Girl Power

I have been out of commission for quite some time given my new season in life. I have three kiddos under four years old, and honestly, it doesn’t sound very complicated to me and yet it feels on the verge of impossible some days. I am starting to regret lackadaisical parenting that I am prone to resorting to due to both tiredness and/or laziness. Now that I am nearly three weeks postpartum I am no longer 30 extra pounds and immobile. I am up, and going, and trying to teach both Cori and Sonora how to get sufficient sleep. Teaching Sonora is reinforcing why I am working with Cori. To greatly devalue my efforts, I have to say, Cori is a wonderful baby and so far has made my job quite simple. I just wrapped her up and put her down awake and without a peep she went to sleepy land. Ahh, peace.

Not quite, actually. Because then there is Sonora. Let me take this time to thank God for the opportunity to continuously die to myself.

But believe it or not, I actually want to write about something other than my children. Though I love them so, my mundane efforts at keeping them alive and well disciplined are hardly worth passing on. So here we go,
The other day I was at Bethel and I sat beside the nerdiest guy I have ever seen. Microsoft Word is telling me that “nerdiest” is not a word, but I assure you this young gentlemen exists as an appropriate synonym. Shall I describe him? Star Wars shirt from the 80’s, thick rim glasses, corduroy pants, and some sort of sandal that really needed some socks underneath to compliment the rest of his outfit. I was really excited when worship got intense and he started dancing. Trust me, I am not picking on this guy. In fact, I found everything about him endearing and adorable. I like nerds- after all, I am married to the king of them! (I am not sure if Paul will find that flattering, so don’t mention it to him)
The  Bethel atmosphere is so heavy with the Holy Spirit I honestly cannot say if my ponderings were in conjunction with the Holy Spirit, or just my own mind doing what it does. In either case, I noticed the girl standing next to nerd guy. I am positive they did not know one another. She was blonde and beautiful. I know this is weird, but she was worshiping and I was thinking how simply graceful she was, both in form and appearance. Next to nerd guy, she seemed like a queen and he seemed like a pauper. In a second it occurred to me that these two were like portraits of their gender, both masculine and feminine. Like this girl was a picture of femininity, and this guy masculinity. I have been meditating lately on my birth, and the grace God has given me to be up at night with a newborn, and up during the day disciplining and re-disciplining my other children. This phrase has been floating around in my head: “the triumph of a women’s spirit.” If you don’t understand this concept, you have never had a natural birth. That was a joke! There are hundreds of situations where I have seen women overcome the gravest of circumstances and it amazes me that God put that strength in women in conjunction with what appears to be a meekness, and a simple, graceful appearance. I was thinking these things as I watched this guy and girl next to one another, how God had blessed her with a strong feminine spirit, and yet such a beautiful outward appearance. No wonder masculinity shrinks in its presence. Or tries to dominate it. I felt like in that moment of day dreaming the Lord held up a mirror to my face, and yet I could not see that same feminine spirit in myself. Despite all of my best efforts to have babies, raise them up, be a good wife, and remember to brush my teeth and powder my nose each day, femininity seems elusive. I looked at my dainty fingers, and unpainted toe nails and felt unworthy of that title “female.”

But it isn’t just me, is it? I thought about the feminist movement, about Rosie with her flexed guns trying to prove something to the world. Then the girl who looks perfect everywhere she goes, yet we never see the credit card debt that must come hand in hand. Since this theme has been on my mind, I have noticed all kinds of things. Like the girl at the fast food restaurant sitting next to us, she had purple and blue hair, fishnet stockings, and I think black must have been her favorite color. In my head I started thinking about how hard it is to just be a girl. How easy it is to just try everything you know to try. I have been there. Maybe skirts will make me more feminine? Maybe more makeup? Maybe if I start wearing less makeup? Though I certainly do not struggle with weight loss, I have greatly lamented my lack of a figure. I am certain that skinny jeans make me look too skinny and a size bigger makes me look like an idiot, and heels make me look too tall, flats make me look too short, and the truth is, I don’t know how to be a girl. To just be. I saw a portrait of femininity in a second, and I wanted it. God said I already had it, and I didn’t believe Him. What is the deal?
And I am starting to understand that being feminine has plenty to do with how I look, how I dress, how I talk with other girls, and all of the things my husband cares literally nothing about. But that being feminine has way more to do with the spirit that God put in me, to nurture, and love, and this unique gift of creating life, not just physical, but calling out life in others. I was sitting next to nerd guy disassembling all the weak components of his attire, and thinking what a nice husband he would make, thus reminding myself that I am already married. Maybe he could be with this girl next to him, I arranged to myself.

The idea was laughable. That HE could get HER! Then I remembered the picture I had of them, as masculine and feminine. It didn’t make sense to me, honestly. I have often fell prey to the idea that I am significantly less than my husband. Religion has endorsed this idea. Please don’t think that I am saying that women are better than men, just different. Just nicer to look at. Just overwhelmingly powerful in their giftings. The kinds of things that women bring to the table in this world are matchless in comparison to the most beautiful of landscapes, the most exquisite flower, softer than the sound of a trickling stream, and yet a strength that puts thunder to shame. I found myself wanting to be more confident. Wanting to go home and nurse my baby, rub my husband’s back while he changes the world one video game at a time, pray for a friend, and just relax on face book with a bowl of ice cream. Because from the angle that I sat at in worship, women clearly got the better end of the deal.

I am ok with being me. I wrote a blog about that change in my heart recently. For me, the struggle comes with being woman, being confident in my role as that. Not my role as dutiful housewife, I swear people think that’s what woman means in Greek. What I do at home is a small part of who I am, a short season in my life as woman. I am at work to see the bigger picture here, and I like what I see. I found myself wanting it and yet, God says I already have it. So do you (assuming you are a woman). So flex your guns like Rosie, dye your hair, go for a run, wear red lipstick, rejoice in the triumphant spirit of woman- and remember, everything you are looking for is already inside of you.

    Don't worry, I have plenty of edifying thoughts concerning masculinity, just not enough time in the day...

My Miracle Birth

Paul just told me how grown up he feels with three children, and I have to agree! I am so happy that she is here. There is no doubt this blog has exhausted the subject of Cori, and it will continue to do so, sorry J I was really touched that several people have asked for a blog about my birth experience. How ideal, since Daddy has to pick up the other kiddos and take them to their own beds and I will be alone. I am truthfully bummed, but trying to be grateful for all of my many blessings. And there are so many.

First off, I will happily share my birth experience. My Mom always told me, “just go to bed, you won’t sleep through your labor!” At 4:40 this morning I woke up with a contraction, not abnormal for me. I have had contractions for my entire third trimester, intense ones even. However, they are not consistent. So after this particular contraction this morning, I hung out for a bit to see if another one would hit. It did. 7 minutes later. So I made a trip to the bathroom, and cuddled up next to Paul. Before I knew it, another one was on its way, so I poked Paul in the ribs and told him I was 60% sure I was in labor. By 5:30 I told Paul I was getting up to brush my teeth and put my contacts in. I returned to the room to find him still in bed, “Hey! We gotta move!” Sonora came in 2 ½ hours, about an hour after we arrived at the hospital. (I thought that was traumatic!) Well, rewind back to this morning. At 6:00 am I called the Deans and told them what was going on and they said to bring the kids on when we were ready. Kids woke up and ate cereal, we threw our bags in the car, and fed dogs, packed some books, diapers, movies. It was 6:30 and I was loading the dishwasher, because it just so happens the ONE night I don’t clean my dishes from dinner I go into labor. Then Paul grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me into the living room, “you know we have to go!”

So he put the kids in the car, I sat in the front seat and we remarked what a smooth drive it was down the interstate. My contractions were every 4-5 minutes, and I was breathing through them fine. We got to the Dean’s house at 6:45 and were out by 6:47. On the way to the hospital I was telling Paul, “I feel pressure, these are intense." Paul was praying over me, all while cursing the multiple stop lights we hit! I am honestly not sure what time we got to the hospital, but the Deans live about 8 minutes from it and we did hit every stop light, as afore mentioned. We pulled into the parking lot where Paul mentioned dropping me off, and I spotted an empty spot right next to the door. “THERE! GO THERE!” Paul wasn’t sure if it was a legal spot because it was just that good, but we didn’t have a choice. So I got into the hospital lobby, where the admitting specialist was on the phone.
“I need to go to labor and delivery, now!”
She covered the mouthpiece on the phone, “Ok you can go ahead. Can you walk?”
“I don’t think so…”
“Ok, wheelchairs are next to the door.” Paul ran to get one for me and came back to the admitting desk, where I sat down in the waiting room area because I was having a contraction. Then I moved into the wheelchair and Paul wheeled me to the closest elevator. Labor and Delivery is on the third floor. We rode up with another couple, that needed to stop at the second floor. We finally made it to the desk at labor and delivery where I told them that I needed a room. They didn’t know I was in active labor so they asked me those annoying questions to keep me talking through contractions, “Is this your first baby? How many kids do you have, sweetie? How old are they? How old are you?” We showed ourselves to the room number they gave us, seriously, we were searching the hallway for it! I sat in there for three minutes with Paul before anyone came to meet me. Another nurse came in, “So, how many kids is this for you?” I am crying, the nurse responds, “I need you to be strong for me.” Paul finally clued her in, “Uh, she usually has fast births so I don’t know what’s happening now…” Thank God the nurse believed us, she ran into the hall and called out, “I need nurses in here, NOW!” I undressed and threw my clothes around the room, held the gown up to my front, but it wasn’t buttoned all the way and I couldn’t figure it out so I literally just laid in the bed on my side and cried out. The nurse ran back in and said, “I need to check you when your contraction is over. I managed to roll over for her, though at this point I was in excruciating pain. I knew something was up when she yelled, “Now! I need you in here now! Get the doctor, someone out there get me a doctor! He’s in room 300!”

The doctor ran in, dressing himself, while nurses helped him tie up his scrubs. At this point two nurses grabbed each one of my legs and handed them to me. “Hold these, and push now, she’s ready.” It was absolute chaos. My doctor was unbelievably rough. In fact, his efforts at stretching me for the baby’s head were almost more painful than the baby’s head crowning. He told me to stop screaming, but I have never been in such horrible pain in my life! Ok, I know this isn’t positive for those of you that are pregnant. Yikes, it was intense, that’s all I will say J . And after five minutes of pushing, she was here. She was in my arms, and I was mostly relieved that I was no longer in pain. I didn’t notice her long fingers, or purple toes, or sweet hair…I was in shock. I trembled, and begged for water, and when the nurse wanted to bathe her, I handed her off. It was just the place I was at. Some people say this is the way to labor, and maybe it is. I’ve never had a labor slower than 4 hours. But having the baby ten minutes after arriving to the labor and delivery is not my idea of fun. Although I did get to skip out on the IV. That was kind of nice. Right now in my head I am thinking of A) not having any more children, despite the fact they are incredibly wonderful blessings, B) requesting an induction next time so I can definitely get an epidural before pushing time comes, or C) requesting a C section. I’m sure that goes against every law of “healthy all natural childbirth” pamphlets everywhere, but after what I went through, I think I am entitled to my opinion ;)


There is the birth story. But as I said, tonight my husband and kids are at home. They also happened to be my only visitors given that we have only lived here for a little over a month. I was overwhelmed and touched by all of the wonderful comments and well wishes on facebook. I am grateful that I have so many people who care for me, and though they can’t be in Redding with me, they would be if they could! Given my solitude, and a sleeping baby, I wanted to take some time to reflect upon the mounting spiritual battle my family has found ourselves in, and share some testimonies of God’s great love and provision, especially concerning this pregnancy and Cori.

This pregnancy was the hardest I have ever had. For a good part of it I had great difficulty walking. At 6 months pregnant I sat most of my day. I was wondering how I would make it to the end. I had the opportunity around 8 months to receive prayer at The Red Church’s new worship service on Saturday night. We were two weeks away from moving to Redding, and I wanted prayer for our new endeavor, but most especially for my hips that were having a difficult time holding Cori up. So the worship team prayed over me, and over the pregnancy. A particular moment stuck out to me. One of the men told Paul that the Lord showed him a vision of Paul on his knees, holding my pregnant belly in his hands speaking “shalom” over my womb as Jesus had spoken to the storm in Matthew. It was a really intense moment of prayer. When we got in the car I was struck by the nature of the prayer….why did you need to speak peace over my womb? I stroked Cori and felt afraid, like something greater than just “achy hips” was going on in me. From that moment on though, God touched my hips and I was able to get around just fine.

Of course, at 35 weeks pregnant Cori tried to come into the world. And for whatever reason, my firm belief is prayer, my labor came to a halt. And in the weeks to follow, I went from a 4 cm to a finger tip dilated. Yes, I reversed! That morning in the hospital I had a sharp pain in my upper abdomen, right on top of my pregnant belly. I didn’t say anything because in less than an hour it faded. The next week it happened again and I began to research and came to the conclusion that I was having a gall bladder attack. I’m not sure if that’s what it was or not. But it definitely hurt! I mentioned it to my doctor because while I was researching the pain, placental abruption came up in several searches. But I wasn’t bleeding, nor was the pain consistent. I did however, several times a day have contractions that cramped down and lasted for 3-5 minutes at a time. They were intense but I was told not to worry unless they came at regular intervals.

Honestly, I still don’t have answers. What I do know is that this morning after Cori was born a nurse came in to talk to me about my pregnancy. "Was it normal?" Aside from the 35 week scare, it was fine. She explained to me that my placenta had several pockets of blood throughout it, and places where it had clotted itself off. When I asked her what that meant, she said that my placenta had abrupted, and not just once. She said, “Cori is absolutely fine though, babies are so resilient, I see them get through the craziest things!” In her cute nurse way she said, “But man, that placenta was nasty!” I was kind of taken aback by this conversation, and even more so when my second nurse came to check on me and her first question was, “Was this a normal pregnancy?”   Well, I thought so! She continued, “I am trying to figure out why on earth your placenta looked like that. It’s obvious abruption but we just don‘t know the timing of it all. Cori is absolutely fine so I guess we won't worry about it.” Her conclusion was simply that babies are amazing specimens. I told Paul that I refuse to let this pass by without giving God all of the glory. Even if it was caused by an abnormally fast labor, though my water was clear. I am not sure if that’s what I was feeling and calling “gall bladder attack,” or not. But in either case, Cori is a miracle.

I am in a bad habit of looking at a situation and saying, “God isn’t moving here,” because I feel hopeless, lost, or lonely. For one, I wondered where on EARTH my God was when I was laying in that hospital bed pushing out a baby ten minutes after getting to the hospital. OUCH! I had prayed for a favored birth. What was that? Sometimes I remember what the Bible tells me, that so much of what we see is a product of the unseen battle. Don’t think that I look for a “devil” behind every bush. I am not naïve either. And it’s naïve to look at this whole picture and not see how triumphant our God is, even when little things are crumbling, the things that matter are holding together. Sometimes barely. But we are winning nonetheless.

So Cori is here. My sweet, precious Cori. She nurses constantly, always wants to be held, and I gladly consent to both because she is one day old and I already see God’s fingerprint on her. She is here, perfectly normal, so much so that when the maternity ward filled up, I was the first one to get bumped to pediatrics. I learned, ten minutes after Paul left for the night, that my night nurse is married to a third year intern for Bethel School. So I have talked to her for over an hour now (I am her only patient), and it turns out, though some of my family is 3000 miles away and others a five hour drive, and my husband and children are sleeping in their own beds while I am in a rock hard hospital be-at a time when I should be the most alone, I am not at all. In fact, I think I have just made my first “mom” friend in Redding.

Letting Go, Giving Up....Chilling Out!

Around here, it can get pretty easy to feel sorry for yourself. Unfortunately, I am pretty sure that my last blog addressed this issue so excuse me while I break my gratitude fast. Paul had to open this morning and it will be his third week in a row missing church with the family. Today an employee called in sick, and he cannot get a hold of a manager. So he has no choice, though he got there at 4:00 am this morning, but to stay until the next shift arrives. Yes, I am very pregnant, and very tired, and very grateful that I went to church this morning for a boost of the Presence! Otherwise I might have a meltdown about right now.

Paul told me several weeks ago that Kris Valloton had “warned” the BSSM kids that being in this atmosphere was not going to just fill us up, but empty us out of the things that God could not use. I have seen this come to fruition the most. Paul has had several opportunities for prophetic booths and without sharing too much, a theme that is repeated often is Paul and I being spiritual parents to many children…well, Paul being an anointed Father, hopefully the Lord has some kind of plan for me to work alongside him! It’s encouraging, yes. At the same time, I can’t help but to feel like parenting is the ONE thing I continuously fail at. Day after day, time after time, I am convicted to the core of my being. I yell, I condemn, I chastise with cruel intent, and worst of all, I want to escape when I can’t handle it anymore.

Last week I took the kids to church by myself. I needed to get out. With my husband now gone 45-50 hours a week, I am always game for free childcare. So I go to church. Jake got to the door of his classroom and after having a great morning, stood in stone shoes and said, “I’m not going.”
“Why? You have to!” I fussed.
He whined, and swayed with his hands linked behind his back, “I really don’t want to go in there.”
“Get in there now!”
He began to whimper and cry, and the nursery worker encouraged me to just try again later. So I grabbed Jake by the arm and pulled him next to me so I could get Sonora to her class on time, “Sonora is such a big girl, and you are a baby, I guess! When we get home she is getting a big girl sucker, and you are going to sleep.”
I was frustrated, and at the end of my rope, and I wanted to sit in church by myself.  Is that so much to ask?  Of course, after ten minutes with cold hearted Mommy, Jake was ready to go to his class. The minute I encountered my loving Father during worship (which is pretty easy to do at Bethel), I couldn’t believe the way I had treated my son. God would never treat me like that, even in sin. It was His simple love that convicted me.  Immediately I sought repentance and knew I couldn’t pay attention to the service before I had reconciliation. So I waddled my way back to the nursery and asked if I could speak with Jake, but he was playing really well and she didn’t want to disturb him. So she stepped out of the room for a minute and asked me how things were going, and proceeded to tell me how much she loved Jake and how she had a special place in her heart for him. Apparently he was the youngest boy in a class full of Pre-K kids, even those already in Kindergarten. Jake is 4, so he had been placed there, but clearly it was not ideal. She said that she is all about love and grace and giving Jake the space he needs to perform well, but that several times he has to go to the “not fun” chair for getting wound up when he is supposed to be sitting down with the others. On one hand, I thought, “maybe I should be pushing him into pre-school…even though my convictions are that he is not quite ready.” I didn’t know what to think, but I definitely didn’t realize that Jake had been struggling in his class. I was even more so distraught over the way I had treated him. Directly after church I ran to get him, took him in my arms and apologized.

(TODAY, his attitude was not much different from last week. We stood by the door and he said, “I don’t want to go in there.” So I said, “You don’t have to, Mommy will take care of it.”  I asked if he could be moved to the 3 year old classroom. Some strings were pulled and he was relocated. He had a MUCH better day. He even asked me when we were going back to church, Praise God!)

Yesterday was another “one of those days…” The kids were wild, Paul had to work all day, and I was in charge once more. Sonora had not napped the day before, and then had a horrible night of sleep due to aching joints. She cried all morning. Everything brought tears to her eyes, which made me want to shake her in the air, “don’t you know I have laundry to do, and lunch to make, and a kitchen to clean, and sheets to change??” I didn’t have time for all of the chaos.  Jake was being decent, and since we’ve been trying to wean out his naps I decided that he could have quiet time while Sissy napped. But Sonora noticed that Jake was not around for nap time and that did NOT make her happy. She wanted to be doing what he was doing, so she screamed and cried, called me “mean mommy,” and begged for her advocate, Daddy. It was a nightmare….20 minutes of screaming at me, crying, no matter how much I consoled her. She was overtired at this point. So I went into my room and retrieved Jake. I told him that he needed to do me a favor and lie in his bed and not go to sleep. So he laid in the bed because I made him, and he cried. I had told him that he didn’t have to take a nap, and then I had seemingly broken my word. So after 15 minutes of that injustice weighing on me, I told Jake to just go back in my room and watch his movie. Then I left Sonora in the room, screaming like a maniac. I retreated to the bathroom where I just laid on the cold floor and wept. Because I was so at the end of my rope. I wanted to go home. That is a common thought for me. Not to Sonora, but to North Carolina. Where I could wake up sick and call my Mom to take the kids. Wake up the next morning exhausted and call my Grandma to come over, bring me lunch, or dinner, or an extra roll of toilet paper because we're out and I can’t get to the store by myself, in my condition. I want to go home. I have peace that I’m not supposed to be there, after all, it’s almost always my fall back. It comes way before praying. Nevertheless, it’s seems like such an easy solution, despite how happy Paul is in school, and really, how grateful I am to be in Redding. That's why it's called "one of those days," right?

...So I continued to weep, while Sonora’s wails rang throughout the house. I felt like the Lord was telling me to release my expectations. And if I don’t have any expectations, then I have nothing to lament. So I went into the bedroom and lifted my sleepy, snotty toddler to my shoulder. I apologized to her, asked for forgiveness, and we made our way to my bedroom, where I sat in between my two precious, God given children and held them close. Sonora immediately closed her eyes and went to sleep, safe on Mommy’s chest. Jake held onto my hand and stroked Cori with his other. It was a precious moment, and I almost didn't have it because to me, nap time looked like two kids in their bed, sleeping.

I have a million of these stories. Howie fell in the shower several nights ago, and I found myself angry that the crash woke my kids up. Paul was closing at work, and I had just gotten them to  bed. I was in my own bed with a blog started up, and worship music in the background. It was going to be a good night. When my door crept open, I knew I was going to spank someone. And I did, because it was bedtime and I DID NOT want them out of the bed. Never mind that a big crash from the back of the house had woken them up, and a fire truck that Eron had called because she was so scared that she couldn't get Howie up by herself. For the thousandeth time since I’ve been in Redding, I just took a deep breath. I put Jake in his bed, kissed his forehead and apologized for the big crash and explained that it was still bedtime. Sonora did not want me leaving the room so quick, so I picked her up and brought her into my room, onto my bed. She laid next to me and though awake, sat still while I continued to write my blog, and listen to my worship music. It was not a big deal. It was not what bedtime was supposed to look like. But it was actually a good feeling to not be alone in my bed.

And now, we are home from church, unsure if Daddy will be home before 5:00. The sink is full of dishes that quite honestly, I do not have the energy to wash, nor the heart to ask my husband who has worked a ten hour day. The kiddos and I had lunch, and I put a movie on for the first time today and Sonora fell asleep on my lap. So I sent Jake into his room for quiet time. This is not how my day typically looks. But I feel like the Lord is teaching me how to let go a little. Before this experience I would have told you that I was a flexible person. I have been known to describe myself as ‘laid back.’ My behavior with my kids, as of late, has been anything but. Sure, I do have a million excuses, starting with my husband being gone almost everyday between work and school, and ending with me being 9 months pregnant. But there is no excuse for not showing my kids the heart of my Father. There is grace, for some time, but I have been convicted enough. They are not a burden, and they are not the problem, despite how it may feel from time to time. In fact, they are my job right now and raising them is my divine privilege above all else.  I am so tired of caring that they haven’t eaten a “nutritious” breakfast by my impossibly high standards. Or that they aren't getting enough sleep, or that they might possibly be watching more TV than I’d like or am used to. The most important thing I can do right now is nurture their hearts. My goal is to do my best, and right now, a scheduled life is not an attempt at “my best” as much as it is what I think another great mom’s best is. My best is whatever I can offer them without being overwhelmed, stressed, and cantankerous.

A cute little someone sleeping on the couch!

So here it goes, my “dangerous prayer.” God, I declare that you have anointed me as a great mom, just right for my kids. Anything that contradicts this, I want it to be removed from my character. Make me into the woman that you would have me be, into the mom that you have designed me to be. I pray that my children would have no framework for a time in their life when You have not reigned supreme, been a good Father to us, providing all of our needs: financial, emotional, and physical! May my children look to me, and see You. Amen.