Solveig's Birth Story

I know some people love to read birth stories, and others feel it's something very private.  If you are the latter, this post is not for you.  I personally love to read stories of how women give birth.  I've heard one woman say that giving birth is such a huge life changing event that many women need to tell their stories as a means of mentally processing that life change.  I can completely relate to that.

I'm not sure when to say labor started.  As most of the readers know, I was in the hospital twice before the birth, thinking I was in labor.  Well, not totally true.  The first time, I was in intense pain, but it wasn't coming in waves like normal contractions, and I was more worried that something was wrong.  However, the monitors were picking up contractions, so we all assumed that I was in labor.  In hindsight, I was probably overworked (the day before I mopped the kitchen floor on my hands and knees...and completely felt the foolishness of that later) and dehydrated.

The second time, I timed contractions, and headed in.  However, when I got there, the contractions stopped, and the intense constant pain started.  I should have recognized it as dehydration to begin with, since I had a similar experience with Silje.  As soon as I got an i.v. everything returned to normal, and I returned home.  In tears that time.  (In my defense, I wasn't even thirsty.  I normally drink tons when I'm pregnant, but keeping those fluids up in the third trimester requires that I slosh around all the time.  If I'm I'm not sloshing, I'm usually dehydrated.)

Needless to say, knowing when labor started was tricky.  I was having painful contractions every 10 minutes for those weeks.  However, they'd slow when I went to sleep, and I could sleep through them.  They felt exactly like labor contractions, and they were regular during the day.  I normally have fast labors, so Knut and I were worried that when I did go into labor, it would happen too fast.

The morning of the 11th, I woke up at 4am with a contraction.  Contractions normally don't wake me up, so I took notice.  10 minutes later, I had another one.  After the third one, I got out of bed to see if I could do something different to make them go away.  First I went into the tub, which usually scares away the contractions.  However, this time, it didn't.  I went downstairs to the basement to watch a movie (I picked "White Christmas") while the rest of the house slept.  By 6am, they were much stronger, and still 10 minutes apart.  I remember swaying through a contraction in front of the warm corn stove in the basement, and thinking to Solveig "I'm going to meet you today.  Today is the day you'll be in my arms."  I was starting to allow myself to get excited again that this was "it."

Just before 7am, the kids and Knut came downstairs for breakfast, and I told Knut to clear the schedule for the day.  My bet was we'd be at the hospital by 10am.  The only thing we had planned for the day was taking the kids to the library to see Santa.  They'd be disappointed, but what do you do?

Our plan was to go to the hospital when contractions were 2-3 minutes apart.  We normally go in when they are 5 minutes apart because I do deliver fast, but we had done that twice and had come home twice, so we weren't planning on having that happen again.

So while I labored at home, Knut kept the kids away from me as much as possible.  When it was 9:30, and contractions were still 10 minutes apart, although they were hard and over a minute long, I told Knut to go ahead and take Silje and David to the library.  I couldn't seem to pass that "10 minute mark" and it was frustrating me.

Knut called from town and asked if he had time to pick up a tree.  There contractions were still not any closer together, so I told him to go ahead and pick one up.  Just when he and the kids got home, I was in the middle of an intense contraction and the kids were pulling on me and asking me for food, etc.  I could not handle it, and actually called Knut on his cell phone in the garage (he was untying the tree) and told him I could not in any way handle the kids and he needed to get inside. He said he'd be right in and I could help him with the tree.

Help him?  As he dragged the tree through the house, I was in another contraction and started crying.  I couldn't help him put the tree up.  He must have misunderstood.  I needed his help and had no help to give.  It was the first of emotional break downs, but I quickly got over it, and held the tree as he tightened it in the stand inbetween the contractions.  They were still 10 minutes apart, but now at least a hard 2 minutes long.  That gave spurts of 8 minutes to help.

The stupid tree kept tipping over, and I really did not want to deal with it anymore so I left for a different room and left Knut, the tree, and the kids.  He promised to keep them away from me.  I went to lay down, and didn't get a contraction for another 30 minutes, which made me cry again.  I thought labor was stalling again, and I couldn't handle this on again-off again feeling.  I had let myself believe once again that the baby was coming that day, and to be disappointed again was more than I could handle.

To my surprise, they started up again.  Every 10 minutes (are you getting tired of me saying "every 10 minutes"?  I was sure sick of it.)  However, they were still 2 minutes long, and it got to the point where I had to seize control of my brain.

I have had epidurals in all of my previous labors, however, not all of them had come in time.  My labor with Elias I was mentally prepared to not be able to get an epidural, and I did end up having time to get one in the end.  I only got to enjoy it for 10 minutes or so, and was kicking myself afterward that I had gotten it.  I could have just avoided the whole uncomfortable procedure and kept my ability to move around during labor, and afterbirth.

So for this one, I was determined to not get any drugs.  Not because I felt I was superwoman, but I had done it before, by accident, and I knew I could do it.  I knew it was in me.  I just had to take control of my brain and not let fear take over.  I was more afraid of losing control than the pain.

So as the contractions got more and more intense, I chanted this determination to myself.  I would not lose control.  I may not be able to control what happened below my neck, but my brain was completely mine.  I counted, I breathed, I did whatever I could to make myself feel like I was in control of my thoughts during this time.  I wasn't scared, and I didn't have to yell or moan like previous births.  I felt totally in control.

I even, at times told myself to let the pain come.  If I felt like I was inviting the pain, I felt like I was in control of it.  Inviting the pain to come helped.  I was glad I had read up so much on natural birth, because I learned so many tricks that really helped deal with the intensity of it all.

There were times I asked Knut to come be with me so I could lean on him.  However, by the time he shook a kid from his body to get to me, the contraction was over, and another one was still 10 minutes away and he was gone by the time it got there.  He really had no clue how intense things were getting.

Around 5pm, the contractions finally sped up to every 8 minutes.  They were crazy intense, and I was worried that at this rate, I couldn't deliver naturally.  If this was going to go on for hours and hours, I just couldn't do it.  8 minutes apart made me feel like the end was still so far away, and I just didn't think I could do it.  I told Knut to call his aunt to watch the kids, and we needed to get to the hospital.  I didn't care about the 2-3 minute apart goal anymore.  The contractions weren't close, but I needed a coach and didn't want to do it by myself anymore.  He had just put the supper in the oven for the kids, so he called his aunt, and she and her daughter said they'd head over.  The kids were eating supper by the time we'd arranged for everything to go.

I need to back up, though.  Around 5pm, I hopped back in the tub to help with the pain.  Knut came to check on me, and by then they were 8 minutes apart, and I told him it was time to go.  He was in the middle of getting supper ready, and I told him there was probably enough time to finish that as his aunt and cousin came over. I told him this with such certainty that he didn't question me, but with contractions only every 8 minutes, I don't think he was rushing.

While everything was being arranged to leave, I recorded the next contraction only 7 minutes later.  The one after that was only 6 minutes.  Then 5 minutes.  4 minutes.  By the time the contractions were right on top together, slurring into wave after wave crashing on me, I attempted to get out of the tub and dressed to go.  It was tricky.  I thought of calling Knut up to help me, but I knew that would only delay him getting things ready to go, and I wanted no delay at this point.  The few seconds between contractions I'd race to get another item of clothing on.  When I was ready, I waited at the top of the stairs for a the few seconds given to me between waves, and raced down in between them.

Knut helped me into the van, and for the first time that day, we were alone together as I was dealing with the contractions.  I felt I could relax because he was there.  I felt I could make noise because my kids weren't there and wouldn't get scared.  Knut was excited, and assured me that he thought with all of the laboring I had done that day, I'd at least be dilated to 5cm, and he was sure they wouldn't send me home this time.  I was more worried at this point that we'd get to the hospital in time, but I didn't tell him that.  The roads were icy, and the last thing I needed to worry about at that point was a crazy, scared driver.  All I told him was I'd better be at least at an 8.  He laughed, and held my hand.

As we drove closer to town, I felt the baby descend lower and lower, and I could no longer sit squarely on the seat, but had to lean over to one side, as if the birth canal was open and ready to push, although I felt no urge to push.  When we finally got to town and were about a mile from the hospital, I told Knut calmly that I was pretty sure we'd make it to the hospital, but I wasn't guaranteeing that we'd make it up to the birthing center.  He smiled, and told me that I was doing great.

When we got to the hospital, Knut parked in the emergency parking, and helped me inside.  The receptionist recognized immediately that things were going fast, as I couldn't even walk, and Knut helped me into a wheelchair.  I remember staring at it, trying to figure out how I could make my body sit down at this point.  It had no wish to sit down.  Squatting was more like it.  However, I somehow managed to sit, but leaned over to one side as far as I could.  The woman in the emergency room, where you check in, saw my position, and literally ran me upstairs, yelling ahead to a doctor to press the elevator button so it would be there when we arrived.  Knut left me at this point to go park the car, and said he would meet me upstairs.

When the nurse and I arrived in a birthing room, one lone nurse came to help me out of the wheelchair.  The floor was empty, and only one reserve nurse was there in case someone showed up.  I grabbed onto the side of the bed.  I told her I was feeling a lot of pressure and thought the baby was coming soon.  That sent her into motion quickly as soon there were 2 nurses there, and I think one was assigned just to repeatedly page the doctor on call.

When I finally had the gown on and the monitors beeping, the nurse checked me and announced "she's complete and ready to push" just as Knut entered the room.  Seriously, he looked like he just saw a ghost when she said that.  I've never seen that look on his face before.  I had labored by myself for most of the day and he had no idea it was this far along.

At this point my water had not broken, and one nurse told the other that she thought that was the only thing holding the baby in.  I still had no desire to push, and so I just lay there breathing.  They told me to try not to push until the doctor got there, but I had no intention of obeying.  I didn't feel like I needed to push yet, but I thought it was stupid to wait for the doctor.  For the purpose of avoiding tears, or some medical reason I would, but I figured a nurse could catch if she needed to.

We were all relieved to see Dr. N run in in his sweatshirt and jeans from home.  Knut said the only thing that Dr. N got on completely was shoe covers when my water broke and the urge to push came.  He got his arms into the paper gown when the baby started to crown.

I honestly don't remember pushing.  In fact, I know I consciously didn't push.  As silly as this sounds, I just let the baby come out.  I endured her coming out, but I certainly didn't mentally push her.  She came out in one contraction and I just let it happen.  I don't mean to sound all calm about it.  I wasn't at the time.  My eyes were closed and I didn't open them for a minute or two after she was out.  I'm told her cord was wrapped several times around her legs, binding her up.  Dr. N. held her up in a little ball and said she was a girl.  Knut cut the cord, and they lay her on me right away.  When she was placed on my chest, I finally could get my eyes open, and I saw my little girl.  We had been in the hospital exactly 18 minutes when she was born.

As the afterbirth was delivered, someone gave me a shot of pitocin in my leg to help me contract.  Solveig began to nurse and she had a perfect latch on her first try, which I had never experienced before.  She sucked for almost an hour, and the nurses just let her lay on me and didn't ask to take her to weigh her or anything until she had stopped.  I was so thankful for that time.  I didn't get to hold Elias for many hours because of his breathing issues.  It was very healing for me to be able to hold her for so long without any pressure to let her go.  However, as the adrenaline was finally setting in, I was shaking all over.

As they were weighing her and checking her vitals, I kept passing blood clots which worried the nurse.  I couldn't remember if that was normal or not.  I had been anemic during all of my pregnancies, and knew this could happen, but it hadn't happened before.  She called the doctor, and he put me on some drug to clamp down the uterus to stop bleeding.  It was a miserable drug.  A "necessary evil" as my midwife friend called it when I talked to her by phone the next day. (She had recently given a mother that same drug, and knew how uncomfortable it could make someone.)   It messed with my body temperature and that whole evening, I went from sweating through my gown to uncontrollable chills.  However, it did what it was supposed to do and stopped the bleeding.  However, my hemoglobin was so low that my doctor offered me a blood transfusion, which I turned down since he didn't insist and the whole idea freaked me out.  He said if I didn't take it, I would just have a longer recovery, and be on lots of iron.  He said it would be about a month before I was at full strength again.

Knut and I were both comfortable with the decision to avoid the transfusion and just have me "take it easy" longer.  They kept me an extra night in the hospital so I could rest.  Normally Knut was racing me out of the hospital (he hates hospitals), but with his Grandpa failing in that same hospital on a different floor, he felt that home would be too stressful for me and quickly agreed to me staying longer.  After about a week at home, we noticed my color returning well.

Solveig Joy was 7 lbs, 5 oz.  In the first 2 weeks she had exactly 2 diapers that weren't poopy, and was the only one of my kids who never ever looked jaundice-y.  She is a champion nurser, and is putting on weight quickly.  I'm so happy that I decided to go natural this time around, and found this to actually be my easiest labor.  Each woman, each baby, each labor is so different, and this one is a big example of that!  I was just surprised that having a drug free labor was less painful than any epidural labor I had in the past.  It was truly all a state of mind and controlling the fear factor.  For me, this was definitely the way to go!

Timing

Still here!  As I spent a bit of time this morning typing out the next 2 weeks worth of lesson plans for Silje, I remember distinctly thinking while I did the same thing 2 weeks ago that I probably didn't need to do it, but it's good to have everything set up in case someone else was watching Silje and she was begging for something to do.  However, we got through 2 weeks, and now I'm working on the next set of 2 weeks.  Surely this baby will come during this next 2 week time span. 

I feel a bit bad for this little girl, and the hard time and jokes made about her being so stubborn.  Jokes Knut and I have said as well.  We talk as if she's late, when really, I'm only roughly at 39 weeks.  She's not late at all!  Each pregnancy of mine has become shorter and shorter that we just weren't expecting her to actually come near her due date.  We're thrown a bit off guard by it.

I think we're so eager for her to come for 2 reasons.  First, I just want to see and hold her!  My arms just ache to cuddle her, and it's tough to wait for that.  Second, life is just not "normal" right now.  Knut is working so much around the house, I'm just not much use to anyone, the kids sense that we are jumpy.  I'm not going grocery shopping, or window shopping, or bringing Silje to lessons.  Knut just doesn't feel comfortable with me running errands, and to be honest, I'm not sure my body could handle it right now either.  You should have seen my feet last night.  I don't think I could have squeezed them into shoes to go out anyway!  My ankles had completely disappeared and my little sausage toes were so fat that they could barely move.

I know the thought is "well, the worst that could happen is you'd just go into labor."  If that were the case, I'd be at the grocery store right now.  I wouldn't even ask Knut.  (He's probably send me there right now if he thought it's put me in labor!)  Actually, the worst that could happen is I'd end up in the hospital again, NOT in labor again, and ending up even more frustrated.  It causes me a lot of pain and discomfort to do these things, but unfortunately does not result in a baby in my arms quite yet.

Knut and I are both very eager for life's new normal with 4 kids to begin.  I'd like my routine back, and I know Knut would too.  I've been trying to be positive, because it seems better than the alternative, and what can I do about it anyway?  My attitude is really the only thing I can control right now, even though it seems that's hanging on by a thread.

Last night we talked about it at lot, and spent some time in prayer because I felt a bit at the end of my rope.  I prayed about it by myself too last night, after both those attempts to rely on God for my attitude, because it was too much to hold together by myself anymore. I was struck by the thought of God's timing.  We always have our expectation on when things should happen.  We figure out when would be the best time and when would be the worst time for things to happen, and then pray and tell God about it, so that He knows too.  You know, it's good to get everyone on the same page.

I thought about my friend who won the hat earlier this week.  Her little girl was born on Christmas.  If I remember her story right, it was Christmas morning and there had just been a huge snowfall and the roads weren't even plowed yet, and they had to figure out who of their friends to call Christmas morning to come watch their kids...in my opinion...not the best timing.

But it was.  It was because it was God's timing, and God's timing is perfect.  Sure, if we need medical intervention, and that's the wisest course, we'd go that route, but that's not even necessary to think about right now and will only bring about worry.  Let's remember, she's not even late.

Think of Abraham and Sarah, and how God taught them about His timing.  The problem is that God is always on time, and we'd all feel a bit more comfortable if he would just err a bit on the side of early.  God doesn't err, though.

I go in between being consumed with wondering when this baby will come, and ignoring the prospect that she's coming at all.  Ignoring it helps me move on and have some sort of life while waiting.  Still, things happen throughout each day this past week with my body and I think "Hmm...this happened the same day Silje was born...I wonder."  or "I remember this happened with my body just the day before David was born."  Seriously, this baby cannot drop any lower, although she's trying her best.  Every time I think to myself "it'll happen the next day or so...I'm sure of it...the signs are all there" nothing happens.  And life moves on...and on.

After the time in prayer and reflection last night, though, I feel very renewed today in the confidence that the timing is all in God's hands.  Had she come 2 weeks ago, I wouldn't have had this opportunity to draw on God's strength for mental stability, or to search Him in prayer, or reflect on His perfection, drawing me to worship.

So now that I've grown through this and learned the lesson You wanted to teach me and am content to wait for Your timing...she's going to come, right?  Right, God?  Sheesh, I must sound like one of my kids to Him.

The Point

I got to thinking after we had some friends over the other night.  They're the type of friends who remind me of Thanksgivings in my childhood: full of theological debate and discussions.  Conversations always run deep, and Bibles get whipped out as we reference and cross reference.  I love it. 

Anyway, the topic of evangelism was breezed upon, and it reminded me of something God has been teaching me over the past year.  Or years, really if I think about it.

I don't know if many of you know this, but growing up, I had always wanted to be a missionary.  I think I made it official when I was 6.  As I got older, I started going on short term mission trips.  I started learning about mission organizations, and applied to colleges with great mission programs.

You see, I didn't want to just be a missionary.  I wanted to be one of those kinds of missionaries who lived in a hut and witnessed to people who had never seen a white person.  I thought the area I'd probably go into was Bible translation.

That's where I think the Bible college I chose really changed my life.  You'd think that of all places that a wanna-be missionary could get all fired up and prepared to go on the mission field would be Bible school, and you're right.  Moody Bible Institute is about the best they come, which is why I wanted to go there.  I thought all of those Thanksgiving dinners and one on one confirmation lessons, and being the granddaughter of missionaries and daughter of a Sunday school teacher would have prepared me for studying the Bible, but I had never felt so ignorant as I did my first week there.  It's like the Harvard of Bible schools.  I remember when my roommate found out that I was Lutheran, she looked at me in shock and said "You baptize babies, don't you!"  My first meal in the cafeteria, the boy next to me at the table turned to me and said "How about you?  Do you go along more with the Northern Galatian theory or the Southern?"  It must not have been that important, because I don't even remember the relevance of that question, besides to scare poor freshman.

Anyway, I learned a lot about missions while I was there.  Actually, I learned a lot about God there.  I made a commitment to spend more time with God in either prayer or His Word than doing homework for the first year, which was a tricky commitment to make.  If I spent 3 hours doing homework one night, that meant that I had to spend more than 3 hours having devotions.  Surprisingly, my grades that year were my all time best.  It was about the most intense year of my life thus far.

I wrestled with God that year.  There was something He was trying to show me that I just couldn't wrap my brain around.  You see, I was going to be a missionary.  And not some European-city dwelling missionary, but a getting dirty and going places no one else wants to go kind of missionary.  I knew the facts.  I knew that there was a shortage of missionaries in the 10/40 window.  I knew how God was calling people to the harvest.  There were people dying every second without hearing about Jesus and I was going to go out there and fix that.  I was going to single-handedly fix missions, save people, be a hero.

What I learned that year was that God didn't need a hero.  God didn't need a savior.  I did.

I found out that year through all of my classes, and studies, and prayer is that God cares more about MY relationship with him, than what I can do FOR Him.  It felt so selfish to put my relationship with Him first.  To deal with my issues first.  I was honestly shocked that God did not need me on the mission field.  The fact that God did not need me to do anything, and I needed Him to do everything gave me a terrible identity crisis.

Over time, I realized that my job was to follow Christ.  If that meant to Jerusalem (my city), Judea (my region), or the ends of the earth, that was totally up to Him.  If I got to participate in any ministry, it was truly a blessing that God bestows upon me, and not something that I do for Him...cause He needs the help and all.

There's a book "10 Spiritual Disciplines of the Christian Life" which somehow got into my hands that year, and was one of the many books I mulled over.  It talks in one of the chapters of the spiritual discipline of evangelism.  It was partially through this that I was first exposed to the idea that God gave us evangelism as a part of our Christian walk, and not so that we can put notches in our belt.

Let me explain.  When we go into a conversation with someone with the intent to convert them, and we walk away with them still not believing in Christ, we feel like a failure.  However, this is not true.  Sharing Christ is a command.  Disciplining and baptizing as well.  Following that command is part of our spiritual walk.  But why?  I mean, shouldn't you be gifted in this area in order to be effective?  And if you're not gifted, should you let someone who is kinda, do their thing?

Ironically, this is the one spiritual discipline that people feel they need to be specially gifted to do.  True, there is such a thing as the gift of evangelism, but evangelism isn't a commandment for those few.  Just like you read your Bible, pray, mediate, memorize, you should be evangelizing as a way to know God better.  It's not just a gift, it's also a spiritual discipline.

It's been in this last year that the truth of what I read a few years ago has really sunk in deeper.  Some lessons that God teaches me comes in layers.  Waves.  There's a deeper realization on some things every once in awhile.

I think I was starting to become complacent.  For awhile, it felt like God started stripping away any ministry I tried to get involved with.  I tried volunteering at a crisis pregnancy center, until babysitters became harder and harder to come by.  I figured I'd always have the other families at the public school that Silje went to that we could get to know and disciple.  The fact that I'm now a homeschooling stay at home mom on a farm without even another house in view is in fact, incredibly humorous to me at times.  God continually sets my children in front of me and says: "This is your mission field.  These children are your disciples."

I mean, sure they run around naked sometimes and speak in words I can't understand, but it's not quite what I had envisioned as my mission field.

I'm not disappointed in the least.  In fact, I feel incredibly blessed beyond description.  I don't know why God has bestowed on me this wonderful, amazing life.  I'm not disappointed, but I am sometimes baffled by the blessing of it.

In the last year or so, I've actually had some very unusual opportunities online on various sites/communities to witness to people.  It was not something I set out to do, or went in at all thinking that's what would happen.  I don't go looking for it, is what I'm trying to say.  People have asked me questions, and I try to answer the best I can.  Well, this very quickly spirals into debates and I tend to shy away from a debate with a non-Christian, because I figure what's the point?  Their heart is definitely not in a search mode, or prepared to hear the Word, and they have their mind set, and there's nothing I can say to change their mind.

So what's the point, of sharing Christ with a world that doesn't understand absolutes, or the thought that not only is there only one God, but that one God HAS in fact made Himself known.  The first thing that always seems to be attacked is the authority of Scripture.  How can we know it's really God's Word, and why is it okay for Christians to pick and choose what to follow in Scripture (Levitical laws are most often pointed out here) and it's not okay for non-Christians to pick and choose which parts to believe are the most common arguments to overcome.

Now, with all of these discussions that I've gotten myself into, have I brought anyone to the Lord?  Not that I know of, and I'd probably guess no.  Proclaiming God's truth in this venue has brought me pretty much nothing in terms of flooding the church with converts.  However, it has been exactly what my faith has needed this last year.  The act of looking up verses, defending my beliefs, arguing a point, has solidified in my mind my own doubts.  It's like I understand these truths that I had to defend on a totally different level because I engaged in this activity of evangelism.  I've heard from other Christians, that they have been encouraged through it as well.

So here's my point.  Let's just say "what if?"  What if God commanded us to evangelize for the purpose of grounding our own faith, and encouraging other believers, and converting people was just a sprinkled bonus?  What if he commanded us to evangelize because he knew that's what WE needed, and not because it's what others needed.

Well first off, the results you would be looking for would be different.  Our goals would be different.  Maybe we get so discouraged because we're trying to be a savior, and fall short because we are not the savior.  We're the messengers.  We have a message to give, and we like to twist it, spin it, and make it really pretty so that people will like it.  Or maybe so that they'll like us.  I don't know...it gets blurry.

I think this especially important for Christians who have been Christians their whole lives and don't know much else different.  When all you have believed in was God and the Bible, it's easy to take certain truths for granted without thinking totally through them.  Evangelism means you need to dig your claws into these truths in order to defend them, and know why you believe what you believe.  It's incredibly edifying, and I'll admit, terrifying at times.

Maybe God has us experience rejection so that we may understand the rejection He faced better, and share in that suffering with him as a mode of Spiritual growth.  I'm not making excuses here, I'm asking some real questions.  Why did God tell us to evangelize?  Does He need us to, or do we get to?  If we don't do it, will He really let all those people burn in hell as He stands by helpless because we won't do it. We've all heard stories of people coming to Christ through dreams and visions, even in our modern world.  God is fully capable of drawing people to Himself.  The fact that God wants us to be involved in this process is an amazing blessing that should not be passed up on! 

Although it's not a replacement for personal evangelism, supporting missionaries through prayer and finances is a great way to encourage other believers, and be able to stand witness to God in action.  Maybe that's another reason God wants us to evangelize: so that we can witness over and over again His saving grace, and worship Him for that.  Evangelism should draw us to worship because the mere concept of what He is doing is amazing.

There's more I'd love to go into on the topic of evangelism, but as libraries of books have been written on it, I'll stop here, and just encourage those Christian readers out there to pray over this, and begin asking God if He would give you an opportunity to share in this blessing as well.

Widow's Mite

This last week my camera broke. Sure, we've had it since before Silje was born, which in this digital age makes it prehistoric. Still, I've been saving up to get a good used digital DSLR camera, and had not finished saving yet. I spent some time wondering if I should spend the money I've saved up so far for a camera that I didn't want, but would get me by, or...I don't know. I've been saving the money I've made from Nerdy Gerdy and I've been bound and determined, since it is a "toy" to use this extra money to get something I've wanted, and not dip into our savings for it.

Still, when it rains it pours. First, we recently had to get our well fixed, and then we went on our trip which ended up costing more than we had anticipated, and then we got a new freezer. Did I mention our new freezer? With our bumper crop in our vegi garden this year, we finally decided to do what we've been talking about doing for a few years and bought an extra freezer for our cellar downstairs. This one is an upright that we got as a scratch and dent. It exciting to get something that will make my life so much easier and allow me to once again buy things in bulk when they're cheap (which was getting tight with no more space in our chest freezer). Still, Knut and I were a bit depressed to be buying something so "adult" and "responsible" when if we had a say in it, I would have bought my DSLR, and he would have bought new ski boots.

At any rate, it's no time to just go out and spend money on a camera that is way more than we "need" but something I've been wanting since I took a photography course in high school. Fortunately, one of my good friends has offered me the use of her camera that she replaced awhile ago but still works fine. When I get it from her, you'll see all sorts of pictures again. Until then, bare with my rambling.

All that was a disclaimer to my picture-less post. Man, I'm long winded. How can I have 51 followers who put up with this?

This last weekend we did the traditional camp out at the lake cabin to say farewell to summer. Many of Knut's cousins and aunts and uncles were there, along with parents and grandparents. We pitched a tent outside the very full cabin to sleep in, and sang the favorite campfire songs that they all amazingly know every verse to! (You know, like the one about the hair on the flea on the wing on the fly on the wart on the frog on the bump on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea?) We had s'mores and stayed up late.

I was a bit nervous about sleeping outside since it was supposed to be cold, and I've had a bit of a cough with this bit of weather change that seems to have hit us. I just didn't want it to push me over the edge to full blown "sick" but Knut certainly couldn't camp out alone with all the kids, and I wasn't about to cancel the sleep-out over a little cough.

The tent held 2 queen sized air mattresses. Knut and I shared one, Silje and David shared the other, and Elias was in his pack 'n' play at the foot of Silje and David's bed. He finally crashed before we got to the s'mores, poor thing, and was so over-stimulated from the day. When we got the older kids dressed and tucked in, Knut and I settled in as well, and then it hit me. The inevitable pregnancy heartburn.

I've only had heartburn with the boys and no hint of it yet with this one. I lay there trying to figure out what to do. I didn't bring my Tums. I didn't bring extra pillows to prop up my upper body for sleeping. Was there a bottle of Tums in the car? I asked myself. Hmmm...

Well, at any rate, even moving the zipper to the tent an inch would wake up Elias again, so I just lay there and stayed put. I don't know how long it took me to fall asleep, but it was well over an hour. It felt more like two. Then my cough came along with it, which didn't hurt my throat nearly as much as it did my stretched out tummy muscles that didn't like to contract for my coughing very much. I tried to refrain my mind from going to that thought... "How did I ever let Knut talk me into this? This is crazy!"

It was about 3:30am when Silje woke up saying she had to go to the bathroom. Sigh. Knut got up, unzipped the tent (which woke Elias) and escorted her to the bathroom. I picked up Elias and hunched over changed his diaper in the pitch black on top of our air bed as it felt full. I rocked him in my arms for a minute, and then laid him back down when Silje was back in bed and run off to the bathroom myself. You know, since I'm already up. Uff da, now that I'm awake I feel my heartburn again. When everyone is back in bed, the tent gets zipped up again, and everyone is back asleep.

15 minutes goes by. Elias starts crying again.

This time I don't get out of my warm sleeping bag, but just gently shush him, and tell him that Mommy is right here. After about a minute, he falls asleep again.

10 minutes goes by. He starts crying again.

Again, I don't want to get up, I shush him and talk to him some more, only a foot from his bed.

This happens again, and again. I don't know how many times. He had this way of timing it to just when I thought there was hope of falling asleep again, he would start crying again.

Thinking of the tents surrounding us outside, and all those poor relatives who were also trying to get a good night's sleep, (and of course myself) I pull him out of the pack 'n' play and bring him to my sleeping bag. This means I can't sleep with my extra pillow that supports my belly and I have to hold him in not the most comfortable of positions. However, after a minute, he quiets down, and falls asleep in my arms.

I try not to cough. For 2 reasons: I don't want to wake him up again, and it makes my stomach hurt like nothing else. Still, I have a sleeping cuddly baby in my bed. Heartburn, discomfort, coughing and all...my little baby is in my arms...asleep.

It's those little moments that I treasure. Motherhood is certainly not a life of comfort, but my heart is constantly overflowing. I want to take joy in every second.

There have been many many times from the very beginning, when Silje was born, even further than that, when I was pregnant with Silje, when I just told God "I have nothing left to give." It's those times when you're sick and no one fills in for you. When you're pregnant and are so hungry and weak but can't keep food down. When you're in labor and do not wish to give any more pushes. When you're in the grocery store and have not one, but at least 2 screaming children and get looks of sympathy or eye rolls from everyone around you. It's when your little baby won't stop screaming after everything you've tried and it's been hours. It's when you've been touched and hugged and banged into and hung on by 3 different people all day and if one more person touches me or starts one more fight while I'm making supper they're going to be sorry, kind of moments.

"Lord, I have nothing left to give."

Well, that's not the whole truth, actually. If I were honest, it's more like "Lord, I have only one string left that I'm holding onto for sanity." You don't have nothing. You have this small little string. Not a scrap of good worsted weight yarn, but like a little thread that hangs from your sleeve. "Lord...this is all I have."

When we decided to homeschool, I think a few people made comments about how crazy we were. Things like "I could never do that!" or the "Good luck" with that certain tone. Believe me, I wondered not so much if my kids would get a good education from Knut and I, but if they would make it without me killing them because we never got a break from each other. I loved sending Silje off to school and being one kid less. I love getting breaks from motherhood like any other red-blooded mother. I think that was my biggest worry. Being with them all day long...all year long.

One of the companies that we got a curriculum through sent me a gift with purchase that really struck me. I didn't know we were getting a gift with purchase...wasn't shooting for it or anything. I'd love to show you a picture but...well I digress again.

It's a small silver pendant of a "widow's mite" that the company owner picked up several of during her last visit to the Holy land. I'm sure it's not worth much. It's not like a priceless artifact that I got as a "gift with purchase." It's small, and beat up brown metal. It came with a note. The gist of it said:

"Sometimes we mothers feel like we have nothing to give...or nothing left to give. When you get to that point, remember the widow. She had very little to give, but what she did have, she gave it to the Lord."

I know that this blog I show a lot of the "highlights" of our family, but rarely do I ever show the low-lights. First, I think it's pretty culturally inappropriate most times. Second, I want my kids to look back on the things I wrote and remember all of these things. I'd hate to write something that embarrassed them completely that I just put it out for the whole world to see. I'd hate to dishonor my husband by trashing him on the blog after a disagreement in the name of "honesty" and I don't always share my short comings because, well, who likes to do that?

That's all to say that although it looks like I do a lot, when I say I'm lazy a lot, I'm trying to be honest. When I say that I sometimes stick my children in front of the television for a break, I don't say for how long for a very good reason. There are many, many times where I feel like I just need to chase a bit of sanity so that I can keep going on.

That's where the miracle of the widow's mite comes in. I mean, I think I'll always have my "sanity savers." (For me, my knitting, sewing, etc.) I don't think we are meant to throw our rest out the door. A verse that I found this last year really struck me in this point:

"In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat--for he grants sleep to those he loves." Psalm 127:2 (and by the way, this whole chapter is full of amazing wisdom...and irony. For instance, after he talks about granting sleep, he talks about how sons are a blessing.)

It's the idea of chasing sanity, or holding onto the present because you just can't imagine that you can handle what the future is. It's putting your time and body and sanity on the alter, and saying "Lord, it doesn't look like much, even to me. Still, it's all I have."

It's when we let go of that pathetic little string, fully expecting to fall straight into LaLa Land, and fall unexpectedly onto God's strength, allowing you to do the impossible. Instead of running from your responsibilities for "just a little break" it's settling in to them and asking God to help you several times a day.

Since I've realized this, as I refer to it as "letting go and setting up shop in LaLa Land" I've experienced more joy as a mother than I think I ever have. It's when I stop trying to push my kids away, but ask them to come closer and sit in my lap a minute longer. It's stopping and reading them a story when I'd really love to see what's going on on Facebook. It's wrestling with the boys when I'm tired, reading Silje one more chapter at bedtime when all I want to do is sit down alone and enjoy the ice cream I'm hiding in my freezer.

We all have weaknesses. Secretly, though, we think that's what makes us strong. We call it survival. How many times have you heard "I know smoking is a bad habit, but I just can't survive without them." How many times have you heard "I know this is sooooo wrong, *insert understanding look from friend* but it's the only thing keeping me sane right now."

I know. I've said it. I've believed it. I still sometimes believe it. I'm starting to learn, though, that those little bad habits or as we call "escapes" aren't the source of our sanity. It is what is robbing us from not just joy, but life. An abundant, full, God-breathed life!

So how do I do it all? First off, it doesn't all get done. I'm still not perfect. Life isn't perfect. But I'm learning, that what I can get done, what I will do with my time, may not be much...but I'm giving it to God. That means doing what he says to do with it. It's only fractions of hours here, and a few seconds there. It's not much, but it's God's. It's amazing what he can do with such a small amount.

Gaining Some Order

I feel as though my house is now in a presentable enough state that people could stop by and I wouldn't be horrified. It's been a year or two since I could say that, but now I think I can again. It's not perfectly clean, by any measure. It' just not embarrassing anymore in how dirty it is.

I haven't been on the internet as much lately. I'm not sure if it's nesting or the Lord working on my heart once again, or just me slowly starting to try to get all of my ducks in a row before we start homeschooling next month. The kids have been asking daily now, when we can start schooling. I went to Walmart and picked up their school supplies for the year. (Yes, they are out in the stores. Yes, I did shop around. Yes, I do believe they're good prices now, and at the very best selection because not too much has been picked over yet.) Anyway, the kids are just foaming at the mouth to get to their new school supplies, hence the added excitement to the books coming in a few weeks ago.

As with any big life shift, I've been having my moments of freaking out about this next school year. I haven't once felt the need to go back on the decision to homeschool this year, but I have had several "how on earth is this going to work?" moments. After all, I'm going to huge into the 3rd trimester. I'm going to have a 2 year old on the run. It's going to be harvest time. How many balls can one person actually juggle? I started thinking if one thing didn't go according to plan, which Murphy guarantee's I might just fall apart.

So I've been doing a lot of research. I've been listening to a lot of podcasts done by homeschooling moms and have a renewed sense of confidence. I'm learning how to organize my time, and there is no time like the present to practice. I say organizing my time because I've realized that is what I have been lacking the most. I am working. I am cleaning. I am parenting the kids. However, so much gets left undone at the end of the day. The sermon I mentioned in a previous post about our struggle with time (the commandment on the Sabbath) has influenced this change in our house as well.

Then, on top of all of my research, I remembered a site (which may be controversial to some, so those of you of my readers with a liberal bent, tread with caution) on parenting called "Raising Godly Tomatoes" I crossed by it before, but passed on some of her thoughts basically because she is a huge advocate of homeschooling, and I, well, I'm not. Let me clarify. I think homeschooling is a great option. That's why we're doing it. However, I would like to highlight the word "option." Some homeschool advocates think it's the only thing that Christian parents should be doing, and I don't feel as though I can get totally on board with that idea.

This very wise woman, walks a fine line of saying that everyone should homeschool, but in her defense, (and I think she states this somewhere) it's very difficult to implement her ideas without homeschooling. I think that's her point. I don't even think she thinks every parent should parent like her. However, people kept asking her for advice, since she had a family of 10 kids and people like to know from moms like that! So she started saying what she did, homeschooling being a key component of her method.

However, since we have decided to homeschool, I will be able to implement several of her ideas, which I think are pretty good ones! Several of them coincide with what I've been learning on the podcasts through Sonlight. I'm trying all of these ideas...from the sermon on time management to the podcasts on running a homeschooling house, to this woman's website on raising godly "tomatoes" and I have to say...things are running pretty smoothly around here! My house is clean, my children are happy and behaving better every day, and our television hasn't been turned on for 2 days now.

That's right...I took away the t.v. Knut's been begging me to do it for years, but I've always used it to squeeze to "babysit" the kids here or there to get a shower in, or to pull supper together, or have just 30 minutes of peace in my day. However, I was beginning to recognize the habit of watching t.v. taking a hold on my kids.

I have no intention of getting rid of our t.v. or never letting our kids watch it. We love having family movie night, and Knut and I love getting our Netflix movies out after the kids go to bed at night, and do I think taking football away from Knut may put us into some serious counseling. I'm not anti-television, and think that if we can successfully take hold of it and put it in it's proper place in our family again. I just saw it taking over. I felt guilty how much I'd let the kids watch and would just laugh it off and promise myself I'd get better. So for now, it's unplugged in the corner, and will remain so until Knut or I feel that we as a family are ready to plug it in again.

However, as much as Knut wanted me to do this a long while ago (go no t.v.) he had no idea what I was to do with the kids with no t.v. There was no plan, no nothing. Just "we shouldn't do this anymore." That's where the godly tomaotes site has been so inspiring to me and filled that gap. It's like I feel like there's so much more purpose in my day as a mom, and I feel more confident in what needs to be done, and the words I say to them.

So, after my 2 days (I know, hardly a test...but a start) my kids are happier and more obedient. Elias and David especially. It's been some adjustment for David, but I'm slowly learning not to send him away when he gets in a mood, but keep him near, and process with him. I'm not a people person, or I should say a "large group" person. I get my energy from being alone, and her idea of "tomato stalking" worried me that I'd feel a bit claustrophobic by the end of the day. However, after 2 days of using some of her methods, I have to honestly say that hasn't been the case. The only thing that has changed is I enjoy being around my kids more and look for less places to escape to.

I am retraining myself to not "find something to keep them busy" while I do chores, but involve all 3 of them in the chores that I am doing. I'm just flabbergasted how much they are enjoying this! We were having a ball going through a big pile of socks and finding matches this morning. The kids wanted to do that with me more than anything else in the house. (Well besides watch t.v., but that wasn't an option for them!)

I actually have no laundry to wash right now. There's things in the sorting bags, but not enough in any bag to make a full load. The couch in the den has been nearly constantly laundry free for over a week. It comes out of the drier, gets folded and put away, and with everyone helping with a smile, and Mt. Laundry has been removed from my den. Don't get me wrong, there are 2 closets in the upstairs of my house the desperately need to be gone through and sorted (changing out clothes sizes, etc.) but who is going to know about those? I mean, besides all of you blog readers who I just told.

The kids love to help me with everything, from laundry to dishes to cleaning up toys. (gasp!) They'll do any of this as long as they get to be with me. How sweet is that?! I'm just overwhelmed by their desire to be around me and learn from me...I had no idea they were this hungry for "me." I'm just honored by it, and they are just so sweet!

I guess that's where the change actually was. It's happening in me as I'm starting to see (finally! with 3 almost 4 kids here) my job as a mother come together and see how it's "supposed" to work. I feel as though I'm leaving the survival mode of the last few years, the "do what you gotta do" mentality, and coming to a place of joyful living.

I know...it's just been a matter of weeks when the change started. However, I have to say: I've never planned to be the homeschoolin', cloth diaperin', NFPin', huge gardenin', farm livin', no t.v. watchin', borderline what some of my city family would call "Amish livin'" family. I mean really, Knut and I laugh pretty often when we think about what we are turning into. We didn't set out for this life, but we did set out to live and raise our family with intention. Not with haphazard play it by ear parenting. We've always tried to be intentional, and seek the Lord in places in our life that I think many families don't see the need. I'm not saying this is the life God wants for everyone, but I will say it's where he's leading us.

I'm still amazed at how beautiful and peaceful this life that He has lead us to really is. The verses that just came to mind are from Psalm 23: "He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake." It best describes how I see and feel this change in our family. (Although Knut wouldn't see this as a change at all, but moving to what we should have been doing but to lazy to do all along.) I thought it would be more work, but it's not. It's more joy, and more effective than the survival mentality we had been practicing before. I've been inspired through various means lately, and hope to spread that around.

8 years

Happy Anniversary to us! Today makes 8 years of marriage.


Knut and I met our senior year in high school of all places. It was a boarding school, although not all of the students boarded like me. Some lived off campus like Knut. Neither of us had ever really dated anyone before, and we didn't actually date each other for the first half of the year. I don't think it occurred to either of us to like each other in that way for awhile, although we did seem to hang out all the time.


Here's our first technical date, I suppose, although it was months later before we were officially a couple. Our friends Sarah and Doug are still very special to us, although they were never a couple, and did not end up getting married to each other like us, or like the other couple who is were with us at Godfather's but not pictured here because they were across the table (Kristin and Jesse who are now expecting their 2nd child). I'm trying to remember if there was still one other couple there with us, but I don't have any photographs to help me remember! You have no idea how old that makes me feel to wonder this!

Getting the 2 of us together, who were pretty clumsy at relationships as neither of us had ever been in one, was quite the challenge, taken on unofficially by Knut's brother, Jon, and my friend Kristel, and I'm sure a number of other people. I have to honestly say I don't think I ever intended on marrying Knut in the beginning, but I was horrified at the thought of making it all the way through high school without ever having a boyfriend. Shallow, I know. I was 17, so give me a break.

After graduation, we intended on breaking up. Honestly, we both did. We never said it out loud, but he was going to the middle-of-no-where Montana for Bible school, and I was headed off to down town Chicago for Bible school. I think each of us tried to break it off, for practicality sake. Effort was put into a break up, but neither of us could seem to manage it. So in the end, we gave up, and decided to date long distance for our first year of college. Since he had little to know email access in the mountains, we wrote letters once a week, and talked on the phone maybe once every other week...sometimes more. Our main rule was that we were not allowed to break up unless it was face to face. No breaking up through a letter or phone call was allowed.

I lived for his letters every week. I got to know Knut so well that year. We talked about all the theology we were studying, and about things we struggled with, as well as our work and ministries we were assigned to. We were, you know, both at Bible school! I remember one phone call telling him how someone I knew had gotten mugged, and he told me there was a mountain lion spotted near his dorm. We each dealt with our own dangers, I guess!

It was when Knut came to visit me in Chicago over spring break that it dawned on me that we were going to get married one day. I don't think that was the moment for him, but it was for me.

The year after that, I moved back to our old high school to work while I figured out what in the world I wanted to do with my life, and he transferred to Northwestern to finish his degree. With only 3 hours of road separating us, we saw each other much more often, and spent way too much money on phone cards, as somehow we justified that since we were closer it was ok!

We did break up for a bit that year. 2 weeks, I think. I think Knut started to realize that our relationship would probably end in marriage as well, and was not planning on getting married til he was 30 or something. I think he realized he'd never get to date other girls, or experience college without a girlfriend "tying him down" or something to that tune. So, we broke up. I said "Go! Have fun! Be free!"

He called me every day we were broken up. I'm not even kidding. He was just calling to check on me, and make sure I was ok. Even his roommate called me once telling me Knut was not in good shape. I'm not sure what he expected me to do about it, but he thought I should know. The next chance Knut had, 2 weeks later, he came to visit me and asked me out again. He never did get all those other dates, and I don't think he even asked one other girl out. With the number of times he called me, I don't know where he'd have the time!

The summer after that Knut came down to spend the summer with my family in Phoenix, and I expected, to get their permission to marry me. My sister got married that summer too, so there was much family in town for him to meet. He stayed with my Uncle John and Aunt Chris and family, who lived only a couple miles from my parents house where I stayed. What a trooper! Don't get me wrong, they are loads of fun, but she was pregnant with her 3rd child and had terrible morning sickness. Many mornings, I'm told, he was woken up by her plopping a baby and a 3 year old on his chest and saying, she'd be back. She spent the morning on the floor of the bathroom, and he fed and played with the boys until her stomach settled a little.

I think Knut was a godsend to her, and they became close. She praised him to the hilt to the rest of the family too, so he was a pretty easy shoo-in. That summer my little 3 year old cousin dubbed a phrase that is still sometimes heard in my family. You know, when something is "as big as a Knut."

We headed back to college in the fall, with me transferring to Northwestern as well, as was the plan. He tortured me for weeks without proposing. He'd take me to fancy dinners, gear up for an important question and say "what would you like for dessert" when I was expecting "the question." I remember crying to one of my roommates the night before he proposed "he's never going to do it!" Knut thought it was great fun, though.

However, the day he proposed, I remember we went to church, and then picked up some fried chicken for a picnic in the park. Driving past a police station, Knut accidentally ran a red light...something he never does! I mean, it wasn't even turning red. It had been red for a good while. Of course he got pulled over, and then the famous story of the police officer asking me to get out of the car, and taking me aside, asked me if there were any "domestic issues" I wanted to make known. Choking back laughter, I told him "no." I got the ring that afternoon, though!

While I believe I can honestly say I love our marriage and we both work hard at it, I can also honestly say our engagement was...we'll say dicey. More than any other 9 months we've been together. While we seemed on the same page for dating, and for marriage, we were never on the same page as far as what an engagement actually was. While I started dress shopping, and putting down deposits for this or that, he proceeded to freak out. He thought since I had the ring, I was a bit too presumptuous to think we were actually getting married. He always asked after each deposit if it was refundable, and after each bridal shower, as I would organize the gifts to attempt to fit them into my tiny dorm room, he would scold me that nothing was to leave it's original box or be separated from it's gift receipt, because if we ended up not getting married we'd want to send everything back easily. He was constantly reminding me that just because we were engaged didn't mean for sure we were getting married.

Looking back, I'm surprised we made it to the wedding day. I remember wondering the morning of the wedding day if he'd show up. I mean, I was about 95% sure he would. There was no doubt in my mind that he was the man I wanted to marry, and I believe his biggest issue wasn't me, but the idea of growing up and being married. At least 3 times during the engagement I almost called it off for his own good, and once I tried giving him the ring back. He'd always tried to keep the engagement going, but wanted to be sure I was kept in check as far as my expectations. It was 9 months of torture, I tell you!

We did have premarital counselling, which sometimes helped, and sometimes freaked him out even more. However, I do think we stayed on our course to get married because of it.

Our wedding day, though, was amazing. It wasn't the flowers or dress or church that was amazing...it was the way he looked at me all day. It was like a light switch was turned on in his head. I was finally his bride, and I could have cried. Having no more questions, and no more arguments about our future...it was wonderful.



Our first year of marriage was good considering how busy we were as seniors in college both working as well. We loved reading books on marriage before and after we were married, and we thought we had an awful lot covered as far as "fight prevention." We didn't always agree, but we had always communicated well. I think that we went into marriage thinking if we just tried to understand each other better and communicate better, that the majority of fights could be avoided.

There was one thing, though, that I don't remember going over in pre-marital counselling. We learned how to talk, and how to plan, and "fight the good fight." We learned about expectations. However, I don't think that it occurred to us until that first year of marriage that each of us was married to another sinner. Our first year of marriage we didn't have a lot of communication issues, or anything like that. We had some sin issues that neither of us saw coming. I bring this up because it was a huge turning point in our marriage. I think we got to the point where we were stuck between a hard place and forgiveness. There was a major shift from working on training the other one in, to serving and protecting the other one from the enemy's attacks, which we both felt. It drove us together and made us cling to one another and to God like nothing I could have planned.

Over the last 8 years, we've had our share of curve balls thrown our way. Together, we've called 6 different places our home. We've gotten into debt (you know, the usual: student loans, car, etc.) scraped together to get out of debt, (almost there! One pesky student loan left!) We dream a lot together. Sometimes Knut comes home and we are both equally exhausted, and he just comes to me and gives me a hug while the kids walk around and through our legs like we're some kind of jungle gym. There's something about that touch that gives us renewed energy.

We have so much fun together. I can't think of one person I like to hang out with more. It's so much fun to have someone who you have 1,000 inside jokes with, and you can just look at them, or they can look at you, and instantly, you know what they're thinking. Well, not always, but he understands me better than most people. I think he shares more of himself with me than anyone else, so I think I understand him better than most people as well. It's such an amazing blessing to be known on that level.

I won't say we never disagree, but since that first year of marriage, I think we've grown so much stronger and in love than ever. I constantly feel like I'm bracing myself for when I'm going to wake up from this wonderful dream, but it keeps going on. Maybe that's my baggage that I brought with me into the relationship from my childhood. God has taught me so much through Knut and healed me so much through our marriage as well. God has taught me so much about His love through Knut, and at times, I feel perplexed by both. I think, though, it's one of those lessons you don't learn in a day.

Happy Anniversary, Knut. I love our little growing family, and want to thank you for each day.

Work and Sabbath

Before I start typing away at this blog post, I want to thank those who have been keeping my grandpa in your prayers. He's been moved out of the hospital and into a nursing home, for occupational therapy. Since Grandma and some others worry that the move was a bit soon, my family down there is still trying to have someone with him 24/7, which I think is a blessing to him.

He was able to walk a few steps with a walker and spotters, which is huge! Still, his perception is not fully regained, and he cannot chew his food or drink liquids, and the left side of his body is still not working properly. (My mom was saying they put some powder in his morning coffee to "gel" it so he can swallow it, because liquids are too fast for his current swallowing reflex.) He keeps wanting to go home, which is now next door to his nursing home, but I'm sure being so close many of his friends will be able to visit him. I thank God so much for his vast improvements, though, and so many people who love him who are praying for him.

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Knut and I love to listen to sermons. Whether it's on the ipod or radio, or a c.d. we put in, we are, I suppose, turning into old people in our love of listing to sermons. I think for me the love started in Bible school. I was fortunate enough to hear some of the greatest preachers of our time on a daily basis there, and would often go to the back of the chapel and purchase the sermon I just heard so I could play it again in my dorm room. One from back then that I still listen to is a sermon on Hosea given by a big black preacher on God's redeeming love. it brings me to tears every time I hear it.

Knut loves to listen to sermons on the radio, as he often will spend his day either in the semi-truck or tractor and the sermons enrich his day. We've found that listening to sermons is more and more necessary as we have children. You see, sometimes, when you have 3 children crawling over you during church, it's difficult to hear a sermon in its completion.

Our small church doesn't have a children's church, and to be honest, if they did we probably wouldn't use it. I don't think there's a single thing wrong with having or using a children's church, it's just a matter of our preference. We have a system down that has worked so far with us. However, listening to the entirety of sermons is something we often miss in church, and so we try to supplement that teaching through the week.

Although, I think it was easy for us to fall into the trap of thinking "what's the point of going to church?" and it still is. One of my favorite parts of going to church is being with the people, and talking to the people after the service. I used to feel very bad about this. How awful to go to worship God, but in all reality look forward to seeing someone, or some people.

I don't feel bad admitting anymore that I go to the church to see people. I love the worship too, and I don't think one is in competition with the other. You see, I no longer think of going to church to visit God. God is in my heart and with me always. I don't visit him on Sundays, I visit others with God in their hearts, and the presence of God in each of us accumulates to this amazing experience of worship where God is so evident that our hearts are lifted and encouraged. The songs, the teaching, and the talking afterward, are all exercises in making the God in our hearts more evident in our lives. As Scripture says "When 2 or 3 gather together in my name, I am there with them." Sorry, that's from memory and that is not always the most accurate!

Knut came home from work the other day and said he heard the best sermon that day on the Sabbath. I don't know if I'd ever heard a sermon on the Sabbath, and was actually intending to to a Bible study on it because it's a Biblical concept I don't feel I have a firm grasp on. He just went on and on about it, and got me so excited that we decided on a whim to order the whole series of sermons this pastor had done on the 10 commandments. Each sermon deals with a struggle in our lives that one of the 10 commandments directly addresses. This sermon is his sermon on our struggle with time.

For those who wonder what series I'm talking about, you can click here.

As for myself, I think out of all of the 10 commandments, the commandment to keep the Sabbath holy is the one I understand the least. I know that Knut never works on Sunday, and we are so blessed for that. However, we still feel like there is too much to do, there is not enough time, and we too often feel ragged. The principle of the Sabbath is following God's pattern laid out for us with the proper balance of work and rest. It's almost like God's handbook for our bodies that he designed. Things addressed in the sermon is so vast, and so applicable! From manual laborers, executives, stay at home moms, the retired, and those who are unemployed, God has a work plan and rest plan laid out.

The pastor (Colin Smith) talks about the dignity of work, taking time to enjoy when work is complete, instead of just feeling more exhausted at the thought of work still left to be done (something we struggle with in our house.) How often do we finish the chores of one day, and instead of going to bed with the sense of accomplishment for the day, we either feel we did not get enough done, or we are overwhelmed with the work of the next day, which consumes our thoughts as we try to sleep.

Pastor Smith brings up that God created a model of work for us in creation. God made the world in 6 days. Have we ever thought why didn't he just do it in an instant? Why on earth did it take him 6 days? He is God, you know. It's because he was modeling for us how we should work. When God created something, he saw that it was good. he didn't after the sun had set, think to himself, "Well, I've finished separating the land and water, but I haven't even begun to make animals yet...O there's so much to do!" No, he stopped, and said his work was good, and began the next job the next day.

We tend to get distracted from our work so easily, and then are so upset with ourselves at the end of the day that our work went unfinished, and then our rest at night and on the Sabbath has no joy. He suggests we ask ourselves on a daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly basis to write down what it is that we need to do that day/week/month/year to fulfill the calling God has given us. If we are still alive, God still has called us to work on this earth.

I love how he talks about how keeping the Sabbath holy is a community operation. The Sabbath is rest from your work, and sometimes requires that someone else takes your work for that day. This is the very reason I try not to schedule mothers of babies in our church nursery. There has to be a way to get those mothers rest while that work may not be "work" but be a "rest" for others in the church. That is one of my examples of what he was trying to say in the sermon. If everyone in our community is to have a Sabbath, we must serve one another this way.

The Sabbath is not a list of can and cannots on a particular day, but a day of rest and joy followed by a week of hard work. The joy is not there without the work, and the rest sometimes requires the presence of a community. In our "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" society, it's easy to forget that God created us for community. It is not good for us to be alone, and in my opinion, nothing exhausts someone faster than the feeling of loneliness. I think if you run across someone who is exhausted, that person is lonely. Maybe she's a single mom covered with children and works with people all day, but has no spouse, no family to rely on. She needs someone to share her burden. Someone to routinely give her a Sabbath. We are to be a people of God, not a person of God. A people set apart.

Well, I won't give you the whole sermon here, because I've only heard it once, and I just wanted to share the tidbits that are still floating around in my head. I'd encourage all of you to listen to the sermon that I linked above, because it is so good! Who in this day in age doesn't struggle with time in some way! For now, I'm going to pop it in the c.d. player one more time and listen to it while I do some dishes and get lunch set up. The day isn't over yet.

Rambly Random Deep Deep Thoughts

Some things are not what they appear to be. There are so many things that the world has pulled a veil over our eyes, and we are taken captive by the philosophies of the world.

Allow me to depart from the normal family/crafting blog for the moment, and have another "deep thought by Gretchen" post. It's my blog, so why not?

There's one thing philosophy of the world that has infiltrated our church in America, and I think we should talk about it. Well, there's a few philosophies, and all the them surround the topic of homosexuality.

Yep. I'm going to talk about it.

Even if you don't know anyone who is gay, or think you have an idea as to what God says on this issue, you may not see how this directly effects you.

I'm not talking about the attack on the traditional family. Not going there. It's bigger than that.

Let's start with the sin that the world sees regarding this issue, because believe me, the world sees it and they are not wrong. Overgeneralizing, maybe, but not wrong. We as Christians, too often make broad statements, or have hateful feelings towards the homosexual community. This is wrong. You know all those gay people? They have feelings. They have hearts and souls and they bleed when you cut them.

Understand, when there are people in the church living in sin, that should be addressed, and a sin should be called a sin. We should lovingly get down in the dirt with them and pull them out. That is scriptural. Picketing funerals and saying we hope they go to hell...not so much.

However, when saved, redeemed, justified believers act out with such pride, as if equality with God were something to be grasped, I get mad. We're going about it all wrong, mostly because we don't think it through, and we don't think it through because we don't like to think about it. Furthermore, we see no reason to think about it.

This day in age, though, those people are the minority. Now, when this ever comes up in discussions (which is rarely in person here. No one talks about such controversial subjects. I've just been tempted to comment in some online discussions) people who I know love God spout some line about "they're born that way, and God wouldn't make someone one way, and then say it's wrong. Why would God go out of his way to make someone unhappy like that? Who are we to judge?" I get scared, not mad. I'm terrified.

Why? Why would it scare me that someone who loves God wants to love someone else? Isn't that what Christianity is all about?

No. Christianity is not about love.

At least, not by the world's definition of love. The world might define love as: kind or nice.

Jesus said that people would know us by our love, and God is love, but the solar system of Christianity does not revolve around niceness. It revolves around God. The fruit of Christianity is kindness and goodness and self-control etc. The first part of the fruit of the Holy Spirit is love. Love is very very important.

God is love (as I've said) but he is not a sweet little passive kitty!

I get terrified when Christians start spouting stuff like that for two reasons: They are not understanding who God is, and therefore, they are not understanding what love is. Love is not defined by God in those statements. It's defined by the world.

I'll try to tie up all these loose ends before I'm done...be patient.

Where to even start? Where do you begin to describe God, and who on earth would dare to do so?

Well, let's start there. Why is it scary to describe God? Because God is so above us. He's so beyond our thinking. His thoughts are not our thoughts and His ways are not our ways. We can't wrap our mind around God, and to try to describe Him would always mean you come up short. God is holy.

I used to think when I was little that "holy" meant "really really good." It meant some one high above. It, in fact, means "separate." God is separate from us. He's different. My favorite example of this is a passage of Scripture that I used to always struggle with, when King David was moving the arc of the covenant back to Jerusalem. God said that the arc had to be moved by poles carried by the priests in the tribe of Levi. King David didn't think such things mattered, and he had the arc moved back in a cart.

Here's the part that bothered me: when the arc started to fall out of the cart, a good guy...a good guy... couldn't bare having it fall, and reached out his hand to catch it, and he died on the spot.

What kind of God would do something like that? God is untouchable. Have we forgotten that? When Jesus died on the cross for our sins, did he just become our chum? Yes, he came down and humbled himself and became man for our sake...but he was still God. He still is God.

I think what is so terrifying is that if we lose that: God's holiness...the fear of God, then Christ's crucifixion is no big deal. The only thing amazing about it is some nice guy died for us. Can our brains even comprehend that GOD laid himself down for us?

When you say "God wouldn't make someone with the tendency to sin" is the most silly comment I've heard. At that point, it's not just about homosexuality. That's why this is such a big deal: It's not just about homosexuals. It's about ALL of us. It's starting a doctrine that has no Scriptural support that God wants you to do whatever you want to do. God wouldn't have you be tempted. If you are tempted with something, and I'm not saying something like a piece of chocolate cake, I'm talking about a life changing, rip your heart out temptation. If you are tempted with something, God wants you to give in. God wouldn't want you to struggle, to wrestle, to be uncomfortable, or (heaven forbid) God wouldn't want you to be unfulfilled.

The idea that it is more important to be true to yourself than true to God is infiltrating our churches. The song "Come Just As You Are" comes to mind as an example. I love that song, because it means I can come to God with all my sin, and all my failures, and he takes me in spite of all of that. Then He changes me. That's the part we're missing. We don't want to be changed. Being changed means it will hurt, (and I mean REALLY hurt...please don't breeze past that). It means we won't be who we were when we first came to God. We will be His, and not our own anymore.

This philosophy is a lie. It's a big fat stinkin' lie, and it scares me because Christians...homosexual and heterosexual, are buying it. We should be ashamed of our sin! All of us! Homosexual and heterosexual! We are sick, and God is the cure! He found a way and became the cure! How can we look at someone who is sick and say they are fine! How can we see someone drowning and say, "he was born not knowing how to swim, so let's leave him alone, and love him for the way he was born."

Let's review: Christians who say that they are better than homosexuals and look down upon them have such a problem with pride, that they can't even see the severity of their own sins. On the other hand, Christians, who say that God wanted homosexuals to be born that way, and God doesn't mind them that way and in fact, made them that way as a part of his beautiful creation, don't know God.

If sin were not such a big deal, if it were not so bad than why did Christ die?

Furthermore, God does want us to be happy. He does. That part is a lie. However, God knows that we can only be happy in Him, and so the devil roams around, telling us that everything else will bring us happiness. Money, sleep, vacation, children, marriage, sex, companionship, food, respect, are all things from God, but are twisted and distorted, and used by the devil to replace God.

I'd like to add, the thought that sin isolates. It isolates us from God, and from each other. No matter what the sin is, we think we are the only ones who struggle with it. We think it only effects us. That is also a lie. I have never met a Christian who does not struggle with sin, and most Christians try to hide it (including myself) because we think "what will other people think of me." We think that we can deal with it ourselves. We think that it only really effects us, and as long as my sin doesn't hurt someone else, it's not bad.

It's bad because God says it's bad, period. When God says it's bad, that's because it does effect other people. I'd like to propose to anyone to name a sin that does not effect other people! Lying, cheating, stealing, murdering, lusting...all of them effect other people in one way or another, but it doesn't always feel that way. That's where the lie slips in. We rely on our feelings, and not on God. We become our own Savior.

Since homosexuality is on the table, let's show how quickly the slope can go? This is from my observations of the handful of gay people I know. First, they go through all the parts in the Bible addressing this sin, and re-explain it with a different type of interpretation. I could actually follow them that far philosophically if I try. Then they get a partner. Well, then you'd have to go through the Bible and re-address every passage talking about fornication. Ironically, that doesn't happen. They blame the culture for not allowing marriage, so multiple partners gets waved in. Do they go to church anymore? Mostly, no. Maybe they used to, but haven't felt at home. Really, they don't see the need for the accountability brought about in a healthy Christian community. It feels judgmental. So then other sins creep in, and maybe not even homosexual ones. Because there is no family to surround. No standard to uphold. Sin is really in the eye of the beholder, isn't it? Their Christian life soon becomes redefined. It used to be: bring your brokenness to God, so He can make us whole again. It is now: be pretty good and live your life the way that makes sense to you.

With all of that in mind, how should we treat a homosexual in our midst? Are they born that way? You bet they are. Just like you and I were born a sinner, so were they. If you look hard, you'll find a sin "gene" in all of us. Our sins have become classified as "illnesses" except homosexuality which has been elevated from illness to healthy. How long will it take for our other sins to be labeled "healthy" by the world?

I'll name mine. I'll say it. When I gossip, I label it as "healthy" because I'm unburdening my feelings on someone else and not holding it in. Never mind that the Bible has laid out other ways for us to unburden ourselves, and deal with conflict. By the world's standard, as long as the other person doesn't find out, thus getting hurt, it was healthy for me to gossip. Of course, you can't call it gossip then, because that sounds bad.

See how that works?

Back to an earlier point, how do we, then, treat homosexuals?

Like people. Like people God died for, and wants us to pray for, and wants us to minister to, and be there for. Like any other human, ahem, I mean sinner who we come in contact with.

I more than understand that many Christians need to confess and deal with their hatred of homosexuals. As a community, we need to be putting more effort towards AIDS research than keeping gay marriage out of the legislature. For heavens sake. These are people. Banning gay marriage won't make them straight. Making them straight won't mean they'll magically know God. Is it possible to love them, and not condone their sin? Absolutely.

And if they don't know God, then what hope can we offer? What's the point, if they don't know Jesus and the happiness, and joy, and life he brings? Heterosexual marriage will not unburden them. Only Christ can.

It all boils down to God's holiness. We've either thought we were like God, or we thought what God has to say doesn't matter. As long as the arc get's to Jerusalem, it doesn't matter how...right? Even David was guilty of picking and choosing what were the "important" commands to obey. Every instance in which God's holiness is magnified, is a reminder to us how much we need the cross.

If God is not holy, the cross doesn't matter. Satan is sneaky. He knows he can't take away the cross. It's on our jewelry and in our homes. So he goes after God's holiness, and asks the same question he always asks: Did God really say that? God is keeping something from you. God is holding back something good from you. Or going back to David: God doesn't care about how the arc gets there, he just cares that it's there. He just wants to be with you and love you.

I'm not saying that those questions don't apply to homosexuals, it applies to every one, and every sin. There's a reason priests used to wear ropes around their waists when they went into the Holy of Holies. Our God is holy, and as C.S. Lewis would say: "He is not a tame lion."

To be honest, I don't know why God says homosexuality is a sin, and I wish it wasn't, because someone very dear to me struggles with this sin, and I cry almost every day for him. Why would God put him through that? I want it to be okay, and I've searched the Scriptures numerous times over it. I just want him to be happy.

Then I realize, I've bought into the lie too. I've bought into the same lie he has, that he will find joy there, and if God would just let him, he would be happy. I've forget that God is the source of happiness, and joy. Not sin.

Let me just end this extremely long and controversial post with a thought from a good friend of mine who I was discussing this post with. She was talking about a struggle in her life that had a firm grip on her. She tried medication, counseling, etc. She couldn't shake it until one day God spoke to her heart and said "if you don't call it a sin, you can't take it to the cross." She repeated those words over and over to me. If you don't call it a sin, you can't take it to the cross. Let's not overlook that when we are stuck somewhere in our life. When we are lacking faith, not seeing God, and lost, we must look at the part of us that we see as "just the way I am" and call it a sin. If not, we'll be crippled Christians. Trying to handle this life on our own like we can be our own Savior. We must all call our sin: sin. If not, we our missing out on the amazing healing, life changing, power of the cross.

Retreat

This last weekend, I got a treat from Knut. After years and years of me wanting to go to one of the "crafting" weekends out at Inspiration Point, this year, he made it happen. In the spring they have "Quilt, Scrap, Stamp" retreats and in the fall they divide it into quilting weekends and scrapping/stamping weekends.

As you may have noticed, both of those times, both spring and fall, are about the worst time of year for leaving the farm for any reason. Field work has already begun on the farm, so I was just tickled when Knut told me I should just go this year.

I had a tough time figuring out what to bring to work on. I had a long list of projects! I really wanted to work on diapers there, but some fabric for the diaper inners that I was expecting to come on Thursday morning didn't actually arrive until Saturday morning, when I was already out at the camp. So I planned on working on a few "hot mama" diaper bags, and one of Silje's new summer dresses, and if there was still time, a few other bags or Silje's Grandmother's Flower Garden quilt.

When I got there, I saw that they had a work table ready for me in the chapel, which was a little removed from the hustle and bustle of the work stations set up in the lakeview lodge, where the majority of women were. In the little chapel, there were 5 other women in there with me. Michelle, who is from my church and was kind enough to give me a ride way out to camp. She was the vendor for the stamping that weekend as well. Then there were 2 other quilters in there, and 2 other stampers.

I used to work out at this camp as a "camp aide" they called it back then. I think now the title is "support staff." Doing the math as to how long ago that was, I think it was 12 year ago. It's amazing though, it doesn't even feel half that long ago. As a whole, the weekend was not what I had expected.

I was expecting a big sewing weekend, where I got a bunch of things crossed off my to-do list, and kinda a slumber party atmosphere with fun with girlfriends. In the end, I saw I was put in a room alone, since I didn't request any roommates (since I didn't really know anyone besides Michelle and one other friend), and I didn't sign up for the camp very early.

There's something about the camp where God is so very present. I know God is omnipresent, but in this case, His presence seems to be extra thick. God's presence hits you over the head like a shovel when you cross onto the land there.

I'll have to admit, not knowing quite what to expect, I was a little pouty that I had no roommates, and I was out in the chapel, and away from the crowd in the lodge. After the service that night, I went back to my room, and God told me that all of that was part of His plan. You see, I thought this would be a girls' weekend, but God was planning a weekend with Him. Silly me. I don't know how I could expect a weekend out at camp and expect anything else.

The weekend was productive with a few hiccups. I forgot my elastic, which was required for the pockets in the liner of the hot mama bags. Since the pockets are about the first step of the liner, none of the liners of the bags got done, but just the outsides...pretty much. I got Silje's new dress done, and cut out some more fabric for her quilt. Here's Silje's dress, completed:

I totally butchered another bag, called a "Jenny Bag" and will have to completely redo the binding before I sell it, or I may just have made myself a new bag if I decide not to fix it.

I went to all the little chapel services, though they were not in the chapel, and was totally convicted on so many things. Janet, who is a fixture out at the camp, spoke and what stuck in my head the most, as she talked about God's love, which was the theme of the weekend, was her experience with coaching her summer councilors.

You see, it seems that every summer, there is at least one councilor who comes to Janet saying "Janet, there's this kid in my cabin that is completely driving me nuts. Please, please, pray that I have more patience." She always tells them no. She will not pray for patience for them. She will pray for more love. Because love is patient, and where there is love, there is patience. She tells them to love more, which requires, of course, that we tap into God's love more. It's practically impossible to muster that up ourselves.

Being a mom of 3 kids 5 and under, this message spoke volumes to me. There are so many times that I focus on trying to be patient, when what I need to be striving for is more love. Less selfishness, less me. More God. I think about every meaningful message to be gotten from any Bible study has been just that: less me, more God.

I have to admit, though, that there was a certain weariness that sunk into me at the mere thought. This was not something resolved during my weekend out there, and I wish I could have stayed longer so that it could have been explored more without interruption. I think that so many Christians, who have been Christians for a number of years could relate.

I am so so tired of failing in my Christian life. I'm so sick of wanting to have devotions, and never finding time or making it a priority. I'm sick of the 2 week bursts of spirituality sprinkled throughout the year. I love being a mom, and I know that is my calling for this time, but I miss so much waking up and having time alone with God for even 30 minutes without interruption. (If I even attempt this, one of my kids always wakes up, and too early, making them crabby all day long, and myself crabby all day long, and I almost always regret it.)

I miss being involved in ministries, like talking to people about Jesus even on the street, or at the crisis pregnancy center. I miss opening up my concordance and Bible dictionary and doing some serious Bible study. I have found it next to impossible to do these things as a mother, and while I would not trade my life for anything, I still miss that aspect of life.

With every attempt to any of this being foiled, and God continually pointing me to the ministry He has set before me: my children, I feel like I am on a path of daily failure. O if I could just be in a Bible study at church without my children interrupting 7 times, or volunteer for some charity without a babysitter calling last minute to cancel because she forgot she needed to do laundry that morning.

I get glimpses of things like that, but I don't live there. A good friend and mentor of mine who has several more children than I do suggested that I focus on Scripture memory, as she found that could be done throughout the day. She said I need to let go of the extra-biblical requirements that I have in my mind of what I "need" to do to be a good Christian. Although spending 30 minutes alone with God a day is beneficial, no where in the Bible does it say "good Christians set aside everything and spend 30 minutes a day in the Word." For some people, that is impossible. To say so, would be living like a Pharisee. To dwell on verses on your head over and over while doing dishes or making supper is a another way to bring God into the everyday. Still even in that, I fail.

I know this failure, has no baring on my relationship with Christ as far as Him approving of me. He approves of me because of what Christ did on the cross, and not because of any works of mine. My frustration is not in any lacking of Him, but the lacking in me. Perhaps I should just rely on Him more, rest in Him more. I find, though, that I don't know how to rest in Him while living in the valley, and I wish I could live on the mountaintop. Life is so much easier there.

It's a journey, and I don't know how God is going to teach me how to rest in Him while in the valley, but it's been so easy for me lately to become pessimistic about it. I feel like I'm never ever going to get it right, no matter how much I try, and it makes me crave even more, for just living at His feet in heaven.

So begins a few more weeks of really trying to seek after God, and dwell on His Word, but it's not even in the back of my mind, it's front in center: 'I guess we'll see how long it lasts this time.' I desire, so badly, for a "spurt" of spending time with God daily to last forever. I wish it were second nature, and easy. It is so not easy, and my plans to do it are so easily frustrated, leaving me frustrated.

So I ask that you pray for me in this journey to rely on God fully everyday, which is the journey I've been on since I was born. Any tips you have, like the Scripture memory, would be appreciated. However, I hesitate from relying on any formula or plan, because I don't want to rely on those. I just want to rely on Him. If I ever figure that out, I'll let you know.