I know that when I began blogging, I said I'd try to write everyday. (I knew that wouldn't happen, but it was an honest, good-intentioned goal!) The past few days I have just had so, so much running through my heart and mind that I knew it would take me hours to fish through it all enough to make sense of it and then blog about it. God is doing so much in my life and marriage, in this generation, and across the nation: sometimes I can only wrap my mind around it one small particle at a time. So, instead, I've just been shying away from the computer, waiting for the right moment to spill it all.
Just letting you know... ;)
Friday, July 23, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
To Clean or Not to Clean ;)
"but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious."
I Peter 3:4
I've still been mulling over the thought that someone asked me of how to get housework done when you plain just don't like to do it ;) Maybe someone reading this has an answer to this question: Where do you find motivation when you would just rather do something else?
I've come up with a few answers to that question myself. I think there are multiple answers, and the one that clicks for you probably just depends on your personality type. The truth is, unless you're a weirdo like me, you probably don't think of cooking, cleaning, organizing, or dishes as something to do for fun. Here are some of the things that I like to keep in mind that help me find satisfaction in caring for my home:
I like to think of the individual jobs around the house collectively. You know, not just piles of dishes and bags of garbage that need to be taken out, but as everything adding up to 'keeping a house.' Not only that, but keeping it as a gift for John. Does that make sense? I don't keep the house clean for myself, but for John, yes. It means more than we as women know to give our husbands the gift of a clean, peaceful, organized, warm, welcoming home to come home to at night. Even if we work fulltime out of the house as well, it still boils down to it being our jobs to keep a home for our husbands. That doesn't mean they can't share some of the load of the work, since we share the load of bringing in the paycheck, but we are still the only ones with the nesting instinct. (Yeah, I don't really like comparing myself to a bird either, but hey, that's the best way to describe it in English ;) Both my husband and my dad, in multiple conversations I've had with each of them, have pressed the thought of how much it means to them when we work so hard to give them a peaceful home.
Talking about Love Languages, I think each gender might be a little more prone to certain ones, and I think for men, acts of service are a real winner. If all I do all day is take care of his baby, wash his clothes, and cook his dinner, I am the best and most beautiful woman in the world! Not that he doesn't also need words of affirmation and all those other love languages, but I'm just saying: there's something about it that really means a lot. There are some things in life that God just straight-up ordained to be a certain way, and a woman caring for her husband's house and children is just one of them. I'm sure there are exceptions, but I'm just sharing my heart here.
Beyond all that, something else my mom told me is to live as though you are preparing for Jesus to be a guest in your home. I like that. Makes me feel as if my life, my home, has some dignity. If the Lord Himself would take the time to come and visit me, of course I would want to please Him. And we all the truth is that He is here. All the time.
I know this post might seem like a bunch of mismatched thoughts somehow strung together, but here's another one ;) For many years, I felt as though housework was something I just had to get done and out of the way so that I could get on to the important things in my life. Am I the only one that feels that way? I almost felt guilty, like I should be on a mission trip somewhere, or out working and making money with a real job, or you know, just something more important than washing underwear. I was trying to think what it was exactly that changed my thought process about it all, and I think part of it was Alivia. Housework isn't an option anymore. John would still love me even if the house was a mess, and we could both live there whether or not we had to step over piles on the floor. Alivia, on the other hand, can't. She deserves to live in a home that is not only safe for her little hands, but that is organized enough to allow her to find the toys and whatever else she needs to have a happy little life. I was blessed enough to have one of the happiest childhood's I think a child could ever have, and I feel very strongly that I have the responsiblity to give the same thing to her. And now, instead of cleaning because I have to, I am creating a better, safer, happier life for the most precious girl I could ever imagine having.
Ok, please just let me add one more thought to this looong post ;) My personal belief is that the environment that we live in directly reflects the environment of our hearts and of our minds. I have noticed that in the days/months/years/seasons of my life that I have felt crazy busy, out of control, or far from the Lord, my home/car/room (even purse!) suffered from severe negligence. Maybe you are different. But for me, if you walk into my bedroom and find the bed made, windows open blowing fresh air into the house, and the laundry is done and put away, then you can bet a million bucks that I also spent a good amount of time with the Lord that day. You can bet that I spent time in prayer, in organizing my thoughts, and in thinking of others instead of my own issues. When my life is organized, so is my mind, and I find I spend a lot less time getting emotional and whining at John or fussing to God over little things. I know it seems overly simplistic, but it's the God made us. The two (practical organization and spiritual organization) go hand-in-hand.)
Here I go again recommending books: "More Hours In My Day," by Emilie Barnes. She shares some really, really good ideas about how to actually create time and money by living in an organized way. She's really creative and makes organizing your life fun. One of the most imporant things I took away from the book was that of having a gentle and quiet spirit. She said everyday, no matter how hellish her own day with the kids was, she made it a point to run up to her husband when he got home and hug his neck, ask him about his day, and let him have some regroup time. Again, it changed my life.
Love you all...
I Peter 3:4
I've still been mulling over the thought that someone asked me of how to get housework done when you plain just don't like to do it ;) Maybe someone reading this has an answer to this question: Where do you find motivation when you would just rather do something else?
I've come up with a few answers to that question myself. I think there are multiple answers, and the one that clicks for you probably just depends on your personality type. The truth is, unless you're a weirdo like me, you probably don't think of cooking, cleaning, organizing, or dishes as something to do for fun. Here are some of the things that I like to keep in mind that help me find satisfaction in caring for my home:
I like to think of the individual jobs around the house collectively. You know, not just piles of dishes and bags of garbage that need to be taken out, but as everything adding up to 'keeping a house.' Not only that, but keeping it as a gift for John. Does that make sense? I don't keep the house clean for myself, but for John, yes. It means more than we as women know to give our husbands the gift of a clean, peaceful, organized, warm, welcoming home to come home to at night. Even if we work fulltime out of the house as well, it still boils down to it being our jobs to keep a home for our husbands. That doesn't mean they can't share some of the load of the work, since we share the load of bringing in the paycheck, but we are still the only ones with the nesting instinct. (Yeah, I don't really like comparing myself to a bird either, but hey, that's the best way to describe it in English ;) Both my husband and my dad, in multiple conversations I've had with each of them, have pressed the thought of how much it means to them when we work so hard to give them a peaceful home.
Talking about Love Languages, I think each gender might be a little more prone to certain ones, and I think for men, acts of service are a real winner. If all I do all day is take care of his baby, wash his clothes, and cook his dinner, I am the best and most beautiful woman in the world! Not that he doesn't also need words of affirmation and all those other love languages, but I'm just saying: there's something about it that really means a lot. There are some things in life that God just straight-up ordained to be a certain way, and a woman caring for her husband's house and children is just one of them. I'm sure there are exceptions, but I'm just sharing my heart here.
Beyond all that, something else my mom told me is to live as though you are preparing for Jesus to be a guest in your home. I like that. Makes me feel as if my life, my home, has some dignity. If the Lord Himself would take the time to come and visit me, of course I would want to please Him. And we all the truth is that He is here. All the time.
I know this post might seem like a bunch of mismatched thoughts somehow strung together, but here's another one ;) For many years, I felt as though housework was something I just had to get done and out of the way so that I could get on to the important things in my life. Am I the only one that feels that way? I almost felt guilty, like I should be on a mission trip somewhere, or out working and making money with a real job, or you know, just something more important than washing underwear. I was trying to think what it was exactly that changed my thought process about it all, and I think part of it was Alivia. Housework isn't an option anymore. John would still love me even if the house was a mess, and we could both live there whether or not we had to step over piles on the floor. Alivia, on the other hand, can't. She deserves to live in a home that is not only safe for her little hands, but that is organized enough to allow her to find the toys and whatever else she needs to have a happy little life. I was blessed enough to have one of the happiest childhood's I think a child could ever have, and I feel very strongly that I have the responsiblity to give the same thing to her. And now, instead of cleaning because I have to, I am creating a better, safer, happier life for the most precious girl I could ever imagine having.
Ok, please just let me add one more thought to this looong post ;) My personal belief is that the environment that we live in directly reflects the environment of our hearts and of our minds. I have noticed that in the days/months/years/seasons of my life that I have felt crazy busy, out of control, or far from the Lord, my home/car/room (even purse!) suffered from severe negligence. Maybe you are different. But for me, if you walk into my bedroom and find the bed made, windows open blowing fresh air into the house, and the laundry is done and put away, then you can bet a million bucks that I also spent a good amount of time with the Lord that day. You can bet that I spent time in prayer, in organizing my thoughts, and in thinking of others instead of my own issues. When my life is organized, so is my mind, and I find I spend a lot less time getting emotional and whining at John or fussing to God over little things. I know it seems overly simplistic, but it's the God made us. The two (practical organization and spiritual organization) go hand-in-hand.)
Here I go again recommending books: "More Hours In My Day," by Emilie Barnes. She shares some really, really good ideas about how to actually create time and money by living in an organized way. She's really creative and makes organizing your life fun. One of the most imporant things I took away from the book was that of having a gentle and quiet spirit. She said everyday, no matter how hellish her own day with the kids was, she made it a point to run up to her husband when he got home and hug his neck, ask him about his day, and let him have some regroup time. Again, it changed my life.
Love you all...
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Are You Stressed... or Are You Loved?
"Mary has chosen what is best and it will not be taken away from her."
Luke 10:42
Originally, I told [you] Alicia that I would write a little something about taking care of our homes/families. I've been trying to think of something inspirational to say on the subject for the past few days, but I've been coming up dry! When I think about such things as housework, or really any kind of work at all, I feel a certain... guilty feeling, I guess you'd say. Not always, but sometimes. Used to be, in the past, that I would hide myself in a certain 'Martha' costume and plod along feeling like at least in my work could I find some sort of identity and worth in life. I always knew though, deep down, that what I was really doing was hiding... hiding from the kind of one-on-one, deep intimacy and relationship with the Lord that I was really made for. "The better part"... that's what Jesus said. That's who I wanted to be. The woman that would sit at His feet for hours and never once worry about who would be making the next meal, or how I could ever possibly get everything done in my life. Once, while I was in Bible school, I even wrote "MARY" on the back of my hand, so I would remember every time I saw it to take a moment to focus on becoming more like her.
Not that that's a bad thing. That's exactly what someone with my personality needs: to just lay everything aside now and then and focus on relationships, especially the one that I have with my Savior.
But I've come to realize something. Just because that is the better part, doesn't mean it's the only part. This is real life, people. We have husbands and children, mouths to feed, dishes to wash, and laundry to do. (That is NOT an extensive list, by the way!) Does God expect me to feel guilty for every second of my day that is not spent in my room on the floor with worship music playing in the background? Heavens no! This is a God of grace that we're talking about, after all. He remembers that we are dust. All He asks is that the things of this earth would not consume our hearts, drawing us away from our first love. He wants to be the center of our attention and the focus of our love. Is that so much to ask?
And so I've learned. Learned to love the moments of laying it all aside, shutting off the noise, and just loving Him. And I've also learned how to truly love, and not feel tied to, the things that really do need my attention. Work can be worship too. When done from a heart of gratitude, caring for our homes and children shows the Lord how much we value all that He has done for us and all that He has given us.
If anyone's interested, there's a book on this subject that changed my life: "Having a Mary Heart In a Martha World."
"Mary has chosen what is best and it will not be taken away from her."
Luke 10:42
Originally, I told [you] Alicia that I would write a little something about taking care of our homes/families. I've been trying to think of something inspirational to say on the subject for the past few days, but I've been coming up dry! When I think about such things as housework, or really any kind of work at all, I feel a certain... guilty feeling, I guess you'd say. Not always, but sometimes. Used to be, in the past, that I would hide myself in a certain 'Martha' costume and plod along feeling like at least in my work could I find some sort of identity and worth in life. I always knew though, deep down, that what I was really doing was hiding... hiding from the kind of one-on-one, deep intimacy and relationship with the Lord that I was really made for. "The better part"... that's what Jesus said. That's who I wanted to be. The woman that would sit at His feet for hours and never once worry about who would be making the next meal, or how I could ever possibly get everything done in my life. Once, while I was in Bible school, I even wrote "MARY" on the back of my hand, so I would remember every time I saw it to take a moment to focus on becoming more like her.
Not that that's a bad thing. That's exactly what someone with my personality needs: to just lay everything aside now and then and focus on relationships, especially the one that I have with my Savior.
But I've come to realize something. Just because that is the better part, doesn't mean it's the only part. This is real life, people. We have husbands and children, mouths to feed, dishes to wash, and laundry to do. (That is NOT an extensive list, by the way!) Does God expect me to feel guilty for every second of my day that is not spent in my room on the floor with worship music playing in the background? Heavens no! This is a God of grace that we're talking about, after all. He remembers that we are dust. All He asks is that the things of this earth would not consume our hearts, drawing us away from our first love. He wants to be the center of our attention and the focus of our love. Is that so much to ask?
And so I've learned. Learned to love the moments of laying it all aside, shutting off the noise, and just loving Him. And I've also learned how to truly love, and not feel tied to, the things that really do need my attention. Work can be worship too. When done from a heart of gratitude, caring for our homes and children shows the Lord how much we value all that He has done for us and all that He has given us.
If anyone's interested, there's a book on this subject that changed my life: "Having a Mary Heart In a Martha World."
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Have You Arrived?
"Go therefore and make disciples of all nations..."
Matthew 28:19
Matthew 28:19
I live my life like it's one big preparation time, leading up to a day when I will suddenly somehow ARRIVE. Arrive where, I don't know. Arrive at the level of faith I know I should have. Arrive at a place where I know I'm the woman God made me to be. Arrive on the "mission field." I don't honestly even think I know where it is exactly I'm aiming to arrive at!
So the question is: what about here and now? Am I spending so much time preparing for life, that I have forgotten to live?
I think of myself as one of those sometimes shady, often misunderstood "Great Commission police," also known as a "missionary." You know the kind: the ones that think that every Christian needs to sell out and move to a developing country in order to serve God. But I read something a few weeks ago that really caught my attention, and I've been thinking about it ever since. It said, "Maybe instead of reading, 'Go and make disciples,' the Great Commission should say, 'In your going, make disciples.' My first thought was to peg that as heresy, but think about it: does our ability to expand the Kingdom and further the ministry of Jesus depend on our physical address? Or our physical abilities, skills, 'level of faith,' or whatever else we might be waiting to arrive at before we deem ourselves able to minister? Or can He use us here and now?
What does it mean to obey His commission? What does a life totally sold out to Him look like?
I guess I'm leaving you with more questions than I am answers, but I believe that as we look the deep things of God in the eye, the Spirit Himself will write the answers on our hearts.
May the God of peace fill you with all hope in believing.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Shouting on the Rooftop!
"Whatever I tell you in the dark speak in the light; and what you hear in the ear, preach on the housetops."
Matthew 10:27
Matthew 10:27
Alicia Owens asked me the other day if I would consider blogging what I hear God saying to us as wives, mothers, and caretakers of the home. Truth be told, I've been wanting an outlet for things I hear from God, not only in that specific area, but in all areas of life. Most of the time, after I spend time with the Lord and fill up on what the Word is saying, I want to pour it all back out again on someone somewhere who would somehow be encouraged by my sharing it.
Only thing that stands in the way is my fear of what people will think and fear of my own pride. I've always kept a lot of my relationship with the Lord private because I thought that was the right thing to do, at least until I am humble enough to not let it go to my head, or until I let go of the fear of man. As if that day will ever come! I know that if I really do want to be in ministry someday, today even, I have to be willing to let go, to care only about what Jesus thinks of me. I have to make the choice to not care what anyone thinks - anyone, right down to my own husband, whether or not people misjudge me.
So here I go, putting the "pondering it in my heart" stuff aside, and going straight to shouting it on the rooftops! I want vulnerability to be a way of life for me, not only on the internet where no one can see who I really am, but in real life too. I figure, this is who I am, this is who God made me to be: someone who puts honesty first, all of me, the good, bad, and ugly. I firmly believe with all of my heart that this is a generation that needs children of God with hearts laid bare, not trying to appear perfect: they need people who are real. Whitewashing ourselves does not show the world the holiness of God; He wants jars of clay. Clay can be broken, but when we're in the Potter's hands, the remolding is His doing anyway.
With that, I open my heart. I open my heart to the Holy Spirit, to speak through me as He wills, and I open my heart to you, whoever you are, to show you that God really can speak through anyone. I will try to write daily, even if its just a few sentences, asking the Lord to bring encouragement to whoever might read it. May every word be written from a heart of worship and eyes focused on Jesus. He is worth giving every moment of our lives to the goal of seeing Him glorified, glorified, and glorified again.
Monday, October 19, 2009
The Miracle of Alivia
I originally posted this on facebook, but thought I'd put it here too...
Alivia's birth was an absolutely divine, full-blown, all-out miracle.
Maybe some of you knew that, maybe not. But I feel like I have the privilege... no, the responsibility, rather, of telling her story, as a tribute to the goodness and the faithfulness of God to His children. I've been waiting to write it until I have it all together, but let's face it, that could take me years. So here is my best for now.
A week after John joined the National Guard, we found out we were pregnant. I knew I would be spending most of the pregnancy without him, while he was in training, and I was scared. Scared of a million things... of being apart in our first year of marriage, of being alone, of being a mom, of caring for a baby... well, you get the picture. I consider myself a strong person, for the most part, but those five months without him were a faith struggle at best.
By the time May came around, I was as big as I could possibly be and could barely get around much. I cried myself to sleep most nights, afraid of waking up in labor alone and not knowing what to do. All I wanted was to have my husband there with me, to hold my hand and to know my thoughts without me ever saying a word.
Every night for the past five months, I had prayed, "Lord, just let my husband be here to see his baby born." So many people, including our church, had been praying this prayer with us. I wish I could say I was strong in faith: the truth is that I believed God could bring him home in time, I just didn't know if He would. I felt like it was a selfish prayer. I felt like all I should be asking the Lord for was a healthy baby, and to at least be grateful for that.
On May 26, at 1 1/2 weeks overdue, and with my mom and Joy there with me, I went into early labor. The plan was to call the Red Cross to get an emergency message sent to the army, in order to send my husband home. I called, but she politely told me that unless it was a life or death emergency, she could not send him the message that his baby was about to be born. Fifteen hundred miles away in Maryland, John was just as frantic, trying desperately get someone to take his plea seriously. All he wanted was a few days' leave, to come home and be with me for the birth. It seemed we were getting nowhere.
For the next 24 hours, I breathed my way through contractions that went from slightly uncomfortable to almost unbearable. My mom prayed me through the night, standing by me through every contraction and giving me some kind of invisible strength. The midwives stood like angels at the bed, coaching me on as I squeezed the life out of their hands. Joy, Jessie, and Mrs. Bartel all threw themselves into caring for me, encouraging me, and verbally pushing me on through the final stages of labor.
John called off and on, but by the time I was in active labor, I had lost all consciousness of where he was at or if he would ever make it home. I remember a few times, someone mentioned to me that he was "on his way", but I had no idea how long it would take him to get there. By that point, I had given up on my dreams of having my husband hold my hand during labor, seeing his baby born, and us having the joy of holding her for the first time together.
After pushing for an eternity, I became aware of the fact that I could see no more of the baby's head in the mirror, held down at the end of the bed, than I had seen hours before. I began to wonder if I really was even pushing at all, or just going through a terrible amount of pain for nothing. After the midwives and family held a small prayer meeting outside, it was decided that we needed to head to the hospital. It did not matter to me at that point that my dream of having my baby at home had come to an end... I only wanted the baby OUT.
The drive to the hospital was nightmarish, as every bump in the road seemed to add to my agony. The contractions, by this time, had become convulsions, as my body began to realize that it could not get the baby out. The next few moments are a blur of some of the most wonderful and most painful moments of my life. As we pulled into the hospital, there, standing at the entrance to the ER, was John, dressed in his army uniform. My soldier, my husband, my strength. I think by that point, I had given up on seeing him that day. But God had pulled through once again. From giving him divine favor with the sergeants, who let him come home, to allowing him to find a plane leaving for Dallas so soon, to getting him and Joseph through rush-hour traffic... all so that he would be standing there at the hospital just moments before I.
I didn't say much to him at the time. I was in greater pain than I had ever imagined, and I could think of nothing but how much I wanted it to end. After what seemed like hours getting prepped for the OR, they finally had me ready for the C-section. From the moment the spinal began to get into my system, I began to calm down. John held my hand and I cried as I realized that I was finally about to see my sweet baby's face and hold her in my arms. In just a few moments, we saw her, and for the first time, realized just why I had been unable to give birth naturally. At 10 lbs. 4 oz, little Miss "Alivia with an A" Faith Bartel was the biggest and most beautiful baby John or I had ever seen.
If I had time, I would tell you of all the little details in between. Of how thankful I am for doctors and nurses and c-sections, that saves mothers and babies lives every day. Of all the people that saw us through... friends who cared for me while I was husband-less, familly who was there every moment, and midwives who cared for me and Alivia so well, they were literally sent from God. They were the ones that truly got me through one of the hardest experiences of my life.
Today, almost three months later, Livvy is still a testimony to the grace, favor, and faithfulness of a loving God. She is stronger than her age dictates her to be, holding up her little head on her own, among other things. She is beautiful, healthy, and strong, and I believe that her outside is simply a reflection of what is inside of her. John and I know that, even as a baby, everyone that her little hands touch is blessed. She is called to bring good news to the hopeless, whether she knows it yet or not. And like Aunt Sparky says, she came to us straight from the arms of Jesus.
Alivia's birth was an absolutely divine, full-blown, all-out miracle.
Maybe some of you knew that, maybe not. But I feel like I have the privilege... no, the responsibility, rather, of telling her story, as a tribute to the goodness and the faithfulness of God to His children. I've been waiting to write it until I have it all together, but let's face it, that could take me years. So here is my best for now.
A week after John joined the National Guard, we found out we were pregnant. I knew I would be spending most of the pregnancy without him, while he was in training, and I was scared. Scared of a million things... of being apart in our first year of marriage, of being alone, of being a mom, of caring for a baby... well, you get the picture. I consider myself a strong person, for the most part, but those five months without him were a faith struggle at best.
By the time May came around, I was as big as I could possibly be and could barely get around much. I cried myself to sleep most nights, afraid of waking up in labor alone and not knowing what to do. All I wanted was to have my husband there with me, to hold my hand and to know my thoughts without me ever saying a word.
Every night for the past five months, I had prayed, "Lord, just let my husband be here to see his baby born." So many people, including our church, had been praying this prayer with us. I wish I could say I was strong in faith: the truth is that I believed God could bring him home in time, I just didn't know if He would. I felt like it was a selfish prayer. I felt like all I should be asking the Lord for was a healthy baby, and to at least be grateful for that.
On May 26, at 1 1/2 weeks overdue, and with my mom and Joy there with me, I went into early labor. The plan was to call the Red Cross to get an emergency message sent to the army, in order to send my husband home. I called, but she politely told me that unless it was a life or death emergency, she could not send him the message that his baby was about to be born. Fifteen hundred miles away in Maryland, John was just as frantic, trying desperately get someone to take his plea seriously. All he wanted was a few days' leave, to come home and be with me for the birth. It seemed we were getting nowhere.
For the next 24 hours, I breathed my way through contractions that went from slightly uncomfortable to almost unbearable. My mom prayed me through the night, standing by me through every contraction and giving me some kind of invisible strength. The midwives stood like angels at the bed, coaching me on as I squeezed the life out of their hands. Joy, Jessie, and Mrs. Bartel all threw themselves into caring for me, encouraging me, and verbally pushing me on through the final stages of labor.
John called off and on, but by the time I was in active labor, I had lost all consciousness of where he was at or if he would ever make it home. I remember a few times, someone mentioned to me that he was "on his way", but I had no idea how long it would take him to get there. By that point, I had given up on my dreams of having my husband hold my hand during labor, seeing his baby born, and us having the joy of holding her for the first time together.
After pushing for an eternity, I became aware of the fact that I could see no more of the baby's head in the mirror, held down at the end of the bed, than I had seen hours before. I began to wonder if I really was even pushing at all, or just going through a terrible amount of pain for nothing. After the midwives and family held a small prayer meeting outside, it was decided that we needed to head to the hospital. It did not matter to me at that point that my dream of having my baby at home had come to an end... I only wanted the baby OUT.
The drive to the hospital was nightmarish, as every bump in the road seemed to add to my agony. The contractions, by this time, had become convulsions, as my body began to realize that it could not get the baby out. The next few moments are a blur of some of the most wonderful and most painful moments of my life. As we pulled into the hospital, there, standing at the entrance to the ER, was John, dressed in his army uniform. My soldier, my husband, my strength. I think by that point, I had given up on seeing him that day. But God had pulled through once again. From giving him divine favor with the sergeants, who let him come home, to allowing him to find a plane leaving for Dallas so soon, to getting him and Joseph through rush-hour traffic... all so that he would be standing there at the hospital just moments before I.
I didn't say much to him at the time. I was in greater pain than I had ever imagined, and I could think of nothing but how much I wanted it to end. After what seemed like hours getting prepped for the OR, they finally had me ready for the C-section. From the moment the spinal began to get into my system, I began to calm down. John held my hand and I cried as I realized that I was finally about to see my sweet baby's face and hold her in my arms. In just a few moments, we saw her, and for the first time, realized just why I had been unable to give birth naturally. At 10 lbs. 4 oz, little Miss "Alivia with an A" Faith Bartel was the biggest and most beautiful baby John or I had ever seen.
If I had time, I would tell you of all the little details in between. Of how thankful I am for doctors and nurses and c-sections, that saves mothers and babies lives every day. Of all the people that saw us through... friends who cared for me while I was husband-less, familly who was there every moment, and midwives who cared for me and Alivia so well, they were literally sent from God. They were the ones that truly got me through one of the hardest experiences of my life.
Today, almost three months later, Livvy is still a testimony to the grace, favor, and faithfulness of a loving God. She is stronger than her age dictates her to be, holding up her little head on her own, among other things. She is beautiful, healthy, and strong, and I believe that her outside is simply a reflection of what is inside of her. John and I know that, even as a baby, everyone that her little hands touch is blessed. She is called to bring good news to the hopeless, whether she knows it yet or not. And like Aunt Sparky says, she came to us straight from the arms of Jesus.
Journey of My Soul
This is a part of my testimony that I wrote, back in 2006.
Hi everybody. I know this sounds strange coming from a bouncy person like me, but I have gone thru a great many periods of depression in my life. Of course, I understand that depression is not a stranger to any of us. I have found that it is in these hopeless, friendless, and seemingly Godless times in life that some of my greatest victories have been won. And it is also in these times that I have grown closest to the presence of my dear Savior.
This is a sort of testimony in prose that I wrote not long ago, while feeling that life was leaving me hanging, I guess. Perhaps you won't understand some of what Im trying to express, then again, maybe you've gone thru some of the same things. And beyond all that, please, if you're going to read it, read it to the end... because the beginning alone makes me seem gothic or something ;)
Journey of My Soul
by Angela Hoffman
"He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has placed eternity in the hearts of men." ~Ecclesiastes 3:11
Life is mediocre.
Everythings the same.
Struggle for survival.
All is vanity.
Mankind has been chasing power and wealth since the beginning of time,
like rats in an unending maze.
What can satisfy the aching emptiness in my heart?
Love will only fade. Success never lasts. Wealth doesnt bring happiness.
Every moment is predictable. Every day like the one before.
Why clean? It'll only get dirty again.
Why build? It'll only break down.
The Law of Entropy has already cast the dice - and won.
Is there no hope? Is there no reason for our existence? Can it really be that we are mere specks of dust in one of the millions of galaxies in the universe?
Are we simply products of matter + chance + time... great-grandchildren of mindless animals?And if thats true, do our lives really matter at all?
Why do good if itll never be remembered?Why live for anything but ourselves?
And what happens after this seemingly meaningless existence on earth comes to an end? Eternal: Blackness? Nothingness? Punishment? Bliss?
And do we choose our final destination, whatever it may be?
What are the answers to mankinds questions? Is there a purpose? a goal? a reason?
And is there a Hand that holds the key to unlock the secrets of the universe?
But wait...
What is that light on the horizon?
What is this warmth that floods my soul?
A Man, who says He loves me, and gave His life for mine.
He says He created me for a purpose, and I can live with Him forever.
But He says He's GOD. They say there is no God. They say a good God wouldn't allow such suffering on earth.
Who will I believe? The Man with the scars in His hands and the love in His eyes - or the voices I've believed all my life?
My mind is screaming, "This is crazy, irrational! He can't really be God, and He can't really love YOU!"
But something in my heart is drawn to Him. Something about the way He speaks that makes me believe that Hes' speaking Truth. Something about the way power emanates from His very being, yet He shows more gentleness and humility than a newborn lamb. And then it dawns on me - here is He whose hand holds the key to unlock the secrets of the universe... even to unlock the secrets of my own heart. This man sees into my soul, past all the filth and grime, and into the very depths, where no one has ever been.He sees it all - and says He still loves me. Says He loves me too much to leave me that way, so He took my filth on His own shoulders, and shed His precious blood so I could be clean. He put His life-giving power in me, so I can be free forever from the power of death.
What is this thats happened to me? I feel like a new person, not like the wandering soul I was before.
His grace worked a miracle in my heart. His love filled the emptiness that once consumed me. His light chased away my darkness and filled me with hope and peace. He replaced my questions with His answers.... and I'll never be the same again.
Who is this Man, you say? His Name is Jesus.
If you ever want to meet Him, just let me know. I'll introduce you.
Or you can just find Him for yourself.
But be careful: once you meet Him, you'll never be the same again.
Hi everybody. I know this sounds strange coming from a bouncy person like me, but I have gone thru a great many periods of depression in my life. Of course, I understand that depression is not a stranger to any of us. I have found that it is in these hopeless, friendless, and seemingly Godless times in life that some of my greatest victories have been won. And it is also in these times that I have grown closest to the presence of my dear Savior.
This is a sort of testimony in prose that I wrote not long ago, while feeling that life was leaving me hanging, I guess. Perhaps you won't understand some of what Im trying to express, then again, maybe you've gone thru some of the same things. And beyond all that, please, if you're going to read it, read it to the end... because the beginning alone makes me seem gothic or something ;)
Journey of My Soul
by Angela Hoffman
"He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has placed eternity in the hearts of men." ~Ecclesiastes 3:11
Life is mediocre.
Everythings the same.
Struggle for survival.
All is vanity.
Mankind has been chasing power and wealth since the beginning of time,
like rats in an unending maze.
What can satisfy the aching emptiness in my heart?
Love will only fade. Success never lasts. Wealth doesnt bring happiness.
Every moment is predictable. Every day like the one before.
Why clean? It'll only get dirty again.
Why build? It'll only break down.
The Law of Entropy has already cast the dice - and won.
Is there no hope? Is there no reason for our existence? Can it really be that we are mere specks of dust in one of the millions of galaxies in the universe?
Are we simply products of matter + chance + time... great-grandchildren of mindless animals?And if thats true, do our lives really matter at all?
Why do good if itll never be remembered?Why live for anything but ourselves?
And what happens after this seemingly meaningless existence on earth comes to an end? Eternal: Blackness? Nothingness? Punishment? Bliss?
And do we choose our final destination, whatever it may be?
What are the answers to mankinds questions? Is there a purpose? a goal? a reason?
And is there a Hand that holds the key to unlock the secrets of the universe?
But wait...
What is that light on the horizon?
What is this warmth that floods my soul?
A Man, who says He loves me, and gave His life for mine.
He says He created me for a purpose, and I can live with Him forever.
But He says He's GOD. They say there is no God. They say a good God wouldn't allow such suffering on earth.
Who will I believe? The Man with the scars in His hands and the love in His eyes - or the voices I've believed all my life?
My mind is screaming, "This is crazy, irrational! He can't really be God, and He can't really love YOU!"
But something in my heart is drawn to Him. Something about the way He speaks that makes me believe that Hes' speaking Truth. Something about the way power emanates from His very being, yet He shows more gentleness and humility than a newborn lamb. And then it dawns on me - here is He whose hand holds the key to unlock the secrets of the universe... even to unlock the secrets of my own heart. This man sees into my soul, past all the filth and grime, and into the very depths, where no one has ever been.He sees it all - and says He still loves me. Says He loves me too much to leave me that way, so He took my filth on His own shoulders, and shed His precious blood so I could be clean. He put His life-giving power in me, so I can be free forever from the power of death.
What is this thats happened to me? I feel like a new person, not like the wandering soul I was before.
His grace worked a miracle in my heart. His love filled the emptiness that once consumed me. His light chased away my darkness and filled me with hope and peace. He replaced my questions with His answers.... and I'll never be the same again.
Who is this Man, you say? His Name is Jesus.
If you ever want to meet Him, just let me know. I'll introduce you.
Or you can just find Him for yourself.
But be careful: once you meet Him, you'll never be the same again.
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