undivided devotion

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

I now live in Alaska. It snowed a couple times this week, also known as September . Two weeks ago, after a challenging and confusing summer, after a wonderful goodbye party thrown by my mom and sister, I boarded my first flight to my destination: sweet, small little Galena, Alaska. After five flights, four time zones, fainting twice on one flight, one hotel room, a buffalo burger with a friend, jet lag, and a 16 passenger plane, I made it. I was picked up by my dear friends Amanda and Jake, and  they showed me around my new home while filling me in on what life has been like in Galena. Flying somewhere over Canada. Flying into Anchorage, AK Little 16 passenger plane you cannot stand upright in. Somewhere between Fairbanks and Galena It is small village of about 500 residents, on the Yukon river, and is surrounded by marshland - hence, the only flying in and out the village. I was amazed at the fact that the season of fall was in full force while at ho...

This summer has been hard; I will admit it. It is interesting to think back to the spring and hear what I was saying then, "I just want to exist  this summer, to be ." My desire was to not be bound by school schedules or demanding jobs, but to merely exist as a person. Well, that's what I did. And, to be honest, I did not handle it well. I moved home for the first time in three years. I live in my childhood room and sleep in my childhood bed. I work a few hours a week in a job that is nowhere close to what my degree was in. All of this is fine, it's a blessing, it is necessary. My days consist of not much. They are not that productive, or even measurable. I do not have a job, apartment, car, ministry, or relationship to impress people with. And I have not handled it well. Until recently, I did not realize how much of my evaluation of myself is measured by these things. In school, I always had the fact that I was going to Bible school as my go-to to impress oth...