Psalm 42:8 He is good. He is happy.

I have a daughter. Sometimes it still doesn't feel real.  Sometimes I still feel only 15 years old. But I'm 25.  And I'm married. And I have a daughter.

She's almost 4 months old... already. She is typically a pretty happy baby.  Only fussy now and then, usually when she's craving to be held close.  But this past week, sometimes even that doesn't soothe her.  So I try everything.  And then eventually - either because I found the perfect angle to hold her, or because she exhausted herself crying - she settles down.  And at this moment, when the overwhelming feeling of stress and helplessness subsides, a thought hits me: She won't be like this forever. She's going to grow up.  First, into a little girl.  And someday, into a young woman. She is a person.  With thoughts, and feelings, and dreams... and a spirit thought-up and breathed into being by God Himself. Don't miss a single moment. Drink this one in deeply.  Remember her like this right now so that you can remember it forever.

So as I'm lying next to her, while she's still nursing, ever-so-sweetly... calmly... peacefully; as she begins to fall into a deep sleep; as she rubs her hands together the way she does when she's tired... I drink in the moment. I brush my fingers over her tiny, little head covered with her fine, thin hair... down to her delicate ears, and across her plump, rosy cheeks. She is so little.  She won't be like this forever. I will remember this moment. On our sides, belly-to-belly on our bed.  Snow falling quietly outside the window next to us.  One of our cats snuggling and purring on the pillow above our heads.  She is beautiful.  She is perfect.

And then the Lord - as I'm soaking her in while realizing more and more that she is growing up fast already - shares a secret with me about who she is going to be. "A preacher", He said.  "A preacher of the Word and of the Spirit.  You think she has a lot to say now?  Just wait and see her then!  She will be so convinced of the knowledge of who I Am that her life will effortlessly be a walking, never-ending sermon.  Her spirit will be so free, and she will never stop sharing the Love of God."

And then the thought hits me even harder: She won't be like this forever.  Don't miss a single moment. Pour into the moments like this one.  Teach her with moments like this that when she cries, someone will hear her and answer her.  Someone will tend to her physical and emotional needs.  Someone will comfort her with their presence and their embrace and their love. And then relish in the moment of calm, knowing that you have just taught her how to trust.  And that you have been given the privilege and honor of being the one responsible for teaching her those things... to be the first earthly example of the Love of God.  You are making valuable investments with each and every one of these moments.  You are investing in her future.

This is parenthood. This is who God is. Isn't it just absolutely beautiful? 

This story actually starts a few days before Phoebe's birth...

A doula client of mine was eagerly awaiting her overdue baby. I had a dream a few nights before she had her little one that she finally went into labor, and then right after, I started having contractions and went into labor myself. My time didn't come quite as quickly as the dream had suggested; however, I did start having regular contractions 10 minutes before I left my client's house after she gave birth, about 7 minutes apart. An hour went by, and then the contractions died off, just before I went to bed. The whole next day went by without any signs of an oncoming labor, so I thought maybe the dream was just my anticipation of the day getting the best of me. But at 4:45 AM that next morning, I woke up to a lot of crampiness. I felt a small rush of fluid leave my body while still lying in bed... and in an attempt to keeping myself from getting excited over nothing, I tried to convince myself I probably just peed my pants a little (because, hey, it happens a lot at the end of pregnancy!). But after going to the bathroom, the fluid kept trickling out. And then I knew: the water sac had broken... and labor was starting! Turns out that dream was pretty spot on after all!

Jesse woke up when I came back to our bedroom and I told him what had just happened. He was too alert after the news, however, to sleep any longer. So the two of us spent some time cleaning up the apartment and setting up the birth pool. Around 6:30, the contractions had been about 5-6 minutes apart for an hour, so we called our parents, and then our midwife and photographer, to let them know I was in labor.

Right after we made our phone calls, the contractions started coming 2 minutes apart, lasting a minute long, and went on this way for an hour. I needed to focus on them, but was handling them really well, so I thought maybe we still had lots of time; but the quick pick up in pace was making me wonder if we should call our midwife again to have her come then... we did call, and she said she'd check in an hour later to see where I was at. We agreed, but before the hour was up, I was starting to feel some heavy pelvic pressure. Jesse called our midwife back to let her know, and she said she was on her way. Jesse then texted her again a few minutes later because I had started to vomit and get shaky... typically classic signs of transition! I thought, no way it's going this fast! Already?! This is crazy! But our midwife said it sounded like transition too, so I got in the pool to ready myself for birth.

Our photographer showed up at our apartment at 9:00 AM, and our midwife about 10 minutes after that. While things were certainly still moving forward, with my contractions consistantly 2 minutes apart and lasting over a minute each, we all realized as time passed that perhaps labor wasn't moving quite as quickly as it initially appeared. To keep my body engaged and open, our midwife suggested that Jesse and I go for a walk around the neighborhood. So for a little while, we enjoyed the cool autumn breeze and overcast sky, and some sweet hugs and kisses as we strolled down the avenue slowly between contractions. Shortly after we returned to our apartment, and before I knew it, it was 2:00 PM.. I was surprised that so much time had already gone by. It was the only time I remember looking up at the clock... everything after that point required all of my attention and concentration, and that clock was the last thing on my mind.

Things had gotten really intense and took a lot of energy. Jesse faithfully offered me drinks and snacks throughout the day... sometimes I willed myself to take it, but most of the time I literally felt too exhausted to even think about chewing something. Hours passed. The pressure in my pelvis with every contraction, the on-and-off vomitting throughout the day, the mental strain of focusing on my breathing, trying to keep my moans low and deep, to keep my body relaxed when my belly tensed up; standing up, laying down, moving from the pool, to the toilet, to the bed, to the floor, to the couch, then back to the pool... this was hard work! And although I knew in the grand scheme of things I was making progress, it felt slow-going and I was getting discouraged at points. I knew beforehand that I wouldn't want constant cheerleading during labor, so mostly everyone stayed very quiet the whole day... but Jesse, our midwife, and even our photographer at times, all seemed to know the perfect moments to say an encouraging word to me, and they kept me going. And the few times that fear started to slip in, I heard the Lord remind me gently but firmly: fear is not from Him. And He empowered me with the truth that I have so passionately clung to when I talk to and encourage other pregnant and laboring women: "You CAN and WILL get through this. You are strong. Your body was designed to do this." And then I'd whimper in tired frustration, and then sink in to the next contraction... envisioning my little one moving downward, and then speaking out loud to him or her... "You're doing a great job, Baby, keep it up. I love you so much, we're going to see you so soon! Keep moving, Baby!"

For a little while, I had started having a slight urge to push... our midwife encouraged me to try not pushing until I couldn't help myself, in order to save up energy and strength for the real deal. So when I got to that point, I thought, good, we're finally getting there! And when I pushed, an unexpected ROAR came out of me... I've always been a loud and boisterous person, but every contraction from there on out brought forth a lioness I didn't know was in me. I would've been embarrassed if I hadn't been so focused on the work I was getting done! Discouragement kept rearing its ugly head during the pushing phase... because it didn't come easily or quickly at all. Three and a half hours of full-force pushing passed until the baby was crowning. Hanging over the side of the pool for most of that time, I would look up at Jesse with what I'm sure was the most pitiful looking face and say, "I'm so tired", and I would want to cry, except I didn't have the energy to do it. I don't really remember labor as being all that painful... very uncomfortable, definitely... but it was moreso the seemingly endless exhaustion that made it seem unbearable at points, especially at the end. My mind was now reaching the irrational stage. "Will this never be over??" I thought. "Why do people do this more than once?! This is it for me! Just the one baby! When it's done, it's DONE!" Thankfully at this point, my birth team was still rocking it in the encouragment department, and gave me what I needed to keep going. Our midwife told me at the 2 and a half hour mark (of pushing), that at this point, in a hospital, they would have sectioned me. Where many might've heard that and gotten anxious, I got a burst of energy... it reminded me that I was surrounded by people who believed in my body, who believed in birth, who believed this was not a medical emergency, but just a longer-than-usual (and longer-than-desired!) pushing phase... and as long as Baby and I were doing well, which we were, then there was no need to panic. So another hour went by... and then I finally felt the head crowning.

The excitement of feeling my baby for the first time is indescribable; I will never forget how utterly strange and wonderful it was. Somehow, when I thought all my energy was spent, it was at this moment that I suddenly had more again. I was about to meet my baby any minute now! Hanging over the pool, with Jesse behind me in the water, I gave a few short grunts with the next contraction... and then, WOW! There was a head sticking out of my body! I had seen it with other women several times... but to feel it, to see it with myself... it was very, VERY surreal. Our midwife told us that before the next contraction, I would feel the baby rotate, and that she'd like for me to lift the baby out with that next push. And then... there was a little baby sliding out, through the water, and into my arms.

I half-laughed/half-wept as I pulled this little person close to my chest. The work was finally over, and my prize had these beautiful little arms and legs moving about, teeny hands reaching up towards my face, and wide, bright eyes gazing up at me. It's true what they say about natural childbirth... all the pain and discomfort and exhaustion leaves immediately once that baby comes. It was so true, in fact, that it almost didn't even feel real that I had just spent the last 15 hours in labor! Our midwife checked the baby out while Jesse and I held this tiny, new, beautiful creature and stared in amazement... and a little bit of disbelief; this was real life! We had a child! Ten minutes or so went by before we even realized we hadn't yet checked the baby's sex. Most people, ourselves included, were feeling pretty convinced that we were having a boy... but we were surprised and delighted to find that we had a DAUGHTER! As she lay in my embrace, I studied little Phoebe's fingers and toes, smelled and kissed her head, stroked her face... totally enamored by her beauty. 

Looking at her head immediately after she was born, we learned why it took so long for her get through the birth canal. Her 4-inch (!!) caput on the side of her head told us that she had been asynclitic -- instead of her chin being tucked in and the back part of her head coming through first, she instead had her head cocked to the side, which made molding much more difficult for her... and so the pushing stage took much longer and required more effort than it would have had she been better positioned. In the hospital, this would have easily been a reason for a C-section. But thankfully, the grace of God was on us both, and we had a midwife who trusted birth, and trusted me and my ability to birth this baby. I could not ask for anything better than that. About 30 minutes of peaceful, uninterrupted bliss passed, and then I felt ready to birth the placenta. Jesse and our midwife helped me stand up out of the water, and out it came - the tree of life, the incredible and beautiful organ that transfered blood, oxygen, and nourishment to my baby for nine months. Heck, I could write a whole blog on how amazing the placenta is... it is a thing of wonder to be appreciated for sure!

Right after, I made my way to my bed - MY bed! Oh, how wonderful to snuggle up and rest on my own bed after all that work, I thought. Heavenly days! Jesse had warmed some blankets in the dryer and placed them over me and Phoebe as we lie skin to skin. After getting settled in, about an hour after the birth, our midwife came into the bedroom to assess us. Everything was looking good, so then it was time to cut the cord, which Jesse took the honor of doing.  Our midwife finished up with some other assessments and paperwork, cleaned up the apartment, scheduled my postpartum visits, and went on her way with a happy congratulations to us. Just after she left, our family stopped in with gifts, flowers, and sheer excitement to meet the newest addition. We all happily celebrated Phoebe's entrance into the world, and around 12:30, Jesse and Phoebe and I were on our own in the apartment, basking in the glory of becoming a family.

It was a day I will never in my life forget... the day my body amazed me with its strength and endurance; the day my friendship, appreciation, and love for Jesse grew to new depths; the day I became a mother for the very first time; the day I birthed my precious daughter, Phoebe Joanna: "bright and shining grace of God."

Phoebe Joanna Level Born at home on October 13, 2014 at 8:25 PM 6 lb 8 oz, 18 inches

I’ve been seeing a larger than normal amount of posts lately calling out the crap that turns women’s bodies into objects.  And a few nights ago, I was reading through several blogs of my beautiful friend, Becca, and stumbled upon a love letter that she wrote… to her body (you can read it here). Woman objectification usually leads women to HATE their bodies…they’re spoon-fed a prototype of what every woman should look like and they punish themselves for not meeting an impossible standard. This is my response to such a tragedy… a statement of appreciation. A love letter to my body. I hope this will encourage you to find all the unique things your body has seen you through, and to see, appreciate, and love your perfectly-you body.

To my dear body…

You are wonderfully and fearfully made. I know that’s an overused truth… but it is, without doubt, an irrevocable and absolute truth.

Even before you drew in your first breath, you were a fighter; you survived a car crash when you were just the size of a pea in my mother’s womb.  And you, dear body, have remained wild and strong ever since.

You endured a childhood of endless climbing… up trees, on rocks and swing-sets and walls and — well, just about anything that could be climbed — which always resulted in some kind of gash or bruise on your knee or elbow or… something.  Sometimes you tolerated your injuries and carried on like nothing ever happened; other times you let me know if it was too much, and then I calmed down… just until I was ready to get out and scrape you up again. You, dear body, are resilient and forgiving.

You have amazed me with the remarkable shapes and forms and movements you made as I danced, tumbled, twisted, flipped, balanced, jumped, and swung around for eight intense and insanely fun years as a gymnast.  You persisted through hours of (sometimes torturous) conditioning, training, and stretching, even after I broke your bones, tore your ligaments, and bloodied your hands with blisters. You, dear body, are such a trooper!

Then, once I thought you had already shown me your full wonder through what I could do with you, I studied you in Nursing school, and was literally brought to tears with how intuitive and brilliant you are.  I learned about each of your cells and their functions and how they work together so that I can breathe, eat and digest, make and pump blood, regulate my heartbeat, think and make decisions, fight off sickness… the things you do are mysterious and never-ending.  You are the hardest worker I know. Even when I sleep, you, dear body, never stop.

You have traveled and seen so many places in your young life.  You have waited through many uncomfortable hours on stuffy planes, jolting trains, and stinky, crowded buses, crossing over oceans and terrains of all sorts.  From the freezing forests of Canada to the 118 degree desert heat of Arizona; from the fresh mountain air of Germany to the polluted dumps of colorful India; from the urban shoreline beauties of Australia to the ancient ruins of Mexico.  You’ve visited these fascinating places, and hugged and kissed and touched the hands of the beautiful people who inhabit them.  Your stomach was filled (and miraculously never disturbed) with the delicious exotic foods they gave you, and you almost always slept well, with no complaints, no matter if you were laying on a luxurious mattress or a thin mat on the floor. You, dear body, are so adaptable!

I’m excited to continue the journey with you to watch the impossible happen through you — your hands have healed the sick, called out uneven arms and legs to grow out and crooked spines to straighten up; your mind has been filled with unknowable thoughts and details of strangers and your tongue has released them to empower the broken-hearted and discouraged.  I can’t wait to embark on all the miraculous things I know you are still meant to do too — from conceiving, carrying, and birthing children to raising the dead. You, dear body, are an amazing tool to bring wondrous change to this world!

You have seen some hard times; I was not always good to you or thankful for all you have done for me. I’m sorry for all the times I complained about you or compared you to another; I’m sorry for trying to change you to be something you’re not; I’m sorry for doing things to you that said “I hate you” because sometimes I did.  I’m sorry for not always treating you as the unique and precious treasure that you are.  You are a temple of the One who is perfect and powerful and pure; and so you are, by definition, perfect and powerful and pure.  I promise to forever treat and speak of you as such.

Your eyes, and the little crinkles they form when you smile, which you inherited from my mother and her father: I love them.  And your long eyelashes, which are a gift from my father: I love them too.  I didn’t used to, but now I think your grin and the dimple that hangs out right next to it is so cute.  I have learned to also love and appreciate your unique shape, even though sometimes it’s still hard to find the perfect pair of jeans, and it’s uncomfortable to wear capped sleeve shirts (don’t worry, I’m over it now).  That tiny gap between your side teeth doesn’t bother me anymore either (in fact, I hardly ever notice it).  And no matter what sizes this culture says are the sexiest, your chest is not too small, and none of you is too big.

As my father-in-law always says to everyone, and my husband always reminds me with delight, I say to you: You are a divine original. There will never be another you. You are a treasure. You are beautiful. You are perfect.

So it's been months again since I've blogged. And the biggest change since my last post is, of course, that now I'm married! And I have many complaints concerning the last four months. But none of them are about my husband.

I've been astounded by the amount of unsolicited advice, filled with pretension, ignorance, fear, and - to be frank - straight-up crap that strangers, coworkers, and even sometimes friends and family(!!) have continuously tried to lay out for me concerning the topic of marriage.

Here are a few of the frequent things I hear from these people:

Dummy #1: So how long have you been married? Me: 2 months (or 3, 4, fill in the blank) Dummy #1: Oh, so that's why you're still smiling. Dummy #2: That's so sweet that your husband walks with you to work. Me: Yeah, he's a really thoughtful guy. Dummy #2: Well enjoy it now, because that won't last.

Dummy #3: Did you guys live together before you got married? Me: No. Dummy #3: Oh, wow... well, that'll be the real test then I guess. Dummy #4 (as Jesse and I walk into a store together): Whoa! So you guys are still together?! [insert self-amused laugh] Dummies # 5, 6, and 7: Marriage is so hard, especially the first year. I mean, it can be worth it, and you learn a lot of good stuff from it. But it's not easy and it takes lots of compromise.

Sadly, the list could go on and on and on. **[And, ahem...quick interjectory thought: How can the first year of marriage be "the honeymoon phase" and "the hardest year of marriage" at the same time?? "The honeymoon phase" is made up of the annoying and foolish concept that neither person is capable of ever doing wrong; they are SO lovable and perfect, and everything is wonderful all the time. The "hardest year of marriage" clearly indicates that each person is definitely NOT perfect and lovable all the time. The inconsistency is laughable.]

These messed up expectations of marriage have concerned and shocked me, especially from fellow believers. The best two pieces of advice I received before I got married (that I actually asked for from trusted, mature, and positive people with successful and happy marriages) were: 1) Marry your best friend. 2) Don't try to make your spouse like you.

If you take a second to think about these two simple, yet profound, [actual] words of wisdom, a healthy marriage makes sense, and it doesn't seem so hard to obtain after all. MARRY YOUR BEST FRIEND I've come to realize that the ultimate reason I think people "co-habitate" before marriage is because they're afraid of revealing their most private, mundane, sometimes-weird-and-gross habits without the security of a promise of marriage. This wasn't the case for Jesse and me. To many people's awe and disbelief, transitioning into married life with Jesse didn't come with any shocks or surprises because he and I lived in transparency together before we lived in an apartment together. We were well aware that we both fart and poop and smell bad sometimes. He had seen me without makeup and knew that all healthy young women have periods. We knew what the other was like when one was sick or totally exhausted. We cooked and cleaned together often, so then we also got a picture of each other's living habits. We openly discussed individual hopes and dreams, and also plans for a future family. As we got closer to the wedding day, we talked about the honeymoon and our expectations of sex. And when we had fears about anything, we shared them and encouraged and prayed for one another. He was and is my best friend. There were no secrets, no surprises. Transition was easy. DON'T TRY TO MAKE YOUR SPOUSE LIKE YOU When we were dating, and exploring the differences in our personalities (extrovert vs introvert, anal vs laid back, etc.) we learned a lot about the freedom of allowing people to be themselves without labeling traits as right or wrong. When my perspective on something is totally different from Jesse's, he doesn't badger me and insist I see things his way. And when Jesse gives a short response where I would normally take up 10 minutes of talking, I can be sure that there's nothing wrong with him. He's just not me. And I'm not him. And that's really ok. I'd say the majority of other married couples we've talked to who say marriage is often challenging, also tend to complain about how their spouse doesn't do something the way they would do it, or feel how they would feel about something. Hmm.... We personally didn't get married hoping to eventually live with a clone of ourselves. If you're reading, and you've been married for 5, 10, 25, or 40+ years, and even if overall, you're optimistic about your marriage, but you're still thinking, "Ugh. How naive. How arrogant. Just wait. You'll see how hard it can be"... my response is this: Please do not mistake my standards and expectations as thinking of myself as a marriage guru. I am certainly not saying I know everything. And I am not shaming anyone for ever having conflict in their marriage. I'm saying: if you have had a negative experience, resolved or not, please do not project it onto my marriage and call yourself wise for it. I'm saying that in ANY relationship, not just marriage, if you operate in the transparency and love and honesty of a friend, and you're not obsessed with making people into copies of yourself, then the relationship will succeed and the relationship will be happy. We are all powerful people - we all have the capability to make our own decisions. Nobody can make us do or think or feel anything. If we are offended or angry, or thankful or joyful, it's always because we choose to be those things.

So the bottom line is this: If you choose to expect marriage to sometimes be difficult, ugly, or exhausting, it probably will be. But for me: 2 months in or 80 years in, I will ALWAYS choose to think the best for my marriage. We will be strong, and united, and happy. It's not the honeymoon phase, it's not naive, and it's not arrogant. It's healthy, it's normal, and it's powerful!

I miss you. And you. And you. I don't have words for it all yet. But let's get on with things. Life is so good...