Breathe. Overcome.

Overcome, overcame, overcomer... this is a trio of words that two friends consistently call me, or refer to as my words.  I hear them say this, I feel where they're coming from, but I don't always see it or feel it as truth.  

Here's a little story of the last 18 hours or so, and how I went from feeling defeated and overwhelmed to realizing that I really am an overcomer.  I apologize in advance if at the end it really was hard to follow or see the point.  But, I just need to type.

I never really chose these words as "mine" but they keep coming back again and again.  Now, yes, I have a relationship with God, but as many, I often have times hearing what he's trying to say to me.

I wrote recently about doorways, and how I'm closing one door from the manipulative marriage I was in, and moving forward to whatever is beyond the next door.   I have been through fires and trials, and somehow, I'm still able, most days, to laugh, smile, and relish in the many joys that God bestows upon me.  

Some days, though, I still falter.  I grapple with negative thoughts, fears, and worries.

This past week was a week filled with the grappling.  I've stayed up late mulling over the what-ifs and fearing what may or may not come in the future.  It's been EXHAUSTING.  I had a beautiful reprieve yesterday when I was able to spend a few hours with some long-time friends, allowing my children to play with theirs, and to voice some of these issues and talk through them without children in ear shot.

But for some reason, when I left their house last night and my children fell asleep in the van, they came flooding back, more intense than before.  Fears like... "if I were to die on a weekend, how long would it be before someone was wondering where I was, and how long would my children remain scared, hungry, tired, and alone."   

Now, this fear has plagued me since I first had a baby, and my husband worked overnights.  It would fall into the background from time to time, but it's always been there.  

When I finally returned home, the children were all still asleep, and I had a text from one of my friends who speaks "overcome" to me.  She was asking how I was, and my fingers flew across the keypad on my phone as I emptied my heart to her again.

I had been only half-clinging to God throughout the week, and more clinging to myself, my mind, my strength, my fears.  I knew it even if I couldn't say it.  But, then God reached out and grabbed me, and brought me back to Him.

She called, I didn't answer the first time, but she called again, and I laid down my pride and I answered.  She talked with me, let me cry, and prayed with me.  When she was done, a song I cling to that comes to me often at the perfect time, started on the van radio.  It was the first song I think I heard the entire drive home.  

"Lord, I need you.  Every hour I need you.  My one defense- my righteousness..."  It hit me, as it always does, like he was calling out to me to call out to Him.

She suggested I listen to one specific song when I got home.  I never got to it, unfortunately, because the three children all woke up very upset, and I went through and extensive bedtime routine before getting them to sleep.  At that point, I opened my Bible, which I have admittedly neglected this week, and began reading where I left off.

I laughed to myself as I realized God was showing me what just happened in the van, (as it has many times before) and how it's been His plan for me all along to have that sort of thing happen when I need it most.  As my friend says frequently, I'm not meant to go at it alone, after all.  It happens when I start feeling like I'm crumbling, I find a friend or two that build me up.   I sat there, amazed, though I shouldn't have been, I'm sure, by the verse.  I prayed then that I could be that person for someone else who may need it.  I still pray that.  I've always prayed that, actually.

I digress.  I then began apologizing to God for not trusting Him through the week and worrying so much about things I can't control, that He has under control, and things I can't begin to work on yet while I'm still before the next door in my journey.  I felt a sense of relief, and started sobbing. 

God often speaks to me through music, and right before my friend text me to check on me, I started humming a melody.  It took me only a few moments before I realized what song I was singing.  It's an old favorite called "Breathe on Me" by Jennifer Knapp.

The key lyrics that came to my mind were:

No temptation seize a man that he can't overcome.

Who am I to be fallen?

Crack your back on a slab of wood

come freedom, nail it down, I come crawling

I come crawling.

Come trickle down and save the world

two hands that I can't see

come breathe, come breathe, come breathe on me.

Split rib water, blood and bone,

come now, come Calvary.

Come breathe, come breathe on me.

Testimony come now quickly, whisper in my ear

Celebration

Peace at last not far away, 

empty sheet, a borrowed grave

Salvation

Come freedom come.

Exhausted, I fell asleep on the couch.

This morning, when I woke up to Norah in my bed, stealing my covers, I realized she had slept better last night, than she had in weeks.  She only woke up once (yes, she still sleeps like a newborn).   I went to church, excited as I am every Sunday for that last 8 or so months.

Two songs brought me to tears.  The first was the song that my friend suggested I listen to last night but never did, "Great Are you Lord," by All Sons and Daughters.

She even quoted it to me last night, "It's Your breath in my lungs."  Another breath related word.  Breathe is another message I find myself getting often because I really forget to breathe in the right air sometimes.  

The second song, talked was "No Longer Slaves" by Bethel Music.

You unravel me with a melody,

you surround me with a song

of deliverance from my enemies

til all my fears are gone.

I'm no longer a slave to fear,

I am a child of God.

As I mentioned, I have been dwelling on fears.  Last night, when we prayed, we prayed that be broken.  And here it was, again.  That, and the first line... that's totally me.  I already mentioned that also, God speaks to me through song quite often.  I find he speaks to me through song, through a few close friends especially, and through the Bible readings when I get over myself and my need to do other things with my time and sit down and read it.  I'm working on it.

Today, the message was about overcoming offenses.  I immediately flashed back to a book, "The Bait of Satan" that I had borrowed from my friend and read a few months ago. When I read that book, I felt such a release.  I forgave and moved on from offenses I had been holding onto at the time.  It was such a blessing.

I had said to my friend last night that I wasn't sure what else was burdening me, and we prayed I would see it so I could release it.

Well, there it was.  As soon as I saw the title of the sermon I knew.  I had latched on to new offenses since then, and I needed to overcome them.  A fresh freedom is what I needed.

So, I listened, reflected on the book and the message.  And when the pastor prayed, I released again.  I still need to work, I will admit, because some offenses run deeply. But, I truthfully don't want to hold onto them.  So, I'm working and praying on it in the days ahead.

He mentioned this verse:

This verse, for a few months, has been the screen lock on my phone.  "I have overcome the world."  I see it daily.  Today, I realized I have been seeing it, but I haven't been really reading it.

After church, my other friend said to me again, something along the lines of "how'd you like that?  It was your word again."

It was. 

I sit here, this afternoon, my children with their aunt and uncle a few hours so I can clear some of the clutter from our apartment, and I feel much lighter, not totally.  I still need to figure out what else is burdening my heart and work through it.  But, I'm sitting here with clearer mind, again, seeing my words.

Overcome.  Breathe.

I can do both.  I have done both.  God's done the overcoming for me and He's the air I breathe. 

And my weary heart is going to be okay.

Nerves.

I remember, shortly before Spencer was born, getting a little anxious and nervous. As a first time mom, I didn't know what to expect.  I tried not to worry and dwell on it too much, seeing as how it wouldn't make a difference, and I think, overall, I kept myself pretty calm about the upcoming labor and delivery of our first born child.

On Sunday, I will be 37 weeks pregnant.  Spencer was born the day before his due date (as a result of induction).  If Bo follows suit, I have about three weeks left.  Of course, there's no real way to count on that, so I am trying to keep myself mentally prepared to become a mother again at any time now.

It's nerve-wracking.  Again.  Still.  It's the same, but it's different.  I think I might be more nervous this time, actually.  It doesn't make a ton of sense to me, but at the same time, here I am, day in and day out, thinking about what's coming up really soon.


Why am I nervous?  Well, I know that each and every birth is different, just like every pregnancy.  While I was induced with Spencer because he was assumed to be "large" at full term, he was 8 pounds 2 ounces at birth.  That's not... that large.  I haven't been great about taking photos this pregnancy, because Spencer keeps me pretty occupied, more than anything, but I managed to take a snap a photo last week at the mall.  Below, we have Spencer v. Bo.  It looks as if Bo is even bigger than Spencer.    I haven't gained much as far as poundage goes (I really didn't with Spencer either, both times, I lost, then started to gain it back, and was only a few pounds over pre-pregnancy weight with Spencer, right where I am now with Bo).  


Seeing that I appear larger this time makes me nervous.  Will it be harder this time?  Will Bo be bigger, really?  Or is it all just an illusion.  I don't want a cesarean if I can help it, which is why they induced last time.  Will I end up with one this time?


I know I shouldn't worry about it, because worrying really makes no difference, but I wonder anyway.


I had an epidural last time.  I am hoping to avoid one this time, for no reason other than the thought of injection in the spinal column is creepy.  I dealt with it last time, because once I was about 5cm dialated or so, I was having intense back labor.  Well, my placenta this time is right near my spine.  Does that mean I'll have intense back labor again?  If so, I'll probably give in and get an epidural. I know it's nothing to be ashamed of, but they still make me nervous, even if I had one last time.

And then there's the worry I had last time: Will Jake make it in time?  He works on the road again with this job.  Last time, we were lucky in that we scheduled to induce so he was there.  But, had I gone early, would he have been last time?  Will he be this time?  I am terrified to think that second labors often go more quickly, and if I didn't realize I was in labor right away, would it give him enough time to get to the hospital?  I can't imagine him missing the birth of our child.

Then, of course, there's post birth nerves: Will Spencer adjust?  Will he love or hate the new addition?  Will I be a good mom to two?  Sometimes I feel like a cruddy mom to just one!

I know in the end, it will all work out according to God's plan and I shouldn't worry as much as I do.  But, it sure does come naturally.

Mother Hands.

On most nights, when Spencer gives me the signals that he's getting ready for bed, I pick up his glass of milk, he follows me to the bedroom, I pick him up, kiss his forehead, say "I love you," lay him down, say "Goodnight, baby," and give him his milk. The music is usually on already, a lullaby CD of some sort (we have a few to choose from, now). Sometimes, I hum along.

If he's not quite into the idea of sleeping right away, I often stroke his forehead. Or, more often, I pat his back, or lightly rub it in a circular motion. If he's on his front, I softly pat his chest.

Because his crib is so tall (it has wheels on the bottom of it, it's an older style, and they don't come off), and I get nauseous standing and leaning over the side of it, I sit on a stool beside it, and I drape my arms over. While it generally starts cutting off the circulation in a matter of seconds, I tough it out as best I can so that my little boy will relax and drift off to sleep.

Tonight, as I sat there, patting and rubbing his back, I was watching my hands. And, out of nowhere, it hit me that I have "mother hands" now.

What does that mean, you ask?

Well, to me, it means that they are starting to resemble my mother's hands, my aunts' hands, or my grandmother's hands. They're no longer child-soft skin. I have small scars, nicks, a few small drier patches, and they're tan. They are starting to feel a little leathery.

Of course, this is probably due to the fact that I'm 2 years shy of thirty years old.

Does it bother me? Not a bit.

As I sit there, stroking his back, noticing that because of the lack of circulation to my hand, the veins on the back of my hand puff out a little more. My knuckles seem to have deep, distinguished wrinkles on them. I'm wearing a soft, brown sweater. My hands, to me, look like a mom's hands.

I sat there, imagining what it would have looked like 27 years ago, when I was Spencer's age, and my mother would be stroking my own back, or patting me to sleep. She was younger than I was when her first child (me) was born. But, I imagined the motions were the same. I imagined the Emotions were the same as well. Love. Patience. Kindess. Compassion. Peace.

And then, I imagined my grandmother, softly patting her children and grandchildren to sleep.

I saw myself in a long line-up of generations of mothers that raised their children before me, all caressing their beloved child as they drifted into peaceful sleep.

As Spencer's eyelids grew quite heavy and the last few flutters from open to close passed, I had an overwhelming feeling of perfection.

My hands are perfect, in their aging, scarred imperfection.

My hands are mother's hands.

The differences in the first and the third.

A friend replied a few posts ago, requesting that, if I find time, I share some things about this pregnancy that are the same/different than the previous. I am going to compare Spencer and Bo, because I believe I will meet Bo on this earth, and Sprout, I did not. So, it just feels to make the most sense to me to compare Spencer with Bo.

Side note: I'm writing this as Spencer hangs out in the living room with Wendell, watching "Elmo's World." Sometimes, I let myself think that setting him in front of the TV makes me a bad parent. But, I've reconciled that feeling with the fact that I don't set him in front of the TV ALL THE TIME, or even that frequently. Just when I feel I really need a few minutes (3-50, depending on the day) where he's focused on something intensely and that something doesn't include me. It's been a very long week (I've been away from home 11 or so hours a day last Thursday, Friday, and this Monday-Today and including tomorrow) at work, and I am exhausted, and sick as heck, and stressed. So I thought blogging a little might help me relax, as, well, I love to write.

Anyway.

What inspired this post? I'm not going to lie, and I'm sorry if this is disgusting, but... I just was sitting in the kitchen, drinking a soda (in attempt to eradicate a headache that's making me have the urge to bang my head on a wall for relief), when I started gagging so fiercly that my eyes were watering, and therefore, I couldn't see well, and didn't make it to the bathroom before I started losing...

Yup.

It's the same as Spencer's pregnancy: I didn't start getting the gags and throwing up until the second trimester. Well, I'm almost there this time, and sure enough, it's starting to force its way back into my day.

Although, it's worse this time. Really. It's more frequent, more random, and more intense. And, truthfully, when I'm done throwing up, most of the time, I cry about it. Sweet.

Baby Bo is measuring ahead, almost a week. Spencer measured ahead, but only a few days up until I was full term, and then he was a week ahead. I'm kind of scared that Bo will be ginormous!

But everything else feels a little different, and I don't know why. I have cramps and pains that I didn't have with Spencer. I mean, I had them, but barely noticed them then. I don't know if it's because of the little problems we've had along the way this time that makes me more aware, or what.

I am drop-dead exhausted almost all parts of the day. I think part of it has to do with already having a 15 month old. But, who knows. Well, I also think part of it is the progesterone they have me on to help me sustain the pregnancy, and I'm happy to report that I stop using it on Monday! Woohoo! I can't wait.

I don't have consistent cravings, or really food aversions (although the smell of bacon freaks me out). With Spencer, I wanted chocolate milk, tomatoes, and potatoes, frequently. This time, it's pretty random. I guess the exception is Buffalo Wild Wings. Haha. But otherwise, it totally varies.

The sciatica is an issue I didn't have last time. Not even at the end of my pregnancy.

I think I *may* have felt baby flutters this morning.

And lastly (for now, because Spencer's getting tired of Elmo), this time, I feel really self-conscious. As in, I have lost 9 pounds since I got pregnant (as I did with Spencer, I lost a bunch of weight before gaining any back and barely gained more than I was before I was pregnant, which was nice (so that's a similarity for now)), but I feel like I look much pudgier already. I can tell that some of it is baby, whether it's bloat or actually belly, I can't always tell, but it makes me feel awkward. I can't zip and button my regular pants and comfortably sit down, already, and it freaks me out. I find myself nervous about what I wear because I don't want to look like I'm overly-obese or something. Ugh.

And... there's Spencer's crying. More another day, perhaps.

Oh, and another side note: Tomorrow is mine and Spencer's last day of daycare, and then, we begin our journey staying at home together. Wish us luck.