When Divine Meets Death

Yesterday as my children and I walked up to the rail to receive the Lord's Body and Blood, I was caught off guard by an unexpected sight.  The third Sunday in Advent is known as Gaudete Sunday, or, the Sunday of rejoicing. On this Sunday in Advent we turn slightly from the somber repentance that is the Christian's focus while contemplating our Lord's second coming and judgement day, and we rejoice that for those in Christ His second coming brings peace and eternal life. 

So, imagine my surprise then when, adorning the floor area in front of the chancel, I saw three beautiful funeral arrangements. I remembered that the day before the church had held a funeral for a member who just went home to the Lord but, found myself instantly captivated by the sight....and by the irony. In my church the Sunday of rejoicing is not only met with the pink candle on the advent wreath being lit but the entire church bursts forth the decorations of Christmas and, later in the afternoon, the choir shouts forth beautiful hymns of advent in a concert for the entire community. So, there I knelt, staring at two 25 ft tall evergreen trees decked tip to stump in Chrismons and twinkling lights, and...funeral flowers. 

My eyes trailed to the altar and, for some reason, my eyes were caught by the edge of the white altar covering and the pole that holds it in place running through its side. Suddenly my mouth went dry as I thought back to the previous Holy Week and the stripping of the altar. I could still see in my mind Pastor pulling the rod out so the covering could be gently folded up and removed, leaving the altar naked and bare. 

I looked from the flowers to the trees over and over and it hit me, the life of a Christian truly is constant irony. It's black and white, sinner and saint, weeping and laughter, repentance and absolution, Christmas and Good Friday, Good Friday and Easter, death and life. 

Suddenly I loved those funeral flowers. They made a very bold statement that I do not think was intentional on the part of the person who left them. We hold hopeful, expectant vigil as we await our Christmas feasting but on this side of heaven Lent will come once again, as will Good Friday. It will come in our lives too...suffering, sickness, depression, misfortune, destruction, torture, war, death...but there's a reason we adorn caskets with flowers. It's not some kind of departing "thank you" note to the deceased, it's a testimony of life. 

"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." (Matthew 6:28-29 ESV)

Those flowers are a testimony of a promise, a declaration of faith. Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ WILL come again, and when He does, He is taking us home. 

I wish I could arrange for there to be funeral flowers on the third Sunday in Advent every single year. Gaudete Sunday was the first Sunday after my Dad's deadly plane crash. I remember thinking then how ironic that was, and yet, how wonderful. We rejoice even in death because Christ is coming for us, and when He does, oh Happy Day!!!

In a Pinterest world

A couple weeks ago I officially joined Pinterest. At least I think I did. As soon as I was done putting in my information and received an email that said something about "congratulations" on joining, well, duty called. My newborn woke up as he blasted breastmilk poop up his back and began squalling the most pathetic cry. I can tell he's the baby of the family right now because he has the "feel sorry for me" cry mastered.

I have not been on Pinterest since. I am sure it is amazing and I am sure it is super helpful and I am even sure it would revolutionize my world. Pinterest would probably solve all my mommy problems, make me the envy of my friends, and make me sparkle and shine.

But the thing is, I am too tired for that. Nor do I have any desire to sparkle. And honestly, this little glowing journal is about the only place I desire to be online these days. It is my little haven in the darkness.

At 3:30 this morning the tiny person who shares our bed decided it was a good time to spray me with breastmilk. It ran down my chest, into my v-neck shirt, and into my sleeping bra where it puddled in all it's warm sliminess. I cringed and reached for the cold wipes to clean myself up while I picked up the baby with the other hand to comfort him and clean him up. I put him on my shoulder to burp him  and the hand that was supporting his bottom felt a wet warmth. I slowly took my hand away, almost afraid to look, and there was a smear of yellow on my hand. I bit my lip, which lately has become raw from all the chewing, and grabbed a diaper and a change of baby clothes. Two diaper changes, 45 minutes of nursing, and three outfit changes later (one for him, two for me), we finally slipped back to sleep.

The greatest part was, I didn't cry from exhaustion and was somehow even able to smile and talk sweetly to my little man as I took care of his needs. I am needed. And he is super cute.

One day my 8 year old son asked me, "Mama? What is the meaning of life? I mean, if we can't stop sinning and be perfect, why does God leave us here instead of just taking us home where we can be perfect and live with Him?"

First I laughed inwardly that my little child could not realize the question he asked probably has more books written on the topic than any other subject and is debated more heavily than perhaps even politics, then I responded simply, "The meaning of life is love. God wants to make us rich in service, rich in our vocation, because when we are rich in service we know love and we know Him because He is love."

"Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us."
(1 John 4:7-12 ESV)

I have 4 little boys that I am homeschooling and their newborn brother, 1 little baby girl that I watch full time for her working Mama, and 1 giant dog that is nearly as tall as my husband. He really is more of a horse. And he is an indoor dog. And lately I am a lot more careful about going out in public. I suppose I am something of a spectacle. I understand this and I understand the frequent comment, "Do you know what causes that?".  Kids are an insult to our sparkly, dignified, and intense need for a perfectly fake persona. Why do we try so hard to fool ourselves? I suppose it goes back to my 8 year old's question. "What is the meaning of life?"

Look, I don't have kids because it makes me sparkly or because it's fun or because then I can impress you with my Pinterest mothering skills. I understand that we will make you uncomfortable as I walk through the store and perhaps have not showered and my kids are wearing their unmatched outfits they picked out themselves because I was too busy cleaning up the kitchen and running loads of laundry. I am sure it will be a huge inconvenience to your shopping experience if one of the babies starts screaming and I have to scold the toddler or chastise the school age children. I do not have it all together, my kids are real kids with real emotions, I am a real person with real emotions, and I know you are probably thinking that if I just knew what caused this I might stop it already so that I can put myself together more and stop embarrassing myself.

In 9 years I have been pregnant 11 times. Six of those 11 times I have hidden away in my bathroom to shed my blood as my babies went home to the Lord (which also insulted plenty of people). The other five for now are mine. But I cannot stop it. I cannot stop procreation because it is not I who put them there. The Lord has called me to marriage and therefore to a one flesh union in marriage and as a result I receive the fruits of that marriage as He desires to give or not give them. A + B = C. It is God Who calls and God Who gives.

Every day I am rich. I am rich in opportunity to serve and to love. I am rich in my vocation. I go to bed exhausted from head to toe, I have more jobs than I can accomplish in a day...or a week, and I am needed. And in my kids' need for me I am reminded of my need for Christ. When I am frustrated, overwhelmed, alone, and haven't even had opportunity to think of myself in hours or even days, I think on Christ who came to earth without my asking or even knowing that I needed Him in order that He might die, for me, and for all.

My kids need me because they are weak, helpless, often dumb or at least ignorant, and rebellious to anything that is good for them. They choose the worst possible moments to misbehave, act foolish, get sick, and make me face sin in front of everyone I wish I could impress. But, instead, I am left facing my own complete lack of control over not only their sin, but mine. I am left completely broken. But there's a certain freedom in being broken. When you have no one left to impress (and know you never can anyways), all that is left is to live to die to my own desires, to my own selfish ambitions, and to my own desire to be applauded and, by the power of the Holy Spirit, be raised up to serve in His love, mercy, and grace while we wait for His return. Come Soon, Lord Jesus.

Conclusion: The Birth and Why I Jumped Ship on Home Birth

I have to admit, I've been avoiding this place the past couple days. The story was easy to tell. There's something about a story that makes it easy to separate yourself from and feel like a reporter instead. I love simply restating the events in order to remember how it all went down later.

But in the quiet moments that have happened since arriving home: when the baby is asleep, the kids are all down, and my husband is snoring next to me, then I have sat staring at my baby's perfect tiny face and my thoughts have surfaced. I cheated.

I can hear the collective moan across cyber space and I can imagine the comments now. No one wants to hear they cheated. Imagine telling a woman with hyperemesis that she "cheated" to take medication to control her vomiting. Imagine telling a woman who has her baby at home that it's cheating to give birth in the water. Imagine telling a man plowing the field that it's cheating to use modern farm equipment or that it's cheating to ride to work in a vehicle. Cheating the curse.

I cheated the curse.

But....what curse?

"For all who rely on works of the law are under a curse; for it is written, “Cursed be everyone who does not abide by all things written in the Book of the Law, and do them.” Now it is evident that no one is justified before God by the law, for “The righteous shall live by faith.” But the law is not of faith, rather “The one who does them shall live by them.” Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, “Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree”—so that in Christ Jesus the blessing of Abraham might come to the Gentiles, so that we might receive the promised Spirit through faith." (Galatians 3:10-14 ESV)

Cursed be anyone who relies on the works of the law! Shall I bear my own curse? Shall I convince myself that if I birth alone in pain at home that my birth is somehow more pious and more worthy than a woman who has every pain medication the world can provide? Lord have mercy on those of us who are so trapped in the works of the law in our own mind. 

"Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us."!!! Christ has come, Christ has risen! Christ will come again!

I have to admit, I have walked around the past two weeks so free from post birth emotional trauma that I have actually FORGOTTEN that I gave birth and caught myself still mentally coaching myself on my upcoming birth! Several times in the past two weeks I have gone to take a hot bath to relieve some of the post birth aches and while relaxing deeply in the tub have begun to think on my upcoming birth! I have to laugh each time, out loud, that I could actually forget I have given birth. But I have been trying so very hard to prepare for the birth knowing I was going to have to get through a natural childbirth at home again that it's hard to just turn that off. My birth supplies are still here, untouched. It's weird! So, we finally packed them up and put them in the basement to await the future. 

So, will I ever go back?

I am so glad I do not have to answer that today. With my fourth child I was determined from about the half way point of pregnancy to rock childbirth. I needed it. I craved it. I was like a running addict looking at my next marathon. And one that was not only determined to run, but to win. Maybe that will happen again and I'll be crazy enough to have another home birth. (smile and wink) And I have to admit, the one regret I have is that my children were not with me. The only two home births I have had (my other two were born out of hospital but in other locations than my home) were my first and my third which ended with a near death experience for me and a hospital stay. So, nostalgically, I ached for a "beautiful" home birth in which my kids could gather around me to see their sibling born and we could all revel in the peace and warmth of our home afterwards. 

I shared this with my eldest son when I returned home from the hospital. He is the one we label as being gifted in the area of "human care and compassion". Extremely gifted. So I shared this with him and he gave me a half smile that was also mixed with a measure of little boy grossed-outedness, and he said, "Um, that's OK mom, I didn't really want to hear you yell anyways." I had to laugh out loud. And he's right. For all that mama tries to romanticize it, birth is loud, it's messy, and mama doesn't really want her other kids around her once the baby is out anyways. At least not for more than 5 minutes. 

I don't know what the future holds. I don't know if the Lord will bless us with anymore children or if He does, if they will be children that are given to live here or not. I am thankful that this birth resulted in an amazing relationship with my family practice Dr., who aided me in delivering my son, and that she is here to guide me and help me as we navigate what happened at the end of this pregnancy and how that could affect me and any pregnancy in the future. We don't know if the platelet thing is something I have always had, since I never had those drawn in any previous pregnancies, and if it might explain my bleeding troubles. We also don't know if it's something that will get worse with each pregnancy and if it's something that my levels will get lower faster each time. These are things we will know in time and they will help us make wise decisions. 

I do know that I have never felt so at peace post birth, that I have never felt quite this calm and happy. I have jokingly called the epidural I received my "Gospel epidural". 

And I think that's what it all boils down to...why are you making the choice you are making? Is it because it's really what works for you, what you like, and what is best for you or is it because it is earning you righteousness in your own made up laws? When it becomes a matter of pride, something you feel you HAVE to do, are we not joining the ranks of the pharisees? 

I had a hospital birth. I got an epidural. I had a catheter, IV antibiotics, continuous fetal monitoring, tons and tons of IV fluids, and I don't think I have ever laughed so much during labor ever. And that reminds me of one of the most beautiful quotes I have heard in a long time: 

“Whenever the devil harasses you, seek the company of men or drink more, or joke and talk nonsense, or do some other merry thing. Sometimes we must drink more, sport, recreate ourselves, and even sin a little to spite the devil, so that we leave him no place for troubling our consciences with trifles. We are conquered if we try too conscientiously not to sin at all. So when the devil says to you: do not drink, answer him: I will drink, and right freely, just because you tell me not to.”
― Martin Luther

We must cling to law where law really exists, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength and love your neighbor as yourself." Though the Christian knows that this law really turns back around to Christ who is the One responsible for granting us the faith with which to accomplish this! And so when we feel burdened, harassed, and weighed down beyond our strength and ability, well, it's time for an epidural. God be praised. 

Part V: The Birth and Why I Jumped Ship on Home Birth

Since I had already been having contractions on and off for five days, it took quite some time for me to notice a difference with pitocin. I kept wondering what the big fuss was about with the drug. My nurse continued to refill my cranberry Sierra Mist and my husband and I visited with my midwife. For a couple hours not much happened. The nurse had been instructed by my Dr. to continue to turn the pitocin up every half hour until contractions were less than five minutes apart. She must have come in four times or so before that goal was met. Finally the contractions got serious and I was no longer comfortable in bed. I got up to use the restroom and then asked for a ball to sit on. For awhile I sat on the ball and leaned forward on the bed during contractions. Then that too became too painful and I began standing during contractions. I would sit on the ball and as one began and then rise up and lean on my two hands on the bed. I let my head drop and swayed my hips back and forth while it peaked. Then I would drop back down as it finished. I did this for about two hours and some time during that period my midwife left and got lunch for herself and my husband.

Six hours after the pitocin had been started and about two hours after it got serious I requested to be checked. I was getting tired, contractions were two and a half minutes apart, and based on the pain I figured I was about 7-8 cm. I knew I needed to get the epidural soon if I was going to because otherwise it would be too late. Unfortunately I was off. After 6 hours on pit, starting at 3-4 cm, I was only 5 cm dilated. I was very crushed at that point and just felt exhausted and defeated. Part of me toyed with the idea of saying, forget this, I'm going home. Yet I knew the continuous pattern of labor was here to stay and I would only continue to get more and more tired so I told the nurse to call for the anesthesiologist. She said that once the epidural was in place they could break my water and then I would progress quickly.

I sat on the edge of the bed and the nurse explained the whole epidural process to me. It sounded straight forward and simple enough so she paged him and we waited. As we waited contractions continued with the same intensity and I began to get frustrated it was taking so long because sitting through them on the edge of the bed was not comfortable at all. We waited, and waited, and waited. Finally I began to panic. What if he had changed his mind? What if he had a heart attack somewhere and there was no anesthesiologist? I tried to tell myself surely since I made it this far I could do it if I had to but this only sent waves of panic through me. Finally the nurse began to worry. She told me some people at the hospital were known for taking forever or being hard to reach but not this man, he was always very easy to reach and very prompt. I worried. Then the nurse decided to have someone call his office instead of paging him. Five minutes later, after about 45 minutes of waiting on the edge of the bed, he came in. I breathed a huge sigh of relief and he apologized profusely explaining that somehow his pager had turned off. "I'm so glad you called because otherwise I never would have known my pager was off!"

The anesthesiologist once again gave me instructions and then he numbed my back. He warned me it would feel "like at tiger bite" but I chuckled at his description when it felt like nothing more than a little sting. Then he administered the epidural. The strangest part was feeling the tube go into the spinal cavity and curl around before the drug was sent through. It was a very bizarre feeling and I was amazed at how much I could feel. Finally he put the drug in and I waited for it to take effect as a contraction started. I braced myself and began to breathe through it and half way through it fizzled away to nothing, except it was still going. I laughed. Then I realized I could not only still feel my legs but I could move them, kick them, and I was sure I could walk except I was sure they wouldn't let me try. I said, "Wow, I can move my legs!" He said, "You can?" I showed him and he said, "That's great! Everyone responds differently and we never know how it will be." I waited for another contraction to start just to be sure it had worked and sure enough as one started I felt nothing until the end when I felt intense pressure and stretching of my cervix dilating some more. I laughed again, thanked him profusely, and then laid down. Suddenly I was very tired and cold. My Dr. came in and I looked at her with a huge grin. She laughed and made some joke about the happiness that comes with an epidural and then checked me. Still 5. She asked if she could break my water and I agreed. Let's get this show on the road! She did and the only thing I felt was the hot water come out. She announced the fluid was clear and then her voice got intense as she announced I was dilating, "5...6!..7!...8!" In a matter of about 5 seconds I dilated to 8. Now THAT was progress! I was even more glad I had not had to feel that. After that I got cold and was shaking some. They covered me in heated blankets, brought me some hot black tea to drink, and my Dr. instructed me to call when I felt pressure. She explained that when the head began to descend they would turn off my epidural. I, however, did not know that it takes time for the epidural to wear off. I thought, "There is no way in hell I am letting them turn off the epidural for the WORST part!" I decided right then and there to not tell when I felt the head descending.

For the next hour and a half I dipped in and out of sleep while drinking hot tea. It was heavenly. I just rested and thought of my baby. My husband and midwife continued talking and a few times they thought I was asleep and would start talking about me and I would open my eyes and correct them or argue with them which they thought was funny. Then, quite suddenly, I felt a change. As always, two contractions in a row I felt such intense pressure it was hard to not moan through them. Instead I rolled away from my company with my back to them so I could quietly breathe through them without alerting anyone that I was nearing completion. After those two contractions a third began right away and with it I felt the head begin to descend. I was so amazed at the feeling of it that it was hard to not laugh out loud. It hurt, it was very intense, but I could actually hide the fact that I was pushing out a baby's head!!! Just as the first contraction ended my husband appeared on my side of the bed and said, "Melrose? Melrose, what's going on?" I didn't respond as another contraction began and tried to just pretend that I was sleeping. Instead he looked to my midwife and said, "Something's different, I think she's pushing." Or, at least I think that's what he said but I know there was chatter between the two of them before they called for my Dr. At this point I realized they were on to me so I got serious and began pushing. I was so afraid they would turn off my epidural! This is hilarious to me now. I pushed and pushed and then my Dr. came in and, knowing I was far enough along, I opened one eye and said, "he's coming". The Dr. lifted the blanket and shrieked and then there was a wave of activity as nurses came into the room and everyone gowned up. My Dr. said, "Melrose! Your baby is RIGHT THERE! Here! Feel him!" She took my hand and put it there and I put my fingers in to feel his head. He really was right there! She tried to keep her hands there with me but I yelled at her to get them away as the extra pressure hurt. Another contraction began and I kept my hand there. Oh it was SO COOL to feel his head inch forward bit by bit as I pushed and then suddenly as the contraction ended he would slip back just the tiniest bit. Normally I fire my babies out so fast there is no chance for them to slip back so it was really cool to feel this and to know the epidural was allowing me to slowly push my baby out so that I didn't tear.

Finally about the fifth contraction since I felt his head begin descending, he crowned. I screamed at them to get my baby out already (though my husband says I'm exaggerating and that I was actually very calm and making "good birth noises" but in my head I was screaming). It took about two contractions to get through crowning to head out and then the little stinker decided to have one of his hands up by his head which made it very hard for his body to turn and come out. A contraction later his body finally came out in a rush and with my Dr.'s help I pulled him up to my chest. I laughed and cried and felt that insane rush of relief and love all around  and then I pulled his leg up and saw my son. My husband and I laughed and cried that it was another boy and I cooed his name in his ear as I kissed him all over. My Dr. then gave me a hard time for cutting it so close and I explained that I didn't want her to turn off my epidural when I was pushing. She laughed incredulously and asked if I knew it takes time for the epidural to wear off. "It does?! oops."

For the next two hours we reveled, I nursed, I kissed his fingers, and one of my friends showed up just minutes after the birth having just missed it and she and my midwife went out to get us a celebratory dinner of Qdoba. I can tell you a burrito has never tasted so good. We visited and admired him and finally my friend and midwife left and a nurse asked if she could weigh the baby right next to me and measure him. I took that opportunity to use the restroom and then asked if I could shower. I showered for a long time and then took my baby and we were off to my recovery room.

The rest of our hospital stay was uneventful and the next evening we were on our way home.

Coming up: Conclusion and will I ever home birth again?

Part IV: The Birth and Why I Jumped Ship on Homebirth

From somewhere deep in my dreams I felt a stabbing that sent me fighting to the surface as I gasped for breath. My eyes shot open. I tried to figure out where I was and I wrapped my hands under my belly and forced breath down as I got through the contraction. I knew too much time had not passed because it was still light outside. I looked at the clock, it had only been an hour and a half. "Lord, have mercy." I prayed. I knew I was supposed to have slept 4-6 hours on the sleep aid. "Well, that worked well." I rolled my eyes to myself and put my bed into the sitting up position.

The nurses must have noticed a change in my contraction monitor because one came in, followed by my husband. "I'm so glad you're back." I said to him. I meant it. Never am I more aware of the depth of my love for my husband than when I'm in labor. "You're awake already, huh?" he asked. "Contractions." I said, gesturing to the monitor. We turned some lights on and my husband put the bag down of the belongings he brought. While the nurse checked my vitals and looked at the contraction print out he told me about the kids' day at home. The boys were all doing well, though they missed me a lot, and couldn't wait to meet the baby. He had made them dinner and visited with them before leaving them in the care of their uncle. For the next several hours we relaxed as best we could. We watched TV, ordered and ate dinner (though for some reason this is the one meal I have no idea what I ate), and just tried to enjoy each other's company. Finally the hours passed and it was time for bed. I was offered more sleep aid but since that went so well the first time I decided to pass. We turned out the lights and drifted off.

An hour and a half later I again was awoken to a stabbing contraction. I realized I also had to use the restroom, which didn't help the contraction feel any better, and so when it passed I quickly got up before another one hit. When I got back I tried to sleep but every time I would start to doze off another one would hit. These ones possessed the same crampy feel to them I had in the early morning when I first got to the hospital. I had to take a deep breath as one started and breathe it down into my belly to keep from needing to moan through them and disturb my husband's sleep. Finally I couldn't take it anymore and called for the nurse. When she arrived I told her my contractions were really picking back up and hurting a lot. I'm not sure what I was hoping for but at this point I had been "in labor" for so long without it meaning a baby was coming soon that I wasn't sure what to do with myself since sleep wasn't an option. She told me she would put me back on the monitor so we could watch them. Fantastic. Now I would get to be a watched pot but still alone in bed. For the next four hours that was what happened. I laid there in the dark with my sleeping husband next to me while I tried to breathe through the contractions. I was too tired to get up and pace or move which would have lessened the pain so instead I just laid there and sometimes cried through them. I sang in my head "Lord Thee I Love With All My Heart", "God's Own Child I Gladly Say It", and "Abide With Me" to keep my mind off the pain and keep me from getting scared. Finally, around 4 in the morning, the contractions began to ease off. Again. I called the nurse and asked her to remove the monitor so I could sleep. I crashed hard and fast into a very deep sleep. Two hours later my husband and I were very rudely awakened to a nurse turning every light on and shouting out, "GOOD MORNING! WAKE UP! I'M HERE TO DRAW YOUR BLOOD!" My husband and I exchanged our frustrated and angry looks and two minutes later she was done but we were left wide awake. "Maybe I'll get to sleep in heaven." I thought.  Next my Dr. came in. She asked how the night was and I told her and she explained to me that since my fever had stayed down as long as my blood work did not show any significant drop in platelets they would send me home. My mouth dropped open and I said, "Look, I understand why you would send me home. I know I'm not even 38 weeks yet. But I can tell you what is going to happen if I go home. I'm going to start having contractions again in about an hour or so, I'm going to have them off and on all day, and then tonight they will start up again. I won't be able to sleep, AGAIN, and I'll continue to get more exhausted and maybe get sick again. My in laws will go home and we will once again have to find a church member to come keep our kids in the middle of the night. I am begging you to not send me home." She rubbed my leg and said "I know, honey, but we have to think of the baby too, but I promise to take everything into consideration when your labs come back." I didn't say that I WAS thinking of the baby and that I had been so terrified during my fever that the baby would die. Instead I just sighed. She left to wait for my labs and I went to use the restroom. While I did I happened to look down and see that lovely view of the plug disengaging. For a moment my excitement was sparked and I called to my husband that I was losing my plug. "Really?!" he asked. But we both knew that didn't necessarily mean anything would happen that day.

I got back in bed and before I could get situated my Dr. came cruising back in the room with a big smile on her face. "Well, this will excite you! I have bad news, your platelets dropped a lot more, we're moving you to labor and delivery! You're going to have a baby today!" "What?!" I demanded excitedly, "really?!" I was so excited I couldn't hide my huge smile despite the apparent bad news. "How much did they drop?" "They're 76,000. They were 84,000 yesterday." My heart sank. They anesthesiologist the day before that had refused my epidural said the cut off was technically 80,000 (though he had been unwilling because at the time they thought I also had preeclampsia). This meant I was now actually below the cut off. Panicked I looked at my Dr. "Oh no, 76? Oh no, that means I won't be able to have an epidural! Isn't that below the cut off?" She rubbed my leg again and said, "Honey, don't worry about that, you're going to be fine, you've done this 4 times already without drugs, we have narcotics we can give you to take the edge off but you will be fine." I swear if I had to hear one more person throw in my face that I had done this four times already without drugs I was going to scream or punch someone. No, I had NOT done THIS before because I had never had almost a week of ongoing labor leading up to the real thing while also having the flu. And just because I had done it four times before didn't mean I had any strength to do it again. I thought of saying that just because a man gets struck twice by lightening doesn't mean he'd survive the third time but instead I just cried. She left and told me to eat some breakfast and once I was done she would transfer me to labor and delivery. I ordered french toast and an omelet for my husband but could hardly eat. I just wanted to cry and sleep. I was so excited we were having the baby but now the excitement was overcome with terror as I tried to imagine surviving transition and the hour or so before it. Every time I thought of it I would start crying again. Finally we rang for the dr. and then we were on our way to our new room. I don't remember how I got there, if I walked or if they pushed my bed, I think I walked, but this room was shaped like a lower case "h"the inside of the hump of the 'h" was a restroom and the two legs of the "h" were the hallway leading to the restroom and the other wing was a birth tub. I looked at the tub with disdain. If I had to get in the tub that meant I didn't have an epidural. I shuddered thinking of the contractions I would have in that tub which brought another wave of sobbing. What on earth was wrong with me?! My husband and I tried to figure this out when a nurse from the day before, the one I actually liked, came in. I was so glad to see her and I cried and cried to her about the epidural. She tried to comfort me and I began praying in my head as fervently as I could muster. I KNEW beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Lord was with me, that I was where I was supposed to be, and that He would not bring me this far to leave me unable to get through. I didn't know how He was going to provide, whether He would just mysteriously take the pain of labor away, whether the narcotics would help that much, or whether the epidural would somehow come through, but I knew I was not going to be left alone. We had come too far through too much. I continued begging and begging and praying while also crying to the nurse when suddenly the door opened. In walked David Letterman. Or at least his identical twin. In an anesthesiologist uniform. I stared at him and he looked at me with a huge smile and compassion and bellowed, "What's wrong little girl?!" He said this not with disrespect but as a grandfather would say to his beloved granddaughter. I just stared at him thinking if he came to lecture me on why I couldn't have an epidural I would surely have to beg for a c-section. Instead my nurse answered and said, "She's afraid you're not going to give her an epidural." He smiled at her and then at me and said, "That's why I'm in  here. I just got on shift and saw your name on the board and heard you story and what that other anesthesiologist said and I have no idea why he said that because your platelets are low but it sounds like they still work!" He proceeded to ask me questions like, "Do you have nosebleeds? Do your gums bleed? Have you had any bleeding while here?" Etc which I was able to answer with "no"s and then he smiled again and said, "Well honey, don't you worry, I'm not going to leave you with nothing, you can have that epidural if you want and you just let me know when you're ready for it!" "What? Really? Are you serious? Oh! You are my new best friend!" I laughed out loud, asked him a few more times just to be sure, and then laughed some more. Oh there are not many times in my life I have felt so relieved.

As my husband says, from then on I was a different person. Suddenly I had energy I didn't have before, I was happy and excited, and I couldn't wait for the pitocin to be started. I was meeting my BABY today! We called family and let friends know on Facebook and my nurse brought me a mixture of Sierra Mist and cranberry juice to celebrate. My midwife came to join us and we all conversed excitedly and prepared for the day ahead. I was still only 3-4 cm but my Dr. assured me the pitocin would probably work fast and then we could break my water and have a baby. My GBS test came back positive so unfortunately we had to do two doses of penicillin and that burned like crazy going in my arm but then the pitocin got hooked up and I waited for it to take affect.

Part III: The Birth and Why I Jumped Ship on Home Birth

As I was pushed through the hallway I thought back to all the episodes of "A Baby Story" that I watched on TV when I was pregnant with  my first and second babies. I remember laughing pridefully at the chain reaction of interventions and shaking my head at all these "clueless" women as I prepared for my own unmedicated, non-intervention home births. I would scoff as they first agreed to an induction which then paved its way for an epidural when the unnatural pitocin contractions got too hard, which then led to failure to progress, which then led to either vacuum extraction, forceps, or even "worse": c-section. Those poor, uneducated women.

I blinked away the lights and the headache that pounded in my head as I struggled to come to terms with what was happening. But really, at this point, I was so tired and my body hurt so bad that I tried to remember all the reasons why a c-section was bad. Honestly the idea of falling asleep and waking up to a baby (which I know is not the usual way a c-section is performed) sounded fantastic. I decided to tell my doctor this when she arrived.

The nurses wheeled me into my second room of the day. It was small, L shaped, and the short part of the L was a little wing that held an empty hospital baby warmer for weighing and measuring the baby. "This is where you will meet your baby!" A nurse happily chirped. I looked at the crib and tried to feel something but a baby felt so far away. All I could feel was sick. I wondered for the millionth time that day if I was in the right place. If that headache would just go away I could think clearly. I knew I should be panicking and running from that place and hide in my own room until I felt better and could have the birth this baby deserved, at home. But when I tried to remember why this was so important I couldn't. All I wanted was to be taken care of and to sleep.

Nurses bustled about telling me about pitocin, narcotics I could receive through my IV to help with the pain, and how long it would probably take. The nurses left and I looked at my husband trying to figure out what was happening. Then, suddenly, my doctor came rushing in and sat on my bed. "Oh, I'm so glad you're here!" I said. "They're telling me I have preeclampisa but that doesn't make sense!" I lamented. She rolled her eyes and in a rush said, "You DO NOT have preeclampsia! The resident made that call without me, I don't know where everyone is getting this from. You had some protein in your urine and you blood pressure was high when you first arrived but that has gone way down now. I talked to Dr. so-and-so (my OB I worked with during all my miscarriages) and she agreed you do not have preeclampsia so we are going to keep you for 24 hours, collect your urine during that time to make certain we are correct, and give you a sleep aid to make you rest. Rest is what you really need right now. Then, tomorrow, we will see where we're at. OK?" I just stared blankly at her.  "Wait, so we're not going to induce?" Suddenly I was very tired. "No, honey, you're not even 38 weeks yet." "I know, I responded, "but I have been having contractions that have taken my ability to sleep for the past five days. And now I'm sick and exhausted. I don't want this to continue. I want to go to sleep and wake up with a baby." She laughed and then studied me. Just a few weeks prior I had been to her office to submit to a platelet count and been very stubborn about refusing a GBS test, ultrasound, and any other things she tried to suggest for before delivery. She questioned my home birth decision after my previous births and I rolled my eyes and argued why home birth was still the best option. Now, here I was, pathetically begging for a c-section. I sighed as I felt the weight of sleep on my eyes and said, "I don't think I'll need that sleep aid." She smiled and said,"we're going to get you to a different room, you can order lunch, then you can decide if you want the sleep aid and then rest."

This time they let me ride in a wheel chair to the next room. This room was much smaller but cozy and quiet. The room looked over a courtyard and if you looked far to the right you could see the lake. I went to the restroom and snorted at the cooler that held the large jug for collecting all my urine. Nurses, they really have a fun job. For lunch I ordered a pepperoni pizza, some chocolate pudding, and an apple. Comfort food. I barely touched the pizza and gave the rest to my husband but I devoured the chocolate pudding. The apple was disgusting. Finally the Dr. came back in and my husband pushed me to get the sleep aid. I agreed hesitantly thinking this was the first drug/intervention that was actually happening and it sent that first wave of panic as I wondered how many others there would be.

She left to give the order to the nurse and told me she would be back to check on me the next day. It was getting close to evening and my husband and I agreed he should go home, check in on the kids and fix dinner as our church member babysitter left and the kids' uncle took over until Grandma and Grandpa could arrive. I felt good knowing he would give the kids some normalcy and comfort about what was going on. He was also going to pick up things like our toothbrushes, my hair brush, changes of clothes, etc. The nurse came in and gave me my sleep pill and then my husband said goodbye. I played on my phone until I started feeling sleepy then rolled over and tried to think through some sort of plan on hospital vs. home birth before my thoughts became confused and I slipped off to sleep.

Part II: The Birth and Why I Jumped Ship on Home Birth.

By this time my contractions were about 3 minutes apart. The awful bumpy city roads made them get closer and closer together and I began to have to moan through them. I asked every minute how much longer and began to be afraid I was going to deliver in the car, right in the middle of rush hour traffic.

When we got to the hospital my husband parked on the wrong floor. We didn't realize it until we were at the door. We had to go back to the car, which I fussed and whined about, drive up another floor, then get out. I was trying not to panic as I tried to get through each contraction. I was repeating phrases to comfort myself like "OK, OK, OK, OK" and "Lord help, Lord Help, Lord Help" etc. Finally, we checked in, were called back to a room, and I was hooked up to a machine. It was crazy watching the contractions fill up the monitor with their tall peaks. I begged right then and there for an epidural but they said they wanted to give me fluids first because I was severely dehydrated. This made no sense to me since in the hours before I came I had drank 64 oz of water and gatorade, but, 3 liters of fluid later I was feeling a lot better and contractions were spacing out. Finally, I could get through the contractions without panicking and I began to think maybe I would get sent home. My mood improved and I sipped on Sierra Mist. Contractions spaced out to about 20 minutes apart. After about an hour at this spacing suddenly they began picking back up. 7 minutes apart, 6 minutes apart, 4 minutes apart, then the resident on duty came in and explained to me that since contractions were spacing out they were going to send me home. I said, "Ummm?" while gesturing to the monitor. She looked at it and said, "Well, they have been spaced out so I think you probably haven't made any progress." I said, "I really think you should check me. This has been my pattern for five days now. I have awful contractions, then they space out, then they pick back up again. If you send me home this will only continue." My fear was I was going to get home, have contractions all day off and on again, get further exhausted, and then my fever would spike again in the middle of the night. We had already had to call a church member in a panic to watch the kids, I didn't want to have to do that again.

The resident finally, and grudgingly, agreed to check me. As she did her face registered surprise and she said, "Oh, well, this throws a wrinkle in our plans, looks like your about 3-4 cm." She left to call my doctor and I breathed a sigh of relief that, for now, I was staying. Unfortunately, my relief did not last long. The next couple hours were a whirlwind of confusion and wrong diagnosis. First a nurse and then the resident came flying into my room saying some of my labs came back and "your baby is making you sick". As I sat there trying to make sense of what they were saying the resident came in and told me I had preeclampsia. I was getting a little irritated that I still was not seeing my doctor and was having a very hard time believing anything the resident was saying. But she insisted it was an emergency and that I needed to be delivered immediately. I got scared and insisted that after being up all night with such an awful fever and body aches that I did NOT have the energy to get through labor and if they were going to induce me I wanted an epidural. She left and an anesthesiologist came in. What he said next made my next 24 hrs of hospital stay just awful. He lectured my husband and me, as if I was asking to jump off a bridge, on what a terrible idea the epidural was, that "in your condition" it was an awful risk. He said due to my low platelets that one slip could cause a terrible spinal hemorrhage which could leave me paralyzed. I sat with my mouth gaping and I began crying and said, "Sir, you don't understand, I have been in labor off and on for five days. I haven't slept, now I've been up with this fever and body aches, I DO NOT have the strength to do this. I have done this four times at home, I know what labor is like, I am begging you to help me." He said, "I'm sorry but I'm the anesthesiologist and I refuse to do this, I can ask my colleagues but I know they will all agree with me." And then he left. Minutes later the resident and nurse came back, grabbed my bed, and we were off to labor and delivery.

Part I of The Birth: And why I jumped ship on home birth

Genesis' (screen name) birth story really begins all the way back the day I found out I was pregnant. I was about 6 weeks off of my 5th miscarriage in a year and had begun to consider that, perhaps, our family was complete. I was even beginning to feel content with my four boys, feel pride in our little family, and had no desire to ever ever go through a miscarriage again. My heart was broken.

The day I found out I was pregnant I was a hot mess. I spent hours on the phone with a sister in Christ, who has a much heavier cross to bear than I of barrenness, and I sobbed to her that I was certain I was losing the baby. My womb literally felt cold down inside of me. I had been feeling that cold for many pregnancies, perhaps it had something to do with lack of good blood flow, I don't know, but I immediately began putting hot packs just under the band of my pants and skirts. It felt better at least.

I share all of this because fear was a very prominent emotion for the whole of Genesis' pregnancy. I know that for the Christian fear is not an emotion to be proud of, and, I could be lectured on faith and trust. I'm OK with that, I know I was weak and I confessed it every day as the sin it was, but I also know that the Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. And I know that His power is made perfect in weakness. So, I wore my heart on my sleeve and cried often, worried a lot, and prayed the Psalms for comfort.

The first sign of a hiccup came after I had my prenatal blood work done at around 15 weeks. My OB called me the next morning to tell me my platelets were low. A typical platelet range is 150K-400K. Mine was 139K. She warned that this could become a problem if mine continue to drop, as is common in pregnancy, that I started out so low. She explained that without platelets we can't clot and anything below 50K is critical. I brushed her off thinking myself way too high to ever get near that 50K.

Fast forward 4 months and I was six weeks away from my due date. I had begun to accept that there was a baby in my belly and that there might even be a baptism at the end of the tunnel. This baby might actually make it! I still cried some when I thought of labor. I've attended a funeral for a full term baby that died accidentally and tragically in the womb and it will forever haunt me as I approach my due date. Then my midwife suggested that I go get my platelets drawn one more time just to be on the safe side and know what we were dealing with approaching labor. I wasn't thrilled with the idea but I decided to submit and went. The news was not good. My platelets had dropped to 109K. Obviously this was a huge drop and yet, the drop occurred over a 4 month span, surely we were still OK, still very far from the critical zone. So, I continued on with my plans of birthing with my midwife.

But then 36 weeks hit. And with it came panic and fear like I have never known. I do not know what came over me, I have never been terrified of birth. Even after nearly dying in childbirth, the following pregnancy I was not only not afraid but instead was filled with this stubborn intensity to prove that I could overcome what I had been through and have a beautiful birth. And I did with my 4th. So why, now, was I so so unbelievably terrified? I was texting my husband multiple times a day "I'm scared" "I'm so scared" "I don't want to do this" and so on. He, too, was confused and baffled by my fear. I called my midwife one afternoon and insisted she come over so I could panic to her and cry. The closer I got to my due date the more I became absolutely certain there was no way I could go through childbirth. I began praying that if the Lord would not take away my fear that He would provide a way out for me. I wondered secretly if my fear was actually given by the Lord because it was His will for me to birth in the hospital. I begged Him to give me wisdom and I pondered on Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane hoping that though I was completely overcome with my fate of childbirth that the Lord who suffered so much more would get me through.

The weekend I turned 37 weeks was an absolutely gorgeous weekend. The temperature was around 60, it was sunny and breezy and we had a really relaxing weekend. I took walks and felt the stress begin to melt away. Maybe, just maybe, I really could do this. Sure enough on Friday I began having show and then that evening had a couple hours of early contractions. During the night I woke up countless times to use the restroom as the baby's head engaged and pushed on my bladder and early contractions continued. Saturday the show continued and I had more contractions. As I took a long walk outdoors I prayed, talked to my baby (the first time I had done that the entire pregnancy), and reveled in the sunshine. Finally I asked my baby to come out and join us on this beautiful day. I felt at peace, happy, ready. All through the night I was awakened again with contractions and the need to use the restroom. Sunday came and went and with it lots of contractions that began to intensify. Finally, Sunday evening, I texted one of my best friends and her sister to come, I knew the time was very close. But as soon as they got in the car to come the contractions stopped. Monday morning we woke up and my mood had turned back overnight. I was extremely grouchy, couldn't stop crying about how scared I was, and was very very irritated with my children. I talked through my emotions with my friends, tried to talk through them with my midwife more over the phone, and then that night sobbed them out to my husband. After that I felt a lot better and fell asleep feeling a little more at peace.

In the middle of the night I woke up with the chills. Chills are often a sign of labor so I got up to use the restroom when I realized I had a headache. This can also be a sign of early labor but I took my temperature to be sure. 99.9. Worry came over me and I called my midwife. She assured me that was a very low fever and could even be because labor was so near. I tried to go back to sleep but was having contractions off and on. Tuesday morning came and with it more contractions. For hours they were regularly 7-10 minutes apart. I gave myself pep talks inwardly and tried to just focus and relax. But as lunch time drew near the contractions once again stopped. My best friend had to return home with her sister and I dozed on the couch. When I woke up the chills had seized me again. This time they seemed worse and my head ached. I took my temperature: 102. This was not good. I took some extra strength tylenol and called my husband to come home right away. I went upstairs and napped. When I woke up my fever had broken and once again I felt renewed and prayed labor would start soon so I could just get it all over with already. I was tired from four nights of very interrupted sleep and beginning to feel fatigue set in with the body aches.

Evening passed and before I went to bed I took another tylenol. Around 1:30 I woke up shaking again. This time I was shaking so hard it hurt to breathe. I went into the bathroom and my husband followed me in. He said I didn't feel hot to him. I looked in the mirror and my lips looked blue. My husband went back to bed and I decided to take a bath to try and ease my aches. When I got out I took another tylenol and thought the chills had stopped but after about an hour they were so bad I felt like I was vibrating. I took my temperature again and it was 103. What on earth was happening? None of my kids had been sick, nor my husband, and I never get sick first! Finally around 5:30 am I called my midwife. I told her she needed to page my doctor because I had to get to the hospital pronto. She hesitated and offered to come by and check me (I had also been having contractions this entire time) but I insisted I needed medical attention and quickly. My other concern was that I thought over the weekend my water bag had leaked some and I knew if this was true fever could indicate an intrauterine infection. Finally by 6:30 we were on our way to the hospital.

Oh Give Thanks Unto the Lord For He is Good!

I suppose I should start with a birth announcement. *big smile* Our fifth child was born on Thursday October 30th at 5:07pm. And.....IT'S A BOY!!! We are the proud parents of FIVE little cowboys. He weighed in at 7 lbs 1 oz and was 19 inches long.

The story of his birth is somewhat exhausting to try and write up right now as it was full of the strange and unexpected but I promise to share it soon. But the thing that rings out in my heart is the verse above. Though so many times the week of our son's birth I was certain things were about to spiral out of control into places I did not want to go, the Lord, in His tender mercy, instead led me beside still waters, quieted my soul, and brought me safely to the other side with the most beautiful baby boy in the world.

I can't share his name here, if you know me personally feel free to email me, but his first name means "God has comforted." and his middle name means "God has helped." I think that pretty nicely sums up our journey of the past year and a half. :)

Fear

"Some went down to the sea in ships, doing business on the great waters; they saw the deeds of the LORD, his wondrous works in the deep. For he commanded and raised the stormy wind, which lifted up the waves of the sea. They mounted up to heaven; they went down to the depths; their courage melted away in their evil plight; they reeled and staggered like drunken men and were at their wits' end. Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress. He made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed. Then they were glad that the waters were quiet, and he brought them to their desired haven." (Psalm 107:23-30 ESV, emphasis mine)


This passage has become one of my all time favorite Bible passages. One of the reasons it is my favorite is because of the verse in bold. Well, and the last verse of the passage because haven is one of our children in heaven's middle names.


We've all known fear: deep, intimate, soul crushing fear. Combine fear with another emotion/weakness like grief, illness, despair, etc and what you face turns down right ugly. They mounted up to the heaven; they went down to the depths; their courage melted away in their evil plight...


I had just turned 29 when I faced my first miscarriage where I thought I was dying. My dr had prescribed a medication to take after the baby's body emerged to prevent post birth hemorrhage. What she did not know from the very short time I was her patient was that I have very low blood pressure, and I did not know that this medication lowers blood pressure. So, 20 minutes after taking the medication I had two crushing contractions, by far the worst pain I have ever felt (even after giving birth to four full term babies with no drugs), my vision went black, and I lost the ability to speak. My only thought, due to research I had done in preparation for having the miscarriage at home, was that due to my symptoms of extreme dizziness and blacking out I had something blocking the way out in my uterus and I was bleeding out internally. I knew this could mean death and I remember screaming in my mind, "Lord! No! Please not like this! Please don't let me die in front of my husband with my kids right on the other side of the door playing!" I imagined my kids growing up knowing their mommy died while having a miscarriage at home in the bathroom. That thought still makes me sick.


Last year I faced my own mortality more times than I care to talk about. My body kind of likes to bleed, a lot, and when with my second loss at 11 weeks I tried to get my OB to perform a d&c and, instead, she sent me home with cytotec to induce while again at home with my husband and kids I had to have a good cry in my bedroom before I had the courage to start. That time I really did have something get stuck, began to have severe dizziness after waking up from several hours of sleep with no further bleeding and my husband helped save my life by putting his weight onto my abdomen to push it out. That man and I have had good times.


And now I'm facing another full term birth. Those have been fun too. But we won't go there.


Fear. It creeps up on you, stealing your joy, making you despise the gifts God has given to you, causing you to lay sweating in the night as you fight of the demons that attack you as you face the wages of sin: death.


But...if death does not end in hell, in punishment, then where is its sting? Where is its victory? It's like being certain someone has broken into your house and you're seconds away from being slayed where you stand only to have a furry kitten poke it's head around the corner and nuzzle you. (Though my husband would say that's about just as bad. ;)


Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.


I'm terrified to give birth. I'm afraid my baby and I won't make it to the other side of birth alive. I'm afraid of the pain and agony that is transition for me. I'm afraid of having horrific tearing like I've had in the past. I'm afraid of that moment when you realize something is going very very wrong and there is nothing but faces all around you unable to make it stop.


"they reeled and staggered like drunken men and were at their wits' end. Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress. He made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed. Then they were glad that the waters were quiet, and he brought them to their desired haven."


Lord, hush the storm, deliver us, and bring us at last to the safe haven of Holy Baptism. Christ keep us.

Faith

For the past couple of weeks I have been pondering faith, its source, and the result when faith has its way with our hearts.

 We know from all of the Scripture passages on faith that faith is given not conjured up of ourselves. It is impossible to create except by God alone because it is knowledge of Him, which comes only from Him. We also know that for those IN the faith, grace abounds, even as we literally die and drown every day in our sinful filth through confession and are raised in our Baptism to continue on in love and acts of service.

In light of this I think of parenting my little boys. And the question comes to mind, is the way I parent in line with what we believe about salvation? Does my parenting express that it is the Lord that has saved them and granted faith or that they themselves... Or I myself.. Somehow must work it out?

Unfortunately I think it's so easy to forget and to cling desperately to our own works. For me it plays out when I get angry over their sin and yell and berate them. I tell myself what I'm doing is justified, they deserve it, and it's even good because I must show them their sin and force them into repentance and faith. Surely if I use enough words and reprimand them enough they will turn to God and good works. I get so angry, they so often don't respond the way I want, and then, oh why do I feel so deflated and alone afterwards?

I will never be able to turn them to Christ. Christ alone can do that. I CAN set up rules, enforce them with loving authority, and with calm dignity discipline for disobedience to God's Word. But I have no right to become emotional or angry. I might say, "Oh yes I do! I'm angry because I'm zealous for God!" God does not need you to be zealous for Him. He alone has the right to be angry over sin. We ourselves are just as guilty as our children and their sin should be cause for further repentance on our part.

So we discipline, we repent ourselves, and we keep on in desperate endurance as we await Christ's return. Come quickly Lord Jesus.

In the waiting

My journey through pregnancy loss started and ended the exact same way. In December of 2010 I was blessed to conceive my little Hosanna Grace. In fact, I was able to slip the positive pregnancy test into my husband's stocking on Christmas morning. On January 6, 2011 she went home to the Lord. Very soon afterwards I conceived my fourth living child and he was due November 14, 2011. He was born into my hands on Nov. 4, 10 days early.

In December of 2012 I was blessed to conceive our 6th child, Anastasia Joy. Three months later she went home to the Lord as did our next three children that year. Then in December of 2013 I conceived our Noel Eve. On January 9, 2014 Noel went home to heaven.

I am now due, just as I was right after our very first loss, on Nov. 14. Less than a month away from my due date I no longer feel like I'm drowning in an inescapable whirlpool of death and nightmares. I always knew the Lord was with me, above and before me, but original sin is a beast. And when one is faced with inescapable death, old Adam loses his ability to congratulate himself for anything because the thing that is most important to mother at the moment is protecting her child and in repeat pregnancy loss we are rendered helpless, and it's so easy to despair.

I haven't had any ultrasounds this pregnancy since three weeks before the first trimester ended. Maybe I should have because it's been very easy to feel very removed this whole pregnancy. It's been hard to attach, hard to believe any of it is real, and hard to feel any bond with the baby within. Though, emotions are so fleeting anyways and I was so overwhelmed by them for months on end that I feel like it's OK to not be emotional if I don't want to. Baby does not need me to be emotional. And it doesn't matter if I "feel" attached. The reality is, I am, very physically speaking, and my body is doing what needs to be done with or without my emotions. Thanks be to God.

So here I am waiting, may the Lord deliver me in His perfect time and may my child be brought quickly, so quickly to the font of Holy Baptism.

10 years

O perfect Love, all human thought transcending,

Lowly we kneel in prayer before Thy throne,

That theirs may be the love which knows no ending,

Whom Thou forevermore dost join in one.

O perfect Life, be Thou their full assurance,

Of tender charity and steadfast faith,

Of patient hope and quiet, brave endurance,

With childlike trust that fears nor pain nor death.

Grant them the joy which brightens earthly sorrow;

Grant them the peace which calms all earthly strife,

And to life’s day the glorious unknown morrow

That dawns upon eternal love and life.

Hear us, O Father, gracious and forgiving,

Through Jesus Christ, Thy coeternal Word,

Who, with the Holy Ghost, by all things living

Now and to endless ages art adored.

O Perfect Love TLH #623

I'm not sure how it happened. I blinked. Well, I suppose moving 9 times in 10 years helped pass the time...and having 11 pregnancies...and three dogs and a bird...and having four awesome little boys in our first 7 years. But here my husband and I are, less than 3 months away from celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary. 

Our wedding was beautiful and perfect. It was perfect because of who I was marrying, and, if I do say so myself, because it was the perfect Lutheran service with beautiful hymnody and preaching. There is no doubt in my mind that my husband was chosen for me from the moment God formed me in my mother's womb. I am his and he is mine. His love for me is never ending and the amount he sacrifices of his own desires to serve me and our children is apparent every single day. He lives to serve me and our children and I live to serve him. We both do this not with our own power but strengthened by the Holy Spirit, constantly fighting against our own sinful whims. But in everything we have the first and most powerful love of our Heavenly Father which is the whole point of marriage anyways: to exemplify and receive intimately Christ's love for His bride, the church. 

By the time we celebrate our anniversary in December we will, God willing, have 5 children here with us and another child that is with us 5 days a week. We have a very active and huge puppy, a bird, and a house on over a half acre with two apple trees and a pear tree. Our home is over 100 years old and I love it, though it needs constant attention that seems to leave us with more of a damage control list than a home improvement list. My husband has been a pastor for five years now and is currently serving a congregation of great size, much larger than anything we ever imagined we would be blessed to serve. This of course means, well, he really should have three of himself, at least, just to do that job alone. 

My husband is also blessed to be earning his doctorate right now. It's a four year program and he has just begun year two. It involves traveling for a week at a time three times a year for intensives on campus in addition to all the papers, reading, and work he must do while home performing his job to his church and family. He will be traveling again before our baby comes and I'm so thankful my mom is coming to help me make it through the week so that I don't die of exhaustion from trying to hold down the house with five kids and a very pregnant belly while home schooling our four children. Sometimes I feel like I need three of me too: one to cook all the meals and snacks and grocery shop and garden/can to keep four boys' tummies full, one to clean, organize, and manage a home and yard this large, and one to homeschool and love on the children. I feel like every day only one of those jobs is able to be done well, or all three only get done part way. 

Earlier this week after a particularly hard day (it was the great clothes swap from spring/summer wardrobe to fall/winter wardrobe-and sizing each child up one-that involves repacking every piece of clothing for the boys' into bins in the basement and then pulling out the new sizes for all the boys while meticulously keeping track of exactly how many pairs of pants, shorts, long sleeve, short sleeve, pajamas, church outfits, and underwear each child can have in order to have room for their clothes in their shared bedroom) my husband and I got into bed and he was very stressed about work and school and home improvements and I was stressed about my inability to do all things well at home and we were both stressed about money and I thought to myself...this is it. This is that point in marriage where marriages either fall apart or intertwine even stronger like a well-weathered rope made nearly stronger from use and time. 

I looked at my husband and he pulled out our Bible reading for the night and then we held hands to pray. His prayer was short and very simple...almost childlike. But it was that way on purpose because after a long day it's good to pray that way I think...and I've only heard him pray like that with me. When he was done we looked at each other and I laughed. I laughed at how simple it all really is, this life. 

What Does the Lord Require?

6 “With what shall I come before the Lord,

and bow myself before God on high?

Shall I come before him with burnt offerings,

with calves a year old?

7 Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams,

with ten thousands of rivers of oil?

Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression,

the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?”

8 He has told you, O man, what is good;

and what does the Lord require of you

but to do justice, and to love kindness,

and to walk humbly with your God?" Micah 6:6-8 ESV

And that is why we can laugh. My husband and I, we are so rich. We are rich in our vocations. Just when we think we can't handle more, God gives us more: more to serve, more to love, more to die for each and every day. The sheer enormity of what my husband and I are responsible for on a day to day basis is downright terrifying some days. But then I laugh because it reminds me of a couple of times in high school when I would go to take a final exam that I could fail and still get an "A" in the class because my grade was high enough. Life is like that: the battle has already been won, the victory is ours, what does God require of you? To do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God. 

And so we love. We will never, ever cross off our to do list. We will never have enough money or enough energy or enough patience or enough kindness or enough of anything. But we have Christ Jesus and He is enough. And so we get up each day, hold hands in prayer, and thank God that one thing we do have enough of is enough forgiveness from Jesus....and enough to keep us busy. :)

The night before my life began.

Trucking along.

I wrote the title to this post feeling pretty positive today but then had to laugh out loud. There is nothing organized, orderly, or emotionally stabilizing about home schooling 4 boys 8 and under and being pregnant with a baby while also watching an infant full time. There just isn't.

But somehow we keep trucking a long. I'm learning that less is more. I'm learning that we should have very few things that we order our day around in order to keep from getting so stressed out that I literally accomplish nothing and instead end up a huge crying mess.

So what do we order our days around? Breakfast, Bible/Catechism/Hymn time, Lunch, quiet time, Dinner, and Bible time with Daddy.

I've also embraced the fact that my oldest is now very capable of being independent in his lessons. He has a math book he is mostly capable of doing alone with short moments of guidance from me, he is interested in learning cursive so I bought him two workbooks that complement each other and he's working through those, and we're working through two different chapter books right now in addition to an audio book series he listens to every day and narrates to his dad when he gets home. We have multiple other things we pick up when we feel like it, social studies and science type books, but it's so nice to be able to, between all the above things we schedule our day around, say, "Hey, I see you're looking for something to do, go grab your math book and I'd like you to do three pages please."

We have a motto in our home, "We work before we play." My kids know that just like the daily household maintenance chores I ask them to do, school work is part of their whole duty of a child which means that it enables them to better serve their family, which is their current vocation. Of course, the typical amount of time they are asked to do anything from curriculum is very small right now because most of the day they are so full of questions of their own and are buried in our books, reference books, and having me look things up online for them. I am much more inclined to watch them hungrily devour knowledge they are pursuing on their own until they are of age where they will be working hard towards a goal that will enable them to pursue their new vocations as adults.

The hard part, for me, is not losing it in the chaos. There just is no perfect way to feel complete order and control when one is managing education, home, meals, outside of the home activities and friends, etc. So, I'm sticking with less is more for now and trying to enjoy these last 10 weeks (!!!!!!) of pregnancy and the baby kicking the daylights out of my ribs.

Piety vs. Pietism

My husband and I are choosing to raise our children in a very different fashion than we ourselves were raised. Both of us were public school all the way through to high school graduation, put in all sorts of sports and extracurricular activities as early as pre-K, attended sleepovers and birthday parties without our parents from young ages, and allowed to watch plenty of TV and movies in family down time. Of course at the time I thought my parents were "strict". And they were compared to other parents. I remember being annoyed that before I could sleep over at someone's house my parents had to meet the friend's parents. I myself shudder at the thought of doing this with my own children. On the one hand I think, well, I made it through all of this without falling away, rebelling, or going crazy...I mean, isn't what's important is a child being a light to the world, a city on a hill? Give 'em a good home life then watch 'em shine to all around?

Except when that doesn't happen. Because all around me I watched those I love fall away, rebel, and be brainwashed into the ways of the world. And that begs the question: who ever said that children are supposed to be sent out among the world all alone for 8 plus hours a day to be that "light"?

I cannot control the faith of my children, that is up to the Holy Spirit, but I am willing to lay down my life to do everything I can to train them up in the way they should go. It is not just for them, it is my duty, my vocation, and the work God has given me to do. Scripture tells us that in the end it will be as in the days of Noah, when there were 8 righteous people. That is so sobering for Christian parents.

So our children's lives look very different. We home school, our children are not allowed to go to birthday parties unless they are adult/family included parties, they are not allowed to participate in sports teams or extracurriculars at this point, and TV and movies are very strictly monitored.

Our children will not have cell phones until they are driving, we have told them they are not allowed to have a girl friend until they are ready to pursue marriage, and they are not allowed to play with the neighbor boys who live behind us because the children are disrespectful and naughty.

Sometimes I look at all of our decisions and I shudder a little...are we making a huge mistake? This is so different from the mainstream way I was brought up.

Our almost 9 year old is of the age now where he is very closely watching my husband and me and all of our parenting decisions. He questions us constantly, comparing us with what little he has observed in the world (which is still plenty), and he isn't afraid to ask hard questions of us. It terrifies me while also making me so proud because WE, my husband and I, are who he asks these questions of: not his friends, not any teachers: us. And we, in turn, answer from Scripture. He knows that is the ultimate authority.

But one of the main hardships of this very close life is how easy it is to begin to feel dragged down by the weight of responsibility. It's easy to become pietistic rather than simply trying to live piously. One is pietistic when their salvation and the salvation of their children is based in works they try of their own accord to perform in order to be seen as holy and to think it will protect them from the devil and falling away. To those who cling to pietism, faith is something they must work out, something they must attain of their own devotion. One is pious when they know their salvation is a free gift given by the Holy Spirit and all good works flow from Him alone and are for the purpose of serving others in humility and love. And we know He will grant it because God desires that all should be saved. And so we pray, "Lord, we believe, help us with our unbelief."

And so I struggle. But my children see me struggle. Yesterday I got really angry at my oldest, I lost my cool and began yelling at him and then generally just yelling at all the children. I had to ask their forgiveness but used it as an opportunity to explain to them that while mommy is sorry, and I'm going to try very hard to not yell again, I will fail. I will always fail because I am a sinner.  I will always fail in many ways. But I promise to always forgive them when they fail as well. And I am only able to do this because Jesus first forgave me, us. One by one my children forgave me and we tried to move on and change the tone of the home by doing something pleasant together.

This parenting thing, it's not glamorous. Kids have a way of acting like the mirror function of the law, but there's nowhere more painful to see your own sin than in your beloved children. And so I pray, when I do, that the Lord would help me turn to Him rather than in on myself and my children.

Lord preserve us.

Anastasia Joy, due August 2013

Homeschooling Real life style

It's 8:15 at night and it feels like 10...maybe 11. My neck hurts, my back hurts, and I can hardly keep my eyes open. Today was a good day. God has made me rich in my vocation. Notice I did not say it was a good day because anything particularly fun happened today or because I got to DO anything fun today, but it was good because what God ordains is always best. It was good because it was a day of love and service and God has given me so many ways to serve. Here is one day of many (today):

6:15am: 2 year old wakes up and begins calling to his three brothers in his room that he needs to go potty. I kick my husband and ask him to go help said 2 yr old so his brothers can sleep a little longer. He very graciously obliges and I fall back asleep.

7:05: get up, kiss children good morning, head down to basement to work out.

7:45: dart up the stairs, drink a glass of water, do strength training in the piano room with kids climbing on me and mimicking me.

8:00: kiss husband goodbye, open front door for drop off of baby we are watching full time.

8:05: put on educational show for kids, baby secure in bouncy seat with the kids in the living room, jump in shower.

8:20: Make bed, pray.

8:30: change baby's diaper, put her down for a nap, take kids into kitchen for Bible study. This is probably my favorite time of the day. All four boys gathered coloring supplies and sat down while I opened up to today's readings in the Treasury of Daily Prayer. I am so thankful for the Treasury because just like in Divine Service we get a daily Psalm, Old Testament, and Gospel/Epistle reading (so unlike DS we only get one, either Gospel or Epistle). Then there is a church Father Writing and we also know if there is a specific commemoration that day with an explanation of who the person was or what the commemoration is about.

Devotion time is one I have really struggled with. I grew up in the Baptist belt where one's "personal relationship" with Jesus was emphasized over and over and over. "Devotions" were all about "listening" to Jesus, trying to hear some personal message for you through His Word, some whispering in the wind meant just for you that day. It was all about feelings, emotions, metaphysical gobbledygook. I shake my head now that I ever felt so guilty and so pressured into thinking that was correct. I still fight that mentality today. For the longest time I have made my children sit with nothing to do during our entire 45 min of Bible study, questioning them repeatedly throughout to make sure they were PAYING ATTENTION. But lately I've realized that while there is nothing wrong with helping children learn to sit still, and training them for church on Sunday is good and well, perhaps there is no harm in letting them color and scribble quietly while we read...after all, if I truly believe God's Word does what it says, that it is Living and Active, sharper than any two edge sword, then is it really about them? No. It is not. So they colored. Between readings we pause and youngest to oldest they get to share what they heard, or nothing at all. Questions come up, I try to hold off interruptions until the end of the reading but sometimes we pause. Today the OT reading was David and Bathsheba. You can imagine the questions that brought up. I have never been so thankful to be home schooling where we can age appropriately discuss adultery. I love that there is nothing we won't discuss with our children, they are learning from the earliest age that communication is always open in our home and there is nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about even when we must discuss hard things.

After the readings we did our hymn study. We are working on "The Church's One Foundation" and "A Mighty Fortress". We go over when it was written, who wrote it, who composed the tune, etc and we sing each hymn in its entirety. Well, I do. Voices ebb and flow and I don't force it. They listen, hum, tap on the table, sing a line then fall silent. But my favorite thing is when I walk by them later in the day and while they are deep in play they are singing the hymn all on their own.

After hymn study we read our "Follow and Do" book for the week. This week we are working on the 10 commandments. Those Follow and Do books by CPH have made learning the catechism so simple and beautiful with their sweet illustrations but complete sections of the chief parts.

Finally we close in prayer by saying Luther's Morning prayer and sometimes extra petitions for other things. Lately the children have been praying that our church will open the Lord's Supper to them so that they might be strengthened too by Jesus' Body and Blood.

When devotions were over the children showed me what they had drawn during Bible study. My oldest showed me a drawing with landscape of a bald eagle. He made a point to show me that there were things in the background, middle ground, and foreground. He of course did not know these titles so we discussed them and I explained the purpose of each in a piece of art work. My second oldest, who is often very quiet about his faith and often very unexpressive and almost non interested (another time I am thankful to not be non-denominational or Baptist where my trust in his salvation would be in his own works, or lack thereof) quietly and almost embarrassed showed me what he had been drawing...page after page of beautifully designed churches. I smiled privately and whispered to him how beautiful his drawings were. The two year old proudly carried his OWN color book back to the cabinet and put his crayons away and the 4 year old asked me questions about the wolverine he had colored from his Alaskan Animals coloring book.

9:35: heat baby's bottle, get baby up, go into living room to feed baby and read stories to the kids. First we read "The Mitten" and "Goldilocks and the Three Bears". In keeping with yesterday, we spent these two books looking for the "ch" "th" "sh" and "wh" consonant digraphs. Each time we found one we would pause on the word, say the digraph together, then sound out the rest of the word. My 2 and 4 year olds are getting really good at spotting them before we even get to the word and then excitedly pointing them out. The 8 year old and 6 year old are a little tired of me pausing in the story to point out something they already know and yet they are very patient and get excited to see their brothers learning. When each story ended each child got to dictate back to me some of what they heard, ask questions, and answer questions I thought of.

10: baby is done drinking bottle, burp her, change her, put her on play mat while kids grab snacks. The snack choice for today was handfuls of pretzels. The giant tub we got from Costco was limited edition pretzels shaped like footballs, football helmets, and football fields. The kids were very excited about these shapes and I explained to them that they are only "limited edition". We discussed what this meant, why it was smart advertising wise, and what limited edition shapes might be next (Halloween? Christmas?).  We sat back down on the couch with baby playing next to us and read "Mouse Tales". We talked about the homophones "tail" verses "tale", how they are each spelled and what their different meanings are. Then we read the stories in the book. We also ended up discussing what a "tall tale" is due to the  nature of the stories in the book.

10:40: kids ran to play.

10:40-11:30: My oldest folded a load of laundry for me while the two middles took our dog out for some exercise in the backyard. I vacuumed and mopped the kitchen floor, checked my yogurt that I started yesterday, wiped the counters down and the table, and laid the baby back down for a short snooze because she was rubbing her eyes.

11:30-12: played outside with the boys. My oldest began asking questions about our read-aloud "The Secret Garden" from yesterday. We checked our garden, looked at the progress of our apples on our apple tree, watched some airplanes fly over, and the boys showed me some traps they were working on building.

12: lunch prep, lunch, lunch clean up. The boys all help, they all clear their spots, and they all take turns getting drinks, getting plates, getting out dips, etc.

12:35: get baby up, feed her second bottle, change diaper, fold a load of laundry with her playing next to me and the boys playing around her and talking to her.

1pm: put 2 year old down for a nap, a friend of the kids' comes over to play.

1-3: kids play hard outside. Baby plays then goes down for a nap at 2. I fold laundry, straighten house, check email, and begin dinner preparations.

3: get baby up, feed, change diaper and get her ready for pick up. Baby and kids' friend leave at 3:30.

3:30-4:30: give kids snack, sit down on couch for our read-aloud. 2 year old wakes up, I take him potty and he joins us for read-aloud. We read two chapters of "The Secret Garden" and discuss any new words. The kids guess the definition of the word based on it's context, sometimes we look up words in the dictionary and try to come up with new sentences for the word, and when we are done each kid, youngest to oldest gets to dictate back what they heard. Again I ask questions to prompt them or keep them moving.

4:30 kids go play with toys upstairs while I change into a fresh shirt (too much baby spit up) and finish dinner prep.

5:30: welcome Daddy.

This is what our day looked like today. Tomorrow it will look completely different. Some days we do math pages and play with math manipulatives. Right now each kid has their own math book, either Singapore or Rod and Staff. We do it when we feel like it, and I try to make sure that is at least 2-3 times a week. But more and more I feel comfortable teaching through life. I don't need a curriculum to point out all the words that start with "th", "wh", "ch", or "sh" in a book. And starting this young gets kids really focusing on words while we read...it teaches them HOW to read without some hyper time consuming "curriculum". But even more important, it teaches them HOW to LEARN. By observation. By asking questions. By talking to others. By looking in a book.

It has taken me a long time to get this comfortable with real life learning. I still freak out on a very regular basis wanting charts, control, "100 easy ways to homeschool a child into a perfect child".

But here's the thing: when I feel like that I want to ask myself, "You crazy girl, what are you thinking imagining that teaching your children in a way that revolves around real life (family, meals, service) will actually prepare them for REAL LIFE?!" Oh, wait...it will. :) And the other day, when one of the boys came running inside with a question about the sun as he observed it in his play out doors, we grabbed a nearby ball off the floor, tilted it, and spun it around while I held it up over my head by our chandelier that is over our kitchen table. In about 10 minutes the kids all understood orbit, why a day is 24 hours and one full revolution of the earth, why a year is 365 days and one full orbit around the sun, etc. No text book, no graph or diagram, just a ball, a light, and kids running back outside to look up into the sky.

Our life is not organized, it is not super structured, it is messy and chaotic sometimes, and every day at day's end I look back and see opportunities I missed to teach them that one more thing or to have structured that one other moment better... but every day we have breakfast, Bible time, lunch, dinner, and Daddy (and another Bible/prayer time led by Daddy in the evening) and every day my kids have more questions, more energy, and we keep on rich in our vocations of mother, father, husband, wife, brother, son, neighbor, and friend. We live to serve and love. And tomorrow is another day to be rich in our vocations.

Abel 8-11-13

It was supposed to be our only family vacation of the year. We were on a gorgeous lake, in a mansion of a lake house, with friends. I was newly pregnant and thinking that since I had conceived only two weeks after my previous miscarriage, that this one would stay. My sister had once conceived just weeks after a miscarriage and had twins 8 months later. I was elated. 

But that week went from bad to worse. Since I was pregnant I declined all sorts of bad foods, drinks, and did not ride the jet skis I had been looking forward to. I skipped the long horse back trail ride I had wanted to do with my two oldest...which meant they had to skip it too. And then, one night while miniature golfing, my body began to let me know something was going very wrong. I felt hot and then cold over and over. I felt clammy and dizzy and nauseous and had a head ache all at once. 

The next morning I found out from my OB that my progesterone, which had been taken four days earlier but no one had bothered to call with the results, was critically low. We spent and entire day of our vacation dealing with a huge battle at the pharmacy in town, spent over $100 out of pocket for the prescription, and a day later, Abel went home. 

Alleluia Abel...Praise the LORD, a breath. 

I sat on the bedroom floor with my knees drawn up to my chest, rocking back and forth and sobbing. I had just woken up and when I went to the restroom...well, Abel was gone. My family was already all up and eating breakfast with our friends on our last day of vacation and I didn't know what to do...go out and announce to everyone I was miscarrying? Try to get my husband's attention and take him back to the room to tell him? 

Instead I just sat there in the room crying until he came in to get dressed and found me there. By then the name had come to me. Alleluia was because the hymns I kept singing to comfort myself all seemed to have "Alleluia" in them (especially "Alleluia Song of Gladness, LSB 417) and I knew as one who grieves with hope I had to cling to "Alleluia". I chose Abel because I suddenly felt at the same time so angry and hopeless over this third loss of the year that for the first time I found myself really thinking on the story of Cain and Abel and my heart hurt for Eve...this woman who believes so strongly in the promise that at the birth of her first son she declares him to be the LORD, only to have her one son kill the other. When I looked up what Abel means it seemed even more fitting. 

Today my husband carried in a box from the mail as I busily prepared lunch. "What's that?" I asked. He smiled and handed it to me...I smiled back. I always smile when cards or packages from her show up. Why? Because it's not only a card or package, but it always shows up so humbly with no previous announcement, it's just there so sweetly with beautiful handwriting and even packaged with such great care. 

I immediately stopped lunch preparations to open it, wondering what I was forgetting that a package was showing up. Inside the package was a small cellophane bag with two sprigs of white silk lilies. I was completely stumped. I opened the card and before I could even read all the words my eyes fell on his name, my little Alleluia Abel. She remembered. This sweet friend and her husband, whom my husband and I had asked to be his Godparents before we lost him, first sent a crucifix on his due date and now, in remembrance of the week of his pregnancy and home-going, lilies to adorn his cross with as we all look forward with such hope and joy to our reunion in heaven. 

Now this cross is on a prominent wall in our living room, just above my and my husband's wedding photos, and I stare at it blooming in all its hope and feel as eager as a child on Christmas Eve. Abel! How I long to see you, touch you, and as a mother, rejoice in our reunion in Christ's Heavenly Kingdom. I love you my son. 

And to my dear friend and sister, you are a sweet pearl of a friend, your thoughtfulness and love remind me so dearly of the love of Christ. Thank you.