As I ponder those words, I can't help but notice my shoddy nails - overgrown cuticles, picked-at fingers, short nails exposing an underlying anxiety. The "click-click-click" of my typing momentarily moves my focus from my fingers to the dry skin patches on my hands, and then onto the tiny, interspersed nicks I've gained from paper cuts and playing rough with our dog and her giant chew toys.
My eyes glance at the growing protrusion that is now my belly.
I've never been this big in my life, I think to myself, as I consider whether to reach for a cookie or the giant plastic water mug in front of me. In addition to being larger than I can often emotionally grasp, I now have an increased appetite and bouts of weepiness. Out of a desire to placate my low emotional reserves, and keep from crying, I decide yes to eat that cookie.
As a child, my favorite character on the PBS series "Sesame Street" was the Cookie Monster. His blue, longhaired fur made him seem like a gigantic stuffed animal. I wanted to hug him, repeatedly. And climb on him. And eat his cookies. Or rather, eat cookies side-by-side with him. I also wanted to teach him how to eat a cookie properly - specifically, in a way where the cookie pieces actually broke apart in his mouth, rather than flying all over the room in mashed-up chunks. (Eventually, I realized that the Cookie Monster was in fact a puppet and therefore, unable to actually eat the cookies. That's why they flew everywhere.) I could relate to the Cookie Monster - a bigger, furrier creature who loved food.
Growing up in a more challenging family situation, food was a comfort and security blanket for me. Likewise, biting my nails gave me a way to tangibly portray my stress triggers. When my parents struggled with finances, and fought, I carried the burden by overeating and biting my nails. It was how I processed through my fears, or managed to live with them, I suppose. Years later, around the time I graduated from college, I started learning how to make healthier eating decisions and to stop using food as a coping mechanism for pain. That was the beginning of a long journey for me - one which included Weight Watchers, counseling sessions, dedicated exercising, and prayer. Around age 22, I lost nearly 12lbs and that was a huge victory for me. It look patience, resolve, daily exercise, and eating lots of vegetables and fruits in place of bread. I kept the weight off for almost six years. Then, in the summer of 2013, Ken and I spent a month traveling throughout Europe - wining and dining on local fare, daily gelato (and desserts!), and gourmet, five-course dinners. It was food heaven. I gained five pounds that summer and when we moved to Alaska following that trip, I couldn't seem to lose the weight.
It continued to get harder, as my increasing weight paralleled my increasing depression over moving to such a cold climate. My first year in Alaska was extremely difficult, and not at all like I had imagined it. Marked by the loss of Ken's grandma Alice, then the months it took for Ken to secure a job, along with missing my dear friends and community in Seattle - Alaska felt like anything but "home." A couple months after we got here, we almost resolved to leave.
In faith, though, we chose to stay and while I can't say that decision made it any easier to live here - that commitment, has over time, started to root in me. My weight began to steadily decrease in the months that followed, around the spring of last year. I also got back into running and met some amazing goals I had set for myself. An 11-mile run now seems like a manageable hurdle with discipline and faith.
Suddenly, I feel the smallest semblance of the baby kick within me. I'm instantly tuned in to the incredible event unfolding before me and I realize, once again, that I'm pregnant. In my excitement, I pick at my nails and half-giggle at the thought of being caretaker to a growing human. My body, in all its imperfections, is once again made 'perfect' and 'beautiful' and 'lovely.' It houses a baby. How incredible is that? I smile and think to myself.
In reflecting upon my struggles with my body and the vast changes it's been through all these years, I'm awestruck by this new season I am embarking upon: parenting. I wonder what my baby girl will be like and how I can embody to her what true beauty looks like. With so many failings of my own, how can I be an example of a godly woman - whose heart is set apart and not fixed on trivial things?
The culture and society I find myself enmeshed in values physical beauty, luxe fashion, charm and extroversion, power, and financial gain - many times at the expense of quiet mindfulness, contentment, generosity, inner beauty, and stewardship of resources. Honestly, as I find myself skimming Facebook status updates, Instagram feeds, and news headlines, I notice a marked difference in my level of satisfaction. I become envious of others. Jealous, resentful, discontent. The longer I browse these social media platforms, I lose sight of my worth. Somehow, multiple page and photo "Likes" equals popularity, and a false sense of superiority. At what point is it unhealthy and how can I continue to move in a direction of true relationship, where I place a higher value on meeting people at a heart level, rather than a page "Like"? These are the questions I ask regularly, in seeking to live intentionally. Rather than allowing a shadow of reality consume me.
And herein lies a unique opportunity for me to live differently. Set apart. For my daughter, and for myself. I want to introduce my baby girl to all the things that I hold dear to my heart, like my love for writing handwritten notes and cards. Postage stamps and penmanship and walking to an actual mailbox rather than just writing text messages.
I want my baby girl to understand how meaningful it is to give generously - not just when it's easy or convenient, but when it's hard, too. Likewise, I want to teach her discernment and setting healthy boundaries, so that she can bless others out of a place of strength, as opposed to being motivated by guilt or a sense of obligation.
My desires for my daughter include encouraging her to build her strengths as well as weaknesses, and giving her freedom to fail or struggle, knowing that her true sense of worth will never be wrapped up in her career choices. She is not just a pretty face. She is intelligent, capable, competent, and strong. True feminism is modeled by respect and love for others. I want her to know that.
I also hope to impart upon my baby girl the unique gift of listening to others, and carrying on a conversation. Without a cell phone blinking in the background (or foreground) and constant interruptions from text messages. I think about the friends and family I know who still value quality time, and honor the sacredness of uninterrupted fellowship. They inspire me. My Mom would never rush to take a phone call when we were spending time together (granted, cell phones have become a much bigger deal in the last decade.)
On that same note, Ken makes it a point to engage in quality conversation or quiet time together, during meals and dates. He helps keep me focused on the importance of living in each moment, rather than constant photo uploads to Facebook, alerting everyone to what we are up to. We don't really "check-in" at places online, we check-in with each other and how our days have been and where we are at emotionally. What a gift.
As I write this, I'm reminded of a conversation Ken and I had a couple years ago. In talking about having children someday, I asked him, How can we teach our children to live differently? How can we help them to be healthy - emotionally and physically? Ken's response surprised me, as it was marked by a sense of personal responsibility that I had never considered.
"I think that whatever we want our kids to learn, we need to model ourselves, in the way we live," he shared.
That makes a lot of sense.
I want to model to our baby girl all these things I've shared, and continue to seek God's grace when I can't do it on my own. In reality, I'm so flawed and imperfect and yet in Christ, I am made complete. Praise God.
I've never been this big in my life, I think to myself, as I consider whether to reach for a cookie or the giant plastic water mug in front of me. In addition to being larger than I can often emotionally grasp, I now have an increased appetite and bouts of weepiness. Out of a desire to placate my low emotional reserves, and keep from crying, I decide yes to eat that cookie.
As a child, my favorite character on the PBS series "Sesame Street" was the Cookie Monster. His blue, longhaired fur made him seem like a gigantic stuffed animal. I wanted to hug him, repeatedly. And climb on him. And eat his cookies. Or rather, eat cookies side-by-side with him. I also wanted to teach him how to eat a cookie properly - specifically, in a way where the cookie pieces actually broke apart in his mouth, rather than flying all over the room in mashed-up chunks. (Eventually, I realized that the Cookie Monster was in fact a puppet and therefore, unable to actually eat the cookies. That's why they flew everywhere.) I could relate to the Cookie Monster - a bigger, furrier creature who loved food.
Growing up in a more challenging family situation, food was a comfort and security blanket for me. Likewise, biting my nails gave me a way to tangibly portray my stress triggers. When my parents struggled with finances, and fought, I carried the burden by overeating and biting my nails. It was how I processed through my fears, or managed to live with them, I suppose. Years later, around the time I graduated from college, I started learning how to make healthier eating decisions and to stop using food as a coping mechanism for pain. That was the beginning of a long journey for me - one which included Weight Watchers, counseling sessions, dedicated exercising, and prayer. Around age 22, I lost nearly 12lbs and that was a huge victory for me. It look patience, resolve, daily exercise, and eating lots of vegetables and fruits in place of bread. I kept the weight off for almost six years. Then, in the summer of 2013, Ken and I spent a month traveling throughout Europe - wining and dining on local fare, daily gelato (and desserts!), and gourmet, five-course dinners. It was food heaven. I gained five pounds that summer and when we moved to Alaska following that trip, I couldn't seem to lose the weight.
It continued to get harder, as my increasing weight paralleled my increasing depression over moving to such a cold climate. My first year in Alaska was extremely difficult, and not at all like I had imagined it. Marked by the loss of Ken's grandma Alice, then the months it took for Ken to secure a job, along with missing my dear friends and community in Seattle - Alaska felt like anything but "home." A couple months after we got here, we almost resolved to leave.
In faith, though, we chose to stay and while I can't say that decision made it any easier to live here - that commitment, has over time, started to root in me. My weight began to steadily decrease in the months that followed, around the spring of last year. I also got back into running and met some amazing goals I had set for myself. An 11-mile run now seems like a manageable hurdle with discipline and faith.
Suddenly, I feel the smallest semblance of the baby kick within me. I'm instantly tuned in to the incredible event unfolding before me and I realize, once again, that I'm pregnant. In my excitement, I pick at my nails and half-giggle at the thought of being caretaker to a growing human. My body, in all its imperfections, is once again made 'perfect' and 'beautiful' and 'lovely.' It houses a baby. How incredible is that? I smile and think to myself.
In reflecting upon my struggles with my body and the vast changes it's been through all these years, I'm awestruck by this new season I am embarking upon: parenting. I wonder what my baby girl will be like and how I can embody to her what true beauty looks like. With so many failings of my own, how can I be an example of a godly woman - whose heart is set apart and not fixed on trivial things?
The culture and society I find myself enmeshed in values physical beauty, luxe fashion, charm and extroversion, power, and financial gain - many times at the expense of quiet mindfulness, contentment, generosity, inner beauty, and stewardship of resources. Honestly, as I find myself skimming Facebook status updates, Instagram feeds, and news headlines, I notice a marked difference in my level of satisfaction. I become envious of others. Jealous, resentful, discontent. The longer I browse these social media platforms, I lose sight of my worth. Somehow, multiple page and photo "Likes" equals popularity, and a false sense of superiority. At what point is it unhealthy and how can I continue to move in a direction of true relationship, where I place a higher value on meeting people at a heart level, rather than a page "Like"? These are the questions I ask regularly, in seeking to live intentionally. Rather than allowing a shadow of reality consume me.
And herein lies a unique opportunity for me to live differently. Set apart. For my daughter, and for myself. I want to introduce my baby girl to all the things that I hold dear to my heart, like my love for writing handwritten notes and cards. Postage stamps and penmanship and walking to an actual mailbox rather than just writing text messages.
I want my baby girl to understand how meaningful it is to give generously - not just when it's easy or convenient, but when it's hard, too. Likewise, I want to teach her discernment and setting healthy boundaries, so that she can bless others out of a place of strength, as opposed to being motivated by guilt or a sense of obligation.
My desires for my daughter include encouraging her to build her strengths as well as weaknesses, and giving her freedom to fail or struggle, knowing that her true sense of worth will never be wrapped up in her career choices. She is not just a pretty face. She is intelligent, capable, competent, and strong. True feminism is modeled by respect and love for others. I want her to know that.
I also hope to impart upon my baby girl the unique gift of listening to others, and carrying on a conversation. Without a cell phone blinking in the background (or foreground) and constant interruptions from text messages. I think about the friends and family I know who still value quality time, and honor the sacredness of uninterrupted fellowship. They inspire me. My Mom would never rush to take a phone call when we were spending time together (granted, cell phones have become a much bigger deal in the last decade.)
On that same note, Ken makes it a point to engage in quality conversation or quiet time together, during meals and dates. He helps keep me focused on the importance of living in each moment, rather than constant photo uploads to Facebook, alerting everyone to what we are up to. We don't really "check-in" at places online, we check-in with each other and how our days have been and where we are at emotionally. What a gift.
As I write this, I'm reminded of a conversation Ken and I had a couple years ago. In talking about having children someday, I asked him, How can we teach our children to live differently? How can we help them to be healthy - emotionally and physically? Ken's response surprised me, as it was marked by a sense of personal responsibility that I had never considered.
"I think that whatever we want our kids to learn, we need to model ourselves, in the way we live," he shared.
That makes a lot of sense.
I want to model to our baby girl all these things I've shared, and continue to seek God's grace when I can't do it on my own. In reality, I'm so flawed and imperfect and yet in Christ, I am made complete. Praise God.
In faith, I will be a great mom to my daughter.
I look forward to meeting you, baby girl.
I already love you more than I could ever imagine.
