Finding God in the Spilled Milk & Temper Tantrums

You know that feeling, when you’re deep in the fray of school, and the calendar slowly, dramatically turns to December and you realize, ahhh!! Finals are coming, time to buckle down and study like never before!! Are you imagining it? Lately, I’ve been in the midst of what feels like the spiritual equivalent of December before finals. It’s exhausting and thrilling, and I’m struggling to keep up with everything God is teaching and whittling away at in me. So of course I turn to writing, in an effort to make sense of it all and hopefully be of some encouragement to you along the way too!

My heart has many corners undergoing His refining fire, but perhaps none more so than the area of motherhood. Doesn’t just the word “motherhood” conjure up such tender images of mother and child, sitting quietly together or sharing a poignant moment before bed? Well, those times do exist to be sure—but it’s the less-than-Norman Rockwell, everything-in-between moments that have laid me out lately. It’s difficult to grasp until you’re in it, but my word—the ability of a two-foot-tall tyrant, who can’t even speak yet, to bring you to your very knees is stunning, remarkable really.

In the midst of the chaos accompanying the seemingly simple task of caring for two such toddlers, God swept down and pressed upon my heart His firm yet loving conviction: thus far, I’ve pretty much been mothering my babies in my own strength. I didn’t even realize this hollow reliance on my own resources until God gently whispered it into my heart. And, after about a thousand sippy cups leaking milk on the new rug and temper tantrums and refusals to share that toy that you weren’t even interested in until your sister picked it up, the harsh realization hit:

I’ve run out of gas.

I’ve reached the end of my own resources. On my own, I have no more patience, no more kindness, no more love. I desperately need Jesus in the midst of all the spilled milk and temper tantrums (theirs and my own!). I need Jesus in the daily battles over screen time and gum. I need Jesus in the exhaustion and sheer borderline rage that threatens to breach the surface when I’ve prepared a meal and my son turns up his nose and begs for animal crackers. I am so tired, so very, very tired, because I’ve been running on empty now for months. Running on empty, when the Source of all life, strength, and love has been standing patiently by my side, waiting for me to look up and find Him at the end of my fraying rope.

It’s painful, this reaching the end of your rope thing, but in the pain I’m finding beautiful relief. And I never cease to be amazed at how God pursues and meets us, sometimes in unexpected ways. My Bible study group is going through Priscilla Shirer’s powerful study of Gideon, the subtitle of which is “Your Weakness. God’s Strength.” Approaching this study, I expected to find strength in my writing goals or something along those lines . . . I never expected to be undone by the realization of my weakness as it relates to motherhood! But oh, how thankful I am that He’s teaching me now, now while my babies are still young and many of our problems can be fixed with a vacuum and a good, warm bath. Or a well-earned stint in time out.

Normally when I write, I like to share the main concepts of what God is teaching me, or scripture on which I’m relying. But today, this post is coming to you from the middle of the weeds, where I’m stretching tall to peek beyond their scrubby silhouette, aching for a glimpse of what lies beyond. I don’t have any answers or much advice—this is a season for me to learn, to be still, and to know that He is God. He is God, who will be exalted above the nations (see Psalm 46:10), and He is God who will carry me in His arms, close to His heart, gently leading me as I mother these babies He’s entrusted to my care (see Isaiah 40:11).

I do want to share two things that God is pressing into my heart, however, in the hopes that maybe you can relate and be encouraged as well. Perhaps we can learn together, or perhaps you can offer me your hard-earned wisdom, which I welcome with open arms.  

First, I’m learning that the lies of the world can quietly, insidiously creep their way into our hearts, without us even realizing their presence. I love being a stay-at-home mom, and there is nothing else on this planet I’d rather be doing right now. But when Priscilla waxed poetically about the great work of raising the next generation and what a high and holy commission that is, I was dumbfounded to discover that deep down, I doubted the holiness of my calling. And while I wouldn’t choose anything else right now, deep down I harbored some of those lies the world entices us to believe. The lies telling me that now—because I no longer work at the CDC—I’m not quite as valuable. Now—because I wipe noses and bottoms and prepare endless meals and snacks—my work isn’t contributing as much as it once did. Now—that I’m “just a stay-at-home mom”—I’ve lost my place in the world, so to speak.

Dear reader, these are lies, bold-faced lies the enemy would have you and me believe! And I didn’t even realize they’d furtively tucked themselves into my heart, as I would have denied their presence in my life with honesty and fervor. In the same vein, because parts of my heart believed that this calling to motherhood wasn’t such a big deal, I believed the lie that it was a task I could handle in my own strength . . . well, as previously noted, the error of that lie has made itself known, loud and clear! The lies of this world are sneaky and cloaked in apparent reason and rightness, but oh, how wrong and destructive they are, and how thankful I am that God is breaking me free from them! And God will be faithful to break you free from lies as well, should you find yourself falling for them inadvertently like I did.

Second, the beauty and meaning inherent in the small things is perhaps greater than anything the seemingly “grander” things in life can offer. Through the life of Gideon, God illustrates how critical a task it is for us to be faithful in all the small things in our lives. Faithful in the mundane, ordinary tasks we face each day, no matter what circumstances in which we find ourselves. Our ordinary tasks may look different, but they all play a role of key importance: they are preparing us for the tasks and the calling that comes next in our lives. As Priscilla points out, Gideon practiced the boring, laborious task of threshing wheat—separating the hearty, viable grain from the useless chaff. Little did he know that God was preparing to use him to separate His people from the worthless idols they were following.

I don’t know what grander things God is preparing you for today, nor do I have an answer for myself. But this I do know: whatever things He may or may not have in store, no matter how “grand” in the world’s economy, nothing will be as beautiful and meaningful as these leaky sippy cups and diapers that need changing. Nothing will be as poignant and breathtaking as scrubbing dirty, cherub faces at the end of the day and rocking those sweet bodies until peaceful sleep settles over them. Nothing. As mothers in particular, we deal with so much ordinary and mundane on a daily basis, it’s easy to miss the truth. There is so much beauty in these small things, and we need only to exchange our earthly eyes for spiritual ones in order to see and be undone by it all.

In her beautiful book “Surprised by Motherhood,” author Lisa-Jo Baker describes motherhood as “a sacred marriage of the mundane and the eternal.” I can think of no better description than that. May God give us eyes to see and the strength to persevere in the mundane, knowing that through the chaos and the quiet, He is paving the way to that which is eternal.

Blessings,

~Mere

The Sound of Silence

Hello readers! Today, I wanted to write about something that’s very difficult for me to write about—a topic fiercely close to my heart. Indeed, one and the same as my heart . . . my baby boy. My firstborn son, Isaiah. I know I’m his mama, but he is the sweetest, smartest, most tenderhearted and precious thing I’ve ever known on this planet! He is God’s promise fulfilled, a promise of living, breathing flesh. 

Like any mama, my heart aches for my children when they stumble and fall or when they struggle. Any “boo boo” or hurt feeling sends me reeling, although I amgetting better at handling it (with these two, there are lots of boo boos in our future!). But what about the boo boos and hurts that can’t be easily remedied by a cutesy Muppets Band-Aid? 

Over the summer, we have come to encounter one of those problems, in the form of a speech delay. I know this is such a specific problem and most (if not all!) of you will have no experience with it—however, my heart for this blog is to encourage others, to help others know they aren’t alone in their struggles with faith, fear, or whatever the case may be . . . so I want to share our journey (we are just getting started!) on the off-chance that one of you finds yourself in the same boat. Even if you can’t relate to the specifics, perhaps you will be encouraged as you face your own unique struggles and hurdles. I have a friend from law school who blogged awhile back about her son’s experience with a speech delay, and I found greatencouragement in her words. So today, I’d like to do the same!

As all my fellow moms know, you spend your baby’s first year hyper in-tuned to his or her development—BabyCenter became almost a daily site visit for me, and it is indeed a great resource rich with loads of information. As Isaiah grew, one by one I checked off his developmental milestones with a huge sigh of relief. 

He’s smiling! Phew.

He’s responding to his name! Phew.

He’s crawling! Yay! (And, oh no! I have to baby proof now!)

In terms of speech development, I honestly didn’t give this area a huge part of my attention. He made lots of noises, coos, grunts, and cries, and nothing about his speech flagged my attention, especially as a first-time mom. But as he continued to grow (8 months, 9 months, 10 months, etc.) and I spent time with friends and their similarly aged babies, I had that first uncomfortable realization . . . 

. . . Hmmm, he’s not babbling like that little girl. He’s not imitating me or repeating words like “ball” and “baby.” He’s never even come close to saying “mama.”

Even so, I wasn’t worried about him in light of the huge variation in when children speak, and the fact that boys tend to be less verbal or develop verbal skills later than girls. But as he passed the 18-month mark and neared the age of 2, one of those BabyCenter bulletins stopped me in my tracks. I quickly realized that he did not have the number of words he “should” have, nor was he using verbal cues to inform me of his wants and needs. As we joke around our house, Isaiah speaks “cave man,” and speaks it quite well!

Countless times, I was told “oh don’t worry about it, kids develop at different speeds,” and while this istrue, something simply didn’t seem right. Call it a mom’s intuition, but I felt something else might be going on. Whenever we read books or I talked with him and asked him to repeat words, I could see his mind thinking and his mouth trying to form the word . . . but he just couldn’t make the word come out of his mouth. One thing I’ve learned for sure is to listen to your mama’s intuition!

I brought this issue to his doctor’s attention back in the spring, and we were able to get set up with a fantastic speech therapist at UC Davis (how incredibly thankful I am for the care we receive here!). After a couple of sessions, our therapist thinks he may have a mild case of Apraxia, a motor speech disorder. I’m still learning what that means, but essentially, Isaiah is not fully able to say what he knows. The brain communicates with the mouth/tongue/lips to make certain sounds and words, but this motor pathway is disrupted in children with Apraxia. 

Thankfully, he has no cognitive or developmental delays accompanying his speech disorder, so our therapist is positive about the progress he’s made thus far and will continue to make. But it will be a long road, and progress is often slow. I am realizing the importance of reminding myself of this and not falling into the comparison trap! I’m so proud of Isaiah and how hard he works during sessions . . . but oh, how it tugs on my heart when I see other children his age talking up a storm. I never realized just how much I long to hear his sweet voice. He is such a smart little guy, learning so much everyday and changing rapidly—it kills me that he isn’t able to tell me what he’s thinking or ask me a question. When he says simple phrases like “thank you” or “bye bye,” it literally thrills my heart!

So, that’s where we find ourselves now. Weekly speech therapy is a part of our life, and hopefully we will be adding in another session each week via the county (California has some fantastic programs—putting all those taxes to work, ha!). And let me tell you, nothing in my life has sent me to my knees before God faster than my children and what touches their lives. I finally understand what my own mom has told me all these years—that anything that happens to her is nothing compared to what happens to her babies!

As we begin the journey of tackling Isaiah’s speech disorder, I’m reminded of some important truths that we as believers must hold to in faith. It’s nothing new, but I know I need the reminder—and today, maybe you do too!

First, fear does NOT have to be our master. When we’re facing an uncertain future (will Isaiah learn to speak normally? Will he have lingering delays? Will he be able to thrive in school?), the instinct to fear is palpable and sometimes overwhelming. It’s no wonder then, that God addressed this topic in the Bible hundreds of times, with comforting admonitions notto fear and not to be afraid. I love the words of Psalm 46: 

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, even though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea . . . The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge (Psalm 46:1-2,7 NKJV emphasis added). 

When the voice of fears taunts you—and yes, it will most certainly do so—remember that we have the God of the universe on our side. He is in control, even when our circumstances feel all kinds of crazy! I’m learning to dig deep into the next level of faith and trust Him with Isaiah’s future, which brings me to the next point:

Second, our children ultimately belong to the Lord. My inner control freak swallows hard at this one . . . my children are not mineto own. They are blessings bestowed by our Creator God and entrusted to Aaron and me to love, teach, and train. A recent Proverbs31 article provided a great reminder that we must entrust our children to the Lord, knowing that their future is in His hands, not ours. 

Long before Isaiah was a thought in my mind, His name was on my Father’s tongue. I am learning the difficult task of leaving my hands open, palms up before God and resting in His plans for Isaiah and Hemingway’s lives. I cling to the words of Isaiah 40:11, which read: 

He protects His flock like a shepherd; He gathers the lambs in His arms and carries them in the fold of His garment (HCSB). 

Isn’t that imagery beautiful? I am asking and believing God to carry my babies in His arms, which never tire like mine do. While it’s challenging to let go of my illusion of control, I know in my spirit there is no better place for them to be! 

And finally, God is still good, no matter what. Guys, this is a tough one, is it not? God is good . . . even when the cancer is incurable? Even when the diagnosis has no treatment? Even when the answer to our deepest desire is no? 

Yes, He is. And this is the space in which faith sinks deep into the dark earth, developing strong, hearty roots while grasping the soft, cool dirt in a place the sun doesn’t reach. I believe as Christians, we generally do not give God enough credit. We don’t believe Him when He says He can do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine(Ephesians 3:20 NIV). But I believe He is faithful to fulfill that promise when we trust Him and step out in faith . . . it doesn’t mean our life will “look” exactly like we thought it would or should. There are certainly seasons in which we have to look a little deeper to find the good, but I believe with all my heart that it’s there. Are we willing to hold fast to this truth, even when our circumstances entice us to think otherwise?

So, on that note I’ll sign off, as I’ve already written far more than I intended to write (as always, ha!). I hope something in this post encourages you today, and thank you for reading as I share my most honest, raw heart with you.

Blessings,

~Mere 

The Answer to "The Ick"

            It’s early Monday evening, though after this day, it feels late. My husband and I had a “mountaintop” kind of weekend, where we were alive and vibrant with godly fellowship and stimulating spiritual conversation. The type of moments you wish could carry on in perpetuity.

            I figured going into today that, after such a great weekend, the enemy would be on high alert to steal my joy and kill my hope and destroy my vision.

            Yup. Mission accomplished.

            Girlfriend, it was a day. Kids crying. Kids whining. Kids fighting. Lots of spit up and messy meals and poop. I got poop on my shirt and didn’t even change it, because I was just that—I don’t know—worn out, I suppose. The thought of making one more trip up those stairs just didn’t seem worth it. So I wiped it as best I could and went on.

            I was half way through my Costco trip before I caught a glimpse of the Greek yogurt finger-painting on my new capri pants, the creative work of my 1-year-old daughter. No wonder I got so many interesting looks.

            The day went from bad to worse as the impact of my 2-year-old’s refusal to nap blossomed into a full-on tantrum meltdown of epic proportions. To top it all off, on Mondays my husband attends a men’s group starting at 7:30 pm—so he basically drops in long enough to eat the dinner I’ve miraculously managed to prepare in between refereeing “toy gate,” then swoops out to enjoy calm, mature adult conversation, conveniently missing the bedtime shenanigans.

            Sigh.

            I’m dismayed and discouraged by the chaotic state of my house, but more so by the messy state of my heart. I feel an edge of bitterness, resentment, under-appreciation; basically, the makings of a legit pity party. How is it that the pity party mentality is so unattractive in others, yet so appealing when it comes to ourselves?

            At any rate, I’m trying to fight it. Trying to fight the emotion, the lies, the pride, the frustration. It’s what I call collectively “The Ick.” Ick is a very (non)scientific term that includes any and all emotion, feeling, juju, etc., that leaves us feeling grumpy, disconnected, and distanced from our Heavenly Father. When it hits, I feel as though I’ve taken a wrong turn and slipped right down the rabbit hole, and I’m powerless to shake free from the dark cloud swirling above my head.

            I hate this feeling. Despise it with all my being. And the unfortunate truth is, I battle with it more than I wish was the case. Tonight, the juxtaposition of my weekend and my weekday have me screaming inside, what is the solution? What is the answer to The Ick?? I so desperately long to steer my heart and spirit back on track after it’s taken this kind of downturn, or even better, as soon as I feel it coming on. I’ve been asking God to show me an answer, and while I do not (and never will) claim to have the answer to anything, He has given me some insight and wisdom over the recent weeks. I share the following for myself, because processing through writing leads me to growth and freedom, and for you, because it is my sincere hope that you, too, might glean something useful in your own battle with The Ick. Here’s what I’m learning to do:

Put yourself in time out. Isn’t it staggering what parenthood teaches us about ourselves and about God? Seemingly every week I’m learning something new, having some fresh “aha” moment on account of my little ones. In my experience, “time out” has just as much relevance for us adults as it does for our recalcitrant toddlers.  I’m forming the habit of putting myself into “time out” whenever I find my heart being drug away from steadiness and sanity because of The Ick. But rather than sulking in the pack-and-play, I take this time out sitting humbly and desperately at the feet of Jesus. Psalm 142:1-2 says, “I cry aloud to the Lord; I lift up my voice to the Lord for mercy. I pour out before Him my complaint; before Him I tell my trouble.” (NIV).

The idea of “pouring out my complaint” always sounded good on paper, but it felt a bit silly in practice . . . with people starving to death and war tearing lives and bodies apart in this world, does God really have time for the things shaking up my spirit? Again, parenthood provides wisdom: have you ever once looked at your hurting child and thought, there are so many bigger problems in the world right now, I simply don’t have time to deal with your problem? In a word, no. And the same is true of our Heavenly Father. I’ve been awestruck by the peace I’ve gained by running to Him and telling Him all the things—big and small—that hurt my heart and steal my joy.

In the past, I’ve felt this need to push past my feelings, as if ignoring them will make them dissipate; but ignoring only seemed to magnify The Ick. Steal away for a few minutes anywhere you can—the closet, the bathroom, the stairwell at work—and air you grievances to your Heavenly Father. He cares, and He alone can provide the peace we really need!

Put yourself in God’s Word. One of the best ways I’ve found to shake off The Ick is by immersing myself in God’s word. I used to think this had to be a long, drawn-out, monk-like process of sitting quietly for a significant period of time. Well, who besides monks has time for that? And the great news is, a large block of time isn’t necessary. Sometimes I’m up early enough that I can spend longer in His Word, and I’m thankful for those times. But, taking even 10-15 minutes to read Scripture can make all the difference. I feel tongue-tied trying to explain the innate, surprising power of Scripture to change a hardened heart, but therein lies the mysterious working of the Holy Spirit: the words of the Bible are not like any other words on this planet.

Hebrews 4:12 says,“ For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” (NIV, emphasis added). When we read God’s word, our mere mortal beings collide with the spirit world. We can’t help but be changed by such an encounter. In my experience, even reading “dry” Old Testament passages sends the joy of the Holy Spirit bubbling up to the surface. The Bible is God’s love letter to us, and we will feel that love when reading it.

I love all of His word, but if you’re new or newer to Bible reading, or short on time, the Psalms are a great place to find encouragement. In them, I often discover a reflection of my own troubled spirit. How encouraging to know that even King David—the man after God’s own heart—cried out, “To you I call, O Lord my Rock; do not turn a deaf ear to me . . . Hear my cry for mercy as I call to you for help, as I lift up my hands toward your Most Holy Place.” (Psalm 28:1a, 2 NIV). Let Scripture wash over you for a little bit and be amazed at what God can do!

            Stop, drop, and give thanks. The transformative power of giving thanks never ceases to amaze me. Several years ago, I read Ann Voskamp’s “One Thousand Gifts” and it changed my life. Not for a day or a week or a month, but forever. I cannot recommend her book highly enough! One of the main principles that stuck with me is the crucial importance of cultivating a “language of thanksgiving.” As sinful, fallen beings, our default setting is not one of gratitude, but rather of the “why me?” and “this isn’t fair!” kind. Through a deliberate, concerted effort to “give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus,” we can begin to learn the new language of thankfulness, and to see God’s good hand in everything that touches our lives. (1 Thessalonians 5:18 NIV)

            When I’m caught in the clutches of The Ick, the last thing I want to do is name off things for which I’m thankful. I mean, the last. Recently when in a funk, Aaron innocently asked me to name a thing I was thankful for in my day. It was his good-natured attempt at pulling me out of the funk, yet in the moment, this request incensed me! I can laugh about this now, because when I stopped and thought about the day and actually named something out loud, I felt my frigid heart begin to change. And in my experience, the hardest part is taking the first step—once I name a gift, then two, then three, the gratitude ball begins rolling. It’s like finding your glasses after they’ve been knocked off your face. You can finally see again.

            So, there you have it—just a few tools that I hope you’ll find useful. I’m finding this process incredibly simple, yet deceptively difficult . . . but practice makes perfect, as the saying goes. And in the daily grind of life, I’m certain there will be no shortage of opportunities ;-).

Throwback Thursday

Hi readers! Today I thought I'd do something a little differently and share an old post. I originally posted this on my previous blog New Every Morning, which I have long since made private. 

With Mother's Day and all our birthday celebrations lately, I've been dwelling on how thankful I am for my babies. They are promises fulfilled--living, breathing manifestations of promises made by the LORD to me. It takes my breath away to think of His kindness and compassion, and His unending faithfulness to make good on His word.

But if you're not familiar with our story, then you don't know that it was a long time coming, an agonizing wait of nearly 3 years. To some, that may sound like a lifetime. To others, it may seem like the blink of an eye...some of my dear friends have waited far longer than that. The point is, however, that when your mama heart is sparked and your longing for a child goes into high gear, even a month is a long time to wait for the good news of two pink lines or a phone call telling you that you've been matched with a child.

I wrote the following words 3 1/2 years ago, and at the time, I had no earthly idea what God was getting ready to do. He was gearing up to exceed all my expectations--to do the "immeasurably more" than all I could ask or imagine (see Ephesians 3:20).

I share this with a heart that longs for you to be encouraged--if you're in the discouraging boat of infertility, I hope our story will make your heart long for what God can do in your life. But whatever your struggle, I hope these words will point you toward your Heavenly Father and encourage you to lean into Him in faith a little bit deeper.

Blessings,

~Mere

The "I" Word

December 2011

I've been wanting to write about a certain topic for a while now--but I'm not even sure where to begin. Ernest Hemingway said "There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."

Well, this certainly feels like bleeding. I want to talk about that grotesque, heartbreaking "I" word.

Infertility.

Even typing the word makes me feel sick. It's one of those words that shouldn't exist. Infertility shouldn't exist. But exist it does . . . 

And Aaron and I are dealing with it. It is all at once terrifying and liberating to write that sentence. To be sure, this is a major contributor to the emotions and issues of faith I expressed in my last couple of posts. So let me start from the beginning, and I'll do my best to explain in a clear fashion (but no promises, as my mind is anything but clear when it comes to this struggle).

I'm a person who always thought I'd have children some day, but the thought never occupied my mind until very recent times. To be perfectly frank, I was too driven to think about wanting children--my "to do" list is always full of goals to accomplish, and I've been perfectly happy to think about myself, and Aaron, when God brought him into my life.

Still, as law school was nearing its end and our marriage moved towards restoration, we decided to do what lots of couples do: not "try" per se, but rather let nature take its course, as the saying goes. Doing so was a little scary but exciting as well, and the majority of me thought it would happen easily . . . but the deeper, honest part of my heart had a gut feeling that this, too, would be a struggle we would face.

Sure enough, after 9 months of nothing, I decided to discuss the issue with my doctor at a regular check-up. With a false and fragile nonchalance, I told her what was going on. Almost before the words could leave my lips, she began rattling off the next steps for a basic fertility work-up. It would seem there's no middle ground when it comes to TTC ("trying to conceive"). You're either all in or all out, and my doctor assumed I was all in. Going through a whole battery of tests wasn't exactly at the top of my list, but I figured it couldn't hurt, right? 

Well, after various and sundry poking and prodding, everything came back normal for both Aaron and me. A very slight elevation in one hormone led my doctor to think I may have a mild case of PCOS (poly cystic ovary syndrome), but all the other tests pointed away from this. Still, even the mention of something like PCOS sent my head spinning. My doctor asked if I wanted to try fertility drugs, as it seems like doctors hand those things out like candy these days--but we weren't ready for that step, especially considering that everything was normal. 

So, feeling a little uneasy but mostly hopeful, we just proceeded to live life and hope for a blessing each month . . . but month after month after month, we faced nothing but disappointment. And every month, I was so torn about how to proceed--to use the plethora of TTC products available or just forget about it completely? I felt so powerless when not making an extra effort to "try," and yet those products (I'm speaking of things like ovulation predictor kits, etc.) only stressed me out all the more. Facing such heartbreak and darkness each month is exhausting--I'd no sooner regain my legs of faith than the next wave of crushing disappointment would hit and knock me back down to square one. It's exhausting even writing about. . . 

Now, it's been a year since that initial doctor's visit--and obviously still no baby. I recently went to another doctor, almost for a "second opinion" on our situation. After carefully going through all the tests, etc., she was quick and frank with the diagnosis: unexplained infertility. I was able to keep it together during my visit, but of course collapsed into tears the moment I reached my car. It's not as though this diagnosis was a surprise--the medical definition of infertility is trying for a year with no result--and we were months passed the year mark. But still, to hear something so bluntly and concretely--simply and ineloquently put, it's hard.

So that's where we are--it's difficult to discuss, and yet I've always wanted this blog to be a place of honesty and genuineness. I could allow my pride to take over and hold all of this inside . . . but I'd rather be forthright and transparent, as painful as that is, because in the end I long to have a story that will point to God's power, glory and provision in a supernatural way. 

I've been surprised at how much of a toll this struggle is taking on my faith--it feels as though this is the "last straw." I've managed to hold tightly to my Heavenly Father through so much over the past few years, and now I've hit a wall. Every month, every new pregnancy announcement, every birth--it all tears at my faith and is used by the enemy to get me to doubt God's goodness to me. And when I really think about what it means for me to doubt God's goodness to me, I'm overwhelmed with conviction--God has been ridiculously gracious and kind towards me, and has blessed me with more than I could ever deserve.

Isn't that just like our enemy?? Luring us away from the truth and seducing us until we're laser-focused on the one thing in our lives we don't readily have--and feel we most certainly deserve. But you know what? If the Bible shows us anything at all, it's that God is wholly in charge of wombs. It's astonishing, really, to look at how many times the LORD used the longing for a child in order to deepen the faith of His children. Look at Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Hannah, and Elizabeth, just to name a few. God can absolutely open a womb, even if it is seemingly closed. 

That's why I find our diagnosis of "unexplained infertility" a little amusing, really--is anything unexplained to our Heavenly Father? No--nothing is uncertain or unexplained to my God, the great "revealer of mysteries" (see Daniel 2:47). And how thankful I am that God is not bound by any man-made diagnosis, "for nothing is impossible with God" (see Luke 1:37).

Naturally, facing infertility is not something I ever wanted to do, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But right now, in our lives, this is a tool God is using to perfect our faith. Malachi 3:3 says that God "will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver; He will purify the Levites and refine them like gold and silver. Then the LORD will have men who will bring offerings in righteousness." (emphasis mine). On most days, I feel as though I'm in the refiner's fire--sometimes on an hourly basis! But the truth is, the LORD is using the lack of a baby to test and deepen my faith in incredible ways. And He's revealing and rooting out some serious places of doubt--doubt that I desperately want to do away with forever. 

As hard as it is to wait on God's perfect timing, I know that I'm learning lessons about Him that will be with me for the rest of my life. I know too that these are lessons I never would have learned had we never struggled with having a baby. I feel confident that God is going to bless us one day . . . but until that time, I have so much to learn about Him. And I know that I can wholly trust my God and Creator, who knows me more intimately than anyone else possibly could. I'm so excited to see what He has in store for us, and I long for Him to dazzle us with His provision as only He can!

Ok, so I know that was long - and I thank you for reading and hearing me out. If you're the praying type, I would sure appreciate your prayers, that my faith would not fail but would increase through this time of testing. There is nothing like the support of other believers! So I'll end with some of my most favorite and dearly-loved scripture:

"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; 

and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. 

When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. 

For I am the LORD, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior; 

I give Egypt for your ransom, Cush and Seba in your stead. 

Since you are precious and honored in my sight, and because I love you . . ."

~Isaiah 43:2-4

One, Two, Buckle My Shoe

Well, well, I can hardly believe that these babies of mine are now officially one and two. No more newborns and bottles. No more "two under two." And while it's only a date on the calendar, it feels much bigger than that to me. It feels momentous--like we've "made it," as they say.

Trying to put into words this past year feels like an overwhelming, surreal task . . . as overwhelming and surreal as each day, week, month. Whoever said "the days are long but the years are short" could not have been more correct. The year feels like the blink of an eye--yet I know that all the days woven together to compose this year were hard. Hard, and filled with more joy, exhaustion, stress, and love than I can possibly quantify with words!

It is humbling, this job called parenting. I remember feeling so smug and prepared to be a parent before I actually became a parent. Oh, I'll be a great mom! I'll know just what to do. These kids will be lucky. 

Ha!! Wrong. So wrong!

For me, parenting thus far's been tantamount to being blindfolded and set loose in a Survivor-worthy immunity challenge. I suppose it's painfully true that you simply don't know what you don't know. And while I am quite certain that I made many mistakes thus far in parenting, one thing I also know with certainty is that these babies are loved beyond measure. Loved well and prayed for every day. Perhaps  that's what Peter had in mind when he said, "And above all things have fervent love for one another, for 'love will cover a multitude of sins.'" (1 Peter 4: 8, NKJV). I'm counting on this truth, at any rate, and hanging my mom hat on it.

We enjoyed celebrating thoroughly (read: eating LOTS of cake & ice cream!) these past two weeks, relishing in the love and gifts showered down by family and friends. Aaron and I are not the only people who carry a "fervent love" for these babies--a truth that gives me great joy. They are lucky little kiddos indeed--but not because they have me for a mom or Aaron for a dad. Rather, because they are covered by people who love them and come before our Heavenly Father each day on their behalf. I can think of no greater gift to give them than that!

So, let me end this post with just a few pictures, before I myself start crying like a toddler. I can only imagine the trials and battles we will face this next year, but LORD willing, we will survive by the depth of His grace and look up from long days, only to realize it's time for cake and ice cream yet again.

Blessing,

~Mere

Two.

One.

Still standing, after one of the hardest years of my life!

I'm afraid this picture captures what our future looks like . . . She has cake! But I want cake!! Whaaa Whaa!! ;-)

She may not look like me, but she shares my love of cake. First taste was a hit!

When Your Mother's Day Stinks

Y’all.

As I think about trying to describe the events of the past several days, I can hardly find the words . . . but suffice it to say, this seems as good a time as any to break my blogging hiatus and get back to it!

So, it was Mother’s Day this past Sunday, and according to Facebook, it was a day filled with flowers, chocolates, breakfast in bed, cute crafts from the kiddos, and generally a plethora of mystical, warm fuzzies.

Well, not at my house.

My day began by getting the kids up and doing the usual morning routine—except on my own, since Aaron was on call. Boo. While I knew he was on call, it still stinks when he has to go in and operate, especially when I’m secretly hoping he’s just minutes from returning home with a huge bouquet of flowers and something pretty for me. A girl can dream, right?

A little special treatment seemed particularly in order following our week last week—both kiddos and myself were down for the count with an awful cold bug that started out as something simple and turned into the bug from you-know-where. Coughing, sneezing, fever, and snots-galore. Fun times!

Anyways, we laid low until Aaron returned home in the early afternoon—just in time for me to start feeling rather queasy. I figured it was the usual nausea that follows a splitting headache, but that proved not to be the case. Nope, it was the stomach flu.

The stomach flu, people. As in the I think I’m gonna die, this is not the way I wanted to lose 3 pounds kind of thing. The last time I ever had something like this was many, many years ago, in our first year of marriage after a visit to one of our favorite restaurants in Mobile, Alabama. Naturally, said restaurant was quickly crossed off our list of favorites after such an experience. But I digress . . .

After several hours of misery, this evil virus tagged its next victim—Aaron. We were quite the pitiful sight Sunday evening as we rallied any bit of strength in us to keep the kiddos alive and fed until putting them down for an early bedtime. As I closed the door to Isaiah’s room, I had the uneasy feeling that I’d be seeing him again soon.

And indeed, like clockwork, he was the next victim. As I wallowed on the couch in pain and self-pity, the undeniable sound of heaving blasted through the monitor, and I could almost smell the stench. From there, the entire night was a circus and fevered haze of vomit, crying, laundry, baths, changed sheets, more laundry, more baths, more crying . . . if you’ve been through it, you totally know what I mean. If you haven’t, there’s no need to provide details and scare you—if you have little ones, you’ll experience it soon enough.

I always wondered what happens when the parents and the kids are sick . . . well, we found out in bright Technicolor, and it ain’t pretty! Seems as though I vaguely remember some of you posting about this type of biological apocalypse on your Facebook page, but to be honest, I kind of scrolled past it quickly in a “hear no evil” type of way (i.e., if I don’t read it, it can’t really be true and therefore can’t happen to me one day . . . I feel the same way about lice infestations.). Aaron and I feel as though we’ve earned our “stripes” as parents now. I suppose we should be thankful we made it nearly 2 years without such an episode! And as my mom so gently told me, this will likely be the first of many of these types of things. Yikes!

So, there you have it—not the Mother’s Day celebration I anticipated or dreamt about. But in an ironic way, my experience turned out to be the quintessential celebration of what motherhood is all about—love, sacrifice, enduring strength. More than anything, this experience shone a bright spotlight on my incredible need for Jesus as I mother these two blessings. I’m amazed at how physical illness highlights our great need for His strength, and how the only way we can survive and thrive is to “live and move and have our being” in Him. (Acts 17:28 NIV). This was a great (and painful) reminder that I cannot be a “super mom” in my own strength. I need the God who created these babies to give me the strength, wisdom, and courage to take care of and raise them.

Reflecting on the weekend, I am also amazed at God’s goodness, His blessings in the midst of suffering. Aaron and I firmly believe our sickness of late is an attack by the enemy, a sifting of sorts (see Luke 22:31). Even though the enemy’s hand feels heavy upon us, I see the Hand of my loving Heavenly Father shining through in many small gifts:

• Aaron and I’s sickness was staggered, so that at all times at least one of us was capable—no matter how weakly—to take care of the kiddos
• Hemingway did not progress in her sickness and, to this point, has avoided it—I’m incredibly thankful, since she’s so tiny and suffered the most from the prior cold bug
• Aaron had previously made some changes to his Monday schedule that made it much easier for his partners to cover his cases
• He was also able to come home early on Tuesday, as Isaiah and I were still sick and needed some reinforcement
• I had just made a Costco run and happened to pick up some Gatorade (something I haven’t bought in months) and a big bunch of bananas

Best of all, there was a parting of the storm clouds the Saturday night beforehand. Our church held a special service that evening, and the four of us were able to attend and have Hemingway dedicated. I am super sentimental, and last Mother’s Day we had Isaiah dedicated at church, so I really wanted to do the same for baby girl. Looking back now, it was truly a miracle that this happened—Aaron had been operating all day but had a brief break that evening, and everyone had recovered from the nasty cold bug. Hemingway wore a beautiful dress her Aunt Cece made for her, and I was even able to snap a couple cute pictures of her wearing it. It was a joyful and meaningful evening!

So you know what? If your Mother’s Day didn’t live up to your expectations—it’s ok. If you spent your day sick, or paralyzed by the pain of longing to be a mother (oh, how I have been there, my friend), or disappointed that you don’t have the relationship with your mother that you wish you had, or overcome with grief that you no longer have your mama on this earth—He knows. He cares. We place so much emphasis on these holidays and so many expectations when, truth be told, such expectations rarely lead us to a place of peace and contentment.  

No matter your experience on that day, don’t allow the enemy to distract your mind and cover you with discouragement. Embrace the vomit, the pain, the heartache, and all the myriad of blessings that are indeed present . . . you may, like me, just have to look a little harder to find them.

Blessings,

~Mere