God is in the Midst of Her...

News...and Tongue & Cheek

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 06:34:16 GMT

--Jeremiah continues to be the Lord's instrument in making me a kinder, sweeter, more beautiful, and more Godly woman. I feel like he's always bringing me back to my purest self, making me remember who I am, and helping me achieve my highest good. Finding my prince and falling in love with him has been messier and harder than I expected...and yet, much richer than I dared to hope. It's challenged my faith, and in turn, bolstered it immensely.

--I am moving home to beautiful Webster Groves, Missouri! I am packing my bags in Columbia and moving back into my parents' house on November 22nd. I don't think words can adequately express how delighted I am to be returning to St. Louis. When I graduated college, I wasn't yet done with Columbia; I needed more time here. However, now the time has come for a new season.

--I am starting what promises to be an amazing new job on November 30th! I will be an OB Case Manager for the Family Care Health Center in St. Louis (http://fchcstl.org). I will be developing relationships with women throughout their pregnancies and counseling them regarding motherbaby care. I can't wait! :)

--I've generally always accepted the "a husband should love his wife like Christ loved the Church and a wife should therefore submit to her husband" thing. I know it's good and right and true. However, when played out in a real-life relationship, it's much harder to deal with. It means that when I am married, if a compromise can't be reached, I don't get my way. It means I have to be a bigger person that I am right now. Dang...it must be hard to get used to being married. But I guess getting naked helps.

--Sometimes I wonder why people ask me for advice. In asking me for wisdom, people assume I possess it. This is very flattering and all, but it's also a lot of pressure. I am not a life coach. I can only see the world through my own eyes and my own experience...what works for me won't necessarily work for anyone else, cause they don't have Halley eyes. I only know what I would do...isn't it curious that it's easy to know what you'd do if you were plunked into someone else's life, and yet it's so confusing trying to figure out what to do with your own?

--My Halley eyes get me in trouble sometimes, regarding the things I am passionate about. I get tunnel vision and when I get really hyped up about something, I forget that not everyone holds the same views that I do. As a good friend once told me, "The hardest part of having a passion is giving grace to those who don't share your passion." Many of my passions I hold so tightly that I think it's ludicrous if people don't agree with me (probably all of them, actually, if I'm honest). I need help in giving more grace.

--I really hate that we live in a fallen world. I wish we could all go back to Eden. I wish everyone could be naked and not be ashamed and not wrapped in the emotional and physical trappings of the world. I wish we could all be real with each other. I wish the sight of a women breastfeeding was so totally normal and accepted that it was a completely mundane conversation topic. I wish all kids grew up watching their mom nurse their siblings. I'd love to see more kids pretending to nurse their dolls instead of pretending to feed them bottles of formula (aka, poison). (Sorry, the Halley eyes again...but it's true :)

--I read some commentary recently about how a Christian husband and wife should approach their wedding night (things to talk about beforehand, realistic and unrealistic expectations, what to do about awkwardness, etc). Most of it seemed to be sound advice and made good sense, however I was offended by the author's assumption that the woman will feel extremely self-conscious about exposing her body to her new husband. Excuse me? What a perverted assumption. Our culture and media is constantly making women feel badly about their bodies, and therefore I can see that it may indeed be tragically common for virgin brides to feel self-conscious on their wedding nights. For that reason, I suppose I can see how the author's words could be helpful. However, I think it was wrong of him not to lament this awful reality! My body isn't perfect, but it is beautiful and God-created and GOOD. When I think about my own wedding night, I do not feel self-conscious at all! I am so excited to reveal myself! And I am so sad for anyone who isn't! Maybe I'll walk around naked my whole honeymoon...maybe it would somehow even the score for those poor women who feel insecure about sharing their bodies with the men who love them.

--Hydrogen peroxide will get out pomegranate stains...FYI :)

Gestating Halley: Birth & Postpartum

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 17:59:31 GMT

It was inexplicable and immediate. For so long, midwifery had been *it*, the thing I cared most about in this world, my love for Jesus incarnated. I tattooed “sage femme” under my breast, for crying out loud! In my soul, I WAS a midwife! And perhaps I still am; I do still and will always claim “wise woman;” I believe that is the Lord’s design. But being a midwife is no longer my greatest earthly identity. For almost 3 years I was first God’s child and Christ’s beloved, and secondly, I was a midwife. But today as I write this, I am first God’s child and Christ’s beloved, and secondly I am the woman who loves Jeremiah McWilliams.

This started playing out in my heart in July (probably about the time I first started writing this “Gestating Halley” series – it’s taken me this long to sort it all out). As of early July I had been dating Jeremiah for less than 3 months. (Heck, I’d KNOWN him for less than 3 months, period). It was quick. We hadn’t told each other yet that we were in love, but it happened soon after. I would sit in my mother’s kitchen in St. Louis and think out loud about my bewilderment. I told her numerous times I just couldn’t understand why working as a midwife’s apprentice wasn’t giving me the ultimate joy and fulfillment I expected. I also told her that for the life of me, I couldn’t “turn down” my desire to be with Jeremiah; I could not lessen it, I could not make it equivalent to my desire to attend births, and I could not mesh it nicely on the side. My desire to be with Jeremiah was greater, and it would not be squelched. My wonderfully intuitive mother listened to my ramblings with patience for several sessions. Then one day at the lunch table, she looked up at me and spoke truth that is still resonating: “You know, Halley, sometimes we have a hole in our hearts that we cannot fill, and until we are able to fill it with what it was meant for, we fill it with something else.” Suddenly, Clarity – that elusive but oh-so-gratifying angel – paid me a visit. “Are you saying that I had a Jeremiah-shaped hole in my heart that I was filling with midwifery?” I replied, flabbergasted. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

And so I told Julia in early August that I had to stop apprenticing with her for the time being, because I couldn't keep up with the crazy lifestyle I had assumed, and because I needed to figure a lot of stuff out. She was incredibly gracious and understanding, for which I am eternally grateful. It’s now mid-October and I’m still mulling that conversation with my mother over in my mind. It was so simple; it was so freeing; it was so true! It made a lot of sense then, and it makes even more sense now. I did not become a horrible, selfish person over the summer (as I wondered when I found myself hoping that no babies would be born on the precious nights I got to be with the man who understands me so easily and loves me so well). I do still have the willingness and the earnest desire to exhaust myself, inconvenience myself, and sacrifice myself for that which is dearest to my heart. But my deep love for birth is now in 3rd place, and at present, it’s a distant 3rd place. If you have been reading this entire story, I do not have to tell you that my passion for birth and mothering runs as deep as the Atlantic. And yet my love for Jeremiah has mightily overpowered it – there is no contest. So then, how deep and high and sure and true is my love for Jeremiah! It’s INCREDIBLE if you stop and think about it! :)

I want to be on-call for Jeremiah. I want to answer his 3am phone calls. I want to spend national holidays with him. I want a life with him! And I am more than willing – I am eager – to amend my dreams in order to blend them with his. He is my greatest dream, after all, and I will exhaust, inconvenience, and sacrifice myself for him. Jeremiah loves my dreams; he wants to see them all come true – it is for this reason I can securely put them in his hands. Jeremiah – the most amazing, selfless, incredible man in the whole world – wants to amend his own dreams in order to blend them with mine. We cherish each other’s hearts. We want to be together, and we are finding our way.

I feel certain in writing this that there will be at least one reader who will disapprove or even condemn me for this, perhaps in person, but more likely outside of my presence. They will say that I cannot let a man “take over” my dream of becoming a midwife, that I cannot change my plans “just because” I now have a man in my life. This perspective makes me sad. It is so misled, so ruthless, and so self-seeking. Recently I heard biblical love defined as “self-forgetfulness.” This term sums up well how I have come to feel about how my individual dreams and ambitions fit into a relationship. I can assuredly set my dreams – and therefore myself – gently to the side, forgetting my heart to an extent, because Jeremiah isn’t going to forget my heart. To the contrary, he loves my heart with great passion and tenderness, just as I love his. I will forget my dreams if I can see his fulfilled. I believe this is love. And as one, we kneel before the Cross with every longing of our hearts, and trust our Savior to knit us closer together and bring our hopes to fruition as He deems fit.

I also feel certain in writing this that most of you are my dear, dear friends, and want me to be happy and free and alive and well. (And I am! More than ever before in my life, I am!) I know you are the ones who, even if you hadn’t read this explanation of my heart’s overhauling, would still stand by me whether I was a midwife or not. Thank you for your kindness and unconditional friendship…makes me tear up to think of it! It is because I have come to believe that you love me for who I AM, and not for what I DO, that I can say that I am no longer going to be the least bit sheepish or apologetic about loving Jeremiah more than I love midwifery! I am going to REJOICE! REJOICE in the Lord always, I will say it again, REJOICE! (Philippians 4:4). Friends, I have found him whom my soul loves! (Song of Songs 3:4).

If I was going to rewrite Eric Church’s song “Love Your Love the Most” to reflect how I feel about Jeremiah in relation to how I feel about midwifery, it would go something like this:

“Yes I love tiny babies
And pregnant bellies too
I love a good sweet birth story, it rocks on Friday nights.
Hell yes I love my dreams, but I want you to know
Honey I love your love the most.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hlCGnGLlu64

And, so we are at the end of my gestation. I have been born as Jeremiah's love, and it feels amazing to breathe outside the womb. I might tell you I was post-dates, but God would tell you this birth happened exactly when He ordained, just as my birth as a Christian happened, and just as my births as a midwife, a mother, a grandmother, etc will happen, if and when God wills. But for now, I am quite content and ridiculously happy being madly in love with Jeremiah McWilliams. I don't have to have all the rest worked out -- after all, I'm just a newborn ;)

Gestating Halley: 3rd Triemester

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 17:21:13 GMT

Looking back on the first half of this calendar year, I can say that both nursing and lobbying were better and worse than I thought they would be. I suppose they both surprised me. Let’s start with lobbying. My desire to take over for Mary & Debbie at the Capital had everything to do with my sense of duty to my midwifery sisters and the women of Missouri, and nothing to do with caring what Tony Messenger tweeted about, or why Senator Crowell insisted on reading “The Shack” when he was filibustering. It’s not that those things don’t matter; it’s just that they weren’t interesting to me. I cared about the ins and outs of daily life at the Capital in a narrow, peripheral way – if the gossip it had anything to do with midwifery, I forced myself to care about it, and if not, I would just think about how many more hours I had to stay there and be fake before I got to go home.

I thank God for Sarah – the brains of our operation, and the majority of the manpower. She very generously offered to help me at the Capital, and yet it ended up being me helping her. While I found most of Missouri politics annoying, she found it invigorating. She was and is, always, amazing. I found that going back to that place day after day, week after week to be draining, intimidating, and often extremely boring. However, being at the Capital was better than I expected in some ways too: I was hardly ever alone (which makes SUCH a difference at that place!), when I was alone I found that I generally knew what to do (or could text someone who would tell me what to do) and towards the end I actually got interested in some of the bills unrelated to midwifery. The best part was that in the end I felt a great sense of pride for the part I played to ensure that midwifery remained legal…and, of course, being at the Capital meant I wasn’t at the hospital! :)

Now for the surprise of being an RN, being a staff nurse. I suppose I thought it would be easy – boy, was I wrong. It’s so physically exhausting, and frequently mentally unsettling. It definitely demands more of me than I expected. I pray every morning as I go into the hospital that God would let me (and my patients) survive from 7A to 7P. I learn something new every day, and I’m thankful for that. Granted, it’s things like “You don’t need an order to draw from a central line, only a PICC line,” or the difference between expressive, receptive, and global aphasia. Good things to know, and interesting things too, but nothing that makes me say “WOW!!! I can’t wait to go to work tomorrow!” It seems like a rip-off that my work as a staff nurse would be SO draining, but not SO rewarding. If it’s going to deplete me, I sure wish I felt like it was all worth it…you know? I do love being able to sign my name “Halley Watson, RN.” I take a lot of pride in having those letters behind my name, and I know that my work is valuable. Nursing can never be completely swallowed by technology….a machine cannot convey empathy, a machine cannot listen to someone’s story, a machine cannot keep someone’s soul alive. So, I do feel important as an RN. But I also feel quite underappreciated. I’m constantly overloaded to the point that I cannot convey empathy, I cannot listen to stories, and I can’t keep souls alive, just bodies – all I have time for passing meds and doing brief assessments. It’s good time management, sure, taking care of five patients at once, but it’s not healing. I didn’t sign on for this.

This past March I heard back from Newlife, about six weeks after submitting my application. I took a deep breath before I opened the email attachment, sure that my life was about to change forever when I’d read the words, “Congratulations! You’ve been selected to the 2011 class of Newlife International Midwifery School!” But that’s not what happened. Instead of a congratulatory letter, it was a shocking but very sweet rejection letter. It was probably the kindest rejection I’ll ever receive in my lifetime. I didn’t believe it. I was frozen; time was frozen. It could not be.

God had been telling me, “Apply for Newlife, apply for Newlife” for over two years! Since when does God tell people to be missionaries and turn their entire lives upside down, and then prevent them from going where He calls them to go?!? What in the world was I supposed to do now?!? I was angry with God; furious, even. I felt that He had deceived me. Perhaps that sounds blasphemous, but it’s true. Thankfully, my anger didn’t last too long, at least not the acute anger I couldn’t ignore. An unexplainable peace came to me within a few days, especially after sharing my sad news with some sisters in Christ. “It must be a God thing…that’s the only way to explain it,” my aunt said to me. “And He has a reason.”

My aunt was right. My reason came along just a couple weeks after our conversation. Jeremiah came along (via my aunt, funnily enough) – and he is the reason I was not supposed to go to the Philippines. I knew within our first few meetings that he was a gift from God…an incredible gift that God had been preparing for me for a long time…and a gift I wanted to hold onto. As you read a few entries ago, my romance with Jeremiah ignited immediately and still continues to get sweeter by the day. He is the love of my life, my other half, and I am so, so thankful that I am living in Missouri and not in Asia. God’s plan, as always, was far better than my own.

April was a big month for me. I met JMac and started falling head over heels, and I also started exploring other paths toward midwifery, now that Newlife was a no-go. I sent out an email to my midwifery friends about possibilities in St. Louis, and it was suggested to me that I contact Julia (name changed) to inquire about an apprenticeship. I emailed Julia, she got back to me, we chatted on the phone, and she invited me to meet with her about the terms. That meeting was a weekday evening at the end of May. I was very, very, very nervous about it. I felt like my whole future was hanging on that meeting. I invested everything in it.

The meeting was so characteristically Julia – laidback and comfortable. I was dressed up; she was in sweatpants. I expected her to sort of interview me for such an honorable and highly-sought position as a midwifery apprenticeship, but she really didn’t. She told me she knew I had “put in my time” at the Capital and done my homework, and she said she thought I deserved a chance at the real thing. I was ecstatic!!! I left her house on Cloud 9 that night. We decided that we would start on a trial period before hammering down any terms, partly because I lived in Columbia and would only be able to work with her 3 days a week until I could move to St. Louis.

Immediately I started looking for part-time work in St. Louis. Julia understood that I would need to work on the side; as a beginner-level apprentice, she would be compensating me with an education and not an income. And so I spent most of June looking for nursing work in St. Louis, and coming up empty-handed. Everyone wanted me to have a full year of experience to be considered for part-time work. It was reasonable, but frustrating. Despite not being able to move to St. Louis, at the end of June I started working with Julia 3 days a week as we had discussed, Wednesdays through Fridays. Just a couple days into our time together, I got to attend a birth with her. It was awesome (albeit more exciting than we planned on!) and I felt like I was back in the saddle again.

Within a few weeks, the wear and tear of commuting between two cities every three days started to get to me. This was my life: work 12hr shifts on Saturday and Sunday, breathe (and pack) on Monday, work a 12hr shift on Tuesday, drive to St. Louis Tuesday night, work with Julia (and be on-call) Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and then drive back to Columbia on Friday night to repeat the cycle. Sounds insane, right? It was. It may not have been so draining if my time in St. Louis wasn’t also my time to be with Jeremiah. But that’s how it was – we live in different cities, so when we could be together, we stretched our dates until 2am, sometimes even 3am. It was and is a complete joy to spend my STL nights with the man I love – I wouldn’t have it any other way. In fact, I started hoping on a daily basis that no one would go into labor because I wanted to spend the little time I had in STL with JMac, not at a birth. And I started feeling very guilty about that.

What’s wrong with me? I’d wonder. Being a midwife’s apprentice is what I’ve been dreaming about for the past three years! This is my purpose and the deepest desire of my heart! I felt terrible about my inner turmoil. I felt like I was betraying Julia and her clients by not being excited about midwifery and birth 24/7. What *was* going on inside me? Had my passion for woman-empowering, baby-honoring birth faded? Not in the least. Was I drained, emotionally and physically, and therefore just didn’t have the energy to be “on” all the time? Certainly, that was definitely a part of it, a big part of it actually. Did I hate being on-call? Yes, I did, I’ll say it. Is that selfish? Maybe…but it’s honest. (You never realize how much you value being able to turn off your cell phone or go on a weekend road trip until you can’t do it).

But it was more than exhaustion and annoyance with the on-call life. Because for almost 3 years prior, I would have gladly sold my spleen for the chance to miss sleep, answer 3am phone calls, and do postpartum visits on national holidays. And for nearly 3 years I HAD exhausted myself running back and forth between nursing school and the Capital…I HAD paid a lot of money to attend a Midwifery Today conference in Philadelphia over my last-ever Spring Break…I HAD stayed up until 3am reading about births I wished I was attending…I HAD taken abuse from countless family members and friends for my unorthodox passions. It was definitely more than the exhaustion and the inconvenience – it was that quite suddenly and without my permission, midwifery ceased to be the deepest desire of my heart. Love took over.

Birth. But not the birth I expected.

Gestating Halley: 2nd Trimester

Mon, 28 Sep 2009 05:40:07 GMT

As 2008 began, I saw "The Business of Being Born" with my mom and my roommate Katie (and instantly turned two skeptics into staunch supporters). I can't say I learned anything new when I watched that movie (I had spent the past year researching maternity care!), but it did shake me up. It dawned on me that birth was not just something that affected ME as a career path, but something that would profoundly affect all the women I know and love -- most of whom live in Missouri, where midwifery was at the time a felony. In early February I discovered Friends of MO Midwives, our statewide advocacy organization. I decided quickly that I had to do my part to contribute to the legalization of midwifery in my home state. I made a batch of brownies and drove to Jefferson City for "Cookie Day." The Capitol loomed before me, and somehow it looked even bigger than it did on my 4th grade field trip. My heart pounding within me, I set foot into senators' and representatives' offices, gave them my brownies with a note "From an aspiring midwife" stapled to the bag, and asked to speak to them about the matter closest to my heart. I did not feel like a worthy authority at all, but I did know that doctors should not be slicing women's vaginas open without their permission or awareness. I knew that mothers -- not health care providers -- know what is best for their bodies and their babies. I told the elected officials what I knew and what I wanted. Although I know realize that some of the people who "listened" were just being politicians, it was enough to make me want to come back.

And I did come back. I came to the Capitol every Wednesday for the rest of the 2008 legislative session, and a couple times a week at the end. It worked out nicely because I didn't have any classes or clinicals on Wednesdays. However, at a crisis point towards the end of session, I called my nursing instructor the morning of our Thursday clinical and told her it was more important for me to be at the Capitol lobbying than for me to attend my mental health clinical. Part of me can't believe I had the gall to do that, but what's even more amazing is that my instructor agreed with me! Now that I think about it, making that phone call was an outward declaration of what I had been feeling about nursing school all along: indifference. I just didn't care about it very much. (I cared about doing well, but that had more to do with my disease of over-achievement than it did with a passion for nursing). What I did care about was justice, and safety, and excellent care for women and babies, and I knew that I would need a voice louder than an RN's to make a difference.

The 2008 legislative session ended in mid-May. It came down to the wire: the Senate waited until the afternoon of the last day of session to pass our licensure bill, and the House was not able to get it passed before the solemn hour of 6pm tolled. I cannot and will not speak of the politics involved, but it was messy and ugly. I prayed and prayed and prayed that our bill would be passed and midwifery would be legalized. But 6pm came, and midwives remained felons. I was numb. I was heartbroken. I couldn’t imagine how my friends felt, who had already spent four years at the Capitol trying to legalize midwifery, and had already tasted such bitter disappointment four times over. It was so unjust. But we still had a small glimmer of hope: at the end of the 2007 legislative session, a bill legalizing certified professional midwives (or someone holding “tocological certification”) was passed. When the state medical organizations realized what had happened, they challenged the law in court. We hired an attorney and fought back. Those big wigs assumed we were just a bunch of silly housewives, but they were about to learn we were a force to be reckoned with. When the 2008 session ended, the Missouri Supreme Court still had not ruled on the tocology law. And so we continued to wait.

I was cruising on the Mediterranean Sea with my mother when it happened. Knowing the Supreme Court was going to announce their decision any time, we (well, she, honestly) shelled out the cash so we could check our email on the cruise ship. It was about 3am in Missouri on June 25th when I logged in and saw the email that dumbfounded me and brought tears to my eyes: “MISSOURI WINS!!!” It couldn’t be! But it WAS! The Missouri Supreme Court had sensibly determined that the Missouri State Medical Association (MSMA) and the other physician groups didn’t have standing to sue, so they threw out the case, thereby making the tocology law immediately effective and making midwives instantly LEGAL!!! After half a century of Missouri women not having legal midwives, and Missouri midwives running from the law, justice was served. My mother and I spent the rest of our delightful European vacation on Cloud 9, and I knew I would not be returning to the same Missouri I had left.

I returned to a Missouri where midwives were legal, to a Missouri where my sisters and daughters could have homebirths with legal midwives, and a Missouri where I myself could BE a legal midwife. It was an awesome feeling. I do not have sufficient words to describe how huge that was, how huge that is, how huge that will always be. I started my final semester of nursing school, and I could no longer deny that my graduation from college was around the corner. Full-blown adulthood was screaming toward me like a bullet train, and every day went faster than the one which preceded it. Ever since I had first become interested in midwifery – two years before this time – I had thought about it in a future context. When I’m done with nursing school, then I will pursue midwifery. Or, when I’ve graduated college, then I can start midwifery school. All of a sudden, I could think about midwifery in a PRESENT context: the time has come! It’s here, it’s now! If I’m honest with myself, it was just as nerve-wracking as it was exciting.

I decided about this time that I was going to stop battling God over whether or not I should go to Newlife/the Philippines, and just take the cosmic hint, and apply. (I’m a little slow on the pick-up sometimes). Newlife started in the fall, like all schools do, so I knew I would have an awkward eight-month chunk between graduation and when my “real life” would begin. I quickly decided that I would get some “silly nursing job” to bridge the gap and save money for tuition. I applied at University Hospital here in Columbia, where I had done the majority of my clinicals. My classmates were all flustered about applying to ten different hospitals and getting a jump on things on September 1st. Myself, I applied for two University jobs in mid-October, roughly two months before graduation. I had two interviews, one with 5 West and one with Labor & Delivery (I’ve thought soooo many times, Maybe I could *change* L&D, maybe I could make it a whole different world all by myself…). But I always wake up from that fantasy pretty quickly. Plus they wanted me to work nights, which I could not do because I had already committed myself to lobbying at the Capital in the 2009 session at least two days a week. (Plus I have a firmly ingrained circadian rhythm).

I knew I had to take a “silly nursing job” that wouldn’t (a) get me fired, or (b) make me go home crying every night. I had already done my senior practicum on 5 West, so I knew the people and the protocols. It made for an easy transition. The patient population on 5 West comprised all things traumatic: car accidents, motorcycle accidents, gunshot wounds, knife wounds, horseback riding accidents, falls from ladders/balconies, you name it. It also included all things surgery: hernia repairs, gastric bypasses, dialysis accesses, appentdectomies (appendix removal), cholecystectomies (gallbladder removal), and surgical complications (chronic wounds that never heal). Nothing about this excited me; in fact I found it pretty lame. However – I had no ethical problems with trauma/surgery nursing either (at the time -- I do now, wouldn't you know it?), which is a LOT more than I could say for OB nursing!

I got my silly nursing job squared away with as little effort as possible as I poured myself into my Newlife application. I prayed over it. I wrote a book of an answer to each essay question (they said to be thorough!). I had multiple people read it and edit it. I finally submitted it in early February of 2009, right at the deadline. Meanwhile, graduation had come and gone, which was celebratory and awesome, yet surreal and frightening. Christmas had come and gone, and I felt like the happy-go-luckiness of childhood slipped permanently away from me, tossed to the curb with the wilting Christmas tree. I was stricken with fear. What had I been thinking? How could I possibly manage to work as a full-time staff nurse (which I had never done before) AND be a full-time lobbyist (which I had never done before)?? I felt very alone. January 5th came all too quickly, and, seemingly without my permission, my life crossed the threshold into “the real world.”

Gestating Halley: 1st Trimester

Mon, 28 Sep 2009 05:30:49 GMT

Part II: Finding Myself...Again. I'm back. Time to discuss what I hardly know how to put into words: the over-hauling of my heart and purpose that has taken place without my permission this summer. Honestly, I'm terrified to pen the words.

[This blog of self-discovery has turned out to be much lengthier than I anticipated, thus I am posting it in three sections. Here is the 1st chunk].

For the past three years, my soul has been aglow with the peace of knowing exactly what I wanted to do with my life: become a midwife. Most of my 23 years has been spent not knowing who I am at my core and trying desperately to discover it. But in the fall of 2006, I stumbled upon midwifery. I learned to my horror that millions of women are manipulated, traumatized, wounded, and needlessly cut open every day in our "modern" maternity system. I found out to my great happiness that there is another way, a beautiful, under-appreciated, constantly misunderstood, and sometimes illegal way to have a baby: at home with a midwife, a wise woman, by your side. And I instantly wanted to be a wise woman myself. Conception.

Gestation began as I started to nurture this dream within me. I quickly became engrossed with the study of all things birth. I joined Yahoo groups and email lists. I poured over advocacy websites and read every book I could get my hands on. First it was "Baby Catcher," by Peggy Vincent, a homebirth nurse-midwife's autobiography. I devoured it in 3 days; the initial story was about the first birth Peggy ever witnessed. She was a nursing student at the time, and so I felt a special connection to her from the start. Every birth story was beautiful in a unique way and I wanted more than anything to share in that beauty. The next thing I got my hands on was "Born in the USA: How a Broken Maternity System Must be Fixed to Put Women & Children First," by Marsden Wagner. In sharp contrast to "Baby Catcher," "Born in the USA" was an infuriating unveiling of our money-driven bloodbath of a maternity system. "Baby Catcher" warmed my heart and "Born in the USA" made my blood boil. I started nursing school in January of 2007 and I continued to study midwifery ravenously on the side.

During the summer of 2007 I witnessed a birth for the first time. I was working as a camp nurse at a Young Life camp in northern Georgia, and the secretary at the camp arranged for me to meet a friend of hers who happened to be a midwife. Charlotte* invited me over to eat cantelope and discuss all things birth. She told me she had three ladies due in July, and did I want to come to a birth if it was alright with the families? I was ecstatic!!! My dream come true!!! Charlotte called me a week or so later to let me know that one of her clients had agreed, and that she would call me as soon as she went into labor! It was 3AM July 20th when I got the call. We sped off into the Georgia mountains and my heart was racing with anticipation. Grace* labored beautifully with her husband at her side. The lights were low, the house was quiet, the children were sleeping. A sweet baby girl was born at 5:05AM, when she was ready, and she slipped gently from her mother's body into waiting hands on the bed she was made on. No one ever took that baby from her mother. There was no need. I was a silent observer and I took it all in with awe. I was so humbled. So overcome. So enchanted. I knew I would never be the same.

A couple months later I completed my OB rotation in nursing school. The contrast between home and hospital birth was stark and cruel. The second birth I ever saw was a cesarean section. I'll never forget seeing that woman's uterus sitting on top of her abdomen, silverly blue and sickly looking, with the fallopian tubes hanging off like chicken legs on either side. It was so violent, so taboo, and yet all too real. It will be reality for 31% of all the women who give birth in the US today. I'll never forget in OB lecture when we were learning about episiotomies (a surgical cut into the vaginal tissue toward the anus, done to enlarge the vaginal opening for delivery). Our instructor (a mother of 4) talked about episiotomies as if they were no big deal, mundane even. I raised my hand and tersely asked why informed consent was not required for doctors to perform episiotomies (read = surgery) on women. My instructor did not know what to say, and stammered through an answer about how episiotomies are simply part of the labor & delivery process, and a woman consents to a possible episiotomy when she starts receiving care from an obstetrician. (Hmmm I thought, I should keep that in mind if I ever see a cardiologist; I'll be consenting to open heart surgery by walking through the door!).

I should mention here that I started thinking about how and where I would pursue my midwifery education very early on, before my OB rotation, before I witnessed that beautiful homebirth in the Georgia mountains. I have always been a researcher. I have always been a scientist, wanting an answer for every question. (I really don’t know how people lived without the Internet!) I endlessly OBSESSED over what route I would take into midwifery: certified nurse-midwife (CNM), or certified professional midwife (CPM)? I would think to myself, Well, I’m going to be an RN anyways, so it really makes more sense to become a CNM, and it’s more socially acceptable, and it’s legal everywhere…but CNMs practice in hospitals, and pretty much have to do whatever their collaborating physician/hospital says. Two seconds later I would think, Well, then I should be a CPM instead. CPMs attend homebirths, which is what I want to do, and they often have more autonomy. But being a CPM might make me a felon, and the Board of Nursing won’t like me being a RN/CPM! What a quagmire! (OK, maybe I don’t use the word “quagmire” in my thoughts, but you get the picture.)

Eventually I decided that I was going to be a CPM, because homebirth was and is *so* important to me, and I just figured I’d move to a legal state, and the heck with the Board of Nursing. I POURED over CPM schools/distance learning programs/apprenticeship possibilities, but I was enchanted by one of the first I discovered: Newlife International School of Midwifery in Davao City, Philippines. It was everything I was looking for: the mission, the passion for women and babies, the passion for sharing Christ’s love, the clinical experiences and curriculum, the opportunity to learn about a different culture, the chance to stretch myself immensely and grow extravagantly as a professional, as a person, and as a believer. I was in love. Even so, the thought of uprooting my life and moving across the world for TWO YEARS terrified me. I would brush it aside…and the Lord would put it on my heart again…I would brush it aside…and the Lord would put it on my heart again. I did this repeatedly over the course of two years, unable to ever completely dismiss or embrace going to the Philippines. In the midst of my confusion, the action continued…

I Knew I Loved You Before I Met You

Fri, 14 Aug 2009 19:55:12 GMT

I feel different. I feel exhausted yet alive, defeated yet hopeful, and unsteady but expectant. Most beautiful of all, I feel more cherished than I ever have. So much has happened and changed in the last three months. In many ways I feel like a different person from who I was when I last posted on May 5th. So much has happened since then, both externally and (more significantly) internally. Part I: Jeremiah.

On April 16th I met the most incredible man. It was a blind date (something of which I have always been cynical), but it was arranged by my aunt, who's judgment I trust thoroughly, and it came at a time I was unusually open to stepping out of my comfort zone. (In the two months preceeding this blind date, I had gone on my first date period since HIGH SCHOOL, plus I had been casually dating someone I met on the INTERNET for a few weeks...somehow I stepped so far out of my little comfort zone I couldn't even see it anymore). "So how bout it?" my aunt said, and I thought to myself exactly this: "What the hell? Why not?" I gave her permission to share my phone number and email address with the selected suitor. Five days later on a Saturday evening, I got a phone call from Jeremiah. (It wouldn't have seemed as long as it did if my aunt hadn't called/texted at least 3 times in the interval to ask if he'd called me yet). Jeremiah seemed friendly and fun and easy to talk to. Our brief conversation basically consisted of..."Oh so you work weekends?" (Yes). "And you live in Columbia, right?" (Right). "Well if we're ever in the same city at the same time, we should meet up." (Will never happen coincidentally, I figured). I quickly decided that I wanted to meet Jeremiah ASAP so that I could know who he was from the get-go, instead of contemplating unrealistic expectations and then potentially being disappointed/disillusioned when we did eventually meet. (Which is exactly what happened with the Internet guy...it was icky). Jeremiah started a friendly email conversation on that Monday, and on my 2nd or 3rd reply I told him I was going to be in St. Louis on April 16th and 17th to see a Cards game with my family, and if he wasn't busy would he want to hang out? (Of course I never had any plans of going to a Cards game with my family during that time span; my sole purpose in driving to STL was to meet him, but I needed a cover story!)

So we met at the Kirkwood Kaldi's on Thursday evening, April 16th. It was natural from the very beginning. I was stunned by how insanely good looking he was (of course I had stalked him on Facebook, but he is all the more attractive in real life). The conversation was easy and fun, and I tried to be a good listener, but it was hard because I was in goo-goo-ga-ga land the whole time. I had a very clear yet intensely magical feeling that I was supposed to meet Jeremiah; that it was a God thing, that it had been orchestrated. Meeting Jeremiah was like meeting an old friend. I knew him before I knew him! It was crazy. Crazy awesome. I was so much on Cloud 9 that I tripped over my own feet twice and would have fallen on my face if he hadn't caught me (which felt wonderful). I happened to order hot wings as an appetizer, which was not a move to impress Jeremiah at all, simply a sensible desicion because hot wings are delicious, but I found out later that earned a point in my favor (too bad the wings also gave me food poisoning!). We talked for about 3 hours before saying goodnight and making plans to tour the A-B Brewery ("How's tomorrow morning work for you?" he said. "Great!" I replied, all the while the butterflies in my stomach were doing back-handsprings with glee). It was chilly so I wore his blazer home, which he had lent me earlier (which also felt wonderful). I gushed to my mom about him when I got home, smiling the whole time.

There were a couple more exciting, expectant weeks of the "I want you to know I'm very interested but I don't want to scare you away" dance. During that time we talked on the phone with increasing frequency and increasing duration (30 minutes, 45 minutes, 1 hour, 1 1/2 hours...). Jeremiah went to Denver for a journalism conference and I went to Seattle for my cousin's graduation from seminary. My travel to and from Seattle ended up being hellish (something out of a National Lampoon movie as JMac said), but it couldn't have had a sweeter ending: a date with Jeremiah. May 3rd. That was the day he met my parents (and my dog), took me to the Chocolate Bar AND out to dinner AND to a movie AND out for ice cream, and it was the date when we first held hands (which made me melt like butter inside), first did the prolonged hug/snuggle (X-men will really put you in the mood), and yes, when we first kissed! Hands down, it was the best kiss ever. EVER! I knew immediately that I wanted to kiss him many, many more times after that :)

On May 7th we had a 12-hour date, noon to midnight. I loved every second of it and wished it could have gone on longer. On May 11th Jeremiah came to see me in Columbia and at lunch we had the DTR (the "determine the relationship" talk for those of you who may not be fluent in Christianese bizarre slang). He said (in the most irresistable way) "So when do I get to be your boyfriend?", and I said "Now!" YAY!!! That was a little over 3 months ago now, and I have been head over heels happy ever since. Since making it official, JMac and I have gone to Atlanta for a weekend, spent a week at the beach with his whole family (who live in Virgina and therefore I had not met any of them prior to us all vacationing together...a bit nervewracking, but it was wonderful and I adored them!), he's hung out with the Watson clan on multiple occasions, and we've had many, many, many great conversations (deep, painful, enlightening, scary, difficult, sweet, or all of the above!) and many, many, many kisses. Every time I say goodbye to him to return to Columbia is harder than the time before, and every time we reunite it's sweeter and more amazing than the week preceeding. I am madly, madly in love with him and it feels so good to say it and hear it all the time.

He's a long-lost friend I didn't know I was missing. He understands me, which is such a precious and rare thing, as many people don't. He believes in me, he challenges me, he wants me, he loves me. I told him yesterday it's like that Lonestar song...he's that easy, peaceful feeling at the end of a long, long road...he's like coming home. I have thought more than once that no one could really be this happy; that surely couples who seem to be perfect for each other aren't actually, because life just isn't that kind. And it's true; life isn't that kind. But as Jeremiah has reminded me, God is that good. It brings tears to my eyes to think that Jeremiah McWilliams is *MY* boyfriend and that Jeremiah McWilliams loves *ME*...I knew the Lord delights in giving good gifts to His children, but I never imagined He had a gift this good waiting for me.

Stay tuned for the related Part II: Finding Myself...Again.

A Dreamer of Dreams

Wed, 06 May 2009 04:10:28 GMT

I love when Gene Wilder says that in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory..."We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams." He's so confident of the inherent good in dreaming. His eyes twinkle and he knows the magic of his reality -- the chocolate river, the flying glass elevator, the lickable wallpaper, the everlasting gobbstopper -- are the magic of dreams come true. His dreams are his life, and his dreams are vibrant and beautiful and good.

Sometimes I get discouraged about chasing my own dreams. Sometimes I feel foolish for wanting to be blissfully happy instead of moderately content. Sometimes I feel selfish for wanting to follow my calling and feel ALIVE in my work, when I have a decent job that I don't love but more than pays the rent in this crumbling economy. Sometimes I feel bad about desiring to do what I love instead of pursuing what's practical.

But I think that's the devil talking. Yes, sometimes I am foolish, and certainly selfish. But when I remember who I am in Christ, and remember the King of the Universe made no mistakes in creating me, I remember that I too can have the twinkling eye of Willy Wonka. I am a music maker, and I am a dreamer of dreams. That's who I am, and that's what I do. I dream all the time about every kiss and every sweet nothing and every moment of belonging that I hope to someday share with my husband. I gleefully anticipate the day I will be pregnant and carry my babies and birth them into this world in fantastic power, strength, and love. (I really hope I make some 10-lb babies so I can be living proof that the female pelvis freaking works!) I want every single day to be a midwife even though I am blessed to be a nurse. I want to do whatever it takes -- quitting my job, moving home, losing money, losing respect -- to become the midwife I know without a doubt God crafted me to be. Just about the only thing I don't want to do is wait...and Lord help me if that is what You want from me.

I want to be alive. I want to stand up and do something. I don't want any more days to pass when women are manipulated, blindsighted, threatened, abused, invaded, and mutilated; when I wasn't doing everything in my power to stop it. I can't save everyone, but I can save this one...and this one...and this one...and it matters to them. I want to protect my sisters and friends and daughters. I want to be a servant for all womankind. I want justice. I want to make no money and be on-call 24/7 and pull my hair out going from one 72hr birth to another one. (It's gotta be a calling when you want to do crazy stuff like that!)

Grad school for $3,300 is incredibly practical. A Master's degree makes so much sense. And it's not that I don't desire continuing education, but it's not what I long for right now. I know I "should" do it now, like you should save for your retirement when you're 20 even though you won't see the fruit of it til you're 50. But I want to catch babies and be up to my elbows in placentas! I want to love, and sing, and breathe, and run! I am and will always be a dreamer of dreams!

What's Next?

Fri, 24 Apr 2009 00:44:11 GMT

As I lay outside atop our trampoline, with the birds singing to me and my skirt ruffling in the April breeze, the Cardinals victory still fresh and sweet, everything seems so simple. The Capitol and the hospital feel very far away. Thursday is my Saturday, and for another 24+ hours, nothing can steal my peace. I don't have to fret about any amendments getting tacked on to any bills, or what Senator so-and-so said about Rep so-and-so regarding issue such-and-such. There is no charting to be done, no meds to be passed, no assessments to be completed...I am not responsible for anyone's life right now except my own. My heartbeat is the only heartbeat I hear...S1, S2, clear, regular, steady.

I wish I could bottle up this tranquil afternoon and keep it forever. It's a sweet escape from the uncertainty and frustration that has accompanied me the past several weeks. About a month ago I received word that my application to Newlife International School of Midwifery was not accepted for admittance into the program. I was shell-shocked, numb, peaceful, crushed, peaceful again, and now lost, in that order. That was the plan! I was supposed to work at University -- and moonlight as a lobbyist -- until September, when I was going to move to Davao City, Philippines to begin the rest of my life as a midwife. God spoke "Newlife, Newlife, Newlife" into my heart for TWO YEARS...TWO YEARS! So I finally listened (it takes me a while sometimes) and applied! I POURED over my application for months, making it as perfect as I could. I didn't renew my cell phone contract. I came to terms with the fact that I was going to miss weddings and Christmases, and silly as it sounds, that I wouldn't get a haircut for over a year. I took a job in Columbia because it was pointless to move somewhere else for 8 months just to pack up and leave the country. I WAS READY TO GO!!!! Yes, I was scared sh*&less, but I was willing! Here I am Lord, send me!!! I was going to uproot my entire life and move to a 3rd world country to catch babies and tell people about Jesus!!! Since when does God tell would-be missionaries to stay home?!How is that not the right plan for me???

But it's not. I don't know why. I wish I did. But I got the email saying I'm on the waiting list and to try again next year. I have to make alternative plans now. I wish I could say I'm not at all resentful of the Lord, but I am...(Lord, it hurts. It sucks. I hate it. I know, and I believe, You work all things for the GOOD of those who love You and are called according to Your purpose...but I don't understand how that is so this time. I know it is not my job to know. I know I know all I need to know right now. Help me trust You like I profess to trust You. Remake me once more and gracefully give me peace)...So I'm not going to the Phiippines. The Lord has a plan bigger for me than the one I made for myself, the one I thought was His plan for me. Seeing as He desires for me to do His will elsewhere, I am grateful He caused my application to be rejected, rather than calling on me to turn down an invitation into the program on my own strength. So what is next? Good question.

A few days ago I signed my lease for next year, to stay here in Columbia for the next academic year, until August 2010. Do I want to stay in Columbia? No, not exactly. Do I want to get out of Columbia? No, not exactly. I just want something different. Do I hate my job? No. Do I hate lobbying? No. Does either bring me great joy and make me feel alive? No...no. Does journeying with women from maidenhood to motherhood bring my great joy and make me feel alive? YES! That is what I want to do! I know what I want to be when I grow up! Awesome! Is there a way to do it right now? Maybe, maybe not. One of the great practical perks of the school in the Philippines was that there were no living expenses..."just" tuition, books, and a couple flights around the world. I've been saving 80-90% of my paychecks, each one going into my midwifery savings fund. I was hoping to raise support for the rest, and count on God to bring in the money for the school I thought He had called me to. So now instead...there are U.S. schools, yes. But I would have to pay rent and utilities and gas money and food in Florida, or Washington, or California, or Maine. On top of tuition and books. And I wouldn't be able to work while in school, because such is the life of a midwife: you are on-call 24/7 because babies come into the world whenever they feel like it! So, more expenses an no way to pay them. I'm still saving nearly all of every paycheck I get, but it will take significantly more savings to go to midwifery school in the U.S. I know God is bigger than money, and He will make it fall from the sky for me if it is His will, but my puny human understanding of His power is, well, puny.

Apprenticeship is certainly an option, and an option I'd love to grab on to! The problem is, we have a midwife shortage...which means we have an apprenticeships shortage. My dear friend may possibly be able to take me on as an apprentice this fall (which would be amazing!!!), but she lives 3 hours away from me...I haven't ruled it out but the distance does create a bit of a head-scratcher. Just as I could not work (a typical job as a nurse) during midwifery school, I could not work during an apprenticeship either...and Ameren and the City of Columbia and my landlords will still want money from me in exchange for electricity, and heat and water, and the roof over my head. I could move back to St. Louis and live with my parents (and then they instead of me, in their incredible love and sweetness, would pay for the roof over my head!), but there don't seem to be any apprenticeships available in the STL area. Maybe I just have to wait for Mr. Right to come along so he can bring home the bacon! (Mr. Right, if you're out there reading this, I would appreciate you presenting yourself sooner rather than later).

So, in the meantime, if, as I am starting to come to terms with, I cannot pursue becoming a midwife in the very near future, I must do something else. Starting in July, Mizzou will pay 75% of any Masters program I may want to pursue, so long as I continue to work for them full-time. It is an accessory dream of mine to get my Masters in Public Health. Mizzou has a very new MPH program...but I hear lots of good things about it. Tomorrow morning I have an appt in the Nursing School about the Nurse Practitioner program...do I want to be a NP? I don't think so...but maybe I could be persauded? (I am going to stare at this poor lady tomorrow morning...I don't even know what to ask). It just seems so silly, I *KNOW* exactly what I WANT to do, but life is preventing me from doing it! Will I keep working on 5West, doing the Med-Surg thing? Will I transfer into a OB position? Will I go back to the Capitol next January? Will I have to keep working weekends and forego having a social life? Will I take on the PR Board position for the birth center? Will something take me away from Columbia?

So many possibilities and so many unknowns! I cannot pretend I am not defeated about feeling that the one thing I REALLY want to do is an arm's length (or, on some days, lightyears) away from me. But His plan for my life is for my highest GOOD. And it is for His glory. I have to believe that. My life is bigger than just me. He is at work, and He will not stop halfway. The tranquility will return, despite the passing of this April afternoon. Jesus, make me an instrument for Your peace. And make me at peace with the instrument you fashion me into.

What Our Mothers Didn't Tell Us

Thu, 23 Apr 2009 23:27:03 GMT

I recently finished reading Danielle Crittenden's 1999 book, "What Our Mothers Didn't Tell Us." I couldn't put it down. It was irreverent, absolutely, and compelling without a doubt. I love it when authors are not afraid to speak their mind without worry (or in spite of worry) of cultural backlash. The premise of Crittenden's book is something that has long intrigued me, and to a certain extent, also offended me: feminism has failed women. In her introduction, Crittenden put it this way (paraphrased)...In 1970, the problem was that society recognized women were women, but failed to recognize they were also human. Today, the problem is while we recognize women are human, we have forgotten women are women...she goes on to devote chapters to sex, love, marriage, motherhood, aging, and politics; making a convincing case that not only is it OK to desire to be a wife and mother (and not only an independent career woman), but it is an innate and beautiful part of being female.

I have always longed to be a wife and mother myself; no dream is dearer to my heart. At various points in my life, I have also dreamed of being a singer, a doctor, an author, a journalist, an attorney, a nurse, a policy maker, and a midwife. And those dreams are also beautiful and meaningful and important. Today I am a nurse, and I am going to be a midwife too. But I have always felt a certain degree of shame that what I really, REALLY wanted -- to marry the man of my dreams and make babies with him -- was inferior and silly and June Cleaver-ish of me. Thus, reading Crittenden's book was so liberating and paradigm-shifting for me! No longer must I feel it is wrong or backwards to hope for what my heart wants most.

Read the book; I very highly recommend it. It is challenging and brave. You may love it or hate it, but I can promise you it will make you think.

http://www.amazon.com/WHAT-OUR-MOTHERS-DIDNT-TELL/dp/0684859599/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1240527894&sr=8-1#

Beautiful & Courageous

Fri, 27 Mar 2009 23:25:07 GMT

Gloria Lemay, fabulous childbirth activist and healthy living extraordinaire, has a delightfully irreverent blog I enjoy reading: http://www.glorialemay.com/blog/

I noticed today that according to Gloria, VBAC (generally "Vaginal Birth After Cesarean") stands for "Very Beautiful And Courageous." How awesome is that? I have several good friends (and know of *so* many others) who have not been able to have vaginal births. In some situations, the cesareans were necessary (or became necessary based on mismanagement of care), but for too many mothers and babies, normal birth was denied based on convenience, impatience, or the power disparity between patient and provider. And no one bothers to educate women regarding the vast physiological and emotional importance of birth as God designed it. There is no consciousness among women today that tells them that cesarean section is as much like giving birth as artificial insemination is like making a baby. Sometimes it is necessary, yes, of course, it saves lives and will continue to do so. But when used inappropriately, it kills and it maims too, if not the body, than the spirit. God meant for childbirth to be Very Beautiful And Courageous. It is a tragedy that it is so often not for so many women. But how wonderful that there is restoration to be found. That even if a woman's first or second birth is not Very Beautiful And Courageous, she can have a VBAC. We must fight to make sure she will always be able to.

You know what else is Very Beautiful And Courageous? My friend Steff talking about midwives at the Iowa White House Forum on Health Reform! http://www.thebigpushformidwives.org/index.cfm/fuseaction/whatsnew.main/index.htm

The Call

Fri, 20 Mar 2009 21:07:31 GMT

"For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable." (Rom 11:29-30 NKJV)

http://midwiferytoday.com/articles/the_call.asp

"I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit - just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call - one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all." (Eph 4:1-6)

Mmmm I Want Me Some Gilbert Blythe...

Fri, 20 Mar 2009 04:29:53 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3qmwGGBwwc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_TvY3jGqebM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfgghOastk8

Dreaming of My Beloved

Thu, 19 Mar 2009 23:08:19 GMT

Over the past few months I have started dreaming about my future marriage again. I used to think about it all the time...what he'll be like, how he'll make me feel, what our life together will encompass. I would pray for my future husband often...asking God to keep Him safe, encourage him in his walk, and let him know how much I love him. There was one particularly sweet time in January of 2006...I asked God to tell my husband I loved him...and later that same day, I heard God speak to me with utter clarity: "He says he loves you too, Halley." I had an incredible peace and certainty that God had in fact delivered my message, my husband had received it, and he had asked God to give me that specific message in return. I write my husband letters from time to time and plan to give them to him someday when we're together. But until recently I haven't thought about him a whole lot...sometimes it is easier to fain neutrality than it is to burn with desire.

Being neutral hurts less...there's fewer opportunities for the world to crush my dreams and tell me I'm idealistic and old-fashioned, and there will be less pain if it turns out marriage is not part of God's plan for me. But the thing is, I'm not neutral about marriage. I'm not indifferent at all. I am romantic, and idealistic, and old-fashioned, and I do believe God is preparing a mate for me, and my heart has no deeper yearning than to be a wife and a mother. Being a dreamer is one of the most ingrained parts of my nature. Gilbert Blythe once said to Anne Shirley, "Have you any unfulfilled dreams, Anne?" She replied, "Of course. We would be as good as dead if we had nothing left to dream about." So I'm going to set myself loose to freely dream about my husband once more...

My husband is an incredible man of God. He's steadfast, noble, devoted, humble, patient, and kind. He belongs to Jesus Christ and desires to continually know & serve him. His heart overflows with love for Jesus, his first love, and he is crazy madly in love with me, his second love. Integrity, excellence, and justice mark his words and deeds. He has a servant's heart and consistently thinks of others before himself. His heart breaks for what breaks Jesus' heart and has no greater longing than to glorify and serve the Lord. He yearns to be the hands and feet of Christ to this aching world, and pours out love and hope and peace on every soul he encounters. He is intentional about cultivating his relationship with Christ and makes time to pray and be in the Word frequently. He longs to know Him, seeks to serve Him, and loves to love Him. He revels in his adoption as a son, crying "Abba, Father!" and running to the Cross with tears of joy. Knowing he has been completely justified and made new by the blood of Christ, he lives life to the fullest for God's glory, singing praises to His name that He made Him who had no sin to be sin for us. My darling and I never cease to be amazed by how wide, how long, how high, and how deep is the love of Christ.

He is a strong but meek spiritual leader, gently guiding us into deeper communion with Christ and inviting me to follow. He deeply understands the Biblical roles of a husband and wife and makes it easy for me to respect him and submit to him in a way that is freeing. It is never about the man ruling over his wife or the woman being subdued, as the world corrupts and interprets what the Bible teaches about marriage. I believe nothing could be further from the truth. There is no place for a ruler and a minion in a Christian marriage; such roles are incredibly destructive for each spouse and not what my husband and I desire at all. We desire to see each other lifted up. Just as Jesus came not to be served but to serve, so my husband comes to me in our marriage. He loves, honors, and adores me, and therefore it's natural and a great delight to follow where he leads. Regarding gender roles, my husband shares the balanced perspective that I embrace. He neither expects me to sit at home all the time nor does he expect me to leave my nursing babies to go back to work. He thinks it's awesome I long to be home with my children as much as possible (pretty much exclusively during their first several years of life, definitely as long as they are nursing), but he also understands it's important for me to have a sphere of influence in the community, secondary to our marriage and family. He loves it when I get all gussied up for him, which I love doing and will do often, but he understands that girls like their sweatpants too. He's the sort of man who doesn't expect me to always cook dinner just because I'm a woman. He's willing to whip up a yummy meal, just as I'm willing to rake the yard. We do things together, because we just love being together.

He can always make me laugh and put a smile on my face. He is still a child at heart...he loves to be playful and mischievous, and has no short supply of silliness. Although he is certainly mature, he understands how precious it is to still be able to view the world through a child's eyes. He loves my child-likeness. He thinks it's adorable that baseball games make me cry and football games make me lose my voice from cheering so loud. He loves to splash in puddles with me and run through sprinklers. He loves a rousing round of cards or Taboo or Capture the Flag, and he plays Charades like a pro with all the Watsons at Christmas. And he likes roller-coasters, of course. My beloved is a lifelong student. He is fascinated by a variety of topics and he makes an effort to learn about the things that intrigue him. He is highly curious, intelligent, deep-thinking, and open-minded. He searches for opportunities to grow personally, emotionally, academically, and spiritually. He believes in challenging his convictions, being open to alternative possibilities, and learning/trying new things -- all the while holding firmly to the unwavering Truth of the Gospel. He is a friend who loves at all times, believes God's mercies are new every morning, and knows that mercy triumphs over judgment. He seeks to understand rather than be understood, a commitment I make as well. He's the sort of man who doesn't equate sensitivity with weakness, and he is refreshingly real. He isn't too proud to cry. I will cherish the moments we can wipe away each others tears.

As my old youth pastor used to say, a man of God should be "dangerous in a good way." A warrior for his woman and her Braveheart through and through. My husband is such a man. His heart is rugged, wild, fierce, and free. He will pursue me to the ends of the Earth and fight for me always. Have you ever seen the movie King Kong? There is an awesome scene during the film when Anne finds herself in the middle of 3 T-Rexs! Completely at their mercy, she is doomed. Until King Kong comes bounding through the trees and beats the snot out of all 3 of them! Here is the best clip I could find on YouTube, when he takes out the last one: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Tt9P2qWfWg

Unfortunately the video ends before you get to see him snap the dinosaur's neck -- it's so awesome! I could watch that scene over and over again. I realize it's about a huge gorilla, but that huge gorilla embodies the heart of my husband. He risks his life for Anne, his beloved. He takes on her demons and marches into battle for her. King Kong protects Anne from physical harm, but my man shields me from emotional harm and spiritual attack as well. When I fall down, he's there to pick me up. When the world betrays me, he's there to make things better. If physical danger were ever to befall me, he willingly will take the punch so I don't have to. Of course only the Lord can be my Ultimate Warrior; only Christ can take on all my burdens, only the Spirit can fully heal the wounds of my heart. In no way do I expect my husband to entirely fulfill, shield, or heal me. I know full well that only the Messiah can do those things, and I'd never dream of placing that responsibility on human shoulders. Likewise I cannot take on that responsibility for my husband; we each must go first to the foot of the Cross. However, in an earthly but still wonderful way, he is there for me and he does fight for me. I have someone in my corner. And he loves fighting for me, and I love being fought for.

My darling is a hopeless romantic. He is a gentleman to a fault, always opening the door for me and offering me his coat when I'm cold. He wants to stay awake just to watch me sleep. He surprises me with flowers and candlelit bubble baths and weekend getaways. And I surprise him with his favorite meals, long massages, and no shortage of sexy lingerie. He knows his way around the dance floor. He'll stay up with me til 3AM just because he can't wait to hear the next thing I say. He takes care of me when I'm physically sick or emotionally distraught, and I do the same for him. He frequently tells me I'm beautiful, and he sees my beauty from the inside out. Many have told me I'm beautiful on the outside, but my darling thinks my heart is the most beautiful part of me. He delights to knows my quirks and unearth the depths of my soul. Just as I desire to be known, I want to know the depths of his soul as well. He entrusts his heart to me as I entrust mine to him, and we relish in the freedom to be vulnerable with each other without fearing abandonment. He kisses my neck and my forehead and wraps his arms around me. He writes love songs and/or love letters, and loves receiving the same from me. I catch him staring at me from across the room even after years of marriage, and the sight of him always makes me weak in the knees. My man's primary love language is physical touch like mine. He loves being touched and snuggled and caressed and massaged. He gives really good hugs and is a passionate kisser. He's affectionate in public. He loves to cuddle and wants to hold me and be held all night long. He longs to be showered with physical affection at every opportunity and wants to have a very active sex life. My husband longs to surrender his body to me as I long to surrender my body to him. I plan to entrust my sexuality to my beloved and want him to entrust his to me. I believe sex is one of God's greatest gifts and that we ought to enjoy it to the fullest. To my mind, this means being all over each other all the time! I desire a sensual and erotic marriage, that's both about making love and the raw physical pleasure. I'll tell you this: on our wedding day, we'll be running to the honeymoon suite as fast as possible.

My husband is an all-around awesome daddy and family man. He loves my sisters as his own, and his the big brother they've never had. He likes talking sports or business with my daddy, and he is the thoughtful sweetheart of a son-in-law my mother can't wait to have. He's committed to knowing and loving the important people in my life, as I am committed to knowing and loving his family and friends. We make it a priority to share our love and time with the Watsons and his family as equally as we can regarding holidays and reunions. My man loves babies and kids, and couldn't dream of not having a family. He's excited about playing peek-a-boo, hearing "Dada" for the first time, throwing around the football, and attending ballet recitals. He rejects the notion that being a tender father makes him weak. To the contrary, he sees it as a joy and a responsibility to swaddle (and wear) a crying baby, kiss boo-boos on scraped knees, and wipe away tears and make things right in his children's magical world again. My darling and I are committed to raising our little ones in a strong and affectionate Christian home, in which our kids grow up praying, reading the Word, and trusting in their Savior, as they watch their parents lead by example. Having not grown up in a Christian home myself, I have a rather vague picture of what this will look like. Even so, my desire to teach my children the powerful healing love of God from the youngest age is unmovable, and I trust that desire along with His grace will more than triumph my lack of personal exposure to the in-and-outs of a believing home. My husband and I support and practice attachment parenting: co-sleeping, baby-wearing, and absolutely breastfeeding, among other things. While we have compatible ideals regarding parenting, more significant is our willingness to compromise with one another.

My guy believes in redemptive discipline over punishment, in dealing with his earthly children the same way our Heavenly Father deals with His children. We teach our children that they are to be obedient and respectful, but we always draw them back into our arms of love when they fall short. After all conditional love is not love at all. My husband and I believe that children are blessings from the Lord and deserving of respect and humanity from the moment they are born. Our children (I'd love 4 or 5, or more or less depending on the Lord's will) mean the world to us. That being said, my man and I agree that the greatest gift we can give our children is a stable home and parents who are in a loving covenant marriage. My grandfather told my father on his wedding day, "You know the best thing you can do for your children? Love their mother." I believe in the wisdom of my grandfather's words, and I am committed to putting my husband first, loving my children's father to subsequently love my children well.

We believe in celebrating God's glorious design for reproduction and the human body: living in harmony with fertility instead of fighting it, embracing pregnancy as one of the most blessed and beautiful seasons of life, approaching childbirth as a normal and glorious occurrence instead of as a medical event, and nurturing our children on mother's milk for as long as is mutually acceptable for motherbaby. In keeping with these beliefs, my man is supportive of my decision to reject artificial birth control methods. Because he loves and honors my body, he honors my cycles as well and is willing to participate in Fertility Awareness/Natural Family Planning. Ardently celebrating the uniqueness and complexities of masculinity and femininity, my husband is delighted to walk with me through my pregnancies, captivated by the beauty of my pregnant form, and excited to watch me transform from maiden to mother. He not only understands my passion for woman-honoring birth and midwifery, but is passionate about it himself. He eagerly looks forward to welcoming our babies into our own home, perhaps on the same bed we'll make 'em on. He realizes that circumcision of baby boys is medically unnecessary and damaging, and that because of our new covenant in Christ, there is no religious need for circumcision either. He understands breastfeeding is the only truly healthy way to nourish our babies, and he's proud of me for nursing wherever I please.

In addition to honoring God's design for fertility, pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding, my husband and I are committed to nurturing the whole of God's design for the human body. We pay attention to nutrition and exercise, for our bodies are temples and not our own. We seek the counsel of wise friends or professionals when our emotional health warrants it. We celebrate our sexuality and raise our children to think their bodies are beautiful instead of shameful. My own mother always used the real anatomical terms for our body parts and when we asked her where babies came from, she gave us honest, age-appropriate information. She nursed my younger sisters in my presence all the time. I desire to follow my mother's sensible example in raising my own kids, and my husband is on board.

As if he could get any more amazing, he firmly supports my calling as a midwife, and is graciously flexible regarding my crazy on-call life. The only thing I yearn to do more than be a midwife is be a wife and a mother, and therefore, my work as a wise woman will come second. When I consider missing my 3-yr-old's birthday party and the nights of interrupted lovemaking, it makes me ache inside. And still, the calling to midwifery overflows in my heart. My husband -- if this man I long for is real -- sympathizes with my conflict of heart, and helps me live as God calls me to live, as I encourage him to chase the dreams God made part of him as well. At the end of the day, we will still be together, committed for all time, two who became one.

My husband. I long for him immensely and love him with all I am. He is so good, much beyond what I can dream up I'm sure. He's my best friend. The deepest desire of my heart & a dream I will keep on dreaming. I can't wait to be in his arms.

RN -- Real Nurse!

Tue, 24 Feb 2009 04:40:08 GMT

I am a registered nurse!!!! Halley Watson, RN, BSN! Yeah! It's such a weight lifted from my shoulders, and I am so relieved to have the NCLEX behind me! It was long and hard and very anxiety-producing, but I did it! I am going to be getting my LICENSE in the mail very soon! Thank you Jesus!!! You are so good and all the glory goes to You!

My orientation to 5 West (and the nursing wold in general) has been interesting...I spend most days feeing like an idiot! My preceptors are wonderful -- Jessica graduated from nursing school just about 20 months ago, so she's not so far removed that she's forgotten what it feels like to be new -- but she's also been around long enough to know how everything works! Kevin is my weekend preceptor, and he is like a big brother looking out for me but letting me do my own thing. I feel somewhat conflicted regarding my competence in all things 5 West: Trauma and Surgery Services. On the one hand, I scramble around all day (chicken with no head, precisely) trying not to fall behind and lose all control. On the other hand, apparently I am one of the best new nurses on the floor! My preceptor brags about me to the other nurses, and I keep hearing comments from other staff like "Oh you're that awesome orientee I keep hearing about!"

It's encouraging to hear for sure. Just a little strange when I feel so lost a lot of the time. There certainly have been "punch-your-fist-in-the-air-cause-you-just-kicked-butt" moments. I inserted an NG tube (a nasogastric tube...plastic tube that goes down your nostril into your stomach and gets connected to suction to relieve pressure/vomitting) for the first time and I did it with finesse -- my patient has had one put in before, and as you can imagine, it is not a pleasant experience by any means, but he told me I did a great job! A few weeks ago, in the middle of a high-pressure, hellish shift, I started an IV successfully all by myself with no supervision! Heck yeah! My preceptor said "You got it in on the first try?! Awesome! Who helped you?" I smiled back at her and said "No one." Yesterday my patient started having chest pain and was showing changes on his telemetry...I recognized the problem, took action, and pretty soon I was giving nitroglycerin, drawing cardiac enzymes, and trying to assess an EKG! Turns out his Troponin I was indeed elevated, not by much but still -- I recognized and intervened for a heart attack!

What a sweet, sweet day it is today. I am an RN. I am really proud of myself. It reminds me of what that mother said in Orgasmic Birth..."There are very few times in life when you can tell the world you are proud of yourself. But I am proud of myself. I am SO proud of myself!" Now granted, I didn't push out a baby today. But I have been gestating this RN for 4 years and today was the delivery! Thank you Lord for bringing my journey to fruitition!

But What if Something Goes Wrong?

Thu, 01 Jan 2009 22:32:06 GMT

Many people question the safety of homebirth along this line of thinking: "Most births are okay, but things can go bad quickly, and when they do, don't you want to be in the hospital?"

Here are some expert responses to this question:

"Midwives are trained to recognize problems before they become emergent, and to stabilize the emergencies that come without warning, namely hemorrhage and fetal resuscitation. But the most powerful answer is really the Daviss and Johnson study, which looked at CPMs, (who were both licensed and unlicensed) and concluded that babies were born just as safely in their hands. So the argument that "things can go bad really quickly and it's better to be in a hospital" just isn't borne out by the data. Things can go bad and that's why it's important to have a trained birth attendant and *access* to emergency care." -- Jennifer Block, author of "Pushed: The Painful Truth about Childbirth and Modern Maternity Care"

"Hard things happen in life. Birth is no different. Are there things that could "go bad" at home that would be better handled in the hospital? Yes. But the surprising thing is that there are things that happen in the hospital that either wouldn't happen at home, (like hospital acquired infections, the complications of inductions or cesarean section) or would be better managed at home (shoulder dystocia, need for most newborn resuscitation). The honest truth is that the same number of hard things happen at home or in the hospital. Whenever hard things happen in the hospital, everyone presumes that "they did all they could" and so the outcome was inevitable. When hard things happen at home, everyone presumes it was BECAUSE they were at home and that the outcome would have been better in the hospital. Nobody can really play God--not doctors, not nurses, not hospitals, not midwives. The data is clear--the outcomes are equivalent (but different) in hospitals, birth centers, and homes (unless you count an unnecessary cesarean as maternal morbidity, then we really should be legislating that women ALL stay home)." -- Elizabeth Allemann, MD

"Here's the other thing I say--most of the emergencies that are handled during birth--whether in the hospital or at home or in a birthing center are managed with HANDS. Not machines or surgery, but with hands. Shoulder dystocia--turn the mother over, turn her again, ask her to stand, then the list of maneuvers (from the latin for hands) done with hands. Cord around the neck--removed or cut with hands or baby birthed through. Hemorrhage--manual removal of the placenta(again from the latin for hand), bimanual uterine massage, THEN drugs. Prolapsed cord--presenting part held off the cervix with a HAND until an emergency cesarean can be performed. Any one with average intelligence, clear intention, and enough experience can have skillful HANDS. The initial training--medical or midwifery or nursing or osteopathic or naturopathic--is important but fades quickly as the years of experience add up. I love to say in the right place when the "cord around the neck" thing comes up that there is no "remove the cord around the neck machine"." -- Elizabeth Allemann, MD

Looking for a Wing

Tue, 30 Dec 2008 23:03:02 GMT

I'm starting a real job on Monday. And I'm going to be lobbying for midwifery all the time. Holy $%&#. I'm scared. I keep playing "what if's" over and over in my head...what if something happens to my patient and I don't know what to do? What if all the doctors and other nurses think I'm stupid? What if I screw everything up at the Capitol? What if I kill someone?! ...As you can tell, these "what if's" can easily get out of control.

But you know, as much as I hate to admit it, the part that scares me the most has nothing to do with nursing or midwifery. It's not even related to code blues or legislative scheaming. The part that scares me most is that I feel like I've got no one in my corner as I make this life transition. Now I know I have my family and many, many wonderful friends who love and support me. But I want someone to take me under their wing and hold my hand and tell me everything's going to be okay. My mom was really good at that when I started kindergarten, and high school, and even college, but I'm not a little girl anymore, and we don't live in the same city, and I'm just feeling like, as amazing as my mom is, I can't rely on her to be "my person" anymore.

So, of course, the natural course of these uneasy feelings leads me to start thinking that I need a boyfriend. Not just that I WANT one (which is true and I'm totally cool with), but feeling like I actually NEED on (which I don't think is true and makes me frustrated to think about). I want someone around who actually wants to hear about the details of my day-to-day life. I want to know there's someone praying for me for the little things that seem too trivial to ask other people to pray for. I want someone around who will let me cry and hold me and makes things better when they go wrong.

So I tell myself that God is my Romancer, God is the Lover of my Soul, but, true as it may be (Isaiah, "God is your Husband"), such affirmations don't help me at all. My roommate and I had a healthy Facebook chat about this, and she freed me from what I thought was an obligation to think this way, that God fulfills my desire for belonging and romance. She reminded me that it's OK that this affirmation no longer helps the way it did when I was 16, and suggested that instead of struggling to think of God in this role (and consequently feeling like a "bad Christian" for not being able to), I ought to find a new context for the Lord's faithfulness and goodness. Shepherd. Refuge. Counselor. Shield. This helps me.

I know if I needed a mate at this time I would have one. I understand. I must be stronger than I think I am. God the Shepherd will bring me home when I can't find my way. The Lord my Refuge will let me hide and cry and be safe. Jesus the Counselor will whisper wisdom into my life and teach me how I am to function here and now. Christ the Shield will protect me from the onslaught of the enemy and protect me from hands too strong for me. But I'm going to keep looking for a wing. I think this is okay.

Let Me Remember my Song in the Night

Fri, 19 Dec 2008 00:30:23 GMT

"We endure anything rather than put an obstacle in the way of the Gospel of Christ." ~ 1 Corinthians 9:12

Jesus, help me remember to hope not in my will, but in Yours. You do not withhold any good thing from Your children, but simultaneously You inform us that we will suffer for Christ and for Your glory. Not to punish us or humiliate us, but to make us the best image of ourselves: more like You. Help me to remember to set aside my worries (most of them trivial) about the future, the stress, and the unknowns, and help me to more willingly say, "Here I am, Lord! Send me!"

"And hope does not put us to shame, because God's Love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." ~ Romans 5:5

I feel like the world like to tell people that hope is foolish and whimsical and childish. But You know better, Jesus. True hope -- hope in You -- cannot be extinguished. Because it's real. Because it can be backed up. The Holy Spirit has been given to me and all who believe. I've been drenched in the love of Christ. And thus all HOPE is not lost. My heart can continue to dream and flourish, delighting itself in the treasures and challenges that may lie ahead from my King.

"But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart." ~ Luke 2:19

I love this simple verse. I imagine Mary is just a few hours postpartum (and probably a little ticked off that she's had to entertain shepherds when she's exhausted). This is one of the grandest scenes recorded in the Bible -- the birth of Christ! The time is monumental and everyone is talking about it. But Mary is quiet. She has been incredibly faithful, in the face of losing her husband and her reputation, maybe even her life, and now that the angel's promise has been fulfilled, she can ponder. It feels good to know that Mary was a ponderer. Because I am a ponderer. This verse tells me that God made women ponderers on purpose, and that I can be comfortable in this part of my design.

"What I tell you in the dark, say in the light, and what you hear whispered, proclaim on the housetops." ~ Matthew 10:27

This verse makes me want to be a missionary.

"God is waiting to be put to the test by His people in prayer. He delights in being put to the test on His promises. It is His highest pleasure to answer prayer, to prove the reliability of His promises." ~ E.M. Bounds

A feel-good quote I have written in my Bible. A good reminder. So often I fret about things, the large, but more often the (eternally) small. I could be praying about all those things instead of worrying about them, allowing my Lord His highest pleasure...making His promises come true. I'm reminded of another quote by Luther: "Pray, and let God worry."

A Change of Heart, A Change of Attitude: Instead of saying "Wow, this is really difficult so God must not want me here," say "Wow! This must be really important, because look how much Satan is doing to stop me."

This is EXACTLY what I need to tell myself every day (really every hour) when I FREAK OUT about becoming a nurse and a lobbyist at the same time and not knowing how to do either job well! But that is also how I know God wants me exactly where I am -- He uses the weak to lead the strong, and the foolish to shame the wise (1 Cor 1).

"By day the Lord commands His steadfast love, and at night His song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life." ~ Psalm 42:8

A lyrical reminder of His everlasting presence.

"Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry, and He will say 'Here I am.'" ~ Isaiah 58:9

I should tatoo this on my palm. Seriously -- I need to know this always. Isn't His goodness, gentleness, and steadfastness unbelievable? Who else can be so constant but our God?

"I consider the days of old, the years long ago. I said, 'Let me remember my song in the night; let me meditate in my heart.' Then my spirit made a diligent search: "Will the Lord spurn forever and never again be favorable? Has His steadfast love forever ceased? Are His promises at an end for all time? Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has He in anger shut up His compassion?' Then I said, 'I will appeal to this, to the years of the right hand of the Most High.' I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember Your wonders of old." ~ Psalm 77:5-11

I will remember the deeds of the Lord. I will remember when He transformed my relationship with my mother, as He continues to do daily. I will remember when He saved me from my unhealthy relationship with my ex-boyfriend...the saving was excruciatingly painful, but it was necessary and I am better for it. I will remember when He revealed to me my calling to midwifery, after years of not knowing who I was to become. I will remember now that He is faithful when I am faithless. That His mercies are new every morning. That nothing is impossible for God. That if the King of the Heavens is with me, who can be against me? That when my circumstances feel more unsure and wobbly than ever, it is His righteous right hand that upholds me. He makes me remember my song in the night.

Sweet Sixteen

Tue, 09 Dec 2008 21:44:16 GMT

I attended my 16th birth yesterday, and it was a sweet sixteen. It was the 2nd homebirth I have attended, with 14 hospital births in between the homebirth bookends. Although I have witnessed 15 births prior to Peggy's, hers will remain with me for a very long time. It was her first baby, and that alone made it extra special. When I arrived at Peggy and Blake's house on Monday night, Peggy was a young married woman. She is just a few years older than me and I felt like she was a peer, that we were at somewhat similar stations in life and that I could identify with her. I shared hot chocolate and a bowl of ice cream with Peggy, Blake, and Peggy's mom Nancy, as we sat around and talked about our families, our faith, and how Blake and Peggy met. I was incredibly impressed with Blake's affection and attention to Peggy from the moment I walked in the door -- I hope I have a husband like that someday. I admired their humble and precious home, filled up with lots of love. Peggy's labor was just starting to become active, with increasingly intense contractions coming about every 5-7 minutes. Peggy was chatty and excited, and just as adorable as she could be too. She called her midwife to come over, and we continued getting to know one another.

The midwife and her apprentice arrived about 10PM, followed shortly by Peggy's friend Susan. The birth team was assembled. I didn't know it at the time, but it was the beginning of a long, challenging, and deeply rewarding experience. The midwife checked Peggy and found her to be 4cm, 90% effaced, and at -1 station. Peggy soon decided that she wanted to get into her birth tub in the kitchen. This was the first birth I have attended in which the mother used a pool for labor (and potentially birth). She labored like a warrior from the very beginning. She labored like a lady too -- even when labor was at its hardest, she still smiled between contractions and was so positive and sweet. The beginning of Peggy's active labor started with a concern: her baby's heart rate was in the 160's and 170's several times. The midwife explained to Peggy and Blake why these high heart tones were concerning, saying that over an hour of a rapid HR would cause fetal distress and require intervention. We were all scared. There were tears. Despite everyone's natural fear over this news, I now believe the Lord was preparing all of us, especially Peggy, for what was to come. He was building our trust in His sovereignty over the birth journey. The midwife administered a homeopathic, and we gathered around Peggy as Blake prayed for the baby's heart rate to stabilize. Jesus answered our prayers -- her heart rate was great from then on.

Peggy continued to labor. She took breaks from the pool and then would get back in. Nancy, the soon-to-be grandma, prepared snacks for everyone and was just the sweetest hostess the whole time. She was also a great support for Peggy, and mother and daughter seemed in tune throughout. Susan and I looked through the midwife's herbs and homeopathics and ooed and awed. I helped document on the labor flow sheet. I listened to heart tones. I smiled at Peggy and told her how marvelous she was doing and tried my best to exude love in every way. This was my first hands-on doula experience, and I was really shooting from the hip and praying God would make me as helpful as I hoped to be. I quickly picked up on the fact that Peggy did not need six people around her all the time. We took turns, with Blake and Nancy doing the majority of the direct labor support. I washed dishes. I boiled water and poured it into the birth pool (I snickered to myself every time I boiled water, it seemed so stereotypically homebirth). Susan, the apprentice, and I watched "The Bucket List" in Peggy's living room. We dozed off to sleep here and there, and Susan said she thought the baby would come by 3AM. Peggy got out of the pool around 2:30 and went into her bedroom. I fell asleep somewhere around that time and woke up at 4-something with my contacts glued to my eyeballs. During the interim, the midwife checked Peggy again and she was 6cm.

By 7AM Peggy was 8cm. She was doing it! She walked around some, but spent most of the time in her bedroom with Blake. We watched the end of the movie and Nancy made scrambled eggs. I started to get anxious that the baby wouldn't be born by 10AM, when I needed to leave to make it to Jeff City on time for an afternoon at the health dept for my community health class. When 9:30 arrived with no baby, I called my preceptor and told her my friend was having a baby and that I needed to come on Friday instead. At 10 the midwife checked Peggy again and reported disappointing news -- she had gone back to 7cm. Obviously this was discouraging news for Peggy. She was working SO hard. It didn't seem fair. A little while later, we invited Peggy to read some Bible verses with us to encourage her...Genesis 25:24, Luke 1:57, Isaiah 66:9 and others. We suggested a change of scenery and offered that it might help for Blake and Peggy to take a walk outside. Instead it turned out that everyone else went on the walk instead of Blake and Peggy, but that was fine too. We walked up and down the road, chasing their dog, while Peggy and Blake labored on the porch. Eventually the midwife got a text from Peggy saying she was getting back into the pool.

We returned from our walk as Peggy continued to labor like a warrior woman. We spent the afternoon somewhat in the background, as Blake stayed by his wife's side. The midwife spent some time talking to Peggy about her fears, as we wondered if unrealized or unspoken emotions were holding things back. Around 2PM, when it was very clear that the baby was not coming any time soon, I had to make a difficult decision. I needed to leave immediately if I wanted to make it to the Columbia party for Kurt Schaefer in time. One of the purposes of the party was for Schaefer to associate my name and face with the midwifery cause! I was supposed to be co-hosting the event, for goodness sakes! We had been planning it for weeks. But here I was, at Peggy's birth. Not yet a midwife by profession -- and thus not yet living on call -- I didn't know what to do. The midwife in attendence, as well as Mary, Elizabeth, and Susan, were just as kind as they could be. They told me they could not make the decision for me. I felt obligated to attend the party, no I WANTED to attend the party, the prospect of a senator who would listen to us was and is so exciting! But it made me ache to consider leaving Peggy. I didn't feel like an irreplaceable part of her support team. I know the midwife certainly didn't need me around. Part of me felt selfish for wanting to stay when I rationalized I was more directly needed in Columbia. But in the end, I didn't care about any of that. I was midwifing Peggy the best I knew how at the time, and every moment passed and every moment to come was so precious. I listened to my tears. I told Mary my heart needed to stay with this brave new mother in Springfield. I know it was the right decision...because as much as I care about "the cause," it means nothing to me compared to individual women and babies.

Around dinnertime, when Nancy had amazing lasagna baking in the oven, Peggy was becoming discouraged again. She was STILL 8 1/2cm. We decided to try some black and blue cohosh to make her contractions more effectual. One of the coolest parts of being at Peggy's labor and birth was how much the midwife counted me as a partner and asked for my opinion in all proposed changes to the plan. It was incredible and so affirming! I don't know the first thing about black and blue cohosh, but the midwife still cared what I thought! She is a very gentle and considerate woman, and treated her apprentice, Susan, and me with the greatest respect the whole time. Peggy and Blake consented to the black and blue. It worked quickly! Peggy's contractions soon become nearly overwhelming and brought her to tears. At this time, we took a more active role in labor support. We took turns holding her hand, resting our hands on her knees and rocking with her, offering her drinks of water and Emergen-C, and telling her how amazing she was doing. She labored sitting on the living room couch, standing or leaning on a chair occasionally, for the majority of the evening.

By 8 or 9PMish, she had no cervix left except for an anterior lip. At one point, we gave her some Pulsatile(?) to help dilate away the rest of the lip. Peggy labored much of the night on her bed, sitting or on hands and knees. It was a very, very difficult time for her. She was obviously exhausted, having been awake for over 36 hours and laboring actively for over 24. At one point she said in desperation, "I just want to go to the hospital and have a c-section!" My heart just broke for her. My goodness, it was sooo hard and soooo long. The midwife lovingly explained that first they would want to try Pitocin and attempt a vaginal delivery at the hospital too. Peggy continued to labor. Blake went into the other room to take a nap around 11ish, and we had a session of being solely "with woman." It was beautiful to watch Nancy labor with Peggy. It was beautiful to watch Blake with Peggy as well, very much so, but the mother-daughter beauty was special in a different way. We prayed. We waited. We slept.

I left the room to take a cat nap around 12:45. When I returned about 1:30, Peggy's water had clearly ruptured (it had been leaking for two days) and she was completed dilated! When the midwife reported the good news following the vaginal exam, I lost my birth composure and reverted back to my cheerleading days: I shouted "Woo hoo!" and pumped my fist in the air! Whoops :) Peggy, very lost in transition at this point but still surprisingly composed, said, shaking, "Praise the Lord!" She had the urge to push almost immediately. With Blake on her right and her mom on her left, she naturally pushed with each contraction for the next two hours. She was exhausted and doubted herself, but she had a renewed sense of purpose now. We reminded her that this too was normal. The midwife reminded her that although pushing was slow, it was steady: the pushing was going much better than the dilation had! We did some minimal breath coaching and suggested position changes and encouraged Peggy to feel the baby's head with her fingers, but for the most part, Peggy just followed her instincts as the midwife applied warm compresses to her perineum. It seemed like a short time (for us) from Push #1 til crowning, around 3:30AM. When Peggy told us she could feel the burn, and reached down to check her progress after a long time since her last check, her eyes opened wide and she said "Oh, wow!" when she felt that her baby's head was exposed nearly to it's widest diameter! It was a transformative moment -- all of a sudden, Peggy knew it was true: she really WAS about to become a mother!

With Blake in awe and Peggy in fierce determination, she pushed her baby's head out at 3:38, and the body at 3:39. As she emerged, we saw what the hold-up had been: she has a posterior nuchal hand, the little stinker! She had her hand on the back of her head, so it took a loooong time to achieve full dilation due to the lack of uniform compression of the head. But no matter -- Peggy did it anyway! Because of the positioning of the baby's hand, and the quick delivery of her body, her elbow shot out to the side as it passed through the birth canal, causing perineal and labial tears :( But I don't think Peggy noticed in the least. As soon as she had that sweet baby girl in her arms, everything else faded away. The look on her face was priceless. She was in complete joy and told us with her eyes that it had all been worth it. She and Blake held their daughter close and inspected her from her head to her cord to her toes. She was pink and screaming from the time she was born; we assigned her Apgars as 8 and 10. She was perfect. Peggy pronounced that her name was Nancy Mae, named after her own mother. Realizing what time (and day) it was, I said "Happy Birthday" to both mother and baby. Peggy was born on December 3rd herself, and now so was her daughter. How cool is that?

Peggy shot out her placenta in the first first contraction she had after delivering. It was so simple, and such a blessing, relieving Blake and Peggy's fears of placental complications. While Mom, Dad, and baby fell in love and figured out breastfeeding, the midwife cleaned up Peggy's perineum and inspected her tears. They appeared jagged and complex, as we realized it wasn't only a perineal tear. We conferred in the kitchen about what to do. The midwife asked me how my suturing skills were(!), to which I replied I had zero experience. (I can take stiches out...) We decided this was beyond everyone's skill level at the birth, and that we needed to call in reinforcements. Blake began trying to get a hold of a church friend of theirs, who happened to be an ER doc. He was unavailable, so as it turned out, Peggy and Blake had to make a trip to the hospital. It was unfortunate, but necessary. I found out later that the trip to the hospital went very well, and that mother and baby were doing fabulous, so I feel great that Peggy got the care she needed without hampering her beautiful birth experience. We loaded her up on Chlorophyl, helped her to the bathroom and into some clothes, and tucked her into the car. Grandma Nancy was more than happy to love on Baby Nancy during this time. I gave Peggy a hug before they set off, and she thanked me for being there. I didn't have any words at the time, but I wanted to tell her thank you for letting me witness her miracle (I thought of the words later, and sent her a Facebook message, silly as that is). I slept on her couch for two hours before driving back to Columbia, back to school, back to the land with decent radio stations. I thought about her miracle the whole time. She pushed a baby out, yes, which is totally and utterly amazing, but she also became a mother. More subtle, often unnoticed or undervalued, but completely spell-binding and transformative. She gave birth to herself as a mother. In an instant, she changed not only her physical form and external circumstances, but also her very soul, perspective, and purpose. She knew she couldn't do it. It was bigger and harder than anything she'd ever done in her life. It was impossible. But she DID do it! SHE DELIVERED her baby. When I arrived at her home on Monday night, she was a young married woman, and a lot like me. Now she knows the secrets of motherhood. Now she is a mother = a woman who can do anything.

Sixteen is sweet indeed.

My Grandma...

Tue, 25 Nov 2008 06:09:41 GMT

...is eighty-eight years old.

...was born at home on August 10, 1920, the same year women got the right to vote. Miss Stumberg was the midwife, and she caught 7 of my grandma's 8 siblings as well. Here's the house where she was born!

...has been known to answer the door in hot pink short shorts or her bra.

...likes to complain about the "old people" on the road who drive too slow, while she herself drives down the left-hand side of the street.

...used to have a booth at Soulard Market in St. Louis where she sold everything you might want and nothing you'd ever need.

...has a house full of all the junk she wasn't able to sell at Soulard or the antique mall. Sometimes we find treasures in all that junk.

...used to buy about 300 boxes of Girl Scout cookies from me to sell at Soulard on my behalf so I would get all the sweet prizes for her hard work.

...enjoys harassing waiters and makes sure they earn their tips.

...retired at about age 85.

...raked leaves in her backyard with Harmony and I yesterday. (She changed out of her hot pink shorts first).

...sits on 3 pillows stacked atop her driver's seat in order to see over the steering wheel.

...says "Joy to the World!" all the time. And "Namaskar," which means, "I salute the Christ in you."

...gives the best foot massage ever!

...has about 20 index cards that say "THINK!" plastered all over her house.

...took my sisters and I to Ted Drewes a few years ago to give us a lecture on oral sex. We about died!

...tells me there are gypsies living across the street from her.

...has saved every card or painting or present I ever gave her.

...cries easily, but laughs easier.

...always says, "The light of God surrounds you, the love of God protects you, the presence of God watches over you, wherever you are, God is."

The Boob Lady

Sun, 23 Nov 2008 05:27:57 GMT

On Thursday morning I had the great pleasure of shadowing the breastfeeding peer counselor at the Cole County WIC office (Jefferson City, MO). The Cole County WIC office discovered some time ago that if their dietitians counseled breastfeeding to their pregnant clients, the women were no more likely to attempt nursing than if they had received no counseling, but that if a PEER encouraged breastfeeding, women were more likely to give it a try. Renee, once a WIC client herself, is now the Cole County breastfeeding peer counselor, and thanks to her hard work, the breastfeeding initiation rate has jumped from 20% to 60%!!!! Incredible!

Check out the awesome banner that is hanging in the Jefferson City WIC office:

I sat in with Renee -- affectionately called "the boob lady" by some -- as she met with a variety of pregnant moms. Some were primips (first baby), some were multips (2nd+ baby), some had nursed before, others had not, but all were of low socioeconomic status, quite young (the oldest mom we saw was 20!), and most thought breastfeeding was weird or gross. Some of the WIC clients feel they cannot breastfeed because their breasts "belong" to their boyfriends/husbands. Others were squimmish and embarrassed to touch their own chests, to which Renee would reply, "Their YOUR breasts, you can touch them!" Another woman was telling us with her body language that she had likely been abused...she kept her amrs crossed over her breasts the whole time we talked. It was definitely a different culture. Renee was so fabulous with every woman who came through her door. She talked about the nearly limitless benefits of breastfeeding, the ingenious advertising of formula companies, and the myths surrounding breastfeeding and nursing difficulties. She demonstrated various positions and had the women try for themselves. We watched video clips of breast compression and contrasting good and poor latches. But the coolest thing she did was give her phone number to every single woman so that they could call her with questions and postpartum breastfeeding assistance.

By the end of my shadowing experience, Renee and I had become fast friends. We soon discovered that the other was also an earthy mama, and we had a great time discussing breastfeeding and a variety of other topics! "The Boob Lady" is a kindred spirit and doing a great work in Jefferson City!

Elective Cesarean Section & Abortion

Thu, 20 Nov 2008 06:15:46 GMT

This one really gets me. I know many people in my "birth circle" who are rightfully disgusted at the notion that women should have the "choice" of an elective cesarean section. These women (and I include myself in this group) would explain to the proponents of elective cesarean that offering this surgery up as "a woman's choice" is an unfair, and even dishonest angle, because it is not an INFORMED choice. My friends and I would then continue such a conversation to explain to the cesarean proponent that major abdominal surgery has many risks for mother and baby, and even claims lives, and thus c-section should not be done unless medically indicated. To propose elective cesarean be available for any woman at her request is to con and undermine women to the detriment of their health and the health of their children.

I have many friends in my birth circle who are pro-choice and many who are pro-life. And I must say I am fascinated that my pro-choice and pro-life birth friends will all generally agree with my first paragraph, despite what I feel is a clear relationship between elective cesarean and abortion. And what I find even more fascinating is that I can reason myself onto either side of the issue! What a mind-expanding topic this is! Allow me to divulge:

One school of thought says that just as it is unjust and twisted to promote elective cesarean as a woman's choice, it is unjust and twisted to promote abortion as a woman's choice. There is evidence that abortion hurts women, and I don't think anyone on either side of the debate can deny that the decision to abort a child is always a painful and incredibly difficult decision. (I don't buy the labeling of pro-choice women as "pro-abortion," I think it's absurd and makes the pro-life community lose credibility in the eyes of the pro-choice community, who are miffed that their viewpoint is misinterpreted). So anyways, there is evidence that unnecessary cesarean hurts women -- infections, hemorrhage, blood clots, increased pain and longer recovery, bowel obstruction, PTSD, less bonding and more breastfeeding problems, and yes, sometimes cesareans kill women. Check out www.ican-online.org to learn more. And there is evidence that abortion hurts women -- anxiety, depression (sometimes very severe), relationship problems, substance abuse, PTSD, hysterectomy, bleeding, pain, and yes, women around the world die from botched abortions every day. Check out www.rachelsvineyard.org to learn more. So if you follow where I'm going with this, it makes sense that if a woman believes that all "choices" presented to women should be INFORMED CHOICES, and that it is cruel and insulting to manipulate women into choosing potentially harmful elective cesareans, such a woman would feel the same regarding the manipulation of women to choose potentially harmful elective abortions, and thus be pro-life. I see this school of thought being based on the conviction that complete and unbiased information should always be presented to all women.

However, I think there is another school of thought that makes opposition to elective cesarean consistent with the pro-choice philosophy. These women object to the promotion of elective cesarean not only because it can be physically harmful to women, but because such promotion robs women of unrestricted access to vaginal birth, which is entirely true. The cesarean rate is getting higher and higher with each day it seems, and abundance breeds normalcy, normalcy breeds acceptance, and acceptance breeds a new status quo. As cesarean becomes status quo, it has the direct effect of putting vaginal birth out of vogue. And when vaginal birth becomes unaccessible, as is happening all over the place (the VBAC crisis!), a woman's birth options are restricted. And because cesarean is often seen as the solution to every challenging dilemma, some women are being forced to have c-sections by court order! Any pro-choice woman will tell you that a woman has the right to decide what happens to her own body. She should be able to decide whether or not she wants drugs during labor, whether or not she wants prenatal testing, whether she wants to give birth at home or in the hospital, and whether or not she wants to have an abortion, AND a woman should be allowed to say "yes" or "no" to a cesarean section! It is an unimaginable breach of human rights to stick a scalpel in someone's abdomen against their will! Everyone agrees that women should have choices and their right to make these choices should be safeguarded fiercely (I don't buy the labeling of pro-life women as "anti-choice," I think this is absurd as well and makes the pro-choice community lose credibility in the eyes of the pro-life community, who are also miffed that their viewpoint is misinterpreted). The promotion of cesarean section makes c-section pervasive, which makes a woman's choice FOR HER and thereby punishes all the women who desire and deserve care for a vaginal birth. Using similiar thinking, the restriction or attempted restriction of abortion services makes a woman's choice for her and punishes the women who do not have the resources or support to become parents. It makes sense that a woman who agrees with this rationale be pro-choice. This school of thought is based on the conviction that a woman has authority over her own body.

Cesareans and abortions. Both epidemic. Both very difficult and complex issues. In case you were wondering, I do fall conclusively into one of these schools of thought. I am pro-life. (In another season of my life I was pro-choice.) I have dappled on each side in my spare daydreaming time with lots of ifs, ands, and buts, and this relationship between cesarean and abortion has made me more understanding and compassionate for those on each side of the abortion issue. Side note -- I really wish pro-choice folks would stop assuming pro-life folks are old-fashioned, prudish religious zealots who have never made a bad decision in their lives; and I really wish pro-life folks would stop assuming pro-choice folks are heartless, immoral murderers who are out to kill as many babies as possible. Both stereotypes really annoy the crap out of me. I'm glad my circle of sisters can generally agree regarding c-sections, regardless of which conviction(s) brought us to that position.

My Favorite Things...

Sat, 25 Oct 2008 17:59:01 GMT

Per Katie's suggestion, I am going to take 10 minutes to brainstorm my favorite things and thank the Lord for all the blessings in my life:

rainy days curled up in sweats and a blanket--hot tea--walking around Capen park with the wind blowing over me--getting warm blankets for hospital patients--building my birth books library--hot chocolate--Mizzou football games--blogging--buying a new dress--emailing and calling far-away friends--road trips--musicals--reminiscing good times--recognizing the healing that has gently greeted me regarding the not-so-good times--pens that work really well--the Office and Friends--Busch Stadium--pregnant bellies--fighting Dad for the sports page at breakfast--sweet words from sisters--manicures and pedicures--watching a movie I know by heart--tortellini--holding hands--dancing--the first snow--Turkey Day--Christmas at Faf's--Bud Light Lime--coffee dates with girlfriends--daydreaming about "the one" and wondering when he'll show up--YL camps--not being able to put a really good book down--talks with Mom--good hair days--St. Louis--newborn babies--birth art--a really good margarita with a heavily salted rim--Mom's chocolate chip banana bread--my legs--making photo collages--watching the leaves change colors--making my friends watch birth movies--Harry Potter--October baseball (but really only when the Cardinals are in the playoffs)--weddings--hearing God's voice in my life--surprises--bubble baths--uncontrollable laughter.

Thank You, Father. Thanks for being in the big stuff and the little stuff. Thanks for lavishing your love on me so.

Americans: Sex-Addicted Prudes

Fri, 24 Oct 2008 22:37:36 GMT

OK. So plunging v-necks with popping cleavage is tasteful, but breastfeeding in public is disgusting. And pornography is acceptable, but a woman giving birth in the nude is disturbing. Clinton told the whole nation that oral sex isn't really sex, but oral/manual nipple stimulation during labor is inappropriate. Hmmm...can you say contradiction?!?!

Can you tell I have been rather frustrated by our culture the last few days? Last Friday evening, the Columbia Community Birth Center hosted a FABULOUS cake competition and champagne gala, and Uprise Bakery submitted the prize-winning cake: chocolate cake in the shape of a life-size water-birthing woman!!! It was incredible -- every pregnancy and birth junkie there LOVED it! See below :

Amazing! Exquisite! Beautiful! Unfortunately, not everyone thought so. I understand that it was an unusual cake, I really do. But I had blissfully forgotten that our society is so painfully Puritan. They thought it was a shocking breach of a cultural taboo. A few were even appalled by the cake and refused to eat it. I know it's just a cake, but it really breaks my heart. I suppose I now take it for granted that the female body, and especially the pregnant female body, is so extraordinary, powerful, and full of beauty. I forget that not everyone understands this. I forget that our culture thinks female bodies are sexy and desirable (but not beautiful and normal), and sexy only behind closed doors, darkened magazine covers, and inside the male imagination. What a cruel dash of reality.

There was a lot of cake left over, so I went home with the right breast, which was AWESOME. But my roommates and I couldn't eat it all, so I took it to a football watch party the following evening -- the people at the party were by and large folks I didn't know well or at all, by the way. I knew it would make things wonderfully awkward and I wasn't disappointed -- a few were repulsed, a few were intrigued, and most just didn't know what to do! One guy actually had the nerve to tell me it was disgusting -- I really wish I would have snapped something back about the stack of Playboys he undoubtably has in his bedroom!

So there you have it. Americans are sex addicts and incredibly prudish at the same time.

Take a look at that awesome cake. Look at her power, look at her grace, look at the way she gives life. It's not that she is exposed, it's that she has nothing to hide. It's not that she is naked, it's that she's worked up a sweat and has the freedom to be comfortable. It's not that she's scandalous, it's that she's natural. Look closely. Can't you see how beautiful she is?

Football & Jesus

Sun, 12 Oct 2008 21:07:03 GMT

A few things...

(1) I am devastated that Mizzou lost last night to OSU. Gosh it hurts my heart so bad! We were supposed to win and take over the #1 or #2 spot in the rankings, and go on to whoop some UT booty next week in Austin. We were supposed to be the brilliant, unstoppable Mizzou offense and dominate like we always do. It was supposed to be a night of victory, of celebration, of exhilaration. Instead we fell apart, Chase Daniel threw 3, THREE!, interceptions, and absolutely nothing went our way the whole game. Instead our offense was held to 23 points, had multiple 3-and-outs, and could not sustain a lead for more than minutes. Instead it was a night of pain, heartbreak, and very high blood pressure.

Today we are ranked #11. We are still a respectable team, and if we do win next week at #1 Texas by some miracle, we will be back in the top 5 hunting for that national championship. But it just wasn't supposed to be this way. I can't stop replaying all the "what ifs" in my head, over and over. I can't stop thinking that Chase Daniel's Heisman hopes are pretty much history. I can't stop hating the state of Oklahoma and their stupid orange cowboys. I told my mom I was sorry for telling that obnoxious OSU fan to shut up, but I'm not really all that sorry. (Let's face it, I'm not a lady). Every home MU game, I so look forward to the absolute joy and transcendence that comes from college football victory. There's just nothing like it. It makes you feel so fabulously alive when you're on top of the world...and it crushes your spirit when you get disappointed. It makes you bleed...black and gold blood for this girl. My loyalty to the Tigers is unshakable. It's like (1) Jesus, (2) birth, (3) MU football. I guess God just knew I needed a reminder that football is only the 3rd most important thing in the world... ;)

(2)Church today -- and lately in general -- has been pretty darn sweet. As Dave said at the beginning of his message today, "The prayer room is now the crying room." I love that The Crossing makes me feel that it is OK to cry about football. Anways, the series we've been going through is based loosely on the new book, "unChristian." This book (which is on my list with 500 others of those I need to read) presents the sobering research findings concerning how a new generation (those aged 18-41) perceives Christians. There are six troubling associations many people have with Christians (and honestly, who can blame them?): (1) judgmental, (2) hypocritical, (3) sold out politically, (4) sheltered/naive, (5) treat others as projects to "get saved," and (6) anti-homosexual.

Last week Keith gave an INCREDIBLE talk regarding the culture's perception (and unfortunately, the reality) that Christians are anti-homosexual. This has also been a personal issue for me -- I have two very close family members who are gay. I can't even explain how much it gets under my skin when I hear people, **especially Christians,** say, "Oh my God, that's so gay." It always makes me want to reply "Oh my God, that's so gluttony." "Oh my God, that's so coveting your neighbor's sheep." It makes me so incredibly ANGRY, not to mention embarassed, when I hear about Fred Phelps wielding his horrific signs that say "God hates fags" and other horrendous phrases. It makes me want to jump up and scream, "Those words and actions do NOT represent Christ!!!" It's sick, it's sick, it's sick. These hateful people claim to love JESUS. Jesus! The Friend of Sinners! HELLO?!?! Here is the thing, as Keith said so well -- we get angry with people who sin DIFFERENTLY than we do! No one attacks people who are greedy, no one tries to keep their children away from "those greedy people over there" -- because we consider greed to be some kind of "respectable sin" because everyone deals with it, when in fact the Bible says money is the root of evil! Homosexuality is a sin, yes. I'm not disputing that, and if you'd like to, we can talk about it sometime. But the point is that we (Christians at large) compromise the gospel when we focus on one sin to the exclusion of others. I think Billy Graham said it wonderfully: "Why do we focus on homosexuality as if it's the greatest sin? IDOLATRY is the greatest sin!" Guess who's coming to dinner? The poor, the sick, the blind, the lame. And the gays and the lesbians -- gasp. "And such were some of you." (1 Cor 6:11). Please don't say "gay" when you mean "stupid" in front of me...particularly if you consider yourself to be a sinner saved only by grace.

In church today, Dave preached about "getting people saved." About all the outreach, all the Bible tracks, all the surveys, all the talk about the 4 spiritual laws, and all the other superficial crap that makes me want to throw up in my mouth. Here's what the research from Barna Group shows in "unChristian" -- for every one person that responds positively to such evangelism efforts (and God bless them, I don't know how they find Jesus like that, but praise God regardless), but for every one such person, 3 to 10 others respond negatively and become MORE HOSTILE to the gospel message. Doesn't that make you sick to your stomach? It does for me. All that time, all that money...for essentially 1 step forward and 10 steps backwards. The take-home message of Dave's talk today was simple, something Young Life taught me well in high school -- sharing God's love with others has to be RELATIONAL and DEEP and motivated by a GENUINE LOVE for the other person. An agenda to "get someone saved" is perhaps the most unChristian concept I could ever imagine and it grieves me so deeply that people are being PUSHED AWAY FROM JESUS because of such superficial tactics. If you are a Christian reading this, I'll bet anything you would say your coming to Christ was not because of a radio ad or a track from a stranger, but because of a PERSON who KNEW and LOVED you.

(3) In other news, I am making a donation...

to locks of love!!!! 11 inches off!!!!

Spared

Tue, 07 Oct 2008 22:54:50 GMT

I'm still shaking. On my way back to Columbia today from Jeff City, I got caught in a huge rainstorm. I didn't think much of it, because I was pumped about my successful morning at the Capitol and enjoying happy songs on my ipod, (and had fallen into the trap of being too comfortable with driving and not giving car accidents the reverence they deserve), but then everything changed in a flash. I looked down at my ipod for just a few seconds, and when I looked up, the SUV in front of me was braking nearly to a stop and I was still going 70 mph. Instantly I gasped and swerved into the left lane, where there was also a car, so I had to swerve back into the right lane immediately. With the highway being so wet and my jerky movements going so fast, I started hydroplaning out of control. My steering wheel and brakes suddenly became useless and I was at the mercy of physics. I don't know how many times my car whipped from side to side; I'd guess 4 or 5. I nearly hit the guard rail before spinning around 180 degrees, where my car came to a complete stop -- facing the OPPOSITE DIRECTION on Highway 63!

By a miracle of God, I didn't hit anything or anyone. There wasn't a scratch on my car. But now I was really in a pickle -- my car was stalled out in the left lane of the highway, facing oncoming traffic. I started to panic when I realized I couldn't turn the key. My car wouldn't turn on or off. I flicked my hazard lights on and tried to catch my breath. A white van was charging at me, flying down the highway in the rain and fog. I don't know when they saw me, but I remember thinking I was about to die before the finally darted into the outside lane. Cars were zigging and zagging before my eyes as they desperately tried to avoid my car essentially parked in the middle of the highway. Another car zoomed toward me in the left hand lane and cut over at the last minute. In retrospect, I can't believe how calm I was this whole time. I certainly was hyperventilating and tachycardic and hypertensive, but by the grace of God I was still functioning. I frantically tried to turn the key in the ignition to no avail. I fished my cell phone out of my purse and thought to myself, "Oh my gosh, this is really happening, I have to call 911!"

I glanced down at my gears, scarred to call 911 but scared to die. For a moment I had the crazy notion of getting out of the car and running into the nearby ditch. Then it hit me. When I had spun out of control, I had pushed the gear into neutral. That's why my car wouldn't turn on or off. With a quick burst of purpose, I put the car in park, turned it off, started the engine again, and was back in drive. Beyond the miracles that I was still alive, still breathing, had a perfectly intact vehicle, there were no semis in sight, and I had retained some rational thought, Jesus blessed me once more: I was only twenty or so feet from an emergency turn-around spot...and it was the middle of a weekday. When no one was coming I drove forward the 20 or so feet (going the wrong direction on the highway), and turned around on that pavement that ambulances and firetrucks use during emergencies -- I think this qualified! I pulled back out onto 63, and quivered in shock and disbelief as I drove the last few miles back to Columbia with my hands in the 10 and 2 position. Needless to say, I didn't touch my ipod.

Somehow I made it all the way to my driveway. I turned the car off, turned the lights off, and just lost it. I balled my eyes out, just sitting in my driveway, not believing what had just happened, or how incredibly fortunate I was to be spared. I know that every breath I draw in is from the Lord, but I have never before been so acutely aware of the fragility of life and how quickly those breaths may be gone. I told my mom about it this afternoon and of course really freaked her out. She told me I must have one heck of a guardian angel. I should have died, my gosh, at least been hurt, at least scratched up my car for the sake of all reason! God was at work. He is beyond reason and the laws of physics. Not my time to come Home yet. I know this is going to sound just like Simon Birch...but God must have a really, really awesome plan in mind for me.