Abigail's birth story

Luke just swept all six older kids out the door and to Elizabeth's last basketball practice, which means I have approximately 15 minutes to catch you up to speed on what happened over our long, exciting, exhausting weekend. (I started this post on March 9th, by the way, so now all the kids are tucked into bed and Luke is watching March Madness. It's only taken me 8 days to get back to finishing this post. I can't quit snuggling my newborn.)

Incase you haven't heard, I HAD A BABY! Before my due date, without being induced.

Y'all, it's a miracle. I'm serious.

First of all, on Friday around lunchtime, Lucas fell and busted his mouth pretty bad. It required a trip to the oral surgeon to get stitched up. He's doing pretty good now, most of his swelling is gone but he's still pretty bruised. That's a whole post within itself. But I tell you that to say that on Friday, while we were going all over the place to get his mouth evaluated I had several contractions. They were very sporadic and I knew they were because of stress. By the time things calmed down on Friday night, they'd subsided.

Flash forward to Monday morning. I woke up feeling fine. My Mom texted me and asked if she could bring dinner.

Um. Yes! Do I ever say no to that?

She asked what I would like and I, jokingly said "hospital food."

About 10:30 I noticed I was having several contractions and figured I should probably time them. I wasn't getting my hopes up because, honestly, they really didn't hurt too much. I figured they were probably Braxton Hicks (who is that guy anyway?) and that they'd pass.

Later, I went to the bathroom and noticed that I had lost a bit of my mucus plug. Again, I didn't think too much about it because I was taking some Mucinex medicine for the cough/cold the kids had so generously passed to me.

Share their cookies or dessert? Never. Share the kennel cough? Always.

Anyway, over the next hour I had several more contractions and continued with my pee-every-10-minutes habit. On the 3rd trip to the bathroom it was obvious that I was really loosing my mucus plug and these contractions, though inconsistent in time, were the real thing.

I called my OB's office. Since my uterus is so floppy, he'd told me to call and come in at the first sign of labor so that they could ensure that Baby Girl was head down. I got to the OB about 1:00 the nurse practitioner checked me and said I was a "loose 1." When she stripped my membranes though she said I stretched to 3 cm and not be surprised if I was a 2 upon leaving.

My mom and I grabbed some lunch and my contractions became a bit more intense as well as consistent. They were every 8-12 minutes but I was still able to talk through them. I decided to see if the chiropractor could get me in that day since I was hopeful I'd be giving birth in the next 24-36 hours (little did I know it would be sooner than that!).

I left the chiropractor's office about 3:30 and headed home with contractions coming about every 10 minutes. I called our babysitter/nanny Amanda and asked her if she'd stay for a while so that I could go for a walk when I got home in the hopes of getting these contractions a little closer together.

At this point, I was still not getting my hopes up. I was seriously thinking that it could all just stop or, worse, it could last for days. After all, I was hardly dilated at the doctor just a few hours earlier.

I got home and went for a very short walk because it was super cold outside. My friend Brittany came over (to walk with me) but by the time she got there, contractions were every 7-9 minutes apart. I called Luke about 4:15 and told him he'd better head on home. He got home about 4:45 at which time my contractions were every 3.5 - 5 minutes and we left for the hospital shortly afterwards.

We got to the hospital about 5:30. I was checked into the Labor and Delivery suite, the nurse checked me and I was about 5 cm. Within 30 minutes intense contractions began. You know, the ones where you feel like your pelvis is literally going to snap in half?

I had wanted so much to go into labor on my own and next to that I wanted to try to deliver without an epidural. Don't ask me why. I can't answer that. But I'd had epidurals with every other pregnancy and they'd only half taken so I figured I could do it without one. Luke was an amazing support for me. He kept praying over me and telling me that I could do it, even though I had some serious doubts as to whether or not I'd lost my mind wanting to do this thing delivery thing at all, much less without meds.

About 6:15 the nurse checked me and I was at 7cm. I labored about 30 more minutes and started wondering why labor and delivery had always been my favorite part of pregnancy. I'm pretty sure I thought I was going to fall into a heap of pain and misery right there on the floor of the delivery room. And I probably would have too had I not been so worried about not being able to get up. At about 6:50pm I asked the nurse to check me again. I figured if I wasn't progressing, then I'd go ahead and get the epidural. I was at an 8.5cm. The OB was called and he took a SWEET FOREVER TO GET THERE. I think he decided to walk backwards on his hands up to the labor and delivery suite.

Ahem. Not really. But it felt that way.

The OB finally arrived, I pushed for about 15 minutes and at 7:28pm Abigail Mercy drew her first breath.

Experiencing labor and delivery without an induction and without an epidural was just another confirmation that labor and delivery are indeed my favorite part of pregnancy. You know, besides that little part of pregnancy where you get a baby at the end.

We are all so completely in love with little Abigail and now, 12 days later, I'm finding it hard to remember what life was like without her.

All of the children are smitten with her. They ask me 7,592 times a day if they can hold her. Then they just sit and stare at her. I think we're all in awe that God has blessed us, yet again, with a beautiful, healthy baby.

Ella calls her "Baybay Ab-duh-dayle" and screeches every time she sees her. I keep waiting for her excitement with having a new baby to wear off, but so far it hasn't. She's just so sweet with her.

My amazingly talented and incredibly generous friend Lindsey was present in the delivery room and took the breathtaking photos you see here. You can see more by clicking here. Her photos make birth look like a fairy tale, don't they? I love that she stands with me in awe at the miracle of childbirth. What a blessing to be able to watch your children enter the world.

Introducing...

Abigail Mercy

Born: Monday, March 5, 2012 at 7:28pm

6 pounds, 13 ounces 20.5 inches long

(photos by Light of Mine Photography)

We are so in love with her and we cannot stop praising God for His blessings. She's tiny but not for long. She likes to eat. A lot. :)

Birth story and details soon!

I'm words, he's numbers: Thoughts from the mind of my man

I don't have a perfect marriage. In fact, my pregnancies take their toll on our marriage. I feel so miserable and pukey-bad for the first 4 - 5 months, love the middle 8 or 9 weeks, then I slip into that slightly-less-comfortable-than-a-beached-whale phase for the last 2 months.

Needless to say, I'm cranky for a lot of the time that I gestate our babies. My sweet husband fills right in where I leave off, taking care of kids, laundry, housework, you name it. But it's hard on him.

By far, this has been the hardest pregnancy for both of us.

Add to that that I'm a woman of many words and my husband is, well, a man of less than many words. Especially when he's thinking about something.

Typically I vomit my words all over him, holding little to nothing back, letting every passing emotion sweep across my lips like a flash flood in a monsoon.

But Luke, he's a thinker. I learned a little trick a few years ago on how to move from being a talker to a listener when I'm with my man. It's invaluable for understanding, hearing and really listening to my husband. (Maybe one day I'll share it with you all, if my husband promises not to act like he knows my secret.)

Anyway, just because my sweet man isn't much on for sharing his thoughts and emotions, doesn't mean they don't exists. Before we got married, I'd only seen him cry one time. He shed a few, tender tears during our wedding ceremony. Then, he cried when he found out his dog had died and when we found out his grandfather was in critical condition, likely to die within a matter of days.

Otherwise, he was cool, calm and collected (unless there's inclement weather, then not-so-much). This life of few words, and even fewer raw emotion was the norm. That was, until we had kids. Now, my man isn't afraid to have or show his emotion. And I love it. I love it so very much.

Even though emotion flows easily for him now, he still isn't one to pour out words. Maybe it's because he can't find the right ones or maybe it's because he likes to really make sure he's sure before he speaks.

I think it's because, in our relationship, I'm words, he's numbers.

Today, I got this email from my thinker husband. It brought me to tears and to my knees to thank my Lord that I have such a man who values our children as much as I do and who sees them as the blessing they are. Glory be, how I love this man of mine.

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From Luke today, via email:

So I find myself crying, sobbing, on the way to work this morning. I would apologize for being a man that cries, but I have learned to embrace these kinds of emotions. “You see Billy cried, because, well, he is a crier.” Through certain circumstances I was able to take my oldest daughter to breakfast this morning. As I am in the car driving, images begin to flash through my mind.

• Elizabeth (age 7) being able to get herself completely ready. She took extra time this morning to ‘look nice’ for daddy.
• When I get home from breakfast I see Ella, our youngest (age 2), getting out of the shower {I will not give any more details on that point}.
• I said “see ya” to my very pregnant wife, carrying our soon to be youngest daughter.

You see, this pregnancy has been different for me. In the past, I have taken the role of caring for the older kids and didn’t stop, nor have much time, to think about our new child on the way. With the kids being older now, things are even busier, but it is easier for all of us to spend time together. With this, I am able to enjoy each child and the beauty of what each one holds.

As I am looking through the windshield I think about my 7 yr old daughter and how she showers me with so much love each and every day. Then I remember how proud my 2 yr old was for me to see her being a ‘big girl’. Then I begin to think of our newest daughter on the way and the moments of joy she will bring me as a father and I don’t even know what they are yet.

All of this brings me to the Throne of God. Humbled he would entrust me to make decisions for these children that will shape there lives. Thankful he would bless me with smiles across a breakfast table, naked babies soaking wet with a huge smile, and to feel my daughter move in the womb. I have such a large responsibility to be a Priest, Profit, Provider, and Protector for my family. God equipped me today.

Savoring

I have a sweet (much younger) friend who is due with her first baby any day now. In fact, I snapped a few maternity pictures of her a few weeks ago, both of our abdomens swollen with child.








Isn't she precious?

As her due date slips closer and closer, I see the agony in her posts on facebook, begging her baby boy to come on out and meet the world. I can almost hear her exasperated sighs as she heaves herself off of the couch or out of the bed and shuffles to the bathroom yet again.

I can probably hear her fictitious sighs and empathize with her so well, because I am there too. Those sighs aren't aren't fictitious, they're being continually breathed through my own gritted teeth.

Only being a few weeks behind her in baby-growin' I can totally relate to my young friend. Granted, her uterus is probably a lot less floppy and unstable. And since this is her first pregnancy, and not her fourth, I'd be willing to bet that her hip sockets don't threaten to leave her nearly as frequently as mine do.

But none-the-less, I know she's reaching that pivotal point of miserable.

As I tried my best to encourage her to wait on that sweet boy and not rush for an induction, I found the Lord gently telling me so many things. Which prompted me to think, then write the following letter to myself from the recesses of my own, not-pregnant brain.

Dear 38 week pregnant (for the fourth time) self,

What did you really expect? I mean, this isn't your first rodeo. You know how these things go. You know that you've never, ever had a baby early. You know that you've never, even had a single birth without the help of that devil drug, pitocin. And, most likely, this baby isn't budging until that venom is injected into your veins. So really, maybe you should just chill out with all the natural and herbal attempts.

But more so than that, think about this....

This could be it for you. There is a very real chance that this could be the last time you ever feel those sweet baby kicks, bouncing baby hiccups and a tiny baby tushy rolling around inside you. As you ride in the car, lay in the bed and read stories to your babies, savor every second, every nudge, every painful shove because one day, you're going to miss this.

One day, many years from now, you'll see a largely pregnant woman waddling along and wish, even if for a brief fleeting second, that it was you stuffed into her too tight shoes. One day, you'll look at a mother, shuffling her kids around her like a mother hen with her chicks, her belly so swollen her hip bones are a distant memory, and you'll long to feel that swish, kick and jab deep within your belly. Heck, you might even wish for a foot under your ribs.

One day, when your children are all grown up and having babies of their own, maybe even when this sweet girl you're carrying inside you is carrying her own daughter, you'll vaguely be able to remember what if felt like to have a babe squished so tightly inside you.

One day, you'll know for sure that your child bearing years are over, your eyes will fill with tears, and you'll wonder how you ever got to this place where pregnancy was no longer an option. Maybe your future holds many more newborns, some from your own womb and possibly others from another woman's womb.

But treasure this moment. Treasure the time you have with just you and this sweet girl. Know, with confidence, that this time is fleeting. 30 short days from now, the likelihood is great that this girl will be in your arms and no longer sitting squarely on your bladder. You'll feel the twitch of a muscle, tenderly reach for your stomach and realize, all too quickly, that it's no longer a miracle inside you making that familiar sensation.

Time will fade your memories and one day and you'll wish you had savored these moments just a little more. You'll wish you had slowed down just a bit and enjoyed this time with your baby. Because before you know it, this sweet baby will be sleeping through the night, then using the potty and, all too soon, be able to live life without your constant care.

And in that moment you'll realize that you rushed these moments.

Floppy, Well Worn, Stretched

Those are never words you really enjoy being used in reference to your body. Much less your uterus.

I went to my OB yesterday to see which way little girl was laying. Last week she was breech (butt down). Yesterday, she was transverse (sideways). The OB shifted her to vertex (head down) and then proceeded to describe my uterus in terms that one would enjoy if it referenced jello or homemade banana pudding or even the consistency of perfectly cooked noodles.

Basically, the OB told me my uterus was like a "well worn pair of jeans...nice and comfy," then "floppy and unstable" and finally, "stretched like a used rubberband."

He blamed the twins. I agree. They have a way of wearing things out quickly.

At this point, the plan is for me to buy a pregnancy belt girdle, catch this girl head down and tighten up my stomach so that she can't move. That should be interesting considering she's spinning around like the hands on a clock.

I go back to the OB on Tuesday where he will check her again to see which way she's laying. I'll be 37.5 weeks by then and he said something about me getting to around 38 weeks, turning her to head down then breaking my water so that I'll go into labor.

The good news is that I most likely won't go 42+ weeks with this pregnancy. The bad news is that it's looking like, once again, I'll be induced. Which bums me out.

But I'll focus on the fact that in the next 2 weeks it's very likely I'll have a sweet little girl to cuddle, nuzzle and sniff.

Home stretch, here I come. LITERALLY.

Turn, turn, turn!

Well, if you don't follow me on twitter, or we're not friends on Facebook, you probably haven't heard the latest about my little in-utero trouble maker.

On Thursday night, little girl was doing some sort of alien type moves. At one point a perfect cone was standing an extra 4 inches tall on the left side of my stomach and the right side was a steep slope to the general area of where my hip bone used to be.

It was painful, to say the least.

Friday morning, as I showered, I found it harder than normal to bend over and wash my feet.

At my 36 week check up later that morning, my suspicions were confirmed. Baby girl is breech.

Thus my quest began and I googled everything I could on helping a baby turn from breech to vertex.

So far we've prayed, prayed and prayed. We've asked others to pray, our kids to pray, our friends to pray and begged the Lord for her to turn. I've laid inverted on an ironing board, propped against the couch with an ice pack on the top of my tummy and a hot pack on my pelvis. She moved, she kicked, she turned nearly half way. But this morning, her head was square under my ribs again.

Later this morning, I'm going to the chiropractor and hoping she can adjust my pelvis so that little lady has NO COMFORTABLE option but head down. I'll go again on Wednesday and on Thursday, my OB will see me and evaluate little lady to see if I'm a good candidate for an external cephalic version.

If those things don't work, I'm willing to try acupuncture, walking around exclusively on my hands and pitching a royal fit. I'm also willing to break out The Byrds, put headphones on my belly and blare it as loudly as possible.

I'm praying that when I go to the OB on Thursday, we will discover a head down baby, my water will break and I'll deliver her within the hour. I'd be happy if just the first statement is true, even if I'm praying for all 3.

How ironic would it be to have 3 successful, and pretty much routine, vajayjay deliveries - including a set of twins - and then have a c-section for this little stinker?

Motherhood is no joke

As I swollenly sit on the verge of swaddling, nursing sessions, sweet little diapers and tiny baby noises, I remember, so vividly anticipating the arrival of our first child.

Eight years ago I held another precious baby girl in my womb. Nestled inside, I could only wonder what lay beyond the delivery room doors.  You know, out in the real world. The world of sleepless nights, breastfeeding, colic and growth spurts. I wondered, very little actually, about life beyond the first 12 months of motherhood.

Consumed with thoughts of labor and delivery, soft spots, co-sleeping and nursery decor, I didn't think much about life beyond my baby's first birthday.

Now, that baby is 7.5 years old and about to be a big sister six times over. (And she's really awesome at the big sister gig, if I do say so myself. I think she's more excited about the baby than I am. Too bad people who only see us from a distance think our kids are "suffering" through another sibling.)

Eight years ago, I had NO IDEA that our lives would look the way they do now. Luke and I never really sat and planned out the whole big family thing. It just sort of happened as we followed God's lead. I remember six years ago, when we were eagerly anticipating the arrival of the twins, I would tuck Elizabeth into bed her crib (she was only 22 months old when the twins were born) and then I would sob over the loss of her childhood. I was so afraid she would be scarred for life by having Lucas and Ashlee dropped into her lap before her second birthday.

And if I'm being honest, some days I still worry. Not so much about Elizabeth but more now about Ella, Aaron and Olivia. Am I going to have time for them like I wish? Are they going to resent the baby because she will consume so much of my time? Will Ella have a hard time adjusting to her new life which will entail a lot LESS time on my hip?

But then there the things that happen that prove to me that our children will be just fine.

Olivia knocks her drink off the table and Lucas enthusiastically scrambles to clean it up for her, assuring her that it's okay and it was only an accident and "Bubby will get you some more."

Or a time when Ella is fussy because I'm cooking dinner and can't give her my undivided attention. So Ashlee goes out of her way to entertain her, finding every toy that Ella enjoys and playing with them so ridiculously that Ella can't help but giggle and squeal. Which frees me up to finish making dinner.

Or when I'm gone to Bible study and Luke is trying to put the little three to bed. Without being prompted, Elizabeth cleans off the table, clears all the dishes and puts all the left over food away.

She's SEVEN y'all. We've never asked her to do such a task because, well, she has chores and that's not one of them. But she did so because of the overflow of her tender, loving, serving heart.

God knew she needed to be first among this brood of kids. He knew. And just as He knew all the things that I was overlooking eight years ago as I carried her in my womb, He knows now. He knows that my mind drifts to life beyond the next 12 months much more now than it does the next 12. He knows just how much I want to SLOW DOWN TIME because I'm afraid I will forget so much. I'm afraid I'll look up and eight more years will have passed, just like the last eight have.

But I rest in knowing that the God who orchestrated the complex design of our growing family will lead us in the future, just as He has in the past, if we look to Him.

I rest in knowing that the time of sleepless nights, spit up, seemingly endless fatigue, cereal for dinner - again and loads and load of laundry will be short lived in the grand timeline of my life. I know that when I look back at my life 20 years from now, I'll wonder where it all went and I'll probably laugh at my immature self a whole lot.

Just as God has known from the very beginning that we'd have 7 children in 7.5 years, He too knows how the next months of my life will pan out as we transition to our 7th child. He is good. He is faithful. He's got an incredible sense of humor (I mean, COME ON, 7 kids in 7.5 years?)

And He knows that even though motherhood is no joke, most of the time, it's really funny.

Das Not Funny! Friday: The king is in danger

Oh, it's been way too long since I did a Das Not Funny! Friday post. Way, way too long.

Not sure what Das Not Funny! Friday is? Well, nearly 3 years ago I wrote this little post talking about all the funny things our kids had said over the last several days. At the time, Elizabeth was 4.5 years old and Lucas and Ashlee were a few months shy of 3. Aaron was nearly 12 months old and Olivia was bouncing 5 month old. Our lives were, um, busy to put it mildly.

Our lives were (and still are) also hysterical. Kids kind of have that effect on life, don't they? They make things funny, often funnier than they intend. It never failed that one of our kids would say something funny and Luke and I would try our very best to stifle our laughter.

Typically, Ashlee would hear us laughing, give us the look in the photo above and say, "Mom! Das not funny!"

Which, in turn, made us giggle even harder. I have always heard my Mom, my grandmothers and other moms say that they really wished they'd written down the funny things their kids said when they were little. Well, Das Not Funny! Friday is my attempt to do just that.

Now, our kids are older - but equally as funny. Elizabeth is now 7.5 years, Lucas and Ashlee will be 6 in May, Aaron will be 4 in June, Olivia is 3.5 years and Ella is a feisty 22 month old.

Our lives are still busy and I really want to remember the hilarity of our young years with all these young kids. So here's goes nothing....

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Aaron said to me the other day, "Mom, you're belldy is realwe realwe big!"

Me: "Yep. It sure is buddy."

Aaron: "Jep. But it not popped yet!" Then he laughed like he'd made the biggest and best joke ever.

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Ella has developed a new, slightly inappropriate and yet totally hilarious habit. When I'm holding her, she pulls the neck of my shirt open as far as it will stretch, peers down the front of my shirt and says in her loudest 22 month old voice,

"Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww."

Awesome. Self esteem boost #1.

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Lucas enjoys telling me that I'm getting huge. I don't think he intends on it being offensive because I really don't think he understands that it's offensive to say that someone is "a big fat pregnant lady."

After several times of him lovingly patting my stomach and commenting that I "sure was getting fat" I though that maybe it was time to have a conversation with him.

Me: "Buddy, I know you aren't trying to be ugly, but most of the time it's not really nice to tell someone you think they are fat. It might be true but it still isn't an appropriate thing to say because it might be something that hurt their feelings."

Lucas: "Oh. Okay. But your stomach is getting fat. But I know it's because you're fat and pregnant."

Me (stifling a chuckle): "Yes. That's true. But sometimes people can get their feelings hurt because they are upset about being overweight and it's not nice to point it out to them."

Lucas: "Okay mom. I won't call anyone else fat. Even though I don't know ANYONE else as fat as you."

Good. Glad we cleared that up. Except, not really.

Self Esteem boost #2.

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I've been making a conscious effort to spend real, quality time with our kids before the baby comes. I know that when baby girl gets here, she will command most of my time and my 1-on-1 time with the others will be limited. With that in mind, I've been taking the kids off on Mommy-dates, which includes them choosing where we eat and where we go. I'm simply their chauffeur, bouncer and bank account.

This week, Lucas and I went out. He decided he wanted Japanese food so we sat, on the same side of the little booth and enjoyed our rice, while conversations of guns, army men and ammunition graced our table.

Suddenly, he asked me, "Mom, how do you say, 'I like red' in Spanish?"

Me: "Um. I think it's 'Me gusta rojo.'"

Lucas: "Me gusta rojo! How do you say 'The King is in danger'?"

It's probably a good thing he was beside me because I'm pretty sure I spit rice clear across the table.

Y'all have a great weekend!

Waiting for the good

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.  

Romans 8:28 (ESV)

The long stints in between posts in not necessarily a sign of busier times in our house (though that's true) nor a sign that I don't enjoy blogging anymore (which is not at all true) or even that I don't have anything to say (certainly not true, if you know me at all).

The truth is, I've always considered this a place where I can be real. Even in real life, I'm generally open, honest and fairly easy to read. Whatever crosses my mind generally comes out of my large, gaping mouth - which can often not be a good thing.

I've never been a person with many secrets (though I have some buried somewhere deep inside and locked away - trust me) and I've never really understood people who keep so much of their lives private and tucked away from the people they care about. In fact, I've often thought that the way believers can give God the most glory is to be real, to be honest and allow your imperfections to radiate the glory of God, show His immeasurable mercy and then rejoice in your imperfections being made perfect in Him.

And I still believe all of that. I'm not too worried about people coming to our house and seeing the sticky, mysterious blotches that are spattered across our kitchen floor. I'm not anxious about folks coming over for playdates and seeing the piles of laundry on the table in our living room. In fact, I don't even really care if everyone in the world knows that we eat off paper plates 90% of the time. (We're not green. At all.)

I understand that people judge us and think we're crazy because we have nearly 7 kids all ages 7 years and younger. I know that we are talked about when we leave the room and often people ask bystanders which are our "real kids" and which are adopted.

So I think my hesitation with coming here regularly and sharing my heart is because lately, I'm hiding more things in there. Pondering them, turning them over in my mind, wondering why none of the jagged edges become smooth with the constant turning and tumbling and wear.

Things that are more than just "am I parenting this child the right way" or "what if they figure out I'm not nearly the person they think I am" or "what happens if they see me looking less than up to par." Because the fact is, if you know me at all you know those previous questions don't get to me all that much.

The thing that keeps me from coming here and sharing the trivial, mundane and even the profound is the fear of being found out on a much deeper level.

What if I don't have this whole God thing as figured out as I thought I did?

Because the nitty gritty truth is that once you begin telling people that you've been called to be a missionary, they expect you to be some sort of super-Christian. Someone who has a direct line to God and who obviously knows more than the average Christian about obedience, Scripture and must have this super-human prayer life.

And I'm NOT good at dealing with that kind of pressure.

Last night one of our youth came into the kitchen where I was carrying on a casual "I'm a pregnant woman and here are my struggles" conversation with another pregnant, youth-worker Mom and he said, so casually, "I didn't know y'all were going to Africa?! Why did y'all decide to do that?"

Why did we decide to do that? Is he serious? I think he was sincere in his question and it wasn't like he was trying to make it sound flippant but clearly we didn't just decide one day to pick up our family of 9 and move to East Africa.

It's a delicate balance between trying to always seem confident and composed in your calling and wanting to shake people and scream, I don't have it all figured out either!

And it's not like we feel okay with sharing our struggles with just anyone. Because, good gracious, who do we share them with?

Supporters? Um. No. Because the fleshly side of me wants to continue seeming like we have it all figured out so that they don't lose their confidence in us. I mean, good golly, $8,000 per month is A LOT of money to raise and we don't want to jeopardize the faith that those who've already partnered with us have put in us. We need every supporter we currently have, plus about 200 more.

Friends? Yes, we can but typically even our closest friends can't really understand the hidden struggles we are facing. Because moving to a different continent is a tad different than moving across town or taking a new job or deciding to adopt. Not that we believe that any of those callings are any less spiritual or God sized but we are moving to a 3rd world country for crying out loud. It's like me trying to understand the pain my dearest friend has over her empty womb. I can try my best to understand, empathize and cry out to God for her. But I don't really get it. No matter how much I want to.

Family? Not exactly. Most of the family that has acknowledged that we're leaving isn't exactly supportive of our calling. Fueling their concerns and giving them more reasons to be opposed to us isn't exactly top on my to-do list.

Other missionaries? Sure. They are usually good people to reach out to and sometimes they can get it. But for some missionaries, they took no kids on the field with them. Or they didn't have to raise support. Or maybe they're sitting right where we are, struggling with the things God is calling them to do but their flesh is yelling out in defiance.

So Luke and I sit in our room most nights, tossing back and forth our worries, our anxiety and our fears. It's a lot like trying to throw back and forth a handful of spaghetti. The first few tosses go okay but eventually it falls apart and ends up scattered all around us in a huge mess. We're covered with failed attempts to grasp totally what the other is pitching out to us.

The one person I should be falling on my face before, the God of all creation, the Lord who called us in the first place, seems so distant right now. I should be falling before His throne, nose pressed to the floor, wearing a blisters on my face from tears mixed with our cheap carpet.

And that's where it ends. That's the struggle. Because I know that if I did just that, answers would come, anxieties would subside and fears would be brought into light. But I also know that nasty places in my own flesh would be revealed. Cancerous wounds would be exposed and I'd have to own up to the rotten flesh I've allowed to live and eat and grow on me over the last few months.

Cleaning wounds is painful. I have enough pain in my life right now. I don't want anymore.

In addition to all of the anxiety, fear and struggle I may have with our calling comes your everyday pain, conflict and struggles with our children, family, friends and just life.

It's a balance to keep it all in perspective and trust that in due time God will make all things work together for my good. But missionaries, pastors, best-selling christian authors and the like can't admit to the struggles with the things of great significance right? Especially as it pertains to their specific calling. Because aren't they suppose to know God? Like, really know God? Shouldn't people who really know God not have such struggles? After all, can't they just pick up their "direct line phone" dial up the Big Man and get all their questions answered, their problems solved and have peace with life all in a quick, easy prayer?

I've said this before, maybe not here but to others:  I really think that in many ways living in Africa won't be nearly as hard as the getting there.

Please Lord, get me through the getting there. And heal me of my rotten flesh somewhere along the way. In the meantime, I'll be waiting to see how all of this will work together for my good.

Top 5 Pregnancy Myths That I'd Like To Beat With A Baseball Bat

I've been thinking a lot about pregnancy myths and rumors lately. Mostly because they are things that people have said/will say to me over the next 8 weeks (that's how long until Little Miss is due to arrive.)

Basically, I would just like to dispel (based on my own experience) each of these once and for all.

I realize that some women experience pregnancy different from me and for those women I pray they have the hardest labors known to man. Oh, I'm kidding. Sort of.

Pregnancy Myth #1:

Nausea and vomiting are a result of the woman realizing that her world is about to change dramatically and is purely an emotional and mental response to that change.

Fact: When pregnant, I puke my guts up multiple times a day for weeks on end. Don't you think that I'd puke every day of my life if I thought kids were so emotionally overwhelming?

Pregnancy Myth #2

Having heartburn means your baby will be born with a head full of hair.

Fact: Every single pregnancy I've had heartburn bad enough that I've considered taking a fire extinguisher and shoving it down my throat in the hopes of momentary relief. And with each delivery, peeled onions have had more hair than any of the kids I've birthed.

Pregnancy Myth #3

Each time you're pregnant, your propensity to deliver on or before your due date is increased.

Fact: This is my 4th pregnancy, one of which was twins. One would think that since my uterus has been stretched to the size of a small house 4 times now, it would recognize that once it reaches a certain size it should expel its contents.

Not so much. I've been pregnant 4 times and each time I've been induced with the drug of the devil, pitocin. My last pregnancy the doctor let me go 2 weeks and 2 days past my due date and still my uterus didn't catch a clue.

I'm not expecting baby #7 any time before the ides of March. Et tu, Uterus?

Pregnancy Myth #4

Pregnant women glow and have the most beautiful/fullest/shiniest hair and nails.

Fact: I'm glowing because I'm sweating. Constantly. In fact, I'm pretty sure there's no deodorant or antiperspirant that can hold me these days.

As for the hair, my hair has grown less than 1/100th of an inch this entire pregnancy. And, my typically heavy shedding self has hardly shed at all. Which means, once this little girl gets here, our bathroom will look somewhat like a beauty shop that has never seen a broom.

Or a pet groomer's trash can. Either one.

Pregnancy Myth #5

Each subsequent pregnancy, after your 1st, has a shorter and shorter labor.

Fact: I WOULD NEVER KNOW because, like I said above, I've always been induced. I sure hope I can make #5 true, go into labor at 5:30pm and pop out a baby at 8:30pm like my friend Kari did.

Honestly, it was probably a man who thought up these stupid myths. Except for the fact that some of them are actually true for a vast number of women. And those are the women I de-friend while I gestate a baby. Not only on Facebook but in real life.

I'm only kidding. Sorta.

My 2012 "Must Read" Book List

A couple of years ago Luke and I made a list of our goals for the upcoming year. I love sitting and looking at the year ahead as a blank slate and knowing that the Lord has complete control to lead us where ever He pleases. I love setting goals, listing things I'd like to accomplish and making an effort to be more intentional with my time. I'm so NOT Type A that this has been a work in progress and very much a God-led desire.

One thing I love to do, but don't get to do often enough is read. For Christmas, my parents got me a Kindle Fire. I was so stoked! I often don't have the time or energy to go to the book store or library to pick up my latest desired read. With a Kindle, it's all at my fingertips...literally. (And, I just learned that you can loan and borrow books from other Kindle users! Sweet!)

So, I thought that it would superb to make a list of the books I'd like to read for 2012 and try to them all (if not more) before this time next year. Of course, I say all of that with the knowledge that the list, the goals and the results are subject to change!

So, for 2012, I've made the following list of books I'd love to read. I wish I could say that I'd read 2 books per month, but the likelihood is that I'd only read 1 to 1.5 books per month. I'm comfortable with 15-18 books on my list for the upcoming year.

Here's my start up list. So far, I've got 14 listed so that gives me room for 3 - 4 more. And if I end up having more than 18 on my list, maybe that will motivate me to read 2 per month! I've linked the titles to the books on Amazon and the authors names to their blogs or websites (if I know about them and/or they were easy to google).

Right now, I'm about half way through The Well-Behaved Child: Discipline That Really Works! by John Rosemond. I'm hoping to finish it by New Years Day.

Kisses From Katie by Katie Davis

What Women Fear by Angie Smith

When Helping Hurts: How To Alleviate Poverty Without Hurting The Poor and Yourself by Brian Fikkert, Steve Corbett, John Perkins

When Charity Destroys Dignity by Glenn J Schwartz

Don't Waste Your Life by John Piper
I'd also like to finish Let the Nations Be Glad by John Piper

Not a Fan by Kyle Idleman

One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

A Deeper Kind of Calm by Linda Dillow

Loving the Little Years: Motherhood In The Trenches by Rachel Jankovic (This is a link to her posts on John Piper's Desiring God blog.)

Forgotten God by Francis Chan
Erasing Hell by Francis Chan

The Husband Project: 21 Days of Loving Your Man On Purpose, With A Plan by Kathi Lipp

I've also got 2 books on prayer and a couple that I need to read for AIM's Outbound Training Module.

Do you make a list of goals for the New Year?

Do you have a "must read" list for 2012?

What books do you think I should add to the list?

Happy New Year, y'all!

Mr & Mrs: An anniversary repost

I originally posted this last year on our anniversary but I thought it was good enough to post again this year. Plus, I still feel the exact same way.

And since we are officially having our Anniversary Date Night tonight, I figured this was as good time as any.

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It is a big church. The most grandiose in stature in the entirety of our small town. The dramatic roof lines and towering steeple sit perfectly atop rock and brick walls adorned with stained glass windows, all situated on the precisely manicured lawn.

It's a beautiful church. And every time I drive by I think about what happened inside.

I stand behind two huge wooden doors, stained to a perfect deep brown, waiting to walk down a burgundy-carpeted aisle. So much awaits me on the other side of those doors. Love. Commitment. Beauty.

The wedding coordinator adjusts my veil and the train of my dress.

Deep breath.

The organ begins to play the non-traditional melody of an Scottish tune, reminiscent of our college Alma Mater. The doors swing open, everyone stands up.

I blink.

It's 8 years later. And here I sit, mother to 6, wife to a man who loves me in spite of who I am. A husband who loves wholly, sacrificially and beyond my understanding.

In our counseling session at Candidate Week we reviewed the many statistics associated with our personality inventories, marriage surveys and some other psychological profiles that we sent in ahead of us.

"You have an over-idealized view of your marriage," the gray haired counselor told me, over the rim of her glasses.

I sat back in my chair, turning her words over in my mind, trying not to be defensive.

Really? Because I'm pretty much a realist in every other area of my life.

At the end of the session, she agreed, my marriage is not over-idealized in my very matter-of-fact head. Rather, I understand that I am blessed. Beyond what I deserve.

Blessed with a man who guards the purity of our marriage so fervently that he refuses to be alone with other women, even in the context of work, where such a conscience is often considered ridiculous.

Blessed with a leader who fears the Lord and seeks, with his whole being, to serve him, even if it makes our family uncomfortable and unconventional.

Blessed with a confidant, someone I can pour my soul out to, the nasty, dirty, raw and often ugly parts and he draws me close and prays over me.

Blessed with a protector, a guardian of our home and our children and someone who takes that role so seriously, he is willing to risk it all for the glory of the Lord.

I smell the familiar smell of the church and take in the pews, full of people. I look to the opening in front of me and see him, standing at the end of a flower strewn aisle. He smiles at me. My heart flutters in my chest. I reach the altar unsure of how I'm standing there since it seems as though my feet hardly moved.

We exchange vows and rings and we both cry. I wipe his tears. More sniffles echo through the rafters of the magnificent sanctuary.

We turn and face our family and friends. We are Mr. & Mrs.

We celebrate. It's glorious. Even 8 years later. It's glorious.

It's no fairy tale and my days are certainly mixed with their fair share of meltdowns and tears. And some days the kids cry too. :)

But we've come through so much. We've endured hardships and know that more are coming. We laugh together often. We love much. He still dates me. He still stops, through the bustle of our home, to wrap his arms around me and let me bury my face in his chest.

We argue, annoy the crap out of each other and forget things that are important to the each other. But we chose love above all else. We chose to bind our hearts together with God as the glue.

We walk out the front doors of the church, and the cold air hits us like needles. We climb inside the magnificent limousine and the driver shuts the door. I look at my husband.

It's over. Man, that went fast, I think to myself.

I adjust my dress. He grabs my hand. We kiss.

The driver starts the engine.

And then, the journey begins.

It's nothing like the mundane

Wow. I really intended to blog at least once or twice over the last week but somehow it never happened. We've been super busy around here with Christmas and just regular old life that a week went by in the blink of an eye.

Here's a synopsis of our last 11 days:

On the Thursday before Christmas I found out that I have gestational diabetes. NOT what I wanted for Christmas AT ALL. I go the 1st week in January to the diabetes center. The good news is that after more blood work, it looks like it will be manageable by just watching my diet.

On Friday I took Aaron to the dentist for a weird spot on his gums. Turns out, one of his front teeth is abscessed and it's coming out also in the 1st week of January.

My Mother-in-law was in town for a week and the kids and Luke and I enjoyed her company.

I've been going to the most awesome chiropractor two times a week because I was on the verge of not being able to walk. It was awful. Apparently my pelvis hates me. After twice a week adjustments, we're back on speaking terms.

Yesterday Luke and I celebrated our 9th's Anniversary. If you consider "celebrated" putting the 3 little kids to bed, letting the 3 big kids stay at my parents' house and us playing stupid, addicting games on our iPods. The secret to our marriage is spontaneity or the lack there of. We're going out tomorrow night to celebrate the diabetic way. Whatever that means. I think it means no Cold Stone Ice cream which sounds like misery. I'm sure my fabulous man will come up with a good idea of where to eat that doesn't include lots of pasta, since our Go-To place is italian and clearly Italians aren't diabetic because, oh my word the pasta.

I love pasta.

Ahem.

Little Baby Girl is approximately 10 weeks away from making her appearance. I use the word "approximate" loosely. VERY LOOSELY. If she comes before April, I'll be impressed. I'm due March 10th. I was due with Ella on March 8th and they (finally) induced me on March 23rd.

See? I'm not getting my hopes up that she'll come on time or even early, though that would be awesome.

We have a name we like a whole lot but for some reason I keep looking at names. I'm pretty sure this is the most indecisive I've ever been about picking a name.

So that about sums up our last 1.5 weeks. Nothing like the mundane, right? I mean it, it's nothing like mundane.

A Sunday link up

Lucas is running a fever this morning. So while Luke is at church with the other kids and Lucas is laying in the bed watching cartoons, I thought I'd link you guys to some great posts I've read over the last week or so.

1st up, Missy at It's Almost Naptime reposted her blog In a Stable. It's good y'all. Go check it out. You won't be sorry.

Amy at Building the Blocks posted last night about having no more room at their children't home in Guatemala. It's heartbreaking that they'd have to begin turing children away. Please read her post and see how God is moving you to act.

Finally, the Livesay Haiti Weblog's post about how to Let Go of our stuff and move forward with the life that God has called us to live sat with me for days.

Hope y'all have a great Sunday!

December Newsletter

Our December Ministry Newsletter is out! Below is a modified version of what we recently sent to inboxes all over the globe.

Hope you enjoy!

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“Missions is not the ultimate goal of the church. Worship is. Missions exists because worship doesn’t .... Worship, therefore, is the fuel and goal of missions. It’s the goal of missions because in missions we simply aim to bring the nations into the white-hot enjoyment of God’s glory.” - John Piper, Let the Nations Be Glad, p. 35

It’s a season of worship in our society. During the month of December, service, love and charity is often dubbed as having the “Christmas Spirit.” And yet, many of us would agree, that as the spirit of Christmas washes over us and those around us we really wish the joy, hope and peace of the season would ring true all year long and not just for 25 days a year.

It’s a spirit of worship, a spirit of thankfulness and reverence for the birth of Christ that bids our hearts to spread the love and joy we know in our Savior.

As I (Jessica) read through the Introduction and first part of Chapter 1 of Let the Nations Be Glad by John Piper, his statements (quoted above) about worship sat with me, uncomfortably.

Does missions really exist because worship does not? Should our love for missions be fueled by our love for worshipping the One True God? Or should it be fueled by obedience, service and sacrifice?

And then, as December so quickly rushed upon us, it made perfect sense. Why am I so eager to practice love and charity this time of year? Why are we so eager to spread joy?

Because this truly is the best time of year! It’s the celebration of the birth of our Risen Lord. It’s the hope that was birthed into a hopeless world over 2,000 years ago. It’s the worship of the One who came, died and rose for all people in every nation on earth.

Worship is denying the desires of the flesh because of your love for the King. Worship is speaking softly to those you love when you desperately want to scream. Worship is purposeful prayer over those the Lord has brought to your mind and laid on your heart. Worship is sending, going and telling because of the joy of the Lord that you know is true in your own life.

“[Missions] is a temporary necessity. But worship abides forever.”

We pray that this Holiday season finds you in fervent worship of Jesus Christ, as you celebrate His birth. We also pray that we all continue to worship after the gifts are unwrapped, the trees are taken down and the New Year rolls around.

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So what’s new with the Beavers?

We found out in October that Beaver Baby #7 is a GIRL! We are so excited and we all continue to eagerly anticipate her arrival in March of 2012. We ask for your prayers for a continued smooth pregnancy and delivery.

We are continuing to meet with families and small groups to discuss our calling and our assignment. God is proving to be faithful in providing prayer and financial partners!

Currently, we are at 11.5% of our monthly support goal and at approximately 22% of our outgoing support goal!

We have added several new prayer and financial partners in the last few months. What a praise and answer to our specific prayers.

After much prayer, discussion and exchanging of emails with Africa Inland Mission, we have elected to postpone our departure date to January of 2013. This will give us an additional 9 months after the baby is born to get documents in order, items sold and loose ends tied up. It feels much less stressful than the original departure of July 2012.

Please continue to pray that we budget our time and resources to complete Outbound Training Requirements, Bible Requirements and Document Preparation over the next year. These tasks, along with normal, everyday life, can get overwhelming.

Please pray that we can aquire additional prayer and financial partners to reach our prayer and financial goals.

Please pray that God will continue to prepare the hearts of the people of Southern Kenya and our assignment location. Also pray for the leaders and citizens of Kenya as they face an ongoing war on terrorism.

If you are considering partnering with us in prayer and/or financial support, please email us at: beaverbunch (at) gmail dot com for further instructions or you can click here to be directed to Africa Inland Missions' online giving page.

We are so blessed by our prayer and financial partners and we desire to know how we can specifically pray for each of you as well.

We pray that you have a season of love, joy, peace and worship as you prepare your hearts for the celebration of the arrival of the King of Kings!

Merry Christmas!

Luke, Jessica, Elizabeth, Lucas, Ashlee, Aaron, Olivia & Ella Beaver

Memorial Box Monday: Trusting in God's Promises

Last week, I participated in A Place Called Simplicity's Memorial Box Monday. Over the last week, I've reflected a lot on the provision of the Lord. Yet still, I am yearning to hear His voice as I have so often in the past.

Right now, I'd say I'm in the midst of a season of fear. I'm afraid we'll never get to Africa. I'm afraid we will get Africa and it be a total disaster.

So, as Luke and I prayed earlier this week, God gently reminded me that He is always faithful. He reminded me to rest in His promises and reflect on them often.

I began thinking about previous promises the Lord had given me. In February of 2009 I began journaling on a private, invitation only blog to chronicle our calling to the mission field. We hadn't made our calling public yet (Olivia wasn't even adopted yet!) so I only invited a very limited number of people to read - less than 10.

Today, as I desperately desired to remember the promises God has previously fulfilled, I knew that I needed to look no further than the archives of that private blog. The post below was originally posted to my private blog on March 2, 2009.

(I find it more than a LITTLE funny that exactly 1 year after that post we were moving into our rental that I referenced in my last Memorial Box Monday post. Oh how God is faithful!)

I know how important it is to remind myself of God's unfailing promises. As we sit now, anticipating Baby #7's arrival and our future in Africa looking impossible by human standards, I know that the Lord's promises from 2008 are not voided. His promises from over 2,000 years ago are not voided. We serve an unchanging God. And today, I delight in His faithfulness.

It was August 10th, 2008 but I remember it like it was yesterday. Aaron was 2 months old and we were still having many sleepless nights and adjusting to life with a new baby. I was still telling Luke that we had to take Aaron to big church because the nursery was too germy. As I sat in service, holding my baby boy, I listened as best I could to the sermon. Our pastor was preaching a series out of Nehemiah.

Nehemiah had been summoned to build the wall and had many people rebuke him. Everything in the book of Nehemiah screamed to Luke and I that we were doing the right thing by obediently fostering. Although we had many critics, He had called us to this task and He was providing. I was listening intently to Pastor Michael, because I knew God was speaking to us, through him.

Then it happened, something that still baffles me, something that I'd not experienced, ever. God began a conversation with me. It went something like this:

God: "I'm glad that you see that this sermon is for you. You are doing the right thing, you know?"

Me: "Yes, I know Father. Thank you for the confirmation."

God: "Did you really think this was it though? Did you think that it was JUST about fostering?"

Me: "Huh? What do you mean?"

God: "This is not the end. After you adopt him [Aaron] I have something else for your family. Something big."

Me: "What? Uh, okay."

God: "Missions. You know it's been there this whole time. Once he's adopted, the bigger task will come."

Me: "Wait! Did you just say we would adopt him?" (Yes, I know I missed the point.) "Seriously? Why are you telling me this? Why now?"

God: "You will adopt him because I needed him. He will help fulfill my purpose for your family, when you go to your next mission."

Me: (Angry) "Why him? Why not our birth children? Don't they matter too?"

God: "Settle down. Of course they matter. They matter most because it is through them that I will harvest his heart so that he may do great works for Me. Listen to his story Jessica, it screams my name."

Me: (Picturing Elizabeth and Ashlee loving on him and Lucas showing him what it means to be a brother...then TEARS.) "Okay God. Here I am."

Can I tell you that just saying that outloud is freaky? Seriously. I've known people who live in padded rooms that have more rational thoughts. However, there it is.

I hid this promise in my heart, not even telling Luke until a few months later. I was so scared to admit it. So scared that I might be wrong. So scared that all of it would not come to fruition, then where would my faith be? How do you explain that you "Heard from God" but you got it all wrong. Even still, what if Aaron doesn't do great things for God? Where does that leave me?

God promised that we would adopt Aaron. After many court dates, tears and heart wrenching encounters with birth parents, and almost 12 months to the day from that promise, Aaron was legally adopted into our family.

God called us to listen and obey and become foster parents. Then He gave us insight to our next phase in life, nearly 2 years before our calling was made public. So God, here we are.  We have not forgotten the promise. We know the assignment. But God, I'm still so fearful of  the unknown. Help me Lord, help me not be afraid.

Help me to cling to your promises even in the uncertainties of life. I know you are faithful Father. Help me to not only rest in your promises but to walk in them with confidence.

Das Not Funny! Friday: We take our freak show on the road

Remember about 2 months ago when Luke went to Guinea-Bissau, West Africa and the kids and I went out of town?

Yeah.

Well, during that trip the kids said so many funny things. My friend Grace was my sanity (read: traveling companion for over 1,400+ miles) wrote them down and emailed them to me, you know, the week after we got back. And since I'm nothing if not efficient, I was too lazy to COPY AND PASTE them from her email into a blog.

So, without any further ado (or more weeks of procrastination) I present to you, copy and pasted hilarity.

Try to contain your excitement. And remember, these are from Grace's point of view. Added hilarity, if you ask me. I can vouch for her accuracy and authenticity.

1. While we were on the way to Tennessee, all the kids fell asleep in the car. Lucas woke up for the last TWO HOURS of the drive, and decided he needed to talk until we arrived. But usually, he only had 2 things to ask. Every. Time. The song changed- "Mom, is this song about Jesus?" and everytime the car sped up/ slowed down/ switched lanes/ got passed/ passed someone- "Mom, are you speeding?"

2. Lucas again, talking to Grandpa Beaver: "Grandpa Beaver, what's your favorite kind of car?"
Grandpa replied, "Well, I don't know.. I guess I really like.."
"MINE IS A MOVING VAN." Goodtoknow Lucas.

3. While at Monkey Joe's burning off some energy, Olivia felt like she needed to have an in depth conversation with me. She just kept jabbering and pointing, and I assumed she was talking about the bounce house. I looked around a lady who was standing between us and saud bounce house and said, "Hey Liv, how about you go show me how fast you can go down that bouncy slide?" She giggled and turned around and skipped/ran/danced in the direction of the bounce house. On her way past the stranger standing between us and said bouncey slide, Olivia screamed, "BOOTY, BOOTY!" and spanked the woman. The woman was, understandably, horrified. I promptly pointed her in the direction of the child's mother. You're welcome.

4. One morning at breakfast, Aaron asked me for a napkin that were in the middle of the table, just out of his reach. When I stood up to hand one to him, he exclaimed, "WOW Grace! You are very tall!" Yes, Aaron. Yes I am. [You should probably know that Grace is the shortest person I've ever met. You know, besides my children.]

5. While in the car, we rotated through the kids and let them pick the songs we listened to. Aaron ALWAYS wants to listen to "You are my Joy." Even when it's not his turn. Even if we just listened to it for the 80 billionth time. Even if there world ended right now and Jesus came back, and pretty sure Aaron would request "You are my Joy" as the rapture's soundtrack. After asking to hear it AGAIN.. You replied, "Nope. I don't like that song!" Aaron said, "But why? It's my pay-brit! You just gotta try it, mom!"

6. One afternoon, while getting Aaron and Olivia ready for nap, I was running from one bathroom to the other, waiting for both of them to poop before they went to lay down. When I came into the bathroom Aaron was in, he let one rip- big time. I said, "Whoa, Buddy! Are you all done?" He replied, "Nope. That was just my snake sound, Grace! Here it comes again...." I left him alone with his snake sound, and went to check on Liv. I asked her if she was all done, and she held up her toy princess, looked under its dress and exclaimed, "Princess dress not pooped in her diaper! Yayyyy!" Good job, plastic princess. I guess this means you're a big girl now!

Memorial Box Monday: $25

I desperately want to write more often. I really do. But lately, it seems that God has answered my prayers to make me more focused, more intentional about my time with and without my children. We've been so busy around here organizing, moving furniture around, getting rid of things we don't use and having more structured homeschooling days, that blogging has fallen to the wayside.

And that's okay. It's okay that a silly little blog takes up less of my time than does my home and my children and my husband.

But honestly? I miss writing. Even though I may not be the best writer in the world, it's releasing for me. It's therapy, honestly. And when I don't have time (or make time) it all swims around in my head, often clogging up my thoughts.

I still read plenty of blogs (even though that has had to be trimmed down too) and one of my favorites to read is A Place Called Simplicity.

This family is super crazy about the Lord and about children. But if I'm being very honest, I will say that often I read what Linny writes, then walk away dumbfounded as to why I haven't heard from the Lord like that lately.

The Lord gently continues to remind me that I will more clearly hear from Him when I choose to invest time in my relationship with Him through prayer, Bible study and meditating on His word. And while I'm being honest, all 3 of those areas of my life have not been stellar lately. Relationships take work. One with the Lord is no different.

Over the course of the last few weeks, one of the things I have prayed is that the Lord would remind me exactly how I have seen him work in our lives previously. Remembering those things often triggers me to spend more time with Him, seeking His heart and direction.

He is always faithful, I'm the one who forgets.

So when Linny posted that she was doing a Memorial Box Monday post, I knew I had to join in, even if it is just this once. If you'd like to know what a Memorial Box Monday post is, you can read Linny's post  with a good explination by clicking here.

Basically, a Memorial Box is like in the Old Testament when the Israelites would set up a stone memorial for when God has faithfully provided for them. Then, as they passed that pillar again and again, they would remember God's faithfulness and tell their children and their children's children.

Today, I want to remember God's faithfulness, even in the details.

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Over 2 years ago, in August of 2009, Luke and I put our house on the market. It was the house of my dreams really. I was about 9 weeks pregnant at the time and we had felt God stirring our hearts toward missions for quite some time. We knew we needed to be out from under the debt of that house and ready for whatever God called us to do next.

I was scared. Here we were, contemplating missions, having our 6th child and listing our house for sale. It was a LOT. But, because we'd seen God be faithful in the past, we knew He'd be faithful again, even in this.

About 2 months after listing our house, we had an offer. It was contingent, but an offer none-the-less. Over the course of Christmas and into the New Year of 2010 our house remained under contract with a contingent offer. As my waistline continued to expand, my patience weakened.

Finally, about a month before my due date our realtor called and said that the people buying our house had sold their house. We settled on a closing date of March 3, a mere 5 days before my due date with Ella.

Here's where the Memorial Box comes in (as if selling a house in the 1st plummet of the housing market wasn't enough).

Since Ella was due March 8th, Luke and I decided it would be wise to find a rental and move by March 1st. I was SO SURE that Ella would come early since, you know, I'D CARRIED TWINS. Heh. That's funny now. (She wasn't born until March 23rd, nearly 2.5 weeks after her due date and I was STILL induced.)

Ahem. Anyway, the 1st way that God provided was that we found a rental only TWO STREETS over from our old house, the rent was the cheapest of any we could find. We had amazing friends who jumped in and helped us move. It was beyond what I'd call a blessing.

It had FOUR BEDROOMS and we could move in at our leisure and just let the landlords know when we spent our 1st night and our rent would begin that day.

The drawbacks to this place were that it had neither a stove or a refrigerator. We sold the ones we had with our previous house and so we were not only stove-less but refrigerator-less.

We were moving in before the closing on our old house which meant we had very little cash to go purchase either of those things since we don't do credit cards. Once the house sold, we'd be fine, until then, we really didn't want to drop $500 on them.

After all, what if we never even closed on our old house and had to move all our stuff back?

In passing, a friend casually mentioned that where her Dad works they sell used refrigerators for $25.

TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS.

Uh. Sign me up.

I called her Dad and asked about a fridge. He had one. On a whim I also asked, "Do you by chance have a stove too?"

He did. FOR TWENTY FIVE DOLLARS.

Incredible and only the Lord.

Right now I'm struggling to remember the faithfulness of God. I'm struggling to see how we're going to have a baby, raise support and still get to Africa sometime before the turn of the century. But God is always faithful. And I just need to keep remembering that He's never left us high and dry. He's never left us without perfectly providing exactly what we've needed.

He's never not shown up. Ever.

And I trust that He'll do it again and again and again.

His own flesh

Maybe I could blame pregnancy hormones.

Or maybe I could blame being tired from being gone,  homeschooling our older 3 children or just having 6 kids ages 7 and under and being pregnant.

Or maybe I could blame it on the rain (I mean, Milli Vanilli did, right?). I mean, it DID rain a lot here lately.

But I should probably own up to the fact that my flesh just wanted to be mean.

Y'all I've been a real snot to my husband over the last week. Actually, more like a week and a half. I've been rude, stubborn, selfish, prideful, hateful, angry, selfish, easily annoyed, selfish.

Did I mention selfish?

And the thing is, he really didn't even give me a good reason to be mean and selfish.

Unless you count breathing.

Or talking.

Or just generally being in my presence.

Then, OH SWEET MERCY, then Tuesday happened.

Our oldest 3 kids went on a Thanksgiving adventure with my parents. They left bright and early Tuesday morning and I set my pregnant mind on getting our house in some kind of order. My darling, ever-patient-with-me-husband did exactly as I asked him (not so casually or nicely, mind you) and disassembled and moved an enormous bunk bed that was in the big kids' room. We'd purchased a smaller set and Amanda and I had plans to set it up on Tuesday. And we did. We set up bunkbeds, rearranged rooms, half-assembled a small dresser. You know, did LOTS.

Then Tuesday night, we got the bright idea to go do some Christmas shopping. About and hour or two into our escapades, the day hit me. Or so I thought.

Cold sweat, chills and extreme nausea and fatigue.

We headed home and for the next 12 hours my husband held back my hair and brought me cold rags as I battled the WORST stomach virus I've ver had.

He, as a result, had to take the day off Wednesday while I recovered from my all night pukefest.

Slowly on the mend, Thursday was better and somehow I managed to be a little nicer to my husband who had served me so graciously over the last 24 hours, despite my hatefulness the week before.

And then TODAY. I knew Luke was planning to work this week. I mean, he'd just taken off work for our Colorado trip and for his trip to Guinea-Bissau so taking off time at Thanksgiving was not really an option. Especially since he'd played nurse all night and day Tuesday and Wednesday.

But this morning, he got our three littlest darlings out of bed, fed and dressed them all before I stumbled into the kitchen. As I stumbled toward the coffee pot, he looked at my disheveled self and said, "You can go back to bed if you'd like."

"Huh?" I said, sure I'd not heard him right. "What time are you going to work?"

"I'm not going to work today," he said as a big smile spread across his face.

"What?" I said, in disbelief.

"Yeah. I'm going to take the babies and run some errands. Why don't you go grab lunch or something and take the day off? Just be back by 3:00 because you have somewhere you need to be."

What-tha?

At 3:00 I found out that my darling husband had scheduled me a prenatal massage. The BEST massage I've ever had, mind you. Then after my day off and afternoon of pampering, I went and did more Christmas shopping with Amanda.

Seriously.

HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG, so this wasn't suck up behavior.

Then it hit me.

He was living out Ephesians 5. Despite my nasty attitude, my selfishness, what I deserved, he was loving me as he loves his own flesh.

Why? Because of his love for the Lord.

Y'all, my man isn't perfect. Trust me. Earlier this week, I probably could have listed off about 10 of his flaws. Quickly.

But he loves me. He sacrifices for me. Even when I don't deserve it.

Even when I'm hateful and selfish and mean.

Just as Jesus Christ Himself loves the church and sacrificed his own flesh for her.

My prayer tonight is that if you've never experienced that kind of love, that you'll seek it out and find that Christ loves you much more than any human man could ever love his wife.

And you'll relish it in His extravagant love. Just as I am relishing in my husband's love for the Lord, which has been poured out on me, despite what I really deserve. Both Christ and my husband love me extravagantly. Like their own flesh.

Doing nothing

The plane hit the runway hard. I tried not to giggle when I felt Luke's body tense as the wheels of the plane rebounded and hit the runway a second time.

It was the ending of a long, beautiful, quiet and totally relaxing weekend. One that went by much too fast and yet incredibly slowly all at the same time. How is it that time can do that to you? How is it that the days can seem long but the weekend seem short?

"We'll remember the quiet, the peacefulness, the rest, this whole weekend a week from now when we're back home and the chaos has set back in, right?" Luke said, almost sheepishly.

He was serious. It's so easy to forget the refuge you've just enjoyed as six precious, screaming, emotional children are hanging onto your pants legs and wanting their needs met instantly.

My parents were rockstars, taking control of our small army of children, dispatching them to varying locations of family and friends, feeding, bathing, filling cups and putting kids to bed. Their generosity has continued to baffle me in the days since we've been home.

After all, they gave us that trip last Christmas. I was sure they'd say it had expired long ago. But instead, they continued to urge us to go, take a vacation, spend some time away from the kids, be alone. They were equally excited for us as we were excited to go.

We chose Colorado because we love the mountains. We chose a quiet little town because we wanted someplace quiet, without the hustle and bustle of a busy ski resort town.

It never takes me long to remember just why I fell in love with this man I call my husband. He's thoughtful, gentle, strong, considerate and he always makes me laugh harder than anyone else. Over the course of the weekend, I just kept thinking about how I wanted our own children to know and understand a love like that one day.

I'm not going to pretend our marriage is always sunshine and rainbows. In fact, since we've been home, I've been less than cheerful to my husband. He's not really done anything in particular wrong.

Unless you count breathing.

Which has annoyed me at times over the past week. As has every other aspect of his living.

I blame hormones.

At any rate, as I think back on our 4 days alone, in the middle of no-where Colorado, I think about how we did absolutely nothing and yet had the best time ever. No kids to distract us, no must-see attractions. Just lots of sitting and doing nothing.

And I realized that I'm so thankful that I can sit and do nothing with my man and still feel like it's been the best day of my life.

I can't think of a clever title about the Rockies that doesn't sound like a beer commercial

Last Christmas my parents generously gifted us with a vacation.

An all expense paid vacation for two. Just me and Luke (or is it Luke and I?). Anyway, Ella was a nursing 6 month old, I knew that my trip to Guinea-Bissau would come about the time she was weaned. And well, there was all that other life to be done somewhere in the midst of babies nursing, mission trips, schooling and such.

Finally, we have booked our vacation. The trip included airline tickets, hotel accommodations and even spending money and childcare. Seriously. We are just so blessed.

I've never been much of a beach bum myself and I love, love, love the mountains. Over the course of 11 years of us being together, I think I've finally converted Luke. So rather than head to someplace warm and tropical we are heading the mountains. The BIG mountains. We live near the Appalachian mountains so we figured we needed something to compare them to.

After much debate and looking at tickets and travel time, we settled on Colorado. Rocky Mountain National Park here we come!

We leave late Wednesday night and don't return home until late Sunday evening. Our children and dog will spend copious amounts of time with their MeMe and PawPaw and we'll get to sleep late, enjoy mountain air, sleep late, make spontaneous decisions on dinner, sleep late and hopefully see lots and lots of snow.

My soul is aching for some down time with my husband. Time for us to laugh with each other, talk about our dreams, goals and desires, pray over our future and that of our children and just hang out. We've reserved a tiny little cabin in the Rocky Mountain National park and I couldn't be more thrilled at the idea of settling in and not leaving for a couple of days.

Over the course of the last few weeks, we've made decisions for our family that have reduced much of the stress I was previously feeling. And while I'm not yet able to fully discuss some of those decisions, I will say that knowing we have a plan and that the plan is one to a happier, less stressful home is freeing.

I feel like this little get away is a the 1st stage of us finally letting go of some of the fullness in our life and looking forward to what God has placed on our plate. We were making decisions based on what we felt we needed to accomplish rather than what God desired for us to accomplish.

At any rate, the next time you hear from me (at least on the blog anyway) I will be snuggled down under some warm blankets, hopefully sipping some hot tea while the world outside is slowly covered with beautiful white snow.

Approximately 53 hours until our plane take off. But really, who's counting? (Oh wait, I am.)