Birth Story, Part 2

Hi everybody! I want to share the rest of our story with you, but first I want to introduce you to my new blog! I've decided to start fresh over at Wordpress. There you'll find the second half of our story and future posts about life with our little girl, resources for natural birth, and whatever else fits my fancy. :)

Follow our story As Rosebud Blooms. 

Rosemary Louise: A Birth Story

Our little girl is almost 12 weeks old now. 3 months! Time feels like its suddenly on fast-forward. I've been working on this post for weeks now, but it has taken me a while to process all the details, find the words to describe that day, and then get them all down on paper. Er, blog... page. Anyways, I finally feel like I've gotten it where I want it, and now I'm ready to share it with you!

When we first found out we were pregnant, we knew we had to decide where we wanted to deliver. At a hospital? At a birth center? At home? We had lots of things to consider, but it basically always comes down to one question: drugs or no drugs? We ended up deciding on a natural water birth in a birth center for many reasons (which I'll go into later). The birth center we chose was a beautiful little house with two rooms for delivering babes. (They have a smaller client base than a hospital, so two rooms is plenty! They rarely need them both at the same time...) 

In the main birth room there is a big, beautiful tub for labor and delivery, should you choose to use it. It is surrounded by soft, sheer curtains that drape overhead and is next to a large, comfy bed. Compared to a stark white hospital room with monitors and IV's and beeping machine things... I was a big fan of this room! Every time we walked in there I would hug Kip and imagine how our perfect water birth would be.


Well, that was what I imagined.

This is our story.

I started to feel contractions coming on sometime Friday morning (nearly two weeks overdue) after Kip left for work at 10 A.M. They were consistently 10 minutes apart, but not painful at all. I called my Mom to come keep me company. I thought, "Surely this is it!" and I didn't want to be by myself for "it!" Mom and I did some cleaning and organizing, trying to occupy both our minds with something else. I guess we hoped if we were keeping busy, I would suddenly go into major labor or my water would break or something. (I was this close to going to the trampoline store...) I sent Kip a text message, letting him know what was going on but that I didn't think he needed to come home yet. I should have known better- the poor man couldn't focus on anything after that! Good gosh his wife is in labor and he's an hour away!?! He ended up coming home a few hours early and getting his shift covered for the next day. Surely we'd have a baby by then!

iPhone panorama of the main birth room and my goofy husband. :)

Contractions came and went. I used the breast pump to try to encourage stronger contractions, and I drank some disgusting-tasting herbal tea that is supposed to do the same. They both worked (contractions got stronger), but labor never progressed.

Saturday I was scheduled for a non-stress test on the baby to make sure she was still doing fine and dandy all bundled up in my tummy. My big sister, Bambi, made the two hour drive from her house to come with us, hoping for a baby that day. I told Betty, one of our midwives, about my contractions. Her reaction was one I could have expected but was still disappointed to see- she wasn't excited. She wasn't jumping out of her skin to check me to see if I was in active labor. Obviously these were early signs of a baby coming, but it wasn't anything to call Grandma about. I wanted to cry, but I didn't... yet. Bambi drove back home and we did the same... discouraged, frustrated, and impatient. I cried (then) to Kip that I was angry with God. We had prayed for an early delivery and here we were, two weeks overdue. Saturday was not a fun day.

Sunday morning, 4:00 A.M. More contractions, but this time I couldn't sleep through them. They actually... hurt. Hmmm, okay. So I got out of bed, but left Kip snoozing. I didn't want to wake him for another false alarm. I drank a glass of water and used a contraction timer app to see how far apart they were. (Thank the Lord for whoever invented that!) 8 minutes, then 6, then 11, then 15. Huh? Not consistent, but they were strong enough at 6:00 A.M. that I decided to make Kip some breakfast and coffee and wake him up. I sent my sister a text message telling her that it seemed like this was finally the real deal, but not to leave her house yet. What did she do? She started driving, of course. :)

I wanted to labor at home as long as I could without risking having the baby in the car or on the front porch of the birth center. :) I tried to hold off calling the midwife until I absolutely had to. My Mom and sister arrived at our apartment around 9 A.M. We all hung out in the living room as I continued to have contractions that were about 8-10 minutes apart. In between them I would laugh and joke with my family, but as soon as one came on I was holding Kip's hand and really focusing on getting through them.

Kip timing my contractions... Not checking Facebook. ;)

During this time, my sister (who has had 8 babies of her own) gave me some advice- little did she know I would hold onto her words for (what felt like) dear life! She told me that when the contractions were coming one after the other, and it didn't seem I was getting a "break" and I wanted to quit, I had to remember to "keep it together." She said the only thing I could do to make labor more difficult was to lose control of my emotions. I took her words to heart and they stayed with me for the rest of my labor. Sidenote: I think this is good advice for anyone, whether you're having a natural birth, C-Section, Epidural, whatever!

Kip and I decided to take a walk around the apartment complex to encourage the contractions- thankfully it was a beautiful day. Texas weather in January... Gotta love it! Every so often we would have to stop and I would hang from Kip's shoulders and wait for the contraction to pass. Things were picking up.

I was encouraged to eat while I was still able to,  so I requested one of my favorites- New York Sub Hub. :) Yes, that's a Dr Pepper... Don't judge me because I drank DP while in labor. Don't. Even.

Afterwards, I decided to give the midwife a call. Contractions were strong enough and close enough that I felt it was time. It was 12:30 in the afternoon. I stepped out on the balcony and hoped she'd answer before another contraction came. It rang, and rang, and rang... but there was no answer...



What happens next?! Did she ever answer the phone? Did Kip deliver our baby at home?? Or did I even HAVE a baby and I'm just really great at hiding a 13 month pregnant belly?!

                             

 -To Be Continued-

Overwhelming Contentment

Last weekend was our church's big Missions Conference. It is my favorite event our church has because they bring all (or most) of the missionaries home for a time of regrouping, resting, and catching up with family, friends, and supporters. We had great speakers and smaller group sessions with missionaries, hearing stories from the field and being encouraged by them to know what "missions" really is.

Sunday evening was the final service for "Missions Sunday," the finale of the whole weekend. At the end of the service, one of our pastors did a "missionary role call" and announced every missionary we have, and those who were home came out onto the stage - including my Mom and Dad. It was almost solemn as each family came onto the stage, announced by name and country in which they serve. After each had been announced and found a place on the stage, they were celebrated with a standing ovation from the congregation. As we all stood, several missionaries sang the simple song "God Is So Good" in the language of the nation they serve in. Afterward, the congregation was invited to join in English while each missionary continued in their country's language. This is a song I know well in English and Romanian, but I only made it through one, maybe two lines. We all stood facing each other - foreign missionaries facing the home church, all singing together to the same God. It was beautiful.

But... I half expected to look upon that group of missionaries and feel like I was missing out. A year or two ago, I know I would have. This time I stood... facing them, but not separate from them. I was a different part of the same body. As each family stood with their "team" for the sake of the Gospel in different places, I realized I stood with mine. I stood with my husband, my little daughter, and my church - not as foreign missionaries, but as missionaries whom God has called to stay at home. (How do I know that? Because we're here!) The expectation I had to feel "left out" was replaced by an overwhelming sense of true contentment. This was something I had never experienced before, and my emotions couldn't handle it. I sobbed. People saw. And I was only a little embarrassed.

Maybe one day, God will move us to another place to serve. Right now, He has us in Denton, TX and I've never been so content in my life. Our job remains the same no matter where we are - to share the Gospel. My dad describes once when he was sitting in a Romanian home on a hard couch, talking about Jesus with a family. In his heart, he was hit with the truth of realizing he was exactly in God's will. I can only assume this is the same peace he had.

Now, it is a matter of learning exactly how we are to be faithful here, which will come with time, prayer, and obedience. I hope to take advantage of the training our church has to offer. I hope to use the time we've been given to learn and grow together as a married couple and a young family, and that we learn to see the challenges we face as opportunities for growth. We will be faithful to tend our sheep until Goliath comes and God brings us out to fight him. His timing is perfect and His plan is so much bigger than us.

Three Years: A Testimony

I’m writing because I’m nearly at my wits’ end. I’m writing because I’m impatient. I’m writing because God feels distant. I’m writing because I need to remember. 

Three years ago, January 16th, 2010, I wrote this in my journal:

“I prayed for a long time that God would reveal my sin to me. Little did I know how great my stench really was.” 

I then wrote out an honest, heartbroken, repentant prayer to the Lord in which I said, “I want to be with You, and that’s all I know right now.” 

For my whole life, up until around the time I graduated High School, I had never known what life without the Lord could be like. I’m not certain whether I knew him personally or not, but I knew about Him, what He could do, what He had done, and that He loved me so much that he died to save me. My surroundings were filled with Him. My teachers, my family, my coaches, and my friends all constantly spoke of Him, taught about Him, and loved Him. I was comfortable in the culture where I could play a part and be easily accepted by those around me. That is, until my Senior year of High School, when I began to ask questions. They all basically boiled down to one big question: "Who's to say this is all true?" I began to realize that my entire concept of Christ was bound up in my circumstances -- at the time, that meant the Christian school I had attended since age ten. I knew I was about to leave that place, and I wasn’t sure how to leave and take Christ with me to somewhere totally new. I was in a Christian family, I was in a good church and I was in a Christian school. But was I in Christ? I had several great teachers walking through my questions and frustrations with me (people I still talk to and admire today), but I think they knew it was something I had to wrestle through by myself - just me and God. 

I’ll be honest here - I knew I was sinful because, well, everyone said everyone was. But in my mind, I never saw my sin as something that was “that bad.” (Man, looking back... I was way, way wrong.) Like I wrote in my journal, I had often prayed that God would reveal my sin to me. He is faithful to answer prayer. He showed me.

Fast forward to the Fall of 2009, post-graduation. I was living on my own for the first time, going to community college at night and working a full-time big-girl job. I was facing heartbreak, loneliness, and a whole new place called the “real world.” Suddenly the pillars of what my life had been built on had disappeared, and I felt very alone. As God started to reveal my sin to me, I didn’t recognize the answer to my prayer. I saw my inadequacy and wanted to hide. I shut out my family and my Christian friends so I could hide who I was finding out that I really was. I found other friends who seemed to “accept” me. 

I specifically remember thinking, “I’m tired of trying.” I was always trying to get someone’s approval. Especially God’s. And especially that of those around me who saw me as a “good Christian.” So, I gave up and decided to stop trying. I chose to dip my toes into the waters of the world and see if I thought I could swim. 

Well, it turns out I couldn’t. While I never jumped in head-first, I continued to wade in to see how far I could go. Deep down I knew I was miserable. This was not the life I, or anyone else was made to live. But I also wasn’t completely sure what the answer was. I wasn’t sure if God would take me back. Or take me at all. Looking back on the memories I have of those months, none of them are pleasant. No matter how much fun I had in the moment, I never got rid of the misery I had in the deepest part of me. 

I am so thankful for the prayers and actions of my family and those who love me. Their grace, forgiveness, and open arms to me while I wandered showed me more of Christ’s love than I had ever seen before. They weren’t loving the “me” that I thought was so spotless. They were choosing to love the “me” that was rebellious, confused, and dirty. I moved back home with good ol’ Mom and Dad and began reading my Bible and a book called “Pursued by the Shepherd” by Karon Phillips Goodman. Around that time, I also began attending services at The Village Church in Denton. I only knew a few people there, but I think that was what I needed. Somewhere new. I was searching out Truth for myself, but I had to do it in unfamiliar territory. Matt Chandler is a wonderful teacher. I enjoyed listening to his sermons, and I loved the music they worshipped with. One Sunday he preached on 1 John 1. This is the passage of Scripture that finally made everything make sense:

“If we say we have fellowship with Him while we walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth. But if we walk in the light, as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Christ his son cleanses us from all sin. If we say we have no sin we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” -1 John 1:6-9

That night I prayed that God would make me His follower. He did. I finally realized I couldn't be perfect, but I didn't have to be. The months that followed were  still difficult. I still struggled with many of the same sins for a long time, but the Scripture held fast: If we confess, He is faithful and just to forgive and cleanse us. I did not become a better person overnight. But overnight I understood where to take my sins, and that they were completely forgiven. (This still blows my mind...)

Now, three years later, my world looks a lot different. I sit here in my own home, married to a wonderful man I don’t deserve and waiting on our first little one to make her appearance. I had hoped she’d be born today, to share a sort of “birthday” with me, but God has His own plans. Looking back on the last three years, I can see how He has progressively sanctified me. I’ve honestly still struggled with many of the same sins that I always have, some seasons more than others. But nothing about God has 

changed. He has remained the same, no matter what circumstance I’m in. I’m so thankful that He is my Shepherd. He sought me when I was the one lost little sheep. He bound my wounds and made me stand on a high place. I love Him.

I remember my affliction and my wandering,
    the bitterness and the gall.
 I well remember them,
    and my soul is downcast within me.
 Yet this I call to mind
    and therefore I have hope:

 Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
    for his compassions never fail.
 They are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.
 I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
    therefore I will wait for him.”

-Lamentations 3:19-24