One Woman’s World

I’ve been too busy to write, and now… I’m pleased to announce, that tomorrow… April Fool’s Day is my wedding anniversary. I’m outta here for the weekend of love and celebration. I’ll see y’all again on Monday, after a little R&R with my sweetie.

Peace!

So I’ve broken the rules both of the first days of my diet. But I haven’t broken them beyond mending. I’ve still already lost weight. Water weight, you know. It comes off fast. I am always thinking about a way to finally really change. Just writing that I am on a diet makes me feel stupid, because I know that if I’m on a diet, that I will also be off of it someday. Reminding me of the cycles of endless yo-yo-ing that have made up my life.

I read a book a few years ago by a serious Christian woman named Gwen Shamblin with some powerful ideas about changing our hearts and the way we think about food. It made so much sense to me. I even tried it out, successfully. And then gained the weight back, when I let down my guard, and quit being true to the ideas taught in the book. She analyzes weight loss from a spiritual/emotional standpoint, encouraging people to focus on the god-given signals that our body gives us. Hunger and satisfaction, instead of trying to fill emotional / spiritual / mental needs with food. What she said really resonated with me.

I don’t want to be trapped by my body forever. So I’m thinking. A comment by Amber sent me to This Site: the No S diet, and I find I am intrigued.

Would interested people please go check out the No S site and let me know if you think it has potential for a successful approach. I’m not sure that the no snacking thing wouldn’t kill me dead inside of a week, but I would be willing to try.

It’s just hard, because I know that I can’t mentally keep counting calories for the rest of my life, and if I can’t sustain it, then what’s the point in starting? Advice?

:)Thanks, kids. That’s all for tonight.

This post is inspired by the fact that I have a big goal I need to accomplish, and that I want some help from all of you to be accountable.

I have recently been through a rough stretch emotionally and need some help pulling out of the resulting emotional low-spot. I haven’t felt like exercising much. I haven’t felt like taking very good care of my home. I haven’t felt like eating food that doesn’t have COMFORT stamped across the front in large letters. Alternate spelling for COMFORT is CALORIE-RICH! I also find that when I’m out of control in the weight-department, a lot of other things go by the wayside, too.

When I was actively attending Weight Watchers meetings, the support I found there, and the weekly accountability required was amazing. I don’t want to spend the money, but I do want to use you darlings on the internet to help be my support system. I know I’m not alone in having a large life-goal to conquer, and I know that weight isn’t the beginning and end of life-struggles.

So, my proposition is this:

I’m going to make a large and achievable goal that I can finish by June 1st. I’ll set weekly goals and post them on my blog. I’ll talk honestly about my successes or failures. I would love it if you would set a goal along with me and post about it on your own site, or here in the comments. We’ll help each other make it through. Mondays are the day I will check in. For me, that will be a weigh-in and measurement update, as well as an honest assessment of why I am where I am. (Honesty to a point: I’ll tell you the number of pounds or inches lost. List the actual numbers I checked out this morning here? Are you kidding?!!!)

That said: Here is my goal.

Goal: I will lose 20 pounds by June 1st.

That gives me 9 1/2 weeks to do it. That’s just over 2 pounds a week.

How: For the first week, I will be following the Weight Watcher’s points program. I’m hoping to switch myself back to the Core plan after learning to do better with portion control.

I will stick to my points for one week.
I will drink 8 glasses of water each day.
I will exercise 5 days out of the week.
I will not weigh in every day, only once a week.

The exception will be Friday night and Saturday afternoon. For my wedding anniversary. Argh, I’m already writing in exceptions. Double-Argh. But I will try to keep it under control. In fact, I will not eat any of my weekly points in preparation for the delicious food I will sample on our anniversary.

Okay, there, I’ve said it. You can hold me to it. Next Monday I’ll check in, and we’ll start on the road to the new me.

If you want to participate, let me know in the comments and start posting. I’m excited to find out what your goals are, too!

P.S. I’m already on my way with more than half of my points left for the day, and it’s only 2:00. Power to the girl with a goal!

P.P.S. I finished the miscarriage on Sunday, and I’m doing really really well. Thank you to everyone who has helped to lift me through a really difficult time.

:)

It’s those danged Cadbury mini-eggs. I haven’t bought myself any yet. I want them, though. Oh, how I want them. And my diet starts on Monday. So doesn’t that mean I should have them if I’m yearning for their creamy wonderfulness? I deserve them, right. It’s been that kind of week.

So tell me, what’s your favorite Easter candy?

I am a poor poet. But I find that it is my best outlet for expressing powerful emotion or revelation or truth. It is a way for me to organize myself on paper, and understand.

The events of the past month have been strange and terrible and wonderful. I am being held and protected and loved. I honestly have felt carried, and I am SO grateful.

I know that miscarriage is a common part of life. I know that my trial is small next to what so many of you have endured. I know that I will learn much through greater trials in my life, but I can honestly say that I am stronger now than I was only a few weeks ago, that I feel closer to those around me, that I know my Heavenly Father a little better. And I can say that I am already grateful for what is a blessing in disguise.

I finally started to miscarry this morning. Provided at last with the closure I’ve been waiting for, this poem is a piece of my heart, that I wrote this afternoon to express the small piece of greater understanding I have been offered in a difficult time.

I know that my openness here may be overwhelming to some people, and I’m sorry if you feel I am sharing too much. But this is a part of healing for me, and so, I’m offering a little more of myself to you.

Stronger

I did not ask God to let go of my hand
Just so that I could learn what it means to stand alone
And come back to hold his hand again.

I didn’t ask God to send me through the fires of grief
That I might be tempered and purified
So I could emerge stronger.

I didn’t ask for humility
At the cost of falling to the bottom
And viewing my small, simple life
Through insignificant eyes.

I didn’t ask to have my heart’s desire
Wrenched from my outstretched hands
To teach me dependence, faith, and unselfishness.

I didn’t want to walk in darkness
Even for a few hours
In exchange for the simple lesson in faith:
That there is One who knows the way
One who sees the light
Even when I cannot;
That I can trust in that One
Always.

I didn’t want to endure this mortal life.
Not if it required my heart’s tears
My life’s blood
And all the strength I possessed
Not if after all I could give
I would still be found wanting.

I did not want to learn through hard experience
That the test would take all my strength
And that of Another
My heart’s tears
And those of Another
My life’s blood
And that of Another
My sacrifice
and His
To finally be enough.

I didn’t ask for these things
But my God who loves me gave them to me anyway
So I could grow stronger
And he cried with me
While I grew.

This morning I received a phone call, and I went to the hospital. I rode the elevator up to the fourth floor with butterflies in my stomach. The fourth floor houses the Mother/Baby ward of the hospital.

I walked past the clear glass of the nursery and watched the babies sleeping under warmers in their first bassinets. I watched fresh-faced younger-than-me nurses fussing over their small charges. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and tried not to feel so darned empty.

I knocked on the door of the room, and was ushered in by the nurse. My dear friend lay in the bed, all blushy-cheeked with the glow of once again becoming a new mother. I looked at her lovely newborn, just hours old, and felt honored that I got to share these first few hours with a dear family.

My friend was eager to share the joy. She has cried with me through the past weeks. I picked up her baby and my face crumpled a bit, and I just held her while tears slid down my face. I held the tiny body and felt the tiny, rhythmic movements of her newborn breathing. When no one was looking, I lifted her tiny face to mine, and let my cheek touch hers. I am sure that this baby will ever know that she was an angel to me in a time of so much pain.

Holding this small child, so fresh from the presence of God was a healing, beautiful moment. I am so grateful that my friend was willing to share this moment of great power and love with me while I wait.

I was commenting to someone the other day that I think that I could make it through just about anything in the world as long as I can have my sweet Cody by my side.

Having him beside me makes everything okay, somehow. He is gone now, and I’m writing a quick post before he gets home. It’s 11:30 pm at the Clark house, and Cody has gone to get us some snacks to “sustain” us while we watch Gilmore Girls on DVD until the wee hours of the morning. Even though he has to work tomorrow. Because he knows I just can’t sleep. Some cramping began a couple of hours ago, and it seems to me that the waiting may be coming to an end. I may be able to move on and have some closure on the events of the last few weeks. It is time. I am ready, I think. It is, however, the first time that I can remember physical discomfort hurting me worse emotionally than physically.

I keep thinking that I am all done, and all better. And then I’m crying again, and I think that this may be a bit more of a process than I was prepared for. A dear friend who has been through this before told me that after a miscarriage, she remembered the day that she was able to start singing in the car again. It made me want to hug her.

So, with the waiting nearly over, I’m going to mention a couple of things I am feeling. Things I’ve needed to say.

I feel so blessed. I feel so surrounded by the love and prayers and care.

I have had meals brought to my home even though I am perfectly capable of preparing food for our family. (We’re still eating food from the crazed cooking frenzy of a few weeks ago. I’ll admit to feeling more inspired than crazy at the moment.)

I have had calls, emails, hugs, prayers, long conversations with people who were understanding and loving and kind.

I have received empathy from people who have been where I am, and from those who have suffered other tragedies.

I have received empathy from people who have suffered far greater things than I can comprehend.

I have been grateful that I will now have more empathy for others.

My faith is still intact. I am not questioning God, or his will. I was a little scared that I might, and grateful that he is strengthening my faith.

I feel more prepared to accept that some things I may not understand or control in this life.

I have felt unexplained peace and comfort, even when no one is around but God’s spirit.

I have cried harder and more than at any other single time of my life.

I am getting a little better at waiting. I’m still not a champion.

I love my family. I appreciate them more.

I value what my parents have done to bring me and my siblings into this world. I am humbled by their strength. They lost three children of their own. I don’t think I ever really thought about what that meant for them.

I am desperately in love with my husband who doesn’t judge me, and lifts me, and sat on the floor by the couch with me tonight, holding my hand.

I am never alone.

Thank you all for your listening, and prayers and love.

Even those of you to whom I am in essence a stranger.

:)I’m sure that someday soon I’ll look up, and I’ll realize I feel like dancing in my living room again.

At least, I think I am.

I am almost 10 weeks pregnant. I am nauseated, throwing up from time to time, tired, and grumpy.

But there is no baby inside. What they saw was an empty sac, and nothing else. It seems that everything stopped developing weeks ago.

Now we have no idea how long the wait will be, only that I will lose this pregnancy.

And we will start over again.

There is peace at least in knowing.

I want to thank you all for your prayers and support over the last while. I’m sorry I haven’t
felt up to connecting with each of you individually. I’m still working through the process of losing what I had wanted so badly, and felt I had for just a moment. I faced a couple of my darkest days this past week.

It feels weird to go back to saying family prayers and only praying for three members of our family. For awhile, there were four, though one was so small, and rooted in our faith.

It may seem odd to you, but I need to publish a post I wrote the day after I found out I was pregnant a month ago. It is my love-letter to my unborn child. It remains a tender expression of my feelings, even if the hoped-for child is now gone.

And we carry on. And we have faith. And we know that God hears and answers our prayers. It is a time of healing and growth. Thank you again to all who have reached out to our family at this time.

I’ll keep you posted.

Originally Written on February 21, 2006

What I didn’t mention in this post, was you.

How I got around it… How I kept myself from shouting out your existence to the entire world all at once, I don’t know. I only know that as I type this, you are growing inside of me. You are becoming you. You are preparing to enter this world and live your fabulous life, and be loved by me.

This will be the first of many love-letters I will write to you through the years. This one is particularly special, because you should know that whatever you turn out to be, I love you this much from the very beginning. And you are only beginning to become the wonderful, powerful person that I can’t wait to get to know.

And so, a few words about how this day came about. About how you came to be.

We wanted you. Your dad and I knew that it was time for you. And so we tried and tried to get you here. For months and months we waited. And prayed. And sometimes I cried. You see, God knew all along when you would be ready to come join our family, but I wanted to make you come on my timetable. You and God knew better.

By last November, I was getting really discouraged. I started to wonder if I was experiencing secondary infertility. My hormones were wild, and I wanted you so badly. But it was beginning to seem to me like you were never going to come. My body felt empty, and I was very sad.

But your Daddy and I kept praying, and I knew I would be blessed with you. And I felt faithful, and content to wait.

As December passed, and it became apparent that my body wasn’t ready for a baby, and my hormones weren’t doing what they were supposed to do, I started losing faith again. With prayer, I was able to believe in you most of the time, but doubt was moving in. It was so hard to believe that you were coming, because I wanted you so badly.

At the beginning of January, I received definite signs that my body was getting ready for you, and I believed it. Then, as the weeks progressed, all signs indicated to me that what I had hoped and prayed for was true. You were there. I just knew I was pregnant. So I waited, and when the time was right, I took a pregnancy test. It was negative. I was sad, but still hopeful. So I waited a couple of days. I tested again, and again the next morning. No. The little pink line didn’t appear. I was really losing hope, and faith.

The following Tuesday, for Valentine’s Day, your dad and I went to the midwives to take another test. I hoped and prayed that it would be positive. When they told me it was negative, I started to cry, and they got me in to see a midwife about infertility. I explained the history, and she told me that I hadn’t ovulated at all. That I wasn’t pregnant, and she ordered a bunch of bloodwork to tell us about my infertility problems, and she prepared to put me on some medication to help me become pregnant.

All that week, I just didn’t want to go get the bloodwork done. I put it off, and I didn’t really know why. I just felt like waiting until today. And so, this morning, I was going to get the bloodwork, and an idea formed in my mind that I should pick up one last pregnancy test to take with me to the midwives, and take in their bathroom. After buying the test, and while driving to the office, I began to feel the most amazing feeling of peace come over me. I was listening to the radio, and the feeling that came over me was from the Holy Ghost. I knew that God was telling me that everything was ok, and that it would all work out. I felt strongly that I was pregnant, and that the test would be positive.

I convinced myself that even if it was negative, I would be okay, and I would still know that God was reassuring me.

I went straight to take the test at the midwives’ office. I watched the control line form, and no test line. It was negative again. I was going to throw the test away, and then I felt like I should wait a minute. Slowly, so slowly that I thought I was imagining things, your faint line appeared.
Like you were waving “hi” to mommy for the first time.

I couldn’t believe it. I went to one of the receptionists for a second opinion. “Yes,” she verified. “That really is a second line. You are pregnant.” I started to cry. I was shaky. I couldn’t believe it. “Do you want to talk to a nurse?” she asked.

In a minute, the nurse was verifying what I could hardly allow myself to believe. You were there. You were real. My feelings and hopes hadn’t been pretend. I wasn’t crazy. In less than nine months, I would hold you in my arms.

I love you already. I told your sister. She didn’t care, but she didn’t understand. She’s too young. By the time you arrive, she’ll be so happy to have you. She will love you so much.

I called Daddy. I asked him if he’d like to be a Daddy for the second time. Then I told him about you. He was so happy. I’ve rarely heard his voice sound like that. He had me stop by on my way home from the Midwives’ office. He just wanted to hug me, and see the second line on the pregnancy test.

Since that moment I’ve thanked God so many times. For trusting me to become a parent one more time. For entrusting you to me, so that I can care for you and help you and teach you and learn from you. You are already making my life so happy, and my stomach queasy.

Have fun getting ready to come join our family, newest little one. Welcome, Baby.

I’m not good at it. It is the hardest part of my journey through this life.
My husband recently said that he couldn’t imagine a worse trial for me, because he knows that I am not good at dealing with uncertainty.

He is right. It is the hardest part of life for me.

While we were dating, and as things began to progress to more mature love, I tried once to break up with Cody.

Towards the end of an exceedingly awkward conversation, he said in a moment of exasperated understanding, “So, you’re telling me you want to break up with me, because you don’t know for certain that we’ll get married?”

When you put it that way, it sounds pretty stupid. So I decided not to throw away something beautiful just because it required a little faith: the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

And so I chose faith, lacking the ability to have sure knowledge. I chose to put my trust and my hope for a few more minutes in something that I knew could disappoint me. I chose to let my heart believe in something wonderful. I planted a seed, and let it grow. I didn’t pull it out when I became scared that it might not become what I had always hoped.

Now, 3 years into our marriage, I continue to let something marvelous grow. I have faith that is closer now to sure knowledge. There is more security, and more peace.

And together, we now face another time of waiting and uncertainty.

And I’m going to choose to plant the seed. And wait for something wonderful. Though it breaks my heart as I begin.

I think it’s in life’s waiting rooms that faith becomes the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.