One and not the Other

Finally got up and broke my confused dreaming cycle. There are only so many times a person can let her crazy brain dream of mashed potatoes gone awry and Olivea falling off our bed into a pile of food scraps and Tosten running through our bedroom screaming. I just want to sleep.

Today was one of those days that you just lie in bed and think. And sometimes when you lie in bed and think, you fall asleep and the muddle of thoughts you were sanely thinking about all of a sudden become a chaotic smorgasbord of events in dreamland.

I finally came downstairs and sat next to my slumbering Olivea. I know you are never supposed to wake a sleeping baby, but I did. And I just held her. This little life so warm, so squeaky and grunting happy language.

We started our day out cleaning. Cleaning. Cleaning. Today was Olivea’s baptism at our house and while Tosten woke up at a ripe time, I didn’t want to pull him out of bed until most of my chores were done. After about 45 minutes of babbling, Tyler brought him in the kitchen for some maple-syruped pancakes, which is where he remained until bath and getting dressed and out the door. Yes!!! I was glad we escaped before my little one-year-old helper decided to rearrange the house. There was also peace of mind in knowing that at least my house was clean for a couple hours while we were gone.

We arrived at church BARELY on time. It seems no matter how early I get up or how little or much I need to do before worship, we’re always late. Always. Today we were right on time…so I guess that means we were early….well, early for us.

In July I was asked by a congregational committee if I would give my testimony for our church’s Harvest Festival. I wasn’t sure if I could. I remembered my emotional craziness after having Tosten and I wasn’t sure if I would be sane or emotionally competent enough to deal with something like that in front of my congregation. I asked if I could videotape a testimony while my hormones and emotions were somewhat stable during pregnancy and they could play it at the service. I was so grateful they said yes.

That day was today. As I sat in the pew and watched other testimonies, even though I wasn’t sharing in front of everyone today, my stomach swirled. I had only seen a few seconds of the video and had never seen the whole thing before…so the surprise was to be for me just as much as the congregation.

When filmed, it was exactly one year since I lost my Rohan. Hearing those words I said on tape bubbled up all the old, somewhat buries emotions. I remembered the sorrow and freedom I felt visiting and revisiting these feelings as I prepared for the testimony. I remember feeling like I was giving more life to Rohan by talking about her on film and eventually to a group of people. I remember my nervousness to tape, but my urgency as well, knowing I had something burning to say and I had to say it. Now. I had to get it out, kind of like giving birth.

As I sat in the pew, it occurred to me, if Rohan would have lived, my little Olivea would not be here today.

I wasn’t quite sure how to balance out my feelings. Was I to mourn over Rohan still or celebrate the new life of Olivea? As Olivea heard my voice throughout the room, her eyes became wide. She knew it was her mama. How could I think she was not planned or a mistake or a second option or anything other than exactly how it was meant to be?

Without Rohan, I was given Olivea. But if Rohan had lived, Olivea wouldn’t have been here. I cannot wrap my mind around that…or even the heaviness of such a thought.

As I sit on this couch tonight, escaping my bed and my insane dreamland, I look around my home. It’s clean. The floors freshly vacuumed and my gas fireplace warming the room. A bright golden glow in the foyer from a turtle lamp and the soft inhales and exhales of Olivea next to me.  I sit and realize this is perfect. I have a wonderful husband with a remarkabe family I can call my own. Tyler and I conceived three children, two of which make us grin everyday. We have a house that feels like home. Almost 8 acres with a barn and a garage and some sod for digging gardens. We have warmth. Food…too much food. Music for our one year old to dance to. Blankets for our one month old to snuggle in. And we have the favor of our sovereign, omniscient, yet intimate God.

All that I know is that I’m okay. My brokenness in these moments is what makes my blessings more precious. I still grieve Rohan and wonder what life would have been like with her here, but I am blessed by the presence of my Olivea and her calm-natured spirit. I don’t need to figure out how all pieces fit together. I don’t need to contemplate the depth of why one child and not the other. All I need to think and feel is gratitude.

True Beauty?

I was scrolling through Pintrest and the pins “my friends” had put on their boards and I was taken back by one friend’s board. It was named “True Beauty.” I was obviously compelled to investigate. I think any woman and every woman would. I looked at the picture that supposedly displayed this phrase and I was a bit taken back. It was a tall blonde with ruby lips and a sleek red dress, clevage and a sensual look in her stance.

Is this real beauty?

I looked at the rest of her board and she had varying photos, but it was still the same. Some were men and most were slender women, but all wore fashionable attire and looked very put together and somewhat sensual. Almost as if their faces were saying, “You wanna be like me, don’t you.” (maybe a tad over-dramatized, but partially true for some individuals)

I don’t want to say these photos aren’t pretty or these individuals aren’t lovely…they are. However, I wouldn’t say it is “true beauty.”

To me, true beauty is so much more. It really has nothing to do with looks or appearance.

I think true beauty is a grandma reading her great grandson a story. Not caring about her face or shirt or anything but purely exprssing the thoughts on the page and her great grandson slurping up every syllable.

True beauty is a young wife working day and night, if not as a nurse at the hospital, a nurse at home to her husband who has cancer. Giving every ounce of herself to the care of others.

True beauty is a man that still opens doors for a woman. A shared moment of tears at lunch over broken hearts. A husband holding his wife’s hand while she births their daughter. A father’s kiss on his one-year-old son’s forehead.

I remember Tyler telling me his definition of beauty…he would often say I was pretty and beautiful. Whether this is technical or not, he said pretty was just appearance, but beauty was the whole being, inside and out.

I like that. For some reason, if someone seems to be a good person, sweet and kind and gentle and generous, I can’t help but think them as “pretty” as well as beautiful. It doesn’t matter what the person looks like, they are beautiful in and out.

I guess these thoughts and questions have been circling in my mind as of late. With the hormones trying to balance out from pregnancy and I’m now faced with more weight to burn off and another amazing person to put before myself, there are some discouraging days that I find myself trying to reevaluate who I am. What I am.
While the role of motherhood is the most beautiful (oops…this word just slipped out without thinking, but fitting) role I’ve ever been given, I’m still a wife. Still a woman. Still an individual that wants to be the best me…the healthiest me physically and emotionally and psychologically and spiritually. Media and society and even pintrest followers definitely have their definition of “true beauty,” yet I dare to try to find a more satisfying answer.

Today I start my voyage of rediscovering my pre-pregnancy self.  Obviously there are some things that I cannot find again. There are some lessons and maturity that comes with becoming a mom that prevents you from ever returning to the non-mom phase, but I’d love to find my energy, my adult voice, my figure, and if I’m lucky, my love of running and being healthy again.

The definition of true beauty is another question I have. In a chaotic world trying to find the answer themselves, I want to know the truth with absolution. I want to rest in it and be able to convey and rest in it. I want to pass the legacy of true beauty to my children as well, without confusion.

So maybe I should start my own board of true beauty. Or better yet, keep my eyes open to all the people around me that already have it figured out.

What’s in a Month?

What happens in one month? Just a mere thirty days?

We pay our mortgage and electric bill. Tyler gets paid twice. We go to church at least four times and to McDonald’s at least once (I love their sugar-free iced coffees).

Is one month a long time to live or a short time? Since today is both a day remembering past babies that died too soon AND my baby girl Olivea’s day of birth a month ago, I would say a month old is quite remarkable.

My baby girl has already experienced important events such as weddings and trips to Minneapolis and Fargo and stories from great grandmas and snuggles from daddy. She has smiled and sobbed and been sat on and poked at. All these things my Rohan never got to experience on earth.

So we rejoice. We celebrate with zeal this new life that is already one month old. We look forward to each day and each week and each year we are still blessed with her existence.

And our little Rohan, I am sure you are anticipating our reunion, like we are. We find no greater pleasure than to know you are celebrating with Jesus today and everyday. Our moment is rapidly approaching. Praise Jesus that we’ll have a whole eternity to be together…all of us. Daddy and Mommy and Tosten and Rohan and little Olivea.

We are blessed.