My 3 year old is in a phase where he loves his backpack. He wants to wear it everywhere. Not only has it become constantly attached to him, but he likes to pack it super full. At the end of the day, I go through and empty out his bag and I am amazed at the things he thinks to put in there. Snacks, junk mail, toys, books, markers, juice boxes, crayons, paint brushes, game pieces, user manuals, toothbrushes, cords, coins, stickers, costumes, shoes, socks, my old passport, tools, rulers... you name it, its been in there, basically.

He gets his bag so full of stuff, that he can’t really access any of it. He says, “I need to put ___ in my bag...”. It takes a while to get out the door some days because he is packing his bag. He doesn’t have room in there most days for the things I usually put in there which results in me sometimes carrying a second bag. Why he feels like he needs all these things, I have no idea, but he totes that bag around regardless. We’ve been working on removing things, much to his dismay. But he’s growing in the discipline of letting things go.

Today we went to a playground and he wanted to play in his backpack. I watched him struggle to play against the weight of it. He weighs 30 pounds, and his backpack probably weighed 10-15 pounds... so you can just imagine. I watched him attempt to do things he normally would do without trouble, and he struggled. He tripped. He fell. He gave up on some things. He ran paces behind the kids he normally would have kept up with. I offered over and over to hold his bag for him, but he refused. He insisted that he wear it.
​
Would he have enjoyed himself more without it? Yes. Would he have been able to play without struggle had be let me carry it for him? Yes. Would he have been less hot and tired had he chose not to wear it? Yes. But for some reason he finds comfort in having that bag. He feels secure knowing its near him. Is it burdensome? Absolutely!

My son is just like all of us. I watched him play with that backpack strapped to his back and thought about how I do the same things. Do I want to live in fear? Do I want to bear shame? No. I want to walk in freedom... but for some reason there is an odd sense of comfort and security in fear and shame. We don’t always want to hand it over, even though we know we will perform better without it. We will thrive. Yet we cling to the things that wear us down.

For some reason it seems silly when its “practical.” Take off the bag, honey. Trust me with this. You’ll be able to play better. I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. If we, as parents, though we are evil, know how to give good gifts to our children, how much more does our Heavenly Father give good gifts to his children?

Our church is currently in a teaching/preaching series called “Growing in Christ.” It has caused me to wrestle with different things in my spirit. The truth is, I’d rather walk in freedom than in fear. I’d rather rest in grace than in shame. I’d rather be a child than be a slave. Faith is a journey, and we don’t walk it alone. I want to grow in Christ. I want to experience the joy of victory in my life. And I don’t want to miss those joys because I’m hiding behind the shame that Jesus died to put to death.

I often heard that parents of an “only child,” were selfish. That to have one child and then choose to not have more, is a selfish choice. A mom of one still loves her child. She still raises that child, and shapes him into the man he will one day be. She still disciplines her one daughter or one son. She still cares for and provides for his or her every need. People look at a new mom with her baby and see just that... a mom. But somewhere between being a newborn and being 10 years old... she goes from being a mom, to being selfish... and a “less than” mom. It just isn’t true. There is no rule that once a child reaches a certain age that it’s time to have more. Some people choose not to have more for financial reasons, emotional reasons, personal reasons... some cannot have more but would like to. Don’t make assumptions. She is still a mom.

​There is something called “only child syndrome.” If you don’t believe me, look it up. The fact is, it is a myth. It’s defined as the idea that only children are lonely, selfish, spoiled, impatient, and alienated. I do think that my son gets lonely sometimes, but I grew up as the second of four children, and honestly, I felt lonely at times. I have known plenty of children from multi-child families who are spoiled and impatient... those are traits attached to human nature. You don’t learn to be selfless because you have siblings. Any parent of more than one child could probably tell you that they saw a new level of selfishness in their first child once the second was introduced. Humans are selfish... not just only children.

Every time I hear the comment, “well, at least you only have one,” I cringe. I would love to have many, but right now I have one. And just because I have only one child, doesn’t mean he is not a difficult child to parent from time to time. I don’t go into detail publicly about parenting struggles we have with our son, because we respect his privacy, but its not always a cake walk. I have spent time with families with 6+ children and thought, “they have it so easy.” But I also only see a small portion of their daily life. Don’t assume that because someone has 10 children that they have it so rough, and don’t assume that because someone has 1 child that they have it so easy. Every family looks different.

​I often have to tell myself, “you are a REAL mom.” I may not be a mom to many children, but I am a mom to one. So to any moms of one child out there reading, you ARE a mom. Just like women who are unmarried and childless are still women. I hate feeling like, “people will take me seriously as a mom once I have more.” So I try my best to join in the conversations with moms of multiples and share my own experience. I’m still parenting. I still seek the Lord for the help I need to raise this child in Him. And I’ll do the same whether I have one or 10.

Easter has always been my favorite Holiday. I think partly because it involves so much anticipation. Beginning with Palm Sunday and carrying through all week to Resurrection Sunday. It’s not a “one-and-done” holiday. It is also the most important and monumentous event we celebrate as born-again believers. I am a firm believer that every Sunday is “resurrection Sunday”... but there is something particularly special about Easter morning. Spring is dawning and people are excited and ready to worship in a fresh way. I love it.

Something Mitch and I did early in our marriage as a sort of Easter “tradition” was attending a “passion play.” This was something I did as a child and I always loved it. While we lived in NY it was something we wanted to do, but there weren’t any churches in our area that produced one. This year we traveled down to my parents (who live around 3 hours south) and went to a production called “The Promise” with them. It. Was. Phenomenal! The music, the dancing, the story... all of it. Undoubtedly the best-produced passion play I’ve ever attended.

And yes, we took our 3.5 year old son along with us. I wasn’t sure what his response would be throughout the program, as I had not seen it before, but I knew, over all, he would enjoy it. It was a story he knew well, and he loves music and dancing. He knew every detail of the story that was being portrayed before him. He anticipated everything. When Jesus entered Jerusalem he looked at me confused and asked, “ummm why is he not riding a donkey?” Haha. I wondered the same thing. But regardless, they did a fantastic job.

There were points in the story where I could sense that Emmanuel was anticipating what was coming. Every time the music got intense or characters raised their voices, he would want to hide. He’d start shaking and I could feel his little heart pounding as I held him. As the time of Jesus’ arrest drew nearer, I was seeing his little face begin to contort in fear and sadness. He started asking in a shaky voice “They aren’t gonna hurt Jesus, mommy? They aren’t gonna take Jesus... they wont hurt Jesus? Will they, mommy?”

As the soldiers came toward Jesus Manny began to cry and plead with me to assure him they wouldn’t take Jesus or hurt him. I was so afraid for him. So nervous for him. Here he was, knowing what was to come, but willing it away. “Well, sweetie, yes... they will take him. But remember, Jesus is alive. He rises again. It’s ok.”

I think we often say “I love Jesus” almost flippantly, without really considering what it means. It really was eye-opening to see my little son’s emotions as he watched Jesus be attacked verbally and physically. He hated it, not because he hates violence... but because he loves Jesus.

Some might disagree that a 3-year old could truly love Jesus and understand what that means. Does he have a full understanding of love? I don’t know. But I do know that he was seeing this character, this man, this Jesus, whom he loved and admired, enduring the abuse of men... and it crushed him. Emmanuel loves stories about Jesus... Jesus is the “favorite character” in every story. And Jesus was being yelled at and hurt by “the bad guys.” And he was broken.

When I reflect on Jesus facing death... conquering death, for my sake... it breaks my heart. Because I am grieved by my sin that killed him. I am saddened by my sin that crushed him.

And I love Jesus.

But seeing my son’s sadness, not because he realizes that his sin took Jesus to the cross, but simply because he loves the “man” of Jesus, opened my eyes in a new way. Do I know that Jesus never sinned, but died for the sins of many? Yes. But sometimes I feel like I think about it for the first time. And seeing my son’s greif and his child-like love for Jesus... I felt like I saw it again with fresh eyes.

That is why I love Resurrection Sunday. I feel like everyone comes to Sunday Morning Worship with fresh eyes. Their ears are open. Their hearts are open. They come and go with a fresh love for Jesus in their hearts. We should reflect on Jesus’ resurrection every day of the year.

Without the cross, there is no resurrection. But without the resurrection, there is no salvation.

Today, and everyday, I am grateful for the abundant grace I have been given. Not because I deserve it, I don’t... and that isn’t a hard concept to grasp. I know I don’t deserve it... I believe I don’t deserve it. What is hard to grasp, is that there is enough grace for even me.

His grace is enough. That is a fact... not a feeling.

It’s easier for me to live with shame and regret than to walk in the freedom that Jesus secured with his death and resurrection. My prayer is that I learn more to walk in freedom. That I grow in the grace I’ve been given. That I hold fast to the truth that it is by grace I have been saved, through faith... and this is NOT from myself... it is the GIFT of God. I can’t earn it. But it is mine.

God chose me. Jesus justified me. The Spirit keeps me. All I do... is receive...


Happy Resurrection Day.

I haven’t done a “Manny Quote Monday” in a while... not for lack of great quotes! But I just haven’t been good about writing them down. I figured a short post was better than none. So here it is! Part 3! And, honestly, I wish I had these all on film. The WAY he says this stuff... so much better than the actual words... He’s hilarious.
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We were in a restaurant having lunch (gift card choice, of course). Manny has had an obsession with maps lately. Any piece of random paper or old mail becomes a map. So he was looking at the children’s menu (his map) laying out a plan of attack on the enemy.
Manny: We’ll get the giant with lava!
Mom: Ya know what might defeat a giant better than lava?
Manny: What’s that mom?
Mom: A stone and a sling!
Manny: Stops to think a moment Uhhhh..... well... can’t deny that one!

Manny was throwing his hands toward me with sound effects. I honestly thought he was make-believing he was Spider-Man shooting webs out of his hands... because that was what it looked/sounded like.
Mom: Hey! You just webbed my face!
Manny: *In a completely calm and matter-of-fact tone* No... I just threw fire at your face. Don’t worry. No weapons... just fire
Calm down mom... seriously... its just fire...

Manny: I’m just gonna climb up the wall, then onto the ceiling, then to the other wall...
Dad: I dunno... there is a thing called “gravity”...
Manny: Gravity? Oh yeah, we can do that... no problem!

Looking at letter flashcards
​Dad: That’s the letter “A” Manny
Manny: Are you out of your mind, Daddy?!

I was reading Manny the story from Luke 4 of the temptation of Jesus. We had just read the part where Satan tells Jesus to jump off the temple because the scripture declares angels will save him.
Mom: What about you? Would you jump off the temple?
Manny: No, I wouldn’t. It would be too scary for me. It would be too dangerous.
Mom: Yeah, I wouldn’t either.
Manny: Well, if I had my cape on, I would
🙄🤦🏽‍♀️

Mom: Manny, would you like a kiwi?
Manny: No thanks. It’s just really not my favorite.
After about halfway through eating the kiwi
Mom: See, not so bad.
Manny: Ya know... I think I REALLY like this! It’s my favorite!
Of course it is... of course...

Hands me a pen and paper
Manny: Mom, can you draw a scorpion?
I draw a quick scorpion
Mom: Does it look like a scorpion?
Manny: Yes... it does... he’s bad news!..

Manny: Lightning McQueen!!! He’s the fastest car in the pridelands!
Mom: Don’t you mean Radiator Springs?
Manny: Radiator Springs... yeah... oh yeah... right...

For anyone who knows both Cars and The Lion Guard, LOL

This is the part of my infertility story that I have been most hesitant to write about. The birth of my goddaughter, niece, and best friend’s firstborn was a beautiful experience to be part of. But there was so much pain associated with it. So much that I have hardly ever discussed. I journaled a lot that week, but I dread looking back and reading the words that I wrote during the days I was in PA. My heart was so full and so empty all at the same time. I struggled horribly. This chapter of my story will have to be split into multiple blog posts in order to give each aspect adequate space. Projecting, I think 5 posts, beginning with this. The birth, the first night, the hospital, going home and the first night, my week in PA, and going home after it all. So, those future posts to come. And now... the birth...

First, I have to say that it is so surreal writing this story so close to this little girl’s 6th birthday. 6 YEARS OLD!!! I can hardly believe that all the events I am about to write about happened six years ago. Six years isn’t really that long in the grand scheme of life, but I am such a different person today than I was then. The Lord has stretched me, taught me, and grown me so much since that time. I remember how painful infertility was in those days, not knowing that God was going to bring me to even harder times, and I would come out stronger, able to take on so much more by His strength.

Baby girl was due to be born on March 28, and when due date rolled around I was in a constant state of anticipation. Looking back, I think I was excited more than anything. I was nervous for Ashley, because I knew the unknown of giving birth was looming ahead of her. I knew she was ready to hold that little girl in her arms, but was afraid of the birthing experience, which I assume is totally normal.

I remember not sleeping that night. This may be TMI, but for real, I’ve been writing about infertility so much in this series, we can be grown up about content. I had the most painful period of my life that month. I had bad cramping and heavy flows for years (until recently... different post entirely), but this cycle in particular was awful. We joked that I was having sympathy pains for Ashley. But in all seriousness, I think a lot of it was that. I had been with her so much during the latter half of her pregnancy, and then experiencing the emotional pain of infertility on my end... I think there were “vicarious labor pains”... is that a thing? I don’t know, but that’s the only way I can explain it.

Either way, I was awake in the wee hours of the morning when Ashley texted me to say that she was feeling contractions. She had gone into the doctor on the morning of her due date with false labor and was sent home. So she was reluctant to call her OB so soon after. So she labored at home for a few hours. I kept saying “Call your doctor,” “Get to the hospital,” and “Ok, that’s it, I’m getting in the car and driving down there!” She insisted that I wait; it was probably false labor. But she was timing contractions. They were getting closer together and more intense. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. Mitch and I hopped in the car and started driving south. It was a 6.5 hour drive down to where she was giving birth, so I wanted to get on the road. About an hour into our drive, she texted me front he hospital saying she was given a gown and she indeed was in labor. SO glad I did not listen to her!

Let’s just say we arrived in record time. During the drive, Ashley’s husband took over the text updates. I went back and forth the whole drive between feeling hoprful I’d make it in time, and being the world’s biggest pessimist insisting that I was going to miss it. When Jason texted saying he was gonna go to the cafeteria to get a burger and fries, my anxiety lessened... when he said they were gonna have her start pushing, it was on the rise again. Part of me thinks that Ashley didn’t try as hard as she could have to birth baby earlier because she was waiting for me... but I don’t know.

I arrived at the hospital in a panic, rushing up to her room as fast as I could. I’m pretty sure I was in the slowest elevator ever!! I got to the room and it was just Ashley, her husband, myself, and a nurse. I rushed next to the hospital bed and the first thing I did was pet Ashley’s head and give her a kiss. I was so glad to have made it in time. The nurse, who must have knew I was due to arrive wrote my name on the white board alongside Jason’s, as the name of the second person who would be present during the birth. I know some people allow many people in the room, but this particular hospital would only let two people. I was obviously honored to have been one. 20 minutes after I walked into the room, baby girl was born.

First, I am going to walk you through the “What” and “How” of the basic types of stretches. What is it? And How is it done? Then we will cover a bit more detail like ‘When“ you should perform these stretches and “Who“ they are best suited for.

Ultimately, stretching is designed to help reduce the risk of injury, so it is best to be sure you are doing it right, and doing what is right for you. Fitness is not always cookie-cutter... what works for someone else, may not work for you. Every Body is unique.

So, lets jump in.

The main types of stretches are Dynamic, Ballistic, Static, and PNF stretches.

Dynamic and Ballistic Stretching

Many people get these two kinds of stretching confused, because they both involve stretching while the body is in motion. But they are in fact, quite different.

Dynamic stretching takes the joints through the full range of motion while moving continuously. For instance, if you are working your legs, you’d take your lower body joints through full ROM. Like swinging your leg back and forth, side to side, and in circles. You move in a controlled and coordinated motion (being sure to work in all planes of motion). Dynamic stretching is used before dynamic movement is performed. Doing this helps to force blood to the specific muscle group you plan to work, which gives them more elasticity and prevents injury.

Ballistic stretching can look like dynamic stretching, but is characterized by rhythmic bouncing motions. Its more high-force and short-duration than traditional dynamic stretching. I always think of a boxer loosening up for a fight when I think of ballistic stretching. Whereas dynamic stretching is more controlled and coordinated, ballistic stretching is not. It may be similar in movement, but its different in execution.

So, which should you do?

I always recommend dynamic over ballistic stretching. Dynamic stretching is performed for the sake of avoiding and reducing the chance of injury. Ballistic stretching unfortunately, although it has been encouraged over the years, does not do this. The idea with ballistic stretching is that the high force with lengthen the muscle for better performance. The reality is, that the muscle can become elastic beyond its threshold, which can damage the muscle and cause tearing in soft tissues. I always find that with exercise, control, intension, and coordinated movements are superior to overall performance and injury prevention.

Static Stretching

Static stretching is kind of like your classic Winnie the Pooh stretch of reaching down, touching your toes, and holding the position. Static stretching is probably what most people think of when they picture stretching. It’s the idea of stretching a muscle as far as you can, and holding the position for 15-60 seconds. There are two types of static stretching: Active, and Passive.

Active static stretching is when you stretch one muscle by activating an opposing muscle. I’ll explain. Say you want to stretch your calves. You sit in an L shape, legs out in front of you, body upright, chest forward. You flex your feet, pointing your toes toward your shins as hard as you can. This stretches the calve muscles while activating dorsiflexion. So you stretch one muscle while activating the opposing muslcle.

Passive static stretching is when outside pressure, force, or resistance is apllied to the stretch for increased intensity. For instance, holding your feet and pulling your chest toward your knees to stretch your hamstrings. Or leaning into a wall to stretch your calves. A partner or assisted device can also apply the pressure for you. For instance, you are lying on your back and you raise one leg to 90°, a partner then applies pressure to your heel, closing the angle between leg and body, stretching your hamstring for you. Or say you wrap your ankle with a resistance band and pull your leg toward your body. These are all examples of a passive static stretch

Proprioceptive Neuromuscular Facilitation

Or PNF for short, is a contract/relax method of stretching. It is designed to improve range of motion and increase flexibility.

How is it done?

You want to stretch the muscle under tension. This can be done by using a partner or some immovable object (like a wall or the floor). Once in place, you hold the isometric contraction of the muscle for 5-10 seconds, followed by 10-30 second passive static stretch. You’d repeat this 2-4 times.

Ok? What does that mean? I’ll give you an example

Say you lack range of motion and flexibility in your shoulders. (I use this as an example because most people do... shoulders, hamstrings, and hip flexors are common for tightness). So you would use some type of tension: a partner, chin-up bar, reistance band, wall, floor...

If you are alone at home without equipment, you’ll probably utilize the floor or wall, so lets just assume this.

So you will sit upright, knees bent, and palms planted on the floor behind you (fingers pointing away from your body). Slide your hips forward across the floor, keeping your hand firmly planted behind you. You are now positioned to begin.

The “contract” portion will happen when you make a slight movement forward, creating a tension and “pull” on your shoulders. Hold for 5-10 seconds. This should hurt a little. Not excruciating pain, but it should be uncomfortable. The relax portion doesn’t look very different visibly than the contract portion. You basically slide your hips back far enough to release the “ouch” tension, while still stretching. You will hold this “relax” passive static stretch for another 10-30 seconds.

As with many thing fitness related, less is more. On an intensity scale of 1-10 (1-no pain or discomfort at all, 10-threshold of muscular elasticity, very uncomfortable), the “contract” stretch should be around a 6-8 (even lower on smaller muscle groups like in the neck), and the “relax” stretch around a 3-5.

Ok, so, we’ve covered the what and how of the basic types of stretches. Now onto the when and who.

For this portion, I thought I would draw a little flow chart. Hopefully this helps. Also, keep in mind that these rules apply for traditional cardio respiratory and resistance exercise. Different rules may apply for different forms of exercise. For instance, you will perform different degrees of static stretching throughout an entire yoga flow.

​I always take on some new project that will extend today into tomorrow. As if today alone is not enough. I’m always chasing after something... what?... I don’t know. Exhausted from the nonstop marathon but never reaching the finish line because I get too distracted with something else that might get me there faster... to some ending I might like more.

​After we got married, that started to change. I didn’t fall out of love with him, I started falling out of love with life. Life didn’t start to turn and go rotten... my dreams just started to die... and I didn’t know how to live... really LIVE... outside of a dream. I loved my husband, but I pictured my life so different than it was. I had been swimming upstream my whole life; my life continuously shaped by the decisions of everyone around me. I felt like everything was out of my control, and now I couldn’t even decide to grow my family. I no longer wanted to lose sleep... I didn't want to be awake and drink in more reality.

​I didn’t want anyone to know it was my birthday. I was afraid it would trigger peoples’ minds to the idea of me getting older, me being married longer, me still having no children. I feared the questions that might come. The comments that could follow and sting for longer than they took to say or think of. People like to draw attention to the “birthday girl,” and I hated that. I still do. Everyone staring at me. The invisible finger pointing at me, too strong for me to push away. I don’t mind being the “center of attention,” but only on my terms. It comes back to the desire to have control but never being able to. Wanting to take the wheel and steer, but someone else always beats me to the driver’s seat of my life.

Birthdays brought too many self-accusations. Too many reminders. Too much attention...

Interesting title? Haha, this is because I wrote part 14 about going to my best friend’s house for the last time before her daughter was born. I realized that there were things that happened on that visit that I never shared because I went all “best friend sappy” the whole post. So, I really couldn’t make a part 15 until I completed the story of that last visit.

My visit was from (I am making a very accurate guess back on dates) March 2-10 or 11. I looked back at a calendar because there are some specifics I remember about the visit, so that must be right. But, amazingly, I remember it being a short visit... I guess it wasn’t. Anyway, her daughter was born March 29... just one day after she was due. So, Ashley was QUITE pregnant during this visit.

We arrived at Ashley’s house on a Saturday evening. So we had church in the morning. I remember very few things about the actual days, but the things I do remember are vivid. I had been to Ashley’s church enough at that point that it almost had that “going home for a visit” sort of feel. Everyone said hi and called me by name. Makes you feel like a celebrity when you totally aren’t.

Ashley took me to the mall and made me buy a new pair of jeans. The jeans I had were in good condition, I had just shed enough of the body that once filled them well that they no longer looked appealing on me. After being properly outfitted in jeans I “filled out” well, we had a great week. I took a few photos of her still-growing belly, and some other pre-baby shots.  We had a lot of sleepless nights and a lot of tears... but a good week with my best friend.

My last night I don’t think we slept at all. Actually, I think Ashley slept one hour before church, but I did not. I remember going into the nursery to finish decorating. I had organized all the baby girl clothes, removed tags, hung them. I had finished painting the walls and hung curtains, closet shelves, and fluffy pink decor. I put together the mobile for the crib and got it all ready.

I sat in the rocking chair and imagined a little girl in my arms. My heart ached. I already loved this baby so much, but I ached for a child of my own. I had been up all night weeping, talking, and praying. I remember placing my hand on Ashley’s belly and feeling her daughter move around inside of her. I prayed for this new baby, I prayed for this new mom, and I prayed for this new change. Our friendship would survive this. No amount of pain, heartache, or change could ruin us and all we had built together. I sang all the songs to her baby that I had imagined singing to my own over the years.

​​The night was over as soon as it had started. Our time was almost over. Somehow I managed to stay awake during the whole church service. I wasn’t always alert, but I was definitely not asleep. I was inside myself. I didn’t know how to face my life anymore. Everything was changing. I felt like it had already changed. I felt this need to say goodbye for the first and last time.

​After church we stood around and talked to people. I was standing, with my arms folded across my flat belly. Going for the “out of sight, out of mind” approach. Not that it was out of my mind, but I hoped it would be out of others’ minds. The truth is, everyone expected Ashley and I to be pregnant together. Let’s face it, we did everything together, why should this be different? We would have loved to have done it together. In fact, it was part of our “plan.” So when we were together, I feared the prodding, the joking, the questions...

​I remember being asked, “So, when are you gonna have a baby?”

​How could I jump out in the open and shout “you found me!” while staying in my dark safe hiding place at the same time? I felt cornered. I felt Ashley wishing it all to end. I could feel my face fill with heat, my hands were like ice, my heart raced. I could feel every cell in my body. I felt time stand still and speed up all at once. The weariness of the hours before were pounding on the door of my heart and mind reminding me that I had to pull my strength from somewhere that didn’t exist yet. I am not going to cry. I am going to get through this. Char, get a hold of yourself. You can do this. ​

I shared that I had a passion for adoption. That I did want to have children, but I wanted to adopt children. It was something I did want to do someday, but not today.

I shared as briefly and as thoroughly as I could. Ashley ended the conversation and got us out of there. I walked ahead of her the whole way outside. The March air hit me outside the church building like 100 mile per hour winds. I had been trapped under water for too long, and I now stood, bent over, gasping for breath. I drew in the fresh air. The first breath I had taken in a million years... or so it felt. Ashley caught hold of my arm and pulled, I resisted.

“Char...”

“Not now...”

“Char... “

“No.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that was said...”

“It’s not your fault...”

I could see her pain... it was my pain. The tears that welled up in her eyes... they were mine. The shiver down her spine, it was mine. The drop of her heart into her stomach... was mine. She felt responsible... she wasn’t. I felt responsible... was I?

“...Let’s go...” she said.

This time I didn’t pull away, I just followed. I was ready to get out of there. To change the scenery, the atmosphere... remove the tension from the air. I wanted to laugh... for real. I wanted to eat and enjoy it. I wanted to hide. I wanted to go home... but was I ready for home? Was I ready for our next meeting?

Things were changing. Time has no mercy on the fearful... it would move as quickly as it pleased. I’m going to be ok. I have to be ok. But I was afraid I was losing myself. The girl I once knew was dying a little at a time. How much of her was left? Would there be any remnant left in a few weeks time?...  My heart was overwhelmed.  There was so much I felt that I couldn't share.  It had to be buried, suffocated, hidden, tucked away for ever.

She was very blunt in her answer. I could tell by her tone and her body language that she was reluctant to give such a simple answer. I knew she had wished, in that moment, for my heart’s sake... that it had more complicated than that.

​I said, “That’s it?”...

“That’s really it...” she responded sadly. She obviously had seen the completely dejected look on my face. (More so, she felt it)

How could it be that simple? It’s not that simple. It can’t be. There must be more to it. More that I’m NOT doing... something...

It was hard, to see her heart break for my own breaking heart. But at the same time, I found such comfort in having a friend who truly mourned when I mourned.  And at the same time we could be excited and happy for the turn her life was taking. But it hurt us both that we weren’t doing this together... and we both knew it.

After a heavy moment of silence, she said, “Well... I did buy one of those ovulation kits. The month I used it is the month I got pregnant.”

I remember going home after that trip. Ashley and her husband drove me halfway home and my husband drove me the rest of the way. As Mitch and I were driving home I told him “how” they conceived. So, literally, we bought an Ovulation Predictor Kit right away. No joke, we drove 3 hours, and before going home, went straight to the store to buy one. We went through a self checkout because I was so afraid someone we knew might see... and no one knew that I wanted to become pregnant... and I planned to keep it that way.

I was so hopeful for the first time in years. I actually remember one of the first days I was back home, I took a picture of myself in my dresser mirror. I had stuffed a second shirt under my top to see what I’d look like with a baby bump of my own. I know that sounds school-girlish, but I did it, and sent the picture to my best friend with the caption, “what do you think? How would I look?” She responded enthusiastically “I LOVE IT!!!!

(I’ll be honest... in writing this post I searched EVERYWHERE for that photo to insert here, but I couldn’t find it. I must have deleted it as time passed and I felt just as unsuccessful as before...)

The OPK was unfortunately really disappointing. I got a kit with like 12 tests. Maybe it was 10, but it was a lot. And I never got a positive. The last one was super faint maybe. That’s when I started to think maybe my body just didn’t ovulate. That month came and went with many tears and even more heartache. I just kept asking myself “What is wrong with me?”

After that I traveled to Ohio for a family get-together. I remember around that time having a particular dream. Looking back I feel like I had the dream in Ohio, but it may have been right before going. In the dream I was mom to a little boy. He was around 3 years old in the dream. And for all you reading who are thinking right now that it was somehow a prophetic dream, it was not. This little boy was light complected and had straight blonde hair (definitely not Emmanuel). It seemed like I had received him around the age he was at in the dream. A foster-to-adopt type situation. I had always known I wanted to adopt, but at that point I started really wanting a “child.” Not just a baby, but a little child. It was after that dream that I started pursuing different adoption avenues. I wanted to look more into how to foster/adopt.

Thinking back, I realize how little I knew or understood about adoption. The 30-year-old-me understands adoption so much more. I’ve had one successful adoption, one failed adoption (bit of a different kind), and am now pursuing yet another type of adoption. Back then, adoption was a dream and the idea of “so much money,” “so much paperwork” and “such a long wait.” It was overwhelming and I had such little understanding about how it all worked. I forget how much I understand about adoption until I realize how little other people know. This gives me a beautiful opportunity to educate, which I really enjoy doing now.

After the family get-together, I traveled back to Pennsylvania for a week to visit with Ashley. It was our last visit together before her daughter was born, and we just wanted to spend as much time together as possible. I was also in such a difficult place emotionally, that I found the most comfort in being with her.

​I was never jealous of Ashley. I was happy for her. I was excited to meet this little girl. But I also wished that I could be a part of it in a different way. She never accused me of being jealous, which I’ve always been thankful for. She knew I was hurting and she was sensitive to that. I tried to show her how happy I was for her, but it was hard. She didn’t talk about it much, because she didn’t want to hurt me, and I didn’t talk about it much because I was afraid that my pain would be so strong that my excitement would appear fake.

But thankfully we did talk about it. We talked about all of it. We talked about pregnancy and infertility together. They weren’t even really two separate conversations, we just lived side by side, we joyed in each other’s joys and hurt in each other’s pains. We empathized with one another to the nth degree. We always say that we are the best best friends... I still feel that way, especially when I think back on our deepest sorrows and greatest joys... especially when the two happened side by side.

I am one of those people who HATES vulnerability. Don’t get me wrong. I admire vulnerability in others. I crave vulnerability in others. I have found healing through vulnerability in others. I just hate being vulnerable myself. I don’t like showing emotion. I don’t like others seeing the raw painful parts of my life. I feel like I open myself up and expose my heart for the scrutiny and assumptions of others. And I don’t like that. Probably traces back to some childhood trauma... but whatever the deeper explanation, it’s really hard for me.

But a goal of mine for the 2019 year is to be better about writing on my blog. I struggle sometimes with content ideas. But this is a series I had already started, and I have set up to continue. I really feel like I shouldn’t have called the series “Bringing Home Emmanuel.” When I started it, it was so shortly after becoming a mom, that I felt like bringing home our son was the end of the story. But I realize now, 3 1/2 years later, that it is not the end. Infertility didn’t stop when my son was born... duh. I didn’t adopt because I was infertile... so why would my journey end with our first adoption? Obviously, it didn’t.

The Lord began a healing work in me before I even knew about my son. But that isn’t to say I don’t still have my “days.” They just don’t come as often or last as long. It’s not an all-the-time, everyday struggle. I can function much better than I could before. I have come a long way, but we still cannot have children biologically.... that part of the story has not changed.

The way the Lord heals a couple of infertility isn’t carbon copied. It doesn’t look the same for everyone. My healing didn’t result in pregnancy. My healing was totally in my heart, not in my body or my husband’s body. We often hear testimonies of “how God healed my infertility” and the climax of the story is those two lines on a pregnancy test. Those are beautiful stories, but that is not always the case, and that is ok. Just because you don’t get pregnant, doesn’t mean you cannot find healing.

So, this post isn’t exactly the next part in the series of “Bringing Home Emmanuel.” This is more a transition post. I feel like I should call the series something like, “My Journey to Motherhood” or something. I am still on that journey. As we are working on bringing more children into our home, old wounds are triggered and surface, but I have a different kind of hope now than I once did. So, “Bringing Home Emmanuel Part 13” will be continued in my next post titled, “My Journey to Motherhood Part 14”... same series, different title. This will be an on-going story that continues far beyond the birth and adoption of my first son.

So, stay tuned. My hope and prayer is that someone is encouraged through my story. That people will find healing in their own infertility journey. I also hope that more people would be encouraged to adopt and foster children through sharing my own experiences.