A Gift Worth Giving

 

If you're anything at all like me, right now you're stressing out a little bit about how much money you should or should not spend on each child to best bless them this Christmas.  How much is too much? How much is not enough? What can I give them to make them feel special and loved, while at the same time communicate the message that gifts are NOT the point of Christmas? What can I give them that won't get broken to bits or, alternatively, eaten by a curious 2 year old?

Since having my third son at the end of October, I operate in a perpetual state of anxiety.  It waxes and wanes, but it's always there, threatening to steal my peace and joy.  Some of this is hormone induced (I cry at EVERYTHING, including episodes of Team Umizoomi and various Folger's TV commercials).  Some of this is self-induced by my type-A personality (last night I re-loaded the dishwasher after my husband so graciously did it, in order to put dirty dishes in their designated areas and best utilize dishwasher capacity.)  A lot of this, however, is driven by fear.  A fear that I will fail, won't do something right, and someone will figure out that I actually DON'T know what I'm doing.  Spoiler: I don't.

I didn't grow up liking kids.  I didn't coo over babies, I thought they were kind of weird-looking to be honest.  Even when my friends all got married and started having kids, I would do the obligatory hold-and-smile, and then quickly hand them back.  What scary, fragile little things! And then I got the baby bug and had one of my own.  Instantly I was sucked in, to the world of selfless love-- where you just automatically love something (someone!) so much that there is NO QUESTION their needs will be met before your own, that their lives are precious and beautiful.  In 2009, when my oldest was just a newborn, I was meeting friends for coffee and on the way heard that Mark Shultz song with the lyrics, "He's not just anyone, he's my son..." I burst into sobbing, gut-wrenching tears because I HAVE A SON and just for a second, I got a tiny glimpse of what God must have felt when Jesus was suffering.  The people of Panera were very concerned during this outburst.  Lots of free hot chocolate ensued.

Having children brought to light my fear of failure.  It highlighted and exaggerated my imperfections (NO patience, lack of grace for failure, a tendency to be judgmental and critical). That anxiety that has always bubbled under the surface of my life came roaring to the forefront and ruled me.  And I fed it.  Colossians 3:2 says, "Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth."  My husband kindly and gently reminded me of this, and also of Philippians4:8 where we are instructed: "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things."  I didn't want to raise my children in a home ruled by fear and worry.  As we know, 1 John 4:18 reminds us that "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love."  As Christians, we do not have to fear the punishment of God.  I have been saved by faith; the goodness of God's grace and Jesus's death and resurrection have taken the punishment that was meant for me, and I no longer need live in fear.  So why do I still struggle with this?

This Christmas season, I have decided to set my mind on the things of God.  I am choosing to be brave in that I am fixing my eyes on "whatever is pure, whatever is lovely" and am consciously closing my mind to fear and failure.  My hope is in Jesus, and even if everything falls apart in my eyes, I know that God's ways are perfect-- his thoughts and ways are higher than mine, and his good purpose will always prevail.  This knowledge has completely changed how I view my life-- even the rough times, such as when my 2 year old was hospitalized last weekend-- have purpose and give glory to God.  I will still cry and worry,and I will always be far from perfect.  But Jesus is changing me from having a spirit of fear to a spirit of hope and faith.  By the grace of God, I will give my children the gift of growing up in a home ruled by his peace, love, and joy.  This is a present far more valuable than anything I can wrap.

Also, it won't break or get eaten.

Jonas's Birth Story

So, birth.  It’s an amazing, wonderful, miraculous thing.  When I was pregnant with Silas, I had no idea what to expect.  I didn't plan or think about it much, to be honest, and though things didn't go as I had thought they probably should, he was born healthy and safe.  With Oliver, however, I educated myself and prepped and planned to the last minute tiny detail.  I WAS GOING TO HAVE A VBAC, and Lord help anyone who got in my way.  And praise God, Oliver also was born safe and healthy, and I literally got everything I prayed for (you can read Oliver’s birth story here; please know Jamie says the long and horrendous labor is my fault because I prayed for an “experience.”  It’s true.) 

As I approached the end of pregnancy with our third son, to be honest, I really wasn't thinking about birth.  I was still visiting my chiropractor, I had contacted my doula, and I had written my birth plan (aka changed the date on Oliver’s plan) but I really just wasn't thinking about it.  I had a lot going on; lots of MOPS meetings, homeschooling my kindergartner, starting up a homeschool co-op with a friend, and potty-training a 2 ½ year old.  Basically anything I could do to stay busy and keep my mind off of pushing a human through my lady bits.  So when I woke up on Saturday, October 25^th, about two and a half weeks before my alleged due date (by the doctor’s dates, my due date was November 11^th; by my dates, anywhere from November 3^rd- 5^th), the last thing on my mind was labor.

I remember telling Jamie around 7:30, as he left to go work for his dad, that I was feeling a little crampy.  I was still planning on running (I had the day before!), as well as doing several loads of laundry and lesson plans for the next few school units.  At about 9:00 I texted Bethany, my doula, to let her know that the remainder of her fee was in the mail.  As an afterthought I added that I was feeling crampy, but it was really not painful at all so I was sure it was nothing.  She asked me a couple of questions, and as I wrote her back I realized that hey, these cramps are coming in regular intervals.  Hmmm.  But seriously, the pain was so minimal I dismissed it.  At her urging I called Jamie and told him I might need him to come home today.  It was now about 10am, and the cramps/contractions were probably 5-6 minutes apart.  I did throw some laundry in, and made sure my boys had pants on (more often than not, they don’t), and after a couple more contractions I called my parents.  I told my dad I wasn't absolutely sure that today was the day, but just in case—could they please come get Silas and Oliver? My mom was there in 20 minutes.  Apparently SHE was ready.  Me, not so much.

Jamie got home around 11, and I was still communicating with Bethany.  By this time everyone was sure I was in labor except me.  It just really seriously didn't hurt.  I mean, there was pressure and it was kind of intense… but NOTHING like last time, when I wanted to lay down and die for roughly 18 hours.  And in-between the contractions I felt FINE.  Like, great.  I chatted with my friend Trisha on the phone for a while; I had to breathe a bit through some contractions but it was nothing.  A little while later I made Jamie take a walk with me (just a couple of miles).  As the contractions hit when I was walking, I started to slow down and breathe.  I remembered Bethany telling me things were getting serious if a contraction hit and I couldn't move, even if I were about to get hit by a truck.  I kept this in mind and *never actually stopped moving* through each contraction—I would walk super, super slowly instead :)  In my mind, this meant things weren't that serious because hey, I was moving! By this time and when we got home it was about 1.  I realized the 2-mile walk had taken well over an hour- guess I was moving a lot more slowly than I thought! Still, I wasn't convinced I was in labor.  

I made myself some lunch and argued with Jamie about mowing the lawn.  I wanted him to get it done.  We had plenty of time! Seriously, I said, I’m not even sure this is real.  Right about then I had my first contraction where I had to vocalize a bit.  Jamie rolled his eyes and said he was NOT mowing the lawn, we were going to the hospital! No, seriously, the lawn looks terrible.  You should go do it, it’ll only take an hour or so… Jamie stomped upstairs to get the hospital bag.  I moaned through another contraction.  I then decided I would humor Jamie and go to the hospital… they’ll just send us home, and then he’ll feel so stupid, I thought.  It was now 2:00.

I texted Bethany and told her we’d head for the hospital around 3.  Or later, if I could drag my feet some more… and of course, at 2:30 Jamie was ushering me into the car.  Each town we drove through was an opportunity for me to try to convince him to stop.  In Mt. Vernon I tried to get him to stop at Casey’s for some water and gum (apparently we already had that).  In Solon I tried to get him to stop at Dairy Queen (just a snack—for him, not me, because at that point I was feeling like vomiting every now and then.  SO obviously NOT in labor.)  In the outskirts of Iowa City I desperately tried to get him to go to Jimmy John’s: “But Jamie, you LOVE Jimmy John’s UUUHHHHH! Go get a Turkey Tom, I’ll wait here UUUHHHHH and be fine UHHHHHH!”

Those UUUHHHs were the sound of me moaning every 30 seconds or so.  Nope, everything’s fine here.

When we got to the hospital I, of course, refused the wheelchair (stupid volunteer, I’m not in labor BUT DON’T TOUCH ME EVERYTHING HURTS I CAN WALK I’M FINE) and waddled up to labor and delivery.  When we got there the nurse ushered me into that room where they check and make sure you’re in labor before they admit you—as we stepped over the threshold I had a contraction and moaned, and Amanda my sweet nurse said, “I think we can skip this… let’s get you in a gown…”  Now THIS I was fine with, because the fewer people who see my cervix the better, in my book (once again, refer to my last birth experience where roughly 37 people viewed it.  TEACHABLE MOMENT PEOPLE.) I got changed and hooked up to antibiotics because I was group b strep positive.  As I was stuck in the bed, I consented to ONE check.  Seriously, I was convinced the nurse was going to say I was a 2.  Maybe  a 3.  When she said 6-7 I was stunned.  Whaaaaat?  Are you telling me I’m having a baby today? Although, if things went like last time (as I was sure they would), “today” probably really meant “tomorrow,” because it was now 4:15 and my last labor was about a gazillion hours long.  So, plenty of time.  Jamie, go home and mow, you can make it back in time no problem.  He did not obey.

My doula arrived at the hospital right about then.  We chatted—she is in her third trimester of pregnancy as we speak, so we had lots to talk about.  As I labored (unhooked from the antibiotics, and also monitored intermittently which was FANTASTIC) I spent most of my time on the birth ball.  I got in the tub for a while, but the water was a little cold and who wants to take a lukewarm bath The staff at the hospital was great—everyone took the time to read my birth plan.  No one offered drugs, they were all fine with all my crunchiness and even offered to save the placenta (there it is! Placenta! Which we declined, BTW). Time passed quickly; though I was having some pretty intense contractions pretty close together, and though they were telling me I was definitely in labor, I still somehow was having a hard time believing that I was giving birth very soon.  As each contraction hit, I prayed and moaned and leaned on Jamie.  I just kept flashing back to Oliver’s labor; his was SO painful and SO long, I had just assumed it would be the same this time around.  When Dr. Smollen checked me at about 6:30 and declared me fully dilated and 100% effaced, I thought she was joking.  I really just figured out I was in labor a couple of hours ago! Where were the other 14 hours of pain and suffering? At about that moment my water broke (probably another reason I was in denial; in both of my other labors, my water broke at the very start) and I laid on my right side to get baby boy in the best position for pushing (still in my head thinking “but I won’t be pushing for at least 10 more hours!”)

Laying on my side I had one SUPER AWFUL HORRIBLE CONTRACTION—the ONLY contraction I actually yelled through (with Oliver, I yelled for a solid 12 hours).  I turned over and yelled something like “I NEED TO PUSH!” and Dr. Smollen came running back in.  It was now about 6:38.  With the next wave of contraction I pushed…. And pushed…. And pushed… and then, at 6:42pm, my wonderfully sticky and gooey boy made his way into the world.  A head FULL of gorgeous long black hair and a face full of vernix that made it hard for him to open his left eye (maybe they were right about his due date), Jonas Charles Johnson was 6 pounds, 13 ounces and 19.5 inches of beautiful baby boy—my largest baby to date. 

I couldn't believe the contrast in labors—while in total I was probably “in labor” for 9 hours or so, I only actually felt like I was in labor for 3 (I only actually acknowledged I was in labor for maybe 20 minutes).  With Oliver, I pushed for FOUR HOURS.  Literally.  With Jonas, I pushed for FOUR MINUTES.  It was glorious.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, it sucked.  It hurt.  But it was SO much less painful than Oliver’s birth I was astounded (if you didn’t read his birth story, basically he was posterior which meant 18ish hours of back labor and stuck on pubic bone and lot of pain and yelling and weeping and gnashing of teeth.  Unmedicated, of course, because I forgot to ask for pain meds.  Basically.)

I got to hold and kiss my baby boy and snuggle him right away, which I've never gotten to do before.  Jamie got to cut the cord when it was done pulsing.  The placenta (there it is again! Placenta!) came out three minutes after Jonas, which was a miracle all by itself.  Literally, absolutely everything we specifically prayed for concerning Jonas’s birth happened.  It was so graceful, so comparatively easy, so beautiful.  I am so thankful for my husband, who supports me on my natural birth journeys, no matter what issues arise.  He loves me and our boys and is truly the best partner, in birth but especially in life, I could ever hope for.  I am also thankful for my birth team—this time, only Bethany the Best Doula in the Land, as well as Dr. Smollen—who I really only saw for a cervix check and pushing, but really that’s fine with me—it made Jonas’s birth such an intimate experience, much more private and peaceful than I have experienced before. 

Life with three boys has been pretty crazy the last three weeks.  I’m sure I’ll share at a later time about the trials and struggles we've already been dealing with (can anyone say “2 year old regression”??), but for now, I am just so thankful to Got for every blessing we've been given—especially, right now, these three boys with three very different entries into the world.  Jonas, we are so grateful for you—get ready for a wild and crazy experience in this wild and crazy world!

Parking Lot Gospel

Today was not one of my finer days.  It started out well enough-- my kids actually slept till 7, we got a good hour and a half in of school, and the fighting was pretty minimal between my boys.  I decided to load up the kiddos in my big, giant, gas-guzzling SUV and haul them to the library to pick up the books I'd put on hold for our next couple of homeschool units.  I also made a list of birthday-party-items I thought I'd get at Hobby Lobby (my new obsession, even though I am probably the least crafty person on the planet. Do you know how many amazing things they have there???)

I should have stayed home.

First, Oliver fell asleep about 5 minutes into the drive (I don't know about you, but it ruins.my.life when my kids fall asleep in the car.  "I took a 3 minute nap! I don't need another one! But I will cry ALL DAY LONG because I AM SO TIRED!!") When I maneuvered my giant SUV into the library parking lot, of course it was full.  But aha! I spotted ONE open spot... squeeeeezed in between a median and another SUV, which was *slightly over* the line, and whose driver was currently strapping a baby into a stroller.

Maybe it's because I'm pregnant/delusional/same thing, but I really thought I could make it.

Yeah.  Remember my GIANT SUV? Not so much.

I ended up scratching this poor woman's (much nicer than ours) SUV while she and her kids watched in horror.  I was in horror.  Silas was in horror.  Oliver, who up until this point had been taking a nice little snooze, woke up and BECAME a horror.

I have rarely felt so humiliated.  How could I ever think my hulk of a vehicle could fit into such a tiny space?? The woman was actually very kind, we exchanged information and the damage will be taken care of (by us, of course).  The boys and I picked up our books and got out of there, abandoning the rest of the errands I had planned to run today.  The whole time, Oliver (who had calmed down but was now fascinated by what had taken place) kept saying, "Mommy, you hit dat car, mommy? You do dat? You say sowwy, Mommy?"  Thank you, child.

I was shaky, but I really lost my composure once I got home.  I just couldn't believe I'd done something so dumb.  In full view of my kids.

I spent some time berating myself for my stupidity, and then feeling sorry for myself because I was so stupid.  And then I realized that maybe it would be a good time to pray.  So I did-- I prayed for the poor woman whose car I hit, her kids who saw the whole thing.  I prayed for my kids, who also saw the whole thing.  And as I prayed, my attitude about the event began to change.  I started to thank God for things-- obviously, I should NOT have hit this car.  But I did.  I screwed up, and I cannot change that.  But the woman was so kind and gracious, when she really could have chosen not to be-- and I wouldn't have blamed her one bit.  I did not deserve her kindness, but I am still thanking God that she showed me such grace.  I got to thinking about how this is an illustration of how God shows us grace on a much bigger scale.  I absolutely 100% deserve whatever anger and wrath this woman had towards me.  But she chose not to react that way, and I'm so thankful.

I also absolutely 100% deserve the wrath of God.  It's true.  Yes, God loves me, but he is also holy.  This means, in the limited understanding my tiny brain can grasp, that unless I can live up to the perfect standard HE (not me) sets, I will ultimately face the wrath of God.

It is pretty obvious that I do not, and in fact, can not live up to these standards.  But praise God, he has made a way to show me grace-- completely undeserved grace.  2 Corinthians 5:21 says, "For he made him who knew no sin to be sin for us, so that we might be made the righteousness of God in him."  One of my favorite verses, hands down.  The hope of the world, summed up in that there sentence.

Though this woman was exceedingly gracious, there will still be consequences for me (insurance rates go up, money out of pocket at not such a great time).  Though my sins are forgiven, and I am spared the wrath of God, I will still face some consequences for my sinful choices and actions.

However.

But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ--by grace you have been saved-- and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus.  For by grace you have been saved through faith.  And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast." --Ephesians 2:4-9

Words cannot describe my thankfulness and gratitude for grace-- ALL grace, which (directly as well as indirectly) comes from God.

I am also thankful for cupcakes, which I purchased and consumed later to heal my wounded pride.

This is my son Oliver, wearing a helmet while I drive, which is probably a good idea.

..On Failing.

I think it's pretty clear from my posts that I do NOT have it all together.  My house does not look like it belongs in a magazine, my kids are not perfect (or even really all that clean), I have issues folding socks and would really rather use paper plates all the time if I could.  I am a Pinterest failure.

Often as mommies I think we inadvertently (or sometimes ...advertently... ? on purpose, I mean) engage in the competition/comparison battle.  We women (generalization alert) spend way too much time comparing ourselves to each other, and then judging one another--- along with ourselves-- based on what we *think* we see.

In my own small way, I am going to combat this by sharing with you a list of things that I am absolutely terrible at.  Next week I may share a list of things I'm good at, but who are we kidding, I suck at blogging on schedule so let's plan for October. (<--One more thing on the list...)

1. Cleaning high spaces.

THIS is a picture of a cobweb in a window in my dining room.  I do not look at these window corners.  I do not, obviously, clean these windows.  My fans also haven't been dusted in maybe a year.  You can usually find a long dusty cobweb strand or two hanging down from the ceiling in  room corner.  I really don't care.
Maybe I should...

2. Weeding my garden.
I love our garden.  We grow lots of yummy things-- sweet corn, all sorts of peppers and tomatoes, herbs, cucumbers, beans, broccoli and cauliflower, etc.  We also grow some not-so-yummy things (KOHLRABI).  Mostly, we grow weeds.  When I quit my job to be a SAHM I had visions of myself spending time on my knees in the garden, my hair pulled back in a kerchief (right? is that what it's called?) pulling weeds while imparting Biblical wisdom to my children, who were playing sweetly nearby.  This has NEVER happened in my almost 4 years of staying at home.  Not one bit of it.  I think I've been in there to weed twice.  And nobody was being very sweet while I was in there, myself included.

3. Saving money/electricity.
I love air conditioning.  As much as I wax poetic about living off the grid, when the rubber hits the road I will almost certainly spend the vast majority of July and August in the basement.  Today in eastern Iowa it's about 92 degrees with 90% humidity.  I spent most of the day outside and really felt like I was melting.  My amazing, hard-working husband works outside, an average of 72-80 hours a week, in this (and worse) heat.  I am conceding my homesteading hat to him.  I am a huge wimp, and am planning on researching solar-powered AC.  Or inventing it.

4. Keeping my mouth shut.
If you read this post, you'll know that I blamed this on my pregnancy hormones.  Most of the time I'm not so rude.  However.  The truth is, if I REALLY and TRULY think I know something to be true, and I REALLY and TRULY believe that you are wrong, there is no stopping me from letting you know.  THIS is something I have to work on.  I am wrong a lot, and it's humbling to admit that-- especially to others.  This is a spiritual battle for me.  I am a know-it-all and I like to, ahem, share my wisdom with others.  If took me a very long time to admit my desperate need for a Savior, despite me *knowing,* intellectually, that I was a sinner.  Realizing that my own justification and reason were NOT enough to save me from the holy wrath of God took several months and years of painful sanctification-- and really still is an ongoing process.

5. Not comparing myself to other women/mothers.
Last year at MOPS I heard something that was a revelation to me.  When we think about our children, and how special and beautiful they are, each in their own way, it would be devastating as a parent to have a child constantly wishing that he or she were a completely different person-- ignoring the strengths and skills and characteristics they were given and spending all their time wishing they had someone else's.  Why, then, as women/mothers/daughters of Jesus do we do this? Instead of being thankful, humbled, and blessed by the gifts God has given me, do I constantly look at other women and envy/covet who they are and what they have? God has created me to bring glory to Him in my current situation-- and I. Am. Blessed.  I need to praise Him and thank Him where I am at, with everything He's given me {and He's given me everything}.

There's a lot of other stuff I'm bad at, but I'm tired.

Is there anything you're terrible at? What has it taught you about yourself, and your relationship with Jesus?

Pregnancy. #nofilter.

At this writing, I am 23.5 weeks pregnant with baby boy #3.

Yes, I know my house is going to be loud and dirty, etc. etc. etc.

Yes, I know I am outnumbered (I was already before, TYVM).

Yes, I know (insert dumb comment about having more than 1.5 children of the same sex).

I know I am not alone in lamenting the plethora of stupid comments that come my way when I'm pregnant. Most of the time, I have no problem fielding such comments-- but when I'm expecting, I seem to have a hard time filtering my responses.  Here are a few of the things that have been said to me when I've been expecting, and my actual, real responses to those people.

Sorry/Not Sorry.

*Conversation at Bible Camp with older woman when I was 30 weeks with #1:
Woman: Wow! Look at you! When are you due?
Me: In about two and a half months.
Woman: WHOA.  Are you SURE? I mean, WOW.  I would've thought you were due yesterday!
Me: Nope, not till October (it was August).
Woman: Well, I hear they're letting women gain much more weight these days.  In my day, my doctor only let me gain 15 pounds!
Me: Huh.
Woman: How much have you gained? I bet it's a lot.  You just look SO uncomfortable.
Me: I've gained the appropriate amount of weight for this point in my pregnancy.
Women: But how much?
Me: As much as I need to.  And I still weigh less than you.

This exchange ended well-- she laughed.  I did not.

*Drunk woman (girl?) at Jones County Fair, 28 weeks with #1:
Girl: OH MY GOSH (didn't say gosh) YOU ARE PREGNANT!
Me: Yep, sure am!
Girl: Can I touch your belly? (Didn't wait for response, starts rubbing belly)
Me: Uhhh....
Girl: It's so round! I can't believe there's a PERSON in there! I just love pregnant people!
Me: Thanks...
Girl: But I hope I'm NEVER pregnant! It's just so weird! And kind of gross! But I love you!
Me: I hope you're never pregnant either.

*Midwife appointment, 32 weeks with #2
Midwife: I see you've gained 6 pounds in the last 4 weeks.  That's too much.  You need to stop eating sugar and bread.
Kara: But in total I've only gained 16 pounds... and my blood pressure is great...
Midwife: But that's just too much.  No more carbs. How much are you exercising?
Kara: More than you, apparently. (Burst into tears, midwife rolls her eyes).
DISCLAIMER: This was NOT the amazing midwife who actually delivered Oliver :)

*Adult student in class I teach, 22 weeks with #3
Student: So did you find out what you're having?
Kara: Yep! We're having another boy!
Student: Oh, gross.
Kara: YOU'RE GROSS.

In retrospect, I am absolutely sure I said some really very stupid things to pregnant people in the past. I would like to take a moment to truly apologize to anyone I might have offended or hurt by my lack of understanding and complete ignorance of what is and what is not funny, acceptable, and kind.

Here is my advice to all non-pregnant people on how to address pregnant women:
"Wow! You look FANTASTIC! Congratulations on your blessing!"
The end.

PS-- I would also like to say that I am NOT on Twitter, so all of my hashtagging is ironic.

5 Things I Learned from Reality TV

This is a picture of my son and his cousin.  They are wearing buckets for hats, which would probably be considered haute couture on Project Runway.

I'm a big fan of Buzzfeed.  Whether it's something incredibly important that I need to learn about myself, like how big of a Harry Potter fan am I REALLY, or something really ACTUALLY important like which member of the Baby-Sitter's Club I am, I always find myself entertained and/or enlightened as I procrastinate.  Today I was inspired to create my own little list, which will probably help you grow as a person in ways you can't even imagine.

My list is called: 5 Things I Learned from Watching Reality TV

THIS IS REALLY IMPORTANT

1. Always carry a fire-starter with you.
I'm a giant, huge fan of Naked and Afraid.  If you're wondering, no, it's not because they're naked (usually pretty gross-- first they're all white and flabby and then they're sun-burned skeletons).  It's because, as you know, I'm a bit of a prepper.  Not as in "I have a stockpile of weapons and seventeen years of toilet paper in my bomb shelter" but as in "I'm not convinced things aren't going to go downhill economically so I have a lot of rice and canned goods."  I like to call myself optimistically pre-Trib, but realistically post-Trib.  These factors combine into a fascination with survival shows.  I love Bear Grylls, but Naked and Afraid is the best.  These people know their stuff-- or they get legitimately injured or deathly ill and have to be e-vac'd off of whatever remote tundra they've been dropped onto.  The ONE BIGGEST TIP I've learned from this show is that whatever Egyptian-Bow-Drill-Hatchet-mechanism you SWEAR worked in your backyard the last 300 times you did it WILL NOT WORK in an actual survival situation.  So stock up on lighters, people. The last thing you want when the zombies come is a wicked case of cryptosporidium.

2. Hats aren't for everyone.
A few years ago I started watching Project Runway.  I'm not a huge fashionista (most of my wardrobe is from Target) but I do love watching creative people create.  I also wish I knew how to sew (more than hems and buttons and the occasional curtain, anyway) so Project Runway is one of my favorites.  I've learned that much of fashion is out of my reach, both economically and aesthetically, but I have noticed that many of the hats attempted by Project Runway alumni are utterly ridiculous.  Don't get my wrong-- they are glorious and amazing, but like much couture fashion, if you ever tried to wear one you'd probably be mistaken for an extra terrestrial.  Hats work for Posh Spice and all those other London-ers and Ketucky Derby-ers.  Hats, however, do not work for everyone.

3. Listen to your elders. 
I love Deadliest Catch.  I love watching how these people make their living in the toughest way I can imagine.  I also love Mike Rowe's voice.  Anyway, if you ever want to spot a train wreck a mile before it happens, watch a cocky greenhorn on Deadliest Catch.  About ten minutes into hauling their first set of pots (see how I used crab-fishing-terminology there? Not quite sure what it means or if I used it correctly, but I feel like part of the of the Northwestern crew right now) the newbie who was sure he was the good Lord's gift to crab fishing is slipping all over the deck in his own vomit, whining that everyone is mean to him and he can't keep up.  All these things are true, of course, but things would probably go a whole lot better if he would have kept his mouth shut, tried harder, and obeyed every order given to him.  Who wants to get on Freddie Maugatai's bad side? AN INSANE IDIOT, THAT'S WHO.

4. Pick up your crap.
Hoarders is a sad, fascinating show.  Every time I watch it I'm equal parts disgusted and saddened.  I'm disgusted because, let's face it, someone living in literal feet of their own literal excrement is at the top of the grossness scale.  I'm saddened because there are people in this world who have to-- or, as it may be debated, choose to-- live this way.  Yet once it's on, I have a hard time turning it off.  And seriously, it's been a great motivator for me when I'm lazy and tired and just don't feel like picking stuff up-- because here in Iowa in the summer, if you don't wash your dirty dishes fairly soon, you will have ant colonies take up residence in your kitchen.  And while ants aren't cockroaches or possums or cat skeletons, they can be kind of icky.

5. Make ice cream.
I love the Food Network.  I fancy myself a decent home-cook, and I love to try new things.  I love watching Chopped-- where four elite chefs compete to make the best meal out of crazy mystery basket ingredients like pig's ears and squid lips and root beer.  I have noticed, however, that the person who wins is almost always the person who makes ice cream for dessert.  You'd think the rest of the world would notice this and the judges would be having ice cream on nearly every show, but I guess it hasn't caught on yet.  Seriously, everyone who throws their twinkies and olives and hot dogs in some heavy cream and sugar into the ice cream machine is guaranteed to be the winner.

So there you go.  An utterly useless list of things that you needed to know to improve your life.  Once again, you're welcome.

Tell Me, If You Understand

Recently, in my quest to read the Bible cover-to-cover in a year, I read through the whole book of Job.  It’s certainly a story we’re all familiar with, and if you’re feeling self-pity, I recommend reading it for some perspective.  I've been going through a difficult time lately after experiencing another miscarriage.  It was very early, and physically I’m absolutely fine, but I am still a bit of a mess emotionally.  Having experienced a devastating loss in 2008, I honestly thought that if we ever had another miscarriage I would be prepared and it wouldn't be “so bad.”  Well, on one hand, it’s really not.  The experience itself was much less traumatic, what with me keeping all my organs and various body parts this time.  I knew fairly soon that things weren't okay, and I was able to prepare myself for what was coming.  I also have two amazing, hysterical little boys to focus on now—and I really have been appreciating much more lately what blessings they are.  But the sorrow I felt after a few days really took me by surprise.  I then started to feel, on top of the sadness, guilt and even shame for being sad.  After all, I have two AMAZING kiddos.  Some people, who would give anything for a child, have none.  I decided to tell very few people about the loss, only my immediate family members, my closest friends, and a couple of other people who needed to know for various reasons.  If no one knows, I won’t have to talk about it, and then, basically, I won’t have to think about it.

I changed my mind.  Well, God  changed my mind with His Word (funny how that works).  If you’re familiar at all with Job, you’ll probably recall how his friends and even his wife encouraged him to “curse God and die.”  I can’t even imagine how Job felt.  His whole life was wrong.  His children were dead, his livelihood was destroyed, everything he thought he could count on was gone.  Everyone loves to quote Job 13:15: “Though he slay me, yet I will trust him…”  And yes, this verse has been a comfort for me—a constant reminder that no matter what, Jesus loves me and I need to CHOOSE to trust and obey Him. But the verse and context that really stood out for me during this time was Job 38, when God answers Job in his lamenting.  You can read the whole passage here (and please do!) but for the sake of space I’ll share the brief verses that were most impactful:

Job 38:4-7
“Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?
Tell Me, if you have understanding.
 Who determined its measurements?
Surely you know!
Or who stretched the line upon it?
 To what were its foundations fastened?
Or who laid its cornerstone,
When the morning stars sang together,
And all the sons of God shouted for joy?”

I don’t believe God was “scolding” Job for his grief.  There is never any shame in coming to God with our mourning, sadness, burdens.  The Bible tells us that God keeps track of our tears (Psalm 56:8), and in Luke 12 He makes it very clear that He loves us enough to know the very number of hairs on our heads.  In fact, I believe God was comforting Job—giving Job reassurance that even though he (Job) had no understanding of what was happening or why, God did.  Even if Job couldn't grasp the purpose, EVER, of the mess of his life—God did.  Even when Job wished he had never been born, to avoid the torment that would be become his world, God reminded Job who was in control. 

What happened to Job was a thousand, million times worse than anything that has happened to me.  Yet sorrow is sorrow, and grief is grief.  Job was not ashamed to lament before God—why am I? When I lost my first baby, SO MANY PEOPLE came to tell me about their miscarriage.  I had NO idea it was so common.  Nearly everyone I spoke with shared with me their pain, and then how God helped them through that time.  It was so comforting to me.  Why do we, as a culture, turn away from each other, and from God, during times like this? As I read Job, it became clear to me that what God was calling me to do was to OWN and SHARE my grief.  Indeed, where was I when God made the world? How can I ever understand Him, or His purposes? I may not this side of heaven, but I can certainly trust Him enough to obey Him, and praise Him through every circumstance of my life.

Maybe you've never had a miscarriage (and I certainly pray you don’t!) but every one of us experiences pain in some form.  I encourage you to be honest, with God and with others.  "Tell me, if you have understanding..."  Indeed, we should share-- with each other-- if we have understanding.  Take comfort in Him who knows your pain and sorrow, and if you trust and seek Him, He WILL one day wipe every tear from our eyes. Many, many blessings, dear friends!