Alivia's Birth Story

I know I am very very late in writing this, but honestly, I've been far too busy cuddling and playing with a sweet little girl to sit down and write anything. However, I want to write her story so that I vividly remember, so that I can go back and relive one of the moments when Tyler and I's life changed forever, for the better.

Tuesday, November 12th, approx. 6:30 pm
     I felt like I had been having  Braxton Hicks off and on throughout the day. Initially they felt exactly as the Braxton Hicks of the past week or so had felt. Though there was one point during the day where a few of them had been more uncomfortable, I truly thought nothing of it, chalking it up to being more tired and closer to Alivia's arrival. At home after work, as we was getting ready to leave, I noticed a need to change my clothes, because I honestly thought I had just peed in my pants a bit, but I again chalked it up to being closer to baby's arrival. I changed, got ready and we walked out the door.
     We went at our friend's house for community group as usual. Meanwhile, though I did not realize at the time, my water had broken. It wasn't what I expected. I didn't have to mop the floor. I simply felt as though I had wet my pants a little, but somehow knew I had not. I later found out this was because I was not dilated very far. Anyway, I digress... at this point I quietly told my husband that we needed to leave and we headed home. We prepared and ate dinner together, cleaned up the kitchen, then I timed my contractions for the first time. They were about 3 1/2-5 minutes apart, lasting for 30-40 seconds. I texted my doula to check in and let her know what was going on. Her response was, "Okay, let me know when they are lasting a minute, and I'll see you in the next day or two." I decided that I should probably shower. At this point I still didn't fully realize my water had broken, and thought if this was false labor, a shower would potentially slow the labor, but if it was real, I should be clean because I didn't know when I would shower again, or how long this might last. I showered, dried my hair, threw on clean sweatpants and decided to time my contractions again. They had essentially not budged. At this point I begin to realize this was probably not going to stop.  I decided that a nap might be helpful if this labor was going to last through the night. It was about 11pm.
     Around 12:30 I got up, unable to sleep or even rest through the contractions any longer. I began to make sure the last minute things were packed, then went to sit on the couch with Tyler, who was up watching tv after picking up around the house. We watched television until the contractions consumed my focus and I was unable to be distracted while they occurred. I walked the hall, sat on my yoga ball, attempted to stretch and paced the house some more. About 2 am I timed my contractions again and they were lasting a minute and about 2 1/2 minutes apart. I was uncomfortable, but not miserable. Ty said he felt helpless and didn't know what to do. I called Sally, and updated her on their length. Tyler decided to jump in the shower, realizing that he did not know when he would be able to get away to shower again. Sally said that she would feed her baby and be on her way shortly. In the meantime, she told me to have Tyler call her when he got out of the shower so that she could help him help me. He called her a few minutes later, and then promptly set to work sitting behind me, rubbing my back, speaking softly, encouraging me, and simply asking what I needed.
     Sally arrived around 3 am and helped me breath through contractions. She and Tyler sought to help me relax between them. I sat on the yoga ball but was having a hard time relaxing or resting. We moved to our bedroom where they propped up pillows on the bed so that I could sit on the yoga ball but lie my head down on the bed between contractions to rest. We continued with soft light, breathing and resting until about 5 am when we decided it was time to head to the hospital. Ty made coffee for he and Sally, then went to start the car. The moments it took to round up the last few things seemed like an eternity as I awkwardly sat, unable to do much to help, but also increasingly uncomfortable.
We headed to the hospital, Sally following in her car. The ride was far less than pleasant, as I prayed that God would just allow me to have less contractions in the car. He answered. In reality, I had about half of the amount of contractions I should have for the length of time we were in the car- according to the rate they had been previously coming. Some say that's normal, I was just grateful.
     We arrived at the hospital and headed up to labor and delivery to check in. The contractions quickly resumed their previous vigor. I signed in, answering questions between contractions and was directed to the room. The nurse was patient as I got settled in, asking Tyler as many questions as she could, and waiting for me to be able to answer questions when she needed me.
5:40am
     The nurse said it was time to check me. "Oh good" I thought, "hopefully I'm at an '8'". The next words from the nurses mouth were not what I wanted to hear, "you are about a 1". What? How could this be? This, this.. was uncomfortable and exhausting. This was intense. I looked at Sally and said "I can't do this for the next 6 hours" presuming... if I was only at a "1" that's how long it may easily take. Her reply, "you don't have to do it for 6 hours, you have to do this one" was exactly what I needed in that moment.
     The next two hours are a blur. I sat on a yoga ball, tried different positions in the bed, and worked to breath through contractions. They were intense. Sally stood at the end of the bed, coaching my breathing, while Tyler held my hand, and gently said all of the right things, exactly the way I needed him to say them. About eight o'clock that morning I told Sally and the nurse that I had to go to the restroom. I got up and slowly walked to the bathroom. The door closed, and then someone knocked and it opened again. Sally appeared asked if I needed to go number one, or two. Confused, and embarrassed, I whispered "two". She quickly replied, "you don't have to go to the bathroom, you are ready to have this baby". She helped me up  and walked me back to bed, while calling to the nurse "she needs to be checked". The nurse hurried over and a moment later with surprise, she declared that it was time to have a baby. She called for the doctor and a flurry erupted. Nurses with carts and tools appeared, whispering and standing in corners of the room. I felt like the urge to push. My primary nurse told me to wait, that the doctor was coming. I didn't think I could. I half-jokingly told the nurse that she might be delivering a baby. Sally stepped close and gently told me that I could wait, and we could still make progress so that when the doctor arrived it would go more quickly. She coached me to alter my breathing  and fight the urge to push with a deep, guttural groan that could help move the baby along. What seemed like forever was merely moments as the flurry of nurses continued in the background.
8:20am
I heard the clicking and clacking of high-heels running down the hallway of the hospital, and the door burst open. In a motion that seemed almost movie like, a doctor ran in, wearing 4 inch heels, threw off a white fur vest, and was assisted into her gloves, mask and medical scrubs. She quickly landed on the stool with wheels and slid across the floor of the delivery room, arms outstretched, pronouncing "let's have a baby".  I would have laughed if it hadn't been for the contraction that demanded my attention. Two contractions later another doctor arrived and they switched places. It wasn't until then that I realized the first doctor was not the on-call doctor that day. I found out later she had been paged from the clinic upstairs to come to the delivery because of how quickly I progressed. The second doctor that arrived, Dr. Grider, was on call and had been with another patient. She quickly jumped onto the stool between my feet and begin "stretching" me to make room for the baby and avoid a tear. Sally continued gently coaching me to breath as she and Tyler held my legs. Voices urged me to "push, push-push-push, push push, push-push-push" and I did, with everything I had. At one point it felt like everything I had wasn't enough.  The voices got quieter, they hurriedly said Alivia's head was stuck on my pelvic bone. I heard them. I tried not to panic. Tyler and Sally moved my legs back; it felt as though I could have kissed my knees if I had turned my head. I felt a swift motion from the doctor (that I later found out was her moving the baby out with her fingers). It seemed like eternity passed and then I heard "her head is out, she's clear". I wanted to stop, to breath relief, but there was no time. I pushed again, hard. She was out. Seconds felt like hours before I heard the most perfect noise: a tiny baby cry. (Tyler later told me she had initially looked a bit blue and had taken a second to breathe, but it was likely due to having gotten stuck.) The nurse placed her on my chest and took my breath away. The world faded for a moment. Nurses and the doctor continued to hurriedly accomplish things, likely very important things, but it didn't compare to the tiny human resting on my chest.
     Over the next hour we cuddled, and  she practiced nursing.Then she cuddled her daddy skin to skin in order to get her body temperature up; due to concern she was a little cold. Tyler's warm body did the trick and she snuggled in for a nap; the beginning of many naps on his chest in the coming months. Time flew by and stood still all at once as we sat, smiled, cuddled, and rested. Alivia got checked and cleaned up by the nurses in the room to make sure she was healthy and before we knew it, we were escorted out of the delivery room as a family of three.

Buying a home- Letting him lead.

It's been a while since I've written on here. Far too long really. I've tried several times, but school, work and a host of other things seem to get in the way. But now it seems time to take a moment and look back, to reflect on God's faithfulness to us, on the changes, and on the adventures ahead.

In November we bought our first house. Its a recently "flipped' ranch in a neighborhood about two miles from our previous apartment. Can I just say this? I really enjoy being in a house again. I also really enjoyed what God taught me in the process of buying a house. You see, I'm married to an introvert who loves me deeply. (Some of you are shocked when you hear introvert, I know... but it's true). I'm not an introvert. However, my introverted husband who loves me so well, would do anything he can feasibly do to take care of me, and make me happy. This includes the fact that he hates to tell me "No", to anything, unless he really believes it is not for my good, unwise, or unbiblical. This sounds great, and usually, it is- for me. But it was in this home- buying process that he saw me excited, and wanted to give me what I wanted. It was in this same process that God nudged me and told me I needed to try and release him from his self-imposed burden. It is not that I was trying to manipulate Ty, or get my way. It's simply that he loves me and knew I was tired of the constant noise of our apartment neighbors, the rusty stairs to our apartment, and taking my dog "out" in the freezing cold (to name a few things ;) ). So began my lesson. I realized that to love my husband well, I needed to let him know that I trust him completely, and then I needed to shut my mouth. I also needed to shut my mouth and not ask him what his decision was about this or that part of the process every five minutes (because my goal-oriented self likes to know the solution- whatever it may be- and prepare for it). Tyler needs time to think. I needed to not ask him his opinion as to whether or not we should do something and then immediately provide a way that my preferred solution could be executed. :) As I sought to let Tyler know that I trust him more than my emotions, that I wanted him to lead our family, I found such freedom. There is freedom when I don't have to make it happen. There's freedom when I let go, realizing that Ty is accountable to God for leading our family, and that I am accountable for loving and respecting him- and trusting him. I don't think I have this all figured out, and I'm sure I have a lot more to learn, but it was really cool to be able to let him lead, and let go.

So now we are moved in, and I'm grateful not to hear my loud neighbors. We've also met some really cool new neighbors that I look forward to getting to know better. During this time, I have also gotten a new job, which much better fits my skills and my desire to help people, as well as my school schedule. I'm incredibly grateful. But that's for another day, as are other things I could share, I'm sure.

Living in Community

Let me start with this: I got a new job! A job I am excited about. I could tell you many details I have to look forward to, but that's not really the reason I am writing.

I wasn't really looking for a job before this opportunity came along. I applied. I was nervous. Terrified in fact. In the past I would have kept the fact that I applied to myself, not told anyone, crossed my fingers, prayed and hoped for the best. I was afraid of failure. To be clear, applying for a job and not getting it does not equate to failure, I know this. In fact, it could be God's protection and provision for something different, even far better. But somehow in my mind, to apply for a job and be deemed "not good enough", was not something I wanted to share.

This time was different. I told people. I told my wonderful family, my amazing community group, my beautiful friends. Yet, I still feared I wouldn't get the job. I had knots in my stomach throughout the application, interview, and waiting process. Despite the fact I was trusting God that if I didn't get the job it was His best, I was nervous.

My friends, family, and community group surrounded me. They supported me, prayed for me, and asked me regularly how it was going. I could have kept the job information to myself (and Tyler). Yet, it was so freeing to know I was not alone, to know other people knew, cared, and were walking with me. If I hadn't gotten the job, it would have been far better to know that there were people I love walking through the situation with me.

But, oh my, the feeling of rejoicing with people that have been praying, hoping, and anticipating with you! To have others walk with me through this, sharing my nerves and excitement makes the result so much sweeter. I am so incredibly grateful for the people in my life. For the ability to "do life" with my community group, friends, and family. I am blessed with people who check on me, get excited for me and who I know will walk with me through thick and thin. I am grateful for everyone who faithfully asked how it was going, who listened as I excitedly shared details when I got the job and whose lives I love being a part of; hearing their stories, and striving to be equally faithful to in the details of their lives. Blessed.

Headaches

This is a post from a while back that I wrote... but never published...

I have perpetual headaches. They come whenever they want. Pain in my head is my body's primary form of communication with me. My head hearts when I am dehydrated. It hurts when there are allergens in the air. It hurts when my muscles are tight in my neck because I have worked out, or because I have stress. It hurts when I have to take medication to cure infections. My husband would tell you that I get headaches "all the time."

Often times I can tell the difference in the "type" of headache. (Is it at the base of my skull, or pounding in my temples; does it wrap all the way around my head, or can I a pinpoint its location?) Sometimes I can ignore them, or simply take something and ignore the pain. Sometimes I can drink a big glass of water and ward it off. I tell you this not to complain; though I am sure at this point it sounds like nothing but complaining. I share this because I was sitting in church today (with a headache from taking antibiotics, no less) and was totally convicted. We were looking at the life of Abraham, and I realized, just like Abraham, how short term is my view of things. How much I rush to fix each headache as an isolated incident, instead of praying and seeking God in the big picture. If headaches are my suffering, so be it. That is a light load in comparison with what my Savior took on for me. Would I prefer not to have them... of course. But people around me are suffering in greater ways all the time. And those without the Gospel are DYING while I complain of a headache. Perhaps my headaches should be my physical reminder to share with those who need the healing of the Gospel in their lives? Of course I will continue to try and drink water, or do what is necessary to get rid of them, because they are unpleasant; but perhaps I should pray for the lost, pray for opportunities to share the Gospel before I race to rid myself of the dreaded headache.

I write this not to say "oh poor me and my bad headache" but because I realize that this is NOTHING compared to what Christ suffered for me, and NOTHING compared to what believers around the world are suffering with daily. So here I am with my good health, my wonderful family and church family, and I don't share the Gospel as I should.

All I Have is Christ

We sang this song at the members meeting at Sojourn last night, and I realized once again that it truly is the heartcry of those who believe. But it also gives me hope for those who do not believe. If this is my song, it can be theirs too. I was first loved, I did not love Him first. I refused Him and He drew me still. I was bound and determined for my own way when my Savior captured my heart. Praise God.


I once was lost in darkest night
Yet thought I knew the way
The sin that promised joy and life
Had led me to the grave

I had no hope that You would own
A rebel to Your will
And if You had not loved me first
I would refuse You still

But as I ran my hell-bound race
Indifferent to the cost
You looked upon my helpless state
And led me to the cross

And I beheld God’s love displayed
You suffered in my place
You bore the wrath reserved for me
Now all I know is grace

Hallelujah! All I have is Christ
Hallelujah! Jesus is my life

Now, Lord, I would be Yours alone
And live so all might see
The strength to follow Your commands
Could never come from me

Oh Father, use my ransomed life
In any way You choose
And let my song forever be
My only boast is You

Grace Given

My parents would tell you from a young age that I never wanted to give up on people. I believed that every friend that disappointed or hurt me would change, sometimes almost blindly. I am now in a field where I get to give second chances to people all the time, and I love it. I love giving grace to people, to the kids that I see every day who, because of circumstances quite often outside of their control, have experienced horrendous things and respond as would anyone undergoing trauma. To addicts who are desperate to conquer their addiction, and can't seem to get a grasp on it. I can overlook ten thousand faults in friends and people I care about, many times not even being aware of the fault unless I am forced to address it. I love people, and choose to give them that grace. And when they ask for forgiveness, I can usually grant it, without a second thought or struggle.

However, when driving down the road and some random person cuts me off, I fail. I fail miserably. If you are my friend, someone I care about, someone in my world, I can freely give the grace that was given me. And often times even if I do feel the sin has to be confronted in love, I can confront it, and then  move on, loving the person, and letting go. But when it comes to the faceless person on the road who cuts me off, I fail to give grace. I fail to see that they are perhaps also late for work, or had a really bad day, or a rushing home to an emergency. A friend could cut me off, and I might laugh, or presume they are caring for a child that is screaming in the back, or distracted by some (in my mind) extremely legitimate excuse.

Fail. I want to give the same grace to everyone I interact with, whether it be a faceless driver, or my closest friends. We all need Jesus, and I have been given grace. Who am I to not extend it to others? Why must I act as if someone else's carelessness, busyness, or lack of paying attention is a personal attack on me? And yet I freely accept the grace I have been given again and again every time I sin and enjoy the ability to repent and be made right with God. I sin against the God of the Universe, and get mad when someone cuts me off in traffic. Father forgive me.
. 

Ya'll are Rich

This past weekend I was involved in a S2 (Sojourn Students) event. We took the students to the Ice Arena, then descended upon the mall for dinner and shopping; followed by the Southeast YMCA to swim, rock climb, and play basketball. The evening ended with 5 middle school girls spending the night in my apartment. We played Just Dance on Kinect, ate pizza and donuts, generally hanging out and having "girl time". Two young ladies from Shelby Park laughed and danced with three girls from completely different backgrounds. It was beautiful.

Tyler arrived home about 20 minutes before we headed to bed. It was around this time that one of the young ladies asked me where they would be sleeping. I told her she would be in the guest bedroom. Her jaw dropped, "In the bed?". "Yep." We walked down the hall, and she asked me which room she would be sleeping in. I pointed to the guest bedroom, and she promptly asked where I would sleep. I pointed next door to our bedroom. She looked at me bewildered, and asked "ya'll don't sleep together?" I responded that we did. "So, why do you have two rooms?" I explained that it was a guest room/office, but as I was explaining, realized, in her mind- there must be a purpose for the room- why else would we have it? How else could we have it?

I proceeded to the bathroom to wash my face, while Ty talked to the girls in the hallway. This same young lady then pronounced to Ty, "Ya'll are rich". While he proceeded to tell her that half of our furniture is secondhand, craigslist, or the like, I stood with soap on my face, convicted. We always hear that we are so wealthy in America, that if you can pay your bills you are wealthy, etc. I have heard this, and thought I understood it. Yes, I am well off compared to those in 3rd world countries, and I am grateful. But to be told I am "rich" by a girl who lives 5 miles from my home, as she stood in my 800 something square foot apartment filled with hand-me downs? That changed my thinking in a way I had not expected.

The next day, we got up and headed to Sojourn for a pancake breakfast. As I sat with the girls at breakfast, another leader asked this same girl if she would now consider coming to S2 on Wednesdays with us (she had never previously attended). She stated she would not. One and a half hours later, as we sat in service, I realized I would have to leave directly at the end of service and might not see this special girl again. I wrote her a note (Yes, I wrote a note in church)! I told her I enjoyed getting to know her, and was glad that she had come to my home. I passed her the note. She quickly asked me for my pen, scrounged another piece of paper from the back of the seat in front of her, and wrote me back. Her note said this "I'm glad you enjoyed having me at your house. You are a nice person, a kind person. I will go to Wednesday night. Do you go to Wednesday night?"

WOW. Praise the LORD. Totally a God thing. Nothing I could have thought, or planned would have worked out that well. Thank you Lord for using me, even in small things.

Last night, she came to S2, and brought her sister!

So in a weekend where I was exhausted, and had nothing to give, God worked.