Remember that time when you could run 5 miles at a time?

I stare at myself in the mirror and sigh. This is not what I like to see. Another sigh. Since I got my clean bill of health from the surgeon two weeks ago, I have slowly started doing 'real' workouts. You know the kind that raises your heart rate so that you can't carry a conversation, sweat drips down your face, and your muscles scream at you the next day. Last year my workouts were limited due to back pain and pregnancy.

I have been trying to ease my way back into a regular routine of working out 4 to 5 times per week. It hasn't been easy. Mostly due to my self defeating thoughts. It goes something like this:

"Remember when you were working out five times a week. You could run four or five miles at a time. You did regular HIIT workouts."

"Yes I remember. But I had a herniated disc and baby this year. It's ok that my body isn't what it used to be."

"Yeah, but you could do so much before: push ups and burpees. Remember how easy the Jessica Smith TV workouts were, and are now difficult for you. Remember doing the challenging workouts on Fitnessblender?"

"Yeah, yeah. I remember. I was fit. My clothes were looser. I could do a lot more."

"Now, you're still not in your old clothes. Those are your fat pants."

"They're barely my fat pants. Just a little bit more, and they'll be loose again."

"Mmmmhhhhhmmm. You had Tali 8 months ago. You still have 10 more pounds before pre-pregnancy weight. And then some after that."

"BUT!! You're forgetting about my brain tumor. It messes with my hormones and causes my body to think I'm pregnant. It's hard, nearly impossible, to lose weight until my hormones get corrected."

"Fine. I'll give you that. But still..... you're not happy."

"Yeah, I'm not." 

Sigh. This is unfortunately what often goes through my mind as I start working out, or when I see myself in the mirror. The problem doesn't lie in my lack of knowledge or low self esteem. I know the truth. 

"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." Philippians 4:8

I have to choose to set my mind on the lovely, pure, commendable, honorable, just, excellent things. 

Working out is good for my body.

I am have done a lot in the past, but where I am at right now is ok. There's no shame in it. 

It doesn't have to stay this way. I don't need to compare myself from the past to the present.

Focus on today. I did a hard workout. I had sweat beading down my face. My body is getting stronger with each day. Every workout I do, helps strengthen my back, which helps prevents herniation. Every step forward is progress, even if it is a small step. 

My happiness is not going to be tied to a number on the scale, the size of the jean, or measurements on my body. My joy is tied to Christ. And he is satisfying. 

So the next time, I start to hear the defeating, negative thoughts. This will be my response:

"Shut up. You're wrong. Today is a new day. I will choose joy. I will choose to think about what is good."

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree

One of my favorite traditions, that was started by my mom, is collecting a new ornament each year. Since my very first Christmas, my mom purchased a new ornament for me. Over the years I have collected enough ornaments that I could probably decorate an entire tree with just my own! My mom's goal was that each child would have a good sized collection for when they moved out. 

I love opening the decoration box and seeing the ornaments from my childhood. My mom would let us choose our ornaments each year. They reflect our likes and personality. Beauty and the Beast is my favorite childhood movie, so I have many, many ornaments of Belle. 

One of my favorite ornaments is Kirsten from American Girl dolls. I loved the Kirsten books and own the doll. I remember getting the ornament from Hallmark and being extremely excited to hang it on the tree.  

When Kim and I got married, he didn't have any ornaments. His family never had a Christmas tree. I was determined to buy him ornaments. Or our first tree was going to look pretty girly. The past six years, I have purchased several ornaments for him, mostly comic book related. Any spider-man ornaments are his. And there are several!

I knew that this was a tradition that I wanted to continue with my girls. Each girl has their first Christmas ornament. With Jessie I was able to buy a set of ornaments that created the cutest train. 

With Tali I bought a cute, little bear with the year stamped on it. Of course, I bought this ornament after Christmas last year, because everything is half off! I put it away in my decoration box. And totally forgot about it! 

After thanksgiving I was on the hunt for a Tali's first Christmas ornament. So I bought this cute little picture frame one. Then we I opened the decoration box, it hit me! I had already purchased a first Christmas ornament. Oh well, she has two now! 

Each ornament is special and tells a story: our first home, first Christmas together, an amazing dad, favorite movie character, a special nativity scene. Every year I get to relive memories, tell my own daughters about my childhood, and build new memories of their childhood. It is definitely a tradition I recommend starting. And it's never too late to start. 

Sounds and Smells of Christmas

I love Christmas: the music, presents, decorations, parties, cookies, and most important, the memories. As my girls grow, I get even more excited about Christmas. I look forward to sharing Christmas experiences and creating  memories. Each year that passes provides new opportunities for me to give to them. This year I am loving the ability to bake with my oldest, Jessie.

Last night I was able to bake cookies with Jessie. We made peanut butter blossoms. It is so fun to have her help stir, pour in ingredients, lick the beaters, and squish the chocolate kisses into the cookies. It warms my heart to make memories together, just like my dad and I did.

My dad knows how to make 4 things: german pancakes, french toast, any type of grilled/bbq meat, and sandbakkels. Every Christmas, from the time I can remember, my dad would make sandbakkelswith us. Sandbakkels are Norwegian sugar cookies. It's a basic recipe of sugar, butter, flour, and an egg. You know, the good stuff! You take a quarter size ball of dough and squish it evenly up the sides of special Sandbakkel tins.

The cookies are baked for 9 minutes and make the house smell amazing! Once cooled they are crisp, sugary deliciousness! I love them!

Every year my dad takes out the tins, and I know it's Christmas. Once I was big enough I would help him squish the dough. Sometimes we would watch a movie while we made cookies. Sometimes we would just talk. It didn't really matter. We were making memories.

My siblings would help as well. Leah always tries to eat the dough. John can eat several cookies at a time. Normally a batch of sandbakkels don't last more than a day or two. We started doubling the recipe. I get requests from friends for these things all the time. We even served these cookies at our wedding! It's a part of our family history.

Sandbakkels will be passed down to my girls, and hopefully their children. When I moved out, my parents gave me my own set of tins. My dad has my great-grandmother's tins. It's a tradition that continues because it has meaning. The cookies are delicious but it's the memory of being with my dad, watching "It's a Wonderful Life" and knowing that I was making the same cookies as my grandma, and her grandma, and her grandma once made, that make Sandbakkels so special.

The memories of time spent together are the real treasures in life. I can't wait to continue to make more memories with my little ones.

Examining my own heart towards Ferguson

The events in Ferguson and with the Eric Garner case, has me thrown for a loop. I don’t know how to feel, what is right, what to do. I’m reading different accounts, listening to lots of opinions, and my heart just wants peace. I want the answer, but I know it is more than a one answer problem. There is complexity and years of systemic problems that don’t only include our justice system but the education system and the disarray of family households. It makes my heart sad.

Part of me feels guilty for being born white. I did not ask to be. I had no control over the color of my skin. I don’t want to feel guilty for my pigmentation. Mostly, because I don’t think it helps solve any problems, it just makes me cower in the corner afraid to say anything for fear of insulting or looking like a idiot.

Part of me didn't understand white privilege. I do believe I am privileged. I grew up with two parents who loved each other, constantly sacrificed to take care of my siblings and I. My father worked two jobs most of my childhood. My mom stayed home to home school us. I had godly examples of what a mom and dad should be like. I was instilled with values of respect, hard work, and kindness. I was given responsibility at a young age, and was expected to fulfill my duties. I was given discipline when I needed it.

Part of me has a hard time understanding a lack of trust of police. Once again, I was raised to believe that the police were good. If you needed help, they would come. I was taught to obey and respect police officers. I had a healthy fear of them. I didn't want to get caught doing something I wasn't supposed to, and I definitely wanted the police around if I needed them. I always had a high respect and admiration for police officers. And in some ways, I still do.

This is not a normal childhood for many people. I realized this clearly when I started working in a low income school. Many of the kindergartners who came through my door needed all the things I had growing up: love, discipline, encouragement, safety. It broke my heart over and over to see what I saw. I made it my purpose to give my kids a safe, loving environment where they would be encouraged, disciplined and respected. I hope that they understood my love for them.

I always felt my privilege came from how I was raise, not because of my skin color. We were poor for all of my childhood. I lived in the neighborhood with nightly shootings. We were not allowed to play in the front yard without a parent. I was the only white girl in the neighborhood. I went to a community college with people from all shades and backgrounds. Diversity felt pretty normal. I never felt like I got ahead because of my race.

In fact, I knew that if I did not work hard, I would never be able to go to college. My parents didn’t have the money. I studied hard, got good grades, applied to a university after spending two and half years at the community college. My grade point average gave me a scholarship for over half of the tuition per year. Throughout this my college years, I worked 15 to 20 hours a week, lived at home, and paid off as much as I could of my college debt. I escaped university with $14,000 in debt and a bachelor’s degree.

In the past, when someone would say that I was privileged because of my skin, I felt insulted. I worked hard to get to where I am. My parents had nothing. Nothing was ever handed to me. I remember the days when my mom would cry over a bill she didn’t know how she was going to pay. I remember my parents receiving help through the Birch Gleaning Service. I didn’t think that my childhood constituted privilege.

But as I think over my initial feelings toward being told that "I'm privileged," I wonder if I feelt insulted because of the color of my skin or my pride. To have someone say that I am privileged, in some ways insinuates that I haven't done work to get where I am now. I have worked hard. And that is the point. My pride is insulted. It isn't about how much work I did. Or what was handed to me. It's about what God has given me or allowed me to have. The glory shouldn't go to me. It's not about me. And that's a sobering thought.

Not only has God been the one in control, and so I can't and shouldn't take credit for my hard work, but I also have not experienced much of what others have. I have never been profiled. I have never been pulled over by the cops because of how I looked. I have never been assumed guilty. I’m a tall, red head. I stick out like a sore thumb but never in a negative way. I can see how my privileged childhood and skin color could afford me experiences others may never get or could get. I can see how growing up in certain situations, and always feeling like there was a strike against you, would set you up for failure. Add an imperfect justice system and sinners, and there is a case for privilege.

So what do I do? How do I respond? Honestly, I have felt like that I don’t have the right to say anything or do anything. I haven’t been in their shoes. I couldn’t possibly understand. But that logic is false and is merely an excuse to not do or say anything. Many people have never suffered a year’s worth of debilitating back pain like I have, but that doesn’t mean their advice or encouragement isn’t true or helpful. I can’t crawl into my invisible turtle shell and close my eyes to what's around me. 

Right now, I think my first response is to check my heart. Where are my biases? Am I thinking correctly? This soul searching has been prompting my heartache. It’s much easier to just turn off the tv, don’t read blogs, not engage in what is happening. There are people out there hurting. I can’t stand idly by and pretend I don’t see it. I want God to get my heart right, so that when the opportunity arises to speak and act, it will be out of a humble love. I need to turn to the Savior who has gone through it all, understands the hearts of everyone, and gives everlasting peace.

Honestly, examining your own heart is not pleasant. Asking God to show you where your biases are and sin is at, hurts. I don't want to think that I am prejudice. I don't want to think that I may have been thinking wrong about myself. If I don't look at my heart, then I won't change. I won't become more like Christ. I'll stay stagnant. If I want to continue to be sanctified I need to be willing to look at heart honestly, and allow God to point out what he wants. I need my Savior to give me his eyes, his love for others, so that I can empathize, and love like He does.

Search me, O God, and know my heart!

    Try me and know my thoughts!

 And see if there be any grievous way in me,

    and lead me in the way everlasting!

Psalm 139:23-24

Photo Credit

Our Christmas Craft for 2014

Every year my husband and I make gifts to give away to friends and family. Most of the time our gifts are homemade goodies. I have a killer cinnamon roll recipe, from the Pioneer Woman. Or I make dozen of delicious Norwegian Sandbakkles. One year we made Kahlua. I am not one to repeat myself. I always like looking for something new to try, except for the Sandbakkles and cinnamon rolls. Those will always be repeated!

Like most women, I was perusing Pinterest and found the cutest nativity. I clicked on the link and found that from the site, Dream It, you could buy the wooden blocks. Once I got the hubby's approval we decided to make 15 nativity scenes for friends and family. We had to purchase the wooden knobs separately. We found the best price for a large volume of wooden ball knobs was through American Woodcrafter Supply Company. Craft Warehouse had assorted sizes of wooden stars and the craft wire. We bought all of our wood paint from walmart for fairly cheap. Through the website where we bought the wooden blocks is a pdf of the tag.

The price break down was:

$1.50 per set of wooden blocks

.20 cents per piece for the 1" ball knob

.41 cents per piece for the 1 1/2" ball knob

.66 cents per piece for the 1 3/4" ball knob

.40 per piece for paint (We spent $1.50 per bottle for the wood paint. We had 4 colors, plus a glitter. And there was plenty left over.)

.26 cents per wooden star

.26 cents for craft wire

.10 Cents per gift tag

$2.00 roughly per piece for shipping of the wooden blocks and the knobs

Total per piece = $5.79, add a little bit extra for tax here in WA. I would round it up to $6 per nativity set. I had left over string from a previous project, and used our printer to print out the tags. The biggest expensive were the blocks and knobs. However if you were to make a large amount, or go in with another family, it could possibly get even cheaper.

It was definitely a successful project, albeit time consuming. We started in early October with painting each block. Our three year old even helped paint some of the pieces. It was easy for her since each block was a single color. We painted the stars silver, and then added a coat of silver glitter paint.

My husband was the brains behind attaching the heads. He drilled a hole in each body piece and inserted a wooden dowel. He added wood glue to cement the head and body together. Jesus' head was only glued on. The star was attached by drilling a small hole in the shoulder of Joseph and the star, then using wood glue to cement the pieces to the wire. The entire project took 6-8 hours over several weeks.

I loved this nativity because of its simplicity and durability. Many of the Christmas decorations we have are off limits to our little ones. This nativity was durable enough for my three year old to hold, without fear she would break it. I also loved that it was a project the entire family participated in. Every year as I look at our nativity I will think of the time we spent together.

Not what I had planned.

My baby is 7 months old now. It's also been a full month since I stopped nursing her. Normally, I would have nursed Tali until a year or when she wanted to stop. Jessie was too busy crawling and getting into trouble to nurse by 11 months. She self weaned. But with Tali it was completely different.

On October 21, my back seized up. I couldn't walk. I asked my mom to take me to the emergency room, but when the time came to leave, I couldn't even stand without excruciating pain. They called the ambulance to come and get me. That morning was the last day I nursed Tali. I knew there was no way I could hold my baby. Let alone, sit a position where she could nurse without causing more pain to my body.

Suddenly, I had lost an intimate experience with my daughter. There is a closeness you develop with your child when you nurse them. At times, nursing can be a drag. Your kid is with you all the time! But the trade off is a closeness and connection that can't really be described. When I had to suddenly stop nursing, I felt like I was losing a connection to my baby.

The next week, after my trip to the ER, I could barely move from the couch. I couldn't sit. Lying down was the only way to stop the pain, along with several types of drugs. I couldn't nurse Tali. I couldn't even hold her. While the pain consumed most of my attention, the nagging thoughts of losing my bond with Tali filled my heart.

My mom and husband had to take care of her while I watched. It was a bit of an emotional roller coaster. In my head, I knew that Tali was fine. I mean, look at the girl! She's almost 20 pounds of pure cuteness! Nursing is the best thing for babies, but my little one is doing fine. I was thankful that I could nurse her for at least the first 6 months.

My heart was worried that she would forget me; our bond would break. I wanted her to want her momma. It was hard to see other people take care of her. I couldn't lay her down at night, change her diapers, feed her, pick her up, or carry her for the first couple weeks.

By God's grace, there hasn't been a lost connection, just silly worrying on my part. My daughter still wants me. She still likes to snuggle. I'm able to do more with her, except for lifting and bending over to pick her up. We are adjusting to a new way of life.

And that's ok. It's ok that I couldn't nurse as long as I wanted. It's ok that I couldn't take care of my daughters like a 'normal' mom would. It's ok.

I say this because I built up ideas in my head of what I wanted, or how things should be. By now, I should expect that God doesn't operate in the way I want. And life never goes like the plans we make. In the end, the path God leads us down is better. It's probably going to be harder, a bit more scary, but filled with joy beyond imagination.

Once again, I have to rest with my daily bread. Today I am good. Tomorrow may bring loads of trouble, but I'm not going worry about it. Instead, I'm going to snuggle with my two little stinkers, and thank God that I will be able to lift, and bend, and chase them around soon.

No BLT

I'm on day 6 of recovery. Each day I am less sore, which is great. But at the same time, it's harder to remember the rules of recovery: NO bending, lifting, and twisting. The first couple days it was really easy because I was sore. I didn't need reminders not to bend because I could barely move! With each day that passes, I have to consciously remind myself not to do things.

For example: brushing my teeth is now hard. Since I can't bend over to spit, I have to kinda squat and shoot out the mouthwash. It's ridiculous. Everything is below my waist. I'm 5'10". I constantly bend over without thinking about it: throwing away garbage, grabbing my cell phone off of the table, etc. Add to the mix a three year old and 6 month old, my entire world is located below my waist.

The hardest one to remember isn't bending or lifting. It's twisting. It's extremely subconscious. I am not aware of twisting till I do it. In the car, I went to hand Jessie a napkin and I realized that I would have to twist my body. Getting in an out of the car normally requires twisting. I have to move my body as a single unit. I'm trying to retrain my brain, but old habits die hard.

I am very thankful that I don't have nerve pain. I'm only sore. I realize that as each day passes it will be harder to follow the rules. I already feel like cheating at times, especially when it comes to taking care of myself or my girls. I have to be really humble. I need help tying my shoes, or if I drop anything. This morning Tali was in bed with me, and I had to call my mom to help me take Tali off of the bed. I can't lift her at all. 

It's a very humbling place to be. It's not what I'm used to. Normally I'm the busy, do-it-all mom. I don't ask for help often. I'm the first to offer help. For goodness sake, I'm the deaconess of hospitality at church! Now, I'm the one receiving the hospitality. People are making meals for my family and cleaning my house. My mom and dad are changing diapers, driving me to appointments, and taking care of three extra people without any complaints! 

I am extremely grateful. I don't know what I'd do without my family and church family. They have done so much, even when I have insisted that "I'm ok." God has placed me in a humble position. I am truly grateful. It's not easy to receive help. But I want to have a heart that rejoices and is thankful. When the guilt and shame come creeping in (especially when I can't take care of my kids, or I see fatigue in my husband's eyes), I will choose to be thankful and grateful for where God has placed me. God is blessing me through others and He is using others. It's not just about me. 

  

Sanctification isn't a solo thing

This blog has been therapeutic as I've been stuck on the couch for over a week now. It's given me a quite a bit of time to process and pray. Revelations tend to happen around 3 AM when my pain is at its worst, and I can hear Tali crying for her nightly feeding, and sleep is evasive. 

This "early" morning was no exception. Tali woke up around a quarter to 4. Due to my condition my mom is taking care of Tali during the night. Part of me aches with guilt over it. I don't want my mom to have to wake up. I don't want to her to lose sleep at night. I lay on the couch and just listen to the sounds of my daughter cry, and I know I can't do anything to calm her. I can't nurse her. I can't even make it up the stairs to her room. I can't bend over to pick her up. 

The thoughts at night are the worst:

"Mom is losing sleep again."

"Why can't Tali just sleep through the night?"

"You can't do anything."

"You are making everyone's lives more difficult."

I know it isn't true. But in the dark, when you're unable to move, listening to the sound of your daughter's cries, it's hard to remember the truth. Add physical pain to the mix, and you get a overwhelming sense of guilt and grief. 

This morning I kept thinking about me and the burden I am placing on everyone. I know God is good. I know this is for my good. This process of weakness that requires me to rely on others, is for my sanctification. I know some of it won't make sense, the 'why' behind it all. As I kept thinking and praying for Tali to settle down, I realized that much of my situation is for others as well. 

I get so wrapped up in myself. I get focused on how this situation affects me and how my helplessness is a burden to others. But I know that God is using this situation to sanctify others as well. He is using my pain, not just for me. I am a tool. Honestly, I wish that this process could be done in a less painful way, but this is the path that God has chosen for me. I will be obedient and trust in his goodness, his plan. Whether or not I see what God does behind the scenes doesn't change the truth of who He is and that his plan is good for me and everyone else around me. 

The more I think about God and those around me, the less I think about my pain and myself. There is a greater story going on. I need to be obedient to where God has put me, and allow others to take care of me. I need to be willing to allow others to do what God is calling them to do, whatever that may be: taking care of my kids, bringing meals, spending their time or money, etc. I need to set my pride aside. God may be using me to help sanctify them, grow them, build their character. Sanctification isn't a solo thing. 

God is weaving this beautiful story. I look forward to the day when I can sit with my Savior and ask, "Lord, show me your grace that I was too blind to see. Show me the glory that I thought could have never been. Abba, tell me your story that was woven through my life."

I've got the best husband..... hands down.

I love my husband. He is my first and only boyfriend. We've been a couple for almost 11 years; married 5 1/2. We've had our ups and downs. The man I married isn't the same person. He's better. God has changed him and made him a better leader. He truly is a great husband.

Sometimes I don't see it. I get focused on the 20% of the things I would like to see changed, instead of focusing and being grateful for the 80% that is amazing! I was convicted about this earlier this month. My attitude towards my husband wasn't full of grace or understanding. I wanted things to change. And I didn't want to wait. And I definitely didn't want to think my attitude had something to do with the problem. 

Yeah, it did. I realized my sinful heart. I needed to focus on the amazing things my husband does and is. And leave the rest in God's hands. God softened my heart. It was a hard pill to swallow. Discipline always hurts. But it is good.

Now, I'm in a position of utter helplessness. I HATE feeling helpless. I HATE asking for help. I HATE knowing that I can't do my "job". My husband is having to play the role of mom and dad; change diapers, give bottles, put both girls to bed, get up in the middle of the night to soothe Tali, go to work, pay bills, and even help his wife take a bath because I can't on my own. I had to let my husband wash my hair. He has to hold me with each step I take. I am not the strong person I normally am. 

You want to see a servant? Look at my husband. When I was bawling at the ER, he stroked my hair and prayed over me. When he got my prescriptions, he also bought me chocolate. (Because if Valium and Percoset can't help the pain, chocolate can.) He has taken both girls home over the weekend so that my parents can get a good night's sleep. And there haven't been any complaints at all. Actually, I've been scolded more than anything to stop trying to do things and just let it go.

This is just the beginning. If I have surgery soon, I won't be able to bend, twist, or lift anything for several weeks. I'll be on my back, completely incapacitated. He will have to continue serving his wife and family; like Christ did for his church, the bride. I love my husband. And I know he loves me by his actions. I see Jesus in Kim. I can't thank God enough. 

This is the real stuff of life. This is real marriage. It's hard. It can be heartbreaking. I know my husband is desperate for me to feel better. But this real, hard, aching, frustrating, stuff of life makes me love my husband even more. I know he loves me. And I love him.

My Daily Bread

“Our Father in heaven,

hallowed be your name.

Your kingdom come,

your will be done,

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread,

and forgive us our debts,

as we also have forgiven our debtors.

And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil."

Matthew 6:9-13

In my last post, I talked about my first experience working out. Well, less than 24 hours later I was in the ER because of extreme back pain. I don't think my pain was directly related to working out, because it wasn't much different than what I normally do, but for some reason my back had severe spasms. It was worse than anything I have ever experienced before. I could not stand. My right leg was completely numb. The doctor who performed my epidural shot was unable to help me, and so I was instructed to go to the ER because of my pain. I couldn't walk, or crawl, the ambulance had to come and take me.

I can't describe the amount of pain I was in. Even morphine wasn't quite enough to stop the pain. I was discharged that same night with a assortment of pain medications, to hopefully tide me over until I could speak to the doctor who did my epidural injection. The next 72 hours were filled with pain. I couldn't walk. Trying to get the bathroom was nearly impossible, to the point I tried to resist having to go because I couldn't bear the pain. I called the doctor who was of no help, scheduled an appointment with a neurosurgeon for this coming Tuesday and sent even had a friend schedule a acupuncturist to come and try and help lessen my nerve pain. Thankfully, my primary care physician, Dr. Jones, was willing to help me and prescribed medication that would actually target me nerve pain, as the pain medication wouldn't stop the nerve pain.

This week was filled with physical and mental pain. There were times all I could cry out was "Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner." It became my mantra as the pain seared through my leg. I kept trying to remind myself that my Lord went through pain. He understood. But honestly, in times of excruciating pain, the only thing I could concentrate on was the name of Jesus.

I am currently at my parent's house. The girls and I are staying with them during the week, so that my mom can take care of the girls. I can't lift, bend, walk, or even nurse Tali. The medications I am taking are not safe for breastfeeding, and I cannot even lift her without pain. With back surgery in the
very near future, I doubt I can continue to nurse. It has broken my heart. I have been scared that I will lose the bond with my daughter. In some ways, I know that it is silly. I am thankful that she is 6 months old and I have been able to breastfeed her to this point. It is a grace from God. But my heart still hurts over it.

So where is God? Why is this happening? I have no answer. But I keep telling myself that He is good. At the ER, I kept saying out loud to my husband and brother that God is good. He is good. I can't answer the why. I just know the 'who'. And the 'who' is God. He suffered for me. He knows my pain. And his plan for my life, no matter how painful, is for the greater glory. This is a 'light
and momentary affliction that is preparing for my a greater glory.' (2nd Corinthians 4:17) My suffering isn't meaningless. He is in control. This truth I preach over and over and over, till my heart sings with it.

As I write this I realize that part of his plan is that I learn to receive my daily bread. I am a planner. I always have long term goals, ideas, plans. But I can't right now. I was getting so sad when I thought about how I could possibly make it. It was too much thinking. I needed to trust God with today's grace. And trust that tomorrow He will provide.

Yesterday, I sat up, slightly reclined, for over an hour. My husband was able to give me a bath. I can walk to the bathroom without severe pain. And the nerve pain medicine is actually lowering my pain level from an 8 to a 4.

Today, I can sit up for even longer. I am able to work from home. I don't have to miss any extra work. I only woke up once from pain last night. And I have even been able to catch up on some Downtown Abbey episodes!

I can't thank God enough for the music I have been able to listen to. In the middle of the night, when the nerve pain would flare up, all I could do was try to relax and listen to music. The songs from Still Pilgrims, the duo of Tara and Billy Kerr, gave my heart hope. David Crowder, Andy Mineo, and even KJ-52 helped my brain focus on the lyrics and sounds instead of the pain.

These little things: like visits from friends, prayers, chocolate, mochas, are my daily bread. I am given enough for today. And I will trust God for tomorrows grace, more blessings. He is my sustainer, my hope, my Father.

"Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns

and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than

they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of

life?" Matthew 6:26-27

30 minutes of torture.

I started having sciatic pain the month before I got pregnant with Tali. I thought I was running too much, so I laid off of running and went to a chiropractor. Then I got pregnant. And the sciatic pain got worse. Two chiropractors, one doctor, a acupuncturist, a physical therapist, and three months later, I was just starting on the road to being able to walk normally. Pregnancy threw my body off even more. So throughout the rest of my pregnancy I did the prescribed exercises, walked, and did a little swimming to keep my body in the best shape I could while managing the constant pain.

I thought my leg pain was the result of pregnancy. Many woman have sciatic pain during pregnancy. It wasn't until after I had Tali and the pain returned with a vengeance that I realized something was truly wrong. Three chiropractors, a new physical therapist, and four months after Tali was born I had a MRI. Yes, there was something wrong. I had two herniated discs, one of  which was pushing on my nerve root.

After waiting for over a month and half to get into to see a specialist I have finally had a cortizone shot in my spine this past Friday. For the next two weeks, I'm supposed to take it easy but try and do as normal of activities as possible. I have not worked out in 6 months. I've done little strength exercises but not a full 30 minutes cardio exercise program.

Today I did a workout by Jessica Smith TV. She has lots of different workouts from HIIT to low impact to barre. I picked a low impact, 30 minute workout; nothing too crazy until I get the ok from the doctor. It kicked my butt. These were my thoughts:

"This is ridiculous."

"It's shouldn't be this hard."

"Remember when you could run for 4 miles at a time."

"My thighs are burning! My arms are aching! Sports bras are not supportive enough for nursing moms!!!"

But I finished it. I didn't do all of the bending and twisting motions. Mostly because I'm scared I'll herniate my back more. And I couldn't keep my arms going for the entire time Jessica did. BUT I did 30 minutes of cardio exercise, with only a little bit of pain.

I'm calling today a success. I feel better this afternoon, just knowing that I took another step towards being stronger and healthier. We'll see how I feel by the end of the day, or tomorrow morning. Hopefully my back will continue to heal, so that I can work strengthening my body, and keeping my back in the best shape it can be.

What's with the name Talitha?

Where did you get the name Talitha?

The short answer is Mark 5:35-43. 

The long answer is this:

We knew that if I was pregnant with a boy, his name would be Charlie Chu. You can't get much cuter than Charlie Chu. But we had no clue what a girl name could be. My husband is all about the sound. He never pays attention to the lyrics in music. He will often come to me with a new song that he likes. I'll spend a minute listening to it, and normally my response is "Did you listen to lyrics?" The answer is no. He is all about the melody.

I am the lyrics. I love good lyrics; thought provoking, inspiring, truthful. I might enjoy listening to a melody, but if the lyrics aren't good, I'll stop. It has to mean something.

And so, every time I brought a meaningful name to Kim, he would immediately decide if he liked it or not, before knowing what it meant! Needless to say this, could be frustrating. With Jessie we knew before I even became pregnant what name we wanted for a girl. He loved the sound of the name Jessie. In Kim's family all of the kids have nicknames that end in a "ee" sound. Kim is often called Kimmy. And my best friend's name is Jessica. It would be a namesake to a very special friend and yet also have the lyrical quality we loved. It was perfect. But what to do with another girl?

I was actually at Chuck's Produce and my cashier's name was Thalia. I liked the way it sounded and the look of the name. When I went home I started doing research. As I traveled down the list of 'T' names I came to 'Talitha.' 

The name comes from the story of Jesus raising Jairus' daughter from the dead in Mark 5:35-43. 

While he was still speaking, there came from the ruler’s house some who said, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the Teacher any further?” 36But overhearing^e what they said, Jesus said to the ruler of the synagogue, “Do not fear, only believe.” 37And he allowed no one to follow him except Peter and James and John the brother of James. 38They came to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, and Jesus^f saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. 39And when he had entered, he said to them, “Why are you making a commotion and weeping? The child is not dead but sleeping.” 40And they laughed at him. But he put them all outside and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him and went in where the child was. 41Taking her by the hand he said to her,“Talitha cumi,” which means, “Little girl, I say to you, arise.” 42And immediately the girl got up and began walking (for she was twelve years of age), and they were immediately overcome with amazement. 43And he strictly charged them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.  

Jesus raises the little girl from the dead. He wakes her up. She was completely dead but His voice, His calling out, awoke her. This is my deepest prayer for Talitha. I earnestly ask God to wake her up, so that she can hear his voice, and call out to him, "Abba." 

The meaning was so deep and profound, I hoped that Kim would see it the same way. And he did. The lyrical sound of the name met his approval. We pronounce her name "Ta-lee-tha", and for short it is "Tali". She is my Tali-girl, my little girl. 

Hopefully, she will hear God calling to her to "Wake up and follow me." It is our prayer. And her name is our reminder to pray.

Family Pictures and practicing what I preach

Last Saturday we had our annual family pictures taken. These pictures will be sent out in Christmas cards and given away to all of the relatives. I spent quite a few hours deciding on what outfits to put the girls in, what I would wear, what my husband should wear. I even ironed. Yeah, it's that important.

But honestly, I was dreading it. I haven't lost all the baby weight yet. I haven't been able to workout because of my back pain. I knew that I wouldn't like the person I was going to see in the pictures. I knew that before I looked at the pictures I needed to do some serious preaching to myself. If I didn't check my heart, I would hate every single picture. I would criticize and nit pick at every flaw, everything I don't like. I wouldn't be able to see the good. 

It's the struggle of knowing the truth and believing it. And just because I believed it yesterday, doesn't mean I will believe it today. I need the truth spoken to me everyday. I need to say it to myself over and over until it sinks in and penetrates my broken heart. 

My worth isn't tied into how I look.

I am beautiful.

I am loved.

My husband and children love me.

God loves me as I am. 

I don't care if the world knows what my secrets are

They tell us from the time we're young

To hide the things that we don't like about ourselves

Inside ourselves

I know I'm not the only on who spent so long attempting to be someone else

Well I'm over it

I don't care if the world knows what my secrets are

I don't care if the world knows what my secrets are

So What

So What

So What

'Secrets' by Mary Lambert

I heard this song the other day. And it resonated with me. I, like everyone else, puts on a facade of perceived perfection. Facebook is fantastic for this sort of thing. It's mostly about the good stuff going on in our lives. And if you're like me, it can set you up to feel like you're the only one with garbage going on in your life. 

I've always been a pretty open and honest person. And I'm always drawn to people with a truthful air about them. They will tell me like it is. I don't like fake. I can't stand pretense. Just be straight with me. It is with these people that I feel no judgement about the "secrets" or "garbage" in my life. They know who I am and are supporting me through it. 

Unfortunately, for most of my life those supportive friends weren't found in the church. I can't thank God enough for the supportive, open church community that I have now. But it hasn't always been this way. And looking around at other churches and believers, I see this insane wall of perceived perfection. We don't want people to know what are secrets are.

Christians, above all people, should be open about themselves. They should share their struggles. Be honest about where they are, where they came from, and where God is taking them! We should be the ones singing about secrets!!  Why? Because we were bought for a price, covered in Christ's blood, given grace and forgiveness, redeemed, and there is no longer condemnation. 

The mistakes I've made, the pain I am in, the brokenness in my life, is just another opportunity to share what God has done, and is doing. 

Here are some of my secrets: 

This past year I have struggled with depression and debilitating back pain. I have questioned God and his goodness. It has been filled with tears, anger, and exhaustion. 

I have broken relationships with some friends and family.

I have body weight issues. I probably should lose 30 more pounds, and I have acne. See the no make up picture below!

I lied to my parents for five years about a relationship that I was in.

I struggle with excessive worrying, and have so since I was a young child.

This is the truth. And yes, there's more. I'm not going to lay it all out in this post.

The point is that it's ok to not be perfect. It's ok to have messy lives. God isn't expecting us to be perfect. Quite the opposite, in fact. He came to save the dirty, mess up people. And it doesn't stop just because you're saved. That's the whole point of sanctification. 

I'm not going to try and stay in my mess, or be proud of it. What I am going to do is be honest about where am I at, and what I have done. So that I can say, 'I've been there. Let me tell you about how God got me through."

Perhaps if we were more honest and humble, then people wouldn't be as turned off by Christians. It wouldn't be so scary to enter a church. And most importantly, God would get the glory He deserves for change that is happening in our lives. God is in the business of taking broken, messy, terrible people and changing them into something beautiful. He does the work. 

"But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

Don't expect me to pretend. I've got a list of issues. But I've got a God who is bigger. He can. I can't. He refines. I am the clay. It's my responsibility to reflect His work, not pretend there wasn't work to be done.

I want to be honest. It might take awhile to break the bad habit of perceived perfection. So if you want to know how God has been redeeming me, just ask. I'll tell you the truth.

Self Control.... the most annoying fruit of the Spirit

Whoever said that two year olds are the worst, was lying. Three year olds are WAY worse. Three year olds are like 13 year olds without the hormones. Multiple times a day I go through the heights of ecstasy to the depths of despair with Jessie. We often practice deep breathing, for her sanity and mine.

Recently, I read an article on GirlTalkBlog about teaching young children about self control. My daily struggle with Jessie is on self control, whether it's control her body (don't lick the fruit at the grocery store), or her speech (No, you can't yell at mommy), to her emotions (Crying over a piece of apple that has a mark on it, is silly). The article recommended singing songs about self control, memorizing scripture, and creating a sticker chart for self control. Over the past weekend, I started implementing some of these suggestions. 

But the most annoying/hardest about teaching Self Control is that YOU have to have self control. When Jessie starts to freak out, I feel my insides panic, and I want to lose my cool. She doesn't have self control. I have to model it for her. There are days where I would like to throw myself onto the floor, kick my feet, and wail. But I can't. I have to exercise Self Control. 

I am constantly having to take deep breaths, sing songs to myself and Jessie, and I pray. We often have to stop, pray, and ask for forgiveness. We ask God to come and change our hearts. And many times, I have to ask for Jessie's forgiveness for my anger and lack of self control. I know how hard it is to be self controlled as an adult. No wonder my little three year can barely contain herself. We are learning together. 

At night when I pray with Jessie and we ask God to help us with our self control, and I know what it will mean. It means practice. Today and tomorrow will be filled with opportunities for me to display self control, kindness, and humility for my daughters. Tomorrow will probably include an apology about my lack of self control. And slowly I know things will get better. Slowly our hearts will change. Her tantrums won't be as frequent, her outbursts not as long, and hopefully we'll start to catch ourselves before we lose our cool. It's going to take practice. And thankfully three year olds don't stay three forever. 

Hey Parents, don't get your panties in a bunch!

This is to all the home-school moms, or dads, or parents of young children, that are stressing out about their kids' education. Take a deep breath. It's going to be ok. I've heard lots of stories about the worries about what to teach, the high school years, going to college, and so on. Seriously folks, you're kids are going to be fine. How do I know this? Because you care.

While I'm not full blown homeschooling my little one yet, I've had several people ask me if she's going to preschool. And the answer is..... nope. Not really. And I'm ok with that. I love my daughter. I care about her education. And so when she's ready, not by society's standards, I will do what is best for her. I'm sure you feel the same way. You want what is best for your kids.

Jessie likes to draw. She likes sing ABC and number songs. She likes to read books. And she loves to play. At the age of three, I think playing should be top priority. I'm not stressing about whether or not she'll know her ABCs by kindergarten or if she'll be behind! Part of the reason I'm not worried is because I see Jessie learn.

She knows how a book is oriented. The pages turn from left to right. Text is oriented from left to right.

She knows the difference between numbers and letters. Letters make sounds. She can count to 10.

She can identify the triangle, circle and square. She can put things in like groups.

(The above mentioned are some prerequisites kids should have before going into kindergarten. I know this because I taught kindergarten several years back. If you want a check list follow this link: http://www.getreadytoread.org/images/content/downloads/Kindergarten_Readiness_Toolkit/03_kindergarten_readiness_checklist.pdf. But don't get too hung up on it!)

She has learned these things NOT from formal education, AKA sitting down and doing "school". But from us talking, singing, and reading. And honestly, a bit from PBS shows and this British show called NumberJacks, which is highly annoying. I don't recommend it. Nonetheless, she is learning. We do "school", letter writing, cutting, letter recognition activities, etc, when Jessie wants to. I'm not going to push her. She's three! Let her play! For the next three to four years, I want to fully help develop Jessie's love for learning. If she learns to love learning and begins to see the value in it, then the dull, mundane parts (like memorizing multiplication facts or reading a stupid book called Metamorphosis) won't be so bad.

I think some of the greatest ways kids learn, while they're young, is through play and discussion. I talk to Jessie quite a lot: in the car, at the library, while we're reading books, bath time, dinner, watching movies, all day, everyday. She asks questions. I answer them. I point things out to her. We dialogue about everything. And because of our conversations she knows about the moon, she knows the words "accessories", and that mommy uses coupons when we shop. She is watching and listening, even when it doesn't seem like it.

Right now we're talking about the changing seasons and colors. We did a art project together. 10 minutes later and she was onto something else. I'm not worried about her. On her time, in her own way, we'll learn together. It's a beautiful thing. And it's not something to get your panties in a bunch. Trust me.