What is your, "why?"

 "Everyone has a reason for believing what they believe. What's yours?"

   Someone recently asked me why I believe the things I do. When you're raised a certain way - be that, catholic, Christian, muslim...etc. doesn't matter - it's hard to know whether your belief is your own, or simply as a result of having been taught that religion your entire life. For many, when we become an adult we start to wrestle with our religious identity. Who are we outside of how we were raised? Do we really believe the stuff we've been taught our whole lives? Then come the big questions. WHY do I think I believe this? Has there ever been a confirmation that this belief is real? I'm not here to try to change someone's mind, or to pound my belief into you. I am just here to share my story. This is my WHY.

  Growing up in a conservative Christian home, I was taught about God from a young age. My young mind tried to comprehend everything I was being taught. I didn't understand it all, but I knew that I wanted to know this God Who loved me to the point of sending His Son to die for me. I accepted Christ as my Savior at the age of 4. Just a typical American upbringing. But then, when I was 10, something happened that changed my entire outlook on my religion. I heard a sermon about spiritual warfare and how Christians in America tend to push it under the rug, and ignore that warfare is a reality in our lives. That night I asked God to reveal to me the spiritual battle in my life. Then came the dreams.

  I dreamt that I was standing in a dark pit under a dark dark moonless sky. In front of me was a haunted, deserted town. Behind me blank nothingness. To my right was a dark, hooded figure. I couldn't see his face but the evil that was pouring off of him, terrified me. I knew he was after me. As I knelt on the ground, covering my head to hide from the darkness and fear, there was suddenly a light to my left. When I looked up, Christ was standing there. He looked at me with His kind eyes, and He held out His hand and said, "Fear not, My child. I am with you."  As I reached for His hand, the shrieks of the demons subsided and the devil cowered back.  Waking from that dream, I had a knew awareness of the battle that I was facing ever day as a Christian; the battle over my very soul. It became like a 6th sense; this intuition when something wasn't right spiritually.

  As a teenager, I often babysat for a family whose house was haunted. I would hear footprints when nobody was there, and hear things that weren't actually happening. I felt something walk up behind me once, and breath down my neck. It fled upon hearing me pray the name of Jesus out loud. It was in this same house that I "saw" the enemy for the first time. My sister and I were babysitting overnight for this family, and I had been up and down all night because the "baby was crying, " (she was in fact, fast asleep. It was not her crying.) At one point, as I was walking down stairs, I felt a presence come up behind me. I heard it walk down the stairs behind me and pause in the doorway as I climbed into bed. As I turned to look, the entire doorway was filled with a darkness, as if there were a dark figure standing there. With the darkness came this bone deep chill and fear. I closed my eyes and prayed that Christ would be present. All at once, I felt a different presence take up a stance beside my bed. The fear was gone and I was able to sleep peacefully the rest of the night.

  All of these occurrences continued to confirm for me that there is a literal battle again darkness in the world, that Americans are ignoring. But the clincher for me was my trip to Africa. There is a whole different relationship between the spiritual and the physical in Africa. They both acknowledge and accept the spiritual as a reality. And as a result, the enemy is not shy there. The warfare is obvious. It is common. And it. Is. TERRIFYING.

  The enemy tried to get to me while I was in Zambia, but the Lord prevailed and my life was saved. But the enemy wasn't done. Upon my return from Africa, the heavy presence in my life increased to the point of chronic, traumatizing nightmares for years. At first, I chalked it up to ordinary fear. But then, the visits started. I would often wake from these nightmares to a dark presence in my room. The room would feel cold and unnaturally dark, with a sense of evil so thick you could almost feel it in the room. And then I'd see him. Sometimes standing in the corner, other times by my bed. Always watching. Always terrifying.  I would immediately start quoting scripture and praying aloud and the darkness would flee. One time, I woke to the feeling of something pulling at my blankets, upon waking, I saw the darkness launching itself at my bed. I shrieked the name of Jesus and it recoiled.

  I know many of you that are reading this, are probably thinking that I'm coo-coo. And that's fine. We live in a time and place where people don't want to acknowledge that such darkness and blatant attacks are possible. But for me, I've stood in the battle and have felt the very claws of evil reaching out for me. I have witnessed first hand, the reality of our battle, and the might and power of our God. The answer to my "Why?" is that I have see the enemy vanquished before me. Not by my might, but by the power and the name of Jesus. I prayed a prayer years ago to see the battle in my life, and I have lived the answer to that prayer.

  I may have been raised Christian, but my experience with the spiritual is what makes my faith real to me.
There is a spiritual realm at work in this world; a never ceasing battle around us for the souls of God's people. No matter how hard we try to ignore it; to hide it or downplay it. It's here and it's happened every day around us. The world tells us this is a lie. Our culture tells us it's an idea more than a reality. But my experience has proved it to be horrifyingly real. Our only hope in this midst of this battle, is that God Himself is here. He is real and He is powerful. And He is ready to fight our battle for us. " The battle belongs to the Lord."

  I have found my "why?." 

So now I ask you friends: what is your "why?"

" For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, 

but against principalities, against powers, 

against the rulers of the darkness of this world, 

against spiritual wickedness in high places." 

Ephesians 6:12

Joy in motherhood: 2023

 

  JOY. I see this word scattered across my house, tucked into the Christmas decor everywhere I look. A raging reminder of my need for joy. My lack of joy. My deep and utter longing to reclaim the lost joy in my life. To return once more to that gleeful, child-like woman I used to be, not too long ago.

    When they say that parenting changes you, nothing can prepare you for just how deeply and inexplicably, you change. When you hold your baby for the first time, your whole world changes. Nothing else matters but that tiny human. Before too long, you lose yourself in a wonderful world of hugs and diaper changes, and slimy hands that want to hold your unsuspecting face. You don't even see it coming, but suddenly, you don't recognize yourself anymore. You have lost your sense of self to this thing called motherhood. And I think- in it's own speciel way- that it's beautiful. Motherhood is supposed to redefine who we are and what we think we can do. It challenges the very essence of our strength and fortitude, stretching us to our breaking point. Yet somehow, we push past the fatigue and the emotions, and dig deep into the ocean of love that we have for our children. It's that very love that inspires us to get up each day and start again, faceing all the meltdowns and the tantrums, and the dirty diapers: to once again, find the joy and fulfillment that motherhood offers.

  When we find ourselves stuck in the rutt of exhaustion and negative emotions, it can be hard to redirect our minds. It can often feel menial and monotonous. But even on those days, one can find fleeting reminders of why we chose to be a mom in the first place. It's those small- seemingly insignificant- moments, that make us who we are as mothers. The love that we have for our children, and the joy that we feel in the fulfillment of our God given purpose, alters our very beings, as we morph into the mother our children need.


  The past couple months I've been in that rutt. Ever since Everett weaned, I've been struggling with finding joy and finding a new sense of purpose in who I am. I've been nursing and/or pregnant for nearly 4years. Even though I never particularly enjoyed nursing (rough nursers both times!), I loved that I was able to do that for my children. It made me feel like a successful, worthy mother. When Everett's nursing journey came to a fairly abrupt (and unpleasant) end, I felt like I had failed as a mother. It's been over a month now and I'm still struggling with that feeling of failure. I'm frustrated and sad, and frequently feel overwhelmed with life. All of which is robbing me of my joy.

  But God. God was not done yet. 

  God is not done working on my heart, or bettering me for my children. He has been speaking to my tired heart, whispering that it's time to find that joy again: HIS joy. "The joy of the Lord is my strength," shall be my song. My word for 2023 is: JOY. With the help of the Almighty, I want to retrain my mind to let go of this feeling of failure. My son is strong and healthy. That's all that matters. I want to focus on the joys of motherhood instead of the struggles. Motherhood IS a blessing. My children are GIFTS. I am choosing to walk through life accordingly, with that in mind. Keeping my eyes on the Lord, to live in JOY.

Our beginning

 

 I won't say it was love at first sight; I don't believe in such a thing. But what I do believe, is that ours was a God ordained love story. I believe that the night I met Dan, God told me he was the one. While it wasn't an audible, "this is your future husband!" kind of thing, it was an unexplainable and undeniable feeling that I had already known him my whole life. It sounds cliche, but he was the most familiar stranger I'd ever met.

  It was December 22, 2015. I had only just moved to Idaho 3 months before. My pastor and his wife were trying to help me meet some people my age so they threw a Christmas party for all the college age kids at church, and insisted that I come. Normally, I wouldn't go to such an advent while I was so new to the church, but I had an unshakable feeling that I needed to go to this one. I arrived 15 minutes late and as the pastor and his wife introduced me to everyone, the faces and names went by in a blur... until HIM. The quiet, muscular guy sitting in the corner. His soft smile gave me butterflies and instantly made me feel comfortable and secure. Somehow, he made me feel safe in a room full of strangers. This was a big deal for me.

  A couple years before, I had experienced a scary ordeal in Africa. The short version of a long story is that I has several frightening encounters with men while over there. While nothing happened physically, the trip left many emotional and mental scars that took years to overcome. By the time I met Dan, I had already come a long way, but I was still nervous and distrusting of men. So for this guy- whom I had only just met- to have such an impression on me was astonishing.

  As the evening wore on, we found ourselves thrown together time and time again. Conversation flowed easily and cocomfortably. We found that we had a lot of similarities. I had had other interests and "possibilities" before. But he was the first one that didn't feel forced or awkward. After that night, we didn't speak again until May 2016. But he was often on my mind. I found myself praying for him every night. Being creatures of habit, we often found ourselves sitting near one another at church. I'd smile and say hi; he'd give a sheepish smile and a nod. I often watched him when he was sitting in front of us. His attentiveness and scripture study during the sermon was impressive. As too, was the fact fact he sang along during worship. Anytime we passed each other in the halls or the (one) time I tried to approach him, he fled like a wild animal. Turns out, he was just as "curious" about me as I was him. But he too, was socially awkward and afraid to approach me.

  That May, my brothers and he became buddies and started hanging out. One Sunday after church, they found a way to break the ice and get us talking. As I approached the group, one of them swung his arms towards me and announced, "Here she is! 21, single and reeeaaady to miiiiingle!" Both brothers then abruptly left, leaving Dan and I suddenly alone. As we laughed off their joke, we started chatting. This led to weekly conversations after church until he eventually started following me home each week  to hang out; and the rest is history.

  Like I said before, Dan was not my first interest. He wasn't even the first guy to ask me out. Under normal circumstances, I probably never would've given our meeting a second thought. BUT GOD. God knew that Dan was exactly what I needed for this exact season of life. Dan inspired me and challenged me in ways no one ever had, nor had ever needed to. He came into my life right as I was starting to heal from that last trip to Africa, but right where he needed to be in order to help me fully heal.

  As our relationship progressed, my fears and anxieties started to pop up again. It quickly became apparent that getting close to a man subconsciously stirred up those past memories. The nightly nightmares became so bad that I wasn't sleeping and was barely eating. The closer we got to our wedding, the worse things got. Dan was the sweetest, most supportive boyfriend through all of this. He never once got upset when I was withdrawn, nor pushed me too hard. When things got bad he would simply sit in silence and hold me. Lending me his strength and support. He prayed with me and challenged me to pray for the men who had caused these fears.

  I remember sitting in the car crying that first time he asked me to pray for them. When I couldn't do it, he did. He held my hands as he prayed for the men who had chased me and grabed at me; the very men who haunted my dreams. A few months before our wedding, he gently called me out for my bitterness towards those men and led me to the Bible to help me let go of that. It was a long process, but over the course of our 6 month engagement, Dan helped me overcome all my fears and truly let go of that bitterness. He eventually enabled me to pray for those men with a genuine spirit of forgiveness.

  God put Dan in a position that one else had been able to step into, at just the right time in my life where I would be accepting of him and open to the help he offered. I truly believe that the first night we met, the Lord was already preparing my heart for the crazy journey that this man would take me on. Our love story may sound simple and unremarkable to other people, but to me, it was more life changing and transformative than I could ever say. This man; this- wild, reckless, mountain man- pulled at my heartstrings with the gentle guidance that the Lord had prepared him for. A man I trusted (still do) with my whole heart and soul, to let him close enough to share the burdens and struggles that few people knew of. He healed my heart and enabled me to finally be able to put the past behind me. That is how our story started: with redemption and healing. All because two socially awkward homeschoolers listened to the pulling of the Spirit, and went to that party that night in 2015. 

A mother's tears

 

Motherhood is beautifully hard. You share much laughter and tears with these tiny humans. You make memories - and mistakes- with them. And in them, you get to see yourself; the good parts and the bad.

  I look at Frasier and I miss that newborn baby with his fluffy hair and huge man hands. I miss the tiny tot, reaching those chubby arms up to "mama." All those late night snuggles after a bad dream. The list goes on.

  I realized the other day that I don't remember the

last time Frasier crawled into bed with me at night. It's been weeks. He no long crawls in with me for morning snuggles. He no longer calls for me to get him after a nap. He's growing up. He doesn't need me as often anymore. 

  And while I might not like it, it's life: he's going to grow up whether I like it or not. All I can do is embrace the new stages; the new memories. And hold my boy close, while I still can. One day, that sweet toddler of mine is going to be a man. But for now, he's still my little boy, and I don't want to miss a second of the time I've been given. 

How deep a Father's love

 

Here is a man who loves his children. Who serves and cares for his children with a selfless love: an unquenchable, unchanging love -no matter how his  children may act out or wrong him.

Last summer when we lost our (then) 2 year old, I was barely holding myself together by a thread. I kept thinking, "if anyone can find Frasier, it's Dan." Then, to watch the panic on Dan's face as he ran to a fro, searching and calling for our son; my heart shattered within me. Dan was usually so calm and logical, but here he was: freaking out and going through every worst case scenario. Later, as I snatched my son from his uncle's arms, I saw his father run up beside us. Through my own tears, I saw him drop to his knee with a look of utter relief and gratitude. I heard the deep sigh of relief as he saw that our son was safe.

  THIS is is the infinite love of a father. A love that drives a man to seek his child's well being and joy above all else. The kind of love that inspired a father to send His Son to the cross for His children.

  Imagine, if you will: God the Father has such a love for His children, that He bears the agonizing pain of separation as He sends His Son from Him. He is then forced to ignore the entreaties of His Son, as He inquires of a different route: one free of suffering. Knowing this path is the only one, the Father turns away, as the Son *willingly* goes to His death. Imagine the groan of utter pain and grief as He watches His Son endure the cross: a groan that darkened the sun and struck the earth with tremors. Then the roar of jubilation and relief when His Son rose that Easter morning, rattling the earth and shaking the graves open, as a Father rejoiced in His Son's return.

  This Father's love and ultimate sacrifice- that Son's willing death- was for YOU. You are the child that strayed; the child that was long sought after and grieved over. Today, the Father extends His love to you- reaching out with nail peirced hands to offer you hope: Will you hear His voice and accept His gift?? 

Everett's birth story

 

It's been 3 weeks and I'm still in awe at what my body accomplished, bringing my sweet babe into the world. Frasier's birth was traumatic and exhausting, leaving me in fear of ever giving birth again. Even now, 2 years later, I still look back at that experience with great disappointment, cringing as I remember the fear and the helplessness I felt. It took me over a year to heal enough to face the prospect of another birth, and by God's grace, Everett's birth was drastically different. This birth has left me feeling empowered and amazed by what the female body can do. I reflect on this birth with gratitude that God gave us such a healing experience, helping me let go of my fears.

  Other than the summer heat, Everett's pregnancy was smooth and comfortable. Thankfully, we both stayed strong and healthy the entire time. I loved feeling my active little guy rolling and playing inside, but it turned out that he was moving TOO much. Three weeks before his due date, my little guy rolled face up. A movement that turned out to be the first of 9 rotations that he would make over the next  2 weeks. From there, he flipped breech/head down 4x, followed by several turns face up/face down. After a stressful - and exhausting- couple weeks of nightly positioning contractions and multilple chiropractor visits, we finally got baby head down and engaged.

  A week before our due date, I stated experiencing stronger, more consistent contractions. I woke up at 1am on August 22nd, to my first painful contraction. As I lay in bed riding it out, I felt my water break. Dan called the midwife as I cleaned myself up and started preparing for labor. The midwife arrived at 2:45am and started prepping me for an IV- since my waters had broken and my group-B status was unknown. Upon checking me we found that I was only at 3cm so I went back to bed to get some sleep before things picked up.  Shortly after 6am, Dan took Frasier over over my parents house so that our house would be quiet for me.

  Another midwife arrived shortly after 7am to place an IV catheter in my arm. By this time I was between 4-5cm but contractions were consistently between 4-6min apart. I spent the morning alternating between pacing the backyard, squatting over my birth ball and resting. By 1pm, I had stalled at 5.5cm with a cervical lip. My midwife left to get lunch so that Dan and I could spend some time alone, while I continued walking the yard, climbing the stairs and doing lunges across the house to dissolve the lip.

  About 3pm I decided I was ready for my mom to come over, as things were starting to pick up. By the time the midwives got back I was going thru transition. The lip was gone, but baby had bounced back up, so we started doing some positioning techniques to bring him back down and align him correctly. By 5pm I was in active labor and could no longer sleep or talk thru the contractions. I spent the next several hours resting with the peanut ball between my balls and sitting on my birthing ball in the shower. Through this whole time, Dan was my biggest supporter and encouragement; holding my hands and letting me lean on him during contractions. Around 9pm, as I was sitting in the shower I had my first "pushy" contraction. I caught a look of panic on Dan's face as he watched my belly; "That one was different wasn't it??" He rushed out to tell the midwife we were getting close. Dan started heating the birthing pool as my mom helped me into my swim top. I was now at 8.5cm but contractions had spaced to 6-10min apart, so I  spent the remaining hours resting between contractions, while floating my belly in the water during them. A little after 10:30 I felt my inner water bag break and instantly had the urge to push. After 3-4 pushes, I could feel his head. The midwife team kept telling me to look down so I would see him, but I was too scared. I had done this at Frasier's birth 2hrs into pushing but seeing how little of his head was out,  had set me back mentally. After several minutes, of coaxing, Dan quietly grabbed my hand and moved it down to touch Everett's head. Upon feeling his hair, I finally opened opened eyes and looked down. Half of his head was out! I could see a mass of blonde hair floating in the water. It was amazing and surreal. Seeing how close he was to coming out gave me the mental strength I needed. With the next contraction I decided it was done- he was coming out NOW. I took a deep breath and pushed harder than I had ever pushed before. I felt a rush of relief as his head popped out; another breath and his body shot out.

  My beautiful boy was born at 11:17 on August 23rd, after 22hrs of labor. He was born with a triple cord wrap around his neck. My midwife quickly unwrapped him and placed him on my chest. As tears of joy and relief rolled down my face, the midwife team rushed to clear his lungs and get him breathing. After delivering the planceta, I was moved to the couch where the team continued to work on Everett, who was struggling to breath. A few pumps of oxygen and some hard back rubs and he finally let out a big wail, clearing his lungs.

  I was left to snuggle my boy while the team started cleaning up. As I gazed at this blue eyed, blonde boy I was filled with a deep love and gratitude that this beautiful baby had made it safely thru his pregnancy and delivery. I had harbored much fear and anxiety the duration of the pregnancy, that something was gonna go wrong and my boy wouldn't make it. So to sit there and finally be holding him- my strong and healthy boy- was the deepest relief and joy.

  A while later, Everett was passed to Dan so that I could be stitched up. Amazingly, none of my original scars had torn. I had but one insignificant tear that required just 2 stitches. Another answer to prayer. The team finished cleaning up, settled me and Everett in bed and headed home. We had been up for 25hrs, but laying there with a healthy baby, it was all worth it. Every single prayer and need in regards to the labor and delivery had been answered before we even knew there was going to be a need. I am overwhelmingly thankful that God worked everything out and gave me the healing and beautiful birth I had prayed for.

  This tiny boy whose name literally means, "bold and strong walker," is indeed just that: bold and strong. Despite having a prolonged labor with a triple cord wrap, his heartrate barely faltered the entire time. He was calm and strong and never had an issue. He is going to need that strength and boldness to live in the world he's going to grow up in. I pray that his name would be the definition of his character; that he would walk boldly and strongly in the Lord, never faltering. I pray that the Lord would continue to be with him the way he was during birth and that Everett would one day "see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living." 

      ~*~*~

Everett Walker Carr

8lbs. 1oz

20 3/4in long 

August 23rd, 2021 11:17pm 

❤ ❤ ❤

Frasier's journey

  On Monday, September 27th I was faced with every mother's worst nightmare: my son was missing. As if from a far off distance, I heard the officer ask for a description of Frasier.  I stood there in a daze, somehow answering his questions with a strange calm about me. All the while, my mind was reeling with the "what if's" and mom guilt.

   What started as an ordinary Monday took a turn for the worst around noon. 2 year old Frasier had been playing outside with his cousins while I sat inside with the baby. I kept a close eye out the window, but when I lost sight of him and his 11 year old uncle told me he was in the barn, I didn't think anything of it. It wasn't until 20 minutes had passed and I still hadn't seen him come out, that I started to worry. I popped out the door and started calling for him. When I didn't get an answer I went down to check the barn: he wasn't in there. A quick search of the property showed he wasn't on the premises.

   I felt a growing sense of dread as my mom and sisters joined the search, trying to ignore the fear creeping up inside me. "He's probably just over the hill at the apple tree," I kept thinking. But he wasn't there. The tears started falling as fears of mountain lions and other doom crept into my mind. In a panic I ran through the draw as fast as I could, screaming his name. My sisters- on horseback- went in opposite directions, Dan was called from work and in sheer desperation, 911 was called.

   While we waited for the cops to show up, more siblings, friends and neighbors poured in the help search. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he wasn't near the property, which led to darker fears. By now, Dan and I were starting to fear we would never see our sweet boy again. Sick with fear and grief, I begged God to save my boy. I'd do anything to have him safe in my arms again. 

   After an hour of searching, a cry went out that he'd been found. The following 10 minutes were the longest of my life as we waited with fearful anticipation for my brother to come back with him: was he alive? Hurt? Unconscious? So many questions. Finally, we spotted them as they appeared on the skyline above the property: he was alive. I wept with joy as I ran towards them. Shaking with relief, I grabbed my boy from Shadd's arms. I stood there weeping as I thanked God over and over for giving me another chance with Frasier.

   As things settled down, we got the details from Shadd. Frasier was found nearly a mile and a half from the house, hiding under a bush crying for mom. My sister's goldendoodle had gone with him and was standing guard over him, barking. It was her constant barking that led Shadd to them. Frasier was thirsty and tired and very scared, but unharmed. How he made it that far or what made him wander, we'll never know. And I don't need to know. All I know is that God answered our prayers in mighty ways, protecting Frasier while he was out there and guiding Shadd to him.

   I will forever be grateful that God answered our prayers that way. Each day with my sons is a gift, but now I have a greater appreciation for the time that we are given with them. Mothering is hard work. It's emotional and stressful and tiring. But it is truly one of the greatest gifts God has given women. Motherhood is a responsibility that should not be taken lightly. We are never guaranteed more time with our children, so make the most of that time. Savor every precious moment and never forget to remind your children of how much they are loved- not only by you, but the One Who knew them and loved them long before you did.