The Yearning For Simplicity

My husband often teases me that I was born in the wrong decade or era.  And he would be correct and incorrect all at the same time.  As a Christian, I know that God planned for me to be, and he did not make a mistake.  But my human heart sometimes (or more often than not lately) believes he did.

You, see...

I long for simpler times.  I long for a time when it was acceptable for--and even expected of--women to marry, keep house, and raise children.  I long for a time when women could just be women.  We did not have to be superwomen--able to do the tasks and works of both man and woman.  It was ok to just be a woman.  Feminism did not exist.  Working outside of the home was unheard of.

Cue the gasps!

I must be crazy, right?  After all, I am a nurse practitioner and this is only capable because of the feminism movement.  Without feminism, such a position and education for a woman would have been ridiculous...impossible...unheard of.

And yet, I still yearn for simpler times because there will always be some kind of sacrifice.  You have to decide what sacrifices you are willing to make and live with.

For me, I would sacrifice education, profession, finer things for more time with my husband and son.  At this moment, it's far past my bedtime, but my son is sleeping in my arms, and I am gladly sacrificing my sleep to watch his sweet face as he dreams and wonder what caused that smile to briefly cross his face or to watch his little chest rise and fall and ponder on the miraculousness and beauty of life.  By having a profession, I miss out on moments like these.  I feel robbed of watching him grow and learn and discover.  And that is not a sacrifice I'm ok with.  But, I am expected to work...to give up time with my husband and son to care for the loved ones of another.  I am expected to balance a profession, continuing education, household duties, the roles of wife and mother and daughter and friend.

...but my heart does not want to keep up this juggling act...

As I juggle everything, I realize that I have become mediocre at best and that I fail more than I reign victorious.  I find myself apologizing to my husband for not helping him as much as I know he would like me to on home repairs or for yet another boring dinner because it was easy and I'm tired.  I am plagued with guilt that someone else raises my son while I work.  I feel cheated out of motherhood.  I feel jealousy towards the women who are able to be stay-at-home mama to their children and who get to create a welcoming safe-haven of rest for their husband.  I feel exhausted.  I feel the weight of my shortcomings.  I yearn for the clock to stop.  Because maybe then I could catch up...

And tonight, on my way home, the dam broke and the tears streamed down my face.

I'm going to be unpopular for saying this, but I don't believe we were created to live this way.  I do not believe we were created to feel so stretched thin or to sacrifice the things that mean the most to us.  I do not believe we were created to carry all of the stress and worry and anxiety that comes with our juggling acts.  I believe that we were created for something much simpler--for fellowship, to praise and worship our God, for love.

I don't have the answers.  I don't know how to change this.  But, I do know this...

It's ok if my only goal in life is to be a good wife and mother.  It's ok to just want to love on my man and my little one.  It's ok to be a woman who views the old ways as better than the modern.  It's ok to yearn for simplicity.

Oh, Be Careful

As I was growing up, I was always taught to think before speaking or acting, to be mindful of what I absorbed into my brain--whether through music, books, television or movies, etc.--and to guard my heart, holding to Biblical truths.  These things were reiterated and emphasized time and time again by my parents, Sunday school teachers and youth group leaders, and various other role models in my life.  Now that I'm an adult, I can see the value of these lessons and how wise it is to teach children such things.  And, I am thankful that these things were held in such high importance to those who had greatest influence on molding and shaping me.

Train up a child in the way he should go,

and when he is old he will not depart from it"

(Proverbs 22:6).

But I don't think I fully realized just how vital these lessons were (and still are) until I became a mother and became responsible for filtering out what was acceptable or unacceptable, appropriate or inappropriate for another human being.  I don't think I really examined how closely I held to these lessons until I realized that little eyes would always be watching me, observing me, imitating me, and learning from me how to navigate through life.  And as my husband and I are navigating our way through this journey of parenting a little one, we have come to the conclusion that we must set the precedent now as to what we will allow or not allow our son to be exposed to.  He may be too young to comprehend all that goes on around him at this time, but one day, he will understand.  When that day comes, my husband and I are responsible for training him and equipping him to filter out the bad from the good.

As I have been thinking on this, I am reminded of a couple of songs that I've learned and listened to and sang along with over the years.  The first I learned as a child, and back then, it was probably no more to me than a catchy song we sang at church.  But now, I see the significance of it and the lesson that can be gleaned from it. 

You may know it too.

"Oh, be careful little eyes what you see.

Oh, be careful little eyes what you see.

For the Father up above is looking down in love.

Oh, be careful little eyes what you see."

And if you go on to sing the additional verse, you know that it continues with "oh, be careful little ears what you hear...oh, be careful little tongue what you say...oh, be careful little hands what you do...oh, be careful little feet where you go...oh, be careful little heart whom you trust...oh, be careful little mind what you think."  We all explore and learn about the world around us through what we see, what we hear, what we say or what others say, what we do, where we go, whom we allow to have influence in our lives, and the thoughts that we think.  This shows us just how important it is to be equipped with the knowledge of how God desires us to respond to the world around us, what we should allow into our lives, and what we should filter right back out.  After all, garbage in...garbage out. 

The second song came out in 2007 around the time I was transitioning from high school to college.  It speaks to the slippery slide we can find ourselves on if we choose to remove the filters, even for a moment.  Because after all, it doesn't happen all at once.  It's a slow fade.

       

As Calan grows, it is my prayer and heart’s desire that he will become a young man who is loving and kind, who does not become jealous of what someone else is or has, who is humble and respectful of others, who has a servant heart and has self control, who does not let his temper get the best of him, who is patient and gracious and merciful...forgiving others even if they don’t deserve it by the world’s standards, who holds Truth as the most important possession he has.  I pray he grows to be a young man who loves the Lord and aims to live his life accordingly. I pray he is a peaceful and gentle man.  And I pray that he comes to discover, as I have, how important it is to hold to the things we were taught as a child—to refrain from speaking if it is not true, helpful, inspiring, necessary, or kind; to be choosey about what is watched and listened to and repeated; to hold to God’s Word because it is the ultimate life line. I pray that he too will learn to guard his heart for it is the wellspring of life. 

The Outpouring

Yesterday started like most days for me.

By 6:15 a.m. on this particular Saturday in February, Rika decided it was time for "mama" to get up because, you know, she has things to do.  (I count my blessings that she let me sleep in an extra hour than usual.)  So, I rolled out of bed and followed her down the stairs.  I let her out and then proceeded to go through my morning routine.

Prenatal vitamin.  Check.  Fresh pot of coffee started.  Check.  Breakfast for us early morning risers.  Check.  Dishwasher unpacked and whatever stray dishes could be found around the house loaded into the then empty dishwasher, load of laundry started.  Check, check.

Then, sitting down with my one cup of coffee for the day, I read my daily devotional and checked my email before turning on the news to see what weather would be blessing my day.  As soon as the weather was forecasted for the day, I changed the channel.  Because, honestly, who other than my husband actually enjoys watching the news??  (Not me!)

I settled in on my comfy sofa, and I'll be honest, I didn't move until I heard the washing machine sing it's tune meaning that the cycle was done and it was time for that load to be switched over to the dryer.  By this time, it was about 8 a.m., so I switched the load over and then decided I should probably exercise, shower, and get ready so I could be out the door by 9:30.

You see, it was to be a celebration day.

Yesterday, over 50 of us--young and old--packed into my mother's house to celebrate the upcoming debut of our little nugget (Baby Stralow, for those of you who haven't been around enough to hear my husband or myself refer to this little one as "nugget").  And can I just tell you that I was EXTREMELY blessed by this celebration.  The outpouring of love from friends and family left me in awe, and I am so very grateful.  I got to see people I haven't seen in months to probably even years.  I got to visit and laugh and eat and just have a wonderful time with these ladies who took the time out of their day to come and love on me and this precious, precious little one.  And as grateful as I am for all the gifts and all the ladies that showed up and all of their love and friendship over the years, there was one gift that touched my heart above all else and left me in tears.    

Can I be honest with you?

I don't like to cry.  Especially not in front of others.  And I'm not a "crier."  For the most part, I try to keep my composure.  I fail at times, yes, but I believe (for the most part) that I do a pretty good job of "keeping it together."

But with this gift...  I couldn't.

I lost it.

And, I'm not talking about a few tears streaming down the face that you can easily wipe away without smudging your mascara.  I'm talking about emotion leaking through your eyes that leaves you wondering if you're "ugly crying" in front of a room full of people and wanting to bow your head to hide said emotion.

My heart had overflowed, and I just could not contain it despite my valiant attempt.

You see...

When my husband and I found out we were expecting, I had mixed emotions.  Yes, we were ecstatic! We had been trying (and failing) for over a year to get pregnant.  So, a positive pregnancy test was absolutely joyous.  But, it also came with the realization for me that my grandparents--my Poppi, my Grandma Wiersema, my Grandpa and Grandma Gaul--would never hear me tell them that they were going to be great grandparents again...that I would never get to see the joy on their faces as they got to hold my precious little one for the first time...that my little one would never ever know the wonderful people that my grandparents were...that my little one would never ever get to hear Poppi tell his jokes that he could never remember the punch line to or that my little one would never get random cards from Grandma Gaul telling them how proud she was of them and how she prayed over them daily.  So, such joyous news also brought sadness with it despite knowing in my heart, that someday, we will all be reunited because we have the comfort of knowing that my grandparents all knew the Lord as their personal Savior prior to their passing.

Although all death is hard, the deaths of my Grandpa and Grandma Gaul are still relatively fresh--both passing within the past year and a half.  And yesterday, I was given a gift that is going to allow my little one to know that they were prayed for and loved by my Grandma Gaul even though she never got the opportunity to welcome them into this world and hold them and kiss their sweet little cheeks.

So, I lost it.

And even now, I'm losing it.

Encore of the tears.

Prior to the baby shower, my mother had told me that the three gifts in the similar bags did not mean that the gifts were all together.  She informed me that one gift bag was from her, the other two were from "someone else."  At the time, I didn't truly understand what she meant.  I just figured one of my elderly relatives was unable to attend and so they had asked my mother to take care of the gift/gift wrapping for them as this is not an uncommon thing for my mother to do for others.

When it came time to open these three gift bags, I opened the one from my mother first.  We ooo'd and awe'd over the gifts like us ladies do.  Then I reached in to get the card from the other bags--which were tied together--and began to read:

          Angela,
          On Christmas day, I was sorting through Grandma's sewing stuff.  As I was
          sorting, I found the beginnings of this gift.  I knew if Grandma was still here, 
          that she would want me to finish these for her to give to you.  So...here is the 
          finished product.
          She would be so happy and proud to have known this little one is on its way.
          And, as fragile as she was, she would have wanted to hold and love your 
          little one.  So here is a little piece of Grandma Gaul for you to cherish.
          She loved you dearly!
          Mom

I bowed my head as tears began to roll down my cheeks, tucked the card into my lap, and began to slowly untie the ribbon holding the bags together.  I pulled out the tissue paper, and I lost it.  Because there, in that bag, was a blanket that my Grandma had started--but never got to finish--that matched my blanket she had made for me when I was a little girl, a blanket that I still have although mine is tattered and torn from years of being snuggled with and dragged around through who knows what exactly.  And then as I reached into the second bag, there was another familiar pattern of a choo-choo-train blanket that my Grandma had made for my older brother when he was a child--a blanket that he still has to this day.  One blanket if Baby Stralow is a boy, one blanket if Baby Stralow is a girl.

After blubbering for a bit, I finally regained my composure.  But, I lost it again when I went home and showed my husband the blankets...when I put the blankets upstairs in the baby's room on display...and then again when I took pictures of the blankets.  ...and then again this morning as I've attempted to put down these words...

Yesterday was truly an outpouring of love and support from many.

But, to my little one from your Great Grandma Gaul...

May you one day realize that you were prayed for, yearned for, and loved on before you were even known to be.

- the new and the old, from Grandma Gaul -

Code Brown

Last night, we had crawled into bed just like any other night, and we fell asleep.  I was sound asleep.  Very soundly.  Maybe for the first time in several weeks.  Only to be awakened by my precious husband rolling over, gently pushing me into consciousness, and uttering:

"Poop.  All I smell is poop."

Still in a stupor, I reply, "What?"

"Don't you smell that?!  All I smell is poop!"

And then my nostrils were assaulted.

Ugh...

Justin turned on the nightstand light, and I looked at our dog, laying on the floor beside the bed, who is now trying to sink herself into the floor as though she might be able to disappear if she just gets close enough to the carpet.  Guilt was written all over her face.  I threw back the covers and rolled out of bed (because at 33 weeks pregnant, rolling is pretty much all you can do).

"Rika, get downstairs."

Instead of obeying and starting the descent down the stairs, she sank closer to the floor.

"Rika, I'm not kidding you.  Get downstairs now."

Justin then propped himself up in bed and cried out, "Just go!  Both of you."

Thanks, honey...

I grabbed Rika's collar, gently pulled her to her feet and walked her to the bedroom door.  Reluctantly, she finished the trek to the downstairs by herself.  I followed, turning on lights as I went. As I descended the stairs, the stench worsened.  I stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked around in horror.

Rika, now in her bed, looked sheepishly at me.  My shoulders slumped, I shook my head, and then headed cautiously into the kitchen--watching my every step--to get my cleaning gloves and cleaning supplies.

Poop.  Everywhere.  In every single carpeted room of the downstairs in addition to the office, the bathroom, and the dining room.  And not the kind that's "easy" to clean up.  This was the kind that just seeped into the carpet and stained everything it touched.  And the smell...  Oh, the smell!!

Forty-five minutes later, I had scrubbed all of the floors, sprayed them down with carpet cleaner (pet-strength that supposedly makes stains and odors disappear magically), and sprinkled baking soda over every single last spot she had marked in an attempt to get rid of the foul odor that consumed my downstairs.  I let Rika outside to see if there was more to the job that she had yet to finish and then gave her a healthy dose of Kaopectate before refilling her water bowl.

I checked the house one more time, just to make sure I hadn't missed any spots that might catch a bare foot unsuspecting.

All clear...  I think.

As I ascended the stairs, my only thought was, "And so it begins..."   Motherhood had greeted me, in the middle of the night with a code brown.

I rolled back into bed, now officially wide awake after spending an hour cleaning and caring for the pup, and laid there staring blankly at the ceiling.  Until I started laughing.

Justin rolled over and looked at me like I was crazy.

"What?"

"All I smell is poop," I said teasingly through my laughter.

He blinked, looked at me with his not-so-awake eyes, rolled back over, and whispered, "Well, I wasn't sure if it was just a crazy dream or reality."

Well, it was reality.

That code brown was definitely reality...

Dust

"Dust begs us to believe the promises of God no longer apply to us.

That the reach of God falls just short of where we are.

And that the hope of God has been snuffed out by the consuming darkness all around us.

We want God to fix it all.

Edit this story so it has a different ending.

Repair this heartbreaking reality.

But what if fixing, editing, and repairing

isn't at all what God has in mind for us in this shattering?

What if, this time, God desires to make something completely brand-new?

Right now.  On this side of eternity.

No matter how shattered our circumstances may seem.

Dust is the exact ingredient God loves to use...

We can see dust as a results of an unfair breaking.

Or we can see dust as a crucial ingredient...

Dust doesn't have to signify the end.

Dust is often what must be present for the new to begin...

If we weren't ever shattered we'd never know the glorious touch 

of the Potter making something glorious out of dust, out of us."

-Lysa Terkeurst

I will admit that I can be a bit dramatic at times and make mountains out of mole hills.  I can throw myself a pity party and make my circumstances seem and appear much worse than they are.  I am capable of wallowing.  But in reality, there have only been a few times in my life where my circumstances have left me feeling truly shattered to the point of dust.  Where I have laid crumpled in a ball, clutching myself in a tight embrace, as I sobbed to the point of struggling to breathe.  Where I felt...irreparable.

Now, I'm not talking about just general life struggles.  I'm talking about those times in life where you just don't know how you could possibly go on, how you could possibly take another breath let alone another step.

Such a time occurred my junior year of college.

I was in my hardest semester of nursing school, when in reality I thought I didn't even want to be a nurse and had vowed I was going to switch majors numerous times.  I had made the decision to quit the track team for the sake of my physical health only to realize how much of my identity was in being a collegiate level track athlete so very close to achieving a national-qualifying jump.  I was engaged, and then I wasn't.  In the same week my engagement ended, my grandfather passed away.  And during it all, I was seven hours from everything familiar, realizing I had no one because I had isolated and alienated myself from any potential close friendships because I was constantly "too busy" to make time to go grab a cup of coffee or take a walk or run errands with them.  To make matters worse, all of this happened during the holidays--the supposed best time of the year.

When I had first made the trek to Northwestern College for freshman orientation, I thought college was going to be this awesome experience--learning, meeting new people, achieving goals, etc.  Now, don't get me wrong.  I hate change just as much as the next person so I almost turned around in the middle of my seven hour drive to go back home and enroll at the local community college.  But, I continued the drive and landed in Orange City, Iowa where an experience definitely did await me.  It just wasn't the experience I had hoped for.

So, after my four years of study, I left NWC with a bachelor's degree in nursing and a whole lot of hurt, anger, frustration, and questions.  The kind of questions you don't even know where to begin to find the answers to.

I felt like God had forgotten me and that He no longer cared what happened to me.  I felt like every good was gone.  I felt hopeless and asked several times a day, "What is the point of all of this?"  I questioned God.  Grilled Him, really.  But my anger wouldn't allow me to accept answers of waiting on Him or trusting Him in His timing.  I turned very cynical.  I was miserable.  And to say I was disappointed during this time would have been a gross understatement.

I wish I could say that I snapped out of this quickly.  But I didn't.  What I did eventually learn, however, is that I am never beyond repair.  God will never forsake me, but as Lysa Terkeurst says, "...He will go to great lengths to remake..." me.

And He did.

Nine years have passed since that time.  And looking back on that time allows me to see where God was through it all, the blessings that came of tragedy and challenges.  And as I look back at it, I'm grateful for that time.  I'm glad for the remaking.  Because out of it, I found very dear friendships.  I found a new closeness with my mother that could not have been achieved any other way.  I found out where my identity truly lies.  I found out that I was indeed called by God to be a nurse, and now, a nurse practitioner.  I found the man God wanted for me rather than just a man to marry.  And now, I am awaiting a blessed gift of life in the form of a child with the man God had in store for me.

There are still times when I question what God is doing and even think that maybe I could do things better.  There are still times when I wish God would intervene when He doesn't.  And there are still times when I feel disappointed.  Because if I were honest with myself, I want to be in control and I want things to be defined the way I would define them rather than how God would define them. And I'm sure there will be times in the future that I struggle with relinquishing control.

NOTE: Picture from Proverbs31.org

But if I relinquish my desire to be in charge, I get to witness God making something new, creating life, bring about good, and shining His light into the seemingly darkest of times.  "If I want His promises, I have to trust His process" (Lysa Terkeurst).

"But now, O Lord, you are our Father;

we are the clay, and you are our potter;

we are all the work of your hand."

- Isaiah 64:8

     

Sticks and Stones

Whoever said "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me" obviously never had a harsh word spoken to them.  Especially not a harsh word from an unexpected place that once was considered a safe zone, a place of security.

As children, we respond with this catchy string of words, claiming that a lie is truth.  We've been hurt.  But we won't admit it.  So we claim to be immune to words that cut deep and cause us to bleed.  And eventually, those cuts turn into scars that leave us jaded in some way or another.

I'm sure that, if I were to ask you, you could come up with at least one example of a time where someone spoke something to you--whether out of malice or not, intentional or unintentional--that left a stinging mark.  And I'm sure that, if I asked you to think a little bit more, you could come up with another example where that stinging response from someone came from someone you trusted, someone you thought was your safe zone or your security blanket.  Because the truth is, we live in a world full of humans.  And humans have unloving moments.

But we have a choice when we're faced with the reality that, not only do sticks and stones break bones, but that words truly do hurt.

Either we can lash out.

Or we can step back long enough to breathe, acknowledge and surrender the hurt, and then question how we can extend grace and forgiveness towards the offender--even if they never apologize.

Can I be honest with you?

It's not easy to choose the second choice.  It's not easy to bite your tongue or refrain from lashing back.  It's not easy to say, "I forgive you," before being prompted by an apology.  It's not easy to realize that you have no idea why someone said what they said or did what they did to you and still extend grace.  It's not easy to not burn with anger on the inside or seek revenge when someone has hurt you and doesn't even seem to care that they did so.  And sometimes we don't make the right choice and we choose to extol hurt upon the hurter, leading us down a vicious circular path.  And it's all a part of this beautiful disarray of a journey that each and every one of us is on.  We are on a learning curve.  Sometimes we'll get it right.  Sometimes we won't.

May I share a few things with you?

If someone says you are a failure...  Remind yourself that you are victorious in Christ.  If someone says you are a coward...  Remind yourself that God makes you brave.  If someone says you are weak...  Remind yourself that God chose the weak things to shame the strong.  If someone says you are not enough...  I am here to tell you that you are indeed enough, so much so that Jesus is willing to leave the 99 to come find you.  If someone says that you give up too easily...  Remind yourself that there is a time to keep searching and a time to give up as lost.  If someone says you're not smart enough...  Remind yourself that God uses the foolish things to confound the wise.  Whatever they may say to you, remember that they do not define you.  

And please remember this...

Whatever the harsh words are that someone is whispering or screaming into your soul, you do still have a choice.

The Bumpy Road To Dreams

If you've lived life and paid even a little bit of attention to the surrounding world, you are aware that people talk a lot about dreams.  Chasing dreams, fulfilling dreams, living the dream, etc.  And everyone's dream or dreams are a little bit different.

My dreams have always been simple, and I'll be honest, there have been times where I have been ashamed of my dreams because they seem too old-fashioned for the world we live in today.  But yet, my dreams have always been simple, and remain simple.  Simple and few in number.  My dreams have always consisted of two things:

I want to be a wife.  I want to be a mother.

Anyone that has had a first-row seat to my life, you know that it's been a bumpy road.  I did not navigate the waters of the dating world easily--going on a lot of first dates without many second dates; becoming frustrated with the quality of supposedly "good, Christian" men that were "still available"; joking that I was going to be the crazy old lady who sits in her living room and crochets all evening with her dog at her feet; and eventually giving up hope that I would ever meet my person.  But, in July 2016, I did meet my person.  And let me tell you--I LOVE my person.  It's been a little messy along the way, but we repeatedly tell each other that we would choose each other and marry all over again, without hesitation.  There's no one else I want to be in for the long-haul with.

The journey to motherhood, like my journey to finding my person, has been far less than smooth.  When we decided that we wanted to start our family, we were excited.  We anticipated the day that we would have a positive pregnancy test.  We anticipated being able to share the news with family and friends, the preparation, the debut of our little one.

But the day of a positive pregnancy test didn't come.  I bought the AVA bracelet after five months of failure and wore it faithfully every night, carefully tracking my symptoms, my menstrual cycles, my ovulation days, etc.  ...and yet, that positive pregnancy test didn't come.  And didn't come.  And didn't come.

For 12 months, we faced the reality every month that we were not pregnant.

Every month, tears would fall.  I would feel like a failure because my body "wasn't working."  And the fear that I was infertile would settle in deep.  Justin would comment that maybe he was the infertile one, and I would tell him that it couldn't possibly be him--it had to be me.  I would read about alternative methods to conceive (e.g. artificial insemination, IVF, etc), and I would be appalled and disgusted.  I would look into adoption agencies and the adoption process.  I would give up hope.  And Justin would tell me to just wait, that we'd try again.  

After 12 months of trying, we decided to set up an appointment to discuss infertility.  I was both looking forward to getting answers and dreading what I would hear at this appointment simultaneously.  Our appointment was scheduled for a Monday afternoon.  The Sunday before, I realized that I was three days late.  A very unusual occurrence.  My cycles were like clockwork--every 26 days.  I sheepishly informed Justin of this, not wanting to get our hopes up.  And we decided that it was time to get a pregnancy test because neither of us wanted to look like idiots if we showed up to an infertility appointment and were actually pregnant.

So, I drove to the local Dollar General.  I bought several pregnancy tests, just in case.  I drove home.  I debated whether I should test that evening or wait until the morning when it would be that recommended first morning void.

Impatience got the better of me.

I locked myself in the bathroom, took the test, and sat for 5 minutes, fearful to even look at the result.  When I finally did look at the result, I was in disbelief.

Positive.

I walked into the living room.  I looked at Justin.  He looked at me.  And I said:

"Girls wear pink, and boys wear blue.

Which one will be had by me and you?"

It took him a second.  He had this look of utter surprise and disbelief on his face.  And he whispered, "Really?"  

Really, really.  

Yet, we were still skeptical.  So we waited and took another.  

Still positive.

So, that Monday, I called and cancelled our infertility appointment.  The receptionist kindly asked if I would like to reschedule.  And I quietly, still in disbelief, informed her that I had taken a pregnancy test and it was positive.  To my surprise, she squealed with joy.  This complete stranger squealed with joy.  For us.  For our positive pregnancy test.  And my scared and skeptical heart allowed a glimmer of hope to enter.  

We were given an appointment for a couple of weeks later.  But the day before that appointment, I started spotting, and my heart sunk.  As a nurse practitioner, I knew that spotting could be "normal" during the first trimester, and I knew that given the characteristics of my spotting, that there was nothing wrong.  But, my first-time-pregnant heart panicked.  I feared the worst--a miscarriage.  So, I quit running and decided to switch to less jarring forms of physical exercise.  And I watched the spotting like a hawk.  And my heart just knew that I would go to our appointment and be told that I was not pregnant.  But, our first appointment came.  I told the obstetrician about the spotting.  He decided to get an ultrasound, which did show a minor bleed.  However, he reassured me that it was ok and to let him know if anything changed.  

The spotting stopped (but the morning sickness, of course, continued).  We had our second appointment, we got the all-okay, and we breathed a sign of relief that we had finally exited the first trimester.  

We are now entering week 14.  

Doubt is starting to fade, and as it fades, it is being replaced by excitement, hope, and anticipation.  And as the excitement, hope, and anticipation build, we realize that this is our own personal miracle from God.  This was our dream, a dream that we were certain would not come true.  But as that dream became reality, I was reminded of a verse that God had placed on my heart early on in the journey towards parenthood:

"Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly

than all that we ask or think,

according to the power at work within us,

to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus

throughout all generations, forever and ever.  Amen."

- Ephesians 3:20-21

It's been a bumpy road.  But we have arrived.  By His grace.  Because He is faithful.  And He knows the desires of our hearts.  And He is merciful.  And He is giving.  And He is indeed a good, good Father.  And indeed, it is good to trust in His timing, His perfect plan, His way.  For this child, Justin and I have prayed for what seems like an eternity.  And the Lord has granted us the desires of our hearts.  He has fulfilled our dream.  To Him be all the glory!