And Tell Me HOW This Makes Me Look Good?

In the middle of the night; another feeding. Tears from a dramatic toddler. Peanut butter in curly hair. Spit-up down another shirt. Reflux screams. Selfish whimpers. Repeated instructions. Constant discipline. The kitchen is a mess. Again.

I live with a whirling tornado and a screaming banshee.

I love them. They're adorable. This job of mommyhood is amazing.

And sometimes completely disgusting, exhausting, and wearing.

There needs to be a word for "something I would never trade, that I prize greatly, and that exhausts me mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally."

Oh, wait... that word is "mommyhood."

As I waded into this adjustment period, I knew that fatigue, the possibility of physical illness, and spiritual dryness would attack me at every corner. I filled up my nights with prayer, my note cards with verses, and my Spotify with encouragement. And I got ready for the onslaught.

But a verse that I never planned on is the verse that God brought to mind...

It attacked me. It lodged itself in the crevices of my thinking and it wouldn't go away. We call that the "Holy Spirit."

This verse has become a mainstay. "What benefit" could easily be paraphrased, "So, explain to me how you look good if...?" On a daily basis, I'll ask myself:

"What benefit is it to me, if I'm patient when my child has done nothing wrong?"

"Explain to me how I look good, if I'm joyful after a full night's sleep?"

"What benefit is it to me, if I keep my temper when everything is going my way?"

What benefit is that to you?

The answer? None.

There is no glory gleaned for the Father. No self-discipline gained. No dying to selfishness accomplished.

You are not modeling Christ's love and God's mercy.

You're just acting like a reasonable human being. Congratulations, you're not a sociopath. Yippee.

So, when that peanut butter gets everywhere (seriously, how on earth does it get everywhere?), and the toddler disobeys again, and dinner isn't yummy, and the most you accomplished all day was folding one load of laundry (which said toddler enjoyed flinging around the room after it was folded)... do you smile when your hubby walks through the door? Do you cuddle the toddler and teach him "no" in a loving way? Is your voice sweet and your words sweeter?

Because that's when you make Him look good.

And that's when you're being true mercy in a world that desperately needs His love.

A Parenting Flow-Chart... Wouldn't that be nice?

I've been reading this book lately...

Editorial Note: I am not recommending,
nor condemning this book. I think Mr. Tripp
makes some excellent points. I also think that
he leaves certain aspects of parenting largely
untouched (i.e. grace). However, if you want
a comprehensive book on parenting... read your Bible.
You won't find all the answers in any book written
by man. If you think you have... reread it with more discernment.

Call me crazy, but two babies, ages one and under, make me nervous about my current parenting wisdom. Before Bets came, when it was just Grant, I would frequently cry outside his bedroom, wondering if I had parented well. Wondering if I had invested parenting energies efficiently. Wondering if I was modeling for my baby Christ's love and grace.

Add another child.

And my neuroses increased.

Now I have two little hearts. Two little souls. Two little bodies. To care for. To nurture. To teach. To love.

It's at once a huge blessing and an astronomical assignment.

Right after Bets was born, a friend visited and we were discussing this book. I was excited about the philosophical encouragement it gave to redeem every single moment and the challenge that my life needed to be focused passionately on a Savior before I could expect my children's lives to follow His. I thought it was hugely helpful.

She didn't agree.

With a sigh, she handed the book back to me and said, "It's okay. I guess. I just feel like he wasn't specific enough. I need to know exactly what to say and do in different situations."

I nodded. I knew exactly how she felt. And I agreed.

With a sigh, I put the book down and went on with our conversation.

But something niggled. It didn't sit right. I kept replaying this conversation over and over in my mind. There was something I was supposed to say. There was something that wasn't lining up just right...

And then it clicked.

Of course there's no manual, no flow-chart, no decision-making matrix for parenting! What a ridiculous thing for God to provide. After all, composing such a chart would be an astronomical headache. There's no way you could account for every scenario, every response, every heart motive.

But more than the logistics... if it existed, it would destroy one of the key purposes of parenting.

I'm convinced that God designed parenting not just to raise children, but to "raise parents." Total terror, a complete lack of knowledge, a desperate cry for wisdom... it pushes you to your knees. It drives you into The Word. It makes you depend on the Creator.

True wisdom, the ability to respond with grace, discipline, and forgiveness, the modeling of Christ for your children... that can only come when you immerse yourself in the Word and cry out to the Giver of wisdom.

That's why no parenting book has all the answers. That's why there isn't a flow-chart for you to follow. That's why parenting is hard.

It drives you back to your Savior.

This task is impossible.

Without God.

If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.

{James 1:5}

Elizabeth Wynne {Newborn Photo Gallery}

When each Blake baby was born, my parents selected a psalm. We children referred to these psalms through the years as "our psalms." I have mine (Psalm 103) memorized, not so much from personal discipline, but rather from constant turning to this passage during the past 25ish years.

When Scott and I became parents, we continued this tradition with Grant. I chose Psalm 145. When Bets announced that she was coming, Scott chose Psalm 16.

As I walk you through these pictures of our adorable new package, I've coupled the pictures with a verse from "Bets' psalm." These verses have been a very present help during pregnancy sickness and late night feedings. I pray they may be "Bettina's" life cry.


{As a side note... I love the varied facial expressions of my baby girl. She was not designed to do the classic "sleeping newborn" poses. She has loved performing almost from birth... and her faces provide almost constant amusement to her parents. Hope you enjoy as well!}

Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge.

I say to the Lord, “You are my Lord;
    I have no good apart from you.”

As for the saints in the land, they are the excellent ones,
    in whom is all my delight.

The sorrows of those who run after another god shall multiply;
    their drink offerings of blood I will not pour out
    or take their names on my lips.

{Her face of terror just happened to be paired with this verse... hilarious!}

The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup;
    you hold my lot.

The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
    indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.

I bless the Lord who gives me counsel;
    in the night also my heart instructs me.

I have set the Lord always before me;
    because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.

Therefore my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices;
    my flesh also dwells secure.

For you will not abandon my soul to Sheol,
    or let your holy one see corruption.

You make known to me the path of life;

in your presence there is fullness of joy;

in your presence there is fullness of joy;

Bets: our tiny package of joyful drama.

A Family of Four {The First Month}

Well, our house is now "empty."

After five wonderful weeks of Grandma, Grandpa, Oma, Opa, aunties and uncles... we are all alone. Just the four of us.

The past month has been a blur of learning and sleeplessness. It's been much easier than when we did the same thing with the Grantopatomus. I want to believe that the "easiness" has come as a result of increased spiritual maturity on my part. That's what I want to believe. I did walk into this period of sleeplessness better prepared--I had verses to meditate on, a Bible reading plan, and a commitment to mental and spiritual discipline.

But in the end, it was the grace of God, not all my striving... He knew I needed spiritual rest. And He graciously provided it when I sought it.

The Lord is my provider.

That's what I've learned this month.

I can do everything "right." And it doesn't matter. God calls the shots. He provides and withholds as He sees fit.

I learned this in His willingness to provide spiritual rest. And I learned this in His allowing physical difficulties for my little baby girl. Wee Bets is still not at her birth weight. I did everything "right." And God, who is the ultimate provider, decided that my baby would stay small, that breastfeeding would be a massive challenge, and that feedings every hour (even through the night!) wouldn't be enough to boost her weight.

Now, armed with internal peace and a small syringe/medical tubing to feed my baby, I think we're finally on the upward trajectory. We'll find out on Thursday at our doctor's appointment!

(One of these days, I will have a fat infant... But so far, my children seem determined to test my sanctification by being incredibly small and difficult to feed.)

Because stringing words together is still a challenge, I've decided to finish off a summary of this past month with pictures. I've countless other thoughts tumbling around in my head, but I'll wait until they can be more coherently produced.

Meeting Oma at the hospital!

Tia Julie and her newest niece... 

"Umm... what is this?" 

Our precious "Bettina"

Helping Daddy with a project. A 124 year-old house means he'll get lots of opportunities to learn!

Playing in the toolbox Daddy made when he was little.

Little "Chicka-Bee" meeting Opa

Of course, a visit from Uncle Teej guaranteed that Grantlet wouldn't be neglected.

This was not staged. They both clearly enjoy napping.

Fighting for his title of "the cool uncle."

Imbibing the Grantopatomus with a love of hats.

Wee Bets and "cool Uncle Teej."

Whirling across the floor in a diaper box... Opa is so COOL!

Like we said... Opa is so cool. Mad grandparenting skills.

Meeting Grandma Marcia! (Baby is our own Little Miss Bug-Eyes!)

Meeting Grandpa Keith!

Exploring the most amazing bubble machine of all time.

Loving our Moby wrap... Baby heaven, Mommy multi-tasking.

Cuddles with Daddy-o.

Milk-drunk baby... Our daughter is quite the ham.

Learning to use a fork! (Although, we prefer to use it as a baton, as opposed to an eating utensil.)

In case anyone was worried... The Grantopatomus didn't suffer from a lack of attention.

Daddy/daughter nap time.

Stay tuned for our next post: Newborn pics of "Bettina," "Wee Bets," "Chicka-Bee," "Betsy-Boo-Boo."

It's a miracle my children ever learn their given names...

Elizabeth Wynne: God's Abundance

This is the story of how we met Elizabeth Wynne, face-to-face, after nine long months.

Every child has a different story. Regardless of the way in which God brings babies into families, each moment, each breath, each tiny soul is a picture of God's ceaseless grace to mankind. God doesn't have to give new life. But He does.

My mother booked her plane ticket in late December. She was coming on January 28th and staying till February 18th.

My due date (as of my last ultrasound) was February 6th. (Although both Scott and I were firmly convinced that this baby's actual due date was January 25th.)

I was staunchly determined that Bets was going to arrive on January 29th, one day after my mom, so that I could have 3 long weeks of help from my mother. I had no idea what obstacles I would face while parenting two babies, but I was determined to have my mama there to walk me through the first tricky weeks.

Right on schedule, at 6 a.m. on January 29th, I began to have contractions. I was psyched. I had just had an amazingly restful night, and I was ready to meet the little person inside of me.

Throughout the rest of the day my contractions continued, but the time between them varied from 4 minutes to 15 minutes. I had a midwife who (in her own words) told me, "I'm a one-woman show. Let's not spend hours hanging out at the hospital." And I was totally in favor of that. My plan was:

1) arrive at the hospital
2) pop out a baby as quickly as possible,
3) sleep.

Further "birth planning" I did not do. Perhaps that was foolish, perhaps I use up all my planning mojo on a daily basis (I do love a good planning session!), perhaps I was just ignorant, but I firmly believed that the baby would come how she wanted when she was ready. Stories from my friends had taught me how often birth plans get thrown out the window. So, I didn't even bother.

By five that evening, I was exhausted... and that's when the contractions really took off. By 8:30 p.m. I was admitted to the hospital at 5 centimeters dilated.

In my ignorance, I thought I was tired then.

Over the next 2 hours, my contractions intensified. And I was super-duper mad at Eve for eating that fruit in the garden of Eden. I'm sure every woman has coping tactics for labor. Mine consisted of cutting off my husband's circulation to his hands, neck (yes, neck), and arms. Scott was wonderful. He didn't say corny, encouraging nothings. He didn't pretend to know what I was going through. He merely let me order him into a variety of positions that let me lean on him for support. Fortunately, the nurse and midwife stayed out of the room for the majority of this time. For whatever reason, I hated it when others were in the room. Talk to me, and I wanted to punch you. I wanted to do this alone. Only Scott was comforting.

By 10:40, there was no break between contractions and I was in horrible pain. I was no strenger to debilitating pain, and had dealt with it (with a morphine drip), multiple times in the hospital. This was a completely different kind of pain. Not worse. Just different. Think menstrual cramps that make you want to commit suicide. Many of my contractions were in my back. It was excruciating.

And I was done.

I had been trying to have a natural child-birth. My reasoning was two-fold:

First, I did not want to pay for an anesthesiologist. My pregnancy was a "pre-existing condition" when we switched insurances, so none of my hospital expenses were covered. The church had graciously given us a very generous gift to cover labor and delivery, but my recent experience with hospital billing departments (compliments of Grant's adoption and my ulcerative colitis) had taught me that the crazy prices of medical care are a constantly moving target. I didn't think an anesthesiologist's addition to a bill would keep us within budget.

Second, I wanted to see if I could do this. Women have done this for centuries. From Eve's induction into pain-drenched motherhood, to Mary, birthing a Savior, alone in Bethlehem with Joseph--alone without her mama--women have dealt with childbirth. When the west was being settled, I'm pretty sure there weren't competent doctors with happy drugs and a big needle. I have this weirdly stubborn streak (which never exhibits itself at good times, usually just when I'm sinning or being stupid), and my stubborn streak wanted to prove I could do this. (Like I said, my stubborn streak makes me stupid.)

But at 10:40, while I was groaning, "No, honey, I'll be fine please... Oh, this hurts!" Scott had had enough of my pain (and frankly, so had I), and he left to track down the midwife and an anesthesiologist. I did not try to stop him. I was done proving to the long-gone women of the Wild West that I could do this. I wanted to not feel anything south of my neck.

My midwife, Ronni, returned, and (after telling me that I was dilated 9 centimeters), gave me a calm, matter-of-fact pep talk. She basically convinced me that an epidural wouldn't really help much at this stage in the game. Ronni was God's provision for this labor and delivery. I love her. Even though any future pregnancies will be covered by insurance, I'm not going to an OB. I am going back to Ronni. Her coaching was clear, her directions concise, her knowledge amazing. Her business-like approach to the next stage of labor, coupled with a brief break in contractions convinced me that I didn't need an epidural. I could do this.

And I did.

Tiny, but so loud! Even the nurses commented on her lungs.
Scott said she's the next Sandy Patti.

At 11:27, I started pushing. And at 11:46, Elizabeth Wynne Allison was born.

God gave me a wonderful blessing after months of miserable pregnancy: He gave me a smooth, fast, and (comparatively!) painless delivery. 3 hours of real labor. 19 minutes of pushing. And a healthy baby that made the months of misery and the hours of pain fade like fuzzy nightmares in the morning. Within 24 hours of labor, I felt better than I had felt in months. Such an unexpected blessing!

Scott caught Bets and cut the cord. I cuddled my baby, sticky, slimy, squalling. She was so tiny! Six pounds, ten ounces, 18.5 inches long. She had a head full of dark curls, my massive chunky fingers, Scott's hairline, huge blue eyes, and gorgeously deep nail-beds which she will love when she hits high school.

She was a complete and total surprise. I spent 9 months convinced that I was probably just growing a massive tumor with its own heartbeat. When I tried to picture my daughter, I never imagined such big eyes and dark hair. I never thought she would be so petite. Honestly, even though I tried, it was hard to imagine a human at all...

Poor Chicka-Bee... Adjusting
to life is hard!

"Elizabeth" means "My God is abundance." As I held her, my body shaking with fatigue, my mind washed with joy and adrenaline, I was in awe at God's goodness. God did not have to give me this baby girl. God did not have to add to our family. He had already done massively great things by giving us Grant, and now He has given us "Bets." He grew them both. He planned them both. He orchestrated their entrance into the world and into our family. One He used paperwork and a selfless birth mom, the other He used my DNA and months of sickness. But He planned them both for our family. They are not our babies. They are a trust. A gift. They belong to God. And He is letting me be their mom!

So skeptical! And so precious.

Every baby has their own story.

And the underpinnings of each baby story, regardless of differences of conception, development, and birth, belong to a God whose love and grace cause Him to give new life.


Hallelujah, my God is abundance.

Vanilla Pudding Day

Look at what you're doing. Right now. Perhaps you're curled up in a comfy pair of pants. Maybe you sat down with a piping mug o' tea. Did you just finish a long day of work, with tired muscles and sleepy eyes?

I'm wearing yoga pants (my favorite), I'm nibbling on a bowl of strawberries, listening to my baby holler in the next room as he steadfastly refuses to take his afternoon nap, and I'm watching my hubby read on the couch.

There was nothing special about today.

Scott teases me about my desire for adventure, and several months ago we went on a "great explore." I now consider occasional Saturday "explores" one of our traditions. They're very easy to complete, and delightfully relaxing and invigorating. We wake up early (don't wince... it's actually fun on a day off!), and bundle up in warm clothes (that will change in July). Then we go on an "explore." They're typically wonderfully, un-planned adventures... to new places, new parks, yummy eating spots.

Today was wee Grantling's first "great explore."

Wee Polar-Grant!

The sun peeped up in rosy splendor, and just as the house-tops were changing from dull gray to golden shingles, we set off on our adventure.

Grantling is clearly thrilled.

Stroller-fixer. Handsome. Perfect hubby.

The neighborhood was silent, and I tucked my hand in my handsome hubby's arm, as we argued about whether or not Grant was really warm enough. Through the neighborhood, out into the "great beyond" we ventured. This jaunt was shorter than most, as our tiny polar-Grant was with us.

They spelled my fake name wrong: "Mattie"

We stopped at Starbucks. We sipped caramelly goodness, we passed baby back and forth, and listened to conversations of people next to us. (It really is amazing how long people can discuss running shoes and trimming walnut trees...) I just enjoyed my hubby and baby.

Blessed.

"Honey, this is why people laugh at your stories..."

In the aching, windy-cold we raced home, whimpering the entire time. (Don't worry, Grantling was in a fuzzy cocoon of warmth. But Scott wouldn't let me climb in with him...)

The tiny polar-bear was exhausted after his great adventure. And his parents were feeling very polar-ish, so we all cuddled down under piles of blankets and snoozed away.

I made a roast.
Scott put away laundry.
We had a laughing match as he slide-tackled me into a pile of sheets.
I dusted.
Scott fed Grant.

Grant was nice enough to save his first "roll over" for when we were both home (three times in a row!). And yes, I'm the mother who checks developmental milestones... for your information, most babies don't roll over until month four. Grant is just two months old. I'm saying he's a genius. Scott is saying that I'm over-reacting. Whatevs.

Now I'm sitting here. With my strawberries. My handsome men. And my yoga pants.

And I'm amazed at the goodness of God. Not the "goodness" in the sense of the good that people whip out every time that they're in pain. Not the goodness that explodes like firecrackers in your face through life-changing blessings. No, this is "vanilla pudding" goodness.

This is God letting the sun shine every day. This is comfy clothes, warm drinks, and cuddly babies. God gave us down-time. God created Saturday mornings. God gave me a husband who folds laundry.

Straight ballin' in some of Daddy's 1980's duds.

This goodness slips into our lives in mellow, forgettable moments. It's like vanilla pudding... yummy, comforting, and... normal. Look at the shear normalcy of your daily comforts, your daily joys. Think about the bubble of joy you get when your kitchen is clean, when you have a matching pair of socks, when you get home in 10 minutes instead of 20. It's not German chocolate cake goodness... No one is gasping in awe at your vanilla pudding days.

But isn't it amazing that they are given to us? God could have chosen to make our lives here on earth complete and utter misery without Him. He could have given us only the things that we ask for, or the things that we remembered to thank Him for. God could have decided that we only receive what we earn: you went to church? You get a cup of coffee on Thursday. You helped the homeless? That should earn you one smooth commute home from work.

But He didn't.

He gives us vanilla pudding days... lots of them... in between the brussel sprout days and the German chocolate cake, God gives countless moments of vanilla pudding.

Goodness in tiny details. Love in every moment. Gently constant in its presence. Unnoticeable in its very permanence. Vanilla pudding happiness.

And you shall rejoice in all the good that the Lord your God has given to you and to your house...

Deuteronomy 26:11a