Poppin' bottles: A (Lack)tation Story

First comes love, then comes marriage.
Then comes a baby in a baby carriage!
Then you have to feed it with your body,
And then your boobs don't join the party!

When asked if I was going to try breastfeeding, I obviously answered "of course!" because I'm trying to be #MomOfTheYear. However, the more research I did on the topic of feeding my baby, my answer quickly became "...I'm going to try!" because let's be honest guys, not all boobs are created equally. At least, not in my case.

According to medical science, 37 weeks is considered full term, so ideally, when I gave birth to my baby, all systems should have been a go, but no one told my boobs that. My boobs were not ready to be on. They were still chillin' on the bench in their warm-ups. Little lady was given Neosure, a high-caloric formula made specifically for premature/tiny babies, when she returned from the nursery and in my exhausted stupor, I was still determined to breastfeed, so I tried. But I didn't know what I was doing and little lady didn't really know what she was doing either. So, while I was in the hospital, I asked to speak a lactation consultant twice to see if I was breastfeeding correctly, and later, if I was using the breast pump correctly.

The first lactation consultant watched us together and commented that little lady's latch was good and that, while my body wasn't making milk yet, she was getting colostrum - the 'first milk', high in nutrients and antibodies, "liquid gold", the elixir of life. Except...nothing was happening. People kept telling me "don't worry, she's getting it, we promise" and I kept thinking "...no...she's...not...". I thought I was going crazy. The lactation consultant told me not to worry and to commence the feeding trifecta: attempt breastfeeding, then bottle feed, then pump. Every three hours.

The next day a second lactation consultant watched me use a breast pump and told me all the parts were the right size and after I described what it felt like, she confirmed that I was using the pump correctly. Once again, it felt like nothing was happening, and again, I was told "don't worry, it's coming" and "this will help get your breasts ready". Still, no one told my boobs to get it together.

When we went home, we were sent home with Neosure and I was told to continue the three step feeding process - breastfeed, then bottle feed, then pump. I was also told not to attempt breastfeeding for more than 5 minutes if baby girl was upset; they didn't want her to spend too much energy crying, potentially causing weight loss in the process. It was so easy and fun very stressful. Tears were shed. Little lady did not show any hunger cues and did not like the breastfeeding experience. Actually, the only thing she liked about the breastfeeding process was crying a lot and biting me (hooray!). I also felt like I was living out a math word problem that went something like this: "If you have to feed your baby every three hours, and it takes you 30 minutes to breastfeed, 45 minutes to bottle feed, and an hour to pump, how many hours do you have left to sleep for all of eternity?"

At little lady's one-week pediatrician appointment, we found out she had successfully regained her birth weight and more - success! But not by my doing. It was all the Neosure. Still committed to giving breastfeeding the good college try, I scheduled a meeting with the lactation consultant on staff too (that would be a total of three lactation consultants if you were keeping track). She watched us latch, and showed me how to hold my boob with one hand and my baby with the other to ensure proper eating. When little lady started falling asleep, the lactation consultant used her hand to tickle little lady to wake her up, saying "haha ok sometimes you need to tickle your baby to wake them up to eat", and I was like "haha ok" because I realized that in order to make this breastfeeding thing work, I would need to miraculously grow a third hand because my two God-given hands were already busy.

I also told the lactation consultant about the crying and biting and frustration during breastfeeding, and she in turn asked me how much I was able to get when I pumped. Ohhhhh pumping. What a strange invention and feeding mechanism. There are all these settings and speeds and times that you have to play around with until you find the perfect setting for you to get your boobs to essentially 'empty' out so that it can fill back up and keep up with your baby's need for food. I read all the instructions and followed all the steps and a couple of days in - voila! - milk appeared. The two first lactation consultants were right!...But then, it was like someone turned the tap to the lowest setting and just left it there. I found myself spending an hour at the pump, only to get 1oz of milk total. "Surely it shouldn't be this hard," I thought to myself. "Maybe I'm doing something wrong." The lactation consultant thought it odd that I was only able to produce an ounce of milk total during my pumping sessions. She suggested I take fenugreek, a supplement that is supposed to increase milk production. So I took fenugreek. No change. More tears.

The thing about boobs is that once they think they're doing a good job, they let you know - by staying full and leaking - despite the fact that their version of 'good job' and your baby's need for a 'good job' are different. Although my supply never increased more than an ounce per pumping session (regardless of how long I pumped for), my boobs would feel like I had a gallon of milk to give; they would get full and I would still have to pump to alleviate the pain and tightness I was experiencing. After a month of pumping and getting no more than an ounce per pumping session, I decided enough was enough. I slowly weaned off a pumping session every couple of days, until I no longer needed to pump anymore. Now it feels like that was so long ago, but back then, it felt like the saga would never end and I would become an urban legend: "Have you heard that story about that poor woman who was found mummified to her rocker with her breast pump still attached, just 'whooshing' away?"

It kind of frustrates me that I didn't know more about what to do if my boobs didn't do what they were made to do when it came down to it. I thought I read all there was to read about breastfeeding and asked all the questions to ask about breastfeeding, but how was I supposed to know to research "what do I do if my boobs don't work?" There are plenty of articles and videos and opinions about how breast milk is better, how to boost your milk supply, how to get a better latch, what foods to avoid and how to take care of your breasts when they are engorged. In my opinion, however, there are not enough articles or blog posts or instagram mamas out there that tell you what it's like when your boobs don't work and how to handle all the feelings/thoughts/life changes associated with that. You know who I learned from when I found out my boobs didn't work? Other mamas whose boobs also didn't work, or didn't work enough. And boy do we have stories! They are stories of survival, of determination and - in many cases - there is an "it is what it is" air about our stories that really just scoffs at the"breast is best" slogan because, again, my breasts were not (at) the(ir) best. Could we just n o t with the whole 'breast is best' slogan? Because for some of us, it's hard and it's incredibly painful and it's taxing on us emotionally and physically and the last thing we need is a scientific article about how formula-fed babies don't have the best antibodies to fight off all the bad guys in the world and how our children will not be going to Harvard Law. Trust me, if I could, I would, but my boobs wouldn't and I couldn't. "Fed is best" is the slogan we should all be saying, and everyone needs to just be kinder to mamas when it comes to feeding them. Formula should also be free - but I digress. I am super grateful to have a husband and family members who encouraged me to take it easy in the breastfeeding department when they saw how taxing and frustrating it was for me. I knew I could stop when I needed to, but it is almost like I needed permission from other people to stop to feel confident about my decision. Thankfully I never felt any guilt about not breastfeeding, but I know that it is not the case for a lot of us. I threw guilt out the window a long time ago because 1. half the population (men) really should have no say in the conversation - and this includes male doctors/scientists/nurses and 2. my utmost concern is the health and growth of my baby and if baby needs to be on Neosure until she's 65 then Neosure is what she's gonna get.

Formula feeding has it perks, like how I am not the sole or only provider of sustenance for our first born child; my husband can get in on the action and I can sleep at night. It also has some cons though, like how expensive it can get, how it has contributed to her silent reflux, and how I cry internally every time we have to throw out formula because my baby didn't eat it and it's past its 'good by' time which, reminds me of another math problem - the one with the trains and what time they'll arrive at the station based on how fast they are moving: "If you make a bottle at 7am and it is good for 24 hours and can only be warmed up twice but your baby stops eating after 30 minutes and has a fit of rage that lasts for 20 minutes how much time do you have left for the bottle to still be usable before your baby is old enough to drive to a restaurant to get her own food?"

So we are over here poppin' bottles and getting fatter by the day (yay!). I'm glad we got this out of the way so that I'm prepared for this whenever/if ever round two comes. But before that ever happens, I'll need to sleep for a thousand years.

A Birth Story

Hello........it's me. It has been A WHILE since I last typed anything here, but baby girl slept really well for the first time in her whole life last night so I am feeling invincible and decided that this would be a great way to spend my free time instead of neverending Hallmark movie channel. I also wanted to have little lady's birth story written down somewhere because honestly y'all, it was the most stressful/amazing/hilarious/strange thing that has happened to me so far, and I don't want to forget it. So without further adieu...

I had a scheduled ob/gyn appointment a day shy of 37 weeks. My usually good blood pressure was unusually high, so the nurse took it twice. It never went down, but since I didn't have any other symptoms of high blood pressure (no headache, no protein my urine), my doctor sent me home with instructions to take it easy and rest. I also had a scheduled appointment with my maternal fetal health specialist* the following Monday, so my ob/gyn decided to let that office decide what to do next if my blood pressure still remained high.

*Twelve weeks into my pregnancy, it was discovered that I had unusually high blood sugar levels, and I quickly had a couple very frustrating appointments with three doctors over a span of four days that resulted in a discovery that I was perhaps a type 2 diabetic that was just living her best life without knowing it (so I guess not really my best life?). That resulted in my having two doctors during this pregnancy - an ob/gyn and a maternal fetal health specialist. It also resulted in a strict regimen of insulin, pricking my fingers 4x a day, and monitoring my carb intake. It was also told to us that I must be vigilant in my diabetes management because if not I would be likely to birth a very large baby (like a 10lb-er) and may develop other complications like preeclampsia. While it was extremely overwhelming in the beginning, this unexpected journey had its unexpected blessings - because this pregnancy was now considered a high risk pregnancy, we got frequent ultrasounds, I managed to gain a respectable 20lbs and not the 100lbs I thought I would gain, and I was probably in the best diet shape of my life. Hills and valleys guys, hills and valleys.

We spent the weekend attending our baby shower and going to Target to get the last remaining items we needed. It was as if my body knew our life was about to get turnt, because at my appointment at the specialist the next day, the nurse told us to go straight to the hospital for an hour of labs because my blood pressure was still high. Mackay and I looked at each other and laughed because of course this would happen. We went home to grab our hospital bag "just in case", and then made our way to the hospital.

We checked in and got a room in Labor & Delivery. The "hour of labs" turned quickly into "are you ready to stay here" because my blood pressure never went down and they wanted to get me started on a magnesium drip to prevent having any seizures. A magnesium drip also meant confinement to the hospital bed and an additional 12hrs of monitoring post delivery, so we quickly realized we were #InItToWinIt. My IV was started, a blood pressure cuff was put on my arm for continuous monitoring, and massage cuffs were placed on both my calves to encourage blood flow while I was confined to the bed. And the cherry on top - I got a catheter put in, because - did I mention was I was confined to the bed? I was also no longer able to eat anything; I could only have small amounts of water. Guys - it was 12:30pm and only an hour into baby girl's birth journey; it would be another 20 hours before we would meet our precious girl #cool.

Once the magnesium drip started, the nurse informed us about the process of inducing me. However, because I wasn't actually in labor yet, they had to 'ripen my cervix'. So thus began a series of hilariously awkward experiences between me and medical staff getting up close and personal with me and my private areas. Nurse Colette was all up in my business to determine the location of my cervix opening (wayyy up in there and to the right, lucky me), and then she placed medicine on my cervix to get it to start opening up.

It took a long time for my cervix to ripen. It took two doses of medicine, and finally at 10pm, Nurse Rachel (hello shift change) determined I was 3cm dilated and ready for pitocin. However, because pitocin speeds up the labor process and intensifies contractions, she suggested that if I was considering an epidural, now would be a great time to get it. I have never answered "yes" so quickly in my life, and an hour later, a curt but efficient Russian anesthesiologist administered three quick "pinches" of numbing medicine and then gave me an epidural. I would like to take this time to shout-out our seven-week birthing class for preparing me for the epidural and also for the things that would later be inserted into me (more of that to come). If you're considering whether or not to take a class, I 10/10 recommend it because I got to see and touch and interact with the items that would later be helping me during my delivery - i.e. I got to see the epidural needle (hello), and I got to see and touch a plastic hook that breaks your water, a internal contraction monitor and an internal fetal heartbeat monitor (which, tbh, looks pretty scary because it's basically a metal hook that goes underneath! the skin! of your baby's head! while they are still inside of you!).

The nurses wanted to make sure little lady would respond well to the epidural before starting the pitocin, so they monitored her heart rate to make sure everything was good to go, and then started pitocin shortly thereafter. At around 2:30am however, the nurse and the on-call doctor came in to tell me that they were going to break my water, stop pitocin, and were going to insert a vaginal heart monitor and contraction monitor because little lady was not responding well to the pitocin and was experiencing a decrease in heart rate before a contraction. A stressful situation but the on-call doctor was just the sweetest old man who spoke in a soft, almost Mr. Roger's like tone and explained everything to me and was cool calm and collected so I was too. Praise Jesus for doctors with great bedside manner!

I don't remember much between the hours of 3am and 7am because not much happened. I remember getting checked at 3am and was only 4cm dilated. I continued to dilate without pitocin due to the medicine they used back when they were ripening my cervix. At 7am, little lady's heart rate finally leveled out and the nurse decided to start me on a low level of pitocin again. At this point, I was 8cm dilated and was told that if I "felt to the urge to push" to let the nurse know, but that they thought I still had a ways to go.

7am was also the time I had the wonderful experience of having a BSN nurse intern decide that this would be the perfect time for her to get her nursing school hours in and do important things like get my vitals and ask me a bunch of questions while my body was preparing to birth my first born child. Her name was Princess y'all. And at one point she just stood there and stared at my four IV bags as if she had never seen anything like them before. She also asked me a bunch of questions like "when was your last menstrual cycle" and asked me to drape my leg (which was numb, because #epidural) over the bed so she could test for my reflexes. Bless you and your nursing school ministry, Princess.

Of course, this was also when my body decided all systems were a go. I started feeling consistent and increasingly intense contractions. Up until this point, I had no concept of what a contraction would feel like. People described it to me as "pressure" and "cramping", but since I got an epidural, I literally felt nothing until about 7am. I would describe contractions as an ever increasing feeling that I was about to push out the biggest poop of my life. In fact, as the contractions increased in intensity, it started to feel more like I was trying to hold in the biggest bout of diarrhea I have ever had. If you recall, the nurse checked me at 7am and I was only 8cm dilated; at 7:30am I remember thinking to myself - "I am stopping myself from pushing" so I finally spoke up and asked for another check at 7:50am. At first the nurse was like "I literally just checked but ok" and then immediately upon checking she looked me bright-eyed and said "are you ready to have a baby?!" because I was 10cm dilated.

Before I knew it, my bed transformer-ed itself and the bottom half disappeared, stirrups unfolded from who-knows-where, a billion people I had never met nor seen before showed up out of nowhere and the brightest lights I have ever seen were suddenly turned on and pointed right at my lady parts from the ceiling. The best part? I progressed so quickly that my doctor wasn't at the hospital yet. In fact, I progressed so quickly that there wasn't a doctor from my practice currently available. Well, one was - but not really - he was in the parking lot. If memory serves me correctly, I was told to 'hold on' because they were trying to buy time to give the doctor time to show up. (This is probably also a good time to tell y'all that I gave birth on a full moon day - the entire labor & delivery floor was full and I found out later that our pediatrician's office had 9 - NINE - births that day). At this point, so many strangers/random people had seen my private parts that I was totally ok with literally anyone helping me deliver this baby - Intern Nurse Princess included. After giving birth, I realized Intern Nurse Princess was still just standing there in the room staring at me so I tried to make small talk and asked her "how many births have you seen?" and she answered "this is my first one" and I said "oh yeah me too join the club"!!!?!?!?!?!?

As if written like a Hallmark Drama movie, my ob/gyn made it at 8:15am, just as the stranger/not-my-doctor was putting on a gown. I remember pushing through three contractions and on Tuesday, October 23rd at 8:31am, little lady entered into the world - at 4lbs 13oz and 19 inches long. I also remember 'birthing' the placenta which, y'all was so weird. But then, it was as if time slowed wayyyyy down and suddenly it was just me and my husband and our precious teeny tiny baby who turned out to be a lot smaller than we thought she would be. No one told me that ultrasounds are over/under by at least 1lb when they give you your baby's weight. This whole time, we were worried we would have a giant baby and I gave birth to a baby that was 3oz heavier than a required NICU stay. Thank you Jesus for the extra 3 ounces!

After some sweet skin-to-skin time, little lady was taken to the nursery to get checked out and all I remember is passing out for an hour because my body just spent 37 weeks making a human then spent 20 hours bringing said human into the world. I was still attached to the magnesium drip, so we had to stay in labor and delivery for another 12 hours, which meant 12 more hours of not eating and being confined to the bed. When little lady returned from the nursery, she was in a temperature controlled isolet because her body was having a hard time regulating her body temperature. I was not allowed to be left alone with our baby because I was still confined to the bed, so Mackay had to be super dad pretty quickly by forgoing his own needs and being the go-to feeder, changer and calmer-downer when little lady was in her isolet.

The nurses continued to monitor my blood pressure and were optimistic that we would be transferred up to the postpartum floor in the evening. By 11pm, we were finally upstairs in a postpartum room and getting settled in. Mackay and I made the decision to put little lady in the nursery because neither of us had slept well/at all and we could not muster up the energy to be 100% responsible for little lady. This was also the first time I was able to get out of bed and move around and EAT, so I was very much like "I love you baby girl but I gotta take care of me" and this was met with some light 'mommy shaming' from the nurses. The hospital is "family friendly", which means that they make you encourage you to room-in with your newborn, which is fine........except that I was not fine and was not physically, emotionally or mentally ready to be "on". Thankfully I stood my ground and the nursery nurse was accommodating and honestly pretty nice about it after realizing our delivery journey and the following seven hours of uninterrupted sleep was like I had slept for 1000 years. One of the best decisions I have made as a parent so far. Lesson learned: people have all sorts of thoughts and opinions on what is best for you and/or your baby, but you are you and a human and you need to do what is best for you because you are your best advocate. I have had to learn this lesson many times since becoming pregnant and as an enneagram 2 with a 1 wing, I promise you it gets easier to advocate for your own self; you just gotta start doing it and do it with confidence!

Putting little lady in the nursery also gave us the peace of mind that someone medically trained and knowledgeable would be monitoring her as she learned to regulate her body temperature. When she returned to us on Wednesday morning, she had graduated out of the isolet and was in a regular infant container-thingy (what are they called?!) and, as long as she was swaddled and had a hat on, we could hold her and snuggle her and love on her without restriction.

Wednesday morning was also when I had a glorious experience with another BSN intern nurse. This nurse also did vitals, but had an extra 'vitals' check: hemorrhoids. This stranger learner of nursing asked me where I felt the most comfortable for her to examine my butt. At this point in my life journey, I told her "anywhere" and I think my answer surprised her because she said quite quickly "umm well perhaps we should go to the bathroom for privacy" and was like "el oh el what is privacy". Thankfully for the both of us, no hemorrhoids were present and she left me alone with my own body and my mesh underwear and my giant pads.

The high blood pressure thing continued to be an issue post delivery, so we stayed an extra night and day at the hospital for my health's sake. By Thursday morning, little lady got the green light to be discharged and I was finally discharged Thursday afternoon after being prescribed medicine to lower my blood pressure to get it to a manageable state. I remember sitting in the car on our way home and being simultaneously out of it and also acutely aware of how crazy life was now that we had a physical baby out of the womb. I still get bouts of that now, where I am sleep deprived but also dancing with baby to Christmas music because she is here and she is alive and I am just overwhelmingly grateful.

We are now exactly five weeks out from little lady's birth day, and man - what a journey. This journey has also helped me appreciate all the hills and valleys women go through to bring life into the world. The journey to motherhood is deep and wide and some are colorful while others are drab. I am grateful for the journey we have had, I have a deep admiration for women who have had harder, and I have great compassion for women whose wombs go bare but their hearts and homes remain open to how motherhood can and does enter their lives in different, unique and beautiful ways.

Last two things I will say about all of this because baby girl is stirring for the nth time and duty calls:

1. She was and continues to be so worth it

and also

2. ...people do this more than once?!

Waiting & Staying

A couple of months ago, I read a devotion about the seasons of life - periods of life where you are in the throws of either sowing, growing or harvesting. This devotion came at the same time my husband and I were praying for discernment as to where God was calling us to serve; where to live, where to work, where to make a home. He will be marking his fifth year workiversary in May and I will have been at my job for two years. Everything seemed to make sense to us that if there was anytime to see where God wanted to plant us next, this would be the time.

For the last couple of months, I got caught up in the quick, fast-paced movement of life. Somehow, I developed a "quit if you're not happy because, why not?" attitude on life, partially fueled by many famous authors and subsequent articles/journals/blog posts about quitting if you're not happy, or quitting if you don't feel God working through you at your job/vocation/station in life. I started interpreting periods of silence and idleness as signs of "you've done all you can here, you need to move on" and "time to get movin'! time to travel! time to see the world!", instead of thinking that maybe - just maybe - this was my period/our period of planting and sowing right where we were.

I mean, why not right? My generation is taught to grab life by the horns, have jobs you are only 110% passionate about every waking moment of your life, quit one job to get a bigger/better/higher paying job, "stop waiting for yo' man and start getting out there and finding one" (and conversely "true love waits but God is taking too long so..."), bigger/better/faster/stronger. Our generation is consumed with making sure our our hashtaginstavinechattweet (see what I did there) is refreshed to! the! second! so that we know what everyone else is doing so we can let everyone else know what we're doing too.

Everything's got to be now. Right now.

But it was just Advent season, and for the first time in a long time I realized that the Advent season is all. about. waiting - anticipating patiently! - for what (or rather, Whom) is to come. Coincidence? I think not.

Prior to the birth of Christ, historians place a 400+ year time span between the end of the Old Testament and the beginning of the New. 400 years! Of waiting! (I can barely wait 400 seconds for something I want, imagine 400 years!) For four. hundred. years, generations upon generations actively and faitfully chose to believe God, believe His promises, and believe His will for their lives, even though He appeared "silent".

When I began having these stirrings in my heart, I started to pray. I prayed for everything - for our future, for our jobs, for our friendships, for our marriage, and for God to make clear to us what/where He was calling us to do. With "Oceans" pumping through my veins, I poured my heart out in my journal, with specific prayers in all areas, seeking after His heart and His voice to lead us - to a place I thought was not Savannah.

"Yes Lord! Lead me where my trust in You is without borders! But lead me somewhere fun...and cool...like Nashville! Or Charleston! Or overseas!" My prayers were all over the place, and quite frankly, very selfish. Why Nashville? Why Charleston? Why overseas? Friends, of course! Cool coffee shops, the stories of great community there, the possibilities of new exciting things to do, why not?, the "grass is always greener" syndrome.

Then came a whisper, a stirring, a realization...what if, instead of away, God was calling us to stay? Back to the start of it all. Back to Savannah. Back to my current job. Back to our church. Back to our little house we have made our home. What if God was calling us to stay right where we were?

At church, sermons were about waiting. In Sunday School, lessons were about waiting. In my small group, we read about Esther and her years of waiting. Suddenly, my eyes were illuminated to my prayers written months ago in my prayer journal and I started seeing God at work the whole time I thought He was silent. Prayers were getting answered. So much so, that I had to start writing down how/when/what prayers were getting answers in the margins.

Now it's the end of 2013 and I looked back to where I was almost year ago, and I am made painfully aware how willing and determined I was to accept this past year of waiting - and in a strange but glorious way - welcomed a year of waiting:

"...if there's anything I'm learning about my God, it's that He is good. All the time. No matter what. And if things aren't 'good', who am I to say otherwise? God is God, He does what He wants, when He wants, how He wants...in the most loving, we-wont-understand-because-He's-God-and-we're-not kind of way. I find comfort in knowing that at the end of the day, the world does not revolve around my ability to cross things off my own list of to-dos for life (or the fact that a list of to-do's exists, for that matter). I am loved by a God who beckons me daily to seek after Him, to seek after what He loves, who He loves. Yes, this is good news, good news indeed."

(Post written January 7th, 2013)

What He wants. When He wants. How He wants.
Heard you loud and clear now, God.

Thank you for giving me a year of waiting.

The Extraordinary Life Of A Nobody

(I've been mulling over this idea that we're all nobodies - we are all people who don't really mean anything to anyone - until we realize we are made a "somebody" when we acknowledge that Someone put us on this earth to do much more than we could ever imagine...)

It all started when I read this book in one afternoon at the beach. There's something about the stories my friend Bob writes about in his book (I can call him friend - I texted him once and he replied #truestory) that are both absolutely insane and insanely beautiful at the same time. The whole time I read his book my brain was exploding - "who is this guy?!"/"people have lives like that?!?!"/"he's not a fictional character?!?!?!"/"is this real life?!?!?!?!"

Then I was reading along with my community of women a couple of days ago (and men too, I guess, if they're into the truths I've been rediscovering daily through their devotionals) and read about this awesome man named Shallun who lived a long time ago during the 'boring parts of the Old Testament' that was a nobody-turned-somebody when his commitment to the rebuilding of the wall of Jerusalem put him in a bigger story with Jesus of the New Testament when he didn't even know it. (Spark notes: Nehemiah writes of Shallun repairing the wall of the Pool of Siloam, which is the same place Jesus sends a blind man to wash off mud from his eyes to receive sight in John 9 #thatjusthappened)

And then this thought occurred to me: what if I lived my life like I was a nobody?

It's so easy to be a "somebody" in this day-and-age. We have Facebook and Instagram and Twitter and Vine to make us look like we're the biggest 'somebody' anyone could ever meet/have in their life/call bestie. Do we really think we're that important? If we pulled up your Vine videos 20 years from now, would we look back on your short 6-second documentary life and say, "Oh yeah, that's really somebody! Look at all the a-m-a-z-i-n-g things they did with their life in these 6-second clips!"

Would we? Really?

We are so consumed by what people think of us*, because if people don't think good things of us (or worse - if people don't think anything about us), that must mean we're missing something...missing something that makes us special or that we're missing that indescribable 'thing' that we need to make us important in people's lives so that they'll talk about us (in a good way) when we're not with them. We want people to know and feel and believe that we're worth their time, worth their friendship, worth their love, worth their acceptance.

But then there's this thing that I always seem to forget about, and it's kind of a big deal when I start remembering it: there's this story (although after being confronted by Andy Stanley over the word 'story', I don't really mean 'story', more like "there's this historical fact"...) about a God who created every one of us uniquely (uniquely! we have forgotten how awesome this word is...) and a God who loves us so much that He sent his perfect Son to come to our mess and save us from ourselves. Because He thought we were special - back in the garden - and He STILL thinks we're special now (even with our self-absorbed 140 characters and our perfectly-chosen filters of nothing/everything).

If I really think about it, I've already been made a somebody by the only One who is worthy of calling me "somebody". Y'all, I don't know about you but that's reallyreallyreallyreallyREALLY freeing.

The moment I think I'm a somebody, the fear of fitting in or the fear of disappointing sinners will overwhelm me to the point of inaction. When I know that I'm a nobody, the world is literally my oyster (ok not literally, as we all know the Earth is not an oyster...and if this is a new fact for you, you're welcome).  I'll do whatever it takes to show others that I love and care for them, because I'm not bound by the shackles of expectations or my reputation to act on my morals and beliefs. It means that if I see something wrong, I will speak up, even if it makes me unpopular (you can't be a 'somebody' and unpopular at the same time...unless you're the popular unpopular nobody that everyone knows about...). It means that  I might quit my job and say goodbye to my kingdom plan because I have felt and heard God's call to serve Him and His kingdom plan. It means that being a nobody frees me to be the somebody God has called me to be, because I trust in His plan for me, I accept His love for me, and I cling to His thoughts of me.

The world is filled with nobodies. We know about them now because they followed their nobody calling and their nobody calling resulted in an extraordinary thing - but if we had known them then, well, we wouldn't have know about them then. Nobodies like Katie Davis who followed God's call to serve the least of these in Uganda when she was 18 years old and now finds herself the mother to 13 girls. Nobodies like the missionaries I grew up with who serve the people of Northern Thailand, helping them translate the Bible into their native tongue word-for-word. Nobodies like Jim Elliot who did some insane things without fear, whose short life ushered in the amazing power of compassion and forgiveness for a tribe of people and has since impacted Christians to be fearless with their faith. My church is filled with nobodies too. The nobodies who show up to drop off filled backpacks for kids who need school supplies. The nobodies who sew pillowcase dresses to send to foreign countries. The nobodies who serve our church community by reading to elementary school students and helping them with school work.

I hope you're not offended that I've chosen to call these amazing people nobodies. What I'm really trying to say is what Miss Davis said so eloquently when she she said this: "People tell me I am brave. People tell me I am strong. People tell me good job. Well here is the truth of it. I am really not that brave, I am not really that strong, and I am not doing anything spectacular. I am just doing what God called me to do as a follower of Him. Feed His sheep, do unto the least of His people."

Somebodies don't say stuff like that. Somebodies say stuff like this: "It’s what I came here to do. I’m now a legend. I’m also the greatest athlete to live."- Usain Bolt. And stuff like this: ""My best and worst 'Idol' moments? I don't have a worst 'Idol' moment. I've been spectacular. Yes, I am going to toot my own horn. And then my best moment is every single moment. I'll toot it again." - Nicki Minaj. Or stuff like this: "I'm sorry that people are so jealous of me... but I can't help it that I'm so popular." - Gretchen Weiners (ok so she's a fictional character, but I have definitely heard people say this in real life, so I think you get my point).

(Did any of this make any sense? Probably not.) All I have to say is this: The world is filled with too many somebodies. We don't need any more somebodies. We need more nobodies. Nobodies who are fearless and unencumbered by what others think of them or what others know of them. That's when crazy, insane, spectacular things start happening.

I want crazy, insane, and spectacular, don't you?

*I hope you know that whenever I say  "we" and "us" I really mean "I" and "me". Because, let's be honest, I am very guilty of everything I expressed in this post.

Spoiler Alert

He lives. Jesus wins. He conquers death.

Yesterday was Palm Sunday, and for the first time in a long time, I was confronted with the truth about the Gospel and how great this Good News actually is. How triumphant his entry, riding on a donkey with palm branches and tunics lining his path. Crowds shouting "Hosanna!", praising him for who he was and what they heard and saw him do. I can only imagine the crowds that gathered - the who's who of Jerusalem mixed with lepers, beggars, and the healed following the One who breathed in new life in their dead and dying bodies.

But then things changed, and soon Jesus was a man people hated and wanted dead. How did people forget? How did the masses un-see the miracles He performed just days before? How could they not remember what He had already done for them?

It's like that time I watched "The Avengers" for the second time today. I have seen The Avengers once before - in the theater, when it was just released; I know how it ends. I stayed past the credits (twice!) to watch the hidden easter egg at the end (the very end). But, when I was watching it a second time earlier this evening, I was f-r-e-a-k-i-n-g out when Loki descended upon earth with his alien friends (disclaimer to all Marvel comic-enthusiasts out there: I am not one of you so I might get beloved alien names/races or plot lines or Avenger names wrong, so...lo siento). I watched as Loki opened that portal thing on top of Stark towers and watched in horror as (what looks like) the worst swarm of biting gnats to ever descend on the earth started flooding the skies of New York City. And then all the Avengers are trying to fight Loki and these alien dudes and the whole time I'm thinking to myself "where is the Hulk" and then I'm clutching the couch pillow tighter and then I'm shouting "WATCH OUT!" to that archer dude on the top of the building (told you I'm not good at names)...

...and then I realized two things: 1. They get shawarma at the end, and they're definitely all there, and all still alive, and 2. Iron Man 3 is supposed to be released later this summer, which means he's also not dead and most definitely alive. So...all the freaking out I did earlier? Unwarranted.

Do you know what else is unwarranted? Freaking out when life hands you lemons because you forget that Jesus rose from the dead already. Y'all - rose. from. the. dead. Think that's not that big of a deal? Let's take a moment to think about the people you know personally who have died but then came back to life...

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Sometimes there are periods of time in my life where things start going down the crapper, and I start freaking out and start thinking and believing that I am my only saving hope. That only I can do what needs to be done to get me out of the mess I got myself into. It is in those times that I have forgotten that Jesus came, He lived/breathed/walked/talked/slept/ate/loved like I do...but with perfection. And not only did He come and live/breathe/walk/talk/sleep/eat/love, but He also died. For me, wayyyyyyy before I was even a thought in the history books. Because He loves me. And thought of me. And knew my sinfulness. And still chose to save me, by dying on a cross. To forgive me. For my sins...past, present, and future.

And
then
He
ROSE
v i c t o r i o u s l y 
from the grave.

Christ rose from the dead, trampling over death by death. To give us life. To give us mercy. To give us hope.

When I think about Holy Week - Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday - this is what I think about. I think about how I already KNOW the ending to this beautiful, Good News story, and how I easily forget it all the time. When we celebrate the risen Christ on Sunday, I will be reminded that I know how this story ends, and I know where I am in that story. So the next time life attempts to throw me down the deepest, darkest sinkhole, I will know how the story ends and I will know that I have already been redeemed. And out of my lips I shall adorn Him with praise.

Hosanna in the highest to the One who came to die for us so that we could be saved!

Love...and stuff.

It was nice to love on my man this year, now that we're finally in the same place and getting to "celebrate" every day of being together since we've gotten married (ok not every day, but pretty close to it!). We're stayed home and ate delicious barbecue from our favorite local BBQ joint. Mmm, ribs.

But you know, love (and being in love) isn't about loving your main squeeze on one 'super special day' one day of the year. At least, that's not enough for me. This is probably something you've heard already but I think it's worth saying again -- we should try to love people every day. I try to do that...secret: I usually fail at loving people every day, but at least I start every day determined to try!

I read in a commentary somewhere that when Paul wrote about love in 1st Corinthians 13, he described love as it being an action, not an emotion; "love is seen, experienced, and demonstrated". When the oh-so-familiar verses start listing what love is ("Love is patient, love is kind...") there is a sense that 'love' is used in terms of "action, attitude and behavior" (Keith Krell). So, then, it should be assumed that love reveals itself in many beautiful, defying and God-glorifying forms.

On valentines day, love reveals itself as a husband picking up dinner and flowers for his wife.

There are currently 27 million living in slavery right.now. Find out more here and here.

On a random Sunday, love reveals itself as a bunch of young people sacrificing time and money for their brothers and sisters around the world. A couple of weeks ago, our 8th graders participated in a Love Walk over the weekend and raised close to $1500 for a local community center...then some returned to church the next day and participated in our "Shine A Light on Slavery" event as our entire youth ministry learned about human trafficking and raised $1,013 (in change - pennies, nickles, dimes, quarters) for the End It Movement to see an end to human trafficking in their lifetime.

Every day, in ordinary (but really not so ordinary) people's lives, love reveals itself as a tireless commitment to someone - through thick and thin - because they know and cling to the fact that they are loved by One who loves them. Ian & Larissa's story tore my heart apart, and challenged me with the question: would I be willing to love my husband this way too? And if I had to care for my husband like Bill cares for his wife Glad, would I have the strength and the joy to do so?

Love is about thinking others more highly than we think of ourselves - through our acts of service. Love is not to be confined between you and the man-candy (or woman-candy) you have in your fleeting life. I am thankful for that reminder this post 'valentines day season', because sometimes the candy hearts and the sweet tarts make love an emotion too easy to get caught up in.

If I speak in the tongues of men or angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poora nd give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. (1 Corinthians 13: 1-3, NIV)

Don't just pretend to love others. Really love them. Hate what is wrong. Hold tightly to what is good. Love each other with genuine affection, and take delight in honoring each other. Never be lazy, but work hard and serve the Lord enthusiastically. Rejoice in our confident hope. Be patient in trouble, and keep on praying. When God's people are in need, be ready to help them. Always be eager to practice hospitality. (Romans 12:9-13, NLT)

#boom

An update on the "B" word

There is something about a year ending and another beginning that can sometimes be uncomfortably unpleasant in the money department. There are just too many opportunities for money to do it's magical disappearing trick during the holidays. Between all the traveling to visit family and all the gifts you buy, it can almost undo all the saving and budgeting you've been doing the past 10 months. Thankfully, with some of our money-conscious decisions made early on in our marriage, we were able to survive the holidays without feeling it in the bank.

The last time I discussed the topic of our "B" word (that's budget if you're totally lost) was back in June (here & here), when the hubs and I were young in our marriage and super ecstatic about budgeting and keeping our finances in order. Now that it's February, I thought it might be helpful to look back and what we did and see how far we've come.

First of all, I have to say that I am really glad we had the "money talk" early on in our marriage. That helped prepare us for our shared life together, when things weren't hectic and we had time to set priorities straight. One idea that we stuck to was the earn one, bank one idea. We did that for the months of June - October, from when we were newlyweds and I was unemployed til I got a job and was employed for a couple of months. When we set off to earn one, bank one, we had one goal in mind: to have enough in savings to cover 3-6 months of emergencies, as suggested by money guru Dave Ramsey. I am so glad we decided to do this before I was employed, because let me tell you -- once I got a job, it was really hard putting my paycheck straight into our savings account when I first started. I had to constantly remind myself that this money was money we had discussed to be put away for later, and slowly started realizing that 'saving for later' was a really, really really great idea. Looking back now, there is relief in knowing that if anything were to happen, we have a safety net to fall back on.

We tithe 10%. We still believe we are commanded to do this. We will continue to do this, and hopefully one day, we will increase the percentage in which we tithe, even if we get back on one salary again. Now with two salaries, it brings me great joy knowing that we have the opportunity to give back and are able to do so. Shortly after getting married, I found out that my husband was designating his tithe to a specific line-item in the church budget where he felt he was called to give (I basically fell in love with him all over again when I found out he did that). Now that we're married, I have joined him in supporting that calling, happily giving to our church's emergency fund, which helps individuals in our community cover, well, emergencies! If we are to love our neighbors as ourselves, I believe that we need to stand in the gap for them financially and help keep their lights on and their houses warm at night. This idea of portioning your tithe to something specific is not uncommon. My parents tithe to the missions department at their church. People tithe to sponsorship programs that help people in their church go on missions trips. Some tithe to a line-item that helps support church families undergoing the adoption process. Doesn't that give you joy, knowing that your tithe can go specifically towards something that you are passionate about?

The hubs and I continue to be blessed in being debt-free. We do not take this lightly. We are so very thankful that we never had to take student loans for school, nor are we in any credit card debt. Now that the hubs is in grad school, we continue to be blessed to not have to get loans for school. Through our strategic saving and several scholarship opportunities, we are able to pay for his school without the stress of having to pay it off later. Yes, it is a rude wake-up call when chunks of money suddenly 'disappear' when we pay his tuition bill, but I'm glad that we do that comfortably without having to worry about paying it back later. I hope and pray that as bigger things start coming up in our lives, we will continue to watch our steps and do our best to avoid getting into debt (or too much debt, if we have to).

Summer will be here before we know it, so we are starting to tighten things up around here in anticipation for what's coming. Knowing what's coming up helps us plan for what to do right now. We have two weddings that we are planning on attending two weeks apart from each other this summer, and while they seem like lightyears away, we are already talking about saving money for travel expenses and accommodations. Better safe than sorry I always say, or in other words: better saved now and spent later.

So that's what we've been up to in the money department. How about you? What kinds of 'check-ups' do you do to make sure you're on track with your financial spending?