My Two Cents: Stop Feeding the Bitterness

Sometimes I agree with things I read on social media, but "Liking" them would only feed a monster that needs to starve to death. As frustrating as it can be, the people-pleaser in me is squelched (and I am liberated) when I realize that no matter what I believe, some of you will think I am a heathen and others a saint -- and you're all getting your reasons from the same Good Book. Thank God His grace is dependent on Jesus' sacrifice and victory, and not my brain's or my heart's ability to process information in politically and socially charged circumstances. The Bible is my guide. Reconciliation is my ministry. Every day is fraught with failures and successes that can either take me off The Way or lead me nearer Him. I can only take the next step from this step where I currently am, even if people are miles ahead of me. I wish I knew everything. I wish love was easy for me when interpersonal disagreements challenge it. I wish my (tiny) courage and (waning) energy could get me to the front of the line. The fruits are growing, though, from a tiny seed into a mighty tree, on a pace set by the Holy Spirit's unique work in me. And I will try not to sneer or express annoyance at those who are miles behind me because God is exhibiting the same patience and kindness with them in their circumstances as he continues to do with me. And the goal is the same for us Christian siblings, no matter what time we arrive: Home! I refuse to feed bitterness in my heart. And I refuse to feed interpersonal bitterness, even if I am justified. God's call to justice and His tendency toward mercy confound my limited perspective. Enabling bitterness is as destructive as attacking it. Heal the hearts with faith and gratitude, even if it is difficult, unlikeable, and misunderstood. Don't let the disease keep festering. Correction and disagreement are necessary. But when we find ourselves in those situations, care and wisdom must be used to aid growth. Can we all encourage each other in our different perspectives through patience needed for a lifelong journey, without writing each other off as heartless, ignorant causes? Each of you finds the news story that satisfies your political leaning because that many different versions of "truth" are created. Truth is hard to determine from human perspective because we.are.limited. God is not limited. Ask---->receive. Seek---->find. Knock---->enter. One thing is sure: people are bitter toward each other. Centuries of things out of our control have left a bitterness between humans for superficial reasons. The Prince of This World, Satan, surely is at the helm of this. Pray for God to open your eyes to the things that scare, confuse, or bother you. Stop feeding the bitterness. Please.

Happy is not the only feeling

"H is for happy / I like this feeling best." One of my son's alphabet books describes emotions and has the facial expressions of several chubby-cheeked babies to make it twenty-six times cuter. Happy is a good feeling. One we all chase daily.

But it is not the only feeling. And it is not right for all times.

At the end of this day, I cannot sleep because my soul feels icky. A beloved actor ended his own life today, and everyone is trying to fix everyone else who may try to do the same. ISIS is still doing unspeakable horrors to the Christian families in Iraq. And the millions of other atrocities that are hurting people, precious individuals, in all the places between make me also want to apply ointment to the wound of humanity.

I am sitting in my cozy home. Safe. Loved. Confused.

I am thinking about emotions and their broad spectrum. Because life is a broad spectrum, and in my little place on the planet, in this space and time, I am experiencing a teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeny-tiny piece of it directly and reading about a massive load of it on the screen in front of my face. And I am not even aware of an even more massive load of it all.

Whoa. How to process it all?

This morning at breakfast, I dedicated our morning Bible time to a(n attempted) lesson in emotional intelligence for our 3-year-old. Even when he is crying and has a red face over an upset, he will insist he is happy, not sad or angry. My husband and I have done our best to assure him, in words and responses since birth, that any feelings, even the icky ones, are acceptable and good in their own rite. But yet he insists he is happy, not sad or angry. Ever.

So this morning I got out the chart of smiley and not-so-smiley faces that my counselor gave me to help pinpoint emotions.

Happy. Sad. Angry. Frustrated. Disappointed. Calm. Excited. Anxious.

And then I got out Ecclesiastes 3:1-8.

One of the things we constantly remind our son, multiple times daily, is that there is a right time for things and a "not right" (I find it difficult even to say "wrong") time for things. Because to him all time should be the right time for play time and only play time. Ah, to be 3 again, and to have no clue that without eating or sleeping playing would be impossible. :)

"There is a time for everything.

Born. Die.

Plant. Pluck up.

Kill. Heal.

Break down. Build Up.

Weep. Laugh.

Mourn. Dance.

Cast away. Gather.

Embrace. Refrain from embracing.

Seek. Lose.

Keep. Cast away.

Tear. Sew.

Keep silence. Speak.

Love. Hate.

War. Peace."

I thought the Ecclesiastes passage would be a good example of all the different emotions and experiences humans have. Because, like it or not, we have good AND bad experiences. Joy AND suffering. I admit, I skipped over "kill" and "hate" and "war" because I am uncomfortable with them (And I am not sure how to talk with a 3yo about them). But the Christians in Iraq at this time are facing those awful things at this time, like it or not. I despise it.

Pretending only the good emotions or the good experiences exist -- or worse, that only the good ones count -- isolates and paralyzes each of us when we need to connect most, during those vulnerable times.

Pushing aside those icky feelings, like sadness and anger and disappointment, leads to more sadness and anger and disappointment than one person can handle alone, which becomes expressed in addictions and homicides and suicides. It leads to hate. Hate of self. Hate of life.

So. As much as I never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever want my children to suffer, I cannot pretend that they will not. If I do, then they will be stranded in a prison of self loathing and not be able to find the way out.

Negative/dark emotions are not bad. They are not a selfish illusion. They are real, and they can be felt and expressed in a healthy way. But they have to be felt. They can be numbed for a time by jokes or drinks or foods or medications, but then they just fester and grow and eat away at every part of a person. They have to be felt to be healed.

We are all called to serve each other. Each of us is responsible for how we handle our own reactions to our feelings, and I dislike the way some abuse their feelings -- like a tyrant over everyone around them. But we can help and encourage each other, even if we are not responsible for anyone but ourselves.

Let's help each other by validating the icky things that happen and not rushing them out of existence. Let's do that by not belittling or judging things that we don't and can't understand.

Belittling the experiences of others because they aren't "as bad" as someone else's is an ignorant way to tear wounds on hearts of people who want healing. We each have our own perspectives, separated and incomparable to anyone else's.

Let's allow each other to be weak, so we can help each other become stronger. And we can only help each other be stronger by letting people admit their weaknesses AND celebrate their strengths.

I think the Devil has won many battles by convincing Christians that selflessness equals self-hate or self-neglect.

• It is not wrong to talk about yourself and your struggles or strengths or interests. 
• It is good to do things you like. 
• It is good to seek respect and love from people around you. That's what you want for others, right? You can want all these things for yourself. You are just as precious to God as the others he wants you to love.

Distorted love. Perverted love. The Devil has also won many battles by convincing many that love equals feeling good. A toddler thinks playing and candy feel good. How long will he survive in a world with only candy and playing? Hmm...?

"Be strong and courageous and do not be afraid."

Love is tough. Life is tough. We each have to find strength to deal with ourselves, as well as the courage to encourage each other. I am the worst at avoiding difficult conversations with people I barely know. But when life gets tough, conversations have to go deeper than clothes and weather and what I did last weekend. In fact, I guess we can't get past "barely know" if we aren't brave enough to broach the negative sides of a "time for everything." If feelings can be good and icky, then perhaps we need to allow some of our conversations to reach uncomfortable levels so we can help each other. And in a world with no time for it all, when will we find the right time for these conversations?

Jesus, come quickly.

And, until you do, please help me not to check out of challenging or difficult emotions or situations while I wait for total healing for all of us.

Love Your Neighbor (As You Love Your Children)

"But blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear. For truly, I say to you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see, and did not see it, and to hear what you hear, and did not hear it." -- Matthew 13:16 & 17

Every time we go to the grocery store, I wish I'd brought my 3-year-old's Lightning McQueen sunglasses and my baby's sunhat, because stepping out into the bright sunshine after shopping inside a huge building for an hour, their little eyes are shocked from the transition from dim to bright.

Crossing the bridge from childhood into adulthood, and then another into parenthood, has been like stepping out of a dimly lit building into the brightness of a hot afternoon sun for me. As a child, it was easy to see the world in black and white, right and wrong, good and evil, because I knew I was utterly dependent upon my parents for survival. I needed to be fed and clothed and cleaned. I needed to follow. I needed to be guided. I needed to be disciplined. I needed to be encouraged. 

And then I stepped into the big, bright world, where everyone else was equally as blinded by the Truth to which we are still adapting, based on our individual histories and perspectives. As we search for the correct sunglasses to help us see or cover our brows with hands to shade our eyes, we are learning to care for ourselves and get along with others -- and sometimes we're just annoyed that our vision is irritated by the adjustment process.

Stories of people mistreating each other are not difficult to find. At first, it is easy to scoff and judge and wonder how someone could be so small-minded and selfish... but we each have our limited perspectives. I have my limited perspective. My prayer over the past few months has been for God to open my eyes, my ears, my heart to how he sees people so that I never become blinded by hate or superiority and miss HIS glory. 

Parenthood has helped my heart muscle find places I didn't know existed before. They ache. But it's the good pain, the kind that indicates growth. The food court in our mall is a place where I have stood still in lines many times (either at Panda Express or the merry-go-'round). Fortunately, we live in an ethnically diverse city, so while I am waiting I become overwhelmed by God's creativity. The rainbow of colors, the puzzle-board of shapes, the storybooks of hearts are all passing by, and I try to appreciate the individuality of each, and I am brought to tears right there in that public space for the love I feel for each different person as he or she is a child of God. 

I say this as one at the beginning of a journey, as one who just took her first step into the sunlight outside the store: I am beginning to see my children's faces on all the people I meet, feel their hearts inside all of those beings. I do not have this even close to figured out, but I am beginning to see as I love my children with a genuine, deep love how I am called to love others. I want my babies to be loved, to be fulfilled and guided and shaped into the individuals God created them to be. I want that for every person. Sure, I have heard all of my life how I am supposed to love others, but the ways to do it have been shadowed by ignorance, selfishness, laziness, fear... still are-- but lessening in light of Jesus Christ's glory.

People who have not been around children often are interesting to observe when put in a "babysitting" position. Many have disdain for all.of.the.energy and little understanding of how patience and creativity are necessary to each child's nature for effective discipline. If only it were as easy as tuning out the irritation and inconveniences, if only it were as easy as snapping one's fingers to control an attitude or behavior, if only it were as easy as every child reacting the same way to the same things...

The easy way is rarely the best way.

Children require relationships and connections to thrive. Getting to know them, moment by moment, day in and day out...

learning what touches their hearts in which ways, 

supporting them as their hearts grow in courage as they discover their weaknesses and strengths,

teaching them with every possible example through words and actions, 

remembering to see the world through their young eyes as we look into their eyes as often as possible...

Man, it is a high calling--an active, ever-living-and-learning-and-evolving calling. One that does not give up.

Adults are more complicated, but we are the same as children. We each have our different likes and dislikes, wounds and scars, disappointments and hopes. I am learning to remember this as I interact with y'all. Sometimes it is harder when I am annoyed or appalled. But YOU are each as precious as the chubby-cheeked, innocent babies I find it easy to love. 

"Love your neighbor as yourself." I am not changing the command from Lord Jesus with the title of this post. I just want to help us find the meaning of it in this world of distorted love. 

What is love? Do you love yourself? Do you even know yourself? What do you like? What are your strengths? Your weaknesses? What healing do you need? What is your biggest dream (what you want to be when you "grow up")?

How can you love others if you don't even know yourself? How can you love others if you don't take the time to appreciate where they come from and where they are headed? How can you have anything to give others if you don't take care of yourself? Love is not a pain killer. Love is not a self-hater. Love is not a controller. Love does not give up!

Love is a journey. We're all walking at some point along its path. 

1 Corinthians 13 defines love beautifully. Read it with fresh eyes. Act it with a cleansed heart. 

Love is patient.
Love is kind
Love does not envy.
Love does not boast. (Even if it has a good reason.)
It is not arrogant.
It is not rude.
Love does not insist on its own way.
It is not irritable.
It is not resentful.
Love does not rejoice at wrongdoing.
Love rejoices with the truth.
Love bears all things,
believes all things,
hopes all things,
endures all things.
Love never ends.

Most of us say we would die to save those we love. Which is good. Jesus said so and did so. But the challenge for building those sacrificial muscles is in the everyday sacrifices we make as we lay down our lives while we're living with those we love. 

When we stop everything to play pretend with our child, instead of browsing Facebook or texting people who aren't even in the room...
When we help our spouse with a chore, without grumbling...
When we get that sleep we need (if just for a night), instead of staying up late to eat cheeseballs and watch comedies...
When we stop to have an eye-to-eye conversation with someone we love, instead of getting our chores done...
When we choose to redirect envious thoughts into complimentary ones...
When we calm our irritated spirits before reacting with angry words or actions...
When we stop our negative thoughts and say encouraging words to one another...
When we stop our reactionary opinions (based on prejudices and limited perspectives) and instead find a way to serve someone different than we are, no matter how repulsive...

When we want to rant against our enemies, even when we have good reason, and instead we calm our spirits and seek God's answer and God's glory in the devastation of evil... and pray and wait.

So many little ways to let love overcome hate in our everyday moments exist. Let's find them.

 "When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known." -- 1 Corinthians 13:11 & 12

My Ode to Breastfeeding

Breastfeeding our second son for a Mother's Day portrait.
Beautiful photo by Dolly Stang of twelve16 Photography. 

I should add the disclaimer that this is more of a straightforward declaration than an ode. Too sleepy to ode. Haha!

Breastfeeding is good.

This post is just a personal praise to God for the glory of breastfeeding, and since this is the beginning of World Breastfeeding Week 2014, I felt this was more down my alley than a public latch-on event to educate/inform/encourage. I am a big fan of breastfeeding, one of the most challenging AND rewarding aspects of mothering to this point in my journey. This is a small part of MY perspective and experience, without placing judgment or expectations on anyone else. Breastfeeding is super-cool; communicating about it is a way I can connect with others -- like-minded, curious, or not.

We each have our "thing(s)", and breastfeeding is one of mine. Our first son will be 4 in October. I breastfed him until he was 34+ months old, until he was ready to stop, and I was 7 months pregnant. Our younger son is almost 8 months old, and we are enjoying the same bond. Unless circumstances out of my control prevent it, I adhere to the World Health Organization's recommendation of breastfeeding a child until at least two years of age. After that, I believe the breastfeeding relationship should continue as long as it is mutually desirable to mother and child, with sensitivity to the child's transitional abilities. I am convinced of the brain development benefits, lifelong health benefits, as well as the (very important) emotional ones.

Thanks to my mom for breastfeeding me. :)

Breastfeeding success is owed in large part to my husband, who supports my sometimes-sleepless and always-neurotic self with great affection and constant encouragement. Thank you, my love, for helping me do my thing and bless our babies in mind, body, and spirit.

Breastfeeding helps my body heal from pregnancy and birth; and since my maternal grandmother passed from breast cancer long before I was born, I also appreciate the research that shows breastfeeding reduces my risks of having breast cancer.

Here are some cool facts about breastfeeding, based on research. This came from the World Breastfeeding Week's website. I think educating women in poverty statuses, as well as offering emotional support, could improve a lot of health conditions that people feel are out of their control. When my babies are grown and more independent, I hope to be more helpful in this area. And I have had so much extra milk with both boys (thankfully, friends have used it to feed their babies during medical issues), I entertain the idea of nurturing orphans. Lord-willing, one day. In some way. 

Thank you, God, for making my female body to feed my babies. I am amazed by You.

My Christian Identity Crisis

The world is full of people, and each  of us has a different perspective and a different role to play in God's glory.  With 7 billion + (Is it more now?) people sharing one planet with that many different viewpoints, skills and beliefs, one sighs thinking about the wonder of it all. God's grace really is all that can be holding everything together (Colossians 1:17).

We have a 3.5-year-old and an almost 7-month-old. Every day we have to remind the toddler that just because his brother grabbed his hair and pulled that does not mean that his little brother was trying to harm him. In fact, his infant brother was showing his love and desire for his big brother -- he just doesn't know the correct way to do it yet because he has only the perspective of a brand-new person. As he grows and learns, and we communicate with him, improvements will happen.

Those instances have become a good reminder to me that each of us has different perspectives, and, most of the time, when we cause strife or disagree with others, it is more about the distance in communication than an actual attempt to cause hurt.

How we treat each other through disagreements is significant, though.

This post is an emotional one for me that has been building for months, so I have been praying that God will help me be gracious in my expression of these feelings. It's more for me than others, and to y'all it may be of no consequence, but I know it is a necessary step for me in a current struggle within myself. And, hey, if any of y'all have gone through something similar, let's connect and support each other.

I am introverted, in the sense that being around others drains my energy, but I crave a few deep, quality friendships. The nature of friendships has changed for me since schooldays have ended. I don't see the same people for hours of every day anymore, so being one who needs time to warm up to others in order to feel safe opening up, those connections aren't happening. I've tried blaming how busy everyone is or social networks or the distracted, constant attention required of me as a mother (which I love; being a mommy is my calling; it naturally demands very much attention). But I really think the issue is my own confusion with my own identity. Introspection, always thinking and always processing what is happening around me, is also a large part of my own introversion.

So I'm lonely and I think too much. Thus -- this post.

(My husband is my best friend and a constant source of support for me. He listens to me rant and cry with the utmost patience regularly, and then he reminds me of God's sovereignty in the ways I need, so when I say I am lonely, I mean as far as interactive relationships with other Christians are concerned.)

So when did my identity go blurry? My dad died a little more than eight years ago, while I was in college and before I met my husband (which makes me sooooo sad; I wish they could know each other; I think they'd really enjoy each other's company). He was my favorite person. He made me feel loved and safe and led. He knew what he believed, and he felt passionate about all of it. Following Jesus Christ was most important to him. He left the church for twenty years after someone offended him as a 17-year-old. I don't know all the details, but I know he dealt with a lot through that time apart from God's people, and I am sure it fueled his dependence on Jesus and deep gratitude for salvation (in this life as much as the next). He was patriotic and served with the Marine Corps in Vietnam long before I was born, and passion for the freedoms of this country were deeply engrained in him based on the experiences he would never talk about. He was confident of good versus evil, and he had a clear, distinct sense of the difference between the two in many situations. And, of course, he loved his family. He was a constant, meek (which to me means gentle + firm) disciplinarian, and his goodnight kisses through his scruffy beard and his strong hugs reached my heart. He loved my mother fiercely and encouraged and supported her. I still remember the way he would hug her in the kitchen every evening, like they were the only two in the world. Sigh... I felt so safe and cared for by a leader with a strong, good heart.

I was 21 the day he died, already experiencing how different the world is through a child's eyes versus an adult's eyes. So much more complicated. The loss and grief of death turn things upside-down. Everything changes. My sister and I were already away at college when Dad died (but we were home for a summer break). My mom was an empty-nester and a widow -- so many whammies to peace. I relied on the strength of my dad's beliefs to fuel my own, and that presence all of a sudden disappeared at the time it seemed I needed it most. The thing I liked about talking to my dad when an event of social or political importance occurred was his assurance of right and wrong. He was certain. Where I had a strong role model -- with the perspective of nearly 60 years of life with and without Jesus, as well as war experience -- to answer my questions as I processed events, I now only had cynical 20-somethings with the perspectives of pampered children to tell me how I should feel about things in the world. ... And since I was at a Christian college, pretty much just big church camp for almost-adults, it not only made my sense as a world citizen blurry, but also my identity in the church. And social networking, in which we learn people's opinions before we really get to know them (YIKES!), has continued that fog for me.

Thankfully, my parents did an excellent job of teaching me that God loves me and I should stick with him through all my questions and mistakes. That has never been in question. But today's world is really active, and the global connection we have through the Internet puts Romans 12:2 into overdrive, "...that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect." And it's exhausting.

Many examples could be pulled from my memory to illustrate how lost I feel as a member of the church, but this one will be the most effective: Phil Roberston of "Duck Dynasty" is a person I like. A lot. He knows what he believes, and he is sure of Whose he is. Not only that, he has experienced life without and with Jesus... and his heart has changed. I have heard him speak in person, and I've seen him interact with others on a couple seasons of his show. He loves Jesus. And he loves people. It's part of his heart. Now, I am sure most of you remember that a few months ago, Phil didn't think about the expression of some particular words in an interview and how they would affect some very dear humans, who he himself said he respected as creations of God's, before he stuck his boot in his mouth. Yes, he said something stupid that took away from the message of God's love he was trying to express. But all of us say something stupid every now and then; and, if you don't, continue that vow of silence. It's working for you. And if you argue that those words revealed a disrespect from his heart level, I think you need to take a step back and remember who the Judge of hearts is, Who the only Judge of hearts can be. We all have black spots on our hearts, subject to limitations in perspective and personal biases. Jesus had to save us, remember? We can remind each other to put ourselves in the shoes of others without disrespecting each other, or without paying disrespect for disrespect.

Why am I talking about Phil, you ask? Get on with it, Nicoll.

Well, not only did a world that has no knowledge of his perspective from the Bible turn against him, but Christians, who I pray read our Bibles, did too! The tolerant ones, who usually have a good head about them when people make mistakes or become victims of bullying. Uhhh!!! Yes, please continue loving the people lost in sin and seeking to show them God's love and grace, but don't forget to show that to your brothers and sisters when they mess up too. Yes, lovingly correct your brothers and sisters when they make a mistake, but please do so patiently, as God does with you daily. (And one of my favorite things about Phil is that he doesn't need anyone to stand up for him. He is confident. This is not about standing up for Phil. This is about loving each other, as we seek the lost by loving them too.)

As a Christian, I always imagine sitting at this huge table with all of my brothers and sisters in Christ. Jesus is at the head with Father-God, and we are feasting and communing, sometimes laughing and sometimes talking seriously. Growing up, my family always used supper-time at the table to talk about our days and our thoughts together. So I imagine every day that I am a part of this big family, processing God's love as it relates to this crazy world that needs him so badly, discussing the reminders we each receive about WHY WE STILL NEED HIM SO BADLY. And when my brothers and sisters turned on Phil Roberston (and, remember, I could pull out more examples of this, not just Phil. This isn't about Phil.), I all of a sudden felt like a scared little sister. "I can't make a mistake," I thought. "My really cool siblings, who are so good at everything and have awesome gifts, will turn on me if I say or ask something stupid because I should know better. It doesn't matter that I don't know better because of my limited perspective, I HAVE TO know better!"

Feeling that way makes it difficult to invite someone from outside to the table.

Everyone always says "Actions are louder than words," IF only the words are good and the actions are missing. BUT if someone says something stupid, even if their actions are good, the meaning of that saying goes out the window. Double standard. Obviously, words AND actions both play important roles in our service to the world. But we're all human, and Jesus came to save Christians too. We aren't perfect yet, although we strive for it in Christ's example -- constantly.

If you're someone who can't stand Phil, watch this "I Am Second" video, not because Phil needs support, but so you feel better about the world. He is DOING good things for people in need, not just sitting in his ivory trailor saying "dumb redneck" things.

I said that is just one example of many of how I am afraid to hold my opinions and share them, which makes it really difficult to relate to people. And I admit I am more sensitive than I should be. This is one step of many to respect myself and my own opinions and claim my place as a daughter of God in the Kingdom that my brother Christ has saved. My place is already there, whether or not I state my opinions, and most likely you don't need this, but this is my helpful self-talk. It can be very wise to keep your mouth shut, which is why none of this has been posted as a Facebook status (I learned that lesson the hard way)... but have you ever tried to be friends with someone who doesn't ever share anything about who they are??? It doesn't really work. Relationships go both ways. This is where my voice is, on the Internet. Yeah, distracted mothers 100 years ago survived without their "voice" on the Internet, but they also didn't know about all the icky things the Devil is trying to do all over the globe, thus creating all this mind poop!

Okay, to be more positive: This is an excellent situation for my husband and I to find OUR identity in Christ, to rely on Father-God's Word and providence, and figure out specifically how we want to teach our children to begin expressing His love to the world. I can be proud of my American heritage and my family's patriotism and my Christian faith, regardless of the mistakes some of my ancestors made. I can be proud of good things -- because they do exist -- and humble enough about the bad things -- because they do exist -- to seek improvements and solutions without throwing people under the bus. Morals are still as important as service and acceptance. Discernment is needed always to distinguish how Jesus Christ would act and who moves his heart. And, I can't forget Proverbs 27:17 -- when iron sharpens iron, sparks fly; it isn't a quiet, passive chat by the fireside. We shape each other, for better or worse, as each of us attempts to impact our world..

The Internet has been around for years, and social networking has too, but I would say we're all still getting used to this burden of knowing ALLLLLLLL the problems of ALLLLLLLL the people in ALLLLLLLL the places on the globe, so let's be as patient as possible with each other when our perspectives clash.

Let me be patient with myself when perspectives clash.

Jesus loves ALLLLLLLLLL the people in ALLLLLLLLLLL the places. When we want each other to respect others, let's remember to respect each other as we communicate. I think of the Parable of the Talents from Matthew 25. Some of us can make a global difference, some of us have been given a place in our communities or our churches, or maybe just our families. But I am gonna pull out that one talent I have been burying and let Jesus do something with it, instead of hiding like a blemished idiot who is afraid of others, who are just as blemished and limited as I am -- without Jesus.

Jesus has cleaned me and helps me learn more each day. The same goes for you.

Thoughts On Running, Pregnancy, Mother/Servanthood and Identity

(Whoa, y'all, it's been six months since I wrote anything of this volume. Forgive grammatical errors and nonsensical babbling, please. And it's late, and I have only slept through one whole night in six and a half months (to my happily breastfeeding pleasure; I like getting up for quiet time with my littler one! The mention of only one night of sleep is NOT to complain -- it is just to explain the odd stream of consciousness that may lose you.)) :)

The feel of the shoes' soles patting the pavement with each step, the motion of my L-shaped arms swinging beside me and my hips twisting with step-by-step progress, and, most of all, the sound of life coming in and out of my lungs through the blessed holes in my face -- somehow these physical motions route my multitude of distracted, misguided thoughts into a convergence of focus that leads a song of praise from my vital, beating heart. I become one with myself when I run. And when the different parts of my being (physical, mental, spiritual) align, God comes into focus, in all His nearness.

Running is therapy for me. Sure, I like its weight-loss properties. But the endorphins and confidence that follow covering miles of ground at a running pace attach me to this pasttime, regardless of my physique's appearance. Exercise has always affected me positively. Lack of exercise has always affected me negatively. Some of us are more sensitive to certain things than others. I've known for half of my life that if I struggle with fatigue or aggression, I need to get active and sweaty. At least I have started heeding that knowledge in the past several years. I have tried ignoring it before.

The last long-distance run I ran was 15 months ago. I was seven-ish weeks pregnant with our second baby (after a year and a half of praying and trying (HALLELUJAH!)). Some friends and I ran 5 miles together after playing basketball games with our church family. I knew I was pregnant. And I knew that running while pregnant was okay to do in my condition. I had been running for almost two years (after our first son's birth), training really hard toward a half-marathon. Five miles should not have been an issue. BUT I started spotting the next night. TERROR! Running does not trump the life of my baby, so I stopped, immediately. Thankfully, THAT wonderful, amazing, sweet soul is now a healthy 6 1/2-month-old, who is blessing our lives with his eagerness for adventure with all the walking, talking people at whom he smiles constantly.

*I know many pregnant women can successfully run without harming their unborn children. Good for them, sincerely!

Since our second son was born, I have been walking three to four times a week with 56-pounds (and growing) of boys attached to me (by Ergo carrier for the infant and stroller for the toddler). I attempted running three times since then. The breathing felt good, but my knees, which never bothered me before, were crying, "Old, old woman! What are you doing to us?!" My knees are valuable to me for their walking attributes, so I have been babying them for a couple months by avoiding running. But I have kept at my walking with my boys.

Well... a couple of weeks ago, we discovered a beautiful state park within 20 minutes of our home for a family outing. And, in that park, is a 2-mile loop. Two miles of winding, flat concrete trail, closely guarded by tall but comforting trees, began calling to me, "Come, Nicoll, this is the place, the place where you can get your run on again!"

Thanks to my sweet husband, I got a few hours of needed alone-time (I am an introvert) in a breastfeeding-free window this afternoon. Y'all, I am SO thankful I chose to return to the state park and let the trail's siren-esque call drag me in even further.

Since I had never completed the loop, I chose to walk the shaded two miles first and discover some of its secrets. Because of its constant curvature and the closeness of the trees, I felt like I was the only one out there with God and His creation. So quiet. But so alive with noises and movements. For the first time in a long time, I pretended, like I suppose I once did as a little girl, that I was the timid heroine in a story of my own design. Yep, I had a whole scene going on in my head. That is all I care to share about that. I walked to the stagnant frog pond and listened to the interesting noises that come out of those surprisingly well-hidden, croaking, amphibious blobs. And then the mosquitoes who like the standing water hurried me on my way. Later in the walk, a doe was drinking from the enclosed lake, 25 feet from me. I paused to watch her for at least five minutes, until she heard the couple behind me. So gentle and feminine she was. I saw three herons, or maybe I saw one heron three times, taking flight and landing near their homes on the shore. Wooden docks and a beautiful bridge adorned the loop, and I paused on some to peer in the water. I didn't see any fish.

Being outside. Moving outside. Thinking outside. Connecting to what has been here since the beginning of time and pausing to breathe it in invigorated me.

I was ready.

Two miles, baby, in less than 20 minutes. I still feel good, six hours later.

Two young men on a canoe may have witnessed an odd young woman with blonde hair in pig tails holding her hands up in worshipful gratitude to God as she crossed the sunbathed bridge. But I barely noticed them because that was the only point in my run without trees blocking me from the sky, and the sun felt like God looking straight at me, enjoying my joy -- like I enjoy my 3-year-old's cutely sloppy running or my 6-month-old's happily frantic almost-crawling.

When can I return? Seriously, y'all. So GOOD!

I thought I would continue this post with some of the thoughts that came to focus out there on the trail. How long can this possibly be? If I placed each letter thus far typed in this post in a line on that trail, would it stretch farther than the 2 miles already? Ha-ha!

Most of the thoughts that have been pinging around in my head for months (and then found receptors this afternoon) deal with identity: Each of us must get to know ourselves and love ourselves while we interact with and serve others. Like breathing, a constant flow of air in and out of us to keep us alive, we have to keep reflecting within ourselves to let the Light shine out. Reflection points to the need for humbling changes and/or empowering changes to what God is teaching us about His love. Mothers, just as one example amidst the hundreds of servants in humankind, stay constantly busy caring for little ones. The simple acts of feeding and cleaning humans, not to mention enriching them as emotional and relational and spiritual beings, are demanding and constant. Thank you, God, that we live in a time where the emotionally misguided gospel of self-deprecation and doormat service is being challenged. Empty vessels have nothing to give; drained servants can help no one.

My husband and I do our best to help each other engage in activities that fill us, especially when we sense the other is feeling drained. (Yes, I am so blessed and appreciative of my good partner!) Yes, prayer and Bible study and fellowship with other Christians are necessities in filling us with God's good things, to remind us Whose we are and why we're here. But so are our hobbies and goals and the various relationships we have with others. Alone-time and personal interests and different levels of friendships shape me into Nicoll; all those things help me figure out who I am and what I care about. Those individual interests connect me with the people I can serve and love. Struggles and obstacles prune me and help me reach for the sky. Make me a servant, Lord, and thank you for providing me with the freedom as a citizen, a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, and a friend to discover the servant's heart you have buried inside me.

And thank you for the ability to enjoy the run today. I love serving my husband and our two boys, and it is nice to be operating on a full tank of servant fuel.

Birth story: All-natural VBAC

Our second child arrived one week ago. How have seven whole days --now eight, in the time it took me to write this -- passed since?!

Before the details blur into all-night nursing marathons, I'd like to record the birth story. And because God answered our prayers regarding this birth, I would like to share the story of what he did for us with those of you who care to hear.

Our first child arrived in late October a little more than three years ago. My whole pregnancy, I wanted to give birth naturally (no pitocin, no pain killers) because of spiritual insights I hoped to gain from the experience -- not because I felt I had to, but because I wanted to. Our firstborn was a week overdue, and because of last-minute high-blood pressure, my doctor recommended an induction. Only a few hours into the birth, I asked for an epidural because people had convinced me pitocin made contractions more painful than they otherwise would be -- which psyched me out. (After experiencing contractions with and without pitocin, YES, pitocin makes them more intense.) Long story short: Our baby had to be delivered in an emergency c-section because of what turned out to be a cord issue -- it was wrapped around him, squeezing him to death during every contraction. The events of that day and the way they played out gave us a healthy, happy child we may otherwise have lost... so I am beyond grateful for modern medical procedures. However, I felt disappointed I didn't get to experience giving birth naturally, and it remained a hope of mine for another time. I also realized I had not prepared myself mentally for attempting the pains of childbirth with no pain killers and knew I would have to be less naive the next time.

When we got pregnant this second time, my husband and I began praying and preparing for the possibility of an all-natural VBAC (vaginal birth after c-section). We really like our doctor and trust our care to her medical knowledge. She was on-board with the plan. We also read a book called The Bradley Method: Husband-Coached Childbirth to help us prepare mentally for making it through contractions. My favorite part of the book was a repetitive mention of how important relaxing one's body, especially the jaw, through contractions is to experiencing the pain in a less terrifying way. We practiced relaxing together many nights... I am NOT good at it. But that jaw part was a practical. helpful tool for me when it counted.

As the due date approached, I tried to retain a realistic view of my own courage, knowing I might very well wimp out, but praying God would have sovereignty over the timing and circumstances to make me stronger and braver than I felt. (Reading Bible stories with a little boy over the past few years really helped me find courage... because I really feel like I am a wimp... but God provides the bravery.)

Another potential obstacle: My body does not like to let go of my babies. My period predicted our second baby's due date as November 23... but an early ultrasound (because of scary spotting that thankfully revealed no harm) predicted the baby as due December 2. Talk about a letdown in the nauseous, anxiety-filled first trimester. I really felt like I'd been pregnant forever by the end, but who doesn't? Anyway, at my 40-week checkup, December 2, my body showed no signs of releasing a child, not even contractions. My doctor and I decided that by a certain date, December 10, if my body had not delivered a baby on its own, we would do a c-section. I did NOT want to do a pitocin induction because I believe it messes up a lot of the flow of labor, and my doctor agreed that with a VBAC and my seemingly reluctant body that pitocin would lead to nothing but a c-section anyway. The issue with a VBAC is the scar from the previous c-section. An internal contraction monitoring device, in addition to monitoring baby's heart rate, is important to provide reassurance the scar does not tear during labor.

Well, the week before December 9 (a week past due date) I started feeling some contractions at bedtime. Then, on Saturday night, they came about every 10-12 minutes and continued at that consistency throughout Sunday and Sunday night. At our checkup Monday morning, I was so excited to share that I HAD actually felt contractions... and my doctor was excited too... but my body hadn't changed a whole lot. SO -- we scheduled the c-section for the next morning but kept hoping and praying for the VBAC. (I know, I know -- what a contrast -- c-section or all-natural VBAC.) I felt very conflicted, but prayed God would make the path clear for us.

Well... God rescued! Throughout that afternoon my contractions became more intense and closer together. My husband took me to the hospital at 5:30, where I timidly said, "I think I'm in labor." They checked, and an hour later we were admitted for a VBAC, with a requested nurse who would serve as my advocate against pitocin or an epidural. I felt so thankful... and so TERRIFIED!!! God gave me what I asked for -- at THE perfect time. I felt like a little David approaching a huge giant. Well, no... maybe Moses approaching Pharoah. God had confidence in me. GULP! WOULD I BE ABLE TO DO IT?!

God provided strength through my wonderful husband, who stood by my side the entire time. Through every contraction, he held my hand and looked in my eyes and counted. I knew I could make it through because by the time he got to 25, I came to realize the pain would dissipate. As the pain intensified, he continued to reassure me of his confidence in me and my hopes to overcome the labor and delivery. He never gave up or weakened in encouragement.

God made me courageous by providing the perfect nurse for our situation. She had a child via VBAC. Her son's birthday was the next day, what we assumed would be our child's birthday (but he came on the forward side of midnight, so it wasn't). That "coincidence" assured me God provided her for this right time. God was with me. She brought me pillows and a heating pad. She helped me get on all fours and told me to wiggle my hips to get through the contractions of back pain. (Awesomely effective position) By the time I felt the unbearable pain of transition contractions, I was discussing an epidural. Okay, not discussing -- pleading for one. Haha -- The nurse and my husband told me they saw the change in my eyes once transition started. I felt possessed by a demon of pain. The pain was so strong and returned so quickly; I was TERRIFIED! She squarely said, "Nope, you're almost done, and you'll regret it if you get an epidural. Just take it one contraction at a time. Most women feel better when they can start pushing because it'll feel like you're fighting back." I latched on to that last part. Oh, Lord, I sincerely prayed (and screamed several times), please get me there soon! (I remember asking if it was okay to scream. Ha! Ha!)

God delivered me. We were admitted into the hospital about 6:30, an hour after we arrived and they confirmed my labor. Shortly after, they broke my water. I was unaware of the time, but when I measured at 6 centimeters (and not yet in total misery) the nurse told me that our baby didn't have a lot of hair. I think it's cool she could touch our baby while he was still in my tummy. (And we didn't yet know his gender.) That gave me momentum. At 10:15, when I was in utter AGONY from the clenching pain of transition contractions, the nurse checked me and determined I was 8 centimeters dilated. She estimated I would be able to push in an hour or two. That much longer with the pain?! I began to doubt my courage. Our second son ("It's a BOY!) was born at 10:33 -- less than 20 minutes later!!!

Right after she said I was at 8 cm and that the on-call doctor would arrive soon, I told our nurse I felt like I needed to push and poop (sorry--part of it). I remember a look of skepticism on her face. She checked. Yep! I was already complete at 10 cm and the baby's head was right there!

She and the other nurses told me several times to blow instead of push (which I may have rebelliously ignored a couple times closer to go-time), and got on their hustle, wheeling in all kinds of equipment (including a spotlight. That cracks me up.) Becky, our nurse, told me that the on-call doctor would not make it in time, so Dr. Sahini, the little Indian MAN serving as the hospital's laborist, would have to catch our baby. People, this is the most amusing part for me... There is a reason I chose a doctor in a medical practice of solely female physicians. I am so thankful God gave me a sense of humor about it. I am still chuckling about how the throes of labor helped me let go of lots of my anxieties. One thing mattered in the moment: GET THIS BABY SAFELY OUT OF ME AND STOP THE PAIN! God bless Dr. Sahini.

I won't go into details, but pushing and delivery were pretty amazing to me. I pushed only about 10 minutes. One time I let out an Amazon scream. It felt so good to yell that loudly in the most intense action of my life. "I AM WOMAN!. See what God made my body able to do!" it roared. -- But then Becky brought me back and told me to take a breath, hold it, and push again.

They placed our baby in my arms. JOY. TOTAL JOY.

They had already prepared my husband to call the gender. I saw at the same time he said, "It's a boy! Oh, look at our precious boy!" I laughed. I cried. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. My husband held me and gazed in amazement at our newest child too.

"God is good. God is so good." I couldn't stop feeling it and saying it. "Thank you, Father-God."

After that, I was in paradise. The pain was gone. My baby was in my arms, healthy and whole.

They took his APGAR score and made him less slippery and handed him back to me. I remember the nurses all commenting on how pink and healthy he was -- something we read in our Bradley book. I got to breastfeed him for 40 minutes before they took him to weigh and bathe. I nursed his older brother until this past September, when he was 34 months old. It is one of my favorite things to do/be/experience.

I still have to process this experience to glean those spiritual insights I craved. In the meantime, I just feel blessed by God's strong presence in the circumstances and his amazing quality of providing an abundant amount of success in courage and generosity in advocates (my husband and nurse and praying friends) where I had only a meager willingness to attempt it.