tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52630433793868550602024-02-20T10:38:01.042-08:00HeldA journey through miscarriage,birth and motherhood.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.comBlogger149125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-14165956703827755352011-05-06T21:33:00.000-07:002011-05-06T21:55:30.963-07:00The prayer for traumaA couple of years ago I started the Beth Moore Bible study on the life of John the Beloved disciple. In one of the first few weeks Beth told a heart-wrenching story of a traumatic loss for a family she was close to and she shared the prayer she prays for times of trauma,when you just don't know what to pray. I remember it like this: "Lord, if you don't show up, we will not survive." Sometimes the grief and devastation is too much to bear.<br /><br />A few days after that Bible study session, Jon and I went into our doctor's office with a list of hopeful questions for our almost eleven week pregnancy. We were so excited to see the baby's sonogram image. But when we saw the image, the baby was so still. No heartbeat. Our doctor was amazingly compassionate. He said and did all the right things. But in that moment, we needed more than anything the ministry of The Great Physician, to pray for us in groans we could not express. I prayed that prayer for trauma. "Lord, if you don't show up, we will not survive. Please show up here." And in the grief filled days and weeks and months that followed, He did. He showed up in astonishing ways at times, unexpected ways, but He showed up. I trust Him more after walking through that time than I trusted Him before. We passed through the waters and we did not drown.<br /><br />Since that time, we have seen other families walk through similar and much much more difficult traumas and unimaginable grief. I have prayed every time that God would show up for them like He showed up for us, that He would be gracious t<img class="gl_spell" border="0" alt="Check Spelling" src="http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" />o them, to rise to show them compassion. Something else I learned from Beth Moore was to place the hard questions in this world right between the bookends of God's love and His sovereignty. We will not always find the answers to why these things happen here, but we can always trust in His love and His sovereignty. This means everything to me.<br /><br />Tonight I am sharing this with you because I just learned that Ashley in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Alabama</span> has passed away. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Apparently</span> there were more complications than they knew and she died during surgery. I want to ask you to pray for her family. They have lost so much. How can they stand it unless God shows up? Please pray. I have asked our mutual friend to send me her husband's name and I will share it in a comment of this post when she sends it to me.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-84471709937234615722011-04-28T17:10:00.000-07:002011-05-06T21:56:22.632-07:00Prayer needI just saw this prayer request on facebook and thought I'd pass it on. Please pray for Ashley in Alabama. She lost her home and her pets in the tornadoes and is now in active labor at 22 weeks in the hallway of an overcrowded hospital. This is not somebody that I know so I can't promise any updates, but please pray for her. What trauma.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-55283734121393624682011-03-25T16:38:00.000-07:002011-03-25T20:05:32.735-07:00Sleeping on the jobHaving a two-year-old is amazing, but I feel like I need to be doing something all the time. All. The. Time. If I don't constantly pick up things around the house, it suddenly looks like a disaster zone. This can happen quickly. In the span of an hour it can look simultaneously like a house that's been lived in for decades and one that is half unpacked. Yesterday I spent Benjamin's naptime cleaning out the car and carseat instead of picking up the house a bit like I usually do. I was feeling really great about the way the car was looking when I walked into the house and saw that what I hadn't picked up seemed to have magically multiplied. By that time, Benjamin was waking so I didn't do anything about it.<br /><br />Needless to say, by his naptime this afternoon it had multiplied to outrageous proportions. I just kept waiting for the governor to come by and declare it a state of emergency. Benjamin and I had spent the morning with friends at the zoo, shopping, at lunch, and we were both pretty tuckered by naptime. I have been making it a point when he goes down to read at least part of a children's book to keep my children's book blog from getting stuck in a rut of the same old books I know by heart. So despite the mess around me, I stretched out on the couch with <em>Farmer Boy</em> by Laura Ingalls Wilder and read a chapter. But as Almanzo and his father hewed crossbeams for a bobsled, my eyes started to get heavier and heavier until I found myself dreaming weirdly of shopping at CVS for a bobsled and trying to use my coupons. Before I knew it, I had slept for close to an hour, Benjamin was waking up, and I still hadn't picked up the house.<br /><br />It actuallydidn't take long to get it in some order once I popped a <em>Toy Story</em> dvd in for Benjamin and gave him a snack. I am constantly thankful for my Shark floorsweeper, the lifesaver of any mother of a toddler. But the whole chaotic house week got me thinking.<br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I think my spirit is a lot like my house</span></strong>. If I neglect it for even a day, it starts to get cluttered up with so much laundry and dust, stinky shoes, and crayon marks on the furniture. I start to feel overwhelmed, to dwell on the wrong things, to feel more and more inclined to sleep on the job. It is my job to fill my mind with whatever is good, pure, lovely, and praise-worthy. But if I'm too tired for a few nights and I go to sleep instead of doing my Bible study, or I spend several days reading a Jennifer Weiner book and NOT reading something uplifting, I start to feel cluttered and dusty. I forget the good and lovely things and I get grumpy and short tempered. You know, no matter how often you dust your shelves, there will always be more dust accumulating (that's why I hate dusting, by they way). Cleanliness doesn't last on its own but a mess does. Neatness doesn't grow without help but clutter does. It's the same with my mind and my spirit. The growly thoughts grow without much help. The lovely thoughts need to be polished and shined and scented with lemon every day.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-19263704142359956542011-03-17T12:13:00.000-07:002011-03-17T12:18:43.197-07:00Hard To GetThis song is strong on my heart today. It was written by the inimitable Rich Mullins but is covered beautifully here by Phil Stacey. It is a great song for those times when you are struggling with so many questions. Like the psalmist David so long ago, we can know that our gracious Lord is willing to hear our hard questions and though He is hard to get, He wants to be known.<br /><br />I hope this song speaks to you today the way it speaks to me.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUCXC5K5PfY">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUCXC5K5PfY</a>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-71299020261926188172011-03-16T20:15:00.000-07:002011-03-16T20:20:47.452-07:00Let me hide<em><strong>Rock of Ages</strong></em><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br /><em>Rock of Ages, cleft for me,</em><br /><em>Let me hide myself in Thee;</em><br /><em>Let the water and the blood,</em><br /><em>From Thy wounded side which flowed,</em><br /><em>Be of sin the double cure;</em><br /><em>Save from wrath and make me pure.</em><br /><em>Not the labor of my hands</em><br /><em>Can fulfill Thy law’s demands;</em><br /><em>Could my zeal no respite know,</em><br /><em>Could my tears forever flow,</em><br /><em>All for sin could not atone;</em><br /><em>Thou must save, and Thou alone.</em><br /><em>Nothing in my hand I bring,</em><br /><em>Simply to the cross I cling;</em><br /><em>Naked, come to Thee for dress;</em><br /><em>Helpless look to Thee for grace;</em><br /><em>Foul, I to the fountain fly;</em><br /><em>Wash me, Savior, or I die.</em><br /><em>While I draw this fleeting breath,</em><br /><em>When mine eyes shall close in death,</em><br /><em>When I soar to worlds unknown,</em><br /><em>See Thee on Thy judgment throne,</em><br /><em>Rock of Ages, cleft for me,</em><br /><em>Let me hide myself in Thee</em><br /><em></em><br />I love old hyms. The church that Jon and I are a part of does not often sing them, but I find myself returning to them again and again in times of need. It seems just now that my prayer list is heavy and that my heart will break. From international devastation to the illnesses and personal losses of friends, I find myself in need of a Rock. A hiding place.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-64820555670642300772011-02-08T18:36:00.000-08:002011-02-08T18:44:34.513-08:00Beginning to sink<strong>Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, "Lord, save me!" Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him, "You of little faith," he said, "why did you doubt?" Matthew 14:29-31</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />It has been nearly eight years since the end of Jacob's Well, the ministry I worked for. I still dream about it sometimes. A lot, lately. In the past eight years I've noticed a tendency to turn myself over to grief when I think about it too much. I still feel it so.<br /><br />I still feel betrayed. I still feel embarrassed and guilty that I didn't have more discernment. I still feel an unbearable weight on my chest when I think of the friend whose marriage was taken by the enemy and so much more. I still sometimes weep when I wonder about the girls. And I still feel confused.<br /><br />I could sink in these feelings. And sink and sink. And drown. Gulp the water and feel it burn my lungs until I am finally beyond feeling. I could do that.<br /><br />Or I could do what Peter did. I could cry out, "Lord, save me!" and feel His hand catch me up. Feel Him set me in a spacious place. On solid ground.<br /><br />This time I choose this again. How many times has He saved me since the cross? I ask Him to do it again. I ask Him to cease my trembling and lift my chin. I ask Him to woo my friend, to lavish her with His unfailing love. I ask Him to seal the girls as His own forever. I beg that they will not reject the gospel because they saw it so abused.<br /><br />And I pray for the grace to cry out again the next time I begin to sink. His salvation is immediate even when my faith falters.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-5301371685581519492010-12-13T20:29:00.000-08:002010-12-13T20:31:29.883-08:00Christmas Book Give-Away Today!Today, on my Children's Book Quote of the Day blog, I'm giving away one of my favorite Christmas books! This would make a great gift for any adult or child on your list ;)<br /><br /><a href="http://www.childrensbookquotes.wordpress.com/">www.childrensbookquotes.wordpress.com</a><br /><br />You have until midnight tomorrow night to enter. Good luck!Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-11690470051194302182010-11-18T11:13:00.001-08:002010-11-18T11:18:20.990-08:00The Woman Who Lived In Her ShoesThere once was a woman who lived in her shoes<br />Feet ready to find something useful to do<br />Every hour of every day<br />She toiled and spun and slaved away<br />Packing kids' lunches and making their beds<br />"I am a good mother" is what she said.<br />With calloused heels and painful pinched toes<br />Her feet were swollen with motherly woes<br />"I hope they appreciate all that I do,"<br />Said the old young woman who lived in her shoes.<br /><br />There was a young woman who woke with a sigh<br />A dimpled cheek and a twinkling eye<br />She laughed at laundry, the dishes, the kitchen floor<br />She said, "Sunny days are not meant for chores!"<br />So she walked out to feel grass under her feet<br />And rolled a big ball with a baby so sweet<br />She smiled at the sun as it kissed her face<br />And wrapped her babies in a playful embrace<br />The sounds of gay laughter so filled her head<br />That she never could hear what the neighbors said<br />And though her scrapbooks were never done<br />Her memory was full of days spent in the sun.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-66256292320514035132010-11-12T07:38:00.000-08:002010-11-12T07:38:48.484-08:00The magic duck video<object style="background-image:url(http://i2.ytimg.com/vi/9uSTEQy8DKg/hqdefault.jpg)" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9uSTEQy8DKg?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9uSTEQy8DKg?fs=1&hl=en_US" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object><div><br /></div><div>Again, I don't know why it works. But it works. </div>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-88168317690560311282010-11-12T07:27:00.000-08:002010-11-12T07:37:38.905-08:00Babysitters<object style="background-image:url(http://i2.ytimg.com/vi/qvXMHNMipuI/hqdefault.jpg)" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qvXMHNMipuI?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qvXMHNMipuI?fs=1&hl=en_US" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object><div><br /></div><div>The above video is one of the ones I've found to babysit Benjamin for me when I want to take a shower. It is hilarious--he marches around the living room clapping and stomping and shouting, "Amen!" Larnelle Harris, you are a great babysitter. We will be downloading this song for emergency use on road trips.</div><div><br /></div><div>The other video I regularly use for either babysitting Benjamin or cheering him up if we wakes up grumpy is the duck video. I really don't know how I discovered that watching a mother duck lead her babies around would calm him, but it's worked for a while now. I don't argue with what works. </div><div><br /></div><div>For the average reader of my blog, I don't expect you to want to watch these videos. They are neither one the highest quality or the most entertaining. But, if you're a mama at the end of her rope, I offer these two baby sitters in hopes that they help you as they've helped me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Okay, I can't upload the duck video in this post, so I'm posting it in another.</div>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-300283200272648752010-11-02T12:41:00.001-07:002010-11-02T15:01:55.241-07:00My litte pumpkin...My little pumpkin is growing big. These two pictures are from this October.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJxg-_VbD5dRn6kLkIE0E9UqyYiaUB-e_rv1UQ0If9kbw96mHLspYH9TlcejQbmMG9G14_-EmkxKwMimPyQaVb0rgrU83hDBkvuQ8LOK4QVOl6cJegzdwwSsiQrR-vxJ0GcOBznVjaGS3Q/s1600/More+of+Benjamin+038.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535041221111900274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJxg-_VbD5dRn6kLkIE0E9UqyYiaUB-e_rv1UQ0If9kbw96mHLspYH9TlcejQbmMG9G14_-EmkxKwMimPyQaVb0rgrU83hDBkvuQ8LOK4QVOl6cJegzdwwSsiQrR-vxJ0GcOBznVjaGS3Q/s320/More+of+Benjamin+038.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Ne2E9Z7qvmhntSAeOeWQGZgOOrLIV3-v_fmydoVu98uF60tXL1Wi0g4KtqJAg4TnnGp4yW7UZvx_gHLSs-X0VCi-KlHcRSgXFQju4xQg0qzgw8bpkvxTvEggu2Ng_kDL5OFA_q7_Vs7C/s1600/More+of+Benjamin+033.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535041215208513138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Ne2E9Z7qvmhntSAeOeWQGZgOOrLIV3-v_fmydoVu98uF60tXL1Wi0g4KtqJAg4TnnGp4yW7UZvx_gHLSs-X0VCi-KlHcRSgXFQju4xQg0qzgw8bpkvxTvEggu2Ng_kDL5OFA_q7_Vs7C/s320/More+of+Benjamin+033.jpg" border="0" /></a> And these two are from October 2009. Back when he was a little baby.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhotJjnCXGHn2-9G_OTIECif0BzTipN1NZddUQWgozBkqgs4Gaty040NbC2KkPUegFIKyShKHHaDoxu1bBKbay2AUTogGfECauGvhSUFzy8q8A6moJRRViInM-WEb3u8GqO4j1GxROZ8xr2/s1600/pumpkin7.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535041209497839890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 212px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhotJjnCXGHn2-9G_OTIECif0BzTipN1NZddUQWgozBkqgs4Gaty040NbC2KkPUegFIKyShKHHaDoxu1bBKbay2AUTogGfECauGvhSUFzy8q8A6moJRRViInM-WEb3u8GqO4j1GxROZ8xr2/s320/pumpkin7.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QOMKsPPuPd8JfEY74TMavqpbNlWaHWoTYyFMrOgQMbmwnPp5waHUVBwo-zSfxnRFaS58QAQdz3a_zqi9yQj14Z3IHyB4eagSpYCQl986HoyYu4Ue8CImEJLf-YRaLCeM5pEj2dAgNZyM/s1600/102_0706.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535041204374725218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QOMKsPPuPd8JfEY74TMavqpbNlWaHWoTYyFMrOgQMbmwnPp5waHUVBwo-zSfxnRFaS58QAQdz3a_zqi9yQj14Z3IHyB4eagSpYCQl986HoyYu4Ue8CImEJLf-YRaLCeM5pEj2dAgNZyM/s320/102_0706.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />My goodness, how time gets away from you when a little pumpkin is growing before your eyes! He was so much fun last fall, but he is so much more fun this fall. I hope you don't mind a post all about what my boy does these days...</div><div> </div><div>Every morning, he literally hits the ground running. We put some books or toys in his crib every night so that he can entertain himself when he wakes up in the morning. He is a morning person, bless his heart, in a night owl nest. So he sits in there and plays in his crib for about forty-five minutes every morning before Jon gets up and gets him out of bed. As soon as his diaper is changed and Jon sets his feet on the ground, I hear him running as fast as his toddler legs will carry him all through the house. Sometimes to the toys first and sometimes to the kitchen. Eventually, he makes his way to my bedroom where he runs up to my pillow-pressed face and shouts, "Boo!" Sometimes followed by a sweet, "Hi." And a sloppy kiss. The best way to wake up, even for a non-morning person. </div><div> </div><div>I'm going to categorize this whole section <strong>"Things Benjamin Says,"</strong> but it won't be exhaustive. He says more words, phrases, and even whole sentences every day. I can no longer keep up. But here's a sampling:</div><div>He asks for Goodnight Moon this way, "Nigh, Moo--Moon!" In the book he can name the "light," the "bears" and their "chairs," the "cow" (with two syllables, like cow-wuh), the balloon "loon," the "hush," the "mouse" and the "house." He loves that book.</div><div>He also asks for "Gossie." The books are <em>Gossie</em> and <em>Gossie And Gertie</em>. He will "read" these to himself for a long time, saying Gossie's name and pointing and laughing at many pages. </div><div> </div><div>Benjamin names the following animals: Giraffe "raff," elephant "le-FUNT," dog is still "woof woof," cat is "m-YOW," goose, duck, bear and moose all clear as a bell, and lion "yun." Oh, and birds, but only and always in the plural. There's never just one bird. He has picked up on insects such as flies and flees because of the songs we sing at library story time. He calls butterflies "butt-fyes." </div><div> </div><div>Benjamin says "Pweeze" and "Tate-oo" (please and thank you) but only because we prompt him to almost every time. The only time he volunteers these social graces is when brownies or cookies are in sight. Then he can twinkle those blue eyes and say the prettiest "puh-weeeeze" you ever heard in your life. It's pretty irresistable. The grandmothers cave every time. He can also say "bwownie," "cookie," "crackah," "cheese," "wice," and "eggs." Eggs also has two syllables, in case you were wondering. He used to call cheerios "cheer-cheers" but they've recently been called "choes" pretty frequently. But so far, my favorite food word is "chichin." I sometimes feed him chicken just to hear him say it. He is also very fond of "getty" but it's pretty messy. He says the names of most foods, actually, and if he can't get the word out he'll just say, "food!" The boy likes to eat.</div><div> </div><div>Okay, that's probably enough of what Benjamin says, but I just never get enough. Even now I'm resisting the urge to tell you some other words. But let me tell you some things he does.</div><div> </div><div>He helps me pick up pecans. He likes to color and always wants me to write his name. "Name, pweeze. Mama, name." Over and over and over. He is extremely ticklish. He likes to hide behind the shower curtain, the couch, a blanket, a chair, etc. and jump out with a "Boo!" He giggles while he's hiding and laughs hysterically when he pops out. He likes to climb up on my back and demand a "rye" or ride. When I'm in the shower, he watches his "mew-mee," a Baby Einstien movie or "The Little Mermaid." (I know I should not do it, but if I don't have a shower I'm a bear.) He likes to sing and dance. He thinks every number is the number 8. He'll point to other kids' shirts that have numbers like 1 or 7 and proudly say, "Eight!" He can count to three but he almost always skips the number one. He loves to cuddle and rock. He lovesto go outside. </div><div> </div><div>At bedtime he prefers to turn off the light himself, he reaches for "George" (Curious George), kisses mommy and daddy and says, "Night, night."<br /><br /><br /></div><div></div></div></div>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-21032047203515238132010-09-20T18:05:00.000-07:002010-09-20T18:55:15.661-07:00Deborah's Dream ContinuedAfter Jacob's Well closed, Jon, Shanna and I continued to do youth ministry with a handful of the teenagers that had been a part of the Well, but it was no longer a full-time gig. We all had jobs and Shanna and Jon had school. We had all been devastated by the loss of the ministry we believed in. I was in a state of total confusion and hidden depression.<br /><br />I believe God prepared me to come face to face with the sin that broke up our ministry by prompting me to read a book called <em>What's So Amazing About Grace?</em> only months before. The <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">extravagant</span> grace and forgiveness of God was at the forefront of my mind at that time, so I was able to extend His grace to others without much hesitation. But my theology was so immature, my heart so young, that I unknowingly sought to place blame somewhere else. I started to make excuses for the perpetrator to make it easier for me to forgive him. I blamed his parents for the way they raised him, his lack of formal ministry training, and most of all the demands of ministry itself and the tole they take on the minister's life. Somehow, in my immaturity and grief, I began to blame and fear ministry: the hours away from family, the constant demands on a person's time and emotional resources, the stress of working so hard for such small pay. My boyfriend was a Bible major and I began to fear being married to a minister. I worried constantly over this, especially after we became engaged. When he finally decided that he wanted to own and operate a business, I couldn't have been more relieved.<br /><br />Meanwhile, I served half-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">heartedly</span> in the church, teaching teenagers on Wednesday evenings and occasionally planning weekend events. Every once in a while I would get an itch to do something really good with the ministry. I would read something in my own Bible study that I couldn't help but share and I'd find a way to share it in a spectacular way. I truly enjoyed those times and those lessons, but they are overshadowed by the years of lackluster service. I regret this more than probably anything in my life, but I accept the grace and forgiveness of Jesus Christ over the accusations of the enemy.<br /><br />It didn't take me long to figure out that youth ministry wasn't really my calling, but I just couldn't find a way to quit. Even when I finally birthed the golden excuse, Benjamin, and stopped doing youth ministry I was plagued by the guilt of having wasted years to a fruitless task. I wept over the young people I should have done more with and didn't and I felt that if they had had a different youth minister maybe they would have made different choices, choices that kept them close to Jesus in their daily walks.<br /><br />But then, in the midst of my inadequacy and grief, God did something wonderful. It started with Beth Moore's <em>Breaking Free</em>, a study I had taken before. This time I got serious about it. I had been in women's group at church on a night when Pastor <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">D'Linn</span> looked me in the eye and said, "You are a pastor." It scared me to death. But I thought, <em><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">D'Linn</span> would never make that up. She would not want to say that to me. It must be from the Lord. And if I am called to minister, I need to find out how and where I am supposed to do it. I need to do it without fear. I need to do it in a God-honoring, fruit-bearing way. And I have got to figure out what is wrong with me so I don't pass on this bondage to my son.</em> So I took the study seriously. I worked through it and God worked in me.<br /><br />He revealed to me my fear of ministry and the root of it. He showed me the folly in it. And while I was breaking free from the bondage of fear, He was growing in me a desire to minister to women in my season of life--mothers of preschoolers. He was showing me that I had real talent for women's ministry all along. In women's group, when our teacher would talk about how women really don't like other women a lot of times because of the many ways they hurt each other, lots of women in the room would nod in agreement. I would hear testimonies of how they overcame their fear and distrust of other women to serve along side each other in the church. But I couldn't identify with them because I have always loved women, all ages of women. I crave girl time and girl talk. And I can decorate a table and serve a meal in a way that makes them feel special. I can pull devotional material out of chick flicks and novels. I realized, I was called to women's ministry all along. But I was still a little scared. Would God trust me with ministry of any kind after I gave practically nothing to the last one He put me in?<br /><br />Then I started another short Bible study on the book of Revelation. In it, Beth Moore challenged us to pray each week for God to reveal Himself to us, to speak to us directly. And He did! One night, in women's group, we were singing a song that has always touched me even though it's not the best tune. The words are:<br /><div align="center"><em>I went to the enemy's camp</em></div><div align="center"><em>And I took back what he stole from me</em></div><div align="center"><em>I took back what he stole from me</em></div><div align="center"><em>I took back what he stole from me</em></div><div align="center"><em></em> </div><div align="center"><em>He's under my feet. (x4)</em></div><div align="center"><em>Satan is under my feet.</em></div><div align="center"><em></em> </div><div align="center"><em>Can you believe what the Lord has done for me? (x2)</em></div><div align="center"><em>He blessed me, saved me, turned my life around,</em></div><div align="center"><em>Set my feet upon the solid ground.</em></div><div align="center"><em>Can you believe what the Lord has done for me?</em></div><div align="center"><em></em> </div><div align="center"><em>Look what the Lord has done. (x2)</em></div><div align="center"><em>He healed my body. He touched my mind.</em></div><div align="center"><em>He saved me just in time.</em></div><div align="center"><em>Oh, I'm gonna praise His name.</em></div><div align="center"><em>Each day He's just the same.</em></div><div align="center"><em>Go on and praise Him.</em></div><div align="center"><em>Look what the Lord has done.</em></div><div align="left">I admit that the reason this song has always touched me is that I would look around at the people in my church and be overwhelmed by what God had done for them. When we would sing the part "Look what the Lord has done," I would look around at recovered drug addicts and alcoholics and smile through my tears, thankful that the Lord had saved them. I never looked at myself.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">But when we were singing it that night, and the prayer for revelation was still warm on my lips, God turned my eyes to myself for a moment and then dazzlingly to HIMSELF. He reminded me of a dream my friend Deborah had told me six years earlier. And He reminded me of a time only a year or so ago when my mom told me she had had a dream with a car in it. She learned that often cars in dreams symbolize a person's ministry. I can see Deborah's dream as vividly as if I had dreamed it myself and the Lord has made it so.</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"><strong><span style="font-family:georgia;">The enemy came in the night and took the insides out of my ministry. Only the outer shell remained. It had no engine to move it forward, no seats to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">accommodate</span> passengers, no steering wheel to guide it. But the enemy was chased down, forced to return everything he stole piece by piece. And more. Jesus is faithful to turn a broken down heap of junk minister into someone who can go far with Him. This time, not only will the car work, but I will have more to work with--the lessons like an anti-theft device, discernment that will send off an alarm when the thief jiggles at the handles. I am beginning slowly and gathering steam, but I am not afraid. Satan should be afraid of my God. Just look what the Lord has done!</span></strong></div>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-17670407844726022022010-09-16T07:40:00.000-07:002010-09-16T07:47:15.393-07:00I am Clark KentI have glasses. I've had them for years, but I only wear them when I'm driving at night. I probably <em>should </em>wear them all the time, but I haven't had my prescription renewed since Jon and I got married six years ago. So I only wear them when it would be dangerous not to, like when driving at night. Anyway, all of this to say that Benjamin has rarely seen me wear my glasses.<br /><br />Last Wednesday, when I got to my parents' house to pick him up after Bible study, I walked in with my glasses on my face. Benjamin ran to me when I came in, I picked him up and we hugged. But when he leaned back to really look at me, a most curious expression crossed his face. He frowned. He furrowed his eyebrows. Then he went to my dad. He scowled at me from my dad's arms. When I spoke, his expression softened but still looked confused. Finally, I took the glasses off and he grinned and came back to me as if to say, "Oh, okay, you <em>are</em> my mommy."<br /><br />Last night, same thing. I came in with glasses on. He stayed where he was and just stared at me like I was a stranger. I took the glasses off. He smiled his lovey mommy smile and gave me a kiss.<br /><br />By day, Super Mommy. By night, mild mannered Bible study student.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-47122442231253871302010-09-05T21:41:00.000-07:002010-09-05T22:15:19.777-07:00Testimony Part 3: Deborah's DreamI've been putting off writing about this because I just don't know how to tell the first part of the story. I've stayed awake tossing and turning and tugging on sheets trying to work out what to say and how, but I still don't know. So I'm just going to begin by giving you the basic background facts without any of the commentary I've thought of adding.<br /><br />The facts: I worked as the girls' ministry director for a ministry called Jacob's Well. This ministry for teenagers was under the missions department umbrella of a sizeable church. The people that I worked with were my closest friends at the time--we spent not only work hours, but many other hours together every week. Three of those people were members of the same family. One of them did something that destroyed the whole ministry and that family. Nobody ever told me exactly what happened--I had to piece it together later and I felt betrayed by being so close to the situation and yet knowing so little. I lost my job, a ministry I believed in, and several of my closest friends in one week. The founding church (a good church, still) handled this very badly. They shut down the ministry and quickly replaced it with something else, hiring all new people and hushing up the sin and its ramifications. I and a couple of other people who had been involved with the ministry did our best to carry on at a much smaller church that opened its arms to the kids we were working with. But the ministry was now on a volunteer basis, with no funding, and we were never given counseling to deal with what we had been through. I was only twenty years old. I spent the next seven years doing ministry grudgingly and by habit, withholding my heart to protect it, never speaking of what happened even to the others who were just as devastated as I was.<br /><br />Okay, now that that is out of the way, I can tell you the good part. Weeks after Jacob's Well closed, I went to visit a friend in a town about three hours away for the weekend. Just to escape the emotional rollercoaster that my life had become. Deborah was working as a nanny, living in a luxurious house and serving the Lord with joy. The family was out of town for the weekend so I went to stay with her in their home. She knew kind of the bare bones of what had happened. I remember sleeping so well that first night in a bed that felt like a really nice hotel bed, with a friend beside me who was so filled with the Spirit she just exuded it. When we woke up in the morning, Deborah told me the dream she had had in the night.<br /><br /><em>She said she had gone outside to her car to find that the entire inside of the car had been stripped--seats, steering wheel, engine--only the shell of the car remained. As she stood there she saw one of her Christian brothers chasing the man who had stolen the insides of her car. He tackled the thief to the ground and said commandingly, "You will return everything that you have stolen and more!"</em><br /><em></em><br />Deborah told me she felt like she was supposed to share that dream with me,to encourage me. And it did encourage me for a time. I knew that God could make something good out of a terrible situation. I believed wholeheartedly in His grace and mercy for the person I had worked with who had done something so wrong. I believed He would give me a new job, which He did. And everytime good things would happen to me (new job, something going well at church, getting engaged, getting married), I would remember Deborah's dream and think that the enemy was somehow losing ground. But he, the enemy, still held so much of my life captive and I didn't even realize it. My ministry with the youth at church was so stagnant, I no longer raised my hands in worship or prayed out loud, and I lived in terror that my Bible-major-fiancee would want to go into full-time ministry. Somehow I started blaming vocational ministry for the demise of my friend's family instead of just seeing it as the result of sin that is just crouching at the door, waiting to devour.<br /><br />I don't think I can write anymore tonight. I will try to finish this tomorrow. But I will tell you that it ends very well. This is a heavy post, but tomorrow's will not be. Weeping endures for the night, but joy comes in the morning...Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-76929401565434985402010-09-02T14:23:00.000-07:002010-09-02T14:24:51.644-07:00Give AwayToday I am giving away a couple of favorite children's books on my Children's Book Quote of the Day blog. Head on over there for a chance to win:<br /><a href="http://www.childrensbookquotes.wordpress.com/">www.childrensbookquotes.wordpress.com</a>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-36564554198660659932010-08-06T21:10:00.001-07:002010-08-06T21:42:32.854-07:00Testimony Part 2: WatersThis is not a chronological testimony. I just think you'd be bored to tears with that. I am just starting to really grasp what a testimony really is; I am just beginning to see how God weaves interactions and experiences together into revelation. He reveals Himself to me. He reveals Himself through me. Anyway, here is part two.<br /><br />I was probably ten or eleven years old, floating in the surf of the Gulf of Mexico on an inflatable raft. It was just before dusk; the South Padre Island crowd was thinning and I was just enjoying the sounds of the waves as I drifted in the cool salty water. I looked up on the shore and saw my grandparents sitting in their beach chairs. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Mumsie</span> was reading while her toes drew arches in the sand. Pops was looking out to sea and spitting sunflower seed shells over his shoulder. Suddenly, I realized that there would come a day when they weren't sitting there; someday, like other grandparents, they would be gone. Tears slipped down my cheeks and joined the salty water that enveloped me. I couldn't stand the thought of it.<br /><br />Loss has always been my biggest fear.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Mumsie</span> passed away when I was eighteen. Once again sorrow crashed over me in waves that I could hardly stand. I choked on the bitterness of those waters. I had never lost anyone before that. I had never really experienced death. I don't even think I had ever been to a funeral. For several months after she died I walked in rebellion to the Lord. I stayed semi-close to Him and to His people, but I withheld my heart. I went to regular prayer meetings at a friend's house but merely slept in the corner or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">journaled</span> my struggles while everyone prayed around me. I felt foolish for how hard it was for me to get past this first loss. After all, it is natural for grandparents to die; almost everyone I knew had lost at least one. They weren't behaving the way I was behaving. Finally, in a series of embarrassing encounters, friends helped me snap out of it. I renewed my friendship with Christ and started behaving like a person worthy of His call. He started using me again. But in the depths of my own ocean I still feared loss.<br /><br />The next big loss was not a person but a ministry. I handled it the best way I knew how to at the time. I was young and completely unprepared for the fallout. I will reserve that story for another testimony installment. For now, I will simply say that I again withheld my heart. The power of loss still held me captive in many ways.<br /><br />If you've read this blog or known me at all, you know the third loss well. April Baby. It was my greatest fear and it came to pass. I do not need to tell you again how it hurt to lose a life that had been in my own womb. I do not think it bears repeating now because it is not <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">necessary</span> for the testimony. I only bring it up at all because God did amazing things with me through that experience. He showed me that I could survive my greatest fear. He held me fast and showed up for me in ways I couldn't have imagined as I held tightly to Him. That was the difference--I held to Him. Only days before, I had heard a teaching by Beth Moore in which she taught us the prayer for times of trauma: "God, if you do not show up, we will not survive." I prayed it while I was still in the exam room. I prayed it into a pile of tissues that covered both my bed and the floor. I prayed it until my throat was sore and then Jon prayed it. And God showed up. He held me and I clung to Him and though I grieved, I feared loss less at the end of it than I had at the beginning. I cannot read the following without tears of gratitude in my eyes and goosebumps raised on my arm, the verse He gave to me in my greatest loss: <em>When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.</em><br /><br />My testimony stands today. It is true. It is true. The waters were deep but I did not drown. Thank you, Jesus. I praise your Name!Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-83247123957857101012010-07-29T18:46:00.000-07:002010-07-30T12:18:44.860-07:00The Word of TestimonyOkay, I have been feeling like I should share my testimony on this blog. I don't know why or for whom. Maybe just for my own benefit. I do know that there is one who is accusing the faithful of God day and night, trying every trick he can to wear us out and that we are told in Revelation 12:11 "They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony; they did not love their lives so much as to shrink from death." And if the word of my testimony will hurl that accuser down, who am I to shrink from speaking it? So, in it's rawest form, here it goes.<br /><br />I always thought my testimony was boring. I grew up in a city that routinely makes the top three list of churches per capita, a place where it was not only cool to be a Christian, but uncool not to be. I went to a mid-sized Baptist church every Sunday and every Wednesday from birth, Vacation Bible School every summer, and GAs (Girls in Action--to train girls in missions). I know you're already bored and I haven't even told you that I accepted the Lord at the age of nine at VBS and was baptized at the age of 13, about the same time my family started attending a larger baptist church and I got involved in the youth group. I wore a "promise ring," which is a silver James Avery ring with a cross cutout worn on the wedding finger as a reminder to save yourself for marriage. I went to "See You At The Pole" and decided it wasn't enough to pray once a year at school. I got a group of friends together and we prayed every day in a chemistry teacher's classroom before school. In high school I attended a weekly college/high school worship service/teaching called Grace Bible Study on Thursday nights. It was easy to be a good girl. It was easy to do the right thing. Today I am grateful for this boring growing up.<br /><br />Last night, after writing the above and saving it as a draft, I just couldn't stop feeling that this is not the testimony I am meant to share. It is true, it is the traditional way to start one, and it is boring. But it is not what sends the enemy packing. As I was falling asleep, I felt like God brought to my mind the image of our family's Christmas stockings. (Bear with me.) Our stockings are my favorite part of the Christmas decorations at my parents' home. They are all lovingly hand-crocheted in various reds, greens and whites. My great-grandmother crocheted the first several and my mom took over additional family members' stockings over the years. On Christmas morning, they are to be found bulging with gifts--a wonderful mixture of the sweet but useless, treasured heirlooms passed down, things that someone found "just for so-and-so," and the very practical. If you were to open my stocking, for example, on Christmas morning you would probably find lots of candy, a few pens and sticky-note pads, a book or two from my Amazon wishlist, something that used to belong to my grandmother that my mom or Aunt Connie is now handing down to me, good-smelling hand lotions, chapstick, razors and toothpaste, a scratch-off lottery ticket, and a pocketknife or small kitchen utensil. Obviously, all of this does not fit into the stocking neatly. The stockings are all bulging with little treats, sitting atop stacks of bigger treats, leaned against chairs or couches or the fireplace.<br /><br />Like I said, I could not get the image of our Christmas stocking out of my mind last night. I believe that God means it for a picture of the things my family gave me. For the most part, it's been good stuff. I was handed down a Christian heritage and many wonderful traits from the godly family members that came before me. People who had/have hearts for worship and prayer and teaching and service. Some of these things have been gifted to me like priceless heirlooms lovingly wrapped and opened with tears of gratitude. Some things my family has given me have been as useful as razors and kitchen utensils and pocket knives--qualities and words of advice that have made life easier when I've remembered to use them. Other things had the potential, like pens and sticky notes and cash, to be used for either good or not-so-good ends. I could choose what I did with these gifts, making them a blessing or a curse by my own decisions. And others have been temptations, like so many Hershey Kisses, that I've had to walk away from with will power and resolve lest I become rotten-toothed and fattened by indulging in the sins of my forebears.<br /><br />Isn't this true of everyone? We all receive both good and bad gifts from our families. I'm so thankful that mine was more good than bad. But the bad does have to be done away with in its time, and unfortunately, in a sea of so much good it can hide longer than it ought to. As I share my testimony in these posts, you'll see how I have had to deal with the fears and worries, the gluttony and the control, the gossip and the judgement that have been given (so unknowingly) to me by the family members who came before me. And I hope you'll see how "worth it" I am beginning to feel that it is to not pass these down to Benjamin. I want his testimony to be so much more boring than mine.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-4941330863888246732010-07-28T12:20:00.000-07:002010-07-28T12:37:16.267-07:00I just thought I'd use this Benjamin nap time (yes, we finally got the hang of a regular, in his crib, nap time!) to update anyone who may still be reading this blog. I find it harder and harder to find time to write now that Benjamin want to "help" me anytime he sees me typing. By the way, if you ever receive any nonsensical text messages, facebook messages, or emails from me you should know that it's Benjamin saying hi.<br /> We have had a wonderful July. We made the long drive to Illinois early in the month to visit Jon's grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins there. While there we also got to see his sister Beth and her family (their son Jackson is one week younger than Benjamin!). We rarely get to see them since they live super busy lives in North Carolina. Our Abilene family members also made the trip. It was great to have the whole clan together for a couple of days. It was a fast but wonderful trip. We didn't even mind the long drive that much. In fact, Benjamin took that opportunity to graduate from his rearfacing carseat to frontfacing. He loves facing forward so much! Every few minutes he would wave to us in the front seat, just so happy to be able to see us.<br /> When we were driving through Tulsa on our way home from Illinois, my sister called in the midst of her first labor contraction! The next afternoon, my nephew, Ryder, made his debut into the world! He is a big boy (8lb, 10oz) and Whitney had a rough time delivering him, but everybody is healthy and happy now! He is really a handsome little thing and just as sweet as a chocolate covered strawberry. I am his favorite aunt. In a few weeks, when Whitney goes back to work, Ryder will be spending his days over hear with Benjamin and me. It will be nice to have a little baby around, but pray for Benjamin and I to adjust well to the new schedule and routine.<br /> I have also been getting more involved in my local MOPS group and will be serving on the steering team for this next year. I am already looking forward to it so much. MOPS really saved my life in my first year of motherhood. I was so lonely and scared before I found other Christian moms to encourage me and to encourage in turn. I'm so happy to be able to give back this year.<br /> Jon, Benjamin, and I have made a few other short road trips this month to the Dallas/Ft. Worth area. I spent a wonderful girls' night in Corinth with Shanna, Shasta, Shanara, Micah, and Jamie then met Jon and Benjamin in Ft. Worth to surprise our good friend Brent on his last day as a first year medical student. We had a great lunch with Brent and his wife Jordan, and Shanna at a mediterranean grill. It was a great time of encouragement. Then, just this past weekend, we made the daytrip to Mesquite for Jon's cousin Lauren's wedding.<br /> He's waking up. I'll have to update more later.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-51436456353588962892010-07-07T09:49:00.000-07:002010-07-07T09:56:21.321-07:00Heartbeat DayTwo years ago today we heard Benjamin's heartbeat for the first time! It was our second ultrasound in one week and I was just desperate to hear that quick little pulse. I don't think I'll ever forget that moment. I had prayed that he would have a strong early heartbeat, and that God would give him a heart to know Jesus. I'm not going to write a lot about this because I don't have a lot of time to get emotional today.<br /><br />Tonight, to celebrate, we will have something heart-shaped for dessert. Probably brownies. I think this will be even more fun in years to come when Benjamin can understand why we eat heart-shaped food every year on July 7. I want him to be confident that we loved him from the very first moment and that his life is something to celebrate.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-73809886612023480222010-06-21T09:11:00.000-07:002010-06-21T09:36:48.665-07:00Not the nannyMy mom got us a jogging stroller this weekend (nearly new at a garage sale: $30!!!) so Benjamin and I decided to try it out this morning. When I wheeled it out to the car, I thought, "I may never get it folded up to put in the car!" But, to my surprise, it folded up easily...with one hand! I think only a mother can appreciate how happy that made me.<br /><br />On the way to ACU, I realized that I forgot my cell phone with which to call the friend I usually walk with. So it was just the two of us--Benjamin and me. The new stroller was smooth as butter and Benjamin was asleep before I had walked a quarter of a mile. The path was especially lovely today, fragrant with the blossoms of various trees, and breezy in the ample shade. When we passed the fountain lake (just a big pond with a fountain, but just wonderful), a wonderful cool breeze off of the water reminded me forcibly of summers at the beach as a child. I closed my eyes and imagined I was standing with my feet in the surf, breathing in the fresh ocean air. My heart was so full. When I breathed out, it was with a prayer of thanks. With every blossomy tree I passed, I thought of the poem I've loved since high school: <em>There are days we live as if death were nowhere in the background/From blossom to blossom to sweet impossible blossom</em>. When we neared the car at the end of two miles, it was getting too hot to continue for another two but Benjamin was still asleep. So I stopped in the shade and drank water while the wind rocked the stroller and showered us with tiny crepe myrtle flowers.<br /><br />When I saw Benjamin starting to stir, I pushed the stroller the rest of the way to the car and turned it on to get the air conditioner running. By now it was really very hot out. I strapped him in the carseat and gave him a box of raisins. Then I went to fold up the stroller. I pulled on the handle. Nothing happend. I stepped on the lever. Nothing happened. I pulled and stepped simultaneously. Nothing happened. I started to sweat in earnest. I tugged and pulled and pushed and scratched my head and held my tongue just so. But still, the stroller didn't budge. At one point I managed to get it folded about a fourth of the way and tried to stuff it in the car that way, but it wouldn't fit. I dragged it back down to the concrete and started over. I don't know how long I fought with that stroller before I swallowed the giant lump of my pride and waved over some mamas who were walking the path with their children. "Do either of you know how to fold a jogging stroller?" I begged. They didn't know but offered to try. The three of us tugged and examined and pulled and pushed and stepped.<br /><br />Then one of the ladies looked up at me and said, "Are you the nanny? They didn't tell you how to do it?"<br /><br />No, I'm not the nanny. I'm the mommy. The mommy who has no idea what she's doing. I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. "It's a new stroller," I said. "I haven't used it before." They understood. They had been there too. Although they had fought with strollers in their own garages, not in university parking lots. I told them how it had folded up so handily just an hour ago. Then I took a deep breath and gave it one last best try.<br /><br />It folded up easily. With one hand and one foot.<br /><br />The three of us cheered. Benjamin was almost finished with his raisins. The other ladies' children were rolling up on their skate boards to say that they wanted to go watch the football players now, that they had <em>promised</em> they could watch the football players. We all sighed and smiled and understood each other.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-83328228891556118232010-06-14T11:07:00.000-07:002010-06-14T11:36:37.951-07:00The Third Little GoodbyeMotherhood is made up of many little goodbyes. Today marks our third.<br /><br />The first little goodbye was when he left my womb. We had been inseparable for nine months and I knew his every little move, gloried in his kicks, rolls and stretches. He heard my steady, slow heartbeat as his constant lullaby and I revelled in the times when I could hear his rapid, growing heartbeat through a monitor at the doctor's office. Then he was born in a wonderful "Hello world!" that was also a "Goodbye sweet womb." The first little goodbye.<br /><br />The next little goodbye was when he moved into his own crib. When we brought him home from the hospital, he slept feet from me in a beautiful round bassinet. If he wimpered in his sleep, I heard and answered. If he scooted over, I saw and marvelled. If he wiggled his feet out of his swaddling, I giggled and snapped a picture. But he grew too big for the bassinet and, at two months, we moved him into his crib in the room just down the hall. He sleeps better there. So do we. But it was the second little goodbye.<br /><br />And, now, with tears filling my eyes I will tell you about the third little goodbye. When he was two days old, my milk came in. We worked hard those first few days to learn the beautiful rhythm of nursing. I would stroke his jaw with my finger until he opened his mouth wide as a baby bird's beak, then we would connect in a wonderful bond of mother and baby. He would drink as his eyes rolled back in his head and I would just watch him. At first, it seemed to take him forever to complete a feeding. I would read memoirs of other mothers, check email, blog, or write thank-you notes while he nursed, balancing his tiny body on the nursing pillow. Then, as he grew bigger, he also nursed faster and wiggled around more. He would open his astonishingly blue eyes wide and look at me while he nursed, then pull away and smile with a satisfied sigh that drew a proud smile from my own lips. For a while, he even had a little white milk-blister right in the middle of his top lip. After a time, we learned our favorite nursing position--side-lying. If he woke in the night, Jon would bring him to me in our bed and he would lay beside me, tummy to tummy, and nurse until he was finished. I could just lie in the dark, listening to the quiet gulping and feeling his warm baby skin against me. Sometimes I'd doze in and out of sleep. When he finished, I'd carry him back to his own crib where he'd stretch and roll over to his tummy to dream sweetly. At bedtime, I'd nurse him in the rocking chair that was Mumsie's and mom's and now mine. I'd nurse and Jon would pray over us. Then I'd carry Benjamin to his crib and lay him down with a kiss on the cheek. Last night, at 8:22pm, we did this for the last time. When he woke up this morning at 6:00am, instead of bringing him to me to nurse, Jon took him to the living room and gave him a cup of whole milk. The extruciating thing is that he didn't seem to mind the difference. Tonight, while I am at Bible study, Jon will put him to bed. For the rest of this week, we will follow a new routine. Jon will put him to bed and get him up in the morning. We are confident that, after one week, he will not remember the ritual that sustained his life for nearly sixteen months. He will not miss it. I will be able to give him a cup or bottle of milk without him tugging at my shirt. And it will never be a part of his permanent store of memories, which is as it should be. But I will never forget the joy and frustration and freedom and slavery of breastfeeding my baby. So far, the third little goodbye is the hardest.<br /><br />I know that there will be other goodbyes. Sooner than I think, he will go to kindergarten and then junior high and then high school. He will someday leave my car for his own wheels. He will graduate from high school and move on to college. He will leave our home. He will make his own. Motherhood is a whole series of little and big goodbyes. We know this when we sign on for the job. Without the goodbyes, our little birds would never soar. And I want him to soar high. But perhaps no one will think too harshly of me if I just cry just for a little while now while he's napping.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-83142144912232375772010-06-03T18:00:00.000-07:002010-06-03T18:05:39.686-07:00The Wonder Years: Mommy's Unite!I read this post today and could not agree more with every thing she says. MOPS saved my life this past year, saved me from the loneliness that came from leaving a job where I daily interacted with dozens of other women to one where I daily interacted with an infant boy. It was a much bigger adjustment than I realized. MOPS became the best place for me to go and not feel embarrassed or judged about how I did anything parenting related, the best place to hear someone say, "You're doing a great job," and the best place to find someone else to pray for just to get me out of my own head. Anyway, especially if you are a mom, read this post and then "Get thee to a MOPS group!"<br /><br /><a href="http://wonderyearsof2.blogspot.com/2010/06/mommys-unite.html">The Wonder Years: Mommy's Unite!</a><br /><br />In Abilene, you can get thee to my MOPS group at Highland Church of Christ. Send me a message and I'll get you hooked up.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-45275872027493899482010-05-25T18:11:00.001-07:002010-05-25T18:19:01.260-07:00Living Sober, Riding FreeFor a great inspirational post today, head on over to <a href="http://ridingsober.blogspot.com/">my dad's blog</a>.<br /><br />I realize I haven't posted in a while. I'm thinking about many things and hope to post soon. Many of the things on my heart lately are covered in my dad's post today. For some reason, God has brought me a season of serious breaking free. It has been hard for me to really break free of the things that have kept me bound because my chains were not the ones you recognize and hear so much about. I have never had any problems with drugs, alcohol, sex addiction, etc. It seems to take longer to recognize the serious bondage of food addiction, fear of loss, fear of ministry, and idols of control because these types of bondage are acceptable in the church where drugs and alcohol are not.<br /><br />Anyway, I'm working through Beth Moore's <em>Breaking Free</em>, Gari Meacham's <em>Truly Fed</em>, and Marla Ciley's <em>Sink Reflections</em>. I am constantly amazed at how much the three have in common. The Holy Spirit is doing some stuff. Even the last book, which seems out of place, is being used of God to change my life and my home. I'll write more later.Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-73317221527917119642010-05-25T16:30:00.000-07:002010-05-25T16:34:50.741-07:00Cute Giveaway!!!Daisy Smiles Custom Jewelry (which is super cute) is giving away a $50 gift certificate on <a href="http://thebilberrys.blogspot.com/2010/05/get-excitedgreen-beans-giveaway.html#comment-form">Kathryn Bilberry's blog </a>this week! I'm trying to win and you should too. You can have the jewelry customized with your child's name or whatever you want. Head on over and check it out!<br /><br />(ps I'm always trying to win things on The Pioneer Woman. I feel like this gives slightly better odds. My fingers are crossed!)Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5263043379386855060.post-21293294216246153712010-05-04T15:15:00.000-07:002010-05-04T15:23:02.754-07:00Embarrassing.Just when you think you're the most embarrassing person alive, I come along on my blog to show you that you're not. I am.<br /><br />I've been trying to organize today. Which is why the maternity clothes box was out. Which is how Benjamin got some things out of it.<br /><br />Benjamin has been terrified of people knocking on the door lately. He screams and jumps into my arms.<br /><br />So, just now, one of Jon's employees came to the door to drop off some money from a customer. Benjamin screamed. I picked him up and opened the door without really paying attention to what Benjamin had in his hand. I talked to Zack, took the cash, and smiled at Benjamin waving to the Zack excitedly. Then I closed the door. And realized what he was waving in Zack's face. A package of maternity panties. Size large. Okay, that's a lie. Extra large.<br /><br />And I thought, <em>Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?</em>Kristihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663113547457507594noreply@blogger.com4