The Notable Faith of Enoch

In my new attempt to read through the Bible, or at least to read the Bible regularly, I stumbled upon a character that had escaped my attention before. While doing my obligatory reading through the boring ol geneaologies, I read about a man named Enoch. Enoch was noted as walking with God. It says very little about him apart from that except that he walked with God and he didn't die because God took him away. It never mentions how many hours he spent in his daily devotional readings, or how many times a day he bowed in holy prayer. It doesn't mention whether he was a glorious preacher of a church of 10,000, or if he was a missionary in the outer regions to a people who only had gourds as clothing. I have been stewing about him for days now. How does someone walk with God in such a notable way? All it says is that he walked with God. So whatever it was that he did, whether it was being a Doctor, or a teacher, or a preacher, or just some boring old stay-at-home mom... ahem... dad, he was noted for his walk. A walk of faithfulness to his creator God.
I went to a party yesterday, and invariably the question was asked "SO, what do you do?" and invariably my answer was "I stay at home with my 3 kids!" and, invariably, the silence ensued. There was a time when I would feel a sting of shame, after all, I made a fuss about their boring real-estate careers. I know, however, that although my current career may seem boring (it is not) it is not the sum of who I am. I like to create, I like trying to be "green", I like home made things, I like getting recipes (although I will never use them properly). And above all, I am a believer of and in Christ.
Someday, it will be different. I may become some famous Doctor who cures people by blinking in their general direction, or I may change the rotation of the world with my mediocre sewing skills. Whatever I do, I will be a Christian, a follower of the creator God. Enoch and I share the same God. My prayer is that some day, my epitaph will say the same, simply that I too walked with God.

Believing the Samaritan Whore

I was recently challenged by a friend to use some of my Facebook time to read the Bible. I have tried successfully twice now. One of the passages I have read is John 4. It tells the story of Jesus, a clean Jew, speaking to a dirty, slutty Samaritan woman. Jesus, the religious fanatic, the feminist, speaks to a woman his religion would forbid. As I read, and re-read this passage, more and more things stuck out to me. Not only was this woman a "woman", she was a woman that most people, whether Jew, Baptist, or Apiscopalian, would not speak to. She was lurking in the muck of society. She was not allowed to draw water at the same time as the other ladies. She was dirty in a people considered dirty to a Jew. Yet, Jesus, unashamed, speaks to her. He asks her to get water for him. That would be like asking a pig to share his slop. She acknowledges this with a surprised,"Why do you ask me this, since I am a Samaritan woman?" He wastes no time in his theological parlance. He tells her to ask him for the "water of life". She misses it a bit at first, but it doesn't take her long to get on track. In the course of their discussion (Yes, He was talking theology with a whore) He points out to her that He knows who and what she is. This seals the deal. She knows who He is. She drops her water and runs into town, into a town in which her story is no secret, and pronounces the coming of the Son of God. People believe what she has to say, and come to speak to this strange Jew themselves. It doesn't take long for this crowd of half-breeds to believe Jesus for themselves. They beg Jesus to stay on in their sty, and He easily agrees. Jesus is so willing to defy His current trend of religious beliefs for the love of PEOPLE. Jesus loves Samaritans, He loves me, He loves the people of Melbourne, and even the people of the Western Suburbs. He is not a discriminator. I have realized that I am a racist, supremacist, bigot. I judge people based on their attire, skin colour, and cigarettes. Who is ever going to see Jesus through me? I have realized that I, too, need to follow the Samaritan woman. It's my turn to race after her to the feet of my beloved egalitarian, to sit at his feet and see through His eyes.

To tie or not to tie

So, with the advent of a 3rd person in our family the big discussion has begun. Is this the last of little additions to our family? Before Asher was ever conceived I knew we were missing him. I have not had any similar revelations about a new addition... in fact I sort of feel DONE. I am pretty sure I am at maximum capacity with 3 small ones. I am thoroughly looking forward to losing my baby weight, and getting back to looking fabulous. I can't wait to get rid of those stretched, space consuming maternity clothes. But, I feel like surgery (for him) is so final. I am not sure if I feel comfortable making such a major decision. However, since 2 of our children were conceived unplanned, and with my personal intolerance to "the pill", it seems that surgery is our most reliable option. It's final. So, now we have to decide what "final" we want. Another little addition, or none... it seems that both could spell DOOM.

Post-Partum Essentials

It's day 3 after "the Bear" has entered the world, and I wanted to jot down a few things that have been super beneficial to me in recovery.
#1- A supportive, and loving hubby. Absolute necessity!
#2- Food. Whether made for you or before-hand by you, it's so important to have a lot of ready made food around.
#3- Metamucil or something similar. Along with a stool softener.
#4- Panadol, Tylenol, and/or Ibuprofen. Just takes the edge off.
#5- Tubigrip or some control wear. I totally feel like my abdomen has been blasted away, and the tubigrip has saved my back.
#6- Satiny jammies. At least bottoms. Makes getting in and out of bed a million times more comfy. No sliding stitches around on sheets.
#7- Piles of cheap Homebrand Super Pads. Great for the first few days. Useful for C-section protection, and cheap enough to change hourly.
#8- Water bottle. Full please.
#9- Pillows. Pillows. Pillows.
#10- Ice pack. For sitting on while feeding, or for stuffing down shirt for a little nipple relief.

I also treated myself to some goat's milk soap before getting into the hospital and find it fabulous for the sorer bits. It cleans so gently. I also like it on my face.
Also, a big jug of cranberry juice won't go astray, as it's good to be a little preemptive with other discomforts.

Here's to babies and their glorious entry into the world!

Power in weakness

This week was a rough one in parenting land. My daughter, the princess, was sick. She whinged all day, and cried all night. She exhausted all our collective sympathies in the first day. My son, has been stricken with the terrible 3's. Some weeks are better than others, and this one was a rough one. I think both children are getting the pre-baby freaks, and desperate for us to prove that we will still love them when there is a new baby around. Leif is also dropping his one and only nap, and is therefore usually quite tired. On one particularly rough day, after herding my kittens into and around the Dr.s office we were called in. Piper had no symptoms of anything but a virus, or urinary tract infection (which she did have). The Dr. pointed out how "brave" I was. At first I didn't know what she was talking about. Then it dawned on me she was referring to my enlarged abdomen, which obviously held another "one". I stammered something unintelligible, like "Oh, yeah, blifp durbit", which had a meaning as confused as it sounded. Then we headed over to pathology to get a pee bag for my little princess. There the nurse also pointed out how busy I would be. I again nodded knowingly. At this point, I was exhausted from little sleep, and a 20 lb ham who needed to be carried everywhere due to her illness. I was near tears at the constant reminder of how much BUSIER I was going to be. We headed out from there, pee bag intact, to the grocery store for a few items. At the grocery store, the cashier remarked how busy I was going to be, and again how "brave" I was, as if my swollen belly was something I obviously acquired will wind-sailing to the moon. There was no confused mumbling here...just a subject change. After our groceries, I had to take a peek at the pharmacy for one or two more items. Once again, I was graciously reminded how much work was ahead of me.
I got everyone home, sweating and hungry. I fed the masses, changed nappies, inflicted toilet time, wiped bums, unloaded the groceries, read books, and put to bed. I tried to nap, but my sleepless toddler was not sleeping today, and the ol' late term heartburn was setting in anyway. I made it to 4 pm that day, and broke down in uncontrollable sobs. Is there nothing good about being a parent? Do we simply survive it until we can move on? Am I going to fall apart having a 3rd baby? Can I keep it up day after day?
A lovely lady had sent me a sermon, so after I called Chad to come home ASAP, I put on the sermon and listened as scripture was read. It was the passage about God's power being shown in our weakness. I felt so weak, and yet somehow picked up and carried by a God who is bigger and stronger than I. Even though I didn't plan #3, God had. He looked at me, a haggard, but loving mum, and thought I could do it, so BOOM! Here comes my badge of "bravery". I felt so encouraged that God knows how fragile and weak I am. He knows even better than me, how I am failing. But He is strong, and He is wise, and He is the creator of my fabulous little family. So I curled up in the arms of my maker, and trusted Him to get me through another day.

In Pursuit of Pretty

Lately, I have been hounded by the question "Is it important for a woman to FEEL beautiful?" Sounds like a simple question. Maybe it is to some, but beauty is something that has confused me for years. I feel like I'm the only girl in the world who is still dealing with this subject. Like I should have dealt with it at puberty. I don't think that the Bible has any opinions. So I feel lost. I don't feel pretty, but I have felt pretty sometimes.

Growing up and even into college, I was terrified that people would think I was trying to be pretty. As if I was trying to be something I wasn't. I wanted to be comfortable with the fact that I was not. I felt like a bit of a joke when dressing up. Again, it was like people would see through my facade and realize that I was just a plain or even unattractive girl being a try-hard.

My husband tells me daily that I am beautiful. I know he means it because if he doesn't say it with his mouth he says it with his eyes. And sometimes there's lust there, and sometimes it's just that he sees me as beautiful. He will say it in the morning and he will say it when he comes home from work. It doesn't really matter what I am wearing or how horrible my hair is or whether I have make-up on or not. One would think that would be enough.

But sometimes I still hear the boys in High school laughing at me for being ugly. I hear that boy in grade 8 say "she was ugly before... she's even uglier now" referring to a change in my hair color. I see that car of boys barking at me. And then I feel that maybe I don't have the right to feel pretty. I have never been "the pretty one" but the ugly friend, the side-kick, the funny girl.

Funny how, at 30, those voices are as loud as they ever were.

But, at 30, I think I should be over it. I have made 3 kids, a very womanly feat. I am symmetrical. My body functions mostly like it should. And I have a husband who thinks I am beautiful, and he sees me more than I do. So I have been wondering how important is it that I feel beautiful/sexy/pretty? Part of me thinks it may be worth the journey. Part of me doesn't want to try. I don't want to care. I want to just be a good person and allow that to satisfy. Some days it does, others I'm not a good person, or it doesn't make a difference.

I always look like me. I assume I always will. I'm just not sure when that will cease to be a disappointment.

Either Or

Just a quick note to share a little thought that is constantly rolling around in my mind. I have been frustrated at the way I hear many modern married people talking about children. Many claim that they "need" to get financially stable before starting a family. I am not against this, of course. Children are expensive, but not as expensive as some think. They don't need to have the most modern stroller, or the $5,000 play equipment. Also, financial stability has nothing to do with "Dad" buying that new boat first. It makes me crazy when people say they want to travel first. I can totally understand if you have never traveled, your first trip to Papua New Guinea would be quite hampered by little guys. But there are opportunities to travel with children. Children can make a travel experience richer.

I know that kids take their toll on parents. But life doesn't end when one has kids. It's just that it is a changed life that begins. A life full of the wonder of little things, a slower life but a richer one. Every new phase brings it's limitations and freedoms.

My life did not end when my son was born. I like to think that he has only enhanced my life. He changed it, for sure, but I didn't die. I still have plans, too, for a time when after this very brief period of certain limitations.

Navigating in threes

Upon reminiscing, last year was a hard year. Black Saturday kicked it off. Then we proceeded on to issues closer to home. The threes. In a stroke of parenting "genius", Hubs and I decided to toilet train, put the kids in the same room, and teach Leif to dress himself all at once. Never were there born "wiser" people than us. Kids sleeping in the same room lasted only one month, but began a series of months where no one slept more than a few hours. Three months into toilet training, after many more episodes and screaming and bribing and yelling and fit throwing (by both parties, I am ashamed to admit) I reluctantly threw in the towel. Evidently, when baby #2 starts to crawl that can be a very traumatic time for baby #1. Well, guess who started crawling around our toilet training time. Yikes! So we kissed goodbye to this milestone. So exhausted beyond words, due to #2s lack of sleep, and #1s lack of cooperation, I had my first moments of crying to go back to work. After a while, we started sleeping again, and not worrying about doing anything in the toilet, things settled. Although Leif's behaviour became more and more...um...volatile. I put it up to the recent chain of events, and consistently made excuses for him. "He's tired", "he's got a sore bottom", etc. That was a year ago now. He has been getting more and more "tired". I realized the other day that, all this time, I have been dealing with a little boy who is learning his way through this world. Learning that he can say "NO!" and have power to ignore, or claw, or scream, or tantrum his way to achieve his will. He's learning he has a will. I guess I'm learning it too. Not a lesson I'm a fan of. This has been a very rough year in toddler land. I only hope that the 4s aren't worse.

The Outsider

i am listening to Christmas music these days. feeling sad and lonely. i miss the snow and the scents and the general atmosphere of the "magic" of christmas that exists only in the northern hemisphere. feeling like i have to force the sensation of "christmas spirit". being pregnant and caring for two little ankle-biters, i am feeling more and more left out. rarely are we invited to eat at anyone's home, or even to dine out with them due to the complications of needing to safely and humanely tie down two tornadoes of destruction. not blaming anyone... just the truth. feeling further and further from humanity in general... and not sure that i want to put in the work to inch my way back. i'm tired and feel like an alien. which i am. the more i know of australia, the more i realize the nuances of our cultural differences; being american, myself. somehow i feel like i will only ever be half in half out, because i will never think like an aussie. my mind will always be american at the nubs. i am far from my family and, in this season of joy and silent nights (i defy you to find a christmas album that does not have that meaningless song on it) i am so aware of the distance.

somehow the ache of homesickness brings Emmanuel closer. God with us. in this season of consumerism and "getting" there is One, silently, patiently, and oh so beautifully present. He was an alien too. He was far from his home. He wandered aimlessly, sometimes hated, and sometimes loved to tiny little pieces of giving, just as a mother of a toddler who can rattle off 15,000 demands in 30 seconds flat. the God who made the world, felt sad and far away. He too was exhausted by the never ending stream of demands on Him. He felt alone, far away, and friendless. He, too, was never far enough, fast enough, high enough. He, too, cried alone.

And because He did, i do not. His hand is on the shoulder of this alien. The God with us. God with me.

tonight my son looked at me and said "mom, i love you because you are good."
Emmanuel, i love You because You are Good.

Monster Madness

I have a few friends who are pregnant now with their first babies. There is something so thrilling about the first pregnancy. I suppose it's because it's all new. There is more energy and brain cells to put into contemplating the life change that is about to come. I remember in my first pregnancy, I touched my belly all the time, and felt I was "showing" much earlier than I really was. I tried really hard to listen to people's stories about becoming parents for the first time and use those stories to prepare myself. I thought that maybe the lack of sleep would be my biggest transition, and was curious how I would handle it. In the end though, the real surprise was not so much what happened in my life, but what happened to me. As soon as I saw my son's periwinkle body there awoke in me a monster that I had not been aware of. I had a keen sense that, if needed, I was capable of superhuman feats to protect my son. I KNEW that if there was a threat, without a blink, or even much effort, I could rip someone's head from their shoulders. I never anticipated the "Monster Mom" effect, and could hardly believe that something so potent could be fueled by a love so new and painful. All of a sudden, my heart was ripped from my chest, and tied to the wrist of this little being who was careless of it. My sense of protection is as much for him as for myself. If something happened to my children I would not continue to breath. I never could have anticipated how intrinsic to my life my children are.
I know now that the lack of sleep goes on for years after they have begun to "sleep through". The Monster always sleeps with one eye open. I wake now worrying and wondering if someone, tonight, is going to try to snatch them from their beds. I worry about their eating and activities. I know, all too keenly, that my sleep will never be what it once was. When they are teens, I will lay awake wondering if I am loving enough, or firm enough. I will ponder in the depths of the night what they are up to while at a sleep-over. The rest of my life will be deprived of the once energizing sleep, and will be energized instead by the Monster. The Monster itself is fueled by a bottomless pit of this new painful, potent, and powerful love. It is not the "love" of Huggies commercials in glowing white rooms, and adoring smiles (that's only a minor part.)No no, it is a dark and lurking, sometimes ugly love. A Monster love. It's the kind of love that only God could fill a mother with. So, I guess maybe God is a Monster Mom too. His dark and lurking Monster love weeps with us, and for us. He is obsessed enough to count our hairs, and catch our tears. He never slumbers, and He watches our every move day and night. The Monster Mom in me is comforted to know that, even if my super-powers are not enough to protect my children, they are guarded and watched by an even more powerful, and obsessive Monster God.

An Attitude of Gratitude

I am naturally a very negative person. I like to think it's "realistic", as all of us pessimists would say. If something bad happens in a day I will usually define my day as "sucky". As a pessimist, I tend to fear the worst and dread the best. But 12 years ago, God rained a little irritating sunshine into my miserable existence and ever since I have been doing battle with a perpetually positive and perky individual. She stormed my life with her cheer and constant annoying habit of finding something good in everything. She was a Pollyanna to my Grinch. What I have at times thought of as "fake" I have now realized in simply innate in her. As I put my energies into twisting everything into being a "sad reality" she puts her energies into finding the "good in it". In the 12 years of knowing her a little of this pleasantness has gratefully begun to colour my thinking. As I began to realize that things are how we choose to see them, I have realized that my reality is as real as hers and her reality could be mine if I was willing to put the energy into it. I have found myself at times thinking, "How would Becca think about this?" I have even startled myself by actually choosing her thoughts over mine. I find more and more I WANT to think positively. I WANT to see the good in things. I WANT to be grateful. I have spent so much time miserable that it is so easy to go there, but part of me is caught up in the sunshine and wants to stay there. I hope that more and more of me will get dragged there, and that I can begin to see things with the glorious "attitude of gratitude" which I believe is a Biblical view of the world.

I have begun to ask God to show me things to be grateful for. I don't want to miss even the most minute things, and so far I have seen with new eyes the tap in my house that provides me all the water I need. It is drinkable, and can be hot or cold on demand. I have seen with new eyes the roll of toilet paper that is an absolute luxury. I am so grateful to have decorations in my house that are an absolute ostentatious display of the wealth of our household, but, I think, make it a beautiful little home. Even on my hard days with the kids, I am so thankful that I have them as I know too many people who have not been able to keep theirs.

Many times this gratitude is of a forced and concerted effort, but I think it is enriching my life and makes it no less "real". I am so grateful for my beautiful friend who has seen my in my most monster-ish form, loved me anyway, and was bold enough to force me to see some of her reality for myself. Although I have been a storm cloud in her sky many times, she doesn't hold this against me, and has even thanked me (yes, it's true) for being an influence in her life. I think God grants us friends like this to colour our lives for the better, but I hope never to diminish her light. I am grateful to have someone show me the way to a new perspective, a holier perspective, one filled with more light and more beauty that I ever thought my grumpy little self could manage.

Yummy Mummy

I was flipping through a magazine the other day full of expensive things that one may choose to purchase for their impending little one. As I flipped I came upon an advertisement from MILK. It featured a perfectly tanned, non-stretchmarked "sexy" body of a pregnant woman advertising maternity undies and bra. Initially, as one is supposed to, I thought, "Oh she's beautiful. If only I had those undies." Then I pictured my pregnant body in reality; a glowingly white, alien brains for a belly, flabby thighs and arms, and general puffiness kind of body. I felt a flush of shame, (also, I think, the general intent of those ads). Then, I felt raging anger. Here I am, in a time of my life when growing larger is entirely out of my hands, it's a good thing, a sign of my miracle and gift to be able to carry another little Loftis, feeling shame that I am "ugly". Now there is a reason I no longer read Cosmo, or any of those other "10 ways you're too fat and ugly" magazines. I realized a long time ago that that is never going to be my reality. That looking at how fat and ugly I am has never helped me to be more beautiful or thin. I have also avoided parenting magazines for the same reason. I get so tired of being reminded how I don't measure up. My children are not potty trained by the time they are 6 months, in fact, my 16 month old is not even walking yet (pause for shock) and my 3 year old is not toilet trained yet.

In reading that magazine and seeing that image, I felt like my safe place, my feeble self-image and confidence had been invaded. It made me angry that once again, I was not measuring up. Once again, even in the midst of pregnancy, I was too fat and ugly. Then it dawned on me, I AM fat and ugly. Pregnancy is not sexy. I have NEVER seen a pregnant woman and thought to myself "Wow! She's so sexy!" I mostly look and think that "Oh, She looks cute for being pregnant." Pregnancy mutates our bodies, it damages bladders, causes yeast infections, dental decay, nose bleeds, stretch marks (which by the way are NOT the cause of a lack of hygiene, but simply genes which some of us are lucky enough to have been given), flabby bellies, hemorrhoids, and a myriad of other very UN-sexy things. Pregnancy does not make me feel beautiful, and definitely not sexy.

Pregnancy has, however, given me many things which make me value even this fat and ugly time. I have been gifted with two children, and two healthy pregnancies. Pregnancy does make me feel feminine, as I defy any real man to bear a child. I have come to appreciate my femininity and role in my world, thanks to my super-human ability to make people from nothing but another cell. So although I have failed in so many ways, I can make people. And that's pretty awesome. My maternity undies campain would include swollen women with stretch-marks, pregnancy pimples and capes! Super hero capes! Because pregnancy is not sexy (we all know that) but it is SUPER human!

Top Ten Baby Must Haves

Okay, there are probably not really 10 must haves of anything in the world, but in our materialistic culture, there are lots of things that are convenient and great to have when bringing home little people. So, with that little aside, we westerners shall indulge in a little "Top Ten" baby must haves.

1. Baby carrier- This is my personal #1. I am a huge proponent of baby carrying, it's a great way to bond with baby and get some things done while baby is happy. There were several brands mentioned on my FB request for ideas so here they are: Kozy wrap ( a bit of a twist on a mei tei carrier), moby wrap (personal fave... wanna make your own? I can tell you how!) Ergo carrier, or Baby Bjorn.

2. Stroller- I think it is great to have a slim, easily handled, multi-position stroller that will allow for a toddler seat. Especially as babies are a little older, they are able to eat snacks and look at the elephants without having to worry about Mummy's hair getting in their bikky. Mum can go on long walks without having to visit the Chiropractor after, and everybody gets some good fresh air.

3.Port-a-cot (pack and play)- A fantabulous way to keep little newbies safe from their older siblings. Great for naps away from home, too. Just be sure to bring the smelly blanket from their bed.

4. Velcro-swaddling blanket- This one was recommended on FB again as a big fave for newbies. Keeps baby tucked in their blanket with no escaping. Show 'em who's boss from the very beginning. (Insert evil chuckle) Never used one myself.

5. Baby monitor- Depending on the size of your house, this could be the difference between boring hours spent outside baby's door, and actually getting something done... like brushing your teeth.

6. Breast-pump- This is quite a handy little thing to possibly assist in staving off mastitis (be sure to fully empty breast, and use at the same time everyday!) and also a great way to boost supply. However, I have one that requires 2 hands and I would definitely recommend one that is only one hand or no hands!

7. "Baby Love"- Or some great reference book. It is invaluable to have a book at the ready to give you some tips in raising your little monkey, everything from feeding (bottle or boob) to rashes. "Baby Love" was given to me while Leif was in the hospital and the pages are browning with referencing. It is moderate in opinion and gives many options and solutions all the while empowering Mummy to make wise choices. A great buy!

8. Baby aspirator- I have a baby booger sucker, a.k.a. aspirator and I'm so glad. My fingers don't fit...and I don't want them to.

9. Thermometer- The best ones are the ones that are quick and involve as little skin contact as possible. I have two under-pit-up-the-bum-sit-still-for-20-minutes-add .5 thermometers. Needless to say, we have not had any accurate temperatures measured in this house. Spend the $80 and get a good one... Don't do as I do.

10. Baby sleeping bag- these are great to keep little guys warm during the cooler months without having to worry about blankets. I found these to be fabulous until the kids begin on their journey towards independent movement. Then the bottom can be snipped off to make a nightgown.

Additionally mentioned, are things like "boppy pillow" a curved breastfeeding pillow (highly recommended, although in Australia these are common shaped pillows and not called "boppy" which is a very embarrasing name), baby book (need to get me a couple), baby swings or rockers, and dummys or pacifiers.

All this said, there is very little that is essential for babies but food, drink, and cuddles. So no need to panic if you can't afford the $10,000 stroller that has a cup holder, or the baby monitor that electronically reassures you baby is still living. Children have survived for decades, possibly even further back than that, without velcro swaddling cloths, and polar fleece sleeping bags. We will just sit back and relax with our Boppy pillows in position and Kozy wrap at the ready and be grateful what a great age we live in that luxury allows us such fabulous things for our kids.

Heartbeat

At the ultrasound on Tuesday morning, I saw my little rice grain, thriving and healthy. Right where a little baby should be. All is well, and the previous pain was obviously something not related in a harmful way to this little nugget. The little guy had a heart beat (oh what a glorious thing to behold!) that was strong and perfect. It struck me, how much I truly love this little creature. I have only just become aware of it's existence, and I LOVE it. I was devastated at the vague suggestion that there could be something wrong. The mere thought of it sent shudders down my spine and immediate tears to my cheeks. It is a strange but wonderful thing to be so tied to a person who is a big as a rain drop. A love like that is not an earthly love, as any mother can attest.

AS I gazed at the beautiful sight on Tuesday morning, with tears running down my cheeks, I ached for all the children with heartbeats who will never see the world. My child is well within the range for an abortion, and could easily be sucked out, with nary a thought from any party. A woman even said, "They aren't really people until the 3rd month." Our government doesn't recognize their "person-hood" until 6 months. But I saw the form of MY child, and I saw it's heartbeat register on the screen and there is NO ONE who will convince me that that being is not a person. It is not a "person" because I want it, it is a "person" because it has a heart beat. However, he/she will see the sun, because I DO want it. Evidently in our very civilized society, people are only people who are wanted people. The unwanteds should have their brains sucked out, or their bodies dragged apart.

I am so grateful that I get to keep my little person, and that it wasn't taken from me. And I continue to pray that the sad practice of infanticide will end in my lifetime and that worldwide, civilized societies will take up the cause of children, great and small.

In the way you look

Saturday I went to the Dr. with lower abdominal pain. It was not excruciating, but was of concern since I am pregnant. In the two days that have passed there have been major upheavals of positivity swinging back to "freak-out". Everything could be normal. There could just be a cyst... or it could be catastrophic. It could be ectopic. I can tell myself it will be fine, and I can sit on that for a couple of hours... but then the thought sneaks in that maybe I will lose this baby. And then the hysterics begin, and once those are over I am able to talk myself back into a state of calm. I'm embarrassed to be so emotional, but then remind myself that there is so much at stake. Not only will I definitely lose the baby, an ectopic pregnancy will surely effect my chances to have children in the future, and if not found before it ruptures I could bleed internally and inch very close to death. Sounds a bit dire, but then everything could be fine. Oh I'm sure it's all fine... but what if it's not.
I have spent some time, however thinking things over, and have come to the conclusion that I have many things to be grateful for. For one, I have two glorious children. Not only are they perfect specimens of cuteness, but they are enjoyable to be around. I am grateful that for the 7 weeks of this pregnancy I have been able to take everything for granted. I have not been petrified that things will go wrong, as my other 2 pregnancies progressed perfectly, and my daughter was born without a bowel disease, and so the thought had not even crossed my mind that this little rice grain might have it. I am so glad that I got to enjoy the first 7 weeks with this little person, and if I am not able to keep it (sob coming on) than I am thankful for that time.

This Wonderful Life

I recently read an article by a person who referred to herself as a "Non-Breeder". Her article was a recounting of various stories she has collected from friends of the "gore" of motherhood, the long and painful pregnancies followed by long and painful labour followed by long and painful months of sleeplessness, puke, poo, etc. Her well written and humorous article relieved a bit of the sting I felt as being referred to as a "breeder" and it reminded of the importance of proclaiming the beautiful things of parenthood. I am passionate about parenting. I am passionate about the importance of children in the world and about people not being afraid to have children. So, instead of a tyrade about how children are not appreciated in this child-hating society, I decided to list off my top ten reasons why my children are great.

1. They have taught me about God in a way I never could have experienced Him. I know that God loves me more than I love my children...that's a lot. It's so much that it almost hurts to think about.

2. My children have taught me to find delight in the most broken things. Leif's favorite thing in the world is "treasure" (what I call rubbish) that he finds on the footpath. Who would have ever looked at that used straw and thought "Fun!"?

3. My children have taught me the amazing power of a cuddle. One voluntary snuggle from Piper and my day is a miracle.

4. My children have offered me the satisfaction of living for something bigger than myself. If i do a good job now, just imagine the incredible impact that 2 healthy God-fearing, human-kind loving people can do in this world. I've multiplied any impact I could ever have had.

5. My children have reminded me that imagination has no bounds. We regularly have tea flying over our house, or Willy (most noted for his movie "Free Willy") visiting us in the park, or water horses left on the ground everywhere. My world has never been so colourful or fun.

6. There is NOTHING in the world so amazing as kids giggling. Nothing.

7. My children have helped me to know myself better. I never thought I could have made it nearly a year without sleeping a whole night through, but I have, and am a stronger more worthwhile person because of it. My understanding and sympathies have deepened. I have my kids to thank for that, as nothing else on earth would have survived me in that state.

8. My children have helped me take my husband less for granted. He is an amazing father and I LOVE watching it.

9. My children have gotten me out of awkward social engagements. Let's be honest here, if you have nothing to talk about, the kids are always there either being "cute" or just needing to go to bed.

10. My children get me out of bed at a reasonable time every morning and make each day unique.

I adore my children. I love being a parent, and although it may be a little "boring" or " mindless" to some, I find it a stimulating job that will only last for a few short years.

No Help, Thanks.

Yesterday was my worst (or best) day in a very long string of bad days. My children tag team all night and it has been getting more and more difficult as the months drag on and the glimmer of hope I once had is fading. I am tired to put it mildly. I proclaim on a daily basis that I can do it no longer. Yesterday, I meant it. I was literally at the end of myself, my mind was racing to find a way out, a way to fix it, a way to change...and I was coming up with nothing.
Having confessed my desperation to my amazing sister-in-law at playgroup (which was quite enjoyable) she concocted a plan to help. It was a plan that involved sacrifice on the part of several people. As she told me her idea I was tempted, as dictated by my deep cultural regulations, to say "No, no. I'll be fine". We both knew, however, that aside from accepting help, I had no hope of making it another minute. I could only nod with both touched and humiliated tears streaming. She arranged for people to come and sleep with my kids so that hubby and I could sleep a whole night through.
I have accepted help in the past, a lovely girl from my Bible study watched my kids for a whole day while I did whatever I needed to do, my in-laws have watched the kids as well; but there was something particular about this time. The level of sacrifice was so great and in my normal state I would never allow people to do something like this. As I thanked them, they all said,"It's no big deal." But it is. It is a big deal to be willing to stay up all night with someone else's children. What they meant was, "It is a sacrifice I am willing to make because I love you." And as much as it hurts my pride to need help in the first place, it feels good to accept help and love in the sacrifice of another. I've allowed them to have a measure of power in my life, and in the end that is what real relationship is all about.
I feel like that night of sleep, given so graciously, is enough to help me carry on a bit longer. I have hope again. And I feel I have learned a huge lesson in what it means to love, help, and be helped. So, help? Yes, thanks.

Beer Lahai Roi

You are the God of Hagar, The God who sees...
Do You see me? As I weep on my knees...
Do You see me? As my fatigue grows fangs
Do You see me? As my list of victims grows

I am beyond myself by miles. Do you see it?
Did You know I can't take another step? But you demand it.
Did You see me stumble? Did You watch me fall?
I know You know it all... Did You know that?

Why do You make us wait? The waiting is killing us.
We wait for a time when things will be better, when night again will be friendly.
We wait for a time when things will change, when You will storm in, sword blazing, and save us.
We wait to sleep.

Oh God. The God who sees. See me.

The Story of my Life

My Brightest Diamond, an album given to me by a friend, is filled with highly personal songs. The singer screams about pain of loss, but also the beauty of it too. It made me wish that I could write an album just simply as an outlet for the things in my life that still haunt me. So, since I am not a song writer, I came up with some titles for an E.P. Of course it is not entire, just a work in progress. (Damn, I really wish I could write music.)


Blackhole of Years- A moody and despairing depiction of my years spent in the utter lost-ness of depression and suicidal tendencies.

True Love (Buttercup's Ballad)- A tender melodic description of my first encounter with real love in my soul mate, Chad.

The Artist's Widow- An angry recounting of my most painful introduction to being married to an artist.

My Beautiful First- An emotional song of the beauty, joys, and fears of the first pregnancy.

F*** U Hirschsprungs- (Not sure how I would get "Hirschsprungs" into a lyric, but with a little dedication, anything can happen) An orchestral raging about my first introduction to Neonatal units, diseases, and the aftermath. My son was born with Hirschsprungs disease, and we still battle many of the effects of it.

The Girl- A fun, and sunny song about how my daughter has stormed my life with her cheery disposition and has forced me to face myself and my view of all things "girl".

Where Does It Stop?

This morning a woman stood up in church and shared her story of losing her little son at 23 weeks gestation. She shared her agonizing and grief, her deep hurts and questions, and also her deep and abiding peace. Later, I spoke with a woman who lost her son in the recent fires. Another friend recently went to her mother's home country to bury her grandfather, and still another is battling an eating disorder. After my conversation with the grieving mother, I spoke with a friend about sex trafficking in Melbourne. I felt crushed. My heart is overwhelmed by all the pain and suffering in the world. I have carried it around all day and, honestly, I am crushed by it. I feel powerless against it all, and I don't want to know any more. I try to avoid the news in order to shield myself from the mighty weight of the world. But I do want to help. I so desperately want to fix everything for everyone. I want to save all the victims, and be understanding to the misunderstood. I want to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. But where does it stop? I am not able to do it all. Even with all the money in the world I can not fix it all. What is my role and responsibility? I crave to be bigger, more powerful, more influential, more energetic, more capable...but I am not. I am only me. So now, I suppose I will just weep. I am not able to do more.