Rejection is hard.
But you know what, it’s for our benefit sometimes. It humbles us, it refines us, and it grows our character - if we let it. I’m no stranger to rejection, especially when it comes to my dreams. American Idol, X-Factor, ministry teams in college: all “no” for me. Does that mean I can’t sing? A few years ago, that’s what I thought it meant. There were lessons in each of those let-downs that I needed to learn, and God was so faithful to mature me through that season. Because of those rejections, I learned what worship is truly about, and now I can lead from a place of true joy and humility when I take the platform each week. In order to make me more like Christ, I needed to experience those hurts. I no longer have a dream to be the next Lauren Daigle, but I’m using that gift God gave me for HIS glory every week. Life looks different now, but I still have dreams: to write a book, Bible studies, and maybe even host a podcast one day?! But I’ve been really wrestling with it, wanting to honor God’s plan for my life and make much of HIM, not myself. I’ve been wrestling with discernment about what is that line between pursuing my goals with ambition versus just trying to promote myself & make things happen that aren’t God’s best for me. A few weeks ago, I stepped out of my comfort zone & submitted some work to a blog that I absolutely adore & highly respect. I poured my heart into the story I wrote, and yesterday I found out they decided it wasn’t for them. And you know what? It hurts! But I’m not going to let this rejection crush me as others have. I'm not going to ask, "Does this mean I can't write?" I now know my worth is not in my abilities. My worth doesn’t come from comments on my blog or likes on my photos or even my role as a wife & mom. It comes from being created in the image of Almighty God. I used to claim my identity through my accomplishments, but now I know Jesus Christ has already accomplished everything for me on the cross. Praise God! I don’t need to be a published author to complete God’s purpose for my life. If He hands that opportunity to me, I’ll be grateful for the chance to steward it well. If He doesn’t, then I’m okay. It just means I have a different role to play in His story. These ordinary tasks of wiping bottoms and being used as a human chew toy and cleaning toilets and instilling truth into little souls through just being present are SO significant. They are full of meaning. I've already been given my biggest dream, and I never for one second take the gift of her for granted. Ada is all about climbing and standing these days. As I was writing this, she had pulled herself up on the ottoman, peering over her little hands to smile at me. Still pretty wobbly in her new skill, she took a nice tumble moments later. Instinctively, I comforted her as I helped her back to her feet and said, “It’s okay, Ada! Let’s try again. You’re doing so good! When we fall down, we just have to get back up and try again.” And of course, as the words left my mouth, the Lord whispered in my spirit, “That’s right, sweet girl. Just get up and try again.”
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Raise your hand if you wash your hair at least once a week…
Yeah, me either. It’s cool guys, it’s cool. Other than the fact that it’s just difficult to shower when you’re in the middle of baby land, that postpartum hair loss struggle & regrowth is a REAL ISSUE. Nobody prepared me for the small lion’s mane currently growing around my face like a deranged halo. No one told me how clumps of my hair would fall out every time I brush it or run my hands through it while trying to get all the shampoo out. Please tell me I’m not the only one who sticks the hair to the shower wall to get it off my hand. Like, what else are you supposed to do?! Anyway, as I was going through my weekly shower ritual, I started to reflect & babble about random things to the Lord as my thoughts wandered, as I often do. I’ve been pretty stressed out about several personal things recently. Compared to some of the trials I know other people in my church & community are facing, these “issues” of mine are small. The problem with that outlook is that I tend to allow the small difficulties to build up internally, never sharing my needs. {Classic Enneagram 2 move over here, haha}. But back to the hair on my shower wall. As Jesus and I were talking about some of my recent anxiety triggers, the Holy Spirit brought to mind a Scripture I learned long ago: "Aren't five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one sparrow is forgotten by God. Even the hairs of your head have all been counted. So do not be afraid; you are worth much more than many sparrows!" -Luke 12:6-7, GNT Honestly, standing there peeling tiny hairs off my hands, feeling their annoyance even when I can't see exactly where they are (you know the feeling!), I was struck by the truth tucked into these two small verses. These are words spoken directly from Jesus' mouth, so we know they're important. Isn't that idea wild? Like, there's 7.6 billion people in the world, and God knows each of us so intimately that He keeps track of the number of hairs on our heads. I can't even count how many I've lost in the past five minutes, yet He has been consistently been aware of that number, because He is omniscient, and He cares. Did you catch that? He cares. Even about the "small" things I'm sweating. So, why should I be afraid? Have I forgotten my worth? Do I believe I am more valuable than some birds? Do I trust that God will provide for all of my true needs? (Ps. 34:10, Phil. 4:19) Yeah, I know, all that from some hair clumps on my shower wall. *shrugs* Lord, you are Jehovah-Jireh, my Provider. I confess to you that I've failed to trust that part of your character recently. Forgive me for my unbelief. Thank you for reminding me of who you are, and who I am because of you. I have never lacked for what I truly need. You are faithful! Thank you for your loving-kindness towards me, and for the special attention you give to knowing every part of me; down to the always-changing number of hairs on my head. You amaze me, Father. Help me not to be afraid. Strengthen me with the truth of your promises, that I might exude confidence in you for your glory. I love you. In Jesus' name, Amen. From somewhere deep inside my dream I hear it—that sputtering, half cry/half protest I am now so used to hearing. In approximately six minutes, the cries will be at full volume. Slowly, I pull myself through the stages of subconscious to half-consciousness, feeling the heaviness of being ripped out of my REM cycle. These are the times it’s hardest, the tangible weight of sleep pressing me firm against the mattress. A quick glance at my phone informs me it’s 3:39 a.m.
*deep inhale + sigh* Two-ish hours is all it’s been. Immediately I call out to the Father before I just break down. “I know I have absolutely nothing in this moment. Holy Spirit, help me. I need you to move me from this bed. I need you to care for her right now.” Bleary-eyed, yet feeling His strength, it’s enough to get me to her crib down the hallway. I can immediately feel the diaper’s fullness. Whyyyyy. I lay her down to be changed & she begins to protest LOUDLY at the idea of not being held so soon after being picked up. She may as well be a newborn again. Here we are on night four?….five? of this regression. Up three to four times a night, and she wants my body again & again. Daddy can’t help. I silently curse my magic power of producing food for another human just by existing {because honestly that’s some superhero junk right there-God is so cool like that} and sit down with her. 3:51. Whew. I am so depleted. I’m weary. I’m emotional. I’m ticked off at myself for getting my hopes up that tonight would be better because she ate a lot of solid food for dinner and that’s “supposed to help her sleep better” *insert eye roll here* I’m frustrated because I don’t really know if it’s her gums or her growing bones or maybe her belly that hurts, or if she’s having bad dreams. I’m annoyed that I am the one who is always needed at this hour. Two nights ago I snapped at my husband for SNORING because, yeah, that’s rational. And to top off this twisted sundae of feelings, I’m treasuring every moment with her, burning to memory how in the darkness she reaches her tiny, warm hand up to my lips, wanting me to kiss each little finger. It’s our thing. And that’s about the moment I remember: She cries because I’ll come. I have invested so much into this tiny human over the past almost eight months, and because of that, she trusts me. She depends on me. She believes in our connection, clings to it, places her hope in it, casts all her bets on it, because she knows that mommy will come. Through my responsiveness, I am her first example of God's love for her. Woah, that's heavy. I begin to think of our future foster babe, the one we haven’t met yet; but who already takes up residence in my heart. I wonder if he/she feels the same security in the middle of the night. Does he have anyone who will come? Does she have someone she can trust to care for her? And I think of Jesus, the same Jesus I called out to just a few minutes ago. Like Ada crying for me, I cried to my Daddy in heaven, begging Him to hold me as I hold her. Dang. What a parallel love story. She cries because I’ll come, with a reckless dependence on a mother’s love. Through the mess, I see it come full circle — Immanuel, "God with us,” inviting me to seek His face through the darkness with the same fervor and confidence which she seeks mine. It’s hard, but it’s good. And so is He. It finally happened.
I knew eventually the day would come. It happens to all of us moms at some point... The dreaded inconsolable breakdown at Target, complete with judgemental stares from people who have forgotten what it’s like to have a baby. All we needed was new sheets for the bed. Pop in, pop out — that was the goal. I knew the poor girl was exhausted. We’d had a long day of errands already, and she was sick of laying in her car seat. In an attempt to save myself from a scream-filled ride home, I even sat in the parking lot and fed her before going in. She fell asleep on my chest, but I knew we’d be quick. We went for it. We rounded the corner to the home decor section, and her baby blues popped open. They locked onto mine, and then the sweetest little lip quiver began upon the realization she was no longer in my arms. I smiled at her and shushed and held her hand, but it was too late. She wailed. And I mean WAILED. And I couldn’t get her to stop. It didn’t take long to notice the glances around me. Unfortunately, there were no comforting, “I understand mama” nods coming my way. Maybe next time I’ll get lucky. But all we needed was sheets, so I pressed on, shushing and rocking and cooing at my baby while she ugly cried allllll the way to the front of the store, through the checkout experience, into the car, and out of the parking lot where she conveniently stopped & fell asleep thanks to the motion of the car. LOL. And you know what I thought to myself? “That wasn’t so bad.” For some reason, I was always anxious for this moment as a parent. Maybe it has to do with my struggle over perfectionism, or because I constantly battle people-pleasing. Maybe it’s the pride — that first time in public when I can’t hide behind the image of being a mom that has it all together. But the reality is that none of us are truly that mom. We can’t control our kids. We don’t have it together all of the time. And that’s okay. Just let it go mama. Remember this: your babies’ actions are not a reflection of your worth. You are loved by your Creator whether or not your kids behave in a store. You are noticed even if you can’t put the “honor roll parent” sticker on the back of your minivan. You’re valuable whether or not your teenager makes the team. All we can do is give our best to our families for the glory of God, and we trust Jesus to fill in our gaps. Release your grip on control & the perfect image, and be encouraged by this truth today -- “but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” -Romans 5:8 While we were still sinners, y’all. Not once we had it all figured out. There is grace for us in the middle of the linens aisle while we console our screaming children. Because of that, it’s really not too bad. Target on, mama. Cheers! So, I “got my body back.” Six months postpartum, and I’m officially wearing my pre-pregnancy size and down to my pre-baby weight. Somehow, my body still looks and feels way different and all the things are shifted around, but those facts remain. I debated sharing this, but I realized that it IS something worth celebrating. It means that I’ve lost 35lbs {yes, I gained that much weight & our baby was barely 6 lbs — proof that every woman and baby are so different & everyone just needs to chill the heck out and stop making comments about pregnant women’s weight 👏🏻}. But more than that, it means that for the FIRST time in my life, I’ve lost weight without purposefully starving myself. I’ve continued to fuel my body {okay, sometimes with too much Chick-fil-A but c’mon} & nurse my baby, and that’s a personal victory for me.
I’ve learned recently that you can’t win with social media. Some people will say I shouldn’t share a post like this because it will fuel the fire of comparison that so many of us struggle with, making it sound like I think I’m somehow superior because I’m back to my pre-baby size. Other people will say that if I didn’t share it, I’d be joining the growing crowd of skinny-shamers {which is just as bad, by the way}. You really can’t win when it comes to the fitness posts, but I’m just trying to be honest about my journey as a new mom, as I always have. This is my reality, and it’s totally okay if it’s not the same as anyone else’s experience. Here’s the truth that we need to lean in to today, mama friend: + Your body carried, nourished, and brought a new life into the world with a soul that matters for eternity, and THAT IS WORTH CELEBRATING. + If you’ve lost the baby weight, you’re worthy of love. + If you haven’t lost the baby weight yet, you’re worthy of love. + If you never lose the baby weight, you’re worthy of love. + You’re worthy of love because you’re here. You’re alive. You’ve been created by the God who sacrificed HIS child’s life for yours, and you have a unique purpose. + No matter what your body looks like, your baby needs you to show up & love them like ONLY YOU can. + And ultimately, your body is temporary. It will not last. Physical fitness is of some value, but not at the expense of your relationship with Christ. Invest your best into soul training, and know that true, lasting beauty is what’s in your spirit. + Vanity is shallow and unfulfilling. Trust me, I’ve lived in that space. It does not satisfy. Roots of self-worth don’t grow from numbers on a scale or inches on a tape measure. They grow from an assurance that you are recklessly loved by the God who made your form & called it GOOD. Wherever your body is at, own it, beautiful! I’m right here with ya. XOX. “...train yourself to be godly. For physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come. This is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance.” -1 Timothy 4:7-9 “Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.” -Proverbs 31:30 “I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you.” -Jeremiah 31:3 I don’t know, maybe I thought it would be easier.
I guess I figured: I’ll sleep when she sleeps. I’ll meal prep once a week; it’s not too difficult. I’ll learn how to get ready faster, so I can look pretty when daddy comes home instead of like I’m as exhausted as I feel. I’ll be committed to reading the Word as soon as she naps. {Wait..sleep when she sleeps. How can I reconcile these two ideas again?} I’ll limit myself to volunteer for just one ministry so as not to stretch myself too thin. I’ll settle into a housekeeping routine soon. I’ll take the dogs on a walk 2-3x a week, because it’ll feel good to get us all out of the house & exercise. It’s just breastfeeding...how hard could it be? I’ll have so much time to blog since I’m staying at home. I’ll have so much time to keep the budget organized, make all the appointments, stay on top of the family calendar, send birthday cards, and remember when we need more toilet paper, since I’m staying at home. I’ll have so much time to XYZ since I’m staying at home. Oh, and I’ll totally create enough margin in my life for hospitality, being intentional with friendships, and the all-important “self care.” {But also, sleep when she sleeps, right? *wink*} I think I figured wrongly. I think I seriously underestimated how hard being a first-time-mom would be. I’m floored by the reality of the pressure stay-at-home-moms feel. You’ll never understand until you are one. It’s a double-edged sword, being a SAHM in this culture. On one hand, you can look at Instagram & it feels like there’s a slow resurgence of pride in making it one’s career to be a mommy. There’s a shift in the air towards applauding women for it again. There’s community. There’s more support. There’s belonging. This is super empowering for moms who have chosen this way of life, especially in an age where it seems for so long that in order to be a woman of value to society, you’re required to work outside the home. On the other hand, I think most SAHMs still feel the judgement & the stigma. At least, I know I do. I’ve had to literally train my mouth to not add the word “just” before “a stay-at-home-mom” when describing what I do for a living. And because homemaker is my occupation, I feel the crippling need to do it all and be it all — successfully. We’re supposed to have “the time” after all, aren’t we? I’ve got the enemy in my ear proclaiming failure over my efforts as a wife and mom, declaring disappointment over how little I can tangibly produce in a day’s work. And I’ve got an army of Instagram accounts fighting back with the words I’m so desperate to hear, chanting, “YOU ARE ENOUGH, MAMA!” But as good as that sounds in a moment of weariness, I’ve got to ask my Lord, is it really true? In the stillness, He gently answers, “No.” I am not enough. I am not enough for my husband. I am not enough for my daughter. I am not enough of everything that they desire, or even enough of what they need from me. And I never will be. I was also never meant to be. It’s a dangerous space to live when you deem yourself as savior of your family. We moms are so important, don’t get me wrong. We genuinely are a cornerstone for our people, but we’re not The Cornerstone. The Gospel tells me that I can never measure up to God’s standard of holiness, no matter how hard I try (Romans 3:10-12). In fact, even what society considers to be “good” or moral about us is nothing but filthy rags in light of God’s righteousness (Isaiah 64:6). But praise the Lord for the gift of his Son, Jesus Christ, and that through the sacrifice of his blood we can become righteous in the eyes of the Father (2 Corinthians 5:21). So when I begin to feel the pressures to be & do everything all the time mounting, I have to remember my number one job as a SAHM - teaching my little humans about Jesus, and committing myself to raise them to know & love the freeing truth of the Gospel. And to pray. I have to remember to structure my days so that what will matter for eternity comes first. Only by doing that and remaining dependent on the Holy Spirit to guide my parenting will I be “enough” for my family. It’s 1:00am as I finish up here, because it’s not quiet enough in my mind to put coherent thoughts together until I’m alone & the baby has settled in for the night. And to be frank, I’m plum exhausted; equal parts happy to have written and irate at myself for not being in the middle of my REM cycle right now. But hey, I’ll sleep when she sleeps, right? Jordan & I celebrated our 3rd wedding anniversary a few days ago! It's SO crazy to me that three years have already passed. We loaded up the babe and spent a few days in Charlottesville, VA, just up the road from where we live. We've always known Charlottesville was a neat little town, but had yet to take time to really explore it. We even have a special memory here from our time at Liberty University. Before we were an "official" couple, a bunch of us came here to The Jefferson to watch Ben Rector perform. To date, it's still one of my favorite concerts, and those memories of young love are thick, haha. Ben Rector has also basically written the soundtrack for our relationship & is the background music for every important video about our life together so far, so it was fun to bring Ada back there! We had the cutest loft AirBnb for this trip! The location was pristine too, in perfect walking distance to the Mall where some of the best restaurants and touristy spots are. Easily, our favorite place to eat was IRON Paffles and Coffee. Don't ask me what a paffle is, but I can guarantee you want one in your mouth. I mean, just look at this menu! Pro tip: To maximize your food tasting capacity {and your wallet}, plan to sample a bunch of places all throughout the day, and split entrees that you try! It's basically like one huge progressive meal, and it's super fun. We stole this idea from my bro & sis-in-law, and it's totally genius. Also, walking. Lots and lots of walking. Even though we had to leave a little early due to Ada Bee's tummy troubles, we still had a great time together! We'll definitely be back to finish checking spots off our list, and maybe go see Thomas Jefferson's Monticello next time too! We love you, C'ville!
No, I’m not pregnant.
Although that would be pretty interesting considering that Ada Bee is only {almost} four months old, haha. God has been stirring our hearts for his beloved in a big way. He’s spoken clearly to both my husband and I, extending an invitation to join Him on an incredible & wild new journey. Saying yes will change everything in our lives, rearrange our schedules and our home, uproot our normal, disrupt our comfort, infringe on our privacy, challenge our faith, and change us forever: F O S T E R C A R E . I want to pause in this moment and make it very clear that my intention for this post is to make much of Christ. I’m sharing this because we need prayer & support from the body of believers, not because I want you to applaud me. I do not deserve any praise. Matter of fact, the flesh in me wants nothing to do with foster care. The flesh in me wants to keep my handsome hubby and sweet new baby inside a well-manicured bubble for the rest of our lives, where we’ll remain happy & comfortable & safe. There’s just one issue with that plan- following Jesus isn’t comfortable or safe. In Luke 9:23, Jesus says that in order to follow him, we have to deny ourselves - our selfish desires, our comforts, our plans to remain unharmed - daily. The Christian life was never intended to be easy. Following Jesus was never supposed to look like warm cookies coming out of the oven, 2.5 kids, a dog, and a white picket fence out in comfortable suburbia while the rest of the world remains dead to their sins & we stand idly by without sharing the cure. This is our temporary home, and it’s not about us. I’m reminded of Matthew 14:22-33, where the story of Jesus walking on water is told. I’m going to recap quickly: Jesus had just finished performing the miracle of feeding 5,000 people with a meager five loaves of bread and two fish. Before going up on the mountain to pray and get refreshed, he sends his disciples on ahead to cross the sea without him. While they are smack dad in the middle of the water, a massive storm blows in. The wind & waves are going nuts, and then all of a sudden, the disciples see a man walking on top of the water, unfazed! They think it’s a ghost and start freaking out. {Spoiler alert: It’s Jesus}. Jesus tells his disciples not to be afraid; it’s just him. I feel like Peter does exactly what I would do in this situation, and says: {my paraphrase} “okay, Lord, if it’s really you out there, tell me to come walk on the water with you. You’re doing something radical, and I want to get in on the action.” Jesus’ invitation is so simple: “Come.” And so, Peter steps out in faith. He WALKS ON WATER. I think sometimes when I read the Bible, I miss the reality of some of the key points. Like, humans CANNOT walk on water. It’s physically freakin’ impossible! How crazy is it that Peter actually did this through God’s power? SO CRAZY. Pretty quickly, Peter shows his humanity by taking his eyes off Jesus to look around at the storm, and he begins to sink into the sea. He cries out to Jesus to save him, and of course, he does, leaving Peter with this question: “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” Peter and Jesus head back to the boat and join all the other disciples. Jesus calms the storm, and everyone in the boat worships him, recognizing that he is truly the Son of God. Seriously, what an accurate depiction of my heart during this season - knowing that God is inviting me to take part in something bigger than myself; something that is impossible without him; something that requires me to step out of my boat of comfort and risk it all. And though I can see Jesus in the midst of the storm, I am still oh so afraid of what’s to come - the new relationships to navigate with case workers and biological parents, the potential behavioral or physical issues in a child entrusted to us, the heartbreak of investing & loving a baby as our own only to have him or her separated from us again. Like Peter, I know I’ll begin to sink under the weight of trying to carry the burden by my own strength, only to cry out, “Lord, save me!” and he will. He will immediately grab my hand and bring me to safety, challenging me once again for my lack of faith; asking, “Daughter, why did you doubt?" And all of these confusing, hard, extraordinarily beautiful things will surely bring me to my knees in worship of the Son of God. You might be wondering why we’ve decided to step out of the boat. Why are we doing this? The answer is simple: The need is great. God’s called us all to do hard things. And, quite simply, we have an extra bed. Jordan and I wanted to share this news with all of you because we need your prayers and your loving support. I don’t know how we’re going to do this without the body of Christ walking alongside us. I don’t think we can, and I don’t think we’re meant to. We need ya’ll, and so do these kids without a home. I believe with all my heart that if you are a true follower of Jesus, you have a part to play in orphan care. You can read more about that from my post back in November here. So, friend, here’s a personal invitation from me to you: come join us at the rest of these training sessions at our church if you’re local. Just show up, and pray for God to reveal his plans for your role as you learn more about the need. If you’re not in Roanoke, VA, get in touch with your city’s Department of Social Services. Ask your church what they’re doing to advocate for the oppressed and neglected. Jesus is calling, “Come.” So, fluff those pillows on your extra bed. Step out of the boat with me. I don’t know about you, but I am a huge fan of birthdays. I really enjoy celebrating the gift of life that God has so graciously given, and I enjoy acknowledging the admirable qualities I see in my friends & loved ones on their day. I also appreciate being celebrated on my own birthday, I won’t lie about it! Growing up, my parents had a plate that said “My Special Day,” and we only got the privilege of using it on our birthday. It was so exciting to see that confetti-background piece of plastic at dinner, always full of mom’s chicken noodle casserole, my favorite meal. As a words of affirmation girl {my love language}, my heart is filled to the brim on April 11 each year by those close to me through what they say to and about me.
Confession: I legitimately forgot my birthday was coming until my mom said something about it a week ago. This has never happened in all my life, haha. I guess that’s what happens when you have an almost three-month old & the fact that it was even April hadn’t yet registered to you. #mombrain Thanks to aforementioned baby, my “special” day has really been quite normal - and I have treasured every second of it. I woke up at 4:30am because she needed to be changed and fed. I was spoiled in that she actually went back to sleep until 9am {all the praise hands} and my sweet hubby got up and cooked me a marvelous breakfast, which he is very good at, I might add. But then he went to work like any other day. I fed Ada and read the Bible on my phone out loud to her, and worked out while she took a nap {real talk - on day 2 of adding this to my routine so don’t think for a second I have my life together hahaha}. I was planning to vacuum because our floors are strug-gle-ing, but there was a random power outage in our area {?!} for a few hours, so I loaded the babe up and we headed to Target. Ada spit up all over my shirt right before we left the house & I straight up left it because I knew it was bound to happen again {zero shame}. I spent a solid hour in the children’s book section casually trying not to cry and becoming waaaaay sentimental for no reason. I couldn’t control myself at the dollar spot this time because all the spring things are the stinking CUTEST, but I just passed it off as a forgivable birthday offense. Ada Bee woke up, and I fed her while sitting in the parking lot because every mama knows how precious a silent car ride home is & that was not about to happen with this hungry bug. Naturally, there was a Starbucks run involved as well. When we got home, I took out the trash, checked the mail, paid some bills, and played with the dogs outside while we waited on daddy to arrive so we could go out to dinner at Red Lobster {Jesus, please bless the dear human who created the recipe for those biscuits, amen}. Dinner didn’t go how I’d hoped, to be frank. Ada {who usually falls asleep in the car and doesn’t wake up or make a peep whenever we go out} insisted on being held by only me the entire time we were there. She got really fussy & became that baby {you know the one} & nursing didn’t really seem to help {also uncharacteristic of her}. It was awkward and I felt stressed & uncomfortable. We left quickly after our meal that I had taken just a few bites of and almost forgot to grab the box of leftovers. We didn’t take a family photo like I wanted because it was too chaotic. As soon as we got home, I spent an hour getting the cranky baby to sleep, and now I’m laying down, typing this out on my phone, because sadly that’s the most efficient way for me to write these days, lol. My body is screaming at me for working out, and I’m dreaming about how truly glorious the massage hubby bought me is going to be. If you don’t include the birthday-related details, my day was really quite ordinary & uninteresting. There was no huge surprise party as I’ve had in the past, no drawn out string of celebratory events. For the majority of my day, it was just me and my baby hanging out — me caring for her, playing with her, loving her, same as I always do. It’s about her now. Mamas with littles don’t truly get all about you days. Someone has a wet diaper, or a boo-boo that needs kissing, or an argument that needs settling, a meal to be fed, a paper to sign and return to school, a need somehow or someway. Even though we get breaks, small reprieves here and there on a date night alone or a blessed car-induced naptime, mamas don’t get an off button. And that’s 100% okay with me. I’m 100% grateful for this hard, confusing, need-filled role — mommy. So, this is 24. I’d say something cliché like “never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be celebrating my 24th birthday with a baby in my arms,” but that's probably false. I’ll say this instead: Being a mom is more joyful, more painful, more exhausting, more soul-shaping, and more beautiful than even my wildest dreams could have predicted. What a grand gift, this life. Happy Birthday to me. I battled an eating disorder from the middle of my junior year in high school through my second year of college. Through an incredible community of people who loved Jesus and me, as well as counseling, the Lord graciously rescued me from that trial a few years ago. Unfortunately, the enemy continues to plant lies in my mind about my body image on a regular basis. This will likely be a struggle I’ll fight for the rest of my life here on earth, but I praise God for providing me with the strength to overcome it through the Holy Spirit. It’s the thorn in my flesh (2 Cor. 12:7-10) that keeps me dependent on Jesus, and I’ve learned to be content with that! Needless to say, when Jordan and I got married, I was pretty afraid of becoming pregnant {at first}, knowing that it would likely be very difficult for me as I gained weight. The Lord was so gracious to me, allowing me to view my entire pregnancy the way it was intended, and truly celebrate the little life growing inside me. I can say with integrity that even though I was watching the number on the scale rise, I enjoyed the entire process and rejoiced over the changes happening in my body. Jordan was a huge positive influence during this time {still is!} as he always affirmed his desire for me as his wife. That continues to be one of my biggest questions these days — Do you still want me? Am I still beautiful to you? I have a hard time trusting his answers, because I don’t yet believe them about myself. I wish that wasn’t the case. It would be really easy for me to post this carefully curated photo that makes my 15 extra pounds look pretty decent and say something inspirational about how mamas are warriors for what our bodies have been through. How every fat roll is worth it because it means we get to hold our sweet babies. How stretch marks are truly beautiful {even though I’m not showing mine}. And how we should love & accept our new selves because they are perfect just the way they are. It’s not easy for me to tell the truth, though. Here’s the ugly, gritty, raw truth. This is my real post-baby body. And I’m not okay with it yet. I don’t love it right now. I’m having a really hard time with the fact that my maternity jeans don’t fit me great anymore so I had to go out and buy regular jeans that were size 12 when I’m used to buying size 2-4. I find it difficult to accept that even though I know I’ll work hard to get back in shape and lose the weight now that I’ve been cleared to work out, my body composition will probably never look the way it used to. My hips are wider; my chest is broader. I’m struggling with the knowledge that I don’t have any idea how to lose weight in a healthy way, without simply starving myself. I look at this body in the mirror and I’m embarrassed by it. I’m ashamed of it. The skeletons in my closet are starting to rattle. I can hear them taunt me with the all-too familiar “You’re not good enough. Your husband is lying to you when he says he thinks you’re sexy. He loved you more when you were tiny.” And you know what, guys? That’s hard. It just is.
I don’t need pity, but I do need prayer. I know the truth of God’s Word. I know that this body is AMAZING for what it has done in the past several months & what it continues to do as it cares for and nourishes our baby girl. I look at her, and I would do it again 10,000 times just to have her. She’s worth it, and I’m learning to love the new me. I’m learning to champion myself, because when the Lord looks at me, he doesn’t see my weight and a purple forest of stretch marks. He sees a daughter that he loves, and he sees a sinner justified by his Son’s blood. He does see beauty. I’m posting this with trembling hands, SCARED TO DEATH to be this vulnerable and reveal these photos to the entire internet world. But you know what? I can, because my body — pre-baby, pregnant, or post-baby — does not define my worth. God defines my worth, and it’s simple: created in His image; very good (Gen. 1:27, 31). So, mama friend, if you find yourself in the same place as me today, wishing you could believe that your body is beautiful and amazing after baby, but you’re just not quite there yet, know that it’s okay. You’re not alone in that, even though it seems like everyone on Instagram has it figured out already. And to my other friends, the ones not dealing with all the postpartum things, I hope you’ll be reminded of where your worth comes from today. You are so valuable and so loved by your Creator, whether you’re a size 2 or a size 12. xoxo. |
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Ashley Setterlind: Jesus lover, wife, new mama to a baby girl. Archives
October 2018
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