Pregnancy: 12 weeks

'Member when you were little and your mama used to tell you that if you "don't have anything nice to say don't say anything at all"?

That's kind of going through my mind today as I compose thoughts from this twelfth week of pregnancy and pretty much life in general.

The boys have both had the stomach flu from hell, and by the grace of God I've gotten only a moderate version of what knocked them out for five days each.

{Oh. Well, look at that. I have something nice to say after all. :-) Grace is such a good gift!}

So that said this week of pregnancy has been hard; it's been filled with exhaustion because of the need to be "on" almost every day with tending to my poor little ones, doing endless loads of laundry, sanitizing dishes and rooms and enforcing hand washing. Oh my. Exhausting.

What's made this week extra hard is that I've had to cancel my appointment with my midwife three times altogether because of this stomach bug business, and that means we have yet to hear the baby's heartbeat.

Now, I know that hearing a heartbeat doesn't guarantee baby wellness through out the pregnancy. But it's one of those milestones -- one of those endlessly beautiful gifts -- that just sort of salves over sores on a mother's heart.

I know that hearing a heartbeat doesn't make God any more or any less the Giver of Life who is in control.

Yet ... well, you know. I want to hear it.

Mostly because I want this to be real in a way beyond nausea and exhaustion and just over all icky first trimester feelings.

It's kind of like the first of the rest-area stops in the midst of a really long, sort-of tiresome drive.

There's a bit of respite. A bit of the laying of rocks of remembrance. There's a bit of marking some of the miles from the map, closer to the destination.

I'm trying, really, I am to enjoy this journey. But this first leg has been bumpy and just plain hard emotionally and physically and mentally.

I'm thankful for the ways God has shown Himself faithful and good and in control. I'm thankful for the ways, I'm growing in Him

And I'm ready for the next leg of the journey. Ready for the next leg of the journey, praying its a little easier and enjoyable.

No baby bump picture this week because ... stomach flu, three people, you know.

If we come to mind, please pray for us as we head to our fourth rescheduled appointment at the midwife Monday morning.

Thanks for journeying with us.

Bigger Picture Moments: Love, Already

I can almost hear it when I still myself in silence and close my eyes.

A heartbeat disguised in the sound of galloping horses.

It's perfect, you know -- that a tiny babe in the womb's heartbeat sounds like horses full speed galloping along a path -- one that leads straight to a heart that gushes love, already.

I can almost hear it, and I pray the wait won't be much longer until that sweet sound is flooding my ears.

Twice now we've had to reschedule the appointment with my midwife, and I'm praying everyone in my house regains health enough to keep our Saturday appointment.

I can't help but wonder if that's been grace actually in disguise.

Because with every passing day, the likelihood that we'll hear the strong fast thudding of a heartbeat increases every week after 10.

I'll be 12 weeks Saturday, we think. But we're not totally certain.

The only thing I actually know for certain is that

this little one is loved

already.

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Pregnancy: 11 Weeks

I feel like a bad pop song lately.

I'm hot then I'm cold, yes then no, up and then down, in and then out.

You get the picture.

There are mornings when it feels like my body is starting to make the slow switch toward feeling better, but then I have days like Thursday and Friday where I'm crying on the couch and the thought of food makes me want to gag; and, thus, I'm reminded I've still got a few more weeks before I level out, if this pregnancy follows the other two.

My body has been craving fats lately, so with the green light on some food sensitivity tests to reintroduce dairy back into my diet, I carefully dove into indulging in full-cream ice creams while on vacation in Florida ... but now this week, after three weeks of eating dairy, I'm pretty certain I need to cut it out again. The tough part is that I'm really limited on easy, non-dairy fats because more than it dislikes dairy, my body really abhors coconuts {thankfully, coconut oil is ok} and avocados of all things. Super bummer.

I keep telling myself when I feel better, I'll jump into the world of making my own almond milk and almond ice cream, but every time I head for the kitchen to create I collapse in a winded pity party of exhaustion.

Actually, every time I head to the kitchen to do any sort of meal prep, I am deterred by the reality of tiredness and a plethora of food and smell aversions.

If I sound complainy, I'm not coming off right. I'm so thankful for this opportunity to be carrying our long-desired third {fourth? fifth? I don't know what number to call this one.} baby. Like really. Beyond thankful. It's just like with every other life change and blessing, there comes trial. This is my trial -- feeding my family and myself well while being really limited in the cooking and baking department.

The other trial I face daily is to adhere to my life verse and my word for the year -- rejoice.

My life verse is Philippians 4:4-9

"Rejoice in the Lord always! Again, I say rejoice! Let your gentleness be apparent to all. The Lord is near.
Do not be anxious about anything. Instead in prayer and petition and with thanksgiving make your requests known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you."

It's a tall order, isn't it?

To rejoice always {nauseas, exhausted, nervous}.

To not be anxious.

To think only on what is true, pure, lovely.

But the promise of the order -- peace that surpasses all understanding -- is an incredible one.

One that energizes me to take my thoughts and shape them toward my God who is good. One that inspires me to abandon the what-if thinking of worry and embrace instead prayer and petition and thanksgiving.

One that makes rejoicing possible in the midst of waiting.

Waiting.

Today, I woke up snuggled next to a small body who began began getting ill around 4 a.m. I've been next to him in bed ever since, tending to his needs and trying to give him comfort.

John and I were scheduled to go in to my midwife's office so we could try and pick up the baby's heartbeat via doppler; we've yet to see or hear it.

That won't be happening today, though. Not with my sick little one needing mommy and daddy.

Waiting.

We continue to wait

in patience

in gratitude

in trust.

There is peace in that but that's pretty much been a hallmark of this entire pregnancy --waiting,

I knew this was going to be a growing time in the most physical sense of the word. But I had no idea quite how stretching carrying a child after miscarriages would actually be.

Bigger Picture Moments: To Rejoice

I've cautiously celebrated the new blessing I'm carrying in my body.

But fear has restrained my excitement; it's been hard to live this year's word -- it's been hard to rejoice.

I speak carefully about the future because I know nothing is guaranteed.

Nothing except one thing: God's goodness. God's goodness doesn't waver.

"For the LORD is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations." Psalm 100:5 

The past few weeks I've been muddling through what I say I believe and what I actually believe -- beliefs versus ideals, you could say. I say I believe in God's goodness no matter my circumstances.

And if that's true, I've asked myself, shouldn't I trust Him no matter my circumstance?

Shouldn't I rejoice right now without abandon because I trust in His goodness?

To rejoice is to trust in God's goodness no matter what happens -- simply just because God is good.

In these thoughts, I've been drawn to the fact that not only is He good and His goodness central to His character but that he's also a merciful Father who wants to love us well and give us good gifts.

“Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!" Matthew 7:9-11

I just have to trust Him.

And when I trust, my heart easily rejoices in His love.

Link your moment HERE!

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Everyday Life: The Scary Kind of Storms

Before we left for Florida, I was starting to scare myself.

While I remembered pregnancy being pretty demanding on my body, and blog posts I converted to drafts assured me that I was just as nauseas and just as tired while carrying E during the first trimester, I didn't remember it being this hard on my heart and mind. 

Of course, the second month felt extra demanding this time around because I contracted the flu, a cold and a stomach bug all within a few weeks of each other neither of which happened with G or E and that can play on one's mental state, yes. 

But while I was pregnant with E and G, I didn't have this sinking, waves crashing over my head feeling. 

When I was pregnant with E and G, it rained in my head occasionally, but it didn't storm outrageously day in and out. 

Before we left for Florida, I was feeling a lot like the disciples when they were stuck in a raging storm on the sea in a small fishing boat, thinking perhaps their boat was going to go under with every huge wave that relentlessly crashed into the sides of the ship and slopped more water into the shaky vessel. 

And Jesus was just sleeping away at the stern until the disciples shook him awake and demanded to know if He cared they were all about to drown in the raging sea. 

I was one of those disciples, shaking in fear of the waves crashing around me and shaking Jesus to wake Him up and ask if He cared that I was going to drown. 

I was one of those disciples, just not getting it, asking the wrong question -- asking if He cared that was drowning instead of asking Him to save me from drowning. 

In Mark, it says He gets up and tells the waves to be quiet, be still and they sea calms instantly. 

I had my come-to-Jesus-and-shake-Him-awake moment on the airplane ride to Florida. 

Instead of asking Him if He cared, I changed me question to "would you save me?"

And He stood up and calmed the sea raging against my boat. 

As I begin week ten, I'm starting to feel a little more like my normal-pregnant self -- sure I tire quickly, cry easily, pee a river every hour and need to stuff my face with protein often to keep the stomach at ease, but I don't feel desperate and in deep despair anymore. 

Partly, I'm sure it's because I'm not sick on top of being in the first trimester. And, partly, I'm sure the sunlight and fresh air of our Florida vacation isn't just soaking into my skin and lungs but also it's soaking into my mind. 

Mostly, though, it's because in His mercy he calmed the sea after I cried out to Him for deliverance. 

I'd been trying to strong arm my way through the storm when I really just needed to rest in His ability and His willingness to calm it. 

The storm is quieted for now, though as we head home tomorrow back to cold and dreary Chicago, I don't know if, too, I'll be returning to more seasonal affective depression.

I know one thing though: if the seas start raging again, I know the One who can calm them.

And I just have to ask.

Note: Some depression can't be cured by simply just praying and getting into the sunlight; I have seasonal affective disorder, which largely revolves around Vitamin D sufficiency, not allowing my mind to wallow in muck and engaging my body in sufficient movement. 

Pregnancy: 10 Weeks

I made a startling discovery this pregnancy: I apparently have pregnancy-memory amnesia.

I remember little to nothing about what it was really like to navigate the first trimester of pregnancy; I thought I had mild nausea and fatigue and that was the extent, but a little stroll through blog posts I reverted back to draft show that with E I was riding the emotional roller coaster of hormones, suffered a good long time with nausea and napped nearly every day with G, which explains why I don't remember passing out at 8:30 every night like I do now; I didn't have to!

Though I don't think we're going to venture through another pregnancy unless God has another idea for our family, I'm finding myself, now feeling a little better at 10 weeks, wanting to remember what it was like this time around.

This is more for me than it is for anyone else, but I'm going to journal my way through the next 30 weeks of carrying this little love every Saturday.

A little catch up:

The first eight weeks have been rough. Scary rough. Partly it's been physically rough because I managed to get the flu, a nasty cold and a stomach bug all within six weeks of each other, which left me reeling on top of the normal first trimester discomforts of nausea, exhaustion, food aversions, too much salvia in the mouth and interrupted sleep for need to pee or escape crazy pregnancy nightmares. I still have some of these discomforts; however, they are becoming more manageable by the week.

The scary-rough part has been more centered around the feeling like I was drowning in a sea of despair ... and I don't know exactly why. I know it's been a combination of things -- strongly surging hormones, lack of sunlight for Vitamin D production and also the worry and anxiety that rears its ugly head in pregnancy after having sent two other little tiny babies into heaven from my womb in late 2011.

I've been feeling better the past two weeks since we've been in Florida mentally {more on that Monday}, so I'm super grateful to be experiencing just the normal pregnancy emotions rather than the listless depression that was setting in.

On another note

I haven't written much about the actual pregnancy, I think, out of fear -- like maybe if I didn't write about it, the heart connection wouldn't be as strong if we were to have to say goodbye yet again to another baby. How's that for being irrational and fearful. But I know that's not what God wants from me; throughout this whole pregnancy, He's been telling me over and over that He is the giver of life, that nothing is impossible with God and that we can rest in Him and His goodness and sovereignty.

Some verses that have stood out to both John and I, following us around like persistent puppies, have been sustaining me and encouraging me to choose faith over fear:

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." Proverbs 13:12

"Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!" Matthew 7:9-11

We are trusting that what God gives us will be bread, sustaining and filling and exactly what we need.

I'll top this post off with a shot of the baby belly I'm already sporting. John says it's not as big as I think it is ... but honestly, I'm pretty much just thankful to be standing here feeling huge because there's a baby growing inside of me.

Everyday Life: In Sunlight

It's amazing what a little sunshine can do.

I felt like a wreck last week before we left Chicago.

I believe the best word to describe it was desperate -- and I just left it hanging out there, my last written words of the week.

The morning sickness, the fatigue, the overwhelming emotions, the anxiety -- it all seems like it was exasperated by the cold and the dark and the dreary of early February in the midwest.

But here it's all soothed by sunlight and warm and slumber.

And, I think, by being together and just being.

The little gifts are actually the big ones, and it's astonishing how much that reality is magnified right now in my heart.

I've already had to stop myself from trying to find a way to stay here in this bliss instead of boarding a plane home in a week ... reminding myself to live intentionally in the moment, reminding myself to drink in gifts as they are given. 

This week is for drinking in gifts.

And praising boldly for gifts given

one by one by one. 

Just Write: Desperate

He was six weeks old, a tiny little thing with huge demands, and I was tired.

No -- exhausted.

So when he began to wail five minutes after I put him in his cradle, I crumpled to the floor and sobbed on my mother's living floor.

A desperate pile of body heaving and cracked, feeling broken beyond repair.

Tonight I remembered that scene as I drenched my own shirt with tears, driving home from my first acupuncture session.

Desperate, I told John when I arrived home, face scrunched and head in hands and his arms around my shoulders.

That's what you have to be to let someone you can barely understand poke tiny needles into your skin in the hope of relief.

Desperate.

I am thankful to carry a new life inside of me. But in the midst of thankful I am sick, too, with exhaustion and nausea like I never knew and more food and smell aversions than one would think could exist.

I live on prayer and petition, turkey and lemon aid, kindness and snuggles and gratitude.

But in the desperate moments, I wonder if I'm really living or merely surviving.

I ugly cry onto my husband's shoulder soaking his arm with salt-water tears, too, until I'm exhausted and broken before God

and finally

that's where I find the Potter

at the spinning wheel

piecing me back together

and making me something new.

Just Write: Tagless

This body has grown and birthed two full-term babies, and so I'm not surprised during week seven when it boasts proudly that it knows exactly what He made it to do.

Hips and breasts and abdomen expand even while baby is the size of a blueberry, driving me to secure my jeans with a rubber band, find refuge in my yoga pants.

But there aren't enough yoga pants for every day of the week, so yesterday I took to the aisles of Target and bought a pair of black maternity workout pants.

And I was fine, despite some of the anxiety that still boils up unexpectedly just beneath the surface all the while praying away the fears that I'll be back in my size eight jeans sooner than we're bargaining for.

This morning, laundry called my name and despite still feeling the weight of a hefty lingering cold in combination with the normal first trimester fatigue, I oblige its call

and I'm face to face with those maternity yoga pants

needing to be washed

tags still attached.

So I try them on to make sure they fit; they do.

But I knew they would.

I silently debate ripping off the tags and washing them clean, ready for wear ... or leaving them on for an easy return just in case ...

Before I can finish the thought, I throw up my hands to God, grab the pants off the sink, rip off the tags and say

"I trust You."

Heartracing, in the bathroom,

I find the pants aren't the only thing that are

tagless.

Everyday Life: January

January spreads out long and slow

and I live in the days and the nights that seem to spread me out long and thin.

If you ever want time to slow down, simply wait for something important.

It used to be my birthday that made January crawl by at snail's speed, anticipation mounting daily as I checked off each calendar day until we arrived at the last day.

And then it was the bleak, cold winter that made it drag by day after long-midwestern day.

Now, it's waiting for signs of life growing well in the depths of my body, knowing that little green sprouts don't shoot up from the black dirt until due time.

Spring.

It will come.

The popping of flowers from the ground will God-willing bring the popping of a belly filled with baby and little flutters of movement.

Green and lush.

But today, January spills one day into the next.

I give thanks for the gray and attempt to live well in the length

trusting that the Creator changes seasons at just the right time

and is busy behind the scenes in the stillness of winter.

Just Write: I Don't Know

She's coarse in language I don't really understand.

She presses down the wand against my abdomen as I lay on my back, skin exposed, in a warm room.

"Only see the yolk sack," I think she murmurs. "Must be early."

I assure her of dates but she shakes her head as though I don't know or understand.

I shake my head at her.

But she's right about both things nonetheless:

I don't know

or understand

any of it.

I don't understand her.

I don't understand what I'm seeing on the screen as it projects grainy images from what's growing inside me.

And I don't know.

I don't know any more than when I first walked into the ultrasound room.

"All I say is you are pregnant," she says.

I lie motionless in the dark room and one thought comes to my mind over and over and over after she tries to give me the weeks and days in numbers that I should count my pregnancy.

"Nothing is impossible with God."

It's the same thought He gave me a few weeks ago when my hormone levels didn't seem to match with possible conception dates ... which were later found to be off because of a calculation error only.

God doesn't miscalculate.

"And nothing is impossible with God."

I hear the words run over and over in my mind, and I want to shoo them away because everything that I'm seeing right now seems to say impossible.

But they persist.

And those are the first words from John's lips after he greets me in the waiting room.

"Nothing is impossible, honey," he says. "We'll wait another week, and we'll see."

We will wait.

We'll wait while I don't know, while I don't understand.

Any of it.

Except.

For that He does.

And it's enough for today.

Bigger Picture Moment: Unwrapped and Found

I'm a mess of swirling emotions.

I wade in the lovely waters of hope and life and swim too deep into worry and fear all in the moment.; but I don't have the words to explain the beautiful mess of my heart these days, though I seemingly have some time.

Every night, I settle onto the couch with the boys by about 6:45, which is so unlike our normal life where we go and do and run and play and work from wake until down most days of the week.

The first few weeks of pregnancy, though, have given us a sweet gift in this new slowness ... one I'm coming to embrace.

There's talk time at night now, most of us home now and central to one room most nights.

Time to snuggle together in the hours between dinner and bed.

Time to read and watch movies and giggle and sing together.

More time than I knew existed.

I didn't realize how many hours in the day there actually were until this slowness set in.

And I didn't realize how badly we needed them to be inundated in slowness.

A gift in a gift in season.

A first of many to unwrap, I pray.

Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with the beauty in the simple moments of the week.. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
Link up your gleaned moment this week HERE! Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.

Encourage.
Visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.


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Everyday Life: Made New

Last year at this time, I was reeling.

Physically, emotionally, spiritually, mentally -- all reeling.

The loss of two little babies from my womb to Heaven, the loss of my physical health, the loss of my mental health as anxiety flooded my thoughts -- it all left me feeling cracked and dried out, like I'd been left out in the cold all winter long.

Luckily spring and summer and fall were long months of warmth, healing and renewal.

And though we began 2013 in the midst of cold Chicago winter, it sort of felt like a rebirth to me.

The newness of the year was refreshing in a way that spring is after a long, cold winter.

The past year had been long, but in it God has brought healing to my body and my mind and my heart.

And not only has He brought healing, but he's also brought renewal.

I am not the same person I was a year ago this past December; I am not the same person I was a year ago today.

But I didn't totally notice that until we heard our pastor speak words from Luke 5:38.

"And no one puts new wine into old wineskins. For the new wine would burst the wineskins, spilling the wine and ruining the skins. New wine must be stored in new wineskins."

I am a new wineskin this year. I am no longer dried out and cracked like I was; rather I have been made new.

As I sat in this truth, I realized, too, that I couldn't rightfully compare this new pregnancy to the others -- not any of the others -- because this freshly gifted baby is like new wine in a new wineskin ready to merely be stretched instead of cracked and broken.

And so my heart's cry is to trust in the Hand that's made me new, to embrace the swelling and stretching and to trust that He will not allow me to be broken.

Thinking, That's All: A Message

My five year old asked incredulously how I hear God's voice whisper to me.

"Does He call you on the phone?" G questioned. "How do I get Him to call me on the phone?"

I shake my head and share that hearing from God isn't like G getting a phone call from one of his grandparents, but that when I hear a message from Him, it's loud and clear and it usually comes from reading the Bible and reading the exact right verse at the exact right moment in time or having an impromptu scripture-infused conversation with someone in the perfect time and space.

I kissed G goodbye later that morning, and I headed to work before venturing off to get the first of some blood tests aimed at measuring my pregnancy hormones.

****

When I arrived at work, one of my co-workers asked me excitedly if what she'd just read on Facebook meant I was pregnant right now. I smiled and said yes as she asked if I was planning on sharing the news with our senior pastor during our meeting in just a few moments ... so I shared. He prayed for us and thanked God for our new little life, and then we began our meeting after a little more conversation about Christmas and other goodness.

Every week, I have the privilege of asking Pastor Joe what's on his mind and bringing it to our church family via our blog and facebook.

Little did Pastor Joe know, as he gathered his thoughts before our meeting, that he would be speaking to my heart a message from the Lord, as I wrestled between faith and fear in the face of our testing and waiting to see if my pregnancy would progress and bring us a long-hoped for baby come end of summer.

I just have to share it with you:

Isaiah 41:9-10
"I took you from the ends of the earth, from its farthest corners I called you. I said, ‘You are my servant’; I have chosen you and have not rejected you. So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

One day, when he's just a little bit older, I'll share this post with G.

And we'll revel in God's goodness

to talk to ordinary people just like us

without ever making the phone ring.

Five-Minute Friday: Opportunity

Yesterday I sat atop a long table in my midwife's bright office, bared my arm and gave a vial of blood for testing -- our meek human attempt at measuring the progress of the miracle of life freshly sown into my body.

{I'd give much more than a vial for you, little love, just so we're clear.}

There are options if my body is having a hard time supporting the huge need for progesterone -- something I struggled with when I was sick and lost two babies a year ago and a little more.

But I am healed {in more than one way}. And as I give blood I remember I have been bought with His.

So we're thankful, oh love, are we thankful.

And believing, love, oh, are we believing that we are just crossing Ts and dotting Is and that the Gardener has already taken care to sew this seed and He will sustain it -- that God has healed my body and given it the ability to conceive and nourish and grow through His power.

But, nonetheless, we are parents, and so we go and test and wait because we'd never want to neglect a little life, no matter how small, how tiny.

Today we have the opportunity

to wait well

and rejoice

or sit in fear and what if.

And today I choose

to wait well on test results

because I know what I'm really waiting on.

And He is mighty, able and good.

Rejoice: A Seedling Sown

I woke up to sunlight streaming in through our front windows on New Year's Day, bright and beautiful and warm.

And if I didn't know by the chill of cold feet and frost on the windows or date on the newly flipped calendar, I would have thought it summer by only looks.

But the ground is clearly frozen beneath a hard layer of snow and bright blue January skies and the tiniest of buds won't pop through the soil until March. And most of the harvest won't be reaped until late summer.

I can't see the harvest yet; I don't know what it will look like. But I know God is good, and I know harvest comes, and I know seasons change. He gives fruit in season.

On the first of January, the sun was a burning, blazing reminder that the day will come when warmth returns -- that the harvest season will come.

I woke up to sunlight streaming through our front windows on New Year's Day, bright and beautiful and warm

and two clearly pink lines coloring the white background of a pregnancy test, confirmation that a seed has been sown deep inside my body late this fall.

And on the first day of January, those pink lines coupled with the sun, shining and bright, sparkled in hope that the day will come when warmth returns -- that the harvest season will come.

A reminder that seed sown routinely results in fruit gathered from the soil

and

the womb.

So we rejoice!

We celebrate the Gardener; we celebrate the seed.

And we believe in the goodness of a Gardener

who gifts us fruit in season.

Bigger Picture Moment: On Being Ready

I fully expected the test to display one line.

Negative.

No Baby.

Just a late period.

Fully expected.

But I had to confirm, what with not having taken a vow of abstinence while simultaneously taking herbal supplements that could be dangerous during pregnancy, when the days easily slipped past 30, 31, 32.

I'm not ready, I've shared with my husband at least a dozen times per month since we last sent a baby from the the womb and into heaven.

I'm not ready, I've declared and ensured we'd taken precautions so as to not find ourselves as surprised and with-child.

I'm not ready, I cried out to God as I looked at the end results of a positive pregnancy test.

I stared at the double lines before calling John into the bathroom to examine the test for himself.

He confirmed the reading, and we stared at each other incredulously.

No hugging.

No tears of joy.

No wide grins.

We just sat there staring at each other like two high school kids, air thick with shock and disbelief.

Quick to read my face, John gathered his mind and quickly shuffled the boys outside, left me and my positive pregnancy test in the bathroom alone to wrestle with each other ...

alone to wrestle with God.

I fully expected for my chest to tighten and my heart to thump wildly beneath my breastbone in a state of panic, my breathing to morph from deep breathes to short whisps of air sucked in through a straw, my mind to race in panic.

But I stood there

test in hand

Word in heart:

"Those who know your name will trust in you, for you, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you."
Psalm 9:10

Nothing takes the Designer by surprise, and with plans to retest with first morning urine, I fell soundly into hard, deep, fast sleep later that evening knowing that if He wanted this baby to be here, even if I weren't ready, I would be ready when he or she arrived.

****

Again, in the morning two blue lines displayed across the test, this time smudged and faded and running from a line into a u-shape, alerting my mind to the possibility of faulty tests.

I cursed the invention of the early-detection pregnancy test as I fed the boys breakfast, preparing to make our way through the Target aisles for another box of tests. 

Irritated, I thought to God

What are you trying to do to me?


Haven't we had enough of the ping-pong emotions?


Could something just be or not be?


You know I've ached to stretch and swell again ...


my arms have longing to be heavy with drunken-nursing child dozing against my skin. 


You know, I whispered in my mind.

And then ... the question turned

on my own heart,

but did I know?


Am I really ready?

Had I really realized the depth of that ache, the lingering longing as I prayed and wondered what He'd have for our family


if we should grow in number or remain four.


Am I?


Ready?

****

The early summer fields spread out before us, I watched two birds flutter and twist in the sky side by side while driving home from the store.

Gracefully, in confidence, they swooped and fluttered and dove and lifted higher and higher, like mirrors of each other.

My heart beat in time with their early-morning dance, knowing too well the fell swoops of low and the ecstasy of high-bright sky horizons.

****

Three more tests, all negative.

Relief and calm whitewash my mind,

only to be tinged with the color of disappointment.

My mind races to the birds and their early morning dance.

No turns have taken you by surprise, Oh Lord.

Not one.

You've been following along with each turn of my heart's wing.

You've been listening to my cries for guidance.

Am I ready?

I find answered prayers in the aftermath of two faulty pregnancy tests coupled with three negative ones.

And I know He's answered.

Share a picture, words, creation or list; just come to the table with the beauty in the simple moments of the week.. 

Live.
Reflect on the blessings that were apparent to you this week.

Capture.
Harvest them!

Share.
Link up your gleaned moment this week HERE! Please be sure to link to your post, not your blog. Your post must link back here or have our button in your post or the link will be deleted.

Encourage.
Visit at least the person linked before you and encourage her in this journey we call life.

Everyday Life: Redefining Beauty by Bathroom Mirror

Size four.

I slip my hips into size four black pants, chic, designer hand-me-downs.

I don't expect them to fit, honestly, but they zip and button and latch.

Haphazardly, I decide to wear the pants, straight-legged and fitted, to my sister’s baby shower, thankful for clothes that fit without cost, grateful for a healing, healthier body and slightly awed at this drastically new shape I have yet to fully embrace.

I’d spent years wrestling with body envy in the name of fashion before I shifted the focus from two-piece swimsuits and skinny jeans to healthy heart, healthy body mass and healthy thoughts. Slowly, my mind has shifted as my body has transformed that what makes the body beautiful has less to do with clothes and more to do with how it’s been created.

That I have strong legs, a healthy heart to carry me after little boys who play escape down the neighborhood sidewalk.

That my hips can carry an extra 30 pounds of crying child, my lips can kiss away hurts.

That my arms can hold tight my husband in full embrace.

That my body has twice grown new life and nourished children and a marriage.

During the middle of the party, I sneak off to the bathroom for a quick break and am confronted by a full-length mirror next to the sink, my long-time worst enemy and truthful friend.

Normally, I look away, but today I take it all in, this new shape.

My sister steps out of the bathroom stall, all belly and beautiful and glowing and her frame, too, is now next to mine in the full-frame reflection of the mirror, and I can't help but stare at two bodies that are perfectly imperfect and capable of so much more than I ever used to appreciate.

I’m absolutely overcome with the lovely she’s radiating, how she’s simply overflowing with life, her shirt and skirt perfectly accentuating soft curves, how her size-four body has lovingly and achingly stretched to make room for another small body, has given and grown to bring forth a tiny gift to our family, our world.

From inside those long-envied size four pants, I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t willingly trade them in for the flowing skirt she’s wearing at that very moment. 

Because beauty to me now is much less about the size four pants and much more about what fills them {baby bump and beyond}.

Bigger Picture Moment: Confirmation

A swift current of yearning flows like electricity through my body at the thought of welcoming another tiny person into our family.

I've struggled with this deep-seeded desire, questioning if I'll forever ache to smell the sweetness of a newborn freshly birthed, if I'll always want to bring a babe against my skin, welcoming another round of nursin, if I'll ever pine for the view of tiny hands resting against John's chest.

Will that ache persist regardless of how many little ones we have?

And, samely, I've contemplated, questioned if this is the time we should venture into adoption, welcome a child from another mother's womb into our home, blend ourselves into the perfect brew of family beyond bloodlines.

Do I have to bear another child to fully satisfy this feeling of feeling like we've yet to meet another child?

I've been wrestling.

Then the whole three-negative-pregnancy-tests-amid-surges-of-nausea-and-days-and-days-sans-period thing happened, and I thought with an almost-certainty that my body was again home to another little life ... only for a period to emerge so late in the game, I could nearly keep the look of shock off my face upon its arrival.

That same week, we suffered a hard loss at church, and those feelings of grief overshadowed the sadness and dissappointment and almost betrayl I felt, so much so that I never dealt with this emotions that were so deeply seeded embedded into my heart.

Until -- during an unplanned, impromtu Skype converation -- a friend asked about it all, going to places sometimes we don't go -- into the depths of the heart, the soul.

At first, I was taken aback; I'd already dismissed the non-pregnancy ordeal as not being in God's time. But she took me to a place I never bothered to tread when she asked:

"Do you think maybe that was God's way of whispering to your heart that maybe you really honestly desire to be pregnant again? Maybe this is clarification about adopting versus bearing another child naturally?"

As her words soaked into ears that could hear, I realized a confirmation embed itself into my heart: there's a deeply rooted desire to swell again with the fullness of another baby, to grow another baby, to birth and nurse another baby -- one I cannot explain, as it mightily overpower all of doubts.

Sometimes I hear God speak to my heart in small whispers -- through the soft beauty of a flower that weathers a brutal storm and still is standing tall the next day.

Sometimes I hear His voice through the burning bushes of life - the unexplained sheer forces of power and the amazing events that unfold surrounding them.

And sometimes I hear Him speak through those who love Him and seek to find the Bigger Picture in the everydayness of life.

In the flicker of conversation between friends, often in my life I've found phenomenal truth and insight shared either in passing or embedded in the depth of heavy conversation that I might otherwise have missed altogether had someone not been brave enough to venture into the depths ... had I been too busy to have the conversation.

{So I realize there are, like, several bigger picture moments in this one post ... but sometimes revelation comes in bursts.}



Join us at Sarah's to share the harvest of your intentional living this past week!

Thinking, that's all: Negatives

So, I took not one, not two, but THREE pregnancy test this past week.

And I failed each of them.

Or maybe I passed each one.

I don't really know.

Because we're not actually trying to have another baby right now, so getting negatives would denote passing them.

But we do actually want another baby at some point, so that would mean failing them?

Probably, it seems kind of like a waste of time and energy and money to take an additional {or two} tests after the initial do-not-pass-go, there-will--NOT-be another-baby-in-nine-months negative results. {And by the way, they don't just give you one negative sign now; it's actually TWO because the control window is a negative sign, too -- how's that for subliminal whatever.}

Admittedly, the first negative test was kind of a relief because at first thought of being pregnant, only the logistics raced through my spinning mind: I still have five to ten more pounds to lose; I kind of wanted to be able to saunter not waddle down the aisle at my sister's early September wedding; I like soaking up the sun outside with the boys during the summer instead of moaning on the couch and puking my guts out into the toilet every few hours.

But then more days passed and I began to get ohmyHOLYWOW nauseaous, which inevitably led to thoughts about the fruits of a pregnancy -- a most beautiful, squishy, snugly baby.

All the while, Aunt Flow hasn't even bothered to call to tell me she's running more than a week late, so I'm left wondering {still wondering} if she's really gonna show.

And I'm also left with some serious pangs of hope -- because, you know, whenever there is the prospect of newness, new life, hope and all the promise that is bundled in the package of a new baby -- it kind of burrows itself into the heart's soil and begins to take root.

So much so that despite the many {um, many} variables of an unplanned pregnancy, there's a bit of a sinking feeling that settles into the gut with the third negative test.

So, yeah, I took THREE pregnancy tests this week.

And all I got were three sticks full of pee, no clarity and a cacophony of emotions I'm not sure how to swallow.

Oh, and an irritating {on-going} lesson in patience.