I’ve hesitated to discuss this “out here” because…. well, few topics could be more personal. But I keep feeling the nudging that someone out there might find some encouragement from it, so here we go (it’s long, sorry).

I’m losing weight. A lot of weight. A little over 40 pounds in the last 12 weeks, with the goal still a considerable way down the road. While stray pounds have always been attracted to me like cat hair on black pants, in the last few years I went through some incredible stresses. Deaths, birth, job changes…nearly everything on any Top 10 Things That Will Send You To An Early Grave list. And when I’m stressed, I eat.

Food was something that could bring at least some temporary pleasure and literally insulated my feelings away from the world. So I stressed and I struggled to haul myself out of bed each morning and deal with my life, and I “rewarded” myself for survival with whatever I felt like as a treat. But I always knew that wasn’t the real me. I was in there somewhere, somewhat comatose, just hoping it would get better some day. And then I woke up.

I had been dealing with my stresses one by one, fighting and praying my way through. I’d realized I couldn’t deal with the weight until I had some of the food triggers laid to rest, but I finally came face to face with it. I couldn’t make any more progress until I started to show myself some love and respect. So this isn’t about a diet (I’m intentionally not promoting the plan I’m following here, although I can say it’s a very balanced, healthy one), it’s about self-care. About forgiving myself for my weaknesses. About literally losing my best defense that allowed me to drift into the background and limit my life. About daring to live more freely.

I’m saying all of this because while I am losing pounds, and limitations, and in some cases inhibitions, I have gained an enormous capacity for empathy. I am more honest and less judgemental than I’ve ever been. God has already begun using my experiences to help me intersect with people and issues I hadn’t reached before, and I’m thankful for that. I’ve learned it’s hard to listen when you’re still able to pretend “I’d never let myself go like that” but very ear-, eye-, and heart-opening to understand that any of us, at any time, can choose Escape, whatever flavor that takes for each of us.

So if you need to know tonight that you are more than your mess, I will pray with you Psalm 139:13-16, Ephesians 2:4-9, and 2 Corinthians 12:9. I will also tell you to please not lose yourself. Self-care is not selfish, or arrogant. It’s recognizing you need to put your own oxygen mask on so you can go about the work set before you. If that requires professional or medical counseling, seek it out. If that means exercising the word No, whisper it a few times for warm-up and then shout it loud and clear. And if it means facing something difficult, or scary, call on me. I don’t have an answer for every question, but I do have a strong arm for support, an endless supply of song snippets and movie lines suitable to any occasion, and one enormous God who can’t be scared by anything we might need to bring before Him. He believes we are worth any price.

I’ve been thinking a lot about motherhood this week, what with my girlie turning three and so many friends having new babies of their own. Tonight it made me pause and smile at my fridge because when we got it a few years ago, pre-P, I was so intentional about the precious few items I wanted on it. Just a couple of choice magnets from a museum trip, a scripture verse, and clean, clear surfaces.

Now it looks quite a bit different. I am quite a bit different. I always knew I wanted to be a mother, but it took time for me to know in my heart I was ready. That first cry changed me down to my cells and I was so excited to love her and care for her. But it takes a lot to transition from decades of being responsible for me and only me to having such a tiny life so largely dependent on my time, my care, and my decisions. And sometimes in those early months I thought everything would be perfect if there was only some way to safely find her suspended animation button so I could just get one uninterrupted stretch of sleep and yet not miss anything she might learn or do.

So three years later I am less selfish (or, more aware of trying to mitigate my selfishness), more tested, sometimes more patient, and infinitely more fulfilled than I was before. I am more nervous about some things and less about others. I have learned to shake off a lot I can’t control, and I’ve laughed until I’ve cried to see my own humanity, warts and all, reflected in such a tiny, unfiltered form.

Maybe what I’m thinking, especially for my friends, is be kind to yourself. When you’re wrapped in awe of your baby, it’s the best soul food on earth. And when you’re feeling ragged, insufficient, alone, or even totally inept, come sit by me. I’ve felt those things too. I feel them still, sometimes. And I will laugh with you, or cry, depending on the moment, and I will share 2 Corinthians 12:9 ” 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 about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” And we will assure one another that if we’ve put that precious little sunbeam in His hands (sometimes 72 times a day), the rest will fall into place. Sometimes all over the front of your fridge.

I’ve been quiet here; too overwhelmed with living it to document it. But I’ve lived, and learned, and chosen love, and I’m ready to talk now. I could say this is a story about a marriage, but it never really is. It’s only ever a story about individuals; what we choose, who we allow ourselves to be. So this is my story.

There was a wildfire in my field. It shouldn’t have been a surprise; the tinder was certainly abundant. But what tiny, seemingly insignificant sparks it took to set it off. For a while, it smoldered in corners, and I felt an uncomfortable heat but I couldn’t see it yet. And then; eruption. Conflagration. Searing flames of anger, confusion, indignation, and outrage became a roaring wall around me. I couldn’t find escape. I was too rooted to run but desperate for safety, so I let it burn, and I went. . . dormant.

I counted what I feared I’d lost, but was too scared to open my eyes to see for sure. I was terrified of what might be gone. Security, money, pride, love, hope… what if they were all just piles of ashes now? So I buried myself in layers of whatever felt safe, and prayed someone would know where to burrow down to find me. Tell me it would be ok.

As it turns out,  Someone knew exactly where, and who, I was all along.  And sunlight came, and gentler breezes, and rain to soothe and wash clean what was scorched. And we survived.

So once again, in a more drastic, deeper way than I thought possible, I find I am being refined, redefined. I am turning over new leaves on every branch. I’m more certain of where to be bold, and to what and whom my roots will cling now. I’m less willing to spend time on the foolishness of the world and more interested in real joy. I’m clearing off surfaces and decluttering my mind.

Maybe you are in the middle of renewal too. Or you’re burdened, afraid it’s impossible for you. It isn’t, I promise. Nothing that has to do with drawing closer to God is ever impossible, according to Luke 1:37. So the clouds are parting, I’m feeling full of possibilities, and I’ll post about them as I go. You’re welcome to follow along.

I haven’t posted more than a handful of times in the last year. I don’t know at what point I’m no longer considered a blogger, but it’s certainly not a lack of topics I am concerned with. Rather, it’s a sensation of drowning in my thoughts. I often think or, probably, overthink situations to the point that they pass me by unremarked on, because I am too slow or undecided or overly analytical or just too scared to share what I really wanted to say.

Yesterday at the grocery store I saw a very pregnant woman. Her husband was pushing the cart, one of those unwieldy ones attached to a kiddy car with a little boy inside. She was walking as briskly as a mama ready to pop can go, with the other two trailing behind aisle by aisle and I just wanted to stop her and tell her she is awesome. That I’ve been that pregnant and I understand the intensity of those last weeks and she is managing life and looking great. I didn’t, though. I chickened out, because I don’t know her, and she may think I’m nuts, and who really wants to be stopped by a stranger anyway? I regret it. I’m fairly introverted, but I think if someone had said that to me when I was tired and puffy and waddling through Kroger with my belly bumping the cart out of my hands, I may have cried in gratitude.

In the same store a week ago, I learned by accident that one of the longtime cashiers I see weekly has been through phenomenally stressful medical situations with both parents and still has shown up day after day to stand for hours scanning items for mostly impatient people. I’m not sure I’d ever given her home life a thought before, but I’ve shopped there for years. So I’ve been reminded yet again that we so often are oblivious to what’s really going on in someone else’s life, because they don’t share it or we don’t ask or we just don’t listen. And when we do know, it’s overwhelming and we don’t want to risk looking foolish so we do nothing.

There are very few with whom I’ve shared what this past year has really been like. It’s possible I wear my life so plainly on my face that I’m not the mystery I think I am, but at least on the inside, I’ve been such a washing machine of emotion that I’ve rarely known which end was up. I’m not sure if I’ll ever share all of it publicly, because some things do deserve privacy, but I will say that it has been a year of great extremes. My greatest joys have collided with my greatest stresses, and it has tested my faith, my self-confidence, and my marriage. It doesn’t take a big, splashy sensational sin to pull a life apart from the inside out. I’ve learned it can take just a little tiredness, on top of a little fear of failure, on top of a little self-righteousness, on top of a little “Why can’t he just…,” on top of a little trying to be perfect, on top of a little “No one understands me”, on top of a little eye-rolling, on top of a little feeling you’re about to crack.

But today is Easter. Thank God He did not die for me conditionally. Thank God my redemption is a fact unchanged by any current emotional state. Thank God for a Holy Spirit who whispers gently into my chaos that I’m not alone, on Earth or in the heavenly realm. Blessedly, it is not all about me or all mine to bear. I’m thankful for the promise of a heavenly future. I’m thankful for the conviction when I know I’m overreacting and failing to trust. I’m thankful that a marriage is an analogy of God’s love for the world and that commitment made is commitment meant, for better or for worse.

Every Sunday when we carry our little girl through church, we are stopped several times by people we often don’t know (it’s a big church, to be fair) telling us how cute and sweet she is. It’s deeply appreciated, but it’s also a reminder that nearly all of them have no idea what an emotional and physical effort it took us to get there most weeks. And in a sense, I probably have been hiding behind my cute baby and her adorable dresses. I believe with all my heart we’ll make it through all of this, but I pray in the way that He works all things for good that He will forever remind me that others around me are just as human as I am and do not walk 2-dimensionally through this world. I hope I’m more sensitive, more uplifting to others, and more bold to speak encouragement with each passing year. And I hope that, while I’m learning to be more real, if my exterior starts to crack and my less-than-best slips out now and then, you’ll favor me with grace. We are each one a glorious, messy, infinitely valuable soul.

I have begun this post several different ways, which is really unusual for me. My writing (perhaps evidently) is always a shoot from the hip style. I think the problem is that I wasn’t quite sure what I’m trying to say, but the central theme each time has been “I. Am. Tired.”

I could detail my daily, unwavering schedule, which runs nonstop from 5:30AM to 11:00PM (at best), but that’s not going to be very interesting to you and will just remind me of how tired I am. And sure, Baby P sleeps through the night, but somehow, I never do. At the point of delivery, I was apparently given the gift of Mom Ears, meaning every sniff or rustle in the night will instantly bring me to full wakefulness. And all those genuinely lovely people who encouraged me to not worry about the housework because “It will still be there later” have A) sidestepped the fact that not only will it still be there, but it will have multiplied and B) not offered to gift me a housekeeper. Hmph.

So as I learn to do more on less sleep, I thought I’d share the other areas where I’m intentionally aiming to increase my “less-ness.” I’m not claiming these as New Year’s resolutions, but they do conveniently kick off a new direction on a fresh calendar.

1) Budget – at the end of 2013, a combination of the added expenses of a baby, a program launched at my company to help our customers “spend wisely, save regularly, and give generously”, and a conviction to honor God more intentionally in this area came together to inspire me to budget towards some more specific goals this year. This includes skinnying down our spending in some areas not necessarily just to save in others, but to really see where we’re perhaps wasteful or spending out of habit vs. intention. Which leads to…

2) Food – one of the reasons I started this blog was to journal an Eating Revolution that changed my life. Post baby (and post breastfeeding calorie burn bonanza), it’s time to return to my previous plan. I’m already convinced of the benefits this will bring back to my waistline, blood pressure, and family threat of diabetes, but I’m also increasingly aware and displeased with the amount of food we discard in a year from spoilage or uneaten leftovers. So I’ve set a challenge for myself and my husband, with his participation: seriously curtailing our food spending this year to allow for only the simpler, healthy eating we desire and redirecting our formerly wasteful spending into better regular saving and generous giving.

3) Stuff – I have slammed into the new year with a serious Urge to Purge. Last year it was my pantry, this year it’s every square foot of our house. I’ve become aware that I am spending more time than I’m willing to do curating the accumulated possessions of 41 years of life. No more. If it’s genuinely used, useful, or meaningful, it stays. Otherwise, it’s O.U.T. I’ve bought a new shredder, I’ve started selling on eBay, and there’s a Goodwill box heading to each room. I’m uninterested getting to Heaven, looking back at my life, and seeing how much time or money I spent on things that just didn’t matter. Spend on quality, yes. Spend for convenience or to replace items carelessly misplaced? NO.

So as this blog grows and changes with me, I anticipate more posts this year on tips and changes that will help me towards these goals and maybe help you readers along the way. Two years ago, the theme of my year was studying scripture. Last year, it was carrying and delivering my precious baby girl. This year, both of those experiences are driving my new direction. I want to continue to make time in His word my priority, and I want to model for my daughter the spiritual, financial, and productive attributes I wish for her from the very beginning. I’m excited about this year! I already see the glimmers of more time and less pressure through simplifying and streamlining. In every way this year, I truly want to decrease and allow God to increase. I know from experience it will take me places I can’t imagine. Come with me!

You are eleven weeks old today, and right now, you are fighting a much-needed nap in your bouncy seat, a picture of sleepy innocence in your ruffled onesie. There is so much that I want to say to you, some of which you will need to be many years older to understand. I suppose I’m compelled to say it all today, because this is the first day of the last week of my maternity leave. We will have a lifetime of mornings and evenings together, but soon our days will change, and I’m more mindful than ever before how quickly time is passing before my eyes.

I want you to know how precious these days are. Your daddy and I understand that my pregnancy was a miracle in itself, and those moments of anticipating your arrival were full of blessing, emotion, fear, and holy wonder. When we saw your heartbeat on the ultrasound for the first time, when I woke up in the middle of the night to feel the tiny pop of your first kick, when my heart sank to my toes the day that I thought I was losing you, when I bought tiny dresses, and decorated your nursery, and when we prayed together every day for your safety and your well-being, we still couldn’t know what we were really getting into.

When I was growing up my own mother, your GiGi, told me that there were things I would never understand until I was a mother myself. I think every mother has told her own daughter that at some point, and now I’m telling it to you. But even if you don’t understand it now, I’m going to go ahead and try and put those things into words. I love you more than you could possibly ever imagine, with a fierce protective instinct that takes my breath away. I love your cuteness, and your tinyness, and your sweet sleepy coos. But it’s far more than that. I love all the potential of who you may be one day. I love the history of the generations I can see in your face. I love the stamp of our Creator in your perfect tiny hands and your sweet little toes. I am endlessly amazed that the great love your daddy and I have for each other could produce something as amazing as you.

When we are in the car, I look in my rearview mirror and I see your face framed in your car seat. I will never get over the wonder of seeing my own eyes and my own nose and my own mouth reflected back at me, and yet you are something completely unique. And what I truly believe you will not understand until you are a mother yourself is the awesome weight of responsibility on our shoulders to guide you into finding out who you really are. I can’t explain to you the thousand ways every day I question what I’m doing and how I hope to goodness that God will cover for my imperfections. I can’t convey what it feels like to be filled with both overwhelming joy and sheer terror at the same time. I can do everything in my power to protect you from accident or injury, from illness or fear, from danger or from outside influences. But there is a tiny place at the bottom of my heart that knows it will never be enough. In this world I cannot possibly protect you from everything so it is my burden to both be aware of that and to try and prepare you for what you will have to handle on your own.

I pray we will have a lifetime of love and laughter together, but as all girls do, you will go through a time when you will have to learn to separate from me a little. And in those times, you won’t understand that there will never be a moment in my life that I don’t carry your first smile in my heart. That I will never forget what it feels like to have your tiny fingers wrapped around mine. That your first laugh was for me. That you have heard my heartbeat from the inside, and I have heard yours in my ears, somehow, my whole life. If there is ever a time as you grow up that you declare that I don’t listen to you, I will be remembering how many nights I have lain awake counting your every breath. As I teach you right from wrong, I will be more acutely aware of my own human failings than you could possibly imagine.

My darling, I pray over your every moment today and every day to come. I pray that you will love the God that made you, and that I will get to spend as many days with you as I possibly can, and I pray that one day you will get to experience the miracle of motherhood yourself. And on that day I hope you somehow find your way back to these words, so you can know that the overwhelming feelings you’re experiencing are the same ones I felt for you, and my mother for me, and all of our grandmothers and great-grandmothers before us. When you are senseless from lack of sleep, and frustrated, and fear that you don’t know what you’re doing, I’ve been there too. When you feel your heart explode with joy, I’ve been there too. And when you drop to your knees and pray over the life of your precious baby, I’m right there too, because wherever you go, and whatever you do, you will carry with you the piece of my heart that broke away and wrapped around you the moment you sparked to life.

My gracious, isn’t the Information Age something? Among the many changes motherhood has brought to my life, an overwhelming deluge of decisions, research, and opinions washes over me daily. If I chose to listen to it, I could be carefully admonished at each turn that every decision I make for my baby, from her method of birth to the brand of pacifier (or horrors, do I dare even give her one?) is sure to determine whether she grows up to be President or is headed for a life of unproductivity and crime.

What has especially struck me this week is how passionately, almost frantically the proponents of each option serve it up as the only possible ethically responsible choice. And Heaven help you if you read the comments section of any article, where moms who did or didn’t follow that path battle it out. Let me say, I am all for each woman making an informed decision about her birth plan and baby care. But what is it in us that upsets us so when someone else chooses something different? Why do we take it so personally?

For example, I recently saw a Facebook post featuring an ad page from a national store featuring both formula and pumping supplies on the same page. The comments were fascinating, from celebrating that the store was clearly breaking free from the “horrors” of the formula industry to griping that the formula ad was an inch or so larger than the one for the breast pump, so clearly the store didn’t really care about women yet. Some were snarking that anyone who would pay for a pump and bottles when the breast was free are really stupid, and others were defensively posting that it was no one else’s business if they fed their baby formula.

Then there was the blog post I read which, best as I could tell, was written purely from one mom to another, encouraging anyone who, that particular day, felt like they hadn’t accomplished much in worldly terms while they’d met the needs of their infant. Lovely, right? Until one mom commented in response that sometimes that was true, but that her newborn twins sleep through the night already, so she just wanted to let moms know not every baby will destroy your sleep or productivity forever. Also encouraging, right? No, she was verbally ripped apart by other commenters for “shaming” any mom whose little one wasn’t on that sort of schedule. Moms who were tired and maybe hadn’t made it out of their pajamas by dinner time (and had all but given up on dinner time) were so wounded, even infuriated that someone else dared suggest they were having an easier time. And when she mentioned those hours of sleep were partly due to efforts on the parents’ part to set a schedule, she was dismissed as unfeeling – clearly a mother who heartlessly let her babies cry for hours in the process).

Yes, our bodies were designed to house and then expel a baby, and to produce the nourishment that baby needs. And yes, some moms have grown up without the understanding that they have choices, and it’s lovely to provide information to them. But instead of love behind that information sharing, it can easily slip into browbeating. You don’t breastfeed? Never mind that we don’t know your reasons why, we’ve gone ahead and judged that you’re selfish and lazy. You breastfeed? Never mind that we don’t know how easy or hard that is for you, we resent your superior Earth mama attitude. You had a c-section? How sad for you that you failed to endure something you should have avoided! You had an unmedicated water birth at home? How irresponsible of you to not consider the risks you were taking!

But here’s what has really struck me in all of this… don’t we sometimes act this way as Christians as well? We forget that our responsibility is simply, from Mark 12:30-31, “And you must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, and all your strength. The second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’No other commandment is greater than these.” Instead, we are so convinced we are right and the other person is wrong that we fear showing them the love of God isn’t sufficient and that loving that neighbor makes it our job to identify and eradicate their various sins. I’m not sure whether we fear God isn’t up to His own task of changing that person’s life or we’re so scarred by our own bad experiences that we feel we must bombard that poor sinner with rules and regulations and dress codes and whatever else make us feel like we’re doing a good job of rehabilitating them. But that’s not our job.

So maybe this week, we can find ways to simply encourage in love. Offer to help the new mommy if you’ve already been down her road, but butt out if she declines. Look for a way to lift up someone else who’s struggling in life and bite back the urge to tell them what you would do in their place. Hand out grace more freely than rules, and if you feel the urge to improve someone’s life today, perhaps focus on your own. I’m willing to bet you’ll feel more encouraged yourself!

My goodness, my last draft on here stalled out back in January. The only explanation I can come up with is that as my body was busy at work creating, my mind just couldn’t keep up. So the nutshell version of the last few months: a healthy but high-risk pregnancy led in mid-July to an urgent but not quite emergency C-section where I delivered a healthy, beautiful baby girl. And for the past 6 weeks, J and I have been in utter awe of this little creature who has completely taken over our lives.

So to break through this writer’s block I’ve been locked in, here are a few things I’ve learned as a new parent:

1) Let. It. Go. It’s completely understandable to go into pregnancy and parenthood with a plan, but don’t hold onto it too tightly. Your delivery will almost assuredly not go strictly according to plan, your baby will have a mind of her own when it comes to schedules and needs, and your theories will be seriously tested. So, you can spend time grieving over how it didn’t go, or you can sail on, focusing on your blessings.

2) Say you’re sorry. Unless you’re a certified, miracle-slinging saint, you and your spouse are going to be under a good bit of sleep-deprived, heavy-responsibility, Lord-please-don’t-let-me-ruin-her stress. It’s so easy to snap, feel misunderstood, or perhaps even secretly keep score on who’s had more sleep or changed more diapers. Or at least it is for me, but I’m fairly confident I’m not alone here. So if you have a less than glorious moment, say you’re sorry quickly, clear the air, and move on. (And if you’re on the receiving end of the apology, accept it just as quickly.)

3) Pray. God is present; you are not alone. He is with you in the wee small hours when you think you’re surely the only person in the world up walking the halls trying to soothe your baby. He’s there when you put your head down and cry because you’re starving, your baby is screaming for a bottle, you have to go to the bathroom, and you’ll explode if you don’t get to your breast pump and it’s all happening RIGHT NOW. He trusted this little life to your care, and He will strengthen you and give you peace for the task. And when your baby sighs contentedly into your neck or gives you that first smile, praise Him for the miracle!

4) Accept help. And if it isn’t offered at that particular moment, ask for it. Speaking as the mom, you’ve just been through the long months of pregnancy, you’re recovering from childbirth, your hormones are upside-down, you’re euphoric, exhausted, and possibly terrified, all at the same time, and you’re new at this. And on a serious note, if you sense you’re moving past tired and into postpartum depression, get professional help. Suffering in silence isn’t noble, it’s dangerous to you and your baby.

5) Keep it simple. The baby retail industry is a formidable machine. Pinterest can convince you all good moms handcraft every item of clothing, nursery decor, and baby food simultaneously. Your friends, with good intentions, all believe that what they have is exactly what you need to also get. But really, your baby needs a source of nutrition, a clean bottom, safe transportation, and lots of love and cuddles. All the parts, props, and accessories are fine if you enjoy them, but most of it really isn’t necessary. Oh, and according to my not-quite-scientific research, breast wipes, pacifier wipes, and boogie wipes are all the exact same thing in different packaging with different prices. For what that’s worth.

So I’m learning and growing, right along with my precious little P. Everyone kept telling us (and why is it no one can resist imparting this advice?), “Things will never be the same once she’s here!” My response was always, “Good, that’s why we’re having her!” We didn’t want to stay the same anymore. So I am mindful of that, and prayerful over it and thankful for it. I had nearly 33 years of living life on my terms and then another 8 of learning to merge into a marriage, but even there, it was not difficult to continue to pursue our own interests.

But there was an understanding that had grown between us that we wanted to be part of something bigger in life than our own hobbies. This tiny little person who has invaded our hearts has already begun to accomplish that, and even in areas where it’s difficult, we are looking forward to being more active, more responsible, and, ultimately, more fulfilled.

After living through 40 years of my own, I have found that while some days seem to last an eternity, overall the years fly by more quickly each time.  And just as some days are endured, some are long wished-for, and some are so mundane they are all but ignored, there are years, and there are Years.  This has been a Year.

Toting up the positives, it’s been a year of explosive growth for me spiritually.  Two intensive Bible studies, a challenge to read the Bible in a year, an overseas mission trip, and near weekly breakthroughs in our age-group worship experiences at church have kept me in a constant state of awareness of God’s Word. If you immerse yourself enough in scripture, you cannot help but be changed.  But even in this, one of my strongest positives, the most growth happened in the darkest hours, when sorrow, pain, and grief peeled J and I down to what we truly stood for.

J’s career took a significant boost this year as well, to continue the praises.  After having gone through a (mercifully brief) stretch of unemployment a few years ago when the small business he worked for dissolved, we were certainly thankful he was gainfully employed.  However, his hours were extremely long and the frustrations were high, and the quality of our family time was much less than we hoped for.  After a long stretch of prayers for guidance and seeking opportunities, the right fit finally came along, and he is thriving and enjoying his work in a way he had not for quite a long time.

I had a bit of a change as well, taking on a new role within my same area that brought more responsibility and some new opportunities within my bank.  I also attended, for me, a record number of conferences, which left my brain stuffed with good knowledge but my heart a little homesick from all the times I packed up and left J behind.

I’d like to say we’ve also changed addresses, but that hasn’t quite happened yet.  Since J’s new job has him driving in the same direction I do, with a few extra miles beyond thrown in, we’ve reconciled ourselves to packing up and moving a bit northward if the house sells.  We’ve had some nibbles, but as yet no sale, so there we exercise patience.  I’ll say though, patience is easier to exercise than the marathon work it took to get all those little home repair projects done within a very short period of time, in the middle of a busy travel season, so it’s pretty nice now to sit back, trust God with the details, and enjoy a perfectly organized and functional home!

But there’s an even bigger change we’re experiencing, one that will continue to rock our world in the most welcome way. Through all of 2012, we’ve learned over and over again how very, very real God can be in our lives if we invite Him.  In one of my very first posts here, early this Spring, I pondered over God’s promises and wondered what it was He may choose to directly promise me one day.  One Sunday evening in September, a few weeks after my miscarriage, God spoke through a man in our church group.  He gave J and I a direct message that we would indeed have a baby, that it would be a boy, and that, in the spirit of Samuel, he would be a mighty man of God.  Now I don’t know if you’ve ever had someone prophesy to you, but it is not something you are even tempted to take lightly.  After all my questions, God made a bold promise.  Do I believe it?  Is it that simple, that we say we trust Him, we ask Him to lead, and He tells us exactly where we’re going to go?  I don’t have all my answers yet, but I choose to believe He spoke truth through our friend, because as I write this, I am now nine and a half weeks pregnant.

So this season, I am most joyful.  I am amazed.  I am overwhelmed.  And I am sometimes tempted to fear.  Will this time also end in sorrow?  Is it too good to be true?  The benefit of falling into the category of what is politely called “Advanced Maternal Age” is that I get more frequent ultrasounds than I might otherwise, and so twice already I’ve gotten to see the baby, and even “see” the heartbeat.  But before my most recent appointment, I woke up several times in the night, heart pounding in fear at what I may discover.  I didn’t spend all that time growing this year for nothing though, and each time I would wake up, I would put into practice what I’ve learned and simply pray. I prayed that God would calm my fear.  I acknowledged that I trusted Him to carry me through anything I may have to face.  I thanked Him for speaking words of hope to us, and I prayed 1 John 4:18, “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.”

Perfect love sent the very Son of God to redeem us.  Perfect love is the hands and the feet that help during our worst tragedies.  Perfect love is the promise that through the blood of Jesus, we are restored to the relationship God designed us to have with Him, if only we will believe it.  And perfect love casts out my fears that I may once again experience great hurt.  It doesn’t cast out all possibility of ever hurting again, but it promises that there will come a day when I will spend my eternity in His presence, and nothing I experience here on earth, no matter how bad, can take that promise away.  Celebrate with me this season – He is the Prince of Peace, the Wonderful Counselor, the Everlasting Father.  May His reality bring you peace, hope, and joy this Christmas.

One of the phrases that keeps popping up in my line of sight lately is “Nothing tastes as good as thin feels.” It drives me crazy. I get the gist behind it, but I think the phrase as a whole is pretty flawed.

First of all, what is thin? I’ve lost 34 pounds since Spring, but I’ve got more to lose. Am I thin? On the way to thin? Do I want to spend my life measuring the savor of every single bite against the waistband of a particular set of jeans? My food journey has not included counting calories in any way, so I choose foods based on how my body reacts to them, not on fat grams.

Also, I have found that, in moments of stress or frustration (or depression, or anxiety…) plenty of other things can “taste” better than thin feels. We easily pick out alcoholism or compulsive gambling or even drug addiction as self-medication, but food is frankly a lot easier. We eat three meals a day anyway, so what if we add a few extra bites or desserts at a few of them? Does the dream of hoping to slide down a dress size satisfy the overwhelming distress of a bad relationship better than the second helping right in front of you? Of course the truth is, neither one can.

So my issue with the phrase is that it always seem to be deployed when someone is debating whether to eat a certain food, or eat at a certain moment. It puts thinness as an ultimate goal. It comes across as “If you dare put that in your mouth, you are weak-willed.” It doesn’t take into account choices. Maybe you opted to have less for breakfast so you could enjoy a guilt-free treat at lunch. Or maybe like for me, having seconds is virtually irrelevant because you’ve opted to choose only foods that burn the same or more fuel than they contain.

My choices have not been just about the items in my fridge, but a holistic change in my life. Still, do I want to wear a smaller size? Sure…some days. When I want the airline seat to feel even roomier, I’d love to be physically smaller. When my husband tells me how much he loves me, how attractive he finds me, and how proud he is of me, I couldn’t care less what size my tag says. When I feel how much healthier and free from dinner-plate angst I am now than I’ve been for most of my life, I know I’m already successful, but even still, one bad photo angle can knock my confidence flat in a hurry. Two friends of mine have recently posted dreadful accounts of unsolicited, totally hateful comments on their weight. By complete strangers! What kind of world have we created where it’s apparently freely acceptable to say anything to make sure people know their extra pounds are an offense to society (and the measure of their value)?

What I’d really love to see is a move away from “Thin is in” on one side and “Fat acceptance” on the other to just encouraging one another to be strong In convictions and compassion. I’ll be honest, I’m pretty excited about my lifestyle changes because they have worked amazing changes in me. And thanks to years of my own weight issues, I can’t help but notice the size and shape of women around me. It used to be in a miserable, losing comparison. Now, it’s with an extra compassion, knowing life is easier without the physical and emotional burden of excessive weight, but hoping that she knows she is enough; that it’s the heart that counts. While I do want to be stronger and leaner, it’s so I can better go about the work God has laid out for me. So, how about we ditch that old phrase, and substitute Proverbs 31:25-26 instead: “She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.” Strength and dignity have an amazing quality – they fit all shapes and sizes and taste better than anything on earth.