So many things that I had before

Well, it's late. And I'm alone. Again. And what do I do when it's late and I'm alone? Sleep? No. I think, but it's more than that. It's more like my mind goes on complete overdrive. It all starts with the reason that I'm alone. My husband is in training for an elite branch of the military, which, although wonderously noble on the outside, it's tough on the inside. I have always been one-hundred percent on board for this pursuit, I just never knew what sacrifices would have to be made on our part. It's like he works for a company that completely owns him and every second of every day. During training, there are late nights (most of them planned, some unexpected) and there are not sick days. There are no personal days for going with your wife to her first ultrasound and there's the big question of how you will be there for the delivery.

I fight it so hard, but I still cry every night that he's gone. (I'm sure that the being pregnant and setting my itunes to Patty Griffin doesn't help the situation either.) And I know that it will get easier. And I rest (albeit struggling to) in the fact that this is God's will for us right now. But this is not what I pictured. Where is the line between wanting to spend my life with my husband and being okay with him being gone so much? I don't want to do life with other military wives, as wonderful as they are, I want to do life with my husband. That's why I married him. He's my best friend. I look forward to the days when I'm not up at midnight wondering if he will get released to come home that night.

Sisters and Aunts

My little sister Grace is quite possibly the most intelligent 5 year old I've ever met. She is also quite stubborn, so when she makes up her mind about anything, it's pretty much made up for good. One day while Mom was getting ready she was watching one of her "shows" on TV, which is a normal occurrence. The problem was that on this day, Mom was taking a little longer and Grace's show ended and "A Baby Story" came on. Long story short, Grace was scarred, maybe even for life. Since then, she has sworn that she "hates babies" and never wants to get married because she never wants to have a baby. (She thought the baby came out of the lady's leg on TV and assumed that the lady would then have to get stitches.) This was before last Christmas and she has been singing the same tune ever since.

You can imagine how she took the news that I was going to have a baby. The following is an actual conversation between she and Sarah, my other sister. I swear I'm not even embellishing.

Sarah: So, have you heard Brian and Kel's news?
Grace: Yes, and I'm not happy about it. You know how I feel about those...
Sarah: But, Grace, you'll like this one.
Grace: That's what they keep telling me...

Last week she confessed to Mom that she thinks she'll probably become a mom one day. Which was followed by the admission that then she'll probably have to get married one day.

We have a sneaking suspicion that it all has to do with her getting to wear a certain white "bride" dress. But at least we're making progress.

Tiny Dancer

If I didn't already believe that God is sovereign and working all things together, I probably would be starting to about now.

Last Thursday, I was finally able to speak to the nurse who schedules appointments for my OB and she was super nice and understanding about my situation. Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised. I still had to go to the little class on Monday to fill out paperwork and have about half of my blood content drawn for various tests, but I was then able to go back on Tuesday (yesterday) for the first appointment.

As it turns out, I am not as far along in this pregnancy as I had previously thought. I am currently at 10 weeks, which makes a lot of sense with the timeline of when I got a positive pregnancy test and when I started to feel sick and tired. The doctor assured me that this is all fine and normal.

The best part is, I got to see the baby! It was so exciting that I laughed and cried at the same time. S/he was moving all around - dancing, if you will. The doctor said that s/he looked perfectly normal and healthy for a 10 week old. That made it feel so real.

Looking forward to March 11, 2009...

Times, they are a changin'

I have tried to like the green template, but I just don't. So, I changed it. Don't worry, you're still in the right place for Reasons Why.

I hope that this one works out better for us.

I feel like an ant

Do you want to hear the most ridiculous story in the world? Sure you do. Well, even if you don't, I feel like "blogging it out," so here goes...

Where do I start? Hmmmmm. Based on certain calculations of events, I think that I am 12 weeks pregnant as of today. Exciting, right? Yes, I am very excited, that is the good news. The bad news is that I have not seen a doctor yet, nor do I have an appointment to do so. Gasp! I must be a horrible mother-to-be. Well, don't judge me so fast, here are my reasons why:

1- I did not have a positive pregnancy test until I was about 7 weeks pregnant. From everything I've read on the internet, this can happen and is totally normal. Thus, delay #1.

2- The positive showed up just three days before I left on an 11 day trip to Moldova. (Btw, I really need to blog about that. It's coming.)

3- Before I left for Moldova, I made an appointment with my primary care physician to see him about getting a referral to an OB. He had no openings until four days after I got home from Moldova. Delay #2. Glad I had a little trip to the other side of the planet planned for that time.

4- After said visit with the primary care doctor (PA actually, but I love him!), the insurance company needed at least 72 hours in which to process the referral. This made me a little impatient, but I kept telling myself that we don't pay a thing for this insurance...Delay #3.

5- Called the insurance company on Tuesday morning to get the name of the OB to which I had been assigned (yes, assigned, don't get me started on that) so that I could finally call and make the magical appointment.

6- I immediately hung up the phone and dialed the number for the OB's office. "Oh sorry, we need 48 hours to process referrals before you can make an appointment," was the unenthusiastic reply of the disinterested person on the other line. Are you kidding me? Does everyone and their brother have to "process" my referral. What does that even mean? Delays #4-6.

7- Fast forward to this morning. I get a call from the office that says I can call one of two of their satellite offices to make an appointment. The referral is finally processed. Hallelujah.

8- I nervously dialed the number for the office closest to my home. Could this finally be it? Would I actually get to schedule an appointment with a real live OB? Not so fast. In so many words I was told that I must attend a class with a nurse and a nutritionist before I can schedule my first appointment. What? What? I uncharacteristically blew a gasket. I told the person on the other end of the phone that this was the worst, most inefficient process I had ever heard of, let alone been a part of. She said that she was sorry, "that's just the way it is." I told her that I am pretty sure I am 12 weeks pregnant and had been waiting for over three weeks to even be able to make this call. Then I decided to apologize. We both settled down and she gave me the direct line of the nurse who does the classes, telling me that maybe I could talk to her personally and make an appointment before I go to the class. This nurse is out of the office until Monday, so please pray with me that it works out that way. I am going to call her at 8 am on Monday, make no mistake about it.

I never imagined that it would take a month to merely make a doctor's appointment.

So, that's the story of why I'm 12 weeks and still don't have a doctor's appointment. It's also the story of why I'm not so sure that socialization of health care would be the best approach in America. And the story of why I feel tiny and insignificant today, much like an ant.

Mid-Afternoon Hamburger

Well, actually, it's only half of a hamburger. And, in the spirit of complete honesty, it's a cheeseburger. From Outback. The arresting thing about this reheated half-cheeseburger is that I'm eating it at 4:30 in the afternoon. As a snack. Me. If you know anything about me, the previous post about carrot soup is so much closer than a cheeseburger to my usual culinary choices. I usually eat salads for lunch and, although I'm not a vegetarian, I try to go several days between meals in which I eat meat. So what on God's green earth am I doing eating this as a snack?

To make a short story a little longer, we got a little surprise on Saturday morning, July 5th-we found out that I'm pregnant! B and I are just delighted by the fact and almost a month later, it is finally sinking in that our little family is growing. The only not-fabulous side effect thus far is that I just cannot seem to keep enough food in my body. This child is not even born yet and it is already eating me out of house and home. I think maybe it's so strange to me because before now, I have eaten, well, nibbled really, at food like a bird. So, the portions that I feel like eating now are like Thanksgiving dinner for every meal to me. I give in and eat like this because I have discovered over the last week that if I don't, I end up severely nauseated. Which is pretty much the worst feeling in the world.

I have decided to look at this like a season of my life and not get stressed about eating too much right now. Life will not be like this forever. One day I will again snack on apples as I play with my little boy or girl. But right now, this cheeseburger sure hits the spot!

Carrot Soup

First of all, friends, don't knock it 'til you've tried it. If you're like i was, the thought of carrot soup is not the most appetizing. But my dear friend made some for me one night and it has changed my life and lunches. You see, I love to eat hot things for lunch, which most of the time ends up being soup. Following is the recipe for the most wonderful, beta-carotene-filled soup I've ever tasted. Enjoy!

Meg's Carrot-Ginger Soup
2 lbs. carrots, washed and peeled
1 small lime-sized chunk of fresh ginger, peeled
~2 T butter
4 C vegetable broth
Half and half

After peeling the carrots, cut them into chunks. Mince the ginger. Heat butter in large sauce pan over medium heat until bubbly, then add ginger, stirring until fragrant. About 5 minutes. Then add the broth and carrots. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and cover. Simmer for 30 minutes or until carrots are soft. Transfer to a food processor and pulse until smooth. (You may have to do two batches.) Blend batches in a bowl with a bit of half and half using a whisk. Serve hot or cold. I like to garnish with cucumbers.

Hands and Feet

People who speak truth to you are perhaps the most valuable people to have around. Whether friend, family, or both, you treasure their opinions like gold. That said, it is always a sign to me of these golden people in my life when I want to rip them limb from limb sometimes before hearing what they have to say. Because it's the truth and I want to wallow. For me "ripping them limb from limb" most often looks like me not calling them for ages and not returning their calls when they initiate. It's not that I don't love them or want to talk about their lives, I just don't always want their insight on mine, because, well, I'm often far too content wallowing. And then, one day, stuck in the back of the blackest corner I've been in for a while, there are only certain people who can truly bring me out. These are the truth-sayers, the golden people in my life.

These are friends that always believe even when I can't anymore. Friends that cling to hope with one hand and me with the other while I dangle over a pit of despair. These are the people whose lives I want to exemplify because of their faith in the face of this adversity-fraught life. Sometimes they're only there once and that's enough. Some I have for life; like Brian, Like a Fine Wine, and Citystreams, to name a few.

Thank you for being the hands and feet of Jesus to me.

That's Me in the Corner

My lovely sister is in town and we went to see REM last night at the beautiful Merriweather Post Pavilion. It was so much fun! The venue reminded us of Chastain in Atlanta, it was a very good show in a very fun place!

Lovely, Dark, & Deep

If you know anything about me, you probably know I like to run. (If you don't know me, you know now! Ha!) And since I've been giving the new town and even state such a hard time lately on this blog and in general conversation, I would like to write about something I've found here that I am enjoying a lot. On base (which I keep calling campus in conversation, I guess being so used to living in a college town and all) there are incredible running trails. I am talking about miles and miles of well kept and well marked trails. And they are in the deliciously beautiful woodland that makes me feel like I'm in the mountains. Every time I run there I see deer. It feels like real cross country running and it makes me feel alive like nothing else.

So, yesterday, I was running a combination of trails that I had done once before, and getting kind of cocky about my ability to remember which way to go when I unknowingly took a wrong turn. I figured out my mistake when I passed a small building in the woods that I didn't remember. (I take in landmarks very quickly when I run in new places.) The good news was I was only about a half mile in the wrong direction. The bad news was that all of the sudden the sky turned black, it thundered and the heavens poured forth in abundance. In short, I got very wet. At first I was a little frightened about being in the woods alone during a storm, but then I decided to live it up. It was so exhilarating to run straight through the puddles because I was already soaked to the bone. The trails turned into natural little streams since it's so hilly here and I made no effort to avoid them. I finished just as the storm did and I was so thankful that I happened to be running in the woods during the downpour.

"The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."
-Robert Frost

Are you my home?

There's something to be said for looking down a road and knowing where it leads to. Put another way, it's nice to know how to get to places and it's nice to think you'll probably know someone when you get there. Personally, I am also a big fan of short cuts, or at least ways of getting places that don't include two of the busiest stretches of road in this country (I-95 and Highway 1). That said, today I am in my hometown, namely, Athens, GA and I'm in a sort-of pre-teenage angst about this subject, so bear with. It's the place I put down on forms when they ask for a birthplace and also the place I go on and on about when someone asks me where I'm from. "Have you ever heard of the University of Georgia? It's in a town called Athens and that's where I'm from." That's my usual shtick when I get the "where are you from?" question to avoid being mistaken as being from Atlanta. (Nothing against Atlanta, it just seems that everyone who hears we're from Georgia automatically assumes we're from Atlanta.)

The only problem with being in the place I love more than all the rest today is that it doesn't feel like home. GASP!! And it's because Brian isn't here today. My heart and mind are in two places that are totally and completely geographically incompatible. And tomorrow, when I disembark from the plane that will fly me to Virginia and am back with Brian, I will probably feel as confused as I am now, because God help me if Stafford, Virginia ever feels like home. Something is always missing and I guess it's a little of the feeling that Hal talks about when he calls the Christian life living in the "already and the not yet." And maybe we're not supposed to feel at home in this life, but be thankful for the time we have with who we have it with while we have it. (If that makes sense.) When I step back and look at it, I am so very blessed whether here or there and maybe home is a big meshing of the two.

A Little Love

You could say that we were destined to meet. Between cross country meets and camps that we both attended in high school and a boat load of mutual friends, it's amazing that it took as long as it did. But on April 6, 2002, Brian and I were finally introduced to one another by one of said mutual friends at the wedding of other mutual friends. A month after that, we met again at my parents' house because he was mentoring my little brother through a youth group. (Andy always reminds me that B "dated" him first. Haha.) About four months later, we discovered that I actually lived in the exact room in the exact apartment that he had just moved out of when he picked me up for our first date. Then, in October of 2002, he took me rock climbing for the first time. I was terrified at first, but we have been inseparable since that day.

The Crib

The room just off of the kitchen.
Our room.

The guest room. It came this color and I just went with it.

Rumor's new "spot."

The foyer.

The living room. Complete with new Ikea chair. Love it!

The office.

Another view of the room off of the kitchen. This is my favorite room I think.

The kitchen.

To be quite honest, this post is mostly for my mom. She wants to see pictures of the new place all set up, so here are a few. For those of you who are not her, enjoy also. Love!

Side note

Just so you know, I'm new to the military life. So when I was hearing explosions from some sort of training taking place on the other side of the interstate all day, I thought it was a new speed bump people kept hitting in the road in front of our house. Well, that certainly makes things more interesting.

Now I know why Michael Bluth could do nothing with the orange grove that he bought from Uncle Oscar. Ha.

A Bittersweet Symphony

It’s funny how being in one place makes you understand how you belong to another. Now I’m not talking just about belonging to a place because you are comfortable there, have friends there, and know your way around, I’m talking about having roots somewhere. People my age especially neglect the importance of roots and history. We want to buck tradition and strike it out on our own. In a very bittersweet and timely sort of way, I had my roots and history thrust at me on the very day that we moved.

You see, my Dad’s Dad passed away on Saturday, April 26th, the very same day we unloaded all of our belongings into the three-story townhouse that we now reside in. He lost an epicly heroic battle with cancer and Parkinson’s, but is now in his heavenly dwelling where there is no chemo, no medicine, and most importantly for him (I bet), no walkers or wheelchairs. (Side note, I always cry when I think about healing after someone dies of a terrible illness. It’s what we all long for, isn’t it? To be what we were created to be in the first place. I know I do.) So, long story kind of short, we quickly unpacked a few things so that we could pack again and hop into the car for the 10 hour drive to Dudley, GA, where my parents grew up and where this particular grandparent, Papa, spent the majority of his life. I was able to spend most of the week there with my grandmother, aunt, and the rest of ‘em (as they say) listening to stories about how many people Papa helped without ever expecting anything in return and eating the best food that can be found on this planet. What I lost on April 26th was monumental, but what I gained in the aftermath of that day could be spoken of on the same terms. I had always had an appreciation for Dudley (Population 498) as the place where both of my parents grew up and where both sets of my grandparents lived during my childhood, but now I love it. It’s where my grandma, Meme (Papa’s wife of 52 year – there will be a post on her soon), still lives. It’s a place where pecans can be picked up by the bucket, the peas are to die for, a place where people bring so much food when a person passes away, someone actually brings an extra refrigerator, and a place where you can still charge things to an account that is still maintained and calculated by hand at the local store (my grandfather’s). It’s a place where my roots are.

I was also going to talk about Athens here, but it seems that this post is getting long already. Suffice it to say that right now I feel like a plant that was taken out of the soil I sprung from a seed in and put into a big ugly pot on someone’s front porch that is already littered with other plants in other ugly pots. This is not where I belong. I was just reminded, though, that there is a time to plant and a time to uproot.

Coldplay comes to mind here, “And it’s a bittersweet symphony, that’s life…”

Rumor's Paradise

Rumor's paradise, his own personal Heaven on Earth. That's what our apartment currently is. Rumor is our curious-to-a-fault orange and white tabby who loves open windows and cardboard boxes. So, right now all of his dreams are coming true as every room becomes filled with boxes that he climbs in and out of, which caused several empty box avalanches yesterday. Also, we have the windows open, so when not trying to be packed alongside our drawer-trinkets, he is happily sitting in the window dreaming of eating the many leaves he sees flying by.

Meanwhile, Brian and I are not having so much fun. We've lived here for FOUR years. That's four years of stuff stuffed into drawers and back corners of closets. I did find my autographed Derek Webb, "She Must and Shall Go Free" CD cover, so it's not all bad. We decided that only CD covers that currently hold CDs or are signed don't get trashed. I guess I'll probably kick myself in twenty years when CD covers are collector's items. Oh well.

Friday is the big move day. I am going to start updating here more frequently to keep you all in the know about our nine-hour-away move and beginning life as a Marine family.

Bluetooths

People talking on bluetooths look crazy. Like they're talking to invisible people.

I'm just sayin'.

Prone to Wander

Lord I feel it! I was reminded (again) today about the amazingness of grace thanks to my friend Annie. Right now I am slowly but fiercely beginning to realize enormous amounts of fear. Next month we are moving ten hours away from my home and all of the people and places that I know. To add to that, my husband is a Marine, and so even though he was never mine to begin with, I am about to get a rude awakening to how real that is. He does not have orders or plans for deployment yet, but he imagines that it is inevitable in the future given his chosen profession. It is a noble and courageous thing to do to serve your country, but it is nerve-wracking for those at home to think about. Sometimes people say, "Well at least you knew what you were getting into when you got married." Oh no, I did not. My love signed up to be a Devil Dog about six months into our marriage, with my support, of course.

Which brings me to my fear, because life never turns out the way I plan, and I have all of these plans a'brewin' in my head. I too am asking God for big things right now and my old way of belief keeps creeping up and telling me that I have not been good enough to deserve the things I am asking for. But that is what is so amazing about grace-I have never and will never be good enough to deserve anything. Every good and perfect thing in my lift is a gift, IS grace. God's mercy is so deep that He listens to even me and so I can have hope that there is good to come. There is Christ to come and in Him is all good, all abundance. All that I don't deserve but have.

A Maddening Crowd

Heaven help us. There are about 3,000 high school students coming to my little place-of-business today. They hope to be "business leaders" in the future, but now they are hormonal almost-adults in oddly-matched suits either from their grandmother's closet, the thrift store, or the junior department at Macy's.

At least I have on a fun shirt today thanks to a rummage in my sister's closet last night.

Different Colored Doorways

Well, that was fast. No sooner than I posted about applying for the internship with IJM did I get a pre-fab rejection email. So, that one's off the list. I was sad for about two minutes before I got over it because it didn't feel like God closing a door, it felt like Him leading me down a new hallway that I had never seen before. I am in contact with another organization that does similar work and is based in Washington, DC, and will hopefully be able to volunteer with them while we live there. I really just want to get into that arena, if you will, to meet people who work on the front lines literally freeing people from modern day slavery so that I can do the same. This (and music) is what I am most passionate about. Dr. Kevin Bales, in his book Disposable People, says, "Slavery is obscene." I've never heard it put more eloquently, truthfully, or bluntly. There are mountains of problems in the world, but this one supersedes them all for me. The obscenity must end.

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." -Edmund Burke