“Almighty God, you have created us out of the dust of the earth: Grant that these ashes may be to us a sign of our mortality and penitence, that we may remember that it is only by … Continue reading
I am so humbled and grateful to have the chance to introduce you to another Lindsey today. I have never met Lindsey, but I found her blog through a friend about a year and a half ago. I was struck … Continue reading
I am very excited to introduce you to Stefanie. I met her while I was at Trinity, and I have gotten to know her better through her blog in the years since then. I am always encouraged by her honesty, her thoughtfulness, and … Continue reading
This is a little embarrassing.
While was chatting with the midwife at my appointment today, David brought up my “leak.”
“Lake.” she corrected.
Oh. Lake? To be fair, with her lovely French accent, it kind of sounds like the same word.
Now I understand why all my Google research was so very unsuccessful. A placental leak is not a thing. I’m not entirely stupid. I kind of wondered if I had misheard when Google kept asking me if I meant placental lake.
I David was able to ask some more questions and our Midwife was very helpful. From what I’ve read, placental lakes, while abnormal, aren’t actually connected with any pregnancy complications and it usually isn’t even mentioned unless there are several of them. Assuming I didn’t misunderstand everything, I only have one tiny one. She went on to explain that an OB might not even send me for the second ultrasound, but that Midwives have to be a bit more careful. My upcoming ultrasound is just to rule out any other deviations from “normal” as a precaution. Basically, the impression that I now get is that its primary purpose is to cover my Midwives’ you-know-whats.
Even though I feel a little silly for completely misunderstanding a word…and for telling people that I have something that doesn’t even exist, I also feel really grateful.
If I’m completely honest, I have spent a lot more time concerned this pregnancy than I did in my pregnancy with Eliana. I think it’s something about looking at my sweet baby and knowing that there’s another sweet baby growing inside of me. Somehow, it’s not as abstract as it was the first time. I so desperately want to meet her. I so desperately want to get to know her, to have her personality revealed to me day by day, to watch her play with her older sister. These last few weeks have had me leaning so heavily on Jesus. Asking him to remind me that he is the one who loves and cares for my sweet children perfectly. He is the one to whom they belong. He is the one writing the story of their lives.
I am only their mother.
I love them. So intensely, so deeply, but they don’t really belong to me. They belong to Jesus. I mentioned in my first post about this that it seemed like a great opportunity for Jesus to tend the garden of peace in my heart, and my friends, he has been so faithful. Each one of you who took a moment to pray, each of you who took an extra moment to let me know that you were praying, thank you for helping him.
I was hesitant to write the first post back in April because I thought maybe everything will be just fine and then this will just be silly. But remember how I talked about thinking and no more lies before? I don’t want to pretend that I don’t worry about things that are silly. Because I do. I don’t want to only write stories that are finished and have good endings and resolution. Because a lot of times, there’s at least one story in my life that doesn’t. But Jesus meets me there. He meets you there. In the worry or the anger or the suffering, in the unfinished stories and the ones that end sad. He stands there with us. I don’t know what new information, if any, we’ll learn at our ultrasound in two weeks, but I am also not living in fear of it. The Lord is still teaching me to trust, in his goodness, his wisdom, and his faithfulness. Not that things will always be good, but that He. will. always. be. good.
I still treasure your prayers as the Lord teaches me to trust him with my life, my plans, and my family.
For the first time in almost 15 months, I went all day without nursing.
I think Eliana’s just about done with it. And while it’s nice to have a small break, since Little Sis is due exactly 4 months from today (WHAT?!?!), I can’t help but feel a little bit sad.
I mean, I knew this was coming. It’s fairly common for babies to quit nursing when their mommas get pregnant, and she’s just been less and less interested the more interested she becomes in the world around her. But this has been a journey. Despite a bit of a rough start, things were fairly smooth after the first couple of weeks. I quickly became one of those mommas who loves nursing.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Eliana’s newborn days lately. I remember crying a lot that first week or two. I was an overwhelmed, fearful, overjoyed new momma. That crazy cocktail of new momma hormones definitely had something to do with it, but I’m also an emotional person by nature (duh) and I was convinced my two week old was just growing up too fast.
And the Lord saw that momma.
And he spoke to her, maybe in a way he’s never spoken to her before. Because the change, my friends, seemed instant. The way that peace washed up over her heart and her life and still washes up over her every. single. day? He didn’t scold her for her fear. He didn’t chastise her.
He invited her.
He invited her to make the choice between a life with grasping hands and squinted eyes– always straining to see the future instead of looking at what’s right in front of her, always snatching at moments as they pass instead of feeling the way they gently move through her hands the way sand does– and a life with open eyes and open hands, ready to be filled and emptied, filled and emptied.
He invited her to be filled and emptied. Over and over again.
But how can she be sure that once she’s emptied, she’ll ever be filled again? How can the fullness be enjoyed if it’s only meant to be given away?
Is this not the beauty of the Gospel, sweet friends?
When he met that momma that day, there on that brown couch while she held her newborn baby with tears running down her face, he gave her a gift. A gift of trust. Trust that grasping and squinting don’t make things slow down or become more memorable. Trust that this abundant life is in the seasons, the time coming and going. That “hurry up and get here” doesn’t make for an abundant life, but neither does “wait, wait slow down.” She didn’t want to be one of those mommas always lamenting that her first baby was growing up too fast. Because she isn’t. She’s enjoying and living each day that the Lord graciously gives her, and shouldn’t her sweet momma do the same?
To this momma who had been told the lie that she would have to be perpetually sad that her children were growing and growing and growing, Jesus spoke the truth that growing and growing and growing is a gift to be cherished by giving and giving and giving.
Maybe to you it seems like I’ve overspiritualized something that’s just a part of everyday life, but I think my point is that everyday life is deeply spiritual, if we pay attention. And I think that this is why I don’t have to be depressed about my sweet baby not nursing anymore. That even as I lose a part of our relationship, I can celebrate. Because she’s growing and growing and growing.
And I get to find new ways to give and give and give.
New ways to trust.
That empty hands will be filled again.
That abundant life doesn’t mean clenching up, it means opening up.
That I can say “yes” to all that Jesus has for me without squinting first to try and figure out what it is.
That He is good.
And then, last fall, I found myself saying “YES! YES!” as I read a post by Ann Voskamp who says it so beautifully:
“Everything looks good except one little thing.”
Not exactly the words I was hoping to hear from my midwife at my follow up appointment. She went on to explain that our sweet baby is growing right on track, has a strong heartbeat and looks wonderful. My placenta, on the other hand, has a leak.
I’m not really sure what this means, but she suggests that it’s common for it to resolve on its own and is usually not a cause for concern. She doesn’t seem worried about it at all. They’re referring me to a specialist so that they can look more closely at the placenta, but that won’t be for a few weeks. My attempts at questions are met with reassurance that nothing is wrong, and there’s nothing I can do in the meantime.
My favorite! I love it when there’s nothing I can do, when things are out of my control, when I don’t understand. When all I can do is pray for my placenta.
I get that this is prime weather for the Lord to continue to tend the peace he’s growing in my heart, but I don’t really like it. I am struck by the idea that maybe this new information shouldn’t really change anything. My hope can’t be founded on bringing a healthy baby home from the hospital. My peace can’t come from the evidence that my body has sustained a healthy pregnancy in the past. I can’t even find solace in the fact that “at least I have one sweet baby.” Because none of that is guaranteed. None of it is stable. All of it shudders under the weight of the assurance that I need.
The things I have to trust and lean on are these: that the Lord is faithful to act according to his will and for his glory, that he loves and cares for my children much better than I ever will, and that his eyes see and his hands reach places that mine cannot. So, by grace, I choose to hope and to trust in him. I choose the garden of peace rather than the brush pile of worry.
But I’m still asking you to pray for my placenta.