Thoughts on 30: Who Was that Woman in the Pictures?

Eight years ago I was in full-on wedding preparation mode. With just a couple weeks left until our wedding, I got my first professional makeover. I walked out of Sephora with products I absolutely loved, new techniques I’d never heard of, and a lot less money in my bank account. As years went by, I finished grad school, started a new job, then eventually had two babies and became a stay at home mom. With so much going on, makeup (and hair and clothes) became a much lower priority and I stopped putting much thought into what I was buying and instead just grabbed whatever was quickest and cheapest. 

But then a weird thing started to happen. When I saw photos of myself, I would have this moment of surprise and disorientation almost every time because the image didn’t look like how I felt. Anyone ever had this moment? At the time, my kids were 3 and 1 and I hadn't taken much time for myself since starting our family. And the thing was, it wasn't that I was having a pity party over the way I looked. It was just that I would look at the photo of that moment, and I would remember exactly how I felt and what I was saying and doing, and those feelings were never frumpy or lost or forgotten like the way I often felt I looked. Inside I felt young and bright eyed and like my life was full of wonderful surprises and joys, and it was bizarre to feel like I didn't seen that in myself in a still shot.

So I decided to make a change. And hear me say this: I truly believe your physical body is not what defines you. Even at my most out of shape or least trendy, I was always witty and smart and kind and no amount of exterior change could take that away from me. But I also decided there was nothing wrong with enjoying the fun things that come along with being a girl. I was confident in who I was because I was confident in who made me, but now I was ready to look in the mirror and see the girl I felt like I was inside, the girl who had been lost while focusing on everyone else but herself.

So I got more serious about having a healthier diet and regular exercise. I went and got a new haircut and started researching makeup. I had no idea what contouring was or a beauty blender sponge or even what shade I should pick in anything. And it bears repeating, the hair and makeup were not what made me me, but I was having SO much fun learning and playing around with the options and doing something that was just for me.

I went back to the basics, and in this case, that meant a lot of Google research and Youtube videos (which is so fun, but you will get sucked in for DAYS watching those makeup tutorials). I wrote all about the products that were a part of my beauty evolution here, you can read it to see all the ones I love the very most. But most importantly, I realized this journey was only a little about the products and a lot about taking the time to invest in myself and the things I enjoyed. My makeup looks better now, but more importantly, when I see pictures of myself I see the joy and energy that I am experiencing at the time. The photos feel like me, like how I see myself.

So take heart, my friends! It's never too late to start over and it's never selfish to spend a little time on yourself.

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A Season for Everything

Do you ever feel like you just have so much on your plate you don't even know where to begin? As a mom of toddlers, I feel like I'm constantly forgetting things and dropping the ball. But every parent who's a life stage ahead of me says you shouldn't expect for it to slow down; kids grow bigger and they get busier. The big picture can be overwhelming, I don't even always know what to tackle first on my to-do list. The questions start swarming in my head and I feel like I need 50 hours in a day instead of 24. 

Am I teaching my kids good character?  Do I participate enough in my husband's ministry job? Should I play a more active role in our church? Am I exercising enough? Am I eating healthy enough? Will God allow us to have another baby? If we can even get pregnant, how tight will our budget be with three kids while I'm staying home? Should I go back to work? Should we sign the kids up for sports already? Should I lead a small group? Am I teaching my kids about volunteering and serving others? Should I continue pursuing a career in graphic design after the kids are in school? Or do something with more of a steady income? When will I have time to finish all these house projects? Am I modeling how deal with hard things to my kids? What am I doing with the specific gifts God has given me? What are we going to do about the broken dishwasher? Should I be discipling more young women? How are we going to pay this bill? Am I meeting my husband's needs? Have I even seen him much this week or have things been too crazy? What even are my needs right now? When will I have time to do all this laundry and clean the house? HOW WILL I FIND TIME FOR ALL THESE THINGS??

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

So many questions, so many directions. And then it hits me, I'll never be able to solve all those questions and problems in a given week/month/year. But here's a question I can focus on:

What is my God-given purpose in THIS season? 

For each of us, this is different. For all of us, it's important. 

Some of you may have read that and known IMMEDIATELY what your God-given purpose is in this season. Some of you may have had a lightbulb moment that this is exactly why you feel so lost, you're unsure of what task you should be focusing on. Both of those are ok. Now is when you allow yourself time to think it over.

For me, once I posed the question and cleared out the clutter in my mind, it was pretty clear. I feel very peaceful about being home with my kids, that is a very specific role and list of duties that I can nail down. For this season, I need to focus on helping Titus learn to express his emotions in a healthy way and how to problem solve instead of exploding. He's having way fewer of his out-of-control tantrums, and I really believe that is happening because I've been home with him and his life is consistent. This is my purpose.

God gave me that little boy and knew I would make a great mommy for him, that I could handle the outbursts and love him through it; that I could calm him down and bring him comfort like no one else. This is my purpose. 

That when he wants to start screaming because he's unable to put into words how he feels, he needs me to look him in the eyes and explain things to him in an adult manner that most people don't use for kids, because he's unique and it works for him. This is my purpose. 

To tie shoes and brush hair and cut up apples because sometimes, you're too small to do things on your own. This is my purpose. 

To sit down with my kids and tickle them and teach them that joy can trump all other emotions if you let it. This is my purpose. 

To empower my little girl to be more than pretty by showering her with compliments about how she's smart and funny and silly and sweet and brave. This is my purpose. 

To teach them that sometimes, life isn't all about you. They don't know how much I serve them now, but one day they will look back and realize the sacrifices I have made (just like I did with my mom) and that sometimes loving someone means putting their needs first. This is my purpose. 

That's mine. Yours is yours. None is better, none is worse. There are so many things I could be doing or focusing on. But when you try to juggle them all, no one person or thing gets your full ability. I feel so much clearer when I let the other things fall away and lean into my purpose in this stage.

There will come a time for all the rest, because there is a season for everything. A season for laughter and dancing, a season for mourning and tears. A season for hard work and a season for respite. A season for speaking many words and a season for speaking few while we hear others instead. A season for health and a season where your body doesn't act or look how you want. A season for serving others and a season for recognizing your own needs. A season for your anger and a season for offering forgiveness. A season for pushing through trials and a season for relishing the good days. A season of recognition and a season of humble selflessness. A season for independence and a season for vulnerability. A season to celebrate new life and a season to let go in death. A season to cry out in anguish and a season to cry out in praise.

But not all of those have to be accomplished all at once.

For me, this is a season of service, sacrifice, and nurturing. Realizing my God-given purpose for this season doesn't make all of those other questions magically disappear. And it definitely doesn't mean there won't be a season in the future where my God-given purpose is directed at one of them. But it does make me feel washed over in grace to know I can focus on the task at hand and set a more realistic bar for what is expected of me.

A Humbled Heart

I have been quite a bit about my own pride over the past few weeks. Really, it's more a lesson in humility than anything, but the two are irrevocably tied together. I feel like so often I know I need to work on this area or that, I read scripture and sing songs and pray that I can be more like Jesus and less like myself. But this, THIS is different. Because this has been one of those rare times when without seeking it, the Lord has just demanded a heart change. Not that this probably wasn't a long time coming, but when Jesus decides that you need to be sharpened (and softened) there is no resisting. 

So here are my lessons in humility, in only as much detail as necessary so as to keep the focus on God's journey in repurposing me instead of my individual story. 

1) Humility through Under Appreciation

I have been faced with a few interactions over the last couple of months that left me feeling greatly under appreciated, and because Satan would love to justify my sin of relying on the approval of others, I initially masked my pride with anger. "How dare you?! Look at all I've done for you, and all you want is to ask for more? What gives you the right? If anything, you should be THANKING me for what I've done. I'm not going to do anything else for you until you acknowledge how much you need me and how great I am."

Pride demands recognition and awards. 

Humility serves quietly in the background. 

2) Humility through Forgiveness

You ever have an argument with someone you really care about and even though it's not easy for you, you hold your temper and apologize? Pride demands a pat on the back for that. And if that apology or kind words aren't reciprocated? Pride tells you to cut the relationship off, let them come to you if they want to make things right! You did your part, you offered the olive branch. For heaven's sake, don't GROVEL. 

But humility sees things differently. Humility says to forgive, to empathize, to think of others instead of yourself. Humility says it's not good enough to just be the "bigger person" and apologize first, but instead to seek reconciliation to its completion. Humility says to forgive without expectations of receiving forgiveness or an attitude of humility in return. 

Pride insists on everything being equal. 

Humility is never interested in winners and losers. 

3) Humility through Immaturity

Recently, I have been lucky enough to have my path intersect with some wonderful women who are older and wiser than me, and for the purpose of this post, much MUCH more humble. Women who truly have very little interest in self-promotion. Women who seek the Lord's counsel in everything, even something as small as posting an Instagram pic (or publishing a blog post). Women who are quick to admit they are still a work in progress and imperfect in many ways.  

The more time I spend with them the more I recognize that I am a closet know-it-all, feigning the passion for growth but always ready to prove how grown I already am. This is especially hard for me as a pastor's wife, because sometimes I feel that there is a higher expectation of "holiness" that I am required to meet. And that expectation allows for pride to take root in my heart with the need to prove to everyone that I won't let them down, that I AM super holy. But in the end, this doesn't prove anything except that the Cross is the only holy thing about me, without it I am incredibly broken and in need of saving. 

Pride doesn't care about age or life experience, it already knows everything and is always right. 

Humility is insatiably teachable, always looking for an opportunity to learn and look more like Christ. 

The thing is, I like being right. And I like winning, oh my GOODNESS how much I like winning. Which is exactly why I know that this lesson in humility would have never been my idea. To be completely honest, there have been many, many tears shed on this journey. Why am I not being treated the way I feel I deserve? Why do I keep having to be the bigger person all the time? Why does it feel like I'm the ONLY person choosing to be humble? It's just NOT FAIR (and I really, really like things to be fair. I'm a middle child, justice is my domain). But there is no scale in God's book measuring the goodness of me verses other people. The only scale He is using measures my character against the character of Jesus and I am sorely off balance. 

In the end, this painful lesson in humility is God's way of evening the scales, His way of nudging my side a little closer to Jesus; narrowing not only the gap between his character and mine, but also between who I thought I was and who I really am. 

Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up. James 4:10

Be kind. Seek compassion.

There's a darkness upon me that's flooded in light
And I'm frightened by those that don't see it.
-Avett Brothers

The death of actor and comedian Robin Williams has left me feeling brokenhearted on so many levels. The first of which is the simple fact that I can identify with his depression and understand the cloudiness that becomes your rational thought process while you are in the thick of it. During my relatively short bouts with Postpartum Depression after the births of both my children, I experienced an array of feelings that were completely abnormal for me, ranging from deep and uncontrollable sorrow to a choking feeling of desperation and a lot of times just a complete numbness, like I'd fallen asleep on my brain and it went numb like an arm or a foot.
I personally never had thoughts of suicide, but I did have moments where I just wanted to stop time and not exist. I couldn't leave my house but I didn't want to stay. I wished I'd never had children and thought my life would end without them. It's a daily battle of inconsistencies that cannot be explained or understood, even by the person experiencing it.

So my request is simple:
If you have never battled depression, seek compassion in this moment for those around you. Author Wendy Mass wrote, "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about." Her words could not ring more true in this scenario. Even someone who lives their whole life and builds a career out of bringing joy to others may be themselves, joyless. BE KIND. SEEK COMPASSION. Take the loss of this beloved man and learn from it. Those around you may be waiting for someone, ANYONE, to ask them how they're doing. And not just ask, but LISTEN. Be that person.

There is a darkness that accompanies depression that only the individual can sense, and there is nothing more isolating in the world than to feel like you are lost and alone in the deep. It's murky and you're drowning and it's exhausting to just EXIST some days...
and I think some people just get tired of swimming.


Be kind. Seek compassion. For everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about.

Photo courtesy of Ashley Tanaka

-Sarah Autry

The Truth about Postpartum Depression

One year ago today I was in the darkest place I could imagine.

I had given birth to Titus two months earlier and Garland had to work a summer camp in Colorado all week. The morning Garland left I held it together for about 2 hours before putting Titus to sleep in his nursery and collapsing on my bed, unable to do anything but cry. Cry isn't the right word, this was more like body-shaking-can't-catch-my-breath-wailing-like-a-feral-animal absolute sobbing. I didn't know what to do. I alternated between rocking back and forth like a lunatic and feeling unable to move,  as though I weighed 900 pounds. I kept pressing my hands to my face, like maybe if I pushed against my eyes hard enough it would force the tears back inside. Or maybe it would even pop my head like you would pop a bubble floating by, at least then I wouldn't be able to cry anymore. I was praying that Titus wouldn't wake up because I was afraid I would just pull the cover over my head even tighter and ignore the little baby in the next room. I sent a text to my friend Katelyn that said simply, "I need you." She immediately responded with, "coming right now." I laid back down, completely exhausted, and just stared at the ceiling fan as the numbness settled over me like ancient dust once again.

This, my friend, is what Postpartum Depression looks like. 

Luckily for me, we recognized the signs and symptoms quick enough that I was feeling completely back to normal within 5 months of delivery. While I had a relatively short bout with depression, I make no bones about the fact that it was by far the most difficult thing I've ever gone through in my whole life. I can tell you that one of the things that helped me immensely when this all started was hearing stories from other women who struggled with the same thing. The idea that I was not going crazy or alone in this struggle made me feel like it was possible to overcome. So because of that, I've chosen to use my blog to answer some of the most common questions I get asked about my battle with Postpartum Depression (PPD). My hope is that maybe another new mom would happen across this link and realize that there is hope and life after PPD.

When did you know something was wrong?
Nothing was wrong for the first few days. Then I started to not be able to sleep in the same room as Titus because every little noise he made gave me an adrenaline rush and a million questions rushed through my head (is he waking up? is he hungry? is he cold? is he stil breathing?). During the day when he was napping I would try to lay down in a different room and nap, but as each minute ticked by all I could think was, "I'm one minute closer to him needing me," and just could not fall asleep. After a few days of this cycle my ravenous appetite that I had gained from breast feeding dropped off drastically. I started throwing up and having diarrhea all day and could not keep any food down, I could barely even drink Gatorade. I just assumed I had a bug, but this continued for over 10 days. I would have times where I had to practically throw Titus to someone else while I was breast feeding so I could run to the bathroom and throw up. I had tons of tests done, a trip to the ER for fluids, a false guess by a doctor that it could be mastitis which resulted in a horrible pumping regiment (which only caused engorgement and leaking from too much milk), but still no solution. After all my medical tests came back negative, my trusted OB gently suggested that we should look into the possibility of PPD, which seemed absolutely absurd to me. I didn't FEEL depressed, my main problems were physical (I would even run a low-grade fever some days). How could this possibly be related to a hormone-induced depression? Not to mention it took us over a year to get pregnant, so I felt like having PPD meant that I was not grateful for the gift we had waited so long to receive. But in the end, he was absolutely right.

How did you know it was PPD and not Baby Blues?
This was the same question I kept asking myself over and over and over for the first few weeks after delivery. Baby Blues are usually classified as general emotional highs and lows that a new mom experiences within the first couple of weeks after delivery. This is a natural reaction to your body's hormones trying to adjust to no longer growing a human being inside of you! Before my PPD kicked in I had the Baby Blues, which manifested for me by having an emotional meltdown every night at 8pm. No joke, every night at 8:00 I would cry for absolutely no reason, I wasn't even sad! I talked to a lot of other moms who said they experienced the same thing at different times during the day.

I knew I had something greater than Baby Blues when I was having trouble getting "mushy gushy" over Titus. I had this desperate need to take care of and protect him, but I didn't really have that, "Oh my gosh, my heart could burst from love!" feeling that so many moms described. I tried to casually mention this to other moms without giving myself away completely, but it seemed like no one quite understood what I was trying to describe, so I stopped telling anyone how I really felt. This coupled with the physical symptoms made me realize that something extraordinary was happening to me.

What's the difference between Postpartum Anxiety (PPA) and PPD? Did you have both?
I would say that I mostly had Postpartum Anxiety with some PPD, but they generally go hand in hand. Since I was so anxious about Titus eating enough, and breastfeeding not going well, I wasn't sleeping hardly at all. The thing about sleep is that you need it not just to keep from being exhausted, but to give your body time to regenerate the things it has used up during wake times. One of these things is Serotonin, which is the chemical that creates the calming and happy feeling in your brain and is made while you sleep. If you don't sleep, you don't make Serotonin, and you can't feel at ease and happy. When the PPA would kick in, my heart would race without explanation throughout the day. No matter how exhausted I was, I would lay down and try to nap and feel like I had drank 6 cups of coffee. The best way to describe it is to say it was like I had no "off switch," I could not figure out how to make my brain power down and relax. The less I slept -> the less Serotonin I made -> the less relaxed I was -> the less I was able to sleep... and so the cycle continued. Eventually that lack of Serotonin also caused the crash in my emotional state, resulting in the depression on top of the anxiety.

Does PPD look the same for everyone?
No, it does not. For me, it was mostly numbness. I couldn't make myself feel anything toward Titus to the degree that I longed for. I just wanted to curl up in bed and not exist. I never had suicidal thoughts, I just didn't want to be where I was. The funny thing was, I also didn't want to be anywhere else. Thinking about leaving the house made my anxiety just as bad as thinking about staying in it. I was stuck. I just didn't want to BE anymore.
I have talked to women who did feel suicidal though, and others have even had thoughts of harming their baby. One friend of mine told me she would stare at a painting of bubbles in her bedroom and wish she could just disappear into it. Another mentioned she never consciously wanted to hurt herself but when she would go to sleep she would dream of ways to commit suicide and wake up panicking because she didn't want to do that. Yet another friend told me she would have horrible panic attacks whenever her husband left the house. She thought she might be having a heart attack and had to go to the ER because she would black out.
These things are all out of your control, it's a hormone-based brain response that is happening whether you want it to or not. However, if you are experiencing ANY thoughts of hurting yourself or your baby (even subconsciously you need to see your doctor right away.

When did it start getting better?
Once I accepted and acknowledged that I had PPD it was much easier to work on getting better. 

• My mom came down from Missouri whenever she could and I had her read the bible to me, or write down and post scripture in different places. A lot of people don't understand that if you are depressed and feel unable to connect with God, it's not necessarily from lack of trying. As much as I wanted to feel connected to Christ, I was numb in that area too. But when I would hear God's words spoken aloud I just cried, it was the only thing that could create a true emotional reaction in me.
• I started forcing myself to only think one hour at a time instead of focusing on the overwhelmingness of making it through a whole day or week. I would tell myself, "just make it through this nap time" or "Garland gets home in an hour, you can make it til then."
• I made myself get out of the house even if it was just going on a walk or to the mall. Even though I got extremely anxious about things going wrong when I left the house, it was a good reminder that the world had not ended and one day I would be a part of "normal life" again.
• Garland made me run to Sonic or get a pedicure or just go read at the park 3-4 times a week. The time away from Titus was stressful but also helped me to realize he would be fine if I wasn't there every second of the day.
• I tried to have someone with me at all times. Even though I was capable of taking care of Titus myself, I felt a huge burden lifted when someone was there. Katelyn Graves was my lifeline. She stopped whatever she was doing as soon as she got my call and would bring her laptop over and work from my house for entire days. She didn't even have to do anything, she just sat there beside me while I held a sleeping baby and watched tv and I had this overwhelmingly joyous urge to yell, I AM NOT ALONE. I will never in my whole life be able to explain to her the amount of gratefulness I have for how selfless she was during that time.
• Lastly, I talked with my doctor and decided to start taking the lowest dose possible of an anxiety medicine. This is a personal choice and I would never tell anyone to start medicine if they don't feel comfortable with it, but I know that for me it helped immensely. It took about 4 weeks to fully kick in, but I could notice things changes in about 2 weeks (read about that moment here). I stayed on it for 3 months and then just forgot to take the pill for a few days and that was that.

Are you worried about having it with your next baby?
Sometimes I do wonder about what will happen with our next child. Women who have suffered from PPD have a 50% chance of having it again (the average woman has only a 15-20% chance). I pray about it anytime we discuss having another child. It is definitely not a situation that I am in a hurry to revisit, but I know that I can't let the fear of a possibility rule my world. My God is bigger than any darkness and prepared a way out of the pit for me once, so I have no reason to think he could not do that again. I praise Him for the doctors, friends, and family that he sent me as individual ropes to tie around my waist and lift me when I was too weak to climb out myself.

So if you or someone you know is suffering from depression, please remember that it is a real thing but it doesn't have to be EVERYthing.

I waited patiently for God to help me; then He listened and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out from the bog and the mire, and set my feet on a hard, firm path and steadied me as I walked along. He has given me a new song to sing, of praises to our God. Now many will hear of the glorious things He did for me, and stand in awe before the Lord, and put their trust in Him. 
Psalms 40:1-3

To Work or Stay at Home: Is the Grass Always Greener?

I saw an interview the other day with a woman named Sheryl Sandberg, who is the COO of Facebook. The conversation was all about her new book, Lean In, and how not just men should be getting important roles in the workforce. Sandberg's main point was to say women should be treated equally and deserve high powered jobs just like men, which is not necessarily a novel idea (nor an idea that I disagree with). But the interesting part was when the interviewer asked Sandberg if she felt like she had a good balance between her home and her work. As a married mother of two, she seemed pretty reluctant to admit any difficulties in navigating her extremely busy lifestyle (after all, this was an interview in support of women working, admitting it was hard might be like admitting it was wrong). Sandberg, like all of us (working or staying home), seemed to be trying to convey the message that she could do it all! and everything on her plate was manageable.

This really got me thinking about the work vs. stay home discussion that has been passed around mom groups everywhere. There's no easy answer, and there are obviously pros and cons to both. But when Sandberg was asked if she felt like she spent enough time with her kids, the busy COO said that she, like every working mother, feels "job guilt" about not spending enough time with her family and is "somewhat intimidated" by moms who DO stay home. I started going through my mental rolodex of working moms that I know and I couldn't disagree with her. In fact, I couldn't recall many (if any) that had not mentioned at one point or another that they sometimes wished they could stay home or felt guilty that they couldn't. On the flip side, as a SAHM (Stay At Home Mom) myself, I have often felt intimidated by working moms because when people ask me "what I do" it often falls flat to say, "Oh, I stay at home." It seems that some people have a viewpoint that SAHMs lounge around most of the day and then cook dinner at night, leading me to feel defensive and inadequate compared to moms with "real jobs."

Which leads us to the topic of the discussion, is the grass always greener when it comes to your career as a mom?

To be honest, right after Titus was born I wondered if I had made a HORRIBLE mistake in quitting my job as a crisis counselor. I had such a passion for my clients and our ministry, and all of the sudden instead of a highly challenging and stimulating job, I was now sitting on the couch 17 hours a day and watching Real Housewives marathons because he would only sleep if I held him- and when he wasn't sleeping, he was eating.

I was bored. I'm not afraid to say it. And here comes more word vomit: sometimes I still am. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, I'm just trying to be transparent here. Titus is almost one and although things have gotten much more interesting around our house as he's gotten older, there's not much mental challenge in walking a baby in circles or sitting behind him while he bangs on the coffee table. I love him dearly and I find him so funny and sweet and entertaining, but that doesn't mean that he fills the mental space that my job did. In fact, that's why I started my Etsy shop, because I needed something to STIMULATE me. That is, in fact, the best way to phrase the missing piece of the puzzle. When you hang out all day with a person who can't communicate and does very little besides roll around and drool and try to eat their own fingers, you don't feel very stimulated. I know, there are play dates and trips to the park and running errands, etc., but in all sincerity, a majority of my week as a SAHM is spent staying home (i.e. the title), even with all that stuff plugged into our schedule. And when we do get out of the house for "activities" ( Target, mall walking, Hobby Lobby) it seems like we mostly do so just so we can fill up the time in the day, not because we actually need to do it.

On the flip side, I can't imagine having to get myself and a baby dressed and ready to go in the morning. Most days I wear yoga pants and sometimes I don't even brush my teeth til 10am, so I can't imagine getting my hair and makeup and clothes fixed plus diaper bag packed and breakfast for a baby. And if I only had time to clean, cook, and do laundry after 5pm I feel like it would never get done! My house would be a total disaster. Not to mention that I would hate only getting to see Titus early in the morning and late at night. Plus, even if I still had my old job, the majority of my income would go to childcare, which would make the financial benefit just about a wash.

So what's the answer? Work and feel guilty for missing out on time with your kids and rarely having a clean house? Stay at home and feel jealous of those who leave the house each day and actually have adult conversations?

I know for me I wouldn't trade staying at home for anything. That's not meant to sound noble, there are definitely days I wonder what it would be like had I chosen to do things differently. But at the end of the day, I know for me the pros outweigh the cons at this stage in our life. When I'm done having kids and they're a little older I think I would love to go back to work, but its been a huge (and ongoing) process for me to accept that this is not a temporary setup, but instead the career path that I have chosen long term. I will hold the job title of "mom" longer than any other job in my life, and this is only the beginning of putting others wants and needs ahead of my own each day. And as cheesy as it may be to say, I really can't imagine doing a more important job than raising my children to be respectful and contributing members of society and trying to create a sane and stable living environment for them to grow up in.

So what do you say? Is the grass always greener? Have you ever wondered or wished you were doing the opposite of what you chose?

My Best 154 Days

A friend of mine recently posted about Taylor Swift's new song "Ronan" which she wrote about a little boy who lost his battle with cancer at the tender age of four. I, of course, couldn't help my curiosity (even though I know these types of things make me an emotional wreck for hours/days afterward) and googled the story. I found the blog written by Ronan's mommy, Maya, where she had penned the story of her sweet boy and his hard fought battle. I read all about her love for Ronan and her guilt that she couldn't save him and her genuine belief that even up until the very last second, they would receive a miracle. Then (just to torture myself) I looked up the video of Taylor Swift singing the song at the Stand Up 2 Cancer benefit. Taylor (we're on a first name basis) had taken bits and pieces from her conversations with Maya and excerpts from her blog and composed a song from Maya's point of view. She sang of ghost memories of Ronan still dancing in the house and how she could still feel his hand in hers and of the moment she gave him permission to let go. And most importantly, she sang about how lucky she was to have even gotten a single day with him, singing, "You were my best four years."

I was already sobbing from reading the blog (I only made it through 1.5 posts and one picture of sweet Ronan) and this really sent me over the edge. I'm talking, kneeling on the floor and praying to my sweet Savior to hold this family close. I just prayed over and over again that he would bring them comfort and thanked him for my little blessing asleep in the next room.

It seems that since Titus became a part of our lives these stories are happening more frequently, although I'm sure they happened before him. I just have a heightened awareness now because as a mommy you cannot help but think, "What would I do if that were my sweet baby?" When I was pregnant a couple that is in Community Group with close friends of ours lost their toddler in his sleep with no explanation (Hill Family Blog). Another couple lost their baby at 23 weeks pregnant after already knowing the gender and having the name picked out. My Facebook newsfeed seems to be covered with Pages dedicated to precious babies who are fighting or have lost their fight to different syndromes and diseases. Most recently, some good friends of ours delivered their baby early due to complications and our gracious Lord has given her the chance to live (Kaundart Family).

Half of me screams AVOID! AVOID! as soon as I see these stories, but the other half quietly whispers "Life is but a breath," and reminds me to cherish every second I have with Titus. There are so many moments that we were not promised and yet we were given anyway.
Moments like when we were finally able to get pregnant and he grew big and healthy in mommy's tummy. When he was born and his arms flailed around wildly and his lungs filled with air. The first time that he smiled and his eyes changed completely, like they learned how to glitter. When he first used his jumper and his tiny world was filled with joy. The many times he has snuggled into my chest when he is sleepy. His old man laugh that is so infectious. All the bath times where he has kicked his feet and surprised himself when he splashes water in his face. The moments he stares at me with his big blue eyes when I'm feeding him like I am the only person in the whole world.
All of these are gifts.

Titus has been with us for 154 days now.
My best 154 days.

Dust to Dust

Last night I started looking at pictures of Titus from when he was born and for the first time felt like I just wanted to freeze today and keep him as my little baby forever. He was already in bed for the night and it took everything that was in me not to go and pick him up out of his crib and hold him close in hopes that maybe we would just melt together and I could love him even more than I already do.

Thinking about how fast he has grown has really made me aware of all that my Postpartum Depression stole from me. When I look at Titus now I frequently hold back tears because I just feel so ridiculously blessed when he's in my arms. I never felt like that when he was born, if anything, I resented him and there was more than one dark moment where I vividly remember wishing (in secret) that I hadn't even had a baby. I would hold him and nurse him and instead of feeling lucky I felt burdened. All I wanted was for him to exist independent of me because if I could just not be responsible for him then my heart and mind would go back to normal. Of course, that was all the PPD talking and was completely irrational. 
As I looked through those first pictures of him when we came home from the hospital I wept from all the love I withheld from my sweet boy for those first 6-7 weeks. And it was never intentional, i just didn't even know how to foster that love; it seemed like all I was capable of feeling was the numbness. Titus will never remember whether I took care of him those first few weeks out of duty or adoration, but I will always remember the exact day the fog started to lift and I could not stop kissing his little cheeks. It was like I was swimming to the surface and finally got close enough for the sun to begin taking shape. From that moment on my heart started to carve out a space big enough for this tiny baby which has only continued to grow as the days go by.

I had to stop looking at pictures and pray to the Lord to remove my regret and sorrow. I know that you can't predict or prevent PPD, but I still felt horrible for ever having missed out on a single hour of joy with my son-hours that felt wasted because I could never go back to when he was that little and relish the moment when all he wanted was for his mommy to hold him all day long. As I prayed I was reminded that of course I felt brokenness and hurt over Titus changing and growing up. The things of this world never stay the same and we will always experience sorrow as long as we are here because the world is corrupt and we are mortal. Yet no matter how many days and years pass that we cannot retrieve, there is always one thing that stands alone in its ability to evade the passing of time, and that is the promise of an eternal joy through Christ.

There will come a day as I get older where I will begin to frequent more funerals than weddings. Morbid, I know, but truthful all the same. Still, I am reassured that this difficult life is only as long as a single breath of air compared to the time I will spend with my Savior when I leave this earth.
There is an old hymn that my mom used to sing to me when I was little, Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus. Back then the words didn't make any sense to me, but now each line is filled with a bittersweet comfort that wraps around me; a warm sleepiness like cozying up in a favorite quilt on a cold winter night.


The chorus:
Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

So tonight I rest in Christ, knowing that heartache is inevitable and peace is only found in Him. My prayer is not that I would have an endless amount of moments on this earth with the ones I love, but that the ones I love would experience one grace-filled moment with the One who first loved them.

The Best There (almost) Never Was

I was reading an article today and this really stuck out to me:
"Consider the following:

• A preacher and his wife are very poor and almost destitute. They already have 14 children when she finds out she is pregnant with the 15th. Considering their impoverished status and the excessive global population, should an abortion be recommended?
• A father is sick. The mother has tuberculosis. They have four children. The oldest is blind, the second has already died, the third is deaf, and the fourth also has TB. The mother is pregnant again. Should an abortion be recommended?
• A white man viciously rapes an innocent 13-year-old black girl and she becomes pregnant. Should an abortion be recommended?
• A young, unmarried teenager becomes pregnant, greatly shaming her family. Although she recently got engaged, her fiance is not the father of the baby and he's beside himself with grief and anger. Should an abortion be recommended?

In the first case, John Wesley, one of the greatest evangelists of the 19th century would have been aborted. In the second case, Beethoven. In the third, Ethel Waters, the great African-American gospel singer. If the answer was "yes" to the fourth case, it just sanctioned the abortion of Jesus Christ."


This article only gave a few examples of women who were faced with a very real circumstance that might elicit having an abortion, but there are many more such as Steve Jobs, Faith Hill, Edgar Allen Poe, Tim Tebow, Jesse Jackson, John Lennon, Bill Clinton, Sarah McGlachlan... And this doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of all the wonderful people who aren't "famous" but have touched the lives of thousands of people.


-I didn't write this to slam Pro-Choice groups or even to try and convince anyone of anything. 
-I didn't write this because I am a Christian and the bible tells me that every life is valuable and worth saving.
-I didn't write this because I know what it feels like to grow a life inside of you and can't imagine stopping the breath of this little person.
-And I didn't write this because in my line of work I have done a lot of research about when life begins and scientifically I believe it points to conception.
-What I DID write this post for are the clients I have seen walk through the door at my job. Every day I meet women who are faced with terrible situations in which abortion feels like the best option and I would be lying to say their lives aren't extremely difficult. It is not my job to tell them what option to choose, my only goal is to make sure they leave our center fully educated on their options so no woman ever has to look back and say she made a choice out of ignorance. 


So here is why this article about women choosing life and those babies growing up to touch our world really hit home for me: I have counseled women who are victims of rape or abuse. Others have been left by their man or family to raise a child on their own. Some clients would have to give up something important (reputation, education, friendships, money) in order to chose life. I speak with women who are drug addicts, have felony records, and most often, women who are just plain-old heart broken. Some of these women choose abortion, a few of which feel confident in their decision and others who feel deep regret and sorrow over their choice. I don't judge them, I know their hearts were heavy and their situations difficult. Instead, I pray for God to heal any hurt they may gain in this process and call them to make sure they know they are loved anyway. But after two years of counseling women who are in crisis pregnancy situations, I have never, ever, had a woman who chose life over abortion and told me she regretted it. I'm not saying there has never been a woman who has, I'm just saying in my large pool of data I've never met one. I've had tons of emails and phone calls with updates on these sweet babies and how they are the most joyful part of their mommy's lives, but I have yet to have a woman say she wishes she would have chosen herself over her baby.


(sigh) I know how some of you are going to take this post, and I thought about that before I published it. Please know that I respect your right to your own opinion and I fully believe you are entitled to think whatever you want (as am I). If you say you support abortion, my response is going to be, we live in a country where you have a right to think your own thoughts and I am so grateful for that! So let's skip the argument and agree that freedom is wonderful :) 

Unforgotten Blessing

I have a super cool job, I'm just going to say it from the get go. One of my favorite parts is that we offer limited ultrasounds to clients who qualify to check for gestation (how far along) and a heart beat. During these ultrasounds, I get to sit in the room and shadow, and even though my presence is a legal requirement to protect the patient's rights, I get excited anyway because I get to watch the excitement and see the surprise over such a little life! Most of the time these ultrasounds are a moment of realization that there really is a baby growing and it can already do so much.
However, every once in a while the ultrasound does not go as planned. The couple I shadowed today was so excited to see the baby and even though she thought she was 10 weeks, the baby was only measuring at 7 weeks. Everyone thought she may have just miscalculated when she got pregnant, but as the ultrasound went on we realized we couldn't find a heartbeat. It was SOOOOO overwhelming to watch this heartbroken couple mourn the loss of their child. I found myself pulling my cardigan over my belly to make my own pregnancy bump seem less noticeable. Somehow it felt like bragging just to have such prominent proof of the life growing inside me that would no longer grow inside of her. 
Even though I know that statistically 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage, it was still surreal to see a couple's first, raw emotional response to the news. I found myself praying and praising God that my baby has lived. Today gave me a renewed thankfulness and appreciation for the miracle God has given me. We prayed so long for this baby and after we passed the initial high risk miscarriage stage it has been easy to see that it was only by his hand that we are going to be blessed with a baby in May.


So today, I lift up his glorious name and humble myself in thankfulness at the foot of his throne for even considering me worthy of such joy.

"My prayer was for this child; and the Lord has given him to me in answer to my request."          
1 Samuel 1:27

A Quick Rant

It is almost 2012, right? 


1) How can anyone still be smoking when you know how bad it is for you? (I understand that it's addictive, but there are also tons of ways to stop if you actually want to do it).
        1A) Who smokes outside of a pregnancy center? Isn't that pretty much a standard no? Smoking+pregnant women=possible fetal deformity, this is not new information.
        1B) When people smoke outside my door and then come inside to sit in the waiting room it makes me grumpy. I'm not telling you that you can't smoke, I'm just saying that I don't want to be involved in it, ESPECIALLY the smelling part. I didn't even smoke the cigarette, so WHY WOULD I WANT TO SMELL LIKE I DID? (Luckily I have my favorite Mulled Apple Cider candle on hand to help combat the smell a little)


2) Why would you ever sit in a medical office while waiting to be seen and have a burping contest? Disgusting. Do you really think you're the only person who's here or just the only one that matters?


3) STOP YELLING. You are inside. You are about to see a doctor. You are not having an emergency you are just being annoying.


Sigh. I (lovingly) serve some really oblivious people.

Is Anyone Waiting 'til Marriage?

Statistically, not really.


Although, 61% Of American teens say that they want to wait to have sex until marriage, only 11% of Americans will have one partner in their lifetime and only 4% will wait until marriage to have sex with that partner. More Americans have sex BEFORE age 15 (16%) than wait until AFTER age 21 (15%).


So what changes their minds? Well this could be part of it:
--One third (33%) of sexually actives teens 15-17 reported "being in a relationship where they felt things were moving too fast sexually" and 24% had "done something sexual they didn't really want to do." 
--More than 1 in 5 (21%) reported giving in to pressure to have oral sex in order to avoid having intercourse with their partner. 
--1/4 of high school students had drank alcohol or used drugs before their last sexual intercourse (51% admitted they tended to "do more sexually" when they were under the influence).
--60% of teen girls had their first sexual experience with a guy at least 1-3 years older.
--Overall, 1/3 of teens 15-17 reported feeling pressured into having sex, not to mention the 10% who report having been physically forced to have sexual intercourse when they did not want to at some point.


All of these numbers lead me to one thing, our sweet junior high and high school kids are under a lot of pressure to have sex. It is our role as parents/church staff/disciplers to be aware of these numbers and tell them it's okay to feel that pressure, that doesn't make you a bad person! But it also doesn't mean that you have to give in. Ask anyone who waited, it will be worth it in the end.

Do You Ever Have One of Those Days...

Do you ever have one of those days where...
-You just feel so heavy in your heart that your shoulders actually slump?
-Everyone else's happy/exciting/giddy posts on Facebook/Blogger seem to be the exact opposite of how your life is going right this minute?
-You picture yourself as Eeyore with the cloud following you around wherever you go and raining on your head and the soundtrack to your day sounds like, "dump da dummmmm" ?
-You accidentally intentionally only read blogs that identify with your special brand of sorrow and for a brief moment three hour period you allow yourself to wallow?
-You've prayed for something so much you literally don't even feel like there are any more original prayers to be prayed on this topic: you've traded the root word for every adjective you can think of, thought of all the noun/verb order switches you could do to make it sound different, gone from fancy to simple phrasing and back again, and finally just ended in "why?"
-You had a stupid fight with your spouse and you don't even know where it began but you definitely know where it ended, which is with a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach because you know it wasn't worth it in the end?
-You look back on the week and wonder where the time went and know that you didn't really get anything accomplished that you had planned and now your To-Do list is so long you could use it to wrap all your Christmas presents in December?
-You want to trust in the Lord, you really, really do, but scripture feels a little hollow and prayer feels a little one sided?
-Someone you love hurt your feelings and even after they sincerely apologize you realize that the wound hasn't healed at all, much to your (and their) chagrin?
-Whatever it is that you pray/wish/think/dream about every night when you lay your head down seems so far away that you don't even want to want it anymore?


Well, if you haven't ever had one of those days, I have, and I am, and it stinks. The funny thing is after typing up this blog I am actually starting to feel the cloud lift a little and I'm reminded of something Gary said in Community Church on Sunday: "Faith is choosing to believe that the bible is true regardless of circumstance. "


Some days all you can do is repeat the truth over and over again until you've said it so much it begins to finally make sense.


For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.
For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.
For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.
For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.
For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.
For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.
For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.

For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.

Domestic Adoption

It seems like international adoption has become somewhat of a status symbol among the non-profit and Christian world, along with Toms Shoes and mission trips. But what a lot of people are forgetting is that there is a real need for adoption even in our own country, and while it might not be as "cool" as international adoption, it's just as necessary. Not only is it necessary, but it is quietly happening all across the country while the international baby campaign sits center stage. I in no way intend to demean or diminish international adoption, children from countries other than the US desperately need a home and a heart to love them. I simply aim to shine a little light on our very own orphans living within our 50 state.

• 581,000 children are in foster care in the United States. 22% percent of these children -- about 127,000 kids -- are available for adoption.
• 135,000 children are adopted annually; only 12,753 of those are international children. 13,000-14,000 are babies given up voluntarily by their parents within the US.
• 26% of these US adoptions are international while 74% are domestic.
• Overall, parents placing their infants up for adoption are made up of only 1/4 teenagers, contrary to the popular misconception that it's mostly teen moms participating in the adoption process. As a matter of fact, the predominant subset of woman giving their children up for adoption are in their 20s, have a high school diploma, and probably have other children they is raising.
• 90% or more of current adoptive parents have met the birth mother per her request. Almost no woman choosing adoption today seeks anonymity or refusal to contact.
• A very small minority of infant adoptions involve fathers in the process. Most women who are looking to give their baby up for adoption are single parents who either have no contact with the father or the father has made it clear he will not be involved in the baby's life.
• Most women struggle to make the decision about what to do with an unplanned pregnancy and much of this is due to misinformation about adoption as an option.
• Women who feel pressured into placing their children up for adoption suffer from poorer grief resolution and greater negative feelings.

The A Word

People either love fighting about it or refuse to speak of it under any circumstances. It's a topic of political debate year after year and for many, decidedly sways their vote for President of the United States. It tears families apart, leaves many women with gaping emotional (and sometimes physical) wounds for years to come, and for Christian women, can forever alter their relationship with Christ from the weight of their guilt and shame.
I'm talking about the A word, abortion.


I'm not writing this to argue about pro-life or pro-choice, I actually chose to write this post because I found the story of a pro-life advocate to be incredibly moving and interesting. This is mostly because she was the original abortion poster child "Jane Roe" (her real name is Norma McCorvey).


Norma was born in Lousiana in 1947 and raised in Houston as a Jehovah's Witness. Her father left the family before she could even remember him being there and was raised by her single mother, Mildred, who was a raging alcoholic.  Norma dropped out of school at 14 and subsequently married Woody McCorvey two years later at 16, who also turned out to be an abuser. Norma left Woody in the midst of her first pregnancy and gave birth to a daughter, Melissa in 1965 at age 18. The following year, Norma became pregnant again and gave that baby up for adoption. She tried to move in with her mother, but when conversations about Norma being attracted to women began to infiltrate the home, Mildred disowned her and took custody of baby Melissa.


At the tender age of 21, Norma became pregnant for the third time and returned to Dallas, where friends advised her to falsely claim rape in order to get a legal abortion (at the present time, 1969, abortions were only legal in the case of rape or incest); but this plot fell through when the police discovered no charges had been claimed and questioned Norma until she caved with the truth. At this point Norma tried to obtain an illegal abortion but the center she went to had been closed by police.  As her last hope, Norma was referred to some female attorneys who took her case all the way to the supreme court. Roe v. Wade gained publicity and controversy in the three years it took to reach the supreme court,  and in this time Norma (who had presented herself to the attorneys as "Jane Roe") gave birth to the baby who was eventually adopted. Within days of the case being ruled in her favor (making abortion legal up to 24 weeks, the week when a pregnancy is considered "viable" because the baby could survive outside the womb), Norma revealed her true identity to the press.


From here, Norma's story only gets more sad and more complicated. In the 1980's Norma confessed that she had, "been the "pawn" of two young and ambitious lawyers who were looking for a plaintiff with whom they could challenge the Texas state law prohibiting abortion." In 1994 she published her autobiography, I Am Roe, where she talked about the case as well as her long time confusion about her sexuality and her partner, Connie. Just one year later in 1995, Norma was befriended by a minister who shared the gospel with her and she became a Christian. On August 8, 1995, Norma McCorvey was baptized in a backyard swimming pool in Dallas, and two days later she announced that she had become an advocate of Operation Rescue's Campaign to make abortion illegal.
Three years after her conversion to Christianity, she published her second book in 1998 titled, Won by Love, where she described the moment she realized that her stance on abortion was wrong,
"I was sitting in O.R.'s offices when I noticed a fetal development poster. The progression was so obvious, the eyes were so sweet. It hurt my heart, just looking at them. I ran outside and finally, it dawned on me. 'Norma', I said to myself, 'They're right'. I had worked with pregnant women for years. I had been through three pregnancies and deliveries myself. I should have known. Yet something in that poster made me lose my breath. I kept seeing the picture of that tiny, 10-week-old embryo, and I said to myself, that's a baby! It's as if blinders just fell off my eyes and I suddenly understood the truth — that's a baby!

I felt crushed under the truth of this realization. I had to face up to the awful reality. Abortion wasn't about 'products of conception'. It wasn't about 'missed periods'. It was about children being killed in their mother's wombs. All those years I was wrong. Signing that affidavit, I was wrong. Working in an abortion clinic, I was wrong. No more of this first trimester, second trimester, third trimester stuff. Abortion — at any point — was wrong. It was so clear. Painfully clear."


Currently, Norma is still active in pro-life demonstrations and supports political candidates who have the same goal that she does; to overturn Roe v. Wade, the bill that will famously be associated with one young woman battling for the right to chose her life over the life of a child. The U.S. gave Norma a voice and national platform when she was arguing the side of the secular world, yet no one is listening now. It's obvious to me that anyone can be a "wise and knowledgeable source" when they are fighting for the world's brand of selfish lifestyle. My question is, how can you turn to that same source and now claim that she is ignorant and clueless? Her life and experience are the same, the only difference is she finally believed still, small voice when it whispered, "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." Psalm 139