- Wait for It -

Two years ago, Halloween was difficult for me. There was a huge party at our church and we had gotten the CUTEST costume for Finn - a monkey for our monkey.

However, I could not take him because I had class. I could not even consider skipping class because I had a presentation that evening. It was brutal to miss such a special night.

So, while I presented on things to remember when counseling Asian Americans, I longed to be with my monkey boy. My body was in a classroom in Vermillion, but my heart was with my boy at his first Halloween party. I rushed out of class and tried to make it to a bit of the party, but by the time I got there, my mom had already changed Finn out of his costume because it was making him so warm. I did not get to see him in his costume on Halloween. I didn't even get a picture!

It was possibly the most difficult night of that whole semester for me, but I knew that I had to push through and finish my classes. It was simply a sacrifice that had to be made. It was one year. I could miss some stuff for one year while finishing my degree. That's what I told myself, but I didn't always believe me. I wanted to be with my boy.

By the time the next Halloween rolled around, I was so stinking excited to go with my boys (I had two by then) that I watched the calendar days pass with eager anticipation, praying that no one would get sick.

We arrived at the church early that night so that the boys could see their dad for a bit before the party really got started. As Matt is employed at the church, he always has jobs to do throughout the event and couldn't help much with the boys.

Once Matt had to leave, I went up to his office so that I could nurse Jonas and get both boys dressed in their costumes. As I was working trying to get them both dressed and keep them content, a single thought crossed my mind.............

"This is haaard. Have I really been waiting a year for this? When does the fun start?"

Did I really wait a year to finagle the boys into their costumes, have Jonas spit up on his 30 minutes later, have my own half-hearted costume destroyed by the end of the night, carry Jonas around for 3+ hours without a break, watch Finn spend almost 2 hours on the same blow-up slide only to then walk around in his Superman t-shirt and bare feet when he got too hot, and get a headache from my obnoxious '80's hairdo?

Yes!!!!!

This past year was better, thanks to a massive assist from Matt's mom. But still, I was pooped by the end of the night. Chasing two toddlers around a big church filled with lots of exciting things is, in a word, exhausting. It's so, so fun, but it's also hard.

I realize the older that I get that the hard stuff is the good stuff. Anything worth anything is going to be worth some sort of battle.

Marriages, dream jobs, sweet and respectful children, good relationships........

all of these things take hard work and committment. Some days it may not all seem to be truly worth it.

But what we value is shown by what we fight for.

We are tenacious with those things that we are passionate about.

So was the Halloween wait worth it for me when it proved to be a lot of work? Two years in a row?

Absotutely-rutely.

The look on Finn's face as he tackled each new inflatable with non-relinquishing gusto.
Getting to see Jonas wear the monkey costume that I missed seeing on Finn.
Watching other adorable kids in their costumes and seeing that this outreach was a blessing to the community.

The hard stuff is the good stuff.
The good stuff is haaaaaaard.

But oh so very worth it.

I think that God often allows a waiting time into our lives before we get something that we truly desire. Since the good stuff CAN be hard at times, we are less likely to take it for granted or wish it away if we had to wait and pine for it before we received it.

Paul comes to my mind; Paul and his desire to visit Rome. Paul longed to visit Rome and encourage them. He writes to the Roman church in Romans 1:10-12 - "And God, whom I so love to worship and serve by spreading the good news of his Son-the Message!-knows that every time I think of you in my prayers, which is practically all the time, I ask him to clear the way for me to come and see you. The longer this waiting goes on, the deeper the ache. I so want to be there to deliver God's gift in person and watch you grow stronger right before my eyes!"

It is safe to say that Paul yearned to visit the Roman church, but he states in verse 13 that "something has always come up and prevented it".

It is so tempting to start shaking a mighty finger at God when we feel as though we have been waiting too long.

It was tempting to do that when I was missing Halloween night with my Finn two years ago. "This is a big event in his life, God! Why tonight? I HATE SCHOOOOOOOL!!!!" (I don't really, but I am known to be a little dramatic when my emotions get stirred).

And that is just one example of many. There are many bigger, tougher things for which to wait. It was tough being single and waiting to meet Matt. It was tough finishing my internship and waiting for that blissful graduation date. There have been tough times waiting for a good job, relational healing, God to speak. The list could go on and on and is unique for each person.

But in my experience with waiting, I have come to know a few things. God is amazingly faithful. I see when I look back in retrospect the beauty of His ways and why He works like He does. God doesn't move when I want Him to, He moves when He needs to. He does not withhold things from me that are necessary for His plans. His ways are good and trustworthy, even when they make zero sense to me.

I don't have to make sense of God. I need to trust Him.

"Then the Lord replied: 'Write down the revelation and make it plain on tablets so that a herald may run with it. For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay.'" (Habakkuk 2:2-3)

I also have come to see the tenderness of God in restoring what has been lost. Even being able to see Jonas in the monkey costume was so sweet for me. It will never replace not seeing Finn in it or not celebrating that night with him, but there was a redemptive quality to passing the costume on and watching that monkey butt waddle around the entire church.

I even see it within our greater family. My brother Matt was killed in a car accident when he was 22 years old. Our family now has two more Matts in it, plus two sweet first-borns with Matthew as a middle name. The fact that our family is so laughably exploding with boys (my mom just became a grandmother to her 8th grandson) screams to me about God's love and mercy. This bounty of boys will never replace the one that was lost, but there is a restorative healing that comes when we embrace the many that we have now. 

The waiting is not wasted. Nothing is ever wasted in God's hand.

Romans 8:28 says, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

With that said, how do we know that we are waiting well?

Whatever you do have at this moment, be faithful with it. Take whatever you've been given and invest it (Matthew 25:14-30). Don't bury it and twiddle your thumbs, waiting for what you "really" want.

I think of Matt, who worked as a special education teacher for years before he stepped into a job he fully desired as a worship leader. I had a front row seat to see how God used those years of waiting to deepen Matt's relationship with Himself, to increase his skills, and broaden his support system. Those things have been essential to Matt's success as a worship leader because, newsflash: life in the ministry is not easy.

Matt did not idly sit around and long for a different job, but he made himself useful how he could and God ushered him into a great position at a time when God could receive the glory.

If you're single and waiting, stop giving energy to looking for the right one and use this waiting time to become the right one. Practice doing relationship well by valuing your friends and family and helping them feel loved. 

If you're waiting for that perfect job, be excellent at the one you already have.
If you are in a season of "stuckness" and don't know what's on the horizon or what you even want and you certainly don't know how to get there, invest the time by studying His Word and His ways. Then, whenever you do get to the next step, you'll be taking it in closer relationship with Him. There's no bad there.

"It's in the season of waiting where character is forged and refined. It's where we learn new skills, discover what we're passionate (and not passionate) about. Don't waste your wait." (Joel Delgado, Relevant Magazine). 

Deeper Waters

It's no secret to most who have read my blog before or know me in person that I like to play it safe. I've written about it on numerous occasions - I like the consistency and comfort of doing things the way they "should" be done. I color inside the lines, obey the rules, and sing the song the way it was written.

I looooove organization and everything in it's proper place. It's why I still enjoy playing Tetris (sorting?? Yes please!). It's why I beg Matt to let me alphabetize his music at church. It's why, when my sister gave me several pairs of funky, purposefully non-matching socks as a gift and declared, "You can mix and match how you want!", I paired them with their best possible match and have stuck to those pairings like glue.

I think, up until now, that God has been good with this facet of my personality. And I'm almost positive that He has used it to protect me from numerous situations. After all, those who play it safe and use discretion are often operating in wisdom.

But lately, He has been revealing to me how much more there is. There are deeper waters, where feet can't touch the bottom and one must use trust as a flotation device to stay above the water.

A couple of months ago, Matt had the opportunity to sing in the wedding of a couple of our young adults. I had gone back and forth about whether or not the boys and I should go. Originally, I was going to go, but the closer the wedding crept, the more hesitant I became. After all, wouldn't it be hard to go camping with the boys? Especially if Matt was playing through the whole ceremony and I would have them by myself? At a wedding? Where I had to keep them quiet? Or risk humiliation? Wouldn't my boys lose out on sleep and be cranky? And like, cry and stuff?

These were my thoughts. I went back and forth in my head and ruminated for weeks about whether or not to go. When the time came to finally make a decision, I played it safe. We weren't going to go, because the boys are so much easier to manage on our home turf. We could have our routine, and our comforts, and our pretty little scheduled nap times. We would just have to do without daddy and the joy of seeing two of my favorites get married.

However, through a series of fortunate conversations, I changed my mind. I kicked my butt and my thoughts into action and I started envisioning the fun and the adventure versus the possible stressors and mishaps.

I look back on that trip now and I cannot believe I almost chose to miss it because it might feel a little hard or unsafe. That trip was a fabulous blast. It was a fablast!!

There have been a couple of our young adult women that have truly inspired me by their boldness and unabashed desire for God. I want to live like that. Not timidly shirking scary situations, but embracing God's plan in them.

The other day, Finn was looking at a children's book that had an illustration of a mermaid whose illustrator had forgotten to draw a bikini top for her (a kid's book…are you kidding me? Take a moment and draw a top on the nude lady, illustrator!!!) When I saw it, I took a permanent marker and nonchalantly colored a top for her myself. Finn wasn't very happy with me.

I allowed him to cry and vent at me for awhile,  but then I invited him to sit in my lap. Once he had calmed down, I told him, "Finny, it is mommy's job to protect you and keep you safe". Although he initially furrowed his brow and stated, "I don't need 'tection", eventually he accepted what I had done and we hugged it out.

Likewise, I need to walk more often in the truth that it is not my job to protect myself or keep myself safe.

I don't need to stay on the beach or even close to shore just in case a storm comes in. Rather, I need to allow myself to be drawn out where my faith can be strengthened amidst the waves. It is vital to learn to trust in God's protection and care of me. I know this. I know this. I know this.

I'm stepping out into deeper water here, folks. But the craziest thing is that, the further I walk, the more secure I feel. The deeper the waters, the deeper the peace.

There is freedom waiting to be gained when we can trust God more than our safe places. He is the ultimate safe place.

After all, it's His job to 'tect us…

especially in the most adverse of conditions.

"The Lord will fight for you. You need only to be still." - Exodus 14:14

"For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but a spirit of power and of love and of a sound mind" - 1 Timothy 1:7 NKJV

"You can only be marked as safe if you've fashioned for yourself a God small and tame. And what the world desperately needs is more dangerous disciples of an unsafe God" - Ann Voskamp

Life is Heavy

I read an article the other day about a father who was being charged with murder by way of neglect. He had been home alone with his two daughters, ages 2 and 3, when he heard a loud noise come from their room. Rather than investigate said noise and make sure his daughters were okay, he stayed in his comfortable position. On the toilet. #2. 

It wasn't until many minutes later that he checked on his daughters and found them both dead, suffocated by the weight of a dresser that had fallen upon them. 

I was randomly thinking of that story this morning. For one, it breaks my heart. I imagined what it may have been like for those two helpless girls. What kinds of things were going through their minds as they passed from life to death? One thought that had to have crossed their minds was,

"Daddy will come through that door at any second and rescue us!"

I just can't imagine a scenario where they wouldn't have been waiting for their father to come and lift the weight of the dresser so they could return to their playing. 

As all these thoughts were scrambling through my brain, it reminded me of what it feels like to live without Christ. 

I have. I've tried to do things on my own. I sometimes jokingly refer to my "rebel years" as the times when I drank and shoplifted and played with figurative fire. 

The behavior was secondary. What was going on in my mind and heart was a curiosity that figured there was so much more than "just living for God". 

Sure it seemed as though I had the freedom to do whatever, whenever. But I had never felt less free. I was chained to pleasing my friends and showing them that I could be as tough and as careless. In actuality, I was being suffocated. I was slowly dying beneath the weight of all the junk the world has to offer. 

But this post is not about my suffocation. It is about my rescue. 

I have a Father who did come for me. 

When I compare what it's like to do life with God versus doing life without Him, the closest analogy I can think of is that feeling of suffocating. Striving to breathe while it only gets more difficult to do so. Gasping for any tiny breath to fill up the lungs for just one more second. 

Life is heavy. It can suffocate in a moment or throughout a lifetime. There is no shortage of baggage that adds to the weight: Death. Sickness. Poverty. Disappointment. Depression. Doubt. Heartbreak. Failure. Loss. Perfectionism.

There is a very real struggle going on. 

It only takes one "Yes" to God and He bounds in at the chance to lift the weight of all that seeks to suffocate us. He is a Father who can be trusted to save. He aches to save. 

In Him alone is there hope, and help, and healing. 

Safety in Darkness

Jonas' new favorite thing to do is to climb up onto his big brother's toddler bed. Maybe it is because it has a cool red blanket strewn on top of it in order to create a fort-like atmosphere. Maybe it is because Finn's bed is more fun to bounce upon. Maybe it is because he has been told over and over again NOT to do it. Judging from his mischievous smile when he gets caught, I think it may be the latter.

Last night, I followed him into the room and shadowed him as he climbed up on the bed for like, the 15th time that day. Since I am battling a nasty sore throat and fever, I just did not have the energy to lift him off again. So I joined him. I laid down in the bed with him, and if he got too close to the edge, I mustered the power to steady him.

It wasn't too long before Finn joined us. To a three year old, a situation like this screams, "PARTY IN MY BED!!!!!" Finn laughingly turned on the noise machine and turned off the light, delighting in the fact that we were having a 'sleeping party'.

Unsurprisingly, Jonas was not a fan of this new twist. The lights had been shut off for him and the fun had stopped. I could feel him in the dark grappling to find his balance because he could know longer see where he was. I felt him, ever so slowly, sidle over to me. He touched my face and my arms to make sure it was me, and then he clung to me. I spoke to him as he searched and told him he was okay.

I enjoyed every second of the snuggles, however brief they were. Because 5 seconds later, Finn bounded to the light switch again and turned the lights back on. Just like that, Jonas started scooting further away from me again. He felt safe with the light back on and so he went back to doing whatever he wanted.

Until once again, Finn hysterically shuts the light off and we are basked in darkness. Then the searching and grasping for my arm and face resumed.

This hilarity ensued for a good five minutes before mommy regained the strength to put an end to the madness.

In the light, Jonas giggled and played and made daring attempts to fly past me off of the bed. In the darkness, Jonas cuddled and clung closely to whatever part of me he could find.

And I'm laying there thinking, isn't that what we too often do with God?

When the light is on and we can see where we're going, when things are rosy and sunshiny and going our way, we edge away from Him by pursuing our own desires or whatever is making us happy and fulfilling our needs in that moment.

But when the lights go out on us, what then? We suddenly feel alone and afraid. We struggle through the darkness to find any piece of Him that we can. When we find Him, we hold on tight to His love, and strength, and peace. We know we are safe with Him in the dark.

But oh….to know that it is safe with Him in the light as well. To know that the best place to be on the brightest days of our lives is STILL right by His side, clinging to His hand.

When we remain by His side, we do not need to be afraid that the light around us might suddenly go dark.
When we remain by His side, we don't waste time trying to struggle in the darkness by ourselves.
When we remain by His side, we get to experience the brightest highs and the darkest lows with the One who loves us stronger and knows us better than we could ever imagine.

There's no safer place than that.

"For anyone out there who doesn't know where you're going, anyone groping in the dark, Here's what: Trust in God. Lean on your God." Isaiah 50:10 (MSG)

"'Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, nor will the flame burn you. For I am the Lord your God, The Holy One of Israel, your Savior; I have given Egypt as your ransom, Cush and Seba in your place. Since you are precious in my sight, Since you are honored and I love you, I will give other men in your place and other peoples in exchange for your life. Do not fear, for I am with you." Isaiah 43:1-5 (NASB)


"There are many out there taking other paths, choosing other goals, and trying to get you to go along with them. I've warned you of them many times; sadly, I'm having to do it again. All they want is easy street. They hate Christ's Cross. But easy street is a dead-end street. Those who live there make their bellies their gods; belches are their praise; all they can think of is their appetites. But there's far more to life for us. We're citizens of high heaven!" Philippians 3: 18-20 (MSG)

Beautifully Messy

My best friend and her kids came over for a play date yesterday, so I cleaned. As I was scrubbing the bathroom floor, I had to ask myself: "Why am I cleaning? Why do I care?"

After all, Chanelle knows that I am not Mrs. Clean. I'm aware that she knows me well enough to know that I could care less if there are a handful of crumbs left over on my table from breakfast or smudgy splotches on the windows from where my boys love to stand and press their faces against the glass.

Not only that, but she also lived with me for years and saw firsthand how I rarely even noticed if something was dusty and that I never owned a vacuum cleaner. She was the one who taught me how to do laundry our freshman year of college because I had forgotten my mom's tutorial. 

She knows me. So why did I care? Why did I scrub?

The best I can come up with is that I wanted her to think, "Wow, Gretchen really has this wife and mom thing down. She makes it look easy! She's a natural!"

Or....something like that. 

I wanted to appear to have it all together, so I could look like a rousing success story, an accomplished woman. 

All of this, for someone who knows me better than almost anyone. All of this, for someone who already knows I am a good wife and mother. All of this, for someone who I know does NOT care about my house because she just wants conversation with me and to watch our kids play together. 

The irony of this story lies in the fact that I totally forgot to clean up the basement, which is typically the messiest room of the house anyway. And where is the very first place the kids want to play?

The basement. Where the cushions are off the sofa from where Matt took his Sunday afternoon nap. Where cars and trains are strewn on the floor. Where old picture albums I had been paging through sit on top of a chair and our computer desk is covered with clothes we've been meaning to give away. The basement. 

I was thinking of all this today and again how silly it was. But more than the silly factor of it all, it hit me how this is exactly what we tend to do with ourselves. 

When we head out into the world, we neatly tuck everything into its proper place and scrub away the dirt so we glean with promise and minimize the things that others could criticize. But there lies below a basement where the mess dwells. 

The appearance seems just right, but look a little closer. There are pieces of ourselves that we hide away, whether through shame or guilt or embarrassment, that cannot stay hidden forever. We can gloss and floss ourselves to a sheeny perfection, but the mess remains. 

The insecurity. The anxiety. The sadness. The hurt. The loss. The anger. The questions. The doubt. The wound. 

When I read books or watch movies, there is something very off-putting to me when the protagonist is too perfect. I have read books before where I am actually rooting for the main character to fail a little bit. It is annoying to me when a fictional character handles every situation perfectly...especially in Christian books. 

My favorite all-time character is Anne Shirley. She is smart and passionate and savvy and strong. These are wonderful traits. She also has a quick temper and is kind of fruit loops sometimes. These are her messes. Anne Shirley is someone I can relate to because she is so beautifully messy. Give me a messy human over a perfect one any day (unless that perfect one is Jesus. Then give me Jesus).

I think this is one of the reasons I pursued counseling as a profession. I love peoples's messes. I long to tell them they are not alone in their messes but that there is help and hope and healing greater than they've ever dreamed. 

There is a Love that knows and loves every inch of our mess (even that part that tries to appear to have it all together).

All we need to do is to open wide our basement doors and give access to the mess.

And when it comes to others' messes, let's offer grace abundantly to give people some space to work through it. Let's give them so much grace that they know they don't have to have it all together.

While you're at it, be a gem and grab a broom to sweep up that cobweb in the corner.

Jonas' Birth Story

When Finn turned 1, I wrote down his birth story as a way of commemorating. I thought it would be fun to do the same for Jonas Rips. Two very different stories, two very different boys!

Even my pregnancy with Jonas was very different. Finn's was tough, a struggle through the entire third trimester.

Jonas was easy to have in my belly. It may have helped that I was finishing my graduate degree and completing my internship, so my mind was often focused on other things and I wasn't allowed to dwell on the fact that I was pregnant.

By the time I sat through a 3 hour graduation ceremony praying that I wouldn't need to pee, I only had a handful of weeks left to be pregnant.

The last couple weeks of pregnancy, my sister and her boys were in town. We spent those days keeping busy with them. Finn enjoys running around with his cousins more than just about anything, so we pooled it and parked it to our hearts content.

Jonas' birthdate was projected to be June 24th. About June 17th, I started having some irregular contractions and knew the time was getting close. Since Finn's delivery had been such an expected surprise (emergency c-section), I was very hopeful to have a successful VBAC: counting contractions, labor, pushing, the whole shebang.

On the evening of June 20th, my sister and I planned to have a sister date night. We rented a cheesy movie, and carefully picked out our favorite junk foods to enjoy along with the movie. As we were walking around Lewis Drug shopping for these things, I kept having random pains in my lower gut. They weren't truly consistent yet, though.

We went back to my house, ate, and vegged to our cheesy chick flick. As the movie was on, I remember starting to time those random pains because they suddenly weren't feeling so random anymore. Some were about 7 minutes apart, some 11 minutes, some even 20 minutes apart. My hope was starting to kick in that THIS. WAS. IT!

When my sister left that evening, I rolled into bed with Matt and hoped that the anticipation would allow me some sleep. It did…kinda sorta…but not really.

I fell asleep on and off for about 4 hours, waking periodically to the tightening in my stomach. I began keeping mental track of how often the contractions were occurring. Just before 4 a.m., I moved out to the couch so I could more officially count how far apart my contractions were and how long they lasted.

At that point, my contractions were consistently 10ish minutes apart and lasting about a minute each. I knew that things were kicking into gear!! When Matt woke up about 7:30, I told him, "I think this is the day!"

He was much calmer this second time around, maybe because he knew we had time as we watched my contractions. Finn played and Matt packed a hospital bag, and I laid on the couch and continued to count my strengthening contractions. I called my OB/GYN to let her know labor was beginning and she asked me how far apart my contractions were.

When I told her they were about 5 minutes apart, she basically told me to get my big ole prego booty to the hospital. At this point, I was having to brace myself through some of the contractions and wasn't always able to keep moving during them. At this point, I still thought the whole "counting contractions" adventure was…….fun!

What was NOT fun was riding in a car while contracting. Before heading to the hospital, we had to drive across town to take Finn to my mom's house. By the time we made it to the hospital, I was getting a little nervous. We had been to the hospital a couple days earlier for a false alarm. The one thing I knew was that I did not want to get sent home again. I prayed and prayed that after these hours of contracting, that I would be dilated.

And I was!! To a 3!!

At this point, I was still relishing the excitement of it all. I loved being able to count my contractions and enjoy the anticipation. Although I had been up most of the night, I was not tired. I felt invigorated. Because Finn's emergency birth had been such a quick surprise in every way, the gradual building of this birth was beautiful and I was enjoying every moment.

We got checked into our room and settled in a bit. My mom arrived, and took her place beside me as resident hand squishier; her hand took a serious beating that day. For another hour or two, I labored the old-fashioned way. Contraction: pain. Break: rest.

This was when my exhaustion started creeping in. That, coupled with the fact that I hadn't eaten anything since dinner the night before (about 18 hours previously), meant that my body and my mind were tired. Just when I was reaching the point where I was about to scream through my next contraction, a lovely man entered the room. A lovely, lovely man named an anesthesiologist came into the room carrying a pretty, pretty needle.

It took about 5 minutes for my epidural drip to kick in, but even then it was only working on about half of my body. The other half still….well….hurt. After a few physical adjustments, the pretty, pretty needle's job was officially done.

I was able to get the rest and physical replenishment I needed. For the next couple of hours, I laid and watched "Wreck It Ralph" with my husband and my mom. I may have gotten a couple of brief naps.

Finally, at about 6:15, the nurse came in and said that I could begin pushing. I had briefly met the on-call OB, but from my understanding she wouldn't be present again until the big shebang. So like a good girl, I pushed when they told me to push and laid back to rest when I could. Because of the epidural's constant drip, it wasn't painful and I couldn't feel the contractions. As the time got closer, however, I could feel the baby moving downward inside of me. It was crazy awesome.

This is the part of the story that goes off the rails a little bit. According to the nurse, Jonas was beginning to crown. She still had me pushing. Little did she know, the OB was not currently available as she was assisting with two other births at the exact same time. But I pushed because she told me to push.

However, then Jonas obliged and he began to emerge. The nurse freaked out a bit and tried to hold him in with her hand. Seriously. She blocked a baby from being born. What?!?! After a few weird moments, she realized there was no option to wait for the OB and she delivered my sweet Jonas Rips. He was beautiful and perfect and so so amazing. He was mine and he was here!!!

THIS is the part of the story where the details get a little gory. This is your fair warning.

Yes, my baby boy was here and he was healthy. I still had my epidural drip in so I was not feeling anything yet. However, I was still in stirrup city. Several nurses shuffled in and out and each one took a concerned look at…..that area. When the midwife came in to check me over, I think she sat and stared at…that area….for a few minutes with a concerned look on her face. Finally someone communicated to me that I had torn fairly badly. Jonas had apparently had his arm up over his eyes during birth and it created one big ouchie. Well, at least I couldn't feel it, right?!

After a brief examination and more concerned looks, the midwife informed me that she didn't feel qualified to stitch a tear of that magnitude. Because of that, I had to wait for the OB. The OB that hadn't delivered my baby and who I still hadn't even seen since our first meeting. Since the nurse thought that the doctor would be coming in shortly, she turned off my epidural drip.

From that moment forward, I moved my feet at least once a minute, trying to see if I was gaining any more feeling back on my bottom half. I was petrified that I would regain feeling in my lower half before the doctor came to stitch me back up.

I waited and waited….moving my feet…still in stirrup city. I was still exposed to anyone who walked in the room. I was shaking due to the physical shock and loss of blood. After about half an hour, my mom got MAD. She started muttering that she had never seen anything like this and asked for a blanket for me at least. After being briefly denied, they finally covered me up a bit. I laid there with my anxiety building that the epidural would wear off.

About 1 hour and ten minutes after Jonas was born, the OB finally made her way to my room, frantic and stressed. It took her about 45 minutes to stitch me up and while she stitched, she actually opened up to me about her rough night and how stressed she had been. I had compassion on her for sure…she couldn't help that 3 women had gone into labor at the same time. I was just tired and so desperately wanted her to be done so that I could snuggle with my baby and welcome family in to meet him.

She finished and scooted off to her next duty. Lastly, the nurse on duty told me that I needed to use the bathroom before they could move me to my maternity room. I shuffled along beside her and sat on the toilet. Suddenly, I began feeling very light-headed. Having fainted before, I knew the symptoms and told her that I thought I was going to faint. She had me hang my head upside down.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up blurry-eyed back in my bed. I had fainted, due to the blood loss and lack of food in my system.

Could I seriously just hold my baby now, please?

Finally finally finally, I got to just hold my sweet boy and welcome other family members in. My stepdad brought me McDonald's and it was maybe one of the best meals of my life.

Finn met his baby brother and was so very sweet to him. That was a moment that I will never forget. Suddenly, Finny Matt seemed SO BIG, as though he had grown immensely in the few hours since we had last seen him.

There were still some bumps in the road during the remainder of our stay at Sanford. Although I did have one excellent  nurse that made me feel taken care of for the first time. I suddenly had a new realization for the vital importance of a nurse's job. I knew what having a poor nurse felt like, and I knew what having a fabulous nurse felt like. Nurses - please know: your job is so, so important and valuable!

Full recovery from labor took a good month. It was probably 3 months before I didn't feel any pain. But I had such a wonderful support system that stepped in just when they were needed and stepped back out the moment they knew I was ready.

Yes, I have two boys with two very different birth stories. Both stories involve some dramatic moments and lengthy recovery, but each time I received an amazingly precious gift to hold in my arms.

Sign me up for #3! Are you ready, Matthew?!

A Daddy's Day Post

Growing up, I was never super gung ho about Father's Day.

I mean, it was fine.

I would get a card and make sure I told my dad that I loved him. I think I bought a gift a time or two.

My dad just never seemed very into celebrations…which takes some of the fun out of celebrating.

I loved my dad, but there wasn't always a desire to celebrate him.

My mom, on the other hand, was the queen of celebrations. Because of this, as well as her stellar care of us that went above and beyond what was required, us kids would often get my mom a card on Father's Day as well.

I say all of this to explain why it is a big deal that I am really looking forward to CELEBRATING Father's Day tomorrow.

Matt is a father worth celebrating.

He is a father who rocks Finn nearly every night before bed, all while singing the exact same 3 songs (in the exact same order) that Finn insists upon.

He is a father who gets Finn to brush his teeth by laughing, which gets Finn to brush even longer and harder, if only to make daddy laugh some more.

He is a father who has cleaned and scrubbed pukey sheets and held feverish boys.

He is a father who will stop while mowing the lawn just to catch a frog so that Finn can play with it.

He is a father who goes out of his way to stop and get "superhero" juice.

He is a father who drops what he is doing to help walk us out to the car after church so that we know that he is there for us even when others are wanting his attention.

He is a father who will sit on the floor and foster imagination by telling elaborate superhero stories.

He is a father who lets Finn sit on his lap nearly every morning as he drinks his coffee and gives him the coveted egg from his breakfast sandwich.

He is a father who doesn't shy away from a poopy diaper.

He is a father who cares enough to discipline his sons and teach them right from wrong. He leads by example, yet corrects when needed.

Maybe most importantly, he is a father who loves his boys' mother. They will know how to be amazing husbands someday by watching and learning how their daddy does it. He values and prioritizes us, and lets us all know that we are special to him.

Fathers like these are rare, a true gift. I am so thankful that my sons have a father that they can look up to and trust his leading.

These things are not to be taken lightly, no matter how menial they may seem.

By watching their daddy, Finn and Jonas will know how to love others well, how to be men of integrity, and how to live a life that glorifies God most of all.

In many ways, I feel like God is restoring the lost relationship that I had with my father by giving me a front row seat to watch Matt father our boys.

God doesn't skimp on blessings, after all.