I can't stay quiet

I have always rooted for the underdogs. I want to see justice happen. Wrongs made right. At times, in my pursuit to see justice, I forget grace. I forget compassion.

I think that is partially why I hold back from speaking. I worry that I'm not qualified. I don't want to appear a hypocrite. I fear what people will think of me. Or I fear that I am over the top, maybe I'm too much truth. I try to err on the side of grace, since I know it's my inclination to be truth.

Today I need to speak. I am pro human, in utero and out. I am for the down trodden, the lowly, the rejected, the ones in crisis. I want to see each person valued and loved, because they are made in the image of God. I want to be for unborn children, as much as I am for pregnant teenagers, single moms, prostitutes, disabled children, and all those marginalized.

I have read many people say that Pro Life supporters only care about unborn children. I don't want to be that way. And I fear that maybe, it is how I can come across. It is how the church can come across. We should be known as for all people. I fear how I will come across if I say that I am Pro Life. Do I look like I am one sided? Am I for the pregnant teen, as much as I am for the life she carries? Am I willing to stand by, support, care for those down trodden? Am I putting my money where my mouth is?

I realized tonight that I was feeling shame and fear. Maybe I shouldn't participate in the National Day of Protest on Saturday. Maybe I don't do enough. I haven't adopted a baby or done foster care. Have I done enough to help those in crisis? Maybe I should be quiet until I've done more? Then I will have earned the right to speak. Am I all talk?

I realized this isn't right. I need to speak up about the wrong that is happening. I can't be quiet and complicit. And I also should act. Not just protesting, but acting out God's grace and mercy to those in crisis around me. It's not and/or, but both. Hiding behind shame or fear, is not what God wants for me. He wants me to be humble and obedient.

Church, we need to speak out about the terrible things happening at Planned Parenthood. We shouldn't avert our eyes, cover our ears, and pretend it's not there. We know what is happening. We can't be complicit. We can't worry about what others will think about us, or the ridicule we will receive.

Church, we also need to act. Not just speak words, or post on Facebook. We need to be active in the lives of the hurting. What does that look like? I think it depends on you. Right now, I'm a mostly stay-at-home-mom. We live on a really tight budget. I have donated many of my baby items to the local crisis pregnancy center, Options 360, where they have classes for new moms and help provide for their needs. Another great way to support mom and children around the world is through Compassion's Child Survival Center. This programs helps pregnant moms and babies survive through birth to five years: immunizations, education, basic nutrition, supplies, etc. Or perhaps it is through Young Lives, which mentors young women who are pregnant or have children. My good friend has served with this group, and we have simply helped provide a meal for their monthly meeting. There are many ways to help, that aren't just  about giving money, but they do take time and sacrifice. Where is God calling you to serve?

Tonight was a good reminder for me to not only speak but act. I need to act today, but also continue to give and serve when people have long forgotten the latest news stories. There will always be someone in crisis, and I need to be Jesus' hands and feet. I am glad that I questioned my motives and my heart. I'm glad I felt the renewed passion to write. And I'm glad that I felt uncomfortable and convicted to be Pro Human for all people, large and small, in utero or out. Just like Dr. Seuss says, "A person's a person, no matter how small." And I am for people.

If you would like to join me this Saturday morning, the 22nd, I will be attending the National Day of Protest at the Planned Parenthood, 11516 SE Mill Plain BLVD, from 9-11am. This protest is happening across the country in order to raise awareness. Below are several excellent articles that address not only abortion, but what our response should be:

An Honest Conversation about Abortion by Ann Voskamp
Planned Parenthood: Invitation, Explanation, Indignation
7th Planned Parenthood Video and 4 FAQs

Jesus in the kitchen

I have hundreds of conversations with my four year old each day. Many of those conversations are centered around correction and discipline.

"Can you try that again? This time without stomping your feet or yelling."

"Jessie, I have never tried chocolate pudding and pickles. That doesn't sound yummy to me."

"I don't know why the chicken crossed the road." (She's into jokes, right now.)

Recently, I was in the kitchen peeling a apple for Jessie when our conversation somehow turned to dying. I don't know how it came about. I remember saying, "When mommy dies she will go to heaven to be with Jesus, because I believe that Jesus is living inside of me. He changed my heart." To this response, Jessie asked,

"Where do you go if you don't believe in Jesus?"

I was dumbstruck by her question. Here we were in the middle of the kitchen, eating an apple. Tali was clawing at my leg, hoping to have something to eat. The kitchen is a mess. I'm pretty sure the dog was nearby hoping that something would drop to the floor. And this is the time that God provided for me an opportunity to speak the gospel into my daughter's life. My answer was brief,

"If we don't believe in Jesus when we die we will be forever separated from God. It is a terrible place. Without Jesus there is nothing, no happiness. Only with Jesus, can we be truly happy."

I got to spend another minute talking about heaven; it's better than Disneyland, no pain or sadness, no owies. Which then led the conversation to the scrape on her arm that God healed.  And then she was off again. It was a two, maybe three minute conversation.

So often I try to have gospel oriented conversations on my time with Jessie. This happens in the middle of correcting or disciplining. I try to be intentional during our Bible reading at night, but I forget that it is the middle of the busyness of life that the most meaningful conversations occur. I can't plan everything. I just have to be ready, with the gospel on my tongue. "Always being prepared to give a defense for the hope that is in you" (1 Peter 3:15).

This little conversation in our kitchen gave me hope. She is listening. She is taking in all that I am trying to impart. She is trying to figure out her world. And I get the privilege of sharing the gospel over and over. I felt inspired to keeping going. It's hard to not give up in the middle of tantrums, anger, lack of sleep, messiness. I felt encouraged. Her little heart and mind is listening to what I say. Even if I don't see it, and it seems like my words are bouncing off, there is something at work.

I also felt the conviction to be in the Word more. I need to be prepared. I need to continually fill myself up. So that I can overflow onto my children. What answers can I give if I'm not in tune with the Spirit? The more time I spend in the Word and praying, the better mom I will be to my girls. I want to prepare myself for the next Jesus conversation. Maybe it will happen on our walk, or in the bathroom, or the grocery store, or snuggled up on the couch. I can't wait!

Why have kids?

I recently read an article by a Christian woman, stating the reasons she doesn't want to have children. The primary reason being that she enjoys her freedom. This article didn't set with me very well. I've been mulling over it for days now. The best way for me to process my thoughts is through writing. Hence, this blog post.

My gut reaction was, "She's wrong." See, I'm a very black and white person. I don't see gray very often. And I struggle with giving grace. I figured that my immediate reaction was probably not kind or grace filled. I needed to think about it more. And just as a warning, this post may still come off a bit hard with truth. Hopefully, you will see the grace and my own vulnerability.

I have a problem with the idea of not having children because of 'freedom.' I completely empathize. And truthfully, I long for the days when I could sleep in whenever I want, stay up late, go wherever, and not be tied down to someone else's schedule. Being a mom is a HUGE inconvenience. Often when I am struggling with my anger or am frustrated it's because my children are making "my" plans difficult.

I react in frustration because of my selfishness. I would rather spend time on Facebook than play dress up. I'm tired of watching Sofia the First for the hundredth time. Don't even get me started on the Frozen soundtrack. Kids ruin your plans. They demand constant attention. Everyday they wake up and ask, "Are the rules still the same?" Disciplining and training them up is exhausting. It's quite overwhelming. Sometimes, I just want a break.

But.... (fyi, 'but' is an eraser word. So everything in the previous paragraph is negated by this 'but.')

But it's not about me. If there is one thing having children has taught me, is that it's not about me. God uses children as part of the sanctification process. My daughters have taught me more about my own selfishness and sin than any book study or sermon. Yes, there are wonderful blessings that come from children. And I wouldn't trade my girls for anything.

The truth is that having children isn't about me. Or what I want. God gave me my children. He started the life in my womb. Children are a heritage from the Lord. (Psalm 127:3-5). It doesn't matter if those children are biological or adopted. Being a parent is another opportunity to lay down your life for someone else, just like Jesus did for us.

My advice is to check your heart's motives if you're contemplating not having children. I think there are some legit reasons for not having kids at a specific time. I don't think it should ever be off the table. If you don't want to have kids because your freedom will lessen, then I think there is a bigger problem going on in your heart. Perhaps freedom has become an idol, if you are unwilling to lay it down at God's feet and say "Do with it as you will."

I understand this struggle. It's amazing how quickly I see the idols in my life with children. I get frustrated when I can't watch the newest episode of Parks and Recreation. Or I get angry when I have to get up for the 3rd time in the middle of the night to rock a baby back to sleep. My house is a constant mess, and I get tired of making meals for my family at times. This is the reality of life.

Everyday I get the opportunity to lay my life down; die to self. I pray that I have a cheerful heart as I do it. There is nothing easy about being a mom or wife. It's hard, aching, even heart wrenching work. And yet the fruit from the work is good, as God tears down my sins and builds a new heart. Each day that passes God gives me more opportunities to love my girls, train them in righteousness, and give up the idols in my heart.

So be encouraged if you are contemplating having kids. It's going to be on the one the hardest things in your life! And I'm only four years into being a mom. It is also one of the best things. I know it is good because of what God has done and is doing in my heart. And I know that I can keep moving forward on the hard days because of this verse.

" Now to him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you blameless before the presence of his glory with great joy, to the only God, our Savior, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, dominion, and authority, before all time and now and forever."

Jude 1:25

I know that I can't do it. God can. And He is able to keep me going. It's to his glory, not mine. When I remember this truth, my heart is strengthened. The pressure is off; it's not my ability. God will provide. He will sustain.

It's the truth of knowing that having kids is hard and will require much sacrifice, and the grace of knowing that God will sustain, that help me remember is those moments of frustration of "why did I have kids?" I had kids because I knew that God wanted me to. I had kids because it is for my good. I had kids because as I learn to die to myself, God is getting glory.

Hot Yoga, T25, and Perseverance

It's been over a month since I started working out five days per week. On most days, I'm following the Focus T25 workout schedule. Today marks day one of my fifth week. Next week I'll start the Beta Cycle. I can definitely say that I feel better. My cardiovascular endurance is increasing. I feel stronger. I've lost a couple inches, a few pounds, nothing dramatic.

T25 is hard. Honestly, I have to do the modified exercises most of the time. Or I try to do slightly more high impact exercises without the craziness that they do. Like who the heck can do spider pushups, or hop hop squats or pike up or V-ups? Part of my adaptation is because of my recent surgery, and my body is just out of shape. For so long, I was unable to do anything. It's great to actually be able to do something, even if it is the modified exercises. The 25 minutes fly by. And I can actually accomplish a hard workout with my little stinkers around. Sometimes the workouts are more like 35 minutes with all the breaks for helping someone to the bathroom, stopping a baby from playing in the dog's water dish, etc. What matters is that I am consistently working out  5-6 days a week.

I also tried Bikram Yoga (hot yoga) for the first time a week ago. I had built it up in my head as something that was going to be extremely hard. I had the image of flow Yoga with lots of downward dogs, warrior poses, etc. I thought for certain that I was going to die. Add in the 105 degree room, and I was expecting to pass out in my first class. I didn't. In fact, I highly enjoyed it.

I have never sweated as much as I do in Bikram Yoga. Seriously. I had sweat dripping down my legs. It is disgusting. I won't even describe how my car smelled on the way home from class. However, it is a great workout. I was sore the next day. I know my muscles were working. I felt sore in my abs, arms, legs, back. In Bikram, there are quite a few back exercises, which is perfect for me. I really love it.

(This is what I look like after hot yoga: sweaty, gross, and red.)

I am also daily tracking my calories using the MyFitnessPal app. It's a great app. I'm in a habit now of using it. Between making good choices in what I eat, working out, tracking my calories, I know I'm on a good path.....

BUT......

I'm still waiting. I look at the progress I've made, and I'm pleased. But part of me is disappointed. I was hoping for more weight loss, better physical definition, etc. Even though there are legit reasons why my progress is so, like a brain tumor that affects my hormones. I made these 'unspoken' goals, and I haven't met them. When I think about it, I end up talking down to myself or getting depressed. It is stupid. The lies start to creep back in. I'm not good enough. My body looks like crap. I need to stop this, or that, or quite eating X,Y and Z, etc, etc, etc. Anyone else understand this terrible line of thinking?

I know that my problem lies in perseverance and lack of patience. I want results NOW. I don't want to wait. And if I'm not getting the results I want to change things, or I start doubting myself. This isn't the only place in my life where I see God asking me to keep going even when I don't understand or can't see the results.

I feel like He keeps asking me the question:

Are you going to keep going even if you haven't seen the results you want?

Yes, I am.

I know I am doing what's right for me, for my body. Every step I take is a step in the right direction. My progress might be small. But it is progress.

The bigger struggle than persevering is laying aside my dreams at Jesus feet, and saying that He is enough. Not that I'm going to stop doing my best to be healthy, but I am going to say that Jesus is satisfying. More than dropping a couple of dress sizes or losing 20 pounds, or being able to touch my toes. He is enough.

Tomorrow I will get up, workout, track my calories, be healthy. Take one step at a time. I will persevere. Remembering that Jesus is enough.

Are the rules still the same?

My mom likes to tell me that children wake up asking the same question:

"Are the rules still the same?"

Normally when Jessie wakes up in the morning, she likes to test the rules. No, you can't yell at mommy. No, you can't kick your feet in anger because I offered you cereal. No, you can't stay in your pajamas all day. Our mornings tend to start off rough. I've never met a child who wakes up as angry and irritable as Jessie. After an hour or so, her mood improves and we can go about life without much frustration.

However..... recently she has been challenging me throughout the day. I know it's a phase. It's a battle of wills, of sorts. And it's exhausting. The constant redirection and discipline is simply not easy. It's draining. By the time the afternoon nap arrives, I want to scream out 'hallelujah!'

I find that as Jessie wears me down, it becomes easier for me to lose self control. I want to get frustrated because she's frustrated. Then the little things, that normally wouldn't bug me, become HUGE issues. My responses are not examples of kindness and respect, that I want her to follow. I have to follow the same advice I give her.

In fact, she will often call me out.

"Mommy, you need to have self control. We should pray and ask God to change our hearts."

Honestly, most of the time when she calls me out, I feel irritated. I don't want her to point out my sin! I want to be the one pointing out sin. Even in the middle of my discipline of my stubborn daughter, my sin is exposed.

If there's one thing I've learned so far as a mom, it is that children are huge tool in sanctification. I knew that being a mom would be that I would be spending the majority of my time training my children up. However, I didn't realize how much of motherhood would be spent on my sin being called out.

I need Jesus just as much as Jessie does.

I forget at times. When I see Jessie kicking her feet, yelling, tears streaming down her face, her heart in complete rebellion towards me and God, I should see myself. I do that. I get pissed when things don't go my way. I don't always want to do what God says I should. I get angry. I cry. I've stopped the foot stomping thing, but my heart is just like Jessie's. I need Jesus.

With each tantrum I get the opportunity to share grace with my daughter. I understand her frustration. I understand having a hard heart that needs to change. I get to share the good news. Jesus came to change hard hearts. He can do it! We can't! We need Jesus. As I teach and reproof, I am pointing Jessie back to the God whom she desperately needs, and so do I.

Easiest bread recipe ever!

I often get complemented on my baking skills. Honestly, I don't think I should because I am just good at following directions. Baking isn't hard. And the type of baking I do, is normally extremely easy. It has to be! I have two young girls who take up a lot of my time, and require vigilant attention. As my pediatrician says, "You're on suicide watch."

One of my favorite breads is a no-knead bread recipe from FrugalLivingNW. There's only four ingredients: water, flour, yeast, and salt. It looks and tastes like Artisan bread from a bakery, which you would spend at least five bucks for, at the store. This will only cost you the flour! The biggest kicker is the bread requires time and a dutch oven. Here is my quick tutorial on the easiest bread recipe ever!

1. Right up front, you need to understand that this recipe is a slow rise recipe. It takes 12-18 hours to rise. I normally start my bread in the evening, right before going to bed.

2. The first step is to mix the salt, yeast, and flour together. Then slowly add the water. It will be sticky, which is perfect. This is what mine looked like. I would mix my dough is a large glass bowl.

Cool tool alert! You don't need to be as fancy as me, but I LOVE this danish bread whisk. It's amazing for mixing bread. You can get it from Amazon for $7. It's totally worth buying if you are going to make bread on a regular basis. It makes mixing stiff dough a breeze! And it scrapes the sides really easily. Needlesstosay, I love it!

3. Cover your dough with plastic wrap and let it sit. It normally takes me 3 minutes to get the dough ready to go. It's that easy.

4. After waking in the morning, check your dough. It should smell yeasty. (I don't think that's a word.) I forgot to take a picture! The bread will have risen and be all bubbly at the top of the bowl. If it isn't doubled in size, let it rise some more. It is a slow rising recipe!

5. Set out parchment paper or a linen cloth (not terry cloth or it will stick) out with a generous amount of flour. Get your hands all floured up and gently form the dough into a nice round ball by tucking place it on the floured surface seam side down.  Dump the dough onto the floured surface. The dough should be a smooth and not too sticky. Cover with linen cloth or parchment paper. I forgot to take a picture of mine, all pretty and smooth. Oops!

6. Let it rest again for another hour or two until it doubles in size. In the last 30 minutes or so, preheat oven to 425 and place your dutch oven inside to warm it. The oven needs to be hot before you put in your dough.

I don't have a 'real' dutch oven. What I do have a is Pampered Chef Stoneware Deep Covered Baker. It's a pretty amazing kitchen tool that I can microwave food in but also place in the oven. It can function as a dutch oven. I know that Amazon sells dutch ovens. It's on my list of things to be on the lookout for while at thrift shops.

7. Once your dough has doubled in size place in your dutch oven. I just slide the dough in straight from the parchment paper with the flour and all. No matter how it flops in, it always looks amazing! Cover with the lid and bake for 40 minutes. Your house will smell amazing. There's nothing like homemade bread baking in your oven. The only other smell I like as much is chocolate chip cookies. :-)

8. After 40 minutes remove lid. Don't forget to use your oven mitt; I'm speaking from experience. Then bake for additional 5-10 minutes, until golden brown. The internal temperature should be 200 degrees.

9. Remove from oven and rejoice at the beautiful bread you just baked! Place on a cooling rack. They say not to cut into it before it cools down. And I know that 'they' are right. But I won't say anything if you do.

Supposedly this bread is best the first 2-3 days. But I've never had any leftover past three days. :-) If you wrap it up in plastic wrap it will make the crust soft. I would keep it my dutch oven.

If you have questions, the FrugalLivingNW site has a great FAQs. This is the best, easiest bread you could make. It's worth a try! Let me know how it goes!

How I met my husband.... Otherwise known as, the day he stood up.

My last post was pretty deep and emotionally heavy. I decided that today's post would be a little lighter and definitely shorter! I'm still on the reminiscing kick since my 6 year anniversary is on Saturday the 17th. One of my favorite stories is how I met my husband.

We were from two different worlds. If it hadn't been for a mutual friend, we would have never met. I met Kim in January of 2004 at the Cascade Campus of Portland Community College. A group of my friends would hang out in the cafeteria between classes. When I first was introduced to Kim, he had the typical 'bowl' haircut. We exchanged pleasantries. But I didn't pay much attention to him.

The second time I saw Kim, he had cut his hair and I didn't even realize it was the same person! We would hangout: talk, play card games, eat. I thought he was cute, but I wrote him off because he was Asian. And as you all know, Asians are short. I had never stood next to Kim. We normally were sitting around one of the cafeteria tables. I assumed, which totally made me out to be a ass, that Kim had to be short. 

One day, I was complaining to some of the gals at the table that there were NO tall guys. Everyone was shorter than me. One of the guys, said that Kim was tall. I didn't believe him. I'm pretty sure I even said out loud, that there was no way that Kim was as tall as me or even taller. So I made Kim stand up. And being the sweet, compliant guy that he is, he did. 

Not only was a wrong, but he was just a little taller than me. I had to eat humble pie. And Kim became even cuter!

From that point on, I was pretty smitten with him. Add all the other amazing characteristics: funny, sweet, kind, respectful, hard working, and a teaser, and I was a goner. That boy stole my heart the day he stood up.

Fall and Redemption: my story

My 6 year anniversary is coming up on the 17th of January. I can't believe that 6 years of marriage has gone by. Each anniversary prompts me to reflect on our past. Since I started this blog, I knew I needed to write down my story. Now seems like the perfect time.

I met Kim when 18 years old. I and my family had recently left my childhood church. I was very disenchanted with church and Christians in general. I knew that I needed to go to church. I loved God. And I thought of myself as a good kid. I didn't get in trouble. Never drank. Never did drugs. Didn't really cuss. Dressed appropriately. Listened to "good" music. On the scale of being a sinner, I wasn't in the "bad" section. 

Kim wasn't a Christian when I met him. He didn't have a relationship with God. I remember struggling with my attraction to him; wanting to be more than friends, and yet knowing I shouldn't. He was the first boy to ever take interest in me. He was sweet, kind, respectful. The type of guy my parents would approve of. He just didn't love God. 

When I look back through my journal at that time. I really struggled with knowing what the right thing to do was and what my heart wanted. I wanted to be with Kim. I didn't want to have to wait. I remember making a choice. I was going to date Kim, despite my parent's disapproval and God's word. 

I had a problem though. My parents made it very clear that if I chose to date Kim I would have to move out. I couldn't support myself at the time. And frankly, I didn't want to live a uncomfortable life and be in their condemnation. So I lied. 

I kept my relationship with Kim a secret for five years. There were several times throughout that period that I got caught. Each time, God gave me a way out of my sin, but instead I chose to lie. I became very, very good at lying. I created elaborate lies to my parents, but also to myself. I chose to stuff down the guilt down. I would tell myself that my parents were the problem. They didn't understand. They didn't know Kim like I did. It was very one else, not me. I separated myself from those who would speak truth in my life. I didn't want to hear it. I stopped going to church regularly. I only went when I wanted to ease my guilt. 

I had lived with my family throughout my college years. They helped me financially and mentally. And like the saying goes, your sin will find you out. My sin came to head. It had to. Kim and I wanted to get married. I wanted my parent's approval. I cared more about what my parents' thought than what God thought. 

When my parents found out that I had lied, everything blew up. Even then, I tried to lie to ease the blow. I said that we had only recently started dating again. More lies. I tried to get my younger sister to be on my side. I used manipulation, lies, and blame to try and get what I wanted.

Kim and I started going to Red Sea Church in December of 2008. It was mostly an attempt on my part to make Kim look more appealing to my parents. I didn't realize then that God would use this church to dramatically change our hearts. 

The day Kim proposed, was the last day I saw my family for almost two months. In some ways, my parents gave me church discipline. I was cut off from my family, with whom I was incredibly close. I was living on my own at the time, and had many evenings left to my own demise. All I could think about was my sin. At one point, I thought about throwing myself off the I5 bridge because I couldn't stand myself. 

God broke me. He shattered my "perfect" vision of myself. I realized how greatly I needed grace. I needed rescuing from the mess that I had made! It was my fault. No lying could change it. Nothing I did made it better. I couldn't blame others for my sins. It didn't matter how my parents treated Kim or thought about him. I had to own my sin. 

God placed us in a home group at Red Sea that gathered around us. They showed us love, grace and truth. In simple terms, they said, "You're wrong. And we love you." We were encouraged to seek reconciliation out with my parents, and to admit our wrong doing. It was a hard pill to swallow. I had done a lot of wrong things. I, even, bought my wedding dress without my mom. It was much easier to hold on to some type of blame for someone else, then to fully hold myself accountable without pointing fingers. I read once that even if you are only responsible for 10% of the problem, you need to take 100% responsibility for that 10%. And I was responsible for a lot more than 10%.

After meeting with my parents and our pastors, I called my parents to see how they were feeling. It wasn't good. I reached my breaking point. Cried out to my mom and asked to come home. I asked for forgiveness without pointing fingers. She came and picked me up right away. I was brought home. I received unconditional forgiveness, mercy, and love. In one night, my burdens were taken away.

I thank God for my parent's tough love. I needed to be cut off. Without it, I would have continued to be selfish and blame others. Those two months of isolation from my family, gave God the opportunity to work on my heart. He showed me the desperate state of my heart. I realized that I wasn't "good". I needed a Savior. And he loved me when I was in the depths of my mess. He didn't love me more when I was going to church, or being 'good.' He died for me when I was in the midst of sinning. Grace became real to me when I understood my depravity.

God lifted me from the depths. My relationship with my family was restored to a better place than ever before. My mom is one of my best friends. It is truly a miracle. She and my dad gave me grace beyond measure. We were reconciled in the beginning of June of 2008. Seven months later, Kim and I were married. This is mostly due to my parents' encouragement and forgiveness. They did not hold anything against us. 

This story isn't about me. It's about what God has done. He took a broken girl, a broken family, and made them new. My marriage is a testament to God's goodness. We will be married six years on January 17th, and I cannot take any credit. All the glory belongs to Jesus. It's his story.

You know what really grinds my gears?

This post is a slight rant. Ok, maybe a full on rant, but I think it needs to be said. I get a little frustrated when I see this picture, and similar ones on Pinterest.

Photo Credit

In general, I agree with the statement. Children shouldn't be the excuse for not working out. You should workout so that you can keep up with them and be the healthiest mom you can be. Working out is good for your body and mind. It can help keep you sane!

At the same time, I feel like this little phrase gets thrown around as if, you should look the same, workout the same, have the same expectations as you did before kids. Nothing should change just because you have kids. And that's a load of B.S.

Having young kids completely changes your world. It normally revolves around them: nap time, feedings, diaper changes, snuggle time, book time, tantrum time, etc. If you're a working mom, or have multiple kids, or any other reason, it can get even harder! So the fact, you are able to get a workout in, is freaking amazing!

Kids are a reason, you are exhausted. There's no way, I'm waking up early to workout. I normally, am praying that Tali will sleep till 7am. Normally she is awake at 6am. And of course, she was up at least once during the night. Then there's the oldest one, who generally speaking, sleeps through the night, but not always. Straight sleep? Yeah, right. On a side note, I love how one of the primary ways to help lose weight is getting enough sleep. Ha. Ha. Ha. That's funny. And it's not going to happen. Can I get a 'Amen'?

Kids are a reason your workouts won't look the same. This year I am committed to working out at least 5 times a week. When my husband is home I can get a straight workout in. That's one day out of the week, the other four days I'm on my own. My goal is to get Tali down for her morning nap, then start my workout. I might have 30 minutes to workout, quickly take a 5 minute shower, before she wakes up again. Most days, I have to improvise. Ten minutes here, another fifteen there, maybe some stretching or squats while making dinner. Most of the time I have to stop midway to help someone go to the bathroom, change a poopy diaper, stop the baby from playing in the dog's dish. You get the picture. Working out isn't the same with kids. It's not an excuse, just a reality.

Kids are the reason you probably won't look the same. Even if I lost all the weight that I want, and became very fit, I would still not look the same. I have stretch marks. I'm pretty sure my hips are permanently wider. I don't think you can give birth to two 9 pound girls and not have some type of permanent change to your body. Things change. That's ok.

Kids are the reason that your priorities shift. I want to be healthy and strong. At the same time, I want to model for my daughters that I don't hate my body just because it's not what it used to be. I don't want them to see my shame my body. I want them to see me exercise, eat right, and be positive. I also want them to realize that they are my greatest gifts. So if Jessie wants me to snuggle when I was hoping to workout, I'm choosing snuggle time. I won't get that time back. If Tali needs me, I'm there. If I was up most of the night with two sick girls, working out can wait for another day. Priorities change when you have kids.

Kids are a reason. They aren't an excuse. Sometimes it requires ingenuity and adaptation to workout. Sometimes it means changing your old way of thinking. Once you have kids, your life is never the same. It is forever changed for the good. Children are a blessing. And I want to be there for all the amazing moments ahead. Which is why I work out. I eat healthy. I choose not to get frustrated when my workouts get cut short, or I don't look the same.

This post is merely meant to be a shout out to the reality. Life with kids is an ever changing, amazing, hard, crazy world. Do your best. And enjoy the ride!

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."