Well, Hello There Stranger

It feels surreal to be here again. Writing again. On this blog again. It's literally been years since I wrote something, but I have been realizing lately that I need to venture back here - even if it's painful and tedious and not pleasant at all.

Maybe on another day, in another post, I will attempt to describe what has been my new normal for the last year and a half. But I won't today. Today I just need to talk about something that has been weighing on my heart heavily for years and something that I have been deeply mourning the past two weeks.

If you've known me for any length of time, you know that I love being a Mama. Yes, there are hours and days and seasons that are insanely difficult and I tell Andrew that I don't know if I can do it again the next day, but at my core, I absolutely love it. I love my two boys, I love being a stay-at-home Mama, I love homeschooling, I love sweet cuddles and  I love the sound of their voices when they say "I love you Mama" along with bedtime hugs.

If you've been around me a bit longer, and have sat and heard me pour out my heart, you know that I have always dreamed of a big family. Not massive, but 3-5 kids and a minivan. Full dinner tables, and a cacophony of noise throughout a small house that's bursting with love and chaos and Jesus Loves Me.

Only a small handful of you know this next part though. You've seen the mourning and you've heard the quiver in my voice and you've seen mascara running down my cheeks. There is a part of me, a big part if I'm honest, that doesn't want to write this and share this. But despite wanting to pretend that I am fine, that I am content, and that I completely trust the Lord has what is best for me in mind, I know that I have to share. I don't know who, but for some reason I know that I am supposed to write this and share this for someone. (If that someone is you, oh please know that my heart breaks for you and that I am praying for you even as I type this out).

Receiving the Rheumatoid Arthritis diagnosis closed the door on one of the biggest hopes and dreams of my life - having another baby. 

No, this diagnosis in and of itself doesn't mean that. There are some medications that you can go on that have less risk for the baby, and a small percentage of women actually have a reduction in their RA symptoms during pregnancy. But that will not be me.

I've known it for awhile. Honestly, I've known it since I transitioned from a walker to a wheelchair during my pregnancy with Jamesy (if you don't know that story yet, you can read about it here). I just haven't wanted to actually say it aloud. When my midwives told me that I would be crazy to want another child because my PGP was so severe that there was a near guarantee of my next pregnancy being even worse than the one with Jamesy... I knew it. When Andrew looked at me time and time again with sadness in his eyes and told me he didn't think we should have another baby even though I begged him to pray about it and tried to convince him that it would be worth the excruciating pain I would more than likely go through... I knew it. When I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia... I knew it.

But when I was hit with this diagnosis? I had to finally admit it.

I had to admit that one of the things I want more than nearly anything else in the world will not be what I will be blessed with. Seeing that on the screen makes me want to throw up if I am honest. I don't want to look at it, because I don't want to acknowledge it. I want to continue to live in my little world where I am better and able to handle another pregnancy and we can welcome another baby (or two or three...) into our lives. But that's not what the Lord has for me. And I don't know why.

There are moments when I can forget this dream, and sometimes depending on the hour with the boys, it's quite easy (ha!). But whenever I see a little baby, whenever I look at my boys growing up so fast, whenever I congratulate another friend on their adorable Instagram announcement, it feels as though I'm underwater and cannot come up for a breath. I sit there and think - why God? Are you trying to rip everything from my hands? You've stripped me of my health, and my ability to play the piano, and my ability to grab my watercolors and just paint at will, and running with my boys, and being the wife I so badly want to be... and then this too? Why?

I don't know why. I may not ever know. Job never found out - his health was restored and he was blessed with more material possessions and other children, but he never found out the reason for his suffering. Never.

But... then tonight I read 2 Corinthians. Specifically 2 Corinthians 1:3-5 and I remembered sweet truth:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. 

It's not as though I haven't read this verse before. Nor is it that I have forgotten that my God is a God of comfort. Honestly, I have just refused to fight against the lies that are pounding me and saying that the Lord is not for me, that He has spurned my heart's desires, that He loves others more than me.

I know that this is walking in sin. My questioning of God's goodness and plan for my life is akin to telling Him that I know better, that I know what is right and wrong and good and bad more perfectly than He does. It's insanity to think this, because I know the truth. I know that He is a good Father who loves me, who saved and redeemed me, who has my good in mind and who does not allow any suffering to come to me without first allowing to to pass through His hands.

I am mourning. And yet, I feel as though the Lord is opening my eyes to really see this passage of scripture in a new way.

No, I don't know the unfathomable pain of losing a child. No, I cannot relate to years and years of infertility. No, I haven't walked through an adoption process that was so close to closing and then dissolved in the very last moment. But I do know the pain of wanting something so badly it hurts, and having the Lord say "no". I do know what it is like to mourn dreams and hopes and ideas of what life "should" look like and to know that this "season" of suffering isn't likely to be short. I do know what it feels like to have one thing, after another, after another feel like it has been stripped away. I know what it's like to feel alone and helpless and bereaved even in the face of countless blessings. And maybe that's the point.

Maybe that's why the Lord has said "no" to more children. If I can sob alongside another mourning soul who is afflicted and bring them even the tiniest bit of comfort - that will be the Lord working in this. If I can finally admit that we will not be able to have more children, even though my heart literally feels like it is breaking while typing it out - that will be the Lord working in this. And if I can continue to press on to know the heart of my Father and live in His will even when the lies of Him being a "capricious, unloving God" are hurled at my soul - that will be the Lord working in this.

No, I'm not "at peace" about having to give this desire up. I'm not "at peace" with knowing that my Mama's heart that longs for one more child will not be given the opportunity to hold that baby in my womb. I'm not. But I am finally willing to admit that. I am willing to ask the Lord to start the slow and painful process of removing that desire from my heart and replacing it with His desires for my life and family. I am willing to stop praying that the Lord would change Andrew's mind and actually agree to try for "just one more". I'm willing to share this and be honest with my pain and my lack of trust and faith. And honestly, that right there is the Lord working in this.

A Reason to Sing

     (Short update: It's actually slightly funny to see that the last post I wrote on this blog was the announcement of our family taking the steps to become licensed foster parents. How time changes things! In January we became licensed but right before the last inspection and paper signing in December... we found out that we were pregnant. Seriously, the Lord has the most incredibly crazy timing but I wouldn't have changed it for the world. We had two placements earlier this year - a 5 day old and a 7 month old. We loved both dearly, but no longer are fostering for this season... I'm thinking this post will explain more of why).

When the pieces seem too shattered

To gather off the floor

And all that seems to matter

Is that I don't feel You anymore...

I need a reason to sing

I need to know that You're still holding

The whole world in Your hands

I need a reason to sing

When I'm overcome by fear

And I hate everything I know

If this waiting lasts forever

I'm afraid I might let go...

'Cause I need a reason to sing

I need to know that You're still holding

The whole world in Your hands

I need a reason to sing...

     I have not had a pain-free, normal activity level day in over half a year. 

     That sounds crazy in writing, although it's absolutely true. I don't honestly remember what it feels like to spend an entire day with Owen playing and deciding to do things like going to the park across the street from our house. I don't remember going out on a date with Andrew without my walker and needing to "take it slow" and eventually returning to our house exhausted and going straight to bed. I don't really even remember what our "normal" life was like pre-last December. Things have been so upside down and chaotic, I haven't even really sat down and wrote down my thoughts in any other fashion other than prayers in my journal and desperate pleas for prayer through text message to close friends. I decided tonight that had to change. 

     While 1st trimester nausea and sickness were just starting to wind down, I began having pain in my pelvic area that I nervously noticed one day in particular walking through Costco. I had run in to grab last minute ingredients for the Titus family Christmas get together, and felt as though I was going to miscarry the precious baby in my womb. I felt as though the pain was radiating through my entire pelvic bone and I remember not enjoying the evening like I always do with the family because I kept panicking and watching for "signs" that my greatest fear was coming to pass. 

     With great thankfulness, James is now nearly 34 weeks and I was not indeed having a miscarriage that December evening. The pain continued though, and when I went in for my very first visit with my midwives on the 28th of December, I was already at the point where I asked for a referral for physical therapy or whatever they thought would help. (Those who know me well know that I very rarely will bring up pain that I have been experiencing on my own accord to my doctors... Andrew didn't have to prod me to bring it up that morning, I already knew it was bad). The words "Pelvic Girdle Pain" came into my vocabulary and I began weekly physical therapy with a pelvic area specialist the very first week in January.

     Fast forward to now. As the months have passed, my pain has sometimes slowly and sometimes quickly progressed. I cannot walk outside the house without the help of a walker, and many days I cannot even get that far. I've been issued a disabled parking permit by my doctors, and have used it gratefully every time I end up getting outside of the house. My various pelvic support bands are essential for any amount of walking and I've gotten to the point where if I reach the top of our stairs without one on, I immediately turn around and go back into the house to get it - it's just not worth it to move without it on, no matter how sick of it I am.

     I have been in bed more hours this half of a year than many years of my life combined. I thought that the three months I was near bed-ridden with mold toxicity in 2014 were terrible, but I could always close my eyes and lay down and find some sort of relief from the dizziness, some release of the faintness that clouded all the rest of the hours of my day. This time around, nothing has helped. If I lay down too long, my pelvis grows more and more tender and painful, and yet if I don't lay down enough during the day I quite literally collapse. What used to be uncomfortable is now horrific pain, and what used to be annoying is now the audible sound of grinding in areas of my pelvis that I know enough of the human body to know should never be a normal occurrence. Sleeping used to be the time of relief, but with every move, every readjustment I wake with mind-numbing pain and trips to the bathroom (which are even more now that I'm in the blessed third trimester) make me wonder if I can actually complete the following day.

     Regardless, life goes on each and every day. Owen needs to be cared for and nurtured. Dishes and clothes need to be washed. Dinner needs to be cooked, and life needs to go on. Unfortunately, nearly every single thing that I used to do and complain and grumble frequently about goes undone - falling onto my sweet husband's plate for the time between Owen finally getting to sleep (about 9pm) and when he personally collapses into bed (normally between 11:30-12am). The one routine that has remained somewhat in tact is homeschool - it's become what I look forward almost more than anything else with Owen. He adores it, and I can sit next to him and watch his eyes fill with joy and wonder as concepts begin to connect and paint gets splattered as he learns to mix colors. And reading. Oh, the sheer amount of books he and I have read together on the bed or the couch... those two things remain nearly "normal", like a sweet God-ordained relief from the hellish season I feel utterly trapped in.

...Will there be a victory?
Will You sing it over me now?
Your peace is the melody
Will You sing it over me now?...

     I broke down last night. Realizing that it's been over a half of a year in this pain feels overwhelming. Mind-numbing. Debilitating. The worst part is the fear that while I am only 7 weeks from my due date, most women who have this severe of PGP are not immediately well after delivery, averaging about 6 weeks of post-labor recovery until they are somewhat back to normal, and around 6-12 months. Sometimes, like last night and parts of today, I literally do not know if I can handle that. I am seeing my sweet family less and less as they have to do most of their activities without me. I am missing out on one of the sweetest seasons with Owen, and even more so, the last season of it being just him and me. I miss my husband, the most servant-hearted and tender man I have ever met in my life, because when he puts me to bed at night, it is as if his night has only begun. 

     So today, after driving to another PT appointment, I listened to this song ("Reason to Sing" by All Sons and Daughters) on repeat, holding back tears and realizing that I actually AM in this season that seems often like a never ending nightmare. I don't know when it will get better for sure, and I don't know what it looks like for me to be a mama and wife and daughter and friend when I don't do any of the things that used to define those categories to me. I feel many times like a burden and a waste, lazy and dramatic at best. I know these are lies, without question. But they are a daily fight to keep in their place as lies and not allow them to creep into what feels like truth. If I am honest, I am at a loss to think of how these next 7+ weeks will look like, but maybe I don't need to know. 

     Because... even through every single moment of pain and anxiety and what feels like my heart falling into some sort of darkness, I know the end of the story. I know that one day, some day, every tear will be wiped away. Every disease will be erased. Every pain, painful memory, and hurt will be healed in an instant. I used to fear reading the book of Revelation, thinking that it was too scary and weird and would give nightmares. But going through the book this past year in Bible Study Fellowship, the Lord encouraged me through the one book of the Bible I vowed I never would enjoy, and never find comfort in. At the perfect time, the Lord brought me through those chapters, and showed me that He may not heal me. Not in my timing at least. But I can rest securely knowing that one day, that beautiful one day, everything will be gone aside from joy in His glory and my praise and adoration of Him. That this really is a "light and momentary suffering" even when the hours feel like generations and the pain is nearly unbearable. 

     So, I'm not sure. Not sure how to process this, not sure how to communicate what has been on my heart and mind for months, and not sure how to stand in that last paragraph when all I want to do is wave a white flag of surrender and quit. But for now, for tonight, I get to share. I get to open up the wounds that have been festering, and not worry about trying to put on a cute outfit and makeup so that even when I can barely take steps with the walker I can appear to have it together, but actually just be here and real and honest. Because I've sat here before. Typing away on this very same laptop sobbing and crying out to the Lord because I don't understand. As I worried and was wracked with anxiety throughout Owen's pregnancy, as I nearly lost my life to Postpartum Depression, as my body was slowly shutting down due to mold toxicity, as I mourned yet another month of a negative pregnancy test... and yet, the Lord at each and every moment has been good. His will has been done, and I have not been let go of. I do not believe in the least "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger" but I do believe that in my weakness He is my strength. That His grace IS sufficient and that His power IS made perfect in my weakness. I may not "feel it" but I cling to that truth as the pain tells me to lay down and stop typing. And, Lord willing, I will continue to cling because He will continue for eternity to be worth it - even when I don't cling and find that it is He who is doing the holding. 

...'Cause I need a reason to sing
I need to know that You're still holding
The whole world in Your hands
And that is a reason to sing...

Celebrating My 5th Anniversary of Freedom and My Glad Surrender

Five years ago today, at about this time, I tasted freedom.

Freedom from the words, the lies, the fears, the failed hopes, the cages, the abuse.

God spoke the most clearly He had ever to me two days earlier, in the shower at his house of all places, that I had to leave. That if I was to continue in that relationship I would be in defiant and blatant sin against the Savior who bled for me.

Don't get me wrong. I knew all along I was in sin. But that morning the Lord caused me to see Himself and my desires in an entirely new way. One that left no room for my preconceived notions of who He was and what sort of God He would be to a returning sinner such as myself.  

That day, the day of the shower, I swallowed too many pills and tried to end things and couldn't.

But two days later, five years ago today, I did.

Only by the grace of God.

As I drove home, I cannot put into words the sense of closeness to my Jesus that I felt. The closeness that had been there throughout the past five years, past decade even, but that had been veiled by sin, and idolatry, and my own desire to quench the Holy Spirit's consistent promptings to return to my first Love.

So, I'm celebrating that today. That freedom. That sweet closeness. That change of perception that caused me to long to follow my Jesus more than ever before.

But, in God's great loving-kindness, I am also celebrating a glad surrender. A surrender of desires too deep for words, and desires which told through blogs only become palpable and bite-sized. A desire that pulls at the very core of my heart though, and that if I don't share it now, I honestly feel I may burst.

I'm surrendering my desire to be pregnant.

Andrew and I have been trying to have another baby since July of last year. Seeing as we weren't expecting to have Owen when we did (see my post about why here) I assumed that God would work a miracle like He did the first time, and we'd be holding a sweet little babe in a little less than a year.

But that wasn't the Lord's plan.

Walking into BSF this fall, I hugged so many ladies who had seen me through what was one of the darkest years of my life (see this post for more of that story) and so many of them kept glancing down at my belly and asking "so... any news??" I smiled and shook my head but was convinced that by the end of that BSF year I would be glancing down at a swelling belly and crying tears of joy thinking of how good the Lord was to bless me with another baby.

But, again, that wasn't the Lord's plan.

As the months went by and I threw out negative pregnancy test after negative pregnancy test, my hopes started failing. I began to question why the Lord would be "holding out" on me. I began to fear that the gap in ages between Owen and a future sibling would be far too much and that every month I wasn't pregnant was a month more of painful waiting.

Two weeks ago, a dear gal in my group brought her sweet 4 day old baby to BSF. We started trying for another baby roughly the same time last year, and while I was honestly so happy for her and her family, I also felt crushed.

"Look what I'm not giving you"

"Sucks to be you, you want this but I'm not sure you're there"

"Just be happy for all the women you're looking at who are pregnant and stop being such an ungrateful woman"

"How can you think you're sad when you've already had one baby and so many other women desperately want even just one and can't"

I felt like all these and more were what the Lord was telling me. That He was showing my the "Promised Land" but not allowing me to enter. Walking through the Life of Moses this year in BSF I struggled again and again with how the Lord could be good and merciful in showing Moses the Promised Land at the end of his life without allowing him to enter it. I mean, I knew that God was good and merciful. But I didn't really believe it. It felt as though He was rubbing my non-pregnancy in my face just like He must have been doing with Moses on that mountain. It was so terrible that I nearly walked out of the room halfway through the teaching.

So why am I writing about a glad surrender?

Because of Jesus. Because the Lord is not who I falsely believed Him to be.

In the last week, I feel as though the Lord has literally opened my eyes to His character in a way I have never before experienced in my life. To the point that I can literally type out that I believe God is good, and that showing Moses the Promised Land was God's mercy on Moses and not wrath or anger or something akin to a bully.

And I can type that I do deeply trust that the Lord isn't withholding His best from me by the fact that I am not pregnant again this month. In fact, if this deep knowing of the Lord had to come from these months of pain, they were all worth it. If this deep knowing of the Lord means that I never have another chance to hold my belly and feel a sweet kick against my hand, then (deep breath) it is still worth it.

I felt compelled to type this all out because, frankly, I want to raise this up as an Ebenezer of sorts. A monument to the Lord in which all who pass by (or scroll through as the case may be) can say with certainty that this was none of my own doing, but entirely the Lord. That He is and was and forever will be good and merciful and faithful.

Do I desire to be pregnant? Yes. So much. But at the same time, instead of saying "Fine Lord! Do what you want to! I didn't really want another baby anyhow!", I find myself simply falling before His feet and placing the desire there and softly saying through tears "Thy will be done". I know He knows my desires more fully than I know them myself. I know He loves me. This glad surrender is so very different than almost any other surrender I've had in my life before.

I don't know what the Lord's will for my life, and for my body and for my family is. I really don't. But I feel like offering this desire up to Him is a freedom and a release from a bondage that I never knew I was held in until right now. He is so, so good. I don't know His will, but I know Him. And that's all I desire.

What's Been Going On...

For starters, please forgive the incompleteness of this blog, but I wanted to make sure that I at least put down into a post some semblance of an update. It's been awhile since I've posted, and am not quite sure if I am ready to get back into a 'rhythm' of posting quite yet, but I do intend to update a bit more than I have been.

Four weeks ago, today actually, I was grabbing Andrew's lunch from the counter and suddenly was overcome with dizziness. I've had bouts of vertigo before, and assumed it was that and called my mom to have her come over and watch Owen since I knew I wouldn't be able to. By the time she got here though, a million other reasons were swirling in my head as to why I could be dizzy, one of which was a hopeful excitement - maybe baby Titus #2 was on the way! I called for a doctor's appointment and was seen later that morning.

I had a pregnancy test done at the doctors and lo and behold... it was negative. It was a long shot, but I was a bit sad - I really wanted this to be something good! Looking back, it was simply God's grace that it was not what I had been hoping for, or at least that it wasn't baby Titus #2 along with the real cause of the dizziness.

In brief overview of the following four weeks, my dizziness continued to become more and more debilitating. My mom and mother-in-law, as well as a couple of friends from church took shifts of watching Owen from the time Andrew left for work until he came home. I was slowly becoming even more exhausted, and even doing simple things like the laundry would wipe me out for the rest of the day. "Just pushing myself a little further" was not an option.

Throughout all of this I have felt certain that I was faking this and being a drama queen. Growing up, I was a complete hypochondriac and faked so many illnesses. No one would believe me, and they had good reason - I lied a lot. That being said, although I knew I was not the same girl as I was in elementary school, the fear of not being taken seriously or over dramatizing the situation plagued me.

What also plagued me was the feeling of being a terrible mama to my sweet baby. I sat on the couch 90% of the day and didn't play with Owen at all. Reading a board book to him winded me, and doing an airplane ride on my legs was nearly impossible. I've always struggled with believing I was a "good enough" mama and as the days progressed the condemnation and guilt piled higher and higher.

Fast forward to Tuesday. After weeks of doctors appointments, Ear Nose and Throat specialist appointments, hearing tests, CT scans and an insane amount of blood work, we don't have any idea what's going on. In God's amazing providence, I met with a gal who I met this year through a Bible study and she asked me about my symptoms. After I listed off a seemingly random assortment of what I had been experiencing she looked at me and said: "Oh girl, I think you have what I have: POTS."

I looked up the symptoms and realized she may actually be right.

Wednesday afternoon, after the two worst days of dizziness and racing heart and exhaustion yet, I called my doctor and she asked me to go to the ER. I hesitated. We just paid off my medical bills from last years trial of Post-Pardum Depression and there is no way we have it in the budget to pay more bills. Andrew gently assured me though, that God had been faithful to provide and would remain faithful. Eventually I agreed to go, and seven hours later the on-call neurologist was sitting at the end of my hospital bed.

"Well, I can't tell you with 100% assurance because we have one more test to confirm it, but my first, second, and third on the list of probabilities is that you have what's called Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. POTS for short."

So there it was.

I hadn't been faking. I wasn't being a drama queen. There was a reason.

I was ill.

Honestly I am not sure how much more I can type out right now, both because I am already completely exhausted from reading Owen two books this morning and singing him a song and typing this, but also emotionally drained and on edge.

There is not a cure for POTS. There are types of POTS that improve and go away over the course of several years. As it stands, the type I have seems to be the kind that doesn't. What does that mean? Aside from the hand of God moving either miraculously or through medical breakthroughs, I will be walking through the rest of my life with POTS. Until I see Jesus face to face in all of his glory, I will never be the same as I was a month and a half ago.

There are medications that will help me continue to function as close to normal as possible though. One problem - I cannot nurse Owen while on them.

So, with heavy pain and an ache I can't even begin to express, yesterday started cold-turkey weaning my sweet, sweet son. Praise Jesus that we had already started weaning gradually over the past couple of months, so instead of 5-8 times a day of nursing he was already down to 2-3 times. But these past 4 weeks have taken a toll on him. God's grace is that he loves playing with tons of people, but nursing was the one semblance of normal for him and I. It was our time to snuggle and to be close when everything else was topsy turvy.

Suffice it to say, I've been a wreck.

Through all of this though, I have no question in my mind that God was and is not shocked at the fact that I most likely have a chronic illness in which my Autonomic Nervous System misfires and functions abnormally.

My sobs of heartache for the confused child at my breast do not fall on deaf ears, but on ears that wept for Jerusalem.

My very slow process of beginning to mourn the idea of what I "should be" as a mama and wife, the idea of having another baby soon, and even going through my day without having someone else care for my child, make my meals, and clean my house is happening as my faithful Savior holds me close and wipes my tears and reminds me I am only defined by the Cross.

I would love prayers. Not only for myself but for my incredible husband who has been through hell and back with me and still loves me as tenderly as he did the day we were married. Also for Owen, that he would know without a shadow of a doubt my love for him, and that my ability to be able to run after him does not indicate my level of desire to be his mama. Also that the doctors would be able to move forward with treatment after my final test is complete.

I know that God is using this to draw me closer to him and I am so grateful for that assurance. I'm not okay with everything though, and I'm not sure I have to be quite yet. I'm not mad at God for allowing this to happen, but am grieved that it is happening. I am hopeful that things will get better, but I ache more for heaven than I ever have before.

I will try to update after I do the final test, but until then,

Sola Dei Gloria 

Why "Owen Ray" and more ultrasounds

On Monday Andrew and I were thrilled to be able to finally find out the gender of our baby Titus! It felt like forever since we had found out we were pregnant, and we couldn't wait to know more. The day I took the pregnancy test was rough (long story of me doubting whether or not I was correct in reading it, and if I was going to celebrate something that "didn't exist" but even bigger sin of not believing that God would want to give us a gift of a child...) and we ended up trying to have a celebration dinner, but doing a lot of praying and crying (that was me) and encouraging (that was Andrew). 

Needless to say, we planned on having a small dinner out - just the two of us - right after we finished with the ultrasound. Finally I can celebrate I thought. It would be perfect, why wouldn't it be?

I was nervous and super excited going into the ultrasound, and kept being absolutely amazed at how this small child of ours was moving around, and now I could actually feel the movements I was seeing on the screen! Everything was looking perfect, baby was healthy and growing well. The ultrasound tech moved over an area of baby's liver and stopped, pausing briefly to take a few screen shots of the picture. I couldn't help but think to myself that there was a random bright white dot that looked terribly out of place. As the tech didn't say anything about it, I dismissed my fears and continued being excited.

After the ultrasound was complete - the tech brought in the radiologist who, to my confusion and fear, looked immediately back to the spot on my baby's liver. She poked around a bit, and said that it most likely was nothing, but that it was up to my doctor whether or not she would want further ultrasounds to determine what it was.

I panicked. Every single fear and unbelief I had about God not giving a good gift, about things going right only for God to pull the rug out from beneath me, about never celebrating or being joyously hopeful about something before it was actually there and complete came washing over me yet again. I tried to be ok, but feared the worst immediately. Andrew was concerned, but knew without a doubt how trustworthy God was and that he trusted Jesus with our baby and his/her health. We walked to a small area outside the hospital to open our gender-reveal envelope and Andrew prayed for me and baby. I knew that it would be ok but completely let myself go down the rabbit holes of fear and forgot the goodness of my Savior. That he was in control, and loved me enough to die for me, and already loved my unborn child as he knitted that baby together in my womb. 

Needless to say, the dinner wasn't the one filled with tears of joy and laugher we had pictured. Both of us were thrilled to find out we were having a baby boy, but I was stuck in the unknown. I regretted staying there, but stayed there nonetheless. I am daily reminded of how good God is through my amazing husband, but Andrew was again used by God in such a great way that evening - he pointed me back to the truth of God, Jesus's love for me and our baby, and the truth that it was completely out of our control either way.

Talking with my doctor Wednesday, she assured me that it was most likely no big deal and told me she really didn't want me to be worried at all about it. The coolest thing though, was that while her tone and confidence in baby's health was helpful, God had walked me through a day and a half of fear and lead me time and time again to truth and comfort. I poured over Psalm 139 and 1 Samuel 1 and 2 -- crying and pleading with God to comfort me, and to forgive me for assuming the worst, even when it was most likely nothing at all. For doubting his goodness and his love for me, and for playing "god" as I determined my fears were the future in no regard to God's true plans.

We have another ultrasound scheduled for the beginning of September, just to see if whatever it was goes away (as apparently most things do). My genetic screening tests were awesome earlier, and it seems as though my doctor isn't too worried. It is so interesting to me though that the littlest of things can catapult me to the most extreme fear and worry. What a difficult but oh so worth it lesson in standing at the foot of the cross and surrendering my plan and child completely to Jesus. 

_________________

Why Owen Ray though?

Andrew and I had thought about names for months, but had not come to a consensus on a boy's name until about a month ago. We knew we wanted something biblical - a strong name of a man who was after God's heart and lived his life for God's glory (as much as a sinner can...). We came up with plenty of names, but nothing really seemed right. Then, as God was revealing some pretty deep sin in my heart, I began to read the book "The Mortification of Sin in Believers" by John Owen. For some reason, the name Owen stood out and I adored it. Apparently so did Andrew :) Owen was a English theologian during the 1600s who loved the Lord and had some pretty legit theology. Who knows what God has in store for our Owen's life, but I can't wait to talk about why he has his name, and have nerdy theology discussions with him and his Dad for fun :)

The name Ray is special for two reasons - both my Dad and Andrew's maternal Grandfather are/were named Ray. I had always wanted to name a son after my dad, and it was a total blessing to be able to have men on both of the sides honored with our son's middle name. 

Our little Owen Ray is already so dear to us and loved immensely. I love seeing Andrew talk with him and read to him every night, and I am constantly reminded of miracles when I feel him moving around inside of me. I am still in awe of what God is doing in our little family, and can't wait to share with Owen how much he was prayed for and loved even before he drew his first breath. 

"For this child I prayed, and the LORD has granted me my petition that I made to him." 1 Samuel 1:27

Back pain and a whole lot of sin.

Out of all of the adjectives I would have used to describe myself, independent was never one I would have chosen. Passionate, old-fashioned, quirky - all yes, but independent? Not even close. Prideful? Probably, but not to a great extent. 

Until this month.

Some people say that circumstances make you stronger. I disagree. I believe without a shadow of a doubt that the God who loved me enough to die for me uses any means necessary to draw me into a deeper relationship and sweeter knowledge of his grace and mercy. Even more, I know he is using my inability to be independent and my current back pain to show me his character in a way I only thought I knew before.

I was diagnosed with kyphosis and scoliosis in middle school, wore a brace for over a year, and have fought back pain since, but haven’t had pain this nearly debilitating since 2009. When I was first diagnosed I remember my doctors talking about how if I ever were to have children I could be in for a tremendous amount of pain, but as a 14 year old I could care less. Now as a 25 year old well into my second trimester of my first pregnancy, their concern makes a lot more sense.

To be honest, I could write a lot about the pain and discomfort which happens when my back is like it has been. I could write about not being able to drive the 15 minutes to my doctor’s office without wincing, or how I had to lay down on the bathroom floor last week after cleaning for a half hour, because I knew the pain was bad enough I had to stop, NOW. But really, the pain isn’t what has most characterized these past few weeks. It’s there, and difficult yes, but what God has been teaching me through the pain is vastly more important.

So far, I have learned that I am much more like the Galatians than I ever would have cared to admit. In Paul’s letter to the Galatians, he makes the case strongly and passionately that Jesus’s work on the cross is all that is needed for salvation, and that if we are to add ANY work (whether that be following the Jewish laws like circumcision for the Galatians, or me adding my various roles and titles of ministry at Mars Hill, or a clean house and dinner made for Andrew) to the cross in attempts to earn favor with God or a more right standing before him, makes Jesus a joke the cross absolutely worthless.  

Whether I could see my sin or not before my back pain began again this month, God has been showing me that I have attempted to justify myself apart from only believing the cross for so many years. My fears of being lazy around the house if I don’t have it perfect by the time my husband comes home from work, and my dread of him having to make dinner or help me run my errands like grocery shopping only were the tip of the problem. What it comes down to really, is not believing that Jesus is enough for me. That I can do it on my own, and that I need to be perfect to be a good wife, or a good follower of Jesus. I so badly wanted to fulfill my role as a wife, that I forgot the most important part was to adore Jesus with every ounce of my being. As for ministry, I worried that backing down from roles because of the pain would be seen as a cop out, and laziness as well. That instead of grace, those around me would see my weakness as failure and a lack of love of Jesus. I so deeply wanted those around me to know the redemption that God has for them, that I pushed through pain that should have shown me I needed to rest, in order to maintain the level of discipleship and ministry was doing. 

How incredibly wrong and sinful I have been. How much unbelief? The greatest thing is though, that even if I was blind to all of this, God never was. And never for a moment would he leave me sitting in this mess of lies and doubt and “Jesus + my works = justification and righteousness”. No, the God I love is such an incredible God that he would use anything to get my attention. C.S. Lewis has a quote which says: “pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” 

Without question God has used this pain to show me his love and patience with my sin. The idea of “sitting around” all day terrifies me. I want to do something, and serve, and love my husband well. But yet, the ways I have been prior to now are not the ways God is asking me to walk in during this season. This means a ridiculous  amount of my independence and pride needs to die. The fear which stops me from taking up offers from friends to help me clean, and go grocery shopping for me needs to be laid at the foot of the cross and repented of. The pride which is mortified at the thought of a friend seeing how dirty my bathroom really is needs to come before Jesus and see him as so much mightier. The feeling of uselessness which is spurred on by greeting my husband as I lie on an ice pack on the couch when he gets home, rather than putting dinner on the table in a perfectly clean house, must trust in my Savior’s total and complete work on the cross and not in my picture of an ‘ideal wife’. 

Funny. When I found out I was pregnant I began praying for many things, but the one on repeat (along with Baby Titus coming to full term as a healthy baby who loves Jesus even from my womb...) has been that God would bring me to a place where I could not even fathom spending a day without being in his Word, or praying. That even during the chaos which is motherhood, I would know without a doubt that I could not make it through one day, one hour, one moment without my Savior. God seems to be answering this. Not quite in the way I was anticipating, but in a way far more deep than I pictured. 

Yes, I am praying for God to supernaturally take my back pain away. Or that he would work through the physical therapy (I start with a more specialized therapist this coming week actually, as my former therapist could do “nothing more” to help stop the pain or progression). But ultimately, I am praying that God would draw me closer to him, and that I would lean on him like I never have before. That he would break me where I need to be broken, and mold me into the woman, wife, and future mother he desires me to be. It’s not an easy season, but I know God is bigger. And I am extremely grateful for Jesus’s work on the cross, a husband who loves me enough to gently demand I rest and lay down, and a community and church which are meeting needs I never knew I had.  

We shouldn't be having this baby.

We shouldn’t be having this baby.

It sounds surprising and shocking. Why joyously announce a pregnancy when you think you shouldn’t be having a child? To tell you the truth, it is shocking, but not in the way you’re thinking.

I grew up wanting to be a stay at home mom. Oh, I wanted to be a singer, an actress, a marine biologist and a teacher, but deep in my heart, I desperately wanted to be a mom. Late in elementary school through undergrad I battled anorexia. I always had irregular cycles, but lost my period altogether for nearly a year after many years of starvation. It scared me. I told myself that something had to change or I would never be able to have kids. Once it returned, things did change, but in a terrible way.

Five years later I found myself deeper into my eating disorder than I ever imagined was possible. By “found myself” I mean I willingly walked into a sinful relationship, and instead of heeding the gentle warnings of my Savior and God I turned my back on him. This relationship, I thought, had “saved me” from anorexia. Like Gomer though, I thought my lover had saved me, when all the while God had provided and saved me with his own hand and provision (Hosea 2:8). In reality, the relationship turned more and more unhealthy, and was characterized by manipulation, control, abuse, and sexual assault. I wanted out. I wanted to feel numb. I wanted to die. I cut, I starved, I purged, and I continued to run from the God who had saved me.

Through the grace of God alone, I left that relationship. I had physical and emotional scars, but God had broken in and broke my heart to him once again - I was the prodigal daughter. God lifted the depression, the cutting, the purging, and the starvation. I struggled to believe a man who loved Jesus would ever want something as tarnished as I, but God continued to walk with me. I found him redeeming every part of my heart, especially my sinfully false beliefs about his forgiveness and goodness. The following year, a man who loved Jesus began to pursue me. I didn’t know a lot about him other than he had been redeemed from much,  and that he loved God more deeply than I ever thought was possible. He worshiped Jesus, he loved me well, and 3 1/2 months later he asked me to marry him. As we walked through dating and engagement we walked through our pasts, and it became time for me to face a dark reality with my future husband - I may never be able to have children. The years of abuse I wrecked my body with had stopped my cycle completely. A round of hormone therapy had been tried, but was unsuccessful. My sin had deep consequences. My godly fiancé stayed. He comforted me, lead my back to the truth of Jesus, and prayed for me. 

One month before our wedding I decided to try one last round of hormonal treatment. Only hours before I picked up the prescription, Andrew called me. He had a “weird” feeling and wanted to know how long the drug could be active in my system, and if there were any warnings about it. I called the pharmacist, who informed me it had a small precautionary warning - due to the drug forcing a menstrual cycle, if in the unlikely chance I became pregnant during the treatment, it could become abortive. It would stay in my system three weeks, which meant 3-4 days into our marriage. Through tears streaming, we knew I could not risk it, and cried out to God. I felt as though I looked like Hannah (in 1 Samuel 1:12,13) but God comforted me in the truth that he, and he alone, opened and closed wombs. We prayed for my womb to be opened by God, and cried, and prayed some more. 

Two weeks before our wedding, I started my period.

After our wedding, and after my hopes of conceiving on our honeymoon were gone (I thought for sure that was God's plan - how perfect right?), WebMD said that my periods were still too off for conception. They had their red warnings signs up saying that they calculated I was not ovulating, and should seek medical help. I was angry. I was hurt. My "perfect plan" might not happen. But, in those weeks, and through many tears, God brought me to a place where I could honestly say I deeply wanted a baby, but without hesitation I wanted God’s will for my womb above a child. 

The end of April though... I saw a pink "+". 

We’re now ending our first trimester, and are still in awe of God’s hand in our lives and this pregnancy. A few weeks ago my OBGYN’s jaw dropped when she heard about my medical history and irregularity/absence of periods. She commented about how it was unusual that I could have gotten pregnant under those circumstances, or actually at all. All we could do was shrug and smile. 

So, we really shouldn’t be having this baby. But God’s plan was different than our “should’s” and “should not’s”. This baby, who God is knitting together in my womb, has been prayed for, and prayed over, and longed for so deeply. Falling in love with my child causes me to stand more in awe of God’s grace and power and love than I ever have in my life. 

Baby Titus truly is a miracle. 

For you formed my inward parts;

you knitted me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Wonderful are your works;

my soul knows it very well.

My frame was not hidden from you,

when I was being made in secret,

intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw my unformed substance;

in your book were written, every one of them,

the days that were formed for me,

when as yet there was none of them.

(Psalm 139:13-16 ESV)