Proving a Life of Abundance and Living Abundantly are NOT the Same Thing


I can’t keep up with my own expectations. I don’t even know exactly when I put these expectations on myself. I guess it happened slowly. I started seeing all the pictures of couples announcing their pregnancies in cute ways, weekly updates of the baby bump, then adorable birth announcement photo shoots, weekly to monthly progress pictures of baby, adorable pictures of baby and family on every outing, and family Christmas photo shoot for Christmas cards. Everything seemed so beautiful and easy.

When I first started struggling with infertility, my desire for a child was just that: a desire for a child. But as the years passed and my home office (although painted to be a nursery) remained an office, I started to dream about decorating my nursery. Then the dreams moved onto how I would announce my pregnancy. Then I dreamt about keeping my athletic figure while pregnant and taking adorable progress pictures to show the world. These dreams kept growing with every great idea posted on social media. So much love, so much beauty, and I was going to do them all!

But let me tell you something, seven years of stored up baby dreams means I have a pinterest page FULL of other people’s great ideas and now I have somehow convinced myself that I need to do them all! A couple years ago I wrote a blog entry about #FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out), and how it nearly killed me. It’s no one’s fault but my own. I can’t blame it on social media or “society”. No one is telling me I have to do these things…well actually, that’s not true. I am telling myself I have to do these things. But why?!

Now that I am a mom (I’m a mom!!! I just want to say it over and over again. Hi, I’m Samuel’s mom!) …now that I am a mom, I find myself stressing about photo shoots. Instead of soaking in every single sweet moment, I find myself thinking, “I want to capture this forever!” so I try to, but no matter how many photos or videos I take, nothing compares to the real thing. Nothing can compete with the actual interaction between me and my son. And I don’t want to spend my days with Sammy thinking about lighting, outfits, and whether or not I’m still beautiful enough to have my photo taken. When it really comes down to it the root of my desire for all these good ideas isn’t what is best for my baby, it’s my own pride and my own desire to hold on to every single moment forever. I want people to look at my baby and say, “that is the cutest damn baby in the whole world.” And I want Ellen DeGeneres to like and share my Instagram photos of all my photo shoots and silly videos and then have me on her show because my family is super special. I want people to hear my story and say, “Wow, God is really showing off!”

I am so abundantly blessed that I want the world to know it. I want the world to see what God has done for me, but the sinful part of me wants all the credit; like it was MY prayers that created Sammy, or MY obedience that gave me such blessings. But it’s not! It’s not by my works at all. God invited me to be a part of it, but he didn’t NEED me for his plans to succeed. But I also don’t want to miss a thing. I want to hold onto these moments with Sammy forever, and each day is so new. Each day he is different. Each day is he grows so much, and I’m scared I’m going to miss something. So, in my humanness, I try to capture it with videos and photos. I try my best to save the moments so I can go back and re-watch them, instead of savoring the moment as it happens.

But the desire to have a “good” video or a “silly” outcome or a picture that perfectly captures Sammy’s many expressions can easily turn into an expectation of perfection, or a desire to have it all. And in doing all the “having it all” things that I need to do to prove to myself that I indeed have it all, I miss out on the most important thing: interacting with my son; just being present in the moment; being; now; me and him together.

That doesn’t mean that if you post monthly pictures of your baby bump or child that you are a bad mom or that you are totally self-obsessed. No way! More power to you! All I am saying is that I can’t keep up. And sometimes I am doing those things for the wrong reasons. Me – Liz – I cannot do all of those things and I really don’t think any of you expect me to. And even if you did, it doesn’t matter. I am constantly battling between my inner Mary and my inner Martha.

Luke 10:42 “but few things are needed–or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

I choose being. I choose to let the stuff of the world go, I choose to let my plans go, I choose to let my dirty dishes sit there a little longer, I choose to be present with my son and with my Jesus. I choose to model to my son how to be present with those around him and especially his savior. I choose to abundantly live instead of spending my days trying to prove I have a life of abundance.


The God of (Sm)All Things


Adjusting to motherhood has been a little rough these past couple days. First my laundry machine broke, then my coffee maker died, and to top it all off Sammy has been having some tummy troubles and needs to be comforted at all times. I know these are small potatoes compared to some other issues in the world…you know people’s houses being flooded and demolished by hurricane Matthew, families separated while they try to escape war zones, and of course the state of our own country as we enter into this next election. But all these major problems don’t mean that my little problems suddenly don’t exist.

I used to think that God would only help me if I had a major problem, and maybe that’s why I always think I’m sick: “If I have cancer maybe then my problem would be big enough for God to help me.” We are always told to be grateful for our circumstances because someone is always worse off. And yes, gratitude is biblical, however, the purpose of gratitude is not to guilt you into silence when you need God’s help. I think a lot of us use the tool of gratitude incorrectly and as a result we just end up with a mess on our hands…Like trying to cut an apple with a peeler. I mean eventually you’ll peel the whole apple into pieces, but it won’t look pretty, and it may not be the outcome you want, and your hands will probably ache like crazy.

Several years ago, God showed me that he cared about even my smallest problems. As you may know, I ALWAYS have to go to the bathroom. There are actually biological reasons why, but that’s not really important to this story.  Normally, this is not an issue I discuss with God, but on my first trip to Kenya it quickly became something that God and I talked about every day, sometimes every hour. There I was in the 7th hour of a 14 hour bus ride, on our way to a rural village to lead a camp for some kids; kids that didn’t have food for the day, and in my desperate need for a toilet I prayed. I want you to know that in Kenya, there aren’t many rest stops along the “major” roads with food and toilets, and at this point I hadn’t used the restroom in 4 hours or so (normally I can’t go longer than 2).

“God, I know this seems like small potatoes right now, and in the grand scheme of things it doesn’t really matter, but I really need a bathroom. I mean REALLY REALLY need a bathroom. God, I’m scared I may just pee my pants and my luggage is all strapped down on top of the bus, which means I won’t be able to change.”

“Urine, good hands, Elizabeth, I got this!”

It was crazy, I still had to go, but I knew God had me covered. I knew he heard me, and no more than 30 minutes later there was a gas station with bathrooms!

It wasn’t a giant miracle in which God saved me from the jaws of death, but it didn’t have to be. It was one of the most memorable times God helped me, because it was the time that showed me that God cares about EVERYTHING. Every little detail of my life, He cares about. He wants me to go to him for everything, even things that seem small and futile and a waste of time for someone as big as God. We often hear the phrase, “nothing is too big for our God”, but we need to start saying “nothing is too small for our God” too!

When I’m in the thick of my small problems, I tend to forget that little nugget of truth. I desperately want to do it all myself, and prove that I can handle these issues. So yesterday, after a series of tiny little mishaps, I decided Sammy and I were going to go to Rita’s to get some gelato. I was still in my Pajamas, and so was he. I hadn’t brushed my teeth yet, and it was already 2:30pm. But, I decided it didn’t matter. I put Sammy in the car, and we headed to Rita’s. Only to get there and see that it was closed. At that point Sammy started screaming (it’s like he was channeling my inner frustration) and I just about lost it.

I started driving around just to get Sammy to fall asleep and after 5 minutes he was out, and I found myself by my neighborhood pier. Part of me just wanted to go home and sleep, but I couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck in that stupid house for one more second. At this thought I admonished myself, “At least you have a house. At least you have a baby. At least you won’t be eating all those empty calories…” and although these things were all true, they didn’t push me into the arms of savior. No, I used these phrases to silence myself with guilt for not being grateful, and as a result hide from my savior in shame; which made me feel even worse.

I plopped myself down onto the damp sand, not even caring that others were looking at me weird. I mean I was in my pajamas and sitting in the sand next to my napping son in his carrier. And I just sat there. I looked out at the water in silence. And then I started to remember some of the tools I had learned in Celebrate Recovery, and I knew I needed to write down all my little fears, no matter how small. I needed to bring even the smallest of issues to the feet of my savior. I wrote them in the sand. I feared someone would walk by and read them and think, “oh Lordy, that’s nothing…” but I felt God encourage me, “I would never say that. I care, and these things matter to you, so they matter to me. Come, let’s talk about this together.”

Psalm 118:28-29

You are my God, and I will give thanks to you; you are my God; I will extol you. Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; for his steadfast love endures forever!


1 Thessalonians 5:18

Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.


Colossians 3:17

And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.


I read these verses with fresh eyes. “You are my God…”, “this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you”, “do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus…”

When I try to have gratitude without putting Jesus in his rightful place, as the king of my life, my gratitude is not real. When I tell myself that my problems are too small for God then I am essentially saying God is not really my God. I am no longer asking God for his will in the small things, I am no longer doing things in the name of Jesus, but instead in the name of Liz and Liz’s power. So it shouldn’t surprise me that my gratitude is misguided when I try to replace God on his throne, with myself. I’m not consciously thinking that I’m replacing God, but that’s what is happening. I am essentially saying I don’t need God, or I don’t want God’s help with this, it doesn’t matter that it’s because I’m ashamed or because I think it’s too small. I’m trying to speak for God, and that’s not God’s will for my life. Bringing even my smallest problems to God reaffirms that God is my God in ALL things.

“God, I’m scared I’m going to fail as a mom, as a wife, and as a Christian. I’m scared of my depression coming back. I’m scared of that stupid visual of the slaughtered baby from that movie. I’m scared that I’m going to get fat. I’m scared that I’m going to get so tired I’m going to make a dumb mistake. I’m scared of being alone all the time. I’m scared I’m going to make bad choices and screw up my son. I’m scared my house will smell like poopy diapers forever. I’m scared my son won’t love me. I’m scared my husband doesn’t think I’m pretty anymore. I’m scared I won’t get to shower today. I’m irritated that Rita’s wasn’t open…I just wanted something good. What if I can’t clean Sammy’s clothes and burp cloths?”

Not once did God say, “get over it” or “come on Liz, people are dying because of their race and occupations…”

Instead he gave me a visual of my son, crying because of his poopy diaper. When he cries out of his discomfort I don’t look at him and say, “some kids don’t even have diapers to poop in! They just go in the streets, you should be thankful!” No way! My heart breaks when it hears his cries. All I want to do is help him, and I can! It’s pretty easy for me to help my son with his full diaper. It would be a quite a feat for Sammy to change his own diaper. But as I’m changing his diaper I try to soothe him with my words. God reminded me of the words I say to my son, “I know buddy, I know, mommy is working on it. You’re going to be ok. Oh Sammy, I’m so sorry you’re uncomfortable. Your new diaper is coming, bud. In just a couple minutes your going to feel better, it’s ok.”

But sometimes, even though his diaper is changed, Sammy still cries, because it’s not just about the diaper, after I change his diaper I pick him up and cuddle him close. I kiss his head and assure him that I am here and I love him. I let him know that it’s going to be ok now. I let him know that I was there while he was uncomfortable, and his discomfort broke my heart, and even though it didn’t feel good, when I was wiping the crap from him, I was helping him. And my kisses and hugs soothe him, and he is able to rest and coo and smile again.

When I got home, my washer was still broken, my coffee maker was still dead, my baby was still fussy, and my house was still a mess, but I felt heard. I felt validated. I felt encouraged. I felt God’s presence and his reassuring words, “I’m here, I’m working on it.” I felt ready to keep going and I found myself thanking God for the little joys: the beach, Sammy finally pooping, the dog named Scout we met on the beach, pizza, Harry Potter movie marathons, pumpkin beer…”

The gratitude just came, and it came without guilt. It came because I had purged myself of the crap separating me from my savior and I let my savior clean me up instead of trying to do it myself.

The Tiring Truth of Motherhood


I haven’t been able to really write since we brought Sammy home. Not necessarily because I haven’t had the time, but mostly because I hadn’t really processed everything. I still find myself looking down at my son and bursting into tears because I just can’t believe it’s finally my time to be a mom. But I will admit the first couple days weren’t filled with joyful happy tears. I thought they would be. I thought I would be on cloud 9 and no amount of exhaustion could break me.

The exhaustion from years of infertility broke me several years ago. It was the scariest place I have ever been. I remember back in college going to see one of my favorite bands in concert. At one point the band was taking requests from the audience and many of us shouted, “Silencer.” It was my favorite song of theirs, and I had never heard it live. I was excited to experience it, but then the lead singer, Aaron Weiss said, “I don’t play that song anymore. I never want to go back to that place.” At the time I didn’t really understand- It was just a song about that place, it wasn’t the actually place. But ever since that dark summer, I get it. I have experienced that oppressive darkness and every now and then I will get a glimpse of it again and I can’t go back, I must run into the arms of my savior, I can’t go back. Aaron Weiss sang of a girl, and in the past several years I have felt like that girl. I have called out to God, “please take me home!” more times than I can count. That anguish that Hannah felt in 1 Samuel 1…I felt that.  I thought that becoming a mother could never bring me to that place, because being a mother was the exact opposite of what broke me before.

But there I was day 1 of being a mommy and as I looked down at my little boy, all I felt was panic. I didn’t feel ooey gooey and full of love like the very first moments I met him. Now we were home and it was just our little family and I felt terrified, stuck, and unsure. I felt the rapid flutter of my heart, the tinglies in my feet and hands, and the heat slowly spread from limbs to my core. I am not describing what it felt like when I would see Dean walk into a room back in the day…no, these are my very beginning signs of a panic attack. These signs suddenly brought flashbacks of those dark days…those dark days that I never wanted to revisit. Those days when hope was like a fish in a stream, but every time I thought I could grasp it, the fish darted away before I could even lightly brush a scale with my finger. The more I tried, the more I failed, and the more I failed, the more sediment I dredged up from the bottom of the stream. And then the stream was so cloudy and I couldn’t see the fish anymore.

But now, I held my son and I cried in fear. He slept in my arms and I cried. I still loved him, I felt that love from the moment I saw his picture…no, even before then. I had felt emotionally pregnant with my son for months now (that’s another post though). I loved him before I even knew him. But right now, fear was overpowering love. I couldn’t go back there… I couldn’t…I wouldn’t survive. Luckily, God taught me how to fight. God taught me how to wield my sword of truth. And I wasn’t going to be some Bella Swan or the little mermaid…I was going to be Hermione Granger, Princess Leia, Arwen. I was a warrior; God had showed me that many times and now was time to fight for my son.

All I could say was, “Jesus come.” I sat there for 15 minutes repeating that phrase, “Jesus come.” And I knew in those words I was safe. I knew just the name of Jesus brought every creature to its knees! I claimed Jesus’ presence in my life. And the panic started to fade.

Every now and then the panic comes back, but only for a moment. It’s usually when I’m really tired and I think, “I can’t do this…” but then God reminds me, “I called you to this, I need you to remain in the moment. No more saying, ‘I’m so tired.’ Start saying, ‘God has given me the energy for this moment.’”

I want my infertile friends to know the truth, motherhood doesn’t cure those dark places. Only Jesus does that. But my infertility helped me learn how to invite Jesus in. Motherhood is a different fight, but it uses similar tools. But I will say this, nothing melts my heart much like my sons little toes. Nothing softens my frustration like Sammy’s little smirks and gurgles. In infertility it was hard to live in the moment, because I had so many goals, and so many wants, and only me to worry about. Motherhood…oh, sweet motherhood: slowing down and remaining present is easy when it means sharing smiles with my Sammy-Sam. Stopping everything is easy when my son is so in need of a feeding. Sacrificing my needs for his is one of the biggest blessings I could imagine. It’s learning to live in the moment for the betterment of another. Does that even make sense? With infertility I had to learn to do that for myself, I had to stop everything and be present with God, because I was the needy one, I was the one needing a feeding. I still need those moments with my Father, but it’s easier for me to take them, because I have to, because if I don’t, Sammy suffers too.

I get when mom’s says they have never been so tired in their life, it’s true. I have never been so tired as I am now, but I have also never been so purposeful, so full of love, so sacrificing, so fulfilled, as I am right now. Every day I spend with Sammy I understand God’s love for me, his child, more and more. The more unconditional love I ooze out to Sam, the more unconditional love I feel washing over me from my heavenly father. This lack of sleep, this 17,000 steps a day, this constant giving IS tiring, yes, but it is nothing compared to the exhaustion of infertility. I feel so blessed for my seven years of infertility, because as I struggle to fight for what’s best for my son, I remember that I’m fighting for my son and Jesus is leading the charge and I know the outcome: Victory!

I probably should just end this post on that note, but something in me keeps wanting to say something more. I want the other mom’s out there to understand why their infertile friends are so hurt by their complaints of motherhood. And I want my infertile sisters to understand why it’s so important for moms to have that time to vent about how tired they are without fear of hurting someone’s feelings or being called, “ungrateful”.

If motherhood is a soccer game, infertility is the player that always comes to the games and never gets to play. Infertility is the player that never misses a practice and works her ass off trying to get better, trying to strengthen her weak side, trying to fix her game in every single aspect so, maybe, just once, she will get to play in a game. Sometimes there are players who don’t show up to practice ever, and then show up to a game completely wasted and still get to play the entire game. And a lot of times there are players who show up to practice, who work their asses off, and who play amazing games. But the infertile player is upset, because they never get a shot. They are exhausted from the mental and emotional battle to finally be chosen. Sure they get to play during practice, but it’s not the same. And then to hear your friends run in from the field after a big win and say, “wooooo, my legs are shot! You have no idea how tired I am, because you haven’t played in a game yet.” Ouch….

But the reality of the situation is, it’s totally true! The infertile player hasn’t gone out onto the field with a crowd cheering them on and booing them! Mom’s are judged every single day for their choices in parenting and applauded or slandered. And the infertile player hasn’t experienced the high stakes energy of keeping a little human alive! But the infertile player also hasn’t experienced the celebration of a great pass, a goal, or an amazing save (if you’re a goalie) and all they want is a chance. But none of the players get to decide who gets a chance and who doesn’t. So instead of getting mad or frustrated with the other players, it’s high time with take up our issues with the coach…God.

He can handle it. He can handle your anger, your sorrow, your threats, your accusations. But just like with a coach in real life, you have to be willing to listen, and sometimes he says, “not yet.” But he never says, “you’re not good enough”.

Anyways, I’m rambling, and Sammy is calling for some love!

Flashback: The Naming of My Son


Last Day of Revocation

I spent most of the day sending memes back and forth with my family and friends that knew. We counted down the hours until revocation was officially over.

About halfway through the day I found myself in a familiar position: on my living room floor crying and singing. This time I was not crying for my broken heart. I was crying for Joanna’s broken heart. I prayed for her peace, I prayed for her strength, my prayers were different for her than all the other birth moms. I had this knowledge that Lavon was my son and I was claiming it, and allowing my heart to break knowing that his birth mom’s heart was breaking. I prayed that she had the strength to let him go. I prayed that I would have the strength to place her precious child into the arms of our savior.

At 5:30pm we heard that there was “no news!” which meant that Joanna did not submit any revocation paperwork to the agency. We still had to check with the court the following day to make sure nothing was submitted to them, but at this point Lavon was almost positively released into the custody of the Agency!!!!

Dean and I spent the next four hours calling as many people as we could get a hold of. We cried, we laughed…it didn’t even feel real. We started thinking of names for Lavon and stumbled upon the name Samuel. We loved Lavon’s given name*(changed in this blog post for protection) which meant “worthy of praise” so we wanted to keep it somewhere in the name, but whether it was his first or middle name we weren’t sure. But Samuel was the first name aside from Lavon that we agreed on. We looked Samuel up and it means “God hears me”. 


1 Day Past Revocation, 3 Days until Placement

Mom came to help set up the nursery. I spent over $500 on baby essentials preparing for Lavon’s arrival in…wait for it… 3 Days!!!!!!!! Thank God for mom! We heard from the agency that there was nothing filed with the court for revocation! Lavon was going to be coming home with us for sure!

Dean was on a super important business trip until Thursday. The agency wanted to know what our son’s name was going to be so they could start working on the paperwork, but a drawn out conversation about Lavon’s name wasn’t really possible. But we did decide that it was either Samuel Lavon or Lavon Samuel. So, I spent some time looking at the pictures we received from Lavon’s cradle Care mommy (foster care through the agency) and saying his names; trying to see which one fit. I couldn’t decide…and I fell asleep.

I woke up in the middle of the night, and felt God speak.

“Ask Me what his name is.”

“But God, I wanted to name him, he is my son. I haven’t had this experience before, and you get it all the time.”

“Elizabeth, I told you from the very beginning that Lavon is MINE. I’m giving you a choice now, you can either claim him for yourself or dedicate him to ME.”

“God, of course I want to dedicate him to YOU, but what does that have to do with his name? Can’t I name him and still dedicate him to YOU?”

“Well, sure you could, but you aren’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think of when you think of Lavon’s name as Lavon?”

“Well, I think about the kick ass NFL players with that same name. I think, ‘Wow, maybe my son will be super athletic or famous.’

Oh, I think I understand now. When I think of Lavon as the name I push You out. When I call him Lavon I think of what I want him to be instead of what You want him to be. And then I think that it’s his accomplishments and potential that make him praiseworthy. When I think of Samuel as his name I think of You hearing my prayers and answering them. I think of Your glory and your goodness, your blessing and provision, and that is what is praiseworthy. So instead of my son being worthy of praise and God hears those praises; My son is “God Hears me, which is worthy of praise.”

I knew you would see it clearly my dear. I have named him Samuel Lavon, and now I’m letting you decide what you will name him.”

“I will name him Samuel Lavon too.”


2 Days Until Placement

I woke up and knew I had to read the story of Samuel. I remembered some bits about his story, but I wanted to know more. So, I sat on my deck and read 1 Samuel.

I was astonished…I had read 1 Samuel so many times, in fact, I found a verse from 1 Samuel in my wallet, later that very day. I had placed it in there to look at when I felt discouraged about my appearance at my yoga retreat.

But normally when I read the beginning of 1 Samuel I identified so strongly with the barren mother, Hannah, that I kind of forgot she was associated with Samuel. I know that sounds weird, but the story of Hannah goes like this:

                Hannah was barren for years and years. She cried out to God many times and so full of anguish that a priest actually thought she was drunk (yup…I’ve felt that anguish before). Finally, she had a son, and she named him Samuel: “because I asked the Lord for Him”. She then dedicated Samuel to the Lord, and brought him to live with the priest, Eli.

That is where I thought the story of Hannah ends. In my adult years I would stop reading there. I never made the connection with this Samuel to the Samuel I read about in my childhood; to the Samuel I thought about when I sang, “Here I am, Lord, is it I, Lord, I have heard you calling in the night.”

If I kept reading I would have seen that, first of all God blessed Hannah with many more children, but also that Samuel heard God calling him in the night, and I would have read that Samuel, after being encouraged by Eli, answered God and said, “Speak, I am you servant.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that I had been singing the song of my son since I was a child. It also hadn’t occurred to me that Hannah could relate to me as an infertile woman and to Joanna in the sense that both had placed their sons in the hands of another to be raised in the Lord’s name. Sammy’s birth mom picked us for three reasons: 1. Our strong support system of family and friends 2. Our faith in Jesus and 3. Our youthfulness. I don’t think Joanna really knew she dedicated him to the Lord. But she placed her son into our care, and as a result she placed her son into God’s care, because we have dedicated him to the Lord.

Flashback: 4 Days until Revocation Ends


4 Days until Revocation Ends

The fire inspection went really well; thanks to my dad, who installed eight new smoke detectors on moving day.  

Just a little side note here: About  3 months ago I started working on our fire inspection paperwork for the new house (it takes about 5 hours). The house wasn’t even ours yet. We were waiting on the home inspection for the buyers of our current house and waiting to hear back from the sellers of the new house to see if they would even accept our offer, and I found myself with nothing to do and quite a bit of time on my hands. I knew I would need to do this new paperwork at some point soon, but I needed to have the floor plans for the new house in order to do them, so I thought I wouldn’t be able to do them until we moved in and I could draw the floor plans myself. I decided to check the listing of the new house, in the off chance that there would be floor plans listed online for the house that was built over 45 years ago. None of the houses we looked at had floor plans listed…but this one did! God is so cool! So, I spent the next 5 hours making fire escape routes, emergency evacuation plans, and emergency lockdown plans for a house that wasn’t even ours. I felt crazy doing that, but I had the time now, and I wanted to take advantage of it. Remember, at this point, I had no idea we would be parents upon arrival at our new house. I thought it would be months before we would be matched, but the paperwork loomed over my head and I just wanted it done.

The well water was tested for bacteria and nitrates, but we won’t have results for several days, I’m nervous!

We have internet!

3 Days until Revocation Ends

I couldn’t keep the secret from Luna any longer. I sat on my front stoop and gushed the news over the phone. I needed prayer. I needed someone to join me in the waiting. As I told her all about Lavon, I started to notice white feathers were falling all around me. Little white feathers were literally falling all around me. I counted twenty before I stopped counting. Turns out, there was an old nest in the magnolia tree above my head, and the wind must have been hitting it just right to release all the old feathers. For the second time in the past two months I was being showered in feathers, and to me that felt like blessings from the Lord.


1 Day until Revocation Ends

Dean and I finished painting the nursery and decided to spend some time checking out Babies R’ Us while the paint dried. We’d been too scared to really do anything to prepare for Lavon just in case it didn’t work out. But painting the nursery seemed safe, and just going to Babies R’ Us to look seemed pretty safe too.img_8302

Most of the time we spent at Babies R’ Us was us trying to collapse and unfold strollers. Those things are little bitches…But we finally found one that couldn’t best us and we both really liked it (You know, just in case we had to run out and buy one really quick. Mostly for the car seat, but we wanted one that included both). After all that stroller wrestling, we were famished, so we drove around looking for a restaurant and decided to try some place new.

We had no idea it was more of a ritzy place, so we walked in in our t-shirts and shorts and felt a little out of place. But we were starving, and it was the only place that we both agreed on. The dinner ended up being amazing. The whole time I felt like we were celebrating something super special, even though we didn’t know for sure if Lavon was ours. But for those moments, it felt like he was, it felt like we were given a chance to enjoy an extremely expensive romantic dinner together before our lives were flipped upside down by the arrival of a baby. It was like our own little baby moon. And then, guess what?! Our server brought over a piece of cake on the house! He didn’t have any idea that we were celebrating or that we had been matched or anything, and on the check the free cake was labeled as “Birthday Cake” and everything felt so real. It felt like we were celebrating the birth of our son!

1 more day left!!!!!!