Around The Table

As a little girl, one of my favorite ways to help my mom in the kitchen was to lick off the beaters after they were done performing their magic in the banana bread batter. That batter was - and still is - the equivalent of edible gold. I could eat the entire bowl of the gooey indulgence, but the actual bread is something to be desired as well... so polishing off the batter wasn't an option. My boys enjoy licking the beaters as well - whether they are coated with creamy bread batter, chocolate butter cream frosting, or mashed potatoes. The kitchen is the heart of the home - because the food that pours out of it is a direct reflection of the hearts of the ones who cook in it. A little decorative jar in my kitchen bears a quote that sums this thought up nicely - A good cook knows that it's not what is on the table that matters, it's what is in the chairs. I couldn't agree more.

Though if I'm being honest, I really do enjoy my time in the kitchen prepping and cooking what ends up on that table. I first learned of my love for cooking during the early months of my marriage. Eric and I had moved across the country - leaving friends and family behind - as we began our adventure as husband and wife. Our tiny little apartment became our base camp, since we spent more time exploring the Rocky Mountains and sleeping under the stars than we did in our own home. But the weekdays were long for me, as it took me a few months to find a job. At this point, I could count on my fingers the number of homemade meals I had made prior to my wedding day and during the first few weeks of marriage. As I spent day after day searching for job listings in the newspaper and sending out resumes, my boredom and frustration pushed me to open up some of the cookbooks we had received as wedding gifts. And I began to teach myself how to cook.

The very first "from scratch" meal I cooked in our tiny apartment was penne with roasted peppers and sweet vermouth, a recipe straight out of a Williams Sonoma cookbook titled Pasta. I had fun working with fresh basil for the first time, and recall feeling sophisticated as I crumbled the feta cheese over the aromatic pasta dish. Eric was certainly impressed when he sat down for dinner that night. I gobbled up the husband's praise (pun intended) and pressed on through other cookbooks that awakened my taste buds to new and refreshing flavors. Eric and I eventually discovered that we loved cooking new things together, and cooking quickly became one of our favorite ways to spend quality time together.

Creating elegant and technical meals became our love language towards our family and friends. Eric would grill the filet and whip up a delicious and savory Bearnaise sauce, while I focused on the stuffed acorn squashes and chocolate mousse that just HAD to be presented in a martini glass. I even started reading about wine pairing, because, well, the meal wasn't complete until it had the perfect glass of wine to enhance its flavors. It was all about the meal... or was it? I loved being challenged in the kitchen - trying new techniques and feeling accomplished when I made something that had previously seemed daunting and unrealistic. But the real motivating force behind my love for spending time in the kitchen was who would be gathered around the table when it came time to eat.

There is something sacred about sitting around a table with a warm, home cooked meal centered between laughter and conversation. It allows life to slow down for a moment, giving us a chance to connect with one another. I look forward to the dinner hour every day. It really is consistently the only time during the day where my husband and children and I are all together long enough to have a "quality" conversation. I hear about Jack's day at school, and what everyone in his class had for lunch. I learn about the treasures Gabe found in the yard while playing with a friend (usually BB pellets and insects that appear in cups around the house). I get to hear about Eric's various ongoing remodeling jobs which are always accompanied with new revelations about how he wants to build our own house someday. Then its my turn to give an update on my Friday Night Lights reruns - which I have been watching while I nurse Sammy, since no one really wants to hear about how I managed to wash and fold two loads of laundry and empty a sink of dirty dishes into the dishwasher. When I think back on all the people Eric and I have invited into our home to gather around our table, it makes me ache for those moments instantly. For all who gather around our table are considered family, and the precious moments shared over countless meals are simply priceless.

This past summer I stumbled across a book that fanned my flame for cooking. Bread & Wine, written by Shauna Niequist, challenged me to do something in the kitchen that I had NEVER done before... cook with friends. In the 11 years I have been married, I had never invited a group of women into my home to cook and eat a meal together. A couple of months ago, when I asked three dear friends to join me on a Bread & Wine journey, we all realized that we were in the same boat. Not one of us had ever devoted an evening to cooking with friends - no kids, no husbands, no house full of chaos and trying to time the completion of every casserole perfectly (let me interject that those dinner gatherings are fun too) - just a group of women doing something that they do often, with each other.

We. Had. A. Blast.

Our Bread & Wine books lay open on the counters as we each prepped our own part of the meal, sparking conversations about what foods we were experimenting with for the first time. We zested limes. We crumbled feta. We laughed over the heap of corn kernels on my recently scrubbed hardwood floors. We tasted everything before it went on the table. We clinked my grandmother's antique wine glasses in a sparkling juice toast to amazing friendship and awesome food. And we laughed, cried and listened to each other's hearts as we enjoyed our meal.

At the end of the night, we agreed that our gathering needed to remain something beyond just a book study. The meal that night did more than fill our bellies, it nourished our souls. It is very true that some of our fondest memories are when we are gathered around the table. How important it is too, to nourish our friendships with the utmost care and attention. What better way to acknowledge those we hold dearest, than to invite them to gather around our tables.

 

 

 

 

I Am Second

I stood at the kitchen sink, refilling my water glass for the tenth time yesterday. I didn't have to move any dirty dishes out of the way in order to fill it up, either. In fact, not only was the kitchen sink empty, but so were the counters on either side of it. It was a first... in a long time. I smiled, as I turned off the faucet and took a sip of the cool, refreshing water. Maybe I could actually claim that life was getting back to somewhat of a manageable "normal" after baby number three entered my life. Then I glanced up at the window sill above the sink and noticed that my beloved basil plant was nothing more than a dry twig sticking out of rock solid dirt in a blue pot. "This is a season," I told myself, for the 6,729th time in the past eleven weeks. Just as quickly as I noticed the dead plant, I heard the faint little grunt of a soon to be unhappy baby and took off towards the sound. The fact of the matter was quite simple - nothing was more important than that baby in that moment. As a stay at home mother of three young boys, I acknowledge that they come first - first in priority, first to have their needs met, first to be dressed, first to be fed. I am second.

I would be lying if I said I was okay with this all of the time. In fact, its an honest struggle to make it through an entire day without at least a twinge of resentment over the fact that I can't take a nap when I'm exhausted, or I can't eat a hot meal - or a fresh one for that matter, or even have a simple personal thought that is uninterrupted by my children's requests, demands, crying or fighting. It is, quite frankly, a miracle that I have a few minutes to write this. But this particular thought has been stewing in my mind for months now. I have written this blog post over and over again in my head, during the wee hours of the morning when the house is silent except for the precious little being that is nursing at my breast. Writing is something that brings me comfort. It helps me organize my thoughts and brings life to trapped words and images that repeatedly circulate around and around in my head. When I write, the tiny voice that is constantly narrating my life turns from a whisper to a shout, and I can be heard - noticed, acknowledged. It has been months since I have had the opportunity to write, and I'm feeling a bit trapped... the words "I Am Second" repeating themselves over and over in my mind like an old sitcom rerun.

My husband and I are so incredibly blessed to have amazing children who, at such a young age, love Jesus and show such sincere compassion for others. My boys are my life right now - and I am A OK with it. However, as an introspective and analytical deep thinker, I need some alone time every now and then for my own emotional well being. I have to be able to process what I am seeing and thinking and feeling and make sense of it all. I absolutely have to be able to find and hear God's voice in my daily situations or else I lose my grip on life. Dramatic, I know. But when you are daily finding yourself covered in dried spit up, smelling like sour milk, with a back that feels like its going to break in two and just wishing it was after your child's last feeding for the day so you can indulge in a glass of wine but find yourself falling asleep when that time actually comes and can't wake yourself up to enjoy even a sip... it is ESSENTIAL to find the meaning in it all in order to press on to the next day.

My precious Samuel was born July 31, just weeks ago. An unexpected gift he was, but one of the greatest blessings of my life. His little dimples melt my heart. Just yesterday my darling 5 year old made Sammy laugh. There is no sweeter sound on this planet than a baby laughing. No sweeter sound. One of my most favorite things EVER is when Sammy nestles his little head right under my chin, grasping the collar of my shirt with his itty bitty fingers, his chubby legs wrapped around my waist, and sleeps. It gets even better when he smiles and giggles in his sleep, I imagine from dreams of him and his fellow baby buds splashing around with puppies and other cute baby animals in a pond of breast milk (or something like that). The other morning, it might have been somewhere between 2 and 3 am, as I snuggled my sweet tiny newborn, I uttered something like, "I wish I had someone to hold and snuggle me like this." And I heard the faint reply...

"I Am."

The tears streamed down my face. I knew He was. He always was. Holding me, snuggling me close. In the moments I made myself feel alone... in the moments I made myself feel like I was second to everything... He was making me First. He reminded me of Psalm 17:8 - Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings. That verse became my prayer in that early morning moment, and as I held my baby close, I knew He was holding me closer. Since that morning, I have been taking those quiet moments to simply talk to Him. I may not have time to write, or eat a hot meal, or take a shower longer than 3 minutes... but I do have time to talk to Him. My alone time has become centered around short conversations with my Heavenly Father who loves me. And He reminds me of that love every time I look at my precious children. He sees me in the same light as I see them - there is nothing that I wouldn't do for my boys. I can trust that when I feel I am running on empty, He is right beside me, filling my cup.

 

I absolutely adore baby feet. I can't even tell you how many times a day I kiss my baby's tiny toes. I have held Sammy's feet in my hands and prayed over them... asking God to lead them to beautiful places. I've asked Him to protect the path on which they tread. I've asked that wherever they land, that they are purposeful in glorifying His name. I realize that I am walking my own God given journey right now. The Lord has blessed my path as well. From the tops of the Andes Mountains in Peru to the bottom of the cascading Bouma Waterfalls in Fiji, to the stretching Chamonix vineyards in South Africa, He has led me all over the world - beholding breathtaking sights, and experiencing life in ways I never could have imagined. My feet might not be taking me to any exotic places right now, but He is gently reminding me that my journey isn't about location as much as it is about what I am doing in the spot He has decided to plant me in. Right now, my feet take me up and down the bedroom hallway in the wee small hours of the morning. They bounce and sway to lullabies, and chase little boys with the anticipation of a tickle fight. They step on crumbs and clumps of dirt in any given room in the house. In my most challenging moments of the day, when I long for sleep, a long hot shower, or a shopping spree in the suburbs (a girl can dream, right?) God is urging me to forgo uttering "I Am Second" and simply call upon I Am. For He has led me through every moment of my life, carrying me through the most difficult times. He hems me in - in front and behind. As my Heavenly Father, He loves me with a fierce devotion. And when I feel drained - completely spent where one more step feels like it could lead to a free fall - He takes that step for me.

 

I have included the lyrics to Nichole Nordeman's song, "I Am."  This song was sung at my wedding, a beautiful melody with words that rang true of my past, and words I knew to become truth for my future. I know I am walking through a season - one that requires more than I feel I have to give at the moment. With harvest underway and Eric busy working 80 hour work weeks out in the fields, single motherhood has taken hold of me. The Lord has been revealing Himself through the love and support of family and friends. He has been my Comforter, my Life Sustainer, my Super Hero. And when I call Him and ask Him to come and hold me...

 

He says, "I Am."

 

 

 

"I Am" - Nichole Nordeman

 

Pencil marks on a wall
I wasn't always this tall,
You scattered some monsters from beneath my bed,
You watched my team win,
You watched my team lose,
You watched when my bicycle went down again,

 

And When I was weak, unable to speak,
still I could call You by name,
and I said “Elbow healer, Superhero,
come if You can,” and You said “I Am.”

 

Only 16, life is so mean, what kind of curfew is at ten PM
You saw my mistakes, You watched my heart break
Heard when I swore I’d never love again

When I was weak, unable to speak,
still I could call You by name,
and I said “Heart-ache Healer, Secret-keeper,
be my Best Friend” and You said “I Am”

You saw me wear white, by pale candlelight,
I said forever to what lies ahead
two kids and a dream, with kids that can scream
too much it might seem when it is two AM

when I am weak, unable to speak,
still I will call You by name.
“Oh Shepherd, Savior, Pasture-maker,
hold on to my hand,” and You say “I Am.”

The winds of change,
And circumstance blow in and all around
us so we find a foothold that’s familiar,
And bless the moments that we feel You nearer

When life had begun, I was woven and spun,
You let the angels dance around the throne, who can say when,
But they’ll dance again, when I am free and finally headed home

 

I will be weak, unable to speak,
still I will call You by name
“Creator, Maker, Life-sustainer,
Comforter, Healer, My Redeemer,
Lord and King, Beginning and
the End, I Am, yes, I Am.”



The Power Of The Bump



I was about 7ish months pregnant with my precious first born son. I woke up groggily one Monday morning, wishing I could stay sunken into my cozy bed that had been over taken by several body pillows that formed a nest around me. I knew the only way I would be able to get myself awake and ready for work was to head straight to the kitchen and make myself some breakfast. Eric followed me. I headed straight for the toaster oven. I opened up the toaster oven and slid out the toasting tray. I then opened the fridge, pulled out the package of English muffins, opened the package, pulled out a muffin, cut it in half and placed it on the tray. I picked up the tray, turning to place it in the open toaster oven, when the door to the toaster oven surprisingly shut right before my very eyes and was beginning to heat a slice of cold pizza.

OH. NO. HE. DIDN'T.

I'm sure I had a few choice words for my husband who TOTALLY cut in line for the toaster. I was the pregnant one and HE got to eat first??? I was so upset that I left my untoasted English muffin on the tray and marched straight to the shower. The fumes coming out of my ears made for a very steamy shower that morning. Several minutes into my shower, my oh so sweet husband had decided to toast my English muffin, smear it with butter and jelly and bring it INTO THE BATHROOM to sit on the counter until my shower was finished. I'm not sure I actually finished rinsing myself off before flinging the shower door open, and grabbing the glass plate that held the now cold English muffin, (I think I grabbed a towel... the details are a little fuzzy), and marched right back to the kitchen where my husband was enjoying a hot breakfast in a clean environment where people don't pee and poop. I'm sure I yelled some more... but the part I remember well was the slow motion play of my English muffin - accompanied by the glass plate - soaring through the air, slamming onto the ground and skidding, jelly side down, all the way across the kitchen floor.

We both left the house for work that morning with a messy kitchen that we both refused to clean. In fact, I don't think the muffins or the smeared jelly were touched until Eric finally caved in and cleaned the floors that night after dinner (I know, what a guy). It is amazing that the plate didn't break. The English Muffin Incident was not one of my finer moments. But let me tell ya... that BUMP has some incredible power. That precious little baby bump has made me do things, feel things, and say things I NEVER thought I would do, feel or say. It has stretched me - in more ways than one, and has brought an orchestra of circumstances and possibilities into my life. And most of all, the biggest blessings in my existence have come out of it.

My first pregnancy left me swollen like the giant marshmallow man in The Ghostbusters. My lips were bigger than Angelina Jolie's. In fact, the last month of pregnancy, this Cinderella was only capable of sliding her beautiful princess foot into a fuzzy, stretchy slipper because her flip flops wouldn't even fit. I remember at around 30 weeks along in my pregnancy, a random woman came up to me in passing and made the comment, "Oh, you must be due any day now!" "Uh, no. I have ten weeks to go." A look of shock, closely followed by pity spread across her face and she quickly walked away. Thanks, lady. I needed to hear that I was huge. One more time.

I was a size 2 when I got pregnant with my first bundle of joy. Thirty-nine weeks later, I pushed out a 9lb 4oz boy with an adorably chubby face and a mohawk. My once smooth and fit tummy now had 7 inch tiger claw marks running north and south, starting two inches above my belly button. No one had ever told me that the baby bump would stick around... forever. But every time I held that beautiful miracle in my arms, that baby bump became nothing more than evidence of the greatest gift I had ever received.

The deflated bump began to grow again when my only child was 13 months old. Baby boy #2 was on his way! Of course it took me absolutely no time to show a belly bump during this second pregnancy. I was still sporting the leftovers from the last time around. I remember my first real "shopping" experience in this small town I now call home. I was around 5 months pregnant with baby #2. My sweet 1 year old was with Grandma at the farm and I was getting some "me" time to explore Main Street. I was feeling super cute - with my new J.Crew strapless purple ruffle dress that was NOT maternity but because of the style, I could pull it off quite nicely. I had on wedge sandals and white lacy underwear. The fact that I remember what kind of underwear I was wearing means that this story is heading in a place I wish it wasn't. And why on earth was I wearing white lacy underwear at 5 months pregnant? I have no earthly idea. Still kicking myself for even owning a pair.

I had just stepped out of a store that required a few steps to climb down to be street level again. The moment I hit the pavement, an unnatural swirl of wind came up from out of nowhere. Now, because of my baby bump, it was already a bit drafty underneath that dress because my belly pushed the fabric straight away from me. That wind found a fun place to play very quickly as it literally pushed my ENTIRE dress all the way up to the elastic that wrapped around underneath my chest. In other words - my whole self was exposed from the top of my belly - down. Now, it wouldn't have been embarrassing if no one had been around to witness this catastrophic event. But, because I have awesome luck, a red pick up truck with a bed FULL of construction workers sitting out in the open just so happened to be driving past me at that exact moment. I heard whistles, the clapping of hands, a few "Thank you's!" and someone mentioned my lacy undies. Even I couldn't help but laugh at the perfect timing. I don't believe I wore that dress during that pregnancy again.

Baby boy #2 was born at 39 weeks as well. My stretch marks had grown another inch above my belly button by the time this 9lb 10oz baby entered the world. Two beautiful boys - Jack and Gabriel - had completely changed me from the inside out. When Gabe was old enough to speak, he would make fun of my belly, telling me that I had an "old lady tummy." He would laugh and poke at it like it was there to simply amuse him. The little stinker.

Then... a little over four years later... a big SURPRISE! and baby boy #3 is on his way! I think enough time has passed between this pregnancy and my last, enough for me to be shocked at my emotional state, hormonal swings and responses to life circumstances. I had to stop watching The Voice because I was crying every single time a judge turned their chair around. Every. Single. Time. And forget Wheel of Fortune - if the final contestant wins the last round and gets a whole bunch of money, I just can't even handle it. The finale of Parenthood left me in such an emotional mess of tears and snot that my husband brought me a box of tissues and refused to watch it with me. My mom told me recently that with the birth of every child, a woman loses 20% of her brain. This makes perfect sense to me. I have already forgotten to bring Gabriel to school. I've called Jack by our FEMALE dog's name - Zoya. And I've already sobbed angrily at my husband for drinking a beer in front of me because I really just want a glass of wine. It's the third pregnancy for me and I am feeling like that English muffin... all over the place.

It really is amazing what this bump can do, however. At 9pm, when my husband is all maxed and relaxed in his sweat pants and favorite after-shower T-shirt, he will very happily drive to Culver's to get the bump a hot fudge, peanut butter and Reese's Pieces sundae. When I was very pregnant with my other two, I even managed to repel grown men from entering an elevator with me. The bump is special enough to get dibs on sleeping in on Saturday mornings, and the cheesiest burger off the grill. The bump always gets to ride shotgun, and always gets the comfiest seat in the house.

However, after the baby comes, the perception of the bump changes. In fact, the leftover baby bump isn't celebrated enough. There are so many helpful "cures" out there to assist women in flattening out that tummy again. I'll be the first to admit that my Spanx and I have an awesome relationship. I have wished many times for a smooth, toned belly again. I know I will never get it. I think it is quite common for women to feel self conscious about this. But my precious 4 year old put things into perspective for me the other day. He walked into the bathroom after I had just gotten out of the shower. I was in my pants and a bra. He reached over and gently touched my stretch-marked belly. "Mommy, your belly is beautiful because you have a baby inside of it."

I looked down at my sweet little boy with tears in my eyes. Yes, my belly is beautiful. It's growing a tiny human, after all. One of the greatest miracles of our time - something we get to witness time and time again as our friends, sisters, and daughters walk through the journey of pregnancy - the growth of a little human being inside of another. Later that day I witnessed my six year old tend to a friend who had fallen down and gotten hurt. He comforted and consoled her as she cried, never leaving her side until she stood up and they ran away playing together. I witnessed the joy on my four year old's face at his first soccer game as he ran the ball down the field, continuing to look up at me to make sure I was watching. Where did these beautiful little people come from?? Did these perfect creatures really come from this mangled body that I often wish I could change?

As I feel this new little boy kick and push his way around inside of me, I celebrate the blessing and miracle of this bump. That I was chosen - hand picked by my Creator - to be the momma of the two sweetest little men on the planet (I'm guessing the third will be just as darling, but I've learned my lesson with speaking too quickly and I'd rather not jinx myself) is the greatest honor I have been given in my 34 years of life. If the leftover bump is evidence of this honor, than I gladly accept it like a blue ribbon and wear it proudly.

I'm a grower of tiny humans. I now have the ferocity of a lioness when it comes to my little cubs.
The bump may have turned me into an emotional heap, but it also gave me unparalleled courage when it comes to defending my littles. I am my children's biggest advocate, their most enthusiastic fan, their most dedicated prayer warrior, and the one who kisses their sweet soft cheeks the most. Today I celebrate the beautiful and powerful baby bump - whether it is growing a baby or already has... my bump links me to my most cherished blessings. Here's to you, dear sweet baby bump - and all of your miraculous glory.

When He's Gone

I woke up this morning to the tiny whispers of my precious 4 and 6 year old boys who were standing outside my bedroom.

"You go in first and distract her!"
"OK!" (The door squeaks open.) "Good morning, Mom!" Gabe exclaims, standing next to my bed. He hoists himself up onto the covers and crawls into the sinking abyss of pillows next to me. I lean over to give him a kiss, then notice Jack standing in the doorway.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Mommy!!" Jack yells, stepping aside, so I can see the Valentine heart he hung on my door knob. Then he proceeds to explain how he had Gabe come in the room first so I wouldn't notice him hanging the heart on my door. This covert op took a lot of careful planning. We all snuggled for a bit as we planned our special day out. We would surely miss Daddy, as he is serving the beautiful people of Haiti this week, but we were going to celebrate Valentine's Day with a heartfelt bang anyway.

The boys decided that they wanted chocolate chip pancakes from IHOP, so we piled into the car and set out on this ridiculously blustery cold day. I turned on the radio as we were rolling down the drive way. The first song that played was John Legend's All Of Me. I really hope no one saw this blubbering mess as I drove down Main Street. I really wasn't prepared for the onslaught of emotions that forced their way out of me as I listened to the words of this song. I like the song, sure. But for the next 25 minutes as I drove us to the restaurant, I thought about what the song was really triggering in me...

Eric and I were close friends for a long time before we started dating. In fact, I often assumed the role of matchmaker, setting him up on dates with my friends. When he first introduced the idea of us dating, I actually shot him down flat. Poor guy. He confessed that he knew I was the one he was going to marry and that he would wait for me. He never stopped pursuing me. Love letters, home cooked dinners (for a college guy, they were really impressive), sweet gestures, and poetic invitations to the spring fling boat dance... Eric was good. Real good. We had been dating for only a month when summer vacation rolled around and we had to say good bye for a while. He was taking a class in Michigan for the summer, and I was headed home to Memphis. One day I received a beautiful love letter, written on a piece of birch wood that he had peeled off of a tree near his campus. Dried Michigan wild flowers were glued around his words, words that blended in with the grain of the wood. The letter is currently displayed in my living room. It's one of my most favorite gifts he's ever given to me.

Our dating relationship was primarily long-distance based. He had graduated college a year ahead of me. That brought obstacles and hardships of their own kind. But Eric knew how to woo. I will never forget our date at Harry's Velvet Room in downtown Chicago, where we needed to purchase a $100 bottle of champagne just to sit down at a table. A huge bowl of the most luscious strawberries and sweet chocolate indulgences to dip them in accompanied the bubbly. That night I felt expensive, like I was really WORTH something of high value to this guy sitting next to me. I also thought he was a bit crazy for spending that much, but I didn't tell him that.

After a beautiful proposal, our roller coaster engagement followed. I had actually returned my ring to him at one point and called off the wedding. Somehow we survived, had a beautiful wedding, and entered into our covenant of marriage. Our first year and a half of marriage was spent living in the beautiful city of Denver. One of my favorite dates that we had living in Colorado, was when we ate at the Red Lion, in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. We sat outside next to a creek running with cool mountain water, indulging in filet and fine wine. We loved camping and would often drive to Vail for a few nights of sleeping in a tent and hiking. We would make some shrimp skewers and filet kabobs for our campfire. Even our sweet puppy, Zoya, would get to partake in the feast. So many nights, Eric and I would fall asleep to the sight of stars overhead, and the sounds of crickets and babbling brooks, laying in each other's arms.

Then there were the days I threatened to leave him. You see, I was a flighter. I hated fighting. Some of our worst fights happened when we lived in Huntsville. Eric was unhappy in his job, and desperately longed to join his family in the farming business in Illinois. I had no desire to leave my family. By the time our family of two grew into a family of four, our relationship was tense. A year of intense marriage counseling helped bring us together on some key issues, though some problems clung to us like leeches and followed us to Illinois.

Our family has thrived in Illinois. Here we have friends who are like family. Our boys are in their element. But our marriage has continued to be hard work. Just over a year ago Eric and I decided - we would either fight for our marriage or end it. There were so many good things in the life we had built together... but there were so many hard things that we were enduring too. In that moment, when we faced a choice, I recalled an old friend's wise words which had shaped the way I viewed love a long, long time ago. The words had prompted me to end a very destructive relationship I had been wrestling with in college. In the moment when Eric and I faced a similar decision, those words came back to me, and saved our marriage.

Love is a choice.

I look back and marvel at the memories I share with Eric. Swimming in sparkling, cascading waterfalls in Fiji, camping on the beach in Key West, dancing with beautiful African children on the dusty streets of Ghana, holding our first and second child just minutes after they were born, sitting on the 95th floor of the John Hancock building as we clanked our martini glasses to the city below us - the city where we fell in love, and walking through the gates of Disney World with two excited little boys who believed in magic and dreams coming true. All of these memories... just proof that mine and Eric's dreams HAD come true. And all of these moments had been based on a single choice - to love.

It's so hard when Eric is gone. When he's gone, I long for the snoring next to me - because it means that I am safe, and I can sleep peacefully. When he's gone, I long for my help to come home at 6 pm every night to help me deal with unruly boys that I just don't have the energy to yell at anymore. When he's gone, I long to be held, kissed, and told that I'm doing just fine. When he's gone, I realize more than ever that no matter how hard it gets sometimes, I never want to choose life without him. When he's gone, I remember all the things I love about him, and why I have been choosing to love him for the past 13 years.

God commands us to love one another. God doesn't tell us that we will feel all warm and fuzzy towards our spouse all the days of our lives. He COMMANDS us to love each other - as in, its a choice. We can follow the command or not. As I heard that song on the radio this morning, I thought about the journey Eric and I have been on... a journey filled with ups and downs, blessings and hardships, challenges that have helped us grow, and an immeasurable amount of love. When we choose to love our spouse, we choose to love ALL of them - all their curves and all their edges, all their perfect imperfections. And through it all, we continue to make that same choice, even when the risk is high, when we have no control, when we are broken and hurt. We choose to love.

I get a glimpse of what life is like when he's gone... and it's a life I never want to choose.

There Is Room

It was the summer of 2013. I turned to Eric one night and whispered, "I think it's time to grow our family again." He told me that he had been pondering that same thought too. When we decided to try for our first and second children, I got pregnant after our first attempt - both times. Figuring that this would be the case again, we made plans to start trying to conceive. We would start trying after we returned from a vacation to Colorado in September of that year, knowing that we'd be pregnant by October, have the baby during the summer in 2014 when the kids would be out of school and have time to adjust to a new baby before harvest season. What a great plan. In fact, it was perfect.

At least it sounded perfect to us.

By the time 2014 rolled around, I was a little surprised that I wasn't pregnant yet. April. May. August. I didn't know how I felt. Lord, is it selfish for me to want another child? Do you really not want to give us another baby? Eric and I had been praying that the Lord would bless us with another child in His perfect timing. This prayer really translates to "Lord, we are trying here. Please just give us the baby!!" Both Eric and I prayed that if we weren't supposed to have more than two kids that He would take the desire away to have more. In the meantime, FIVE of my closest friends were beautifully pregnant and having baby showers and talking about baby names and all the baby talk that comes along with being pregnant. And the question that had been growing in my mind all year just kept resonating louder. Why wasn't I getting pregnant? WHY?

Some time this past summer, Eric and I changed our prayer. No - actually, Eric changed the prayer. One day, he prayed, "Lord, show us how You want us to grow our family." I'm not going to lie - I didn't like this prayer. It didn't revolve around conception... it was too open ended. It made me feel uncomfortable. But that is how Eric prayed from then on. Lord, show us how You want us to grow our family. I just went with it.

The end of September, I began a new Bible study with an amazing group of women from my church. We began meeting every Wednesday to dive into the book of Nehemiah. I really had no clue what the book was about, just that Kelly Minter wrote the study that we were using, and I had enjoyed studies written by her in the past. (Had I really thought about it - I would have pointed out to myself that it was her study on the book of Ruth that changed my views towards farming and ultimately drove me across the country to a new way of life. And then I would have told myself to "Watch out.") No such reminder came to me, and I blindly dove into a story that could not have been more metaphorically representative of my current life. The first day of the study - as I do on the first day of every study I begin - I had the women in the group turn to the inside cover of their book study and write down their current struggles and concerns that they hoped God would answer throughout the course of the Bible study. I firmly believe in God's timeliness and how He places resources in our hands at the precise moment we need them. I love seeing how God uses Bible studies to reveal answers and plans that we have been seeking for quite some time. At the top of my own "Personal Struggles" list on the inside cover of my book, I wrote "inability to conceive a child." Let's see how you answer that one, Lord.

At about the same time as this study was beginning, I had finally made an appointment with my doctor. It had been a year, after all, of really trying to get pregnant. I was in need of some answers. She ran a couple of tests and set up an appointment at a fertility clinic that was an hour away, for a consultation to see how we could get things moving. When I told Eric about the appointment, he made a face when I said the words "fertility clinic." You'd think he'd swallowed an entire lemon.

"Is this really what you want?" he asked.

"I mean, um, DUH! We have been trying to get pregnant for a year - YES! I want another baby!!" (I'm not sure my actual response was this nice, but it was something similar.)  But even then, as I tried to convince him that keeping the appointment was our only option, I felt unsettled... like this wasn't supposed to be a part of our story. Not because either one of us had any sort of opposition to fertility clinics... but because it just didn't seem right for us.

Lord, show us how You want us to grow our family.

We prayed this prayer every day. In the car, on the way to church. In the bathroom as Eric would kiss me goodbye as I hopped into some sweatpants to rush my kindergartner to school late. In whispers before we both closed our eyes and fell asleep.

And then I started my first week of homework for my Nehemiah study. The first session had really focused on missions and serving others. I could see the correlation, since Nehemiah had been all about helping others in need. But Day 1, Day 2, and Day 3's homework kept revolving around praying for God to break my heart. Now, I have written in my past several blog posts about the difficult year I had in 2014. So I was a little hardened as I sat there, being challenged to pray for God to break my heart, when I had barely survived the previous 8 months. I was broken already.

Or so I thought.

On the 5th day of the first week of the study, Kelly Minter asked this question, "What has God put in your heart to do?"

I usually was quick with the answers, but I stared at the empty space below the question, my pen hovering in the air like a hawk poised to strike its prey. Nothing came to mind. The truth was, my heart and mind and entire being had been so self absorbed the past several months that I really had no idea what God wanted me to do... about anything. As I sat there, frozen in the moment, a single word came to the front of my mind like a fragrant flower that you just catch the scent of as it blows by... not lingering, just enough to make its presence known. I shook my head. God, that is crazy. It's just crazy talk.

And I didn't write it down.

As I learned about how Nehemiah didn't just help the people of Jerusalem rebuild their city - but helped bring about restoration in the hearts of God's precious people, I could visibly see restoration happening in my own life. The fog had lifted. I was feeling a sense of expectation from a God I hadn't heard from in a while - due to my own withdrawal. I was a couple of weeks into the study, telling Eric about how I felt like I was coming back to life, rebuilding after a destructive year. I shared about the latest homework question - "In matters relating to God's kingdom, what are you most zealous about? What makes your heart burn?" Those answers came easy.  Discipleship and leading other women into God's Word. I was currently doing that one. And the other, so obvious one - overseas missions and children.

Now, I'm just simply babbling excitedly about how I'm feeling fired up again, like my passion had been returned to me, and Eric says to me, "Do you think we should think about adoption?" It took no longer than a second for me to be back there again...

Standing in the middle of a small, dry dirt patch with an old  tree barely giving us any shade. I was sketching. I had a ripped piece of paper, a dull pencil and about five minutes to finish my drawing. She sat there by the base of the tree, her dark round eyes fastened on mine. A grin stretched across her face as she dug her dusty feet into the dirt. I knew in that moment that she could be mine. This perfect little 5 year old African beauty.

Her name was Akos. When Eric and I and the rest of our missions team arrived at the AIDS Orphanage in the upper west region of Ghana, Africa, I had not been prepared for the tug this particular child was going to have on my heart. Neither was Eric. We were naïve 26 year olds, who thought we could take her home and love her. Just like that. When Eric and I finally had time to process our thoughts and feelings about that day, we mutually decided that we would be "open" to adoption. I suppose I thought that meant that if an opportunity ever presented itself, we might consider it. What I didn't know, was that God had planted a seed that day. And unbeknownst to me, He had been watering that seed with Eric's recent prayers.

Lord, show us how you want us to grow our family. Our prayer stayed the same. I didn't say yes to Eric when he asked me about adoption, but I didn't say no. I did confess however, that God had brought that very word to my mind the first week of the study. So my ears were definitely perked up to hear what He had to say about the matter. And for crying out loud, He had a lot to say about it.

In the following weeks, the topic of adoption was everywhere. One morning, adoption was the theme in our devotional (For He chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will - to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. Ephesians 1:4-6). Our friends were randomly bringing up adoption in everyday conversation - completely unaware of what Eric and I were praying about. Even our favorite TV shows were revolving around themes of adoption and orphans. At some point, I invited my mom to pray with us on the matter. One afternoon she called me and told me that she had been praying at church that morning about Eric and I and the possibility of adoption in our future, when the preacher began his sermon on ministering to the ends of the earth. When the sermon ended, she stood up and turned around, only to find a little African girl sitting behind her.

As I pressed on through the Bible study, I felt my heart breaking. As it was breaking - not for myself, but for others... for orphans - I felt my heart and will yielding to God's. I sensed that adoption was something very real that Eric and I should be exploring, but I was still hung up on something. There was a pending appointment at a fertility clinic in a week. Was I just supposed to walk away from something I had wanted for so long? I could have answers very soon! Results! We could be well on our way to conceiving a child of our own! I clung with might to the final thread of that dream as I entered the room where I met with my Bible study girls on Wednesday, October 29, 2014.

Each week, Kelly Minter opened our study with a video of an interview she had with someone in the mission field. She had spoken with missionaries, family members who had been on overseas mission trips, and local organizations that aided in disaster relief. As the video for this particular week began, and she introduced a woman who had just adopted a baby girl from China, my heart skipped a beat. It was coming. I heard Him gently whisper, "Pay attention, Heather." My throat swelled and tightened and I nervously clicked my pen as I awaited what I knew would be the defining moment for me in this whole process. I could sense it.

Kelly opened with a question very similar to, "What would you say to someone who was just starting to think about adoption? What was the defining moment for you that led you to make the choice to adopt?" I couldn't have asked a better question myself. And the answer came. The woman said (to my best recollection), "I felt like God was asking me if there was room at our table for another child."

Immediately the image of some old wooden beams Eric salvaged from a dilapidated barn popped into my head. He is in the process of sanding them down, revealing their rich, earthy color with swirling knots and imperfections, and piecing them together to make a beautiful, rustic dining room table for our "someday future home."

I couldn't fight the tears. Of course there is room at our table, Lord! YES!! There is room. There IS ROOM!!! I sat there, with a firm and confident answer coursing through my body. We were going to adopt. No doubt about it. The woman shared James 1:27 in her interview - "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress..." This is a commandment, and God wanted my obedience. It was never about Him not wanting to give us another child. He wanted me to submit my will to His. I finally understood WHY.

That day when Eric came home from work, I told him about the video. Without hesitation he said, "So, I guess that means we are adopting a child." He smiled and hugged me. Man, I love him. I called the fertility clinic and cancelled the appointment. Eric and I prayed together, and made a joint decision to walk away from trying to conceive a child.

In the weeks to follow, our hearts continued to break. I linked up with some orphanages on Facebook so I could gather as much information as possible about how they worked. We invited some sweet friends over for dinner and asked them to share their own adoption story. In the throes of all this, Eric was preparing to lead his second missions team to Haiti. We could not overlook the timing of this. Was I meant to go with him? One of the orphanages that we had been drawn to was affiliated with the missionaries he worked with in Haiti. Could I serve there for a week? Was there a child currently waiting for us to get our act together and find him or her? I was regularly waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat... weeping for a child whom I did not know.... praying for him or her to be safe, fed, clothed. We began inviting our family and friends to pray for us as we embarked on this journey. We knew it would be hard, long, and full of unexpected obstacles. And I lined up child care for the boys for the week of the Haiti trip, and prepared to contact the orphanage to see if I could serve there for the week.

And then, on December 3, 2014, I found out I was pregnant.

Eric and I just recently witnessed this peanut-sized miracle swimming around inside of me. We had intentionally walked away from trying to conceive, to throwing our entire selves into the adoption process, to now being pregnant AND longing for an orphan child that God has prepared our hearts for. Talk about a twist in the story! Throughout this whole process, God has taught me A LOT about His timing. (Did anyone tune in to the fact that I ended up getting pregnant just two weeks after we said YES to adoption?) Though very untimely to me, God's plan was carefully laid out and blessed Eric and myself beyond measure. God is always intentional.

So... we are expecting!! A beautiful little baby due in August, AND a precious orphan that God has set aside for us. And we are trusting His timing in all of it. The vision is big, with many unknowns, but Eric and I are so excited to be HERE right now. I really should have known better... when I told God there was room at our table, that He would indeed begin filling it. Did I mention that Eric is building this table to comfortably seat 12?