In March of 2003, I started getting fat.  Not really fat, just a little chubby around the mid-section.  I wasn't surprised since I was working at a job where they catered in from restaurants every day and my eating habits hadn't been the best.  I vowed to eat only salads and do more situps.  Then I realized that my chub didn't feel like mushy fat.  It felt a little more solid.  Like maybe a uterus.  "Ha!" I thought to myself, not really amused.  No way I could be pregnant.  Allie was still a few months shy of her first birthday.  And besides, breasfeeding is great birth control, right?

I bought a pregnancy test from the drugstore, while mentally cataloguing any possible symptoms.  Was I tired?  Well, yes.  I had a teething infant at home and I was working full-time.  Of course I was tired.  Nauseous?  Not really.  I'd been really sick in February with the same flu as everyone else.  Sore boobs?  Lookup "Nursing a teething infant" and you'll know why I dismissed that one as well.

I unwrapped the test stick at home in my bathroom and that second line reddend almost before I could pee on it.  I'm surprised it didn't rearrange itself to spell out "Duh, Ashley" and slap me in the face. Okay, pregnant wasn't bad.  They say you get bigger faster with your second pregnancy, so I figured I would be about 6-9 weeks along.  I had no missed period to calculate by since I was nursing, so I did my best guess and figured I'd be in the market for an October/November baby.  Definitely doable.

When I went to the doctor for the standard first appointment, I figured we'd just photocopy all my answers from the last time I was pregnant (what, like a WEEK ago?) and that we might try and hear the heartbeat.  As the doctor palpated my abdomen, she raised an eyebrow in my direction and said "Have you felt anything move?" and started squirting that warm ultrasound goo on my tummy.  I stammered out that no, I think I'd know what a moving fetus felt like and that I'd just been really gassy thankyouverymuch.  Then she put the ultrasound wand against my skin and I saw my baby.  "Oh," was about all I could manage as Dr. L smiled and said "Nope. That's the baby moving."

I went through the entire catalogue of human emotions in approximately 5 seconds as she measured different parts of the baby to figure out how far along I was.  I'll never forget watching her drag that circle on the screen to measure the head circumference.  As the circle got bigger, the EDD in the corner of the screen went from November (Cool! A Thanksgiving baby!) back to October (Even better! We'll share a birthday!) and then into September (Um, okay.  That's pretty soon.) before settling in at the middle of August.   "You're 17 weeks and 5 days along.  And it's a girl."  I always wanted two girls.  I just didn't know I'd be getting my wish so soon.

And as soon as mid/late August seemed, I was even more shocked when my water broke in early July.  A lazy Sunday napping with Allie turned into a frantic rush to the hospital and worries that the baby would come too soon.  Luckily, I wasn't having contractions, so my doctor was content to keep me in the hospital on bedrest for a few more weeks while we let the her cook a little longer.  She wasn't quite done getting her lungs ready for their big debut, so we bought her a few more weeks. 

I spent those weeks in the hospital surrounded by baby name books as we hadn't picked out a name.  Her father didn't like anything I picked out, and I thought all of his suggestions sounded like stripper names.  My names were perfectly reasonable.  Cordelia, Avalon, Zoe, Amelia.  He hated them all.  Finally, the night before I was induced, I finally decided.  "Her name will be Avery.  Here are 3 middle names to choose from."  And he actually picked my favorite one.  Colette.  It was French and meant "victory of the people" which I thought would bode well for the fight ahead of her as a preemie.

She was born 5 years ago today and hasn't stopped fighting.  Her struggles as a preemie were blessedly few, and her health concerns going forward are limited to asthma and allergies.  But her spirit is absolutely victorious.  She is the quickest to smile.  She lives to make people laugh.  Her voice and mannerisms are certifiably the cutest thing in the whole state of Texas (Unless cousing Charleigh is visiting.  Then it's a tie.)   She is a talented artist, loves to sing and dance, would sell her soul for all the Care Bears in the world, and she loves everybody.   She is absolutely the most joyful little girl I've ever met, and I'm so proud that she is mine.

Happy birthday Miss Avery.  Promise to stay a kid forever, okay?

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My wedding photographer is a genius.  She showed me a couple of pics from the 189 metric buttloads she shot at my wedding and they are fab. 

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Peekaboo

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Thank you guys for all your thoughts and prayers.

Thankfully, we received encouraging news.  Though one of Grandma's arteries was 99% blocked, the rest of her heart is remarkably strong, especially given all her medical issues.  She'll stay in the hospital for a few days but her prognosis is good beyond that.  She has been through such an array of medical complications this past year and a half.  Her doctors are quite amazed that she's not only survived everything thrown at her lately, but soldiered through with such grace and wit.  That's just how we roll in our family I guess :)

And I also owe you guys an update regarding Mom's hearing.  Short story is that we still don't know anything.  It was a very trying, humiliating, and exhausting experience for her.  Basically the lawyer grilled her for nearly 45 minutes and watching her struggle to find words, to speak, to be heard... it was heartbreaking.  But Linz and I got to speak on her behalf as well, and I feel like in a combination of the three of us, we told her story.  The judge will be deciding in 2 weeks and we should know in about 10 weeks.

Meanwhile... my benediction for tomorrow.  I was scheduled to read it at the 9am tomorrow, but will miss it because the girls seem to have a stomach bug (and I think I'm getting it too).  Regardless, someone will read it and I hope the right hearts hear it.  It's been in mine for awhile, though I didn't know quite how to get it out.

Psalm 143
 
"O Lord, hear my prayer, listen to my cry for mercy. 
In your faithfulness and righteousness come to my relief."
 
In the darkest of times, my prayers are the most simple.  Usually all I can muster is a simple "please" repeated incessantly aloud and in my head.  A syncopated supplication broken only to take a breath and to interject our Lord's name.  Though the syntax is simple, the petition is not.  I cry not just for relief, but for knowledge, acceptance, guidance, wisdom, peace. 
 
Please says "I don't know how to handle this alone."
Please says "I'm not ready for this loss."
Please says "This is not my plan but yours."
Please says "I know, Lord.  I know."
 
"Teach me to do your will for you are my God.
May your good Spirit lead me on level ground."

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I'm back to my one word prayer of maternal medical trauma.  Only this time it's my grandmother.  She had a heart attack last night and is still in ICU.  I'm trying to balance my own selfishness in wanting her to heal and come home so I can still have my Meme, with the knowledge that she would be perfectly happy to start her eternity now.  Regardless, I love her very much and want the best for her.  She's very special not only to us, but to a lot of people.

Say a prayer if you can.  And I promise to quit asking for prayers all the time.

Grandma

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I feel completely disconnected from my writing right now.  Which is so unfortunate as I have so much to write about.  New marriage.  New job.  New experiences and growth and change and joy.  There is a lot of wonderful available and I should be tapping into it, but I can't.  I'm trying to live instead of write, experience instead of overanalyze, and exist in the joy/worry/anger/love/humor of the moment as it happens instead of obsessing about it endlessly.

I don't know if this is a good thing.  Sometimes I think it is.  It's good to stop and live.  It's kind of like the difference between photographing a memorable even and just watching it. I don't think it's a permanent condition.  In fact, I sense it's nearly over and I have a lot churning in my head right now.  I guess I just need to verbalize and rationalize to myself how I went from writing and photographing everyday to almost not at all.

I love and miss you, writing.  I'll be back before you know it.

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...please say a little prayer for my mom this morning.  We have her judicial hearing for her disability case today and we're all a wreck.  It's hard for her to stand in front of a court and admit out loud that her aneurysm left her disabled, but it's the truth and she needs help.  Pray that the judge has the wisdom to see that and that we have the strength to support our mom. 

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Show us two things that belong together.

Toast

Awwww how sweet!  (You may go vomit in the corner now.  Sorry.)

We are coming up on our one month wedding anniversary, yet we still have not known each other one year.  When I say it feels like it has been much MUCH longer, I mean it in the best way possible.  We joke a lot (we're really good at that) that we are really just insufferable narcissists.  We married our exact clones so that we could spend a lifetime loving ourselves.  But the truth is that we're different in very complementary ways.  Our optimism/pessimism varies on certain topics, but always balances out.  We both have our depressive states, but are able to dig the other one out with a minimum of effort.  We keep each other balanced and happy and we love each other crazy stupid amounts.

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Sometimes during our church service, I look around and see people dancing along to the music.  Swaying or rocking out or raising their hands.  I'll clap if prompted, but that's about it.  The music is good, don't get me wrong.  I mean we basically have a Robbie Seay Band concert every week.  It's good.  I just don't know that I'd sway unless prompted to.  I cry every now and then, if a song particularly talks to something in my heart at that moment, but that's the only obvious outward emotion I have during church.  It makes me feel broken somehow.  I don't doubt the veracity or the strength of my faith.  I've been tested on that many times and only come out stronger.  But I wonder why I don't have that passion, that fire, that makes me want to dance in the aisles or bang my head in time with the drums.

Strangely enough, it was just this question I was pondering on Saturday evening when I got an email from the service coordinator at church, asking me if I could give a benediction for the 9am service on Sunday.  I was already on the schedule to run Powerpoint at the 11am, so I would already be at the church early so I couldn't claim I wouldn't be there.  I was panicked.  I'd had weeks to prepare the last benediction and even then I feel like I just squeaked by.  I panicked and selfishly hoped Ron's migraine would last into the next day so I could have a legitimate excuse to stay home.  Alas, he bounded up the stairs full of smiles, laughter, and bad cockroach jokes.  There went that excuse.

It's not that I didn't want to do the benediction.  I'm honored and flattered that my church leaders like my writing and want me to share it with the congregation.  These people are hugely talented and have written books (BOOKS!  PLURAL!) so their compliments definitely carry a lot of weight for me.  It's just that when it comes to religious writing, I feel like a hack.  A fraud.  A fake.  I love the benedictions that Kelly writes.  Her words are beautiful and evoke a definite imagery and she definitely has that writerly aura about her.  As does J.  Their writing is awe inspiring and I can't think of a higher compliment to give.  But it also makes me feel inadequate.  I feel like they are dancing lyrical ballet with their words while I'm doing my best to tap my toe to the beat.  (If only I could grow a pair and talk to those women about their writing.... but that's another post altogether.)

As I was tucking the girls in bed that night, I said their prayers with them.  Typically, they repeat a standard prayer of thanks: for the beautiful day, their wonderful family, and then for one item of their choosing.  It's important to me that they don't see prayer as a nursery rhyme, but that they learn with some training wheels on too.  That night, Allie was ready to take the training wheels off and make up her own prayer.  It was very simple: "Thank you Jesus for all that you do, for all your work and for making us a happy family.  For all the stars in the sky and everything beautiful.  Thank you so much, Jesus.  Amen."

And that right there was the most beautiful prayer.  It was simple, it was heartfelt, it was honest.  I had my inspiration for the benediction.  I got out my Bible.  I prayed.  I set out with a purpose.  But then doubt crept in.  My writing wouldn't be as beautiful.  I couldn't even pray beautifully.  And beleive me, I come from a long line of talented praying people.  I tried again.  "Lord, I want to speak about finding your miracles in the simplest of things. About not needing superfluous fanciness or grand gestures.  I want to speak of how that sleeping six-year-old downstairs can be more profound than many people at their most verbose."  And for awhile, the words came.  I took inspiration from Psalm 19 "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.  Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge."  But I kept doubting myself.  Over and over for hours and hours.

All the while, Ron encouraged me.  Assured me that I was overthinking things.  Which I totally was, I just didn't know how to stop.  "It's easy!" he said, to which I responded "Okay hotshot.  You do it then."  And of course, 30 minutes later he had written an absolutely perfect benediction.  I told him that I was reading it and he didn't quite beleive me.  But he's prone to not beleiving me when I tell him what an amazing writer he is.

I read it at the end of the 9am service on Sunday, and immediately after, the pastor told me how amazing it had been.  I immediately fessed up and said Ron had written it.  "Eh, your married now. One flesh and all that," he responded with a good-natured pat on the back.  I was later asked to read it as the invocation for the 11am service, and could I please write it down for someone to read at the 5:30.  So for all that worrying, it went incredibly well, though I'm not the one who wrote it.

And I'm still left wondering, why don't I get it?  Why do I align myself more closely with Allie on a spiritual level than with grown ups?  Is it because I've always grown up in my faith?  I've had it from such an early age maybe, that I'm still able to retain that childlike trust, that simple gratitude?  That's a good thing right?  I'm not prone to screaming or clapping or getting all that outwardly excited about anything, that's not a flaw.  Is it?  I don't know.  Hopefully, I can sit in the shadow of those blessed with a more eloquent and more beautiful faith so I can learn how to flesh mine out.  Meanwhile, at least now I've got a benediction ghostwriter in my pocket....

As we leave this place of sanctuary to resume our lives in the flood of everyday circumstance, deliver us in your righteousness like your servant David:  Rescue us, guide us, strengthen us.  We have exhausted ourselves trying to overcome these obstacles on our own and we are now a reproach – even to our neighbors.

But you have seen our futility and in your loving kindness bring us joy.  We feel broken, we feel afraid, we feel forgotten.  But, we know healing, we know comfort, we know love.

Let us leave with this courageous hope and in this strength, let us love in kind.

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Allie has decided to write her very first song.  It is for her kindergarten boyfriend, Landon.  All spelling errors are her own:

When the the stars begene to shine

With you and me,

Love and you, with you and me.

Just you and me.

Remeber wat we did togeter

You smilde at me :)

We weer next door

You always stearde at me

Wehen we allwas begen to screem and play.

Wonder if I could get her to write my benediction for tomorrow.

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Just got a phone call that Allie rode her first roller-coaster.
Made me think of this postcard from PostSecret.
I'm happy for her, but sad for me. I guess that's motherhood.

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