A Baby Story (?)

I debated whether or not to post this as I’m not totally sure what this post is. Definitely not a birth story. Maybe a pregnancy blog? It’s not even written that well - parts are just my ramblings so hopefully it even makes sense (and it’s kinda long). If it offends you, I’m sorry, this is my story and this has been my experience. My experience does not invalidate yours. But yours does not invalidate mine. Whatever it is my hope is to be real and raw and hopefully someone finds it helpful.

A year ago today we found out I was pregnant. I was 4 weeks along. I remember feeling so out of sorts. Awkward even. This wasn’t our plan. This wasn’t the plan God had for us. We couldn’t afford a baby. We were had just started fostering a 12 year old with deep trauma wounds and behavioral issues - this was not a good time for an infant. I had miscarried a year earlier - I hadn’t even known I was pregnant until I landed in the ER for severe hemorrhaging. I assumed this pregnancy would end similarly except this time I would feel the sting of loss because this time there was hope. 

The early weeks of carrying Micah were difficult - I was hemorrhaging and my doctors didn’t know why. At each ultrasound I kept waiting to see that empty black space I had seen a year before or be told something was wrong. But it never came. That first trimester was trying: between the extreme fatigue, nausea, and the constant fear of the unknown. I always felt like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Add that to my own ambivalence about bringing another life into this screwed up world and my emotions felt muted and flat. At times I was so excited- imagining what our little baby would be like. Other times I was trying not to think about the pains of miscarriage, knowing we had failed yet another foster child, or how we could possibly afford an infant we had never saved for. 

Foster care and adoption was always “Plan A”in my mind. It wasn’t a “Plan B” because of my infertility issues - I think a lot of people assumed it was. Family and friends were “so excited for us” when we finally announced our pregnancy. They didn’t exactly say it but we knew what some of them meant: “now you have a real kid, you don’t have to worry about fostering/adopting”. I thought people were supportive of us fostering until we got pregnant. It made it obvious that most people consider fostering “a nice idea” to help kids when you can’t birth children but why would you do it if you could have “real” kids? It was so frustrating. It made me question why God would give me this Plan A for foster care only to knock me up 9 years into marriage? and to be honest, I’m still not sure. I felt embarrassed that things had failed with yet another foster child yet so relieved because she was just so challenging and I didn’t know how I would’ve been able to parent both. However, that relief just led to more embarrassment - I truly believe in the value of foster care, it’s not for me,  the adult - it’s for the child. And we had failed yet another child. 

In many ways my pregnancy was fairly easy but not perfect. Due to health issues I was high risk and needed to be put on insulin. Learning to give myself shots 4-5 times of days was lots of fun. The stress of not knowing what birth defects Micah could have due to my high risk kept me up most nights. I kept expecting the worst. But it never came. My doctor recommended a cesarean and we agreed. At 38.5 weeks, Micah came into then world: perfect in every way. All of our fears for birth defects were quickly put to rest. 

I had listened carefully to the stories of new moms around me for the past decade. I knew motherhood was far less glamours than the 1950s Americana motif would have us believe. I had heard the struggles of bonding and postpartum depression - the stress of breastfeeding and sleepless nights. So I braced myself. Braced for the unknown and for the groans of new motherhood. But they didn’t come. Not for me. I fell instantly in love with my baby and we bonded quickly. Something that didn’t happen with our foster kiddos. I didn’t mind getting up with him in the middle of the night - it was so strange - it actually brought me joy to see him again, even though we had only been apart a few hours. I was blessed with a wonderful partner and mother who made the transition seamless and I’m grateful for their support (so I really can’t take all the credit). We quickly found a routine and learned pumping works much better than nursing. Micah responded by being the most cooperative baby in the world and I can’t even describe how blessed I feel to be his mom. 

I know everyone’s experience is different with both biological and foster children. But for me, fostering children with attachment issues was so emotionally difficult in ways I never understood as a foster care caseworker. Yet, I know better than most how needed foster/adoptive parents are. Parenting Micah has been effortless (and yes I realize we are in the easy stages) and the sting of guilt never really leaves me as I think about the 10,000s of children waiting for homes. We want to try fostering again. Starting with young children this time. I know that we are still called to foster even if it is on pause for the time being. 

As much as I am so incredibly in love with my baby boy,  I still feel uneasy about bringing new life into this world. I feel pain knowing the world we give to Micah is so much worse off than the world I was born into. I struggle to understand why God would bring another life into our home when we wanted to give our home to other children who need a safe place. Now we have one less bed to give. I’ve also struggled deeply with the problem of pain. Specifically child neglect. It’s no secret that every day for the past 10 years I come face to face with child abuse and neglect. It has always pained me but I pushed through to serve my clients. As a new mom I would feed my sleepy baby and think about all the infant clients I had who I knew weren’t being fed on a regular basis. The ones left in dirty diapers for hours. The ones left in their car seats all day. The ones laying next to needles. The ones being hit and screamed at. The one with 16 broken bones at 2 months old - the only explanation a shrug from mom and dad. The list goes on and on. And I would look into my sweet son’s face and wonder: “why was he chosen to be born to parents who would love him and meet all his needs? why wasn’t Sara and Emma so lucky? What about Victoria and Trina and Delaney and Jacob and August and Peter and Ivan and Liam and Drew*? What about them?” They didn’t ask to be born into this world. And they certainly didn’t ask to be born to mentally ill and substance addicted mothers who forgot or didn’t know or didn’t care enough to take care of them. I saw their faces and remembered their stories while I rocked my baby. And I didn’t understand. And I still don’t. I don’t know if I ever will. But I’m determined to press forward.

Press forward: 

• to love Micah and instill in him Christ’s compassion and love for all. 
• to fight for children and for their mothers and fathers 
• to open our home to others even though it might be painful and stressful. 
• to live and give sacrificially 

A year ago today I could not even slightly imagine what the positive pregnancy test would bring and what it has taught me. Ultimately, I am selfishly so thankful to have my little Micah boy. I hope one day he reads this blog and knows how incredibly loved he is but ultimately sees my vulnerable heart that allows him to be unapologetically himself but also points him to Jesus. I hope he knows that life is rarely black and white but all shades of gray. 

We were careful in choosing Micah’s name. Micah means “who is like our God?” Micah is a constant reminder that there is none like our Jesus: He is too wonderful, too compassionate, too mighty, too awesome, too unimaginable, and too loving to our broken and weary race. Even though sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.

Micah was also the prophet who penned my life verse. Forever tattooed on my foot and my heart: 

He has told you, O man, what is good;

        and what does the LORD require of you

    but to do justice, and to love kindness,

        and to walk humbly with your God?

As I always say: “Love God. Love Others. The End.”

I still don’t have the answers to problems of pain in our world. I still don’t know why so many children are born to mentally ill and substance addicted parents not equipped to care for them. I don’t know why God chose us to give us new life instead of allowing past fostering to succeed. But I will continue to Love Him and Love Others. 

*their names have been changed for privacy but I assure you these are real children and my heart holds their stories. 

I wrote this two years ago for paper I wrote in Grad school. The incident I refer to, occurred in early 2017 right after Trump was elected. I intellectually and cognitively knew what white privilege was before this but this was the first time I ever truly encountered my privilege. I also realize this is a somewhat insignificant experience compared to recent events but it was significant to me. I should've shared this long ago but I'm grateful for the ability to share it now. This is a crucial time, these are hard but important conversations. We must stand with our brothers and sisters of color. #blacklivesmatter

I’m a social worker for kids in foster care and for many years I worked with a sibling group of five children who lived in the city of Chicago. These children, all African-American, were being fostered by their grandmother. However, the neighborhood they reside in is a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood. About a year ago, I was visiting the family in the evening and we started to notice that there was a commotion outside the home and could see police lights. From the window we could see 4 or 5 uniformed police officers standing next to the house. One of the officer’s picked up one of child’s Razor scooters that had been lying on the side of the house and started using it as a hammer to break open the lock on the family’s gate, in order to gain access to home next door. As this police officer is standing on private property, using private property, to break private property, I feel a sense of injustice welling up inside of me. Me, being the outspoken person, I am, I move towards the door to (respectfully) confront the officers on this behavior because none of this was legal or appropriate. I couldn't even fathom a law enforcement office behaving in such a manner so it only seemed natural to me to approach him about it; after all, I've always found police officers to be respectful and helpful, so I assume a rational conversation will clear this up quickly.

As I move towards the door, grandma looks at me with complete fear in eyes and begs me not to go out there. She tells me it’s better just to let them do their thing and she’ll clean everything up later. Now, at this point I’ve know this woman for 3 years: she was not a meek lady, she never failed to voice her opinion if she had one. I was floored. To see this strong, single mom, beg me not to even go outside, made my stomach drop and my outrage surge even higher. Out of respect for her, I stayed inside, but I was livid. I was outraged that these officers would even think to treat private property this way and even more livid that our culture is one where a normally confident, black woman was terrified of speaking up for her rights because of the disastrous effects it might have simply because of the color of her skin and the neighborhood she lives in.

Meanwhile the officers, have broken the gate open and are now in the side yard and peering into the neighbor’s house and are trying to open a window. Grandma quietly speaks up and tells me about the heavy presence of ICE in the neighborhood the past few weeks. She is assuming something similar is occurring next door. The oldest child, 12, adds they have seen people being pulled from their homes in the middle of the night. The understanding is, because this is a predominantly Hispanic area, they are looking for (and arresting) undocumented immigrants. As he shares this with me, there is much fear and sadness in this little boy’s eyes. I wonder what must be feeling and thinking. I wonder if there is relief that he not of Latino descent and he is safe from being pulled from his home in the middle of the night. I wonder if there is fear the color of his skin will predetermine some of the experiences he may have.

The experience I shared above did not relate to my “diversity". I was not the one being discriminated against. I could’ve easily walked away from that situation not offended and unaffected in my worldview. However, I’m thankful that it did affect me. I experienced institutionalized racism from the perspective of African American family and started to get glimpse of white privilege in America. White privilege is the concept that whiteness is the invisible standard by which all other races are judged (Gonzalez & Chen, 2016). In addition, Diane Adams also credits Peggy McIntosh with the following definition of white privilege, “white individuals are conditioned to not recognize their privilege, to remain oblivious to it while enjoying its benefits” (Adams, 2015, p. 328). This definition speaks volumes to me because before my experience above, I was living deep in white privilege.

As difficult as the scenario was to experience, I’m thankful I was there to witness it because it made me see my privilege in a way I had previously been unable to do so. My experience above has forever changed the way I see and look at the world especially when it comes to racism and race relations. I humbly acknowledge that as a Caucasian, I need to approach this topic with great humility and a knowledge that I will never be able to totally feel the depth how racisms affects the lives of millions black Americans every day. However, this is an area I would like to grow in. Especially as social worker who often works with minorities, I not only need to be aware of white bias but I also need to recognize that I’m in a position, as social worker, to bring change not just into individuals lives but into a broken system (Davis & Gentlewarrior, 2015).

I hope that I can remain respectful and humble as I navigate this extremely delicate subject of racism, white privilege, and also white guilt. White guilt occurs when white individuals feel an uneasiness and responsibility for the injustices that have been inflicted on minorities due to race by the Caucasians as a group; for example, European Americans feeling guilty about African American slavery (Iyer, Leach, & Crosby, 2003). I’m also well aware of the white savior complex which certainly needs to avoided as well. Linder acknowledges the goal of white individuals should be to become allies with those who are the victims of racism; while some people may start out as allies as a way to assuage their own guilt, true allies will be open to increasingly understanding their own privilege and eventually become partners with the oppressed rather than working on behalf of the oppressed (2015). This goal is one I want to adopt on this journey. As a social worker my job is to empower others: coming alongside of people and helping them reach their own goals. It means partnering with people. I hope that over my life and career, I can partner with minorities as individuals and also as a larger societal group in order to make a more equal and welcoming culture for all, no matter what your race, ethnicity, or skin color.

Adams, D. M. (2015). The unbearable lightness of being white. Women & Therapy, 38(3-4), 327-340. doi:http://dx.doi.org.ezproxy1.lib.asu.edu/10.1080/02703149.2015.1059215

Davis, A., & Gentlewarrior, S. (2015). White privilege and clinical social work practice: Reflections and recommendations. Journal of Progressive Human Services, 26(3), 191-208. doi:http://dx.doi.org.ezproxy1.lib.asu.edu/10.1080/10428232.2015.1063361

Gonzalez, A., & Chen, Y.-W. (2016). Our voices: Essays in culture, ethnicity, and communication (6th ed.). New York: Oxford University Press. 

Iyer, A., Leach, C. W., & Crosby, F. J. (2003). White guilt and racial compensation: The benefits and limits of self-focus. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 29(1), 117-129. doi:http://dx.doi.org.ezproxy1.lib.asu.edu/10.1177/0146167202238377

Linder, C. (2015). Navigating guilt, shame, and fear of appearing racist: A conceptual model of antiracist white feminist identity development. Journal of College Student Development, 56(6), 535-550. doi:http://dx.doi.org.ezproxy1.lib.asu.edu/10.1353/csd.2015.0057

Flour and Water

Disclaimer:  this post is going to be completely different than all my others. I realize that this blog is about my walk with Christ and is far from a food blog but I had so much fun baking and decorating Briana and Christopher’s wedding cake that I just had to share it! So if baking blogs aren’t your thing, I won't be offended if you take a pass at this post.

For those of you for whom baking/cooking blogs are you’re thing, I’m sorry. This will probably be terrible as this isn’t really my forte. To be honest, I HATE baking blogs. I’m constantly finding cool recipes on Pinterest only to have to scroll though someone life story and their son’s life story about why they were making these type of cookies to take to the park today and blah blah blah –  I just need to know your ratio of butter to flour, not why you were feeling sad today! I don’t care why you made them just how you made them! Anywho………

So last summer my good friends were sharing some of their wedding plans with me and mentioned they were going to do sheet cake. Now, I have nothing against sheet cake (and in my honest opinion the chocolate sheet cake they had at their wedding was a hundred times better than the cake I made for them, seriously ) but I said, “Oh you should have a small pretty cake to cut! I’ll make you one!” Cause I’m thinking to myself, "I’ve been making cakes since I was 8. They’re not hard. People tell me my cakes are yummy. I’ll just frost it white. Presto. I’m a wedding cake baker." Wrong. So, so wrong.

I start casually looking up wedding cakes (small wedding cakes) on Pinterest and I start to have a panic attack. "I can’t do this!" Did you know you need to put wooden dowels in wedding cakes so they don’t collapse on themselves?! I didn’t! I never even thought about the layers collapsing into the bottom layers. Uh-oh. There was a lot about wedding cakes I didn’t know.

As my confidence waned, I made a deal with Bri and Chris, I would have a test cake ready for them sometime in December and if they didn’t like it or I didn’t feel confident in my ability to complete it up to my standards then they would have plenty of time before the wedding to make other arrangements.

Buttercream Frosting

Strawberry Filling

So December grew closer and I just assumed I had everything I would need in my kitchen already. Yeah, no. “Wait, what? You don’t want a Bundt wedding cake?! But I’m good at Bundts!” Oh well. After a trip to Hobby Lobby to purchase all sorts of special wedding cake paraphernalia I didn’t even know existed I start talking specifics with Bri and Chris about what type of cake they want. Strawberry they tell me. Hmm. Definitely not my first pick (but then again I have the belief that if it’s not chocolate it’s not worth putting in your mouth -thus the chocolate sheet cake being AMAZING!) So anyways I had never made a strawberry cake so I started researching strawberry cake recipes on Pinterest and found one that seemed the least artificial and decided on a simple buttercream frosting I had used previously for other projects. I ran a few different frosting techniques by Bri and Chris that I thought I could possibly manage and they picked a few that they liked and I moved forward to see what I could create out of this flour and water.

Leaning tower of cake. 

The first test cake was a disaster. I did three tiers. Way too much cake. Also I couldn’t figure out how to cook the big 12 inch cake without burning the edges and still have the middle cooked. I saw on some tutorials that they scraped out the middle just to get to cook or placed towels around the sides to slow the cooking process. I tried both. Honestly, I’d rather do neither.  So I resolved never to bake a cake that big again. By the time I finished baked all the layers, cutting the layers (which is near impossible to do evenly I discovered), made the filling, filled the cake, stacked the cake, put the support dowels in, I was exhausted. And then I realized nothing was even. If you didn’t cut the layers perfectly, it wasn’t even. If you didn’t put the filling in perfectly, it wasn’t even. If you didn't put the dowels in perfect, it wasn't even. I figured I could even it all out when I frosted it. Wrong, once again. The whole thing was a huge (literally – it was three tiers for petes sake!) mess.  So I texted Bri and told her not to bother come look at the thing and that I would try again in a few weeks…. *sigh* I slid the cake into the refrigerator and quickly discovered that my grandpa greatly enjoys strawberry cake and over the next week it slowly disappeared which is impressive because again – it was three tiers (with three layers of cake and two layers of filling in each tier!).  Yeah, we monitor my grandpa for diabetes every so often.

Second Test Run

So a few weeks later I tried again, this time just one tier (well it was supposed to be two but the bottom one just fell apart and I gave up on it. So I served it to my brother's in-laws. They didn't seem to mind. But lets's just say I was shooting for one tier). Practice definitely makes perfect, or at least improvement, I felt comfortable enough to show Bri and Chris this one. I wasn’t totally happy with it but I didn’t hate it either. At least it tasted good. At least that’s what the non-chocolate-only people told me (but can you really trust those people).  Bri and Chris gave me some feedback and we decided to make the cake layers thicker and the filling layers thinner.  So with my new confidence and few adjustments we pressed onward!

Four months later I did one last test run. By this time I had the cake and filling down pat and just needed to work on my frosting technique. I had found some new tools at Hobby Lobby and talked with Bri and Chris about tweaking the frosting style just to see how we liked it. We all ended up loving it!  

 

Final Test Run!

However, a new panic had started to creep in. How in the world was I going to get this cake to Rockford without ruining it?! So I told Bri and Chris that I wanted to practice driving with it so I’d bring the third and final test cake to them. I’m glad I practiced because the first turn out of my street the cake went sliding right into the car door. So much for my perfect frosting job! On the last trial run we decided to add gypsophila and a pearl “H” they had recently received as a gift to finish off the look. Now all that was left was to wait for the actual wedding!

Two days before the wedding I was baking up a storm and fighting a nasty cold that was quickly turning into laryngitis and bronchitis. I really did try hard not to cough or sneeze on the cakes, guys!  By Thursday night I had the whole thing baked, assembled, and frosted. All that was left was to perfect the icing effect. Friday morning I got busy with a flurry of wedding activities but I manage to ice the cake before we left. I’m not gonna lie, I was over wedding cakes by this point! My husband, perfect as always, rode the whole way to Rockford holding the cake steady on the back seat.

Final Product!

Well, we made it to Rockford in one piece and delivered it to Chris’ parent’s hotel room but I couldn’t rest easy until it was all set up on the cake table the next day! After lots of fun pampering, rehearsing, and eating, the big day arrived! I got the cake into the reception hall, onto the cake table, and assembled with flowers and accessories with only a few hiccups! But as we are our own worst critics, I definitely wasn’t satisfied with it. I wanted it to be perfect! However, my dear friend Kristy, assured me it looked wonderful and that I was the only one who could see the imperfections (which I'm still not sure is true).  But I figured there was nothing to be done about it now - it was time! It was the wedding day! A few flowers, a pretty cake stand and a good photographer had the final pictures turning out great! I'm not sure if Bri and Chris had more fun eating it or smashing it into each other's faces but either way I'm glad they enjoyed it. And that’s when I swore never to bake a wedding cake again. THE END!

But not really.  As I’ve said time and time again this blog is about my walk with Christ. While baking a wedding cake isn’t inherently good (or inherently evil for that matter), I can say for certain that wedding I baked this cake for was inherently pleasing to God. Briana and Christopher’s desire was to a have a wedding that reflected Christ and his love for His people. His Bride.  I was so blessed to be a part of their wedding and now their marriage. I define blessing as anything that makes me see God more clearly and brings me closer to him. And this wedding certainly did that. The book of Revelation talks about the Church (anyone who has put their trust in Jesus as their savior) being God’s bride. Just as husband loves and cares for his bride so Jesus loves and care for his people. God created marriage to be a reflection of his great love for his people. Briana and Christopher did a wonderful job of pointing people to Christ all day long. From their generous, selfless, and patient spirits on a day that we are told that you can be as selfish as you want to their careful planning to ensure that God be the center of their ceremony - Christ was seen in it all. 

May we all experience God’s never-ending, lavish, scandalous love for us! May we all remember to point to Him in all we do. And may we all be truly blessed today. 

PS: Just for fun: check out the inspiration for the title of this post: 

The Dirty "I" Word: Dealing with Infertility.

So I’ve never wanted to have kids. Never had the desire to be pregnant. Always sounded completely miserable to me. At 8 years old I stated, “why would I bring more kids into the world when there are already so many children that don’t have homes”. 16 years later and still I stick by my 8 year old logic. I really have always struggled with why people felt the need to birth children. It was just ridiculous to me. What was the difference between biological children and adopted children? In my mind, nothing really, if you went into it with the same mindset.

 When I was about 10 I made comment to a lady from our church about an adopted friend’s “real” mom. The women gently corrected me, “Biological mom. His adopted mom is his ‘real’ mom”. That always stuck with me. Just because your child didn’t grow in your body doesn’t mean it not your real child. So I never understood many of friends’ desires to get pregnant. That is, until I was told that getting pregnant wouldn’t be an option for me.

If you asked me in college (just three short years ago) if I’d be blogging about infertility I would’ve said you were crazy, “Why would I blog about that – who cares? I certainly wouldn’t care if I was infertile”. It’s funny how your perspective changes when it’s you.

Since this blog is about my journey with Christ and how he is redeeming my life one piece at a time, I figured I’d share this part of my journey. It probably won’t look like most conversations about infertility but if nothing else, hopefully, it points someone back to the Lord.

So like I said, I never felt the need for biological children. I told Zack this shortly after we started dating, so he knew from the beginning. It was hard for him because he had always dreamed of having his own family. I pointed out that I wasn’t at all against having a family just as long as they didn’t come from my stomach. In the years that followed, leading up to our marriage, I agreed to try to have at least one biological child to satisfy Zack’s lifelong dream of experiencing the “joy” of pregnancy. I agreed because even though it seemed pointless to me, it was important to Zack and I loved him. However, I made one thing very clear: I wasn’t even sure if I could have kids. Zack understood this, but said he still wanted to try and for once, I didn’t argue.

Years of health issues and family history of infertility gave me a clue that maybe God would let me off the hook and I wouldn’t even after worry about holding up my end of the bargain with Zack. And a year ago, we got the confirmation:  “being pregnant isn’t going to happen for you unless you want to try this test, this pill, this shot, this blood test, this surgery”.  Our response: “Nope. Thanks a lot but, no”.  I walked out of that doctors office pretty unmoved as I always had a hunch this would be case, but it’s funny how much you start to want something after you’ve been told “no”.

And then all of sudden, everyone and I mean EVERYone around me was pregnant. People from work, school, church, and even in my family, were getting pregnant and having babies. And then it hit: I would never get to have that. I would never know what it felt like to feel my baby move inside of me, or the excitement of seeing my mom’s face when I told her I was pregnant, never get those adorable maternity pictures, or have people tell me, “she looks just like you!”

I know that God could change our situation in a heartbeat. But I don’t think he will. And I’ll tell you why. I truly believe that God had been prepping me for this moment my whole life. In his grace, he never gave me the desire to have biological children but gave me a heart for orphans and foster kids. He never let me feel the intense desire to long for something that could never be. We have many trials in this life, and I’ve had my fair share.  However, I do believe that for whatever reason, God spared me the horrendous pain that many women feel when they are told they will never be pregnant.

But there is catch. I do feel pain now. I never expected I would. But it’s been hard. Harder than I would’ve ever imagine. I’ve had to check my heart as I’ve struggled with jealously and bitterness as I’ve watched the pregnant women around me dance with joy. So the question I ask myself, “Why did God protect me by never giving the desire to have children but then is allowing me to feel the grief I do now?” And I think I may have figured it out. There are two answers: one points to my dirty, stained heart. The other, points to the Lord.

The first answer:

I’m a dirty, flawed sinner. I’ve had to check my heart throughout this whole process and I’ve realized something, and it isn’t pleasant. In our society, we give a lot of preference to pregnant women. Pregnant women get carte blanche to do whatever they want and people just gush over them day and night. Maybe I just want that. Maybe I’m jealous that I won’t get a closer parking spot because of the tiny human inside me. Maybe I pissed that I won’t ever get to wake Zack up in the middle of the night and demand chunky peanut butter and egg rolls! Maybe part of me is just bitter that everything won’t be about me for 9 months! “Everyone else gets their moment in the spotlight and what about me?” Me. Me. Me. Me.

What horrible things to write about yourself and know that they are true. Nonetheless, I’ve got to be honest with you and these are the things I’ve realized about myself. I’ve taken something that many women find extremely painful and made it about me. However, the point of this whole blog is to point people to Christ and, I hope, by demonstrating how imperfect I am, I hope you can see how perfect He is. This leads me to the second answer.

Compassion. Empathy. Understanding. While I’ll never know the full pain of infertility because I haven’t longed for it my whole life or built my dreams around having biological children. I do know the sting of watching my friends get pregnant and experience the miracle of birth and know I will never have that.  I was always callous to the plight of women who struggled with infertility because in my mind “there were plenty of kids in the world who need homes! Who needs to bring more into the world?” Now, my response is a little different: “I’m so sorry things haven’t work out the way you always hoped and dreamed but there is hope to build a family. A family built around a child who otherwise wouldn’t have a family.” My tone has changed for condescending to compassionate. From frustrated to patient.  From ignorant to understanding.

This is why I believe God has allowed me to experience all of this and is why I share it with you now. I believe God is once again revealing to me my own sinful nature and therefore my dependence on him. But he's also prepping me to effectively minister to the women struggling with this issue, that he may bring into my life. Once again, God is redeeming all parts of my life so that I can, hopefully, look a little bit more like him. 

So to my friends whom God has blessed with beautiful children and fertile bodies: please don’t ever be afraid to share with me the joys of your pregnancy! I want to hear about your life! And I want to engage in your joy! But please remember that not all women who struggle with infertility feel the same so practice compassion and discretion as you interact with these women.

And to my friends who have been told that its just not in the cards for you: I’m sorry. I’m sorry that for the first 23 years of my life, I treated you with contempt and frustration. I realize that for many women, this being pregnant is something they’ve dreamed of their whole lives and their world is crashing in around them. I realize now how difficult it is. I’ve felt the pain of watching the people in my life rejoice over something I know I will never experience. Even for someone, who never dreamed of being pregnant, it’s a difficult place to be.

 So my dear friends, grieve. And grieve well. But then remember that God did not give us a spirit of self-pity and indulgence. There is hope for you to have a family! Out there is a child who is waiting for you. You can have the special privilege of giving a child love and home that they would may not otherwise have. Please never minimize how significant this is.

I also wanted to write all this so that people knew where we are at. After almost three years of marriage, I’ve gotten used to the “when are you going to get pregnant” question. So here’s my answer, once and for all: Probably never. But it’s ok. Because God’s got bigger things in store for us and we are so excited to start this next chapter of our journey.

Zack and I have decided to adopt through the foster care system. As we are still care-taking my grandpa, we probably won’t start on our  foster care license until we have our own house. Our plan is to purchase a house within the next two years and then work on getting licensed. We are hesitant to get licensed now in the state of IL since our plans are to move right over the border into WI. But who knows?! This is going to be a long trip and one that probably won’t even begin for a few years but we are so thankful for the time God has given us now and all of the wonderful people supporting us through this.

And dear friend, please don’t feel like you can’t talk to us about this. Just as we want to share in your joys and sorrows, we invite you to join in ours. If you have questions, comments, or concerns; please feel free to let us know!

Beyond the Bunny?

Beyond the Bunny?

I keep seeing this title as I look for Christ centered Easter ideas. This is the first year I’ll be hosting Resurrection Sunday dinner so it’s a whole new thing for me. Here’s the problem: I hate Easter in America. I wasn't raised on the bunny, eggs, baskets, or hollow rolls. Easter was simply a celebration of Christ’s triumphant resurrection and victory over sin and death. We had church, maybe some ham, and then a day of reflecting on how much our Savior loves us. That’s just the way it was.

When I got to college I remember as suite activity we dyed Easter eggs and I was faced with the decision if I was going to participate. On the one hand it felt worldly and wrong to reduce the suffering

and resurrection of my Savior to colored eggs and fluffy bunnies. On the other hand, I was surrounded by godly women who were joyfully participating and I didn’t want to seem legalistic. So I joined along. But it didn’t sit well with me. And it still doesn’t.

Fast forward 5 years. I regret now how I handled the situation. I regret not speaking my feelings in truth and love versus the judgmental and self-righteous words I spoke (because there were those before I hypocritically joined along). I also regret that I didn’t stand by my convictions but rather gave in to what I saw other Christians doing and assumed that therefore it was right even though the Spirit inside me said otherwise.

The Lord has been teaching me humility pretty much my whole life but the past few months he’s opened my eyes to it a new way. First, that we all fail. Even my godliest role models who point me to Christ are no substitution for Christ himself because they are flawed. And second, who am I to judge anyone because like them I am also deeply flawed.

The past several years have been years of the Lord changing my definition of what it means to follow him. He has been faithful in showing me how we have made of a mess of His Gospel and turned into our own. With this has come a critical and discerning heart towards the American church.

However, as with all things (I’m never one to do things half way), I may have gone a little overboard. In my righteous zeal I found a very unrighteous judgment of the church. I had been in the church my whole life – looking out at the world and judging them. The Lord in his grace showed my how destructive that outlook had been but without even realizing it I turned that judgment back onto the Church.  In recent months, God has opened my eyes to this as well. He reminded me that He has loved His Church even if they make mistakes just as he loves me through my mistakes. Therefore, I need to extend grace to His people because a) he extends grace to me and b) I’m not the ultimate authority of what God thinks or desires and therefore I might just be wrong.

If I could go back my that first Easter in college I would've  done it very differently. I would’ve politely declined and resisted the peer-pressure that “it’s not that big of a deal” and “stop being so legalistic”. I would have gently stated that I felt that if I were to partake it would cheapen the Easter experience for me and ask to be allowed to own that conviction. I would have let my dear friends know that their decision to partake was between them and God and no way involved me. I would have stayed and laughed with them and rested in the joy of being with good friends. I would have prayed that God would be glorified in their decision to  dye of eggs and my decision to refrain from doing so.

So heading into this Resurrection Sunday, I was discouraged to find that all of these “Beyond the Bunny” activities were no more than just a slapping of a Bible verse on an American custom with really very little to do with Christ’s awesome work on the cross. I was ready to write a blog about how upsetting it is to me that this is the state of the American church when  the Lord reminded me of the above sentiments. So I will conclude with this. I hope that your Easter, whatever traditions you choose to partake in, the bunny, egg hunt, or hollow rolls, I hope your Easter ultimately is about Christ and what he has done for us.

I’m reminded by Paul’s words “whatever you do, whether you eat or drink do it for the Lord’. Paul was talking about to group of Christians who were arguing about whether or not it was more godly to or not to decorate Easter eggs. Well not really, but it was something equally as silly (it wasn’t silly to them of course) but Paul gently points out that the point of everything we do is to glorify Christ and really that’s all that matters. Are our actions bringing the focus back to Jesus?  Who am I to say that dying eggs doesn’t help bring Glory to Christ. In my own life, I know that would cheapen the experience. But it may be different, in your case. Maybe this is a good time for your to witness to your unbelieving neighbors, maybe it gives you a special time to bond with your kids bringing them joy, who knows?

So however you decide to celebrate this Easter, may your eyes be fixed on Him. And whether you dye eggs or not, may Christ be glorified.

“Now to him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you blameless before the presence of His glory with great joy, to the only God, our Savior, through Jesus Christ out Lord, be glory, majesty, dominion, and authority, before all time and now and forever. Amen.”

HE IS RISEN! HE IS RISEN INDEED! 

Great is Thy Faithfulness

But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases

His mercies never come to an end;

They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness! 

There has been so much going on that I wish I could write about. So much I want to share with you. So much I want to leave my heart and enter the written world. So much that needs to be said, yet here I am with little time and little energy. But I’m here.

I’m leaving my world.  I’m leaving behind the world of yoga pants and restraints. The world of swearing teens and overnights. The world of direct care.

And I’m entering a new world. One of dress pants and paper work. One of phone calls and emails. One of forms, and signtures, and desks, and phone calls, and emails, and more forms, and meeting (lots and lots of meetings). The world of case work.

I’m excited. And sad. I’m starting my dream job but leaving my other one behind. But mostly I’m excited.

I’ve wanted to be case worker in the foster care system since before I even knew it was a job. I didn’t know what it was called but I knew that I wanted to work with kids in the foster care system. I knew it when I was 9 years old.

Sure, when you’re a kid you’ve got lots of things you want to do “when you grow up”. I wanted to be a doctor, a veterinarian, a teacher, a dentist, and a cop.  But I always had a longing in my heart for foster kids. I don’t know why. I didn’t really know any foster kids. I wasn’t a foster kid. Heck, I was just a kid myself. Yet, I knew from the young age of 9 that I wanted to adopt and I wanted something to do with foster care.

Of course at 9, I had no idea what that meant. I’m not sure if I even knew the word “foster care” or “foster kid”. But that desire was there. And I know who put it there. I realize how blessed I have been to have had a clear direction my whole life of what I was supposed to do. I didn’t know the details but somehow I always knew I was supposed to work with these kids.

Fast-forward 12 years.

Enter Allendale. I was 21, not even graduated from college and I had an interview with a home for kids with substance abuse issues. Or so I thought. I show up at my interview the day after my last final and find out Allendale isn’t for kids with substance abuse issues. Guess what it’s for. Yup, foster kids. The worst of the worst of those in the system. And I fell in love. I fell in love with my clients and I knew this was what I was meant to do. These were my kids, my people. I knew I was home.

A year passes. It’s not home anymore. It’s “Allenjail”. My kids are horrible, my co-workers are burnt out, and our administration is indifferent and callous to our growing safety concerns as they send us increasingly violent girls. And I’m done. I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m sick of it. I’m tired. So I cry out to the Lord.

I ask him to take me out of this situation. I want to see my husband. I want my weekends back. I’m sick of getting bit, and punched, and spit at by 16 year old girls. So I pray. And pray. And pray.

And though it all I hear “stay. Stay. Stay.” So I’d agree for a few weeks and then I’d ask again, “please take me somewhere else. Anywhere else.”  My friends agreed with. My mom agreed with. My husband agreed with me. “You need to get out of Allendale”,  they’d all say. and so again I prayed.

This time I heard, “you are the light in the darkness. A city on a hill. Salt to a dying world”. So once again I obeyed. A month goes by and I’m at it again. I cry, “I’m done! I’m done!” and this time I didn't hear a voice. I got excited! “This is my chance! My time to leave has come!”

But sometimes God’s voice comes in different ways. This time it sounded a lot like my dad. He cautiously mentions to me, “so did you not hear Him or are you choosing to disobey?” Thanks dad. Thanks a lot. I thought I was in the clear. Good to go. Finally free of Allendale.

So I prayed. “Lord, did I misunderstand or am I trying to disobey?” And I tried to convince myself I misunderstood. But I knew I hadn't. I knew he told me to stay. So I did.

“But why Lord?” I cried. I was so unhappy. Didn't God want me to happy? That’s what I had always been told. So why was he telling me to stay. And then I heard him again. “My child, my goal for your life is not for you to be happy….” “But, but ,but,” I stammered. “My goal is for you to look a little bit more like me”, he replied.

And so I stayed. I obeyed. And guess what? I wasn't happy. But I was given joy. I was given the strength to do my job and do it well. I was given clarity to see the small victories.  But overall, I had joy because I knew I was within the will of God. And that is the best place to be.

All through the summer, I wrestled with the Lord. And I finally fell content. Not happy but content with where God had placed me. And then out of nowhere. He showed me something. A position posting. A position I had no chance of even getting an interview for. I wasn't licensed like the position demanded. I didn't have a master live everyone else. Yet, I applied. On a pipe dream, that maybe just maybe it was my time to go.

And then I got interview. I had no hope after the interview. It was 45 minutes long (not nearly as long as most of the upper level position interviews I had been too). They didn't seem impressed. Besides I still didn't have a license. And I still didn't have my masters.

And yet, by God’s perfect design, I got the job. I landed my dream job at the age of 23. What a blessing! Yet, would have I recognized the blessing if I hadn't just been through the previous 12 months? Those months of arguing with God. The tension of wanting to leave but being called to stay. The struggle of learning that my ultimate goal in life should not to be happy but to look like Christ. The moment of learning to rest in God and his will. All those experiences led me here.

If I had disobeyed and left when I wanted, I would not be here; sitting in my new office. I would've missed what God had in store for me. I would never have seen the posting or had the chance to apply if I had listened to my flesh. But God knew. He always knows. He wants me here at Allendale. He had a plan and he has a plan for the future. Why do I always forget? Why do I always want to do it my way when time after time I’m reminded that his way is better?

God has proven himself faithful to me yet one more time. After months of doubting him, he proved himself yet again.

I don’ t know where you are right now. Maybe you are in the stage of “staying”. Maybe God has you in a place you want to be far from. Maybe he has you right where you want to be. It doesn't matter though, because he is in control. Whether it feels that way or not. As long as you are walking in obedience, God has the situation exactly the way he wants it. And he will prove himself to be faithful to you just as he did me. It might look different. And it won’t be on your terms – I can guarantee that. But he will prove himself.

 My period of “staying” was about a year. For you it might be longer. Maybe less. I know it’s hard to be in that place, though. Wondering when God will demonstrate him faithfulness. Wondering when he will rescue you. But the one thing I've learned is even when I’m waiting and staying – He is still faithful. Even if I were to wait for 100 years – he is still faithful! He never left my side. He shaped me more into the woman he wanted me to be, looking a little more like him. He was always faithful. Even when I couldn't see it - he was faithful. 

I know many of you have heard this lyric before and it’s been my favorite for years but it always seems to ring true.  It's as if Sara reached into my soul and wrote the words that are my heart:

I can’t remember a trial or a pain 

He did not recycle to bring me gain 

I can’t remember one single regret 

In serving God only, and trusting His hand 

All I have need of, His hand will provide 

He’s always been faithful to me. 

My Better Half

So let me start off by saying that I apologize if I ever come across as self-righteous or condescending in my blogs. Please know that it is not my intent. I do tend to get carried away and sometimes in my zeal and passion end up coming across as a jerk, so I apologize.

Secondly, I have had so many great ideas for posts but just couldn’t get the words right so maybe one day I’ll finish and post the many half written posts saved on my computer.

Thirdly, I had a really great topic I wanted to write about but since Tuesday is our anniversary I thought my other half, my best friend, my love, my Zack, deserved a little attention.

So on June 25 Zack and I will have been together for five years. FIVE years! And married for TWO! We had the special privileged of being married on the same day we started dating three years previously.

For those who have known us for a while, know that Zack and I’s journey has not always been easy especially in the beginning but I always knew that Zack was a part of God’s plan for my life.

Marriage itself is not easy and I know for some people it’s not that bad. But poor Zack he had the misfortune of marrying a fiercely independent woman who is still trying to figure out what it means to be “one”.

Zack is seriously my better half. I know it’s cheesy but it’s so true. Sure, he’s not perfect but I give him a run for his money and he is so patient with me (way more patient that I would be with me)!

I am headstrong.  Independent. Stubborn. Proud. Opinionated. And while many of these things can be positive characteristics if left unchecked can run amuck and turn me into an unpleasant person to be around – especially when combined.

Zack is the one who keeps me in check. He’s the one who calls me out on my crap and then endures my wrath as I get defensive for being called out. He is so patient with me and he always, always listens to my endless ramblings.

I used see myself as the strong one the one who kept us on track but I am beginning to realize that often Zack is the one who does.  Maybe not in the way that I’m used to but considering he’s the only person who truly see’s my soul and can confront me on the icky stuff in it, I think I’d be lost without him.

Being married forces you to look at your crap. You can’t hide it the way you hide it from the world. Zack and I have the unique ability to be able to push each to be more and more a man/woman after God’s own heart as we look into one another’s soul and lovingly confront and care for each other.

Marriage is partnership and there are often times when I am the strong ones but other times he is. We’ve learned that in order to be good team you have to be willing to step up when the other is faltering and also be willing to rest on the other when you just can’t carry on. Zack and I have that. And that truly blesses me. I love that I know I can trust him to carry me and that I can be a blessing to him and carry him in turn.

 

Recently I’ve had several conversations about marriage with people who are skeptical about the institution of marriage. And in light of today’s culture and perception of marriage, I don’t blame them. However,  Zack and I have a different idea of what marriage is. Marriage is a lot of things but ultimately it’s a representation of Christ and his Church. We are to be an example, a light, to the world of how much the Lord loves his people.  He commands Zack and I to love one another as Christ has loved the Church.

My prayer to the Lord when Zack and I first got together was that together we could bring more glory to Him than either one of us could bring alone. This is still my prayer and I believe the Lord has honored it. We aren’t perfect and we still have many challenges before us, I am sure, but God has been so faithful to us in our marriage. We often forget to put Him at the center and struggle every day to do so yet he remains faithful by giving us grace to carry one and to allow us to continue to help shape each other into the people He wants us to be.

Our marriage is not perfect because we are not perfect but I do believe we bring God honor in three ways. 1) By being example to the world of commitment and God’s plan for marriage 2) and example of God’s love for his people and 3) to encourage and challenge one another to be more like Christ.

So all this to say, I am so very thankful for Zack and for the Lord bringing him into my life all those years ago. Not just because I have a built in best friend who always there for me but because together we are becoming more like our creator and living for him. I am so excited to see where he is going to take us in the next year and the years to come.