Today, at this very moment, I'm in the middle of the proverbial wilderness. If I'm being honest, I've been here a long time. For the past couple weeks the Lord has been revealing some history to me.
Exodus 15-17 tells the history of the Israelites leaving Egypt and going to the Promised Land. God brings plagues to the Egyptians and parts the Red Sea yet drowns the Egyptian army so His chosen people can go to the Promised Land. What miracles these were!
Just a few days into the journey from the Red Sea miracle, the Israelites start to complain. They have so easily forgot the miracles the Lord performed. This isn't what they thought would be their fate. Yet, in the midst of the complaining, God still does miracles.
They don't have water. They are thirsty. God takes them to some water, but it's bitter. God tells Moses to throw a tree in the water and miraculously, the water is sweetened. Yet this wasn't His plan. He was actually taking them to springs of flowing water, but He had to continually show them His power, His plan, Himself. He had to wait until they trusted wholly and without knowledge of the future.
To complain means to express dissatisfaction or annoyance about a state of affairs or an event. I need to confess, I'm a complainer! I express dissatisfaction AND annoyance ALL.THE.TIME.
What God has gently and ever so graciously helped me to see is that I harbor unbelief.
I'm in the wilderness and He keeps showing me Him. I keep complaining. I keep forgetting His miracles, promises and character. He has a plan and future for my life and I'm the kid who constantly says, in the most whiny voice, "are we there yet?"
I desperately want for the dreams that God has placed on my heart to come to fruition. Yet I'm still wandering, waiting, and complaining!
This week, in the midst of a BIG hurdles, I met Jehovah Rapha. This name of God means, The God Who Heals.
For my whole life I always thought this meant physical healing. I learned this week, Jehovah Rapha heals emotionally, spiritually, mentally and physically.
I am emotionally exhausted. I have no more to give, little things absolutely overwhelm me and I'd prefer to just give up. Just typing this makes me tear up and feel completely overwhelmed with feelings of failure and no worth.
Yet, for the first time in a long while, I have a flicker of hope. My Jehovah Rapha is healing me as I type. This week I'm away from my people doing work. I have had to travel alone, which makes me nervous. In the midst of all that, I have been constantly shown His love and protection. I have even begun to smile again.
What a blessing it is to be the daughter of the King of all kings! I am still in the wilderness, still waiting for His plan to be revealed, yet I know that I have lessons to learn. While I sit at the bitter water waiting for it to be sweet, I know that there are abundant springs awaiting me. I just have to believe that He is bigger than my doubt, my hurdles and my understanding. This is the work of Jehovah Rapha, healing my weak spirit and leading back, ever so graciously to Him.
Showing posts with label Miracle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Miracle. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The Making of Our Family - Part III
I spent a fairly sleepless night on the Peri-natal Special Care Unit (PSCU) of Tacoma General Hospital. I was up most of the night with worry. Anytime I would fall asleep, I'd move in some way where they'd lose a good connection to Zoe's heart beat.
It didn't bother me that they came in to adjust the monitor. Her heartbeat was my assurance that she was okay. That we had survived one more night with her safely in my tummy.
That morning marked a changing point for my pregnancy. No longer was it measured in weeks, but in days. I was 29 weeks, 5 days pregnant that was longer than I thought I'd be when I was 29 weeks, 4 days pregnant.
My doctor came to check on me that morning. She was pleased to inform me that the contractions had stopped. It appeared that the medication was working. I could go home that afternoon. On two conditions:
1) If my blood work came back normal. Then
2) I would be on moderate bed rest. I could shower for 10 minutes a day, make myself food three times a day, etc, but I had to be in bed or laying down the rest of the time. I would also be on medication around the clock and my appointments with her would be weekly going forward.
I was willing to do whatever it took to keep Zoe inside for as long as possible. While I used to worry about stretch marks and past due discomfort, none of that mattered now. Keeping her inside was my sole job now.
N picked me up, we stopped by the pharmacy to pick up my anti-contraction medication and went home to begin my bed rest.
That's when the panic set in.
It didn't bother me that they came in to adjust the monitor. Her heartbeat was my assurance that she was okay. That we had survived one more night with her safely in my tummy.
That morning marked a changing point for my pregnancy. No longer was it measured in weeks, but in days. I was 29 weeks, 5 days pregnant that was longer than I thought I'd be when I was 29 weeks, 4 days pregnant.
My doctor came to check on me that morning. She was pleased to inform me that the contractions had stopped. It appeared that the medication was working. I could go home that afternoon. On two conditions:
1) If my blood work came back normal. Then
2) I would be on moderate bed rest. I could shower for 10 minutes a day, make myself food three times a day, etc, but I had to be in bed or laying down the rest of the time. I would also be on medication around the clock and my appointments with her would be weekly going forward.
I was willing to do whatever it took to keep Zoe inside for as long as possible. While I used to worry about stretch marks and past due discomfort, none of that mattered now. Keeping her inside was my sole job now.
N picked me up, we stopped by the pharmacy to pick up my anti-contraction medication and went home to begin my bed rest.
That's when the panic set in.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
The Making of Our Family - Part II
Tuesday, January 23rd started off like any other morning. I was 29 weeks, 4 days pregnant. Zoe was a mover. I swear the only time she was still was from five to seven each morning. I went to work, ate a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup for lunch and then got some things ready to be sent out to some clients. It was an uneventful work day.
I walked into the mail room to put something in the overnight bin and I felt it. I was totally confused at first thinking that I was peeing my pants. Zoe was known to love sitting on, dancing on and kicking my bladder. Sometimes all three at the same time. It made making it to the restroom sometimes difficult. I had just gone to the bathroom. There was no way I had a little bladder kick.
Then the panic set in. Was this my water breaking? From what I'd read, it certainly could be. I had another two and a half months until she was due and at least another one and a half months until she could come early. I ran to the bathroom, totally afraid.
It wasn't my water breaking either. It was blood. Too much blood.
I went back to my desk and called my doctor. She assured me that a little "spotting" was normal. I told her that "I think it's a little more than that." My boss was in a meeting, so I told my co-worker that something was wrong with the baby and I had to go to the doctor. For the first time I realized having a doctor close to work wouldn't just save me some vacation time.
I waited in the waiting room for what seemed like hours. I saw happy couples, much farther along than me go in and out. All the while I was sitting there, listening to my heart, praying to God that everything was okay. I knew they were squeezing me in, so I would have to wait. I just didn't realize the waiting would feel like eternity. Their definition of normal and my understanding of what was happening were different. I didn't want to appear over-reacting, but I knew something was grossly wrong.
When I got called back, my fears were confirmed. This wasn't normal, it wasn't "a little spotting" and they needed to check the placenta to make sure nothing had detached. I had read enough to know a detached placenta could mean death for my daughter.
Fortunately the ultrasound showed nothing out of the ordinary. My daughter was kicking and moving just like normal. Her heartbeat was a strong 160 beats per minute. Everything was normal.
Until they checked me. I was dilated to two centimeters. Complete shock came over me. How could I be contracting and NOT know it? I hadn't even had those Braxton-Hicks things they talk about. I would surely know I was contracting. Wouldn't I?
Apparently not. Zoe was a mover. She moved ALL.THE.TIME. Apparently some of those sommersaults that I thought were going to come out of my stomach were in fact contractions. Who knew!
Because I was contracting, I got to spend the first of many nights in the hospital to be monitored. They put me on medication round the clock to stop the contractions and monitored me. N came up and spent a couple hours with me, but headed home to get some sleep for work the next day. I spent the night listening to Zoe's heartbeat on the monitor and praying that God would keep her in me a little longer.
I didn't really know what any of this meant, but I did know one thing, life as we knew it would be coming to an end.
I walked into the mail room to put something in the overnight bin and I felt it. I was totally confused at first thinking that I was peeing my pants. Zoe was known to love sitting on, dancing on and kicking my bladder. Sometimes all three at the same time. It made making it to the restroom sometimes difficult. I had just gone to the bathroom. There was no way I had a little bladder kick.
Then the panic set in. Was this my water breaking? From what I'd read, it certainly could be. I had another two and a half months until she was due and at least another one and a half months until she could come early. I ran to the bathroom, totally afraid.
It wasn't my water breaking either. It was blood. Too much blood.
I went back to my desk and called my doctor. She assured me that a little "spotting" was normal. I told her that "I think it's a little more than that." My boss was in a meeting, so I told my co-worker that something was wrong with the baby and I had to go to the doctor. For the first time I realized having a doctor close to work wouldn't just save me some vacation time.
I waited in the waiting room for what seemed like hours. I saw happy couples, much farther along than me go in and out. All the while I was sitting there, listening to my heart, praying to God that everything was okay. I knew they were squeezing me in, so I would have to wait. I just didn't realize the waiting would feel like eternity. Their definition of normal and my understanding of what was happening were different. I didn't want to appear over-reacting, but I knew something was grossly wrong.
When I got called back, my fears were confirmed. This wasn't normal, it wasn't "a little spotting" and they needed to check the placenta to make sure nothing had detached. I had read enough to know a detached placenta could mean death for my daughter.
Fortunately the ultrasound showed nothing out of the ordinary. My daughter was kicking and moving just like normal. Her heartbeat was a strong 160 beats per minute. Everything was normal.
Until they checked me. I was dilated to two centimeters. Complete shock came over me. How could I be contracting and NOT know it? I hadn't even had those Braxton-Hicks things they talk about. I would surely know I was contracting. Wouldn't I?
Apparently not. Zoe was a mover. She moved ALL.THE.TIME. Apparently some of those sommersaults that I thought were going to come out of my stomach were in fact contractions. Who knew!
Because I was contracting, I got to spend the first of many nights in the hospital to be monitored. They put me on medication round the clock to stop the contractions and monitored me. N came up and spent a couple hours with me, but headed home to get some sleep for work the next day. I spent the night listening to Zoe's heartbeat on the monitor and praying that God would keep her in me a little longer.
I didn't really know what any of this meant, but I did know one thing, life as we knew it would be coming to an end.
Friday, January 22, 2010
The Making of Our Family - Part I
As I've mentioned before, January is a time of reflection for me. Not because of the new year, but because this is the month of my life where so many things changed. I became a mom, had my whole plan on becoming a mom thwarted and my relationship with God radically changed.
Zoe turns three in about a week. I realized a couple weeks ago as I came across some of her NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) clothes that I have never really documented the course of events that started our family. Over the past three years the significance of her birth hasn't diminished, but some of the details have. I wanted to keep a chronological account of her birth on my blog.
Not only for the reason of keeping a chronological account, it's also a reminder to me of how real God is. He orchestrated all the pieces of this story long before Zoe came into the world. While I was still not living as faithfully as I should.
That's where this story begins. In August of 2006 when we found out that we were expecting. Our marriage was touch and go. I disliked N more than I liked him. He wasn't fond of being married. It came with bad connotations for him. Instead of fixing the problems in our marriage, we decided to appear to be happy. We were in the process of building a house that was bigger than we needed and came with a price tag we couldn't easily afford. It was the appearance of what we should be, so we thought in some way it could help our marriage. It could be a mask that hid all the problems. If they were hidden, maybe we could forget them as well.
N was in the Air Force at the time, working odd hours. He preferred to keep his odd schedule on weekends and such. Our time together was limited at best.
I was working at Russell Investments. I loved my job and the people I worked with. I didn't like getting too close to people there for fear they'd see through the facade I was trying so hard to keep up. I kept everyone at arm's length for that reason.
Getting pregnant was supposed to be difficult for me due to having PCOS (Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome). I was always told to prepare for years of struggle. It took three months. The pregnancy, while not something we were trying to stop, still came as a surprise. With the state of our marriage being so rocky and our balance sheet being so unbalanced, becoming a parent both thrilled and terrified me.
For years I told myself that I never wanted a child. It was my defense mechanism for being told it would be difficult for me to conceive and even more difficult to hold onto the baby. Both of which were relatively easy in hindsight.
It was thrilling to know that I might be able to have a child. To be a mommy. Maybe, just maybe, I could give N a son. He talked about always wanting a son and I thought maybe our marriage would be better if I could give him everything he wanted.
We found out it was a girl. I was elated. I have an excellent relationship with my mom. I was excited to have that kind of relationship with my daughter. Yet I was scared too. Would N fall deeper into his isolation because it wasn't a boy? Because I couldn't give him everything thing he wanted?
Our daily routine was fairly uneventful. Our new, expensive house was on Puyallup's South Hill. N worked at McChord AFB, so his drive was about 20 minutes. I worked in downtown Tacoma. My commute was almost 23 miles, or about 45 - 90 minutes depending on the time of day. I picked a doctor close to work since I knew the closer I got to delivery I would be going to appointments every week. I didn't want to take precious vacation time for doctor appointments. I wanted to tack that onto my maternity leave.
Three years ago today we were painting the nursery. I came home from work and told N that we HAD to get the nursery ready. We had paint for the walls, some of our furniture ready to be assembled and a cute outfit I knew our girl would love. I knew I'd just be getting bigger and losing energy. I had a mild anxiety attack and informed N that we HAD to paint the walls. I had just entered my third trimester. All the books I was reading said I would enter the nesting stage. I figured I was nesting. The need to be prepared was strong.
Little did I know it was just the beginning of our journey. A little paint on the walls was a minor thing in comparison.
Zoe turns three in about a week. I realized a couple weeks ago as I came across some of her NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) clothes that I have never really documented the course of events that started our family. Over the past three years the significance of her birth hasn't diminished, but some of the details have. I wanted to keep a chronological account of her birth on my blog.
Not only for the reason of keeping a chronological account, it's also a reminder to me of how real God is. He orchestrated all the pieces of this story long before Zoe came into the world. While I was still not living as faithfully as I should.
That's where this story begins. In August of 2006 when we found out that we were expecting. Our marriage was touch and go. I disliked N more than I liked him. He wasn't fond of being married. It came with bad connotations for him. Instead of fixing the problems in our marriage, we decided to appear to be happy. We were in the process of building a house that was bigger than we needed and came with a price tag we couldn't easily afford. It was the appearance of what we should be, so we thought in some way it could help our marriage. It could be a mask that hid all the problems. If they were hidden, maybe we could forget them as well.
N was in the Air Force at the time, working odd hours. He preferred to keep his odd schedule on weekends and such. Our time together was limited at best.
I was working at Russell Investments. I loved my job and the people I worked with. I didn't like getting too close to people there for fear they'd see through the facade I was trying so hard to keep up. I kept everyone at arm's length for that reason.
Getting pregnant was supposed to be difficult for me due to having PCOS (Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome). I was always told to prepare for years of struggle. It took three months. The pregnancy, while not something we were trying to stop, still came as a surprise. With the state of our marriage being so rocky and our balance sheet being so unbalanced, becoming a parent both thrilled and terrified me.
For years I told myself that I never wanted a child. It was my defense mechanism for being told it would be difficult for me to conceive and even more difficult to hold onto the baby. Both of which were relatively easy in hindsight.
It was thrilling to know that I might be able to have a child. To be a mommy. Maybe, just maybe, I could give N a son. He talked about always wanting a son and I thought maybe our marriage would be better if I could give him everything he wanted.
We found out it was a girl. I was elated. I have an excellent relationship with my mom. I was excited to have that kind of relationship with my daughter. Yet I was scared too. Would N fall deeper into his isolation because it wasn't a boy? Because I couldn't give him everything thing he wanted?
Our daily routine was fairly uneventful. Our new, expensive house was on Puyallup's South Hill. N worked at McChord AFB, so his drive was about 20 minutes. I worked in downtown Tacoma. My commute was almost 23 miles, or about 45 - 90 minutes depending on the time of day. I picked a doctor close to work since I knew the closer I got to delivery I would be going to appointments every week. I didn't want to take precious vacation time for doctor appointments. I wanted to tack that onto my maternity leave.
Three years ago today we were painting the nursery. I came home from work and told N that we HAD to get the nursery ready. We had paint for the walls, some of our furniture ready to be assembled and a cute outfit I knew our girl would love. I knew I'd just be getting bigger and losing energy. I had a mild anxiety attack and informed N that we HAD to paint the walls. I had just entered my third trimester. All the books I was reading said I would enter the nesting stage. I figured I was nesting. The need to be prepared was strong.
Little did I know it was just the beginning of our journey. A little paint on the walls was a minor thing in comparison.
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