thoughts converge

There’s a lime-sized baby floating around in my basketball-sized belly. I popped over a week ago, well before the end of trimester 1. Looking like 5 months at 11 weeks. Thanks, fourth-slash-fifth baby!

My fears for the lime/baby have been unreasonably large for the last twenty-four hours. The story I’m making up is that I’ll go in roughly two and a half weeks from now and they won’t find a heartbeat. Then the ultrasound will find a baby that’s been lost for a couple of weeks. And then I’ll wait to miscarry. Then I will, and it’ll be horrific and far more physically traumatic than losing Hope, because the baby is bigger than Brian’s pinky toenail this time—closer to the size of his foot.

I lost a couple months to depression after Hope, then a couple more to early pregnancy, and the three kids I DO have basically haven’t seen a fully functional mother since summer. I have no idea how long this would take me down. I’ve counted four children since shortly after Brian was born (very disconcerting in public spaces to come up one short all. the. time.) But if I lose babies four and five? Perhaps I should take the hint and take up sudoku instead, because clearly raising four children is not what I’m made for.

This is the kind of crazy I’ve been talking myself down from the last little while. Note to the several adults living in the house with me on vacation: this is why my lack of words and margin. It’s not you. It’s me.

 


 

This morning was to be my fifteenth consecutive morning run. But on my fourteenth, I recognized a twinge that, in 2008, signaled a stress-fractured tibial plateau. I pushed through then, and it set off a chain of events that mark that one stupid 5K (!!!) as the single worst thing that’s ever happened to my health.

God designed our bodies well. Some kinds of pain are warning lights that we shouldn’t ignore. So as much as I wanted to run this morning, I chose to walk a little bit instead, in order to honor the body that works pretty well for me and the good God who designed it with wisdom and warning lights. (Please note how I just took a day off jogging as an honest act of worship.)


 

On the drive between where I run and where I drink coffee that’s become part of my morning liturgy over the last two weeks, I was pondering both my Big Fears and my disappointment over not being able to run today. (Or perhaps this week, which means it may be the end of summer before I run again, based on location and circumstances.) Then, in the healing way He sometimes does, the Holy Spirit connected the two. And I wish it was assurance that the good God who designed my body to warn me before I hurt myself badly also designed my body to hold, grow, and deliver this child alive and healthy in July, but that wasn’t what I heard. No, the thing I was impressed by was His goodness, wisdom, and mercy, regardless of outcomes. Am I still nervous about this baby I desperately want to meet this summer? Oh, man. But my hope doesn’t lie in a healthy fourth (-slash-fifth) baby. My hope is in the person of God, who knit each of my five babies together inside me and numbered the days of every one of them. His goodness is no less if the story I made up about the loss of this one comes true, and it is no greater if I deliver yet another crazy awesome Chapman baby in six months.


I still wish I knew how this was going to play out. But God knows. And eventually, so will I.

 

 

 

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gifts from 2015

It’s getting to be resolution time. I don’t typically do resolutions as such, but I do try to spend some of my downtime in January being intentional about the upcoming year. But before I go there, I’d like to take some time to look back at this past year to see what worked (and what didn’t) so I don’t miss anything big I was supposed to be learning. (And since this is my place to document and process, you get to take a look with me!)

At the beginning of the year, my focus was on keeping first things first, with several areas within that I wanted to emphasize.

Seven subfocuses: too many. The things that floated to the top throughout the year were creative. This was the year of singing, shooting, and writing. The others (move, connect, quiet, organize) showed up in and out, but to a lesser extent.

I started singing again in the Spring (thanks to my fantastic mother-in-law who takes over my jobs at home so I can make it to practices and Sunday mornings.)

I made a goal of busting out the big camera daily. While I didn’t manage daily (I probably brought it out one day out of two… or three), I took a lot more pictures this year than I did the year before, which is a win. (I’m aiming for improvement, not perfection.) I even got a chance to share with some others by taking family pictures for a few friends!

Then in October, I held my breath and joined a writer’s group (thereby bringing writing from “casual hobby” to “actual thing” in my own head) and just that motivation (and mental shift) has meant about twice as many posts in the last three months as in all of 2014.


 

Self-care was a thing this year. I took an e-course called Replenish 365 where we spent the year making tiny shifts every week toward living well. I think the first week we focused on ways to get extra water, and we built from there… through limbic calm, nutrition, rest, movement, and then into connection and alignment, just a little at a time. And you know what? I probably currently have in play about 20% of the tools we learned, but that 20% is all stuff I wasn’t doing before, and it has me in a much calmer place now than I was in January. Also, once you take the course, you’re free to retake it as many times as you like, so I get to pick up some more of those tools this year. (If you’re interested in useful tools, Replenish is also a book.)


 

I learned I’m a pen-and-paper kind of girl. a friend got me hooked on this crazy expensive planner (though if you get the link from a friend who’s bought one, you at least get $10 off) and two things happened. First, I learned that there’s a crazy ridiculous planner girl community. There are tens of thousands of people who decorate every weekly (or monthly or daily) layout in fun and creative ways. Who knew? And then I figured out that when I merge my creative right brain with my mildly OCD left brain, the result is both fun and productive. I started getting a lot more things done with a lot less “what was I doing again?” So that’s happening again in 2016.


 

Related to that, a book I read in 2014 talked about the benefits of checklists in many different disciplines. (It sounds dry, but Gawande is one of my favorite authors. Very readable, fascinating stuff.) So I applied it and made myself checklists, then tweaked them repeatedly, and
eventually settled on these stickers that go in my planner. It’s not about filling in all the dots so much as keeping track of little things that are easy IMG_1173to forget, but don’t cost me much effort for the benefit. (Like starting a load of laundry early or taking my vitamins.) Instead of getting discouraged about unchecked bubbles for a day or week, I see how many I can do. I have yet to score a perfect week, but that doesn’t worry me.


 

This is a weird one, but I learned that Chux pads are indispensable when dealing with preschoolers with stomach bugs. Saved so much laundry. (I put them on beds or wherever the kids were.) Gross, but there’s a free little tip for the mamas. I felt like a genius.


 

Gratitude isn’t a new thing for 2015. I read Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts in maybe 2012, and thought, “hey! A gratitude journal seems simple enough.” The practice changed. my. life. The act of looking for things to thank God for every day has revolutionized the way I see the world around me. This TEDtalk mentions it as one of a few ways to rewire your brain for happiness, and I can certainly say it has made a substantial difference in mine. This year, I was a little flakier about actually writing them down every day than I have been, which has been negative in that once a habit starts to slip, it becomes easier to let it go more frequently. But it’s been positive to see that, even when I don’t write it down, I find myself whispering prayers of thankfulness throughout the day, and I see my kids doing the same. (And they never write anything down.)


 

And I’ll leave you with a couple “favorites” of the year.

Favorite book:

emperor of all maladies

It was a really interesting look at the disease from ancient history to now. I found it surprisingly hopeful, surprisingly readable, and not surprisingly VERY interesting.

Favorite picture:

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Everybody now: “Awwwww….” I love that I got this sweet moment. They aren’t frequently found holding hands, so major score that I captured it!

Favorite movie:

martian

Okay. Full discloure: this is the only movie I watched in theaters this year. Also? It belongs under favorite book. Andrew started reading it one night while I was washing dishes. He was laughing out loud. I’m like, “What’s so funny?” He says, “I just started this book and it’s AWESOME.” Me: “So… read it to me, if you just started.” So we read it out loud together. It destroyed about a week and a half of bedtimes. 11:15 every night: “Aw, man! It’s late! …One more chapter?” I’m pleased to report that the movie, while it couldn’t fit all the coolness of the book, was a relatively good adaptation. I highly recommend both.

Favorite post of mine:

This one. About the SCOTUS decision that fell on my eleventh wedding anniversary.

It was terrifying to post, because I try by best to avoid politics whenever I can. It’s not necessarily my favorite because I think it’s revolutionary or especially well-written. It’s my favorite because it shows me that I can find the courage and the words to speak my mind when I need to (even in public) with some grace and some truth. I’ve done it since then, and wound up with a bit more friendly fire when I posted about refugees, but this one was the first.


How about you? What worked for you this past year that you’d like to carry forward? What was a favorite of yours this year?

the one place grace cannot be found…

I stumbled upon this post many years ago. I hope you’ll take the time to read it. Here’s how this truth has saved my heart countless hours of struggle. I hope it lodges in your head and heart the way it’s lodged in mine. Here are the some of the ways it plays out in my life.


 

I have an ultrasound in a few days. Just an early one to date the pregnancy. No big deal. Except… It’s a big freaking deal. My mind whirls with a couple of possibilities, but repeats them over… and over… and over again. What if something’s wrong? What if nothing’s wrong and I get complacent and then lose the baby later anyway? What if something’s wrong…?

Then, rushing into my head and heart like a warm flood are these words of Elizabeth Elliott: “There is no grace for your imagination.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a huge fan of looking for grace everywhere.

But I have found one place God’s grace isn’t: my worst-case scenarios.

Or, more precisely, my projection of my worst-case scenarios. Because when I’m fretting about the worst, one thing I never, ever do is count on God’s grace. I mean, I imagine a thousand different outcomes of whatever catastrophe might befall me, but I actually always forget that His grace will meet me there.

Just me?

God gives us grace enough for the day we have. Whatever situation I find myself in, I find His grace there as well. Even when it’s bad. Even when it’s my own fault. But when I start outpacing the now and start fretting about might, I am working outside of my actual situation- you know, the one He’s given me grace for.


 

Last Wednesday early morning, Brian woke up needing to nurse in the early hours. While I was feeding him, for some reason it crossed my mind that we haven’t had a stomach bug in a while and we’re probably due and I hate stomach bugs. Hate them. Hate having them, hate cleaning up after kids who have them. I’m the biggest nausea/vomiting wuss ever. But as I was sitting there pondering the horror that is stomach bugs (instead of enjoying a rare wee-hours moment with my not-so-baby boy) the Holy Spirit reminded me of the truth I know: there is no grace for my imagination. IF we wind up with a stomach bug, God’s grace will meet me there and give me what I need to handle it, just like He has done every single time before. The end.

Four hours later, Katherine threw up on the carpet.

You know what? It was a good day. Katherine was basically constantly sick in all kinds of inconvenient places around my house, then I got sick, then Jenna, then Andrew. But we had a pretty chill day watching movies and giving baths. People around me loved and served me in ways that were so outside their job descriptions and my expectations that I was blown away. (Not that it took so much- I could hardly stand up straight.)

It was fine.

Now I know this is a comparatively little disaster, but it illustrates the larger reality. When the Big Fears enter my mind, the truth remains.


 

When Andrew’s on a long drive and I haven’t heard from him in a while and I become absolutely convinced he’s dead… There is no grace for my imagination. If that actually happens, God’s grace will meet me there.

When I worry that my kids will get seriously ill or injured or make terrible, destructive choices…There is no grace for my imagination. If that actually happens, God’s grace will meet me there.

When I have a weird pain and I convince myself I probably have cancer and I’ll be sick forever on chemo (see also: biggest nausea/vomiting wuss ever), then probably die soon anyway, leaving my husband and tiny children to fend for themselves… (I know. I’m kind of neurotic. Just go with it.)…There is no grace for my imagination. If that actually happens, God’s grace will meet me (and them) there.

When I worry that I’ll be forced to choose between Trump and Hillary in an election… There is no grace for my imagination. If that actually happens, God’s grace will met me there. (Kidding.) (Ok, definitely not. Thank goodness for the reality of grace.)

Do you see where I’m going? (Of course you do.) This covers an awful lot of my catastrophizing. (Isn’t that a great word? Hard to say without concentrating really hard, but a great word.) It also covers a lot of fairly legitimate fears. (And by “a lot,” I mean “all.”)

Because the truth is, if or when the worst actually happens, His grace will always be there.

Jenna’s fifth birthday

Hello again, there, my girl.

(Did you know I love the excuse to write you a big long letter? To put together many of the words that I think about you all at once? This is fun.)

Happy birthday, baby. Did you know you’re beautiful? Seriously. Inside and out, regardless of whether or not you have a twirly dress on. Your sparkling eyes, your magical smile, your lovely hair. (“Does she have a natural ombre??” Did I, the mom who only makes my children wear socks when we’re going to play at McDonald’s, spend time and money getting that done at a salon? Um, no. Yeah. Totally natural.) Your kind attitude. Your amazing sense of humor. Your sweet words. I could go on forever.

It’s been a fun year, hasn’t it? I just read last year’s letter to you, and some of the things I was looking forward to didn’t happen. The swim lessons (sorry- I can’t adequately convey my frustration with the system of swim lesson signups here), the schooly stuff (you’re learning some letters and words and can write stuff if I spell it, but… yeah. Formal schoolwork at home didn’t happen much this year. You were busy learning to be a person and I was too busy teaching you and the others how to be little people. We’ll get there.)

You know what did happen, though? You now understand God’s grace in all its truth. Maybe a month after your last birthday, you told me, on a three-minute drive, “Mom? The other night, I asked Jesus to be my leader! I told him I was sorry for my sins and he rescued me! And then K prayed after me!” I was amused that the very first thing you did after accepting Jesus’ gift was try to evangelize your sister. Also? I was a little skeptical. I mean, I wasn’t there. But as the months wore on, it became pretty obvious… You love Jesus and His Spirit is living in you.

Beautiful.

You’re growing up so nicely. I love your heart. I love seeing you become who you’re made to be. I love seeing you grow in grace. And, can I be honest? I really enjoy the hard parts of that becoming, too. You have my your daddy’s stubbornness and sometimes you just get defiant and mad. But those are golden opportunities. Oh, they’re no fun at the time, but it is so cool to me to see you really get it. You’re learning, slowly, painfully slowly sometimes, to adjust your own attitude. And you’re learning, just a little at a time, that adjusting your own attitude isn’t always fully within your grasp, but you do know Someone who can help you with it, and now and again you remember to cry out to Him.

I love you, child. I love that you’re mine. I love discovering who you’re becoming. I pray for another year of that. 

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