job of "walking the walk," but I was overlooking one of the best examples of showing Christ's love through actions that I have ever known. He lives in my house with me and I have the blessing of having him as my partner in raising children.

So, we may spend many afternoons waiting on daddy to get finished doing yet another favor. We may have to walk by our unfinished coffee bar ten times a day while G is out working, but it's okay. I'm happy to do it. I wouldn't dare change a thing.

Philippians 2:3-5
Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind regard one another as more important than yourselves; do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others. Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus...

Lord Let Them See You In Me

The last bell had just rung. My students filed out of my room for the last time that day leaving broken pencils and balled up scratch paper in their wake. A familiar thought pushed its way to the forefront of my mind.

What kind of homes do these kids come from?!

I rolled my eyes at their lack of respect and immediately followed behind them to clean everything up. I wouldn't want my morning class to come in to a messy classroom, of course. I am careful to sweep the floor well, not missing any bits of chewed eraser or spiral notebook paper leftovers. As I made it around to the assignments tray, I see that my 

students couldn't even manage to stack their handouts neatly when they turned them back in. Tisk, tisk! And there's that thought again.

What kind of homes do these kids come from?! 

I straightened my papers and started walking back to my desk when I noticed an impolite drawing on a student's desk. I sighed my most irritated sigh and grabbed a Clorox wipe to begin yet another of my duties that isn't exactly written in my job description. As I scrubbed with as much elbow grease as I could muster, that thought snuck back into my mind.

What kind of homes do these kids come from?!

When my room was back into some semblance of order, I sat down at my desk to finish up some last minute chores before I got to go home and love on my own sweet child. Because I'd never share the lives of my students on such a public stage, I will not tell you exactly what happened next, but I will say that God spoke directly to me in a way that still brings tears to my eyes. 

He answered that little question 'What kind of homes do these kids come from?!' And He asked me one of his own, 'What are you going to do to help them?' 

I humbly bowed my head and prayed. 

Dear Lord,

Let them see You in me. Give me the words, invade my thoughts, allow me to show Your love through my actions.

In Jesus' precious and Holy name I pray,

Amen.

As I tidied up my desk to go home for the day, I felt a brand new determination take over my mind. These kids may not all be future engineers or physicists, but they do all have a future and it's my job to guide it. If I have to pick up a few pieces of trash or clean a few inappropriate pictures of my desks in the process, I'll be happy to do it. 

Matthew 5:14-16

“You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. …

The poorly equipped disciple

I never thought this blog would end up receiving the number of readers that it has, and I am incredibly grateful and humbled each time I check my blog traffic. I'm a math teacher, not a writer, but you guys are able to look past my lackluster composition and read my messages anyway. When I started this blog I really just wanted to see what all the fuss was about, but as I continued to post I started realizing the ways I could use it as a tool of discipleship. As many of my readers probably know, I recently rededicated myself and my life to the glory of God. If you look at my blog posts in chronological order, you can actually see me grow as a writer and a Christian. 

At first I thought that praying for my blog was a silly, selfish thing to do, but gradually I began to pray over my words as I wrote them. I started to understand that there is nothing that you shouldn't lay at Jesus' feet in prayer, so I started praying wholeheartedly for guidance, assurance, and direction. For my posts to be filled with the Holy Spirit. For my words to bring glory to God. And for my message to reach people who otherwise may not ever hear the gospel. I have so much growing left to do, but I'm excited about how far this blog has already come. 

I do get discouraged though. The other day I started thinking about what a poorly equipped disciple I truly am. I don't go to church like a should. I'm not in church every time the doors open. I'm not even in church every Sunday morning. I only have an average knowledge of the Bible, and I can't pray aloud without getting tongue tied or drawing a blank and going silent. If I were to debate with an atheist who knows more about the Gospel than me, would I be able to stand my ground? If I were to ask someone whether they knew Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior and they replied with a 'no, will you pray with me?', would I be able to get the prayer out? 

I don't know.

What I do know is that these seventy-two of Jesus's disciples were sent out "like lambs among wolves." That sounds hopeless, right? Think about it, a lamb up against a wolf. So these disciples were also poorly equipped. But, they went out anyway and you know what? They came back with joy! They were joyful when they came back explaining that even the demons submit in Jesus's name. Whenever I think about how much more I need to mature as a Christian, I think about this verse:

Luke 10:3

Go! I am sending you out like lambs among wolves.

And I know that as I will be joyful as long as I am working in Jesus's name. 

I do understand that I still need to take steps to better equip myself as a disciple, so I am setting goals to keep maturing as a Christian. I want to read the Bible in its entirety. I want to begin attending a discipleship training class regularly. I want to surround myself with like-minded Christians who will help me to mature. There are plenty more, but I'd hate to bore you with the laundry list of ways that I need to better myself.

If you read this blog, will you also pray for it? Will you pray for me as I embark on this long path of growth?

How equipped do you feel when you are presented with opportunities to be a witness for Christ? What are your goals to keeping growing as a Christian?

Are we in the fire?

I'm a firm believer that many times when we think Satan has his hands on some bad situation that is happening around us that it's actually God testing our resolve. There's an analogy that my aunt taught me when I was young that compares God to a Silversmith. I won't go into detail but the gist is this: Sometimes God puts you in the fire to make you shine brighter. I know I don't have to bring up any current events that might be testing Christians all over this country, and I'm not writing this to start a debate. I just want to ask you, are we in the fire? Are we being tested? Is God holding us in the fire to see how bright we can shine for him? 

He's a little encouragement for you: a Silversmith holds the silver in the fire long enough to bring out the shine and no longer...and he never takes his eyes off of it, not even for a moment. 

Shine bright!

Zechariah 13:9

This third I will put into the fire; I will refine them like silver and test them like gold. They will call on my name and I will answer them; I will say, 'They are my people,' and they will say, 'The Lord is our God. ' ”

The day I realized I wasn't really a Christian

As a child, I went to church semi-regularly with my family. I remember going to Sunday school and VBS. I remember struggling to memorize my Bible verses and reciting my lines for the Christmas Play (Happy Birthday Jesus!). I asked Jesus to come into my heart and save me. I proudly sat through my Confirmation classes, and I would always tell people in troubled times that I would pray for them. The memories that I made with my friends in the youth group at church are some of my favorite memories. When it came time to get married, I was adamant that we would marry in a church. I prayed. I took Communion. I read my Bible. I believed in God, and I believed that Jesus was my Lord and Savior. But I wasn't a Christian, or maybe I should say I wasn't a Christian in the ways that God had called me to be. I was just blindly going through the motions, and I was doing a poor job of it. 

I would watch any show or movie that I wanted regardless of the content. I would listen to any song that I wanted regardless of the lyrics. When I was presented with a situation that tested my resolve, I usually bowed out and hid behind 'do not judge lest ye be judged.' I do not like confrontation, so I would tend to sin by silence and ignore whatever sinful activities were around me. Sometimes I would even participate. When I was confronted with a differing world view than my own, I would argue but it was always for the wrong reasons. I argued my point with the objective of winning the argument rather than using my words to bring glory to God. I was prideful, conceited, quick to anger, and hypocritical.

When I met an acquaintance of my husband's, one of the first things that I did was invite him to go to church with us. Good, dutiful Christian behavior, right?! He declined and began arguing his point about how all he's ever seen in church are pews full of hypocrites. People who smile at you while you're at church but won't speak to you at the grocery store. So, what did I do? I showed him just how hypocritical Christians can be by angrily arguing my point and nearly refusing to speak to him afterwards. For years afterwards. I was such a poor witness it's appalling that I haven't seen it before now.

Yes, I read my Bible. Sort of. I'd read it in the way that you read a fictional storybook instead of like the pure truth that it is. I read it out of duty, but I should have been reading it for strength, guidance, and wisdom. I used scripture in the way that you choose foods off of a buffet; I took the parts I liked and left the parts I didn't. Yes, I prayed. Sort of. I'd pray in the same way that a child asks Santa for toys at Christmas instead of the thankful worship I should have been offering up to God every day. I prayed sporadically at best and most times it was to ask for something, like I had any reason to believe that I should deserve anything. I was not really a Christian. A Christian is the type of person like James and John who would drop everything, including family, to follow Christ just as they were called to do. A Christian is a person like Peter who stepped out of a boat onto crashing waves because Jesus called him. A true Christian would model themselves after Christ, not other Christians. 

Just a few months ago I had my spiritual eyes opened to the mediocre way that I was living. I had always known the right way to live, it is just that I never actually accepted the fact that I was living the wrong way. After all, I was a good Christian relative to many of the others around me. I'm not entirely sure when the revelation happened, but it has been growing more and more evident each and every day. I think I began to see myself more critically when J was born. I knew that I wanted him to grow up in a good, Christian home, and I began to notice the things that weren't very Christ-like of me. I made a conscious decision 'walk the walk' everyday. 

My personal changes started in my classroom. My first few years of teaching were spent treating the difficult students like difficult students and the good students like good students. Those old ways went out the window. I made an effort to see my students as people rather than as empty buckets that I was just supposed to pour knowledge into. Your perspective changes when you learn that you have a cutter, a suicidal student, a student who rarely gets a meal at home, a victim of molestation, and a few foster children in your classroom everyday. I started trying to nurture them as best I could (and as far as I am allowed).

Then I noticed that my habits were in need of an overhaul. I began reading my Bible for guidance and reassurance. I began praying continually, selflessly, and thankfully. And when I was tested with a person who claimed that all Christians are hypocrites, I did my best to show him that there is at least one exception. That acquaintance of my husband's, I began treating him differently as well. Rather than being an arrogant, pretentious example of a Christian, I began trying to be a loving example of the Body of Christ with open arms and healing hands. 

Am I perfect? Absolutely not! I fail each and every day. But, I'm faithful enough to get up and try again tomorrow. I'm still growing, and I have a very long way to go. I'm vastly different than I was a year ago, and I'm hopeful that I keep changing for the better. 

Acts 20:24

 However, I consider my life worth nothing to me; my only aim is to finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me---the task of testifying to the good news of God's grace.

I hate Pinterest

We just recently celebrated our little boy's first birthday. Because he is our only child and this was his very first birthday, I wanted to make it extra special. I started planning this party months and months in advance, and I, of course, used Pinterest as the source of many of my ideas. That was my mistake. Pinterest.

I am, by nature, a very anxious person. I am also, by profession, a perfectionist. These two traits alone are enough to cause heart palpitations when planning your child's first birthday party. Add the extreme pressure that the perfectly polished birthday pins of Pinterest put on us amateur party planners and its a nightmare. As I scrolled through Pinterest to gather inspiration for my little man's 'mustache bash,' I pinned idea after idea that I wanted to use. 

I knew from the beginning that I wanted him to have a 'mustache bash.' My sister got him a little onesie when he was born that had a cute little phrase and a big mustache across the front, and I knew that mustaches would make an adorable party theme. To get an idea of what I was up against, just search 'mustache bash' on Pinterest. Go ahead. Actually wait, don't. You might be compelled to plan a mustache bash of your own, and goodness knows I can't be held responsible for the emotional trauma that it might put you through. 

There were so many adorable cake ideas that I actually made three cakes for his party. Yep, three. Why you ask? The only thing that I can come up with is that I'm a complete lunatic and also a masochist. I hate baking. Actually, loathe is probably a better word. I loathe baking. I'm not very good at it either, so why not bake three cakes for my baby's birthday party?! I baked a giant cupcake for his smash cake, two dozen cupcakes with chocolate mustaches on top, and what might have been the most hideous attempt at a mustache cake ever on the face of this planet. Instead of the three long paragraphs that I had typed out to tell you about how I screwed up royally on the cakes, how about you just take my word for it. The smash cake is below...just check out that terrible chocolate cupcake liner. A prime example of how I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. And then there is the mustache. It was so terribly ugly that I just couldn't even take a picture of it. There was no way I was going to document that disaster. It was just...just bad. Just really bad. It was so bad that no one actually got to see it. I just cut and plated it before the guests started eating.  The cupcakes were awesome though. And cute. It is safe to assume that cupcakes are the only type of baking that anyone should ever trust me with.

Then there are the decorations. There were just so many beautiful (read professional) pictures of adorable mustache banners and cute little menu cards. All hand made. All added to my to do list. My panic attack started somewhere along the paper goods area of Hobby Lobby. As I stood staring at that wall of skittles-colored paper plates, I began doubting whether I could actually pull off a Pin-worthy first birthday party. I knew I wanted mustaches, and I knew I didn't want cookie cutter decorations. That's pretty much all I knew though, and any wife who has ever gone shopping with her husband knows that an indecisive woman shopping with her husband in Hobby Lobby is a nightmare for both parties involved. I'm proud to say that our marriage managed to survive that shopping trip. Anyway, I bought an eclectic bunch of decorations and hoped they'd form a cohesive theme once I put them all up. 

As the sun rose on 'party day' my nerves reached an all time high. I woke up bright and early and started cooking, cleaning, baking (...still 😑), and decorating. My awesome husband took J to out for a birthday breakfast while I tried to get everything together. I wasn't nearly finished when they got back but I kept working. With a little help from our neighbor, my sister, and my cousin we finally got the party 'together'. Because I really didn't know what he final product was going to look like, I wasn't really sure when we were finished, but since it was closing in on party time and everything looked pretty cute, I just made an executive decision that we were finished. 

The party started right on time and J had a blast. Of course, as I've come to realize as a mother, nothing went as I had expected but everything was perfect just the same. We had a blast. The only thing that I wish we hadn't done was serve IBC Root Beer. This was a Pinterest-inspired idea, but I wish someone had mentioned that it would look like all of our party guests were sitting around drinking beer. Yeah, not so great for the family photo album. Just sayin'. 

So, you ask, why is it that you hate Pinterest? I mean, I planned my baby's first birthday using nearly all Pinterest-inspired ideas, and it went great.

Well, I don't actually hate Pinterest. I just hate comparison, and Pinterest raises the bar so stinkin high for everything. As a teacher, I'm a go big or go home kind of girl, and this character trait combined with Pinterest turns party planning into a full time job. I thank God that I got married pre-Pinterest. I would have lost my mind trying to plan a wedding worthy of pinning. Don't get me wrong, Pinterest is an amazing tool. I usually don't ever even start a project without consulting Pinterest first. It's just that I miss the way things were before the bar was raised so high. Our first birthdays might not have had smash cakes, menu cards, or high chair decorations, but we all turned out just fine. Our mothers put their hearts into planning our birthdays, but it wasn't so they could post cute pictures...it was because they wanted us to have sweet memories. I think I need to go back to that.

Galatians1:10

For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.

Crap advice everyone gives newlyweds

Updated: I feel like a complete and utter idiot because the 'gem' about not going to bed angry is actually in the Bibile...so yeah, we should probably be following that advice. I am leaving it in to show how thoughts and attitudes change as we dive deeper and deeper into God's word. Sorry for my arrogance in writing the initial post...color me shamed.  

Years ago at my sister's wedding shower,  the guests all participated in a little activity where they wrote down their advice on having a successful marriage. We all wrote our advice in a cute little journal for her to keep and refer back to if she ever felt like she needed it. I participated too, you know, with my infinite knowledge on how to have a perfect marriage at the ripe old, unmarried age of twenty. Anyway, as I was turning to a new page I glanced at what the others had written. A couple of these pieces of advice stuck with me. 

Fastforward almost four years. Now I'm twenty-four and about to take the marriage plunge myself. As we approached the wedding date, G and I were met with an outpouring of advice and warnings. Most of the advice was identical to what my sister was told, some of it was great, some was crappy, but all of it was heartfelt. We just smiled and took it all in to be used one day when we felt like we needed it. Now, I'm not claiming to be an expert on marriage or anything; I've only got four years of experience under my belt. But, I have come to realize which pieces of advice are complete bull crap.

Never go to bed angry.

Who came up with this gem?! Do we really believe that we'll resolve an issue worth fighting over at midnight? Do you know what starts to happen at night when you fight? You get emotional. And angry people say mean things. I say definitely go to bed mad. Wake up with a clear head after you've had a good night's sleep. You'll be much less emotional over the issue, and you will have had time to cool down. There is a reason why you should 'sleep on it' when you are trying to make a big decision, it helps clear your head. It took me a couple of years to figure out that this suggestion was complete crap. G and I would fight into the wee hours of the morning. He'd try to go to bed and I would keep irritating him trying to come to what I felt like was a satisfactory resolution. Eventually he would pretend to be over it just so he could get some sleep. The next day, we would end up talking it over again and we would come to an agreement without any fight at all. So, my advice to you: sleep on it. By all means, go to bed mad. If your marriage is strong, it can stand up to a couple of nights of angry sleep.

Never fight without holding hands.

Confession: This isn't advice I was given before my wedding. I read this in a newlywed's blog the other day, and my immediate response was 'who does that?!' 

Seriously though, who does that?! We don't fight much, but you can bet that we will not be holding hands when we do. We're being nice if we're even staying in the same room as one another while we're fighting. I'm glad no one gave me this advice when I was getting married because I probably would have laughed at them. You can't fight like you mean it if you're holding hands, and sometimes you just have to fight like you mean it.

Any and all advice about finances.

I'm sure you couples who have been married for 50+ years have a method for managing your finances that works for you, but I think we youngsters will stick to the way that works for us. I'm pragmatic. Some couples work better when one person is in charge of the checking account, other couples prefer more teamwork. Some couples keep their finances separate and wouldn't have it any other way. Just handle it the way you, as a couple, prefer and ignore all of the well-intentioned advice. People always think their way is better, that's why they do it that way. 

Marriage is 50-50. 

Um. No. Marriage should never be 50-50. Divorce is 50-50; Marriage is 100-100 or nothing at all. Either both parties are giving everything they've got or someone is getting ripped off. Every time G and I have fought it has been because one of us felt like the other was not giving as much to our relationship as the other. Sure, our arguments were disguised as fights over money or time, but they all boiled down to the fact that we thought the other should be giving more. 

Put your spouse first.

This little piece of advice is said with great intentions, but it needs to be rewritten just a tad. It should be, "put your spouse first after God." Your relationship with God should always come first. Without a strong relationship with God, the best you can hope for in your marriage is mediocre. 

Oh, just wait. You'll see. 

Okay, okay, so this isn't exactly advice, but it is a phrase that we probably heard at least twenty times before we got married. Each time I heard it, I just politely chuckled and nodded. Four years later I'm wondering what we're supposed to be waiting for. Am I waiting for life to become incredibly awful? Am I waiting for life to become incredibly awesome? What is it? 

I'm thinking the people telling us this were either terribly cynical or they were just trying to be funny. Either way, I'm pretty sure they just need to keep their mouths shut if that's the only 'advice' that they have to give. Haven't they ever heard if they can't say something nice, don't say anything at all?

People hand out advice to newlyweds like fun-size candy bars on Halloween, but, like those candy bars, not all of it is great. My suggestion, if you want it, is to listen to each piece of advice you're given, but only follow the advice that fits your relationship. And never, ever argue without praying first. 

1 Corinthians 7:3 

The husband should fulfill his marital duty to his wife, and likewise the wife to her husband.

Praying for my boy

As I sat down to write this post, I had intentions on writing a letter to my future adult son. I wanted to tell him all about my hopes and aspirations for him, but I never could get the words out quite right. I'd say one thing and then contradict myself in the next sentence.One thing remained constant though, I always wanted God's will for his life. I have no clue what I want kind of life I want for my child. Luckily, I'm not the one in charge of the planning, and I'm so thankful that God has already made the way.

As I'm sure most of us do, I pray for my child every day. I've done so since I learned that I was pregnant with him, and I'm sure I'll continue my daily ritual until I'm dead and gone. I discuss my boy with God like I'm talking to his doctor about his growth. I talk about his development like I'm telling a friend about the new trick he learned today. I have full conversations with God about J, thanking Him for His blessings and asking for His guidance on this all too important job of raising a child.

I pray over the decisions I make, and I ask God to help me make choices that will benefit J. I think about who he will be someday. Will my choices help to mold a confident, independent, Godly young man? And even though I know I shouldn't, I worry over past choices and whether they are somehow going to have a negative effect. 

As I watch him sleep, I thank God for the blessing of being his mother. As he plays, I marvel at the enormity of it all. Sometimes I cry because I am overcome by the magnitude of my love for him. The responsibility of raising him overwhelms me, but I turn to my Rock. I pray that I don't mess this up. This is such an important job, being his mother. He is the most important thing that G and I have ever done, and I know above all else that we cannot do this alone. So, I pray. 

I pray that I'm able to excentuate the good. There's so much good in him. He is so thoughtful, so smart, and he has such a tender heart. My prayer is that everything I do as his mother helps all of those good qualities shine.

I pray that he is kind but discerning. Kindness is a virtue that is lacking in so many people, and sadly it is also a characteristic that can often cause it's owner to be exploited. In today's world, kind people are at a disadvantage without awareness, so I ask God to bestow discernment on my little boy. 

I pray that he is happy. Happiness seems to be fleeting for so many people. We're always chasing the bigger house or the faster car, so I pray that he can find happiness in his life at any given moment. I hope that he can be content in his life and also be driven to create a wonderful life for himself. 

I pray that he is successful. Success is hard to find and even harder to recognize when you find it. I pray that he fights for his success but that he also understands failure. I hope he appreciates his triumphs  and is thankful for his blessings.  

I pray that he is chivalrous. Chivalry is a lost but valuable virtue. I pray that he carries the heavy loads and opens doors for the ladies in his life. I hope that he is able to find a good, Godly helpmate that will appreciate his chivalry and help to instill the same virtues into their children.

I pray that he is healthy. I ask God please let him stay healthy. I hope he never feels the pain heart disease, diabetes, addiction, or cancer. It feels selfish of me to ask with so much pain and suffering in the world, but I pray that he never has to know that kind of suffering.

I pray that he becomes a strong, articulate, God fearing man. I pray that he'll accept Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior. I pray that he'll know the peace of asking Him into his heart. I pray that I can build a home around him that will nurture his relationship with God. Above all else, this is my prayer.

I could sit around and plan his life out for him, but I believe that would be putting him at a disadvantage. God has a plan and a purpose for J's life. So, I will pray these things, follow Jesus, and know that he knows the way. When I become overwhelmed with the responsibility before me I will trust in Him.

Samuel 22:33

It is God who arms me with strength and keeps my way secure.

Why I'm scared to have another baby

Before you read this, I want you to know that this is a very personal, very true account of my pregnancy. I tried to keep it classy, but sometimes I just had to put it out there. Okay. If you're still interested, read away.

All you mamas out there are probably well aware of the question that you get when your first child is approaching his or her first birthday. 'When are you planning on having another one?' As if handling that one wasn't hard enough, as if your body is even close to 'normal' again, and as if you have been able to forget the pain you went through to bring this one into the world. I tend to answer this question in a variety of ways, but the most frequent answer is 'I don't know.' Don't get me wrong, I love being a mommy. It's just the journey that you have to take to become a mommy that I'm not too sure about. The truth is I'm not at all scared to have another baby, I'm scared to be pregnant again. I'm nervous for many reasons, the scariest of which being the amount of complications that I had during my first pregnancy. 

I was nine weeks pregnant when the first 'episode' happened. I just went to pee. As I finished up, I knew this wasn't the same. The tissue was soaked with blood. This was not 'spotting' - this was bright red, terrifying blood and a lot of it. I didn't know much about pregnancy yet, but I did know that bleeding is a bad thing. A very bad thing. I panicked. I'm the type of person that automatically assumes responsibility when things go wrong, so I just knew that I had inadvertently done something to hurt my baby. I'd only been carrying this tiny person for about nine weeks and I already loved him more than I could have ever imagined. The thought of losing him broke me into a million pieces. (Notice I said 'losing him' and not 'losing my pregancy.' I'd never demean a miscarriage that way. A miscarriage is the loss of a child-a little person with his own personality that he would grow to develop one day.) The thought of losing my baby was horrific, and the thought that I might've done something to cause it was unbearable. 

First thing I did was call my mother, and she instructed me to call the doctor. The doctor's office was closed so I decided to go to the emergency room. I knew that if I were actually having a miscarriage that there was nothing that the ER could do, but I needed to be told whether my baby was alright. I couldn't wait. I spent the better part of four hours in that emergency room. They finally did an ultrasound and I was flooded with relief as I heard that quick little 'whoosh-whoosh' of his heartbeat. I'll never forget that feeling. It felt almost as if warm water rushed from my head down. The ER doc told me that he couldn't explain the bleeding but the baby looked fine. I scheduled a follow up appointment with my regular doctor and he sent me on my way. Relief. 

At my follow-up, my regular doctor did the whole gambit of tests. I got to see my sweet little baby yet again on another ultrasound, but they still couldn't tell me why I was bleeding. I was sent home on 'pelvic rest' and told that I should take it easy and the bleeding should stop in a few days. Being the strict rule follower that I am, I did as I was told and waited patiently for the bleeding to stop. While I can't say the exact number of days that I kept bleeding, I'm thinking it was around five days, but the bleeding did finally stop. 

For the next two weeks, I lived my life as a carefree pregnant lady. I blamed the bleeding on my strange body and let it go. Until it reared its ugly head again sometime near the end of the first trimester. This time I was at school. I ran to the restroom between classes one day and there it was. And again, of course, I panicked. I ran to my classroom and called the doctor. They said to come in immediately, so I cleared it with my boss and hightailed it to their office. Again, I had an ultrasound and heard that glorious little 'whoosh-whoosh' of his quick heartbeat. The baby got the all-clear. Again, the doctor examined me, and again he found no explanation for my bleeding. I was sent home on prolonged 'pelvic rest' and told to take it easy. This time the bleeding continued for a couple of weeks but did eventually come to a stop. I never had any cramping, but I did pass what looked to be blood clots a couple of times.

As my baby (and belly) grew, I became more and more anxious about everything. I was neurotic about my diet and my activity level. I believed that even if I did the smallest of things wrong that I'd hurt my baby. I was borderline obsessive compulsive. Literally. My entire second trimester was spent simultaneously obsessing over every detail of my life and also trying to enjoy every second. It's hard to enjoy something when you're scared. 

As I approached the third trimester, I grew more and more relaxed. We had learned that our healthy and growing baby was a boy. I hadn't had any bleeding episodes in weeks, and I was beginning to think that I could have a normal pregnancy after all. I was so comfortable, in fact, that I agreed to go camping about two hours away in our new camper. 

Because we knew we wouldn't be able to get away by ourselves for a while after the baby was born, we decided to go away as a couple for the weekend. The trip would have been interesting enough just with the dogs locking us out of our own vehicle, but that's a story for another post. After we solved the dog problem, we went shopping for groceries for the weekend. While we were shopping, I felt what I thought at first might've been me peeing on myself. Yep. There. I said it. I thought I peed on myself. Anyway as I walked to the bathroom, I felt what could only be described as a flood of something. The bathroom in the store had a floor length mirror and I saw what I definitely did not want to see as soon as I passed it to go into the bathroom stall. Blood. It wasn't just some stained toilet paper this time either. This was so much more. It looked like I had peed my pants except it was a dark red. The room started spinning and I was sure that I would pass out. No. Not here. I'm so far from home. This can't be happening. I'm only, what, thirty-two weeks? He's not ready! When is the last time I felt him kick? Please kick?! Knowing that I had to make it out of the bathroom, I gathered my strength and went to find G. I searched through the small crowd of people at the checkout for him. We're both pretty tall, so it was easy to find him. I could tell that he knew as soon as he saw me. He knew something was wrong.

We went straight to the emergency room, which by some crazy coincidence (or, as I like to think about it, divine intervention) was right across the street from the grocery store where we were shopping. I waddled into the hospital, partly because of the blood but mostly because of the belly, and they sent me to L&D as soon as they saw me. I can't really explain my thoughts as they wheeled me up. I was somewhere between denial and disbelief. As I rode up the elevator, I started praying. God, I trust you. I know you have a plan, but please, please let this baby be okay. Please let me feel him kick.

Then, he kicked. As I rolled out onto the labor and delivery floor I felt him, two little kicks like he was just in there trying to get comfortable. There was that feeling again, relief rushing over me like warm water from my head all the way down. I looked at G and said, 'He kicked', and I could see the same relief in his eyes. 

The nurses in that hospital were amazing. They comforted me and calmed me but they were never dismissive or condescending. They showed me my sweet boy on ultrasound and hooked us up to a monitor so we could monitor his heart rate. I'm not completely sure how long I was in that hospital, but I do know that I was told yet another time that they could not explain the bleeding but the baby looked great. 

I stayed on bed rest for a few days after the last 'episode' until my regular doc gave me the all clear. I resumed life as usual afterward. This time, I continued to bleed until the baby was born. I worked until two days before he made his grand entrance into the world and I only quit then because I no longer had shoes that would fit my swollen feet. He was born eight weeks to the day after the last bleeding episode, and he was as perfect and as healthy as I had prayed for him to be. I knew from the moment I saw him that being his mommy would be worth all of the fear and pain that it cost me to have him. 

Each time I bled I was given the same story, no explanation for the bleeding but the baby looks great. I was, at once, both  overjoyed to hear that my baby was perfect and disappointed that I still had no cause for the bleeding. Maybe that's the real reason I'm so unsure about getting pregnant again. Maybe I'm scared because I still don't know what cause all of my problems the first time. 

Now that I've told you about the fear that I lived in for 30+ weeks before I gave birth to my (very) healthy, almost nine pound baby, I want to add that I am not in anyway saying that I understand the grief that I'm sure accompanies a miscarriage. I know the fear that you have leading up to it. I know the hope that you'll feel your baby kick any second now. I know the feeling of dread when you go for a routine bathroom break because you're terrified of seeing the tissue stained with blood. I know all of that, but God also blessed me with knowing the complete and utter relief of hearing my baby's heartbeat on the ultrasound machine. I was blessed with that little kick I got while rolling into L&D eight weeks premature that let me know that he was still with me. I'm not trying to say that I've been in your shoes, I haven't. I don't ever want to be.

 It's just that I remember googling 'bleeding at 9 weeks pregnant' praying that I would run across stories of women that had been through the same thing and their babies all were born perfectly healthy. I'm just sharing my unique experience and trusting that it will find someone one day that is going through similar circumstances and maybe that this post will help her in some way.