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!
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