Sarah Anne I Am

5:59am   I wake up and look at the clock. WHY. WHY AM I AWAKE? This is ridiculous. Whatever. I go to the bathroom, because I'm pregnant, so odds are I need to. During the forty-five seconds that takes, Judah starts crying. Touche, internal mama alarm clock, touche. I DO need to be awake.   Judah is a snotty, congested, crying mess. Fortunately, The Solution To All Things (his pacifier) is relatively easy to find in his crib. I mentally take his temperature- is he too cold? He might be too cold. I carry him to our bed, where Arthur is asleep, blissfully unaware that our firstborn might be a little bit too cold. I tuck the comforter around Judah and hand him his water cup. The next four minutes consist of Judah eating two-thirds of a banana, drinking some water, and going back to bed. I eat one bite of granola bar and go back to bed as well. 9:03am   I wake up and look at the clock. Praise Jesus. I listen- Judah is not crying. Judah is not talking, bouncing, or b...

  A week ago Judah nursed for the last time, and the ensuing wave of hormones that has engulfed me as my body rapidly shifts gears has been a bit overwhelming. But amongst the many emotions, one has stood out above all the others: Gratitude.   I am so incredibly thankful to have been able to nurse my son for fourteen months, especially considering that I was pregnant for the last four months. It has been a greater blessing than I anticipated to have to opportunity to feed my child so naturally. And as thankful as I am for this experience, not every step has been easy.   Judah was born knowing how to nurse. He was an expert right away. Unavoidable pain of learning to nurse aside, I am exceptionally fortunate to have a child who never struggled with his latch, never needed to be coaxed to eat. We had the opposite problem: He was ravenous. Like, CRAZY ravenous, all the time.   For the first few days of his life he nursed every two or three hours like a good litt...

  Oh, hi there. No, I didn't fall off the face of the earth, I'm still here. It's just been three and a half months since I posted anything...that's not embarrassing at all.   In my defense, it's been a busy three months. I've INTENDED to blog about a hundred times (okay, like six times) but never managed to get around to it. So let me bring you up to speed really quickly.   My husband's family visited us from South Africa! Hurray! Lots of family time was had, lots of pictures were taken, lots of memories were made. It was wonderful.   Then we did one solid, jam-packed week of ministry together as a family. I count Judah's sacrifice of normal naptimes as his contribution to ministry, yes. Totally valid.   Then I had a minor emotional meltdown (more on that in a second) and my wonderful, patient husband was like "Alright, we need a vacation." So we went to the beach for a week and just...were. We took it easy, spent hours by the sea, ...

  This is like the sixth time that I've tried to write a post in response to an article that I read online. In the past, I've never actually posted anything, because I get so worked up about the topic that my indignation removes my ability to properly form sentences.   And I was about to try again, because I am sick and tired of the way my generation views adulthood, marriage, parenthood, careers, finances, and...well, just about everything. Our entitlement makes me sick. Our selfishness knows no bounds. I am embarrassed to tell people that I'm twenty-three, because of the immature, irresponsible, self-centered lifestyle that is so glorified and promoted by many people my age. I have spent the past ten years of my life trying to prove my birthdays wrong.   But what will another drop in the massive bucket that is the (ugh) "blogosphere" really do? Maybe a little. Maybe a lot. Honestly, with an unpopular viewpoint like mine, maybe nothing. And as I was despairing, ...

  Three years ago yesterday I met a man BETTER than the man of my dreams. It wasn't love at first sight, it was "Hmm...maybe" at first sight, and the love followed shortly thereafter.   I remember the moment I met him. It wasn't a lightning bolt moment. The earth didn't stand still while all the birds sang a shining rendition of Beethoven's fifth, or anything like that. But I do remember.   There are lots of little moments like that that stand out clearly in my mind: Shaking his hand. Sitting across the hall from him while he played guitar. The conversation in which I "casually" mentioned wanting "like" twelve kids, and he said that sounded awesome, because he is polite, but I took it to mean that he'd be down with actually literally being the father of twelve children. (Note: We currently do not plan on having that many babies. Stop panicking.)   But before I get into all of the beautiful ways that God worked in the beginning ...

   Yesterday afternoon someone walked into Seattle Pacific University and began firing a gun. You've probably heard about it by now. There are countless articles flying around the internet, and the reason I am choosing to share this is simple: It is so full of hope.   What you are about to read was written by a young man named Ben Higashi. He is a student at SPU, and his words moved me to tears. He chose to share his experience throughout the events of yesterday afternoon, and I am so thankful that he did, as his perspective of clear, Christ-centered hope is a refreshing one in the light of genuine tragedy.   I am sharing these words with his permission. _____________________________________________________________________________________________ The SPU Shooting   I have so much to say and no idea where to start. When I first heard the news, when I was told we were in lockdown, I didn’t know what to expect. We’d been in lockdown before; it had just be...

   At 5:56pm my little family was in our not-totally-clean-but-passably-clean kitchen. My husband stands at the stove cooking chicken, our baby is army crawling around on the floor with his toys, and I am making coffee- because, you know, we're parents. And being parents means we drink coffee anytime we actually need to be around people, and/or capable of coherent speech, and/or in an upright position. It was relatively peaceful, or at least relatively quiet. And then I looked at the clock.   It is always a bad idea to look at the clock. I think of clocks much like a Glade air freshener that automatically releases scent when you walk in a room, except clocks automatically release cortisol into my bloodstream when I look directly at them.   "It's four minutes to six."   These were the words that sprang us all into action- Arthur heading out to church, I packing the diaper bag with baby food and grabbing a sweatshirt, Judah utilizing the 47 seconds I was gon...