A Way to Devour.

"Be clear headed. Keep alert. Your ACCUSER, the devil, is on the prowl like a roaring lion, seeking a way to devour." 1 Peter 5:8 

September 7 should be deleted from the calendar. It is by far the worst day in the history of worst days in my world. It will only ever signify destruction and death to me. And apparently a good bit of the rest of the world feels the same way considering the following events have also taken place on Sept. 7 sometime in history.

1921-Continued unrest in the mining industry.
1934-Submarine Price Fixing around the world.
1940-Germany starts it's blitz on London with 57 nights of consecutive bombing.
1942-Staligrad turned into a fortress city to defend Russia from German troops.
1955-Hurrican Gladys pounds Texas coastline and Hurricane Flora on her way.
1978-Kennedy investigation re-opened.
1979-Chrysler 1 billion dollar bail out.
1984-Salmonella outbreak leaves 500 people affected in UK.
1992-South African soldiers fire on demonstrators killing 24.
1993-A significant increase in Jamaican crime is documented.
1996-Tupac Shakur Shot.
1999-Greece experiences a 5.9 earthquake that leaves 150 dead.
2004-Hurrican Ivan destroys 90% of Grenada and leaves 92 dead.
2006-Mining disaster in Russian kills 21.
2007-Truck crash in India leaves 85 dead.
2008-Fannie and Freddie taken over by government.

2011-Plane crash kills 42 members of the Russian Professional Hockey team.

2011-Major flooding on the East coast due to Tropical Storm Lee.

Now to be FAIR, the UK Lusitania sets a trans-atlantic record, Mark McGwire hits his 62nd home run beating the most revered baseball record in history, and the DOW has record one-day gains on this day in history ALSO, but that hardly holds a candle to how the hearts of people around the world have been maimed for decades on this day in history.

And my story isn't much different. Not only was Sept. 7 the day that Andis and I lost our sweet baby girl to a random and unlikely infection in the placenta this past year, but it was also the day that I chose to end the life of another baby, 16 years ago, in a small abortion clinic in Austin, Tx.

You see I was THAT girl. The sweet and innocent preacher's daughter turned rebel; wheels spinning, hormones raging, searching for God, searching for acceptance, searching for identity, searching for anything that meant anything. And I found it in the front seat of my mom's minivan with a blonde haired, blue eyed neighborhood boyfriend who probably would have married me if I had let him. He was good. He was honest. He was kind. But he was a boy and I was a girl and we were in love and when his parents were asleep and we thought the world and God weren't looking, we pretended we were adults. And in 7 seconds, the course of our destiny was altered beyond our fathomable comprehension. The weeks and months after that were a blur. Because really how else do you cope with existence in a space where the zit on your best friend's chin and prom dress shopping are the priority when the life of a child, your child, despite what they tell you, hangs in the balance of your tortured heart. But still it wasn't enough. The truths I was taught as a young girl wasn't enough. The compassion, empathy and love I felt for that baby wasn't enough. The determination and strength I had as a hard working teen wasn't enough. The boyfriend who would have married me on the spot and done his best to be a good father wasn't enough. None of it was enough when held up to the light of my selfish, sinful heart.  And so, on a sunny day in September I made the only decision I knew how to make at that point in my life. A selfish one.

But that is not what this story is about. This story is about my Great Accuser; the one who prowls around my life and my heart like a roaring lion, constantly seeking a way to devour me. He who cannot be named, Satan, the Devil, whatever you want to call him, he's real and he's more powerful than you can ever imagine. You see I've held the guilt of that story in my heart for 16 years. I've worn it like the scarlet letter on Hester Prynne's chest, or rather, worn it in secret, over my heart like the Reverend's tatoo; seared over scar tissue on a nightly basis, but it wasn't until I lost a baby, and then another and then another and then another that I started to really feel the effects of that guilt and the way it could be used against me. And though I've never seen him, or met him or heard his voice, I feel his lies creep up and into and around my heart like choking vines determined to smother out any shred of life and truth and hope that exists there. "Of course you can't get pregnant Whitney. Did you think for a moment you could? You gave up your chance when you murdered your unborn living breathing child at 12 weeks, 16 years ago. That was an opportunity God gave you to rise above and be holy and you threw it away. You don't deserve to be a mother. You are only and always will be a murderer. And that baby you just lost, the one you held in your hands wishing you could breathe life back into its frail body looked just like the one you WILLINGLY had torn to shreds, ripped limb from limb and sucked out of the safety of your womb through a vacuum hose, locked in a canister and tossed in the garbage. In faaaaactttt, it wasn't much younger so the 'embryo' that you thought didn't have an identity or a nose or eyelashes or fingers, DID actually. You know the one that you thought was too young to feel pain or know what was happening, well, actually, it DID. I made sure of it. Just like I'm making sure that you remember exactly what it felt like, sounded like. That you know and will always know that it was YOUR decision, you made it and no one else. You are a murderer. You have been for 16 years and you will be until the day you die. You don't deserve to be a mother. You are worth nothing." 

"Mother," said little Pearl, "the sunshine does not love you. It runs away and hides itself, because it is afraid of something on your bosom...It will not flee from ME, for I wear nothing on my bosom yet!" 
"Nor ever will you, my child, I hope," said Hester.
"And why not, mother?" asked Pearl, stopping short...."Will it not come of its own accord, when I am a woman grown?"

It's easy to believe. Who wouldn't? It does seem to be the truth after all. But THANK GOD for September 8th and the new story that it brings.     

157,680,000 and counting......

5 years.

60 months.

240 weeks.

1,800 days.

43,200 hours.

2,628,000 minutes.

and 157,680,000 seconds ago I married my best friend.

October 4 (not 5th for those of you who have been slightly confused in the past), 2008, 7pm.

It was the best day of my life and I have had 1,800 best days since then. And when I say 'best' I don't mean best like picture perfect, something out of a Nicolas Sparks movie like 'The Notebook'. I mean as much as Andis looks EXACTLY like Ryan Gosling and my hair is naturally and perfectly red, there are fireworks less times than there aren't. Don't get me wrong. There ARE still fireworks, but after five years of marriage, fireworks look different. Fireworks look like him getting up at 5am and feeling around in the dark for his gym shoes so he doesn't have to turn on the light because it would wake me up, or me taking out ten million bags of trash even though I'm already running late for work because he's been at a wreck all morning and would probably forget to take out the trash because he's already blinded by his hangryness and I don't want him to feel bad about that. It looks like cleaning up poo every morning because you didn't say no when your wife brought home a geriatric dog and loving that dog anyway and not making her do it everytime even though she's the one who begged to bring him home. It looks like sanding and staining and caulking and painting a 100 year old house and turning it into a home together even though every time you do it, you both swear it's the last time you'll do it. It looks like communicating when you don't want to, doing things you don't have to, thinking of someone else always, grieving for the dog  you lost to cancer and the baby you lost for no good reason. It looks like growing out a beard even though it's itchy because she likes it and attempting to shave your legs everyday just in case today is THE DAY. It looks like being proud of each other and fighting to protect your heart and dreaming of a future that includes hairy ears and wrinkles and pudgy bellies, or maybe pudgy-er bellies. It looks like LOVE and love, as we know, is a verb.

                Here's to my favorite verb and the 157,680,000 best seconds it has created so far.

                           Happy 5th (belated) Anniversary my darling man. I heart you big time.

It's Just One of Them Days......

...that a girl goes through. When I'm angry insiiiiiiiddddeeeeeeeeeeeeee. You get the point. And if you lived with even one toe in the 90's you will probably remember this song. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a9ZTiymoC5A Though you might be shocked to know the artist was MONICA and NOT T.L.C. Who knew?! And WHO IS Monica?! I think someone is lying about that. T.L.C. TOTALLY did that song. Pssht.

So yeah, one of them days. When I am literally, unequivocably, irreversibly, immutably, irretrievably, unalterably, unrepealably and a million other words that end with 'ly', completely, ridiculously EXHAUSTED by myself.

Not exhausted in general, but exhausted in specific. Exhausted. By. Myself.

And obviously I can't get AWAY from myself like I can an irritating co-worker or a nosy neighbor or a smelly cat (for all you F.R.I.E.N.D.S. fans out there) so the only realistic solution is....THIS.

Head. In. The candybowl. I know when people use this expression they really are joking because of COURSE we all have enough self-control NOT to actually put our entire head in the candy bowl. Or maybe you aren't lucky enough at your place of employment to have a candybowl the size of Alaska and even if you WANTED to throw self-control to the wind, the you without self-control wouldn't fit. That, however, is not the case in my life so I will accept a round of applause for the fact that I have employed insurmountable levels of self-control  for the past year and a half that this Alaskan sized candy bowl has been mere steps from my desk. And most days I chuckle and just imagine drowning myself in chocolate like the rest of you, but I say again. It's just one of THEM days. And I just happen to have a candybowl large enough for my head.

In all seriousness though.

The things I want to do, I cannot seem to do no matter HOW HARD I TRY and the things I LOATHE, well, you can bet I've just laced up my running shoes and am preparing for a sprint. I call these wham-bams. Well, I've never really called them that out loud per se, I just think of them that way. Well, actually I JUST thought of that, but maybe I will start calling them that from here on out. So, for lack of a better analogy, let's go with one that has stood the test of time. The chicken and the road. We all know that the chicken shouldn't be crossing the road. We know that there is water and grasshoppers and other chicken friends and chicken babies and a warm barn and a sheep, er, chicken dog to keep them safe where they ARE yet they insist on crossing to the other side like morons with tiny little brains. And shockingly, they get there sometimes without experiencing sudden death. But WHAM! They realize that they shouldn't BE THERE. There is nothing FOR THEM. It's something they shouldn't have done. It's no good. Es no bueno as Andis likes to say. So, they realize they made a mistake and they try to cross back over but mid-sprint a car comes and so they dart back to the 'dark side' (for lack of a better term) and this goes on and on until finally they can't take anymore and they run with all their might and BAM! a semi, out of nowhere sends them to the roadkill cafe. See, this is how I feel when I gravitate towards the things I shouldn't do and think and be and try and do and think and be and try. And once I get there I realize it's NO GOOD FOR ME, es no bueno so I try to re-trace my steps but I immediately find myself smack in the middle of the road with a two ton truck named GUILT heading right for me. And guilt is scary and it doesn't feel good and I try to avoid it so I turn around and run back to the thing I didn't want to do in the first place, but did anyway...the thing I'm trying to run FROM, I end up running towards. And this ridic cycle continues like clockwork in the form of bad habits and candybowls and it seems there is no end in sight....on days like this.

The good news is, I have never been alone in this. And neither have you. Romans 7:15: "I don't really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don't do it. Instead, I do what I hate."

"For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do." Galatians 5:17

Our hearts are divided by nature. One foot in this world and one in a mid-air jump, reaching for the next. But you know what. It's doesn't have to be just us and the road. If I were to see a chicken trying to cross the road, I would stop, park, get out, chase the chicken down, jump on it, pick it up, and walk it across the road (or put it in my car and make chicken and dumplings when I got home said NO ONE, EVER). And of course a two ton truck named GUILT could still try and run us both down but being larger and more able to navigate, you can also bet that it's likely I would get that chicken to safety. If it would let me. It could scratch me and peck me and then I could drop it and it could start the same crazy cycle all over again, and that would be it's choice, but it wouldn't HAVE to be that way. Because I want to save that chicken. And I think that chicken wants to be saved. So if I could just pick my head up out of the candybowl and wipe the chocolate out of my eyes for long enough to see that not all chickens end up in dumplings. Some of them make it back to the other side of the road where they belong, and they actually stay there. As long as there's chocolate. ;)

Why Do Good Things Happen to Bad People?

I know you just did a double take and yes, to confirm you're not cray or severely dyslexic, I turned that around on purpose.

I happen to know for a fact that every single one of you reading this was at one point an elementary aged child and I happen to know for a greater fact that every single one of you has stomped your foot and exclaimed with all the passion and fervor that your 3rd grade mind could muster, 'IT'S NOT FAIR'. Except it was probably more like, 'It's NOT Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaair.

Am I right? You know I'm right. In fact, if we were all to be truthful about it, we probably used that expression WAY past third grade, I mean, I think I might have pulled it out of my sleeve all the way into 6th or Senior year of college AT LEAST. Wait, I didn't make it to Senior year of college (which totally wasn't fair by the way) so more like.....yesterday. Yeah, I think I might have used it yesterday. But I've totally matured. I'm never using that expression again.

And true to form, as if they all signed a mutual agreement about what the appropriate response would be when we were born, our parents or whatever adult in our lives that happened to be present when they passed around the 'Life is Not Fair Response contract', would immediately and without sorrow, remorse or even an ounce of sympathy, respond just as passionately with "No one ever said life was fair, tsk, tsk." Or if your parents were REALLY creative like my mom was, you might have heard something more existential, like, "It IS fair. I COULD make you windex all fifty of the windows in this house." (That usually did the trick.)

Regardless of how it went in your house, we were all born into this world without wasting much time before believing the fallacy that we are inherently awesome, wonderful, good, nice, decent, civil, awesome, loving, giving, awesome people and that because we are awesome, wonderful, good, nice, decent, civil, awesome, loving, giving, awesome people nothing bad SHOULD ever happen to us. And when it does, it's a personal affront to our awesomeness.

So we trudge through the muck and mire of the unfairness of life; crying, whining, wringing our hands, screaming 'IT'S NOT FAIR' in a million subtle and not so subtle ways and blaming everyone and everything that happens to come across our path for it. We use it as an excuse to hate our parents, our friends, our selves, our teachers, our preachers, the President, our spouses, our bosses, our children, our neighbors and everyone else. We blame our laziness, selfishness, meanness, spitefulness, uglyness, hatefulness, and general lack of creativity and resourcefulness on it. We use it as an excuse to feel justified in not believing in others, in love, and in God. I'm sure you've heard the classic, "If God was REALLY good, bad things wouldn't happen to good people."

And I must admit, I've elbowed my way in there with the best of them; furrowing my brow, shaking my  heavenward pointed fist and demanding some reasonable answers. But, as they say, it's all about perspective, yes? Because I wonder what would happen if instead of taking the million good things for granted and throwing a two year old tantrum about the 7 bad things that have happened, we paused to realize that ONLY 7 bad things have happened when it could have been a million. Which, in all actuality, we probably deserved more than the million good things that were given instead.

I heard someone, somewhere, sometime define grace as 'giving someone something they don't deserve' but what hit me square between the eyes was mercy, in that same sentence, being defined as 'not giving someone something they TOTALLY deserve'. (Like that driver that cut you off the other day. You know what you were thinking. I was thinking it too.)

Because the truth is, we're NOT awesome. Or wonderful or nice or giving or loving or awesome. And if we were to REALLY be given what we deserve, it would be a terrible, horrible death, over and over again.

So. I'm reframing this timeless question. And here's a few personal reasons why.

1. After my ectopic pregnancy in 2010, there was a slim to none chance that Andis and I could ever expect to get pregnant on our own without help. But we DID! We got pregnant! On our own without hormones or doctors or needles, just good ol' fashion love! Which means we can get pregnant AGAIN! 

2. We got an infection in the placenta and the only solution to that infection was the baby had to go. If my body had not done what it did, we could have been faced with the impossible decision to either abort our child OR we could have continued in the pregnancy and at best I would have ended up with no child AND a hysterectomy or Andis would have ended up with no child and no wife.

3. We lost our dog Jackson six months ago almost as suddenly as we lost our child but if we had not experienced that, I feel confident that we would not be handling this grief with such success, unity and compassion for each other.

So the new question is, WHY do GOOD things happen to BAD people? Your answer may be different than mine, but I believe it's because we were created by an amazingly loving and passionate God whose commitment is to 'never leave nor forsake us'....anytime, ever, but definitely in the midst of pain....even if His nature and our choice requires Him to allow it in the first place.

"For I know the plans I have for you," says the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

So, keep on throwing your two year old tantrums and raising your tiny little fists to the sky if you must, but just know that Option B is available and it's pretty dang reasonable.

The Elephant in the Room.

The remains of my dead baby are sitting on my husband's nightstand in a small white metal box. Nothing about that fact is fair. Our bedroom; the room where we watch a million movies and give a million snuggles and steal a million kisses and laugh a million minutes and beg for a million tickles and work out a million miscommunications and say a million prayers and sleep a million sleeps and dream a million dreams and wake up to a million perfect sunrises and share a million morning smiles is currently a temporary grave.

I contracted an infection in the placenta which caused me to go into premature labor and around 6:30 the morning of September 7th, our baby girl was born at home, into my hands, at 14 weeks. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't save her. And now I'm left with a broken heart and a small metal box on my husband's nightstand that holds a quarter size pile of ashes that make up her entire existence. She didn't have a name. She didn't even have a gender yet. Other than my obsession with meatballs and my swelling mid-section, I wasn't even aware of her until she was already leaving me behind. I felt her kick, one time, as the life left her body and her spirit was soaring toward heaven and into the arms of Jesus. I'm not sure if I'm thankful for that kick or not. What's supposed to be one of the most humbling and powerful feelings during pregnancy has left me hollow and haunted.

I keep thinking about what she might have been. If she would have been a sassy, bossy, know-it-all like me or sweet and patient, humble, kind and giving like her daddy. If she would have had cankles that would make a rhino jealous or if she would have run like the wind. If she would have grown up to save stamps, save her pennies or save lives. If she would have struggled with her words or if we wouldn't have been able to shut her up. The list of 'what if's' goes on and on, but it's pointless and depressing to consider all that might have been though. It's more important and beneficial to hold my thoughts captive to what is true which is that she IS the most absolute perfect version of herself that I could ever hope for her to be. My earthly dreams of the life she could have lived pales in comparison to the life she is now living. She will never strain against her true nature to love and be loved. She will never struggle with selfishness, self-esteem or saving herself until marriage. She will never succumb to peer pressure, depression or too much chocolate cake. She will never give in to abuse, bullies or self-hatred. She will never know fear, the consequences of sin or what separation from God feels like. She has gone from one warm, safe, wonderful place to another without hint of hesitation or regret. She is secure in her destiny and safe from Satan's schemey schemes and wily ways. She is free and always will be and THAT is very fair.

And for a rebellious heart like mine, one more good reason on a list of good reasons why I'll make sure I'm there one day too is not something to be scoffed at.

Goodnight baby girl. See you soon.....................................................but not too soon. xo          

Just be mean already. Somebody. Anybody.

Today sucks. It sucks in so many ways and no ways at all. It could be post vacation, back to reality blues and the fact that eating 1,200 calories for every single meal is lots of fun while you're on vacay but it's not so fun when you come home and can't fit into anything but those sweatpants that you only wear during certain times of the month (you know the ones ladies).

It could be that sitting at a desk for 8 hours a day and answering phones is not near as exciting as seeing the oldest lighthouse in America, singing the Circle of Life with the Lion King actors on Broadway at the top of your lungs or humbly standing in front of a 60 ft. Abraham Lincoln statue.

It could be the raging hormones that are trying to rebalance in your body that the salt, carbs and booze kept at bay, who are now making their presence known, with a vengeance. Think circa 1984; cute, fluffy, doe-eyed little gremlins gone straight cray; Albert Einstein hair, frothing at the mouth, bite your face off wild.

It could be the realization that time did not stop while you were away and that life went on without you. It could be that moment that makes you stop and realize just how small and seemingly insignificant you really are to everyone but a handful of family, neighbors and friends.

It could be the moment that you think, 'How easy' it would be to jerk the wheel right and fly over the bridge. And then the moment after that when you realize you might actually be capable of such selfishness. And then the moment after that when you amend aforementioned thought to 'maybe just' that small tree. Not looking for suicide, maybe just a slight maiming at this point so as to feel ANYTHING but the emptiness that you got goin' on currently.

So, without going into a lot of detail, LOL, today sucks, in a nutshell. But that's not the point! When your day sucks, it feels appropriate and even necessary for the rest of the world and the people in it to suck as well. But NO ONE was following the rules today. Hands down, in all of my 32 years of history, this was the NICEST day (as far as people are concerned) EVER. A synopsis.

First of all the cashier at HEB told me I looked niced today. The cashiers at HEB NEVER say nice things. I can't remember the last time I actually felt acknowledged other than 'Would you like any of our really convenient, really random items in this basket?' or 'Stamps or ice?'

The FedEx guy, who is usually in an abnormal rush (or maybe normal rush if you're a FedEx guy), paused, moseyed through the lobby, asked for an apple, made a joke and strolled leisurely out the door. Despite how I was feeling, just watching him made me smile. If the FedEx guy can mosey, SOMETHING must be right with the world today.

A random guy my dad's age who was in front of me at the light waved as if he was purposely trying to dislocate his elbow. I didn't recognize him and regardless of if he recognized me, he certainly did do a good job faking.

The girls at the lab where I had to give blood today were unusually funny and fun instead of their typical 'Have a seat over there' M.O. It was lunch time so it was empty, except for the three of us so we sat in the back of the clinic and shared recipes and funny stories like we were long lost high school girlfriends as opposed to what we actually were; perfect strangers in a sterile lab either sticking or being stuck with needles.

The list actually goes on and on but suffice it to say that everyone in my small piece of the world totally RUINED my bad day today. So, next time you decide to withhold that simple compliment or rush when you really don't have to or NOT wave like a madman at some random person in the street just because you feel like waving or decide to treat someone like a stranger when you can really treat them like a treasured friend, DON'T. Just don't. Do the opposite. This world is full of enough normal people doing normal things in normal ways. Be abnormal for once or for the millionth time. It might just ruin someone's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. And though they may not get a chance to thank you for it, you never know, you could have just saved their life. In small and maybe big ways.

NOTE: I am not suicidal. Everyone feels like they want to run off the road every now and then. It's totally normal. Don't be alarmed by my dramatic choice of words. Don't show up at my door with cops or psychiatricsts or straight jackets. If you are picking up on the fact that I might have a 'slight' case of Eorethusiasm, DO show up at my door with coconut toasted almonds, Laura Soto's pumpkin muffins or the entire history of Grey's Anatomy.