I'm Blogging Again ... and Moving!

So guess what? I'm blogging again. AND I have a brand new blog. It's pretty sweet.

Here's the new blog if you want to follow me: beckygiovagnoni.wordpress.com.

There probably won't be much action here anymore. So see ya over there.

I Love Christmas

This is what it's all about. 

There is a bigger story. And it's beautiful.

A Dog Named Havana

There's the kind of grieving you do when someone is taken from you and then there's the kind of grieving that comes from giving someone or something up voluntarily. For the last year and a half, I've been well acquainted with first kind of grief.

But now I'm experiencing the second. And while comparing my decision to give away my dog to losing my father to cancer might seem callous or ridiculous, for me there are a lot of similar feelings.

This is Havana. She's been my dog for five years - the most monumental years of my life. She's seen me through the journey from being a single woman to being married with two kids.

When I was first trying to decide whether to get a dog, I must have changed my mind 25 times. I wanted the companionship, but wasn't sure about the commitment and responsibility. But as soon as I saw her I was a goner.

Seriously ... can you blame me?

How quickly life changes.

Havana was actually pretty monumental in my husband and me first getting together. Our first "outing," way before we were even dating, was to take the dogs (he had two) to the off leash dog park at the top of Palmer Park. He was new in town and knew I had a dog so he asked me where to take them.

May 4, 2008.

Six weeks later we were "official." For the next ten months, many of our dates were planned around the dogs. We took them to Red Rock Open Space, Blodgett Peak, Stanley Canyon, The Crags, Frisco, Waldo Canyon, Mt. Herman Reservoir, Seven Bridges and Stratton Open Space. To name a few.

Then suddenly, life seemed to hit the fast lane. We got engaged. We got married. We got pregnant. We sold a townhouse. We bought a house. We had a baby. Then we had another one. And within two years we went from two single people to a family with two kids and three dogs.

And our house was crazy. And very, very stressful.

We tried to make life work with three dogs. As time went on, more and more of our time and energy went to building our marriage and raising our kids, and the dogs continually took a backseat.

And then one day not long ago, I realized that Havana was no longer getting the love and attention she deserved. Not only was she a lower priority than the kids, but in the canine world, she was the lowest of the three dogs. And as a lab, she was also the most energetic. She was constantly getting yelled at because she has boundless energy and in times of stress, her uncontainable enthusiasm became the easy target of our frustration.

Life had changed and somehow, in the shuffle, Havana had lost her place in our family.

Giving her away is one of the hardest things I've ever done. It makes me so sad, and yet I know that it is the right decision for both our family and for her. She deserves better than we can give her. She deserves to be doted on and adored.

Have you ever read the book The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein?

I feel like that guy that grew up and left the tree. Only it was my dog, Havana. She did nothing but love me and I gave her up.

Even though there's not a doubt in my mind that this is the right thing to do, there is this guilt that I feel because I wasn't able to see this dog ownership thing through. And I think the guilt is what makes this the hardest ... I am overwhelmed with this sense that I abandoned her.

If I had a chance to do things over, I wouldn't change my decision to get a dog. I wouldn't change the timing of how things played out. And I certainly wouldn't change my life now. Heck, who knows how different my life would be now if I hadn't gotten her.

I don't have regrets about the way things happened and I have many happy memories of life with Havana. But right now I'm just sad and missing my dog.

The Gift of a Pain-Free Day

I should feel lucky, I guess. Most of the time I forget I even have a disease. After years of trying different treatments, I found a drug that manages my Rheumatoid Arthritis so well that I rarely have any symptoms at all. Add to that the fact that it goes into remission when I'm pregnant. So basically, for more than two years (and almost all my married life), I've been virtually R.A. free. I almost forgot what life with R.A. feels like.

And then suddenly, out of nowhere, I am rudely reminded that I have a chronic disease. It comes back with a vengeance.

Last Friday morning I woke up with a swollen knee. I had gone to a spin class at the gym the day before, so I figured that maybe my knee was reacting that workout. I thought that, as usual, it would be fine the next day so I just needed to wait it out. Only this time, as the day went on it kept swelling.

Saturday it was worse. We were headed up to Denver to stay overnight with some friends so Chris could run a half marathon early Sunday morning. By the time we reached Denver, my knee was bigger than I'd ever seen it. Along with the swelling, it was painful to bear weight on, and I had a very limited range of motion - I could neither straighten it nor bend it even 90 degrees.

Because it was the weekend, my doctor's office was closed, which meant the only thing I could do was take Advil. Lots of it. So I did, but it seemed to make no difference. The swelling and pain continued to get worse.

We don't see these friends too often and I really wanted to enjoy the time with them, but the R.A. overshadowed everything. I couldn't focus on anything else. The pain overwhelmed me. I tried to ignore it, but found that impossible. Walking was painful, standing was painful, sitting was painful, sleeping was painful. Getting in and out of the car was painful.

Sunday morning, Chris left for his race at 4:30 am, and I desperately wanted to be there to cheer him on. At the very least, I wanted to meet him at the finish line, but I couldn't. I could barely walk to the bathroom so there was no way I would make it through the park. I was crushed.

My frustration grew later that morning when he told me what a fantastic race he had and that not only had he met his goal, but he had set a PR. Of all the races to have to miss...

We spent the afternoon in Wash Park, and although it has become one of my favorite spots in Denver, I had a hard time enjoying it. It was a perfect day. I was with my adorable kids and my extremely happy husband. The weather was gorgeous and the park was full with people. Runners, cyclists, moms with strollers, roller bladers, kids on the playground, an outdoor yoga class. There was even a Dixieland jazz band playing live music. As we sat and listened, we found out the rather ironic fact that they were playing for people walking in a walk through the park to raise money for ...

wait for it ...

arthritis research. I am not making this up. It felt like someone's idea of a cruel joke.

While I tried my best to enjoy the weekend, the pain made it difficult. And quite forcefully reminded me what a horrible disease Rheumatoid Arthritis is.

There's something even worse than the pain, though. It's the fear. For five days, I was consumed with unanswerable questions. What brought this on? How long would it last? What if I couldn't get flare up under control? What if I stopped responding to the medicine? What if I wasn't able to get the swelling to go down and it kept getting worse? What if I lost all mobility? How could I take care of my kids?

Through all of this, my husband was my rock. He is truly God's gift to me, and proved to me (once again) that marrying him is the best thing I've ever done. In fact, in trying to figure out why God might be allowing me to have this disease and suddenly go through such awful pain, one thing I know for certain is that He wants me to realize what an amazing man my husband is.

I want to end this post on a positive note, so I'm happy to tell you that (with the help of a steroid injection on Monday afternoon, restarting the R.A. drug and a few days of taking it easy) I feel almost normal again. But after five days of not being able to sleep, walk without limping or pick up my baby easily, I am extremely grateful for how much better I'm feeling now.

I wrote this post because I don't want to take one single day for granted. Every day that I have with little or no pain is a gift. So even though (thankfully) the drugs seem to have started doing their thing again in holding my R.A. at bay, I don't want to fall back into a place of complacency and forget how bad it can get. I don't want to ever take a pain-free life for granted.

19 Months and 10 Days

That's how long it took Cara to take her first steps. We have been waiting for this day for a long time, so when it finally arrived, it called for immediate celebration. We dropped everything and went out for gelato. (We thought that her first gelato was an appropriate treat for the little Italian.)

When choosing gelato, one must take one's time.

The first taste ...

More, please!

Big smiles all around.

Cara's been on her own timeline from the beginning. (Hello 28 hours and 45 minutes of labor.) She was the most content baby I've ever seen. If something was out of reach, she'd just play with whatever was available. When crawling didn't happen according to the typical "milestone," my husband wasn't too worried ... he knew she'd get it eventually. She did. At 15 months. Then with lots of encouragement, she started pulling herself up and cruising along the furniture.

I, of course, worried when she didn't "measure up" to the milestones. (What is it about being a mother that makes your imagination go crazy?) I pictured all sorts of ridiculous scenarios like a five-year-old who was still crawling. I worried that something was wrong with her legs. Why didn't she want to walk? My ever patient husband reassured me that she was fine, that she'd walk eventually. When he agreed to my request to contact a physical therapist, I think that was mostly for my own peace of mind, not because he thought she needed it.

After a couple meetings with the therapist, I soon realized he was right, of course. She would get it, but she would do it in her own time. So I did my best to relax and let her get to it. And I tried not to worry.

The other night we were all just hanging out in the living room after dinner when suddenly, out of nowhere, she took a few steps. In disbelief, I grabbed my phone to record the moment. After waiting and praying for so long, it was truly a miraculous moment, watching her walk for the first time.

Here she is walking at the ice cream store:

Looking back on it, I realize how pointless my worrying was. In fact, I see now that God's purpose for having Cara walk later was likely to teach me something ... an important lesson that I'd need to learn as a mother. It is this:

I need to allow my daughter to be who she is. I cannot push her to be what I think she's "supposed" to be. And I cannot compare her to anyone else.

As a female and oldest of four, I've always had a tendency to compare myself to other people, and this trait has been the source of lots of unnecessary anxiety in my life. God knew that I could very easily fall into this habit when it comes to raising kids, and in His wisdom, He gave me a very real lesson in learning to let go.

One that took 19 months and 10 days.

I'm sure I won't get it perfect every time, but I'm grateful that God is helping me to recognize the beautiful gift that He's given me in Cara and to treasure her unique individuality.

I'm pretty sure being a mom is the greatest experience I've ever had.

The Lazarus Effect

The other night my husband and I were watching our favorite Food Network show online. Typically when we watch shows on Hulu, we see the same lame-o commercials, over and over and over. It's annoying. (The price we pay for not paying for TV, I guess.)

So we were surprised to, out of the blue, see an ad that we'd never seen before. Not only was it a nice change, it was a brilliant ad.

It's simple, funny and informative.

I love it.

Way to go, (RED).

On Parenting

As the mother of a 16-month-old and another on the way, I've been thinking a lot of the kind of parent I want to be. How much do I shelter my kids from the world? How much do I let them learn things "the hard way?" How much do I protect them? What is my greater responsibility as a Christian mom ... making sure they know and love God at all costs or allowing them to make the choice for themselves, with the risk that they might choose a different path?

My husband and I grew up very differently, basically at opposite ends of the spectrum. I grew up the oldest of four in a Christian home. Dad led us in a devotion ("Family Time") each morning before breakfast, we attended church weekly, all my social activities centered around my church youth group. I wasn't allowed to listen to certain radio stations, watch certain movies or read certain magazines. Although I attended public school, because of my nature as a rule-follower, I never fell in with the "wrong" crowd. My biggest act of rebellion was going to Denny's with my friend Rochelle while I was supposed to be in Sunday School.

I am extremely grateful for the way I was raised. I'm thankful for the solid foundation and example that my parents gave to me. My husband's life journey was different. He began his relationship with God well into adulthood. Our vastly different paths to Christ have caused us to have vastly different views of what it means to be a Christian.

When Chris and I were dating, we'd sometimes talk about the future and the possibility of having kids, but the conversations never lasted long because we usually ended up in a fight. We viewed parenting differently. (I lean more towards sheltering our kids, while he leans more toward letting them learn from their experiences.) We knew that if and when we became parents, we were going to have to work extremely hard to come to a common understanding of the kind of parents we wanted to be.

Well, that time has come. And to my great surprise, the early days of parenting have thus far been ones of open, honest discussion, and mutual compromise.

The biggest surprise, though, has been my personal journey. Over the 2.5 years we've been married, I have found myself on a path of growth and transformation. I have begun to realize that up to the time I got married, my understanding of what it means to be a Christian was a narrow one. In my effort to "be" a Christian (a.k.a. follow the rules) I basically avoided the world. God, in his infinite wisdom, gave me a husband who is much more open to engaging the world, and He is using Chris to gently broaden my view of what following Christ in this world means.

On Chris' recommendation, I am reading a book right now that is literally turning my understanding of what it means to be a Christian upside down. (I'd highly recommend The Next Christians by Gabe Lyons to anyone, especially those with a similar background to mine.) Here are just a few examples of what Lyons says a Christian looks like.

A Christian:

... resists the urge to condemn everything that isn't explicitly Christian. He has a capacity find goodness, truth and beauty in most any creation. 

Instead of sheltering my children from secular culture (music, movies, books) that aren't overtly Christian, I should carefully and thoughtfully allow them to experience culture and teach them instead to discern the good from the bad.

If my daughter wants to read a book that all her friends are reading that has content in it that I'm uncomfortable with, instead of telling her all the reasons she shouldn't, I will read it too and then be able to engage in discussion with her about it. If my son wants to listen to a CD with lyrics that I dislike, I will listen to it with him and then have a common ground to seek his thoughts about it.


... models how to effectively engage and contribute to culture instead of training our children to avoid the "wrong."


No matter how much I want to, I'll never be able to fully protect my children from the culture we live in. They'll deal with it at some point, either with my guidance, or without it. I'd rather them learn to engage with the world's culture from a God-focused perspective while still under my guidance, rather than trying to navigate it for the first time entirely on their own.

Instead of teaching our children (either explicitly or by example) to condemn people we see exhibiting certain behavior, we use them as opportunities to talk with our kids about God's desire for us.


... does not expect non-Christians to conform to the same moral code as a Christ follower.


One of the things I never understood growing up was that non-Christians viewed God differently. I thought that everyone was coming from the same perspective I was and so I judged everyone, Christian or not, with the same measure ... the one I learned as a child. This caused me to be extremely judgmental towards non-Christians and all the lifestyle particularities they represent.

It's very important to me that our children are raised to exhibit grace to non-Christians. I want them to accept non-Christians as they are and view them with as much dignity and worth as God created them with.


One last thought that I found eye opening. (And I'm only a third of the way through the book!)


God's purpose for us is not that we live safe and comfortable lives separated from the world. A Christian's main duty is not to protect his children from worldly corruption. 


Chris and I strongly believe that we are called to raise our children to engage in culture and think critically about it. This means it's our job to carefully and thoughtfully expose them to the world, not shelter them from it. The risk, of course, is that our children will make a different choice than we want ... that they will get immersed in the world and lose their focus on Christ. As a new mom, the idea that my daughter or son might choose the world over a relationship with God is terrifying to me.

However, I'd rather face that risk and allow our kids to be who God created them to be than raise children who are little automated, non-thinking clones of Chris and me.

Speaking the Truth

This video has been making its rounds on Facebook. I hadn't watched it, just assuming it was another overly-hyped video that had gone viral around my Christian-saturated Facebook world. But so many people commented on it, that I finally sat down to watch it.

I'm so glad I did. I love it. This is TRUTH. And the part that I love the most is that it is spoken word. Poetry. Art.

I'm sure God is pleased with how this guy is using his gift. Preach it, brother.

How I Found Thanksgiving

This Thanksgiving I'm having a hard time figuring out how I feel. I know how I'm "supposed" to feel, but honestly I don't feel very thankful. Rather, sad and little bit angry. I think of Thanksgiving last year, and I guess the thing that I'm thankful for this year is that last year is over. I never want to relive last year.

But as I was verbally processing all these thoughts this morning, my husband said something that showed me once again why I married him.

"It's not about what we're thankful for as much as Who we're thankful to."

Suddenly I realized that when I focus my thanksgiving on people, traditions, food, material blessings ... all of those things are temporary. So if, or more accurately, when I lose them, I also lose my source of thanks.

There is only one thing in existence that is not temporary. So it makes sense to me that I should focus my thanksgiving on that one thing that I will never lose.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.

Hebrews 13:8

Our Culinary Adventure: A Night in Brazil

In one of my recent posts, I mentioned how traveling is one of the few interests Chris and I share. But I now realize that I forgot about a big one...

We share a love of food. We love eating. We love cooking together. We love trying out new restaurants. (Which, I might add, is quite challenging in Colorado Springs, the world's mecca of chain restaurants.) Our favorite TV channel is the Food Network, and if we ever decide to pay for cable, it will be to watch that channel. We've even gone so far as to throw around the idea of moving to a big city just to be able to experience more culture. (By the way, this plan isn't off the table.)

We're trying our best to pass on this love of food to our kids. We have made it our mission to introduce our daughter to a wide a variety of food as early in life as possible. By 10 months old (thanks in big part to a trip to San Francisco) she had eating authentic Mexican, Persian, Greek and Thai food. She loved it all. Being that she's a Giovagnoni, of course she's also eaten Italian and American. And just last weekend, we introduced her to Brazilian food.

Chris recently came up with this idea to cook and eat different recipes from the countries where Compassion works and then he'd share our experiences on Compassion's blog. I loved the idea. 

Mise en place for Moqueca de Peixe

So our first foray into cooking international cuisine was to Brazil. You can read Chris' post about the experience, but let me just sum it up to say, after the first meal I'm very excited about this new culinary adventure! Even though we cannot travel as much as we might want to in this moment in our lives, we can still experience a small taste of the world through food. 

I Don't Fight Alone

I have an enemy, of this I'm sure. He hates me and wants me to fail. And sometimes I feel like he's very close to winning.

It seems like the more I start to focus on what it is God's doing in my life, the more opposition I face. It's very hard to make any forward progress when I'm constantly fighting off attacks. I truly don't know how I'm ever going to succeed.

Why is it that life doesn't become easier when I'm on the right track? Honestly, I could use a little covering. Some sort of protection from the devil as I'm trying to learn how to fight.

I know this isn't the case, but I often feel like I'm all alone in this battle ... like God's sitting on the sidelines, cheering me on from afar. But I don't need a cheerleader. I need a teammate. I need a defender. Him by my side, in the arena, fighting with me.

Because I will be defeated on my own, I know this.

I wish I could see the real battle. I wish I could see, even just for a minute, what I know is the truth ... that God is fighting with me. For some reason, though, He's chosen to hide reality from us right now. And this makes it so hard to fight with strength, perseverance and courage.

I'm struggling to remember that what I think is reality, that I'm alone in this battle, is not actually real. It's a lie.

The truth is, I do have a Warrior by my side. I have a Defender. I have the King of the Universe, the Creator of all Heaven and Earth, with me in this.

I'm not alone. And the victory is already ours.

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.
~Ephesians 6:12 

For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.
~1 Corinthians 13:12

My Vicarious Trip to Ecuador

Chris and I are very different. We often marvel at how our marriage works when we are so completely opposite. There is one big thing we have in common, though. We both love to travel. And, I might add, for being so different, we travel quite well together. I so look forward to the day when life slows down and we can see the world together. (Read: retirement.) First stop: northern Italy.

Until then, however, I will live vicariously through Chris. He gets to travel for his job. Mostly domestically (and really, who can complain about San Francisco?) but occasionally internationally, as well.

This week he is in Ecuador. I'm very excited for him. Of all the trips to Compassion countries I've been on, (okay ... that's only four, but still) Ecuador was definitely my favorite!

He'll be posting on Compassion's blog about the trip. I'm looking forward to reading along, particularly on the days when they visit the jungle. From what I understand, it's very remote. They have to travel for over an hour in a canoe to get there!

The group is made up of eight women and three men, so I imagine that should any of the jungle fauna decide to make an appearance during their adventure, there will be inordinate amounts of high-pitched squealing. I am confident that my super manly, incredibly strong, extremely courageous, east coast bred and raised husband will not be among them.

After all, he is sporting a mean mustache.

Finding My Faith: The Beginning

As I sit here writing this morning, the sky out the front window is pink. Or maybe orange. Actually it's somewhere in between the two, like a color from Heaven that doesn't exist on Earth. It's pretty amazing.

God continues to surprise me. (Really, why should I be surprised? He's God.)

This morning I got an email from a friend who said she really related to my recent post on faith. (This wasn't the first time, but it was written in a way that really struck me.) It's weird to share something so personal only to find that someone else feels the same way.

Sometimes I wonder why God made me the way He did. I've never felt like a complete mistake, but like maybe (as I so often do) He overlooked the details. Why, when I have the ability to express myself through writing, do I have such a hard time articulating my thoughts and feelings verbally? Why do I want so desperately to do things differently, and I find myself doing the same old thing? Why am I so totally driven by emotions? Why do fear and anxiety have such a stronghold in my life? Will I ever be free of them or will they haunt me forever?

Since my dad died in December, I've had to face the overwhelming fear I've been running from my whole life - the death of my parents. Over the last year of trying to make sense of it, I don't think I've made much progress. I still am confused why I prayed more fervently than I ever have only to watch him die. I still struggle to understand the point of prayer. I don't understand how a God who created and desires intimacy still feels so far away. Why do I cling to something that, in the darkest hours of my life, didn't seem to make much difference?

I guess it's in the face of these questions that faith really becomes faith. When there is no evidence and it seems like anyone in their "right" mind would give it up, stubbornly I still believe. I still believe that God is good and loves me. I still believe that He'll make good on His promises that death is not the end and I'll see my dad again. I still believe that He hears my prayers.

I don't think I've found faith yet. I'm just beginning to see what it might look like in my life. Until I questioned my faith, there was no way to know if it actually existed. Because what I thought was faith wasn't.

Faith isn't what I do on a daily basis or how I think. It's what's left when there's nothing else to hold on to.

We Fly Acoustic Airlines

We fly Southwest Airlines almost exclusively. Traveling with a child, you can't beat their luggage policy. Now here's just one more reason we'll keep flying them ... I can hardly wait to see who's going to show up on our next flight! (If it were Mat again, I wouldn't be disappointed.)

Who's the artist you'd most like to surprise you with an in flight concert?

The Day My "Faith" Fell Apart

I wondered what it was going to take for me to post again. It's been six months since I last wrote. Nothing major occurred which caused me to stop posting, I just stopped. I was a new mom. I am a grieving daughter. I am a growing wife. And while all these things provided an unending supply of topics to post about, I didn't feel like doing it, so I didn't. And my blog went on an unannounced six month hiatus.

However, there is something I'm wrestling with that I need to write about. And I'll warn you, it's not going to be pretty. It might not even make a whole lot of sense. In fact, I'm mostly writing this for me, to try and put some semblance of order to the thoughts tangled up in my head. So if you're reading it, hang on.

And good luck. :)

---

This morning I realized something big. Monumental, even. Here it is.

I've been a "Christian" for what seems like almost my whole life ... (Excuse me while I interrupt myself. I put quotes around the word "Christian" on purpose, because with this morning's realization, my lifelong flimsy excuse for faith came crumbling down. And for the record, I'm not doubting that I'm a Christian, just trying to express how weak and broken of one I am.)

Anyway, here is what I realized. I've been a "Christian" for over 25 years and yet I have literally no idea what faith means, practically speaking. I talk about having faith, but don't know what it looks like to live out my faith. It's like all my life I've had this carefully built, but incredibly fragile front called faith, and once the facade cracks, suddenly it's obvious that there's not much supporting it underneath. And to be honest, that realization scared me. Everything that I thought I knew about life and God and faith is nothing if I cannot articulate why it matters.

My husband has been the catalyst for this realization. For literally the first time in my life, someone is challenging me to dig into my beliefs and "faith" and find it's roots. And sadly what I'm finding is that there's not much there. And honestly, that is a shock to me.

So after some tears and soul searching, he and I spent some time in Scripture, studying what the Bible says about faith. And although I know we are just beginning to scratch the surface, it feels good to finally, after 33 years, be putting some roots down to support my faith.

On the highest level, here are a few of the things I discovered:

• I am a highly emotional person, and consequently, my faith has been 98% emotion-driven. While emotions in and of themselves aren't bad, they have been the entire basis for my faith, and that's bad. Emotions are fickle and ever-changing. Pretty much the opposite of what faith is supposed to be. Therefore, what I have always ascribed to as faith is actually not faith, but a feeling. So I need to learn what real faith is and then figure out how to have it.

• According to what we found in the Bible, faith is, plain and simple, a stubborn belief in something with little or no evidence to support it.

So faith is my belief that Jesus Christ died for my sins. Faith is my belief that I will be with Him when I die (and that my dad is now.) Faith is my belief that He has forgiven me and loves me unconditionally.

Faith is not praying. Faith is not going to church. Faith is not reading the Bible every day. Faith is not what music I choose to listen to, how I spend my time or money, what car I drive or what I choose to eat. And it's not a lot of other things which many Christians call faith.

• Faith and obedience are very closely related. In fact, they're in a circuitous relationship. Faith is the means by which I am able to obey God. And obedience is the evidence of my faith. So basically, I can't obey God without faith. And if I don't obey God, I don't have true faith.

While I know this is the crux of understanding faith, when I try to think about what this means for me, my brain feels like it's ready to explode. I do want to work through this, and I will, but I am at my limit of logical, analytical thinking for today.

It's been rather heart-wrenching and emotionally draining to realize that something I thought was rock solid is actually quite flimsy. And in some ways, I feel like even though I've been practicing for years, I'm still at the very beginning of this whole Christianity thing, trying to figure out what it all means. Like I thought I was a couple decades in and suddenly I find myself back at the starting line.

Also I would like to publicly thank my husband, Chris, who is courageous enough to challenge 33 years of my thinking, along with much of the rest of evangelical Christianity. He is a brave man and I know God put Him in my life to call me to something greater.

I cannot wait to explore what that is.

Clinging to Hope

In my darkest moments of grief, I am bombarded by doubts. I find myself wondering whether it's all a sham ... this whole God thing. I miss my dad terribly and I want more than anything to see him again. I start to wonder if I want this so badly that I am willing to believe anything that tells me I will? Am I clinging to a false hope?

According to Miriam-Webster the definition of the word hope is "to expect with confidence." It is closely related to the words "trust" and "faith." Those three things ... hope, trust and faith are my lifelines. They are what keep me afloat in the rolling waves of grief.

I'm expecting with confidence that I will be with my dad again. I'm trusting that what God promised in His word will happen. I'm clinging to my faith that it's all real - that He's real.

And then a couple days ago Peter smacked some sense into me.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls.

So I suppose missing my dad is today's trial. I am surely suffering grief, but at least I know it's not meaningless. As awful as it is, if it ultimately results in praise, glory and honor for Jesus Christ, then I'll gladly accept it.

The Truth

Poetic.
Succinct.
Powerful.
Clear.

Best of all ... true.

The Terrifying Face of Love

I had a monumental epiphany tonight and it completely scared me.

(Disclaimer: I'm still trying to sort this all out in my mind so I'm not sure this post is going to make a whole lot of sense, but I want to share it anyway.)

So here is my earth-shattering epiphany ... are you ready for it?

I love my daughter.

I know what you're probably thinking, "Um, hello. You're her mom. You're just now realizing that? What is wrong with you?"

But stick with me.

The epiphany-causing part of this realization is not the fact that I love my daughter, but the depth of my love for her. It's SO much deeper than any emotion I've ever felt before. I've never experienced anything even remotely close to how I feel about Cara. It's taken the concept of love to a whole new level.

And this realization scares me. A lot.

What it comes down to is a lack of trust. Basically, I'm scared to trust God with my daughter. Even though it's completely backwards and doesn't make any sense, I'm afraid that because I love Cara so much, He's going to allow something to happen to her in order to teach me something ... maybe surrender or acceptance. Isn't that a ridiculous and twisted fear? I "know" that God is good and loving and compassionate. I "know" that He works all things together for good. But I also know that this world is a fallen, broken, messed up place with lots of pain and heartache. I know that many people suffer unfathomable losses allowed by God for His greater purpose.

Frankly, I'm afraid that my loving Cara so much will cause God to allow that to be taken from me in order to show me that all I need is Him. (See what I mean about being backwards? Seriously ... I'm a mess.)

But even in the midst of this consuming fear, I also see the other side. After the volatile final seven weeks of my pregnancy, how can I ever doubt God - the One that chose to give us a baby girl who is the picture of perfect health?

A little background: At 33 weeks my placenta started showing signs of calcification and the doctors were convinced that I would have to be induced early to save my baby. I was monitored twice a week and at every ultrasound the baby had to score at least 8 out of a possible 10 points for the doctors to feel okay with letting things progress naturally. Every single time our baby scored a 10. But it wasn't just barely a 10. She would complete all the necessary actions within the first few minutes of being on the monitor. Every time. She literally defied every expectation of our doctors. She came naturally, two days before her due date, and the first five months of her life have continued to demonstrate that despite what the doctors predicted, Cara is the epitome of perfect health.

Is this rambling making any sense? Even as I'm writing, I feel like an out of control ping pong ball, bouncing wildly back and forth between what I know to be true and what I feel (read: fear).

The Truth is that God loves me more than I can even begin to fathom. What I feel for Cara? That's just a tiny fraction of how God feels about me. He won't allow anything in my life without a purpose and whatever He allows me to experience, without it I wouldn't become who He wants me to be.

Bottom line. The deepest desire of my heart is to please God, whatever it takes.

Or whomever it takes.

Now I Want to Buy a Volkswagen

This is brilliant.

Heaven

"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world."

-C.S. Lewis (Mere Christianity)