One Month with Story Lamm

Okay, before I write this blog, I want to go ahead and let you know that this is not how I typically write. My mom suggested keeping track of Story's growth and development on my blog so that friends and family who live in other places can keep up with her. And I agree it's a good idea. So, please forgive me if baby blogs make you want to punch a wall. This will probably be a once a month thing. :)

How Story came into the world:

At 2:30 AM on June 11, I woke up in the middle of the night. My water had broken. My due date was June 30, but Andy and I had been asking God to let Story come earlier for two reasons. 1) My doctor thought that I would need a C-section if I went to full term and 2) We wanted to have a few more weeks to spend with Story this summer before I return to work in August. By 4AM, we were checked into the hospital, and I was elated that it seemed that God had said yes to our requests.

My labor & delivery story goes like this. Epidurals are awesome and St. David's North Austin is fantastic and everyone should have their baby there. Andy & I spent the day watching "Fixer Upper" on HGTV and chatting with our awesome nurses. There were a few moments when I felt scared, but Andy & I would pray together and I would make it through the fear. I ended up pushing for a little over two hours, and, even though it wasn't painful, it was exhausting, and I began to fear that I would end up having a C-section, after all. Throughout that time, God gave me verses of scripture and lyrics to hymns that popped into my mind and encouraged me. At one point, when I was feeling particularly defeated, I called out to God for endurance and strength (not out loud, just in my mind) and He gave me this thought in reply, "Remember, Meredith, that I am your Deliverer." I love that God can be punny. Shortly after that prayer, Story was born. 7 lbs. 14 oz, and 20 and 3/4 inches.

One of my first looks at my girl. 

Andy's first moments as a Daddy

Coming home: 

Labor & delivery was pretty breezy, but the next couple of days were not. After 24 hours, Story started to turn yellow. Her bilirubin was too high, and she had to go on UV therapy. We couldn't hold her unless she was in the "bili blankets", which are not really blankets at all, they're more like stiff heating pads that glow with UV light. They're supposed to break down bilirubin in jaundiced babies. They also make babies super lethargic. They made little Story so lethargic that she wasn't really eating. She lost over a pound. It was a tough time for all of us. We were asked to stay in the hospital an extra night, and then yet another night. This was the first major challenge Andy and I faced as parents. The pediatrician on call wanted us to stay Sunday night, but Andy and I had a feeling that we needed to get Story home. Sunday evening, when the nurse told us that we were not cleared by the pediatrician on call to go home, Andy asked if he could talk to the pediatrician. Andy & I are pretty big on being discerning when choosing medical providers, and then trusting their judgement. But the thing was, the pediatrician on call was not our chosen medical provider so we doubted her assessment of the situation... sorry to those healthcare providers out there who are cringing. After Andy talked to the on-call pediatrician, she said we could go on home, provided we got into our doctor's office first thing the next day. She gave a fair warning that we were likely to have to return to the hospital and those glowing blankets, but we took the risk. Mercifully, when we took Story to our pediatrician's office the next morning, our doc confirmed that she was more concerned with weight loss than anything else and told us to feed, feed, feed, which was exactly what we were inclined to do. Story started eating better and better, and was back up to birth weight in ten days time. :)

My favorite picture of Andy from the hospital. Thank you, Robin, for taking this picture on my phone. 

Even though the bili blanket saga was trying, we did have some sweet memories in the hospital. First and foremost, my mom and DAD, were able to come to the hospital, something that I did not expect to ever happen. They actually had their car packed up to drive to Texas the night I went into labor, but they were expecting to come down and spent the weekend with just Andy & me. My Dad planned to fly back to NC that Monday, leaving my Mom in Texas with me until Story came. But God allowed Story to come so that my Dad got to hold Story in the hospital, which was an honest-to-goodness dream come true. We also got visited by sweet friends, who brought food and gifts. :)

When we got home, we found that my Mom and Dad had put up a "baby girl" banner on our mantel, had displayed an abundance of baby gifts they had brought from NC around the hearth, and had turned on the little lamp with the pink shade in the nursery. It was such a sweet sight, and it felt so good to be home with our girl.

We were so tired after three days at the hospital that no one felt like posing for a big welcome home shot. But, Lacy made me promise to take at least one picture of her coming home. Thanks, Lacy, you were right. 

Gifts from my shower in February finally arrive in Texas. 

One of the funniest things to us about the first 24 hours at home with Story was Daisy's reaction. We
thought that our doggy-baby would pout or be angry about Story's arrival. We weren't really worried about Gatsby. He's more steadfast that a lot of humans. But Daisy is another situation entirely. To our surprise, though, Daisy has pretty much fallen in love with her baby sister. Every time Story cries, Daisy has to check in and make sure she's doing okay. It's common to see Daisy standing on two paws, leaning into Story's rock-and-play or stretching up to see the top of the changing table. Even as I write this, Daisy is staring at Story from her perch on the sofa.

Gatsby will enjoy Story a lot more when this little hand can throw that little ball. 

Busy Baby: 

Robin set up a Care Calendar for us to make sure we were fed well this summer by our Hill Country family. We've had too many wonderful meals and visitors to record on here. It's been such a blessing and THANK YOU to everyone who has come to visit us. We've also had a weekend visit from our cousins, Alissa and Dan and their two boys, who drove down from Dallas to meet baby Story. And my Dad and brother flew in for 4th of July weekend. And gifts from aunts, uncles and friends who live too far away to drop by Dijon Drive have arrived almost daily. Our cup overflows.

Alissa and Benjamin visiting with Story. 

Uncle Grant

Granddaddy's girl

My Mom and I love to get out, so shortly after Story was home, we were out for walks and short shopping trips-probably more than the average one month old gets out, but, so far so good. We ventured out to church this past Sunday, and Story stayed in the nursery with her friends Becky and Rebecca, for the first time.

We paused for a picture after returning from our first time at church as a family of three. 

One of my favorite places we've gotten out to is our Square One class. My friend and BSF teaching leader Holly Thurman invited me to come to this class for new moms  that meets at her church. We'll meet for a few weeks this summer and discuss some of the blessings and challenges of becoming a mom.

Story and me after our second Square One class

Andy & I have even gotten to go on a date. My mom babysat last Friday night while Andy and I went to see Jurassic World. I confess that halfway through the movie, I whispered to Andy, "I miss Story," but I was able to totally focus on Chris Pratt and that GMO dinosaur the rest of the time, and enjoyed getting to be with Andy and the entire Drafthouse experience (Thank you Patty McMullen, for the gift card as a"baby"gift- you were so right on)

#ParentFail: 

Everyone says that parenting comes pretty naturally when it's your own kid, and, for once, everyone is pretty right. A couple of weeks ago, Andy summed things up well when he said, "She belongs here. It's like she's been here a long time." But let's be honest, Andy and I don't know much about babies, so we're trudging up this learning curve. Here are a few of the rookie mistakes we've made.

• That one time when I was one the phone with Lacy and came back into the kitchen after about thirty minutes to find the baby sitting in her little vibrating seat at the table, lights off, and no one around. Everyone had forgotten about her, and I think she had been sitting there alone for like ten minutes. Thank God she doesn't move yet.
• That one time when I pinched her thigh into the car seat buckle. Sorry, Story. 
• The many times that I've forgotten to move all clothing, socks, blankets, etc. out of the line of fire when changing diapers. Good thing we have LOTS of onesies. 

What's in a Name: 

Over the past few months, a lot of people have asked us about the significance of Story's name. I usually give them a spiel about how we met a family at the Austin Stone who had a child named Story and we liked the name, but, in truth, there's a little more to it than that. This seems like a good time to expand on why we chose this unique name.

So I did first hear the name Story at the Austin Stone. We knew of a family at that church who had adopted a little girl and named her Story. I thought the name was cute and unique, but I wasn't sure how a name like that would suit a person as they got older. Then, last year when I taught A&P, I learned about the Human Brain Initiative. One of the lead scientists on the Initiative was a woman named Story Landis (she has since retired) Seeing the name on a distinguished neurobiologist made me stop thinking of it as only a cutesy little girl name.

I usually stop at that when explaining the name to people, but there's a little something more to our choice of this particular name. The power of the narrative is an amazing thing. Think about how stories have lasted through history in ways that few other things have. Technologies are improved upon and become outdated. Governments rise and fall. Traditions and rituals evolve or disappear entirely. But stories remain. In teaching, I've learned that if I can wrap a lesson in a narrative students will always remember what they've been taught better than if I just try to present facts. Why is this? I suppose it has to do with the fact that God is an Author, the Greatest Story-teller of all. His Word is one Story, composed of many smaller stories. But, as the Jesus Storybook Bible reminds us, all of those little stories come together to tell a love story about a Hero who loves with a Never-Stopping, Never-Giving-Up, Always-and-Forever love. Stories make life beautiful and meaningful. They're how we tell our own history. I love that God is the Author of our stories, but He also lets us participate in their telling. Sort of reminds me of a choose your own adventure book. I'm excited about the story that He can write with my little girl's life. I pray every day that it will be a good one. I pray, too, that she will choose to write with Him, and that together they will make something truly beautiful.

Incidentally, Story is the only girl name that Andy and I ever considered. We had a list of boy names (which we thought we were going to use because we thought for weeks that we were surely going to have a boy). When, to Andy's disappointment, we found out that we were having a girl, Story was the only name that ever appealed to us.

Story's middle name is Lamm, which was my maternal grandmother's maiden name. So Lamm is not an attempt to spell a cute animal name in a weird way. It's an homage to my Scottish heritage. Every time I say it, I think about family and the Lamm-Scott reunions I grew up attending in the North Carolina sandhills.

Cherishing the moment:

Since my mom has been here since Story's birth, I've had plenty of time to bond with baby girl- what a gift. Mom, I cannot thank you enough for taking care of laundry and cleaning and grocery shopping so that I can focus on Story. I've also been so encouraged by a few friends who have new babies who have instagrammed reminders to enjoy each moment because they won't stay little for long- Anna Goetz and Katie Monaghan, I'm in your debt. Here are some of my favorite things about being Story's mom.

• Listening to Story's noises when she is full and sleepy. 
• Watching Story stretch her neck when she's just waking up. She turns her head to one side, juts her chin out and purses her lips together, all while clutching her hands in little fists that she lifts high over her head. 
• Reading Story the Jesus Storybook Bible and praying over her. 
• Stroking the back of Story's head and her cheeks. Softest ever. 
• Watching Story's startle reflex- come on, you know it's funny. 

This is probably my favorite picture of me and Story

Totally cheesy, but we are matching on the 4th of July. If you look carefully, you can see that we're both wearing a blue and white anchor pattern. 

And a Little Child Shall Lead Us:

One of the best things about becoming a parent is the way that it's challenging me to be more dependent on the Lord. There have been so many moments in the past month whenAndy, my parents and I have gone straight to the Lord in prayer, because we did not have what we needed to meet Story's needs. Here are a few of the lessons I'm continuing to learn.

• The only control God gave me is self-control. I heard this at Catalyst conference two years ago (Thank you Joy!) and it has stuck with me ever since. Whether it was dealing with Story's bilirubin count, her sometimes fickle eating patterns, or frustrations over my post-partum physical health, I am realizing that God is in control. I'm learning to ask God to give me patience, peace, gentleness and love, and having to consciously stop trying to control things. It helps to reality-check that I do not have control anyway. 
• The US Women's Soccer team just won the World Cup, and one of the things that stood out to me about that victory is the way that the women celebrated for and with one another. It's a really cool thing to watch an entire team come together in a huddle to celebrate a goal- even though just one of them scored it. I want my marriage to be like the US Women's Soccer Team. I'm seeing how tempting it can be to get frustrated about who-does-what with the baby or around the house. It's easy to want to start keeping tab on all that I am doing to keep things functional around here, or to think that everyone should do things just the way that I do. But that's selfish. Imagine if the US Women's soccer team did that. What if, when Carli Lloyd scored her third goal, instead of celebrating with her teammates, she looked at them accusingly and said, "Why do I have to do everything around here?" Or what if Alex Morgan stomped off the field pouting because Carli was getting all the goals? That would be ridiculous. And it's ridiculous for me to criticize or resent others who are part of Team Story, especially Andy. I'm trying to look at each challenge as something we're facing together, and to think of ways that we can overcome it as a team. We might not win a big gold cup or get on TV, but if Story is happy and healthy, then that's victory enough.

And here are some of our ongoing challenges and prayer needs. Thank you to those of you who will ask God to help us. :)

• Consistency in eating and sleeping patterns for Story. 
• Wisdom about childcare for Story. 
• Comfort and strength for me after my Mom leaves, especially during Andy's drill weekends. 
• Some time, energy and focus for me to begin gradually preparing for the school year.  

Hush Little Baby

I don't sleep well. I should rephrase. I don't stay asleep well. I fall asleep just fine, but waking up several times throughout the night is pretty common. And ever since taking Mrs. Harry's AP US History class my Junior year of high school, it's been regular practice for me to sleep though the early evening and then wake in the pre-dawn hours to study. After APUSH, came college and after college came teaching, and this habit of waking early to study, grade, create, or just think has been recurrent almost every year. When there are things occupying my mind, this waking in the dark is almost a guarantee.

It's not all bad. Once I get over the initial disappointment of not being able to fall back asleep, I generally move from bed to kitchen, where I pour myself a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice. Then I plop down on the sofa to think. This morning's wake-up happened around 4:30AM, and since my to-do list at work is winding down for this year, I focused in on an extra-long quiet time.

I've been reading through the book of Matthew since BSF ended. I wanted to go back and hear Jesus' words again, to just mull them over slowly and see how they changed the flavor of my life. Today, I started in Matthew 11. It's the part where John the Baptist, whose being held in prison, sends some of his disciples to ask Jesus if He is really the One. I love this about John the Baptist. I mean, who can beat themselves up about questioning their faith when experiencing hard times after considering John? John, who leapt at the sound of Mary's voice when he was a fetus. John, who was Jesus' actual blood relative. John, who saw the dove descend and heard the audible voice of the Almighty claiming Jesus as His Son. If anyone had reason be sure about who Jesus was, it was John. But being thrown into prison had to have been unexpected. I can imagine that if you're that connected to God-in-the-flesh, you're not expecting to remain incarcerated for long. I'll bet that he prayed over and over to be released. I figure his motives were probably pretty pure, too. He probably wanted to boast in the name of the Lord, to proclaim Him as Deliverer. When that didn't happen, I'm sure it was confusing. I'm sure because it is confusing now, right? We've all been there. Something happens that is not expected. We think we might be able to endure it for a while. God's ways aren't our ways and all that. But after a little bit, we start wondering why God doesn't deliver- wouldn't it bring more glory to His name if the captive were set free? So John questioned. And so do I.

In Matthew 11, Jesus responds to John's honest inquiry with a list of things that have been going on. Blind people seeing. Lame people walking. Dead people living again. To be honest, I've never really been crazy about this answer. I've been taught that John would have known that Jesus' answer would have affirmed for John what he knew to have been written in the prophecies about the Messiah. And I guess that is true, and that might have had significance for John that is deeper than what it would have for me. But I've sort of wondered if I were in John's position, wouldn't I have just wanted a more direct and certainly more personal answer? Something like this maybe...

Dear John, 

I completely understand where you're coming from. I just want to confirm for you that I really am the Promised One. Don't worry, everything is going to work out for good.  Keep the faith!

Your Cousin, Lord and Savior, 
Jesus
 p. s. I'm working on a plan to get you out of prison. One way or another, I will see you soon!

But this is not at all what Jesus does. He addresses his friend and relative's concerns with a resume of sorts. Then he goes on to tell the crowd that John is a prophet, but they're too clueless or too selfish to get how important he is. John was so chaste that they criticized him as being off-his-rocker, probably demon possessed because, in their opinion, only a total wack-job would live out in the desert like some wild beast, eating just locust and honey. But then the same people criticized Jesus for being a party animal because He hung out with the wild crowd- the immoral fringe that good religious people knew to avoid. Jesus says that both assumptions were wrong and then says this strange, profound thing- "wisdom is proved right by her deeds." Back to this focus on "doing" things. What's up with that?

I paused there this morning and picked up my new summer book, courtesy of my principal (thank you, Joy!) Love Does by Bob Goff. I read through a chapter that tells a tale about high-school aged Bob, who was determined to drop out of school and pursue a more adventurous life climbing the granite monoliths of Yosemite. Before driving to Yosemite in his VW bug, Bob stopped at the house of a Young Life leader, to tell him good-bye. Rather than trying to talk some sense into Bob, the Young Life leader packed up his backpack and went with him. Bob looked for a job in the valley, but none were available. They spent two nights in Yosemite, and throughout that time, the Young Life leader didn't try to sway Bob in another direction. He was just with him. After two days time, Bob realized that he needed to pack it up and go home, but he never forgot the leader's example of love in action. He was there when Bob didn't even realize how much he needed someone to just be with him. He was willing to sacrifice time, and common sense, to just show love to a mixed-up teenager. And, thanks to that Young Life leader's example, Bob Goff's life has been a continuous exercise in the actions of love.

After I read that chapter, I reconsidered Jesus' answer to John. It occurred to me that Jesus was telling John exactly what Bob Goff is trying to tell me. Love isn't just a concept. Love is a real, measurable thing. Love does. And I think that might be part of what Jesus was trying to communicate to His cousin. He wasn't just rattling off a list of stuff to brag about how powerful and awesome He is, or just to remind John of ancient words. He was saying, "This is proof of who I am, because, look... I am doing these things. We're not just talking about these things anymore, John, not just predicting that they're going to happen or wishing that they would. They're actually getting done. And they're able to get done because I am here. I am Messiah. I am love. And love does."

This perspective blew me away. Love does. God is love. So God does. God isn't just an abstract thought or a written prophecy. God is here. That's what Immanuel is all about. And He does. The reality that I could expect God to do something about the things that woke me at 4:30 this morning filled me with excitement. I picked up my journal and wrote down the three things that were causing the most anxiety. 1) Story's arrival 2) Andy's unemployment 3) Preparations for next year's classes (especially in light of the fact that I will be even more sleep-deprived come August) I wrote them down, and then I just closed my journal. I didn't feel the need to spend anymore time in drawn-out prayer. I had brought the burden, and I expected action. I thought of how, in these last weeks of pregnancy, I have relied on Andy so much to help me bear burdens that I simply cannot bear. When I ask him to help me lift something, I know that I need to be patient, I can't be demanding, but I can expect his help. Andy loves me. And love does. So whatever the burden, Andy will pick it up, carry it for me. Because I can't. Why should I expect these three burdens to be any different. God loves me. Jesus invited me to give him my burdens a little later on in Matthew 11. Jesus is love. And love does.

So I went and got back in the bed. I felt something new, something exciting. God is going to do something. I didn't know what, and I didn't know when, but I knew He was going to do something. But after only a few minutes of laying there, eyes shut, the old worries came back. I felt a kick from Story, and that jerked me back to the new truth I encountered only moments ago on the sofa. I had a thought then. I thought about how, in a few weeks time, I will put Story down to sleep. She might cry, she might be anxious or uncomfortable because there are things that she won't understand. But I'll know she's safe. I'll probably do what I've seen lots of other mommas do... utter those reassuring shh-shh-shhh sounds that somehow help babies calm down (I know not always, but I've seen it work sometimes) In any event, I'll know she's okay. I'll want her to trust me. I'll want her to sleep. That's when I realized that's what God was doing to me. He was shh-shhh-shhing me, trying to let me know that He is love. He can be trusted. He will do what needs to be done. And with this in my mind, I drifted off.

A few hours later, I was sitting in a classroom at school with two other teachers when Andy sent me a text with a picture attachment. The picture was of an email he received with a wonderful job offer. Tears welled up in my eyes and began to flow out as I told my two friends.

The job is amazing news. But the real story is about Love. Love that does. Love that provides. Love that reassures. Love that shushes sweet children to sleep at night. Even the grown-up ones.

For Robin

First June morning. Outside, light streaks across the sky, announcing the arrival of a new day. Change is on the horizon.

This week is a transitional week. Students celebrated the end of another school year at last Friday's boat party on Lake Travis, seniors walked the aisle of Hill Country's worship center on Saturday morning. Throughout the weekend shouts were heard and tears were shed and dances were danced. And this morning, tired but accomplished people called teachers will convene, coffee in hand, for a few days of reflection before the freedom embraces us like a well-loved, long-missed friend. We're almost there...

But for some of us, it's more of a transition than others. I'm actually not talking about that seven pound baby in my belly and what's going to happen in my life later, on another June morning- or afternoon, or middle of the night for that matter. Time for that comes later. This is about someone else, entirely.

Last night, there was a graduation party, and my swollen feet carried me out the door, smile on my face, around 9:30PM, leaving behind my party-partner for the last two years. For me, there will be other chances to dance. But for her, it was the last time. Last night to be surrounded by students, music blaring, silly faces staring, smiles and laughter contagious. If you're part of our Hill Country community, you know who I'm talking about- the one and the only- Robin Inks.

Robin has not only been my party-partner the past few years, literally traveling with me around the globe to eat food, drink Sangria (well, half of one at least) and dance the night away at countless locations, with hundreds of faces, she has been my co-laborer, my need-sharer, my burden-bearer, and a person who has, in her own way, untwisted parts of my life that have been remolded into something better- something good.

If you know her, you already know what I'm talking about. Whether you're another teacher, a parent or a student at Hill Country, there's very little chance that you've been unaffected by this blonde-haired Spanish teacher whose insatiable love for life and unrelenting love for people have not laughed, hugged, cried or prayed their way into your life. And, if you're honest, you know you're changed because of it.

I've written this on here before, I'm awful at good-byes, actually pretty terrible at expressing emotion in general, but I have to say all this, broken as it might come out. Because, the truth is, that even though I'm still pretty bad at good-byes, at hugs, at tears, etc. I'm a whole lot better at them after having been friends with Robin. Robin teaches Spanish, right? Sort of. Sure, she teaches Spanish in her classroom. I've heard students flex their second language, courtesy of Robin Inks, in the Dominican Republic and Spain. I know she teaches them things like the preterite, the imperfect, "ir plus a plus the infinitive" is something I've heard a few times. ;) They do projects and learn about other cultures. So you might think, why is a Spanish teacher moving to Moscow to teach English to four and five years olds? Might not make much sense if you think that Robin just teaches Spanish. But, really, Robin teaches people how to love, and how to be loved. With skill that could never be written down in a lesson plan book, she intrinsically knows how to love students who might not love themselves, students who other teachers (including teachers like me) might not see, might be tempted to love a little less or overlook a little more. From the valedictorian to the class clown, she sees them, she loves them and she'll bring love out of them, if you just give her a school year. Love for her, love for others, and sometimes, when it's necessary a little love for themselves. This is why she can go to Moscow, because this is what she really does, and this, she can do anywhere, and let's be honest, everywhere needs a teacher like that.

I'm a science teacher, right? Yes, very much so. I think in cycles, in cause and effect relationships, I analyze and then connect. I have a to-do list that starts in late July and ends in early June. I am not Robin, despite what Federico Mota, who has accused us of being the same person, might think. But how I have been blessed by the undoing of some of that drive, some of that "get-it-doneness" because of my friendship with the teacher across the portable. Robin has taught me some Spanish, too, helped me brush it up, even encouraged me to take on some French. But really, at the end of the day, she taught me love too. Who could avoid this lesson, as you travel through life and across oceans with Robin? You literally cannot live life shoulder to shoulder with her and keep your own agenda- because she will inevitably stop and chat with a hundred people along the way, and your agenda will not survive, but your sense of purpose will. It will, in fact, to use a word from the language that I teach- evolve. And that's what's happened to me, under the influence of my friend, who sees people, who sacrifices for them, in words, in deed, in prayer, in boldness. Who opens her life and her schedule and her heart over and over and over again for others. I'm still the way God made me, driven, focused, at risk of valuing the deadline instead of the journey. But, if you only knew how much that had changed. My life has an openness now that it didn't before I knew Robin. When I hug, it's a lot tighter, it's a lot longer. When I laugh, it's a lot deeper and for sillier reasons. When I pray, it's more often, and for needs I'm privileged to even be invited into. When I see students, I take first, then second, then third, then maybe a whole lot more looks at them, trying to see the beauty inside. If Robin can find it, then, Lord willing, I can too.

We talk to students who walk across stages about legacy, but what about teachers? Robin, this is me talking to you about yours. You leave a legacy of love. I know that you're quick to give credit to others who have taught you to love, and good for you, friend. Thank you for passing that love on to me, and to everyone else. How much richer we are because of you, because of your generosity in love.

The light is bright now, and it's time for me to go. When I get to school, I'll find my friend, and we'll sit and laugh together a few days more. Good-byes are hard. But they can be good. Good-byes mean that what is good about each other, what we cultivated and grew in each other's presence, is passed on to other places in the world. Robin has taught me to laugh, to love, to live and to enjoy this kingdom work God's called me to in Austin, Texas. She will take her gifts to Russia, teach other people, shine like this bright June morning into their lives. And I know that like me, they will be changed- changed for the better. I know they will be changed for good.

From Flightless Birds to Soaring Eagles

I cried four out of five days this week. Monday, Tuesday and Thursday, it was a morning cry when I was trying to get out the door and face the day. Friday was a week's end, let-it-all-out sort of cry once I got home.

Sure, the eighth month of pregnancy is not helping me keep the water works in. And the current confusion about Andy's job isn't either. But this week, it was more than just what was going on in my immediate situation that was causing the tears. A handful of my students have been through an extraordinarily tough week. I'm not even talking about the normal end of the year stress stuff, not to diminish that, because it can be really hard. But these are like, life-altering stressful challenges. The struggle is real.

As we studied the Life of Moses this year, I learned about how he would fall down before the Lord in prayer. Seemed like he was always just falling flat on his face in intercession for the people. And, to be honest, I didn't really get that. I knew I should want to intercede, but, let's be honest, life is busy, and while I do pray for my students on a regular basis, it was more the "on the way to work" variety than the stop-you-where-you-are, fall-on-your-face kind. But that changed this week.

This morning, I'm on my face. Thinking about these young lives and the need, the hurt, the weariness, the physical and emotional pain.  All I can do is pray. And this is what I'm praying.

"Do you not know?
Have you not heard? 
The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. 
He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom." 

Some of my students are tired, some weary, some seeking understanding that they currently just don't have. ME TOO.

In this confusing, exhausting time, what can I do but recognize that the Creator of the ends of the earth is our only recourse? So that's my prayer. My fall down on my face prayer. For them. And for me. Tired, weak and weary. Confused, frustrated and waiting for answers...

"He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak." 

This part, especially, reminds me of those young ones that I love...

"Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; 
but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. 
They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, 
they will walk and not be faint." 

God who never tires,
 Encourage us. Strengthen us. Give us your understanding and your power to be able to make it through this difficult time. Turn us from frail, flightless birds to strong eagles soaring. To You be the glory. Amen.

Beauty and the Third Trimester

Yesterday, I got to school and someone told me that I looked adorable. This a super-kind thing to say to a 30-week pregnant lady, so I smiled and thanked her, and then told the truth- "You should have seen me when I woke up this morning." Her response was also filled with candor- "We've all been there."

Yep, at 30 weeks when you wake up in the morning and your feet and back still hurt despite the nine plus hours you've been lying down and you look yourself in the mirror and realize that your face is somehow just a little puffier than it was yesterday, "adorable" is hardly the first adjective that you would ascribe to yourself.

A couple of friends and I joke that it is really difficult for a worn-out teacher at the end of the school year to be motivated to both get up and get dressed in the morning. The days of picking out your outfit and feeling prepared and ready for the day ended in September for most of us. By the end of April, putting on a pair of pants and dragging a comb through our hair before facing students in the throes of spring fever is about all we have to give. This meme pretty much sums things up. Just imagine a pregnant belly and some elastic-waisted maternity pants and it's basically me.

In all seriousness, though, I woke up this morning thinking about beauty. And how, despite the third trimester and the end of the school year, there is something profoundly beautiful going on that I can't help but write about.

Before that conversation yesterday about whether or not I was "adorable" I was at a low point. I was feeling extremely exhausted, behind in my work, overwhelmed with the day ahead. I'd had trouble sleeping (everyone tells you that you better sleep before the baby comes... but I've struggled with sleep throughout these seven months) and I didn't know how I would persevere through the day. Despite Andy's kindness in helping me get out the door, snuggles from Gatsby and long drags on my coffee, I was still dubious that I would make it through the day without snapping at some poor kid or collapsing, whichever came first.

But neither came, and here's why. As I walked on campus yesterday, I remembered something that we've been learning through a sermon series that we're listening to as a staff. The gist of the messages is about the new covenant that Jesus established, a covenant based, not on the old rules and paradigms of the temple model that God gave the Jewish people before Jesus' life on Earth, but a totally, brand-new thing, built on one cornerstone- faith expressing itself through love. "Okay," I said to Him, "you said through Paul that the only thing that matters is faith expressing itself through love. But if I'm going to love today, then you're going to have to take care of me. Because I do not feel like I can love. " I pretty much felt like I could pass out, but feeling like loving was nowhere in me.

But that simple prayer did something in my heart yesterday that really was beautiful. All of a sudden, I found myself smiling at people. Genuinely smiling. Not the fake smile thing that creeps people out or is a bad attempt at masking pain. This was the real deal. Like, I actually felt like smiling. Following the smiles came some laughter as I joked with another teacher friend. Then patience as students began to come into my classroom. And that was my day yesterday. Smile, laugh, have patience. No collapsing, no crying. He took care of His end of that prayer. He took care of me and my emotions, as I trusted in Him and loved out of the empty.

And isn't that beautiful? When I woke this morning and thought about God's faithfulness to me yesterday, I was reminded of a song that our student worship team sang on Monday morning in chapel. One of the singer's voices still rings in my ear with a sweetness and clarity that moves my heart even two days later- "You make beautiful things. You make beautiful things out of the dust. You make beautiful things. You make beautiful things out of us." 

I don't think that pregnancy is beautiful. It's uncomfortable in that way that it stretches the patience and the body. I don't think that our life circumstances right now are beautiful. But, I look around me, and I look in the Bible at what God has said about Himself, and I think "Wow. I am surrounded by beauty." Here are some of the things that I see- green, the color of spring. A teenager's smile (by the way, why don't we smile in pictures anymore? I see selfies all the time with this half-turned fish-face thing, when, really, is there anything more beautiful than a smile?) Cotton-candy clouds in a Texas sunset. Story's foot drag across my stomach from the inside. Andy's hands, diligently working on what God gives him each day while he waits for God's provision of a new job. A promise from thousands of years ago, originally written on ancient scrolls and on worry-sick hearts- "I will go with you. I will not forsake you." This is all really beautiful to me.

It's still hard to get up in the morning. I still feel empty and worn out. But there is a beautiful thing going on inside of me. And it's not just Story, though she's a part of it. It comes from Beauty Himself, working out His ways inside me, making a beautiful thing out of the dust.

Why I love Easter

It's a drizzly, gray Easter Sunday. My house still smells strongly of baked ham and faintly of Easter lilies. My mind hums with great old hymns that I've gotten to sing over the past few days and my heart, and belly, feel full. The heart with hope, the belly with coconut cake. :)

I wanted to take this moment to tell of something that happened a week ago that connects to the events celebrated this weekend. I woke up way too early for a Saturday morning. Throughout this pregnancy, I've had trouble sleeping. Often, if I wake up in the middle of the night, I can't fall back asleep and that's how it was this morning. I sat on the sofa and tried to finalize my BSF lesson because we were having leader's fellowship that morning at 7AM, but I kept getting caught up in checking my bank account, trying to crunch and squeeze numbers for the upcoming months. My mind managed to switch gears from money to the many tasks ahead of me as the school year comes to a close- the AP Bio exam, finals, the boat party, planning for next year. Then finally thoughts turned to Story and how clueless I feel about what to do with her, how to take care of her. How I need to read more books on baby care, and schedule that hospital tour, not to mention all of the loose ends that still dangle over us regarding her childcare for next year.

Before I knew it, it was 6AM, and my tired body and weary mind headed for the shower. The worries and responsibilities that had accumulated while I sat on the sofa, pelted down like the water- hot and steady, unrelenting. How will I ever endure this? But then, in my mind's eye, I could see something. Arms stretched out over me, arms that I knew had been bloodied and bruised. And a back, torn to shreds, but still somehow capable of bearing the brunt of every single worry that had kept me from sleep that night. It was my Savior. Stretched out over me. On that cross I couldn't live without. There He was, to receive on my behalf what I could never bear on my own. As I thought of this, tears as hot as the water streamed down my face. I felt relief at once. Every anxiety that had plagued me that morning was instantly gone. He took my sin and my sorrows, and made them His very own. 

I love Easter. Every year, there seems to be something increasingly sweet about my Savior. It amazes me how, year after year, I stand at Good Friday and Easter Sunday services, amazed at the presence of Jesus, the Nazarene and wonder how He could love me, a sinner, condemned, unclean. 

In the book I'm reading for school right now, the writer says that Christians are "people of the cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ." That just as orthodox Jews might say that they are "people of Moses, led out of slavery in Egypt, and forever changed by the events of the desert journey that took them into the Promised Land," I am a person forever changed by the events of Calvary and the Empty Tomb. And this feels so right today. Because when all the other "stuff" of life, the bank-account-squeezing and end-of-year-finishing and let's-panic-about-baby-raising becomes too much for me, there He is. Not telling me it will all be alright, or that my best is going to be good enough. Not boosting my self esteem or minimizing any of these troubles. But rising above me, arms outstretched, reminding me of what He has done for me, what He has finished. And that puts it all into perspective. Because I am a person of the cross, a person who shelters underneath it when times are too hard, and this burden is too heavy. I know that I am always welcome there, that the work done there tells me so much about this God-Man who loves me so much that He would go there for me thousands of years ago, and yet knows me so well in the present, that He would give me a vivid image of Himself there when my soul is weary and troubled. 

I don't know about those numbers I crunched, and my best might not be good enough to get those kids ready for the AP exam and I might forget to tie a dozen (or many more) loose ends before this school year ends. I still haven't scheduled that hospital tour or finished reading Baby Wise, but on Friday I stood beside my mom at the Long Center, and together we sang, "You are my King" to the Resurrected One, and it was as sweet as this life has to offer. There, in my mind's eye, I could see Him as He will come-Rider on a White Horse- the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, coming in blinding glory- to make everything sad come untrue.  I don't know where I'll be when that day comes, but I know that I will sing the same words- "You are my King," and the fact that someone so eternally glorious could really be mine forever makes me feel safe, even in the sea of uncertainty upon which Andy & I sail in April 2015.

Suffering Servant and King of Kings. I praise You today. My One and Only. I love you. Happy Easter.
-Meredith, a Daughter of the Cross and Resurrection

To all generations

About two weeks ago, Andy came home on a Friday night with take-out from our favorite taco place and some news. The tacos were good. The news wasn't.

In my last blog post, I mentioned that we were asking God to protect Andy's job. As the gas prices drop, the companies in the industry cut jobs. God said no to our prayer. Andy was let go, along with some other employees at his company.

When Andy told me, I was lying back on the sofa, my feet extended and my back on a heating pad, standard after-school position these days. When I lay like this, Story (that's our baby girl's name- Story Lamm. Lamm is a name that belongs to my maternal grandmother's family) likes to kick me in the stomach. It was the oddest sensation- my husband telling me that his job was over, while my baby created tiny pulsations that could be seen through my t-shirt. I thought to myself, "These things should not be happening at the same time."

Andy went through something sort of similar a few years back, and I did not respond well. Fear filled me and, at that time in my life, fear worked in tandem with anger. I was, shall we say, less than supportive when I heard that news. But God works slowly and beautifully, does He not? Even though there is much more at stake now than there was then, my thoughts went straight to Scripture- and then health insurance- and then back to Scripture again. Don't get me wrong, we didn't get up and dance a jig over this news. It hit both of us hard, but rather than fear taking over and worry taking root, we fought it by reading through the Psalms, focusing together on God's character and His promises to take care of what is His.

As the days have passed, God has kept me from despair and anger, but I'd be lying if I wrote that this is a breeze. There are a lot of variables in a time when I didn't want any. I like stability, predictability- I like that for myself, and I definitely liked that for Story. Bringing a baby into the world is unpredictable as it is, and there is this innate desire to control all other variables as much as possible, to help that transition happen as smoothly as possible. I'd like that, but God has other plans.

There are moments when I really dislike that He has other plans. Seems that it would have been a good idea to just keep everything status quo and let Andy and I bring Story into the world before shaking up the stability in our lives. The stripping away of dreams is never something that people desire for their own lives, even if we know that's what God uses sometimes, to make us grow. Take Story's nursery, for instance. I had this plan to use this week- Spring Break- to put it all together. My mom had a shower for me back in February and my aunt and uncle were going to bring my things down here this week. I was going to have the time off to spruce and primp and I had this vision of me sitting in there, by the end of this week, contentedly contemplating how, in only a few months, she would be in there with me. I'd feel put together, ahead of the game, having utilized my time and energy wisely. That was a dream I had that God never did. Not only are we not sure if that room is even going to be Story's nursery, but my uncle had a major surgery last week. He is recovering well, thank the Lord, but their plans, like my plans, were not at all what God knew was going to happen.

I don't feel angry about this, but sometimes I feel sad. Mostly, I just feel like I'm at a loss. I like plans. I like to make them, I even like following them, and I love it when a plan comes together. God is like this, too, but as He makes perfectly clear in Isaiah 55:8, we're not on the same page when it comes to ways, thoughts, plans, etc. I can only see what looks good in the moment, God can see what's best in eternity. I can see what serves my purpose, my own comfort, and God can see what serves His people, His kingdom. And He's asking me, "What do you desire more, Meredith? Yours ways? Or My ways?" When I toss and turn at night, trying to solve this "problem," I'm desiring my ways. I want this to be over. I want to know where we are going. I want to know where I'll put Story down at night, and who will watch over her during the day. I want to know where our money will come from and I want to make sure that this job-loss thing doesn't keep happening to us. But then there are moments when God gives me greater clarity- when the big picture opens up before me, and I see that He is up to much more than keeping us safe and giving us stability- and I have to trust that while He's doing that, He's answering my biggest prayers for myself and for Story.

See, He has reminded me of something promised in Psalm 100:5, something that humbles me and fills me with gratitude. The verse says, "For the LORD is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations." God has used this verse to remind me that He is not just my God. He is the God of all generations. He is the God of the generation that kicks me when I lie down on the sofa at night. He is Story's God, and He will prove Himself faithful to her, no matter what I do, sometimes through me, sometimes in spite of me. So when Andy and I prayed and asked Him to protect Andy's job, He said "no." But what is of infinitely greater importance than that prayer? The prayer that God draw Story to Himself in His perfect timing, and to that prayer, I believe that He is already saying, "Yes." Because what better way to draw her to himself than to remind her parents of who He is, so that we don't get in the way. "Know that the LORD, he is God! It is he who made us, and we are his." Psalm 100:3

Parents mean well to provide safety, security and prosperity for their children. It's innate, it's responsible, and it's incredibly tempting to think that you know the best way to go about that. But He is good that He would gently strip away my desire to control and whisper to my heart again, "She is mine." Yes, Lord, she is. Because you have fearfully and wonderfully made her. You have fashioned her in a way that defies mathematical probability, you have knitted together body and soul, and you have a plan that stretches so much farther out than I could ever see.

So here I sit, in the sunshine of my backyard on Dijon Drive, not putting together a nursery, not sure how we'll pay our bills, not sure who will watch her during the day or where she'll put her little head down at night. But knowing this- that her God is for her, that He is determined, more than I could ever be, to show Himself faithful to this generation.  Just as He showed himself faithful to me, and my mother before me, and her mother before her (the one whose name we're borrowing). I want to know the rest of it, of course I do, but to be honest, I wouldn't trade. Because I can create a nursery, anyone can, but I cannot create this experience of trusting dependence for myself and for my husband and for our daughter. I cannot eliminate my own desire to control, it must be done for me. So rather than busy my hands with my plans-the strongest, the gentlest, the most trustworthy Hands, are slowly unfolding mine. They may lie open and empty for a while, but, in His timing, He'll put something in them.  And as my grip loosens and I say good-bye to my plans,  I can hear Him saying- "Not your plans. My plans. " And in my heart I can respond, "Yes, Lord. For you are good. Your steadfast loves endures forever. Your faithfulness endures to all generations."