when it doesn't look like you thought it would

I've had this post swimming around in my head for months now. I change things, I add things, I take some out...it seems as though I'll never get it all out. And maybe I won't? Because I'm still in the middle of it, and there's more to be shared, I am sure. But I've been ignoring the urge to just get this down, and I'm going to finally stop ignoring it.

While far from perfect, my life all the way through college was fairly easy. It had ups and downs - break ups, disappointments, failed friendships, new jobs, new schools, lots of missions trips where I learned a good deal. But not a lot that I could say was earth-shatteringly devastating or changed my life so drastically that I would always point to THAT time. Then I got married, and both of us decided to hit that growing, stretching life-altering stage AFTER the wedding. (which is fairly common) We had some really hard years, years where we honestly weren't sure we would stay married. And that shocked me. I knew people with hard marriages or who had divorced, but never assumed that would be something I would face, and multiple times, no less. It didn't look like I thought it would.

Then we added another person to our lives in the form of a baby. We were so excited and scared and every other emotion that comes with pregnancy, but we were ready! Except we weren't. Not only did that baby turn our world upside down like every baby tends to do, but I was hit with depression - something I again assumed happened to other people. Not me. Our baby was always in pain and cried more often than not for a solid 5 months, and I ended up being a research-aholic trying to figure out what was wrong and kind of missed that whole 'enjoying the baby' phase. It didn't look like I thought it would.

Fastforward a couple of years and we're contemplating a move - to IOWA of all places. 'Corn'-y jokes aside, (see what I did there?) we were excited! Closer to family, a slower pace of life, ability to stay home and raise some babies and some chickens. So we put our house up for sale and I quit my job. But said house didn't sell...and didn't sell...and didn't sell. And all of a sudden I was faced with the prospect of staying where we were, in the same house, except all of a sudden I was a stay-at-home mom with not a lot of stay-at-home mom friends and no idea how to change our entire way of living when we hadn't actually gone anywhere. It didn't look like I thought I would.

Then we had Jude. A great labor and delivery, and an immediate bond with this baby. I had let go of a lot of expectations for those first few weeks (so I thought) and it was blissfully exhausting. Sure, I had a case of mastitis from hell and didn't sleep a lot, but this time I was enjoying our baby. He seemed 'normal' to me (whatever that is in baby-world). He slept, he cried when he needed something, he ate, he pooped, the end. We did a lot of bonding and a lot of cuddling and I finally felt like yes!! This is that new baby phase everyone talks about that I definitely did not feel the first time. I loved it. About 3 or 4 weeks in, things started to change. He was getting reflux, I wasn't getting milk and none of us were getting sleep. The reflux got worse and we switched him to formula. Hard, but I was OK with it. Then the reflux got worse, the formula wasn't working, and all of a sudden we were faced with another scenario like last time: our baby is in pain, we don't know what's wrong, and that's not OK. It didn't look like I thought it would.

Except this time, I felt like it DID look like I thought it would, like it was dangled in front of my face for a few brief moments, then snatched away. And I was angry. SO angry.

I definitely felt overwhelmed and had down days, but I wasn't depressed like last time. I was just mad. It surprised me how mad I felt, since I'm not usually a big emotion person. (hormones only add to this wonderful mix) I felt like God was somehow taunting me. We had a lot of quiet-yelling conversations, mostly while trying to get a crying baby to sleep. I would just let it out, crying right along with him, not mincing words or feelings. Saying things that sounded a little like my three year old (this isn't fair!) and things that were much harder and deeper (do You care? Does this even matter?) I began to see that there were a lot of things hidden under the surface that I needed to deal with, to work through and wrestle with, and I am so thankful that I knew that I could. You see, a few years ago, I wouldn't have felt that way, wouldn't have felt OK to question God - to REALLY question His goodness, His love, His plans. I felt like I had to somehow say 'Yes, this is hard, but...' But...God is in control. But...God loves me. But...it's for my good. And it's one thing to say those things. But until those things have been truly challenged and the rug has been pulled out from under you, well. Let's just say cursing had never come so easily at any point in my life. I was like a secret sailor.

Slowly, gently, graciously, God let me work through those feelings. By allowing Graham to have some epic meltdowns (totally out of character for him), He showed me not only how I was acting, but also how He was acting. Loving. Holding me. Guiding me. Even when I didn't understand or like what was going on. We'd been visiting a new church, and I felt compelled to join the woman's Bible study. (which I never do. I like one on one, not usually big groups of women with all our emotions and hormones) The first two weeks were, no lie, on anger and God's character. Do I trust Him? I was taken back to Jude's birth, where I was so fearful, and remembered feeling that same thing. And that I had picked the word 'Trust' for this year (I pick a theme word every year). The anger began to subside, but the hard days didn't. And still I was learning.

I've shared a lot more personal thoughts and feelings on social media this year than ever before. In realizing the need for community, I also realized that if I have people in my life, then I want them IN my life. And that means the hard icky stuff as well as the wonderful and happy things. And the thing with the hard stuff is that it's just that - hard. It's ugly, because we live in a world full of sin and disease and hardship. We're not promised an easy life, and we're not told to call ugly things beautiful. They're not, they're ugly. And we've had a lot of uglier moments in the past few months, from overwhelmed days and doctor appointments and babies with a sickness that isn't going anywhere. Those things aren't beautiful, and I'm beginning to understand I don't have to make them be. I don't have to say 'This is hard, but.' I can say 'This is hard.' period. And in saying that, I haven't removed the beauty from my life, or negated it in any way. Because sometimes the ugly makes way for the beautiful. They're not mutually exclusive; they can coexist in this strange muddle of life that doesn't always make much sense, but they're both there. Ann Voskamp calls it the 'ugly beautiful'.

There are days when I'm fumbling through, trying to find the beauty, and there are days where it's right in front of my face all day long (those days are always nice). Every day isn't happy, but there is joy. I've always heard that joy and happiness are not the same, and I understood it to a certain extent. I'm seeing now that joy isn't always this exuberant expression of joyfulness (insert picture of radiant woman dancing in a field). It can be quiet. An undercurrent. Our pastor used to say that 'joy is peace dancing and peace is joy resting.' And I feel it. That underlying sense of peace, of 'rightness', even on the most difficult days. This last week has been a long string of those days - one reaction set off a whole cluster of reactions for Jude, which culminated in no sleep, lots of crying, and a lot of questions - even some of that anger came flaring back up. And those things weren't beautiful. They're ugly. But the beauty has been there - in the desperate cries for help, the constant prayers to not be anxious, to not be fearful. Even though I don't enjoy the process, the way I'm learning dependance on God is a beautiful thing. I'm learning to really take each day as it comes. In my planning ways, this is SO hard for me. But living fully in the day I'm in - whatever that day looks like - is the only way I'm going to truly be able to see the bits of beauty shining through.

It doesn't look like I thought it would. Every day I still pray that it will, that this stage will be done, we'll have learned what we have to learn, and move on. But that day hasn't come yet. (tomorrow, maybe?) And if you're in a stage like ours - where there's a lot of ugly and a lot of hard, know that it's OK. It could be seem big or small to others, but if it feels big and huge and hard to you, then it is. Don't run from it, but be all in. Learn how to face those feelings, to have those tough talks with God, to not know how to make things better and to have to be OK with that. It's not pleasant, but you will make it, I promise. I have to remind myself of that constantly.

It may not look like you thought it would, but take heart - that also means the outcome won't look like you thought it would either, and I'm willing to wager that it will be even more beautiful than you can imagine. (self: read this. every day.)

On Fear (and the beginning of Jude's birth story)

Afraid. I was so.afraid. to give birth this time.

Graham's birth was, in a word, traumatic. It's funny because most people who hear his story - or even that were actually there - comment on how 'good' of a birth it was. And I suppose in the sense that there were no complications, it was relatively fast and unmedicated, then yes, it was. But neither Jim nor I had a clue what was happening, and if you haven't experienced it firsthand let me just tell you - labor is excruciating. Like 'my body is tearing in two and it will never, in any way, be put back together' kind of pain. When that's going on and you're standing in your shower at your house with no doctor or midwife in sight, it's a little terrifying. I didn't realize how much it had affected me until I was getting ready to do it again, and fear really overtook me.

Sometime in October, I approached our dear friend Lauren about acting as my coach for our birth. It was a little strange on multiple accounts: 1) Lauren was someone we knew and were friends with, but weren't close (strange how helping birth someone's child can change that!) 2) we weren't planning on having a doula 3) it was getting a little late in the game to find someone, especially being due on Christmas Day, and 4) while she LOVES birth and has assisted at many, she's not technically a doula. (technicalities be damned!) But I just felt this strange urge to ask her, so I did. Randomly, one day after preschool pickup. After praying over it and working out the details of the holidays, she agreed, for which I am forever grateful! During one of our pre-birth sessions, she had me write out my top 10 'wishes' for this birth. Here is what I wrote:

1) Calm/not fearful 

2) Informed/aware (we felt a lot of things last time were rushed)

3) Mostly at home 

4) Supportive Staff

5) Able to endure pain

6) Confidence in medication decision if chosen

7) Control 

8) Mom/baby time immediately

9) Relaxed about feeding

10) Good memories of experience

You'll note number 6 - I was VERY open to having an epidural this time. And by that I mean I was secretly really hoping we got to the hospital in plenty of time to get one. But we looked at this list and decided that overall, I wanted to be 'Present'. That was my goal for this go-around. No matter if we were at home, at the hospital, drugged up or au-naturale, I wanted to feel present and not chaotic. I was comfortable with this, but as the time drew closer, I became more and more fearful. 

Side note: it's ironic to me how last time I prepped and prepped for birth and kind of failed to prep for life after baby. This time, I felt much more prepared for life once he was here, and far less prepared for the actual birthing process. I think I knew that ultimately, he would get here one way or another, and the after part - you know, the actual life part - was far more important for me to be ready for. Back to the story...

Graham's preschool Christmas program was December 17th. I remember hoping I would be going into labor as soon as he finished but ha! Not so much. Instead I was 39 weeks pregnant trying not to get knocked over by all of the sugar-filled children at 'Jesus' Birthday Party' afterward. Graham was roaming somewhere with Jim when I sat down at a table next to this sweet older woman, who introduced herself as Julia. I have since gotten to know Julia a little better, and let me tell you - that woman is in touch with God and sensitive to His leading like few people I have ever met. It's amazing to behold. That day, however, I just knew her as a grandma to a preschooler, who randomly asked if she could pray for me. I may have grown up a PK (pastor's kid for all you non-Baptist cool kids out there), but I was not used to someone I just met not only praying for me, but also doing so in a room crowded with people eating cake. Knowing, however, that I could use a little prayer, I said sure. And then she prayed basically this: "please allow this woman's labor to be as pain free as possible, to go quickly, for her to feel in control, to labor at home but make it to the hospital with enough time to deliver, and to have no complications." WHO ARE YOU? I could not get that moment out of my head. 

For the next week as Christmas neared, I kept thinking about Julia's prayer, and started praying along the same lines. I realized that my faith when I prayed was more a 'oh I hope this happens' while hers was a faith like I hadn't seen before. And I started feeling a little like maybe it would be OK. Then Christmas came and went, and I still didn't have a baby, and the fear crept back in. I had contractions daily for at least 2 hours, and then they would stop. I was so frustrated...finally on Dec. 29th I had a mini breakdown (read: pregnancy. Hormones. overdue. HORMONES. Not pretty.) and laid it all out. F*** the birth process, and planning and whatever. I wanted to go in, have someone strap me up to an IV, and wait for them to tell me to push. Jim, quite lovingly, pointed out that I was running away, and that doing so would just be living in fear. And we do NOT live in fear. We're not made to. And Julia's prayer, and verses I'd been ruminating on and all the emotions tied up in this came to a head, and I realized, He's right. This is hard, and it will be painful, but God is good and Do I Trust Him? Lo and behold, the next day, we had a baby. In 6 hours, only 1 of which was at the hospital. Med-free. Totally present. Surreal. 

This may seem like 'Whoa. Deep stuff for just having a baby. People do it every day Alisha.' And that's true. But this was just the beginning of what God has been leading us through these past few months, and I can tell you beyond the shadow of a doubt, I HAD to work through it before the birth, to understand some of these things then, to be able to work through more afterward. This Lenten season in my life has been one for the books, and I'm trying to put it all together in a way that I can actually convey in writing.

But, until then...I'll write the nitty gritty details of the birth next, for those of you who enjoy hearing about blood and poop and vaginas and such. It shall be titled 'The Day I Pooped on my Husband'.