undivided devotion

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Our Second Child.

There is no way to talk about the joy of our second baby on the way without explaining a little more of the events leading up to this pregnancy. I begin this post with deep love and prayer, knowing our joy has the potential to bring pain to those who are not in the same place of joy. I write this with a new level of sensitivity, knowing that pregnancy announcements can bring up a myriad of emotions. To those who are longing for their own pregnancy or missing little ones they had to say goodbye to, I write this with all the love that I can. I do not know why God allows us to go through those pains or feel those longings; or why it is so different for each of us. But, this is the story God is writing for us; and we will speak it openly with joy, for he deserves all the praise for this sweet story. As you most likely know, our daughter Avery was stillborn on August 21, 2018, when I was 29 weeks pregnant. The loss of her life was, and is, the most painful thing I've walked

Avery's Birth Story

This is our firstborn, our daughter Avery's birth story. While I believe every birth story is beautifully full of pain and joy, I understand that this might be hard for some people to read, so I wanted to just give a heads up: This includes beautiful photos of our little girl, who was stillborn. I am going to share the details of her birth, which even for living children, can be a bit much for some to read. It's written haltingly, in mere facts; my thoughts and commentary may come in other posts, but this is mainly to tell a story. This is a story of life and death. This is the story of an immense love, a profound loss, and a good God. Yes, He is good even in this. Avery Michelle. I was 29 weeks pregnant. My pregnancy had been relatively normal. I have Ulcerative Colitis, which had flared up at 5 weeks pregnant, and I had been pretty sick off and on during the 6+ months I was carrying our baby. We had been nursing my UC with prednisone and enemas to keep thin

Ulcerative Colitis: the story of a sick, bleeding colon

I remember growing up and priding myself on the fact I had never really been sick. I had never had surgery, broken a bone, spent any time at the doctor beyond the occasional check-up. Then came 2013. And the autoimmune diseases started. I was 23. I was diagnosed with Celiac Disease after a summer of weird symptoms, but not a lifetime of discomfort. There was one weekend of me puking with a ton of stomach pain, a blood draw, and a diagnosis of Celiac disease. I had to cut out gluten cold turkey. Cold turkey sandwich, hold the bread, FOREVER. But my symptoms didn't get better. I had blood in my poop. Regularly. I had a colonoscopy during Christmas break of 2013. Not my favorite way to spend a holiday. Results? "You have an irritated colon: here's some steroid cream to stick up your butt, you should be better soon." Fast forward to June of 2015. It's now been about two years of blood in my poop. Keep in mind I am living in rural

a little back story.

It might be good to give some history before I dive in. Context can always help us understand and know others more fully, and our stories are part of that context. Briefly: - Canadian baby, born as the youngest of four to my Egyptian father and Canadian mother. - A move to the big, bad USA as a young child changed the course of that cultural trajectory. - Private, Christian education from pre-k to graduation, created a world of safety, care, and slightly sheltered for my young personhood. Protected me from much of the gross world, for which I am grateful. Still processing through the fearfulness and judgment I can have toward "others" as a result. Mostly great memories, including finishing up my high school years as the only female in a class of eight students. FUN. - A brief stint at community college, then finished my bachelors degree at Bible school, with a degree in counseling. These years were hugely transformational, taking me out of my "big fish in a tin

Remember Rightly.

How quickly we forget. As I've studied scripture over the last year, I see a common theme of humanity: we forget SO easily what God has done for us. And this common theme of God speaking to his people: Remember. Remember rightly. You all know that person, the one who loves to tell stories, gets so animated and excited, but over time the same story starts to change, not intentionally, but just as human nature. The story hasn't been remembered properly. My sister-in-law's husband does this to a fault. He's a GREAT story-teller, but his memory for what actually happened, cannot always be trusted. It makes for some hilarious exaggerated stories. Because: we FORGET. And as the Israelites did throughout all of their history, this forgetfulness leads us to despair, to doubt, to disbelief that God is there for us. So. Here, over 4 years since my last blog post, I decided it's time to share some of my story. To remember, as rightly as I can, the goodness of the Lor

Still.

It's been a year and a half since I have last written on this blog. A year and a half of being stretched and pulled, built up, humbled, all through stumbling and small, baby steps, struggling and fighting to see grace as it was meant to be seen. I do not feel as though I have any profound new truths or big growths to show for the last year and a half. I do not find myself full of deep wisdom or steadiness. Instead it's merely felt like life. Messy, stumbling life. A life in constant, dull throbbing need for the grace of a Savior. For daily grace in daily failure. I find myself in the tension between deep thanks for what God has blessed me with - home, job, adventures, sweet moments with dear people that choose to love me even at my worst, and the struggle with restlessness and discontent - in self, in situation, in the slow, painful process of sanctification. I have held those who have been broken as they cry for hope, crying for a hope only a God they do not know ye