Beauty From These Ashes

There are days... actually... a LOT of days, when I say in this little head of mine, "I'm not qualified for this, God!" I look around at all of these lives that my husband and I have created, and I wonder if we are just being irresponsible... crazy... or just plane insane! But nothing really questioned me being qualified as a mother as much as the day that I tried to take my girls to see the ballet, The Nutcracker. Ugh... shudder. The Nutcracker used to remind me of Christmas and happy childhood memories: I couldn't wait to share those feeling with my daughters! Now, when I think of the ballet, I think of my own stupidity, and metal scraping on metal. (I will explain.)

Now, if I don't feel qualified to have six children, then there may be a slight possibility that I also feel that I may not be qualified to be the driver of a fifteen passenger van. I'm not sure if I would sell a huge passenger van to a sleep-deprived, lactating mother. But, regardless of those reservations, it's true: I drive a bus; an ice blue bus. Full of lots of loud small people. And on the day of The Nutcracker, we all dressed our best, piled into our huge blue van, and made our way to the city. And that's where the fun started. Lots of one way streets.... and parking garages. One does not even begin to understand the fun of driving a passenger van through a parking garage until one has experienced it. And I, my friends, have experienced it.

As I turned into the garage, there was a big yellow log of a sign dangling from the ceiling from two chains that read 6 FOOT CLEARANCE. And I proceeded to run directly into it. It smacked against the top of my windshield, and rolled all the way down the fourty-seven feet of my vehicle. My eyes were huge... like... BULGING out of my head. My mouth was open, making a gigantic, huge opening in my face so big that you could have shoved a football into. And I let out a loud, "HOLY CRAP!" (Don't judge.) AND......I kept driving, folks. I thought that sign was probably just to really warn ya. You know... give a good scare. And I proceeded to creep into the garage to find a parking spot. I made it about three feet and pulled up to a big metal beam hanging from the ceiling and stopped. I stared at it, just inches from my windshield. I dropped my pulsing head onto the steering wheel and just sat there for a minute. I was in trouble. Big trouble.

I put my van in park, got out of it, and went up to the car behind me to tell her that I was an idiot and that I thought I was stuck. She asked me if she should back up. I just shrugged my shoulders and threw my hands in the air and got back into my bus. I didn't care what SHE did! Duh! This was not about HER! I was STUCK! I got back into my van and realized that there was only on way out, and that was forward. And I began to panic. What kind of mother takes her six children out at eight in the morning and gets them all stuck in a parking garage!? MY type!!! I started to get a little weepy, then I put my big girl panties on, kept calm, and drove on.

I crept a few inches forward, and the antenna hit first. It bent backward, then snapped back into position. Okay, good. I made a it a few inches and only the antenna suffered. Maybe I'm clear. Yeah, no. As I proceeded forward, I heard the insanely loud scraping of metal all the way down the top of my van. And I wanted to die. I'm pretty sure I yelled out something... I don't remember what.... but I yelled. Then we cleared THAT beam. Common sense would tell one to take the first exit out of that place at the first opportunity. But I had to park. So we drove on. For three floors. Hitting every. single. beam. By the second floor, I knew I was just going to keep hitting the beams, and the slow, painful sound of metal scraping on the top of my van was getting unbearable, so I gunned it. It was like ripping off a bandaid: just get it over with. So instead of slowly, slowly creeping under the metal beams and hearing the painful scraping noise drag on and on, I was now speeding under them and hearing the noise go by much quicker.

I finally found a spot on the THIRD floor, parked, and got out with tears welling up in my eyes. (And I actually had makeup on that day. Go figure.) A woman who had been behind me parked in the spot beside me. I told her that I thought I had wrecked my van. She proceeded to tell me that She thought I lost some paint with that last beam because stuff was flying off the top of my vehicle. I covered my face in my hands and shook my head. This is very bad I thought.

I climbed up on the step so I could peek at the roof. And I couldn't believe what I saw. Covering the back two-thirds of my van was a thick layer of ice... and I saw NO damage. I wanted to drop to the floor on my knees and start singing the Hallelujah Chorus, but I resisted. I felt such relief.

But I still had to get out of there. Whatever I thought. I'll deal with that later. I dragged my kids and baby in a carrier through the city to the theater and sat through the ballet, which I could hardly focus on. Mainly because I had to come up with some crazy creative way to get my vehicle out of that tin can of a garage, and my four week old baby pooped through all of his clothes while I was nursing him.

My friends and I were brain storming and trying to think of some way to get out of there. Then, it hit me: I had to SHRINK my van! I had to let air our of the tires! A sweet friend and her daughter who were also there watching the ballet stayed with me and coached me with advice from her husband, and I released enough air out of the tires to hopefully get us out of there without a scratch. After my friend directed me as I back up out of my spot, she and her daughter hopped in the van to try to add extra weight to bring the van down even more. I was laughing nervously, and praying as we approached the first beam. We cleared it! And we cleared every beam on the way out except for one small scrape on the very back of my van on one beam. (This whole time, my seven year old was crouched down in a ball on the floor covering her ears. She was so nervous from the first time around...) I couldn't believe it. I was thrilled! Relieved! Rejoicing! Thank you, LORD!

My friend hopped out of the van, I drove on, and laughed all the way home. Never in my life did I ever dream I would have six children... own a fifteen passenger van... and get that van stuck in a parking garage.

My children will either talk about all of my stupid mommy moments one day and we'll all laugh, OR they'll talk about it therapy. I hope it's the first one.

I got home, took a long nap, then had to tell my husband what I did. He stared at me, then he said, "What else could you have done? I would have done the same thing." I love that man. I know that I am responsible for some of the gray hair on his head, but I know he loves me regardless of how much I stress him out. God knew what I needed when He put us together.

So, moms, if you ever look at yourself in the mirror and tell God, "I'm not qualified. I can't do this. Really, God." And you keep looking at yourself and wonder when the last time you had makeup on, or took a shower, or got dressed because you've been nursing a newborn baby all. night. long. and you're just not functioning like you're supposed to. He knows you're not qualified. Because He made you. He knows that you aren't qualified.... unless you do this in HIS strength.

He makes all things beautiful. And this mess that I am right now, I am certain He is bringing beauty from these ashes.

Sanctification Babies

And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. Philippians 1:6


I am impatient. I'm unkind. I don't put up with chaos and noise in my home too well. I'm a slob, and I drive too fast.

So God decided to give me a husband and six kids.

He saw my sin before I did. He knew my hate, bitterness, weaknesses, impatience, selfishness, and unlovable soul before I knew any of it existed. Yup, I knew I was a sinner... don't we all sin? But I really had no clue how absolutely ugly I was... what a horrible wretch of a person I was... until I was married with children. And, every time I held another sweet babe... perfect and all soft and warm... another ugly piece of my heart was brought up to the surface.

But I don't think that I would have seen it had I not had children. You know... the hate and all. It's like all those sleepless nights and kids bickering and me spread so thin was too much.

And out of my mouth spewed the grime that had been brewing deep deep in my heart. Because out of my mouth was just the overflow of my heart.

So one wasn't enough. I was way too messed up for just one. By two, my anger and need for complete control was revealed.

"What is wrong with me?!" I used to think.

But then I managed, and it really wasn't that hard.

But God wasn't done.

So he gave me another.

And another.

And another.

And soon, another.

With each perfect, sweet life that has been birthed from my body, it has taken more of me. The sin issues that have been brought to the surface had to be dealt with... because all of a sudden, they're there. Right in front of my face. And I'm looking in a mirror and I don't like what I'm seeing. There's me, looking nothing like my Jesus.

And then there is grace.

And I lay at his feet and pour out worship like perfume on Him and weep because I know what a wretch I am and how beautiful and perfect and sweet and amazing and holy HE is... but He is gracious enough not to leave me the same, and merciful enough not to blow me to bits! So He started a work. And that work, it's called sanctification. And that work that He started... He's faithfully going to complete it. And one day, I will worship Him with no baggage and no shame for the mess I know that I really am. But right now, as my Jesus is transforming me, He uses people. Little ones. Little ones with tiny fingers and toes that cry and need me and are really depending on me for their very existence.

My sanctification babies.

With baby number six on the way, I read through my writings and my journals and see the junk in my past. I finger through the pages where there were tears with the pen in my hand, and the grief that I felt for the horrible mistakes I made as a parent. And then I see the pages where there was worship bubbling from my soul... I couldn't write fast enough... I felt God moving.

But I see change. Through the pages, I read and thank God for dealing with me so graciously. And I read more and see how I'm still dealing with that same old thing, and I'm thankful that God isn't exhausted with me.

His love is relentless.

He is still pursuing me.

And I am humbled.

I can't say that we wanted more kids, because really, life would be easier if we just would have stopped. But God is using our sweet babes for His will and His purposes. Because it's not about us anyway, is it? God knows my tendencies to be selfish, messy, and totally undisciplined. He knows my need for control... and how the mess from lots of kids totally freaks me out. With each baby, I've had to choose to let it go. Not by myself, but with the Holy Spirit inside of me. Because it's not by my might... or by my power, but by His spirit.

In sharing all of my mess, I don't want anyone to assume that I don't enjoy my children. Because that just isn't true. I love them with a deep and passionate love. I want them to understand the Gospel of Jesus Christ and how it will transform the every day. I want good things for my kids. I want to be a good mom for my kids. But in order to be the mom that God wants me to be for the sweet daughters and son on the way that He has entrusted me with, I have to face the sin that He reveals. And I have to let Him heal so the bitter doesn't keep growing. I know God is using my children to transform me... to grow in Christ-likeness... and I am moved because God is using the least of these to change one of His daughters that He loves so much.

He loves me too much to leave me the way that I am.

So He chose sanctification babies to change my heart.

Honeymooning

I recently heard a very serious message being preached about revival in our lives.... coming back to the Lord.... getting back to that... honeymoon phase.

And I had to laugh.

Out loud.

Because, my honeymoon was not something that many people would like to get back to.....

And it went a little somethin' like this-

Off we drove in our Olds Eighty-Eight. Nineteen years old and only a month being married, we were on our way north toward the top part of "the mitten". Young, dumb, completely enamored with each other, we had this great idea to stay in a few bed and breakfasts in the Traverse City, Michigan area, and make our way back down the coast, camping as we went.
Our first mistake was trying to go anywhere married at the young age of nineteen. We were asked for parental supervision when we tried to rent jet skies, and needed a wedding certificate upon request to stay at any hotel or bed and breakfast because of our age. That was humbling in itself, and I continued to be humbled as our trip went on.
We did find one thing we could do that didn't need a parent to hold our hand! Parasailing! Brilliant. Neither one of us had every gone, and the idea seemed perfect. It was a little crazy, and it was my twentieth birthday. Who gets to say they sailed in the air over the beautiful Lake Michigan on their 20th birthday on the Fourth of July on their honeymoon?! Me! That's who! So... ladies first. I got myself self all strapped up, and off we went! Except.... I wasn't a big fan of that... rocking-in-the-the-wind feeling, or the bouncing and jerking... I pretty much wasn't a fan of it at all. When my turn was over, I was reeled back in, and was informed that my young groom couldn't go up unless I went back up with him because of the wind. I loved this man and would do anything for him, so I agreed to go up again with my husband fastened up behind me. We got up in the air and there was more of the jerking and rocking and up and down and.... then I puked. But, it wasn't just a puke that goes down with gravity because, remember all that wind and stuff? It carried my vomit back, streaked it across my face and hair, and had me making all sorts of wretched noises. But, not only did I puke all over my own face, I threw up all over my husband's feet. Yes, he had puke-feet thanks to Yours Truly. When he felt liquid between his toes, he couldn't figure out how he had gotten splashed all the way up there in the air. Until I turned toward him, making ugly Chewbacca noises, and he saw my puke-streaked face. He instantly started doing everything in his power to try to get us down. He was waving his arms all over the place, yelling and shouting, all the while I'm moaning and staring at his hairy toes with my puke on them. I had such dreams of being a trophy wife.... someone Seth would love and cherish.... He was just enjoying the gorgeous view of the majestic Lake Michigan, and he got barfed on. So much for trophy wife, because, last time I heard, trophy wives don't throw up on their husband's feet on their honeymoon. And to make it worse, being the young thing I was, I had a strange obsession with Easy Cheese. So that was all I had eaten that morning for breakfast: Easy Cheese and crackers. You can imagine what that urp was like. We eventually made it down to the boat pulling us, where I then scraped the half dried throw up off of my face, and Seth got to rinse his defiled feet off in the lake. He was not happy with the driver of the boat because he had not brought us back to safety in a timely fashion after Seth had been thrashing about and yelling to get us out of the air. The driver calmly said, "I just thought you were pretending to be a bird up there..."
And it got even...stranger. After we spent our time in Northern Michigan, we traveled back down the coast and camped at a few different campsites. We pitched our tent and spent some time on the beach, but on one of those first nights, there was a pretty bad rain storm. And, of course, I have to use the bathroom in the middle of it. Not wanting to squat in the rain, I jumped in our car and went to find the community bathrooms... leaving my glasses behind. So, as I drove off in the pouring rain, lightning, and thunder, searching for bathrooms, I couldn't see a thing. There were no lights guiding my way, and, as I quickly found out, I was not on any sort of road or path. I'm not sure where I actually got off course, but the next thing I knew, there was a bang and an abrupt stop. I had driven off the road and ended up driving through the camp site, where I then ran head on and full speed ahead into a picnic table in front of someone's camper. Heart in my throat,I quickly threw my car in reverse and did my best to make it back on the road. To this day, I'm so thankful that the table was in front of the camper.... and not the other way around. I made it to the bathroom safely, got back to our campsite, snuggled back in the air mattress next to my new husband, and laid there awake for a while, thinking about trouble I almost got myself into.

Those are just a few of the "appropriate" things. I don't want to have to go into hiding after writing this, you know.

Our honeymoon did have many good things, too. We decided on that trip that, whenever we traveled together, we would buy a new album to listen to on the way back. What was the album my sweet husband let me buy? Destiny's Child, Survivor. "Nasty Girl" will always remind me of my honeymoon. Don't judge.(We tried to order nonstop hip hop off of one of those music commercials before we left, but we didn't get it on time.)

I hear people talk about their glorious honeymoons to Hawaii or Florida, or the Virgin Islands, and I just laugh. Not for us! But we can laugh hysterically at the ridiculousness of our week away. And we can hold each other a little closer and smile because, we may not have had the most exotic vacation but we're making it, and we're making it well. With the Lord in the lead, we can love each other twelve years later the way we do. Some day, I want to revisit some of the places that we made all of those memories at.

(Blasting "Survivor" all the way, of course.)

Lily

I've been having issues with one of my children, and on most days, I feel like I want to sit down in the middle of my kitchen floor and start weeping because I am so tired of playing child therapist. Seriously, there's a lot of drama in this house filled with five daughters and a hormonal mama! But there's something about this child that just screams "Eeyore"! God showed my early on that this child was going to be different; that she was going to need special care and attention.

Over the years, though, I have forgotten that word that I received from the Lord. My daughter's name is 'Lily'. I didn't want to name her that. She was supposed to be 'Riley'. But, my husband loved the name Lily, and I didn't want to name her something he wasn't totally on board with. So, Lily it was.

God had a sweet story woven into her name.

She was a colicky baby, and she grew into a very stubborn and angry two year old. Lily was one of those babies that had to have the fold of her socks a certain way, and the texture and fit of a shirt exactly how she wanted it, and if it wasn't exactly how she wanted it, she would make sure I knew how unhappy she was. Lily was my sweet girl who almost died on me after drinking lamp oil. She was the girl who spent 3 nights in the hospital with pneumonia.

But she is the girl with intense and almost painful compassion. She feels things. Her beauty is captivating and breathtaking.

I was crying out to God one day,(I'm sure after a meltdown and fit of some sort), and I really felt like He was telling me to research the care of a lily. In my searching, God met me and showed me that my girl was different and her needs could not be changed or looked over. In my research, I learned that, with proper care, a lily will grow into a beautiful flower that keeps coming back year after year.

First in care for a lily is planting it where it will receive full sunshine, knowing it will thrive best there. That is a reminder to me that, first off, Lily needs to be "planted" in a place where she is going to be able to bask in and know the love of her Savior. She's been "planted" in our home which means that Seth and I need to be the vessel for bringing Jesus,the light of the world, into our home by way of Scripture, music, and living out in example. Just like the sun is the light source for the earth that helps the lilies grow, Jesus needs to be the light source in our home. My girl's gotta know Jesus and have His light shining on her to help her grow. Knowing her Savior loves her and died for her to make a way to the Father is going to make all the difference in her "Eeyore" tendencies.

Next, a lily needs a layer of mulch to protect it from the frost in the spring. I feel like that says to me that Lily needs protection from the elements so that she can flourish. She needs her mom and dad to cover her and love her so that she feels safe. That way, when there is an unexpected "frost" in her life, she has a layer of protection that will keep her spirit "alive" and well.

Then comes fertilizer. A lily needs food to keep going and to grow like it needs to. My Lily also needs her little love tank fed so that she can keep going. Her love language is time, so my Lily's fertilizer is time with her parents so that she can flourish. I can't always just sit on the couch with her because I have four other children, but interacting with her on purpose is huge for Lily. Maybe one day we could fold the laundry together and just talk while we do it. I've found that when Lily just spends in my presence, she's full of love; enough to give out to others. I can't be mad at her for needing that; Isn't that just how we are with God? We've gotta sit at His feet and let Him fill us up so that we can give to others?

After fertilizer is water. Not a heavy watering, but one that is consistent. Lily doesn't need a once a month date with her dad to help her grow, she needs consistent time on a regular basis to meet her special needs. A lily needs ALL of these things; not just one or two of them. Without all of them together, the growth of a lily isn't going to be what it could be, and it could die. Isn't that just like my Lily? Without one of those elements in her growth, her spirit will be crushed, and she will not be able to flourish.

I have forgotten some time ago what God spoke to me. My Lily has been frustrated, discouraged, sad, and mad. But all the elements to her growth haven't been there. (And I have just wanted to throw my hands up in the air and eat a box of Hoho's!) God brought me back into focus this morning. He reminded me of what He told me almost five years ago.

This one's different. She's needs more of you.

I can't care for my Lily the way she needs all by myself. I need the Master Gardener to walk by my side and gently remind me of what my garden needs, because I forget sometimes. I have to meet with Him every day, or my garden of flowers is going to suffer.

Take Off Your Grave Clothes! Dooo it!

I have to share what God had done for me! The enemy's lies to my soul have been revealed, and I am on my way to freedom. I am taking off my grave clothes! (And I apologize for the lack of paragraphs. They were in my draft, but didn't stay there when I posted this. And I don't know how to fix that.) For quite some time now, I have been dealing with the scars that were left from a sexually abusive past. These scars have made it difficult to experience intimacy like God has intended it to be. I would think, "I just need to forgive the person that hurt me" or "Maybe I should just let myself be angry at someone." I would go down different avenues of healing... all of them seeming helpful and good, but nothing was really getting to the core of the issue. And I had no idea HOW to get to the core of the issue. I read books. I have had mentors. I just sucked it up and dealt with it. I memorized verses. I journaled. I let myself cry. But I always ended back in the same place: Doubting my salvation, thinking that God was angry with me, and not knowing HOW to be what God wants married women to be in the confines of their marriage bed. I lived in condemnation for not being was I knew I was supposed to be, but I could not figure out how to GET there! Sometimes I felt like I was just going to go crazy and never be healed. Then I went to True Woman this past weekend. I didn't expect to get what God gave me there. I thought that there was possibly some sin that God was going to show me, or I was going to commit to reading my Bible more... I wasn't sure, but I knew I was supposed to be there. I knew this because every force on the planet was trying to keep me from going! I had to find childcare two days before leaving because our previous plans fell through. It was ridiculous, and so obvious Satan did NOT want me going. I sat in on a breakout session with Dannah Gresh, who in the author of And the Bride Wore White, and a few other books on parenting. Her session was on raising pure and holy children. Of course I want pure and holy children! I was so there! As Dannah spoke, I was sitting on the edge of my seat, soaking up every word she was saying. I couldn't get enough. Then, she said started talking about our sexual past and wounds that haven't been healed. Oh good grief. I can't deal with this right now. How many times have I tried to deal with this? I don't want to right now. I want pure DAUGHTERS. This isn't about me. But then she said, "If you have not healed from your sexual past, you cannot have a pure daughter." I thought my brain had just exploded. Then she went on to discuss the products that are marketed for our eight year old daughters. She showed pictures of padded triangle bikini tops, thongs, and makeup for our precious little daughters. Then, she said what God wanted me to hear; it's the reason that I was in that room, in that moment. "Satan is using these products to distort our daughters' sexuality, which, one day, will tarnish their marriage bed, which will, in turn, distort the gospel." You mean, all of this is on purpose.... to ruin my daughters' marriage bed... to ruin the beautiful picture of Christ and the church? Then it hit me, and I was stunned. I sort of felt a little sick. My abuse was done on purpose and was intentional to stain my marriage bed, which, if left alone and not taken care of, could one day distort the gospel to the watching world. The realization of this made me So. Angry. You mean, it wasn't just a random sinful act done because we live in a sinful world? Well, yes, maybe part of that is true. But Satan's plan are much more strategic than that. He wants to destroy the beautiful redemption story which is so amazingly portrayed in marriage, that if he can destroy a girls' thoughts about sex when she's little, that will carry over into her marriage, making distorted and painful what God intended to be beautiful and holy. I spent the rest of the night holding back sobs, when finally, I couldn't hold it in any more! I needed to be angry and cry! I felt like Satan had been standing behind me with one of his evil hands over my eyes so I could not see the truth, one wrapped around my throat as if he was choking off my spiritual life support, and was whispering evil into my ears..... telling me lies that would keep me in bondage for my entire marriage and relationship history. I could see that image so clearly in my head. So what now?! I was given spiritual eyes to see the ugliness of my state, so where was I to go from here? What was I going to do with all of that... anger? I had a group of sweet friends pray over me that night. It was such a humbling thing to do... to have to ask for prayer for such an intimate thing..such a shameful and ugly thing. But my friends cried with me. They prayed for me. The hugged me. And then one of my friends suggested that I let my anger fuel the desire to do what God wants me to do from now on. I can't let Satan have power over that area of my life any more, now that I know the truth. The gospel is at stake. I went to church a few days after all of that took place, and got to talk to my friend and pastor's wife for a little bit. I was so excited to share with her about what God was doing in my life. She reminded me of the story of Lazerus in John chapter 11. Jesus had raised him from the dead, but he still had his grave clothes on! Jesus said, "Take off your grave clothes." I cannot go on with my former way of thinking. I can't go on living in the stink and the funk of my grave clothes! I have been made new... Jesus raised me up from the dead when He called me to Himself, and now I am getting rid of the smelly grave clothes... hallelujah! I just need to say to you, take off your grave clothes.Let the gospel be revealed to the watching world!

She Came in With a Bang! (A link-up in"Pages in Our Heritage of Faith)

And she's HERE! Miss Evelynn Hope made her entrance on October 28th! And let me just tell you, she arrived like a firecracker on the Fourth of July.



Had we not been in our van driving to the hospital, little Evie would have been born on her due date. I think I was in labor denial. Oh, these contractions aren't that bad. This is supposed to hurt so much worse. Those were the kind of thoughts that I was having while I was in.... what I know now... labor. By the time I realized that I was in labor, I was in transition. And by the time we were half way to the hospital, litte Evelynn was half way out. Ladies, have you ever tried to not push when you are delivering a child? It's virtually impossible. My poor husband was praying to God, saying, "No, God. Please. No. I can't do this. No God!" And I was saying, "You're gonna have to do this! Call 911!" The dispatcher was of no help to my completely stressed husband. They told him to pick a hospital; either drive to the intended one, or turn around and go to the one that was closer. I told Seth to turn around and go the the one that was closer... aaaaaand.... he didn't know how to get there. So I have a baby almost sitting on the seat with me, and I had to give directions to my poor husband. We were both trying to stay calm for the other at that point. (Which was not working. At all.) We finally made it to the hospital, (with my midwife and friend who was to take pictures at the other hospital), and, after trying to go in the wrong door, we went to the ER where I was wheeled in a wheel chair while on all fours into labor and delivery. And yes. There were people in the ER waiting to be seen by a physician while I was grunting and making all sorts of... birthing noises. We got to our room, all sorts of nurses rushed to my aid to help me undress so the baby would NOT be born in my pants, I laid down, and Evelynn came out. The first thing that came out of my mouth was, "That was ridiculous." I was so grateful to be in a hospital and not in the front seat of our Sienna. And my husband, who I'm sure had an extremely unhealthy blood pressure level, totally missed the whole thing. He was in hall, texting my friend, telling her that we would not be at the hospital she was waiting for us at. There was no doctor available to deliver Baby E that morning, but the Lord provided a nurse who had delivered babies in Africa for ten years! She was a missionary there, and informed us later that she was glad there was no doctor there because she loved to deliver babies. :) God is so faithful. We were scared out of our minds flying through the night, not knowing what was in store for us, all the while God was watching, saying, "I've got this, kids! I've got you."

Well, the story gets even better. Evelynn ended up being really jaundice, so we had to stay at the hospital an extra day. Then, two of my older children got sick. Then the day after I got home from the hospital, while hooking up the baby to the bili blanket, my husband discovered that my eldest had a head full of lice. Like, he could see bugs crawling. We had been informed that a family had it at our home school co-op, but I never thought that any of my kids would get it. Shows you how naive I am about bugs that live in your hair. The night of our discovery, we spent three hours pulling eggs out of our daughter's mane, then about two hours the next night. All in all, we've probably spent about fifteen to twenty hours on her hair, making sure that there is nothing living left on her head. Poor girl. All this while nursing and caring for a helpless newborn, and other little children who have needs running around. My husband kept telling me, "We'll get through this. We're gonna get through this." I'm so thankful for him and his trust in the Lord.

It's been a little overwhelming here, but it's been good. God has provided such an awesome support system for our family through our church body. We have had meals coming to our home two weeks before the baby was born, and they are still coming. We have had people take our children for the day, and more people offering daily to help. I feel like five children is a lot, but I feel confirmation from the Lord that we are doing His will. Having numerous children is a step of faith for us; one that we feel is a step to really trust the Lord... to see His hand. We have put ourselves in a position where we absolutely need Him. And He has come through. He has provided for us in every way possible.

Philipians 4:19 And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.

We are blessed.

Little Evelynn's name means Life. Her names together mean Life and Hope. That is our prayer; that baby E will be a testimony of the life and hope that Christ has to offer the world around her.

Welcome, little girl! God has great things in store for you to do already!

Your leaves weren't faithful ever....

Christmas Tree hunting this year was... well.... NUTS! But that always makes for a great story, right?

I didn't go last year because I had just popped out a baby and had mastitis at least once by then, so this was MY first year searching for the perfect tree in good old Southwest Michigan.

I put my game face on and, even though my three year old was having some sort of breakdown, I was determined to stay calm and make this tree-hunting experience fun for my girls.

(But really, what was going through my head... with that nappy hat on it.... was "It's so cold it's so cold it's so cold it's SO COLD!")

And here we are.... pre-perfect-tree discovering. (That big ball of blanket is Nora, just in case you were wondering.)


And here is my beast of a husband, braving the cold, firing up the chainsaw, cutting down The Chosen One. (I took this picture sitting in the warmth of the van heater blowing full blast on my frozen body.) Isn't he great??!! :) Love. Him.


A few weeks after our tree had been up, we noticed that, for some reason, our tree was not sucking up any water. We would go to pour water in the tree stand, and it would still be full to the top. In years previous, we've had to water our tree every few days. Well, about a week before Christmas, our beautiful tree's branches got very sad looking, and started hanging toward the ground. Our tree's needles started falling off all over the carpet, and ornaments would just randomly fall to the ground because they were too heavy for our dying tree's branches. It was a sad looking tree.

Well, Christmas came and went, (with my husband throwing up in the bathroom) and my girls decided to rip little twigs with needles on them off of the dead tree and use them for horse food. We heard shrieks of horror from the living room during this little pretend game of theirs, and ran into the room to see what was the matter.

The tree had tipped over.

On top of Nora.

My older three were horrified and scared for their sweet baby sister... and Seth and I were laughing.

Nora was not so happy about this. Our sweet baby got clobbered by a dead, poky tree, AND she got sap on her bald head. (One time we were grateful she is bald.) We rescued her, took all the ornaments off Dead Tree, and threw it out on the front porch.

Aaaah.

I love Christmas, but I am really loving getting all of the extra "clutter" packed away and back down in the basement.

So, in Christmas Tree shopping in the years to come, we'll always remember our perfect tree that turned out to be not-so-perfect... and rather sad looking by Christmas! :)