tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70420065189410241362024-02-20T22:04:24.023-06:00Chocolate Hazelnut MommyhoodLearning to see everything- the good, the bad, the truly ugly, in the light of grace and joy and gratitude...my chocolate covered life.Tana Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08309738514200351042noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7042006518941024136.post-90745369151744634542011-03-09T11:07:00.002-06:002011-03-09T11:11:30.937-06:00Am I Ever Enough?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
As moms, we sometimes (often) feel that we are never enough. We cannot get all of the dust bunnies and dirty dishes banished, and feed and clothe and clean our children, much less tend the bumps and bruises on the little hearts and minds of our sweet (needy, demanding, hungry) little ones.<br />
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Being a mother is an all-encompassing and is a full-time occupation of our entire being. It takes more than a body to cuddle, it takes more than a mind to answer a question. It takes more than the sum of who I am to mother these children that have been entrusted to me by God.<br />
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As a young mother, I was overwhelmed a lot of the time. I felt like I was at the end of my rope, at some point, pretty much every day. No matter how hard I worked, there was more to do than I could get done. If I cleaned something, it just got dirty again. If I made something, it got eaten or slept in. I did not fully understand the fact that this is actually the work God has put before us, not by accident, but on purpose. It is <i>Repetitive</i>, this beating back the effects of the fall - preparing, cleaning, restoring order, taming chaos. It is daily, nightly, weekly, monthly, yearly, on and on, as far as the eye can see, and the children: they will still get hungry, they will still need washing, they will make messes and messes and still need my heart and my physical being. I saw it all as so much weariness and did not embrace this load gladly.<br />
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As an older mother, I have learned such a valuable lesson that I SOOO wish I had learned much earlier in life. Each day does have enough trouble. It takes more strength than you or I have to do it. We aren't enough in and of ourselves. We need the Lord to do more than survive, but truly live this life in joy and freedom.<br />
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The lesson I learned late in life is to be thankful - for everything - to give thanks for all the good and the bad - to see each thing through the lens of gratitude rather than resentfulness. It is true, I lived a lot of my life resenting the interruptions, the spills, the unexpected vomiting in the back seat of the car on the way to church, the poopy diaper right as we are running out the door, late again, the lack of sleep and stained, ruined clothes and so many other such NOT IMPORTANT things that robbed me of joy and delight in my children and laughter in my life and made me feel constantly inadequate.<br />
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If I had seen how awesome it was that I even had a child to throw up on me - that this temporary illness was no big deal compared to what could be. If I had appreciated how truly gifted I was to have a baby with a diaper to change, even if we were going to be later, now. So what, really??? If I had remembered that God clothes the lilies of the fields, so surely He can replace whatever silly dress I "loved" and feel sad about losing to stains or tears, oh how foolish it all seems now, now that I am older. None of that was central to my calling. <br />
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I live here and now to love God and to love people. I thank God for whatever He puts before me - all the so-called GOOD AND all the so-called BAD, knowing that He has His Hand in this, and He has a purpose. Oh, there is peace in truly realizing this. I ask Him for eyes to see it, for a heart to praise Him, for the grace and strength to genuinely love each and every person He puts in my life today. I can live in the moment with gladness instead of the grumpy, impatient, exasperated way I used to approach laundry, dirty dishes, and whining children.<br />
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Twenty six years have gone by since I became a mother. I have six older children, I am a grandmother and I have a one year old. I think I would have fainted with exhaustion had I known that was coming, all those years ago. It is a blessing, though, that is all it is. Blessings, blessings, and more blessings. And opportunities to grow in love and grace and patience. And lots of pain along the way, too. But that is another blog, another day.<br />
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Today, I am humbled with thankfulness.<br />
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black;">Just a few of my sweet blessings from the Lord.</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alejandro, my resident mess maker</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leah, my sweet 20 year old, and Alejandro, our chubby cute baby</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joel, the "lives in his own world" ten year old, and Alejandro again</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">Susanna my awesome clarinet-playing, singing athlete, with the baby<br />
(again, really? yes, he is in most every picture lately. Can't say why, exactly, haha.)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">My wonderful and lovely husband, with our baby. So thankful.</span></td></tr>
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</div>Tana Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08309738514200351042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7042006518941024136.post-77413829666603856052011-01-10T16:23:00.000-06:002011-01-10T16:23:07.685-06:00Lessons of Gratitude in Colombia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img src="http://i242.photobucket.com/albums/ff162/annvoskamp/multitudesonmondaysbutton2-1.jpg" /> It is gratitude Monday. As I was pondering why developing the habit of thankfulness has made such a big difference in my life, I thought about how each and every time we visit Colombia, I am struck with the incredible differences there are in our standards of living here in the USA. Seeing others being content with far less than we have is a profound lesson in humility and gratefulness.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">Some of the things I take for granted are:</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">lots of hot water, and lots of water pressure</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">clean streets</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">most everyone obeys the traffic laws-it's not chaos</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"> drinkable water from the faucet</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">I do not have to lock the doors on my house</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">there are a million things to choose from in the grocery store </div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">if I couldn't afford to feed my kids, I would not have to beg on the street</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">if I couldn't afford medical care, I would not be turned away</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">In Colombia, I have seen mothers with babies or very small children begging, or worse: sleeping on the streets in cold weather with only a small blanket or coat over them.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">I have seen the poorest of the poor, so many of them, digging through trash at night with their hands, finding whatever might be there to eat or use or resell. In Colombia, they are called the Recyclers.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">I have seen men who pull large carts themselves, full of fresh produce or other things for sale. The men who have a little more money use an old, skinny horse to pull the cart. </div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">I have seen small children working, selling packets of gum and crackers or shoelaces at little stands on the side of the street. </div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">I have seen poverty to such a low level as I never imagined it could exist. It almost seems that we do not even comprehend what that word means, here in America, where even the very poor have televisions and foodstamps and medical care for free.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">Most of the Colombians I know are simply happy with less.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">They have much smaller and plainer homes, they walk or take public transportation most of the time, they do not have all the latest stuff from Best Buy, or much stuff of any sort, in general, and most of them drive tiny cars if they own a car at all.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">I don't have to beg on the streets for food for my children.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">My husband has a good job.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"> I get to stay home with our baby and the ten year old whom I homeschool. </div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">Our older kids go to great schools.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">We live in a quiet, lovely neighborhood with zero crime.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">We have a spacious home and we can take long, hot showers whenever we want.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">Reading <a href="http://crazylovebook.com/">Crazy Love</a> and <span id="goog_1944658912"></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/">Radical<span id="goog_1944658913"></span></a> really spun me around.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">Visiting Colombia again spun me around some more.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">I am learning to be grateful with less, in this time, in this place, with whatever He gives. </div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">I don't need different possessions, and I don't need different circumstances in order to be happy. </div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">I need to know the Lord, and love Him, and trust Him.</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">For this lesson, I am SO grateful. </div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"> More gifts:</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">* Casting all my cares on Him, for He cares FOR ME!</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">* celebrating another's triumph</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">*courage to speak</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">*self-control to be silent</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">*all of us together - sharing life</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">*laughter over hazelnut hot chocolate and homemade cinnamon rolls </div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">*watching a friend's quiet strength while her oldest son is stationed overseas in danger</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">*quiet, slow-falling snowflakes, that quiet my soul as well and take my breath away</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">*letting go of fear, yet again, and falling into the arms of God</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">*a friend's beautiful, beautiful birth</div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Tana Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08309738514200351042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7042006518941024136.post-79861107475064599552011-01-03T17:30:00.001-06:002011-01-03T17:34:03.331-06:00Thankfulness, finally!<a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/" target="_blank"><img height="265" src="http://i242.photobucket.com/albums/ff162/annvoskamp/multitudesonmondaysbutton2-1.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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I have been meaning to do this forever. I started counting toward my 1000 Gifts, which I was inspired to do from Ann Voscamp's most awesome blog, A Holy Experience, a long time ago. Privately. In my journal. Sort of embarrassed and amazed that I was at such a point in life that I had forgotten how to be thankful. There are times when life can be so dark, so difficult, so stark and cold and battering, that yes, a daughter of the Holy God and Loving Father can almost, almost forget that she is loved.<br />
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But I started counting gifts. <br />
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And I have learned SO MUCH.<br />
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I started with the silliest things because I was a bit cynical and dark and thought nothing would shake that hold on me. So I chose to be "thankful" for air to breathe, a comfortable bed, clothes and food, my husband and children. And as I, wrapped in grief, let myself speak to ALMIGHTY GOD, I could not say these things flippantly. I had to acknowledge that He has, truly, blessed me and given me these things and so much more.<br />
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Now I remembered what I had forgotten: That God's hands are evident, all the time, everywhere, all around us. His love is all-encompassing, and we owe Him our most heart-felt praise and gratitude.<br />
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We can see so much more than we see now, if we practice. We need to use the eyes of our heart. We look. Then we see. We hear. Then we listen...and amazingly, we understand. This is also a gift.<br />
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Somehow, as we start to just say Thank You, to the Lord, for whatever we have, (and all of it He has indeed given us), we learn that there is one more thing and one more thing and one more thing again, that we have been GIVEN, lovingly, preciously, from a Father that is full of grace and mercy, and our hearts are moved. We are changed. We see that our lives can be an act of praise and we want to find even more ways to give Him adoration for what He has done and is doing, and will do!<br />
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My list so far is in a journal, and I try to jot them down five or ten at a time, but I don't think I am going to recreate that list here - that would take forever and would probably not even be read. So here are current ones, fresh from my heart that is still learning to be grateful for all things, big and small.<br />
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*older brothers and sisters playing with the baby, of their own initiative<br />
*warm homemade soup and bread on a cold night<br />
*new books to read from Christmas<br />
*blankets from the dryer to snuggle under<br />
*cloudy, sleepy days<br />
*encouraging, grace-filled sermons that seem preached right to me...and then the same simple message repeated by random friends, music, the book I am reading on an unrelated topic, and then echoed in prayers. A. MAZ. ING!<br />
*freshly washed diapers<br />
*unexpected chances to touch someone's life<br />
*knowing someone's struggle so I can pray - and careTana Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08309738514200351042noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7042006518941024136.post-84374931011510583362010-11-17T17:10:00.002-06:002010-11-17T18:22:59.130-06:00Can We Be REAL?One of the hardest things to do as a human being, I believe, is to BE REAL, to tell the truth, especially about who we really are.<br />
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We are people, sinners, surrounded by sinners.<br />
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We hurt each other; we inflict wounds and receive wounds from others, either intentionally or unknowingly. But by these experiences we learn to pretend. We wear a mask that is acceptable to present to the world. And inside, we hide the real me, the real you.<br />
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Some of us learn very early that it is not safe to tell the truth. From our parents, our siblings, our relatives, our teachers, and our little friends it comes, that first wounding. <br />
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Not many of us escape that wound. We find through pain of rejection that it does not reward us much if we show our true selves: the things we have done or are thinking about doing, or our feelings-our thoughts-our intentions, our hopes and dreams and wishes, even. There are things that we do not speak of. There are things that we do not acknowledge. There are secrets that must be kept.<br />
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And we grow up...perfecting the art of the lie about WHO WE ARE. <br />
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We present ourselves as whatever we need to be in order to feel acceptable and worthwhile. How well we present the image instead of the substance of who we are to the public. But inside we know very well who we are and what we are doing.<br />
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We are sinners. Yes, we know that we are. <br />
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We feel the brokenness. We feel the failure. We feel the weight of sin, those times when it is confessed yet we somehow cannot release it. Memories haunt, taunt us. The women we so want to be is beyond our reach. The quest for perfectionism beats us into submission and we crawl into the darkness of our hearts and our closets and cry, weep, wail, in anguish. We grasp for hope, for help, look for light.<br />
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We are alone.<br />
Even God seems distant.<br />
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Oh, we cannot do this alone.<br />
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But to ask for help, now that is just too hard.<br />
Because then we would have to let someone see inside.<br />
We would have to let them know what living in this fallen world has done to us, how sin and failure have maimed and scarred us.<br />
We would have to reveal our brokenness, our helplessness.<br />
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And then they might not accept us.<br />
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They might think we are weird.<br />
They might think we are just truly messed up. Or worse, that we are just bad.<br />
They might wonder why they are even friends with us.<br />
They might think we are broken beyond repair.<br />
Our burden might be too heavy for them to bear.<br />
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We are so scared to really speak truth with each other. Our brothers and sisters in the Lord are supposed to be our family. The church, the people of His body are supposed to be the ones to whom we can go to find love, grace, forgiveness and acceptance. These people are supposed to be Christ in flesh form, so that we can know but also experience that we are His and that we are not alone.<br />
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But honesty is dangerous. And costly. And difficult.<br />
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It requires much courage to open everything in our heart and let someone see it all for what it is: imperfect, flawed, struggling, in need of healing, in need of love.<br />
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You see, we are like God when we see someone in truth, and do not turn away, but instead give grace. This is being a real friend. A friend loves. A friend listens. A friend cares, even when it is hard to care. A friend is safe to be honest with, and a friend shares openly and honestly, too.<br />
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Without this honesty, though, real family unity, real community is impossible. And it requires that we give of ourselves, both the one being open and the one who is seeing the openness. <br />
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And oh the love of God that is poured out on both the giver of this grace and the receiver of this grace when we are strong and bold and courageous and SEE each other in truth and we then CHOOSE to love anyway.<br />
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Even if the revealed heart, the once-hidden now spoken truth, is messy, ugly, complicated, and really screwed up, or scary sad and we have no idea what to do with it.<br />
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We don't have to have the answers to fix things. <br />
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We instead can be honored to come alongside another. We look to God. He is entrusting us to be like Him in this person's life. <br />
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And we look inside and know that we are, ALL OF US, broken, marred by sin, capable of the most wretched things that have divided us from ever deserving the grace and love and forgiveness that has been given to us FREELY, costing us nothing.<br />
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And so how can we not freely give this same grace to our sister or brother?<br />
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Or what about our own child?<br />
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Because the ONE place our children should most be able to be honest about who they are and what they are thinking, feeling, hoping, and struggling with or failing is in our homes, well, and in our hearts.<br />
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Can we teach our children about grace instead of teaching them to pretend? <br />
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And can we be the safe person in the lives of everyone we know, the one who is able to hear the secrets and not turn away in disgust, but instead be Jesus to them? <br />
Can we be transparent, and tell our truth? Can we be real about who we are? <br />
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Will we?Tana Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08309738514200351042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7042006518941024136.post-43818410613276442022010-11-05T16:05:00.000-05:002010-11-05T16:05:09.733-05:00The Family<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwS-AQPe_spdS_nlBFBwEPP8P3QFb_3C0yAfVjPzcA-IP8XZJ3yekwdPw5uJDgSHfxE9J1-CTULVdrt82F1BgFB_tAWNPiZhfzqy39VPrGfse0yorpFlzB_z_Pi_aIO_ZbILOTTMZ_ZU/s1600/Washington+DC+two.jpg"><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwS-AQPe_spdS_nlBFBwEPP8P3QFb_3C0yAfVjPzcA-IP8XZJ3yekwdPw5uJDgSHfxE9J1-CTULVdrt82F1BgFB_tAWNPiZhfzqy39VPrGfse0yorpFlzB_z_Pi_aIO_ZbILOTTMZ_ZU/s400/Washington+DC+two.jpg" /></a><br />Here we all are...<br />Me, my sweet, kind, loving, piano playing Colombian husband Alvaro,<br />my three daughters, four sons,<br />and three grandchildren<br />(plus one little grandboy already named Jack, making his appearance in January)<br />Not pictured: two cream colored poodle/maltipoo doggies<br />(more brownish than cream when they need a bath)<br />named Bella and Chaucer, and a leopard gecko named Pepito.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Tana Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08309738514200351042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7042006518941024136.post-17455203721714791242010-10-28T15:17:00.000-05:002010-10-28T15:17:04.562-05:00The REAL reason moms are impatient<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjOHfw7Al_ugrFpG1I-RBBOs16V_NlLG1BiZZsbr6C67lxG-4SfpVpvJk_SO53ViBZPLDetwtHATSem8o4B7o45yIwwHkn6IXw6bjKeeBGOtf_2SyTuOiTzRm0gxx1hYXWDCREaba00Kc/s1600/IMG_1804_1000x750.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjOHfw7Al_ugrFpG1I-RBBOs16V_NlLG1BiZZsbr6C67lxG-4SfpVpvJk_SO53ViBZPLDetwtHATSem8o4B7o45yIwwHkn6IXw6bjKeeBGOtf_2SyTuOiTzRm0gxx1hYXWDCREaba00Kc/s320/IMG_1804_1000x750.jpg" style="clear: both; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" width="431" /></a> So here we were at Cheesecake Factory. If you notice the center bottom edge of the photo, that is a big puddle of passion tea on the table, knocked over by my cute little pumpkin. He likes messes. He lives to make messes. But that is another story. <br />
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Life has been more than a bit challenging lately around our home, and as a result, I've been really examining what makes me upset and why. People often comment that I must be so PATIENT to have all these kids, or that they could never do that, they are too IMPATIENT. And yes, I think that I can say that I am more patient that the average person, at least in some ways. Part of that comes from really believing in the importance of grace and understanding and accepting people, in spite of their failures. But part of that is just being willing to put someone else before myself, even when it does NOT feel good and is not what I really want to do or have the natural impulse to do. I have learned, or earned, patience, by lots and lots of opportunities to feel the burn and push through it to the other side of love and grace.<br />
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What I have figured out is that no matter what is going on, if I am tired, if I am hormonal, if I am hungry, if I am busy, if I am worried, if I am whatever, you can fill in the blank, the only reason I ever get impatient is when I AM NOT GETTING WHAT I WANT. My kids interrupt me: I wanted to be left alone. My kids are loud: I wanted quiet. My baby wakes up: I wanted him to SLEEP so I could do whatever I wanted to do. My kids need something for school at the last minute: I didn't want to have to get up and go to WalMart or spend more money and I wanted to watch TV and have a "nobody needs anything from me evening" FOR ONCE. The real reason underlying every single time I feel annoyed and impatient, and I sort of imagine why you do too, is that whatever you and I<i><b> </b>think</i> you and I want or need is not happening and that really sets us off.<br />
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I am certain that sometimes what I want is legitimate and valid and reasonable. But this does not let me off the hook of being kind or loving. I am, after all, the grown up. I am the mommy. I am supposed to know how to act and how to lay down my life for another, after all this time. But selfishness dies hard. It does not want to let go, completely. This flesh clings to self-service and self-satisfaction, kind of like my baby clings to the star burst fruit chew he discovered in the couch this morning, and was highly upset that I should think he shouldn't be eating it, paper and all, and gently but completely removed it from his tight little fist and clamped mouth.<br />
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I remember when I was a much younger mother, driving down the highway with at least four or five kids in the back of the van, asking God to please, please help me learn how to be patient. It had been a rough morning. I thought, they were all my kids, after all. I had given birth to them, brought them into this world, and I desperately wanted something better than the shrieking, freaking out hag who appeared unexpectedly, albeit at rare times, but scared everyone involved, myself included. But it wasn't the witch who appeared every once in a while that was the genuine problem. It was the frustrated attitude that in general prevailed throughout my days and nights that was the real issue I wanted help with. <br />
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And as I prayed, one of the kids spilled something in the van, another informed me that they forgot the library books, and another asked how long till we were done with our errands (we hadn't even made it to the first one yet) and something in me just snapped. Into place, I mean. I felt this huge surge of anger and frustration and incredulous-ness, and in that moment, I realized that God was answering my prayer for patience. In His wit and wisdom, He was giving me the chance to...practice. <br />
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I suddenly realized that this was going to be learned by painful work. Practice. Lots and lots of it. That is what I did not want to do, and though it is SO MUCH easier now, because of so much practice, it is still a little bit painful. It hurts to be patient, because we have to DIE TO SELF in order to put someone else first. And that is what patience is: it is stopping all those thoughts and emotions dead still, and thinking about the other person - what they are doing, saying, feeling, and needing, at the same moment seeing ourselves clearly, too, really being honest about what I really wanted in the situation and am losing at this very moment, and then doing the right thing - being like God for them. We choose to be THERE for them, to give them the understanding and acceptance they need, the love and grace and tenderness they crave, the forgiveness for being a burden and gladly taking their burden on our own shoulders and carrying it. This all has to happen in an instant. Because the moment when we choose to love comes in these fleeting seconds before we open our mouths.<br />
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Ouch. It is hard. I am so glad we do not do this in our strength or wisdom.<br />
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I am the first to admit that this will take much failing to get right. It takes trying, failing, confessing, seeking the Lord, quoting whatever verses you can muster up for your heart, to show you the way in the dark, and listening to the still small voice of the Holy Spirit, whispering calmness to us when we are about to blow up. It is refusing to be selfish. It is considering another as more important than ourselves. <br />
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When we think we cannot survive one more sleepless night with a restless, teething baby, or one more spill at the table, realize that actually, yes, we can. We just have to want to do the hard work of being nice, as one of my friends likes to say. It is truly hard work at first. But the sweet rewards are that it comes easier the more we do it as a lifestyle. And we experience peace. And we can have joy after all. And best of all, we have children who know they are wanted, welcomed, and loved for who they are and that they are not a bother. Even if they do spill your favorite tea at your favorite restaurant.<br />
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<div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 50% transparent; border: 0px none; padding: 0px;" /></a></div>Tana Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08309738514200351042noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7042006518941024136.post-59050225501625608822010-10-23T08:48:00.001-05:002010-10-28T15:25:20.097-05:00Aromatic Water, or as it's really called, Agua Aromatica!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQf7nVGiafQESPcwEth9JxBYB2ZWig-lo1ApgTNdO3P2NQcD13bIVtDhRzHVxj-aZTOR4Z2HCSTUcW_SBMCX5YDb_Qsfkxnyx5rymKsdJKYfXnES2Js9agAPRFdZyoKZP_PaoT8krRLFg/s1600/IMG_2556.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531239072966707746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQf7nVGiafQESPcwEth9JxBYB2ZWig-lo1ApgTNdO3P2NQcD13bIVtDhRzHVxj-aZTOR4Z2HCSTUcW_SBMCX5YDb_Qsfkxnyx5rymKsdJKYfXnES2Js9agAPRFdZyoKZP_PaoT8krRLFg/s320/IMG_2556.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
During our recent trip to Colombia, I had this incredible "something" to drink that I had somehow missed in previous visits. It was so good, I had it several times! And with cooler temps heading our way, I plan to duplicate this at home. <br />
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The idea is to put various fruits and herbs in hot water, let it stew or steep a while, at least ten minutes, then serve. The flavors are different depending of course on what you decide to put into the pot. I am not going to give an exact recipe because there really isn't one right way to do it.<br />
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Start by slicing whatever fruits you choose. In this pot there are papaya, kiwi, strawberries, plus <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">guanabana</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">granadilla</span> (relative to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">passionfruit</span> found in the Andes region of South America), and a couple of various other fruits that we cannot find here in the states. You can add some slices of lime or lemon or orange, too, and almost any other fruit you can imagine. I even found a few grapes in the bottom of one of my cups while we were shopping/dining/indulging ourselves one night in Hacienda Santa Barbara.<br />
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Next, add the essential ingredients, fresh herbs. You can use almost anything typically used in both sweet and savory dishes: primarily mint, but also lemon balm, cilantro, bay leaves, spearmint, or even chamomile flowers or other typical plants that are used to make herbal teas. The point is that everything is fresh, though, and the water is barely simmering. It sort of very gently cooks the fruit while it is steeping, and blends the flavors of everything in this unusual sweet-savory combo that is just a little unexpected and yet, very soothing and almost luxurious at the same time, especially when it is chilly outside. <br />
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After the water-fruit-herbs concoct for a while, spoon some of the fruit into the bottom of each cup, add a few sprigs of the herbs, and pour the remaining liquid into the cups. Then add a bit of honey and a fresh squeeze of lime or lemon, if you like that sort of thing, and serve with a spoon. You can also choose to just serve the liquid without the fruit, as my father-in-law does. My husband told me his dad eats the cooked fruit himself because his mom just prefers the liquid, which he brings to her in bed EVERY MORNING, lucky woman. Nice way to start the day, right? <br />
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By the way, the pot in the picture above is stuffed with fruit, but some of the places we went did not use this much fruit. It does make a beautiful presentation, though, and added to the warm, cozy feeling I got when drinking this!Tana Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08309738514200351042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7042006518941024136.post-75495335144242688982010-10-21T16:53:00.001-05:002010-10-28T22:02:21.980-05:00Birth Stories, the final installment<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIotdaspa3kR4fzPRvuo8ZG4pd4KR4eXzoFC9dDN1aLorcVm5APkykTSc-SvRXMFD7vSzh-tG7L5myztuv1oIaPtaGGZNs_zM5ExZUz69hOxvCHGHNdc7UDNEYull9uDobz6hQ5lG_Ux8/s1600/IMG_2347.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530969375158054466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIotdaspa3kR4fzPRvuo8ZG4pd4KR4eXzoFC9dDN1aLorcVm5APkykTSc-SvRXMFD7vSzh-tG7L5myztuv1oIaPtaGGZNs_zM5ExZUz69hOxvCHGHNdc7UDNEYull9uDobz6hQ5lG_Ux8/s320/IMG_2347.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;">And the final birth story:<br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;">Fast forward nine and a half years, a difficult divorce, and a blessing from God: a new wonderful husband later, here I was at 43, expecting a surprise baby in later life, after three grandchildren had already arrived via Anna and Matthew’s families. <br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;">Because I had a gracious new life with a new husband, I had wanted to try something new this time, and although I loved Donna dearly, I felt that it was important to have everything new: new midwives, a new method, and yet wanted my children to feel part of it, too. We ended up going with a wonderful midwife (<a href="http://www.celebratebirthmidwife.com/">Christy Martin</a>) and opted for a water birth in the <a href="http://www.gentlebeginningsbc.com/">Gentle Beginnings Birthing Center</a> very close to our home. The pregnancy went smoothly – (thanks in part to my awesome Chiropractor Jim Bob Haggerton at <a href="http://www.family-wellness.com/">Lifetime Family Wellness</a>-yes, I am shamelessly plugging him and his wife who are truly gifted in the area of healing and pain relief). My two goals for this labor were to make it special for my husband, as this was his first time to experience childbirth, and to NOT TEAR this time.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;">Labor started nine days before due date, just like my pattern was. This labor started around 6:30 in the morning – I woke up feeling crampy and had a few contractions. We woke up everyone, (the kids and my husband’s parents, who were visiting for the holidays) and drove to the birthing center. My contractions were still light, and didn’t seem to be doing a lot. I sat on the birth ball and slowly felt some things start to happen. At eight, my water broke and my chiropractor adjusted my back and hips, both of which suddenly made my labor leap into action. I climbed into the lovely warm water of the spa-sized tub in the birthing center and labored for the next hour and ten minutes until he was born.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;"> The contractions were never very organized. I would have huge ones and small ones, even during pushing it was not consistent or regular. I clearly remembering at crowning blowing with all my might, and Christy telling me how great I did. Then with the next contraction, she told me the head was going to be out, and I exclaimed, "What??? that wasn't it already???" I actually thought with all that pressure that it MUST be out. I can laugh at that now. Sort of. Haha. I am glad to say that thanks to the great advice I received from my friend <a href="http://www.naturallyhealthy.org/">Shonda Parker</a> a couple of weeks before labor, and super great coaching from Christy in the moment of need, I DID NOT TEAR, well, much, that is. He was by far my biggest baby, almost nine pounds, and had broad shoulders to boot. It was hard work pushing such a big baby out (for me) and I was so happy to be able to control the birth of his head, it didn’t bother me that I got a small tear from his huge shoulders. But no stitches, oh HURRAY! Leah and Susanna, (our thirteen and nineteen year olds), and Alvaro's mom came in right after the delivery, and Leah cut the cord a while later. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;">While I was delivering the placenta, Alvaro carried our new baby wrapped in warm towels into the next room to meet his very excited brothers and grandparents. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;">My entire labor was not anything like the others, and yet, I can honestly say it was a GOOD birth and I am so thankful to God for walking with us through the entire process. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;">I wasn’t as peaceful and calm and lovely in labor as I ideally wanted to be, and later Christy told me that she felt that the difficult thing about my birth was the disorganized way my contractions came, because I never knew what to expect next.<br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;">I had wanted so much to have a special bonding time with my husband, and I am floored by his love and support during labor. He felt good about our birth and that really means a lot to me. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;">I was amazed later when I saw the birth photos taken by Anne Crowell’s daughter <a href="http://www.keriduckett.com/">Keri Duckett</a>, and any misgivings I had about how I handled the intensity of labor were washed away with the thankfulness I felt at seeing the birth through someone else’s eyes. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;">She gave us some truly gorgeous photos of the birth that I cherish.<br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;">Having all of these babies has shaped me as a woman, as a mother, as a person, as a friend, as a follower of God. Pregnancy and birth has caused me to face fears, pain, my willingness to be vulnerable, honest, and needy. It caused me to seek truth, be able to experience and express raw emotion, and really search out what I believe about God and the fall and redemption, about His faithfulness, about connection with friends and family, and about the humanness and spirituality that is laid bare in childbirth. I would not be who I am without these experiences or these children and the women who helped me birth them.<br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.5pt;">Oh, and by the way, we named our little boy Alejandro, the Spanish form of Alexander, which means defender of man.<br />
</span></div>Tana Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08309738514200351042noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7042006518941024136.post-79139133428539568082010-10-21T16:52:00.000-05:002010-10-22T11:20:49.506-05:00Birth Stories, Babies four, five, and six<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:13.5pt;" >Three more years, (as you can see, my babies seem to come every three years) my fourth baby came very differently.<span style=""> </span>For some reason, I kept thinking that the previous labor had gone so ideally, the way I had hoped and dreamed, that there was no way I could repeat that.<span style=""> </span>And just a couple of days before I went into labor, we had a visiting pastor who came and preached on the fall – focusing a lot on the pain of childbirth being a punishment from God.<span style=""> </span>I couldn’t shake the dread it gave me.<span style=""> </span>So when I woke up that morning at dawn a week before my due date with a light contraction, I felt both excited and anxious.<span style=""> </span>I had another one five minutes later.<span style=""> </span>I called Donna, my midwife, after the third one.<span style=""> </span>She told me I could take a bath but not a shower because she was at another birth.<span style=""> </span>I hung up, and thought, ah, a shower isn’t going to make the baby come faster, and climbed in.<span style=""> </span>Ha.<span style=""> </span>I didn’t end up finishing the shower.<span style=""> </span>I had to get out and make the bed quick and get my husband to call people.<span style=""> </span>I couldn’t talk on the phone.<span style=""> </span>I crawled on the bed but never layed down.<span style=""> </span>I was on my hands and knees for the next 40 minutes, blowing with all my might to keep from pushing the baby out.<span style=""> </span>I was scared and felt totally out of control and thought that God had deserted me. <span style=""> </span>An hour and five minutes after that first contraction, he was born.<span style=""> </span>A dear, sweet midwife I had never met (Margie Spence) walked in after the head was out and delivered the rest of him. One of my oldest and dearest friends (Vivian) who was a childbirth instructor walked in right after her and helped Margie with the delivery. <span style=""> </span>He was born blue and not breathing.<span style=""> </span>The midwife gave him some rubbing, then mouth to mouth just a couple of times.<span style=""> </span>He came to life strongly, wanted to nurse immediately, and was perfect on his second APGAR.<span style=""> </span>My own midwife (Donna) got there about 15 minutes later and delivered the placenta.<span style=""> </span>I remember shuddering, crying later, and thinking I would NEVER have another baby.<span style=""> </span>NEVER.<span style=""> </span>He was the best nurser though and cuddling him slowly washed away the memories and the fear. He was named Benjamin, son of the right hand.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:13.5pt;" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:13.5pt;" >Three and a half years later, enter baby number five.<span style=""> </span>My longest pregnancy.<span style=""> </span>I made it to four days before due date.<span style=""> </span>My longest labor AND first labor to start with my water breaking.<span style=""> </span>It had always exploded on its own or had been broken during pushing in every labor before.<span style=""> </span>Light contractions followed.<span style=""> </span>And didn’t seem to go anywhere.<span style=""> </span>But somewhere along the way after a couple of hours, my body got serious.<span style=""> </span>After I made it through transition and got to push, I worked really hard and the baby just didn’t seem to be moving.<span style=""> </span>When it had seemed like such a long time and I thought the baby should be out by now, my midwife checked me and discovered a lip of the cervix I had been pushing against, so all that effort had done nothing.<span style=""> </span>She helped me by pushing the lip out of the way on the next contraction, and I got my baby out PRONTO.<span style=""> </span>I got up on my hands and knees and roared and heaved and was so exhausted and so relieved to be done with it.<span style=""> </span>It was a girl, with big feet and swollen, stretched out lips from her trip.<span style=""> </span>I remember the midwives saying that with those feet and that mouth she was going to dance and sing for the Lord.<span style=""> </span>Her name is Susanna, which means lilly.<span style=""> </span>She did grow up to be gifted in those areas as the midwives suggested!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:13.5pt;" > </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:13.5pt;" >Baby number six came (can you guess?) three years later.<span style=""> </span>It was fast, it was fairly easy, but it was a little too early. <span style=""> </span>I had spent 12 hours at Six Flags a couple of days earlier, and just never really recovered. <span style=""> </span>Only a few days into 36th week, I kicked into labor late one evening.<span style=""> </span>I called my friends, folded some laundry, walked around a bit, then labored on the toilet (my favorite place to make it happen faster, even though it is more intense), finally on my side on the bed, listening to classical music. Just a few hours after starting, a very little boy named Joel made his appearance, which means Jehovah is God. He didn't breath right away after being born. Donna told me to speak his name, and when I did, he took his first breath. Being early meant he was a really sleepy baby, one that I had to work hard to get him to nurse enough at the beginning, and another unpleasant result; if he cried he would not be able to breathe, so he turned blue and almost lost consciousness.<span style=""> </span>This lasted for the first whole month of his life.<span style=""> </span>I had to do whatever I could to keep him quiet and happy, but thankfully, he was fairly content to be nursed and held. He did outgrow that!<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:13.5pt;" >If you have held on this long, CONGRATULATIONS, you are almost through and THANK YOU, for caring enough to read!<br /><span style=""> </span></span></p>Tana Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08309738514200351042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7042006518941024136.post-63871746723062453992010-10-21T16:51:00.000-05:002010-10-26T13:36:13.983-05:00Birth Stories, Babies two and three<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:13.5pt;" >Three years later, my second pregnancy was in Austin Tx, and the climate was really different for natural birth. I had joined La Leche League after hearing <a href="http://www.askdrsears.com">Dr. Sears</a> on the radio talk about it and learned a lot that made HUGE differences in how I now felt about childbirth.<span style=""> </span>I wanted a homebirth.<span style=""> </span>I took childbirth classes with the midwives we chose (Barb Christman and <a href="http://www.heronsnestherbfarm.com/web/onthefarm.html">Melanie VanAkin</a> from All God's Babies), and learned about the effective use of visualization. I ended up going into labor 3 weeks early.<span style=""> </span>I remember feeling a little surprised and annoyed that I couldn’t concentrate on the Cosby show that evening because I felt so funky, and labor kicked in a couple of hours later.<span style=""> </span>I gave birth after 3 1/2 hours of active labor to a 5 lb 12 oz little boy, and screamed several cuss words at the pain like a good Christian shouldn't. But I also employed the techniques we learned in class to imagine the cervix opening, and to let the contractions wash over me like waves of the sea, not fighting them, but letting them take me where they willed, and those two things really worked. I tore because I really fought opening at the very end. I had not experienced that feeling, that ring of fire feeling, with Anna, and wanted to either avoid it or push through it, like FAST, which isn't the best plan if you don't want to tear. And, I am sorry to say that I used my foot to push my midwife away quite fiercely while she was stitching me up, and that still haunts me as one of my less than finer moments.<span style=""> </span>I remember looking at my son and just couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that I really had a boy.<span style=""> </span>With a penis and everything to prove it.<span style=""> </span>I kept wondering, how did that happen?<span style=""> </span>Every time I changed his diaper I would think, oh my gosh, it really is a boy!<span style=""> </span>He is Matthew, gift of God.<span style=""> </span>One other byproduct from Austin was learning about circumcision and opted to NOT do that.<span style=""> </span>Yikes!!!! was my general feeling about the subject.<br /><br />For my third baby, again three years later, I was determined to prepare beforehand and to glorify the Lord in the process. I lay in bed every night for the last five months of the pregnancy, imaging contractions and how I would go limp, working with my body instead of tensing and fighting against the labor. But most importantly, I thought about how I wanted to have the fruit of the spirit to show through my approach to birthing this baby, so I thought about LOVE, and how I was going to express love the people at my birth, and JOY, how I was joyful about the gift God had given me and I wanted to exude joy in the process, and PEACE, how I wanted to have peace about God ordaining everything that was going to happen, and be peaceful as I walked through the valley of the shadow of labor, and have everyone present experience peace, too. And on through the fruits of the Spirit I went, praying and imagining this to prepare. Every night I did this. <span style=""> </span>We were back in Fort Worth by this time, so I had new midwives:<span style=""> </span><a href="http://www.texasmidwives.com/midwives/midwifepg.asp?mwid=212">Donna Miller</a> and <a href="http://www.texasmidwives.com/midwives/midwifepg.asp?mwid=63">Anne Crowell</a>.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>I went into labor one evening after race walking our Labrador for a couple of miles.<span style=""> </span>Not the smartest move when I wasn’t due for another week and a half.<span style=""> </span>However, I labored easily, and sat on the toilet for most of the labor which was the best place to be if you want to OPEN and get the baby moving down faster.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>I was able to stay on top of the contractions well and prayed, relaxed, released, through all of it.<span style=""> </span>My midwife asked me to move to the bed when she thought I was getting too close to having the baby in the toilet.<span style=""> </span>I remember laying on the bed, and telling God that I couldn’t take much more, so please let the next contractions finish the dilation.<span style=""> </span>And He did.<span style=""> </span>I was amazed at how God was clearly with me through the whole labor and I never felt anxious or out of control.<span style=""> </span>Pushing got a little intense because when my water broke there was some blood in it, so my midwife had me push more aggressively than I had planned.<span style=""> </span>But as my daughter entered the world a few minutes before midnight, I was amazed that it was almost pain-free.<span style=""> </span>What peace, what bliss. <span style=""> </span>And that labor is still to this day the easiest labor I had.<span style=""> </span>This baby was by far the prettiest baby I had ever seen, and everyone who saw her said the same thing, which further enveloped me with bliss.<span style=""> </span>I didn’t realize I was setting myself up for an impossible standard.<span style=""> </span>Her name is Leah Sharon, which means weary and forest.<span style=""> </span>I loved the name Leah and wanted to give her a second name that for me was restful and a refuge when one is weary – thus, the forest, or being in God’s creation which testifies of Him.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:13.5pt;" >Story continues in part three...<br /><span style=""> </span></span></p>Tana Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08309738514200351042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7042006518941024136.post-9288965340022894022010-10-21T16:49:00.000-05:002010-10-22T11:02:55.709-05:00Birth Stories, Part One<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:13.5pt;" ></span><span style="font-size:13.5pt;">I am going to birth my blog by writing about the thing that made me a mommy:<span style=""> </span>the birth of my children.<span style=""> </span>Since I have seven of them, that is a long, long story, so I am going to hit the highlights only for the sanity of anyone who really wants to hang till the end.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:13.5pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:13.5pt;">Having your first baby when you are nineteen and your last at forty three is sort of a weird experience. Really. A lot changes in that span of time. But a lot stays the same, too. What I went through with each of my labors has really shaped me as a woman as well as marked something about where I was emotionally and spiritually at the time.<br /><br />As I said, I was nineteen and having my first baby. I wanted to have it naturally, and wanted to breastfeed. There was not a load of information available twenty five years ago, nor was it the "in" thing to do at the time where I lived. But I felt determined and stubborn. I went into labor about midnight ten days early with my first baby, and had my little girl four and a half hours later. It was fast and hard and crazy. Nothing I read or studied or learned in Lamaze classes prepared me for the force and strength or the pain of labor. I didn't imagine it correctly beforehand. I didn't think it would BE what is was. And after it was over I didn't know how I could ever do it again. I ended up with an enema, a shave, an IV, delivering flat on my back with my feet in stirrups and received an episiotomy that turned into a third degree tear for a 6 lb 13 oz baby, even though I had not expressly not wanted or needed it AT ALL. I held my baby briefly (about a minute) after she was wrapped up in sterile blankets and I received my extensive stitches, and I didn’t see her again for four hours.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>They catheterized me in recovery because I couldn’t pee on demand.<span style=""> </span>About 24 hours later, I delivered a large lobe of the placenta, but the OB told me not to worry about it, it was nothing, it was normal.<span style=""> </span>Right. <span style=""> </span>However, I remember looking at my little baby girl later that day, and just being amazed that there had been a BABY inside of me all that time.<span style=""> </span>She was named Anna, which means full of grace.<span style=""> </span>Thankfully, I was able to successfully nurse her, despite all the very wrong information and real discouragement I received from almost everybody, including the nurses at the hospital. <span style=""> </span>There was one woman in my church who was radical for her time and nursed all of her babies past six months.<span style=""> </span>I am so grateful to her for telling me it was okay to nurse whenever the baby wanted.<span style=""> </span>A side note:<span style=""> </span>my episiotomy took almost a year to heal completely. The experience I had in the hospital really gave me the impression that childbirth was all about panic, pain, doctors and nurses being in charge of everything no matter how the mom felt/communicated about it, and again I will mention PAIN. But healing came, as you will see in the next parts of the story.<span style=""> </span></span></p>Tana Ahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08309738514200351042noreply@blogger.com4