Hello blogging community!
I've gotten lots of questions, texts, emails, comments asking me when I would be blog again.
The truth is, I wasn't ready for awhile.
Last year the Lord started a work in me, a pruning season, and it was painful.
So much has happened in one year, so many big changes I could write the longest blog post ever,
but I will just hit some highlights.
First off, we had our fourth baby.
Yes that's right, I said 4. Numero quatro.
Knox Reed.
Getting pregnant with him was a big surprise.
I mean I know how a baby is made, but we were using "precautions."
We had talked about trying for a fourth when the youngest was 3 or 4.
But God had other plans for our family.
When I first took the test and saw those positive signs.
I wept.
Yes I wept, not out of selfishness (I love babies), but out of fear.
Pure fear.
And to that fear I held onto for the entire pregnancy.
I was fearful of losing this baby.
I was ashamed of my reaction to finding out I was pregnant and cut off friends.
I had so many friends who were trying to get pregnant, miscarrying, and tearfully but faithfully waiting for the Lord's blessing of babies.
And here I was freaking out at every twinge and cramp and weeping over my imagination.
I was fearful of family members opinion of this pregnancy.
I was fearful of preterm labor.
I was fearful of losing that sweet boy.
I clung so tightly to fear that I let it suffocate me.
I became an introvert, and then became bitter.
Fear is a horrible disease, because it has side effects.
Bitterness is one of those side effects.
The fear kept me frozen in a state of panic every second, the bitterness pushed everyone
far away from me so they wouldn't see that fear.
It was a vicious cycle.
I prayed to Jesus to let this last pregnancy and delivery be the best one I ever had.
Kind of like a "happy retirement to your uterus party."
But the reality was, it was the worst.
And even though it was the worst, I see how God used that
to confirm that Knox would be our last baby, and that that would be ok.
During this time I had someone close to me speaking even more bitterness into my heart.
Someone I had no idea was suffering in a different way, and couldn't control their actions.
That's a story for another time.
The day I was induced with Knox, things went by in a blur.
I was induced in the morning, and shortly after lunch I was holding him chest to chest.
Memorizing his face, and smiling so big because he looked like me!
(He still does, I'm on cloud 9)
See my hubs has some incredibly strong genes.
Our eldest three kiddos look like Johnson clones.
But Knox, well he's my mini me and my heart melts about it.
Not that my other kids don't melt my heart, I mean they are all so attractive
I am going to have to beat potential spouses off with a bat.
But having three kids that get told they look like their dad ALL THE TIME
then finally having one where people go "he looks just like you!!"
It's like a big high five.
Like a double high five and a hug.
Back to his birthday.
That night in the hospital I was so exhausted, the nurse suggested we allow knox
to stay in the nursery for a few hours so we could rest.
We agreed, reluctantly at first, but then both felt it was right.
That was God watching out for us right there folks.
Morning came and they still had not brought my baby back.
The nurse came in, gently woke me, and told me Knox had spit up and choked so bad during the night he had to be put on oxygen.
He had turned blue and required two nurses's attentions.
My heart sunk.
She then went on to explain the dr wanted to have a heart ultrasound done for him,
he had some concerns and wanted to check it out.
I looked at my husband, and then I lost it.
I wept and wept, and thought I couldn't possibly produce more tears.
I know God collects all our tears into bottles,
but I think that day He had to use a water cooler jug for mine.
My husband walked me to the nursery to see him.
I wasn't allowed to go in.
I stood in the window looking at my brand new baby hooked up to wires and tubes.
It felt like a piece of my heart had been ripped out and was laying in there.
I had to pump (something my body refuses to agree with.)
They told my husband and I, all we could do was wait.
So into our dark hospital room we sat, no baby.
And I cried so hard some more I thought I broke my ribs.
And Justin, well through it all, he was Jesus to me.
He never once broke down.
He held onto hope, and then he held onto me.
He helped me bathe, fed me, and held me as I broke down.
Finally we got a phone call.
"Your son's heart is perfect."
That was such joyful news!
I just hung on to my husband and cried some more.
We had prayed for good news, and God heard our cries.
12 hours of not being able to hold my baby nearly destroyed me,
my heart breaks for those mommas who have to go longer until holding their babes.
The nurse wheeled him back into our room in his little bed,
and I held onto him as if to make sure he was still here.
To feel him breathing, to feel his perfect heart beating.
To smell that newborn smell that I hope heaven smells like.
He was healthy, he was going to be ok.
These events led to another area of my life I had never experienced,
one that is hard to talk about but needs to be.
Postpartum anxiety disorder.
But that needs a post all to its own.
Like I said, this has been quite a year of God tearing down strongholds,
ripping more pieces of myself away to make room for Him.
And I am coming out of the other side.
Changed.
Looking less like who I used to be, and more of Who lives in me.
If you have read til the end of this long post, bless you.
You may now be rewarded with some pictures.
I'm back
