DAY ONE

I am thankful for my husband.

I love how Jimmy loves the Lord. He has this spiritual integrity that is second to none and I love how he always desires to do what is good. He leads by example and seeks what is right. I cherish the encouragement, support, and graciousness he has provided me in these past seven years together.


I am thankful for Jimmy’s pursuit of me. From the time of our first date, he was very intentional with me and made those intentions clear. I never had to wonder how he felt, if he was going to call, or where he saw our relationship going. He always told me himself and has always kept his word. I am so thankful for the security I felt early on, and for the security I feel today.

I am thankful for his servant’s heart. For the entire nine months of my pregnancy, this sweet guy brought me apple juice and cereal in bed so I could get my heavy morning sickness out of the way. He never left my side while I heaved up everything within me. (And believe me, it wasn’t a pretty sight.) Jimmy still makes my breakfast and pours my morning coffee. I sometimes take these small acts of love for granted but they say so much about his heart.


I am thankful for his friendship. I love that he and I can laugh together for hours. He makes road trips, grocery shopping, and even house cleaning fun. He truly is the coolest partner around. Jimmy has quite the “freak flag” hidden behind his serious nature. I love it when he waives that flag proudly. And I also love that he laughs at my jokes. Because let’s face it, I think I am pretty funny myself.

I am thankful for the kind of father he chooses to be. He loves our boy with all his heart and his tenderness towards Pearce is so precious to watch. I have yet to see such patience, wisdom, and intent anywhere else. I love how he strives to be better with Pearce. His otherwise tidy nightstand is stacked with books about fathering, Godly discipline, and raising our boy to be a gentleman. He takes his role as daddy so seriously, and like many things he does: he sets a very high standard.

Thank you Lord for such a kind and loving husband.

A Change of Heart

Sometimes, when I am in a quiet place in life I am able to rest my mind and focus on the things that really matter. But lately, life has been loud. Somehow, I have lost focus. Maybe it is the result of our two pregnancy losses. Maybe it’s because we are dealing with the ‘terrible two’s’ full throttle. Maybe life is just too hectic. Maybe I simply need to slow down.

And maybe … just maybe … it’s me.

In the midst of my daily diaper changing, lotion-lathering, dish-doing, toy-tripping, and Facebook - creeping I have become unsatisfied. I have become impatient. And I have become unsettled. To put it in one word…I am: ungrateful.


I don’t know where the roots of discontentment begin but I know those roots grow fast. And they are strong … strong enough to wrap our hearts and minds in a muddy mess of entitlement. I find myself asking questions and challenging the Lord’s sovereignty over our lives. I miss the wonder right in front of me because I am too busy looking forward. And often times, I pout over all the blessings I eagerly anticipate but rarely appreciate.

It’s a little awkward to be confessing this on-line, however some things just need to be said and since I am rarely someone who holds my tongue, I figure I might as well just put it all out there. I would like to believe that I am not the only person who struggles in this area so hopefully this “commitment” of mine will be of some encouragement to those who stumble across my blog.

It is Thanksgiving season and this time of year is so dear to me. I love the smell of pumpkin candles in my kitchen. I look forward to fun fall ideas from my Real Simple magazine. I love the anticipation of making the perfect Thanksgiving meal. I cherish family pictures of us in brown sweaters and fall accessories. I look forward to Cyber Monday. And most of all, I treasure this time of year with family. And while all those things are wonderful, they are nothing compared to the true intention of Thanksgiving. I did some research and found that Thanksgiving in America originally began as a religious observance to give thanks to God.

To give thanks to God.

I barely remember a time when it was kosher and acceptable to openly praise God for his mercy and blessing. And on a national level? Unheard of. You see, we have lost focus. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I am ready to bring my focus back in clear view.

I once read that it takes 21 days to break a bad habit. While I am not clear on the scientific evidence behind such claims, it sounds convincing enough to me. My ungratefulness has become somewhat of a bad habit. It is sort of like biting my nails: I know it is not good for me, but I simply cannot help myself. My attitude of ungratefulness is exactly the same. I know better. But I choose the easier path of discontentment.

So here is what I am going to do: between now and Thanksgiving, I commit to 21 days of gratefulness. I will post something each day that I am thankful for. I will not be putting these things in any particular order...just as they come to me. This is a little scary for me as I am freaked out at the commitment of blogging daily. However, my sweet husband is on board so I am guessing some late night blogs are in my future. Either way, I need to do this and get my heart in check.

Day one starts tomorrow. To be continued…

Fall's Fantastic-ness

Well, it's fall and it just so happens that I have very strong opinions about this time of year...

I absolutely, positively, love it!

A boy and his pumpkins...

Seriously, nothing gets me in a better mood than a crisp, cool morning and a scarf around my neck. I find myself at the Starbucks drive thru much more than in the summer, because let's face it: a cold coffee just doesn't satisfy like a warm one does. A nice Chai Latte or White Mocha always warm my body and heart. And oddly enough, my house is cleaner in the fall...I wish I had an explanation for this but it simply is what it is.

Every year, Jimmy indulges my love for fall. September 1st is D-Day at our house: Decorate Day. I pull out all my fall decor and strategically place dried leaves, garland, and pumpkins around the house. (It's the only time of year that the color orange is welcome in our home). I then dig up the half-priced, end of season, Pumpkin Patch and Leaves candles I purchase every year at Bath and Body Works. I light them. And I wait as our home magically comes alive with the scent of fall. It is wonderful and is an immediate lift to my spirits.

There is a tree in our neighborhood that simply screams fall. It is a fabulous shade a green, accompanied by and even more fabulous splash of red leaves.  It looks as though God simply whipped out his paintbrush and dotted the "i" for His truth of, "I love you, world." The red leaves rock and I find joy each time I drive by this terrific tree.

In my never-ending attempts to be the best wife and mother JB and Pearce could want (sigh), I have been working on some creative cooking and treats for this time of year. First, I have been cooking with lots of pumpkin lately. Our recent dishes include: Pumpkin Sausage Lasagna, Coconut Pumpkin Soup, Pumpkin Cream Cheese with Bagels, Pumpkin Casserole, and Jimmy's favorite: Pumpkin Cheesecake Bars. (they really are delicious). Who knew there were so many pumpkin recipes out there? And the best part? They are super easy!

I also love the fact that fall means we get to begin the ever-important task of selecting Pearce's Halloween costume. Because, here's the deal: I realize I only have a few blissful years of costume input and I cherish each year that my opinion counts. This year may be my last, and I fully intend to make the most of it. I love the idea of selecting adorable, yet orginal costumes sweet Pearce would never select on his own merit. In fact, I try to select something I would secretly love to wear.

 On his first Halloween, when most babies are dressing up as little pumpkins and buntings; Pearce was a ferocious shark. The kiddo had no teeth, cheeks as sweet as molasses, and could barely sit up. But oh yes, he was a serious shark and totally convincing.

A Shark Tale

Last year's costume selection was a little more challenging. Pearce was walking, ahem, running every where he went and simply wouldn't tolerate any old costume. It needed to have heart and it needed to be fabulous. Enter ... Yoda. Yes, Pearce was the best Yoda in the history of Yodas.

May The Force be with you.

Fall also means we are blessed with a series of carnivals and trips to the pumpkin patch. It is such a delight to watch Pearce in these atmospheres. He is totally in a different element and looks around like a kid in a ... well, pumpkin patch. He squeals with delight as he climbs over perfectly round pumpkins and rushes to line up again for his tenth turn on the moon bounce. We sit back and watch our boy play as I find something to do with my new found time: I savor every last bite of Lehman's kettlecorn and sip fresh squeezed lemonade. Delicious.

One of the most exciting things about fall is that Christmas is right around the corner. And yes, my Christmas decor comes out early too. This year I promised Jimmy I would hold off until the end of November...I am not sure I can wait that long. Wink, Wink.

Baby Early Bird is Here...

Last night the sweetest addition to the world made her debut.

Harper has arrived. And she is heavenly.

 

There are very few words to describe this delightful darling. Seriously, I always have plenty to say and when I saw her, I was speechless. At 3 pounds and 13 ounces, she took my breath away. I don't know what I expected, but I certainly didn't expect to be so awestruck with her dearness.

Of all the sugar and spice in the world, Harper hit the motherload. She must be packed to the brim with sweetness as everything about her is like sugar. Her little body is about the size of a fall squash, and is the softest skin I have ever felt. Her delicate little hands are moving constantly and her tiny feet are the size of most baby doll's. She is wide-eyed and aware as she turns toward her daddy when he talks to her.

She is doing remarkably well. The big girl is breathing on her own, sucking a pacifier, and cooing and crying like a full term baby! The NICU staff is impressed, doctors are hopeful, and we are delighted. As any doll would be, she is already accessorizing. Her little tootsies are being kept warm by tiny pink booties and her precious head is adorned with the sweetest knit cap, complete with a pink bow on top. She looks like a little gift. And a gift she is.

Beth got to meet her briefly last night and the video was so sweet. Baby girl snuggled up to her mama's chest and looked like a little kangaroo in a pouch. Poor Bethie is not doing as well as her baby. Her blood pressure is still spiking and now doctors fear she is ill from the lack of sleep and a difficult labor. We are so grateful for The Lord's protection over baby Harper and now we ask for healing and protection over Beth. Please continue to lift these two girls up daily in prayer.

We will keep you posted on the progress of both Bethie and Harper .

The Waiting Game...

We spend a lot of our lives waiting. Waiting in line at the supermarket, waiting in traffic, waiting for retirement, etc. While waiting is often a negative notion in my mind, tonight's wait is wonderful.

Tonight we wait for Harper Grace.

Her arrival into the world has come as quite a surprise to us all. In fact, we all assumed this "waiting game" would start eight weeks from now. But no, as any princess would...she has her own timing. After a sudden bout with preeclampsia, Beth and Blake learned this morning that sweet Harper needed to come soon. She needed to come today. So here we are....praying that the past 32 weeks of growth are enough. Enough time for Harper to breathe on her own, enough for her to regulate her body temperature, and enough to prepare her sweet life for early entrance into the world.

There are a number of things left incomplete. And for those of you who know my sister, this is a major concern. Harper's room isn't perfect yet. Her walls do not display the artwork Beth and Blake envisioned. Her rose-printed nightgowns are not yet clean. And her little diaper bag is not yet packed.

But our hearts are ready. And that is enough.

Beth and Blake are already wonderful parents. Sweet Beth has spent the past week laying flat...obeying her doctor's orders to keep their baby girl in the womb as long as possible. Blake hasn't left Beth's side and I am pretty certain he hasn't slept in a week either. They are worried. They are tired. And already, they are in love with their girl. And as any mother would, Beth is preparing Harper's world as best as she can for when Harper arrives.

Early ultrasounds have shown hair on Harper's sweet head. So Harper's tiny hats and bows are here at the hospital: waiting for the little darling these hats were created for. Beth called me a few days ago and wanted to make sure Harper's NICU bed would be ready for her princess. She asked me to make some signs for baby girl's bed. The signs are waiting to warm the temporary home of baby Harper. Like a mama bird, Beth is preparing her Early Bird's nest.

It's eight hours into labor and the doctor assures us we have a long haul ahead of us. So we wait patiently. Because good things come to those who are patient.

And a new baby girl? Well, that's about as good as it gets.

What do I know?

The past few months have been some of the toughest months of our lives, and while I have been hesitant to acknowledge any of it through avenues such as blogging and Facebook, I feel pulled to share. So sharing is what I am going to do. I usually try to keep my posts light-hearted and my hope is that those reading my posts will be blessed in some way; usually through some laughter or an otherwise overlooked chance to appreciate where you are in life. I am also amazed at how my blogging has sort of evolved into a family journal I can share with our children someday. My hope is that this post will share some truth with the blogging world…or simply those who stumble across my blog.  :)


Deep Breath. My heart has been broken…twice. Jimmy and I have been so eager to grow our sweet family and as things often go, it has not been in our timing.

In May Jimmy and I learned we were expecting. We were elated. We promptly ordered Pearce the dearest, coolest, “Big Brother” shirts and paraded him around friends and family to announce our news. I started planning Pearce’s ‘big boy’ room and how we would welcome this new life into our family. I fixed my eyes on the due date of January 25th. I celebrated the fact that morning sickness was not nearly as bad as it was with Pearce, and counted down the weeks until we got to see the wonderful heartbeat of our baby.

At nine weeks things did not go as planned. Following some mild spotting, my doctor ordered an ultrasound to ease my mind. I will never forget the way my stomach dropped when the tech turned the ultrasound screen away from Jimmy and I. Right there, I knew… But I hoped. Hours later we learned that our celebrated addition was not what we thought. Our pregnancy had actually ended weeks before, with an empty sac and a genetically faulty pregnancy. I felt foolish. Did I share with others too soon? Was it something I did? Was my praise for the milder morning sickness just a farce? And the hardest question of all: How do I mourn the loss of something I never actually had?

The weeks that followed were raw. I remember crying on my closet floor because I simply wanted to be alone, and I needed the world around me to stand still. I was desperate to close my eyes, plug my ears and stomp my feet as the world around me kept moving. I was still standing in the ultrasound room, but everyone else had moved on. But with darkness, comes morning. And with the morning, comes mercy. Scripture tells us that “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness” Lamentations 3:22-23. I have no idea how we got through the emotional rollercoaster that followed the loss of our baby, coupled by an insane plummet in hormones. I seriously thought I had lost my mind.

About 6 weeks later we learned that we were expecting another little one…due April 28th. We were thrilled, but cautious. We told a small group of friends and asked for prayer. Prayer for peace, a healthy pregnancy, and for continued healing. My heart was guarded but my mind was so hopeful. I actually remember verbalizing the relief I felt to Jimmy, as surely a miscarriage wouldn’t happen twice. I had already proved my ability to carry one healthy pregnancy…sweet Pearce. But after a series of frustrating doctor’s calls, frequent blood work, and about 5 ultrasounds my doctor told us what we were dreading: this too, was not viable. My pregnancy was diagnosed as ectopic, and treatment was needed. I was given two injections of a chemotherapy drug called methotrexate: the purpose was to burn out the pregnancy and treat rapidly developing cells. I cried. I was distraught with the concept that I was ending a pregnancy … because dangerous or not, this was a child we wanted. My doctor assured me that this was not an option but necessary, as ectopic pregnancies are life threatening and cannot be carried to term. I still cried.


In the aftermath of this season I find myself asking lots of questions. I have been angry because, dang it, life just hasn’t been fair to us. I want to know why God would allow this to happen…why He didn’t miraculously heal these two little lives….why I even got pregnant in the first place….and most of all, why us?

 It amazes me how quickly our grateful hearts can turn bitter. The same God who so graciously orchestrated the blessing of our precious Pearce hasn’t changed…but my perspective has. I am no longer patient, I am planning. I am not waiting, I am worrying. I am no longer trusting, I am throwing tantrums. My hands are no longer open and ready to accept God’s sovereignty, they are accusing as I point my finger at our God and place blame on the blameless. I hurt deeply and want so badly to taste the bitterness that suffering brings.


I began to question my faith. Is Jesus who He says He is? What sort of Father would let his children suffer? If God really is in control…why hasn’t He healed me? What kind of God demands such glory that He allows us to suffer so that He can be glorified? I even spent forty five minutes one day researching how dinosaurs fit in the Bible, thinking that would provide some proof I needed to see. (FYI…there is lots on the subject) But the truth is…who am I to ask such questions? Who am I to challenge the Creator of the universe? I have grappled with this for weeks. But you know what? I believe the Lord welcomes doubt as it is just another way He can be glorified.

And there is a silver lining: I am growing. In all honestly, I am doing all I can to prevent spiritual growth during this time. I want to stay angry. I want to feel sorry for myself. And I want to blame someone for the unjustness we have felt. But dang it; no matter how hard I push, I am still being held. And as He often does, The Lord really convicted my heart this morning.


I have always loved this song, but today the lyrics spoke to me on a different level. I cannot help but feel this song was written just so I could hear it on this day as I drove to work in my cozy town of Tulsa, Oklahoma.



What Do I Know of Holy?

I made You promises a thousand times

I tried to hear from Heaven

But I talked the whole time

I think I made You too small

I never feared You at all

If You touched my face would I know You?

Looked into my eyes could I behold You?



What do I know of You

Who spoke me into motion?

Where have I even stood

But the shore along Your ocean?

Are You fire? Are You fury?

Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?

What do I know? What do I know of Holy?



I guess I thought that I had figured You out

I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about

How You were mighty to save

Those were only empty words on a page

Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be

The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees



What do I know of You

Who spoke me into motion?

Where have I even stood

But the shore along Your ocean?

Are You fire? Are You fury?

Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?

What do I know? What do I know of Holy?


The truth is: I know nothing. Just like the author of this song, I ask so many questions. And rather than listen to the Lord, in my arrogance, I feel the need to explain my point of view.


As if I know better.


I know nothing of the God who created life and I know nothing of the One who has numbered our days.


But I try.


And in my weak, half- hearted attempts to find the answers I am seeking: I truly believe the Lord meets me here. He holds us in the midst of our disbelief and doubt. He loves us in spite of our unlovable hearts. And in time, His graciousness is revealed as we get to live His perfect plan for our lives… A plan that began with creation, was tainted by sin, but was restored to wholeness by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

So I am waiting here as I slowly transform my accusing, pointed finger into open palms, ready to accept the Lord’s sovereignty.

To be TWO...

As of last week, I am the mother of a two year old.

 Is it possible for two years to flash forward in the span of just months? Where did the time go? Last week I watched Back to the Future and couldn't help but feel a bit like Marty … life as I know it has changed, yet I cannot figure out how.

 With every big change in our lives, we have a solid start and end point. Our new marriage was marked by the joy of living under the same roof and in the same town. My new job afforded a new office, and a great car. Our new home resulted in a new neighborhood, a fresh location, and some new furniture. But our baby boy dropping the ‘baby’ and becoming a boy? No matter how I try… I cannot pinpoint the start and end points of this transition. Slowly, gradually, it simply happened.

Maybe I have been in denial. Maybe I have been plugging my ears and ignoring my mother’s warning that time flies. Maybe I slept through the past two years. And maybe, just maybe this is just the way life goes…

On August 27th, 2008, the greatest thing to ever happen to me, happened. I was 38 weeks pregnant, still sick as a dog with morning sickness (don’t get me started), and miserable. I woke up to my usual routine of eat and throw up, to be followed by a long – awaited occurrence… my water broke. This was it. Jimmy and I were elated … we finally knew the date of our boy’s birthday. We knew that in a matter of hours, the sweet face we had dreamt about for months would be looking into ours. And oh, that face is still the most precious sight to see. In many ways, dear Pearce looks so different. But in others, he is exactly the way I remember him when Jimmy handed him to me at 6:07 pm on his birthday.

• His button lips still form a perfect pout. They have this rosy shade to them at all times and I can see his daddy in his mouth. We knew it the moment he was born … Pearce was blessed with Jimmy’s plump lips.
• His hair is still wonderfully wild. I remember one of the first things I noticed about Pearce was his dark, soft hair. Even today, his little head looks and smells as sweet as it did the day he came into this world.
• His pudgy little fingers are still the softest, most wonderful sight. I love the way his hand dimples when he places it on mine or rests it in my lap. These small acts of affection warm my heart more than I could have ever imagined.
• And his cheeks. Pearce’s plump cheeks were there the moment he entered the world, and I have a feeling they are here to stay. I love the way they jiggle as he walks and plays.
• Pearce’s profile might be the sweetest view of him…those long lashes, perfect lips, and pudgy cheeks could take your breath away.

And now we celebrate our boy.

He is independent. Pearce sometimes puts on his own shoes…when did he learn this? He has preferences. Last week he asked me to cut the tag out of his shirt…what? He doesn’t need my help eating anymore and when he does need help, he has the ability to tell me straight out. No more guessing what he needs…my baby is a boy now and can tell me himself. He is a compassionate person…his clumsy, yet gentle pats on my back brought me comfort in a recent hurt. He is a singer. A few weeks ago I turned my ear to the back seat to hear a little voice singing “Jesus Loves Me.” And he is proud. His conquered puzzles and picked up toys are celebrated with an enthusiastic, “I did it!”

Two years have passed since Pearce entered our lives and while I don’t recall a clear start and end point of this milestone called boyhood…I have a series of tender moments to cling to. I will never forget the way he looked when Jimmy first handed him to me. I will never forget the sound of his little whimper…we called him a pterodactyl. I love the way I felt when he first started reaching for us and how precious he always looked snuggled up in our chests. The words “I wuv you mama” are music to my ears. And to hear our boy singing the words “Jesus Loves Me” is one of the more precious moments I recall. I love the little person Pearce is becoming and I am awestruck at his ability to warm my heart more and more each day. Happy 3rd Year, Pearce. We love you loads.