What Am I Missing Anyway?

Today is not a good day to be alone with myself. I am struggling to find my way out of a hole I began digging the moment I woke up. And despite my attempts to keep them at bay, bad thoughts invade like a thousand bees, attacking my emotions and setting them on fire with each sting.

Comfort to me on a day like this is losing myself in the sheets of my bed, hunkered down in the darkness of my room; all noise and time and life itself just stopping to allow a few moments of relief. But it's impossible to do this with four kids and a husband and laundry to fold and dishes to do. So I reflect on which sting is itching and burning the most at this point, and leave the others to swell and run their course and do whatever bee stings do until I can attend them as well.

My attention focuses on the swollen sting, the one on the most tender place of my being - my heart; the one which seems to stick around for awhile, unable to release its poison and heal itself over time. Thoughts drift back to a time when life was less complicated and more complicated, and in a sense didn't make any sense. I had friends but most of them weren't really true friends and some were in and out of my life like driftwood on a treacherous sea. Some I haven't seen or talked to in years, some have just re-entered my life but are just the same as they've always been. And some have changed as much as I have.

I think back to everything I was able to do - everything I had, and I find myself desiring to have that old life again. Not tied to anything, just having fun. I miss it. I miss the freedom of being able to just get up and go and I miss some of the attention I got from men and I miss drinking with friends on Friday nights. Or at least I think I do. I am often blind-sighted by these nostalgic feelings of my life from before and I always forget about the associated pain and sadness which I was drowning in for as long as I can remember.

I scratch a little more now, trying to squeeze out all this poison because I know somehow it's not good to leave these thoughts alone to fester.

I am trying to remember the good things about my life before and I wonder what exactly it is that I'm really missing. I see people who were around back then and wonder if they've changed (for better or worse) as much as I have. I pray that some of them really have turned their lives around but I notice that some of them haven't. It's actually kind of sad. And some have situations that have changed but their environment and behavior has not and that's even more sad. I can't imagine not feeling like my entire life didn't have to change when my situation did. In my old life, I had money. And I had lots of friends. And I did what I wanted to do. I drank a lot also and I went through each day without much care.

So what is it that I'm missing?

The answer comes quickly as the last little bit of poison oozes out. Everything that I keep thinking about from my past is nothing. It means nothing. Yes I had money....but I spent it on unimportant things. Yes I had freedom...but it was to do things I shouldn't have been doing. Free will is only as good as the choices you make when using it. All of the things I think of when I get that desire to have my life the way it was are in actuality lies from the devil himself. At first glance, they are always so glamorous and attractive. They somehow manifest some sense of elation and desire within me. But those feelings are fleeting as I notice that the shininess I perceive from them is really just the devil blinding me with florescent light, enough to make it so I miss the cracks in the surface of these imagined treasures and the superficial reality they represent. But I see it just in time to remember that I am not his any longer. Tempt me he may but I don't miss him.

**************************************

Below is a poem I rattled out of my head this afternoon. Good, bad, whatever. It is what it is.

I hear the devil knocking at my door
He shows me glamor from my life before
He shows me sex
Alcohol, money, and power
He's there knocking
Hour after hour

And I'm sitting here
Finding it hard not to think
What exactly pulls me back from the brink
Of that distant life, so long ago
It's here somewhere
But I just don't know

What is it that I'm missing anyway?
Why do I feel so sad inside
How can I figure out so much
When I have so little time?

Pounding now, on my door
He's waiting, waiting as he was before
Giving me memories, nostalgia that won't quit
I want to open up and take that trip
Take that hand extended to me
Go back to that life where I was free

Free to do whatever I wanted
No babies, no husband, nothing I loved
Just me and myself, withering away
Going through the motions of each passing day
Blindly searching for something new
Despairing in darkness as sinners do

What is it that I'm missing anyway?
The silent ticking of each passing day?
Being filled with anger and sadness and pain?
Sins of the world pouring down like rain?

Knocking louder at my door-
But Satan, I've told you many times before
No matter what, you can't have me
I belong to Jesus - for eternity.

Sophia's Birth

Our daughter Sophia was born on August 12. I can't believe she's finally here! It's been about a month and I am more in love with her with each passing day. The miracle of a child always takes my breath away. To understand the intricate details of just how God made this particular aspect of life is far beyond my reach. I still can't get over the fact that I grew a baby - a human being - inside my body and then birthed her...and she will grow into an adult and maybe one day birth her own babies. How amazing is the Lord!

And speaking of amazing, can I just say how amazing Phia's birth actually was?! I had been praying incessantly that it would go well, that I would be able to let go of my fears and just do what I knew my body was designed to do. I asked others to pray for me as well. I just didn't want a birth as emotionally difficult as my last or as scary as my very first. I wanted the whole thing to be completely different. And it was - down to the time of day I went into labor, the length, and most importantly, my mental state as I went through the process. I even went to see a chiropractor in the last few months of my pregnancy. I wanted the best chances possible of not only having a shorter birth but an easier one as well.

At one point, I also realized I need to change my strategy for my labor process. I remember a conversation I had with my sister, Kate, just a few weeks before I gave birth to Sophia. I was talking to her about how hard Isabella's birth had been for me, which she remembered because she was there. And while we were talking, a very important idea dawned on me. One of the main analogies I had been focusing on for my previous births, especially Bella's, was how labor contractions are like waves. I focused so intensely on that and wanted that to be my saving grace to carry me through the process - the beautiful picture in my head of a giant sea, the waves lifting me up, peaking and then bringing me down. But the idea that turned a light on inside my head while speaking with my sister was that I am afraid of drowning...why would I parallel waves with contractions and use that to help me stay focused through my labor? My fear of drowning is so tremendous that once those really tough waves (a.k.a. intense contractions) started crashing over me, I was instantly afraid, and grew more and more afraid with each one. That is where I had gone wrong and I knew that if I was going to be able to do this next labor with any sense of peace, I had to throw that comparison out of my head and find a new one - fast!

Aidan's and Isabella's births had started out with light contractions early in the day, lasting through until evening when they'd finally start picking up. By late night, I was too anxious to go to sleep as my contractions got stronger and I would end up just sitting up following them and calling my midwife sometime in the middle of very very early morning (like 2 or 3-ish). With Angel's birth I headed to the birthing center a little bit later than that and then labored the entire next day, into evening and overnight as well, only to end up with a c-section. Sophia's was definitely different. After a pretty decent night of sleep, I woke up shortly after 4 AM to contractions that were middle-grade in intensity. For the next hour and a half I wasn't in too much pain but they were coming pretty close together and were picking up in intensity. Around 6, I got out of bed and decided to go for a walk. I felt an amazing peace within me as I realized that this was most definitely the day my baby would be born. I walked for a half hour on my own in the quiet of early morning, praying and breathing and taking in every moment that passed, knowing I would never get it back again. When I came back from my walk, I drank some water and ate a granola bar. My daughter Angelina woke up and asked me if she could go on a walk with me so we went back out for another trip around the neighborhood. But we only got past about 5 or 6 houses on my road before I decided we had to turn back and wake up Joe.

After that, everything went kind of fast. I woke him up and told him I was in labor and that the contractions were coming faster and stronger. We called the midwife and my sister and mom. My mom headed up from Maryland to pick up the kids and my sister, Kate, (who is a doula in training) and my other sister, Chris, headed up as well to be with me throughout my labor. My midwife got to my house a little after 10 and checking my cervix, she informed me that I was already 6 cm's. This was great news to me as I am usually only 2 or 3 when she shows up, I'm already emotionally stressed and it's usually the middle of the night with even the sun a long way from the horizon.

The day wore on and as my labor grew more intense, I focused less and less on all the things which held me back before, and felt my inner strength stretching itself around me, the quiet of its nature smoothing itself into the rhythm of my contractions. I prayed silently, asking God to bring me peace and sustain my strength as I made my way through the process. I listened to my sisters and my husband, my midwife and her assistant - their calm and gentle voices encouraging me, moving me along, pushing me to reach my goal. At 2:59 PM, after only 9 minutes of pushing, Sophia Paige was born! I felt so relieved and so peaceful and amazed. I couldn't believe how easy her birth was compared to the last one. The day had just melted away so fast, lost somewhere in the rhythms of baby dancing and walking, in leaning on my sisters and surrendering to my husband's arms for support, and in crying and laughing and praying and hurting. All of it had been so intense yet so easy at the same time.

And then there is 'Phia - a beautiful little miracle who made that journey with me. A tiny baby who not only changed my life just by being born but she changed my life in the way she was born. And no matter how much "mommy brain" I have, no matter how many years pass or the distance between us at any given moment, I will always remember the birth of my fourth child in much detail and with great pride.

Patience

The Summer has been HOT! And productive! And filled with all kinds of happenings! But one thing that hasn't happened yet is the birth of our fourth child. We are anxiously awaiting his/her arrival and doing our best to be patient. We have learned, though, that patience is a virtue and is something God often gives us through trials.

I have this memory of visiting my grandparents' house when I was a young girl and every visit, wanting to arrange the magnets on their refrigerator. (I may or may not have a touch of OCD, the jury's still out on that one!) But there is one magnet that has always stuck out in my mind. It said something like "God, I need patience, but I need it right now!" I think this magnet now adorns my parents' frige at their house!

In any case, I find this to be a very funny magnet because it's an honest portrayal of the human heart. Many of us often forget that patience isn't just handed to us when we ask for it, especially not right away. But God is funny that way, He does not just hand it to us on a gleaming silver platter, only to be happy that we would ask for such a thing! He gives it to us in small, unsuspecting ways - sometimes on messy paper plates full of kids' whining and bad behavior, or in mountains of laundry and poopy diapers! Sometimes, He gives it to us through hardships and sacrifice and that ever-present anxiety we feel over 'X' issue.

But He does give it to us. If we are faithful. And I find that obtaining patience via this route has so much more value than just being handed a big box tied with a beautiful bow containing a never-ending supply. When our new little baby graces us with his/her presence, all the waiting and preparing, all the discomfort and emotional stress, and all those moments of impatience will disappear and in their place will be not only this beautiful new life, but a clearer understanding of His work and a stronger measure of patience we would have never known before.

Gentle Birth Passage

Whether in a hospital or at home, the birth process does not have to be an event of craziness and confusion. The harsh reality is that in a hospital, it often tends to be just that. With the birth of my 4th baby just days away, I have been reflecting lately on how different my experience with each type of birth has been. My oldest baby was born at a hospital. The process of it was very scary. Before being transferred to the hospital, I was quietly laboring at a near-by birthing center. Once I got to the hospital, everything changed. I was given drugs I didn’t want, I was treated like a sheep being shuttled through the “process,” no care thrown my way of who I was or what I really needed. The next day, I ended up with a cesarean which could've been avoided, and I can only imagine what the event felt like for my daughter, as it was a traumatic experience for me.

But even deeper than these thoughts are the ones which have made me stand firmly on the side of not only a natural birth passage but a gentler one. In many hospitals, you are just a number, another customer paying big bucks to have “all-knowing” doctors tell you what to do and when while birthing your baby. Gone is the idea that birthing a baby is a natural process and that your body and your baby know what to do. Gone is the idea that the process should just be left to happen on its own, without charts and time frames and putting everyone in the same box with the same labels on how to “treat” this “medical condition.” Gone is the idea that that tiny little being inside of you needs to be cared for with gentle hands and patience. Delivering babies is just another part of the job description for a lot of doctors and that idea shows in the way they handle your delivery.

Part of what I don’t get about a hospital delivery is why they’re so quick to cut the cord, weigh him, scrub him clean of not only the blood and fluid of birth but the vernix which protects his skin, all in an attempt to make the baby “presentable.” In reality, a tired momma right after birthing her child, just because he is her child, could care less about how he looks or what he weighs at that exact second.

The following is something I wrote while thinking about one of the main reasons why I choose to have my babies at home with a midwife whom I trust to be there for me and my baby, for as long as it takes and with every ounce of her being – one who not only understands my desire for a gentle birth passage for my baby and the least stressful experience for me but desires it for me as well. I realize not everyone has the type of delivery encapsulated in the first scenario below but at the same time, I refuse to risk that I will have that scenario ever again. Of course, there are many good medically-grounded reasons to have a baby in the hospital. I just don’t have any.


Close your eyes and imagine that you are a tiny little being, floating around in the warm dark waters of a safe environment. You sense a distant light from the outside sometimes but you are otherwise free to enjoy the darkness, the quiet swooshing sounds of your surroundings and the warm water which brings you life. For much time you are like this, always comforted by the movements around you and the brilliance of your own existence.

Soon you sense that it is time to leave this place. You are a little afraid but you know it must be done and somehow you know that on the outside, there will be someone who will continue to keep you safe, and sustain your life. The passage is trying and often frightening but you know you can make it.

Suddenly, you’re surrounded by stark light and people in white coats, everyone talking loudly and rushing around. You’re quickly pulled from the entrance to what was once your little haven of warmth. You’re tethered to something, something which brought you everything you needed while swimming around in those waters. But you are hurriedly detached from this and whisked away to be scrubbed and washed, the warm waters and gentle movements quickly becoming a distant memory. Traces of your old home are cleaned from your body and you start to feel a little cold. You’re moved and flipped about so many times. They weigh you on a scale, the metal icy against your delicate skin. They suction you with a foreign object – everything is so scary to you.

You’re finally wrapped in cloth but it is nothing like what you’re used to. You’re desperately searching for that being who you know is there to keep you safe, but you can’t find her. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, you are placed in her arms. You feel sort of lost, like you don't know that you're home within those arms. She looks at you and cuddles you close as you snuggle against her, exhausted and hungry…..

Now imagine that instead of being greeted by stark light and frantic movements once you leave your safe haven, you are greeted with gentle hands and quiet whispers, encouraging you to make the last few efforts to come out. It is still dark in your surroundings except for maybe a few flickering lights which soothe you instead of frightening you. You are immediately placed with the one who keeps you safe, your mother, warm against her breasts and skin, her smell a comfort you knew you’d come to experience. You’re massaged gently and feel warmth penetrating from your mother’s body deep into your own. The cord which you have been tethered to inside your haven is still attached, still pulsing into you with vitality. You’re even given a chance to suckle, to gain strength after a trying passage.

Later, after the initial journey is over, you are gently wiped clean a little but left with a layer of beautiful vernix to help protect your delicate skin. The cord is finally cut after the pulsing process is over. The whole time, your mother is close, you can feel her and smell her and she is there, protecting you as you knew she would. The memories of your haven are slowly fading away but in their place is the comforting reality that you are definitely at home in her arms.


In a few days (who knows maybe even tomorrow) I will be giving birth to my 4th child. I am both scared of and excited for the labor and delivery process. And at the same time, I am anxious to give this baby a gentle passage into his new world. I could care less how much he weighs right when he comes out or how he looks…. I ache with every fiber of my being to hold him the second he is born – sticky blood, icky fluids and all.

Momma, Writer

I used to write more - When my life was all about me and my daily task list made no mention of changing diapers or chasing after small children. Ah, yes, I remember that time, a time when I was not interrupted by tattletaling or "mommy, I need..." Mommy did not exist as part of my identity yet.

And I could sit and write and spill out all my thoughts, even in the middle of the day. And I'd be surrounded by a silence that I could dive into and drown myself if I wanted to, discovering fragments of me as I swam through my thoughts - silvery and gleaming like the scales of a fish. It was a time of huge reflection, one when I often lost myself a dozen times but only found me again just a few. One when the rawness of my nature poured out around me..easily flowing, unencumbered by sticky hands to clean or hungry mouths to nurse at my breast.

I could soak for hours in a stillness, finding my way through an emotion - the Sadness, a happy thought, fearfulness of my future....And I'd purge myself of so many things just by putting ink to paper. I could find more time, as much as I needed, if I wasn't satisfied with the first release.

But there were no tiny fingers pulling at me to help them, to hold them, to love them.
And there were no beautiful blue or brown eyes shining with innocence, tearing up my heart with their convictions and love.

And I was lonely. Yes, back then I was so lonely. I had all that time but no one to share it with. And I was not needed. And I did not feel loved. I had no idea who I was. For my words did not tell me much more than how I felt and what I wanted, and now that I think about it, underneath those words I somehow always spelled out a desire for a family, babies to love, little hands to hold.

My words often painted pictures of a broken life, which needed something more than I could give it on my own. Then with a flex of God's hand, a blink of His eye, I was moved beyond that life to this place, to this moment, to this me.

And I am a mommy. My list of daily tasks does include changing diapers and chasing after children. My children.

And I write when I am able to. For now, it is enough.

A Fish Tale

Since we moved into our house almost 3 years ago, we have enjoyed so many wonderful things about it, including a very nice-sized fish pond in the back yard. But we have since learned that owning a home, particularly with such an extravagant water feature, means sparing lots more attention than we initially anticipated. So, over the last year especially, we've been having various issues with filters and pumps and the whole system for our pond needing to be replaced. Don't get me wrong, there are several up-sides to having the pond. On warm summer evenings, and even during the day, if we're outside, the soothing sound of running water is definitely a nice background distraction. The fish, which numbered around 25 when we first moved in, are the only pets we own at this point and it is a fun experience to see the different sizes and colors of the fish, bright oranges and shiny blacks flicking their tails as they swim about, their cute little mouths often bobbing at the surface waiting for food to be thrown in. The best part is the mesmerized look my children get whenever their attention happens to fall on the pond and its inhabitants.

But today, I am sad to say, was a rather depressing day as we spent most of the afternoon trying to remedy the biggest issue we've had so far with our beloved pond. Over the past few weeks, we've been noticing the water level receding much faster than natural evaporation would allow. At first, we thought there was a tear in the lining. After weeks of just filling the water level back up and letting it go because of being too busy, my husband decided to work on it yesterday. We went out to Home Depot the night before to get some sort of sealer for the liner to fix what my husband thought was the problem. Yesterday, he drained most of the water in the pond, leaving enough for our fishy friends to comfortably swim around in, and put the sealant on the liner. After a little while, he filled the pond back up, commented on how clean the water was looking - the cleanest it had been in months - patted himself on the back, and went about doing other various yard-related tasks. This morning, however, on his way out to mow one of our properties, he found the pond almost completely drained of water, the poor fish flopping around helplessly. The water was UNDER the liner, making the liner bubble up, creating many trenches and crevices in which later we'd find some of our fish who, sadly, would not make it.

This was a hard lump to swallow for me as a mom. Not because we've been having these issues and I have 10 billion other things needing my attention, or because I felt sad for the fish dying. I mean, I was a little sad, particularly because I felt we should have worked on this issue sooner and maybe they wouldn't have died. But the main reason why I choked on this particular situation while out with our three children today, was because other than a brief mentioning months ago of why my mom's cat was no longer around her house, my children really haven't had any contact with the issue of death. It's a very difficult concept to explain to children age 4 1/2 and under, and I imagine even some older children and adults often stumble over at least the why's of such a serious part of life.

My husband, Joe, kept trying to spell the word 'dead' instead of saying it but my very smart 4 1/2 year old knew exactly what was going on, as soon as she saw the first fish on my pool skimmer being carried away from the pond. Somehow she just understood it was not alive any longer, and not only did that part make me sad but it made me wonder how much of an understanding of this type of thing is naturally within us somewhere, placed there by God's hand as He formed us in our mother's wombs. And how do we lose that ability to understand such things and when? We found about 10 fish in all that were definitely dead by the time Joe got to them. My daughter didn't seem too phased by the idea of the dead fish and thankfully, I didn't really have to explain much. Not very many in-depth questions were asked by her or her 3 year old brother. They innocently accepted the fish's plight, whether they truly understood it or not, and went about watching their daddy continue to try to fix the pond.

We also had 2 fish who didn't seem like they'd make it, one of which I was half-way across the yard with before I noticed it was still breathing (or trying to). But we put them in the buckets where he had placed all the other fish and so far they're doing okay. My husband thinks he figured out the true culprit for the water draining and has returned the fish to their proper home. The kids have moved on from the temporary distraction of the dead fish and our catastrophe with the pond. And I am still trying to discern when exactly it will be that I have to sit down and really explain to my kids that its not only cats and fish that die.

The Princess and the Kiss

I recently fell in love with a new book. Well, I'm not sure how new it is - but it's new to me. While at a Christian homeschool convention a few weekends ago, I was looking for a book to read to my oldest daughter. Angelina loves pretending to be a princess but it's gotten to the point where she has been totally consumed with the "commercialized" princess. I worry about this. She is obsessed with how she looks and she's only 4 1/2. She is constantly dressing up and saying "now I'm beautiful" or "don't I look so pretty?" I try to tell her she is already beautiful and what makes her beautiful is that she has a good heart in which Jesus lives. I don't know - I try to steer her away from all that superficial stuff but it's so hard to fight the constant battle of what the media conveys and what certain members of the family tell her.

Another part that worries me is that she is obsessed with finding her "prince" and kissing him. I found a cute book that detailed other aspects of being a princess but I wasn't sure whether or not it was the right one. Then I came upon this children's book called The Princess and the Kiss (A Story of God's Gift of Purity) by Jennie Bishop. The real message of it might be a little "old" for her but I feel like it's never too early to start ingraining in our children how important purity is. Besides, this book just talks about kissing, which I think is pretty appropriate for this particular issue with Angelina. It is perfect for the early years of our teaching our children about their purity.

The first time I read the book, I didn't really read the whole thing. I was standing at the book cart, leafing through it, trying to skim quickly - and I missed most of it. But I liked the idea of it and thought what I had read was good. So I impulsively bought it. I have to say, I feel like it's one of the best impulse buys I've ever participated in! It wasn't like a last-minute candy bar at the check-out line where the immediate gratification of chocolatey sweetness lasts for only moments and then you're left with no long-term [good] affects. This book feels like something with some weight to it, something that gratifies on so many levels.

Angelina loves reading any stories about princesses. So that was my "in." She wouldn't understand that I want to talk to her about how important her first kiss is or that she should save any of that until she is married. But she does understand princesses, and their search for their prince. The book is written in such a way that it doesn't overwhelm the child with things she may or may not understand. And, the illustrations are beautiful. One of my favorite parts about it is that there is a message, however slight, that she doesn't need a prince. When the princess of the story asks her mother, the queen, if she will ever find a man she can give her kiss to, her mother wisely says "I think God will bring a husband to you. But, if He does not, the kiss will be yours to treasure forever." And that not only reassures the princess that either way, she will not miss out on anything, it also helps her to trust in God more and cherish her kiss even deeper.

This is definitely a book I won't leave out for the kids to play with. I keep it up high, safe away from markers and crayons and page-ripping hands.

The first time I read the entire thing, I was actually reading it to Aidan. I think it's just as important for him as a boy to understand the gift of purity, and the story actually has a man in it who has saved his first kiss as well. As I finished the book this first time, I cried. There is so much to such a simple children's book and I was overwhelmed with its message, because of my own broken past.

As Angel and I read it together, I am hopeful that she'll just know that the message it is conveying is right. That even if she doesn't fully understand now, it will be the start of a seed growing in her heart to always think of her purity as a God-given and priceless gift that should be saved for the man she is to marry. As for her dressing up and pretending to be a princess, I don't find much harm in her pretending a little bit. She looks so cute in her little princess outfits anyway! I just have to allow her the room to use her imagination at the same time as not letting it wander too far. She is my little princess, after all, and part of being her mother is giving her wise advice and a clear direction to get her safely to the arms of her one true Prince - Jesus.

"Love....comes from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith." ~ 1 Timothy 1:5 NIV