Filed under reflection …

Mar 26 2013
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Conscientious, Education, reflection

Fight The System, Then Get Some Sleep.


The theme that runs rampant in my life, like an overgrown invasive species (I envision Kudzu, because it’s everywhere all over Illinois and I know it takes over every living thing like crazy) branching out so effortlessly in many places, would have to be “Fighting The System.”  We question a lot of things in our household–I feel we are in an era where we must think for ourselves, discuss things, not let the media and popular belief choose for us what we will do with our lives.  There is a lot that you can lose by believing everything you see, or by being led astray by the notion that you can just trust corporations, brands, marketing, advertising, commercials, etc.  On the contrary, most of them are lying to your face as they smile a toothy, perfectly white, smile.  Greedily motivated by money, in many cases, these corporations are not trustworthy, (unfortunately, also including the medical profession in many cases) and you must do your own research and learn your own lessons if you are to be a wise consumer in any way.

So when it comes to life, we are conscientious, captive-minded consumers.  By captive-minded (hence the name of this blog), I mean we keep our minds keenly aware of our environments and we hold our mind’s captive to be educated and learn things worthwhile.  We try to sleep with one eye open and be wary of new trends or new ideas until we’ve thoroughly investigated them.  We listen to a sermon or sit in an audience with our eyes on the speaker, but our brains still working.  We don’t take their word as God’s word, we go weigh what was said against scripture.  Anyhow, we don’t want to be meanhearted, but we want to seek truth.  I have noticed lately that I can get really cynical, really upset about the state of our world.  I can feel so distraught that I cannot simply trust people with my child, trust what people will do for him and how he will be taken care of… and really angry that all food is not good food–not even most of it.  But you know what?  My hope isn’t here.  My hope is not in God’s Green Earth, as much as I do love it.  I love the earth, I want to recycle, and I want it to last for future generations.  But as much as I do, I also realize that humankind has a destructive, irrational gene in  its makeup: where we should be content, we try for just a bit more.  When we should be happy with one handful, we take two.  So I must know, as long as this world is a broken wreck that God has to restore, it will not be everything I hope for it to be.  Motivations will be twisted.  Ecosystems destroyed.  Lives lost to greedy wants and wishes.  I can try to save my son from every contaminant, poison, and cleaning supply that was invented… but he will be touched by some of it simply by living in this world.

My hope is not in fighting the system.  My hope is in the fact that it’s a broken one.  This is not, and never will be, how my life and this world were created.  I believe in a God who created a system that works together so beautifully, so symbiotically and systematically, that it can do nothing other than show us a peek at the Creator’s glory.  A speck of what is to be.  I await the day when creation and creator will be reconciled.  My hope is in the return of Christ, in His continual work within me, and His love for all humanity.  That deep within us, there is a story that speaks of more.  We are all trying to fill that void, and those who greedily stuff things deep into their pockets at the expense of others (or rainforests, or babies, or puppies..) are trying to do the same thing.  They want more, more, more, because they know in their heart of hearts that they were meant for more than this mere bleak existence that they may be experiencing.

So I will be an activist.  I will continue to speak for things that I believe in.  I will fight the system with gusto!  With fervor!  With passion!  I am a zealot for many topics, namely: real food, saving the lives of unborn babies, and issues of education & parenting.  But I have to realize at the end of the night, my hope and my soul rest in more than these things, and that I have done what I can.  Recently, I have really been wrestling with vaccines.  August is currently vaccinated, but the more I read, the more weary I feel.  The more I know, the more burdened I feel his tiny body is with the weight of the chemicals and nasty additives going into his system.  I know that I was vaccinated and I turned out okay.  I know that Troy was also.  But still there is a big, huge doubt.  It seems like a vicious cycle and evil necessity… Something I don’t want to do but feel pressure to.  I know that there are many diseases that would probably be killing mass portions of our populations these days if people were not vaccinated against them.  My counsin reminded me about Polio, and how so many probably wish a vaccination was invented when they were dealing with that crippling disease.  Without a vaccination, these may still be huge issues of our time.  But still, I see so much wrong with vaccinations.  Why do babies have to be injected with things that contain such nasty ingredients?  Mercury?  Aluminum?  I’m horrified.  Not to mention that we have no idea how Autism, Cancer, and Alzheimer’s Disease really come to be.  It scares me.  This is a place where I have to trust God.  This is a place where I have to do my best, do my part, and then shut off the lights and get some sleep.

Mothers are asked to be everything.  Waitress.  Chauffeur.  Counselor.  Referee.  Friend.  Nutritionist.  Comforter.  Jungle-Gym.  The list could go on forever and ever.  Quality time and quantity time are so different, and I am doing the best I can.  So I must fight the system in my ways, I must do what I feel is necessary to make informed decisions, but then I must put my hope in higher ground.  Not in others’ opinions, not in trends and tradition.  I cannot wear myself to the bone and then some.  My hope is in Christ.  And in Him I can let my hair down, cry my eyes out, or talk until I have nothing left to say, I can be everything I know I am and still be accepted.

All my love,

-M

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Mar 20 2013
1 Comment
reflection

Sweet Little Guy


So I realize that A is already almost 10 months old… as in five days from this moment.  But oh well!  I totally forgot to post his 9 month photos.  They are too cute to not put up for the world to see, so please enjoy!  : )

 

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All my love,

-M

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Feb 13 2013
4 Comments
Appreciation, Baby, Mommyhood, reflection, Relationships, Value, Womanhood

My Boy


This has been a really rough few weeks. Oh Lordy! I cannot begin to describe it. But as is usual, I would prefer to express myself in a different way anyhow. Even when the days are drag-down beat-up days, there is still so much I am thankful for.

Let me tell you, let me count the ways; My Boy is so unique and so particularly mine:

My boy is giggly, wiggly, snuggly and bright.

He has joy in his eyes, a spark of wonder–and light.

He can make me smile, even on the darkest day.

I couldn’t have imagined him, couldn’t have drawn him in a more perfect way.

He was designed, formed, planned.

He was created and molded. Gently, carefully by hand.

The days that get rough, days I can’t sleep…

The days I feel weak, like I’ll break down and weep…

On days when the house is a mess, the dog ran away…

Dinner was ruined and I’ve got nothing to say…

I remember the care that first brought him to life, I remember the joy as he first cried and cooed.

I recall how I gazed on his features and form.

His soft skin, his sweet face. How he smelled, looked–I was wooed!

I quickly realized my blessings and cards had been dealt– my new title of “Mom,” made me totally melt.

I would fall in love–such a love-laced heart attack!

Once you enter the world of a mother, you never once look back.

My Boy, you have changed me–because you are mine.

I am never going to be the same as I was, and that’s really just fine.

All my love,

-M

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Jan 16 2013
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reflection

Direction


Today, as I spent some time soaking up God’s word, I trudged through Genesis. I know, it sounds terrible–seeing as so many are persecuted because of the Gospel, seeing how so few have access to it in other parts of the world… but I trudged through Genesis because I feel like, “I already know this.” I read along in Genesis 3 as Adam & Eve commit the first sin & are punished. I read along in Genesis 7 as God commands Noah to “Go into the ark, you and all your household, for I have seen that you alone are righteous before me in this generation.” My heart leapt as I read those words, and I thought, “Really? Noah was the ONLY person in all the generation who was righteous before God? Wow.” Something stuck out to me, even though I “knew it,” already from childhood & teen years, etc.

I kept reading. As I got to the story of Abram & Sarai, I was struck by God’s direct call to Abram in Genesis 12, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing, I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” And then… in Genesis 12: 4; it says, “So Abram went, as the Lord had told him…” So, what I sum up, is that Abram took hold of these promises, many as they were, and trusted that they would come to pass. He had everything he needed right where he was, he had family, his father’s house, and a country to call his own already. But God had told him that it was time to uproot everything and go.

I look at my own life and think, “How often have I thought that it was time to go, felt a still small voice telling me that I should, that there is something else, but been so terrified of what everyone would say, or if things fell through?” How many times have we dreamed a dream, felt it affirmed by God’s direction, and then not followed through on it? I want to challenge myself to listen to God’s still voice this year. I want to listen and hear Him. Not the surrounding noise. Not the din that ricochets off of every surface around me. But the real voice of God giving me and my family direction to know where we are meant to be, to hear God calling us.

I believe it can happen. And I also believe that faith is the first step. I think that faith means going with what you’re given–not being stupid, but also not being afraid to take a risk. He will take care of us, and he will provide for us in 2013.

Jan 09 2013
2 Comments
reflection, Value

Start the War


I’ve had a small cry today. But I feel a big one coming on. And I’m not embarrassed to say that it feels good, quite good. A release of all the emotions that I cannot really come to terms with in words through speech or writing, and through those tears I don’t have to. It all just comes pouring out.

We found out today that my hubby’s Grandma was taken to the ER last week and admitted, and that she has two forms of Cancer. She’s his last living grandparent, and if I ever knew an example of a hardworking, keeping busy and productive woman, she would be it. I don’t know her very well, but she has always been kind to me. Thinking back we have received so many little cards and letters in the mail from her, so thoughtful. Birthdays, Anniversaries, Christmas. Kind.

And as I ponder this, I think about my own grandparents. I have one left, and she is fighting a battle with grief. This battle surprises me, as she is more stoic Japanese, more calm and reserved than most. But it has brought out many stories that she shares, and many emotions that I feel were hidden from long ago. Losing my grandpa has come on with waves of sorrow, for me. At times it feels as though he hasn’t left us at all, like maybe he’s just in another room or something…and then others there is a gaping wide hole in our family for loss of him. This holiday we certainly have had to try to keep our heads above water as we mourn and yet rejoice–we know that our loved ones can no longer share our lives with us, our memories with us, but they are with us in spirit. And they are in a far better heavenly realm than we have imagined. But this small amount of rejoicing really does not amount to the pain we feel. Having lost them in such short succession, hearing today that my husband’s grandmother may suffer the same fate leaves me feeling angry and devastated. You go on living your life, but you always hold some kind of a splinter in your heart feeling that you should’ve have more time with your loved ones. Maybe this is a sense of entitlement, but it just seems so wicked and cruel that they are taken so swiftly. In some cases it all happens in the blink of an eye, and you’re left empty-handed and without a companion.

Today I called my parents because I was upset to hear this news. My dad reminded me like he has a lot of times before, “But… we are never promised that this life will be easy.” What does that mean? It means that God allows the rain to fall on the just and the unjust. And as hard as that is to come to grips with, it serves as a solemn reminder to me that this world is not the created order that God intended. The rain falls, but it does not fall as it might have. Creation will be restored one day. A breath of fresh air will come, and sorrow will be no more. Oh how I long for heaven these days. I used to wonder at people who talked about heaven, thought about it, wrote about God’s glory and the majesty. Now I understand their pining for a place never seen. I feel in my soul that I belong somewhere else, and that the injustice of the pain in this world will be something I am glad to leave when my time comes.

This cancer makes me want to do something. I recently had the privilege of photographing a special event just for families and their kiddos dealing with childhood cancer. These little ones were so precious, so sweet. And to think that these families feel ten times more pain than I, because their little ones may not at all live out their lives. May not even scratch the surface of life before it is whisked away. This makes me want to spend time with those kids, to do more. To be more. To try to make some kind of change or difference. What is this that we’re dealing with? In the past months I can count five or six close relations who have been given terrible news of cancer, who are dealing with it, or who have passed because of it. That is far too much. So I want to start a war. I want to live my life trying to figure this out, and not only that, just live in a way where I cherish what I have, who I have, and the beauty of our days in a way that allows us to soak each other up. Because we know we aren’t promised this life will be easy, and we aren’t promised tomorrow. We have to have purpose and actually spend time with each other. We have to make our moments count. Value the opportunities for conversation and sharing in love and community. We have to decide to invest in people and invest in our times together, since we all take the normality for granted, because if we lose those people we want to have made it worth the most.

All my love,

-M

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Dec 27 2012
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reflection

Overwhelm


My spirit has been lifted high and also brought low these past days. We were driving home from Liberty, where my hubby’s family lives, when we hit a deer. Rather, we were struck by one. I immediately screamed. I’ve never been in a crash, never done so much as accidentally backing into another car (while staring at my handsome then-boyfriend…oops!). So it was extremely scary to feel the force of our vehicle hitting something, especially a living animal. So I screamed. Tears instantly welled up in my eyes, and I’m not embarrassed to say so. Troy immediately thought of August being terrified because his mama was, and said, “Honey, try to hold it together for August.” He was visibly shaken, too. We couldn’t believe it. It happened so quickly, but also felt like slow motion. One second we were mulling over the holiday together, talking about what had happened and the people we had a chance to catch up with, the next we see this huge, beautiful male deer running into us. I saw its face, saw it look at us. And then boom.

When you have adrenaline pulsing through your veins, pushing into every part of your brain, you hardly think about how thankful you are to be alive. Those thoughts seem to finally work themselves into your mind sometime afterward. But gratitude did start to emerge as we turned around to look for the deer, and pulled into the icy driveway of a home close by. The inhabitants saw that we were parked there, and came out to see what the commotion was about. An older man, probably in his early sixties, helped my hubby assess the damage and offered a little comfort to us. I calmed our screaming baby as well as I could, and finally got him to laugh at me with a game of peek-a-boo. The force of the deer’s blow had made it impossible to open up my door except for an inch or so–I had to crawl over to the driver’s side door and let myself out to look at everything, too. The elderly man assured us that so many people hit deer on this road. A small country road, and a perfect place for deer to graze. His wife had hit a few, and he had too. The front end of our vehicle looked terrible. I felt shaky but thankful to know that things could have been so, so much worse. My motherly instincts gripped me strongly and deeply, letting me know that my child had been endangered & that I had to do everything to prevent that.

After climbing back into the car, we had silence. Troy was taking deep breaths, and I was thinking my own thoughts. After a few moments, we said “Thank you Lord… Thank you.” I was alive, we were all alive. Unfortunately, we saw that the deer was not. Poor thing. We were driving through his area and he somehow thought it was a good idea to come at us head on. I’ll never know what those deer are thinking when this happens! Our next thoughts were about money. “Crap.” We realized that we’d switched our auto deductible to a higher rate than before, and our budget didn’t have very much wiggle room for this. We had just depleted a lot of our emergency fund with the scary trip to the Animal ER when Shadow had an incident, and Troy and our friend Joe had put a new pipe in where there used to be a broken one–fixing a leak that was coming into our basement. We weren’t counting on a THIRD unforseen money emergency, but I guess that’s why they say these things come in triplets. Ugh. We would manage, but squishing finances around is never very enjoyable. Our hearts were heavy as we rode home, feeling upset, tired, dizzy. Not thinking straight. We got home, unloaded and put our belongings back, and hit the sack–thankful to be together, holding one another close.

The next day was Christmas. It was time to have my side of the family’s gathering, and I was excited. However, I was definitely still feeling edgy and weary after everything we had been through the evening before. When we arrived, my wee little Japanese grandma was looking out the front door. She must have been anticipating our arrival, and we could see her tiny silhouette standing in the entry. When we arrived, she grabbed me in a hug and said, “I’m glad you’re all safe, sorry you had an accident!” She was sweet. I gave my parents and uncle, and brother a hug. Happy to be here. We shared a beautiful meal, enjoying everything we had prepared and that had been provided. It was delicious–the kind of meal that stays with you for awhile. Then it was time for presents. My parents tree seemed to glow with a beauty more real and alive than I had seen in years. You start to look at things like that when you think you almost died! There were gifts piled high, all beautifully wrapped and tied up with bows. A sight to see, by all accounts. I soaked up the warmth, the joy. Trying to remember this forever. My baby’s first Christmas, Troy & my fourth together. Everything centered around our little guy, how cute he is, how big he is, how exciting it was. Babies have a way of bringing joy but stealing away all the attention. Haha.

When we sat down to open presents, we were just bombarded with blessings. My grandma told me that I needed to open up the card from her: First thing. So I did. It was a beautiful card, with Jesus manger on the front. It was addressed to Troy & I–we opened it and read it together. There was a check inside, and some bills as well. When I looked at the check, I had to do a double take. My mouth dropped open and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I think they probably fell out of my head then and there. The amount was more than I’d ever held in my hands before. I felt overwhelmed, not believing what I saw… “Grandma… oh my gosh.” She said, “Miranda, your grandpa had purchased that Christmas card before he died. He somehow knew to get it beforehand.” Grandpa passed in October. This was December. He had gone downhill for a long time. My grandpa had to have bought my Christmas card sometime over the summer. What a gift.

Suddenly, the collision with the deer seemed distant and somewhat forgotten. God had provided for us abundantly, more than we could’ve imagined, and we did not have to worry about the financial situation. What’s more, this gift of my Grandfather’s card gave me such comfort. I missed him dearly, as I know all of us did this Christmas, but somehow it felt as though he were with us then. My Gram also had one other gift for me–some photographs from when I was just a baby. What a perfect gift. Within the pages of a small flowered album there were precious photos I hadn’t ever seen. My grandparents holding me, my Grandma wearing a beautiful kimono and smile to match. A legacy.

Merry Christmas. This one will not soon be forgotten, for us.

All my Love,

-M

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Dec 18 2012
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reflection

Sorry.


In the quiet.

The reading light above my head casts a glow around the red, silky, comfortable armchair I am perched in.

The shadows around me are touched lightly by the glow, until it fades out into the darkness surrounding the room.

I’m alone in the quiet.

My baby is sleeping below–now I feel that I have the house to myself. My thoughts to myself. Myself to myself.

But in those moments, I could not speak just to myself. I cannot just be with myself–I’m with my Father.

I speak to my Father. He is far bigger, greater, and more wise than I could hope to be.

“How do you care for me? When I am such a mess? How do you love me? When I seem so evil, so selfish at times?”

The human heart & God’s grace are a mystery– every “Sorry” in the world cannot erase the wrongdoings and meanness

I know are inside my own heart. Only He can erase those, He already did. The senseless pain that I harbor within sometimes,

the bitterness at things I can’t change. The stressful questions I ask myself–which have no purpose.

My heart pitter patters as I write in the journal I have. I have two notebooks before me. One is for letters to my Father.

Most of them are in desperation. I flick through the pages as I retrace where I’ve been. Some of the letters are of thankfulness.

“God, how many times do you have to hear me crying in desperation? How many times will you listen? Will you get tired of me and my problems?”

Thankfully, I know the answer. As I sit, He comforts me. As I write, angrily scribbling the things that I know only God can bear, that I

know He is big enough to cover… He tells me that I am going to make it. He came, He brought his Son. He covered me in that way.

My eyes well up, “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry for things I’ve said to my husband this week, things I’ve thought about my son–feeling overwhelmed

by caring for him. The burden of feeling that my body isn’t my own, feeling that I am trying to accomplish a million things at once. Thinking

that I don’t spend enough quality time with him. Sorry for not seeing that my life is a gift. Especially with all that’s happened in the world lately.

Being sorry, I ask Him to change me. My heart softens. I’ve been thinking about a lot of problems, but they don’t seem so significant anymore.

Maybe I can’t fix them. Maybe I don’t have to.

I hear the dogs barking downstairs. Hubby’s home. He comes upstairs and greets me. He asks me what I’ve been up to.

I have so much to be thankful for. I need to have a thankful heart, because that’s where I can find joy.

Attitude.

Perspective.

Faith in God’s promises. Not just promises, but promises specifically to me.

In the cold winter days, with their dreary gray haze, this is where I can find comfort. No matter how hard it is for me to get out of bed.

No matter how gripped I feel by the lagging sensation, how much I miss the sun (it’s hard to explain to anyone who doesn’t experience this).

How I wish it were spring, summer, anytime with the sun. But I have to focus on what I can change, and God’s promises endure even when there are clouds.

All my love,

-M

Dec 17 2012
4 Comments
Mommyhood, Pregnancy, reflection

August’s Birth Story Pt. 2


So lets see, I wrote Pt. 1 to this story back in July.  It has been a minute, has it not?  I think I can look back and maybe see with clearer vision now.  Now that I have a nearly seven-month-old baby boy, I can hardly believe any of this happened to us all. Yet I still feel and see a lot of it very vividly.  I hope those memories wil never leave me, and will not evade me as my mind grows older and fills with other things.

When I left off writing last time, my already long birth journey had taken its course with five hours of Pitocin.  I held out.  I was a strong mama.  I will not deny myself that–even if I didn’t make it to my goal.  Then, after my strength went out, I finally gave in.  The aching, the throbbing, the feeling of a huge massive grip seizing my body over and over again, relentlesslly–it was far too much.  The pain in my sides, the splitting feeling I had in my ribs and my womb, it was not natural, as far as I could tell.  I decided that I would finally have Nubain. 

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A shot of narcotics in my arm, a brief sting, and then I felt elated.  I could see the sun shining into my room, glistening.  It was brighter and clearer than anything–looking so beautiful.  I thought to myself that it must be the dawn.  Hahaha.  It was nowhere near dawn, since my baby was born at 9:38 p.m.  However, it looked like a dawning sun shining into the room from my view.  My mind was warped by drugs. 

I greived for not having the birth that I wanted.  I grieved, knowing that my baby’s best birth would be one that wasn’t voilent, one that wasn’t scary–without drugs and intervention.    A waterbirth would’ve given him such a calm way to enter into the world with a smooth transition from amniotic fluid, into the warm birthing pool, and finally onto my warm, bare, comforting chest.  But this was not to be, and so I left it behind.  I am so thankful God provided an awesome nurse who helped me through this.  Dee took my hands and told me, “You know, you don’t have to do this.  You don’t have to put yourself through so much.  You’ve already gone through a lot of pain, you’ve already been through a lot.”  She convinced me that I would be okay with the drugs.  She told me that the anesthetist was a great one.  So after the nubain’s elation wore off, I decided it was time.  Troy & I talked, and that was that. 

He came in with ease–he was a friendly guy with a big needle.  Of course, what every pregnant woman wants to hear is, “Man, you’re in great shape!  Look at that back!”  Which is what he said.  So he made me laugh, and then gave me the first numbing shot.  It wasn’t bad.  Then Troy held my hands because the big needle was going to go into my spine.  If I thought about it, I felt woozy.  But after it was over, it wasn’t bad at all.  This epidural, this thing that I hated and dreaded, was my relief.  I was finally able to rest, finally able to recoup my body’s resources for the most difficult task–pushing my son out of the birth canal and into the world.

I slept.  Who knows how long.  The weirdest, most odd sensation was having Troy & the nurses flip me over as I dozed.  I would awaken, someone would tell me something and I would nod my agreement, and then I would be flipped.  Then off into oblivion I would slip again.  It wasn’t terrible, especially because my body was just so tired and sore already.  Then, finally, I had rested a long time and my body was preparing.  They kept upping and upping my Pit. so that the contractions were coming close enough together.  He was almost going to make his arrival.  I looked at the clock.  It was almost 8 p.m. 

My midwife came and checked me.  We squealed with delight together to know that I was fully dilated.  After being so mad each time when I would have no progress, after all of the painful contractions, I was overjoyed that my womb was finally agreeable.  These moments feel so surreal to me now–the feeling of anticipation almost overwhelming.  One second she was telling everyone that I was fully dilated, the next I was feeling this strong urge to push.  I was so glad I felt that urge, because I didn’t know if even that primal sensation, that instinct, would be taken from me with the complete haze of drugs.  Pushing was completely exhausting.  I pushed, I pushed, and pushed.  There was some progress.  I kept on pushing.  My midwife told me, “Miranda, you’re close, but if you can’t push him out we might have to get the doctor to help assist with forceps.”  THAT was IT.  I pushed harder than I ever had.  I would NOT allow my child to come into the world being plucked from the womb like a little specimen, with cold unloving forceps. That was too much for me.  And that did it.  After almost two hours of pushing, my sweet little baby came into the world crying.  He was placed on my chest directly, just as I had hoped.

 

He looked as tired as I did.  He was so small, yet so large to me as well.  A new person on my chest there.  He was directly on my chest, skin-to-skin, heart to heart with his mother.  For better or for worse, we were one anothers.  For all the pains and all the joys we would experience, they would be together.  I couldn’t believe it. 

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5/25/12, 9:38 P.M.  He came to be with us. After over 33 hours of crazy labor!

And then, after things had quieted down, the most miraculous thing happened.  Something I’ll never forget.  After all that had happened, all the drugs that had to be administered, everything that went wrong in my eyes… something so completely beautiful.  I wanted to breastfeed so badly.  I didn’t know if that would work out so well, now that my body and baby were medicated strongly.  Instead of worrying about anything–I couldn’t worry, as I was too exhausted. So I just lay there with my baby, enjoying him. And he did it all by himself. He crept up to my breast, and started suckling like he knew exactly how to do it, and knew exactly what he needed. It was a true miracle to me. A gift. A beautiful thing that I didn’t think was possible.

And yet it was. A lot of other things went on after that, and we had to take a nasty trip to the NICU, but most of all this is our story. God provided for us incredibly through painful and difficult times. The people who surrounded us, who ministered to us, and who cared for us in that time were just incredible. Not to mention an amazingly developed, sweet, smart little boy is in our midst, and it is all unbeliveable to me still. This tiny human is ours.

All my love,

-M

 

 

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Nov 30 2012
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reflection

Photo Buzz: 6 Months!


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6months66months146months16

Little August is quickly turning into big August!  At his Ped appointment yesterday, I nearly squealed with joy to see how much he’s growing.  I can’t believe my little 7 lb 10 oz newborn has grown into this 6 month wonder, but what do you know.  Small miracles.  Anyhow, I hope you’ve enjoyed a day in the life for us.  I love trying to capture his personality in a still photo so much, and like editing the photos to tweak them just a bit even more.  Hope you and yours are well.

All our love,

A + M

Nov 29 2012
1 Comment
Appreciation, Conscientious, Creativity, reflection

The Fight: Thankful Hearts and Minds


Lets be honest about thankfulness–the human heart is trampled constantly by unthankfulness. 

It comes on slowly, like the tide coming in.

Littls bits of it surface, and we see them, and we’re just like, “Oh, I see that over there.  It’s no threat right now…  I can keep on just the way I was, because it’s such a small amount anyhow.  I can easily keep out of its path.”  So we truck on, walking or trudging towards wherever we’re off to.

Woosh.  Wham.  Then it hits hard and steady, surges of it coming on there and here.  It’s easy for me to envision our society as tiny hermitcrabs on the crest of a wave, swiftly being pulled outward into the open, wide mouth of the sea.  Being whisked along willingly by a beckoning wash of discontent–willingly until we feel the tight grasp the tide has upon our hearts and ourselves as a whole.  The icy grip of something that is so far from human, so far from the warmth of relationship–so controlling and crushing.  We don’t like that scary feeling once it has sunk its claws deep into ourselves: When our social media and commercialism claw at our rhythms of life, grasping toward our very purposes.  When we center ourselves around the latest conversation about some idea off in the distance with people who we hardly even know.  When we’re obsessed by the latest thing coming out that we have yet to afford.  It sucks you in.  It sucks me in.

When we realize this metaphoric occurrance has taken place, it’s something we have to dig ourselves out of, if we’re even able to be conscious of it.  It seems to me that most people are unwilling to admit what a hold it’s got on them.  Like they don’t want to be accused of having such an obsession as the lives of others.  But I think it’s there for most people, deep down.  We want to feel known, and we try to replace feeling known by God with feeling known by others.  Whether or not they are “real” and intimate friends–or if they’re just numbers on a facebook account.  I think I have to prune myself with sharp shears of intentionality often if I am to keep myself from going asunder into the ravaged lands of discontent.  It’s really hard.  Our commercial world has this way of creeping into every facet of what we do.  I just undid myself with social media in one aspect by removing myself from facebook a few weeks ago.  Nearly every day I wonder what’s going on in that little chasm which has become so deeply ingrained in most of us these days.  But the longer I stay away, the more I try to presently be in my own life, presently do my tasks with concentration, the easier it is to stay away from it.  I think back to the feelings it gave me of inadequacy, of being incomplete… probably partially because I was stuck between two worlds: the cyber-world of things and people I am not currently around, and the one I’m actually in but sometimes only half-way a part of.  I also felt inadequate because I wanted to really connect with others, not just facebook them to see what’s up in their lives.

This sucks the life out of life.  It simply drains conversations, ideas, thoughts.  We become these passive observers of our lives instead of active participants vibrantly attuned to what we are doing and where we’re at.  We stop being able to discern why we’re doing things or if we’re effective.  In essence, we start living in an alternate universe.

Think I’m being extreme?  Maybe.  But I don’t think I’m far off.  If you look, I don’t think you’ll have to dig too deeply to find something like this near to you.

So what can I do to fight for thankfulness in my own heart, and to fill my thoughts with joyful and thankful ones, thoughts for God’s purposes for my life?  When I’m really struggling, I have to pause and ask God to really grip me.  Take me captive.  Show me who he is.  Because I know I cannot do this alone.  Spending time with my family also reminds me to be thankful.  Reflecting on my life and all of those blessings that I take for granted lately.

I feel like God gives us all opportunities to see the world through another’s eyes.  I try to take those chances, and to actively realize where I should be thankful for what I have.  I’m sure sometimes others see my life and think the same thing.  We can show reflections to one another.

Fighting for my heart and mind to be capable of thankfulness and to embrace and rejoice in what God’s given me also means that I must remove myself from things, people, and places I know will tempt me towards unthankfulness, jealousy, and self-seeking pleasures that are really not helpful.  I try to focus on those things that I know will be edifying, that I know will be eternal, and I know will leave me with a deep contentment. Some of these are simple, like just sitting down in my dining room and having a cup of hot tea, and breathing deeply.  Actively speaking the truth of thankfulness to myself, reminding myself of what God did for our family that day.  Others things are more outwardly serving, like as bringing a meal for a friend or listening to someone when I really feel like telling them I’m too busy right now.

How do you fight for your thankfulness?

“And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.”

Colossians 3:15-17.

All my love,

-M

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