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A LETTER TO MYSELF

When I Was The New Mom

I recently read an article that a friend of mine had contributed to where mothers had written letters to their twenty-year-old selves, giving advice about motherhood.  It made me reflect on my own journey of motherhood. What would I say to myself ten years ago?

My knees creak when I walk down the stairs.  I have more gray hairs every time I look in the mirror.  And it takes me a lot longer to get myself up off the floor than it used to. I am no spring chicken. I have been plugging away at this motherhood gig for over ten years now.  I have birthed babies a whole decade a part, and I have learned that there is still so much I don’t know. But if I could go back and bump into my pregnant self over ten years ago at a Delaware coffee shop, this is what I would say:

Fail gracefully. – You will find time and time again that this motherhood gig is full of choices and decisions and often you will choose wrong.  You will fail. It is inevitable. But how you fail is what matters. Own up to your mistakes. Apologize when necessary. Admit your human flaws and sinful nature.  Your children will learn far more from how they see you pick yourself up off the floor than from all the times you succeeded. Fail and get back up with grace.

Forgive yourself. – Do this often.  Remember you are going to fail a bunch.  So it is also important to remember to forgive yourself.  Mom-guilt is a thing, and it can steal the joy from your mothering if you give it the chance.  Fight that. Don’t let mom-guilt steal your joy. Make the mistakes, confess your sins, forgive yourself, and count it all joy.

“Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.”  James 1:2-4

 Find your village. – Don’t try to do this alone.  You will need role models of mothers who have completed the mothering stage you are in.  Your children need other grownups in their lives to love them and cheer for them. You need other parents to kid-swap with you so you can have date nights.  You need someone to bring you some dark chocolate after a day of potty-training. You need to meet up at a park and let your kids play so you can have a bit of adult conversation.  You need your village to step in during the hard times and hold you up when life gets really hard.

Listen to the wise women. – The mentors God has placed in your life have so much wisdom to give.  Yes, they raised babies back in the olden times without iPads and vLogs, but they still know so much.  They are the best encouragers and listeners. They have lived through motherhood. They are the survivors of motherhood, and they know how to guide those of us in the trenches.  Listen to their wisdom.

Love your husband. – The best advice I received from one of those wise mentors in my village was to work on my marriage.  Put your husband first. Your children will benefit many times over from growing up in a house where they witness their parents in a loving, healthy marriage–so much more than they would benefit if you put their needs first.  They NEED to see a marriage survive in a cruel world. They need to see examples of how a husband and wife treat and respect each other on a daily basis. They need the emotional support your healthy marriage will give them when they are struggling.  Put your marriage first.

You are not responsible for your child’s happiness. – You canNOT own their feelings. They will experience all the feelings, and that is a good thing.  They need to learn how to handle these emotions while they are safely under your care. Let them be bored, let them be sad, let them be all of it. Help them process their emotions and teach them how to act appropriately while feeling these emotions, but do not try to change their emotions.  Do not feel guilty when they are sad or bored or struggling. They will experience all these big emotions as an adult. Prepare them for life by letting them live through these emotions when they are small.

 Read your Bible. – Set aside time to read your Bible every day, even when they are little–no, especially when they are little!  You need this. God’s Word will bring comfort and healing. Keep it close! Put it on your dinner table, and let it be present always.  Open it after dinner and read together as a family. Let your children grow up seeing you read your Bible. Let them see you put God’s Word before their wants.  I know it is hard to find the time. But I promise you, this is more important than clean floors and losing baby weight.

Let them fail. – This is a tough one.  This one will break your mama heart, but it is oh so important for your children.  They need to fail. They need to know they are human. They need to learn how to handle and grow from their failure.  They need to learn this while they are little and still under your roof so when they are an adult they handle this with maturity. Let the forgotten homework result in a zero, don’t go back to get their lunch box, let them take the consequences for their actions, and love them through their failures.  Teach them that their worth has NOTHING to do with their accomplishments. Love them all the same no matter the grade, no matter the goals scored, no matter the games won. Let your love for them reflect the Heavenly Father’s love for them. They do not have to earn it in any way. Work at making sure they understand this.  Let them fail.

Honor the body that carried your babies and don’t let your daughters see you hate it. –  Your body has done amazing and glorious things. It has grown and birthed humans! Your body has fed and nurtured your babies through the first years of their lives. God created your body!  It won’t look like it used to before it made the tiny people. That is ok. That is how it is supposed to look. I know it is hard to accept change and you liked your body more before it was squishier and had all these new lines that won’t fade. BUT when you verbalize those feelings, your daughters are watching.  Don’t let them hear you are fat. Don’t model a negative body image for them. Break the cycle that runs rampant in our culture. Teach them about being healthy and living a healthy lifestyle. But don’t hate the body that brought them into the world. Don’t teach them that looks are more important than what is in the heart.

Find perspective and try not to make mountains out of molehills. – The parenting stage you are currently struggling with may seem like the most important days of your child’s life, but I promise you, they (and you) will survive this difficult season.  You will face other more important and difficult challenges together. So whatever season you are trying to conquer, just know that it is not as big of a deal as it feels in the moment. No child goes off to college still in diapers. They will eventually sleep through the night in their own bed, master reading, survive their first crush, and learn about the birds and the bees.  You will all survive. It is ok if they master this development a little later than others–there will be something else they master first. Don’t stress about it.

Consider the advice, and then figure out what works for your family. –  There are a lot of suggested ways to raise and parent children out there, and you will encounter some very STRONG opinions over the years.  And to be honest, so much of it will be conflicting. So you cannot possibly listen to it all. Take in what you feel is right and best for your family.  And in the end, if it works for your family, then that is the best way to raise your children. Don’t let the LOUD opinions out there steer you off course or make you doubt what you have chosen.  Listen to your gut.

 Acknowledge your strengths and accept your own weaknesses. – Do not compete with other moms.  You will lose. There will always be another mom out there who throws a better birthday party, bakes a better cake, cooks a healthier dinner, and seems to do it all.  The truth is, they are failing in areas you can’t see. There will be parts of this motherhood journey that you will ROCK and others that you just can’t master. That is ok. We all have different gifts.  Celebrate them, and don’t compete with other moms to be the best in anything. Social media can be a great tool, and it can also be an abyss of self-loathing. Don’t try to do it all. Your children will be just fine.  If they are loved, then it will not matter if their birthday parties are over the top, their lunches are organic, their bedroom is color-coordinated, or their Halloween costumes are homemade.

Parent for the End Goal – Even if you are holding a baby in your arms right now, look years into the future and take a moment and figure out what you want that little baby to look like when they walk out of your house as an adult.  Write it down. I want to raise a child to be kind, polite, and considerate. I want my children to love their Maker, to know their Bible, to put others above themselves. I hope they are brave when life is scary. I hope they work hard and give everything they do their best effort.  I hope they use their lives that God has given them to serve Him. Once I figured out my goals for my children, it helped me focus my time parenting the skills that really mattered to me. Being highly educated or on the swim team weren’t goals I had for them, so why was I spending so many nights battling tears trying to achieve milestones on a timeline that really didn’t matter in the end? Parenting my littles with the end goal in mind has forced me to focus on what really matters to me and reminds me to help them to grow into the adults I pray they become.

There will come a day when you are no longer a new mom.  You won’t necessarily feel any wiser because there are still plenty of motherhood milestones ahead of you.  You will have no idea how to conquer any of them. But then again, you have weathered many motherhood storms, and those tiny people haven’t beaten you down yet.   There will come a day when a new mom will come to you and unload all her mothering woes over a cup of coffee. Here is how to respond: don’t give her any advice at all.  Let her complain, cry, question, vent, and get it all off her chest. Smile at her. Give her a tissue. Give her a hug. Let her know that she is doing a great job. Let her know that this season of struggles will pass.  And let her know that you have been there, too.

You have learned so much as a mom. And one of the most important lessons of all is that other moms don’t need your advice; they need your encouragement.  Give that out in bunches. Only give out the advice when it is specifically asked for and even then, pile on the encouragement to go with it. Because mothering is tiring and hard and sometimes when it’s been a day of yelling at children and messy floors and sleepless nights, the best remedy is a hug—not a blog post on parenting.

Hang in there, Mama.  You will survive motherhood.  It will beat you down and stretch you far.  You will have beautiful moments with these tiny humans God gave you, and you will have moments when you will question everything.  Count it all joy! God chose you for these precious children. He knows what He is doing. He picked you to be their mom. Raise them up in Him. 

“Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it.” Proverbs 22:6

Walking A Gracious Road

Pregnancy after loss: the day Joanna was born

It was just after 2:00 in the early morning of May 7, 2018, the day that I had a C-section scheduled for 11 a.m.  I woke up to light pains just like I had had many other nights. They never lasted long, so I picked up my ipad and began passing the time lettering a Bible verse.  I sometimes struggle to find the right verse to letter. This time I picked the last verse that showed up on my facebook feed, and I don’t even remember which friend had shared it.  So I lettered and created until I reached the point where I had to break during the contractions. I decided to get up and use the bathroom to see if that would help lessen the pain.  

And just after 4:00 a.m., my water broke.  

How do you know when your water breaks while going to the bathroom?  I don’t know. You just do. So I gently called to Blake, “Hey, honey, I think my water just broke.”  Wow, did he shoot out of bed! This wasn’t the plan. There was a schedule. Not because I wanted it, but because that is what the doctors thought would be safest for me and this baby.   And by only a miracle, this sweet baby had waited patiently inside me through six weeks of hospital bedrest for preterm labor and then nine weeks of home bedrest. Nothing else about this pregnancy had gone as planned so why should the birth?  

I was thankful my water broke.  I didn’t want a C-section, because I wanted this baby to be born on God’s timeline, not a day I chose.  I had put everything about this pregnancy in His hands when it all had gone awry, and I hated the idea of picking a day for this baby to be born. So I was thankful that May 7th was also the day God chose.  

I was calm that morning.  Too calm. Maybe I didn’t quite understand the urgency of everything.  I told Blake he could take a shower–we had time, and maybe I should do my hair.  He decided not to be calm. He decided we still needed to be urgent. That was a good decision.  We were out of there in twenty minutes.

4:22 a.m.

We had made it.  We had made it full term.  We had made it to the day this baby was to be born.  We have made it so far and yet, while driving to the hospital, the idea of holding a baby in our arms still felt so far away.  Pregnancy after loss was one of the hardest journeys we had walked. It had wreaked havoc on our marriage, on our emotions, and our family.  There were so many possibilites of heartache around every corner. We knew that heartache all too well, and what we didn’t know was if we could survive it all over again.  We were still fragile. We were still broken. We were so unsure if our hurting hearts could bear the weight of leaving a hospital without a baby in our arms again.

God has promised us many things but a baby is not one of them.  Many times when I was so afraid and I confided to those around me, I was given a response of “you just need to have faith.”  Faith in what? That is what I wanted to ask but never did. Faith that my baby will be born healthy? Faith that this pregnancy will not end in loss? Faith that everything will be ok?  None of that is promised to us. My faith would not bring me a healthy baby. My faith is in God and His promises, but that did not mean that I would end up holding a crying baby in my arms.

So what should I put my faith in?   Where do I turn in the moments of fear and doubt?  How does one survive nine months of anxiety that grips at a heart?  His promises are written in His Word. He keeps His promises. I can have faith in that.  What were God’s promises to me?

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;  
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
 when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,  
and the flame shall not consume you.”  Isaiah 43:2

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted    
and saves the crushed in spirit.”  Psalm 34:18

“We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair;  persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed” 2 Corinthians 4:8-9

 “And if I go and prepare a place for you,
 I will come again and will take you to myself, 
that where I am you may be also.” John 14:3

He does NOT promise good things, happy days, or healthy babies.  

He promises that we will not be consumed by the flames that might threaten us.  He promises to save our crushed spirits. He promises to give rest to our souls. And He promises a place for us that He will take us to Himself.  

My heart may be fragile, but it will not be crushed.  I WILL NOT BE DESTROYED. He promises that. He promises to be with me no matter what this day holds.  

Joy or sorrow, He is with me.  

So we walked into maternity triage, and it wasn’t long before bells began to ring and anxieties were flowing.  There was meconium in my water. They were not going to take their time getting this little one out. We didn’t even wait for a wheelchair.  I walked straight up into the O.R. and sat down on the table. Then the alarms went off. The heartbeat had plummeted.

I had listened to the heartbeat so many times.  The sound of a baby’s heartbeat is so comforting and beautiful.  During my six-week stay in the hospital, they had monitored the heartbeat three times a day, and I always asked them to leave the volume up.  I have listened to a monitor before and not heard a heartbeat. I do not take the sound of a heartbeat for granted, and it is always beautiful.  

So I know what a heartbeat is supposed to sound like, and, oh, how the heartbeat in that O.R. on the morning of May 7th sounded so very wrong, so slow and faint.  I remember the lump forming in my throat. I remember the nurse screaming to the anesthesiologist, asking what was the right code to call. Then I remember the alarms going off.  I remember the nurses and doctors running in. I remember them asking if I was numb yet so they could begin cutting. I remember reminding them to go get my husband out of the hallway.  Blake walked in at 6:04 a.m. I told him the heartbeat was low. And he said, “Ok.” I told him I was scared. And he said, “I know.” He walked in at 6:04, and she was born at 6:06. A beautiful baby girl.  


Joanna Grace.  

A name we had settled upon when I was first admitted to the hospital at 23 weeks.  Joanna, after one of the women who had gone to the tomb. One of the women who accompanied Jesus on his ministry.  A woman forever written on the pages of the resurrection, associated with the good news of the Gospel. A name forever tied with the grace, love, and the forgiveness of our God.  

Joanna walked a road, a good and gracious road, laid ahead of her by our Father.  She walked the road with her Saviour as He cared for the lost and hurting. She walked the road to the tomb preparing for sorrow and heartache, preparing to care for the body of her Lord.  She walked with a heavy heart expecting pain but instead she received joy. She received the good news. She was in His hands the entire journey even when she thought all was lost, even when she was filled with grief.  Our God is gracious. There is joy at the end of this journey no matter how painful each step may be.

"Restore to me the Joy of your salvation." Psalm 51:12

The doctor held her up and she made the slightest little cry.  Then they whisked her away, and we waited.

The silence felt like it would never end.  I couldn’t think or speak. I just kept breathing.  Not panicking. I knew that panicking when all your insides are exposed is not a good idea.

God is good.  

No matter what.  God is good. All the time.  God is good. Nine minutes. That is all it was.  That is how long we waited. Nine minutes normally flies by, but it didn’t then.  Nine minutes after the pediatric team took her out of the room, a nurse came back in and said, “Tell mom and dad the baby is doing great.”  

That was the first time in nine months I could breathe a sigh of relief.  The baby was ok.

There was extra monitoring the rest of the morning, and it took us a little longer than normal to make it out of recovery, but the baby was ok.  She was in my arms. Finally. She was going to be ok. We were all going to be ok.

We soaked in those first moments we had with her, marveling at every tiny feature.  She was perfection–created by a loving God. Created by the same God who had placed the stars in the night sky, who had created the towering redwoods, who had created the wings of a hummingbird, who had created her sister Ella two years before.  Fearfully and wonderfully made by a good and gracious God.

I firmly believe that every child is a perfect and precious gift from God.  And I was overjoyed to meet and hold each of my babies the day they were born.  But there is something different in the hospital room of a baby born healthy after a family has experienced the loss of a baby.  There is a joy that runs deep, an appreciation for the gift of life that isn’t promised, an awe at the sheer handiwork of the Creator.  The joy and appreciation in that room was so palpable you could almost scoop it up and hold it in your hands.

My most favorite moment from that day was when Joanna’s two big sisters walked into the room.  Their excitement and anticipation to see if they were about to meet a baby brother or a baby sister and their chance to experience a hospital room full of joy instead of sorrow or fear are memories I will treasure forever.  Their lives the past two years were shaken as well. They had experienced grief in all its rages. They had experienced the loss of a little sister, and they had been living with parents who were broken and hurting. They, too, knew that a baby was not promised at the end of a pregnancy.  They, too, were worried, anxious, and cautiously hoping to bring home a baby this time. There is something extra special in a hospital room of a baby after a family has grieved the loss of a baby before. You might know firsthand or you might have to take my word for it.

We did get to bring a baby home from the hospital with us this time.  That privilege was not lost on us. Too many parents do not. I did not know why we got this privilege, but I was grateful.  We had the privilege of late night feedings, messy diapers, newborn cries, sleepless nights. All of it treasured. My arms were full, my heart grew, and my smile, finally, was genuine.  I was so grateful, but a baby born does not replace a baby lost.

My heart will always long for Ella, to know her, to hold her, to watch her grow.  I wonder what her personality would be. Would she be soft-spoken and thoughtful like her big sister Abby? Or would she have spunk and love for life like Rachel?  I long to watch them all play together. Four girls. The giggles, the squeals, the frills and the fun the four of them would have had together. Another baby, another baby girl will never replace the baby I did not get to raise.  A mother’s love never fades over time. Ella taught me of the love and faithfulness of our Heavenly Father, and Joanna taught me of His grace.

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

A Battle Cry, a Tablet, and a Broken Coffee Mug

The VDMA Project

When the handle of my Anthropologie coffee mug my sister gave me broke off, my happiness bubble burst, and the crocodile tears flowed.  Missionaries are often easily discouraged when living abroad. Life throws curveballs. Stuff stops working. And home seems farther and farther away.  We fight against this discouragement on a daily basis, and it is hard for us to “lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely.” It is difficult to keep running the race.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”  Hebrews 12:1-2

Whether our trials are big or small, sometimes they are just enough to send us back to bed, under the covers, wanting to throw in the towel and give up. It is easy to see the mountain in front of us as insurmountable and the race set before us as too far a distance to run. Often we lose sight of the reasons we are here.  That is why it is important for us to hold onto our purpose as missionaries. The VDMA project is one of those reasons and is a great reminder of our purpose.

VDMA stands for Verbum Domini Manet in Aeternum which is Latin for “The Word of the Lord Endures Forever.” This was the motto for the Lutheran Reformation.  The VDMA logo was displayed on flags, banners, swords, and armor. This served as a reminder that the Lutheran princes were not fighting for an agenda or a religion.  They were fighting for the Word of God. They were fighting because they believed that the Word of God should be in the hands of the people, no matter their station or status.  

“The grass withers, the flower fades, but the Word of our God will stand forever.” – Isaiah 40:6  

VDMA was a battle cry for the Reformation, and it is a battle cry today. Today we do not fight against a Catholic Emperor with shield and sword.  Today we fight circumstance and opportunity. The battle is just as important. The Word of the Lord is just as important today as it has ever been. Today we fight to get the Word into the hands of the people in Latin America.  

There are two reasons this project is so very near and dear to my heart. The VDMA project has been in the works for years.  It began as a problem. Lutheran pastors were being trained across Latin America but did not have access to the theological material that they so desperately needed. This is because many important theological books have not yet been translated into Spanish, and it is logistically impossible to get the size and weight of a much-needed theological library into the hands of future pastors when many of them live in very rural, hard-to-access communities. There is a high cost involved in translating, purchasing, and distributing books.  This is the problem. This is what our fight today is against.

Blake met James when he went to the Dominican Republic on a short-term team. James is a missionary working in Latin America.  After talking about life, work, and missions, James saw Blake as someone with a unique skill-set which could help him with this problem they were facing in the Latin America mission field. This brought James to my kitchen table.

One weekend in November of 2013, James came to Las Vegas, and he and Blake sat down to work out different possible solutions to this problem.  Ideas began to form, and eventually the VDMA project evolved into what it is today. It has been compiled into a tablet with the necessary theological materials that can easily be put into the hands of Latin American seminary students studying the Word of the Lord.  

I love this project because it is so closely tied to our story.  Not only was it developed with the “help” of my 18-month-old’s scribbles, but it also helped bring my family into the mission field. This is one of the ways God brought us down here.  Through the VDMA project, we became involved and invested in the work God was doing in Latin America.

While it is very cool that we were involved with this project long before we were missionaries, there is a more important reason this project is near and dear to my heart.  It is the very reason we gave up everything we knew as familiar and comfortable in order to serve as missionaries. It is the very goal of every missionary in our Latin America & Caribbean Region and the goal of our church body today.  Our goal is to leave.

We serve as missionaries with the hope that one day we, as a church, can eventually pull out of each country and when we leave, there will be an established church body with its own pastors who serve and care for the community.  The goal is never to make any country indefinitely dependent on missionaries to provide access to the Word of the Lord. This is a long-term goal. This is a goal that most missionaries realize they may never see come to fruition in their lifetime.  But it is still a goal we all work towards. We know that each one of us serving plays a very small role in this very large goal. If it wasn’t for the work done before us and the work that will be done after us, the goal would not be possible.

So when there is a project that is training up the next generation of local pastors in Latin America, that is a project worth supporting.  That is a project worth shouting from the mountaintops. We want to help this group of pastors receive the necessary training to care for the people they will serve in their communities.   

Many of these seminary students are eager to continue their education.  They are hungry to study the Word of the Lord. This is our battlefield. We do not fight against an emperor, but we fight all the same.  We fight to get the Word of the Lord into the hands of His people.

I am honored and grateful to have witnessed the transformation of this project from its early days.  It is exciting to see the joy on the face of a seminary student who receives the necessary materials needed to complete his studies. So far this project has put theological material into the hands of 197 recipients. The project is not complete.  Materials still need to be translated. Tablets still need to be distributed. The Word of the Lord still needs to get to the people.

The VDMA project is important for the churches across Latin America, but it is also important for us.  The VDMA project serves as a reminder that we should be putting our plans, efforts, and thoughts, into what will last.  VDMA serves as a self-check of our own priorities.

In the mission field, things don’t usually work the same as we are used to in the States. Appliances and household items break (often).  Usually by the time we fix one thing, something else stops working. VDMA reminds us that our earthly treasures are not what is important.  They will not last. “The grass withers, the flowers fade, but the Word of the Lord will last forever.”  

The Pampered Chef pan stains, and the Anthropologie coffee mug breaks, but…  

The air conditioning in the car is no longer cold, and the Dyson vacuum shorted out, but….  

The hot water heater flooded the house, and the grill rusted through, but…

The Word of the Lord lasts forever.  

This is our mission.  This is our focus. This is what matters.  This is why we are here. And thanks to the VDMA project, more and more people will have access to the Word of the Lord.  And this is our goal: that more and more people will know the love and grace of our Savior. We cling to the reminder that our earthly treasures will not last, and we should continue to run the race set before us.

“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal,  but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal.  For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”  Matthew 6:19-21

 learn more about the VDMA project
purchase VDMA prints from my Etsy shop

My Alabaster Flask

And the Day I Stopped Being a “Good Christian”

I have wanted to write this post from the day my blog began.  This is the reason I chose the name for my blog. There is meaning behind it–and a story.  I sat down to write out this post many times over the past three years, but the words just never came.  Perhaps that was because I wasn’t writing the whole story. And it wasn’t until recently that I realized that I was trying to tell you about the beginning of something without explaining the ending of something else.  

Before I get into the significance of “My Alabaster Flask,” I have to explain to you the end of the American Dream.  Now don’t get excited; this is not a political statement or post. I am not saying the American Dream has ended for America, just for me or really for my family.  And it was a choice we made; we walked away from it. This is also not a reflection on our feelings toward our home country. I LOVE America. Maybe more now that I have left it than ever before.  

The American Dream was never our goal, so to speak, but when you grow up hearing the propaganda of the “white picket fence,” the “let freedom ring,” the “pursuit of happiness,” it is easy to get wrapped up in pursuing it.  Especially because none of it in itself is bad. And by all the standards, we were living out the American Dream.

Blake had a great job, and he was moving up the corporate ladder.  We had a beautiful house in a great neighborhood. We had friends. We had a social life.  In so many ways, we had it all. We also had an amazing church life. I taught at our Lutheran preschool.  Abby attended the same day school. We loved our church friends. They were family. Those were the days! They were great days.  We truly had it ALL. We were succeeding at the American Dream and being “good Christians.”

That right there was the problem.

I no longer believe you can be a good Christian.  In a way, I see it as an oxymoron. At least not in the sense that I used to refer to the phrase “good Christian.”  The idea where you silently check the boxes of tithing, church attendance, helping the less fortunate, attending Bible study, doing devotions, reading your Bible, and all the other Christiany things.  When you think you are doing well at living the Christian life, that is when you don’t have a clue at all. You don’t get what it means to follow Christ. At least that is what was true for me. The American Dream, being a “good Christian,” checking all the “right” boxes, was fantastic.  I loved that life. I miss that life. I enjoyed that life. Because it was

Comfortable.

I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.  Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. Romans 12:1-2

There are a few words in these verses that should make a “good Christian” cringe.  “present your bodies as a living sacrifice…that by testing you may discern what is the will of God.”

Sacrifice and testing are not comfortable.  They are not easy. They are not great. They are hard.  To be a good Christian, you have to be following God’s will for your life and doing it well.  When life is comfortable, it is easy to believe you are succeeding. I did. I was teaching little kids about Jesus every day.  And I loved those kids. And I was a good teacher. I enjoyed that job. I was part of the church. I led Bible studies for the parents.  I volunteered in church activities. I was doing it all, and it was good stuff. And the more I did well, the more I didn’t need a Savior.  I didn’t need a Lord, a Redeemer, a Healer, or a God. And the scariest part of the “good Christian” American Dream life was that I didn’t even notice.  The whole time I truly believed I was following God’s will. I was acknowledging I was sinful, but I wasn’t really. I thought I was on a good path. I didn’t realize that making my life about what I thought God wanted could even push God out of my focus.  But it did.

It took throwing away the American Dream, giving away all of our possessions, moving to another country, letting God direct our path, and saying “Here God, You take over,” for me to realize:

How much I NEED God.  

And I HAVE needed Him this much my entire life.  I just didn’t see it. I didn’t get it. I never understood how greatly I needed Him when life was comfortable.  When life was easy, when I was succeeding, it appeared that I could do it all just fine.

Let me tell you how I am doing at this missionary gig living in another country:  I could possibly be the worst missionary and the biggest failure in the history of missionaries.  That is not an exaggeration, friends. I don’t got it here. None of it. It is not figured out. I am not making progress.  It is one failure after another. I don’t got any of it. The only part of me that is not failing at being a missionary is that I am still here.  I have not quit. But EVERYTHING else – nope, don’t got it.

But, you know what?  I am not alone. There are a number of my fellow missionary friends who at one time or another have said or thought the same thing.  And it is only after laying all of our flaws and failures and weaknesses on the table because we have been humbled SO MUCH by our own limitations that we find God.  We find His strength, His grace, His plan, and our need for a Savior. A Savior who has always been there but has gone unnoticed and unappreciated for far too long in our lives.

But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.  -2 Corinthians 12 :19

If I couldn’t see my own weakness, how could I see His strength?  How could anyone else? What witness was my life to anyone looking at me if all they saw was ME, the “good Christian?”   

I was reading through a Bible study with one of my favorite mentors.  She was a missionary in Venezuela for over twenty years. She, along with her husband, led the first short term team from our church to the Dominican Republic.  Blake was on that team. Then again two years later we both went with her. She is one of those women you look at and think, “That is who I want to be when I grow up.”  She was also one of the biggest influences on our decision to be missionaries.

So one day, after we were missionaries, back when I was pregnant with Ella, we sat down together and read through the story in Luke seven of the sinful woman.  

Jesus was invited to dinner at the home of a Pharisee.  While He was sitting at the table, a sinful woman barged into the house.  She began crying and washing the feet of Jesus with her tears. She wiped them with her hair and then anointed them with oil from her alabaster flask.  

If Jesus was visiting my town, what would I do?  The old me, the “good Christian,” would invite Jesus to dinner.  I would throw a very respectable dinner party. I would invite my “good Christian” friends to join us. Our children would be on their very best behavior.  I would make sure the food was perfect, the china was washed, and the house was spotless. I would prepare the very best for my Lord. But never in a million years would I have interrupted anyone else’s dinner party by barging in as an emotional pile of tears and plop myself down at Jesus’ feet.

Imagine my surprise when I realized I had grown up to be a Pharisee.  

And it wasn’t until I moved to the mission field and began to uncover my own weaknesses did I even realize that is who I was.  I am NOT a good Christian.

Luke continues with Simon saying to himself, “if this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what sort of woman this is who is touching him, for she is a sinner.”  

And Jesus answered him.

I love when Jesus answers those out loud who think thoughts to themselves.  Because that is me. I will sit silently judging and drowning in my own negativity, while others think I am being quiet.  I need to realize that Jesus hears my ugly thoughts. And He would answer me out loud, too.

Jesus answers Simon with a parable.  He talks about a moneylender forgiving debts.  The greater the debt, the more love the debtor had for the moneylender. This is the same with us.  The greater the sin forgiven, the more love we have for a Savior – love that makes you throw yourself down at the Savior’s feet, weeping while creating a spectacle of yourself.

This is where it hit me. I didn’t see how big my sin was.  My sin was not less. My sin was still great when living my comfortable, American life, but I was blinded by my pursuit of happiness, blinded by being a “good Christian,” blinded by success.  I was blinded and could not see my sin in its entirety.

I needed to be stripped of all that stuff and comfort to understand the vastness of my sin.  The debt that has been paid for me is large.

My favorite part of being a missionary is this understanding.  Seeing myself for who I truly am. I am not a good Christian. There is no such thing.  There are only miserable sinners of whom I am one of the most miserable. I am a failure.  I am weak. I am a sinner. I am imperfect. Because of this, I understand my need for a Savior.  I understand the power of God’s grace for me. I understand the depth of His love. I understand that it is unimaginable.  And this is a beautiful gift. This is what I have gained in the mission field. There are no “good christians.” There are only miserable sinners redeemed by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ.

“…but where sin increased, grace abounded all the more, so that, as sin reigned in death, grace also might reign through righteousness leading to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Romans 5:20

An alabaster flask is a semiprecious stone that was cut and shaped into a container – most likely small and beautifully crafted.  It held sweet-smelling oil or perfume. It was worth a great deal of money. Perhaps this was her prized possession. This was what she brought to Jesus’s feet.  This was what she emptied out before Him, not caring that she was in someone else’s house or crashing someone else’s dinner party, not caring that she was being whispered about for her emotional outburst.  She was solely focused on pouring out her love and devotion to the One who had forgiven her debt. Her love was great because she knew her sin was great as well.

It is my constant prayer that I approach my Lord and Savior with the same unashamed, emotional outcry of love and devotion that the sinful woman had.  My alabaster flask is my comfort zone, my need to be liked, my desire for pretty things, my pursuit of happiness, my American dream, my social status, and everything that blinds me from seeing the ugly truth of my sin and my desperate need for a Savior.    

My alabaster flask is my reminder to lay down my pride and weep at my Father’s feet because His grace abounds and His love for me is great.  My debt has been paid. My sins, which are many, have all been forgiven.

“Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope,  and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.” Romans 5:3-5

My thoughts on hospital bedrest

So I have been here a month.  This is a very good thing.  Even though it is miserable and borderline torture, it is a very good thing.  This baby is still inside me and still growing safely.  Sometimes I have to convince myself that being within these same four walls day after day is a good thing, because it often does not feel very good.

I am not chained to my bed (although I am supposed to wear leg squeezers and then I am literally chained to the bed – but I don’t wear those as often as I should).  I have bathroom privileges–  which means I am allowed to get up to use the bathroom in my room and I get to take a shower every three days. I am not allowed to leave my room except for special occasions.  

Every two weeks I get an ultrasound which is three doors down the hallway and believe me, going three doors down the hallway is a very exciting outing.  One day, I also got special wheelchair privileges to tour the NICU on the bottom floor.  That outing was filled with very mixed emotions.  It was the closest I have been to fresh air in three weeks, but it was also a scary look into my very near future of most likely delivering prematurely.

The visitor policy is currently very restricted because of the flu season.  In this hospital (which is all related to pregnancy, birth, and newborns), I am on the only floor that allows children in and only my own children.  I am very thankful that my girls can visit.  Unfortunately, if they have any kind of a cold or cough symptoms, they are not allowed in.  Since they began school, they have picked up many new germs, and I have gone a long time without seeing them.  That is hard on all of us.  Other visitors are allowed two at a time and only a few a day.  I am told you also go through a screening process before being let upstairs.  Surprisingly even with restricted visitors, many people come in and out of my room during the day.  The nurses check on me. I get a visit from one of my three doctors every day.  The counselor stops by a few times a week.  The dietitian, physical therapist, and librarian have also all come to check in on me.  I am still hoping a masseuse, a hairdresser, and a nail technician will stop by too.  I’ll keep you posted if that happens.

The food isn’t terrible, but I am getting very tired of the same few selections.  I am very thankful when my visitors bring meals and lattes from the outside world.  In my free time (which I have a lot of) I google my favorite restaurants to see if they are within driving distance for my visitors.  I also look up the yelp reviews of nearby places and drool over their menu and customer photos.  The café down the street has an amazing Belgian waffle dessert with strawberries and whipped cream that I stare at frequently.

My production level has decreased significantly since I first got locked up.  The first two weeks I was in here, I was very productive with skill share (online) classes and lettering.  Now I mostly just binge watch shows.  I am currently on season five of The West Wing.  I wonder if my lack of desire to do anything at all is partly being depressed.  My counselor assures me that there is no wrong way to survive hospital bedrest.  It is just something you get through.

I miss so many things from the outside world while locked up in my fancy prison (this is what Abby calls it – it’s pretty accurate).  I miss my girls the most–especially since I do not see them that often.  I miss the normal activities with them or being able to console them when they are having a hard time.  This traumatic transition has not been easy on any of us but especially hard on them.  I miss Blake, too, although he gets to see me more.  I miss eating dinner with my family.  I even miss cleaning up after them–I know that is hard to believe.  I miss the freedom to make my own food.  I miss the outside air.  I miss walking around and stretching my muscles.

I am thankful for so much.  I am thankful the Olympics are on right now.  You have no idea how thankful I am for the Olympics.  I am thankful it’s Girl Scout cookie season.  I may be eating my emotions one Girl Scout box at a time.  I am thankful for all the support we have received from family and friends near and far.  Every gift card, video message, bouquet of flowers, card, package, meal, and words with friends game has meant the world to me.  (Side note: want to send me love and support and don’t know how? – play me in words with friends: LizzW30 – it is my favorite pastime).

Physically, I am doing just fine.  I don’t feel like anything is wrong with me which makes it really hard to stay in bed all day.  I am still at a very high risk for my water breaking or going into preterm labor.  I am at the hospital because delivering this early is still very dangerous for the baby.  This is one of the best NICUs on the West Coast, and I am thankful I am here.  I am thankful I made it back from the DR.  I am thankful my doctor sent me to have an in-depth ultrasound, and they caught this problem when they did.  I feel much safer in the hospital than I did before.  In a way, this confirmed all the fears I thought I had just because I was a mom who had previously lost a baby.

Once you join this club of moms, you learn of all the different possible complications.  When you know these moms and hug them through their tears, these complications are no longer a list in a book, they are very real possibilities.  This is partly why no part of a future pregnancy feels safe.  You know babies that have died at every stage for many different reasons.   When I had my ultrasound, I was prepared for so many of them.  I knew that many different complications would lead to death.  So when the doctor told me there was a problem with my cervix and my water sac and I was headed to the hospital and could possibly be admitted for a while, I was relieved.  I know that is weird and many people may not understand.  But what I heard in those words was: your baby is safe.  Right now, your baby is fine.  All of the baby’s organs are in the right place and growing correctly.  Yes there is a problem,  just like you thought.  But right now, your baby is completely fine.

That is why I was so calm going to the hospital, calling my mom, calling Blake, being admitted.  The baby was safe.  They were going to watch the baby.  Every eight hours they are going to check on the baby and analyze the heartbeat to watch for any concerns.  At the push of a button I can share any concerns that come up in my overactive imagination.  I can have every twinge and pain checked out at any time day or night.  I don’t have to worry right now.  Other people are looking out for my baby.  In so many ways, I am way less stressed in the hospital than I have been this whole pregnancy.  I have slept better in here than the past three years.

I still know life is fragile, a gift, not promised, and our days are numbered.  I am still aware of the number of ways I could lose this baby. But I don’t feel as responsible as I used to, to catch any potential problems that may arise.

I have also come to accept that my baby will most likely be born prematurely.  My baby will most likely spend weeks if not months in the NICU.  The healing image I had of a crying baby in the delivery room has faded.  The baby will most likely be taken to the NICU before I get to see him or her, and I will have to wait until after I am done with recovery to see my baby.  It may be days or weeks before I get to hold my baby.  The girls and other family will not get to visit the baby in the NICU.  These are realizations I have had to wrestle with and accept.

There is still potentially a long hard journey in front of us, depending on what complications this baby may have due to being born prematurely.  So much of our future is very up in the air right now.  But we are here.  We are in a very good hospital and in very good medical hands.  God brought us safely here.  We are in His hands.  He is caring for us, and that is easy to see here.  Seeing His care for us in this past month has been reassuring to my heart.  I doubt; I question; I carry fear; I sin.  My faith is easily shaken, but He remains faithful.  He is constant.  He is unwavering.  His love for me is steadfast.

Since losing Ella, I have clung to Isaiah 43.  So much of that chapter I love, but now that I am walking this road of pregnancy after loss, I especially find comfort in verse two.

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

   and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;

when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,

   and the flame shall not consume you.”  Isaiah 43:2

I know to my core how fragile life is on this earth.  I know how fragile life is inside my womb.  I know there are no guarantees I will successfully bring this baby into this world alive.  I know what it is like to lose a baby.  I know what it is like to walk through fire.  I know that it is very possible that I might face the fire of losing another baby again.  Nowhere in God’s Word does it promise this baby will live.  BUT, it does promise that if I walk through fire again, the flames will not consume me.  I will not be burned.  I don’t know how because it sure feels like I will burn, be consumed, and crumble, but His Word promises He will be with me and the flames will not consume me.  That is what I put my trust in.  Those are His promises.

So I sit here and sometimes allow myself to think about the many different possibilities my future could hold.  Sometimes it is too hard, and so I drown out my thoughts with the fast-paced chatter of The West Wing while eating some thin mints. But every night I go to bed thanking God for another day.   I put my hand on my belly and ask for His blessing on this tiny baby; I ask for one more day of sanity in this fancy prison and one more day with this baby in my womb.