Day 464 - And We Begin Again

I need to write this post. It's the only reason electronic ink is being spilled today. The dishwasher is going, so the bath I'd rather be taking instead of a period of introspection has to wait and I have to write. So let us begin, and start with some confessions.

1) It's been two months since my last post. Partly writers block, partly procrastination, partly having little to say that would benefit others in any way. It's still not okay. 

2) It's been almost a year and a half since I was reading my bible daily. I let life take over and stopped making time for it. My heart is incredibly grieved by this. If there was ever a time in my life when I needed Him, to know Him, to be near Him, it's now. And still it is a struggle to sit down and begin again. 

3) I'm still so afraid of failure that it's paralyzing and I'm so sick of it. 

I feel a little lighter already, but it's not enough to simply confess. A confession without change is nothing but empty words and there are enough of those in the world today without my additions. The first is easy to remedy. After my bath I've got a blog scheduler printed out and plan on spending the next few days genuinely pursuing writing. 

Which leads us to addressing #3 (we'll come back to #2). I love writing. I'm not always fantastic at it, but I'm pretty good and enjoy it more than almost any other activity. Fear is all that keeps me from it. And that's... so wrong. It's okay to have a bad post, or a few mediocre ones. Not every post, story idea, or attempt at wit and cleverness will be brilliant. And that's okay. Enthusiasm and prolific attempts rarely leads one astray. 

Anthem has spent the last year showing me that. Sometimes I believe my husband has no fear whatsoever. He has such confidence in himself that I watch him in awe. He will share his ideas, his music, his talents freely, without hesitation. He doesn't spend hours perfecting them first so that upon their revelation they are near flawless. He lets others in to see the mess of inspiration as it takes shape, and doesn't seem to feel vulnerable at all because of it. 

He knows his worth, and does not hang it on the opinions of others. He just dives into what he's passionate about and his enthusiasm is contagious. And this man, this incredibly talented, passionate man believes in me. He encourages me to pursue my writing at every turn. 

So why am I afraid? That's a good question. I've been thinking about that more and more the last few days. What do I have to fear? My husband thinks I'm brilliant and so I cannot disappoint him, even if every draft for a year was nothing but utter failures because he would be proud of me for trying. My unborn son is still a little too young to be embarrassed by me yet, though it is far more likely that I would let down my future children by not trying than by trying and failing. My deepest fear then, it seems, stems only from my own insecurity. And that's just ridiculous for I have nothing to lose for the trying. 

Which leads us, albeit a bit roughly, back to #2. I've lost for the lack of trying; I've lost for the giving up, for the loosening of the grip of that which I treasured. All three confessions can be remedied rather simply: an end to inactivity. I have the time, there is no arguing that point. I've let my life become infested by things that don't matter rather than making the most of the time I've been given. That's got to stop. My 26th birthday is around the corner and I have no intention of wasting anymore time. Because it's not just my time anymore. It's Anthem's time, it's Haven's time, it's time that I can give freely if only I will take it in my grasp again. 

And goodness knows they deserve the most of me. I don't want to look back on my life and know I could have done so much more. I'm tired of being afraid. And I know, I know I've said it before but now it's not just about me and I think that is the biggest change, and the one that makes all the difference in the world. 

Day 463 - I Need People

"We buy things we don't need with money we don't have to impress people we don't like." Dave Ramsay

The only thing I question about that statement is the end. I've been raised around too many hoarders to think that the accumulation of stuff is to impress people. Take it with a grain of salt as I have no formal training in the matter, but I think the accumulation of stuff in our homes, in our lives, is due to the fact that our relationships are becoming more and more shallow, time together is compromised, and we are flooded with fear of forgetting or being forgotten.

What is undeniable, however, is that we live in a culture defined by stuff. We have more stuff than ever. Despite an economy that is hurting, ever increasing personal debt, and houses that are built with 3x more space than that of our parents and grandparents, the market for personal storage units continues to steadily grow and is at an all time high. And it's not just continual accumulation of our own stuff (and a stubborn refusal to get rid of stuff), we love other people's stuff. Antiques Road Show has been on for decades, but Hoarders, Storage Wars, Pawn Stars, American Pickers, etc. are more popular than ever. And I'm not exempt. It is a well known fact that when I need to get motivated to clean, I watch an episode (or 6) of Hoarders. And I find Storage Wars fascinating. I just do.

I've been thinking about stuff a lot lately as Anthem have been packing up our small apartment to move in with his parents. It's a win win situation for both families in this economy and we hope at the end of a year and a half to have saved up enough money to put a down payment on a house of our own. We're very excited to help each other out during this transition, as well as having Haven come home to a large family. That being said, it also means we have to cut down on our stuff significantly. Every item we own has to be assessed into one of three categories: move, store, or let go. Considering we already don't have very much, and plan on getting our own home in the next year or two, getting rid of all of our furniture, kitchen supplies, books, linens, etc. wouldn't be very wise. But we can only take essentials with us. And Haven has a lot of essentials already, leaving Anthem and I with enough room for little more than toothbrushes and laptops.

At first it was sort of difficult. After all, you surround yourself with things that you need and want. That's why you bought it in the first place. But the truth is that I don't need to have instant access to every book I have accumulated over the years, nor my entire and extensive blanket collection (I used to live in a much colder climate). I don't need most of my kitchen ware as we're moving into a fully stocked home, so the same goes for our dining ware and most of our furniture. As we kept going though, it became easier and easier to realize the things I really do use all the time (toothbrush, deodorant, cell phone, lap top) are a lot fewer than I had thought. It was liberating. I was flooded with appreciation for the little things, and felt lighter every time we decided we didn't need something.

Most of our things we've packed to store because while we won't need them for the next year, we will need them again soon. But the beautiful thing of being forced to go through all of your earthly possessions is finding all the things you haven't touched in the last year. Like the beautiful comforter that Anthem and I have never used because it's just wildly impractical. It's silky for goodness sake, which means that it will slide right off the bed as soon as you crawl under it. It's incredibly annoying, rather loud, and absolutely beautiful. We're selling it. Along with our nice, and rather uncomfortable love seat. Along with half my blanket collection and a few of Anthem's old pedals. Oh and some books that we've never read and to be honest aren't going to read. And each time we made the decision to let go of something, I felt free. And we made the decision to never again hold onto something 'because we might need it/use it someday'. Like the comforter. And the books. The self deception ended.

And after being forced to look at every item critically, I have come to a single conclusion. I don't need stuff. Some of it is really, really nice. My toothbrush. My bed. My favorite pair of tennis shoes. But I don't need it. I need people. I need my husband and Haven. I need my family and friends. But I do not need stuff.

And I don't need stuff to remind me of them.

Isn't that why we keep so many things we're not using anymore? Because it reminds of us of a person that we love (especially if it's one we have lost) or a wonderful time in our life. So many of those things quickly become clutter. For instance. My dad went to the Grand Canyon once and brought me back a stick. I know it seems weird, but it was a gorgeous, artwork-ish stick and I held onto it for years because it reminded me of my dad. During one of my many moves over the last few years, however, I came to the conclusion that while it was a beautiful stick, it was indeed just a stick and that getting rid of it was not a reflection of my feelings toward my dad. I just didn't want to haul a stick around from apartment to apartment when I had a picture of the two of us that reminded me of him just fine. Because clutter doesn't enhance my life, even if it's clutter full of memories. Those people enhance my life, and I want to keep making memories with them, not holding onto old ones.

It took me years to learn that letting go of something someone I loved gave me was not a reflection of how I felt about that person. Letting go of something that reminds me of you does not equate to letting go of you. In fact, letting go of stuff makes more room for the people you love to fill you. And not just emotionally, or even spatially. But financially. A lot of the things Anthem and I have decided to let go of we're selling. Because other people will pay for our used things.

My mother is the perfect example of this. I was raised in a six bedroom house that was fully furnished. Over the years, we've moved into apartments, and then smaller apartments, and then smaller apartments. Suffice it to say, she doesn't have the same needs as when she had a six bedroom house, or even when she and I lived together. Instead of holding onto all that stuff, she's decided to sell it and use the money to come visit Anthem and I this summer. It's a win win. Less stuff, more freedom, and more room for the people she loves even as she let's go of things that remind her of us. I'm so incredibly proud of her. And I'm inspired by her.

At the end of this day, and the end of this post, I want to remind you (and myself as I continue to pack) of one final thing. Even our most treasured possessions will not pass beyond the grave with us. We can take nothing with us. But our relationships endure the grave. So that's where I'm determined to invest my time and my money. Not in things, but in people. Because I don't need things. I need people. 

Day 461 - When You Run Out

It is really, really hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that I cannot earn God’s love or blessings. You know, of course I’m not trying to earn either one. Nooooo. No. Maybe, you know, it would just be easier for God to love me and bless me if I read my bible every day and spent more time feeding the poor or praying over the worship services my husband leads or any of the other billion things I really should be doing.

Maybe… just maybe… if I did those things He’d hear me a little louder. Because I know He loves me. Right? I mean we all know that. Even when prayers go unanswered for years. Even when you’re desperate and He’s silent. Even when it seems like He’s either deaf or mad at you because if He really is your Father then He’d do what any dad would do and loan you some money so you can pay rent, right!? Right. Because we know He loves us, regardless of those things.

Right. Oh screw it. No. I don’t. Not always. Not before the last few months. Weeks. Ugh. Fine. Days. The last few days. I mean it’s really easy to believe it when everything is great. When you’ve got enough to cover your bills and you’re marrying the man of your dreams (or who turns out to be the man of your dreams, if you’re me) and you find out you’re pregnant and your baby is healthy then obviously God loves us.

But when you’re not sure how you’re going to pay the car payment that was due almost a month ago, and when you’ve been broke and couldn’t find a job when you could, got fired for the first time ever when you finally did, and then were too pregnant (and sick, to be really honest) to be hired before the baby comes. When you can’t take the birthing classes you wanted to because they cost too much and can’t hire a doula or a midwife because your insurance doesn’t cover it and you’re concerned about how you’re going to put gas in the car let alone paying a few hundred dollars, minimum, for a more natural birth experience. When you know you can’t be worrying about all this stuff  because it’s not good for the baby to have a stressed out mom and you’re doing all you can (which isn’t much) to help with the bills with babysitting jobs while your husband is doing everything he can to make enough and the jobs just won’t come. Then… then it’s really hard to keep believing that He loves us. You. Me. It’s really hard to believe that He loves me. It’s really hard to believe that He hasn’t completely abandoned me. It’s really hard to believe that He’s not punishing me, that I couldn’t do something – anything – to appease Him and get some ‘blessings’ flowing my direction. It’s really, really hard to trust that He’s taking care of us.

It’s really hard to not lose hope and just give up because what does it matter anyway? He’s not listening. We’re suffering. And no matter what I do, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that I put in over 100 applications and never heard anything back. It doesn’t matter that I worked my ass off, threw up at, on my way to, on my way home from, yet always wore a smile at the one job I did really manage to get because I was fired because (and I can’t prove this, but I was told that my being let go had absolutely nothing to do with job performance) I was pregnant and they didn’t want to deal with maternity leave. Or that the moving jobs that were once the bread and butter on which we survived just aren’t coming in anymore. No matter how much I try to scrimp and save we have been living week by week since we got married, and now are going day to day. I’ve broken down in tears about it a few times. I was scared. What if we got evicted? What if they had to repo my car? How would we ever get a house if my credit was ruined by a missed payment? How were we going to make sure we could take care of this baby when we didn’t have an extra ten dollars for the laundry mat? There may have been an end in sight but it was a year, or two, away and by then we’d be living on the street.

And then… then… I started to realize that He was changing me. That we were impoverished because He loved us, not in spite of it. To be clear: I subscribe to neither poverty theology nor health and wealth. What matters in both is the heart, and that what He was working on. Not my checkbook.

I realized that I was discontented with Our relationship. I wanted more from my faith than me begging constantly for the peace of mind that more money would bring and His constant silence. I wanted more. I needed more. I wanted to know Who He is; I wanted to know He had me no matter what happened, I wanted to ask for what mattered. I wanted my prayers to be filled with requests the ability to touch hearts, for peace among His people, for opportunities to serve, for my family, for my child. I wanted my prayers to change me, not my bank account. I found my chase after money, and the peace that it did indeed bring, to be empty, even though I never seemed to find any. Peace or money.

Our circumstances have changed slightly. It’s still tight, but at least it’s doable. Or it will be by the end of March. And there is not a darn thing I can do about it between now and then but trust that He’s got us. Because I don’t have anything to give. I’ve run out. I have no more tears to shed in fear, not when I am powerless and He is all. Not when I realize that losing some of my credit will not destroy my life, neither this one nor the next. Not when I realize that nothing is permanent. Not when I realize that we’re surrounded by family and my son will never go hungry or lack for a warm place to stay. There are more important things on which to spend my waking hours than checking and rechecking the fact that it doesn’t appear like we’re going to make it. A single opportunity, not missed but embraced and blessed, for the Lord to make another lost soul a Child is worth more than any dollar amount of which I could conceive. A closer walk with Him will do more for me in now and eternity than any measure of security I could get by actually having a savings account.

Please understand, being wise with money, living within our means, saving for our and Haven’s future is all quite important to us. But our poverty has held my attention to the exclusion of the things that do matter. And that is not okay.

Most of all, and this I cannot stress enough, my hope was not in God. My hope was not in His redemptive work in my life. My hope was not how I could spend my life to serve Him, or the ability to be His child, His beloved child, for now and for all time. My hope was stubbornly hoping that someday we wouldn’t be broke. That was my goal. Nothing productive could happen in our life until that day. Until we were set. Until I could open a savings account and go to the grocery store without worrying about overdraft fees. Then I could work with God, for Him, whole heartedly. Then I would know He loved us. Then I could have a functional relationship with Him again. Then I could focus on what He wanted for us. I could go through all sorts of things so long as it wasn’t poverty anymore.

Not shockingly: I was constantly frustrated and disappointed. I constantly felt abandoned and hopeless. I would want to hear God promising an end to this cycle. I would want that to be one of His promises. It isn’t. He didn’t protect His followers from death, I can guarantee you that He won’t protect you from a missed payment. Even if you are reading your bible every day. I was stuck in a hamster wheel of hope and disappointment because a savings account is a really, really stupid place to put your hope in. No, not yours. Mine. It is a really, really stupid thing that I was doing for years.

Ugh. As if the honesty of this post didn’t hurt enough already – let’s just make it a bit worse, shall we? (Deep breath, band-aid ripped.) Because before my hope was in a savings account, it was in a man (no, not my husband, thank God) but in a man who never showed up (again, thank God). And before it was in a man it was in a job. I can’t imagine it’s as emotional for you to read that as it was for me to write it, but… that hurt.

And here’s where it starts to stop hurting my heart, and start hurting my mind through the process of boggling. God, in His infinite wisdom, used our poverty to smash my idol. My pride went into hiding when I had to ask to borrow money to make a payment on my car. My deep, deep desire for financial security lost its giant priority status when I realized that my credit rating didn’t define me and there were worse things in the world than losing a few points off it. I want a relationship with God, deep, deep in my soul, I want that more than a savings account. I want that more than a house. I want that more than all the adventures I want to take around the world someday. I want that more than anything. And nothing – nothing can take that from me. My salvation is not connected in anyway with late or missed or on time payments.

When I finally hit the place I had been dreading, when I couldn’t make it work with what I had, when I lost what I had fought so hard for, namely the ability to be financially independent and never need to ask for help, that my idol crumbled down around me and I could see the true goal. I could see Him, and how His silence has been a loving guide to this beautiful moment.

And now I’m sharing it with you. Because my pride be damned. Because as my idol crumbles, I pray that yours would too. Because I’m tired of seeing my friends be trapped in the same trap, in the same hamster wheel of false hope, and the inevitable disappointment and anger and sense of abandonment that comes with false hope.

Often times, we've run in these hamster wheels together. Pushing each other forward, encouraging each other. Only now do I see how wrong that is, that we were all lusting after idols and not enjoying our God. Not enjoying Him or what He had already blessed us with. Not even wanting to. Putting our whole lives on hold, putting our very souls on hold, until we got what we wanted from God. What we believed, what we had convinced ourselves He had promised us.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I spurred you on toward your idol. I'm sorry I thanked you for pushing me to mine. I'm sorry I didn't know the truth to tell you. The truth I wish someone had told me, even though it's more than likely I wouldn't have listened. Because it's hard, the truth. Because it's not what you want to hear, it's not what any of us want to hear. But it is what we all need to hear.

In a world full of health and wealth preachers, we desperately need to remember the truth. In a world where we are told, repeatedly, that we have EARNED these blessings if we only cling to them, God will be forced to give them to us. I saw a video on the internet a few days ago, where a woman was trying to encourage her followers that God would repay her seven times what had been lost. We're told God owes us. We're told to project good thoughts and our desires will come. We're told all of this spiritual bullshit that chains us and keeps us from the true Joy. It keeps us from Him by filling us with false desires and false promises. It is nothing but bondage.

The real promise is that He will never leave us, nor forsake us. He promised us eternal life, with Him. He promised us a relationship with the Father. The real promise is that if we accept Him, we are going to suffer. Maybe it will be our relationships, maybe our finances, maybe our jobs, maybe our health. Suffering will come. We are not greater than our Master, and Jesus suffered. He promised us we would too. Not once did He ever promise to change the world to better suit our wants. He promised He would change us. 

So here it is. Here's what I wish I had known a long time ago, when my hope was in a job, a man, a savings account.

You are not your job. You're not your diploma, your degree, or your paycheck. You're not what your friends think about you, or your critics for that matter. Being a high powered lawyer/doctor/sales rep/coordinator/director/ whatever it is you feel you need to be to be whole, recognized, appreciated, etc  is not you. You may never get that job you think is going to 'set you'. And if you do, you'll be disappointed because it's not what you wanted it to be, and you won't feel like you wanted to feel. You'll still be you. The same you before you got the job. It's not going to change you. It's not going to save you. It's just a job. Chances are you will have many.

Maybe that man will never come. And that’s not God punishing you, nor not following through on His promises. He’s not ignoring you. You can’t earn that man. And no matter how long you wait there is no promise that he will ever show up. And when that man is your hope, you will know nothing but disappointment. Even if he comes, you will know nothing but disappointment because he cannot change you from the inside out. He cannot fill you, nor fulfill all that you long for. Because he is not your reward. He is not the end. God is. And you don’t have to wait. You don’t have to be disappointed. You don’t have to feel abandoned and angry and disappointed. You don’t have to blame God or yourself for once again losing hope.

Maybe you'll always be poor. Judging by the current state of the economy, there is absolutely no guarantee that you’re going to strike it rich one day. And if you’re waiting for money, for your circumstances to change, you might just be waiting the rest of your life. It grieves me to see you hope and hope and hope until you have a mental, emotional, and spiritual breakdown because the weight of the constant disappointment is too much to bear. Maybe your life isn't going to be what you thought it was going to be. Maybe it's not headed where you thought it was. But it's yours, and God loves you, and He is in control, no matter what happens. And He can change you right now. He can give you joy, even if you're still broke, and lonely, and confused. He is your joy. He is. 

Maybe we all have super messed up priorities. Maybe we’ve lost sight of the gospel. Of what He really gave. Of the security eternal life offers. Of the joy of a relationship with the Creator God who made us all and in whom all good things have their source. Of the need to share this news with everyone.

Of the need to be free of this bondage in which we put ourselves, and the need to show the world what freedom really looks like.

Of the need to live freely.

(Note: it has nothing to do with America or being American.)

I’m still at the epiphany stage of all of this but I can tell you one thing: tonight the only reason I’m not going to sleep is because it appears my lovely unborn son has found a way to kick my nerves and send shooting pain to random places and not because I’m worried about being broke. And maybe, during the 3am Fringe marathon that helps distract me from being so incredibly uncomfortable, I’ll say a prayer to the real goal and thank Him for my freedom and beg Him to never let me lose sight of it. No matter how much suffering that path leads me through. Because He’s worth it. Because He’ll never disappoint you. Because He will get you out of the wheel.

I love you guys. Thanks for reading.

Day 460 - Bad Words Start With H

Today marks my 22nd week of pregnancy.

I love my son, cannot wait for his birth, and would not change a thing for the world. That being said: this pregnancy sucks. I have honest to goodness lost count of how many times I have thrown up. And I'm not counting dry heaving in the morning, I mean gripping the toilet seat as I violently eject the entire contents of my stomach. Over. And Over. And Over. 

Granted, since entering into the second trimester, I am now off the anti-vomit medication as instead of twice a day, my body only decides that it didn't actually want to digest anything once or twice a week. Though I now have a lot less warning. Before, I'd actually gag a few times, allowing myself time to get to the bathroom. Now, I get one if I'm lucky. It's just sudden. No warning. No nausea. Just a sudden reversal of the usual function of my esophagus. But like I said, still better than it was two months ago. 

Two months into my second trimester, I have discovered some of the uglier, and less talked about, symptoms of a rough pregnancy. The heartburn, while less than pleasant, is dealt with so long as I have enough Tums around. The constipation, while uncomfortable, is also something that can be dealt with. The gas that accompanies the constipation is actually incredibly painful, but thankfully not very long lasting. 

And then... then I became acquainted with what I like to call the hell of pregnancy. Worse than vomiting, worse than exhaustion, worse than constipation, and worse than gas. It is a silent suffering, for the most part. My husband knows my woes, but my even my northern frankness has difficulty telling anyone other than a medical professional about my pain, let alone asking for advice. After all, there are a number of socially acceptable responses to the question, "How is this pregnancy treating you?"

You can talk about nausea, you can talk about vomiting, you can talk about breast swelling, stretch marks, headaches, swollen feet, mood swings, bizarre cravings, and all of them will get a response of a sigh and some sympathy. What you don't respond with is "Actually, the pressure of the growing uterus on my anus has caused some of the blood vessels to swell up and now the very thought of pooping is horrifying. As if that wasn't bad enough, I have to shove some small white pills up my butt twice a day to try and make every moment less painful because the torture that pooping has become aside, I really never realized how important a non swollen anus is to every day life, namely walking."

That's right, ladies and gents, I've got hemorrhoids. Well. Just the one, actually. But the hatred I hold for it is deeper and more violent than any hate I have ever known. The very word is a swear word to me now. It belongs only in the deepest circle of hell. Certainly not part of the circle of life joy that is growing a human being inside your uterus. A human being who seems to get endless amounts of pleasure by kicking me when I want to go to sleep, or stretching out entirely when I'm trying to exercise. A human being who I have loved since the moment I let myself believe he was real, the first time I saw him and his tiny heartbeat when he was the size of a gummy bear. Now, roughly the length of a banana and just over a pound, my squirmy little kicker is ever more interested in revealing his presence in new and painful ways. I have been told to expect this for the rest of our lives together, as apparently this phenomena does not end at birth, but begins anew.

In all honesty, I can't wait. Bring on the blow outs, the self hair cuts, the glue and glitter, the screaming, the nonsense, the heartbreaks, the panic, and everything in between. I'm a mom now. I don't get to not talk about poop and all the things that go with it. Because everybody poops, and at some point in their life, everybody has trouble pooping. It's part of real life. A small part, to be sure. But maybe if we could get over the embarrassment of such a small thing, we wouldn't be so uncomfortable being real about the bigger things either. 

Day 459 - What Happened To The Rabbit Hole?

As you can see, the blog has once again changed. Not just a redesign, but a change in direction as well.

I began the journey of 1,000 Days In The Rabbit Hole over three years ago. Much has changed since then, myself most of all. Not just age, location, and marital status, but worldview, lifestyle, and purpose. The Sparkly Marshmallow Theory of Life, though wonderfully useful and enlightening in in my early 20's, now suits me like an ill fitted evening gown. The Rabbit Hole does not change, though my understanding of it continues to expand with time and experience. And thus the 1,000 days is not truly over, and as a remnant I will continue to number the posts. 

While I love sharing my thoughts with the world (my vanity loves the audience), I've also come to realize that sitting down, contemplating events, episodes, trials, and blessings in their turn helps me a great deal, whether or not anyone reads them. 

So it's time to change my digital outfit to better suit my changed inner voice. The blog will probably undergo a number of design and possibly name changes over the next few weeks as I attempt to fine tune everything and get resuited to blogging. 

This time around the focus will be on laughing through honesty as I continue to learn how to navigate this life with grace. There will be recipes, plenty of DIYs, tips and tidbits about frugality, as well as things I really ought to have learned before my mid twenties. There will be questions without answers, problems without solutions, and loose ends like you would not believe. And I promise to always be honest in regards to myself, though like before I might change names to protect privacy. 

I hope you will join me as I intentionally learn from all that God gives me. The good, the bad, and the mind boggling. I hope you will tell me your stories, in honesty and humor, and that we might continue along together as friends. I hope a great many things, and have little fear of being disappointed. Life, while often different from our expectations, rarely disappoints when we ask for grace. 

Day 458 - Talking Donkeys

I got fired. Not for anything I did, or didn't do. That was made clear. But because my personality just wasn't as 'bubbly' as what they were wanting. I can't argue with that. Despite the fact that pregnancy has made me a much nicer person, in general. Well, at least more 'girly' according to most. And definitely more feminine. If this isn't 'bubbly' enough for them, I'm never going to be. And I'm okay with that.

I was incredibly thankful for my job, and would have never quit. But honestly, I cried in relief when I found out I didn't have to go in Monday morning. Not because I hated my job, or because it was torture, but because I am so tired. Because I have been desperate for more time with my husband, and time to catch up on my pregnancy. It's been a month since I've read any articles about what is happening to my body and my baby. 

And sure, part of me wants to panic because we needed that job and now I'm unemployed, 4 months pregnant, and it's a week before Thanksgiving. But I'm not going to. And here's why. 

I was talking to my mom about it this morning, and she said, "Well it sounds to me like a talking donkey."

"Say what?"

"You would have never quit that job. And they didn't fire you because of job performance, but what sounds like a highly personal issue that had little to do with you. It was for a time, and when the time was over, God intervened because He knew you'd never quit. He's changing your course."

I thought it over for a few moments, and she had a point. This was a talking donkey. Not that I was doing something wrong, but that it was time to make another change. I may be rather limited for my next options, as I'm limited in a 'physical labor' aspect and by 'physical labor' I mean standing more than fifteen minutes at a time. But I'm excited for what comes next. Nothing about what we learned during my extended unemployment has changed. God always provided. It was extraordinarily tight sometimes, but we made it. Being pregnant does not change who God is or how He loves us. 

So Anthem and I are just looking forward, because the next step is right around the corner, and in the mean time I get to enjoy this wonderful holiday season with my new family and sleep in and clean my house and catch up on reading and crochet my little heart out. And frankly: I've never been more excited or happier in my life. 

And because I'm pregnant, that thought makes me a little teary. But I think Paul knew what it felt like, even if he wasn't raging on hormones. The peace that passes understanding. Being excited about being in a tight place because you just know deep down in your heart that it's the right thing and that it's not up to you and all you have to do is trust, let go of what you never had a hold of, and look forward. Because I am. 

Day 457 - Texas, Home Sweet Home

Yesterday my mom ran into one of my old teachers. They talked about a lot, though I did come up. The teacher said she had heard I was pregnant, and she was happy for me. I know the teacher. She's just saying that. She always wanted 'great' things for me, and being a pregnant worship leaders wife working as a patient coordinator in a dermatologists office, regardless of how ridiculously happy I am, would not qualify as 'great'.

I'm not sure what 'great' is. When I was in high school I thought it was becoming a lawyer. When I was in college I thought it was any high powered job that would make a for a fast paced career, or at least a big move in my life that had me doing once in a lifetime stuff that took a lot of bravery even if it meant a lot of ramen noodles. What I've come to realize about most of these ideas of 'great' that were floating around in my head were of me as single, self sufficient, and far too busy for 'love' or if I had to endure such a thing, 'love' that was always on the back burner. And kids... kids seemed like a failure that one must endure if one feels obligated to.

I'm overjoyed about being pregnant, even with all of the sickness and not being flush with money. I love my husband more than I have words to express, and am happier with my life than I could have ever imagined. I adore my unborn child and can't believe I'm so blessed as to be making children, and soon to be raising children, with Anthem. I love our tiny apartment. I love what I've learned about money through poverty. I even love my job, though I'll probably love it more when I'm not sleeping so much that I have little life outside of it.

Missing the cold of Iowa while getting used to the warmth of my new home has led me to remember more than usual. And be thankful. There was so much negativity in Iowa. Life was such a struggle. I had a lot to learn, and I'm thankful for all I went through, though I wish I hadn't put myself through quite so much. Alas. I don't know. I don't mean to be mean, but tonight when I took a shower all I could think of was washing all of that off of me for good.

I'm a Texan now. This is my home. And while I will forever mock Texans about their lack of ability to function under 40 degrees, and try my hardest to make sure my children have midwestern accents, I love it here. I love that we hardly even listen to the Supreme Court here because we're Texas and we do whatever we please. I love that we all have guns. I feel safer because we all have guns. I love that we asked our neighbors to chill out on the smoking because I'm pregnant and THEY DID IT. For real. They cut down on their smoking indoors and now go out to their cars. Because they're nice people. Because they're Texans.

I'm a pregnant, worship leader's wife, working as a patient coordinator in a dermatologists office, living in a tiny apartment in Texas and I am doing something great. I am living my life. Not the life anyone else had planned for me. Not the life I had planned. But the life I was given an opportunity to explore and run with and enjoy each and every moment with the greatest man I've ever met. That life. That life is great.