Hope is Pink

 It was probably too early to tell, I thought, as I sat on the toilet and peed on another pregnancy test. I hadn't missed my period yet, but the early test promised results "six days sooner than my missed period." To be honest, I had spent an embarrassing amount of money on pregnancy tests over the last few months. But I needed answers. I needed to know. These little pink lines would tell me our future. 

See, my husband and I had lost our first baby a few months before. It had been a whirlwind of emotions from the beginning: Are we ready to try for a family? Will we have trouble conceiving, like our parents? This shifted to Oh my gosh, we're pregnant! How did it happen on our first try? Are we ready for this? There was a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. No one talks about the shock of a wanted pregnancy, but we had taken a leap of faith. Everyone says you're never truly ready for kids -- my friend even said  it's a lot like jumping in the deep end of the pool. 

We were cautiously eager. We of course told our parents right away. This was the first grandbaby after all, and we had to share the news. I made an appointment with my family doctor to confirm it. I peed in a cup, and we waited in the treatment room to hear the result. "You're pregnant!" she said. We looked at each other in amazement. Outside in the parking lot, we hugged and marveled that it was really happening. 

The next step was making the first OBGYN appointment at 8 weeks. We booked the appointment and waited. After an eternal few weeks, we were finally in the ultrasound room, ready to see our firstborn. My husband squeezed my hand as the tech moved the ultrasound wand. We waited. "Well," she said, "I'm not seeing anything yet. The development matches with 6 weeks, not 8. But the dating on the weeks could be off." I had been feeling some symptoms (fatigue, changes in appetite) and sometimes the dating of a pregnancy can be different based on ovulation. We felt assured that our doctor would shed more light on the situation. 

In the treatment room, though, we didn't hear what we had hoped for. "We're not seeing a fetal pole, there's not a heartbeat yet," the doctor explained. "It could develop into something. We'll have to do blood tests to see if your hormone levels are increasing." My husband's eyes teared up as the phlebotomist extracted a sample for testing. "It'll be okay," I had told him, feeling matter of fact. "Sometimes this happens and a baby doesn't develop. We'll be able to use this to encourage others who have lost babies." 

My levels did not increase, and at the next appointment, the doctor talked through my options: medication to induce miscarriage, D&C, or letting my body naturally remove the "products of conception." Since when was a baby called a "product of conception"? I couldn't bear the thought of anything invasive or medical -- we opted to let my body process it on its own. Part of me, too, wondered if the doctor was wrong, and if so, I didn't want to medically intervene if this baby was going to live.

The doctor was not wrong. Within the next few weeks, I had cramps and bleeding. A follow up ultrasound confirmed there was no baby. We left the appointment in tears. I hadn't realized until then how much I wanted that baby, how much I wanted it all to be true. 

And here I was now, staring at a pregnancy test and hoping for two pink lines of hope. A second pale, pink line appeared. I tested again a few days later, and the line was darker. And we had an ultrasound, and there was a heart beat and a baby. We dared to hope again.  

Confessions of a Modern-Day Martha

I recently realized why--at least partially--I am so driven. I asked myself if I know God is enough, why do I hold myself to unreasonable standards and demand so much of everyone around me? Why do I stand at the front of the empty courtroom, vacated nearly 2000 years ago, demanding that someone come in and condemn me for the things I hold against myself? “I haven’t kept a clean house, I haven’t loved my husband as I should, I haven’t kept up with my devotionals, I haven’t checked in with my parents in awhile, I was rude today… Hello? Anyone out there in the hallway? Someone come in here and agree that I’m an awful person and do not have my act together. Please.” But no one is in the courtroom. The case was closed centuries before my birth after the Resurrection, but I rail against the silence until my throat is raw.

I thought that maybe this was because I was trying too hard to please other people, and this is partially true. But mainly I do it to please myself. I have high standards and I need to uphold them to make myself happy, otherwise I judge myself. Sure, I don’t like when I fall short from people’s expectations, but deep down it’s because I can’t handle their condemnation, I am not centered at my core. At the root of the issue, I realized that I have crippling self-doubt: I doubt my ability to handle hardships, I doubt my ability to be a good wife, I doubt my ability to love as I should, I just doubt everything about me. But once again, it’s a one-woman show. It’s only me in that courtroom, no passerby’s, no judge, no witnesses. Empty.

Eventually, I collapse on the floor, exhausted. I realize that the battle has always been against myself, and that I’ve been trying to appease my high demands and--in essence--worship myself. I’ve been sitting on the throne and trying to rule, but I’ve been trembling so much from the strain and anxiety that I can’t hold my head up to support the heavy, fake crown on my head.

But the courtroom doesn’t stay empty. Jesus enters, and finds me on the floor, and gently scoops me into his arms. I sob into his shoulder and blubber about not being enough and not finishing my to-do lists, and he chuckles softly and wipes my cheeks like a kind father.

“My daughter, only One Thing is needed. I am the One Thing. It’s always been just me and you, nothing and no one else matters. You are only accountable to me, and I see you as perfect, lovable, enough, strong, good, and kind, because I give you myself. Please, stop condemning yourself. It hurts me to see you do this, and I want more for you. There’s so many amazing things I have in your future, and I can’t wait for you to be part of them. Don’t let yourself get in the way. Please give me your crown.” He reaches out his hand for my heavy crown, and I reluctantly hand it over.

The crown was a burden, and I am able to hold my head up higher without it. I realize that I was practicing self-harm all these years as a cruel taskmaster, not physically but emotionally and psychologically. It was me this whole time; I was my enemy. I tried to blame outside factors too, and tried to fight everyone else (at least in my head, since I’m non confrontational), but it was all me. Because I was trying so hard to walk a tightrope of perfection, every breeze of disagreement or perceived judgement left me teetering and fearing the coming fall. I couldn’t handle not feeling enough, and everything felt like a threat. But it was only me; the simplicity of having one enemy is freeing. As I stop fighting myself, I’m able to forgive and love, myself and others. When I focus on just me and Jesus, everything else is simplified beautifully.

I am enough because he is more than enough, and I can handle it because he’s already handled it, because the Perfect One, the mighty Lion of Judah, lives in me and loves me. He is enough, and that’s all I need.

Ageless

Being in your 20s is a strange time: you're trying to figure out what this whole "being adult" thing is that you've always heard about, you still feel like a big kid but you're at the point in life when you're seriously considering having your own kids (but you feel completely inadequate as an adult, and ergo, a potential parent), you're struggling to find the balance of being "fun" but mature (Is mature just a fancy word "adults" made up? Has anyone ever attained this illusive status of maturity?), you're possibly panicking that you're not where you imagined you'd be at this phase in your life (I mean, you've always wanted to be a ________ [fill in the blank] since you were 5, but you're nowhere close to achieving it. Sorry, five-year-old me!), and you have these eureka "aha" moments only to slip back into your old patterns of living days later. I may or may not relate to over half of these.

When I turned 25, my birthday felt less spectacular. I was a quarter of a decade old, half-way to 50, and biologically/physically speaking, at the "height" of everything so it would be all down-hill from here (the lies I tell myself sometimes are laughable, but only in retrospect). At 25, I wasn't getting any younger (Fact: you're never getting any younger, but the truth kinda smacks you in the face sometimes). My mom was awesome (as always) and put together a fun birthday box for me to make 25 a special birthday; she knew I was feeling slightly blue about this year's festivities. And then there was my husband, three years older, kindly laughing at me as he adamantly reminded me that "he was almost thirty." It's the oddest feeling when you realize you're older than a lot of celebrities out there, and then you're like, "Hey, I'm older than them. Why am I not famous?" Of course, I rarely say this out-loud, but it still passes through my head.

Now, past 25, I lose track of how old I am. One day at the book store, I told someone I was 25 (Ok, I was only a year off, but it was still strange that I couldn't remember off the top of my head). My exact words to a complete strange: "You should definitely read this [young adult] series. I love it and I'm 25." Today, when I tell people I'll be 27 in a few months, I laugh because I really feel 22 most days (Thank you, T-Swift). I have a few gray hairs making their debut, but I'm no longer upset about it. At this point, I feel like I've earned those gray hairs, and I'd be almost offended if my body didn't think I was "wise" enough to sport them.

My aunt said something really wise to me a few years ago. I was complaining about getting older, and instead of laughing at me and saying something like, "Ha! I'm in my 50s so you have no room to talk!" she gave me some great insight. She didn't deny your 20s are fun, but she said each decade has it's own unique and enjoyable attribute. In your 30s, you're learning more of who you are, in your 40s you care a lot less of what people think about you, and in your 50s...etc. It was a nice sentiment, but it didn't really click at the time.

At 26, I'm finally beginning to understand. Getting older is not a curse, because the parts of me I value are ageless. Yes, I do like having smooth, un-wrinkly skin, and I do get a kick out of looking a decade younger than I really am. But that pales in comparison to things that I'm steadily improving in with age. With each year, I gain new insights and ways of looking at things that make the world a far more interesting and meaningful place to call my home (my temporary home). I've learned so much about myself and my flaws, but also my strengths and how I can use them and bless others. I've learned that my faith HAS to be my own, and that walking with God in holiness is not restrictive but liberating. I've learned that 26 is too old to make excuses about being intentional about my relationships and taking care of my body and thinking about what I feed it. I've learned that 26 is only the beginning, not some sort of mournful end to youth. And the awesome part is that God is going to keep teaching me and showing me new perspectives and eureka moments with each passing year, month, week, and day that will further illuminate my perspective on life. At 26, it's refreshing to finally care less about things that don't matter and embrace the things that do. I'm enjoying life, and I'm enjoying this process of self-discovery alongside my Maker.

Here's to many more birthdays and eureka moments.

Sincerely,
Jane

What I Learned in Retail

It is with the greatest of delight and pleasure that I can say my last day of retail was Saturday, September 26th, 2015. Up to that point, I had worked in fast food or retail since my senior year of high school. Seven years. I can’t say it’s been grand, but it’s had its golden moments and life lessons along the way. Here’s a list of notable things I’ve gleaned from retail:

1. “Yes Ma’am” and “No Ma’am” or “Yes Sir” and “No Sir” are the most useful and most utilized words you’ll utter.
2. Stranger danger is overrated. Talking to strangers can be pretty awesome.
3. Some strangers are pretty weird and annoying, and you’ll regret talking to them.
4. Networking: Knowing people will get you places, so always be nice and friendly.
5. Introverts CAN fake an extroverted personality, but it’s exhausting.
6. I absolutely hate polo shirts. And I never want to wear khakis ever again.
7. Good attitudes are contagious, and people will be pleasant if you are pleasant.
8. Bad attitudes do no one any good, especially yourself. A bad attitude doesn’t teach anyone else a lesson.
9. People are weird when it comes to money.
10. Always treat workers in retail with respect and don’t be annoying.
11. Holidays are so materialistic. It’s gross.
12. It’s important to keep the team strong. Learn to like and get along with your coworkers, ‘cause customers and retail are crazy. You’ll need them and they’ll need you.
13. Listen. People need someone to talk to.
14. Smile. It breaks down barriers and melts the ice.
15. Small talk is normal and expected in the South. Just go with it.
16. Some people are nasty and rude for no good reason. It’s not your fault. Still be nice.
17. The men’s restrooms are often cleaner.
18. “The customer is always right” is the biggest lie ever.
19. Being able to do basic mental math is exceedingly useful.
20. Some people exude a sense of calm tranquility. They’re beacons of light in a busy world. Be that person for someone else.

Bitterness

(this poem is the result of a writing prompt that asked "what does bitterness look like?")


Bitterness is a dark, dark cloud
rolling in over the clear plains,
blurring your vision and proper reasoning.

It is foul smelling,
like a dead,
rotting creature.
It is not a living being;
it is the side effect of interacting with a living being.

Its taste is rancid,
like spoiled food left in the fridge long enough it blossoms into beautiful artwork with dazzling colors.
But these colors are not beautiful.
They are frightful and alarming,
warning signs of
Danger Ahead
and ill emotions festering for too long.

Bitterness is stale air.
No movement.
No friendly breeze.
No wind in the sails.
It is like a sea vessel,
once grand and heroic,
now sitting languidly and hopelessly in harbor.

Do not feed bitterness,
for it will morph into a monster and devour its host.

Excavate your heart and soul.
Dig deep
and unearth the evil within
before it takes root and grows into a hideous, thorny weed.

A Chat between Jonah and The Whale

This was written for my grad class. And I liked it, so I'm posting it here for your reading pleasure:


“This predicament is all your fault, you know,” said the whale matter-of-factly. He didn’t usually consume humans, or other sentient being for that matter.
“How is this my fault? I’m pretty sure you swallowed me,” countered Jonah.
The whale sighed. “I just did what He said. If I had my way, none of my food would talk back to me.”
“What He said? You mean God?” Jonah asked.
“Of course. What other He could convince me to swallow the likes of you? You’re a rather unpleasant fellow.”
“This is a rather unpleasant circumstance!” Jonah whined, trying not to breathe the foul stench of the whale’s digestive system.
“I’m not an optimist, but even I can see the positives in this.”
“Do tell.”
“No one could have survived that storm. We’re far from land. You couldn’t have made it to dry ground even if you were Michael Phelps.”
“Michael Phelps? Who’s that?”
“A really good swimmer. He’s not alive yet.”
Jonah’s curiosity spiked. “Alive yet?”
“Yes. He’s yet to be born. A couple thousand years from now. If you listened to God, He just might tell you some things.”
Jonah sulked. “Are we playing the blame game again? Are you saying if I listened to God, I wouldn’t be here?”
“Something like that,” sighed the whale, growing tired of his talking stomach.
Jonah thought for a minute. Maybe the whale was right. Maybe if he had listened the first time, he wouldn’t have ended up on that boat in the storm, and eventually, in this lecturing whale’s belly.
“Perhaps,” ventured Jonah, “I could have been more obedient and spared us both this awkward encounter.”
“But you didn’t. And now you’re here. Safe.”
“Safe?”
“Safe. Safe from drowning, safe from hungry creatures. This could be a blessing in disguise,” suggested the whale.
“Perhaps.” Jonah felt his heart soften. Maybe God was protecting him, even though God had every right to abandon him in the watery depths.
“Whale?”
“What is it, most unlikable talking supper?”
“I think God’s still going to use me. He wouldn’t have sent you if He didn’t have plans for me.”
“You’re a smart one, Jonah.”
“And,” Jonah continued, “I think I’m ready to be obedient. And I’m thankful, even though this is the nastiest of circumstances.”
“Hold on,” warned the whale. “Things are about to get a bit nastier.”
“Wha—?”
Before Jonah could speak, he was violently propelled from the whale’s insides and onto the shore. He tumbled in the sand, covered in seaweed, whale digestive juices, and other equally gross things.
“Dry land,” Jonah chuckled to himself, his hands clutching the sandy beach.
“Whale?” He looked out to sea, but Whale was gone. “That ornery fish. He knew all along. God, you’re pretty amazing. Where to next, God?”


-Jane

A Stranger Named Earl

(I'm trying to be more consistent with writing, so the writing prompt for today was "write about the kindness of strangers." What follows is a snapshot of an event that actually happened. Here's to Earl. :))



I didn’t know you, and you didn’t know me, but you pulled over when you saw my car stopped on the side of the road. “Do you need help?” you kept asking. No, no, I wanted to say, I’m fine, please go. He parked behind me. My heart started to thud rhythmically like an alarm, the words “stranger danger” throbbing in my ears. Turns out you were harmless. We both looked under the hood with furrowed brows, neither of us really knowing the problem. I doubted your knowledge of vehicles, but gathered it had to be greater than mine. I think our look of serious concentration could have fooled passer-bys into mistaking our confusion for intellect.

You waited with me until AAA came and towed my car, even though you didn’t have to. We made small talk about how nice the weather was in November, how it could have been much colder and much more uncomfortable to wait outside. You told me about your daughter and her schooling. I told you about my long-distance relationship and you murmured knowingly as I shared my love life. We talked about Thanksgiving feasts and good food. I had never heard of half the things you enjoyed eating, but I nodded in cordiality. I was brave enough to share my name with you. “Earl,” you said. “Nice to meet you, and thank you,” I said. I couldn’t thank you enough. Surely you had somewhere to go. No. You wouldn’t leave me waiting alone.

AAA came to tow my car and my ride arrived shortly after. “Thank you, Earl,” I said. I was a few hours behind schedule that day, but the day had pleasantly surprised me despite my car’s disrepair. Every time I pass the gravel shoulder where I pulled off in a panic, thinking my car was going to die any second, I think of Earl and say a prayer for him and his family.

We need more Earls in this world.