Birth Story of Baby 3: Second Unmedicated VBAC

I enjoy sharing birth stories, hearing others and telling my own, because each pregnancy can be so different. You never know exactly how one'll go until it is gone, so sharing stories is an interesting and successful way to gain perspective and educate oneself for preparation about a significant event with many unknown factors. And it's just plain fun!

Before I lose the details to lots of all-night breastfeeding marathons and all-day fun with my husband and THREE BOYS (Yay!!!!!!! For real! Yay!!!!!!!!!), I want to write the story of our third son's birth. It was a FUN one!

Before we had any kids, I had a strong interest in natural childbirth. Looking back, though, I did not know how to educate myself about it. Baby One was late, and my blood pressure got high, so his birth involved pitocin, an eventual epidural, and emergency c-section (because his cord turned out to be wrapped around his chest/shoulders). Scary! Baby Two was a planned unmedicated/natural VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean). You can read about those two in more detail HERE (the link didn't work. Sorry. Dec 2013 is where that story is on this blog.), if you want. 

Our second son, born more than three years ago, came in five hours after we arrived at the hospital ... and I thought THAT was fast.

What did I know!? Haha!

This baby, Baby Three, also was a planned unmedicated VBAC. With Number Two we had prepared for doing it naturally by reading The Bradley Method. I recommend that book because of how it helped me. This time, because of questions I actually had the ability to know to ask after birthing a baby with no medication, my husband and I enlisted in a two-hour private birthing class to help us prepare to do it again. The instructions we received there, as well as the booklet I got to take home and read over the following few weeks, really helped me prepare my mindset. Now that I am on this side of his birth, I really know it helped SO much with helping me feel prepared (for the many different possibilities of timing, positions, etc.), which helped me feel relaxed, not just anxious. (Contact me if you want the Tiny Seeds Birth Services info.) 

Before I share all the details, I feel like knowing "the ending" will make the beginning and middle more fun: My husband and I arrived at the hospital in a *rush*, myself waddling through constant contractions, at 5:10 pm, with him aiding me along the way. Our sweet, precious, darling son was born 39 minutes later. He was two days past his due date.

Our first two children were born one week late, so most of me just assumed Number Three would too. At about 37 weeks pregnant, I started having Braxton-Hicks practice contractions all day, every day, as well as some nights. This did NOT happen with my first two, so my mind started playing the "What if the baby comes early?" game with me -- which drove this pregnant woman bananas! For three-plus weeks.

His Thursday, February 23, due date came. He did not. Ever heard of PregoSaurus!? I just knew it would be at least one more week, just like the first two. Ugh. 

Ha!

The next night, Friday, the Braxton Hicks contractions changed to real ones. I could tell they were different, not painful or unbearable, but lower and more defined, so I started tracking them on my app. They stayed consistent but moved from between eight minutes and almost twenty minutes all night. (They say that when they stay at five minutes apart for an hour, you should head to the hospital.) I did not feel any rush. They did keep me awake, but at the same time I felt relaxed because I just assumed this was the beginning of a two or three day process. (With Baby Two, I did have similar contractions for the two days before he came on his own; so that, in addition to my previously late babies, made me just feel relaxed/annoyed that the time was coming/not yet.) 

Haaaa!

Saturday morning came, contractions stayed consistently between eight and twenty minutes. Still not unbearable, but certainly definite and consistent. We were relaxing at home. I was staying busy with chores and sitting on my medicine ball to wiggle my hips. And starting to feel excited and dreamy.

Nap time -- the contractions were hurting more, but definitely not unbearable, and had been staying closer to 8 or 9 minutes since lunch. I laid down. I couldn't sleep. But I felt very relaxed. So I just closed my eyes. Some contractions hurt enough that I got on all fours to wiggle out my hips through them (which helps take the pressure of baby's head off lower back). I just felt a really strange combination of very relaxed and anxious about when our baby would come.

After nap time. My husband was practicing violin with our 6-year-old, so I tried to play Rescue Bots with our 3-year-old, but the now painful contractions were stopping me... what was the tracker saying? What? Every 4 to 5 minutes!? What! Oh.

Now my excitement and dreaminess was beginning to feel like panic and denial. Nah. Not today. These are just the beginning of a days long process because I am always pregnant for at least 41 weeks. Not today. Not now.

But ouch.

And I can't deny the clock.

I just tried to keep my mind on my 3yo and Rescue Bots. But it was getting harder to do. We were approaching 45 minutes of really painful contractions coming between 3:30 and 5 minutes apart.

When my husband and son were done with violin I tried to let my husband know without getting excited. I really didn't want myself or anyone else (my hubby, our boys, the waiting grandparents, friends) to get really excited if it still wasn't going to happen for a couple days. So I just showed him the contraction tracker information on my phone.

He smiled big.

Then he could see how the pain of contractions was taking my breath away.

He said we needed to get ready.

I kinda held off about ten more minutes, but the contractions were coming between 2 and 3 minutes apart all of a sudden, really bashing me. This was less than an hour from when I had started feeling the painful ones. 

Panic. Tears. Yet excitement.

We need to go!

What if we have a baby in the car?

My mom came as fast as she could to stay with our boys. We left. They were SO excited!

During the twenty-minute ride to the hospital, the very painful contractions were happening 1 to 2 minutes apart. I couldn't remember how to get to the hospital. Even though I know where it is. I tried to think, but gave up. It is a good thing my husband was the driver. Haha! And he stayed so calm and reassuring through every pain and every panic of mine. And even though I had that anxiety and panic, all the things I had learned about relaxing my body were truly helping me just take every contraction one step at a time. It is hard to describe. 

We parked. We got out. My husband later told me he didn't know I could walk that fast. I had to stop when the contractions, a minute apart, got me. I stopped tracking them once we had parked. They were so close and so hard. At that point, the pain was constant, with some waves less intense than the big ones.

I just had to make it to the door. And then to the Admissions desk, where I gasped through gritted teeth, "I'm having a baby!" The receptionist firmly said, "I understand." Hahahaha! It is so funny to remember. She showed Justin where to get me a wheelchair while she got my prepared papers. I tried to walk because I really did NOT want to sit. But the contractions hurt too much to move my feet when they happened, so the wheelchair was the most efficient way to get to my next step: up the elevator and to triage.

When we arrived at triage, the attendant could tell she needed to move fast. I just wanted my clothes off and the baby out. She didn't ask for any information other than contraction timing. She checked me. 

This is the most hilarious response: "You're at a 5 or 6... to an 8. Your cervix is so stretchy that it could be almost anything." (For those who don't know, a cervix should be at least 4cm for the hospital to admit a woman in active labor. 10cm is pushing/arrival size.)

She just got me in a wheelchair and showed Justin to our delivery room, where the three nicest nurses were moving in a flurry to get things ready for a fast baby. Looking back, they reminded me of wonderful medical fairies, the way they were pleasantly and competently busy about my birthing business. 

They hooked up the monitor for the baby's heart and got my IV in, and they tried to ask me questions. Tried. I was in a whole new world of relaxing through intense pain before a huge physical trial. Every time I had a contraction, I wanted to stand up, and they were so nice to let me do it once all the monitors were wired. Funny to me, they did not hook my c-section scar up to any monitors -- which was a *big* deal at the other hospital in our old town with Baby Two. Maybe because it was happening so fast? Maybe because less than one percent of c-section scars ever tear during a VBAC? I wasn't worried about the scar. I was in pain and I just wanted to meet my baby!

This whole time my wonderful husband was speaking the calmest, most affirming words to me, letting me squeeze his hand through the pain, reminding me to keep my jaw and body as relaxed as possible.

My midwife Hannah got there in about five minutes. She said the triage attendant told her that my water was about to burst, and she is just glad she didn't accidentally do that when she checked me (because that would have brought Baby before midwife arrival). Hannah checked and said that was definitely the case. Would I want her to break it? Because then the baby would come immediately. (After it was all finished, she told us if it had broken on its own at home, we would have had a baby on the side of the road.)

Yes. I had thought about that before I even went into labor. I was okay with her breaking it, as long as Baby was safe. 

She pinched the water sack with her gloved fingers. Pop. Sploosh. Here comes the flood.

Ouchy-Wow-a!!!!!!! (Yet still able to breathe and relax through the extremely engaging pain. In a totally different zone to accomplish the necessary event.)

I had to take that blasted hospital gown off. Ugh!!!! (Not because of appearance, but because of functionality.) And they happily accommodated me. Great nurses/midwife! How has anyone not invented something more functional for standard pregnancy attire by this point!? Lol. I needed to move when the pain moved me, not readjust a dang piece of fabric all over my very busy body. Ha! 

They were still letting me stand up beside the bed, and they weren't gonna make me lie down again. (If you are a first-time mommy, know that you can talk to your doctor about different positions. Some may allow you to do your own thing. Or you can find one that does. You do not have to lie back in that bed, unless you want to.) 

Three pushes later (one minute separating each), our third precious son was born to a standing, buck-naked woman and her wonderful, supportive husband. So funny and beautiful to me! I had to step around his cord, in quite a beautiful mess of life liquids, and they placed him in my arms. Happy crying. Joyful crying. Crying in ecstasy that this whole journey of a human's making has resulted in our healthy, beautiful baby. We made it. Together. With our good God. (The nurse got a pic of Justin and me first looking at our son together, but I can never show anyone else, but I am happy we have it.) JOY!!!!! All that pain turns into JOY instantaneously. We waited with all three to learn gender at birth, and my husband got to call it. So exciting! 

And then I got to breastfeed him. He was covered in blood and vernix (he had so much of that in-utero lotion) for two hours, cuddling with me, before they took us to our overnight room. It was really nice to just be in that moment together so peacefully and naturally (as possible in a hospital). 8 lbs., 6 oz and 20.5 inches long. My biggest baby. The darkest hair of our blonde boys. Such a sweet cuddly, fuzzy ball of live wonder and soul!

So much happened SO fast after the waiting of pregnancy. I call it Happiness Whiplash.

God is so good. We are so incredibly thankful for the good health and a happy "endings" (which is really just another beginning). We realize God is the One who sustains us, not happiness. But we praise/bless/thank Him when the circumstances are so delightful. And we pray to glorify Him through trust if/when they are not. 

To His Glory: "Three times I prayed and God said NO"

Words are coming to me today, and I feel like I can put them together in sequences that will build others up. That is a big deal lately, something I haven't been able to do in a while.

I never want to "overshare" in a way that will steal others' joy or make me a target, and sometimes I am unsure of where the boundaries are, but today I feel sure.

Observing myself and others around me, which I do pretty much automatically on an exhausting 24/7 basis, I realize most of us don't know or understand anything about ourselves, much less others, yet we pretend that we do and we try to "control" it all with our beliefs about how we should be, how things should be, how others should be, and we spend so much energy trying to be what we should be that we miss who we are -- and we miss who God is too.

I am blessed to be part of a couple Christian communities where members can be honest about their uncontrollable issues that can lead to sin, but ON THE FLIP SIDE can bring so much glory to God. We each have something: an addiction, a mental illness, a physical cripple, a sexual desire, a past trauma, etc.

But we stay committed to our families on hard days.
We ask for help when the evil is so strong to seduce us.
We feast on God's Word, remembering it is alive and active and that we will always be learning new things about His heart as he builds ours.
We are the support, not the enablers, when people we love need strength to stand back up or go a new direction or a friend to sit by on the curb and cry.
By sharing ourselves we shed light in dark places where moldy sin grows.

But it is so hard to do.

Something I have always struggled with, but barely understand, because it manifests itself in different ways, and because I am human and really just don't know a lot (although I have learned a lot and can always learn more), is depression/anxiety. Some seasons I am strong against it, others I am weak and eaten up with it. The past several months it has exploded. And it has stunk. It stinks, presently. It is still here.

I have begged God to help me be stronger, to help me be a better person, to build my character, to please all the people around me whose outsides lead me to assume they have it all together, so maybe if I please them that means I will be together too. I honestly get angry because I have mistakenly believed the Spirit living in me, with all its wonderful fruits, is something I can control. That I, Nicoll, can force an apple of love, an orange of joy, cherries of patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control to magically appear in the juiciest forms on my branches. But I am not the Gardener, the Builder, the Cultivator. That isn't the way depression/anxiety work, even though I WISH it was. I wish that was the way so many battles worked for so many people I love.

Even though our weaknesses make some days hard, unbearably horrible, I see so much of God's power in our refusal to give in to the Evil One, the one who throws flaming darts at us because he wants us to give up.

The most depressing YET EMPOWERING thing I have heard recently was something a friend shared a couple weeks ago in a video. (Here is the link. It is about ten minutes long, and totally worth your time, if you have it: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=jRJ2vEy6Kpo ) The speaker in the video also struggles with depression/anxiety, but I believe it is beneficial for any form of uncontrollable weakness that rears its ugly head from time-time. He pointed out the scripture in 2 Corinthians 12:8-10. Everybody really likes the part where Jesus says to Paul, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." But what if we singled out the verse right before that, where Paul says, "Three times I begged the LORD... and he said NO." What if we posted that on our walls or embroidered those on our fancy pillows? The speaker also points out the blind man that Jesus says was born for God's glory in John 9:3. That makes an audience ooh and ahh. But what if you were that man, blind for every day of his life?

So that was the depressing part.

But when you pair it with Jesus's magical mud-spit healing the blind man. And then with Jesus's answer to Paul -- and the person Paul was, through all the persecution and physical discomforts he faced to BOLDLY tell the world of Jesus's salvation: Whoa! "TO GOD BE THE GLORY, GREAT THINGS HE HATH DONE!"

I am going to give birth to our third baby in roughly six weeks. The agony of pregnancy AND birth... holding that precious little human in your arms and kissing his face... the seemingly endless mourning becomes joyful dancing that makes every pain wirth it in a *flash*. It can't be summed up in words.

I have been reading a chapter in Proverbs each day for months, the one that corresponds to the date. On the twenty-fourth of each month, in verse 10, I say, "Ah, CRAP!" because it reads, "If you falter in times of trouble, how small is your strength." That is how my mind works. There is no room for weakness or failure because one bad moment will define my entire being. But I have several bad moments. And I can't give up there, literally or figuratively, because verse 16 says, "for though a righteous man falls seven times, he rises again..."

I can't give up in verse 10 of my life because God's grace makes room for verse 16.

And history has proven that in reality we are all going to fall a lot.

But we will rise again (and again) (and again) (and again)...

I personally have never been one to be peeved that we are seemingly pawns in some kind of eternal battle between good and evil. I know that really bothers some people. And I know my words can't change that. But my breath, my body, my mind, the very things that give me life and personality, are not my own. I did absolutely nothing to initiate myself or keep my systems in rhythm. Nothing I have is my own. I just am. (Even though I put so much pressure on myself to be anybody but me.) And I believe with all my heart -- no matter all the cynical bickering I have listened to and pondered and considered -- that God made me because He loves me. And I am okay if I have no control over the good, the bad, and the ugly that will ultimately bind me to that love forever. I sure do fight to have control. But the more I fight it, the more I have to open my hands in surrender and see who God is. And then the better I understand who I am in a way that allows me to accept myself. Which slowly helps me accept others. And all in the Light of Jesus, the One who helped make me and redeem me, and Whose Words, even if I don't get them, point to the me and the people and the world I can never control because it isn't mine to rule. It will take until eternity for me to accept myself and others, but there is a lot of glory and fruit in the tiny steps I am taking toward that.

So in the meantime, on bad days, when no matter the words I tell myself or read or hear from others, and I still cannot overcome the sorrow, restlessness, hopelessness, and the weariness, what do I do? Do I follow all the bad thoughts in my head that tell me to give up in this way or that way? Or do I just let go and rest in the love of God and the precious support system, the anchors He has provided (my husband, my family, my friends, my umpteenth professional counselor (everyone should have one)) for the times I cannot control my spirit but can lean on His? (And it is so hard, not simple or easy or magical.)

I do have control over one thing: TO NOT GIVE UP, whether that means resting or putting one foot in front of the other or asking for help to keep standing or to make this choice or to not make that choice. I can NOT and will NOT give up. And if I take a step in the wrong direction, I can turn around. I can ask for help to know which way is better. I can ask for help walking to that better path if I have taken several wrong steps. I can surround myself with people who will build me up, not tear me down. And tearing down comes in shameful shapes and enabling ones, so I pray for discernment to seek God's Kingdom while trying to live in His call for justice and His tendency toward mercy.

To go along with my Spiritual fruit control issues, my counselor gave me a metaphor a couple of months ago, very appropriately timed, that has also been carrying me through hard days: Trees. Trees grow and continue to live, even when they are covered in ice and standing strong against icy winds for the months of winter. Not all days are full of blossoms and green leaves. I can be like that too. And I am. All the winters of my life that I look back on with regret, where I feel like I have failed, actually I was a shorter and weaker tree then than I am now, and despite things not going the way I thought they SHOULD, God has still provided fruit and growth in the warm seasons that have made me a closer-to-whole Nicoll than I could have been on my own terms. I am like those trees, covered in snow, appearing to be fruitless for a short time, but appropriately waiting for another season of revival. You have seasons like that too? Right?

I said at the beginning of this that the words came to me in a way I could make them into sense and order, but I still have a life of little loves who require my attention, so maybe this came out terser and less eloquent than I wanted. But I know from what I see in the news and social media and sad faces that I am not alone in an uncontrollable weakness (unique to each person and your story) that requires support through wintry seasons occasionally.

I hope wherever you are today, that you can rest in God's love. It's okay to just be a tree in winter. It's okay to beg God and wait for His answer, whether it is relief or a "no" that displays His power. Don't give up. Your tree is still growing, even if winter has it bogged down right now. You will rise again.

Communication: The Struggle of Unity in Community

My over-sensitivity to others' emotions has led to hours of challenging reflection on solutions for our country with recent years of bitterness between races and belief systems; and because I am a lifelong learner of Jesus Christ, I especially sweat over relations inside the church and the church's interaction with the secular world. It's where my head and heart are most days.

My small-town, goody-two-shoes perspective (I know this all will read so simply, but if you know me at all, please try to read through my child-like simplicity) jumped into an ice bath in my early twenties after my dad, a die-hard American patriot and former Marine with the sweetest simple heart for Christ and kindness toward others I've yet met, died. I soon after fell in love with a pacifist, who also has a sweet heart for Christ, but who asks questions that had never crossed my mind before, all under a firm devotion for Christ that depends on no other person's opinion.

Since Justin and I've been together, we've had Christian friends choose to become atheists; we've struggled with loved ones' addictions; we've accidentally worshipped with a tiny LGBTQ church while on vacation (a story for another time that I am still processing; the Spirit was very present); and we've deeply loved a church that broke after asking necessary questions about the way we interpret and share God's Word regarding gender roles.

My husband handled it all very firmly and peacefully. None of it shook him. His trust in God is such a blessing to me, one who tries too hard to be in control and make sense of everything urgently so that the rest of my life (and my kids' lives) will go swimmingly (hardy har har). I would totally be the person hogging all the manna in the desert, only to see it rotting tomorrow, the day for which it was not intended. Justin still listens to my confused heartache about it all and dries my tears when I get overwhelmed.

God's Kingdom is so important to me. I care passionately about every little thing I do every day as part of my service to Him. However, I get very distracted by everyone else's stories, which upsets me or makes me feel lost and purposeless. I've recently come to thank God for my anxiety because I constantly drink His Word as the very parched soul I am... so His power is perfected in my weakness because battling my anxiety delivers me from a lot of sins I'd like to nurse and keeps me close to Him on a moment-by-moment basis. He is always in my head and heart, even if I am a limited and weak and oftentimes bitter person.

As the very normal, not professional-about-communication person I am, one thing I have started to notice in my neurotic observations of social media interactions about the issues in our country is a communication deficit. Please hear me on this: Some powerful people are actually harming humans in word and action, and they need to be held accountable by earthly authorities. If our voices can help that, then speak. However, many people, who are simply ignorant (because we can't know every issue every person faces in our separate corners of the world) are being accused of hatefulness, which just breeds more hatefulness, and I think if we gently educated each other about appropriate rhetoric, understanding that each generation or person comes from a totally different perspective with separate concerns and experiences, then a lot of this bitterness could diminish and be no more... which would protect a lot of hearts who have a lot of social media voices in their heads, guiding their specific temptations and choices. I am not necessarily the one to know proper rhetoric between different groups; mine is more a 'be silent and smile when you don't know what to say' mentality.

This is dated and may sound too simplistic, but I think I am not alone in my concern here. I do not understand why people make us choose sides so often. Do y'all remember when people could like "Duck Dynasty" in the open, and be proud of a Christian family being displayed on television? And then some interviewer, who doesn't understand him anymore than he understood the gravity of the communication toward a group of people, asked Phil Robertson his opinion on the hot topic of LGBTQ lifestyles? A lot of people got angry at him for quoting scripture and adding his "humor". And then they continued to demonize their family as a sold-out commercialized version of Christianity. I personally was not in disagreement with his opinion on scriptural interpretation, although his additional commentary was not tactful, which is an important aspect of kindness--but this event illustrates what I mean about a communication deficit. (Disclaimer: He and I do not see eye-to-eye on American politics. Which makes this post even more important to me.)

Phil Roberstson is a man who loves God and loves people. I come from people who are a lot like him, and I relate to how he speaks because of it, and I feel protective of his stances because I can wrap my head around them. If you study his past and his story, he is a saved sinner, who is very open about his need for Jesus, and who continues to love all sorts of people who are different than he is, baptizing them in Jesus's name. That is more than most Christians I know are doing from Jesus's specific commands. He isn't hateful. He is my brother in Christ. He comes from a different generation, and he is in the spotlight, and we all have a lot to learn about communicating  with the LGBTQ community--and a lot of others when our differences clash. That means mistakes are being made, and we can help each other learn from them to make things better in the future.

A lot of our interactions with "enemies"/people with whom we disagree cannot be handled with words. Humble acts of service and kindness, though, would speak volumes. And I think a lot of us try to lean on our own understanding by trying to put our beliefs in words to people who do not yet speak His language, and that God would rather us act in trust of Him by being kind and servant-hearted when the occasion calls for it, or simply by agreeing to disagree without having to harp on each other. We feel so urgent about things that take years of conversations and community to be overcome.

My struggle is with people propagating a gospel that is false. As old-fashioned as it sounds, a lot of people want to be with Jesus, but they don't listen to the behavioral expressions of love they do not like or find natural to themselves, and instead of repenting or struggling (which is holy) they just go with it. OR, since the pharisees, many seem on auto-pilot about equating traditions (whether in family or church or country) to biblical commands. I mean, what false gospel may I be propagating by my human limitations, even though that makes me sick to think about?

But if they/we have Jesus, even in a tiny amount, can we leave each other with that tiny bit of Him that is more than all of any of us, and trust Him, in all His power, to convict and work in our lives, as we strive for Him?

Is a tiny bit of Jesus, amidst our huge emotional/behavioral faults and rationalizing abilities, enough to work through our souls, any souls? Can we serve silently in love and part ways when it's best and necessary? And then look forward to the perfection and salvation and whole community of Jesus on THAT DAY?

I am weary from all the demonizing. I am weary of legalists placing their demands on people who are much different than they are, and I am drained by gracious people making THEIR grace legalistic.

Rednecks aren't all empty-headed patriots.
People with #blacklivesmatter hashtags mostly consist of people who agree that #coplivesmatter and #whitelivesmatter. They just want those of us who have no idea what it feels like to be black to think about and acknowledge some gaps our culture has left since racism "ended."
The people who criticize your party's candidate may have something valuable to share about their perspective of America. Political parties are not listed anywhere in God's commands.
Can you imagine kindly enjying a supper with these people who are different? Maybe see the enjoyment over things we have in common more than any battles over differences in that setting?

We don't have to be threatened and urgently react.

STAY CALM AND--

Jesus, y'all.

He is so big.

Let's trust in Him, and spread the authority and goodness of His Word. Somebody who can relate to YOU will need it, and the mighty tree of His Spirit growing in us will slowly but surely make the changes His creativity can shape into a good plan, despite all of our sins. We won't all agree on every single thing with every single person we meet, but we can overlook some things that aren't realistically harming another person for the sake of unity in Christ. And, again, I think in this world that parting ways (without becoming enemies in word and agenda) is part of unity.

Heaven will be full of sinners, redeemed by Jesus, and we're all at different places along the road. The following is an adorable illustration of a heavenly scene:

An excerpt from _Happy, Happy, Happy_ by Phil Roberston:

Willie gave Paul [an old friend who had just been released from 12.5 years of prison for transporting drugs] a job at Duck Commander, where he met his future wife, Crystle, a former Texas police officer. They both rededicated their lives to Jesus Christ and were married in our front yard. Paul is African-American; Crystle's mother is Hispanic and her father is black. So the wedding crowd consisted of African-Americans and Hispanics but mostly white, bearded rednecks. About the time the wedding proceedings were starting, a friend of mine was putting his boat into the river at our boat dock. My friend later told me he realized then that there must be a God, because every other time he had seen so many ethnicities together, there was usually fighting involved! But there, under the towering pines and oaks next to Cypress Creek in our front yard, he saw a lot of people from different backgrounds who seemed to genuinely love each other and were enjoying being around each other. It was a perfect picture of what Christ's body should look like on Earth.

More Positivity and Humor, Less Negativity and Isolation

Philippians 2:4 "Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others."

We all go through seasons where we need to recharge our personal batteries or grieve tiny or big changes. I understand needing to stop and catch a breath. Setting boundaries with disrespectful or misunderstanding people is always a good tower at which to stand guard vigilantly. However, there is a difference in recharging or taking care of yourself VERSUS isolating yourself.

(By the way, I am not an expert on psychology in any way, nor do I expect my blog to create revenue. I am simply a person who has had to battle personal negativity pretty much every day of my life, and I like to share when God helps me over hurdles for other like-minded strugglers.)

Satan, the Evil One, that Devil, the Enemy knows that one of the simplest ways to distract me from progressing along my path with Jesus is NEGATIVITY. Sometimes it is pathetic how easily he can ensnare me by helping me focus on THAT situation that seems impossible or THIS person who is utterly annoying and inconvenient. Some days my fears are more visible than my hopes, which is not the way it should be for a follower of Jesus the Christ. Many of my days are spent exhausted and drained because I am mentally fighting battles that don't exist because of evil, bitter, fearful thoughts I feed like ravenous monsters who are never satisfied. And when that happens, I am usually all alone because I chose to be. Our society, even church society (which was designed by God to draw us into community and unity (maybe bc he knows we would be drawn to isolation)), is so individualistic, and I can see other people with my tendency to isolation suffering for it, so that's why I wanted to share this.

Likely, this will be a lifelong thorn in my side, with waning seasons. But God has always helped me overcome it when it becomes unbearably aggravated.

This latest season of brooding and isolation is starting to dissipate, and I believe it is largely because of funny and positive Christian friends in my life. God has shown me what a blessing humor is. Now, I am not an expert at comedy, and a lot of times other people's jokes and sarcasm go right over my head. You can giggle because I am that person who nods and laughs and obviously has NO idea what is going on.

So I asked God to help me find MY sense of humor and strengthen it. I have been looking up funny memes on Google, related to things I like.

(My phone and my Kindle will not successfully upload photos to my blog right now... Sorry. Along with being a genius of humor, I am also brilliant with technology. ((That was sarcasm for my fellow humor beginners.))
For example:

Follow this link to an adorable little girl and her humongous cinnamon roll.

Or this really funny Star Wars meme for Father's Day.

What are things you like? Find a meme. Or make one.

Anyway, my funny friends seem very good at entering a bad situation with the mindset that they WILL make it better, funnier, lighter-hearted, etc. They are good at realizing that the good qualities are as present as the bad, or that they can be. Instead of focusing on that annoying person who makes everyone uncomfortable in whatever way, they plan pleasant conversations that may bring that irritating person into a different light, or they remember the many people who aren't wet blankets or emotional blackholes and strengthen the positive presence of hope and laughter and community. Which makes it better for everyone. They bring yummy food or a fun game and just help everyone focus on better things. They bring gifts and they think of how they can lighten the hearts of other negative thinkers. Now, I know a lot of us aren't naturals at this... yet. But I would rather figure out how to do this with the people in my life than always complain or dread or teach my kids to be unhappy, negative, isolated people.

Instead of letting the party suck the life out of us, let's bring some more life to the party. For all our sakes.

Homeschool Update: Overcame Insecurities, Found A Group, and Started Reading

Our homeschool path is finally becoming smoother, after months of tripping over stones of insecurity and doubts. Here are updates about where we are now and where we're headed with kindergarten this August:

I have been mentally preparing our homeschool mission statement, that statement of unique faith our family has in homeschooling. (Not sure if I'll share it here.) I'll need it on tough days as a reminder of why we have chosen this. I am beginning a full-time job in my home for which I'll receive no (earthly) payment and that will make people assume we're dumb hillbillies. I can handle people thinking I am weird (because I have my whole life), but I want them to give my kids a chance before writing them off. I HATE the high school mentality (of cool versus weird)... but it's everywhere. Everywhere.

However, I have reached a place in my confidence that has me thanking God for all the mental struggling I have done with these preparations because I am confident I can teach my kids better than any public or private school how to be good human beings. I *know* homeschool is not for everyone, and I am totally accepting of that. But I do believe this is perfect for who my husband and I are and who we want our kids to become.

We began our talks of homeschooling when my husband and I were still dating. For him, I think it has always been a belief that he and I can teach our kids in a fuller way than a school system, no fear for him about cray-cray people. But for me, in the beginning, it was honestly a desire to hide them from the big bad world. Beautifully, though, God has transformed that fear into a desire to (and belief that we are capable to) raise boys who will be creative, intellectual, kind, hard-working men of God who will go into this world and make it better. I still fear some of the senselessness in our culture, but I plan to fully prepare my boys to be empathetic men who are aware of different lifestyles -- *from God's perspective*. I want them to be compassionate as they stand for what's right. And I am so thankful that because homeschool is growing in our country so many opportunities are present to show them the world and its people so that they will be more wholly prepared at the appropriate time to GO and LOVE and (re-)CREATE. I hope they'll see my husband and I doing that when opportunities arise. (Sometimes our introversion makes the "other people" part difficult, so we pray God will show us how he can use our introversion and still help us with the second greatest command.)

Academically, we have registered with a group that meets two days a week throughout the school year. We start in August. It is kinda competitive to clench a spot, so I was SO thankful we made it on registration day to get THE LAST SPOT! THANK YOU, Father!!! The group chooses the curriculum (Yay! I hate making decisions.). I teach the curriculum throughout the week, with a few required and personal additions (Yay! I like that part.). Our kindergartener will meet in a class with 15-20 other homeschooled kids his age, taught by a teacher hired by the tutorial program, on Tuesday and Thursday mornings for a few hours to go over the material we have done at home. I am so excited for our older son because he loves being around kids his age, and one of his best buds from church is in this group too. It will be good for me to get to know other homeschooling parents to grow our community as well.

Our younger son is 2. I plan to go over pre-K stuff with him while his big brother is at tutorial. I look forward to our one-on-one time. He has been learning counting and his ABCs while I work on reading with his bro. (It is so cute to hear him count in his still-developing speech. He got to twelve last week. So cute!)

Speaking of reading...

My goal is to have our older son pretty well-acquainted with reading by the time tutorial starts in August. He will be 6 in October, but I feel like he has always been a fast learner and ahead in behavior, so I think he would have been okay starting kindergarten last year... but that isn't how any school system does things, and I need to learn not to rush anyway. This past January I began a Start-to-Read program from Usborne with our 5yo. Even though he has known his alphabet and sounds for years, I've heard so much about not starting reading too soon because of the detrimental effects it could have on learning down the road -- so I waited longer than necessary to begin with him. We have read aloud numerous times a day since he was born, both picture books and countless chapter books, but I didn't ask him to start until a few months ago.

We read through the eight books of the starter pack at a relaxed pace, and now we're two books into the next pack. He is very good at it, but he doesn't feel excited about it. However, the Teach Your Monster to Read Game on the computer that accompanies the books is highly enjoyable for him, and it is very effective in teaching sounds, so we use it as motivation when working through each book and the activities. The motivation part is a challenge for me (because I like to just get the work done, sweat is the reward for me... but not for kids), and I hope the peer group in our tutorial group will help feed his ambition a bit. He highly enjoys the science and art projects we do. And he loves when we read aloud to him. I am praying and feeling out as sensitively as I can his lack of excitement about learning to read himself... because he will have to learn important things he won't find "fun," but I don't want to crush his will to push through. Oy.

Well, that's where we are. How about you other homeschooling parents? What are your current and future plans?Any advice from veterans? How do you motivate your kids without positive peer pressure? How do you motivate yourself to join group outings and become part of a community (especially if you're inroverted, like me)?

Recovering IT Band: Long-term Goals, Fell Apart to Fall into Place

For whatever reason(s) my IT band is giving me a lot of trouble. Whether it was the two weeks of downtime for my melanoma incision to heal and/or trying to train for a full-marathon around that event, the ligament connecting my left hip to knee, my illitobial band, is very painful. It's getting tight and rubbing on my knee bone, which expresses itself as pain on the outside of my knee when I run. From what I've read, I don't think that it can cause serious damage, but I do have to give it a good couple months of rest to (hopefully) get rid of this pain. An underlying weakness in my hip is likely what caused the trouble, which could certainly have been from a lot of things I had to do differently while my incision healed, mostly laying on my unusual side for sleeping and being careful to not swing that arm for a week when I did get to run again. Who knows.

So how am I trying to recover it, while hoping for some long term running goals?

1) Lots of cross-training:

A local university has a pool with affordable access to the public during certain hours. Two or three times a week, I do this wonderful-for-every-part-of-my-body exercise. I was on a high school swim team my junior year. I loved practice because of what a full workout swimming is. It took me about four visits to get my breathing rhythm back for the freestyle, but it feels so good, the process has been worth it.

I also have a stationary bicycle at home. I like riding it for an hour before our boys wake up. Cycling makes me feel that IT band very minimally, so I am keeping the resistance kinda low. But it's a good sweat!

I also have been doing all sorts of strength-training, from clam shells to squats to hip lifts and yoga poses of all sorts. Gotta get my hips up to snuff!

2) Light running:

I have told myself I will not try to run on the road until a 5K with friends mid-May. The treadmill does not irritate it as much, especially with a friend's knee brace. I have run a couple times since the half (that was no longer the full-marathon bc of my IT band) on April 9. I did two miles a few days ago, and stopped because it got tight. I did six today that felt great, but laying down on my unusual side while giving our toddler mommy milk for bed time has just now revealed some pain. I probably won't run again until Saturday... And I may have to cap myself off at 3 miles, no matter what. I am so tempted to overdo it. I miss the feel of a fast, long run.

Before this melanoma hiccup, I was feeling confident that I could run a full-marathon and qualify for Boston (03:35:00). Guys, I was even feeding delusions of being able to qualify for the next Olympics Marathon Trials (that gives me three+ years) (NOT the actual Olympics... Yet.). Currently, that means I'd have to run a marathon in less than 02:45:00. Hahahaha!!!! It has been a humbling pill to swallow uncontrollable variables that have required me to pull back and slow down. And now my delusions reveal themselves in all their hilarity.

3) The Running Revolution by Nicholas Romanov

This coach studied hundreds of hours of footage of some of the best runners in recent history to discover a common, best running form, which he has dubbed Pose Method. Justin got me the book for Christmas, and I did not want to take the time to re-train my body to do this proper form that Romanov claims will help me "run faster, farther, and injury-free for life." Well, NOW I got the time to rebuild my running, so I guess I oughta do it correctly. I already have been working on the stretches and strength-training to adjust my muscles and tendons and ligaments to a minimalized running shoe.

In addition, my marathon-running brother-in-law shared a training manual with me about properly preparing my body for a full-marathon with a solid running base that is not just based on a rushed training method. I have a detailed way to add mileage In a wise way per week that won't overload my body. And I feel so secure and confident about planning my goals in a wiser way by having this knowledge. Hey, if I wanna get to Boston and the Olympics trials (hahaha!), I am gonna do this the right way. I don't want to do it just because... I want to be excellent. Maybe everything fell apart so I could get it in the right place?

Or maybe none of that will happen...

So #4 has become the most important lesson for me to apply myself to at this point, both spiritually and physically:

RELAX.

I still don't know how to do that.

(And I am not ready to share my long term spiritual goals in this setting, so the example will just be running.)

Knowing the goals I have for the future makes present perspective easier to grasp. If I wanna run even my first full-marathon, I can't run my knee to death right now. Not running (or limiting it very much, compared to my former training) is actually getting me closer -- moving me forward -- to running a marathon than trying to go do forty+-mile weeks right now.

And that, having to be still in mind and heart more than in body, is where I am trying to get.

I wanna dream big, but I also want to be humble enough to get there... Or to be okay if God has a different timeline or plan than I do altogether.

Father-God, thank You for teaching me. I need help with these lessons, so I thank You for Spirit and Jesus who remind me of perspective and determination. Thank You for not giving up on me.

That time I had melanoma

This blog usually highlights my running and homeschool pursuits. Last week, a new challenge was presented in our adventure. I had a mole removed that was diagnosed as malignant melanoma. EEK! The initial removal and diagnosis, as well as the succeeding larger biopsy and continued recovery, have happened hot and fast, like a piece of withered grass in a campfire. It was a huge deal, but it's not as a big of a deal as it could have been. It was a vision in between blinks, but it matters to my family and me. My emotions are simmering as I process what happened. I am also in the midst of training for my first full marathon, and the juxtaposition of a health scare *versus* speed and strength have resounded my purpose (whether or not it's clear in all the details of my spectral emotions).

"...but that with FULL COURAGE now as always

CHRIST WILL BE HONORED/EXALTED/GLORIFIED

in my body, whether by life or by death."

Philippians 1:20

My purpose, whether a simple SAHM, a marathoner, or a person battling weakness and sickness or death. I am so thankful for the friend who read this over me.

For three or so years I was carrying a tiny black blob of a bomb on my upper arm, and I didn't realize it. Although I could tell something wasn't right about this new mark on my arm, and that it was slowly growing, carving time out to see a doctor about it wasn't at the forefront of my mind (because... kids, limited budget, fleeting time).

I finally went to a dermatologist about it last month. They didn't tell me what it was, but I could tell by their reactions that it might be something serious. On Friday, February 27, they removed it and another suspicious mole. I asked if I should worry. The nice physicians' assistant said with a concerned shrug that it was irregular. I did Google melanoma after that. And guess what? It looked *just like* my little ol' now-missing mole. But we never believe THAT could happen to US, right?

A few days later, I got a call at 7:15 a.m. that I was needed back at the doctor *that* day. It was not enough time to get there without my boys. They scheduled me for the next day and said I would be there about an hour and fifteen minutes, but they never said why directly. I asked if I should be concerned, and the receptionist asked me to hold. Thirty seconds later she told me that the records were sealed and she was only told to call me and schedule me to return. If I had it to do over again, I probably would have been pushier with information about MY body that I am pretty sure I signed a waiver to hear about over the phone. I guess they were trying to prevent panic. They succeeded. But I was very aware there was a problem.

So Thursday, March 3, I had surgery all.of.a.sudden. They kindly brought me to a room. Was it my imagination they were all looking at me in a lingering/pitying way? Probably. The kind doctor came in with her nurse and a grad student intern. She professionally informed me that the mole on my arm was malignant melanoma. She asked if I knew anything about it. "That it is big and bad and scary," I replied. She nodded and said, "Yes, it's very big and bad and scary." Then she informed me that because it can spread so quickly if even one cell remains in my arm, and then it would become "terminal" (what a surreal word in my life), that they would remove a centimeter's circumference around the initial melanoma to be sure all the cells were removed the first time. And removing that circle of skin would require a longer cut in order to sew it back together. She informed me I couldn't do any heavy-lifting or strenuous exercise for two weeks because the stitches would rip. I told her I was training for a marathon and asked if I could do my scheduled 20-mile run in the morning:

"Not unless you want to rip your stitches," she said.

"What about light running?" I asked in what I thought was a cutely persuasive plea.

"You can't get your blood going too much or you will rip your stitches." Her tone was a lot like the one I use when our 5yo asks me for the same thing I said no about ten times already.

She said she wanted to remove the skin immediately, but that I could wait if I chose. I decided getting the big bad scary cancer cells out of my body was priority. I could only see my husband and our boys in my mind's eye with God's voice in my heart. Who knows if I had years until it reached terminal proportions, but why take that chance?

So they prepped me. They cut me. They sewed me up. I gasped when I saw how big it was, even though she had drawn the guide on my skin and showed me beforehand. Twelve stitches. It took my breath away that something so huge happened to me all alone in a room in less than an hour: bad cancer, surgery, massive wound.

This was the wound immediately after she removed the possibly affected skin area.

This is the wound this morning, day 7. I am amazed that God made our bodies to stitch themselves back together. I keep praising Him every time I change my bandage and see the progress.

The medical professionals were all so kind. I wasn't afraid. But it was a HUGE life moment. And it was so brief and isolated (just in that hour) from people who are in my life. I still don't know quite how to communicate about it. It's a big deal but not a big deal.

When I started realizing I may have melanoma, before they called me, I had some moments of clarity. Since then, they have blurred in the pain and maintenance of the scar, despite the everyday responsibilities with two kids and a bazillion activities.

I had been asking God to discipline me because my heart is not in the right places. He is helping me remember what matters, like I requested. But I am such a slow learner sometimes.

One of the clear epiphanies (is that redundant?) I had was that I need to relax. I feel so rushed and like I am always doing the wrong thing, no matter where I am or who I am with or what I am doing. And it makes me mean and impatient and everything opposite of peaceful and giving. I want to slow down and be with my family, the mission field where I currently walk, instead of always feeling called to the millions of "mission fields" and "guilt trips" I feel manipulated into engaging in groups and on media. This is my responsibility to handle. Slowly but surely, my heart is slowing down, stilling itself in the presence of God and His pleasure with my family and where we are. I am always so concerned with where we're supposed to be going that I miss where.we.are. We can't get to the top floor without traveling all the ones in between.

My sisters in Christ amazed me and softened my heart for molding. I texted several family/friends to ask for prayers, and the kind words and support warmed me. Three of them, including my amazing little sister, even came over after our kids were in bed that night to pray over me. My mom had a fever, but she insisted on FaceTiming with us so she could be part of it. I am her baby. We did as much laughing as praying, and I felt so loved. It was such a rich blessing. Our small group was so supportive and prayerful, as was my mother's. My sweet mom couldn't offer to serve me enough. She blessed our family so much over the past few days by being my left arm and helping during appointments. And my amazing little sister really got how this affected my heart. She even drew a black melanoma awareness ribbon on her foot for her first 5K this past weekend in my honor. My in-laws reassured me with peacefulness and presence. My husband worried about me in his sensitive and servant-hearted way. He is out-of-state all this week on business, and he hated having to be away at this time way more than I did. God reminded me that I do, in fact, need people.

My mom got me these beautiful potted miniature roses. If I can keep them alive, then I look forward to their progress reminding me of the growing love of Christ that all these wonderful people shared with me through this fast experience.

I found out two days ago that I do not have any more melanoma. Praise the LORD! I will return every three months for a year to be examined, and then every six months, and eventually just once a year, assuming it stays away.

I texted my husband who was in the air (I look SO forward to celebrating with him when he returns on FRIDAY!!!)--and I texted all my prayer warriors. I could hear the laughter and clapping and rejoicing. How wonderful to have relationships based on eternal hopes. I praise(d) Him either way because I know He is guiding me, above and through my circumstances with nearness. I go back on St. Patty's Day (the two-week mark) for removal of stitches. I will come home and PICK UP MY BOYS with BOTH arms and squeeze them tightly, and then I hope to enjoy a long marathon training run afterward, especially since the next day is my 31st birthday--which will mean even more to me this year than ever before.

Not being able to run for two weeks in the midst of the most important part of my full marathon-training is a huge mental and heart challenge. Where am I placing my identity? Where does my hope lie? Is it temporary or eternal? Who/what do I worship as my Sustainer? I have been pleading with God to allow me to keep running, but for Him to teach me to be present in all circumstances. I can't always be in my mind gym. I have some pretty great souls to love in our four walls and along our blessedly and graciously joined path.

I absolutely still plan to run the full-marathon on April 9. A friend and her coach are giving me feedback, and research says I should not lose too much cardio and strength with two down weeks at this point in my fitness. It may not be as fast as I'd like (3:30), and I may not qualify for Boston in my first attempt (3:35) (All my numbers were saying it *was* possible), but I can still do my best and learn something exciting for my future. And if I am tempted to break the rules and run with my stitches before the two weeks are up? I just remind myself that busting them open would mean more time away from something I really want to grasp from God and give back to Him. He gave me this time off as mind renewal. It is such a personal, deep thing for me, involving my history. I won't go into that now.

Melanoma versus Marathon! I have learned that I need to be more gracious and relaxed with myself, so I can treat my family and others the same. I have **a lot** of practice to do. But look at all the reminders my body has left for me to remember my purpose. I have marks from pregnancy, a C-section, training progress from all my workouts, now a cancer scar, and so much more: I want my body to glorify Christ in whatever circumstances I face. BE GRACIOUS. SHARE LOVE--THAT MEANS RECEIVE IT AS WELL AS GIVE IT.

I got myself a KAVU sun hat. I will be lathering on the sunscreen and covering up. I love being outside, but I will respect the sun's rays more than I ever did before. My babies and hubby will be covered too.

I am thankful and overwhelmed -- and mortal. Thank Father-God for Spirit's fruits and Jesus's salvation.