need a narrator?

I've been sick and had some down time around the apartment the past week, and I've made a discovery.

I talk to myself. A lot. And not just mumbles here and there under my breath. No, full out conversations at a normal volume level.

A part of me is nervous that this is a bad habit to form.

Another part of me shrugs my shoulders because hey, if no one is here to listen, somebody's got to.

comfort

Yesterday was the first day that I hated and loved being comforted in Christ alone.

I had a heavy weekend after a conversation with a friend Friday night, and my way to get relief was to talk to Phil. I didn't know what he would say that would make me feel better, but I knew it would be something. I missed him all on Saturday and was hoping he would call or email...maybe my distress signals would telepathically reach him in Afghanistan.

But he didn't call and I had to do Saturday, alone, just God and me. Sunday, though, he would definitely call - I was sure of it. I didn't sleep well, hoping it would be 7:30am already; I allowed myself to get extra sad and pitiful so that when I talked to him it would be more cathartic. I was ready for the cell phone to ring.

Except it didn't.

As hard as I stared at it, it wouldn't ring. So I made myself an egg sandwich for breakfast, read a chapter of a book, drank two glasses of milk - all the while getting mopier and thinking it would be aaaaanny minute until he called. A new feeling came instead: fear. What if something was wrong? What if he wanted to call - he received my distress signals - but he couldn't? Panic.

I started to pace: I needed to get ready for church but that meant I was moving on and I didn't want to move on - I had to talk to Phil! (Prior to this point, the thoughts in my head ended with periods; now they were ending with exclamation points.) I picked up my phone, staring intently at it, then decided I would call him. Just to make sure he's okay, I told myself. I won't blab his ear off, was how I justified this needy act. So I called him. Ring. Ring. Ring. Nothing.

I hung up and decided I had waiting long enough to get ready. I got dressed, put on some makeup for the first time in a week - blush and all - and took my things with me out the door. Then - RING! It was him! He received my distress signal! (Not really, he received my actual phone signal.)

"Hey, did you call me?" And suddenly I felt embarrassed.
"Yes," I sheepishly answered. Why did I call him? I thought. Of course he's okay!
I mumbled a few words about how I had a bad feeling and I just wanted to hear his voice.
"Oh," he responded. "You okay?" he asked after an awkward lag time.
And then I remembered I was supposed to get my cathartic cry out! So I started crying except I couldn't articulate why.

"I had a hard conversation with her...I feel so heavy...I'm happy for our marriage...I am not very strong..." And though those seemed like stellar reasons for crying - the best, really - all he could respond with was, "I know. I'm sorry."

And I was thrilled I got to vent and tell him what a crappy weekend I was having, but I still felt crappy. And on top of that, I felt childish. Here my husband is off fighting in a war, and I'm blubbering because I had a bay day, so bad I had to CALL him on his EMERGENCY cell phone.

We hung up and then I was alone in the car, driving. Here's where I hated and loved being comforted by Christ (I take a while to get back to my point, but I do...eventually). I hated that I couldn't portray to Phil how cruddy I was feeling and in turn, he didn't know what to say. Normally my equation is Jesus + Phil = comfort. And this is in no way a blame on him, but for this particular scenario, my sadness was my own and not a shared one. How could he understand, not having heard the conversation or been present to hear all of the details afterward?

I'm glad, on the other hand, that he didn't offer much solace because then I HAD to rely on Christ. I was feeling so down and burdened - way more than a no-good day - and I had to stop feeling that. Who else could I turn to but Christ? I had to call a man almost 7,000 miles away in war, hoping he had answers. The God of the Universe, however, was right there the whole time with the answers all along, from when I woke up to while I was eating my egg sandwich to when I was streaking my freshly applied Apricot Breeze blush with tears.

And Jesus is always there! He always brings comfort! So in the midst of driving with wet eyes, I talked with God and relented. And maybe if I just looked to God for comfort in the early morning hours when I couldn't sleep rather than making my own plans (and also accumulating a hefty international calling fee in the process), I would have been a lot more rested and content. Christ is slowly showing me that He is all I need - not Christ + Phil. And as much as I adore my husband and am so thankful for the comfort and joy he brings, I realize that those are gifts I don't deserve. I won't have those forever.

Christ's comfort IS forever. And that, my friends, is all that matters.

humbled

Totally and completely humbled.

My mom flew back with me from Michigan to Washington on the 14th, and has been here until today, joined by my dad last Thursday. She came for the baby ultrasound (more to come on that!) and with that appointment being pushed back, she extended her stay and we convinced dad to come too.

The whole time she was here, I was floored by her selflessness, her generosity, her patience. She cleaned my apartment, taking out trash, doing dishes and laundry, buying me cleaning gadgets (I'm more of a wipe the furniture with my sleeve kind of duster rather than a spray cleaner on rags and move stuff around to clean kind of person) - in a word: awesome. I would love to tell you that her cleanliness bolstered me to do more and help her, but no, I laid on the couch and let her do her thing.

As for her generosity. A friend from church, pregnant with twins, suffered an ALMOST devastating blow when she was diagnosed with Twin-to-Twin transfusion syndrome and had emergency surgery to save the girls. Praise God she's okay, but our community group had to pitch in with meals and work shifts at her house since she was on bed rest with two other children...ages 2 and 1. This friend doesn't have much, so when I told my mom about it, we immediately went out so mom could buy her pots and pans, casserole dishes, and toys for the kids. She had never met this girl or been to her house to see if it was true - she just did it. I could have bought those things, but I'm really learning about giving cheerfully, and unfortunately I'm not there yet...I would have done so grumbling. But seeing my mom give so generously? I've been thinking a lot about my heart.

PATIENCE...holy schmoley my mom is a saint! So pregnancy...it makes you CRAZY. I have about a 6 or 7 hour window each day of being cheerful, productive, and an all-around decent human being. When 3 o'clock hits, however, I tap out. I'm done. I rust up and can't move like the Tin Man...only a woman...and pregnant (I just visualized a pregnant tin person...weird right?) The best story to illustrate this principal of my GCD (Gross Craziness per Day) is when we registered at Babies R Us for peanut. We got there a little after lunch with a game plan and a list of things we still needed. I had energy, I was ready to go, and then we got to the car seat aisle.

First of all, safety these days seems like it's on steroids. I'm all for keeping my child safe, and yes, I registered for outlet protectors, so I'm not knocking it. But with car seats, it's just madness! There are weight limits, harnesses (5-POINT!), expiration dates, side collision cushions, anchors...if you didn't know I was talking about car seats, you might think this was a discussion about jet planes or sky-diving equipment. THEN! As soon as you get to a certain weight limit on this one, perfectly operational seat, you have to buy a whole new one! How does one child need 3 different car seats?? I know, I know...mothers don't judge me...I got them all...but lets just say I was leaning against things to rest and a scowl was forming on my face after this episode in aisle 5.

So we still had to register for furniture, bedding, bumper whatevers and I was already pooped. Getting a little snappy with mom, pointing at things instead of actually talking, and shrugging a lot like a spazzoid teenager. Finally, my saint of a mother looked at me and said, "Sit in that glider over there. I'm going to register for a good mattress and bedding." Well alright momma, whatever you say. And there she went with the register gun, rounding up saleswomen, and shootin' mattresses and fitted sheets left and right.

If I had to have done that by myself?? I would have laid down in that demo car bench and cried myself to sleep. And I was NOT pleasant to shop with and yet mom had such joy and satisfaction shooting all of those things and keeping us on track. When we got home afterward, she sent me to bed and threw some towels into the laundry. What a wonder woman.

I could go on and on about her, and then my dad too when he got here (in summation: got me new tires, helped me do my taxes, jumped Phil's car - neglected by wife here - and drove it around, helped me build a dresser), but you'd never stop reading.

So I'm blessed right? What great parents! I'm a lucky gal! Life is great!

True.

But so much more than that. I am totally humbled, inspired, and challenged by the example of my parents. Humbled that they give so much to me...hello they both dropped their lives to come watch an ultrasound screen with me! Humbled that they served me, the elders serving the youth. Inspired to do the same for them. Inspired to serve others just as selflessly. Challenged to give more generously. Challenged to invest in my family.

SPEAKING of family! Well, as my hundreds of faithful readers know, I am with child (that makes me feel like Mary...no angel showed up to tell me). We have been anxiously waiting to find out if it was a boy or a girl. After what seemed like forever, February 1st finally came and I walked into that dim room with the black screen and blue-green gel. I got slathered up and within the first ten minutes, Mom crouched in a chair like a kid watching TV too closely and Dad with the camera pointed at the screen, the technician pointed out my child's adorable booty butt and asked,
"Do you want to know what you're having?"
"Yes!"
"Well, there's his penis!"SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!! Phil and I were so thrilled to be having a child, and we were excited about having either, but deep down we both were hoping boy. And then to see his little wee-wee! What a joy - what a delight - what a GIFT!

So humbled, part two. I've been pregnant all along, yes, but knowing that it's a boy and we can now call him his name made it so much more real. We're having a baby...God has entrusted a human being to our care...and baby is going to be strong and firm, just like his name means. How humbling can it get? I am impressed by monks and nuns who live a life of solitude and focus all their energy on pursuing God, but I think so much growth and learning comes when you get married and then have children. This baby is going to be used not only as a great man of God someday (I'm praying!), but as a sharpening iron for his parents. I will be on my knees every morning..."God give me what I need to be a good mom and show him Christ today." This is going to be the greatest challenge, the most beautiful hurdle I'll ever jump. I have never found a job that I love or am satisfied with, and now with this baby boy coming, my calling is clear: train up the child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.

Humbled beyond words and yet so full of joy - what a season of life! My boy has parents who are SO in love with him, have grandparents who are amazing, and a God who is the best loving Father he'll ever know. I'm walking each day in gratitude, peace, and wonder.

Oh, and his name is Ethan.