Covid- The Whole Story

 It has been almost a year since Shane and I (and our families and friends) went through the trauma of my near death after getting Covid while being 8.5 months pregnant and on the verge of preeclampsia. 

It was a perfect storm, I suppose. My body was already doing what it could to protect the precious life inside and Covid, as we now know, is a nasty virus that doesn't play fair. 

Since I was being watched closely for preeclampsia, there had already been 2 other times that my OB wanted to do a c-section right away to make sure all was well, but I was so determined to give birth naturally on account Emma was a c-section and I wanted a chance to have many children. (My dream is 5-7). 

It was Saturday, December 18, 2021. A full week before Christmas. The pregnancy was going OK considering the occasional high blood pressure and I was feeling a little chilled. Shane's family was having a little Christmas gathering and I felt especially exhausted, and I just couldn't quite get warm. Which, being that I was 8.5 months pregnant, being warm was never an issue. Shane offered to take Emma to the Christmas gathering and give me the evening to rest. While he was gone, I took my temperature and it was 100.1. Not even really a fever. By the time Shane and Emma got back, the fever had ended and I was feeling much better. 

The following Monday, December 20, I went in for a non-stress test to continue to monitor for preeclampsia. Since I had narrowly escaped a c-section the previous Friday and they had suggested Tuesday c-section, I brought Shane with me, so he could help me make a decision about having a baby before, or after Christmas. My brother has a birthday on Dec. 22nd and I watched him sometimes get his birthday celebrated on his birthday, but most the time have to travel or have a Christmas celebration on his birthday. I didn't want that for my son. 

At this check-up they asked if I had had any covid symptoms since I was there on Friday and I mentioned I had a tiny tiny fever for 2 hours on Saturday. They did a Covid test and it came back positive. They told me to isolate for 10 days and then we'd probably do a C-section, unless I went into labor, then we could try for a natural birth if my blood pressure wasn't too high. 

That night I developed a cough. By the next day Tuesday, I had my OB call in an inhaler because I felt like the coughing would put stress on the baby. Tuesday night the cough was especially bad and Wednesday morning I called shane (Who had already gone to work) and asked him to take me to the ER. I told him that I didn't feel comfortable with the amount of coughing I was doing and I wanted to get some monitors on the baby just to know he was doing okay. I just didn't feel like I was getting enough air for me and the baby.

It was now Wednesday, December 22nd. (Happy birthday to my brother). We dropped Emma off at Shane's mom's and headed to the ER. Of course with COVID they stopped us at the door and kicked Shane out without knowing if he had Covid or not because he was exposed to me. 
So I got put in a room alone where they did blood draws and an IV line. The IV line never felt right. I told the nurse it was burning a little and she poked my arm and said, "no, it's working ok". 
They decided to do a CT scan with contract. The CT tech decided to use my IV line since my veins are hard to fine. The vein blew while I was in the machine. I am no stranger to my veins getting blown, but I cannot even put into words the excruciating pain that followed.  My senior year of highschool, I was thrown off a horse and broke my wrist in 5 places. I would rather do that again than have experienced the pain that went through my arm that day. It felt like my arm had shattered and the muscles tore apart. The tech pulled me from the machine and asked if he could try contrast in my other arm. I told him I couldn't take the risk again. So he wheeled me back to my isolated room in the ER. The OB on call came down and said we needed to get baby out regardless. She explained that I was high risk for seizures now and that I could lose the baby or I could die and they might save the baby or we'd just lose both me and baby. 

Obviously saving baby's life was highest priority so I texted Shane and said we were going to do a c-section. Being that it was covid, they weren't going to let Shane near me or baby for several days. It was really difficult to be told that, even for the surgery.. everything. I had no idea how I was supposed to do any of that alone. Thankfully, My sister in Omaha (4 hours away) had recently gotten over covid herself, and she volunteered to come watch Emma. The nurses came in shortly before noon and said they found some covid antibodies and I could have them. They explained they never carry these and they didn't really know how they happened to be there but they'd like to do an infusion. Thankfully, the nurse that did the second IV on my un-damaged arm got it right and it went well. I was scheduled for a c-section at 3pm. 

Since Shane was not allowed anywhere near me or the baby, we asked the nurse's if there was any way I could not have to be alone for all this and they said I needed someone who didn't live with us and hadn't been exposed to me since I had tested positive. We asked our friend Kerri if she could come and she was more than willing. She arrived shortly before 3. They then told me that another c-section was happening that was more serious so mine would now be 7pm. In the meantime, they had me in pre-op room on the labor and delivery floor. They medical staff spent the next several hours poking me trying to find a good draw sight for some more labs and eventually deciding I needed some oxygen, so they hooked me up. Someone at some point came in to question why I wasn't covid vaccinated and I mostly remember just wanting to get baby out so he would be OK. My sister, Rose, arrived to the hospital and they had her wait somewhere else so she would be able to take the baby after he was born since she was healthy. They had run out of places to poke on all my arms and hands and wrist sites and I remember them making attempts on my feet when the OB came back and said the OR was ready but at this point she didn't want to risk something going down hill with the Covid. She determined I needed to deliver, but at the other bigger hospital. 17 attempts had been made at getting a blood draw and they were all painful, so I was more than happy to try something else. The EMTs arrived and put me on a stretcher and they wheeled me out to an ambulance and took me across town. 

Shane had a negative Covid test by that point and the U of I hospital said he could be present for the birth. When I arrived at check-in, they made my stretcher people wait for 30 minutes while the medical staff suited up for a Covid patient. Once checked in, they managed a successful blood draw and then it was a matter of waiting for the OR to be prepped. by 10:30, Shane arrived and shortly after 11pm they wheeled me into OR and got me prepped for the c-section. 
At 11:47pm Caspian joined us with the screaming lung capacity of 3 babies all his own and a full head of red, curly hair. He was beautiful. Shane held him up for me to see and then he and baby went back to the recovery room. It was a full hour before they had me all stitched up and wheeled back to see Shane and baby.

Of this part, I only remember bits and pieces. Caspian was in a warming bed that reminded me of an incubator. Shane was commenting how well he was sleeping. Everything was double. The clock had two faces, the nurse had two heads, and they finally gave me some ice chips. I had been thirsty since they had taken my water away 15 hours before and the touch of ice on my tongue was delicious. 

Shane tells me Caspian slept most the night and nursed really well. The following day we enjoyed a nice recovery day, ordering food in for lunch and nursing little Caspy. I don't remember it. 

Sometime during the end of the day, my oxygen began to drop again and they turned my oxygen up. Shane says they moved him and Caspian out to do some chest xrays and then determined I needed to go to the ICU to receive higher doses of oxygen. I think I was moved to ICU around 1am December 24th. 
They gave me as much oxygen as they could and ran tests and its all so vague and hard to remember. 
Sometime around 8am they determined I was losing my battle with Covid. They told me a normal person takes 9-20 breaths per minute and I was up at 40 to 60 breaths per minute. They were giving me as much oxygen as they could but it wasn't enough. The doctors told me that our best and only option was to intubate and go into a medical coma for a few weeks to give my lungs a chance. But even still, they didn't guarantee that would save me. 

They told me I had maybe a few hours before my lungs would give up and id lose oxygen to my brain and the rest of my body would shut down. Hours before my life on earth would be a happy memory. They told me i needed to call my husband to tell him what was going on. Shane did not answer and it went to voicemail. I told him I loved him and that if i never saw him again on this side of heaven I wanted him to know he was a good dad and a good husband. I thanked him for taking care of Emma and Caspian and said goodbye. 

Shane called me back after I'd hung up with his voicemail, so I got to say goodbye to him over the phone. We then did a video call with my family and I got to say goodbye to my parents and siblings as well. And when the phone call ended, one nurse took my phone and a whole team of doctors and nurses were at the ready. they laid me back, put a gas mask over my mouth and nose and my world went black. 

I was at peace. I knew I was either going to wake up in the presence of Jesus, or I was going  to wake back up in the hospital all better and going home to my husband and little ones. 

All was black in my world when I saw a figure lit up at the end of a hallway. The figure was dressed in a medical gown with a facemask, so there was nothing that could be visually recognized on my end, but when he spoke, I just knew, it was Jesus. I suddenly felt like I'd dreamed about earth, and being married and having children. Like it was a pleasant, happy dream. But just a fuzzy memory. I felt vividly real, more real and more aware than ever before. Jesus offered, "If you make it to the door, I'll let you in." But when I took a step toward the door at the end of the hallway, I was suddenly yanked back and transported to my hospital bed in the ICU. And as if it was whispered into my brain, I heard "Too many people are praying for you to stay."

Things are a little fuzzy on *WHEN* my brain was actively hearing conversations happening miles away, but, somehow, someway I have very vivid memories of things that took place while I was in a coma. I never saw anything, I just could hear people talking, like a radio. I heard my family saying they needed to add a board to the table because the puzzle they were working on was too big. 

I got to hear my sister video chat with my cousins while they watched my daughter playing on the couch. Sometimes I would look around my room to see if there was a phone that somehow connected to the outside world and was picking up the conversations. However, I had extremely limited head movement and the only things I could see was the TV in my room playing informercials and the machines keeping me alive. 

But I was so comforted by the voices of my family, I was content to just listen to their blips of conversations, although I wasn't catching the full content enough to entirely figure out what was going on. Wildest of all was hearing my cousin talk about getting a $60 plane ticket and trying to decide how she was going to use it. I asked about it after I was off the ventilator and had access to my phone again and my cousin was shocked I knew about it because she had only told her mom about it and no one else.  We joke a little bit about how I haunted everyone's Christmas on accident. 

They brought me out of the coma on a Tuesday Morning long enough for me to do some physical therapy, and receive a visit from my sister, Pearl, and church pastor. They put me under for another day and woke me up early on Wednesday morning. Then I was just awake and on the ventilator until Saturday. Those days were pure miserable. My hands were tied to the bed so I wouldn't panic and pull out the tubing, the tubing in my throat hurt so badly and would sometimes clog with fluid and they'd have to do "Deep suction." Essentially, they'd have to cut off my breathing for a bit for my whole body would cough and it felt like I'd die for a few seconds. That happened over and over and over for those days and nights that I continued on the ventilator. Plus, with my hands tied up, I didn't have access to my call button, so I'd just be choking on fluid and waiting for all the alarms and beeping to go off so the nurse team would rush in my room to clear my airway. 

Pearl visited me twice and then Shane got to come see me for a precious few hours a day. I'd ask to have the tube out every day and every day they'd tell me "Not yet." There were days I didn't know if I'd ever see the outside of the ICU again. At some point a nurse figured out I could write and let my restraints go enough for me to communicate. That made me feel a little more human. 

It was New Years Day when they nurses came in and said I'd be getting off the ventilator and switching to a CPAP for a few days. I was SO excited. It was painful, they just did a "One, two, three, yank out the tube" situation and my throat felt so violated. But at last I was free and not choking on tubing with my mouth propped open and dried out. I asked them if I could get discharged to go home and was told  that they would discharge me to a recovery room somewhere else in the hospital, and they were very glad to say that because most young mom's with covid who have a baby and then go on the ventilator are most often discharged to hospice or to the morgue, without having met their babies. That was so very sobering to hear. 

They gave me ice chips and it was heaven. I'd felt like a dessert for so long. However, I'd forgotten how to safely swallow and it did not help that Shane was cracking jokes and making me laugh none-stop. The nurse ended up telling Shane to cut it out and took away my ice chips because she was worried Shane was causing me un-do stress. That first day off the vent was so refreshing. They took the IV out of my neck and also one out of my left arm. They kept one in my right arm "Just in case". Having movement in my hands again and a little more mobility in my neck. It was wild to be able to look around my room and see more than just the top half of the TV and the ominous blue stain on the ceiling that I had been staring at for the past several days. That night they let me stand by my bed for the first time and it was such a wild/ unfamiliar feeling to be out of that bed. 

The oxygen specialist was in awe that after 5 hours on the CPAP, they found I was breathing so well that they upgraded me to a granular (Just a little nose oxygen thing) and I was eligible to leave the ICU. I was too excited to sleep. They told me it was just a matter of when a bed opened up somewhere else in the hospital. As the sun came up the next day and I was still awake, waiting to get out of the ICU, I had to force myself to wait until 8am to start texting Shane and telling him to hurry up and visit so he'd know where my new room was. They let me move to a chair beside my bed to let me have a change of scene and breathe while sitting up straighter. It was better for my lungs that way. However, my IV got ripped out of my right arm while moving, so they had to try to find a vein for a new one. They blew another one in the left arm but had success in my hand. 

I think Shane arrived close to 9am and usually, visiting hours are limited to 4 hours when you're a COVID patient. But the nurses were all so very kind and said Shane should stick around to see where they moved me. Poor Shane, hung out with me all day, which meant he didn't get to eat anything. 
I couldn't get my voice to make any noise, so I was limited to whispering or writing on the paper I had. Shane patiently listened to my whispers and ordered various "Clear liquids" for me to try and practice swallowing. I hadn't eaten Jello in about 20 years and for the first thing I ate in 2 weeks, I found it to be delicious. As was the warm broth and frozen sherbet. Finding I new taste for jello, i thought maybe after all these years I suddenly liked yogurt too. That one is still a no-go. It is disgusting. Not solid, not liquid and like a sweetened soured milk. No thank you. 

Anyways, I was moved to my new room in the hospital at about 6pm, at which time Shane had to leave to take care of our children. 
The nurse who took me on trusted me well enough to let me take a shower, which was the most magical feeling. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd showered even before going into the hospital, and I'd been there a week and a half. They even let me put on my comfy jammies after all that was done. I could not believe the absolute luxury. I was thoroughly enjoying myself. 

However, at the nurse shift change, my new nurse was not about me hanging out in my jammies and feeling comfortable. She said if I was going to be a patient in the hospital, then I was going to be treated like a patient in the hospital, and the granular oxygen I had attached to my nose and all the little wires that were attached in various places to monitor my heart were not enough. She checked the little IV port they'd left in my hand, and it wasn't bleeding and said it was worthless and that I needed a new IV. 

She made me switch back into a hospital gown and hooked up more things. They brought in a special team to get an IV in but they couldn't find a good one. They left around midnight with no success and all I could remember was absolutely shaking with cold. But I had no voice so there was no way to ask for another blanket or heat. The cranky nurse that was anti-enjoying the hospital came in at about 4am and told me she didn't care how much I didn't like it, she was going to get an IV in no matter what. And with that, she aggressively shoved the needle into my left wrist and thankfully had success on the first attempt. 

Her shift ended at 7am and thankfully, all my nurses after that were very sweet and gentle and so excited to get me home to "My little Prince". They asked me if my baby was cute, but I had no memory of meeting him or seeing his face. I just couldn't wait to go home and meet him and hold him. I asked Shane if there was any way he could bring Caspian to the hospital, but there was a very strict "One visitor" policy, and they wouldn't let Caspian in. So I spent those next days, practicing walking around my room, practicing breathing deeply with my diaphragm, practicing swallowing my ice chips and pills. I worked with a physical therapist, and occupational therapist and a speech pathologist. I passed my breathing tests, my walking tests, my coordination tests and was very proud. I passed all my swallowing tests, but I just couldn't get my voice to make any sound. But I started learning how to cough again and the act of coughing seemed to help mobilize my vocal cords enough to make little amounts of sound. 

FINALLY on January 6, the doctor came in and told me I was good to go home and had some parting instructions. It was absolutely glorious when Shane arrived with my coat and shoes and it was time to go home and meet my now 2-week-old baby. 
We were sent home with blood thinner shots that Shane had to give me twice a day, and a blood pressure cuff and an oximeter and other various things to help keep me alive and monitor my recovery. 

Shane took me straight away to his mom's house where she was blessedly watching Shane and I's kids, and 5 of our nephews.  But Debby put little Prince Caspian in my hands, and I cried for joy. He was a little over 6lbs. I should say, I was so very worried he would be the size of a 3-month-old by the time I met him because my sister (Along with her husband and children) moved into my house while I was in the hospital, and she took on the noble task of nursing Caspian along with her own 2-month-old and my sister's milk makes babies solid. 

Caspian had also received donated milk from other mama's in our community and I am *SO VERY THANKFUL* because it gave Caspian the very best start to life. And too, it took a good 6 weeks for me to recover well enough to take on the task of nursing him myself. 

Recovering at home was no small task. Finding the strength and breath to go up or down a set of stairs took everything I had. I was limited to 10lbs of lifting due to the c-section and so parenting a toddler who couldn't be picked up but also having no voice to talk to her was so frustrating and difficult. 

Thankfully, my mother-in-law stayed many days/nights with us to help me get rest and take care of the children. I had family circulating in and out of our house. People brought us food and baby clothes and cleaned my house. 

My sister-in-law quit her job at a daycare and came over every day to help me care for my children and clean up my house, and even administer a shot or two if Shane was gone. 

Shane and I are so very, VERY thankful for all the prayers people prayed on our behalf. Thousands of you prayed. Across the world. So many churches in so many states and countries and cities, I wish I could meet everyone and thank them in person, but the sheer number of lovely people who spoke to the Lord on behalf of me, my husband and children is just astronomical. 

We are thankful for the financial support we were given with all the days Shane took off work. 
We are so very thankful for the meals brought over and the milk donations for Caspian. Thankful for everyone who held my little man when I wasn't there and when I wasn't strong enough. Thankful for every dish that was washed, and clothing item folded, and baby diaper changed. So many people did so many things for us and we felt so very loved. 

Here we are, a year later. Approaching a surgery to finally fix my vocal cords and hope to sound "Normal" again.

Looking forward to Caspian's first birthday and his second Christmas. And we are thankful every day for how God has truly blessed us and given us a life we don't deserve. 

2020 Christmas Letter

I was recently reminded about this blog again, so I figured I may as well at least give another year in review..per the usual.  

“2020” has been like a dirty sock in one’s mouth this year for a lot of people. We are here to tell you just how great it actually was! 

January: Lots of ice-skating, lots of hot chocolate and squinting our eyes against the bright reflection of the sun off of the white snow and shiny frozen pond. Shane and I spent many an evening putting together a Mandalorian costume for the Pathway Carnival and Emma dressed as Baby Yoda. We were proud.

February: I took up teaching art at Shane’s Alma Mater as the need for an art teacher suddenly arose and it was a lovely challenge. Not too many tears shed for a first-timer.
Shane made his second biggest purchase of his life: A portion of Graber Heating, and officially became one of the 3 part-owners. Not too many kids buy a house AND a business by 23 years old, so Shane likes to feel like he’s on his way to a supreme world-wide take over.  So far, so good.

March: Is this when the whole “pandemic” thing started? What a month. My younger sister, Eva, moved in with us when colleges went online for the rest of the semester. Social gatherings shrunk down and suddenly, the busy-busy-go-go-go of life melted into a gentle rest. But all that “suddenly-being-shut-in-the-house” thing turned violent. Night after night of fighting, finger-nails digging into flesh, bruised knuckles and dry, sore throats from the yelling, it was determined that the evening Dutch Blitz games were getting too competitive and a calmer, less physically demanding sport needed to be sought out.
We did find, (Over Shane’s birthday) that Clue, though less violent, did not take off the competitive edge and it was determined that an evening walk through the neighborhood was the best way to stay at peace. 

April: Our first Easter without an in-person Easter service and egg casseroles by the dozens. We also missed dying eggs, but that was more due to our lack of planning than anything. We did have a very lovely day celebrating Eva’s birthday and a small gathering with Shane’s family as we figured if the Corona was going to get us, it would probably get alllllll of us sooner or later.
No one got Corona that day, so all is well that ends well.

May: Of Course we celebrated May the 4^th (be with you) with Starwars themed desserts and a Mandalorian marathon with our sweet friends/neighbors/family (Shelby & Keilah Graber). May brought warm weather and spring. Also, thanks to the Pandemic, Shane got to take his week long journeyman classes at home (Instead of getting up at 5am and being gone for 12 hours). We loved that!

June: June was pure delight as we celebrated Shane’s brother’s graduation from highschool and Shane’s sister, Shelley, from Oregon came to visit for a full month. June was filled with laughter and swimming and watermelon and chasing fireflies and shooting stars.

July: July started with a family reunion in Michigan that made us feel like the world was spinning like normal again. After our 6-8hour drive back home, I drove sweet Emma to my sister, Pearl’s, house to drop her off for a week while Shane and I took Shaylon’s senior class on their class trip to Connecticut. “What is in Connecticut?” You might ask. Well, it was the only state not in the Midwest that had some historical things open to the public this summer. The rest of July flew by as it was mostly fixing air conditioners and wishing the summer would stay forever.

August: Emma turned 1! We are so in love with our little girl. We had a joint birthday party with her and her cousin, Valor, who is just 2 weeks younger. They are already best friends and we intend to encourage that forever. We gave up on our garden mid-august as well. What garden? Well, ha, we planted this garden back in may under the cover of darkness. Meaning, we were out there at 11pm and it was so dark that when we looked the next day, our rows weren’t even a little bit straight. All our summer activities prevented us from (At least that’s my  excuse) keeping it from being overrun by weeds. It turns out we are REALLY good at growing crab grass. Our most delicious crop this year was cherry tomatoes. And we didn’t even plant them, they just came up on their own. (Maybe next year..?)

September: For my birthday, Shane offered to finish the basement bathroom and I excitedly spent my birthday evening wandering through Menards, smelling 2x4s and picking out flooring samples and ordering a shower. *Sigh* what bliss. It is December. (I'm still dreaming)

October: We took advantage of the low-costing airline tickets and flew to Oregon to see Shane’s sisters. It was a wonderful trip, filled with hiking, late night discussions and precious moments with our nieces and nephews that are growing up way too fast. When we arrived back to Iowa, we attended the best murder mystery dinner party of our young lives and it was an added highlight to the month.

November: Not that anyone wants to hear anything more about Covid, but, thanks to most of mine and some of Shane's family getting it, Thanksgiving gatherings were unchanged. Being with family was the perfect way to celebrate what we are most thankful for and we will never take it for granted.

December:  Shane won another co-ed volleyball league championship. Fern finished her semester teaching 1^st-12^th grade at Pathway Christian School. If 2020 taught us anything, it is that friends and family are of the most precious gifts we’ve been given and time with those dear to us should never be taken for granted.

As we head in to another year, another trip around the sun, we look forward to all the ways God has planned to grow us and stretch and sharpen us for His purpose.

Peace in Chaos

Since I don't often SHARE these blogs when I write them, this blogsite has become a bit of a public journal of sorts for all to find when stalking into my online presence. Ha

So anyways.. congrats! You found my secret public journal/ diary thing where I share my thoughts with whomever cares to know them. Its a quiet Saturday morning at the start of August and my child is napping in her highchair and will hopefully remain that way for at least 30 more minutes. (The highchair reclines into a bed situation if you're at all imagining her head being all slumped over)

Shane and I just celebrated our 3rd marriage anniversary and it was a lovely reminder of still being best friends and whimsically in love. I say reminder, because life can be busy and chaotic and its possible to find yourself questioning where you're at with everything. No worries, we're doing great. In fact, trying to master the restart... again. Because here's the deal.. you start off all in love and get all this energy from serving each other and trying to anticipate the others needs and getting a rush from being selfless. Like, "Oh, you're eating popcorn, I'm sure you'll be thirsty, let me get you some water before you even realize you're thirsty" or "you've had a long day, let me have supper ready and the house picked up and your towel warming in the dryer for when you get out of the shower." *sigh* If you're married without any small humans... keep on doing that thing. Because, we added a human and it's easy to just..ask and expect things from eachother and become more self-focused when you both feel like you're carrying all the burdens. 
Shane works fullllll time and I'm more part-timey. He carries the financial burden on his own and whatever my paycheck is usually goes into savings or extra payments on the house. He works hard and comes home tired and exhausted. But I have the baby all day which can be a lot and then the house and when Shane gets home I want help and a break and just a moment to think. And he gets home and he wants a break and a moment to think. And pretty soon you're not all in sync like you need to be if you're running a three-legged-race. You start going opposite and tripping. 

I'd say 90% of our conflict is when we are WANTING from eachother without much giving and having unmet expectations. And you have to keep restarting and apologizing and thinking more on what you can do for eachother and then lifting eachother's burdens comes more naturally and doesn't seem like extra work and it frees up everything. At least, that seems to be the wisdom I've gleaned lately. 

Anyways, keeping walking with the Lord goes a long way for not getting too focused on yourself and your own wants and desires and burdens. My sis-in-love has been saying lately, "Quiet time doesn't have to be quiet" and that is actually very inspiring to me. 
In college I'd go off on these retreats and wake up by a lake and do my quiet time with coffee on a dock or in a meadow or on a porch on some foggy misty morning that just made everything so...intense. 
"I sensed God's nearness".....I'm finding in my adulthood that slowing down doesn't necessarily MEAN coffee by still waters. And God's nearness doesn't leave you and just because you're not having some major feelings of peace and tranquility doesn't mean you're not near to God. Peace in your heart doesn't eliminate chaos from your life. 

Your life can still seem chaotic and people in your life can still be awful and mean and malicious and you can feel like God is just running in circles around you without stepping in but that's not reality. 
Reality is Him laying a steadying hand on you to keep you from fighting back, and providing comfort and healing when the woundings don't stop. We aren't promised heaven now, we're promised heaven later, and we often mistake our tastes of heaven as affirmation that we've got it "Right." 

Perhaps I've just become a little more cynical, but I'd like to think I'm just an optimistic realist. Because life is actually kind of ugly sometimes. And being a Christian, believer, person of the faith doesn't exempt you from that stuff. Sometimes the worst people you know are people who also claim to be believing Christians. And you have to..."Fellowship" with them... and it's like rubbing a blister raw over and over and never getting to be healed. And you REALLY have to pursue the Lord to keep from being bitter and horrible back to them. And its frustrating because you think, "How long must I keep turning my other cheek?" and the answer is, "For the rest of your life." LITERALLY years. 

So anyways... another pro-tip for to the marriage thing, don't let your battles with awful people become something you battle your spouse with. Like... just because your spouse is trying to guide your attitude to a better place, does not mean they're siding against you. 

Ha.. so anyways.. I find it funny that I live on a pond. Every day my few is quiet waters and a windmill and little fish sometimes splashing out of the water. I have the perfect combo for perfect quiet times everyday. But if you're heart isn't quiet, nothing is quiet. And I'm learning that what goes on inside me is a whole lot more important than my circumstances on the outside of me. 

To Be Still and Know

April 6th, 2020

Hello All! I'm home, I'm starting to get bored, I figured it's time to dust off the ol' public journal...errr I mean blog. I was homeschooled until I was 17, guys. HOMESCHOOLED. I should be well prepared for this quarantine thing. I should be a master. BUT, even then I had youth group and church to break up the days at home. PLUS, I lived in the days of instant messenger on facebook and MSN and I feel like TYPE chatting to people was also helpful. I haven't washed my hair/done make up in a long time.. so I'm not big into video calls.. but if anyone wants to type chat, I'm here for it. 

OKAY.. anyways.. thats a quick peep into my current life. We're all holed up, we're all doing a million Instagram challenges and we're all getting sick of them at the same time. 

Yesterday I finished my second book since the shut down started and in TRYING to keep off my phone, I experienced straight up boredom. I was so bored! I started unloading my dishwasher and cleaning things ( Which I USUALLY dislike doing). Guys, I'm caught up on laundry. My bed is made. These are all miraculous things that don't happen when my life is full of things and places to go and parties to host and attend and life. 

I had a nephew say the most profound things once when looking into my overly stuffed and pack trunk of my car, I said, "ha.. my trunk is a mess!" and his profound 5 year-old self said, "It's not a mess! It just has a lot of stuff in it." (MY HEART!) Profound. BECAUSE, when life is crazy and my laundry spilling out of the dryer and my closet and the floor, my house a mess but its because my life has a lot of stuff in it. 

Anyways, life has slowed down quite a lot lately. Instead of our Sunday rush of going to church, coming home and quick grabbing lunch before Shane's volley ball game and then quick rushing home to give Emma a little attention before rushing off to my Women's Bible study. And that's just how our SUNDAYS went. Monday through Friday was mixed with work and being at the school to direct play practice, connection group and whatever other sports event going on. Busy, good, full. 

But, God has been doing major reconstructive surgery on my heart lately and being busy doesn't really work very well when God wants you to be still and know Him. Any of my blogs written in the last several years touch on it a little. To sum up, right before Shane and I got married, one of our good friends at the time wrote this really long letter with some very unkind things in it but claimed it was all inspired by "God" and when we attempted to address the issues and restore the relationship, it went very poorly and we had to walk away from that friendship indefinitely. I've spent a good amount of the last 3 years sorting out God's true nature, my identity in Christ and how to love people who aren't loving. I never thought I'd be one to struggle so  much to love another person, but it's been a real battle. But, my husband has been a brave leader these last 3 years as well. Forcing me to pray when I didn't think I could. Forcing me to ask for healing when it felt like it hurt too much to fix. Reading scripture over me when I didn't have a taste for it.  But, the Lord laid it on my heart to be "Over it" by the end of this year. I mean, honestly, 3 years is already too long to be broken, right? But when your heart gets shredded, I don't think you can put a timeline on WHEN you'll be healed again. But, for me, it's time.

And the busy-free time to be still has opened up a space for me to rest in the Lord. To rest my heart in the Truth. 

2020

(Written Feb, 2020)


Hello and Goodbye to January 2020. Also, happy 10 years of existence to this blog...which has now become more of an online public journal.

I thought about doing my usual late Christmas/New Years letter here... as of course I completely failed to finish and get that out... but even then, my brain cannot think enough thoughts to truly make it worth the read.

2019 in review goes like this: I was pregnant, I was super sick, lots of puking and swelling, baby flipped herself breach in the last few weeks, couldn't be flipped back, had a c-section. Baby joined our outside world, we like her a lot. We traveled to Oregon for Thanksgiving and that was fun, we went to my parents for Christmas and all got the plague and nearly died (Thats exaggerated slightly) and then here we are. Exciting but not all at once. 

I have exactly one New Years resolution. Nearly three years ago I experienced a deep hurt by someone I had thought was a friend. But in an instant everything shattered and they said horrible things and expressed a deep hatred for me (which was very out of left field at the time) and I've been rather a mess ever since. And I've hated them in return, honestly. Their spouse hates me as well, probably more so than the former friend, so I've rather disliked both of them. And this year I resolve to be free of everything that has to do with that whole horrible encounter. 

I once thought I knew the key to healing and being whole. And perhaps I know it in my head.. obviously isn't Jesus the answer for everything? Sure. But actually, this one wont fix over night. And perhaps won't fix for years to come. My husband has been the most patient and gallant leader through it all, and I probably wouldn't care much to work on the resolution if I didn't see how much he loves me and hurts to see me still so wounded and broken still. 

I will say, that forgiving despicable people is 100% super natural. Especially when now, 3 years later, I still see them on occasion and they are still cold towards me and still have 0 ounce of love in their hearts for me and a lot of times they're just pouring salt on a still open wound. I don't expect them to change, nor do I wish for there ever to be any sort of restoration of the relationship, my wish is for my own heart to be completely whole and restored and for me to be able to pass them on the street and not remember so vividly the demonic encounter that was born straight from hell. 

Anyways, that is the most honest, live look into me.  

Thankful

A few weeks ago as the snow was beginning to melt and leave muddy residue everywhere, my sweet husband graced us with a visit at home over his lunch hour. As I was preparing his lunch, he paused at the bottom of our stairs to swipe his boots on the rug before running up them to retrieve his watch he'd left behind. 

We have white carpeted stairs and the whole upstairs is white carpet. A thick, plush, memory foam shaggy white carpet. We never walk with our shoes on the carpet.. not even our cleanest pair unless its a super emergency and super fast. As I looked up the stairs after Shane had run up them and observed the perfect muddy tread line from his boots, my initial thought was to be annoyed and a little upset. However, I also thought of how nice it was to have Shane home for lunch and how thankful I was that he'd made a special trip to see us and how I also own soap, water, cleaning agents and rags. 

Shane and I didn't have any children when the house was being built and we were given the choice of having it made to our specifications. My mother-in-law had 7 children of her own and advised strongly against white carpet, but I was absolutely sure that's what I wanted and I would simply train my little ones to removed their shoes in the house. I did not take into consideration at the time, how often Shane and I would be almost ready to leave to go somewhere and realize we needed to run up the stairs to get it and so we'd had to remove our shoes, retrieve the object, come down ,put our shoes back on.. etc. I'm thankful to have a custom house with fluffy white carpet, but, in all reality, its a thing that will get dirty and will probably need to be replaced in a few years. 

Anyways, so with Thanksgiving being right around the corner, I can't help but notice that my attitude isn't always that of thankfulness. I've been trying to make it a habit to find something for which I am thankful whenever a complaint comes to mind. i.e. I' m thankful I have a sweet husband like Shane to make muddy footprints on the white carpet when others don't have that.  I'm sure for everyone who has lost a loved one, they'd take muddy carpet footprints any day of the week just to have them back.

Life Changes

Here we are, 3 1/2 weeks into parenthood and loving it. I will admit, there are times I cry more than she does, but she is a very happy baby who is content to sleep most of the time... except at night time when I would like to be sleeping... hence the crying on my part. It's amazing what post-partum hormones and lack of sleep will do to one's emotions. 

Anyways, it was hard for me to transition from working in the Graber Heating office full time to just being home with a baby. Actually, Shane and I were responding to work emails and calls while we were still in the hospital.. the day she was born, even. 😬. ( She was sleeping.. we weren't missing anything). But in the weeks since being home, I've come to enjoy the quiet moments of being able to read and sip coffee and try and come up with a plan for supper. I'm thankful my appreciation of the taste of coffee came back as I could barely stand it while pregnant. Granted, the morning sickness stuck with me all the way up to the operating table while the were c-sectioning the baby out. As I started my usual morning dry-heaving and loss of stomach contents (Of which there were none as I had to fast before surgery) mid operation, I managed to croak out to the nurse standing nearby that I was going to throw up. The anesthesiologist sitting just behind my head heard me and jumped up to add an anti-nausea something to my IV line while the kind nurse held a vomit pan to my mouth. I was numbed from the neck down at that point and I can't say if I've had much weirder sensations than dry-heaving on an operating table when one has no feeling in ones muscles that are doing the dry heaving. But all is well and I'm happy to say that it has been a wonderful three weeks of not throwing up and I've never appreciated feeling so well as I do now. 

However, during my entire pregnancy I managed to avoid getting colds or bronchitis or the flu as it swept through its usual course of the seasons. But I was hit with a cold this last weekend and I'm not even sure how to handle it. I digress.

Baby is a doll. She's not much for crying unless I have to suction out her nose or give her a bath. She's slowly gaining weight and is 8 1/2 lbs these days! I'm amazed at how quickly she is growing and changing. Every mom says that, but its crazy when you see it first hand. I am still recovering from the c-section and am still sore and sometimes in pain but they said at least 6 weeks of recovery would be needed. 

Shane is the true people's hero. He is back to work full time and doesn't get to recover from middle-of-the-night feedings or diapers by sleeping a little extra like I do. Shane still wakes up almost everytime baby does as with me still recovering from the surgery, baby stays in a bassinet on his side and she hands baby over almost every time she's fussing. Plus, he often does her midnight diapers as he is very quick and efficient and doesn't mind them.  Poor man, though, I don't know how he isn't dying from exhaustion.