As you will know, if you've been following my blog, we found out in August that we were pregnant. It has been such a crazy ride, and I have been struggling through most of it. The testimony I want to share today is about my pregnancy on some level, but really more about my own walk with Christ and will probably require some back story, which means this may get fairly long. 

  The first pertinent piece of back story is that this is my third pregnancy. Caleb and I lost our first baby, a little boy, at about 34 weeks. While that was a very difficult thing for us to go through, it in and of itself had many testimonies surrounding it, which I will have to share another time. That was five years ago. 

  So, fast forward to August. We find out we're pregnant and we are absolutely over the moon. I soon start feeling the effects of the pregnancy and I am sick all the time. After the initial shock and excitement of finding out we're pregnant started to wear off, I started to become a little more worried. I would worry that if it was a a little boy I wouldn't be able to handle it emotionally. The hurt from losing our baby is still a thing I struggle with on a frequent basis. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to process if we got to keep this boy and not our other one. I worried that I wouldn't be able to look at him with out being reminded of the hurt and loss we felt when his brother died. ...and that was only the beginning. I found myself eventually hoping that it was a girl. Olivia wanted a girl and we had all the clothes already, so a girl would just be easier, I decided. 

  A few days before we were supposed to find out, I had a craving for chips and salsa. I hadn't had any cravings so far this pregnancy, but when I was pregnant with our son, all I wanted to eat all the time was Mexican. Like, if he hadn't been born with a sombrero on his head holding maracas, I would have been floored. Now, Caleb thinks I'm crazy, but in that moment, the moment when nothing but chips and salsa would do, I knew that we were having a little boy. And suddenly, I wasn't as excited to find out what we were having anymore. I didn't know what to do. I let my worry take away from what should have been an exciting part of my pregnancy.

  A few days later, Caleb, Olivia and I were at the doctor's getting a sonogram. I held my breath and hoped against what I knew we were going to see. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was reading to much in to things. It could still be a girl. Please let it be a girl! Needless to say, it was not a girl. I handled the news only slightly better than Olivia, who started crying saying she wanted a girl and flat out refused (for weeks) to acknowledge that it was a boy.  I, on the other hand, managed to not cry and kept repeating my mantra "happy, healthy and whole" to myself, which is what Caleb and I have told people, when asked what we want. After losing the first one, it just seem so trivial to care about anything else. (Says the woman who was fighting back tears. I know, I know. I'm not proud of it.)

  If I thought I was worried before, I wasn't prepared for the amount of worry and anxiety that I would feel in the coming weeks.  I started to worry about everything. What if I just couldn't grow boys? What if we lost this one too? What if I let Caleb down again? What if I let our families down again? (Please understand that never once have they even hinted in anyway that they have felt let down or that I have failed them. It is just my own worries and guilt projecting on them) What would happen to Olivia if we lost the baby? Would she be okay? 

   I found myself having these thoughts fairly regularly. Most of the time I could push them away, knowing that they were ridiculous, unfounded fears. However, there were a couple times where they hit just at the wrong time and they were harder to dispel.

   One time in particular, we had gone to pick up a crib. While we were at the store, I asked Caleb if we could look around at the baby clothes. I hadn't bought anything for the baby yet, and I thought that maybe if I found some adorable little outfit for him that things would start to look a little brighter.  Unfortunately, we were looking in the dead of winter, so most of the stuff we saw was nothing that excited me too much. I finally found a couple onesies that I liked and was walking around with them in my hand. That's when I saw it. A little wool newsboy cap - just like the one I had bought for his brother. I lost it then. And I mean big, ugly cry in the middle of Babies 'R' Us lost it. I walked over to where Caleb had gone with Olivia (who was so over looking at baby clothes) and sat down with them. Caleb patiently held my hand and waited for me to calm down enough to tell him what was going on. 

   I told him that I didn't know that I could do it again. I didn't know if I could buy all the cute little boy clothes and wait and hope and day dream about seeing our baby in them, only to have to box them up and give them away, unused. I didn't want to have to do that. Caleb listened patiently, and then told me that we wouldn't have to do that again. While he meant well, it only made me more upset. I reminded him that nobody thought we'd have to do it the first time, either. And while I was able to stop crying, eventually, I felt along way from being consoled. 

   I went through the rest of that day okay, but still kind of sad and worried in the back of my mind. That evening while Caleb was putting Olivia to bed I was doing something in our room, I don't even remember what. Looking for a book maybe. When all of a sudden, a song that I remembered from my childhood, maybe, but that I hadn't heard in years started running through my head. The chorus goes like this:

          "One day at a time sweet Jesus that's all I'm asking from you
           Give me the strength to do everyday what I have to do
           Yesterday's gone sweet Jesus and tomorrow may never be mine
           So for my sake teach me to take one day at a time."
   
   As this song ran through my head, it hit me like a freight train. God needed me to trust Him. But more importantly, I didn't have to look at the big picture and worry about it and try and figure it out. God wanted me to come to him daily and trust Him to take care of my baby and to take care of me through out my pregnancy. Now, I know that this seems like Bible Basics or Christianity 101 maybe, but I have always struggled with trust. With needing to see the big picture, instead of just the next step. This song reminded me "trust" was a verb it was a thing that i needed to do. Daily. It reminded me that I wasn't in control, but more importantly that I wasn't alone. That there was Someone that wanted to help shoulder my load. To take my fears upon Himself so that I could be comforted. Someone who wanted to protect me and the sweet little boy I was carrying, but who also wanted me to ask for that protection. Who  wanted me to trust Him enough to admit that I was weak and that there was nothing I could do in my power alone to protect this baby I love so much, and reach out to Him because He can and then trust that He will.

   I felt at peace for the first time in my entire pregnancy. I was eager to share with someone, so I texted my mom. I told her how I loved that God can take something we barely remember and bring it to the forefront of our minds to give us exactly what we need when we need it. She, of course, was curious as to what I meant. So I told her that a song that I barely remembered from when I was little popped into my head and i proceeded to tell her what song, and what it had helped me see.

   She texted me back, and told me that what I had told her had made her a little emotional, and proceeded to tell me this:

          "That was a song actually that Grandpa sang. It's always been one that Gma and Gpa both knew. But after Gpa got sick with his cancer the first little bit and initially couldn't walk, he testified that that song came to him and gave him strength. He was walking again with the walker and such and from what I remember the dr told him he'd never be able to do that. He eventually got so sick he couldn't even use the walker, but that was always a theme song he sang to give him strength through his illness. Grandma then sang it a lot after grandpa died to also gain strength. You probably heard grandma sing it more than Gpa...if ever. But it was mostly sang after he got sick and gave him strength."

   My grandpa died when I was four. I don't have a lot of memories of him. I remember him making me laugh, I remember him being ornery as all get out, and probably most important, I remember how much he loved me and how special I felt whenever I was around him. It was because of those sweet memories that I had asked Caleb when we found out we were pregnant, that if it was a boy, we name him Crawford (my grandfather's name). He agreed, and it has been my one bright spot through out all my worry and anxiety. 

   Despite being one of the youngest grandkids, and being only four when he died, I always felt a strong connection to my Grandpa. Probably because I got told how often I had things in common with him, and I loved those things. I cherished them. I realize now though the thing I have the most to cherish from him, is a thing I didn't even realize he had given me: an example of faith in Jesus Christ to the very end. It's now my prayer that I can be like him in that way. That I can pass on the legacy of faith that both he (and my Grandma) lived out to my son, and that he can grow up to have a faith like the man he was named after.

   This pregnancy has been such a crazy ride, but I am so grateful that I was able to learn this lesson. That I was able to be reminded of just how much my Savior wants to help me, and how I don't need to be afraid to ask Him for help or to tell him my concerns. And I love that He did it in a way that would be meaningful to me, connecting two people that I love dearly together. I can't wait to meet my sweet boy and hold him in my arms and tell him all about the things the he and great grandpa taught me. 




    

                           Baby Crawford smiling at his last sonogram

My Grandpa Crawford, holding me (in the red) and my cousin on his lap. 

     It has been far too long since I've written anything. There are so many things that God has done for me that I haven't had the opportunity to share with you, so I'm going to take the opportunity to play a little catch up now. This will probably make for a super long post, but bear with me- it will be worth it. 

     The first testimony I want to share is just a quick one about Cooper. I think I've mentioned my rascally, but lovable pooch on here before. But in case I'm remembering in correctly or in case this is your first time here, let me tell you a little bit about Cooper. We got Cooper as a rescue puppy from our local shelter the month before we got married. He's part husky and all mischief. I think within the first couple months we quickly realized he gets super traumatized whenever we try and contain him. We've had him escape from plastic dog carries (chewed his way out), metal dog crates (bent the metal on the bottom of the door enough to get out), our work room (clawed and chewed through a 2 in. solid core door), our work room again (clawed through the replacement solid core door which we had reinforced with a piece of sheet metal). Cooper does not like being cooped up. The other thing we quickly learned is that Cooper loves to run. And given that nothing seems to be able to contain him, he is able to escape pretty easily when he wants too. He is an opportunist and never misses a chance to get out when he wants to. Just recently Cooper started acting up a bit. He started clawing at our basement door to get down to where my mom is staying. He started standing by the front windows just whining. I could tell he was itching to get out again. I tried keeping him outside a little longer than usual, letting him play and run a little longer, hoping it would help quench his desire to escape. Needless to say, it did not and one day a couple weeks ago, I heard him pawing at the front windows. It took a little too long to dawn on me what he was doing, and even longer to remember that the windows were  open. 

     By the time I got out to the front room, he was gone. He had clawed a hole through the screen and jumped out the window. I was home alone with O, so I quickly got her in a jacket, grabbed a leash and a treat and ran out to the car to try and find Cooper. I explained to O that Cooper ran away and that I would roll down her window and let her call to him. O, being three, thought this was all great fun. I, however, was less convinced. As we were getting ready to pull out of our driveway, I notice one of the neighbor kids approaching our van. He asked me if that was our dog that was out. I replied that it was. He told me that he and his mom had tried to catch him, but that he had ended up running from them and gave me the direction he went. I thanked him profusely, since knowing which direction he went is half the battle, and continued to pull out of the driveway.

      Before I even finished backing out, O turns to me and says, "Mama, did Cooper get out?" "Yes, baby, we're gonna go look for him though." "We didn't say a prayer." I stopped backing up and turned around and looked at her, grateful for this tiny little person who is constantly reminding me of what's really important in life. "You're right, sweets, we didn't. Would you say one please? Ask God that we will find Cooper soon and that He will keep Cooper safe." (It's my biggest fear that Cooper's going to get out one of these days and run straight into traffic and get hit.) So Olivia began to pray and I began to drive in the direction that the Neighbor Boy had indicated. Sure enough, before O had even finished her prayer, I heard the jingle of Cooper's tags. As soon as she said "Amen" I pulled over to get out and get him, but as it turns out that was unnecessary. I pulled over and opened the door and he hopped right in. I didn't have to chase him, I didn't have to coax him with the treat, he just jumped right in the car. It was by far the easiest time I have ever had chasing Cooper down, and I know that it was because of that sweet little girl who had reminded me that we needed to stop and pray. 



     The next testimony is a little longer and a little more personal. I mentioned last September about some issues I was having with ovulating on my own. The issues resolved for awhile and then for whatever reason, I began to have troubles ovulating on my own again. Unfortunately, the doctor I had been seeing moved to a different state, so I had to start all over with a new doctor. I hate getting new doctors. So, I put it off for awhile, and eventually, around July I bit the bullet, chose a new doctor and went in for my yearly woman's visit. 

     At my visit, I expressed my concerns to the doctor and he pretty much said what my other doctor did. He couldn't really understand why that would be happening and, yay, ordered more blood work. He told me to come in on the 21 day of my cycle for the blood work, which would let us know whether or not I ovulated, and then if I hadn't started by cycle day 35 to come in and see him, because I would need to be put on meds to, at the very least, start my cycle and most likely, fertility meds. 

     As day 35 got closer and closer, I got more and more worried that I would have to take fertility meds. I couldn't explain why I didn't want to take them and had never had such a strong aversion to taking medicine before in my life. All I knew is it was not a thing I was looking forward to. Caleb, bless his heart, knew this and offered to go with me to my appointment. Day 35 rolled around and we went to the Doctor. I was a mess. My stomach was roiling, I was sure that I was going to have to take the meds. We got called back to see the doctor, I left my urine sample with the nurse, and we began the wait to see the doctor. 

     About ten minutes later, the nurse came back in. She started taking my vitals and making small talk. As she was recording my heart rate and blood pressure, she looks at me and asks, "And you already took the Clomid, right?" I looked at her and shook my head.  "No, that's why we were supposed to come in today. The Doctor said we'd discuss it today." She smiled and held something out to me. "I misunderstood. I thought you had already taken the Clomid, so I did this." I looked at what she was handing me and realization dawned. I was speechless as I handed the positive pregnancy test to Caleb. "I'll give you all a moment to process this," the nurse said and stepped out of the room. Needless to say, there were lots of tears and hugs  and prayers of thanksgiving said in that doctor's office.

     I look back on it all, and I am so grateful for the journey we took to get where we are today. I have learned so much. I learned compassion and empathy for those women that desperately want babies and struggle so much to have one, I learned patience, and I learned (most days) to let what I had be enough, to be content with the blessings God had given and not be sad and depressed because I felt like they weren't enough. And I'm even grateful for the struggles we had, because if I hadn't been having problems with my cycle, if fertility meds hadn't been imminent, Caleb wouldn't have been there when I found out I was pregnant, and I can't think of a more perfect way for us to have found out than as a family. O is over the moon and waiting for baby to get here. She's convinced the baby is a girl and already calls her Sissy. Here's hoping she's not heart broken if the baby comes and it's a boy. ;) 


      Now, finally, an announcement. If you've stuck with me this far, bless you. You're a trooper. I promise it's not much longer now. 

      When I was a little girl, my grandma crocheted beautiful afghans for all her grandkids. She let us pick out the yarn ourselves. I remember going to the store with her and feeling so special as I perused the rows and rows of beautifully colored yarns. After I picked my yarn, I remember being so amazed watching her as she took this yarn and turned it into a blanket. It was magical. One day, I asked her if she would teach me. She did, and I fell in love. Over time however, I became so busy with school and sports that my crocheting fell by the wayside. A few years ago, with the help of youtube, I rekindled my love of crochet. I loved crocheting out at my grandma's house, though she had long since stopped crocheting and now that she has passed, it's something that helps ease the loneliness a bit when I miss her. 

     I have thought for awhile, that I might want to start selling some of the things that I make. I just always came up with a good excuse not to do it. However, a couple months ago, I decided it was time. No more stalling, no more excuses. So, on that note, I invite you to check out my Etsy shop, BethelBoutique, which you can visit by clicking the Bethel Boutique tab above. It will open the link to my shop in another tab. Right now, the pickin's are kinda slim, but I'm planning on adding more items in the next couple weeks or so. I'm also hoping to find a way to sell directly through the website, so keep your eyes open for that as well. If you have questions about the items I sell, or would like to talk to me about ordering something please email my business at bethelboutique15@gmail.com.

Whew! You made it! This is finally the end. Thank you again for reading!    

   Every morning, O and I try and have prayers for a good day and for protection for ourselves and for our loved ones throughout the course of their day. One day last week, I was getting ready to take our dogs out. When we take the dogs out they tend to get a little excited and become a little unruly. I have tried to teach O to stay by me so she doesn't get knocked over. This particular day, on our way out I noticed that one of our dogs had already made a puddle on our wood floor. Not wanting O to slip on it when we came back in, I thought I would put a paper towel over it and clean it up when we came in. While my back was turned, O decided to go over where the dogs were and in the process got knocked over and busted her lip and cut her gum. 
   I called Caleb to let him know what was going on and that I was trying to stop the bleeding. There had been so much blood that I hadn't been able to assess the damage yet, so I told him we may or may not end up needing to take her into the doctor. 
    After calling Caleb, I texted my mom (who used to work as a dental hygienist) to see if I needed to take her in to the dentist or not. She said it probably wasn't a big deal but I should call my dentist (my aunt) and speak with Maria (her current assistant) about it. 
   I called my Aunt's office and explained to Maria what had happened. At this point I had been able to check the tooth and it wasn't loose and it hadn't changed colors. My aunt asked me to send her a picture because her only concern was whether or not the cut in her gum could have cut an important muscle in your mouth.
   I sent her the picture and got a response a short time later that everything looked as good as it could, considering and that as long as I kept O from eating things like toast that could reopen the cut, she should be just fine.
   When the adrenaline from the situation settled a bit, I was left with an overwhelming relief and the knowledge that God was watching out for my baby. Her tooth was spared, the muscles in her mouth was spared, and while I know she was in a little bit of pain, it was negligible compared to what it could have been if she had busted or tooth or needed stitches.    I am so grateful for God's protection over my family, even in the little things like baby teeth. I am happy to say that it's been less than a week and all that's left is a very little scab where her lip busted open. God is good. 

   Caleb and I had started talking after O was born about when we thought a good time to try and have another kid would be. We talked about a couple different time frames, and eventually decided when she was around two we would start trying to have another kid. In May, we decided we were ready. I was already scheduled for my yearly gynecologist appointment that month, so once we got the okay from my doctor we started trying. 
   The next month I was tentatively hopeful as the date of my expected period came and went. However, a week and three negative pregnancy tests later I called my doctor to see if that was normal. They had me come in to get my blood drawn for some tests. 
   The results of the test came back showing that I hadn't ovulated that month. I was pretty discouraged. I felt like my body was betraying me. I felt like I was letting Caleb down. Without ovulation, you won't get your period, so my doctor prescribed a medicine to force my period to start. The hope was that that would be enough to remind my body what it was supposed to be doing and  that the next month I would ovulate on my own. 
    The next month I had to go in again and get blood drawn. When my doctor's office called the nurse asked if I could come in that afternoon, I was fearing the worst. I figured if there was good news, or even the same news, they would have told me over the phone again. I called Caleb and asked him to go with me since I was so nervous.  When my doctor came in to talk with us, he explained that I hadn't ovulated again and that he didn't really understand why. So he ordered more blood tests, just to make sure my thyroid and other glands were working the way they should be. Fortunately, that blood work all came back normal. So I had to take the medicine to force my period to start again and come back three weeks later to get my blood drawn. 
   The first couple months, I had been doing everything I could think of to track ovulation, to encourage ovulation. I read all the articles I could find about ovulation. It clearly hadn't worked. So, for this month, I decided that as hard as it was, I was going to give my burden to God and relax. So, I did. I gave him all my fear that I would never be able to ovulate and have another baby. I gave him all my stress about tracking everything. I gave him all my guilt about feeling like I was letting Caleb and our families down. There were times I would feel the stressful thoughts creeping up on me, but when they would come I would remind myself that "God's got this" and I would be able to relax again. 
   The day of my blood work came around and as good as I had done the rest of the month at trusting, I just couldn't quite relax. If I hadn't ovulated, they wanted to start me on a fertility med that would make me ovulate, and I really didn't want to have to take it.  I needed to be able to get the blood work done in the morning, which meant I needed to take O with me. She was very good. While we were waiting for the nurse to draw my blood, she sat down on the bench next to me and we talked. I explained that a nurse was going to come and poke mommy with a needle and take a little bit of mommy's blood but that it would be okay. We talked for awhile longer when she stops, looks at me and says, "Mama, fine. Mama, fine." while patting my leg. Needless to say, her innocent reassurance that I would be fine was exactly what I needed to help me relax and once again, give my burden to God. 
   That night Caleb came back from putting O down for bed and told me that O had prayed "Mama. Doctor. Needle." This was the first time she had ever prayed for a specific need for an individual and I was humbled that it was me. 
   A couple of days later, I got a call from my doctor's office and was told that I had ovulated on my own. I was so happy. I was relieved that I didn't have to take the fertility med, I was relieved I didn't have to take the medicine to force my period to start, but most of all I was grateful for the unwavering faith of my two year old which helped me get through it. God hears even the smallest of prayers, even ones that aren't prayed in full sentences. 

This post is way overdue. 

In fact, seeing as how it's about New Year's resolutions, I'd say it's about 5 weeks overdue. I thought about just skipping it or possibly even saving it for next year, but for some reason it just keeps nagging at the back of my mind, waiting to come out.

I love New Year's resolutions. Which is kind of ironic, seeing as how I'm not the biggest fan of New Year's Eve celebrations. I have nothing against them, per se, just prefer to be at home in my pajamas at midnight rather than out all dressed up somewhere. Now, if my friends wanted to come to my house and have a low key "Ring in the New Year in our Pajamas while Eating Cookie Dough and Popcorn and Watching Cheesy Movies Party"....that's the kind of celebration I could get on board with. 

Anyway, back to the resolutions. I LOVE them. In my head, I know that a change can be made in a person's life at anytime. It doesn't have to be at the beginning of the year, but I love the whole symbolism of leaving behind the past year, of having a fresh start. I love the feeling of hope and of newness. (I also have these feelings to a lesser degree at the beginning of each month and surprisingly, Mondays.) So as January 1st gets closer each year, I start to take inventory of the past year. I look at what worked and what didn't. I look at who I am and who I'd like to be. I look at the things I've accomplished and the things I haven't. Then, I look forward to the coming year. Which parts of me do I want following me into the new year? Which parts definitely need to go? Which parts of me are mostly good, but need some tweaking?

As I was pondering all these things and trying to come up with some good resolutions, I was having some luck, but overall, I had so many areas I wanted to work on that all my resolutions felt cumbersome. (I want to start eating better, I want to be a better housewife, I want to lose weight etc.) I knew that if I tried to focus on all these things, especially at once, I would get discouraged and, most likely, give up. 

I had put my resolutions on the back burner for awhile when I got an email from a radio station about resolutions. It suggested that rather than go through the process of making all these resolutions that you might not be able to keep, why not consider a one word resolution that can then more or less become your mantra for the coming year, and you can use it to measure all the aspects of your life against. (Here is a link to the article:  http://www.klove.com/news/2014/12/30/for-the-new-year-consider-just-one-word.aspx) The more I thought about that, the more I loved that idea, but had trouble coming up with one word that encompassed all the things I wanted to accomplish this year. I mean, what do going to church more often, eating better and being a better housewife all have to do with each other? 

New Year's Eve rolled around and Hubby & I spent a quiet evening at home after Gooby was asleep. We had done some grocery shopping that day, so we spent some time putting away groceries, reorganizing the pantry and the freezer, and other grocery day activities. When we were done with that, Hubby sat at the table working on some things and I cleaned more in the kitchen. The time ticked away and I realized that that's what i was going to be doing at midnight- cleaning. That's when it hit me. My resolution. My one word. Clean. Everything I want to do this year, it all comes back to clean. I wanted to be better about eating healthier and being more aware of where my food was coming from and what was in it. Clean eating. I wanted to be a better housewife, better at keeping up with laundry and dishes, with vacuuming and dusting. I wanted less clutter in our house. I wanted our home to be clean. I wanted to be better about going to church, I wanted my relationship with my Savior to improve, I wanted to rid my life of things I knew that were keeping from where I should be. I wanted a clean heart. 

I will admit, that it's not always easy keeping up with that. I'm in the middle of a class and sometimes it's hard to want to put forth the extra effort to put a wholesome dinner on the table or to make it to church when we didn't sleep well the night before. And I'm not gonna lie, that nasty cold that seems to be going around hit our house hard the past two weeks and my house is in complete disarray. Yet, I look around me and while it would be easy to be discouraged, I can't help but see hope. So many times my life is like my front living room. I am SO good about keeping it picked up. Then something happens and it's a mess. The mess can be embarrassing and discouraging, but in the end, all that I have to do is throw away the trash, put the toys back where they belong and vacuum and it's good as new again. It's clean. 

And that's the great thing, about our lives. We don't have to stay entrenched in our filth forever. We can get rid of those things in our lives that are keeping us from being clean, that are holding us back. And, as my mom would say, it's a whole lot easier keeping something clean than it is trying to start from scratch every time. 

I'm looking forward to being completely over this cold so I can re-embrace my New Year's resolution with abandon. I'm ready to be clean.

Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in His holy place? He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart. -Pslam 24:3-4 (Inspired Version) 

       It never ceases to amaze me when God does something to show just how much he cares about me and the things going on in my life-- even the small things. 

       Two weeks ago I was super stressed out. I was struggling with our budget, feeling like I was doing everything I could to be cutting corners and trimming waste (especially for our grocery budget) and yet still feeling like it wasn't enough. I was struggling with an online class I was taking, trying to find time for the countless chapters I had to read and homework assignments I had to do. I was struggling with having a super needy, super fussy teething baby who wouldn't let me get anything done around the house. 

       During this time I had been spending a lot of time in prayer, asking God to help me take better care of the things that we own and to help me be a better steward over the money that we have as well. I really wanted to do better. 

       When my husband's payday rolled around, it was like the perfect storm of stress. I had spent the better portion of the week before trying to figure out how people make and follow grocery budgets, what good prices for things were, how to price match, and looking for coupons. When I wasn't doing that or trying to attempt my reading and homework, I was taking care of a baby who was very clingy and so, so fussy. I knew that grocery shopping with her like that wasn't going to be any fun, but I also knew that it needed to be done.

       We went to the first store and got some baby food and while I was there I decided that I really needed to pick up some shoes for the baby. She can't walk very well yet, but she likes to get down and stand up by herself and kind of walk around her daddy's or my legs while we're out and I don't really like her to have her bare feet on public floors.  It wasn't something I had budgeted for, but it was something that she needed. So, we picked out a couple pairs and we checked out. When we got to the car, I put one pair of her new shoes on, and we headed to the next store. 

       Our next stop was our big stop. I had things I had to get from just about every section in the store and I knew I was running out of time to shop before the baby got fussy and needed to nurse or take a nap. I was hurriedly going up and down the aisles, trying to find everything we needed while at the same time trying to remember what was a good price and what wasn't. I was stressing over the ground beef and trying to decide if the good price per pound was worth having to buy the family size pack rather than spending more per pound and only getting a single pound. After awhile I decided I needed to walk away because I was getting too worked up over it, so I decided to go over and check out hot dog prices for a get-together we were having soon.  Close to the hot dogs, there was a cereal display set up. I accidentally put the cart too close to it and the next thing I know, the baby had knocked cereal boxes everywhere. I was scrambling to pick them up and I could just feel my stress rising. One of the workers came over and helped me pick up the boxes, while I apologized profusely. After all the boxes were back in their place, I decided I needed to go look at some other items in the store, items that I knew for sure which sizes and brands I needed to get, items that should require little thinking and induce little stress. As we were walking over to the cereal aisle, I look down and notice that one of the baby's brand new shoes is gone. I frantically look in the cart and in the aisle we just came down and nothing. It's gone. 

       I could feel the tears stinging my eyes. The last thing I wanted was to be that crazy person that had a meltdown in the middle of the store, so I steered our cart toward the side aisle we had come down, thinking I would see if I could see it on my way to customer service to give them my name and number in case anyone had turned it in. I made it to customer service without finding it. so I left my name, number and a description of the shoe with them. After I did that, I called my husband because I was feeling just really awful and I wanted to ask him to pray about the shoe. Talking to him later, he told me he could only understand about every fifth word I said, because by this point I was starting to lose it. After about five more minutes of searching I still hadn't found it and my baby was starting to get fussy. I thought about leaving with the stuff I had, but decided instead to nurse her and then finish my shopping. I walked back to the family restroom and as soon as I shut the door, I lost it. I was sobbing.

       As I sat there in the restroom, I poured my heart out to God. I said, "God, I know they're just shoes and they weren't that expensive, but I've really been trying to be a better steward over the things that you've given  us lately, and I really can't afford to just go buy her another pair. Can you please help me find that shoe?" 

       I waited until I was done crying to leave the restroom. The baby and I then continued to retrace our steps as well as pick up any other items we needed. I was just about ready to give up and leave when I really felt like I needed to go back over and check by the meats, even though this was the first place I looked. Sure enough, when I got back over to the meat section, someone had found her shoe and placed it on a display by one of the freezers. I immediately breathed a sigh of relief and said a little thank you prayer. Feeling a little worn out from all the emotional ups and downs of the past hour, I decided what we had in our cart was sufficient and went to check out. 

       In the car on the way home, I had turned on the local Christian radio station to help the baby sleep. I had kinda tuned it out and was lost in my thoughts. My thoughts eventually made their way to the events of that day and how God cared enough about me to help me find a tiny, inexpensive shoe because it mattered to me.  At that moment, I tuned back in to what was playing on the radio, just in time to hear a line from a song that said "not for a moment did You forsake me." It was such a perfect sentiment for my experience that morning and I was so overwhelmed with how much our Father loves us, how special we are to Him, that He can see even the tiniest problems in our lives and reach out and help us if we ask. 

    There is so much pressure put on us, as women, to be perfect. It's everywhere we look. The invention and spread of social media has been a wonderful tool in communicating to friends and family near and far, but it has also become one of the biggest weapons women use against themselves and against other women. We see the blogs of the Super Mom, the Pinterest boards of the Craft Queen and we expect ourselves to measure up to these extraordinarily high standards that have been set.

  Four and a half weeks ago, I gave birth to the most beautiful, wonderful little girl and the pressure to be perfect quadrupled. Everybody has an opinion about the right way to raise a baby and they are all very passionate about what they believe is the best thing for a baby. Being a new mom is vastly overwhelming, especially since you've been told that the only way a baby should EVER sleep is on their back in a bassinet or crib, but the ONLY way your baby will ACTUALLY sleep is when she's curled up on you. You begin to beat yourself up because not only can't you get your baby to sleep correctly, but you're finding it's impossible to keep up with the Super Moms that find the time (and energy) to cook and clean and do the laundry with a newborn.

    Saturday I decided that we had been away from church for way too long and that the following day, we would be at church. I picked out my outfit and the outfit for our little Bean the night before and laid it all out so it would be one less thing that took up time in the morning, because one thing I've learned these past four weeks: it is IMPOSSIBLE to get anywhere on time with a newborn, and I desperately wanted to make it to church the next day. Sunday morning came, and I actually woke up on time. Everything was going smoothly until it came time to get dressed. I had picked out a skirt and shirt combination that I thought would be conducive to nursing, should Bean get hungry during the service. Unfortunately, when I went to put it on I just didn't feel comfortable in wearing it to church, leaving jeans as my only other clothing option. Now, I would just like to say, there is absolutely nothing wrong with wearing jeans to church, however, I had been raised that when Sunday came around, you got dressed up and put on your Sunday best, which in my house did not include jeans. So, I struggled. Was it better to go to church in my jeans than to not show up at all? Eventually I decided that God would just be happy that I was in church and that even though it may not have been what I wanted, that day jeans were my best and it was all I could give.

    Once I finally got over my internal struggle about my clothing, it was time to dress the Bean. I had picked out a darling newborn sized dress that I was so excited for her to wear. I put it on and it didn't fit. I couldn't even get the buttons on the back to close! I was so distraught, because newborn onesies and pajamas still fit great, so I couldn't believe that this dress didn't fit. In the end, she ended up wearing a dress that was definitely a little to big, but again, I figured it was better that we were in church in jeans and clothes that were too big than not at all.

    Needless to say, the stress of the morning got to me and more than once I snapped at my poor husband, who was just trying to help. I was just so frustrated feeling like nothing was going right, or going the way I had planned it. So, as hubby finished getting ready, I went out to the car and fed the Bean. In the quiet of the car, I began to pray, asking God for a "reset" and apologizing for being so cranky. As I was sitting there, I remember thinking "This is so not how today was supposed to go. I just wanted everything to be..." and I paused, trying to figure out what it was that I had wanted everything to be. At that moment, it was like God filled in the blank and said "Perfect?" and it hit me. I had been trying to make everything in my life perfect. I had been avoiding going to church, cause I didn't have the right clothes, or because I was uncomfortable with breastfeeding in public, or because I didn't want to be late or disrupt people by coming in late or having a fussy baby... and in that moment, I was chastised and reminded that God doesn't want us to wait until we're perfect to come to Him. He wants us to come to Him, mess and all, and to give it all to Him.  In this world that pushes perfection, it is such a relief to know that right now, this second, I am enough for my God. Yes, He does call me to be perfect, but He knows it's a gradual process and He certainly doesn't expect me to do it alone.

When I was little, my mom had a tape that we would listen to. I especially remember listening to it in the car, probably on the way to and from preschool. I'm sure she could give you more details about this particular tape, but one song specifically has stuck with me all these years. The chorus went something like this:

    "Kid under construction, maybe the paint is still wet.
     Kid under construction, the Lord might not be finished yet."

These words have really struck a chord with me lately as I have been reflecting on my life and my relationships, especially with my husband, and I have realized just how far I still have to go to become the woman that God has called me to be.  This blog is a way of helping me stay accountable as well as sharing my ideas, revelations, testimonies, etc. that come as a result of this new chapter in my life.

What areas of your life are still under construction?