Snip Trip

Well, it is finally official. More than one year--and one unexpected baby--after his initial consultation, I drove my hubby down to his doctor for the infamous 'snip'. I have to confess to some guilt about this whole affair. Essentially, he did this for me. For us both, and our family, sure. But mostly for me.

The other night, about two days before his appointment, I asked him how he was feeling about it. He confessed to some trepidation and asked innocently if I really didn't want any more children. His tone suggested that he might be reconsidering our "four's enough for us" policy. I have to say, it rocked me to the core. I started crying. "Please, honey, I can't do that again. All the nausea and vomiting, the getting so big I can hardly walk, the sleeplessness both before and after the delivery..." It was all I could do not to wail. Certainly not the response my partner had pictured. "I thought you'd smack me and say 'What, are you, crazy?'" he told me later.

This whole week as he has put up with the pain, swelling and stitches without once blaming me. He has been helpful around the house, playful with the kids, and it was wonderful to have him home for several days in a row. If I was a less sensitive spouse, I'd tease him that we should do this more often. As it is, I just want him to know that I'm thankful.

Yes, I've been warned about the six-month stint where the little spermies are still swimming. Even still, my sweetie picked the proper time to have this taken care of. Our upcoming anniversary marks the seventh year of our wedding--and the month we have gotten pregnant every time around. Perhaps next year we can resume our customary anniversary vacation...and come home without a souvenir that eats, sleeps and cries.

Super Hero Isn't Saved

I had an epiphany yesterday. Unlike the realization that I have too many daily obligations, too few dollars in the bank, and not enough marbles left, this one was actually a good one. Here is my revelation: super-heroes aren't saved.

Somehow, I feel as though I am supposed to be Wonder Woman. My family expects groceries, clean clothes, and that I know where every object they've ever misplaced is located. The baby expects to be held (all the time!). The dog expects to be fed, watered, and walked. The creditors expect to be paid. My job expects promptness, concentration and professionalism. Add on top of all this my relationship with the Lord--Who expects righteousness, devotion, and communion--and instead of flying high I want to cry. I simply can't manage everything with the exhaustion and frustration I feel.

I'm sure I'm not the only one out there who feels a constant time crunch. With the demands of daily life, small kids, a job, and marriage all crowding in on me, my 'God-time' is next to nil. I actually signed up for the Ladies Bible study at church simply to get a few moments to grow spiritually without having to wipe spit-up off my Scripture. (Praise the Lord for that precious phrase 'Childcare Provided'!) Nevertheless, I found myself completing the week's homework all in one marathon session the day before--and I had to forfeit my precious nap to do it. Even God, it seems, wants more from me than I can give.

My epiphany came at Bible study, where I spent most of the discussion time complaining about my hectic schedule, my sleep-deprivation, and my desperate desire to be a better person despite the daily pressures. It was a revelation that struck me like lightning when the video-presenter (Beth Moore) said this phrase:

"Don't you dare leave your problems at home! You bring them here, you put them out in front of God's word, sister, 'cause that's where the power is! Amen?!"

So often, at the beginning of a church service, I will hear a pastor say or pray that we must clear our minds of our distractions. That we need to put aside the worries of our week and concentrate solely on the sermon. I'm sure this is a valid idea. What I loved about Beth Moore's statement, though, is that it made it normal to be distracted by my stuff! It made me realize that the Lord cares about my load! It made me feel accepted despite my anxiety, loved no matter my listlessness, and forgiven for my fears.

I have decided that super-heroes aren't saved. They run around in their super-sleek threads, showing off their super-model bods, and have all the strength they need to save the day. They can do it all and still bench-press a Bentley. I, however, am a completely different creature. My tush would tear a pair of tights, my bod is in pretty bad shape, and I get so little sleep that I run out of steam before seven. The only strength I've got is the Savior's.

My new intention is to do just what I heard in Bible study. Instead of trying to find time to stick God in my day, I'm going to take my day to my God. See, Lord, how this baby screams when I don't drop everything to feed him (again!). Help, Lord, because these kids are driving me up the wall and I want to scream my head off! Give me energy, Lord, because I have to stay awake today at work. O Father, let my little sum of money go farther than it should. And Lord, hide the HoHo's, because I'd really like it if all my fat just fell off me, too.

One last, thing, God. I pray for Wonder Woman--it must be lonely when you have to do it all alone.

"...cast all your cares upon Him, for He cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7

Constant Communion

A prayer for a friend.

O Master,

Most Gracious, Redeemer, Shepherd

Who loves to listen

Who lavishes grace upon grace

Be near

.

O Lord,

Savior, Comforter, Rock of Ages

Who hides me when hurting

Who is my help and shield

Hold me

.

O Father,

God Almighty, Holy, Righteous

Who bends to behold us

Who grants every breath

Bring healing

.

O God,

Creator, Alpha, Omega

Who sustains and summons

Who searches within me

Give life

I Scream, You Scream

...we all scream for ICE CREAM!

In case you don't follow the liturgical calendar, yesterday not only marked the celebration of the resurrection, but was the end of Lent. As typical during this 40-day season, I chose to fast from a specific food item. Mine happened to be ice cream.

I LOVE ice cream. Smooth, cool, delicious. I eat it year round. A half-cup portion--with which I am intimately familiar from my work as a dietitian--is simply ridiculous. I can plow through the whole carton in just a couple days. Of course, it doesn't help me in my quest to lose this baby weight. And it doesn't signify good things when your food is your comfort instead of your Bible. So, for 40 days I opted to say goodbye to one of my favorite sweets.

Honestly, it wasn't that hard. There were a few God-moments when I was really craving it and had to say to the Lord that He was worth more than the Brownie Fudge Explosion. Other than that, no big deal.

Until the other night when my husband brought home a large chocolate shake for me. It was a peace offering to end an argument we'd been having. And it sounded sooo good. I had to remind him that I couldn't accept. I was sure my refusal would aggravate him. It aggravated me, that's for certain. Nobody else would appreciate that cold, chocolate-y goodness nearly as much as I would have.

Needless to say, despite the difficulty of finding a place open on Easter evening, last night I enjoyed my no-longer forbidden chocolate shake.

Reflecting on the title for today's blog, I think in hindsight it would have meant more had I given up the screaming instead of the ice cream. I have had a terrible time lately with my escalating stress level, and the volume in our home has gone up right along with it. My poor kids--instead of chocolate I should have purchased ear plugs for their Easter baskets.

I missed ice cream, but I knew I could get along without it. How would I do if I ditched my dangerous decibel level instead? I think I would have to rely on the Lord a lot more. I'm actually not sure I could even accomplish it. Hmmm. Why is it that God doesn't care one fig about the liturgical calendar? He's in the business of sacrifice and holiness every day of the year.

"For thus saith the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel;

In returning and rest shall ye be saved;

in quietness and confidence shall be your strength:

and ye would not."

--Isaiah 30:15

Once Crucified

I feel the weight of Your crown
Pressing down, pressing down
It isn't made of solid gold
It is no treasure to behold
It's made of thorns, yes wicked thorns
Braided thick with hate and scorn

I feel the nails piercing in
Breaking skin, breaking skin
I see Your blood run deep and red
From both Your hands and sacred head
I hear them yelling "Crucify!"
I stand and watch it while You die

I see the darkness deep as night
I feel such fright, such chilling fright
To hear You cry as the Father turns
Away His eye as sin He spurns
To see them take You to the grave
How, O God, will this death save?

Then finally, three days have passed
Joy at last, great joy at last
When I hear that angel speak
When I lie prostrate at Your feet
I touch Your hands, Your head, Your side
My Risen Jesus, once crucified

"He was pierced through for our transgressions,
He was crushed for our iniquities;
The punishment for our peace fell upon Him,
And by His scourging, we are healed"
--Isaiah 53:5