Heart matters
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Faith over Fear: Lets talk about faith
Guest post – Lets talk about everything that’s been going on in our country. Protests against Gender Based Violence, #enoughisenough, wearing black on Friday and all the things that come with it.
It’s been a harrowing week for women and children in our country, but it didn’t start recently. It’s been coming over years and years. Time has passed and our society has become so numb to violence, so conditioned to accept things for what they are, and to just live a life of fear. I have read so many posts on social media when the news broke of Nene and little Amy-Leigh’s kidnapping about how women were afraid. How they try to have strategies to escape being a victim, and how they can’t sleep at night or fear walking down their own street in broad daylight.
I can totally relate.
I’ve been afraid, I’ve been cautious in my routines, I’ve always made sure I park my car in a crowded place, I don’t walk alone and I sleep with my dogs and kids in my bed when my husband is away.
But do I shrink back and allow fear to overtake me? Do I become a nervous wreck when I need to leave the house?
No!
And here’s why.
As a Christian, we have a wonderful book FULL of advice and truth and some of those are:
- 2 Timothy 1:7 For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.
- Psalm 23:4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
- Psalm 91:5 You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day.
- 2 Corinthians 7:5 & 6 For when we arrived in Macedonia, our bodies had no rest, but we were pressed from every direction—conflicts on the outside, fears within. But God, who comforts the downcast, comforted us by the arrival of Titus,
I have learned, over the years, that Fear disables us, it’s stops us from living a full life. Fear keeps us captive and oppressed. It not only disables us, but when we allow fear to take root in our hearts and minds it makes us ineffective as believers in bringing the Salt and Light to those around us.
I have faced many seasons of fear, been tramped down in my thinking by the aftermath of an experience. I’ve had to take it to God and ask Him to give his perspective on it, I’ve had to allow God to show me that He has never left my side, He’s been with me through everything. I’ve come to understand that the choices of others (with regards to hurting others – emotionally and physically) are their choices and there is nothing I can do to change that, but I can change how I respond to it. I cannot allow the enemy to silence me, I cannot allow the forces of evil to stun me into silence and doubt of who’s I am and how much God loves me.
So I have come to the conclusion through all of the news and social media posts that, yes, we are allowed to be outraged and protest and share our experiences, but as believers, we have a mandate to FIRST go to God and allow Him to direct our opinions so that they match up with his word. Let us sow words of hope, joy and encouragement. Let us sow seeds of love and truth. We cannot live in fear for our lives, we must boldly declare the truth of God over our minds and our hearts and walk it out, with the help of Holy Spirit.
I know it’s hard, I struggle with fear every day, but the key here is to keep walking the walk believing the truth above the facts of the current conversations.
My anchor scripture on this whole thing is Romans 15:13
May the God of HOPE fill you with all joy and PEACE as you TRUST in him, so that you may OVERFLOW with HOPE by the POWER of the Holy Spirit.
Romans 15:13 (emphasis mine)
AuthorThis guest post is part of my Faith over Fear series. The author, Kim van Vuuren, blogs over at Kimvanvee, where she chats about life, food, faith and fun. You can follow her on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter. -
Faith over Fear
What a time to be alive. I mean, without even factoring in the fact that I’m female; simply being a human being is reason enough to fear for your life now a days. Well, that’s what the news and media tells me. You can’t escape the negative news, even if you tried. And even though I think it’s a good idea to stay abreast with what’s happening, most of the time I wish I could unread some of the articles and news reports I find strewn across my social media.
Why? Well, simply because I try to live a faith-based life. Reading the news kinda makes me NOT have faith and before I know it, I’m living in fear, unable to build relationship or see the good in people. Unable to bypass the rationalisation that all people who look a certain way or live in a certain area is out to “get me”.
It’s pretty pathetic.
And, guys, I’m not naive. I’m not saying that my feelings are misconstrued or irrational. Gender based violence is an epidemic in South Africa. It’s a sickness… a disease… but it’s crippled our women and children for far too long!
FEAR IS NOT MY PORTION.
And this is the very reason why I refuse to allow the FEAR that is attached to news and social media reports to influence me. I’m so careful about the type of media I’m consuming. And, I always remind myself of the promises of God and that it overrides every negative report.
So, instead of fear, I choose to live a life of faith. I have faith that humanity is – to a large extent – not completely polluted with sickos, rapists and murderers. There ARE good people out there. I have faith that men will begin to step up… that protecting their friends, sisters, wives, children will become a priority. I have faith that our justice system will begin to favor the victim and not weaken the blow, when handing out sentences to criminals. I have faith that my children will live prosperous, happy lives… that as they walk with God, His plan for their lives will become clearer… that His hedge of protection will surround them as they live out His purpose.
It got me thinking about how often we lean on fear, as a crutch, when faced with some of life’s biggest challenges. It’s almost as if it’s a comfort – rather the enemy you know, and all of that – when in actual fact, it’s not our portion. Our portion is to live a life of completeness and wholeness… a life filled with love, peace and grace.
Fear is NOT my default and I won’t allow it to cripple me again. In fact, living a life of fear offends my very belief system.
Anyways, to build on this, I’ve invited a bunch of faith-inspiring bloggers to join the conversation. I will be posting a “Faith over Fear” guest post, every Thursday (it is mos thankful Thursday mos), to help build YOUR faith and to remind all of us that we have a lot more good on our side than we realise.
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Are all men trash?
When I was about 10 years old, a friend’s grandfather tried to French kiss me. I remember his gums and gaping mouth coming towards me, as he gingerly put his arm around my shoulders and tried to pull me close. The old guy had invited me into his house knowing full well that my friend (his granddaughter) wasn’t there. He had intentions.
Fortunately, I was a fiesty thing. I broke away from him before he could ensue damage on my young body, and ran all the way home. I did not see him again and I didn’t tell anyone. And, the funny thing is that despite the gross memory, I feel like I’m one of the lucky ones. I mean, my story could have ended differently. I was fortunate enough to not have another man’s unwanted hands on my body.
But after the recent surge in femicide awareness, I realise that I still feel like a victim of abuse, to an extent. I mean, abuse is a strong word to use, but I don’t know how else to express the feeling.
And honestly, my feelings of abuse has nothing to do with the old man.
My feelings of abuse is tied to every single guy who has crossed my path and objectified me simply because he saw a body and wanted to get his piece of it.
Let’s call this guy a “he” and let’s say he is a decent, respectable young man who would never try to harm a girl.
My question to “him” is: what does femicide look like to you, Sir?
I mean, sure “he” didn’t rape me. But he has made advances on me solely with the intention of wanting to have sex with me, whether I gave him the impression that I wanted to or not.
Sure, he didn’t physically assault me, but when he went back to his friends to talk about what a tease I am and how I look in “those jeans”, he kinda assaulted my dignity.
Sure, he didn’t end my life, but when he pretended to be someone else until he could “get one thing” and then dumped me for another girl, he kinda made me feel like the person that is Luchae, doesn’t matter.
He didn’t touch my body, but the crude way in which he spoke about it to his gang kinda undressed me already, whether I liked it or not.
For far too long, men have been treating the female body like a commodity. Some of them know how to sweet talk us into believing that they have our best interest at heart, go behind our backs and do the same thing to 3 other girls, and then they wonder why we call them trash.
What I’m saying is: sure give yourself a hand clap for not being a rapist or a murderer. Well done.
But if you’ve ever objectified the female body, disrespected a girl by discussing her anatomy, devalued a woman’s worth by dating and dumping for a better model because you can’t be satisfied or hey, maybe all you did was enjoy the new Bruno Mars video… you know, the one with the bare butts, dancing along to the music. Well then, Sir, you are part of the problem.
Take that as you will.
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My birth story: an unplanned C-Sec that changed everything
You know I’m always joking around about the fact that I’m a (self-acclaimed) preggy expert since I’ve been pregnant very many times in my life. And when it comes to birthing my babies, I’ve always opted for natural labour (unmedicated for the most part) because I know my body and I understand the birthing process and what needs to happen.
But when I was admitted to hospital on Monday afternoon, for an induced labour, I had absolutely no peace about it at all. In fact, I ended up crying (no jokes) because something did not feel right. But let’s start at the beginning:
“Imma push this baby out!”
We visited our OBGYN on Monday morning and he confirmed what we already knew: Asher was a big baby and if I wanted to birth him naturally, I would need to be induced. I mean, that wasn’t exactly what I had hoped for (you can read Jonah’s induction story here) and I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect but I was just so darn eager to see my little bebe and I knew that if he were too big, there might be complications.
Anyways, fast forward to Monday evening. By this point they had already initiated induction, but they were going easy on my body (for many reasons, but I think it’s because I’m old haha) and were taking it slowly. By Tuesday morning nothing was happening you guys. And if you know my insides (which you don’t, also that’s gross, sorry) you would know that I usually labor very quickly and easily… especially after an induction.
It was at this point, that I lay in my hospital bed, sobbing… literally sobbing… because I did not have peace. I phoned Hubstopher a few times at this point begging him to convince my OBGYN to “cut me”. I gave him a gazillion reasons why I needed to have a C-Sec… none of them absolutely, like viable. But I was ready to announce that there was an alien growing in my belly, if it meant that they would rather opt for a C-Sec, over pushing the induction.
This, in itself, is absolutely a shocker… I mean, hello, spreadsheet brain here. The spreadsheet brained Luchae would never beg for a C-Sec (especially if I could labour naturally). But, you guys, I prayed. I asked God for peace. I cancelled this feeling of fear (or what I thought was fear). I pep talked myself and listed the very many reasons why I was probably being silly and why I needed to suck it up and give birth naturally, as I usually would.
But alas, no peace. Just an overbearing feeling of “something isn’t right” and “I can’t do this!”
My lovely doctor eventually made his rounds and after a brief chat, he was absolutely convinced that I know my body and I know what’s up and he is going to go with what I suggest: A C-sec. My very first one, ever in my life.
“Cut me, doctor!”
Joy to the world! Right? (Hahaha tell that to my tummy muscles right now). Anyways, the prep for the op went smoothly (albeit I was a bit freaked out, having watched enough episodes of Grey’s Anatomy to score me a doctor’s license) and I lay on the operating table literally still crying you guys. In hindsight, I must have looked like a damn fool, laying and crying while the other occupants in the room were cheerily chatting and going about their business.
A few seconds into “opening me up” (is mos), my OBGYN calls Hubstopher and says, you need to see this! The umbilical cord was wrapped around my little baby’s neck, not just once, but TWICE! The doc was in shock – we certainly had not picked this up via the ultrasounds. Doc reckons that if they had induced labor and tried to get me to push, baby would have been strangled, without a doubt.
My ‘feelings’ (now known as God who spoke to me) were correct… natural labor would have harmed my baby. Having that unplanned C-Sec saved his life. You can imagine the waterworks, after I heard that. I literally lay on the operating table, in a pool of my own snot and tears as the entire room erupted with laughter, as our boy, Asher, was born. A whopping 4,29kg of absolute gorgeousness!
Everyone knew that we did not know his gender, so it was kinda quirky and cool that when doc pulled him out, he immediately started peeing everywhere, as doc announced “it’s a boy!”… I mean, how like a boy, right?Anyways, we are currently recovering (and by “we” I do mean me and all my feelings) and yep, healing after a C-Sec is totally different when compared to natural labor. Guys, I have new found respect for moms who have done this more than once.
But more than that, I am so thankful that God’s hand was on Asher’s life on the day he was born. It could have ended a lot differently. He is so faithful! And I am so very thankful.
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Baby drop safes: are they really saving our newborns?
South Africa, we have a problem. Well, we have a few problems, but I’m not here to nitpick the state of the nation. I’m here to ask you guys how we are still finding newborn babies in rubbish bins when we’re (supposedly) putting all the preventative measures in place to make sure that this doesn’t happen?!
Now, teenage pregnancy rates and the sexual promiscuity of our young people aside (that is another topic for another day, when the very thought of not preserving innocence for as long as possible doesn’t infuriate me), I realise that our current problem of finding dead babies in rubbish heaps have become a shocking norm.
I mean, you guys, 65% of abandoned kids in South Africa are newborns. According to IOL, 90% of abandoned children are under the age of one years old. Read this and squirm: “The findings suggested that a child born in South Africa is at the highest risk of being killed during its first six days of life.”
What are we doing wrong? And, if the answer is “uhhh nothing, it’s not OUR fault, cheenie” then my next question is: Are we doing enough to stop this behavior?
I was mildly thrilled to read articles about new “baby drop safes” that had been installed across our metro. Yes, I used the words “mildly thrilled” because, honestly, it’s a great idea, but I don’t know how effective it’s going to be. (Well, judging by the fact that we’re still finding babies in dirt bins, I’m going to go on a gander and say “not very”)
Now, I know, gasp, how dare I say that the baby drop safe idea is not effective?! Surely it’s better than nothing, right?
But guys, hear me out, I’m not totally blind sided here. I’ve been a teenage mom. I know what it’s like to be the bearer of an unwanted pregnancy and wonder how the heck you can “get rid” of the problem. I mean, if I didn’t have a loving support system and a boyfriend who actually loved me and my baby, I’m not sure how our story would have ended.
But I do know that if I were a scared teenager, having just given unassisted birth in an undisclosed location, with no witnesses/help close by, the last thing I would want to do is take a walk/public transport with my “unwanted” newborn in my arms, hoping that no one sees as I drop him off in a baby safe.
There are just too many factors that will work against this. For starters, you’re bleeding, probably lactating already and surely you’re in pain. Secondly, you want to try to keep the baby quiet (because, yes even though it’s a precious life, at that point you are not in your right state of mind and the baby is evidence that you need to dispose of), so travelling with the child may seem like a really bad idea. And lastly, you might not even have the means to transport the child to safety… your clothes may be bloodied… your emotions all over the place. Suddenly dropping your baby off, at a baby safe, feels like the most difficult thing to do.
I mean, honestly, not that we want to make these things easy but, we kinda DO want to make these things easy. And as wonderful as a baby safe may sound (you know, like in Danielle Steel books and on Hallmark movies etc), when you’re a frantic new mother, not sure of what to do to dispose of the “evidence” of just having a kid, finding transport (and strength) to travel to another location, with baby, is the last thing on your mind.
We are often outraged by the very thought that a mother would want to dispose of her baby. And rightly so… it goes against our very nature, as human beings. But as I lay in bed last night, reading about another new life, snuffed out, before it even had a fighting chance, I couldn’t help but wonder what would have made it easier for the mother to get that baby to safety. What could we have done to help that
motherbaby?Perhaps an SMS/Whatsapp line, offering a veil of anonymity, where the mom could send a simple message to let authorities know where she left her baby? Perhaps a team of “baby collectors” who would be on high alert at all times, ready to find these abandoned babies, once they’ve received a message? Perhaps the opportunity for the mother to find help, should she be faced with guilt and regret a few days later… I mean, the SMS line could save a lot more than the baby’s life, yo.
I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers. But I do know that we need to start coming up with some, because our babies are dying before they’ve even had the opportunity to be loved, and that breaks my heart.
Disclaimer: Yes, Martha, I know, it is inhumane and cruel to abandon your baby and surely you could have enough decency to get it to a baby safe and blah blah blah. But this post isn’t here to solve the moral dilemma of moms who abandon their kids. This post is here to encourage conversation around how we can help to save those babies before it’s too late.
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Co-parenting: I failed my child
I chat about single parenting, co-parenting and the blended family a lot on this here blog. But I always try to keep it neutral when it comes to sharing the deets of my own life and situations, simply because my story isn’t only MY story and I want to respect the privacy of all parties involved in our co-parenting journey. So you’ll often find me referencing a friend or family member when chatting about these topics… I mean, most blended families experience the same kind of challenges anyways.
But today I need to share from my own personal experience. I need to tell you guys what is on my heart. And I need to be transparent or else the guilt will consume me.
So this past weekend we celebrated my boy’s Matric Dance. It was a huge deal for me (as I explained here) because I single-parented my way through most of his schooling since his dad lives in another part of the country. So yes, guys, I hired the backdrop, made sure my family wore matching outfits and I even arranged tables of finger foods (you know, old school style) because it was a worthy celebration.
I thought that I had done right by my child, but alas, all was not well. He wasn’t happy. The puffy eyes told me so.
It turns out no matter how fancy his photo backdrop or how delicious the finger foods were, one thing was missing for him. His dad. The boy needed the reassurance that only a bio dad can give, I guess. But all he got was silence.
I knew this would happen. In fact, I spent the week EXPECTING the guy to be a no-show. Kinda WANTING him to prove me right, so that I could have that “I told you so!” moment and somehow feel vindicated. I mean, that would prove to everyone that I’m not just a disgruntled “baby mama” who nags about everything (as we do, apparently)… right?
But when the day of said vindication came, instead of feeling as if I won, I felt like a loser… like I had failed my child. Seeing the longing on his face totally broke me.
I was completely at war with myself… blaming myself for what could have been. I mean, I could have done more to give my child what he so desperately needed that day… a little bit of his bio dad.
I’m a creative lass. I could have made a plan to get the kid’s father to somehow be present… booked a plane ticket, bus ticket, whatever it took.
Or maybe I should have gotten his dad and “other” family to send through video clips congratulating him. I could even have made a photo collage or a video montage, to give the kid the feeling that his bio dad is here, even if just in thought. I should have let the boy know that his bio dad is proud of him, even if he didn’t actually say this with his own mouth (to me, atleast).
Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda.
After some deep introspection, I realised that I needed to let go of the guilt. I had been walking around with anger (towards the guy and towards myself) and it wasn’t helping the situation. I mean, instead of wanting the kid’s dad to be a great father, I kinda set him up for failure (in my heart, atleast) by expecting the worst. And instead of reassuring my child, I allowed myself to operate in spite.
I was reminded that, as the baby mama, spitefulness and vindictiveness will only HURT YOUR CHILD. Your child’s heart is more important than the need to be proven right. I mean, sure you can’t force the other parent to be present, but wouldn’t you want that for your child anyways?
I learnt that the key ingredient to successfully co-parenting your kid is to remove your ego. I can’t control you (or make you respond to my messages) but I can control me and my motive. It’s my job to be the best parent to my child… whether my ego likes it or not. Walking in grace and forgiveness isn’t a temporary thing for “when I feel like it”. It’s constant and it is meant to be applied to ALL relationships in your life… even the challenging ones that involve your kid’s other parent.
I am so thankful that God’s mercies are new every morning and that we get an opportunity to try again, no matter how messy the situation seems.
Clip note: I married the BEST man in the whole entire world, friends. Hubstopher totally stepped up and did everything and more to fill the missing hole. After the dance, the two of them had a great heart to heart, which I do believe brought a lot of healing.
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Matric Dance celebrations: how big is too big?
Depending on where you grow up, your Matric Dance (aka “prom”) evening can be as simple as “just another night on the town” or as extravagant as a wedding. My brown people usually opt for the latter, going the extra mile with the send off, sparing no expense on draping the dining room (for the photos mos), expensive catering and the hiring of high end luxury vehicles to make that special night that much more special.
It’s a big night – big celebrations must be had! I totally get and support that. But I guess it’s not for everyone. I’ve had chats with people who were like, uhmmm no I’m not spending extra money on this. In fact, my own Matric Dance send off was very NOT over-the-top. There were no gushing family members guzzling down pastries, no hired photographer and guys, I didn’t even have a fancy car waiting outside for me. Was my evening amazing? Well, yes it was. I mean, not having those things didn’t, like, scar me for life.
A simple send off worked quite well for me. But guys, it’s my firstborns Matric Dance this coming weekend and I’m going way bigger than I had planned! (Okay way bigger for me – but maybe not big enough, for some.)Yes, my friends, I’ve morphed into that mother (you know, the next level extra one I spoke about last week) and find myself hiring a 2 meter photo backdrop and arranging a 5 meter string of fairy lights, for the occasion. I also have things like: savory platters, curling custard, after party clothes and “funky socks” on my To Pay For list. Who am I evens?!
Will my family and I wear color-coordinated outfits for the event? Probably. Did I allow Kyle to send out invitations to all his friends and their cats? Definitely. Am I planning to make a long-winded speech, that will most likely end in tears? Without a doubt.
All of a sardine having a simple Matric Dance send off is like, totally ludicrous! MUST. DO. THE. MOST!
Suddenly I want to hire Emo Adams to MC and I want to send everyone home with a party pack. I find myself Googling things like “how to make pyrotechnics” and “how much does it cost to hire a Lamborghini Diablo in Port Elizabeth”. My plans of a simple Matric Ball send off all a forgotten memory as I shop around for a photographer, a videographer and someone who could maybe film a music video because “that hasn’t been done yet.”
Truth be told, a Matric Dance kinda symbolises the end of an era. For the kid it means their adulting days are looming. For the parents: we don’t have to pay school fees anymore (and the crowd goes rah!) and we finally get to see the fruit of our labour. (And by labour I am most definitely referring to the 3 hours worth of homework we have to dohelp with each night.)I mean, hey, I kinda raised this boy all by myself (with help of family members and amazing friends). I paid for expensive schooling, sat through treacherous hours of completing assignments due the next day, helped to memorise facts about South African history that even I didn’t know and attended school “family days” where the only family around was me because his dad lived in a different city and that’s just how single parenting works.
Sure, each family celebrates differently – and that’s okay! But for my boy and I, having a simple Matric Dance send off just wouldn’t make sense if I consider the bumpy roads and the obstacle courses we navigated successfully.
We have a lot to celebrate! And that, my dear, is totally worth draping the dining room, long winded speeches and expensive catering.
Matric 2019 – we made it!
Photo credits:
Header image: Photo by victoria on Unsplash
Pic of Ronelle and I, taken at my wedding by Donna van der Watt
Black and white pic of Kyle and I, taken like, 12 years ago, not sure where -
Dear unborn baby: you are SO loved, I promise!
Guys, I can speak on this from every level possible… as a teenager, who just did a pee stick test in her best friends bathroom; as a newly wed, who planned to only have kids after a few years of “settling down”; as a well seasoned mother of many, who thought that her womb’s work here on earth is done. I know what it feels like to be pregnant and wonder how on earth you got to this place.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, our baby number 3 is totally loved and wanted and this is something that our hearts needed. BUT there have been many times, during this pregnancy, where I found myself going: WHAT ON EARTH WAS I THINKING?!
Now, come on friends, I know that a few of you can relate. Maybe your pregnancy was totally planned, but like me, you find yourself bathing in sheer exhaustion, wishing you could have a break. Or maybe it was a surprise pregnancy and you don’t know how you’re going to manage a newborn on top of all the current drama and challenges in your life. Or perhaps you’re currently trying to perfect the magic balancing act of home/career/marriage/don’t-mess-up-your-kids-lives.
Whatever your story: I hear you, girl.
I’m not here to justify those feelings… but I am here to say that it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. I consider this Land of Overwhelm to be a place I sometimes visit, but NOT a place that I will settle down in. I mean, I refuse to make it the mantra of my life. But I’m totally not putting pressure on myself to be a robot and masquerade all these feelings of “aaack” simply because I need to paint a pretty picture for the rest of the world.I take a breath and acknowledge that I’m in a very crazy season right now. And that’s okay. This pregnancy is different, when compared to the first two. And that’s okay. My body is in a permanent state of giving-me-the-stink-eye, so everything is a bit harder right now. And that’s okay.
I mean, real talk, resting my body has become an island holiday. There is no Journey Journal, no carefully thought out plans and, hey, I haven’t even purchased a single little outfit and I’m due like, next month. But I’m in total peace and I feel totally prepared to welcome this gorgeous bundle of Williams into my arms.
Yep, I’m overwhelmed sometimes… but is this child a beautiful blessing anyways? Yes! A thousand times yes! My baby is loved and adored and so wanted! It’s just different this time around, that’s all.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that, if this is you, if you’re overwhelmed sometimes because motherhood is just that rough, there is NOTHING wrong with you. I see you. I understand the complete overwhelm. And I know that it doesn’t mean that your children are unloved and unwanted. You aren’t living in a glass cage of emotion and regret. You’re just going through a crazy season, that’s all.
Rest in the promise that this is just that: a season. I read that there is a season for every single thing under the sun. And once this one passes, you’ll be able to reflect back on the beautiful memories and marvel at how hard you thought it would be. In retrospect, it will be a raindrop in the ocean of your life.
And then you’ll give yourself a pat on the back, because you’ll realise that you, my friend, are a lot more bad-ass than you know.
Images: Pics taken at the Penelope&Bella photo shoot many moons ago, when I was pregnant with Jonah.
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Finding hope in the poop
I was 7 years old when I attempted to wow my 6 year old cousin with my magical powers. The magic act involved making a 2 cent coin disappear. One minute the coin was in my hand… the next it was gone! I was a legend.
What my cousin didn’t know was that I had hidden the coin in my mouth (yes, ew), under my tongue. I mean, those are minor details when you’re trying to establish yourself as the coolest cousin in the family.
The real magic happened a few seconds later though when I realized that the coin actually DID disappear. I had accidentally swallowed it.
Now, given the fact that it was one of those large 2 cent coins (90’s kids – hollar!), my parents completely freaked out and immediately rushed me to hospital. I could see the fear in their eyes as the doctor investigated the full body x-ray, trying to determine where the coin was lodged.
My magic act had become more death-defying than legendary.
For days thereafter, I pooped into a baby potty and then watched as my mom sifted through the poop, with a stick, to see if the elusive 2 cent coin had found an exit. My poop had become the most interesting thing in our home – the 2 cent coin a hidden treasure. If it did not make an appearance I would need to go for a serious operation to have it removed.
After a stressful few days, the coin finally found its way out of my body. My parents were so relieved, they didn’t even mind the sifting through the poop!
There was hope in my poop that day. (Never thought I’d ever use that sentence on my blog).
Anyways, while reminiscing on this story, I was struck with a sudden revelation. Now, mind you, I am very pregnant and my thought pattern is a bit bonkers right now. But bare with me.
Life can offer you bundle of poop sometimes.You know, the type of bundle that your puppy leaves in the middle of the dining room, only to be discovered by your bare foot, accidentally, in the middle of the night. I mean, we’ve all been dealt with bundles of poop, on occasion.
My family and I have been dealt with large-ish bundles of poop over a span of a couple of years. I mean, from freak accidents to large financial losses, trips to the hospital, to losing our home due to an irate landlord.
It’s been a lot to manage… a lot of bundles of poop to avoid stepping into and even more bundles of poop that we completely and totally stepped into, toes and all.
But, in the midst of it all, my friends, the one thing that carried us through (and continues to carry us) is the fact that we know that there is a BIGGER plan.
Maybe the poop is helping us to be more mindful… more wary about where we are stepping… more intentional about wearing shoes, before going into the dining room. The challenging situations make us stronger, more unified as a family and definitely wiser when making those (sometimes rash) decisions.
And wives, a complete and utter poopy situation can help to GROW your marriage, if you let it! Suddenly you guys are a two-man army, impenetrable and unstoppable, because you are on the same mission. Once the war is over, and the battle is won, it kinda feels good to look at your battle scars and know that you made it out together. The battle did more good, than damage.
So just like how my parents had to sift through poop, to find hope that their little girl is going to be okay, I want to encourage you guys to find hope in your seemingly hopeless situation.
A poopy situation doesn’t make sense right now… it’s annoying, it itches, and it’s preventing you from living your best life. Or so it seems. But God can use even the most devastating of situations for your good if you ask Him to. He can use the ugly and stinky to create a masterpiece.
The great thing is that there is always hope in the poop and sometimes we just have to wait it out a little bit longer, in order to see it.
Disclaimer: I said the word “poop” a lot in this post, and you know what, I don’t even mind. Poop. There I said it again. Surprise!
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Pregnancy update: when you’re not a spring chicken anymore
So I’m officially 30 weeks preggers today and even though this is baby number 4 for me (kid number 5 for us), I’m still so amazed every time the little pooper moves around in my womb. I mean, there is another life inside of me. It’s such a miracle! The back pain probably originated from the pit of hell, but other than that, the rest of it is definitely heaven-orchestrated. Like, I’m convinced.
How am I feeling right now? Well, I was telling a friend that it’s so weird how this pregnancy is vastly different to my previous pregnancies. There are a lot of aches and pains this time around, you guys.
I think that a lot of the pain has to do with the pressure of my umbilical hernia and the overbearing amount of weight I feel in my belly. I mean, the diastasis recti has ensured that my tummy muscles are now divorced and no longer in a loving relationship with each other. Which means my core is pretty much a non-event. My back is killing me – walking has become tedious. And you would think that laying down would be better, but I have to find just the right angle or else I’m riddled with pain again.
But I mean *insert chirper voice here* other than that everything is just like, SOOOOO awsome right now!
Pause for effect.
That pause (and the bathroom selfie) was actually just a distraction so that I can blow my nose without anyone looking at me. Apparently pregnancy rhinitis is a real thing… did you know that? Pregnancy rhinitis is basically nasal congestion and an increase in mucus production, due to an increased blood flow. In a nutshell, I am a walking ball of snot. It’s especially attractive at night when Hubstopher wants to cuddle.But I mean, besides for that, the misconstrued emotional outbursts (hey Hubstopher), the extreme tiredness and the fact that I can’t breathe sometimes, everything is GREAT!
The crazy thing, my friends, is that I sometimes feel like I can’t say these things outloud because then it sounds as if I’m complaining and not fully appreciating the miracle baby in my belly. So many other women would give anything to be in my position. How DARE I complain?!
But the truth is that I’m not in my 20’s anymore, Deborah Patta. It’s not MY fault… it’s how life works. I mean, I’m not exactly a spring chicken anymore. The last time I was “in my 20s” was when Miley Cyrus was Hannah Montana. So obvz this pregnancy is going to feel a lot different on my body. And that’s okay.
But how does one enjoy a whole 2 more months of aches, pains, snotty noses and extreme fatigue without, you know, letting it become the backtrack of your life?
Well, I guess this is where perspective comes into play… recognizing the season for what it is and choosing to focus on the fact that my little pooper will make an appearance in a couple of weeks. And when that happens… when I get to look into my babys face for the first time … none of this will matter anymore.
Photo attributes: (Header) 2017 Love My Body photoshoot; (Body) Taken by Ella
