Please pray for the local Chinese in these areas
1. God to raise up seminary trained people to go and teach the Chinese pastors so they will be able to teach sound doctrine.
2. Protect the church there from false teachers and false doctrine
3. Comfort those imprisoned for their faith and provide for their families
4. Strengthen Chinese believers to study and start Bible studies of their own
5. Bless those who stand for Jesus to see much fruit that lasts for eternity
In 2002, I went to Nanjing,China as a member of a 5 person team assigned to a college campus. I taught English and the others enrolled as students of Chinese. I taught about 500 students and gave lectures to about 2500 students in the course of the 3 years I was on that campus. I set up meetings between the Campus crusade kids and the Chinese students for lunch or outings. We did relationship evangelism with parties through out the seasons and playing the Jesus Film . The lectures I gave were on “American” culture and through those opportunities I shared the gospel using Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Easter. The Lord give me many ideas for evangelism such as teaching Psalms as part of the most widely sold book in the world…the Bible. We held “english corners” or study groups in apartments or our dorm rooms where we helped the students practice their English and expand their vocabularies by reading the Bible. Those students whom Jesus called became part of Bible studies to learn and grow in their faith. We gave them Bibles written in Chinese and English. These students were fervent and faithful in study and prayer. It was not easy for them because there could be serious consequences for professing their faith to family and friends. I am not sure how many accepted Jesus call to come to him in the three years but there are many I know and still have contact with and at least 3500 who heard the gospel. What an amazing God we serve!
In 2005, God moved me to Shanghai where I was no longer affiliated with CCC but just on my own with Jesus. I was the head of an ESL department at a private company school founded by a Taiwanese-American Christian man. God had given him a vision to start a computer company in China; staffing it as much as possible with Taiwanese Christian supervisors to evangelize employees. The school was founded to educate the children of the english speaking staff and curriculum was available in Chinese and English. Most of the teachers for grades K-12 were Christians in the beginning. As it grew, more local Chinese sent their children and we hired unbelievers when there were no applicants that could fill the job for teaching. So, my mission field grew from the employees at the company to students and then teachers and teaching assistants. These were in addition to neighbors, shop owners and local restaurant employees.
China was wide open and hungry for the Good News. Many had never even heard the name of Jesus. There were always safety and security concerns for the Chinese when we met or handed out bibles. Police did show up from time to time saying they were checking on “our safety”. Once they made us disband our 40 member “English corner” meeting because there is a law that states no more than 15 people may congregate in any place at a time. Yet, God has enabled churches to be open for foreigners and there are huge crowds in the state sponsored Three Self Churches. They frequently have 5 to 10 meetings in a weekend because of all the locals wanting to attend.
Now I am back in Texas and missing my friends and life in China. It was an amazing time of growth and joy and love. I did not even know any Chinese people before I went. Now my heart is full of God’s love for these people . One thing that became very clear to me . One thing of which I am absolutely certain… God is in control…He is in control of everything or nothing. Since it is everything; we never need to fear or doubt His love. No matter who you are, how insignificant and unequipped you feel….God can use you and give you true purpose for your life.
My life is
My gross life is
Snotty noses
And fingers in noses
And spit up
And throw up
and drool
And poop
Oh the sheer amount of poop!
My gross life is pee pee
And tee tee
And what is that in your ear?
And a whole lot of tears
And poop
Did I mention the poop?
The toddler poops
The baby poops
The cats poop
And why did I eat Taco Bell?
Worth it.
It was totally worth it
My gross life.
My life is
My mundane life is
Peanut butter and jelly
And taking out the trash
A walk around the block
More toys on the floor
Getting the oil changed
And changing diapers
Oh the poop again
My mundane life is
Another Seuss book
And more Daniel Tiger
And Cheerios
Cheerios on the floor
Cheerios in my purse
Cheerios under the couch
And Cheerios in my hair
And grocery shopping
We’re out of bread
And peanut butter
And Cheerios
My mundane life
My life is
My beautiful life is
Midnight feedings
Baby snuggles
And little fingers
And little smirks
That probably aren’t gas
But maybe they are
Another diaper change
My beautiful life is
Snuggles and giggles
Recognizing shapes and colors
And letters and numbers
Learning to be gentle
And learning to be nice
And learning to be brave
My beautiful life is
Gross
And mundane
And worth it
It is totally worth it
My beautiful life
Jami Amerine is a wife, and mother to anywhere from 6-8 children. Jami and her husband Justin are active foster parents and advocates for foster care and adoption. Jami’s Sacred Ground Sticky Floors is fun, inspirational, and filled with utter lunacy with a dash of hope. Jami holds a degree in Family and Consumer Sciences (yes Home Ec.) and can cook you just about anything, but don’t ask her to sew. She also holds a Master’s Degree in Education, Counseling, and Human Development. Her blog includes topics on marriage, children, babies, toddlers, learning disabilities, tweens, teens, college kids, adoption, foster care, Jesus, homeschooling, unschooling, dieting, not dieting, dieting again, chronic illness, stupid people, food allergies, and all things real life. You can find her blog at http://sacredgroundstickyfloors.com/or follow her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/sacredgrounds.stickyfloors/ or Twitter at https://twitter.com/jamijo777
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This has not ever been my title. I am a scaredy-cat. I am a natural born wimp. I am afraid of a million and one things. At the top of the list is the loss of a child. Mid way through the list are spiders. And I am terrified of flying.
Although, I am not afraid of dying… I feel eager to meet with my Lord. No, I am afraid of flying. Tight spaces, falling, crashing – I am afraid of being afraid.
And I have reserved brave for single moms, widows, and momma’s burying their babies. I have set it apart for heroes, service men and women, and cancer fighters. Because, I am never, ever brave.
I used to be afraid of a broken heart. Despite the Lord’s calling on our hearts to foster, I was terrified. I couldn’t fathom loving a child for months at a time and then losing them. And then, we stepped out on faith, which I also didn’t recognize as brave. Our hearts have been broken, and we have loved deeply, and walked hand in hand with our Christ. Again, I never counted it brave?
And in March of this year I will celebrate an anniversary where I overcame a fear and was richly blessed. As I have prayed over what to say about the brave acts I have performed – there were not many to choose from. I considered how far the Lord has brought me over my years. I used to lie on my son’s bed and heave prayers begging God to protect him. He is joining the Navy in the Spring. I am proud of him. I trust God with him. I count him among the brave.
But it was just last year I dug my heels in deeply. I stood firm in the place I would not go. I said “NO.” And I said it without hesitation, and without swaying. And as two women stood before me in my cabin at Mt. Hermon Christian Writers Conference and explained to me that it was time to start a blog and pursue publishing my manuscript I adamantly refused.
“No.” was my stubborn response.
“You must.”
“No.”
“What are you afraid of?”
Ah ha! What am I afraid of? Rejection? Criticism? Hatefulness? Judgement? Being wrong? Or worse, being right?
“Yes, all of those things.”
These are the very things I feared the most about writing and publicizing my thoughts. How much more personal, other than nude selfies, could I get than to put my words out into cyberspace? How arrogant would I have to be to believe anyone would even care what I had to say? How crazy would I have to be to allow strangers to comment on what I said – how would I sleep at night? And my friend’s response?
“But it isn’t about you.”
And I was left to ponder. If my head were on the chopping block and the blade was about to drop, and the executioner said, “Do you believe in Jesus Christ?” I would say, “YES!”
And why is that? Because this life is not my own. I came to serve, not to be served. And if I have a voice, what would I dare cry out?
I would cry out, “Jesus is Lord!”
And in many instances, that requires bravery. Actually, in most instances, that requires bravery. And Jesus makes me want to be brave.
So on wobbly legs I posted short blogs. I am embarrassed by the first few, but I leave them up. If only I read them, I can mark the days when I was most in tune with my Jesus. And, I can see the days I was far from Him and lost.
Sure, I could just journal, and rant to myself… Why don’t I just do that? And my meager audience that I think included my mom, dad, sister, brother, sister-in-law, and a few friends were loyal fans. My sons and husband? Dyslexic as they are, they are still waiting for it to come out on audio. And I was fine with my cozy following. I spoke boldly, knowing exactly who was listening and fully confident I would not rock anyone’s boat.
But on my 44th birthday, after a 6-week reprieve from my tiny blog, I wrote, “An open letter to my children: You’re not that great.” And all my fears came in like a roaring lion.
I posted it on my phone. I didn’t even spell check it. It was basically a rant. I didn’t expect to see more than the 40 likes I normally saw. When it hit 4,000 just 7 hours after it went up – I became concerned. An hour later, at 11,000 I went in the bathroom and threw up. My family abuzz with the thrill and me curious and horrified. By midnight on the first night I shut off my phone at 32,000 views and cried myself to sleep.
There were Grammatical errors and two misspelled words. I had sounded harsh; I had sounded arrogant. I wanted a do over. By bedtime the next night, I had a contract with an agent and the day two count was a quarter of a million hits. I calmed down a bit, this was a little exciting! And then, I started to read the comments.
And I went and threw up again.
A death threat? A woman calling me an “Anti-Christ cow?” The Grammar police, the livid, the frenzied? Over my little tiny blog section? And fear was all I could focus my thoughts. I wasn’t famous? I was a laughing stock!
Why did I ever agree to this? And now – An agent? What else would I ever write about? This piece was a fluke? I was a joke, and a fraud? I had been right to put my foot down and refuse to write a blog.
I was humiliated and exhausted.
On the third day, I got an email from an elderly retired English professor and he said:
“I am slain by your words to your children. I have seen a lot of families destroyed over the years by the backwards thinking of putting ourselves before others. You should know, I do not believe in God, and I have always believed that Jesus was a fairytale. This short essay has stirred something in my heart that I must pursue. The idea of Christians truly wanting to be last has never occurred to me. Thank you.”
And I was brave.
Just one. Not hundreds, not thousands, not tens of thousands… but one.
And I was humbled to the point of weeping. That my flippant and ridiculous blog meant something, to just one. And I may never know what became of the stirring in his heart, and I don’t presume that I somehow did him a favor, because I constantly remember – It’s not about me.
And there have been other letters, and plenty of criticisms. And I have been lead to blogs through my experience where I have been touched or inspired and learned. I have “met” new friends from far and wide. And I have been richly blessed by the ride. But, it’s not about me.
It is about Him who is in me. My Jesus. And the things I have overcome, the terrors and the infinitesimal worries. These nightmares, overcome not because of who I am, but because of who He is.
And this is exciting!
This means that when we are called out to do that which is scary, if it is to bring Him even one, and that one professes “Glory!” Then praise be to God! I needn’t worry. I needn’t dread or fret. For when I am weak and unsure, if He so chooses, He will make my small feats of bravery reach 186 countries in 72 hours. The majesty of this is not lost on me, my small muscles, and erratic thoughts.
In that instance I count myself, brave.
If you profess His name, if you are among those who can answer, “He is the Christ for whom we have waited!” You too are counted among -brave.
And nothing can stop us.
“And He continued by questioning them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered and said to Him, ‘You are the Christ.’” Mark 8:29
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami
My name is Julie Hurtle. I am married to an amazing man who happens to be in the military. We have two beautiful children with a third one on the way. We currently reside in Texas but have been told we will be moving again in the very near future. My desire is to glorify God in everything I do, and He continues to show me that it’s by His grace alone I’m ever able to do that. His grace is sufficient; His power is made perfect in our weakness; His mercies truly are new every morning; and He is faithful to forgive us as we confess our sins to Him.
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A Google search provided the following definition of the word “brave.”
Brave– (adjective) Ready to face and endure danger or pain; showing courage. (verb) Endure or face (unpleasant conditions or behavior) without showing fear.
When asked to share a story of when God called me to be brave, three big moments in my life came to mind. After reading the definition of bravery, I can say that I wasn’t “ready” to face and endure those moments, and I certainly didn’t feel courageous or without fear. As an Army wife, I have faced two very long deployments without fear, and I was “ready” to face them. I moved to South Korea a week before my husband was scheduled to arrive to start my first full-time teaching job so I could live in Korea with my husband since the Army wasn’t sending me with him. I had no guarantee they wouldn’t change his orders after I got there and send him somewhere else. I had never been anywhere overseas. I had never met the people who hired me. But I went. I was “ready” for whatever would come and I had no fear. We’ve moved six times in our marriage and my husband has changed his career in the Army three times. It all fits the definition of being brave, but in all of this I didn’t feel particularly brave. I had signed up for things like that when I married my husband. It’s all just part of the package deal.
But somehow, when God steps into the seemingly smooth-running plans in my life and changes things in ways I’m unprepared for, that’s when I feel the real opportunities for bravery arise. Not so much the Google definition of bravery, but the kind of bravery that requires a person to set aside their fear in faith. The bravery that says, “I’m not ready for this, I don’t think I can endure this, I am afraid, but God, you are not surprised by this. You, God, are bigger than this. You have a plan, you are good, you are faithful, and you will be my strength.” So, while the world often hails me as brave for the things I face as the wife of a soldier, the real “brave stories” of my life have nothing to do with being a military spouse.
I grew up having one dream for my life. I wanted to be a mom. Being a mom, in my estimation, required having a husband, so that was a side goal to be met along the way. I went to college to find a husband, not to get a degree. (God knew this, so he made me wait to “find” my husband until after I graduated college.) I was drawn to guys that were drawn to women that fit the description of everything I wanted to be but wasn’t (perfect hair, perfect make-up, perfect clothes, always on time, incredibly popular, successful in whatever they pursued, driven to succeed…basically the type of woman that seems to have it all together). And one day, one of those guys actually gave me a second glance and we started dating. We dated a couple of months and he said things that led me to believe he was thinking “marriage” in his pursuit of me. The relationship ended suddenly and I did NOT handle it well. Not only did it hit me so hard that I have blocked out entire chunks of time in my memory of that relationship, but I spent close to three years in anger toward God for bringing that guy into my life, getting my hopes up, and then ripping him away from me without any real explanation or closure. I didn’t turn away from God, but I made sure to give Him the coldest cold shoulder when it came to sharing the depths of my heart with Him. I still went to church, still prayed for others, and was still actively serving in ministries. But I was deeply wounded and angry that He wasn’t giving me what I wanted.
In the midst of my anger, God brought unlikely friends into my life. People that I would have never been drawn to were proving to be the most faithful, unassuming, non-judgmental friends a girl could ever hope to find. Several of those friends were godly young men. And one of those godly young men has been my husband for almost fourteen years. God used the failed relationship with its dashed dreams, the genuine love of devoted friends, and the relentless pursuit by this godly young man to reveal to me that I was trying to become someone He hadn’t made me to be. To show me that I hoped if I could snag a guy typically drawn to a perfectly has-it-all-together woman, then I would be able to transform into that type of woman by dating and marrying a guy that wanted a woman like that. I eventually realized that the godly young man I kept shooting down brought out the best that was already in me. That the parts of my personality and character that I wanted to change actually shone brightly and beautifully when I was with him. I liked who I was when I was with him and I actually felt like a better version of myself when we were together. Our litmus test was: Do we glorify God better together than we do apart? And the answer was, “Yes!” Finally acknowledging I had feelings for him and being willing to date him with the understanding that we were moving toward marriage was one of the most terrifying things I had ever done. But it was also one of the bravest things I ever did.
Fast forward roughly three years to our second year of marriage. Remember how my one big goal for my life was being a mom? In our second year of marriage, we felt led to stop any attempts at preventing pregnancy. I wasn’t “ready” yet to be a mom, but this was heavily laid on my heart and, after much prayer, my husband also felt the same conviction. I just thought taking that step was bravery. I had no idea in that moment that God was about to take us on a journey through infertility that would span close to a decade. After six months of not preventing pregnancy, having only ever used a barrier method, we began to realize that something was probably wrong. Still, I wasn’t ready to be a mom just yet. We were living in Korea and I had a stressful teaching job, so we decided to just enjoy our freedom and not worry about it. But then I noticed that God was introducing us to people that were struggling with infertility AND to people that had anywhere from five to eight children. And I am ashamed to admit that I was drawn to the people with the big families because that was my goal, to have a big family, and I was avoiding the people that were infertile because my 26 years on the earth at that time had taught me that God usually brings people into my life that have been through something he’s about to bring me through. That whole, “He comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God,“ thing that He does (2 Cor. 1:4). And I wanted no part of it. I wanted friends with big families that were as fertile as the day is long, and I wanted no part of facing the possibility that God might just not have planned for me to be a mom. I had always said that I wanted as many children as God chose to give me. I had never considered the possibility that the number might be zero.
We moved back to the United States and did the military life thing. My husband deployed for 15 months and returned safely. All the while, my desire to be a mom grew more intense. I watched my sisters have children and I ached to have my own. I was happy for them and for my friends who were having babies, but I was grieving with each announcement of pregnancy. I stopped being able to hold other peoples’ babies. I endured as many baby showers as I could emotionally handle and declined (or conveniently forgot) many others. Once, when my husband and I were going to see a movie, the girl taking the ticket stubs was in a wheel chair. And I noticed that she was staring at my legs. As we walked away I said to my husband, “Did you see the way she was looking at my legs? She had the same look on her face that I have on mine when I see pregnant women’s bellies.” Each month, each and every month, I was reminded that my body, or my husband’s, was broken. That once again we had failed to reproduce. At the beginning of each cycle we would have hope that maybe this month we would get pregnant. And at the end of each cycle we would grieve. Sometimes we would grieve together and sometimes separately.
While we were very much facing the same issue, our journeys through it were unique. Men facing infertility are sometimes at a loss as to how to comfort their wives in the midst of it because the experience for them is so very different. There was one point where my husband would frequently say to friends that he would be willing to adopt in a heartbeat but that I just wasn’t there yet. I had to tell him more than once how painful it was for me to hear him say that. I felt like the “bad guy” because I wasn’t in a place where I felt called to adopt. I tried to explain to him that part of what I longed for was the experience of being pregnant. He tried to understand, but it just didn’t make sense to him. In his mind, the experience of being a dad wouldn’t be any different whether we adopted or I carried the child inside of me for nine months. Then one day, he came home from his labor and delivery rotation in PA school and gave me a huge hug with tears in his eyes and he said, “I’m sorry. I understand now.” I was completely confused and asked what it was all about. That day he had observed for the first time a woman give birth. He explained that while she was pushing, she had a look of anguish and intensity on her face, but the moment they placed the baby in her arms, her face changed and she had the most beautiful look of love and joy as she held her baby. He said, “I want that for you. I want to see that look on your face.” After that, the only time he ever mentioned adoption was when we were discussing between the two of us whether God was calling us to pursue that or not.
Years passed and God grew us through it all. There were very low lows along the way, but for the most part our lives seemed normal. There were odd things, like we kept joining the young marrieds classes at our new churches when we moved because everyone our age already had several children and we just didn’t seem to have a ton in common with them. At about year six, I remember telling another friend of mine who was also walking through infertility that I suddenly realized that God had me “here, in this place, for a reason, and I want to do whatever He’s put me in this place to do.” It was then that God turned my heart from one of needing others to minister to me on that road, to having a desire to minister to others. Eventually, my husband and I were ministering to many couples facing infertility at various points along the journey. Embracing our infertility, being “okay” with where God had me even though it wasn’t at all what I would have chosen for my life, and being willing to serve others facing the same thing was brave for me. It was as if I was saying to God, “Okay, God. If the number of children you have planned for me is zero, then that’s okay. If you never call me to adopt, if you never make me pregnant, I will still praise you and I will still serve you, and I will still trust that you are good.” That was HUGE for me. The interesting thing to me in all of it is that I don’t ever remember being mad at God, even though I knew full well that He is the one who opens and closes the womb. And even though I knew He was big enough to handle me being angry. But because He had brought me through those three years of anger over a silly relationship, I didn’t have to go down that road with Him again. And I’m so thankful. Because I needed Him every single step of that journey.
There came a day, before my husband’s second deployment, that both of us, for the first time, were on the same page about a particular fertility treatment known as IVF (InVitro Fertilization). That’s where healthy eggs are taken from the woman’s body and put in a petrie dish with the man’s sperm. If the egg becomes fertilized and an embryo continues to grow then it’s transferred to the woman’s body with the expectation that it will implant and pregnancy will result. (Fun fact: While the couple waits to see if the embryo implanted and they have a viable pregnancy, they are considered to be PUPO, which stands for Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise.) There had been times along the way that one or the other of us would bring up IVF, but always one of us wasn’t ready for that. But this time, we had both been thinking and praying about it without yet mentioning it to the other for the same number of days and we both approached each other at the same time to discuss it. We took that as a green light from God and we moved forward with it. That whole experience is a story in itself. The short version is that our IVF failed, but we had one frozen embryo. The transfer of that beautiful frozen embryo resulted in pregnancy and eventually the birth of our beautiful daughter, Eleanor.
My dream had come true. I was a mom. It was a long road getting there, but there I was. My husband and I discussed whether or not we were going to do IVF again and we ruled it out for a number of reasons. We discussed adoption and that still wasn’t something we felt called to do. By the end of the discussion I told my husband, “Well, if God wants us to have more children, He’s either going to have to call us clearly to adoption or make me pregnant again.” We laughed, content with our daughter and happy to have her as an only child. I made many plans and started dreaming about the kind of mom I would be and the kind of relationship I would have with my daughter. I planned out things like preschool and dance lessons, music lessons and fun day trips. The sky was the limit if she was our only one and I was ready to take on this new role. She was one of the most compliant children I had ever met and I told her every day that I loved getting to know her. I was constantly amazed by her.
Then one day at church as I was praying for various people, I heard God whisper to my heart, “Do not be afraid. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” I was confused as to why my life’s verse would be so strongly and clearly placed on my heart, so I continued praying and I heard/felt the same thing, and also the promise that He is with me. I was so shaken by it that I started looking around the sanctuary for a potential gunman. When my husband went to get our daughter from the nursery, I began to worry that maybe they wouldn’t come back. I was afraid that God was going to take one or both of them away from me. Through the entire service there was the drumbeat of God’s reminder that He is with me and would bring me through whatever I was about to face. When I got in the car to go home, I shared it with my husband. We prayed about it and I felt better, and eventually we were in our Sunday afternoon routine. Later that day, my husband casually asked when my last period was. I did the math and he suggested I take a pregnancy test. I laughed about it because I had taken a gajillion spontaneous pregnancy tests (not related to fertility treatments) and every single solitary one of them had been negative. But I went through our ritual where I pee on the stick and wait the allotted time then let my husband read it and tell me the result. When he acted weird I realized this time it was positive. Sure enough, it was. So I took more tests to confirm and we were pregnant. And I was devastated.
Yes. You read that right. I was devastated. I had a ministry, a blog, a twitter following of hundreds of infertile people, all based on the fact that I was infertile. Yet, here I was, pregnant. No treatments, no doctors, simply pregnant. In the infertile community (and yes, there’s an entire online community of infertile people sharing their pain), there are several things that are complained about and even more things that simply aren’t tolerated. One of the biggest complaints is about fertile people giving their wisdom and insight to infertile people in an attempt to give them hope (but in actuality it’s to make the fertile person feel better and more comfortable in the conversation because it truly is an uncomfortable topic). It may be something like this: “Oh! Have you considered adoption? I have a friend whose cousin’s uncle adopted a baby and then his wife got pregnant!” Or this: “I’ve known so many people that couldn’t get pregnant because they were so stressed out, but once they stopped trying to get pregnant and stopped thinking about it, the next month they found out they were pregnant!” But the one that was plaguing my mind as the “pregnant” sign was so clear on the digital test was this one: “I’ve heard that once you get pregnant from fertility treatments that your body suddenly knows what to do and you can get pregnant naturally after that any time you want! I have a friend who did IVF and then they got pregnant twice after that on their own!” And the thing that is absolutely not tolerated in the online infertility community is any person who starts out as infertile, gets pregnant with help, and then gets pregnant naturally. They suddenly lose their status of “infertile” in the infertile community. People get angry and they don’t want to hear anything you have to say. As if all the years of infertility that you endured are suddenly negated.
It wasn’t easy for me to admit, and it took a long while for me to do so without pride and without justifying the way I felt about it, but my entire identity and significance was wrapped up in my being infertile. Think back to what I mentioned in the last paragraph: I had a ministry. I had a blog. I had a following. I was as famous as I was ever going to get and I was being effective and successful at something that was important to me. I see a lot of “I’s” and “me’s” in that. And God was essentially stripping all of that away with one true word: “Pregnant.” And then it hit me that all of the dreams I had of what my life with Eleanor would look like would most likely never become reality. There’s no way we would have the money now with two kids. And I certainly wouldn’t have the time.
I felt guilty. I felt guilty for no longer being infertile. I felt guilty for not being thrilled that I was pregnant. I felt guilty a few days later when fatigue and morning sickness set in and I let Eleanor watch hours upon hours of television so I could lay on the couch all day, barely able to move or even provide food for her. I felt guilty that I would never be able to invest in her the way I wanted to because of her having a sibling. I felt guilty that I even had that thought. Then when depression set in for the duration of the pregnancy, I felt guilty that the baby inside of me could feel it. I felt guilty that I was even depressed. I felt guilty that even though God had warned me ahead of time and promised that he would be with me that I wasn’t letting Him be enough.
But I endured. To the majority of the world, I was without fear. Only my husband and closest friends knew the truth about how I felt. We discovered shortly after I learned I was pregnant that some herbs I was taking to balance hormones after some complications from Eleanor’s birth were what caused my body to be normal enough to get pregnant without medical intervention. That made it a little easier to swallow. We welcomed Henry into our family just two weeks before his sister Eleanor turned two. His delivery and birth were very healing to my soul and to my body (Eleanor’s birth had been quite traumatic). Eleanor walked into our bedroom just hours after he was born, having slept through the entire thing, and immediately (it was like a visible switch was flipped that I could see in her eyes), immediately she went from being the most compliant child to one of the most competitive, willful children I have ever met.
No one expects “motherhood” to be the subject of a time when God called a person to be brave. Especially when that mother spent her entire life planning to be a mom and struggled for almost a decade to try to make that a reality. But as I am now pregnant with our third child, due to be born the week between her brother’s second birthday and her sister’s fourth birthday, and I am once again dealing with depression in pregnancy (this time strictly because of hormones), God is calling me to be brave. I lose my temper and yell way more than I feel is acceptable. I see my failures more readily than my successes and I am fearful that I’m screwing things up with my kids on a regular basis. But my kids aren’t accidents. This road God has me on is exactly where He wants me to be. I told my husband that we need to find a name for this third child that means refinement or sanctification because that’s exactly what God’s doing in me through this pregnancy.
In each of these stories where He has called me to be brave, what He is really calling me to do is trust Him. He’s reminding me that He is sovereign, that He is good, and that He has a plan for me that is for my good and His glory. The neat thing about it is that His plan for me involves people that I love dearly that I get to be with daily, and His plan for them involves me. There are days lately where it takes courage for me to get out of bed, or not crawl back into it midday and pull the covers over my head in defeat. There are days where I must endure the tantrums, the thousand “why’s” and “what did you say, Mama’s” and ask God to display the fruits of the Spirit in me in spite of the fact that I want to be the one having the tantrums at my kids (which I do sometimes). It takes courage to look at my children’s behavior and let it be a mirror reflecting to me my own sinful attitudes and actions. Were there days at the beginning of Henry’s life when I desperately longed for my daughter to be the compliant child she once was and I questioned God’s wisdom in giving her a sibling? Yes, absolutely there were! But He gently showed me that because of Henry, God is able to begin sanctifying her now in ways that may not have happened until college otherwise. I would much rather my children face the realities of sin while I can speak into their lives readily than when they are at an age where they think they know more than I do and don’t want to listen.
I’ll leave you with these verses that were recently laid on my heart.
“The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.” (Proverbs 16:9)
“‘Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.’” (Matthew 6:34)
“Don’t climb on your play kitchen,” I warned my two year old. “It might fall on top of you and that would hurt.”
“Uh-huh Mommy,” she nodded and moved on to play with something else. I resumed folding laundry, watching her out of the corner of my eye. She had tried to climb on the play kitchen three times already. She waited until she thought I was absorbed in my work before trying again.
“Amelia,” I drew out her name to last a good long moment the way moms do. “It will hurt. Do not climb that.”
“Uh-huh Mommy,” she repeated and went back to playing with something different. The day continued on in this manner. Several times she tried to climb on top of the play kitchen, several times I told her not to.
Finally, that evening, I thought she had given up. I sat in my chair reading, my husband sat in his recliner surfing the interwebs, Eli lay in his swing sleeping, and Amelia plopped on the floor playing with her puzzles. I got wrapped up in what I was reading and stopped watching her out of the corner of my eye. Can you guess what happened next? She climbed on top of the play kitchen. It fell on top of her. It hurt. She had this massive bruise form almost immediately on her forehead. Oh, it looked bad.
We iced it, calmed her down, and assessed whether or not it was a serious injury. She was alert, able to answer questions, and once the tears stopped she was back to playing again. It didn’t take long for her to get over it but there was still this huge bruise on her forehead right before the holidays. There would be so many pictures with a big bruise!
Since becoming a parent, I feel I have a greater understanding of who God is. He’s still big and unfathomable but I can see a little more clearly how He sees us. He’s our Father. He gently guides us, warns us, loves us, tends to our boo-boos. How many times have I done something knowing full well that God told me not to? That warning applies to other kids, not me, not Aly! I’ve had my fair share of giant forehead bruises because I thought I knew better than God. He’s picked me up countless times, kissed my ouchie, calmed me down, wrapped me up in His love just like I loved on Amelia after her fall. Oh I am so glad He loves me. I am a daughter of the King!
Galatians 3:26-29
26 So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith, 27 for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. 28 There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female,for you are all one in Christ Jesus. 29 If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.
Today someone asked me how many children I had. I said two. I told her about Amelia, my two year old who is bright and funny and adorable, and I told her about Eli, my 7 week old who is starting to grin a little bit and sleeps really well at night. I felt a tiny pang of guilt for saying I only have two children. Truth is that I have four children and two are in heaven.
Often when someone asks how many kids I have I reply with “I have four kids. Amelia is 2 years old, I lost Leonard and Sam in miscarriages, and Eli is 7 weeks old.” There is so much silence about miscarriages and I don’t want to add to it. I want to be a voice that says you are not alone after loosing a child. Tomorrow will come after you’ve lost a child. I want to support women who have felt this pain and be a part of the movement, even if it’s a small part, to remove the silence. One way I do this is by saying I have four children. People usually pause for a moment when I reply this way, unsure of what to do next. Sometimes they offer condolences. Sometimes they ask questions. Sometimes they respond with their own story of loss. Usually, people respond by recognizing that I’m a regular person with a messy life just like everyone else. Every time I reply that I have four children, I help raise awareness about pregnancy and infant loss. And so I’ll continue to do it.
But I don’t always say I have four kids. Sometimes, I say I have two. Sometimes, I don’t want to be genuine and open and honest with anyone who asks. Sometimes, I want to be a regular person with a non-messy life. The problem is that regular people don’t have non-messy lives. They have messy lives because life, real life, is messy. It comes with tears and heartache and tragedy and loss. It comes with wild emotions and hot tempers. It also comes with joy and laughter and hope and romance and all sorts of wonderful things that are also pretty messy.
Tonight as I nursed my sweet Eli before bed, this painting caught my eye. It was a gift from a dear friend after I lost Sam. My conversation from earlier in the day came to mind as I looked between this painting and my sweet, breathing, living little boy. I am so grateful this little guy here in my arms. I sure do miss my little guys that have already gone on ahead, though. Tonight, I held Eli a little bit tighter. I kissed his forehead a moment longer. I have four children.
Children in East Africa raise their hands in excitement. They enjoy having their picture taken.
Mom's Going to Madagascar 