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.

Snoop-Lion, Pt. 1: A Life in the Balance.

A wise person once said, 'You never know when you will meet your next lesson in life.' Well, okay, no wise person ever said that. I made that up just now but I'm pretty good at faking wise every now and then and it's TRUE. Lessons come in all shapes and sizes, most of them pretty surprising. Andis and I's most recent lesson has come in the shape and size of our 12 year old, recently adopted, geriatric dog Snoop-Lion. Let me back up a tad.

4 months ago we lost our sweet, sweet boy Jackson to lymphoma. It came and he went within a week and all of a sudden we were left with this huge gaping hole in our hearts shaped like a lanky Austrailian shepherd with one blue and one brown eye and the cutest freckles you ever did see. Don't get me wrong, I'm THANKFUL that he went so quickly and didn't have to suffer much, but oh my gosh talk about an emotional train wreck. I was. And of course when you are an emotional train wreck and you weren't expecting to be, the only thing TO DO is STUFF that hole with something that looks and feels and acts similar. The PROBLEM is, whatever you're stuffing with, usually ends up having the opposite affect as what you had originally hoped.

Snoop-Lion enter stage left.

I had spent a few weeks mourning and then I spent another few weeks feeling guilty for how quickly I wanted another dog and then I spent a few hours rationalizing that if we ADOPTED a dog and saved it from a life of small spaces and noisy neighbors and looming euthanasia, the fact that I wanted another dog so soon was appropriate, right? Say 'RIGHT'. So, naturally I'm looking for puppies because who wants an older dog anyway? That's like wanting to have another child and then stopping and saying, 'Nah. I'd rather change an OLD PERSON'S diaper instead, and adopting the first grandpa you see.' Pretty sure that happens never. But despite my inital thought process, it popped in my head that an older dog might be nice. Because let's face it, those midnight potty training sessions are not all their cracked up to be. However, I thought older as in a year or two or three, not three TIMES four! So, I'm scrolling through the pages and pages of dogs and becoming more and more depressed that I can't bring ALL of them home and then I see him. Snoopy. For such a terrible name I couldn't peel my eyes away from his face because he looked like Jackson's long lost twin, or maybe his dead beat dad or maybe a creepy uncle. My heart dropped into my stomach and time hung in the balance for 1,2...like the masochist that I tend to be in my darker moments, I clicked on his profile and there it was....Snoop-Dog was 12. That's 84 in dog years people. EIGHTY FOUR! He could have been Jackson's GREAT-GRANDPA. I started balling. I mean, break your heart in two, body wrecking sobs. Never mind that I was at WORK, at the FRONT DESK where crying of this nature is typically frowned upon. I had to have him. Throw out all reason and all common-sense, my grieving heart knew that NO ONE in the entire WORLD would adopt this old dog but ME, RIGHT NOW, and only because I was in the throes of grief. (NOTE to SELF: Probably not a good idea to make ANY permanent life changing decisions while in the throes of grief. A new hair color or some retail therapy would work, perhaps even some real therapy, but not adoption. In the future, let's spend some time thinking through this ok? Ok.) So, of course, next order of business, the Husband Call, dun, dun dun. What husband in his right mind would say NO to a slobbering, sobbing, broken hearted, grieving woman who lost her one and only furry baby. Well, if you MUST know, MY HUSBAND would. I don't call him 'the Risk Assessor' behind his back for no reason. So, in addition to my slobbery sobbing, I had a carefully crafted list of pros and cons to 'make sense' of this entire interaction. And if that didn't seal the deal, I followed it all up with an extra heart wrenching, but I WANNNNNNTTTTT HIM. Thankfully, I didn't have to pull out the snotty, 'Well, I don't care what you say,  I'm going to the shelter anyway' card. That usually doesn't go over too well and needs to be reserved for extreme scenarios which thankfully are fewer and further between as I pretend to mature. Husband permission in my back pocket, borrowed cash from co-workers in my wallet and a heart full of hope, I pointed the car West. My destination? To Save A Life. Little did I know it might just be my own.

The worst 4 letter word of them all.

S-P-A-M. SPAM! I'm not talking junk up your email, irritating virusey junk from a website you visited a million light years ago, I'm talking Specially Processed American Mystery, Spare Parts, All Meat, Shoulder of Pork and hAM, pink and white marbled block of pulverized mystery meat soaked in a gelatinous glaze that was created in 1937 two years before WWII began during which there was NOTHING LEFT TO EAT. Conspiracy? I think so.

And the life and times of SPAM didn't end there.

People all over the world eat spam. You can find that it's weasled its slimy little way into just about every meal and snack out there. From ASPAMagus rollups to my personal favorite, Huevos SPAMcheros and everything in between. In FACT, Hormel just sold it's 7 billionth can of spammy goodness in 2007!.....? Maybe people are wisening up....

SPAM is celebrated from coast to coast with ENTIRE festivals devoted to it's infamy.The annual Spam Jam held in Hawaii the last week of April for starters and Spamarama, a yearly festival held on April Fool's Day in our very own Austin, Tx. Even the small town of Shady Cove, Oregon is home to the annual Spam Parade and Festival. (Could they have done better with that title? I think so.)

Celebrities like Monty Pyton and Weird Al Yankovic have created ballads about SPAM and you can even find a few modern day songs on itunes with SPAM as the token muse.

You can find SPAM paraphenalia at the click of a mouse! Items like sweat bands, athletic (what the...?) tees and even iphone covers.

In fact, SPAM has really evolved since the late 30's and now is offered in a myriad of varieties like Jalapeno SPAM, Hickory SPAM, SPAM with cheese, Black Pepper SPAM, Hot & Spicy SPAM and don't forget SPAM Classic.

I'll spare you the nutritional, er lack of nutritional details but suffice it to say SPAM is not a friend of anything on your body, head to toe, least of all your heart, liver, thighs, belly, pancreas, bootay, love handles....ok, we're back the original thought; SPAM is not a friend of anything on your body; head to toe.

So, now that you've all been sufficiently disgusted and are probably gagging on your lunch, let me tell you, as Paul Harvey would say, 'the REST of the story'.........................

It was a normal Tuesday evening. Well, actually a bit abnormal because up to this point in pregnancy I have been a WRECK. I mean like, get home, eat a snack and get in bed by 5:21 wreck. Exhausted with a capital E and the triple digit temps don't help. So, let's start over. It was an abnormal Tuesday evening during which I actually had the energy to cook dinner! So, feeling great about myself  and this surprise burst of energy, I decided to step it up a notch and make something out of the park healthy. This has not previously been the norm so you can imagine the pleasure I was having at my own sense of awesomeness. Baked sesame salmon, brown rice and steamed veggies was on the menu and considering my diet had consisted of saltines, smoothies and let's not forget a few meatball subs thrown in for good measure, BOY did it smell good. The rice was done, veggies were on low and salmon had 15 minutes left on the timer. And all of a sudden, amidst the savory scents in my kitchen, it hit me like a ton of bricks, like a wave of babies, like a two ton truck.....ALL.I.WANTED.WAS.SPAM! And it wasn't just one of those fleeting 'oh my gosh what just came over me' moments. I wanted SPAM and I wanted it now. I was like Bella from Twilight when she was a baby vamp on the trail of her first human scent. If there was SPAM within 20 miles I was gonna find it. One problem. The salmon. Was cooking and by this time it had 14 minutes left. "I could totally make it to Brookshire Brothers and back in 14 minutes." I mean, in my fever, my energy was growing to Olympic proportions by the milli-second. In haste, I let Snoop-Lion out in case the place burned down, grabbed my keys and sprinted, literally sprinted out the door. And as I approached the automatic doors at Brookshire Brothers, I had a brief moment of rational sense during which I started to ask myself 'WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOin.......but then I felt it. My self-control, rationale and common sense blown to bits by the fan over the door. Within moments it was already headed toward the next town. And I was headed to the mystery meat product aisle. I'm usually pretty focused when it comes to 14 minute trips to the grocery store but I was like a carb and fat deprived caged beast who had been recently uncaged only to find myself as a lucky contestent on that game show, Supermarket Sweep. Everything that I had said 'no' to for the last 32 years in any shape, form or fashion found it's way into my cart that day. In under 12 minutes I had pillaged and the booty was bountiful. Flaky biscuits, white bread, creamy peanut butter, grape jelly, all beef hot dogs (or maybe they weren't; I wasn't THAT focused), BUTTER, velveeta mac and cheese and of course, the entire reason I was there in the first place....you guessed it. A can of Classic SPAM. I got home just as the timer on the salmon was going off. And despite it's deliciousness, I promptly put it in a tupperware and proceeded to slice and fry up my can of SPAM. I had some cold. I had some hot. And if it wasn't SO delicious it would have been disgusting. Well, let's call a spade a spade. SPAM was, is and always will be disgusting, but to me, that night, it might as well have been prepared by the Iron Chef himself because it was everything I had hoped it would be. I was hoping to have polished off the evidence before Mr. G came home but I was still reveling in my spamthusiasm when he clomped through the door. Not having been served actual dinner for several weeks at this point, you can imagine his surprise at the option of not one, but two dinner choices. Sesame salmon, brown rice and steamed veggies (the obvious choice right?) or fried spam and maybe I had made some mac and cheese too....and maybe just a few biscuits were baking in the oven as well. A man after my own heart with a fondness for things slightly redneck, poor, fattening and trashy, we sat down to the best dinner the Goble table had seen in WEEKS. As we layed in bed that night, feet and hands swollen from the SPAM induced astronomical sodium levels, the common sense part of my brain kept trying to convince me to feel guilty for the crap I had just fed my baby. But there was another voice, a smaller voice that piped up and shouted above the guilt and worry. 'Meh. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger and you never know when the next WW is coming.'

SPAM. It's not what SHOULD be for dinner, but sometimes the difference between what SHOULD be and what IS, is night and day.

For more useless information, comical recipes and time wasting activities, check out www.spam.com. Pay particular attention to the 'Catapult Dairy Cows from a castle and into a line of Frenchman' Game. You won't be disappointed. Or maybe you will. Regardless, don't eat SPAM. And don't wear it on your head either.

To Trust or Not to Trust. That is ALWAYS the question.

"The laughter died out on his face, and very seriously he asked, "Do you love me enough to be able to trust me completely, Much-Afraid?" She looked at him in the usual startled fashion...."You know that I do love you Shepherd, as much as my cold little heart is capable. You know that I love you and that I long to trust you as much as I love you, that I long to love and trust you still more." "Would you be willing to trust me, he asked, even if everything in the whole wide world seemed to say that I was deceiving you-indeed that I had deceived you all along?" She looked at him in perplexed amazement. "Why yes, she said. I'm sure I would, because one thing I know to be true, it is impossible that you should tell a lie. It is impossible that you should decieve me. I know that I am often very frightened at the things which you ask me to do, she added shamefacedly and apologetically, but I could never doubt you in that way. I'ts myself I am afraid of, never of you and though everyone in the world should tell me that you had deceived me, I should know it was impossible." "Much-Afraid, supposing I really did deceive you? What then?" It was her turn to be quite silent; trying to grasp this impossible thing he was suggesting and to think what her answer would be. What then? Would it be that she could never trust, never love Him again? Would she have to be alive in a world where there was no Shepherd, only a mirage and a broken lovely dream?....To lose him? Suddenly. She BURST into a passion of weeping..."MY LORD, if you can deceive me,  you may! It can make no difference. I must love you as long as I continue to exist. I cannot LIVE without loving you." -Hannah Hurnard


Unlike most people, or LIKE ALL people who are desperately trying to get pregnant, and tracking every single thing that can possibly be tracked, Andis and I found out we were expecting uncannily early. Like two weeks. In fact, we were so early that our first ultrasound was a perfect picture of a happy, healthy and VERY EMPTY uterus. Insert furrowed brow, here. All things considered; our rocky baby history, how early it was, how empty my uterus still was, it would have been appropriate, like most normal people, to wait until the 'safe' 12-16 weeks before we started making baby announcements. If there's anything you've realized about us by now it's that you won't find 'normal' next to our names in the dictionary. So, true to irrational, passionate, spastic form, we waited 12-16 minutes. It started with a few close friends and family members and then it trickled to cousins and co-workers and then the lady at 7-11 and our realtor and our realtors sister and then the neighbors and then Edward at the post office and the brotherhood of fire fighters' and from there, to infinity and beyond. You see, despite my seemingly empty uterus and the rocky baby history and all the 'shouldn'ts' and 'not a good ideas' and 'maybe you should think about this's', my joy could not be contained. That's the thing about joy. It's sticky. If it catches you, it's REALLY difficult to shake even though that cloud of fear you feel is still hanging from your shoulders. Joy has a way of shining right through that cloud; like the sunshine after a thunderstorm. Doesn't mean the clouds disappear entirely, just means the sun is stronger. And so it was. My joy was more overwhelming than my fears. It couldn't be contained. And it couldn't be contained because joy in my world isn't a fleeting feeling but rather a philosophy; a choice, every day to BELIEVE, HOPE and TRUST in a GOOD GOD. "The Lord is my strength and my shield; in HIM my heart TRUSTS, and I am helped. My heart exults and with my song I give thanks to Him." Psalm 28:7 Do I always feel like trusting? No. Do I always feel like giving thanks when I'm in pain? No. But when I make that choice, I am helped and I am helped by being given the strength to find abundant joy that no amount of fear can snuff out. "Great peace have those who love your law, nothing can make them stumble." Psalm 119:165

You know it was difficult losing a baby several years ago after we had told friends and family. I was embarrassed, ashamed, and spent several months afterwards wanting to crawl into a deep, dark hole and disappear because the pain seemed too much to bear. Some of those memories still haunt me and at times have caused me to be a 'tad' OCD when it comes to aches, pains and random cramps, but are the memories of that pain enough to keep me quiet? HECK NO. That's the thing about pain right? It's easy to remember what it looked like, felt like, how it made us act, but when we think back on it, it's impossible to REALLY FEEL it like we did before. For example. My most painful moment after that situation was on Valentine's Day; 7 short days after I ended up with barely a pulse on an operating table. I had been sliced open in no delicate fashion and every single thing I tried to do induced a level of physical pain that I had not yet experienced. Walking, sitting, laying, rolling over, peeing, coughing; you name it, it hurt. And on top of that, every moment of physical pain reminded me of my empty belly and my aching heart which brought on the throes of emotional pain that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Yeah, life was not awesome then. But on that particular day, the day of Hallmark induced romance, the day that Andis and I had both sworn off permanently until we met and had our very first date 4 years earlier, I found Andis, in our kitchen, whipping up some amazing gourmet creation and telling me to stay on the couch, he would call me when it was ready. You see, I had gotten lost in a cloud of sleep, pain and vicodin over the last week and didn't realize it was Valentine's Day. And I panicked because I had nothing for him. I had no card, no special cologne, no homemade coupon book, no love letter, no lingerie. I had none of that.....and I had no baby. I felt like the ultimate failure. And usually when I find myself with nothing to give I'm pretty good about faking it, but as I sat on the couch with a crayon (the only writing utensil I could find; Go Figure.) and a torn piece of notebook paper with an old grocery list on the back of it, in an attempt to make a card or write a love letter of sorts, I realized I didn't even have the words . If I could have ripped out my bleeding heart and peeled back the layers and shown him that buried under all of that pain and anger and loss and vicodin was a love for him so pure, so powerful that St. Valentine had nothing on me, I would have. But open heart surgery is not my forte and even if it was, I might have been concerned that all we would find was not the big, perfect, red heart you see in cartoons but a small, shrively, barely pumping blood sad and angry heart in it's place. And I wept. I looked in the mirror at my swollen face, my wet hair, my tshirt and pj pants, no bra wearing self with my crayon written meager attempt at a love letter and I wept. Because it was painful. And to be honest as I recall that moment several years ago, I find myself tearing up at the thought of it, but no matter how hard I try it is IMPOSSIBLE for me to RE-FEEL the pain of that moment. Does the possibility of losing this baby and being there again scare me? YES, YES, YES. Does is scare me so much that it stops me from laughing in delight and shouting in joy that we are going to have a baby and TRUSTING God that everything will work out how it's supposed to?! NO WAY. "So also you have sorrow now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and NO ONE will take your joy from you." John 16:22

I trust him because I love Him. And because I trust Him, I have joy no matter what the future holds. It bursts through the clouds and shines through the pain, everytime.

So if you're day of joy is yet to come, just remember...."He will yet fill your mouth with laughter, and your lips with shouting." Job 8:21