Human

Writing Christmas songs is hard.

There are truly two types.

One, the fa la la stuff. The glitter. The jingly ones. Tinsel, bows, lights. The party songs.

Two, the Christ in Christmas songs. The ones about the Gospel come to life. I find these to be the best, the most heart wrenchingly beautiful ones.

I'm always in love with the Christmas season because it does something to me. Experiencing Christmas every year again teaches me something new every time. It's amazing.

Last night, Caleb and I went to the Dave Barnes Christmas concert in Nashville. It was the best concert ever. For a thousand reasons. But I could have just sobbed hearing a man (in the concert-- way to be outside the box DB!) read his own story about Mary and Joseph.

A few thoughts struck me while I was listening to this aged, white bearded man read his story in his cushiony velvet seat. Mary had just given birth. And so many strangers gathered around her in her post partum distress.

I recalled how utterly fallen apart I felt after Selah was placed in my arms for the first time.

The in love obsession was not what I expected when I first saw her. I was completely asleep to anything and everything else going on around me. I was fixated upon this little baby, and only aware of Caleb next to me and then absolutely nothing else. It wasn't a moment I could even fully feel.

I cannot even imagine what it felt like for Mary to not only see her baby, but to see the King of Kings in the hormonally explosive recovery period after birth.

Ohhh God must have been holding her together in so many ways.

But then I considered how her faith had been so tried while she was in labor. No room anywhere. Sent to deliver in the midst of animals. So unfit. So devastating. How much she must have felt forgotten, slighted, unseen.

And then after the pain, the exhaustion, concentration and determination of only a woman in labor, calm.

People came.

She wasn't forgotten.

I wonder if she doubted that she was really even carrying Jesus. Her Savior.

If I were her, I think I'd have had some pretty ridiculous self talk going on.

"Maybe I'm not a virgin and pregnant. Maybe you can get pregnant from drinking milk gone bad... I know I've done that a few times..."

We talk such nonsense when we're trying to grasp something too far out of reach. Too holy. Too much to comprehend in such a human state. Somehow insanity feels more sane than the unearthly world we came from, from the Father.

As people crowded around the manger, the little baby, the Jesus the Angel assured Mary was the Messiah, I wonder how Mary felt. Did she feel the awe of worship that cripples human and flawed thoughts or doubts?

When my family and Caleb's family flooded into the delivery room when Selah was only minutes old, I felt ok. I felt better than I looked, though. I didn't know how beaten up I looked until Zach showed us the pictures he'd taken. I'd had a cold, and I already looked awful. Then add 27 hours of labor to it, and delivering a baby at 5:43 in the morning... I looked like I'd given all the life I had in my body to the little life then cuddled in her father's arms. I look back on those moments wondering how everyone must have thought of me. My sisters told me I looked awful, though beautiful as everyone HAS to say about a woman who'd just delivered a baby. I feel a bit self conscious when I remember how I actually looked.

But it didn't matter. My baby was here.

Did it matter to Mary? I'd imagine not... her baby was there. But not only that... her Messiah was there. Finally. He has finally come.

Did she doubt? I would have. To look at a baby, so human, I think I'd have questioned the Lord. Yes, she had just witnessed a miracle. She had to have known that the baby was truly conceived by the Holy Spirit. Of course she knew. Of course it felt indescribable to watch her pregnancy progress, knowing this was done by the Lord. But to see the baby look like that... like a real baby... like only a baby... I wonder if she felt despair.

In such a shambled mess of humanness, I need to remember this. Yes, there is brokenness in humanity. But it was saved. We live in the year of our Lord. In a time where humanness isn't the final answer.

The Lord, in His power, in His grace and love... humanity is only a way to show Himself great, now. It was accomplished. His plan. Such purpose in His ways. Such direction and intent.

Even sin can't separate us from Him, now. No humanness, no limitations we possess can deter His purpose.

What a heart breaking, breath giving love.

Advent

I love the Advent season. A season of warmth, though windows frost.

It's noteworthy the fact that Advent is so easy to celebrate and experience due to the fact that we know so fully the outcome of the awaited for. The Christ child, the Baby Jesus. We know what happened, and when it happened.

The Advent season though in the Bible lasted years. Decades. What was to come had not come, and no one quite understood how the Messiah would come.

The distress of the unknown caused so much ache, so much grief at the realization no control. Faith was all the Old Testament could have at best. In the New Testament, so many needed to see to believe.

In my own life, I can easily see ways I do not live my life in Advent. The seasons of waiting. The lineage of what is to come is happening now, and I don't pay attention.

The miracles, the blessings in Jesus' story long before He himself was given to us on a night in Bethlehem, they were happening.

Jesus was coming long before He came.

I want to be able to see Him everyday in the Advent of His plans for me. His "coming" through the things that happen today, on His way to my tomorrow.

I've been struck by this hope, this cool hand on a feverish head of mine. I love Advent. I love Christmas, this season of peace.

And it's mine today, not just as a reflection, but as a representation of my Savior existing in my today, as He walks me through my ever "coming" tomorrows.

Luke 2:8-15

8And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. 9An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. 11Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. 12This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

13Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

14“Glory to God in the highest heaven,

and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

15When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

So often we take our responsibilities so wearily, like shepherds watching our flocks by night, in the fatigue and strain of darkness. We tire. Sometimes the glory of the Lord is the depths of our depression, our heart wrenches, and our disappointments. In His glory, His plans prevail, though they seem to be ours broken. We become terrified.

Yet the Lord reaches out to us, holding us, offering us the hope to enable us not to be afraid. There is Good News. A joy for us. Now, today.

In the city of Hermitage, Tennessee, a Savior is still born to me, today.  Christ, the Lord. My constant struggles and failings represent a sign to me that I'm still in need of Him, and He is still Mine as I am His.

We can say to each other, let's open our eyes to see what the Lord has told us about. In his word. He's promised to never leave us, to never forsake us. Forsaking all else, He prizes us above the rest of the universe. His priorities rest on us. His best interests are with us. He is Immanuel.

I want to be as those shepherds were, praising God, singing glory to God in the highest. They didn't know that they would be walking into yet another season of Advent, of waiting for what He would be next.

We'll always be in a season of Advent. The coming of His Kingdom. Our desires for the future might become wrapped in swaddling clothes, sometimes seeming so inappropriate. The King of Kings lay his head where animals ate. Our expectations and hopes get thrown so out of our hands in a way that feels painful, mocking. Yet His coming is not delayed. His plans are prevailing.

Advent is here, and always coming.

Anticipation is exciting. It's something I enjoy almost more than the real thing sometimes.

Today's my birthday. I realized on my way to a birthday lunch with my daughter and my husband that my birthday was already half way over. It made me sad. I spend all year waiting for my birthday, and it's already almost gone. The anticipation of it is half the fun.

The Advent season is filled with anticipation. Every moment is pregnant with excitement. As a pregnant woman aches to be relieved of the weight of the unborn, desiring to see the face of what is to come, we ache presently with our plans, or futures. Longing so deeply to be relieved of the weight of hope, the burden anticipation lays on us.

Yet with Christ, His yoke is easy, His burden is light. In Him we can see the face of rest, though we anticipate. Though we look forward, we can laugh with easiness at the days to come. We can experience Advent every moment with the restored hope that all is well.

This Advent, I'm refreshed by the truth that Advent is not just a memory of what happened in Bethlehem so many years ago, but that Advent is a future and a hope that God knows. He knows the plans He has for us.

Advent might become more dim as Christmas lights get put away, and left over Christmas cookies for breakfast become kale smoothies again.

But Advent is not over. We still look forward with the Hope we have in Christ, no matter what comes.

Thank heaven

We. Like sheep. Gone astray? Not always. So trusting, though. Some seem so much like us, then are not. Wolves. Dressed like us, but they're not like us.

A Shepherd. He would know us, speak to us, tenderly, calmly. He not only knows our names, but gave us our names. Preciously, purposefully named us. His voice, we know it. We know the velvet, the softness, the smoothness, the inviting fragrance that sound can create.

We. Like sheep?

We wander. So prone, so prone to wander. We know that Voice, but we enjoy others too. Too often.

Thank heaven. Thank Heaven for a Shepherd. A Shepherd who knew the importance of inviting earthly shepherds to come and worship Him on the night of His birth. The night He would lay among sheep, among us. A Shepherd who knew He had to stoop down to our height or lack thereof, to show us His heart. A Shepherd who knew that we are oh so limited in what we can comprehend.

We know His voice. But we can't always understand it.

This Shepherd knew He would have to communicate somehow, communicate differently to us, His sheep.

He in His splender, His glory, so bright. Too bright.

We couldn't look right at Him. We might only get to glance at His back as He passes by, sometimes in places we weren't even aware He was surely there.

A reflection might have to do. A dull, but true representation of the Son, like rays dancing on still water, dim, but there. Existent because it's real.

The moment our lips pressed against the fruit, the forbidden... good and evil, knowledge, nakedness. Hiding. Hidden.

The reflections might be harder to find now.  The skin of the fruit we bit off now films over our eyes, shading, sometimes disfiguring what we behold.

Should the reflections give up? We can't always see them. Maybe it's not worth it.

But, no. The Good Shepherd would be good. He would be bright, even when we couldn't see. He would know us, even when His light wasn't responsible for our blindness.

He had a plan. There would be arrows. Arrows shot straight for our hearts, and then pointing up. Everything, arrows everywhere. Pointing, leading, inviting, assuring.

The world broke when the skin on that fruit was pierced. The sweet flavor of fruitful flesh delighted for a moment. Then ate ours. Damaged.

But there was a plan. A reflection, sometimes so dim we'd miss it entirely.

We. Like sheep. So, so like sheep. He would walk with us along water, to see His reflection when we'd follow Him only to see His back sometimes.

He would orchestrate every facet of our lives, and as we'd walk through each day along the waters, we might see Him.

Thank heaven for a Savior. For a Shepherd.

The Lord is my shepherd

Moses spoke words I often speak. With my heart, with my eyes, searching, needing. I need someone to depend on. To lead me. Shepherd me. To go out before me, and in before me. Should I become that of a sheep without a shepherd? Should I be that of an aimless wanderer, lost?

The shepherds in my life have taken on many forms. The shepherds in my life have been people, things, thoughts, places.

They disappoint.

"Let the Lord, the God of the spirits of all flesh, appoint a man over the congregation who shall go out before them, who shall lead them out and bring them in, that the congregation of the Lord may not be as sheep that have no shepherd. " (Number 27:15-17)

It's a cry of old, a desire repeated, a tendency strained to look towards someone. To be led. To trust.

A building, walls. Sunday mornings, sometimes more. A church. A pastor.

Disappointment.

I could shrivel up. I have. I could continue, still, to dry.

That would mean the Gospel failed. But, it hasn't.

The herds of people, sinners like me, sheep, leaving the church or remaking it have one thing in common: their shepherd.

Our shepherd was never meant to be a creation, a human, a place. A creation created by the Creator, the Good Shepherd, the One who goes before us, hems us in behind and before.

In order to find healing, in order to forgive, forget, remember, stand again, we must acknowledge who our true Shepherd is.

Words

I used to read. Constantly. I'd yearn for the words that would tell the stories, the thoughts. I'd live the words I read.

I always took delight in the beautifully worded phrases.

I always noticed how Lynn Austin would use three adjectives in a row, and only separated them by commas. It made the description feel like a swelling of the truth. I felt like I was wrapped up in the moment she wrote about.

I get excited to read perfectly written words.

A good song, excellently sung, or accurately sounding like the unspeakable emotions they tell... my heart aches in receiving it.

Communication is the attempt.

Understanding is the success.

Sometimes, I understand.

When the written, the sung, the attempted words reach me, I feel the entirety of the reward. I understand. I relate.

I love good communication. I love when words can actually accomplish much.

For a long time, I have felt that I'd rather write my own words as opposed to reading someone else's. Reading someone's words made me crave joining them. Writing, too. It's probably based in a bit of pride in my own abilities. I love to write.

But I think, too, it's just a reflection in the drive God gave me. I love to write. I love to communicate. It's a force, not hidden, but deep within me. I must write. It feels disastrous. I must write. When I read  words birthed of another's pen, it makes me ache to conceive my own new words. To carry them, to deliver them. No matter how wet, no matter how unkept, no matter how helpless, needy, lacking, beautiful... I want these words.

God speaks to me through words.

Sometimes through my own.

It's a way God communicates with me. He created communication. Communication originated with a God who longed to live with us, in us, through us.

I can't dispose my unbelievable desire to write. Always. Constantly. Forever.

He made it happen. So He could meet me there. Here. Where I write.

I'm very happy to tell you that I've come to a point where I almost couldn't put a book down. I'm reading One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. I've had this book for almost a year. My friend Katie gave it to me right before I had Selah. I've wanted to read it, but I couldn't get my ever wandering mind to slow down. I couldn't get my hands to stop scratching my own words.

I might not have even wanted to read someone else's words.

But this book... these words... my laughable, dorky, author-like mind is on fire. Every line. Every description. I am in love. She is the best writer I've read. I'm infatuated with her style. As a writer, I feel enlivened. I catch her words. I notice her usage of a comma. I notice the deliberate use of a period instead of a comma the next time she says the same thing.

I love how language can do that.

For some reason, I've always held to how language is just always a lost cause when it comes to God. We can never use enough words, never use the right words to describe God. I have always felt a little disappointed in that. Of course, God is indescribable.

But can't we use the tools we have? Can't we, or those of us who love words, do a good job with what we have to use? Can't God speak to us in our attempts? Can't we be good stewards of our abilities, and meticulous overwhelming desires to try?

I feel excited.

A good author, a good writer can stir up the author, the writer in another.

Yes. I feel stirred. And I feel thrilled to read more. It's a delicious feeling.

Identity

Identity is so necessary. My identities I possess create who I am.

Identity also creates our to-do lists.

If I'm a teacher, I teach.

If I'm a mommy, I mother.

If I'm a singer, I sing.

If I'm a writer, I write.

I never realized before the significance of the relation that identity has to works.

As a task oriented person, and someone very structured and conscious of my identities, this is really important beyond words. Of course, feeling significant in the world is a necessary thing. I'm not putting that away. But I do recognize some very deep and powerful flaws here in my own life.

There is so much in the Bible about works. I wrongfully have rendered works always being linked to "good works" or things people assume can get them into heaven. The attempts at perfection.

I've never really considered works to simply be just the things we do.

I find so much security in my works. What I accomplish. What I do.

Salvation comes only from what the Lord did and does. The things He does.

I feel like there's steam coming out my ears trying to wrap my head about this heavenly concept... gosh, what I'd give for just a little bit more brain capacity to understand things we just can't about the Lord...

Bottom line: our works don't save us. Our works aren't what make us significant. His works have saved us. His works accomplished much. As His children, we share in his accomplishments by receiving the benefit of what He did.

Similarly, our identities (which determine our works) don't save us. Our identities do not make us significant. Who He is, is the only thing that changes anything.

I'm hardly even scratching the surface of this. It's beyond me.

Reassurance

The methods in which the Lord chooses to minister to us is worth some reflection. I think it's mind boggling how intricately God ordains our moments. My day feels like a mess, and completely off beat sometimes. Yet it's happening perfectly, and quite timely in the eyes of the Lord.

I need to bask in the fact that there's no possible way things can really unravel. God is the grand puppeteer and is working all things out for my good.

Someone recently came to me for advice. I'm in no way much more trustworthy an advice giver than the next guy, but it truly opened my eyes to hearing the advice I myself needed too, without even knowing it.

I knew the answer to my own frustrating concerns, but in the midst of frustration comes a lot of dust. Chipping away at my own frailty causes a cloud of smoke that confuses me and throws me off.

When someone shares a similar experience, I can step back and see what's happening to them so much more clearly.

Suddenly, I'm looking at myself, and realizing for the first time the things I actually needed to hear myself.

I love seeing so clearly how the Lord is working in my life.

I love knowing that the challenges that come up during the day are in fact perfectly timed for when I'll need to quit trying to use my own strength and submit to His.

It's reassuring.

Missing the mark

The bow balanced perfectly in midair, the arrow hung in the exact spot necessary to hit the target head on.

The wooded area surrounds, the breeze like a hushed tone in anticipation.

Deep breath.

Pull back.

Focus.

Shoot.

Miss.

How?

Everything was aligned precisely. Everything was calm, everything was flawless.

Except the shooter.

I feel like that's me, sometimes. Everything is perfect, except for me, so things just can't work out sinlessly. There's something that's disappointing. Something that's just missing the mark, if only by a small percentage. There's always something.

Sin actually means missing the mark.

I've been reflecting on how God uses the things in our lives (whether good or bad) to teach us new things. There's nothing outside of the realm God is capable of using for His glory, even sin. That sounds wrong. God can't mix with sin, yet He's mighty enough to even work with that which He is incapable of Himself.

It's like He's the Divine Archer, and takes our arrows to shoot from His own bow, since we just miss the mark no matter what.  Our "arrows" can't hit the target unless He's shooting them Himself.

I struggle not to take credit when He uses "my" arrow to hit a bull's eye. As if I were really the one who shot it, not He.

Foolishness.

I'm noticing my inability to gracefully handle my "calm," my "sanity," my schedule being a bit tampered with. I've had a bit of a cold lately, and so has Selah. Her sleeping through the night isn't always happening as of late, and my need for sleep is only escalating.

I'm also about to make a short trip to Jersey for a few days. I'm thrilled to see friends and family, but I'm anxious about keeping Selah's schedule. I'm scared about what the trip will do to her fragile balance we've only just found.

Mothers of babies all sigh a painful sigh at the mention of a baby getting off schedule. We know this means misery for all.

Finding a lost schedule is like going on a wild goose chase.

But I see something that God might be teaching me through it. It's a comfort, though a prickly, painful one.

In the past, I used to struggle with not wanting to be how I am. I thrive on a schedule and on accomplishing much. I'm driven to do a lot or I feel like a failure. I love staying busy. I love being organized and on point. I used to be kind of embarrassed about that. It makes me unbearable at times, and I even understand why.

I used to want to change. Instead, I've felt over and over again how God does not desire us to change, but to adapt to being who He made us for His glory. His purpose. I can work well for the sake of Him, not for my own sake of feeling good about myself. It's a perspective change. Of course I'm terrible at keeping this perspective, but that's another story for another time.

While God has made me to reflect His own orderly, high achiever ways He possesses Himself (without sin), He has also made me capable of acting on the fly. I must be prepared for Him to mess up my plans and my comfy schedule.

I need to be prepared to respond to what He places before me.

If I weren't I'd miss out on joy, and blessing, and grace.

If I'd never been capable of receiving something I didn't plan on, I wouldn't be a mommy right now. I wouldn't even be a wife right now. I wouldn't be in Nashville, and I might not be much of anything I get to be right now.

In the same way, I can say I'm more patient than I was before, I'm more forgiving, I'm more joyful, I'm wiser... notice the -er ending, no -est ending. I'm a work in progress, clearly, but I can definitely look back and see growth that God provided me due to unexpected changes of plans.

Now I'm on the flip side.  God has impressed it on my heart not to try so hard to change who He made me, but to be who I am for Him, as annoying as my tendencies may be. Now, He's leading me to be more freely able to receive unforeseen blessings in the shape of disruptions in my life.

So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.
1 Corinthians 10:31

Equal

The world is a mess of thousands of different beliefs about gender right now. I have honestly never felt alarmed myself about being a woman. I've never felt unequal to men. I've never felt completely demeaned for being female.

I do, however, struggle to correctly communicate my belief. Sometimes I'm not even sure what my belief is, because I've never felt uncomfortable being a woman.

I'm fine "submitting" to my husband. I never felt that it was making myself less valuable as a human being. I've never struggled to accept that role.

Others may have a different feeling while reading this, but know that this is coming from a woman that hasn't found difficulty in this area.

Studying the book of Judges, I feel like I finally understand some of the difference between roles given to men and women in a very new and vibrant light.

Deborah was a judge. It wasn't common, but it wasn't wrong. Culture has a lot to do with normalcy, but the Bible is pretty clear about roles given to men and roles given to women. Some (like me) would render the biblical teaching to be that women aren't to be overseers. Like elders/pastors. I know some disagree with this, but walk with me through the point I'm about to make.

Having different roles does not provide different worth.

Equality suggests so many warped ideas. There's always some reasons someone is not being treated equal. But equal does not mean equivalent.

A man is not a woman.

A woman is not a man.

Man and woman are not equivalent. They are equal. They are equal because they are both made in the image of God.

Further, if roles we play really only serve the purpose of a name for the works we perform (a man is the head of the household, a woman is a help, etc...), then roles really don't have as much power as the world thinks.

Because works don't do anything. None of them.

The gospel is completely clear that our works do not add anything to our value to the Lord. Salvation comes not from our works, but His. Our value is not determined by works.

Which means our value is not determined by our roles.

Which means our value is not severed by gender.

Or a title.

Or an elusive idea of what equality even means.

It makes sense, then, that the world is all a mess over this stuff. The world is all about works. Naturally, there'd be  a feud about works. The world judges worth based on works. Of course there's a ruckus about "equality" and "worth" if we judge in this way.

Our roles we play serve to point back to the Father. We are of equal value, but showing that in different ways.

We demonstrate the raw, incredible creativity of our Maker in the creativity we possess.

We demonstrate the heart wrenching, perfect Love of the Father when we look at our own children and just want to kiss them all over their sticky, messy faces.

We reenact His Love when we turn from our natural responses of hate, and decide to think of another's feelings instead of our own.

We can show strength. That came from Him.

We can possess beauty. That came from Him.

We can be gentle. He was first.

We can be wise. Because He is.

Everything we are is because He is.

We show different things, different reflections of our Maker. Each manifestation is different. They are not equivalent. They're different characteristics, or reflections. But they all equal the same thing. Him.

So I feel challenged by this.

I somehow feel more secure in my role as a woman, even though I never really felt deflated for being one. I feel refreshed, and reaffirmed in my worth as woman created by God, and for God.

I know I'm hardly scratching the surface of the greatness of this truth. I feel overwhelmed (in the best way) about it already. It's a beautiful thing.

Act

How interesting it is that my last post was about remembering... I'm going through the book of Judges in the book by Tim Keller, "Judges for You." I LOVE his books. I trust his theology, and always feel like I'm gaining so much understanding and knowledge by the clear, yet deep way he teaches.

He talked about what the words remember, memory and forget actually mean when used in the Bible. These words have always stood out to me, as you might guess based on my posts. He basically said remembering something means your are "acting on" the knowledge of what happened. Forgetting is not acting on the knowledge you have.

This is gold, to me.

When I think about my own life, I know I don't hold memories in the forefront of my brain that would change the way I'd handle a situation. Remembering the right memory, the evidence of truth would change my heart so often, but I don't always do it.

Similarly, remembering the wrong memories, the memories that cause me to "act" on pain or lingering hurts causes a different consequence entirely.

I love where this is going.

We don't need to be stressed out about living. We just live.

God can bring our memories back to us to continue to bring life to moments past. That's amazing.

I could go on and on and maybe make more sense, but Selah just woke up from her nap. I suspect God is not done teaching me about this, though, so you'll probably hear more from me about these things. Adieu.

Remember

I just found some old pictures from my anatomy ultrasound when we found out Selah would be Selah-- a baby girl.

It's amazing that I used to carry her around inside of me. Like we were one. I remember feeling lonely when I first had her. I was alone for the first time in nine months. That time really was so precious. I felt so overwhelmed with so many thoughts and emotions. I was hardly able to contain my wild thoughts, but I couldn't control them enough to write them down. I couldn't write when I was pregnant. it was such a strange time for me. I'm a writer at my core. But I couldn't write.

Whenever (if ever) baby #2 should happen in our lives, I want to make it a point to try to write a lot more than I did when I was pregnant with Selah.

I remember a lot, though. Even though I didn't capture the thoughts as they occurred, I remember.

I remember feeling my unborn daughter stretch and kick and punch inside me, and seeing it on the screen during the ultrasound. That movement matched what I felt. Yes, I really was pregnant. I was carrying a baby. Somehow I didn't really believe it, even seeing it with my own eyes.

And now, still, I look at my baby girl. I see her Daddy's eyes when she looks at me. I know where she came from. But I still can't believe she's truly mine.

Living in the moment is almost impossible. Sometimes I'm better at living when I'm reliving moments from my memory. I can't grasp how truly precious and valuable time is, until it's past. I know this goes against all the songs about living like we're dying, and stop trying to make time go faster, live in the moment, blah blah blah...

I'm honestly, genuinely asking... am I even able to do that? Did God give us memory so that we could embrace the life in moments even after they're passed?

I've always been a little enamored with memory. Something about remembering is elusive, mysterious, wonderful. Memory is beautiful in the Bible, every time. It's grieved if memory is forgotten or left unattended.

There's purpose for it.

Memory enhances today. Today is different because of the memory we hold, and the memory we will make.

Yes, at times I'm able to embrace the current second with arms wide open, even as the hands of time tick by.

But more often, reflecting on the past has a bigger impact on me.

Reflection is a gift. It has a purpose. Even if I fail to write, I own a memory.

I'll always reflect on these moments I have with my baby girl. I can't contain the amazingness of this time. I can't even comprehend it. So I'll just live it the best I can, so I'll have a memory to look back on.

Orphan

The word "orphan" has been echoing in my head this past week. Caleb and I have always loved the idea of adoption. We have been thinking about it as a potential part of our future. Interestingly, the sermon in church last Sunday was about how we are to "look after orphans and widows in their distress" as Christians.

I fully understand the intentions of the passage... but something else is brewing in my heart.

Those who do not know the Lord are orphans.

It's not just about giving children with no parents a home... there are so many people who live their lives as if their orphans (spiritually), and I feel a heaviness on my heart about that, too.

I cannot keep tears back when I imagine the most beautiful moment... seeing my adopted child for the first time. My heart surges with incredible amounts of love for an imaginary child I may never even have the opportunity to experience. I may never adopt a child.

But I have the opportunity to "look after" those who don't know the Lord. I have this opportunity constantly, and I neglect it more often than not.

I don't have exceeding amounts of compassion when someone ticks me off. I don't view frustrating behavior of others as really just likely due to not knowing a (heavenly) "Father".

It changes my heart when I consider this to be the truth. My "family" has been separated by the "father of lies" and his cunning ways. Our Heavenly Father never left... but so many of His children think He did. Now too many people live like abandoned orphans.

Just like a child who never felt truly loved because mommy and daddy didn't take care of him.

There's a lot here. There's are secrets here, secrets of wisdom and understanding that I know I can't even handle. But just the tip of this iceberg is convicting enough.

Love is not

I don't always do well simply reading the Bible. It doesn't just make sense to me every time. Truth be told, I've read the Bible cover to cover a few times, and I still don't get it all.

I love that no matter how many times I read the Bible, I still have more to learn and understand. That's cool to me. But it requires more work, and sometimes that's frustrating.

I like reading commentaries and grasping something new about something I've read or heard a thousand times. Growing up in the church can cause such a mundane feeling when it comes to the Bible. It really can get so boring without context.

So I was thinking about 1 Corinthians 13... you know, the "love chapter." It's quoted endlessly, even by people who don't give a rip about the Bible or any kind of faith.

So in this commentary, I learned something very thought provoking.

Most of what the love chapter talks about is what love is NOT.

This letter about love wasn't just so the church in Corinth could practice love. It was correctional. Saying love isn't jealous, or proud was specific to them. They were very jealous and proud people. Saying that love doesn't keep record of wrongs or insist on one's own way was because they did keep record of wrongs and they did insist on their own ways rather than thinking about someone else.

The "love chapter" we apply to seemingly everything was written with such specific purpose. We use it so broadly. So generally. So much more loosely than it was originally used.

Sure we can apply the principles taught in the passage... the fruit of the spirit all give birth to each other.. you really can't be kind without gentleness. You can't be peaceful and not loving. But the passage was written with very pin pointed implications.

It made me start to wonder what a letter written to me about love would look like.

Love is not...

Well, how don't I show love?

Dear Shai,

Love is not snapping at your husband when he's exhausted too.

Love is not letting your mind wander when someone is trying to talk to you.

Love is not taking the easy way out because you don't feel like putting in the effort on someone else's behalf.

The list would go on and on and on and on.

Seeing love defined so tailored to my life is much more convicting than reading 1 Corinthians 13 for me, honestly.

I'd imagine the church at Corinth feeling very convicted by 1 Corinthians 13 because it was about them specifically.

So, yeah. I learn a lot more when I understand the context. Suddenly, something I've heard a thousand and one times hits me head on. Love is not... me.

All there is

We are so bound.

We fall apart. We unravel. We cry. We come undone.

But we are bound.

I can't get out of my shell, my frame, my body.

That leads me to believe that "I" am not just what I look like. I have a spirit. I'm not just hands, feet, and face.

I've been thinking about how I am going to teach Selah about how to take care of herself, but to also point her towards the Lord with why I'm teaching her to do so.

How do I teach her to brush her teeth, and eat healthful foods, and go to bed when I instruct her to so she will grow big and strong? That's not all there is to it.

I've never been the type of person that just accepts surface answers. "Because I said so," only goes so far with me. I don't like giving those answers, either.  Yes, I hope to gracefully teach Selah to respect authority (I will fail very often, of course). But I want my girl to know WHY we do the things we do.

I want Selah to know that our earthly responsibilities are a response to something greater, deeper, more fulfilling.

We live the narrative of the Gospel in our lives. It's a glorious truth... everything in our lives points to something. I want to create an awareness in my daughter that the earth isn't all there is. There is a God who loves her. There is a purpose for her life.

There is an evil one who desires to destroy her, and cause her to feel that the earth, the fading, breaking, disappearing world is all there is.

The world is crumbling around us. We, people, age. We die. But that's not the end.

If it's not the end when we die, then it's not the end when we live.

If my Selah can know that, she won't be defeated when her heart and flesh fail.

We are bound by humanness. We are kept in a cage of corruption and imperfection. Sin, like a thread running through an entire tapestry, spins through every part of us.

We're given an opportunity to worship in the way we live our lives. Because it's not all there is, even though it's all we're accustomed to. It's not all there is.

Simple

Living simply is something that has always drawn me in. I hate being overwhelmed by too many things. If you know me, you know this sounds probably like a lie, since I do a thousand things everyday, and when I do less than a thousand things a day, I feel like I accomplished nothing. It's a problem.

But what is also a problem is the way "stuff" rules the world. I've seen it circulating around Facebook and Pinterest all the posts on how to minimize your closets so only 15 items and how to minimize the amounts of toys and clothes we have for our kids.

I love it.

It's really important to me to instill a comfortability in my family to live simply. I never had the yearly huge shopping trip to spend a few hundred dollars on new school clothes. I loved going to thrift stores and searching for the cheap but awesome treasures I'd find. Getting massive bags of hand me downs was never a burden to me. I never felt like I lacked anything growing up in a home with 7 other kids. There was always an abundance of bodies in the house, and never a ton of money for "extras." I was never sad, though. I had everything I needed.

I want my children to feel that way, too.

It's honestly been challenging to still have plenty of gift cards for Target left from my baby showers nearly a year ago. Caleb and I agreed we'd only use that money for things for the baby. We haven't spent money on diapers yet, because we've stuck to this. Oh, except that time I forgot the gift cards... ok, we have spent $9 on diapers. Still not bad ;)

It's hard to walk around and see fun little baby toys, and deeply desire to see Selah's face when I present her with some toy. But she doesn't even really care right now. In fact, as I type right now, Selah is sitting in front of me in her bedroom having an absolute blast tearing apart her sock bin. The socks are everywhere, and she is ecstatic.

Spend money to get a toy she doesn't need, or allow her to explore what she has, be it a toy or not?

I want to be flexible with the fact that children aren't neat freaks. I want Selah to have fun with what she has, not feel like she doesn't have enough.

I've only bought one outfit since Selah was born myself, too. People love to give their old clothes, and I am a happy receiver. I hope to return the favors to other moms in the future.

I'm thankful for the upbringing I had full of yard sales, thrift stores and hand me downs.

For this time in Selah's life, I'm the one that needs to be content with hand me downs for her. She's as happy as she'd be in hand me downs as anything else.

I like it simple. I want her to be comfortable in a simple lifestyle.

My job

I've never known myself to struggle so much with change. I get extremely restless when I become bored. Doing the same thing gets painful for me. I get excited about new things.

My new life, however, has been very taxing. I'm finding myself increasingly irritated by anything that disrupts Selah's and my schedules. I just want something to stay the same. Something to stay dependable. Something to remain sturdy.

It doesn't take much concentration for me to sense a few lessons God is using His blessings to teach me. Just like when I started dating Caleb, God was teaching me how to trust. He was teaching me how to trust Him with something I wanted so much. When we got married, God demonstrated through my new marriage an astounding reflection of what intimacy with the Lord can be like. I could go on and on about how my marriage has been sanctifying me (because goodness, it can be hard), but recently becoming a mom has rocked me a lot, too.

I can't raise Selah perfectly. The bitter truth is that she is wet cement, and my sinful self is already planting itself firmly in her impressionable heart.

I can't make myself perfect. I hate that she will eventually catch on to my short comings. Right now, I can really do no wrong in her eyes. She needs me desperately. I'm her lifeline. Soon, she will see me for who I am: imperfect.

It started to scare me that she will imitate not only my good qualities, but my sinful ones.

I started to feel rushed and pressured to "fix" all my flaws so that my daughter might not inherit them.

It'll never happen.

Instead, I felt a sense of unrest about trying to teach Selah perfection.

It's not possible, and it's not my job.

It's my job to exemplify grace, and forgiveness, and beauty in the struggle of being human.

When she hears me complain about my appearance instead of always feeling and being confident that how I look is fine, I have the opportunity to let her know that it's ok to struggle, and to have difficulty sometimes. I can show her that we all make mistakes, and that we have the opportunity to press into the Lord more and more.

She might not imitate every "sinful" quality I have, either. She will bring some of her own to the table.

If I can't teach her through my own sinful habits, she won't know how to walk through hers.

I feel refreshed realizing that it's all I can do to be a sinful example of a rescued sinner in an imperfect, hurting world.

I don't even feel that bad to consider how she will hurt, and make mistakes.

She needs a Savior, too. And I have the opportunity to introduce her to Him.

That's my real job. Not to perfect myself so that I don't teach her to be flawed. But to show her through my flaws that I need Jesus, and that in Him I'm flawless. In Him, she is flawless, too.

Mom blog

One of the hardest things for me being a mom is how my to-do list gets shoved back into a corner. I'm such a doer, it kills me to feel unaccomplished with my day. Sometimes that's the only thing that gets me through a day. Change a diaper. Done. Feed baby. Done. Change another diaper. Done. Accomplishment!

But now that I'm a stay at home mom, it's actually really hard for me to feel like I've accomplished much. I'm not going to work and bringing in some money anymore. Not to the extent I was anyway. It's challenging for me to feel that what I accomplish everyday in my child is important, because it's mundane. 

I have full confidence that in 20 years I'll look back and think these sleepless nights are beautiful. I know I will. But for now, I do struggle. 

I even signed up for daily mom devotional e-mails because I've been THE WORST at staying consistent with my time with God. That would solve a lot of my melt down moments for sure :/

I love seeing how God uses his gifts to us to also break us down, and make us (give us to opportunity to) be more like Him. 

Being a mom is definitely challenging. 

Home

Caleb Selah and I were back in NJ for a wedding, and we're finally back "home" in TN. It's a very bizarre feeling to know that this is where I live now. Being back in familiarity for a little bit for the wedding was strange. Something so familiar feels like home, but it's not right now. That's alarming.

I never forgot hearing at Greenville after my first trip back to NJ that home is not a place, but wherever you are.

It made me feel less unsettled then, because I felt overwhelmed about how two places felt equally serene in my heart.

Again, I find myself replaying this scene in my new house as opposed to my dorm room in Greenville.

Home is a lot of things. Today it's rather confusing.

Right now, the home I need to accept is where I am. Here's to settling hopefully settling in!

We've been framed

Up in her attic, where she rarely went, there were boxes full of memories. Each one coated with dust, each one a story.

The downstairs was getting fuller and fuller of so much stuff. She had to venture up in that attic to clear out some space.

Up the wooden staircase, through the cob webs and musty scent she went.

She placed a new brown box full of unneeded items on the floor. She turned around to leave, when, oh wait. What's in there?

Oh. She remembered that box. She remembered all of it.

She sat down, and opened up the box.

One by one she pulled out a memory.

This one made her sad. She felt her eyes sting.

The next one made her angry. She felt like screaming.

The next one made her feel frustrated, and sad and angry at the same time. She gripped that memory with white knuckles.

She remembered everything. The memories refreshed themselves in her mind, and she felt like they weren't memories. No, these things still lived. They shouldn't have been boxed up. She relived the box anew. New life was given to old memories. The memories had been summoned, invited. They were no longer of days past. Now they are today.

She took her box of memories, and carried them downstairs.

One by one she framed them in her home. She set them on her walls, so everyone who entered her home would see them. They are precious to her. They belong to her.

She belongs to them.

She is a prisoner of these memories. They have power over her. They make her not only remember, but feel.

It's not possible for the past to live in today. Time leaves yesterday behind. But memory reaches out a hand, to pull back the past into the present. Yesterday isn't today. But it feels like it to her.

It feels like it to me.

Occasionally I go upstairs to my "attic," a place in my heart where I store my deepest feelings and most sacred experiences. Some happy, some sad, some terrifying, some earth shattering.

I visit this place, I watch the memories play before me as if on a plasma screen TV. I'm overwhelmed at my memory. I'm overwhelmed. I feel. I feel all over again.

Sometimes I take these memories "downstairs." Into my current mood. Into my words I'm currently speaking. Into my reactions to new things. Into my reasons for my current tasks. Into the core of my very being.

And I feel secure. I feel loved by my own memories. I feel understood, because they are mine. I control them. They take orders from me.

But that's not true.

My emotions are all too submissive to my memories.

I am a slave to my memory.

Why does God let me remember? Why can't I forget? Why can't I move on into a new place, estranged to the evil that lurks in my "attic," my mind?

How can I disengage my heart, when I feel so seen, so known, so safe inside my memories?

Memory is something other worldly. The Bible constantly uses the word remember. The Israelites constantly forgot the Lord, their God.

Judges 8:34 says Thus the sons of Israel did not remember the LORD their God, who had delivered them from the hands of all their enemies on every side.

Their memory failed them in some ways, but not in others. Yes, they remembered something else. At least they thought they did. They remembered comfort. They remembered ease. They valued the past, even though when they were in the past, their slavery, they suffered and begged for deliverance.

Their memory was alive and well... but not to make them alive and well. They chose to allow their memory to enslave them again. The memories changed as they recalled them while in current fits of rage of confusion and hurt. Those memories didn't shine anew since they had in fact been saved. No. They viewed their memories through lenses of pain, and confusion. Now those memories didn't seem like bad ones. They seemed like home. They felt like home.

They had gone up to their attic, retrieved memories and felt them anew, and framed them in their current mind so that they viewed their today enslaved to disillusionment.

Judges 3:7  The Israelites did evil in the eyes of the LORD; they forgot the LORD their God and served the Baals and the Asherahs.

Psalm 78:42  They did not remember his power-- the day he redeemed them from the oppressor,

Deuteronomy 4:9 Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them fade from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them.

Hmmm... clearly, there is reason as to why God allows our attic to exist. We can use it to store the memories we need. He has a purpose for our memories. 

We don't have to forget the pain. We don't have to throw away the dark hurts we store inside. 

But they will destroy us if we don't frame them in His purpose. 

The Israelites chose to forget His purpose... they framed their memories in their own sickened and hardened hearts. They remembered the pain. They drank it in deep. They chose not to frame their important, precious memories with renewed strength. No. They framed their memories with pain. And the pain grew deeper. 

They chose to forget the Lord. They selectively chose their memories to frame, and forgot what they wanted to forget. 

There's another side to this picture. 

Exodus 2:24 God heard their groaning and he remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac and with Jacob. 

Numbers 10:9 When you go into battle in your own land against an enemy who is oppressing you, sound a blast on the trumpets. Then you will be remembered by the LORD your God and rescued from your enemies.

We are remembered by God. He remembers us. He calls forth the past, and brings it to today, and remembers.

But this can't be right. This can't be good. He knows us. He knows us too well! This can't be a good thing!

Jeremiah 1:5 Before I formed you in the womb I knew you...

Psalm 69:5 O God, it is You who knows my folly, And my wrongs are not hidden from You.

Psalm 44:20-21 If we had forgotten the name of our God Or extended our hands to a strange god, would not God find this out? For He knows the secrets of the heart.

He knows us too well. If He remembers us, it couldn't be a good memory. He must remember our sin. He must know the things that should separate us from Him forever. 

Someone, keep me, hide me! I can't be seen by Him...

Unless.... unless He frames his memory somehow... unless He frames his memories of us in a way that shields us from what we deserve to be in His mind. 

Exodus 12:13 The blood shall be a sign for you, on the houses where you are. And when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and no plague will befall you to destroy you, when I strike the land of Egypt.

Oh... the blood of the Lamb. The blood of the Lamb on our door frames. Our frames. His blood. His blood. 

1 Peter 1: 18-19 ...knowing that you were ransomed from the futile ways inherited from your forefathers, not with perishable things such as silver or gold, 19 but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot. 

Hebrews 10:19-23 Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus,  by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh,  and since we have a great priest over the house of God,  let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.  Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.

When He looks on us, when He remembers us, He sees us framed in the blood of the spotless Lamb. He sees us through the blood of Jesus. 

Now our memories... our memories should be framed. But not with pain. Not with hurt. Not with the unforgiving confusion we so easily retrieve. 

Our memories must be framed with the blood of the Lamb. So that the pain, the hurt, the sin might pass over us. So that we might be saved from he that lives to rob, kill and destroy. 

We've been framed, my friends. We have been framed in the blood of Jesus. We have been framed. 

Officially in Tennessee

Caleb, Selah and I are settled into our one room extended stay hotel until we move into our new home at the end of next week. We're in Tennessee. We're going to live here. I guess it's accurate to say we DO live here. But right now I don't exactly feel like it, yet.

I thought at first that we wouldn't stand out like sore thumbs since Nashville is really more of a melting pot. A lot of cities are. Nashville is an attraction for people from all over the country, it's not like having a Jersey "accent" is different. Well, turns out, most people we've talked to since getting here Saturday night are definitely from here. Their thick Tennessee drawls are hard to miss.

I was at the grocery store last night, bagging some kale for some smoothies this week when...

"Excuse me, ma'am?" It took a long time to articulate those three words coming from the tall southern man furrowing his brow at his wife's instructions via text.

"Do you know what green headed lettuce is?" He asked in such drawn out sincerity.

So I instructed him on what to buy, to hopefully please his wife.

As I look back at the occasion, I realize I probably caused a fight between him and his wife, because he ended up getting romaine. Not iceberg lettuce, which I realized later is probably what she meant. Oops. Sorry nice southern person.

I went to the best smoothie place I've ever been yesterday. It's called Daily Juice, and I'm in love. It's entirely too expensive, though, but it got me on a smoothie kick, and Caleb got me a single serve blender so I can just make my own smoothie this week. I'm thrilled. And spoiled.

Selah is adorable. I need to go change her, since she woke up from her five-minute nap. This mama might not accomplish much in the next two weeks....

Musical chairs

It's astounding to me how easily we feel judged. Humans are so fragile in every sense. One moment we're happy, the next thing we know the slightest thing sets us off and we're in a spiral heading right for rock bottom.

It doesn't take much.

I've been pondering why discrimination and hate seem to be the facade of disagreement. I am not speaking for all people, but for myself.

I am fearful of other people when I know we don't agree on every little thing.

If someone disagrees with me, I probably can't be friends with that person, right?

If I tell her I don't use a crib yet for my baby, will she talk about me when I'm not around? If I share my stance on gay marriage, will I lose that friend? Fear is a rock solid door we keep closed, and intend to let other people walk into. We must protect ourselves and our feelings. What we believe is law, and it must stay that way. If someone disagrees, our world will shatter, and we cannot function.

Apparently law is but a vapor we can't even keep in our own lungs. If other people's opinions hurt our "laws" so deeply, it's no wonder we get so defensive and feel so threatened by a differing opinion.

This entire situation, though, is reflecting sometime else.

A friend recently asked Caleb how we handle conflict in our marriage, and how we fight about stupid stuff. Caleb shared his answer with me this morning.

"Well, it's more about the problem behind the problem. There's a deeper reason why she's angry about  something."

That's the truth of it. Good job, Caleb!

If I'm upset about Caleb forgetting to take out the trash, it's probably more that I'm frustrated about how I needed someone to watch Selah when I was running late for work earlier that day, and he couldn't help me. The trash has nothing to do with it.

There's a deeper reason why there's a reaction of some sort. The tip of the iceberg has been sighted, but the more dangerous side is underneath the surface, and must be sorted out to avoid further damage.

And so it is with differing opinions about something.

Am I really offended that someone started solids earlier than I did with my baby?

No. It's scaring me that maybe I'm not doing a good job being a mommy, and I already accidentally knocked my baby on the head when I was trying to brush my teeth a few hours ago, and I'm still struggling not to feel guilty.

It's not about solids. It's about a deeper fear.

Do I care that much about how many minutes another baby slept for at night?

No. I'm afraid that I'm doing something wrong, or being neglectful and failing at one of the most important things I'll ever do with my life.

Am I really that angry at Caleb for not helping me change Selah's diaper after dinner?

No, I'm not. I don't mind changing Selah's diapers. I just miss being the only girl in Caleb's life, and I'm really just missing when it was just him and me. And to top that off, I feel bad for feeling that way. But to defer my uncomfortable feelings, I'll act upset about the diaper changing instead.

We try so hard to simply deflect anything hindering our "self-esteem," our feelings of assurance in some way.

If someone disagrees with a belief I have, it doesn't change what I believe.

It exposes my insecurity with my own abilities to uphold any convictions I have.

We're weak.

We need to get over it.

We so desperately need a Savior. We're a bunch of lost sheep, afraid of each other, and desperate to get along, but only for our own personal gain.

Ugh. Lord, help.

If someone agrees with me, it's only affirming to the inner-Shaina I keep on a throne in my insides.

When someone says, "Yes! Me too!" it's really like someone else approaching my throne to fan me and say, "You are perfect, and the center of the universe."

When someone disagrees, it's like someone left the steps of my "throne" and said, "Someone else should be there."

So, no I don't hate someone who disagrees with me. But I am afraid of them. So when these other people disagree with me and I am exposed to my own weakness and frailty, I'll decide not to open up anymore. You may not approach my throne.

I'll try to stay away from these people.

They'll feel like I hate them.

I don't. I just need Jesus.

We. We need Jesus.

If He is the one on our "thrones," we wouldn't have any more problems.

The musical chairs in my own heart is a sickening dance. How many times do I kick Jesus off His throne so I can try to sit there, and then be upset and push everyone away?

It's not my seat.

I will

My 6 month old daughter is staring me down right now. I put her down for a nap just now. She starting moving not more than a few moment later. She lifted her head, and looked up at me and smiled and started kicking her chubby legs.

It's not nap time, Mama. It's play time.

It's just the thing with little ones. There is no schedule, even if I know there is one. There's no time limit, even if I say there is. There's no night time, and day time, and play time and nap time. It's just time for whatever the little one needs or wants.

In a way this is kind of beautiful. My child is not bound by the expectations that come with each passing moment the way that I am.

My baby girl has her basic needs, but other than that she's just happy to be alive, happy to see me, happy to kick me and pull my hair.

Of course it is entirely true that I've learned a great deal about myself since having this baby girl. My Selah Mei Arb. I've discovered more of myself while losing a great deal of myself, too. Who can keep up when most of my moments revolve around timing how long I might have to shave my legs if I just fed her?

It overwhelms me how much I can't control things. It overwhelms me how many opinions and "answers" people have when on the subject of raising and training my child. Should I let her cry it out at night? Is it ok to nurse to sleep? Should I put her on a strict schedule?

I heard someone say recently that caring for another person is sacrificial. It's not always convenient.

I felt comforted by this truth. Sure, different ways of caring for a baby can make things more convenient, but it might not always be what's best for my baby. I've felt challenged by this.

It's been a theme for me since being in labor with Selah.

I felt the Lord nudge me when I was growing desperate for my labor to press on.

"Will you endure this for me? Will you have this kind of long labor to bring my child into the world?"

That's just it. This baby is not mine. She's in my care.

So this morning when Selah had another blow out while I'm trying to make my breakfast...

"Shaina, will you take care of Selah right now, even though you just got ready to eat?"

Yes, Lord. I will.

"Will you wake up again to feed Selah, even though it hurts to open your eyes?"

Yes, Lord. I can do that.

"Will you endure the judgment of silly people who care for their babies in different ways?"

Ohhh. Yikes. But yes. Yes I can can endure that.

Sacrificial love for my child is an option I intend to accept.

Speaking of... she's not happy that I'm blogging. More another time, I suppose;)

Blog!

I have finally been able to log back into my blog! At long last, the blogging shall begin again, my friends. It shall begin again.