Post 32 | One Year Anniversary

To my Human, my Knower, my Knowee, my Warm, Happy Place and my "With You."

Happy One Year of Being a Family.

Thank you for all that you have been for and to me.

You are adored and treasured.

1 /// Thank you for being a human with me. 

"all the jazz you've heard is true
love is patient and love can burn
and it won't ask to be excused
and it won't ask if it can please return

some will tell ya that it's a myth
try to say it don't exist
well, shake her hand to help her place
it's finally standing in our midst."

Toe sock-fuzz, stubbly armpit hair, crotches that smell like cheese, gunk in teeth, greasy hair, ruffled eyebrows, puking, hang nails, gaining weight, chin hairs, stretch marks, burps&farts, blisters, snores, cracked lips, ear wax, blood stained underwear.   You don't get married and stop having (terribly) bad breath mornings (and neither does he.)  You still have bad hair days, and everything-is-dirty-gawd-we-need-to-do-laundry days, and bloated days.  Sometimes you wake up just feeling off.  Sometimes you're tired, or hungry, or overheated.  (Don't underestimate the power of a good meal/nap/air-conditioned-building to make things happy again.)  Sometimes you have an overwhelming and mind-bending desire to have sex and roll around making-out, and sometimes you'd rather re-watch episodes from Season 1 of The Office or hack away at your inbox or take shower (by the way, unless you have an expensive fancy double-headed shower, someone is left standing in the cold!  I never thought about that before I got married.  Showering together turns out to be a more practical-conversation thing than a throw-yourself-against-the-wall-thing.  Plus, let's be honest, pregnant girls need help shaving - among other things.)  It's not actually all that comfortable to fall asleep in each other's arms - elbows and shoulder blades and clavicles and rib cages and necks and the tingly-numb-falling-asleep-thing.  I prefer touching toes and holding hands for the actual falling asleep part.  Or even facing opposite directions - with the back-bum touch because hot pillow breath exists  I love being so human with my Caleb.  It's less-edited and less-shallow than "pretty" life - it's beautiful life.  There is absolutely no part of my self or my body that I am ashamed to be with you or share with you. 

2 ///  Thank you for knowing me...

"To know and be known..." "I am scared of me. But I want to be known and loved anyway. Can you do this?...I am giving myself to you, and tomorrow I will do it again. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love." Donald Miller

He knows my exact order at Chipotle.  That may have been the best part of our anniversary day for me - I opened up the foil top and saw not one ingredient missing, or one extra.  It was exactly how I would have ordered it.  I would have eaten anything - extra toppings or not.  But he knew.  I don't think any other man in the world could walk into Chipotle and order my order.  Breast-feeding and baby-holding and pregnancy-recovering has been killing my back, so before anniversary dinner he surprised me with a deep tissue back massage at a swanky spa.  Usually I would have opted for getting my nails or hair done.  But right now? New Mama Me? Back rubs back rubs back rubs.  And he knew.  At dinner he gave me gift card to get five more "whenever you want!" We ate dinner at a place that isn't fancy, and isn't really even romantic, but I've been wanting to try it for over a year now.  No man would pick it for a "special anniversary dinner" in a line-up of MD/DC/VA restaurants.  But Caleb picked it because he knew.  When we were dating I knew I liked him, but his personality was so different than "what I thought I wanted."  He was different.  And I was nervous.  But one of the things I so vividly remember falling for was his special attention to me.  In the sweet, planned things, like anniversaries, yes.  But mostly in the daily things.

You know my eyes and what they're saying, you know my laughs and how to make me laugh, you know what I'm saying and then what I mean (at least you work really hard to.) You know that I love to "argue" and debate and hash-things-out and that it's not because I'm mad or divisive or trying to win, but because that's how I figure things out and connect to people.  You know that I'm messy and unorganized and don't punish me for that.  You know I love to read outloud and then talk about it.  You know I love eating and finding "new" good food and cooking - and you let that be a big deal for us, even though you'd be happy with a less diverse menu.  You know that I like making money and making creative things and being challenged, so I do photography and coach basketball and out-of-the-blue start an IG baby clothes shop.  I love you - I do - and I'm in love with you - I am - but you're so much better at "giving yourself up for me." At considering me.  At doing for me and asking and expecting nothing in return.  You love me better than I love you.  It's been the privilege of my life being loved and known by you.


3 /// ... and thank you for letting me know you.

You've let me in, and given me your trust.  And I treasure that with my life.  You've cried vulnerable tears for me that I know no one else has ever seen.   You laugh your biggest, best laughs when we're tucked under the covers like children at a sleepover.  Just with me.  You're still quiet, but not because you're stupid or empty or blank.  I know you hate when people say "You don't have much to say, huh?" because I know you're letting them talk, and you're listening.  I know you're content and don't care to be the center of attention.  I know you're much less quiet than you used to be, and I know your mind is a jungle of a place.  When we were dating I used to pray that you would really laugh with me - not joking ha-ha silly goose laugh, but let-loose, put your guard down, get tears in your eyes, and lose yourself in the humor.  Now I feel like it happens daily.   I know how you like your head-scratched, and your meat peppered, and your underwear soft.  I feel like I "get" you, and even with all the fascinated learning I've done, you keep me on my toes and surprise me.  (Like, yesterday you went into the gas station to get "a treat" and came out with caramel?! I loved it.  You've never bought caramel.  You always get somesort of chocolate candy bar or maybe a gummy-sour snack.  But you were in the mood for caramel.  Cool?) Thank you for telling me lots of stories about the first 23 years of your life, the years I wasn't there for.  Thank you for being the first person I go to when I have something to say, and thank you for coming to me first when you have something to say.  Thank you for making me feel special by being the one-and-only.  I love knowing you.

4 /// Thank you for teaching me through your life that the blog posts and books are wrong: marriage is about our happiness.

"every single broken heart will lead you to the truth
you think you know what you’re looking for
til' what you’re looking for finds you

in a cold world, it’s a warm placewhere you know you’re supposed to be
a million moments full of sweet relief
when the right one comes along."

I forget the first-time we had the conversation, but it's become one of those that keeps cycling around for us.  "If marriage is supposed to represent the relationship between Christ and His church, the King and His Bride, then it should be a place of joy, safety, delight, feasting, freedom, and, yes, happiness."  Being a Christian doesn't mean that you'll never cry stinging tears of sadness, but it means when you do, you have somewhere to go... you have hope to assure and brighten your soul... you have Christ.  As Christ makes His Church holy and molds them into creatures of glory, He's making them happy.

"...the goal of marriage is not happiness. And although happiness is often a very real byproduct of a healthy relationship, marriage has a far more significant purpose in sight." RELEVANT MAGAZINE

It's just not true.  There is no more significant purpose that we can have than to be wholly holy and happy in our Groom.  The purpose of our union with Him is perfection and satisfaction and real joy forever (because that glorifies Him.)  It's wrong to say marriage is about holiness, but not happiness.  There is no such thing.  If you are being made more holy, you are truly being made more happy.  And I don't say this lightly, or forgetting the dangerous, abusive, heart-breaking, disease-stained, divorce-headed, bad, unhappy marriages.  I know them personally, and I know the grief is so strong it can make you shake.  Marriage isn't about getting your way every time.  It's not about owning a servant to do what you want, when you want.  It's not about life being easy, and every single day being boatloads of "Fun fun fun!" But the goal of the marriage should be to make each other happy, so far as is in your ability, doing what is best for the other person, and thereby being filled with joy to watch the other filled with joy.  It should be about together becoming happier and happier in God, as He makes you happier and happier together.  Holiness isn't rigid and cold.  It's welcoming, warm and delightful.  Commitment and promise are meant to weather the most grievous of storms - faithfulness through unhappiness is extremely respectable.  Please don't hear me say that you will always be happy and exhilarated the whole time you are married.  But please believe that a purpose God made in earthly marriage, reflecting the heavenly union, is indeed your actual and tangible happiness.

Caleb, thank you for wanting and expecting our marriage to be a place of very real joy.  Thank you for being a safe place for me in the darkness and storms.  Thank you for wanting to make me happy - in the way you butter my bagels, talk to to me, talk about me to others, rub me, provide for me, get'it'on with me, compliment me, and be *with* me.  I so want to make you happy.  I love watching you get better at the things you're good at, and also get better at things you're not-as-good at.  I love helping you, and hoping with you, and being yours.  It does make me happy.  I'm happy doing unhappy things with you because I believe in the purpose behind them, even if I don't feel the emotion in the very moment.  I'm happy that even when I am unhappy, I know the goal and prize is still hope and happiness.  We'll keep fighting for this family to be happy and joy-filled, because we are married to Christ, Joy Everlasting.

5 /// Thank you for making our life together one where we are really together.

"you and i, we're not tied to the ground. 
oh, and when the kids are old enough 
we're gonna teach them to fly.  

you and me together, we could do anything, baby 
you and me together yes, yes."

He makes it clear by the way he lives, talks, and acts that he prefers being with me the most.  He'll go out of his way to be with me.  If that means sitting in a car for a couple hours with our baby so I don't have to drive to photoshoots alone, he's there.  If that means sitting (sleeping?) on a friend's couch while I package up baby clothes, he's there.  It means making arrangements to drive in the same car when it'd be more convenient to take two.  It means that we've seen each other every single day (that we've been in town together) since he moved to Maryland in May 2011, and we've slept together every night of our marriage (even though that sometimes meant he laid at my nauseous, miserable feet on couch cushions so I wouldn't be alone on those long, sick nights.)  (This is where I can't help but shout-out to the military and other families who have no choice but to be apart.  I'm VERY grateful.) It means guys night is fun, but wife-nights are better.  I don't think he's ever even implied that he'd rather be alone than be with me.  Of course there are nights where I'm on my phone looking through instagram, and he's on the laptop going through e-mails, and we're not saying much of anything.  But those are sweet times, too.  I think it's the consistency - looking back over a year and remembering how much of that year was spent side by side.        The last year has been painful and scary in some of the most serious ways, but Caleb has been "one with me" through our shared life.  (He swore and his eyes filled with tears when I told him my mom's cancer had come back.)  Marriage has been anything but lonely and I couldn't possible explain what peace and hope that has given me.  Because I know it's just the representation of my God, just the analogy before the real wedding feast.  Thank you, my sweet Caleb.  For everything.

Rowdy + One Month of Life With Him // Post 31

"a whole new world,

a dazzling place i never knew"

aladdin 

We ushered July 14, one month after June 14, in with stuffy noses and head colds.  The household is passing it around, and it 'finally' caught little Rowdy.  And here is motherhood: sitting on the floor of a steamy, greenhouse, hot-water-running-out-of-the-shower bathroom, looking through instagram and clipping your toenails, while your face melts off and hair frizzes, so that your kid can sleep comfortably upright in his swing (which is crammed with you in the bathroom) and hopefully get his nose drained and unplugged... and not wanting to be anywhere else in the entire world.  Being genuinely as happy as you've ever been.  Not to mention when he wakes up and looks around and freaks out a little, until he hears you say "You're alright buddy, I'm right here. Sssshh." and feels you pat his belly causing him to relax and peacefully fall back asleep. "Shining, shimmering, spleeen-did."

Favorite Nicknames
99 (since he is 99th percentile for height)
RowdyRays (or RowdyRaze? Or RowdyRaise? Or RowdyReyes?)
Snuggleberry
PumpkinTot
Ska-munch
RowdyRoo
Squatter
Rascally Rabbit

Favorite Memories 
// The way he rubs his fist back and forth near my collar bone while he's eating

// He'd had an abnormally rough night when we took him to Charlottesville with GrandmaBear + Aunt Bear to pick up Aunt Shannon from soccer camp.  He finally fell asleep for good but we had to wake him up to check-out of the hotel and carry on with our trip.  Usually he grunts and fidgets when he wakes up (and, oh, I love those grunts and fidgets) but that morning he just looked right at me and smiled.  A sweet, rested, genuinely happy smile.  I got chills looking at his beautiful grinning face.

// Daddy wrote Rowdy a "Triumphal Entry" song that he would play "for him" while I was pregnant.  Now Rowdy will sit on dad's lap and watch his hands and fingers move back and forth and listen to the music.  I love when I don't know that's what they're doing together, but then all of a sudden hear the faint sound of piano coming from the basement.

// I adore when he farts in bed.  My little oven heart heats up when I hear my smooth breathing, rosy-cheeked, clean, wrapped, pajama-ed son "toot. toot. pfffft. toottoottoot" in his sleep.

// In his room, over his changing table, are 20 empty frames hung in a grid.  Daddy did his part and immaculately hung them.  Mama needs to do her part and fill the frames with Rowdy's grandfathers and uncles.  Nonetheless, Rowdy thinks the frames are the best.  He coos more for the frames than he does me.  And his legs kick and kick and kick and KICK, like an eager puppy wagging his tail.  It's so cute to watch him get all riled up with excitement!

// He loves warm baths and sca-reams when the water is too cold ;)  Apparently that is VERY offensive.   He'd sit in the bath all day if I let him.

// Rowdy is really strong.  He's been holding his head up since hours after his birth.  And he can hold his back up and "stand" on his legs, if we provide him the balance.  It makes me so proud!

// Flexibility was always an important part of our family's 'structure' and Caleb and I wanted Rowdy to share that trait as well.  In his first month of life he's been to two weddings, Harper's Ferry, Gettysburg, Charlottesville, 4th of July fireworks, a Nat's game, the Hagerstown Outlets, Costco, Target, Trader Joe's and a variety of restaurants (Chipotle, Longhorn, Bizou, Redwood, Beans in the Belfry).  He's a grand little traveler so far!

// Taking daddy's place in bed when he leaves for work.  I go to sleep at night looking forward to morning so Rowdy can snuggle in with me :)

// His ear fur.  It's darling and elfish and weird and my favorite.

// The smacking sounds when he sucks his fingers

// The way Rowdy "looks at" the pictures while we read.  Oof it is dear.

// The way he throws his arms over his head "tooooucccchhhdooowwwwn!" style when he's waking up from a deep sleep.  Which is often.  He's an incredible sleeper.  At least this month he is!  Keep it up, 99.

// Watching Caleb play and talk in his "baby voice" to and pace in circles with and enjoy our son.


Favorite Pictures That Didn't Make Social Media
One day we're just a guy sleeping with a baby blanket (so it will smell like us) and a bulbous'n'waddly girl...

... the next? We're a family of three.

Best morning of my life.

Going home outfit!  Huge deal!  Thanks Aunt Lylalalee-ya Jane!

The Welcoming Committee... and they have changed more diapers than I have!  They're very loving aunts.

We came home from the hospital on Father's Day and we had a delicious meal made by Grandma Bear and Aunt Katie.

First night in our house! (Thanks Ica + sister for hooking us up with the great bassinet! And thank you, Jess, for the best blankets ever!)

Aaaaand first morning in our house! (Love you, Chef Husband Man.  So much.  All the time.)

First doctor's appointment... at the same pediatrician office that I went to as a baby.  Nothing has changed.  Those exact stickers on the door have been there for 20-something years.

First bath!  The beginning of a wonderful discovery... baths put Rowdy in glory.

They sleep so much those first few days... it's like meeting a new person when they start to be awake more often.  I love staring into those rich blues.

First family-outing-date-night!

First family walk in the neighborhood!

I shot two weddings in the first 15 days of Rowdy's life... and Caleb + Dan played at one of them!  Love working with him :)

Chipotle choices and Trader Joe's choices: important first life lessons. 

The Oklahoma Crew came to play!  We loved having them and Rowdy thrived being passed around between so many doting aunts and uncles.  I can't wait for him to get to know each and every one of them!  And Grama and Grandpa Morris made me tear up by the way they loved on our son.  I wish we all lived closer to each other!

(I love this picture from Gettysburg becaaause I have no idea who the guy in the brown shirt is. hahaha.)

First blow-out...! 

And loooots of bed time.  It's so hard to leave our nest.

GrandmaBear has a special way with Rowdy.  I love watching them together.

It's been a month full of love, love, love.  Happy One Month, Snuggler! We adore you!

My Weird, Natural, Prodromal, 'Induced,' Pitocin, Drug-Free, Long, Beautiful Birth Story | Part 2

THE BIRTH STORY | PART TWO

"i'm wonderstruck... all i know is i was enchanted to meet you."

The Pitocin Saga

The pitocin began dripping around 11:30/11:45 pm.  Slow and steady.  I felt like I was awaiting a jury verdict.  

"What will my punishment be? How bad is this going to get...?"  

An hour later, and not much to report - just sporadic and unevenly painful contractions - the dosage was upped ever so slightly.  Another hour and a half later, we were finally getting somewhere.  Very frequent, very regular, very painful.  The hormone seemed to be doing what it was supposed to be doing!  And I was hoping my body would just kick in and keep on strutting, and not fade out.  Around this time Becca and Janet arrived again, and Lydia (who had took all the pictures in the last post) had to leave.  

And I still mentally drop to my knees in thanksgiving when I think about these two showing up at this point.  I was clearly well on my way now.  This was for real for real.  Everything was intensifying, and it had been lasting for hours.  My form of labor, by the way, was back labor.  Back labor... feels like you have elephants on the inside of you, pushing your back and hip bones apart, while a Viking duo smashes your outside with a sledgehammer.  Caleb, who is basically concrete and hard as can be, would push

aaalllll

his weight onto me back and I'd still be clamoring

"Harder! Harder!"

 His poor arms and body were sore and exhausted after doing that for hours - it'd truly be like doing a bench press workout for over half a day.  Janet and Becca rescued him, told him to rest a bit more, and took over the counter-pressure-work.  (Jan was basically riding on me, piggy back style.  She pushed as hard as she possibly could!)

Though the pain was phenomenal, I was amazed every single contraction how bearable and manageable it was to relax, breathe and "work with" the contraction.  The instant reaction our body has to pain is to tense up (think burning your finger on the stove, or stubbing your toe... you don't go limp and loose!  You arch and grab and your arms and face become tense and you say

"ow ow ow ow ow ooooowwww!"

or something ;) and your body goes tight.)  But forcing yourself to breathe slowly, and almost "unroll" each body part - from face, to shoulders, to elbows, to hands, to waist, to butt/hips, to thighs, to legs, to toes was fascinatingly pain-reducing.  I'd never lie and say that it didn't hurt or that it was easy.  It was hard, painful work, but it

truly

was bearable.  I could picture the uterus muscle moving in and out, working BorisBoy down more and more.  I could refresh and enjoy (?) the breaks and drink and snack and be completely pain-free until the next contraction.  We tried an assortment of positions but the one that helped the most was for me to lean my arms and face onto the counter where the sink was, and to squat and sway while someone pushed my back.  The swaying.  Oh the swaying.  Praise Jesus for swaying. It helped

so

much.

At 4:00 pm I'm told I smiled for the last time until after I held my son ;) And 15 minutes later I got a great leg and arm massage - coconut oil for the win!  Anything to try to help me relax relax relax.  At 5:00 pm we decided to check my dilation and see how things were progressing.  It'd been seven or eight hours since I had been last checked, and I was pleading before the heavenly throne that I wouldn't get a report of

"You're about a 6!"

 Thankfully, I was at 8cm.  I think part of me was hoping the midwife would - in amazement! - tell me I was at 10cm and would be ready to push soon.  Silly mama. Tricks are for kids.  8cm was close - and so much further than I had been! - but I knew a lot still had to happen.  Like that dreaded T word: transition.  And the P word: pushing.  Other than the dilation update, my midwife announced that she didn't feel the bag of water anymore, and she thought it had broken.  Which was weird, because between the last cervical check and this one I had no gushing or leaking or water-breaking-signs-of-any-kind.  My water bag was a big punk prankster.

But hey!  That was more good news!  Another thing checked off the list (again?)!  At 5:15pm I had a special, um, meeting in the Oval Office.  Janet and Becca were very excited.  Bradley students seem to especially love that "clear out."  Bradley talks about it a lot ;)  And boy oh boy was I clear and empty - my body made some serious room for a baby.

After that classy affair, I started being

really

bothered by my IV.  It hurt so much.  Enough that I noticed the pain even during the peak of a contraction.  I then realized that my hand had swollen up BADLY.  It was about twice the size (maybe more) of my normal hand and it felt like it was ripping open.  (I HATE NEEDLES.)  The nurse and midwife realized that the needle had come out of my vein and yet remained under my skin, so all the pitocin and antibiotic was going into my skin tissue, not blood stream.  No one knows how long it had been like that, so no one knows how much pitocin I

actually

got.  Probably at least some?  It'd been in since 11:30 and it was now 5:30... but how much?  No clue. Soooo, that fateful accident meant that: I got to take the IV out!  No more needles in muah!  The sledge-hammer-elephant-awful-awful contractions were coming again and again and again.  They had been for hours.  No turning back now, folks.  And if I had been asked what my pain level was on a scale of 1-10, I would have said 10.  So quickly.  So honestly. Ten ten ten.  

Transition Begins 

But then.  About 20 minutes later, the uterus aggression upped the anti.  Oh goodness it was bad.  I was burping up a storm.  The swaying and relaxing and breathing really wasn't doing what it had done before.  I told Caleb it felt bowling bowls were being thrown down inside me.  No one could push my back hard enough.  The breaks in-between contractions were shorter and shorter.  A raging Spanish bull was fighting with a fierce Asian tiger, and they were clawing and pounding inside me.  I actually remember thinking that I would happily trade places with the Spartan boy who hid the fox under his shirt and didn't flinch while the fox ate his flesh.  It sounded much more appealing and much less painful than what I was feeling.  At 6:00pm I announced the big milestone announcement:

"I can't do it anymore."  

I had been taught that this nasty phase of labor called 'transition' usually lasts about 30-60 minutes.  Some lucky women experience it far quicker, or maybe even not at all.  And few women experience it for longer than an hour.  I knew the '

transition signs

' and one of those is feeling like you

really

can't do it anymore.  I wanted to just go ahead and start pushing.  Really, I wanted to go ahead and hold my baby and be done with this entire thing.  "

What an idiot I was to think this was a good idea.  This is TERRIBLE.  I just want my baby and I just want to take a nap and I want to go get in MY bed and I'm tired and I don't like this one little bit."  

I was more than teetering on edge of the Emotional Grand Canyon.  I was Nik-Wallenda-ing it over a tightrope.  Becca later told me

"At the 6:30-7:00pm mark you hit the wall: SO exhausted.  I think we all had tears for you.  We gave you and Caleb some time to console each other and process while Mom and Dad and I hid in the hallway.  The contractions were

very

intense."

At this point, the contractions were worse then ever, but they

were

beginning to space out a bit: another 'sign of transition.'  A handful of times I fell asleep during those couple minute breaks (and not because the breaks were so peaceful, more because I was entirely

exhausted

.)  When I woke up from one fire and brimstone contraction, I just started to cry and cry.  Caleb kept trying to reassure and affirm and support me.  I couldn't relax.  I couldn't try a new position.  I couldn't think straight.  I couldn't sleep.  I couldn't do anything but cry.  The midwife (another new one) came in at 7:30pm and checked my dilation.  I calmed down when she was checking, prayingandhopingandwishingandprayingandthinkingandhopingandwanting her to say I was at 10.  PA-LEEEZ.  FOR THE LOVE.  And it was 9.  Two and half hours since my last check, and about two hours into transition, and we were at 9cm.  I cried and cried some more.  I worried because I knew that it wasn't abnormal for women to 'stall out' at 9cm.  I worried because I truly didn't believe I could handle another two and a half hours to get to 10cm

and then push

.  I felt so stuck.

And then.  "Epidural" was spoken.  Out loud.  In the room.  For the first time in 30-something hours.  The nurse eagerly and obviously supported the idea.  She not-so-subtly wanted me to go ahead and get the epidural.  The spine-numbing and contraction-pain-canceling option was 'on the table.'  And this is the part of the story where I am

so

grateful for three things: education, my husband and my 'team.'

Education: The potential side effects of an epidural are intense (anywhere from a life-threatening infection, to a dural puncture [a leak in spine, that can drain the fluid around the brain], and nerve damage to fever, decreased blood pressure, etc) not to mention the promised side effects: namely numbness and inability to walk/move out of bed

at all

.  I also know that the epidural process isn't instant.  I sat there, in my teary, overcome, physically and mentally pained and DONE state, and was able to still remember that they need to call the anesthesiologist, he has to prep and do paperwork, perform the procedure, and then let the juice begin to work.  The whole process could easily take 30-60 minutes.  I also knew that

usually

epidurals slow down the intensity and the effectiveness of contractions, and can often slow down labor.  And then

usually

pitocin is up-ed to make the contractions stronger.  This cocktail

often

puts a baby in a precarious and crazy position, one that frequently causes their heart to have a bad rate.  A bad baby heart-rate can quickly turn into an emergency c-section situation.  I knew that.  I knew I didn't want that.  I knew I had worked too hard for too long to just abandon our goals now.  I knew I'd rather work hard for an hour and actual make something happen than 'wait around' to be numbed up.  And to be honest, I didn't want to have come so far... 32 hours of hospital stay!... to try an epidural

now.  "If I'm going to do this, I should have done it a long time ago.  What was the point of going through ALL that if I'm going to numb myself at the very bitter end?"

My husband: The moment the nurse gave us a second to talk about what we wanted to do, he took my face and looked right into my eyes and said

"Kristen.  You are

so

close.  This is almost done.  You are 9cm and could probably be pushing the baby out by the time the epidural started working.  You're so brave.  You're so strong.  And you don't need it.  I know you don't.  You can absolutely do this."

He was right.  And I needed him to tell me.

My 'team':  Janet and Becca quickly reenforced Caleb's words.  They promised me I was so near the end.  They promised I'd be holding Rowdy soon.  They promised me I could do it.  Then my mom suggested I go get in the shower and let the hot water fall onto my back.  And that was it.  That was exactly the option I needed.

The Shower

With a fresh wave of motivation, and a

complete

lack of all decency, I de-robed and bolted for the shower.  Caleb grabbed some swim trunks and jumped in with me.  Mom held the shower-head over my back while Caleb pushed.  We all prayed out loud over and over again.  I talked to my body.  I talked to my baby.  I talked to myself.  I grunted like a wild beast.  I pleaded with God.  I shook and moaned.  I heard the encouraging words of the people around me.  The contractions were still miserable, but I felt somewhat 'in control' again and like I could force this kid down by focusing

extra

hard.  I squatted like a gorilla and worked and worked and worked.  But ten short minutes later my epidural-fan-nurse came in the bathroom and told me I needed to get back in bed and be checked on the monitors (to hear the baby's heart beat.)

My HERO mother said

"Why does she have to get back in bed?  Can't you use a portable doppler?"

The nurse told my mom that the midwife said I had to get in bed.  My mom fired (and I do mean fired) back with

"Can you please go check with the midwife right now and get specific instruction from her that Kristen must get out of the shower and be strapped to the monitor?  And can you also ask if the portable device may be used?"  

The nurse semi-argued back but did leave and returned with a portable monitor.  And I got to stay in the shower ;)

So instead of 10 minutes, I was able to work in there for 45 minutes.  I was totally refocused, Caleb was 'rejuvenated' and I was finally as sure as everyone else that I

could

do this.  Around 8:30pm I was out of the shower, and at 8:45 I used the word "pressure" over and over.  I was a little annoyed because the nurse kept asking me if I had 'the urge to push' and I said I didn't particularly feel 'an urge' but I felt pressure and I was in excruciating pain and I was mentally VERY ready to push.  She would somewhat casually say

"Well, let us know what you have the urge."

 My mom had seven kids and did not always have the urge to push.  I knew from reading that not all women get 'that urge.'  I wanted to push.  I felt ready.  I felt pressure.  My mom grabbed the midwife and at 9:00 pm she checked me.

"9.5 cm."  

The midwife, who is a very monotone, collected, unemotional and un-animated lady, blankly said

"I'll be back in half an hour and we can re-check then."

 HALF AN HOUR?!?  I nearly lost it again.  Tears filled my eyes. I couldn't do another half an hour.  I just couldn't.  I wanted to push.  

And the following thirty minutes, ladies and gentlemen (okay, ladies) were... well, basically, I was screaming "THIS IS [NOT HEAVEN]!!!!! THIS IS [NOT HEAVEN]!!!!! I'M NEVER HAVING CHILDREN AGAIN!!!! I've tried to think of ways to describe this.  One odd analogy that came to mind was a soft corn tortilla (my body equals tortilla).  The early contractions felt like someone folding a tortilla in half and tearing it.  Then the later contractions felt like someone ripping a tortilla into tiny pieces to feed to ducks.  The transition contractions felt like tossing a tortilla into a blender and letting it be pureed into tortilla dust.  These post-shower contractions?  It was like taking a tortilla through a tree-trunk-chipper, setting the chips on fire in furnace, and then feeding the ashes to a flock of starving tortilla-ash-eating sharks, then blowing the shark den up with nuclear bombs.  It made the "heavy menstrual cramp contractions" sound like a free vacation to Fiji.  My grandma used to say that the final minutes of labor is like

"funneling all the power in the entire universe through your body."

 Yes.  All Jafar-like.  It's extraordinary, really, how much

power

a body had inside it.  

My mom says I was absolutely panicked.  I remember clawing at things and practically climbing up the counter/wall.  I bit hands and clothing.  It was absurd.  For a girl who had just relatively calmly and gracefully and relax-ed-ly endured a very long labor - even the most extreme moments where met with an effort to relax and breathe.  I never swore.  I hardly yelled.  

"

Another physical sign of transition is the inability to relax or be comfortable. A woman who was handling labor well may suddenly find that she has no idea what to do and nothing is comfortable any more."

I was not handling labor well anymore.  I was a complete disaster.   And I honestly thought I was going to pass out and die right then and there. Here's how much pain I was in: I swore... IN FRONT OF MY MOTHER.  One of these demon-contractions was a game-changer because the pain was no longer in my back, rather it was in my hips and pelvis.  I screamed for Caleb to push

"lower! Lower! LOWER!"

After a day and a half of pushing my back in the same place, he was confused.  The women eyed each other.

Janet went to get the midwife.  She calmly said she would be in soon.  Janet returned alone.  So my mama bear went to get her.  Something about a strict tone of voice, and fake wrist watch and

"I'm counting"

got the midwife into my room within 60 seconds ;)

Now.  Brief pause to this loooong story.  I feel a little bad for this midwife because I had only seen her once before this trip to the hospital.  We certainly did not know each other well.  

And

she had only been a part of my 35-hour labor for about two hours.  I really think she thought I was a dramatic, bad-at-dealing-with-pain, over-the-top laborer.  I don't think she realized

how

different I was from 5:00pm to 7:00 pm to 9:00pm.  And it was still wildly busy on the floor.  She was being pulled many directions.  I don't think she really believed I was ready to push.  I think she didn't fully 'get' how my labor had gone.  She was doing the best she could with the knowledge and time she had.  But it wasn't particularly available and understanding.  Okay.  Carry on.

Meeting Our Son

She checked me at 9:30 and said that magical word "

Ten!

" and at 9:35 I pushed for the first time.  

Everyone's eyes got big and the midwife seemed shocked.  Caleb nearly squealed and leaped with excitement:

"I can see his head!  BABY! He's SO close!  I can see his head! He has hair!"

The midwife paused and seemed confused.  She asked me if my water had broke a few days ago, or earlier today, or when, really?  My mom told her that we had been told it had broken, but we really didn't know when.  She shook her head and said

"No, it hadn't.  It just broke now."

I took that first push very seriously?  FINALLY, for real for real, broke my water and showed off my kid's head all at the same time.

Little Man's heart rate supposedly dropped during that first push (my mom thinks the monitor just picked up my heart rate) so they had me stop pushing while they put an IV in and put an oxygen mask on me.  After I was all geared up, they let me push for the second time.  I heard a chorus of 

"His head! He's coming! His head! You're doing it! He's almost here!" 

After that contraction ended the midwife answered a phone call and quietly exited the room.  On her way out she mentioned something about pushing.  We didn't really hear what she said, and another contraction was coming.  "

Can I push?!?" 

I asked.  The nurse said I could, so I did.  After a push or two she told me to stop.  "

You need to wait for the midwife to get back."  

I'm sorry.  But where did the midwife go?  Like.  My baby is COMING OUT OF ME RIGHT NOW.  

A couple minutes later she returned and she took one look at me 'down there' and instructed the nurses to prep for delivery.  (Because, yes, up until this point there was nothing prepared for him to actual come out.  No scissors to cut the cord.  No blanket. Nothing.)  They hustled about preparing the table, and dropping down that big light, and giving the midwife her outer-garment, and putting a blanket on my belly.   Caleb whispered to me 

"This is it, baby.  We're about to meet him.  You're about to hold him.  This is it.  You did it. I'm so proud of you.  You're incredible.  We're going to see him in just a second.  It's happening, baby."

Pushing was an incredible relief from the contraction pain.  I'm quite curious how God made it work, because all of that torture-of-a-contraction melted away when I pushed.  Pushing wasn't painful it was just 'hard.'  I think I said

"This is like pushing the Empire State Building through me!"

I felt calm again, though.  I could feel my body dropping and releasing my baby. The next contraction came and I pushed - trying to be steady, strong and patient.  The room was cheering and adrenaline began to pump.  Pushing felt similar to sitting on the floor, with your back against the wall, and legs pulled back and resting on a couch or bed you're trying to move alone.  Using alllll your might you try to push the furniture with your legs and it won't budge... and then! All of a sudden! It slides away like it's on ice!  A perfect, sweet head plopped out and in the same push his whole body came, too.  He. Was. OUT! NOT in me anymore! And... It felt dreamy and completely, completely wonderful: 

  He reached his long arms towards me, nuzzled into me when I wrapped myself around him, and looked right up at me as he took his first liquidy, panty breaths.  He was perfectly rosy, with flailing arms and legs.  He was smooth and had chubby cheeks made to be kissed.  

What had been the depths of the dark side, in truly a single

instant,

transformed like the Beast's Castle, into a high and bliss I've never experienced before.  I felt

amazing.  

My body felt

fantastic.  

My mind was clear and

completely

engaged.  I remember the details of those first few seconds brilliantly, in dazzling colors.  I can smell and feel and breathe it.  My heart was absolutely swelling.  Just being poured into with the warm water of brand new love.  I loved my son (I really did!) before I met him.  But here he was!  With us! Caleb was breathless and equally smitten right beside me, where he'd been the whole time.  I felt so strongly for him in that moment.  I adore my husband.  My mother was incredible.  My friends are bizarrely kind and amazing.  My dad is in the doorway, with tears in his eyes.  

I am SO proud of myself! Of us!  WE DID IT.  

Oh, I felt amazing.  No pain.  None.  No cloudiness.  No fog.  Just intense happy and true emotion.  I wouldn't trade those 60 seconds for the entire world.  I'd do the natural birth all over again, in a heart beat, just to have that first minute back.

While I was still laying there I told the people around me

"Oh, that was worth it.  That was so worth it."  

I'll never forget Rowdy's spindly, strong arms reaching

right

for me.  It was honestly a combination of all my favorite feelings: winning championship games, making hard-to-make-teams, scoring over 100%, people loving the food I made for them, falling in love, being in love, getting engaged, waiting to walk down the aisle, coming home after our honeymoon, making Rowdy, listening to my dad laugh, talking for hours with my mom, the times I've 'been filled with' the Holy Spirit, long nights of worship and conversation, laughing through childhood memories with my brothers and sisters.  All of it.  BOOM. In one moment.  A culmination of all the things that got me and my Caleb to the place where we were a part of a new soul, a mysterious, fresh person, being welcomed into his earthly life... it was absolute ecstasy.  An intoxicating felicity.  

I count it the highest privilege and honor to be able to feel and be a part of the labor and delivery we had.  I know so many women who either simply can't have this experience, or who choose not to, and I have only become more grateful for what our story was.  It was different than what I expected or certainly wanted, but it was marvelous all the same.  And nothing can replace the beauty of that intensity.  Something as 'simple' as Rowdy being given right to me, and him gurgling and grunting and grabbing our fingers and sucking his fists and rooting around on my chest, while we looked at each other, just would be foolish and impossible to describe with words.  Within a few minutes he was latched-on and learning how to nurse.  He was so alert and strong.  He knew me and responded to my voice, and daddy's too.  In a room mildly buzzed with people and machines, he was deeply focused on us.  Incredible.  I was so proud of him.  So... okay... I'm rambling now.  It was nothing short of the over-used word: amazing.

After we had been able to soak him in and bond, really, we were thrilled to be able to watch the room full of family and friends get to feel and snuggle him, too.  It was a worn and weary and teary group.  The whole of them had worked hard for this Nugget Boy and they were rejoicing.   Rejoicing over him and us with gladness.  It was another incredible (and un-planned! People just kept coming in, depsite the nurses wanting them to leave! Haha.  I'm glad they came and stayed anyway ;) The moment was too perfect) memory for me.

My little sisters had been at the hospital almost as long as I had.  They slept on awkwardly, uncomfortable love-seats and waited those grueling 36ish hours with us.  They weren't allowed to come back to see me, but I knew they were there.  And I kept getting reports from others about how sweet, concerned and eager Shannon and Lauren were.  I couldn't wait to let them meet their nephew.

 And when they did, they both burst into tears.  It was the first time I cried, too.  Salty, hot love and relief tears.

But TheLadies weren't the only ones waiting long and hard.  My "support parade," as the nurses called it, were there too.  We didn't even get pictures of everyone who came back (Jess, Kevin and Mikey... I loved that you were there!) 

while I was still in labor&delivery

, delivering a placenta, getting stitched up (a random skin tag/strip ripped off that needed to come off anyway, so it was handy to have it come out during labor... now I don't have to make an appointment to get it removed!), having my stomach mashed on to make my uterus contract, barely dressed... they with glowy-eyes and full hearts made their way into the room to join in the joy.

 My wiggly, vocal, peering, muscular, young son.  Oh I love you.

 Hahaha aaaand this is too "a part of it" not to post ;)  I didn't realize until I saw these pictures how... rough I was looking.  I told Caleb that at the time I felt like this triumphant war stallion, emerging from a foggy battleground, bloody and tattered, but strapping and formidable and victorious.  My flag waving in the background, while clouds parted over the scene.  And then... I saw these.  And.  Yeah.  I had more of a War Hippo thing going on.  Plopped over on a log.  What happened to my face? And Donald Trump Mullet hair? Why was my chin and neck connected with a frog-bubble? Gosh my eyes were tired ;)  I love this picture because I've never been more proud of myself, amazed at my guy, and impressed with my body.  My body... can do awesome things.  Wow.  And I won't be gracing the cover of any magazine anytime soon, or hash-tagging "fitmom" or be printing this one out to hang over the fireplace, but in my rough, swollen, disheveled, worn-out state, I love the story it tells, and what I was able to accomplish.  So I love these War Hippo shots.

(And! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU Janet and Lydia for taking all these pictures.  You. Both. Rule.)

 The minutes only grew better and better.

As my dad texted me on his way out

"Now you know what instant unconditional love is."

Yup. Amen. I do.

After finally getting cleaned and ready, we left the l&d ward and made that grand trek to the "Mommy & Baby" rooms.   We were in the wee hours of our third day in the hospital, and we had a baby to show for it.  Roughly four days of real labor, 36 hours of laboring in the hospital, four hours of transition, pitocin but no pain meds, and it was all done.  Labor was over and life with a child began.

 It was my favorite experience of my life.  And the adventure has only just begun!  God is good, and does what is good.  Our life is good, and we are so happy that God, many decades ago, before the earth was made and before time began, decided to love and make a Little Rowdy.  We truly are enchanted.

(Side note: Before labor started, I often prayed that I would have a good recovery.  I even said 'I don't mind if the labor is hard, I just don't want the recovery to be hard.'  I was worried about stitches and catheters and breast-feeding and bleeding and after-contractions and a slew of other things.  I really wanted to be able to fully enjoy my baby once he arrived and not be so physically hurting that I couldn't be 100% 'there' with him.

God completely answered that prayer - but next time I'm going to pray for an easy labor AND easy recovery.  Too greedy?  But really.  I'm stunned and grateful.  I've really felt marvelous ever since that last push.  Essentially zero pain.  Completely mobile.  The kid eats long and hard and easily.  Natural labors have the best odds at having a smooth recovery, but there is certainly NO guarantee and I easily could have had another long hard road ahead of me

after

he was born.  But God gave us that enjoyable and peaceful recovery we had prayed for.  I'm grateful grateful grateful.  Thank you, Lord.)

picture credit: Becca + Janet + Lydia

Rest | Post 30

A piece of writing that has changed my life.  One I read often, and only love more.  One makes God desperately attractive to me - I read, and I want to know Him better and sweeter.

---

Restlessness is unbelief, skepticism, blasphemy against the capability and character of God. 

Restlessness declares that God is unable or unfaithful to honor His word. 

Restlessness is a direct affront to God. 

Restlessness is hell. It is a splendid angelic warrior, Lucifer, finding his role in the glories of heaven too constraining to his gifts and potential.

Restlessness is providing the Lord of Heaven and Earth reinforcements, emergency resources, and a Plan-B if His efforts go South. 

"Don't worry, Lord, we've got your back!" 

It is Moses hearing the promise of God to make fresh water flow from the rock and saying (in essence) "Here, Lord, I'll help!" as he beats the rock with a stick.

 It is the people of Israel surveying the land that God had promised them, and declaring, "We are not big enough to defeat the giants in this place." 

Neither Moses nor that generation entered the promised land of rest because they did not rest in God and His promises. In the words of Hebrews, "they could not enter His rest because of unbelief."

Rest is thinking deeply about the good of what God has done, keeping in focus the promises He has made for both your present and your future, and letting God be your God, letting God be in control.

Rest at essence is God-entranced, God-magnifying, and God-satisfied. 

Rest is treating God's promises as rock-solid and unquestionable. 

Rest is a conscious relishing of God's gushing generosity and a relinquishment of our own self-sufficiency. 

Rest is the garden, the Sabbath, the feasts, the land, and the worship of God's people in the Old Testament.

Rest is the promise of the Gospel and the only path into its life. 

Rest is a gift.  Everything good starts with rest, grows through rest, and is sweetly tasted in the feast of rest. And then comes Heaven. 

Rest is refusing to try to satisfy ourselves through our work, ability or worthiness and (instead) savoring, embracing and exploring all that the Lord has already done and thereby discovering, "Behold, it is very good!"

There were two lost sons in the story of the Prodigals, one who offered to work his way back into His Father's favor and one who reminded the Father of the favor he deserved for the work that he had already done. Both offered work as a payment for the gift of the Father's fellowship, forgiveness, and feast; and to both He said, "No."

"Come in!" was the only offer of the Father. "Cease from your work and celebrate my lavish extravagance and prodigal generosity and you will have me and everything that is mine."

Peter the apostle sums up the Gospel simply, "Rest your hope fully upon the grace that is brought to you in the revelation of Jesus Christ."

---

[By Don Shorey - Enjoying Grace Ministries]

The Garden | Post 29

The Garden of Gethsemane has been my accidental theme the last couple weeks.  It started with a purchase of My Mother's Hymn Book, a basic and endearing Johnny Cash album.   Though I have hymns I've historically enjoyed more, "In The Garden" has been my number one repeat - it has just crept in my heart.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me, And He tells me I am His own; And the joy we share as we tarry there, None other has ever known.

Then I read these paragraphs in Grace-Based Parenting and I've been unable to move on from the ideas and "wow"-moments they have sparked:

"The unwillingness to give a voice to the hurts we have placed in our children's hearts is the epitome of high control.  High-controllers are not strong people but rather weak, small, and selfish.  In contrast, it is our openness to 'openness' that draws us closer to our children's heart and to God.

For example, Jesus came to do His Father's will; that meant everything His Father had sent Him to do.  But when the moment came for the Savior of the world to complete His job, reality washed over Him.  As Jesus stood on the threshold of the crucifixion and that His time had finally come, He was overrun and overwrought by the price of it all.  In that moment of humanness, the Son did what He knew He had the freedom to do any time with His Father.  He slipped to the back corner of Gethsemane, fell to His knees, and had a candid heart-to-heart talk with His Dad.

'My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me.'

I just can't hear the Father saying anything like 'A deal's a deal; get up and stop your whining!'  There is nothing in God's nature that would even hint that He would say such a thing - especially to His child.   But I know there are human fathers who dismiss their children's questions and doubts with statements far terser.  They don't enjoy what was basic between Jesus and His Father. 

Jesus came to do His Father's will and was committed to seeing it through.  Ultimately, He said 'Yet not as I will, but as You will.'  He arrived at this place after His Father had listened to His pleadings and pains and identified with His human reservations.  The Father didn't rebuke His Son for asking or begrudge Him for hoping for some way out.  He listened to his suffering plea and came alongside Him with help for His resolve.  They both there was no other way to redeem mankind. 

And Jesus came back to His Father a second time, and a third time!  The Father's love allowed His Son to wrestle with the same issue even though the facts were not going to change.  That's because in the grace of the moment, the Father wanted to be available to His Son to listen as long as it took for Him to work through the weight on His heart. 

'Let us approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in times of need.'"

1 | Jesus' questioning, fearing, emotions and humanness was not sin.
The past few years I've become increasingly comfortable with being honest about where I am at and who I really am and how I'm really doing - with myself, and with other folks, and with God.  The 'comfort' is found in a new understanding that it really is true: when I am weak, then He is strong.  The point isn't to be "as strong/unaffected" as I can be, but to be in Him "as much as I can be."  Wondering, begging, intense feeling, numb-not-feeling, wanting a way out... It's not sin.  Jesus did it.  He wasn't "not trusting God."  The proof that He trusted God was that He went to Him, and that He went forward, not that He didn't wrestle.

Part of being a strong, good, "godly" Christian used to mean, to me, that I didn't "give in" to my emotions.  I didn't break down.  I had to keep it together.  I had to have the right answers - and if I didn't, I better get busy studying and knowing those right answers.  Life Poker Face.  Don't let anyone know how terrible this hand really is.  Keeep it tooogether.

I love that Jesus was like "Uh, screw it.  I'm a mess.  I can't take it.  Dad?  Please.  Get me out of this - if there is any way.  This is unbearable."  And He was welcomed, and given "grace and strength for the moment."  The Father gave Him enough to move forward into the following minute.  And when that minute was done, there was enough for the next minute.  I'm learning that Garden of Gethsemane Time isn't a guilt-trip about spiritual disciplines and something to become a noose: "Even Jesus went to be with the Father alone, how do you think you can face your trials without going to Him? Who do you think you are?"  No.  It's more of a picture into ferocious heart ache and how instinctual it was to go to Dad.  "He will help.  He's not ashamed of me.  He's not bothered by me.  He's not rushing through conversation with me.  He's not annoyed that I am still dealing with this.  He's not disappointed.  He eagerly awaits comforting me, and wants me to share everything - everything - on my heart.  I know I am safe with Him."  

Thank you, Jesus, for not over-thinking and over-spiritualizing "your heart" - the roots and the motives and the actions and the reasons - you made it so simple.  "When you hurt, you have a Father who wants you.  And He made you - and even me - to feel and need Him."  I love that. Thank you.


2 | Jesus knew the answers to "Why, God?" and "How will this be worked out for good?" and He still wrestled.
Before the physical world was made, there was a giant family-planning session.  And the three-in-one God knew the cost and wanted to proceed ahead.  Jesus' life on earth was a part of the agenda, and Jesus knew why.  He had known why for eternity.  He know how it would be good.  He wanted the good - that's why He was here.  It was a volunteer mission with a definite conclusion.

But the moment was still so hard.

It makes me feel better.  I know what the last chapter of my book says.  I've read ahead and know that "glory" and "paradise" and "no more tears" and "forever" and "eternally satisfied" and "rejoicing" is the end, and just the beginning.  I know the best is yet to come, and it won't be a tainted best - it will be thorough and full and tangible.  But I don't know the why's and how's for most of this life.  Many things I can look back on and say "Oh, whoa.  I see how that had to happen in order for this to happen, and okay, yes, that was good."  But honestly, sometimes I just don't see it and God doesn't seem to make any sense whatsoever.

And how refreshing is it that Jesus knew the facts, the plans, the details, the answers, the WHOLE story, page by page, word by word, because He was a part of the penning of the tale, but when He was set into a climax as a human character, He responded like one?  He allows us the freedom to work through and work out our salvations without fear of frustrating or resisting God.  He shows us that being a child of God doesn't mean we robotically and stoically crank through life.  He releases us to storm the throne room, dirty and disheveled, knowing that the scepter will always be extended, and that the King doesn't flinch when His royal garb is muddied by our tears and mess while He holds us.  It's where He wants to be.  Wrestling strengthens our relationship muscles with Him.  It's, again, not a sign of weakness as much as it is a sign of strength.  Thank you, Jesus, for showing me that even the answers to the questions can't ward off the pain and that I am allowed and invited to think, mull, weep, plead and interact with my Father.


3 | Jesus didn't have access to specific promises that I do.   
Lastly, it amazes me Jesus didn't hear the Father say "I will never leave you or forsake you."  Jesus wasn't promised "I will be hear.  I will never leave your side."  He had to deal with the silence of actually being abandoned by God.

This is never true for me.

However it feels, however it seems, however I act, I will not be forsaken.  I will not be left.  He is near.  He goes before me, and stays with me, and hems me in behind.  I am entirely safe.  He remains in me, and I remain in Him.  We're attached.  And Jesus didn't live life as a person with that same hope and promise.  He had to say "good-bye" and relinquish all the good He had ever known.  He handed it over at the gates of Hell.  'My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?'  It will never be my cry.  I scream 'Abba, Father!' and He hears me, and flees the house, and meets me on the road, and comes to me, and gives me all His good things - He showers them on me, and excitedly celebrates.

Thank you, Jesus, for making me a part of the pact - for putting me in your place and giving me a very real hope and security.