Operation: Stay put, baby. Check!

I had the most amazing week.

1- because I got to spend an entire week with my friend, Jen, who is quite possibly the best houseguest in the whole world.  She cooks, cleans, makes me nap, plays with Molly, tells me to go to bed at night when I need to, encourages me to be as lazy as humanly possible,  and doesn't' mind incessant question asking during movies. (You can totally be jealous that she's my friend and not yours.)

AND...

2- I am 36 weeks pregnant and baby girl has decided to stay put for a little while longer...atleast until her Daddy can come back from spending 2 weeks in VA to finish up his master's classes.  He comes home tonight!!!!

Not only do I feel accomplished (Twilight saga and the Harry Potter saga all watched in a span of 7 days. woo hoo!)  but I feel very close to being ready for baby girl to be making an appearance.  Here's my list.  Look how much I've managed to cross off without Justin being here!  I'm stoked.

I feel like not only is my house is getting prepared, but emotionally, I feel I'm getting ready too.  I wouldn't say I'm excited.  I'm not anxious.  I'm not scared or apprehensive.  I'm just ready.  Ready for change.  Ready for newness.  Ready for joy and a sense of relief and gladness. And with that ready feeling comes cold fingers of guilt wanting so badly to squeeze hope away.  It's so strange the guilt that come with wanting to love another child that isn't the son I thought I'd love forever.  

I'm worried what I'll be feeling when she gets here.  

Will I wish I was holding Josiah instead of her?
When my heart is so used to loving and losing, will I guard it and not be able to love her like I should?
Will there be enough of me to go around so I can love her and Molly miss Josiah still all at the same time?
Should I even care if I miss Josiah or do I really need to start letting memories go?  Take his shoes out of the basket next to the door?  Take his pictures off of the walls so Molly can stop talking about him?

I know those are terrible things to think, and I hate even admitting to even entertaining those thoughts.  But there they are- worries that I'm struggling with.

And that is yet another reason why I am so glad that Jen was here this week.  We had a wonderful conversation about how there are feelings that come from God, and feelings that don't.  Jen told me that being sad comes from God.  It comes from an extension of experiencing love that can only come from Him, and then enduring loss of the object of that love.  Joy comes from God, from experiencing love and the good gifts He gives us.  Guilt does not come from God.  Guilt robs both sadness and joy away so that as Christians we can not experience those emotions fully.  Those emotions are gifts.  The world will tell you "get over it," "get through it," "replace sadness with something meaningful so it doesn't hurt as much," "stay as busy as possible so you don't have time to think about it."  We lose so much of the gift of grieving when we do that, and we fall into the trap of feeling guilty if we decide to linger on feeling sad for longer than others think we should.  

But let me say, how sweet this time of loving, and losing, and hoping has been.  It is in recognizing that both sadness and joy can coexist that makes me feel like I can be a good mom to the new blessing that is our baby girl.  And its not just that these two feelings coexist, I see one informing the other.  I see that as God consoles, He also transforms.  I think it is impossible for the nearness of His presence not to change us completely.  I am a better mom, a better student of the Word, a better teacher, a better artist, a better friend, wife, sister, daughter, .... because I have experienced real sadness and real joy.  (and be on the lookout...this has a lot to do with baby girl's name...) ;o)  

I am ready for her.

Operation:  Come out, baby.... commence!      

...actually... please wait until 11:00 tonight when your daddy comes home.

Psalms Illustrated according to ninth graders

School officially ended on June 3rd for me.  Hooray!  Lucky for me, my seniors were finished the Friday before, so I've only had my 9th grade Fundamentals of Art class at the end of the day this past week.  (Art History and Home Ec were done.)  Can I just tell you how much I love ninth graders?!?!  They never cease to surprise me.  Despite a lot of whining and unkindness towards each other (which causes them to lose daily points for the day...yes, I'm a mean teacher that demands they respect each other), they are pretty great kids.

This year, I made my students do a little journaling for the first 15 minutes of class. Every Tuesday and Thursday, they would have to open up their Bibles and sketchbooks and illustrate a Psalm, write out a verse, and a lesson they learned from it.

(So no, I haven't totally abandoned my "Psalms Illustrated."  I just make other people do it now too.)  :o)

For their final project, they had to make a Psalms Triptych- a 3 part work of art that is tied together with a central theme.  They had to choose 3 of the about the 25 Psalms they did and find three that went together somehow (in theme, in content, in color, etc.).  Then they had other stipulations like it had to include a face, three implied textures, an example of a complementary color, deep space created with aerial or 1 point perspective, the use of two media (colored pencil, pastel, watercolor, graphite pencil, etc.) ... all the little lessons I taught them throughout the semester.

I tend to give assignments that I wish I could do myself.  There is a lot of whining and hemming and hawing about how difficult they think it is, but once they all had their idea, it was so fun watching their artwork come together.

I am so proud of them all!  I love seeing what they've learned, and how they apply it visually.  I pray that the lessons that they've learned from having to sketch out an idea as opposed to just memorizing verses (which they all have to do for Bible classes) will stick with them and God will use it to continually teach them about who He is.

Here are just a few of them.

Paris: Part 4

Finding my way in Paris as artist...

I know I have written before about how I see God most clearly when I am making art.  I just think He wired me that way....  it's like we have this secret little handshake that we can only do when I get out my art supplies.  I have had the opportunity to do a rather large scale project, and as always, God teaches me more about Himself when I am faithful to use the gifts He has given me.  

It's funny to me that I meet with God in interesting ways when I am doing art that I don't particularly like.  I have 2 paintings that hang in city hall and now I can say, I have a new mural in the center of our town's ball field.  I would like to say I've gotten these commissions because I am just that good.  Nope.  Pure nepotism.  I have a bragging father who has been the town's mayor for far too long for anyone to argue with him.  I've heard him say on multiple occasions, "my daughter is better than Norman Rockwell."  I say he is half-delusional, half-one-proud-papa.  I've gotten used to blushing and rolling my eyes when I hear him talk about me in front of other people.  Still, it is nice to be known as a "Port Republic artist" by people who are blessed enough to live in our quiet little town, population 1200.

For our town's 100 year celebration of being "established as a 'city'," my dad wanted me to do a painting of what has recently become my nemesis, the Port Republic Bridge.

It was taken from a post card from 1905, and at our town's annual celebration, I sold prints of the painting.  I told everyone who bought it that the money was going towards my, "getting back to Port fund," so one day I could afford to live in the town where I grew up in that I loved so much.  (I was newly married at the time and Justin and I were living in a condo 20 minutes away.)  

The following year, I did another Port Republic painting taken from another postcard of The VanSant ship yard, a thriving and established ship-building company that used to be in the center of town a hundred years ago.  By doing that painting, I learned a lot about my family history.

 My great-grandmother, Laura VanSant (who I am named after), met my great-grandfather, Alonzo, while he was delivering cedar to the shipyard.  Here is a photo of her when she was about twelve, taken around the 1880's.

She's the one in the white hat.  Wasn't she adorable?  You can tell she put on her Sunday best- white gloves and all. The two boys next to her did't even have shoes on.  I guess it was a big deal to get her picture taken, and she didn't want to spoil the experience with wearing anything less than her best.  

130 years after that picture was taken, I found myself standing about 50 yards from where she stood in that photograph, in the little epicenter of our town, painting on a stucco wall.  I felt like it was one of those grand times in my life where opportunity, ability, preparation, and an answer to prayer to live where I do all intersected.  The experience felt like such an honor as I carefully and strategically brushed paint onto the wall.  

Over my right shoulder, this was my view.  

The church I grew up in.  The church where I married my husband.  

Over my left shoulder, was this.  

Nacote Creek and dozens of swans who call this place home. 

I worked in the late evening for the past three weeks, when God would light up the sky in hues of purples and pinks.  Warm wafts of honeysuckle filled the gentle breezes off of the bay.  I got to hear all of the birds go to roost as the sun went down, and talk to a lot of the townspeople who were riding bikes and walking their dogs.  Most knew me by name, or in the least, knew who I was. It was a grand feeling to put my mark on a place I love so much, where I feel like God created me to belong.  It was also fun to try to maneuver myself into interesting poses with baby girl protruding from my belly.  I can't wait to tell her the story of how we painted it together.  

The commission was for a race that our town hosts every year, and was painted on the back of the refreshment stand behind the town's ball field.  

No, I am not a sign painter.  I hate straight lines and being confined to paint something that requires so much exactness.  But I did get to pick the colors.  And the colors I like.  Half naked fish man showing off his massive pecs?  Not so much.  It figures that nepotism would be the reason I got to paint King Neptune.  I projected the image of the logo onto the wall, and then it was just one big paint-by-number project.  It's a good thing it was traced...I totally would have put an extra "a" in triathlon.        

The experience of painting it was an outpouring of praise, as I thanked God for His creation and provision.  (The check I received for doing the mural was the exact amount I needed to fund visiting my sister in Massachusetts 2 months ago.)  I am so grateful that God gives me opportunities to see Him so clearly while making art.      

and p.s.... below the sign, I wanted to paint "BEWARE OF BRIDGE."  But the mayor said no.  

       

Molly Time

I feel like I have a huge list of to-do's that are just looming over my head.  A big commission, finishing the girls' room, teaching in the afternoons (tomorrow I'm done...yay!), cleaning like a madwoman, and trying to fit in some relaxing time where I can put my feet up so my legs don't swell up like purple veiny sausages...sorry for the lovely mental image there.  I'm trying to do these things all before Sunday when Justin has to leave for two weeks.  Realistically, I think I'm going to have to let some things go...

I have great intentions of writing about all of these things and the lessons God has taught me through the process of getting ready for baby-in-waiting.  But until I can have pictures to show of completed things, I might as well wait.

So in the midst of trying to be productive, I am soaking up some Molly time and loving every minute of it.

Last Saturday, I got a lovely email from my local freecycle community notifying me of a "everything's free after 3:00 yardsale!" We were too late to scoop up what I went to get (a screened in gazebo)..bummer...but I got a few other little gems.  One of which, was this really cool vintage tin.  When I opened it, it was filled with zippers, and I thought to myself, "This is something that a Home Ec teacher should have."When I got home and took out all of the zippers, I was so excited the entire bottom of the tin was about 2 inches deep full of buttons!!!  So what did I do?

I spent an hour cleaning and sorting through them, of course.  Why?  Because I have nothing better or more pressing to do.  And buttons are awesome.  Every cool person should have a button collection.

Molly thinks they're pretty awesome too.  She spent a good 45 minutes playing with them on the floor this morning, scooping them up and dumping them into different containers and hearing how they clinked in the glass jar and how they thudded into the plastic containers.  She thinks they are just as magical as I do.  

We had to put them away when she started taking them behind the couch into her secret tunnel.  Maybe one day we'll put them into little glass jars and go bury them in the sandbox.  They can be our pirate treasure.  

It struck me today that there will be a time in the very near future when buttons on the floor won't be too kosher when there's a baby crawling around.  It makes me thankful for the time I have to spend with Molly before baby girl comes.  

Out of all the things I should be doing to prepare, I can't think of a better way I could be spending my time right now...you know... doing the important things in life like scooping buttons, tasting butter for cookies, and "painting."  

Filing a complaint with the Mayor

So... I let the mayor know about the dangers that face unobservant drivers while crossing the Port Bridge.

Here's how it went...

Me:  "You need to look into that sign on the bridge.  It sticks out way too far."  

Mayor Gary: "You mean the big yellow and black sign that tells people to watch out for the narrow part of the bridge?"

Me: "Yeah...that one."

Mayor Gary:  "I'll look into it.  Thanks for letting me know."  

Thanks for humoring me, Dad.  

Pregnancy is not good for my car

This past Christmas, Justin and I took the plunge and became "minivan people."  One more kid, and we would have outgrown our Pontiac Torrent, so we decided it was time.  We got a great deal on our trade in...and it even has a cool automatic door opener on the keychain and a back-up camera!  Isn't she pretty?  I haven't given her a name, but even if I did, I'm sure she wouldn't like it.  She has every reason not to like me very much right now.

Two weeks ago, I had the best morning ever.  I took Molly out for a well visit at the doctor, we went to the produce outlet, the grocery store and made a stop at the playground.  It was getting a little warm, so we headed home around 10:30...plenty of time to do lunch and for me to get ready for work by 12.  When we got home, I took Molly and the groceries in the house, answered the phone that was ringing as I walked in the door, and I was feeling like the best little multi-tasking mama in the world.

An hour and a half later, I got into my car to go to work, and found the key in the ignition.  I went to turn it and it wouldn't turn.  Why?  Because it was already on.  It had been running for an hour and a half.  With the air on.  The car was out of gas, something was wrong with the battery, and some light that I did not recognize was blinking at me on the dash board.   I broke it.

An hour car ride to the nearest mechanic (3 miles away) at 3 mph, 4 days, and $46 later, it was fixed thanks to my wonderfully patient husband, who was not upset.  

Molly wanted to have many conversations about where our car was. After a while, she could answer the question herself, "Mama's car.  Broken.  I fits it?"

"Daddy is getting it fixed," I told her.  He is our hero.



The next week, I had to take Molly out again to the grocery store for one of our many Home Ec supply runs.  It had just started pouring rain when we got back home. Justin pulled in the driveway a few minutes later.  He happened to come home for lunch that day.

 Molly was in the house, groceries in the kitchen, and the keys were hanging on the wall.  I wasn't incapable of running errands after all.  "Did you notice I turned off the car?" I asked him, so proud of myself.

"Did you know you left the car door open?"  he asked.

I fail at life.



Then.... today.  I left school early to go to the chiropractor and massage therapist.  After I left, I was feeling tingly and loosey-goosey and loving life a little bit more than yesterday.  I was 2 minutes away from home, when all of a sudden, when I was going over a bridge, I felt a stirring jolt heard a scraping sound.  A sign came out of nowhere and clipped my car!

Seriously, people.  WHAT IS MY PROBLEM!!??!!?

Of course, because he is awesome, Justin wasn't mad.  He told me that it's just a car.  I disagree.  I think it is a two ton hunk of metal purposefully designed to keep me humble.


I think my pregnancy should require a designated driver.  Apparently, I'm incapable of any vehicular responsibility whatsoever.

Righty

In addition to being right-handed and a typically right-brained thinker, I'm also the owner of a solely right-sided uterus.  (I know, too much information, right?)  I am one of the lucky one in four thousand women who can boast such a condition.  (Along with my older sister, who also is a right-y.)

Many women go onto have healthy pregnancies that have what I have...some never even knowing that they have the condition.  But miscarriage and pre-term labor are extremely common.  One in three babies is miscarried, pre-term labor is common in 20% of pregnancies, still births occur in 10% of pregnancies, and like Molly, 45% of babies make it to full-term. (For those of you left-brainers, that's more than 100%...statistics don't make any sense to me either!)  Most risks have to do with where the baby implants itself.

Along with the scary-scariness of statistics, there's the uncomfortablitly factor in having a belly that is both bulging and lop-sided.

I can't sit straight up anymore.  Since she's on the right side, when I sit,  I always have to lean a little to the left because she's resting on my spine and her legs are tucked under my right rib.  I must look awesome when I drive.   And...my belly button is about an inch off-center because of it.

Sleeping is nearly impossible.  I'm technically supposed to sleep on my left side, but baby girl HATES that.  She kicks my ribs until I give in and roll over.  I can't sleep on my right, because, well...I squish her.  So that leaves me to sleep on my back, which is a big pregnancy no-no.  No matter how much I try sleeping on my side, I always wake up on my back.  I've had a few small panic attacks thinking, "oh no...if I'm on my back, I'm cutting off her blood supply!"  After talking to some pregnant friends, I'm ready to give in and just sleep however my body is comfortable and trust my body wouldn't intentionally hurt my baby.

Since she's resting on my back, she's also on my sciatic nerve, which shoots these painful shards up my back and down my right leg.  Let me tell you, that's just awesome when I'm trying to teach a class of ninth graders how to draw the correct proportions of a face.  Handouts. Handouts have been my best friend this marking period.

And then there's spider veins.  Which, of course, I only have on my right leg.  It's interesting trying to explain what they are to all the high schoolers who ask about them when they see these dark purple spots on my legs.  I'm often confronted with, "Will they go away?"  and "Does everyone get those when they're pregnant?"  and "I hope I don't get those...I never want to get pregnant!"  I figure, if my gross legs can act as birth-control to 16 year old girls, I'm all in favor of flaunting them proudly.

I don't share this as a means to make you feel sorry for me...I feel so blessed to be able to conceive, and carry, and bring life into the world.  I'm writing this so when I get the thought of "Hey...wouldn't a third baby be so great?!!?" I can look back and count the cost that pregnancy puts on my body, and the risk that I take for bringing a premie into the world.          

Baby girl is now thirty two weeks and still growing. (Praise God for a huge answer to prayer!)  32 weeks is a big milestone to get to, with over 90% of babies born at this stage surviving.  However, I'm faced with the reality that pre-term labor is a real possibility for me.  My sister was on strict bed rest with since week 27 of her pregnancy,  and a constant pump of medication going into her until baby Micah was born.  My doctor told me to have my bags packed since week 28, and my midwife told me that she's be happy if I made it another month.  (My midwife also told me that she was so nervous delivering Molly because a few months prior, a woman with my condition went into labor, her uterus ruptured, the baby died, and the woman can't have any more children.  Great.  Sometimes ignorance is bliss, midwife-lady.  Don't tell me stories like that.)

The bad news is that my husband is leaving to go down to Liberty University to finish up his master's degree during weeks 35 and 36.  Wonderful timing, right?  I'm happy that my friend Jen is coming down to keep my sane for one of those weeks!  

The harrowing reality became apparent when I started having contractions today.  Probably a result of a combination dehydration, heat, trying to do too much, and only eating 2 bowls of cereal and a banana all day.  4 glasses of water and having my feet up for 5 hours has stopped them.  I'm just praying that the rest of this pregnancy isn't scary like today was.

I'm praying for her to stay put for at least 6 more weeks....  I'm hoping I'll be right-y!  *sorry*  ;o)

Paris: Part 3

Finding my way in Paris as a teacher....

When it comes to learning new things, I have this unnatural obsession to share it....like I think everyone should find something as interesting as I do.  For instance:  art history.  It. is. fascinating.  Don't argue with me.  History:  dates, facts, figures, names= boring.  Art History:  People and places that talented people took the time to capture in a sculpture or on a canvas= awesome.  I mean, a picture tells so many stories....the story about how it was made, the story of the artist who made it, and the story of the subject matter.  For instance...  this is a painting of a Madonna and Child by Fra Filipo Lippi, an artist and monk.  (Say that name 10x's fast...isn't it fun?!?!)

It may look like just another Renaissance painting of Mary and Jesus, but did you know that this is also a portrait of a nun....and the angel is a portrait of the artist and nun's son?!?!?  *gasp*  scandalous!  Now don't you feel cooler for knowing a little art history!?!? Next time you go to the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, you can tell this little juicy tidbit to someone who is looking at this painting and totally rock their world.  

See?  I have no edit button when it comes to sharing things I think are fun.  That may have something to do with why I like to blog too- because I think people care about what I am learning.  

There is no greater motivation for learning than when I have to teach someone else what I know.  Teaching helps me know more things, and in the context of this post, it helps me to learn more about God.  I could tell you how being an actual "teacher" in a Christian school to teenagers helps me do this, but I'll save that for another time.       

My 20-month old little parrot, Molly, loves to repeat anything I say.  And so begins our journey together of her as student and me as teacher, although most of the time, I feel like our roles are reversed.  In my weekly Bible study with some awesome ladies, we were talking about our responsibility to teach our children about God.  I felt compelled to take this challenge seriously and start talking to Molly about God throughout our day.  I feel like He gives me so many opportunities to do this as we interact with eachother.  Here are a few of the things she knows so far....

God is Creator:  

Me:  Molly, who make the flowers?

Molly: God flowers!  

Who made the birds?

God birds!  

(this gets to be pretty funny when we ask her who made stinkies).

God is Good:  

Me:  God is 

Molly: good

All the 

Time.

All the 

Time 

God is

Bubbles?  Bubbles?

No Molly, tell me all the time, God is...???

I find it?...bubbles?

No Molly, all the time God is....???

Good.  Ok...bubbles? I find it? I walk?  I find it?    

(she needs a little bit of re-focusing most times, but she gets it eventually).

God is protector:  

Lately, she's had this new practice of telling me when she is scared...like when a loud truck goes by, or something falls and makes a loud noise.  She runs over to me, wide-eyed, and grasps onto me for dear life.  

"Scay-wee!" she says.  

I ask, "Molly, what do we do when we're scared?

"Pray." she says.  We fold our hands and she squints her eyes and crinkles her nose. 

"Dear...

God

please help me not to be

scay-wurd.

A...

men!"

(and then she's off and playing again.)  

I know that she's only learning to copy what I say.  But I feel that as her mom, I have the awesome privilege of speaking truths into her head.  One day, I pray that the Holy Spirit will speak these truths to her heart, and she'll know that the things that I've taught her about God, her Creator,  the God who is Good, and the God who protects her--- are really true.  

As much as I teach her, I feel like she teaches me more.  In the times when I ask myself if God is really good, or if He knows what's best for me, or if He really knows me, I hear her little voice in my head repeat these words of truth back to me.  (And now is a time I really need these truths spoken to me...I'll have to write a little more on that later.)  

So as I learn about God, I teach.  And as I teach, I learn. What a strange and wonderful reciprocal little journey Miss Molly and I are on together! 

God has most definitely used this role as teacher to meet me where I am and direct me towards Himself.      

  

Paris: Part 2

Finding my way through Paris as a student....

(Yes, I know this really has nothing to do with actually going to Paris, but I imagine that being lost in a foreign country, not being able to read signs or speak the language is much like trying to navigate through life without knowing the true character of God.)  

I love to learn, and when I'm not being stubborn or lazy, I really do like to read my Bible.  It is so fun to read and let the Holy Spirit let certain words leap off the pages of text that is thousands of years old and let it speak to my heart, as if it was written only for me.

Lately, I've been reading this devotional book that I highly recommend.  

In the book, the author discusses the names of God that were used in the Old Testament like El Shadday, Elohim, Adonay, Abba, El Elyon---God Almighty, Mighty Creator, Lord, Father, God Most High.  These are names of God that speak of His character- of who He is, and then in turn, tell me who I am because of Him.  When I pray now, these are the places where I know He can be found, because these truths are grounded in Scripture, not my own opinion.  

There are other books, too that I am enjoying, like the books I have been reading for my women's Bible study.  I have an amazing group of women that I meet with every Thursday night.  It is such a wonderful time of refreshment and encouragement.  Plus, being involved in a small group setting and going through a book together adds a sense of accountability to make sure I do my "homework."  I need this.  I tend to push life's busy to-do list to the fore-front and leave my Bible dusty in the process.  So having sisters in Christ who are willing to lift up one another in prayer and come along side each other to study God's Word is so helpful for me to be the student of the Word that I know I should be.  

AMAZING workbook on the book of Ruth 

Great workbook for a study of Ephesians

Our newest study that I can't wait to start

I think for me, being a good student means not only being a reader of truth, but a listener.  I love Christian music, and I'm a big fan of iTunes' Christian radio stations and Pandora.com. (On my Pandora, I like to listen to a lot of hymns and Chris Rice and Nichole Nordeman).  What a difference it makes in my day when I am continually feeding truth to my heart!  

Also, my pastor is an amazing preacher.  I mean C-R-A-Z-Y good.  He preaches in verse-by-verse style so it's easy to get a broad look of Scripture in the way it was written.  I love listening to his sermons when I have to cook or do dishes.     

It comes down to this: I can't find God if I don't know Him.  And how will I know Him if I am not searching for Him?  Being a student doesn't come naturally to me, so I need tools to help.      

What helps you be a good student of the Word?   

Paris: Part 1

I was blessed to be able to attend a Christian college and to study art.  During my senior year, I took "Contemporary Art and Criticism," and to be honest it was one of my least favorite art history classes. It was a class in which we had to study "what is art?," "who defines what art is?," and "oh..look at this lovely paint splatter...isn't it so profound?" taught by a don't-just-paint-what-you-see...paint-what-you-feel wack-a-doo  professor.  There was one story, however, that I remember him telling during one of his many rabbit-trail lectures that still resonates with me.  I don't remember the topic of the conversation, what painting we happened to be looking at, or even what his point really was, but I remember thinking that out of all the chapels and sermons and Bible lectures I sat through during my college years, this was a life-changing and refreshing perspective on God that I never heard before.      

"When I go to Paris," he said, "I go to all of the most familiar places first- the ones that I know well and can find easily on foot....my favorite little bakery that has the most delectable buttery croissants, a little cafe in a back alley that makes espresso I love, the market that has the most delicious cheeses and fresh lunchmeat.  I go to all of those places and gather what I want.  Then I can really enjoy the city and look around because I have my bearings and my hunger is satisfied.        
"I do the same thing when I pray.  I cling to the character of God that is familiar and I know best, a place in my heart and mind where He can easily be found.  Sometimes He is Father, sometimes He is Friend, Confidant, or Healer.  When I find Him, the part of me that longs to be near Him is satisfied. We can enjoy our time together, and He can then reveal more of Himself to me."

(I just love the way artsy people think!)

There was a time in my life when God was easy to be found.  In my mind, the truth that I clung to above all else was this:  If I am obedient, and good, and serve Him, and love Him, then He will give me what I ask for.  I had invested many-a-good-works, and time and energy into this philosophy.  It was a comfortable place to sit down and commune with God over cups of tea as we discussed the plans I had for my life.  Then, as you know, God shook me to my very core by taking away the very thing I asked Him for again and again and again and again.  Child after child that I had prayed for was taken away, and all of a sudden this God that I thought I knew could not be found.  No buttery croissants or cheeses for me.

In the midst of pain for what I had been taken away from me, I didn't realize what a gift it was to be lost, confused, and hungry.  What an amazing experience it is for God to take me to a place where I did not recognize Him!  It is there that I have found the True God of the Bible.  It is the only place He could call me to know Him- to really know Him.  And just very recently, I feel like I can say that.  I know I only found Him because He was searching for me.  And in His graciousness and mercy, He was able to meet me where I was, as who as was.

It was His gift to me to allow me to be lost.  It was the only way that He could be found.

I think the best place to start when I can not find Him, is worship; a sacrifice of praise when I do not feel like praising Him.  For me, worship isn't singing, sitting over Scriptures and mulling over it for hours, or even spending time listening to sermon after sermon searching for truth (although all of these are good things).  I think true worship, for anyone, is doing something that causes us to come to a place where "He is God and we are not."  For me, it is in these three areas:  as student, as teacher, and as artist.  In the next few posts, I want to write about how He has met me and how I have met Him while I am being who He has called me to be.

So I'll leave you with a "To be continued...." and a few questions to mull over.  I'd love to hear your answers...

What characters of God do you cling to when you feel like you are lost?
What is your "spiritual act of worship" that causes you see Him the most clearly?

Three Months

This past Thursday, three months have passed since Josiah went to live with his grandparents.  As memories start to fade, I am beginning to find my new "normal" as being mommy of one and one-in-waiting.  I start my day with waking up to babbling coming from Molly's crib.  "Star....up so high....diamond sky..."  I smile and think how blessed I am.  It's been a few days since I've thought about what Josiah might be saying early in the morning.  I wonder if he's talking more than she is.  Probably not.  I can't imagine he also knows all the members of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, characters from Phineas and Ferb, all 8 colors in a pack of crayolas, and how to count to 12 by himself.

I find myself thinking less and less about what I am missing, and focusing more and more on what I've gained.  How precious and sacred this time with Molly has been!  How clearly I've seen God reveal Himself to me in times of sorrow and self-pity and brokenness!  It comes in spurts, in little truths I see around me.  In little blessings like tickling toes and when Molly reminds me to pray before we eat, or how she thanks God for "Daisy, and Candace, and Captain Hook" before bed.
(Do I let her watch too much T.V.?  Ok- maybe.)

These are all little moments I might be missing if Josiah were here.  Could it be that what I thought was a blatant disruption in God's plan for my life was actually His mercy?  His kindness?  His compassion?  His love for me? His plan so I could share Him with others?  His gift of time to enjoy Molly the way I always should have?

I thank God for things He saved me from that I can not see.

And I thank God for the things that He saved me for that I let myself imagine from time to time.