My Rock Blog...Seriously

When I was much younger I prided myself greatly according to the extensive rock collection that I held. Not CD’s my friend, but actual rocks. And not rocks from the driveway, but real beauties. My Mama and Mama Gay saw to it that I owned only the best. It was a treat for me to go to a gem store and pick out something new, even if it was small, so I could drop it down in a little plastic cubby hole of which I had endless amounts of space. This was also when I was convinced my life’s calling was to be a geologist because yes, I couldn’t imagine anything better than getting paid to dig up rocks, at least that was my impression of what a geologist would do. All that to say, I am not much different these days. When you get me outside, I can’t help but to pick up rocks, point out funny looking trees, and the ocean bids me farewell with a pocket full of seashells.

I love bodies of water. Particularly the ocean. And the river. And creeks, and lakes, and you get the picture. Today we visited the Sundial Bridge in Redding and I was taken aback by all of the colorful river rocks that adorned the shoreline. I cannot help but to imagine what a creative, kind God I serve when I look at rocks. One single rock will look completely different when taken from the water and placed in the sunlight, giving it an even different demension of uniqueness. It's just His glory. Anyway, to make what I can (and am tempted to make) a really long story into a short one, if God put that much time and energy and creativity into rocks, how much more did he put his heart into each of His children? Into each of my children? Into me??  And when Jake shouted “I gotta go potty!” and we jerked his britches off and he looked confused, “uh, I mean I have to go poo poo,” Paul whisked him away to the nearest toilet while Sonora and I sat on the shore. So I started to pick out rocks that reminded me of my kids, that to me, represented their souls. Because just like these rocks are so different, they each, in my opinion, have the fingerprint of God on them. Like my husband and my kids.

So I’ll start with mine. I scoured the river shore for something that reminded me of myself. Activities like this are spiritual in nature for me because I love to appreciate nature. I found this one. The frigid yet chill water did not hinder my hand for a second. The diamond appeal of the ripples invited me to explore. This rock is green and blue splotchiness, which gave it an overall teal appearance. I love the green and blue because green makes me think of the trees and grass and spring foliage, and blue makes me think of water. And if you were to ask me to describe myself, I would start by telling you how much I love those places and things. I didn’t have the revelation until after I found the rock that it is also in shape of a heart. How cool is that? Most of you know that I have a tattoo of a small pink heart on my hip. I have always loved that shape because culturally it is the symbol for love. And I am in love with the concept of love. I crave it to the core of my being, like most humans if we are honest with ourselves. In my case at least I am thoroughly convinced that I have the wrong impression of what love is since I am never satisfied. That is the beauty of being a lover of God though, how can there every be enough of something so profoundly beautiful and limitless? That’s my point I guess.

(I needed flash to capture the color!)

 

I found this next rock and grasped it tightly at my heart. Because it is Paul to me. The rock in itself is brown and green, and even a little gold, but through it runs a vein of red jasper. It makes me think of fire and passion, and everything that burns so hot in that heart of my husband. He never does anything that matters to him halfway. I think about how he serves the Lord, and his heart is simply for more. When he takes spiritual tests he actually scores high on “martyr,” (the very one I avoid, fyi). That is one thing I can hands down say for Paul, that he would in a heartbeat die for the Truth that is written on his heart. Even friends and family who do not agree with him cannot deny that he believes what he does fervently. As a father too, he is so in love with those children of ours. I am so blessed to see him put his all into such an endeavor, and can say that although neither of us seek to be a martyr for our children, Paul laid down his life as a 25 year old bachelor to raise Jake with me. What a gift he has given to all of us. He is dying all of the time, and teaching me to do the same. Not my favorite thing in this world, probably because I'm lacking that same vein of fire, but I do love him for it.

Of course, finding rocks for my children was the hardest thing to do. Because they are absolutely exceptional in my book, and there are so many facets of their beautiful personalities that I wanted to capture, in a rock. It seemed impossible, and quite frankly, it is. Jake especially. Sonora especially. There was just no winning. But I found this one for Jake and I liked it because it was a beautiful mix of blue and green and orange, sort of like camouflage. That is incredibly appropriate for Jake, though he does not hunt, but simply because he is a boy at heart. Jake can be strong, but in his strength there is no meanness or weakness, just simple (yeah right) masculinity. He is busy, yes. But he is also so gentle and kind. Part of the reason I picked this rock is because it was so smooth and Jake has such a sweet heart, and there are days where he can be rough around the edges but overall, he is so laid back in nature. His personality is so much fun, I have come to love his jokes and silly comments. But at the end of the day, he is usually melting my heart and putting a smile on my face. I thought this was a simple rock, with bursts of twisting vibrant color in all of the right places, and to me that is Jake.  He seems to carry that "color" wherever he goes.

Sonora was the hardest. She is the hardest to train as well. Because she is so different. First of all, my inclination was to pick the reddest, orangest rock that stood out to me. That’s her, she’s all or nothing kind of gal. But when I would lift a rock that caught my eye from the water it would suddenly turn dull. And Sonora is anything but dull. So I found this one, among ten others, that meant something to me for her. This one has layers, it was like a red and brown and black sandwich. A lot of passion and will, and a little flesh mixed in there.  One minute Sonora is kissing my forehead and whispering something intangible and warm in my ear. The next she is throwing her dinner plate at me. We always say how fiery she is. That’s true. Here lately though, all we see is this sweet spirited servant. When I fix a juice cup for her in the morning, she will not receive it until Jake has his. And she wants to bring it to him. She makes laundry unbelievably difficult and time consuming because she wants to do it for me. She doesn’t want to help, she wants to take over. She is loud when she screams, but her singing voice brings me such joy. Her stomping is worthy of a spanking if she pushes it, but her dancing makes me want to join in next to her. She is so free. And in my heart I feel like that is her calling, the pursuit of freedom for herself and others.

It’s true that Sonora was harder for me than Cori. Because I saw this rock and knew that it was the one I wanted for the baby. It was the one rock I really couldn’t capture like I wanted to on the camera. In person, it is a mint green. I am smitten with that color in general, but I think I liked the softness of it. Maybe I am trying to be optimistic but I could seriously use an “easy” girl. If the good Lord wants to give me another powerhouse princess, I will take it, but I am hoping and believing (faith is the substance of things hoped for!) that Cori will bring peace and light into my life. Mint green is peace and light to me. And then there are some funky brown veins running throughout this rock, and I know I am pregnant, but brown makes me think of chocolate. And chocolate is sweet and wonderful in every way, and a taste is never enough without another. That is Cori to me, Cori in the womb: pure sweetness. This was also the littlest rock, and for the next few years anyway, Cori will be the small fry in our clan. Some of the best things in life come in small packages, isn’t that a popular saying???

So there you go, the souls of my children in the form of rocks. I am a nature geek, it just comes with the territory.

　

The Breaking Point

Two days I found myself complaining a good bit. I was so eager for something new while we were in Tuolumne County I hastily agreed to give up everything for this move. I wanted to more than anything, honestly. I wanted it for my husband most of all, knowing that whatever good he was getting would undoubtedly ripple on down to the rest of us Krismanits. I could feel something lacking in my own heart and I wanted my life to be shaken up, to be broken down and emptied out, then filled back up with a living God that I could trust and love as a Daddy. I was certain this revelation would happen for me while attending Bethel, given their reputation and all. Maybe I was putting all my eggs in one basket, but I did think everything would get better and break through for us as we passed into Shasta County.

But I can’t say that I have felt that way. Instead, I have been away from my husband more than I was used to, at least in the past couple of months. I am next door to a great city full of wonderful things to do, and I probably couldn’t find the grocery store if I wanted to. I kept telling myself, “next week I’ll explore,” but that was about the time that Cori surprised us with her 35 week fiasco. I still cannot believe I am pregnant, just want to insert that here! So then I was down and out, watching a 2 and a 4 year old at home, humbly aware that a baby was on its way any day and I was completely and utterly unprepared. And even if I wanted to prepare, I couldn’t because we are so low on money it’s not funny. “HAHA!” That is me laughing at the lies of the enemy because I know that we will be fine, I know God will provide. But I can’t say that I haven’t been freaking out a little since I left my crib in Sonora, gave away my swing and rocking chair, sold the changing table and dresser. I feel like a really crappy mother. Cori is coming home to a fold up bassinet, and two wicker baskets of used blankets. No trendy hair bows. No blankets that I sewed for her. No diapers tucked in a drawer, no wipe warmer, no “new home from the hospital” outfit. My heart was so fine with that when we left Sonora because I knew that the sacrifice would be worth the final prize, for Paul to have some credentials to follow his dreams. But lately my flesh has been catching up with me. Everything we have is reserved for payments to Bethel so Paul can continue going to school. We are still trusting the Lord for our last payment. And when I go into the thick, tangible presence of the Lord while at Bethel, I just break down because I become so aware of how useless I am without my friend, Jesus, whom I hardly acknowledge because I feel so beaten down and lonely since I've gotten here.

You shouldn’t feel sorry for me, by the way. My Mom sent plenty of clothes in the mail for Cori. When the time comes, we’ll get diapers and be fine. I’ll change those runny little newborn diapers on a towel on the floor. Wal-mart food is not killing my children. I know I’ll be fine if I don’t shop, though I have even gone to the extent to tell Paul, “don’t let me out of this house alone!” I have been so tempted to open up a credit card account just to buy some fabric and one outfit for the baby. All the while I’m crying, “I swear I’m grateful, I swear I’m content,” but the truth is, I haven’t been. This is a journey for me.

Basically, I am a rotten Israelite. I totally get it. I really wanted to cry to Paul about it, put him down a little since HE DID THIS TO ME! But I really felt like what he shared with me was wisdom. He said, “What have you prayed for that you didn’t get?” And he’s right.


A new baby, check.
Trip to North Carolina, check
Nice car seat, check
Move to Redding, check
A nice house, check
A backyard, check
Dogs can come, check
Dependable support system, check

Geeze, why am I complaining? What do I have to lament? Absolutely nothing.


So there it is, my heart. I knew what I was giving up when I moved here, and I wish I wouldn’t look back like I have. Paul reminded me that I had all of those “superficial” things in Sonora and I still hungered for Redding. He’s so right, I wanted this. Why is it so hard? Why do I feel, dare I utter the word, depressed? Desperately homesick? Needy?

Because this is what being broken and poured out feels like. And soon, God, I pray this little mini season ends. Not because God is going to change my freewill, but because I am so determined to be a strong woman of God and not a brat. Because between Heidi Baker and “standard mom of society,” I know what I really want. The choice hurts though. The tearing away from the norm is not fun.


And I do not think that we will be “without” forever. I believe with all of my heart that God is going to bless us with more than we can contain so that we can be more of a blessing to others. I certainly don’t think of “trendy, nice things” as a sin, but my problem with it is, I guess, that as of late I have seen the coveting of these things pulling me away from the Father’s plan for my family, for now. I have been thinking about the connection between having a grateful heart, and having peace. And I need peace so I’m going to began a journey of drastically appreciating all that I have, and all that God has already done. Because when I think about it, really, it’s more than enough.

　

The Story of Courage

     Most of you who have known me for a long time know that I am an avid equestrian. But it’s more than that. I used to believe that maybe my heart was beating to the rhythm of a horse galloping through a field, like it was part of me all of the time. I like to think that had I pursued the sport further, I would have continued to excel, maybe. Maybe not. The thing is, I was what you call a “nervous rider,” or also “timid.” I have slid off the sides of more horses than I’d like to count, gone over heads and into fences, and I love showing off a tiny scar on my finger where Secret got me a little too close to a standard and ripped a piece of it off. My finger, not the standard. So I think it’s quite warranted that I can be nervous. Except that I know riders who have been dragged by their stirrups and through jumps who do not hold grudges like I have been known to. And it’s not only riding horses that gets to me, it’s roller coasters, freeway driving, flying in airplanes, putting gas in my car after the sun has gone down, and avoiding the parking spot beside what I refer to as “kidnapper vans.” I have been long convinced that I am a baby. The enemy likes to tell me on a daily basis, “What a coward!” I have bought it like a cheap candy bar, because it feels good to not have to face my fears, even if it sucks to hate myself as a result.

I’m going to fast forward here, and tell another story. About a year ago I had a dream that was so real to me. I remember every detail. I was in labor and Paul rushed me to the hospital. The room was simple, and labor was easy…so much so that my Sonora and Jake were right outside in some sort of waiting room reading books and playing cars and I could hear them and it brought me peace. But I was in labor, and it was time to push so I did and out she came. A faceless doctor caught her and laid her against my chest. I loved her, right there. I covered her with my sheet, and smiled up at Paul.

“What should we call her?”

Paul thought about it, and responded, “Let’s call her Cori-Anna.” So in the dream I agreed, and soon after I woke up. I should interject here, Paul and I took months to agree on Sonora’s name. Even to the point where I embellish the story like this, “I didn’t even want to name her that, it was just the only thing we could remotely agree upon!” I did like it, after I thought about it. A lot. The funny thing about this dream was, when I told Paul about it he told me that he really liked the name “Cori” for a girl. Two stubborn firstborns agreed on something for the first time ever. That’s the first miracle.

When I got pregnant and found out we were having a girl, we knew right away she would be Cori. We didn’t know how to spell it or if it would be her only name, or a nickname, but she was already Cori in our hearts, and in mine I felt like I had already met her, bonded with her since the dream 12 months prior. We decided we wanted Cori to be a nickname, what we called her on a daily basis, but we wanted something more significant for her real name. So came the tedious task of throwing out every “COR” word or name we could think of. And Paul and I ended up in the same boat we were in with Sonora. I liked Cora, he didn’t. My Mom liked Carissa, and neither of us liked it. I liked Cora-belle, Cora-Lynne, Cora-Anne…and no, no, and no! I even began to look up words in the dictionary and we laughed about “Charisma,” and then I wanted to seriously name her “Carolina” and caller her “Carrie.” But the husband did not agree. So we were stuck. I was praying really hard for a name.

One night I was on the couch reading “Supernatural Ways of Royalty” by Kris Valloton (I’m a Bethel nerd, OK???), and there was an entire chapter about Christians who are afraid to die, and then afraid to live their lives for the Lord. So he talks about the essential ingredient to an abandoned life to Christ, and it is of course, courage. Immediately all the voices circle in my head, “You DEFINITELY do not have that! You are a coward, remember? How are you ever going to be an effective Christian? You are a disappointment! How is God ever going to use you…you‘re afraid of eeeeeverything!”

It was all true. Or so I thought. Then I got to a place in the book where Kris talked about courage and said that it is very different than how we define it in our culture, but instead that courage can be seen in a number of scenarios, but one specific one he listed was that girl. That girl who was abandoned by her father, grew up in a broken home, looked for love in all the wrong places, and got pregnant. And instead of taking a “do over,” deciding to give love a try, give the baby life. In some ways this was my story, and in some ways it wasn‘t. But I began to hear the Lord speak to me that I was a very courageous woman (Ok, and thinking of myself as “woman” and not a girl is strange for me!). But it was a powerful moment for me. I am courageous, dang it! I threw those lies off as quick as I could, and as best as I could through tears and declaration. And the more I spoke to girls at the pregnancy center I found myself encouraging them with that word, “I know you have the courage to do this.” That’s what it’s all about after all?

So I approached Paul with it.

“What do you say that we name our new little peanut Courage and we can call her Cori?”



And he actually agreed to one of my ideas. (That’s how I knew it was a ‘God thing’)

So Courage, it is. And I do feel crazy, in case you are wondering. Who would name their baby that? But it means so much to me. Because her middle name is “Anna” (think AHH-NA) and that means “God’s grace, and favor.” Just so you know, I am not courageous woman of God on my own! I still hate freeways, I hate flying, and I still park far, far away from kidnapper vans…but it’s the Lord’s grace over me, His favor that empowers me to be courageous when I feel like I am seriously at the end of my rope.

It takes a lot of courage to love Jesus. I was listening to a sermon today, it was from Bill Johnson actually, have you heard of him? Well, the sermon addressed the fact that the more you see supernatural things, the more you just have to accept that you don’t know everything, can’t explain everything, and some other point I don’t remember. BUT, the point is I have been in that place these last couple of days. I SWEAR to you that I was in labor. I was contracting ever 2-4 minutes, I even considered getting an epidural in a moment of weakness (I am not pro or con birthing drugs, so you can’t make me take a side…I just don’t like being stranded in my bed). I know I was in labor. I am sure the nurse wasn’t lying to me when she checked me TWICE in a two hour span and said I was 4 cm. I am also sure that the first nurse in triage wasn’t lying when she said I was 1 ½ centimeters when I arrived. I am not an idiot, dilating that much in just a few hours is labor. Not false labor. LABOR! And all I can say is that I had so much prayer covering, Paul laid hands on me and prayed, and I was praying that God would give me His wonderful favor once more and let Cori hang out a little bit longer. So here I am sitting at home…3 cm dilated because the doctor said my cervix shrank during the night, despite having regular contractions 2-8 minutes apart all night. Maybe all that was false labor, but it was not false labor the first 6 hours I was there and my cervix was changing. My whole point is, it takes courage to say that you’ve had a miracle. I’m not sure what else to call it. How the heck am I still pregnant? I can’t figure it out. And for the sake of appearing like a sane person I guess I could claim false labor…but it’s not the truth.

I am glad we are naming our baby girl Courage. She reminds me every day to put my big girl panties on, to stand up for what I believe in, and live my life recklessly abandoned to the pursuit of love. I pray that she will be violently aware of what her name means, and live it to the extreme. I am scared of her a little. But I cannot wait to see what she adds to our family, God is so good to us. I love how He knew Cori was coming all along and gave me a small glimpse, and from that day I could not look away from such a sweet promise.

I guess I could say that I cannot wait to meet her, but yes, yes I can. Having a baby at 35 weeks took a little more courage than I could muster, maybe the Lord knew that. I cannot wait to meet her when she is full term…I am believing for that!

Dog Days

I really wanted this to be my attempt at being positive, but I have a feeling that I will fail epically given my mood.

I am happy here, and truly foresee my bumps in the road as a raging battle I’ve engaged in since the day I began calling myself “Christian.” But perhaps it’s been worse as of late. We are happy in our house, with our roommates, and are just so impressed that our children are as well adjusted as they have been. I love Bethel, and my heart is full worshipping and learning there.



Here is what has brought much heaviness to my heart: Rush. My beloved yellow lab. If you know me, you know I love Rush. I love being covered in his scratchy hair, and it’s not like I don’t vacuum on purpose, but honestly, I don’t care that there is dog hair in my carpet because to me that means it is a happy home. I joke that his hair is the secret ingredient to my best food dishes. Not funny, I know. We adopted him three years ago, 30 pounds underweight (ok…more like 20, now he’s just 10 over!). He used to have separation anxiety so severe that if Paul and I left the house, he would have diarrhea all over the house. So we moved him outside where he proceeded to crawl over or under kennels, break nylon harnesses, break leather collars, and if he were free, follow us for miles running full speed down the road. It was hell, truly. I would think, “Are we crazy? Our dog runs our life!” I knew it was crazy, but we loved him and little by little we would see progress. He loved us, slowly made his way from sleeping in the bathtub to sleeping in between Paul and I. He loved our kids and tolerated all sorts of abuse. He still does! After two years he moved past his separation anxiety, slowly and certainly, it happened. Life just sort of become simple and sweet, with Rush as our family dog. We would leave and hook him up to a 20 ft cable outside the door. We took him on walks almost every day in Mi-Wuk.

 

Now don’t think he didn’t bring any frustration to our lives. He hates cats, in fact, will brutally murder them if given the chance. He barks, and we’ve since trained him with a collar because we have young children and I do not tolerate naptime interruptions. He likes to escape on the rare occasion and though there is no doubt in my mind he knows his name, I call him endlessly and he trots away like I am some desert mirage who can do nothing about his escape. He is right, at least that I cannot do anything when he makes up his mind to do something naughty.

 

But I love him. I love him so much because he used to be crazy and now he’s sort of normal, and because he used to not love anybody or trust anybody but he actually trusts me (You know, except when a car is coming, and I am crying and frantically screaming “RUUUUUSH, COOOOOME!”)
I am so grateful our roommates let us keep our dogs! I’ve said it a hundred times, when I agreed to come to Redding I just did not want to give my dog up. I told the Lord I would give up anything, but it was my petition, “Please don’t make me get rid of Rush.” And He didn’t. It was a confirmation to me of His continued goodness.

The couple we moved in with has two dogs, a 12 year old terrier, George, and a spunky little terrier type dog who is young, Sparky. It’s true, I’ve known that Rush has in the past had dominance issues with other dogs though I’ve never seen him go for a little dog. I did not think we would have an issue here. But it happened several days after we arrived, we found out that George has the “dominance” thing going on, and before we knew it there was a dog fight ensuing. Fortunately Paul was around and could pull Rush right off. So we’ve been extra careful, leaving Rush on a leash while he’s in the house, having him and George take turns in the house (George gets locked up in his parent’s room that has a doggy door to the fenced backyard). The problem is, both dogs would like to be sleeping in the living room for most of the day. Both Mommys (Eron and I) have admitted to spoiling our canines! Rush does not want to be tied up all day. George does not want to be in the bedroom all day. So pregnant little me has been hauling Rush in, and then out, and then in, and then out for days. Paul was at work the other night and all of us housemates were sort of doing our own thing as the night got later. Howard, who is wheelchair bound, needed help getting the sliding door open from the backyard and he knocked, sending Rush, Sparky, and Regan into the dining room to see what was going on. They were happy to see him. Rush was out because George was taking his room time….only he had gone out into the backyard and as soon as Howard got the door open George squeezed his way through. Upon seeing Rush, the hairs on his back went up and Rush attacked, full on. I am pretty sure George immediately submitted, he was just yelping and screaming for relief but Rush would not relent. I remember very little details about this, other than I know I grabbed Rush’s collar, pulled as hard as I could and had not the strength to save George. I was screaming, and Rush was pulling me all over the linoleum. At what point, he spun in a circle so fast he knocked me off my feet and hard onto my bum. I jumped up to grab him again, where he proceeded to drag me through the kitchen in pursuit of George and then pulled me down the hallway, as in, dragged me off of my feet yet again (hello carpet burn…), all while literally having George in his mouth. The dogs moved into the office where I backed away because I did not want to watch my dog kill another dog! I ran into the kitchen remembering that Rush has always been swayed by food. I grabbed what we had for dinner (stuffed cabbage rolls, *sniff sniff* took me like an hour and a half to make those…), and ran to the office where I stuck them right under Rush’s nose and he quickly left the fight and followed me to the bathroom, where I shut the door and collapsed. I am pretty sure at this point I was going into some mild form of shock.

Not fun. Incredibly traumatic. George was fine, like literally suffered a puncture wound or two in one of his legs. Either George survived by the grace of God, or Rush wasn’t meaning to kill him. I certainly couldn’t tell the difference! We are really trying to make this housing situation work because we are happy here. We love our housemates, and we love this house. I love having help from Eron Marie, I am seriously so blessed. And the only reason we are having trouble making this work is because of my stupid dog.

I am not looking for advice, I am sure the logical thing is to get rid of the dog. I know that makes sense to everyone but me. I don’t know how to even get my heart there. He has never even tried to harm Paul or I, or the kids. Not even close. He has seriously been the perfect family dog. I don't have a family album that he isn't a part of as much as the kids.

Howard and Eron have not asked us to get rid of Rush, and in fact, we are all working together to try to find a solution. Today Paul and I purchased a simple dog run for the backyard so maybe Rush would have a tie out in the front yard, and somewhere to run in the backyard (without being tied he scratches the door to come in). But tonight he went on it for the first time and spent the entire time in a nervous fit, crying and pulling to the point of choking himself. He won’t drink water even if he has it in front of him. But it was George’s turn to be out in the house. It’s been so hard on my heart. Not to mention I woke up this morning feeling like I had been in a fight! Every muscle in my body ached, especially my hips that are trying to hold a baby up. For the last five hours I have been counting contractions because they will not seem to slow down. Consistent, but not intensifying so I have opted out of going to the hospital just for peace of mind. All that to say, I love my dog. He is not worth all this crap, but I can’t help but to love that dysfunctional guy because we’ve been through so much together.

I am sure that was the longest prayer request ever. Then, today a friend of the neighbor guy across the street backed into Paul’s parked car. Left a big dent in the passenger door. What do you do? It’s a 1990 Subaru, it has seen better days. I’m pretty sure the window on that side doesn’t even roll up. But that doesn’t mean that we aren’t grateful for our car! It’s such a loyal, quality vehicle. I gave the guy grace, told him that we probably wouldn’t take it to a body shop. We’re planning on keeping it until it drops anyway, but then he was like, “truthfully I wasn’t watching where I was going…but anyway, it’s not like it was a new car, I’d be more concerned if it was new.”

  ….But it’s still our car. No use in getting angry, it just piled something else on my plate today. On top of Paul telling me that I was a super pain in the butt this morning because I just can’t stop snapping at him. I hate pregnancy hormones, in fact there is a chance those intruders are making all of this worse than it actually is.

Well, except the Rush thing. We seriously need a solution and some wisdom from above.

Humbled

This is possible the shortest blog ever from my end. I am tired, and possible getting sick, and halfway through the third trimester with Corrie.

                             I now live in Anderson, 15 minutes outside Redding. It’s official.

The word “humbled” has been circling around our family lately. Because we would seriously not be here if it were not for our gracious church family, and more broadly, the brotherhood of believers everywhere. We went into this with not even our tuition amount in the bank account, needless to say, we couldn’t afford to move to another city! But through financial gifts, networking, and the Holy Spirit’s puzzle piece placing, we have made it. The Lord made a way, just as promised.

We couldn’t have done it without you, our friends. Thank you for watching the kids, bringing us meals, writing us checks, and going above and beyond your call (in my opinion). I just feel so unworthy.

Then we came here, and we’re back to square one and yet depending on help more than ever. Paul is working in a busier Starbucks than he is used to and being given hours far greater than he received in Sonora. Just as I was thinking how humbled I’ve been by the move, he repeated those words back to me as he walked in the door from a long shift.

The first sermon we got to attend at Bethel, Bill Johnson highlighted the difference between being poor and poor in spirit. One is being needy, and the other is being needy for God. The latter has so been the story of my life. I feel poor in spirit…I am desperate for friendship, family, a support group up here in Redding, among other things. I have realized through this move that without God none of this that we have now would be possible, and these things that I crave will not come to fruition without His hand. After all of the build up, I am actually here. I am grateful, glad, and overwhelmed at the thought that I will never drive up to my little green house in Ponderosa Hills again. But I am also poor in spirit because I am in a new place and I am looking down the road of a new baby coming, and a husband working and going to school full time. If I’m not poor in spirit, if I am just depressed it all seems so daunting, too much for me to handle. I am trying, at times unsuccessfully, to simply rest in Him and trust His good plan for me and my family. It’s hard recognizing and being humbled by the fact that I wouldn’t be here without people, and now those very people are 5 hours away. I don’t miss Sonora as much, but I definitely missed finding me some good hugs on Sunday morning! Lord, please have those on the horizon, I so miss them.

I have been blessed here. I am so happy we are living with housemates as not being alone has been a blessing to me. I, of course, love attending Bethel although I am not ashamed to admit that I was homesick for Chapel as I waited in line on Sunday to simply find a seat in the sanctuary. My kids are adjusting great, they are so happy and full of joy. Jake keeps asking, “Are we in Redding now?,” and we tell him that we actually made it and he smiles. He’s glad to be here. And Paul keeps reading his schedule for school and he’s ecstatic. And I’m jealous, for a minute. But past all of this, I keep feeling a little someone poking around my womb and I am becoming aware almost unconsciously that something bigger than all of this is brewing in my life and my family. New life. Corrie on the way.

I thought Redding would be our big breakthrough moment. Now we’re waiting on school to start, and Corrie to get here, and I for one would like to get all of our boxes unpacked. For now I just sit in my bed each night contemplating writing a blog about how humbled I feel, and I never get past the thought to write it down. Not sure why tonight is different other than our gracious, prayerful friends needed to know…you made all the difference, and we are abundantly blessed.