November 21:  It's about 2 am and I awoke 20 minutes ago to the sound of my 3 year old crying. She doesn't usually cry during the middle of the night, so something must've woken her up.  Hubby helped her fall back asleep and now they're both sound asleep.  I'm still awake though because around that time, I start noticing a change in the feel of my contractions. 

For the last few weeks, the contractions have come and gone at intermittent intervals, sometimes stronger than at other times, depending on how active I had been that day.  There were at least two evenings when I was certain that it was time to go to the hospital because the contractions were 5 minutes apart.  However, they always seemed to subside by the morning.  The contractions seem to start from one area and then spread from that center.  It felt like a tightening of my whole belly.  They were mildly painful but somewhat tolerable.  About 30 minutes ago, the contractions changed.  It feels more like my uterus is being squeezed as tightly as possible.  The pain wraps around from my front to my lower back.  These don't feel like "practice" anymore.

Had to stop writing because I was seized by a contraction for 5+ minutes, couldn't move, couldn't get off my chair.  In fact, I called Sam on the phone (he was in our bedroom sleeping) to tell him it's time to go to the hospital!  He thought it was a phone malfunction so hung up on me...twice!  I texted our friend Emily who lives up the street to come over (the plan was for her to sleep over until my mom could come get our 3-year old in the morning).  Finally, when the pain was over, I wadddled into the room and told Sam, "It's time to go!"  He leaped out of bed.

On the way to the hospital, my contractions stopped its regularity and the pain subsided.  I wondered if it was a mistake to be going to the hospital, but it was too late, we already called the doctor, Emily was already at our house... there was no choice but to move forward!  Hopefully, they wouldn't turn us away.   On the drive, I was chatty and in a great mood.  This was a great contrast to the last time I went into labor when my water broke and every inch on the road felt like a painful mile long. 

We arrived at the hospital minutes later and got checked in.  By the early morning, the contractions got increasingly painful... 

At 6:05 AM, a little baby boy let out his first cry... weighing a meager 6 lbs and 1 oz.  When the nurse brought him up to me and I saw him for the first time, I wanted to cry.  My heart overflowed with awe and amazement and gratitude as I saw a perfectly healthy baby boy.  All those months of cautious eating and prayer for a healthy baby were answered.  There had always been that knowing that I can pray and eat right and do all the right things, but the outcome was completely out of my hands.  Life is truly a gift from God and I had been keenly aware of it throughout my entire pregnancy.  The word "natan" in Hebrew means "gift", and that is exactly who he is -- a precious gift.

Over a week ago while we were parked at a red light, my 3 year old noticed a man walking along the median.  She asked me, "Mama, why is the man holding a sign?"  I explained to her that he didn't have a job and needed money and food.  There were several "why" questions and I ended it by telling her that we can pray for him and that we can ask God to show us what we can do to help him.  That night while I was praying and thanking God for all the things he has given us, my daughter interjected, "that man."  She remembered the man on the street and wanted us to pray for him -- that he could "take care of himself."  Every night, ever since then, she has remembered that man during our prayer time.  I love this about my daughter.  She remembers things.  She cares about people.  Her faithfulness to pray reminds me what faithfulness is.  I'm so thankful for her sweet spirit.

I love being a parent and I know that these days are numbered.  I will never get this time back.  It reminds me to enjoy and savor every moment... and even make sacrifices to create moments.

Growing up, I was scolded for making spills.  My memories of those incidents were of being harshly reprimanded.  It felt like it was the worse thing I could've done, and I always felt so awful about dropping something, knocking something over, or making a spill.  Honestly, it wasn't until recently that I realized that when you spill something, you can just clean it up -- and it's really not a big deal.  That seems obvious, but when my baby first started being the author of spills, I had to tell myself that.  And now that she is older and I am giving her opportunities to work on projects with me, I remind myself that with a child, I should expect a mess.  And a mess is great because that means she is learning and participating.  We have fun working together and there is a great sense of accomplishment when we finish a task.  Why would I give that up just to avoid a little mess?

"Oh no!"  I heard Sam say while he and our preschooler went to look at the fish one morning.  I knew what it meant and was saddened when my fears were confirmed.  We had lost one of our fishies.  Our daughter is generally very perceptive to our comments and our moods.  There was no chance of hiding or disguising the situation.  And honestly, I had no plans to.  So I knelt down to her eye level and told her that the fish had died.  It wasn't swimming anymore.  It was gone.  At first, she didn't really know what it meant, so she just repeated what I said.  "It's dead?"  But when she began to really understand what it meant (the fish was just not moving anymore), she buried her face into my chest and said tearfully, "Whyyyy?"  With her voice cracking, my heart broke.  Though I know the theological reasons why, on an emotional level, I don't really know why -- and I wanted to cry too.  After I gave her a big hug and she started asking me why again, I tried to explain that every thing living dies.  I pointed to the roses that she and her daddy bought me and said, "See how the roses are brown now?  They died too."  She said, "She's not swimming anymore?"  And I said, "No, she's not swimming anymore." 

Later that day, we were talking to my mom, and I told my daughter to tell her grandma that we had just bought some fishies this week.  She informed, "We lost a fish.  It's not swimming any more."  That's when I really knew that she really understood.

Different parents have different philosophies when it comes to introducing the realities of life to their children.  For me, I realize that without understanding death, we will not really understand life.  This was something I realized as I read children's Bibles to my daughter which skipped over Jesus' death but illustrated the empty tomb.  I can understand the need to omit age inappropriate material, yet, the omission leaves a huge gap in the whole story.  Without referring to Jesus' death and why, the empty tomb leaves little impression.  To me, there's nothing more amazing than the heart wrenching fact that Jesus died and then the thrilling victory that Jesus came back to life again.  When we grasp the death, we truly have reason to sing, "Jesus is alive!  Oh, happy day!"  My daughter can sing those words now but one day, she will truly grasp how happy it truly is -- and not hiding the death of our fishie might lead her to just that. 

There are many different milestones in the journey of being a mom.  The moment that you find out you're going to be a mom.  The first time you see the little cashew-shaped blob that is your baby on the ultrasound or hear the heartbeat.  And the first time you feel the baby move and know it's the baby and not an air bubble. 

Tonight I felt the baby's movements.  Last night, it was a maybe but tonight it was definite.  I even asked, "Baby, if it's you moving, do it again for mama."  And s/he did.  As I talked to the baby and began singing to him/her, baby moved some more.  And then it all became so much more real to me that we are going to have another baby.  I'm "mama" to someone else.  My daughter is the sister of someone.  We're a family of four and not three.  Everything in life is going to be different from now on...

This was the song I was singing:
God is so good.
God is so good.
God is so good,
He's so good to us.

He cares for you (my baby),
He cares for me (your mama),
He cares for us (our family),
He's so good to us.

Yes, he is.

May I always be able to sing that, come what may

You know that verse that says God delights to give us good gifts?   I don't think I properly understood this verse until I became a parent.  The extent of my love for my child is that not only do I love to give my child gifts -- but I have to restrain myself from giving her too many gifts.  I come across so many things that I know she will enjoy, but I know that if she had too many good things, she wouldn't enjoy any of them, so I am selective of what I do give her.  And when she receives a gift -- the delight in her eyes makes my heart happy!  It must be the same for God.  We're here begging him for more gifts, wondering why he's so cruel; when, in reality, if he were to give it all to us, then he would really be cruel.

"If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!"  Matt. 7:11

In contemplating the endless sacrifice of being a parent, I sometimes think, "What sort of insanity drives people to want to purposely make babies??"  And then there are other moments when I scoop up my own little one in my arms and my love overflows -- she is the sunshine of my life -- and I know full well why.  And I recognize why it is so that God created humanity and why he loves us despite our tendency to wander from him -- just 'cause we are the sunshine of his eternal being.

I was greatly motivated by Sunday's sermon about choosing the better thing as Mary did.  One of the things that has been difficult for me since becoming a mom has been learning that my time does not belong to me anymore.  It belongs to my baby -- or, rather, I must always consider her needs alongside my desires.  I used to spend extensive extended time with God, uninterrupted.  Now interruptions and the possibility of interruptions keep me too distracted to have deep, lengthy times with God, even during the times when I have the chance.  But Jesus was always interrupted by crowds of people with needs, and yet he still found time for intimacy with the Father.  So I need to pick up some tips from him and learn how to work around the interruptions.  I need to adjust better and re-claim my time, so that I can cultivate deeper intimacy with Jesus. 

It was on Thursday that I was sitting at the end of my baby's hospital bed, watching her sleep in the dim lighting, with the EEG electrode cap on her head.  It had been three weeks since we had observed some things that had brought us to this point.  And as I sat there with possible prognoses as a specter overhead, I thought about how God had asked Abraham to sacrifice his son, and I wondered how the story might have been different if God had asked Sarah instead.  I won't pretend to know what a father's heart is like, but I do know a mother's.  It is not a nearly impossible, but a truly impossible request.  I am quite certain that asking me to put myself on that altar and sacrifice myself would be infinitely easier than the thought of my child being placed in harm's way.  But if God were to ask me to do something similar, what other choice do I have?  I can't fathom following through with such a request, but I knew in that moment that hinneni ("Here I am") is the only option for me.  My desire to hold on tightly to my baby to protect her was being eclipsed by the realization that she belongs to God.  For as intense as my desire might be to shield her from a life full of challenges, there is really nothing I could do to prevent it.  She belongs to God, and if he wanted her to have an illness for her whole life in order to bring him glory, then there's little I can do - nor should I do - to change it.  If his calling for my life is to focus on care for her, then that's his will for me.  A calling is not something I can fight.  It's a privilege.  It's a destiny.  When we fulfill his calling for us, we bring him glory. 

While I sat there with my little baby, waiting as the test was running, and wondering about the result, I prayed over and over again, "She belongs to you, she belongs to you..." as an act of surrender, a declaration, an affirmation, a confession, and a request to help me remember and believe.  I am only given charge over her life to nurture her and help her understand and fulfill her giftings and calling.  She does not belong to me.  She does not belong to me.  This was surely another defining moment in my young career as a mother...

The results came later affirming what we had prayed for all along -- the EEG proved normal.  I guess God has a different calling for the three of us (and I must admit -- as I'm sure Abraham could concur -- how thankful I am for that!).