Pregnant Women

It is always an adjustment to be pregnant. I find myself utterly grateful to have had the opportunity to carry Tosten, to carry Rohan for as long as I could, and now to carry this little girl. These are three unexpected lives I never thought I’d meet.

But as far as the adjustment part, it is. I have spent the majority of my life yo-yoing between 150 and 270 pounds, mostly on the heavier end of it. I am used to carrying a heavier frame and the feeling of being pregnant feels all too similar to those sneaky pounds of overeating.

Today, it seemed that every diet and workout plan infomercial tiptoed on the TV making me crave the success of losing weight again. This is great for motivation if I wasn’t almost in my third trimester.

I am not a cute pregnant woman. I was not designed that way. I am already an apple with a large tummy and will always have that unless I have surgery. No amount of exercise or wraps or crunches will evaporate the decades of weight damage. Sometimes I find myself mumbling under my breath my jealousy of those cute little pregnant women with little bodies and a bubble baby belly. They are so cute. Vomit.

No, they are. Forgive me, you cute pregnant women…if you think about it, the world needs you, otherwise some women would NEVER get pregnant.

Lately, however, I have been convicted of my ideals on this. It has been all consuming that I have become so overwhelmingly sensitive at the topic…and almost angry.

I have been infertile. Told I would probably not have babies or have lots of difficulty having them. Every pregnancy has been an utter surprise to both the doctors and us. Infertility, miscarriage, or other pregnancy loss makes me so hyper sensitive about any and all complaints (including my own) dealing with pregnancy that I sometimes fear what I may say in the face of it.

Do we have ANY idea how many women would give their own lives to conceive? Millions of women would gladly gain a copious amount of weight just to hold their own child. They would endure the world’s worst morning sickness, acne, cramps, even delivery to hold a little baby of their own. This is one thing that is priceless. How DARE we complain?

I’m scared of weight gain. I’m scared I will turn into an ogre and my husband will hide until I birth this little girl and return to my smaller frame. I fear judgemental glances at how huge I am or how I measure up to other pregnant women.  I fear that this delivery will be even more spontaneous and crazy than my last. I hate being compared to other pregnant women. I hate my yoga ball size belly when on other women it looks like a little softball. I feel like a house. I can’t stop eating chocolate. I’m longing to be thin and tan and summery, but my body feels wide, pale, and like the Titanic.

Here I am. I’m pregnant. I am having a baby girl. If I could give this opportunity to the women I love most, however, I would. When it all comes down to it, I cling to the truth that I am beautiful not because of the outside or because how I compare to other women, pregnant or not, but God has given me this gift of nurturing this life.

I am the only one to feel this little being grow. I am the only voice she has right now. I’m the sound she dances to when she’s awake and the lullaby she falls asleep to. God has given me this gift and I feel honored to give her life and to show her all the beauty this world has to offer and the God that loves her even more than I do. Who cares about my flabby skin or stretch marks (I have had stretch marks since I was in middle school…they are just marks). I have another soul within that will forever be tied to me. This, if anything, brings me peace.

And for you complaining mamas out there, pregnant currently or not, I guess you better stay away from me until my hormones simmer. Savor this time. I have a handful of women I love like crazy that would gladly take your place.

Good Night

Another night with a racing mind. Knowing my husband is snoring upstairs and Tosten is cuddled with his furry blanket on his belly in his room doesn’t persuade my droopy eyes to want to shut and quiet for the night.

But then it was my fault to crave McDonalds chicken nuggets with sweet and sour sauce and a Diet Coke for supper. Don’t worry, I shared the nuggets with Tosten for our meal. Although, now that I think about it, that still doesn’t say much about me. Instead of packing my belly with the calories, I gave half to a small body a fraction of my size. Well, I drank all the Diet Coke myself. None for Tosten, but I guess not the healthiest for a pregnant mama and a baby girl.

The people I love most tonight are in turmoil. I cannot and will not give specifics, but it is hard for me to rest when my mind races with thoughts of the unknown.

Sometimes it seems like things are going smoothly. There is a peace, but always a few bumps in the road. Even through the bumps, though, things seem okay. Survivable.

But what happens when it seems unfixable? What happens when my mind can’t even fathom the positive outcome that I yearn for? What happens when it seems impossible?

I’m a fairly calm person. God has done so many impossible feats in my life that it doesn’t take much to jar me anymore. But lately…lately I’ve been jarable. Lately, my mind wanders and starts to doubt. Lately, the gut feelings that God has given me have been less trustworthy, though not wrong.

I suppose that’s good. It tells me I’m still human and still utterly in need of God’s guidance and grace, but I miss the immovable Manda. I miss the “faith that can move mountains, ” although I guess that isn’t entirely true either. My faith, in its most sincerest, probably could move a little ant hill.

My problem is I like to fix things. It is easy for me to have faith when I have a plausible and logical way that situations can be fixed. I can line up the steps in my head to start to tackle the issue. But sometimes some of those issues are too big, too hairy, even to evil to even begin to see hope.

The funny thing is, God isn’t logical. There is no way I can try to even muster up the best plan God has. I mean, look at what God has done…He sent His son, His flesh and blood and love of His life to suffer for a mass of ungrateful, angry, nasty, sinful people like us. Not logical. Free will? Not logical. Loving a people that naturally want nothing to do with Him, even though He created them. Not logical.

So where does that leave me? No where. Dead end. The only place I can be at tonight is at a stand still. I cannot fix anything. I cannot do anything within my power to change circumstances. Stuck. Unfixable.

The only thing I can do is trust an illogical God. An illogical God that is both crazy logical and illogical at the same time. Who is the same yet so other and different.  A God who is so much greater and bigger that I cannot even begin to understand why He would care one ounce about our tiny problems down here.

Yet He does. And not only does He care, but He is in mad pursuit of putting all the illogical pieces together to  make the impossible come to be…because He loves us…He loves me.

I think that is a good place to let my mind rest tonight. No need to let my mind race when the Lover of my soul is already acting on my behalf.

Something Better Than Clean, NEW

It’s 3:30 am on Saturday morning and I pitter-patter on my ancient college Dell. My thoughts are racing and memories of college screech back into my brain. What a time for me. What a time for any individual. It is a time of excessive searching and wondering about who am I, where am I going, who will I be with, am I accepted, am I good enough? Believe me, I don’t miss it.

I have memories from that time I don’t like to revisit. Times when my search for self was so erratic that I feel like a did irreparable damage to others. It is one thing to make yourself suffer, but to put others in that line of confusion is such an embarrassment for me…and I am still ashamed.

I would like to say I couldn’t help it. I wish I could say that it was out of my control, but that would be passing the blame to who? Those individuals? Passing the blame to God? Of course I had control. Of course I could have dealt with my issues better, but I didn’t. I chose to float along and try to make human sense of my circumstances.

I think I would have to say those years were the closest I had ever been to a mental illness or breakdown. Disorderly eating would definitely be a base of any chaos in that time, but so did my search for what my purpose truly was. Inadequacy. Striving to be someone and something I was never created to be. Never being satisfied. Desperate to find love and acceptance and just someone to say, “You will be just fine. Everything is going to be okay.” I didn’t get that. I was searching for those words, unfortunately, from all the wrong people.

While my family would have been the first to offer a shoulder of peace for me, they didn’t know the turmoil within, the days of sobbing in my room, the journals and journals of my eating disorder battle, the hours on the treadmill, and even my obsessive thought pattern about food, calories, exercise, fitting in, and getting to that never attainable size.

Someone would have been there if I would have asked. Someone would have been there if I would have ripped off my mask for just a moment and let them see the scared, little girl beneath the big girl makeup and double major at Northwestern College. But pride and shame loomed and kept me in my safe, grown-up, pulled-together facade.

But I guess when stopping and trying to look deeper…I guess someone was there. In the blackness and cobwebbed crevices of my memory, I see a light that was steady and stable. It wasn’t all that bright, but it was there. I’m not sure if I tried to snuff it out because I didn’t want to see anything for what it truly was or if I just wouldn’t let it burn in the wildness it wanted to, but there was light.

When I visit this place, I feel a sense of desolation. I feel humiliated. Alone. Dead. Not just dead, but double dead…if there’s such a thing. I feel desperate. I feel inferior. I am surprised I can feel anything at all concerning these years, but then during that time I felt utterly numb so I guess any feeling at this point is an improvement.

I feel enough darkness from that time that it makes me very aware that I never want to return to it. Never.

Those dark days can either torture or set me up for freedom. Choosing to chew on the unfixable only destroys, which is exactly what the god of darkness wants. He already stole the past, of course he wants to steal the present and future too. But letting go and thrusting all these emotions, even the vilest, murkiest gut emotion in God’s hands is freeing.

When I pour it into His hands, no matter how many times I take it back and throw it again to Him, He takes it. He takes it and I feel like the cuffs and chains have been dropped and I can finally walk, run, jump, dance.

Freedom. It means nothing to you until you have been a slave. Freedom. You cannot understand the release and ecstasy until that master is not only removed, but destroyed.

And maybe today can be new. Maybe today, I am brave enough to put down my scrub brush of washing my own pains away and finally give it to the God of Freedom. He won’t only peel the cobwebs off the walls, but He’ll make everything new.

I could really use new.

Joel 2:21-27 (NLT)
Don’t be afraid, my people. Be glad now and rejoice, for the LORD has done great things. Don’t be afraid, you animals of the field, for the wilderness pastures will soon be green. The trees will again be filled with fruit, fig trees and grapevines will be loaded down once more.

Rejoice, you people of Jerusalem! Rejoice in the LORD your God! For the rain he sends demonstrates his faithfulness. Once more the autumn rains will come, as well as the rains of spring. The threshing floors will again be piled high with grain and the presses will overflow with new wine and olive oil.

The LORD says, “I will give you back what you lost to the swarming locusts, the hopping locusts, the stripping locusts, and the cutting locusts. It was I who sent this great destroying army against you. Once again you will have all the food you want, and you will praise the LORD your God, who does these miracles for you. Never again will my people be disgraced. Then you will know that I am among my people Israel, that I am the LORD your God, and there is no other.”

Praise God and Amen!

Another Food Network Night

I think I have finally understood some of Heyma’s and Grandma Jones’ love of cooking and baking. Somehow when you are at home, digging thistles from the yard, weeding the garden, vacuuming and mopping consistently, and doing what seems like an army’s worth of laundry every week, cooking seems to be my sanity.

I find myself rummaging through old church cookbooks, family recipes, Food Network, Kraft Magazine, Google, and (gasp) Pinterest for anything innovative I can attempt to make for my family. Tyler will eat anything and I thoroughly enjoy both the adventure and experimentation of making food.

I think I am becoming more of a homemaker. Domesticated. It would be no greater compliment than to have the creativity of Heyma’s meals and the expertise of Grandma’s cooking and baking as I mature.

It’s funny. The two most influential women in my life were homemakers. They didn’t have any college education or special career. In fact, Heyma had to drop out of middle school to take a job to help support her mom and siblings and my Grandma was kicked out of the house at 14 to finish school and make it on her own.

What has changed in our world that has made the modern woman so glorious? The modern woman with a fancy career, kids with soccer practice and violin lessons, PTA member, regular gym rat, and the million other things we like to place on our shoulders more celebrated (and accepted) than a homemaker and stay-at-home-mom? When did busy become the new measure of success?

Granted, the homemaker and stay-at-home-mom can be just as busy as this modern-day-woman. I thought once I entered this world that I would be bored. Restless. Yes, some days I am. But I have never been restless because of lack of things to do, but because I would prefer to avoid the tasks that I really need and should complete.

I love to settle in for the night, after Tosten is in bed, looking through recipes and planning the next week’s possible menu. Ask Tyler, if I am watching a TV program I want to watch, it usually has something to do with cooking or food.

I think this is good. I think this is healthy. I think it is better than the other things I could pursue in the world right now. And with each new dish I make, especially if it is made with ingredients I already have in my home, I feel empowered.

This is a dramatic turn from my college days. Being soaked in my psychology courses, forced to write my guts for my English professors, working with very driven families as a nanny, and just the music and television I absorbed in my free time, I felt empowered. I felt empowered, but I was unhappy, complicated, lost. I felt empowered by how busy I kept myself, how worldly informed I was, and how much I resembled the modern-day-woman.

Thank you, Lord, for change. Thank you, Lord, I’m different. I’m softer. I’m changing. I don’t want to be the modern-day-woman. Perhaps in some ways, I will be. Maybe it is inevitable in some aspects of my life, but I want the love, the kindness, the gentleness, the servant’s heart, and the simplicity of the women a couple generations back.

I embrace this love of experimenting with cooking. I am sure Heyma and Grandma both had dousy of hotdishes or loaves of bread. I am sure Heyma had cooked egg in her meringue at some point in her life and Grandma had dough that didn’t rise right. I also know they endured some life trials I never had to face and somehow in the turmoil became beautiful, simple, gentle women of God. The last thing our world needs is another hard, overbearing, modern-day-woman…wife…mom.

Maybe this cooking phase will bring me to resembling these inspiring women more. I don’t know. It’s worth a try.

(I feel I should say that all you women that have so many things to do, I am sorry. Sometimes you are the only ones who can do it and you NEED to do it for the betterment of your family. To you women, I applaud you. Your hard work is an asset to your family. As a woman who has tried both worlds, I am truly blessed to be given this stay at home ability. I never thought we could do it, but God surprised me and I hope I never forget or take for granted this privilege.)