No Longer Three

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On the outside we’ve looked like a happy family of three for some time, and I admit, I was doing my very best to accept that.

We prayed. For several years. God, if another child is not what you have for us… 

Going public about choosing fertility treatments was painful for me. I knew some people would judge–why weren’t we considering adoption when there were so many children without families?

While we haven’t ruled out adoption for the future, this personal decision was based on a know-in-my-gut that if I do not get solid answers while I am in my early thirties, I will always wonder what could have been.

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14 Weeks

Getting pregnant the first time around was not unassisted for me, but for some reason the second time around was like admitting I was broken.

The first thing the endocrinologist told me was that if we did in vitro, because of one of my autoimmune conditions, we might get one or two good eggs out of thirty. On the flip side, someone with other fertility issues would have 11 or 12 good eggs out of thirty.

I left the office in tears.

The next month I was pregnant… sans in vitro and with just some prescriptions (after a year of trying RX’s from my OBGYN).

I stared at the two pink lines that first week and begged them to be true. I’d shot myself up with pregnancy hormone a few weeks before and it was still leaving my system, so the lines could simply be artificial.

The minute I got my blood results I called my mom, who I’m pretty sure stood up and shouted the news out the sun roof of her car. (Actually, it was more of a stunned silence.)

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At week twelve, the nurse handed me this onesie. We graduated. 

It hasn’t been an easy pregnancy. Thankfully the baby is great, but I’ve spent weeks holed up in a dark room vomiting and watching reality TV (probably the cause of my migraines??).

I’ll take it any day if it means I’m growing this little miracle life I knew was meant to be.

Your Gift

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Courtesy Mashable.com

We’re emotional creatures, we creative-types. We don’t have to have mood swings or drama or crazy (though I probably have all three) to be ourselves… But we do have to feel in order to help others feel. And most of us came into the world feeling deeply.

We hurt for the girl with the tracks on her arms at Old Navy. We are physically affected by the thought of kids without homes. Some of us become emotionally paralyzed when our own grief hits, reflecting rather than doing. {I would argue that taking a little longer to reflect is actually healthier than what American culture tells us… which is, move on without processing.}

I was twenty-one years old when I finally heard the words, “There is nothing wrong with you. Deep feeling means deep caring.” I’d lived my whole life believing I was too sensitive. That somehow, some way, I would grow thicker skin and become “normal”. That eventually my compassion level would switch to average. A gift.

Dear creative friend, your ability to show compassion is a gift. Your pain, your agony, even, is your gift to the world–one that says, I see your pain. I feel your suffering. You are not alone. Sound familiar? God with us… Emmanuel. His Spirit inside of you.

Keep being you today. Keep feeling. Keep loving. And keep knowing when it is time to hand it off to Him… the one who comforts us so that we can comfort others with that same comfort. I love you, and so does the one who never ceases to be with us…

What do you mean I’m not her?

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Courtesy Bestmusicwallpapers.com

In case you missed it: http://thesource.com/2014/10/24/a-woman-is-devastated-after-waking-up-from-surgery-to-find-shes-not-nicki-minaj/

When What You Do Becomes Who You Are

As I write this, my baby’s tucked quietly in bed; the house is a wreck; I’ve been traveling all weekend.

If you were to ask me who I am, I’d say I’m a mother. A journalist. A wife. A terrible housekeeper. An adventurer.

The reality is, these are my roles; they are not who I am.

Roles can be stripped away in a heartbeat. I learned this years ago when a period of chronic illness took away my ability to do much. I found myself lying in bed, wondering… who was I? What had I become?

I was human. 

Sometimes I think roles get in the way of how we evaluate each other (a habit I wish we didn’t have at all). We want to hang out with someone if they’re popular, if they’re gifted, if they’re entertaining or if they make us feel good.

But underneath, when we evaluate, we lose the ability to tell… that everyone is valuable. That you and you and you were born into this world the same way as everyone else. That God planned your life before the beginning of time, and nothing you say, do, or do not do will change the value of who you are.

God loved you before there was time.

And today, as I recover from a crazy weekend and a debilitating migraine… as house filth and deadlines and speaking engagements loom…

I rest.

Because I am who I am. Human. Valuable. And loved beyond my wildest dreams…

Change

Home For Sale Sign in Front of Beautiful New Home

It’s been a year since we walked away from everything we knew; everyone. We stepped out to this place, not really knowing where we were going.

Ethan came ahead and I stayed home to sell the house. That lasted for two weeks until in my utter despair I realized Facetime wasn’t the same as sharing a blanket on a cold day.

We dragged our over-sized furniture up two flights of stairs. Within a week our polite downstairs neighbors broke their lease and moved out.

Thump thump thump. How do you teach a two-year-old to tip-toe?

It’s been a full year. New beauty. New places. New friends.

But it’s also been a grief-filled year. For the family and friends we left behind.

We are grateful. For this place, for this time, for this adventure.

And yet, in this moment, we pause to feel… to remember… to acknowledge that this fall season–the one in which there has been so much change–also has much to celebrate. He is the same, yesterday, today, and forever…

When Someone You Love has Been Abused

When you love someone who’s been abused,you approach her gently, as the wounded startle easily.

When you love someone who’s been abused,your heart aches for the way her scars sometimes tear into open wounds once again.

When you love someone who’s been abused,you count the cost before you commit; you may not know what the future holds, but you are willing to walk through it with the one you love.

When you love someone who’s been abused, you accept that there will be good times, and there will be weeping times if you feel at all. You will come to the end of yourself some days, and that’s okay, because…

 When you love someone who’s been abused, you know there is no greater love, because God himself laid down his own desires… and it is by that power you will love someone who has been abused.

When you love someone who’s been abused, you will encounter a depth of experiences your own life didn’t offer. You will know not only dark sorrow, but amazing joy, because when someone who has been abused is
loved…

It sets that person free.

How do I know?

 I am she.

***

Reblogged from May, 2013. We’ll be back to our regularly new posts soon. 

True love is when the dog is vomiting

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Originally posted April 27, 2013.

Every now and then I walk past our wedding photo, and I see my dark tan and shockingly white teeth, and I barely recognize that girl.

Don’t get me wrong. I still take care of myself. But on weeks like this one–when the stomach bug runs through our house faster than a wild mustang stampede–time to sunbathe simultaneously with Advance White Vivid on my teeth is a little less available.

And yet… when my man pokes his head around the door at 5:00 and I’m still in my mismatched socks and snotted on blue jeans, his eyes light up. And he says, “You’re cute.” And all I can do is roll my eyes and wonder,

How deep does this guy’s love run?

True love is when the dog is vomiting, and the peas are on the wall, and the only action in bed that night is the noise of the keyboard going clickety-clackety (working on deadline for a new book idea).

True love is when the car payment’s due, and the grocery money’s gone, and the laundry’s piled higher than the kitchen table, but you sit down and watch a movie anyway, because you missed the smell of his skin all day.

True love is when you’re trying for a baby, and the artificial hormones leave you more bloated than a mama sperm whale, and your gums feel like they’ve been injected with Botox, but he still thinks you’re beautiful.

True love is pacing the floor at 4 a.m. with a squalling newborn when the artificial hormones work.

True love is forfeiting the motorcycle for Elmo because your wife has another column to write. True love is taking a four year pay-cut so she can work on her “voice” before even selling a book. True love is never wavering that the book sale will take place.

I am blessed to be truly loved.

These are my snapshots of true love… what are yours?