SEASON'S GREETINGS FROM OUR HOME TO YOURS!

Happy Boxing Day to all our Canadian family! As I am sitting here enjoying my coffee in bed while my puppy snuggles into my legs I couldn't help but think of ol' Clement Moore.... So, with a nod to Mr. Moore, may we send you our belated Christmas greetings from the Foskett Fam!

Twas the day after Christmas
And all through the house
not a creature was stirring
not even a mouse

the presents were opened
the tree base was bare
the stockings still hung
but nothing was there

The ham it was cooked
and the chex mix was ate
The bellies were full
and the kids stayed up late

Mom's still in her jammies
and dad's dressed and gone (for breakfast with his men's group)
Little brother's up and already outside
While the teen still sleeps, all worries aside

The peace of Christmas
still lingers and folds
The family and friends
who with loving hearts we hold

May you always have joy
May Christmas not cease
When the baby in the manger
fills your life with His peace

Because he is born
we too can be free
from the fear and the dread
This world tends to see

From our quiet home
to your humble abode
May you always know
Love for you from our hearts overflows

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from Scott, Trayc, Caleb, Micah and Rascal Flatts Foskett!

Melancholy MOMent

I've been blowing up my Facebook page with pictures of my youngest son because today is his 12th birthday. Instead of annoying my friends even more I thought I'd take to my blog (which has not seen my fingers in QUITE some time) and share my heart during this melancholy MOMent.

I've spoken about motherhood to a few different groups of Moms, and I share this story each time. It's not one I'm "proud" of, per se, but it is one I think is relate-able to many moms. You see, I believe we have an issue in this world ~ it's a pre-conceived notion that if you're a Mom then you have always wanted to be a mom, always loved your kids to the moon and back, and never been disappointed by anything motherhood-related. Because of this belief many moms feel alone and ashamed of who they are and how they may be feeling *for a time.* (I want to emphasize that, because if these feelings are not momentary and you're not able to get through them to a better place you don't need to be reading a blog, you need to be getting help. Depression is a very real thing, and depression in moms is not something to scoff at or poo-poo away.) I share this story with the people I'm talking to, but have not shared it with my son. I won't share it with him until I know the time is right to share it in such a way that he will understand the *entire* picture and not get caught up in the minutia of one aspect. I'm taking a risk sharing it here, but today, on his 12th birthday, I sense that it needs to be shared.....maybe because of how good things have become in spite of what I'm about to share. Who knows. Maybe I just need to be humbled and remember from where I come. Whatever the reason, here goes.

When I was pregnant with Scott's & My second child I was convinced...CONVINCED...that I was pregnant with a girl. I had placed a daughter for adoption and desperately wanted a little girl in my arms to play dress up with, play dollies with and enjoy the frilly-ness of a little girl in my life. This isn't why I was convinced I was carrying a girl ~ I just really felt like everything was pointing to this being a baby of the female gene pool growing in my womb. We talked about names...decided on Megan...at least, I decided on Megan. Scott decided on Meghan. Maybe we could do first and middle names "Megan Meghan." No. We decided on the name, but couldn't decide on the spelling, and, as seen by my name, spelling matters to us. (My parents STILL say my name "Tracy" when they say it...I can hear it in their voices. :) ) There was no question on a boy's name. It would be Micah. We had no need, however, for a boy's name because I was carrying Megan.

We went in for our ultrasound that would tell us what we were having, and I was so stinkin' sure that I didn't even really worry. Until I saw this stick in the picture. Wait. What is that?  Why does my little girl have a pee-pee between her legs? What is wrong here? All these thoughts were racing through my head and as the ultrasound tech said, "and here we see the fact that you are having a boy. congratulations!" I kept my smile plastered on my face and tried not to let anyone see the disappointment that enveloped my entire spirit. Tears leaked, though, and anyone who knows me knows I'm horrible about having a poker face. I tried so hard. I focused on the fact that he had 10 fingers, 10 toes, and was completely and utterly healthy. I told myself that I was such a selfish, foolish woman for being upset over a healthy baby not being what I wanted. I looked at Scott's smile and knew what I was feeling was the stupidest thing in the world to be feeling and I needed to get it together. I held it together and smiled and talked about how precious he was and what a gift life was...and said thankyouverymuchmayIgopeenow? to the tech. (anyone who has had an ultrasound understands what I mean, right?)

Scott & I got to the car and I don't think I made it very far at all until I was bawling like the baby inside me would do so often in his first year of life. HARD. Not because I was abused. Not because I was unloved. Not because my baby would have a life ahead of it that would be filled with hospital visits and medical procedures, but for the pure and simple fact that I didn't get my way. I was heartbroken over the idea that God didn't want me to have a little girl. Heartbroken and afraid that maybe God didn't really mean He'd give us the desires of our hearts if we loved Him with everything we had. Scared to death that I would now be the mother of two boys...knowing a tubal ligation would also have to be performed during the scheduled c-section due to how hard pregnancy is on my body...and there was no further chance of having a little girl of my own.

It took more than a few minutes in the car ride home to compose myself. In fact, Scott & I drove around for quite awhile and ended up at the Simpson College campus where I proceeded to bawl and weep for another 2 1/2 hours. Looking back on it I realize it wasn't just about whether Megan was now a Micah, but it was the loss of so many dreams and hopes. And, in a way, it was a repeat grief of a mother needing to let go once again of her daughter's hand. I knew that feeling, and even today as I write this I am washed again in the tears that never go away. (that's a topic I've shared previously about. If you think adoption is just another horrible way of making an unplanned pregnancy "bad" you need to go back and read some of my other posts. I won't be getting into it here....) That day, however, all I knew was that I wouldn't be holding a little girl in 3 months, and my heart didn't know what to do but grieve.

It is because of my hope and faith in The One True God, Jesus Christ,  that I was able to carry on. I firmly believe God is before all things, and in Him all things hold together. There's a popular worship song out now that I love so much...all except one line. The song is "Your Love Never Fails" by Jesus Culture, and the lyrics are as follows: It's a beautiful song with beautiful, hope-filled lyrics that remind me God's love truly never fails. The problem is that line at the end. We believe all too often a lie about what working all things together for my good means. (when we sing this song in church I never sing "my". I sing "you work, all things together fo-or good." It's much more true to the Bible verse it's based on.) We think it means we get everything we wanted. We think it means God will never make us suffer to the point of not being able to hang on to our wit's end. We think it means that as Christians we won't really have to go through hell or high water because He'll work it all out for my good and my good means that I'll be happy and blessed all the time.

Except when we're not.

Because there will be plenty of times we aren't.

Plen-ty.

Like, LOTS.

Simply because we live in a world where life isn't happy and blessed all the time. Sickness happens. Cancer sucks, and people hurt people. Freak accidents take lives away in a moment of joy and joy turns to mourning. Countries decide that they don't like some other country so they decide to blow up things in that country and wars start. Life. Is. Not. Happy. and Blessed all the time! And God is working all things together for HIS good...and that includes us if we are in Him, but it does not mean He's going to work it all out so I'm happy.

It was knowing this ~ understanding that there IS a grand scheme of things and I am not the center of that ~ that allowed me to come to grips with the fact, FACT, that there is hope in this situation. Megan wasn't supposed to be and Micah was. Evidently the world needs a Micah, and not another Megan. Did I mention, he had 10 toes, 10 fingers and a healthy body? He was perfect in every way a doctor says a baby is perfect. So I needed to get a grip and suck it up, buttercup.

Over the next 3 months I spent a lot of time praying. A LOT of time praying. I had plenty of time, so why not? CJ played happily and wasn't your typical terrible two-er (God DOES have mercy. He KNEW who I was carrying! ...any of you who know Micah personally know what I mean, too!), and Scott was traveling from Monday to Friday each week. I had plenty of time to lay, exhausted, on my couch and watch my stomach look like something out of the Exorcist and pray that somehow I would fall in love with this creature tearing me apart inside. I mean, he was obviously going to set the world on fire because I swore he had sticks in there and was playing drums! So I prayed.

And Prayed.

and Prayed.

I want to say I did *not* pray God would somehow indent the pee-pee and make Micah a Megan, but I will say I didn't pray it *often.* Comprende vous?

I also want to say that miraculously my heart changed and I started looking forward to the day the doctors would slice me open again and pull this monkey from my womb. Like most times we *want* to say something, we know we can't. I looked forward to the day the circus was taken out of me, but remained hesitant about the final outcome.

The day arrived, however. (Isn't it weird how that works? Time passes? :) ) Scott and I headed to the hospital and in an uneventful turn of events Micah joined the outside world.

With what we would come to call "True Micah Fashion."

LOUDLY.

He wriggled and squirmed and writhed his way all over the doctor's hands, and let us all know he was here and he was ready to party.

When they brought him to me after I recovered and he was cleaned up and happy (somewhat), I looked down into the face of....that little man from The Princess Bride. I held in my arms, Vizzini. There really was only one thing to say. "Inconceivable." (with a lisp, of course) God has a real sense of humor, you know. Here I was, fighting to embrace the lack of female off-spring living in my home, and he gives me "inconceivable" man? Wow. Thanks, God. Thanks ever so much...but, please, don't let me keep my heart from him. I want to love him like I want to be loved. I want to WANT to be his mom. Help me, Lord, to love this little man for everything he is and not worry about what he's not. You are before all things, and IN YOU all things hold together. Hold me together, Lord.

The first two years of Micah's life were hard to say the least. He is a loud and boisterous 12 year old who is moving, talking and living out loud from head up to head down. Without being able to do so on his own two feet he expected the same of me. I don't do full-bore days much anymore, and he plum wore me out. When he was 4 weeks old I received phone call from my parents that my Grandma had passed away. I wasn't able to attend her funeral, and I felt like there was grief upon grief upon grief being laid on me.

I remember going through the Beth Moore Bible Study, "Breaking Free" with our women's group at church and one day asking, when at the absolute end of my rope with wonderment of how I was possibly going to make it through these years of motherhood I asked, "how do you get there?" I looked around the circle of women all in later stages of child-rearing and wanted hope that this wasn't going to be all there was to being the mom of this little guy. The words, "this, too, shall pass" are words I no longer share with anyone going through a time of trials. They are not words of hope in the midst of pain. They are words of dismissal, and they hurt worse than a cut. My faith shrank a little that day.

We moved when Micah was 1 year old. Exactly. On his birthday the truck pulled out and we moved to a new location. Where there were no family members....or anyone else we knew. Micah was now walking and running...crawling was approximately 1 month long and then he began to run marathons. Scott continued to travel and I joined a MOMS group at our church. Thank You, LORD, for New Heights MOMS!

About a year after we had been living here I sat on the bottom steps of our staircase and cried. I was exhausted. Spiritually, Emotionally, Physically. I was empty. I cried out in my spirit to God. The Bible says that when you don't know what to say ask the Holy Spirit to intercede for you and He will speak your heart's desires to the Throne. It was all I knew how to do. Then I heard something that I have asked myself again and again and again over the years.

"My love. Oh, how I love you. I know you love me, but I have a question for you. What if *this* is your life? What if this is all there ever is? What if things never change? Will *I* be enough for you?"

That night I walked into the nursery where my sleeping monkey danced in his sleep and I watched him. A friend had shared that bit of advice when I was pregnant with CJ and it was the best advice ever ~ when they're driving you nuts, wait until they're asleep and then go take in the beauty of a sleeping angel. It changes everything. Micah slept. With his arms flung over his head in abandon and a smile on his face, he slept. I realized in that moment that my prayers were being answered...I did love this little boy with my whole heart. I did love this inconceivable little man. God is truly a God of miracles. God is really enough. He gives us what we need...not because we deserve it, but because He loves us and knows the entire scope and sequence of our lives. He knows what "our good" really is.

Micah is today a joy. Really. He loves people. He loves life. He loves baseball and his laugh, his hugs, his determination are all bigger than life itself. So is his stubborn streak, but disciplined stubbornness is the thing of champions, so that's okay....most days. Discipline still happens.

I share this because I know there are moms out there, or maybe even dads or siblings, who just.don't.like what they're given. I found this out when I was a table leader at our MOMS group and a young mom sat with the same look on her face I held on mine whenever anyone oohed and aahed over my brand new Micah. I went to her and told her this story and we cried together. Tears of relief and hope and knowledge that this is not the end-all-be-all, and God really is enough even if it is. Earlier I said that joy turns to mourning, but the Bible says (and it's a line from the song I referenced, too) "there may be pain in the night, but joy comes in morning."

It's true.

Joy, like sunshine in a Pacific Northwest weather break, comes. Sometimes it stays, and sometimes it gets burdened with the rain of life, but it comes.

Thank you for allowing me to share my heart. I love my crazy monkey, Bam-Bam or PigPen or TacoBoy or whatever else we decide to call him. I love him like crazy, and on this day 12 years ago I didn't think that would be possible. Today, I want to celebrate the goodness of God's mercy! Happy Birthday, Micah!

WRITING CHALLENGE DAY 2

Following is a short story I was to write for today's writing challenge. Today's challenge was to write a short story about someone taking a trip...

COME SAIL AWAY

(A SHORT STORY BY TRAYC FOSKETT FOR THE 7-DAY WRITING CHALLENGE ~ DAY 2)

You’re kidding, right?

You HAVE to be kidding!

WHAT do you want us to do?

My best friends, Miranda, Melody and Susan couldn’t believe what I was asking them to do. No. Scratch that. They wouldn’t believe I, the stable and serious Samantha, was actually taking a trip I had dreamt of taking my entire life and asking them to come with me.

To be honest, I couldn’t really believe it, either. I mean, when you spend most of your days looking for ways to save your company money and are constantly aware of how expensive things are you’re not the best candidate to plop down a chunk of change on a frivolous trip like a 21-day cruise to the Western Mediterranean. Every day I can be found in my cubicle looking at expense reports from James & Company’s massive sales force analyzing everything from the type of hotel they stay at on business trips to how much of their entertainment budget is truly necessary. If they order 3 glasses of wine with dinner I give them a red mark and send a wonderfully worded letter of warning insisting that next time they can stick to two glasses or find a new employer. When I’m at home I am usually looking for ways to cut expenses, too. I cut my cable bill by half last year, and who needs a home phone and a cell phone? Thankyaverymuch I saved big bucks just going mobile. I guess you could say I am frugal to a fault.

So why on earth would I spend thousands of dollars on a trip that wasn’t only uber expensive but also took me away from my source of income for three weeks? Probably because of what happened last Wednesday on my way to work.

Last Tuesday night my friends and I went out to celebrate Janice’s birthday. She was turning 29 and we wanted to celebrate the last year of her Terrific Twenties in style so we had all gotten together and had an old-school slumber party. I know, you’re thinking, “on a work night?!” YES! We decided to not wait until the weekend because when we were girls the best possible gift our parents could give us was to have our girlfriends over for a slumber party on a school night. Of course, that never happened, so we took matters into our own hands and had a slumber party on a work night. Thankfully we all have understanding bosses who won’t get too stern with us when we’re all yawning all day on the job.

It was a great party. We watched chick flicks, ate pizza and popcorn and made chocolate chip cookies. Okay, we made chocolate chip cookie *dough.* It’s not our fault those little balls of dough never quite made it into the oven! We laughed and talked and giggled like teenagers into the wee hours of the morning. When we finally fell asleep it was with smiles on our faces and the understanding that we had the best friends ever.

Wednesday morning we all got up and got ready for work. We were tired, but coffee and laughter helped us all. Since a few of the girls all worked in the same area of town they decided to carpool in together. I said my goodbyes, gave hugs and thanked them all for a great time before heading off in the opposite direction to the subway station.

When I got on the subway I ended up sitting next to an elderly woman who commented on how nice it was to see someone smiling so brightly in the morning. I smiled a bit wider and shared with her why I was smiling so much. We began to talk about friends, then, and something she said to me walked into my mind and started swaying to a melody I couldn’t stop hearing.

She was seventy-six years old and was returning to the city from visiting some of her best girlfriends who had moved away. They weren’t celebrating a birthday, but rather a death. One of the girls had recently passed away and to honor her memory they decided to get together for a girlfriend’s weekend. As she spoke of the years their lives had intertwined I was completely absorbed in the beauty of what she was saying. They’d been childhood friends and had grown up together sharing in the joys and sorrows of life over the years. They’d vacationed together with their respective families (never anything too fancy, mostly camping), and traveled to each other’s current cities to attend graduations, weddings, grandchild baptisms, and other big life events. One thing they had always wanted to do was to take a cruise together. Not just a week-long cruise or even a 21-day cruise, but to get on a ship and travel all the way around the world together. Now, though, her friend had passed away and the opportunity to ever do something like that would never be possible again. “Now,” she said, “I would give anything to have Phyllis back with us so we could take even that three week cruise of the Mediterranean that had started us all dreaming all those years ago. I’d give anything to have that chance. Life is just too short.”

I began to embrace the idea of a trip like that with my girlfriends. A trip when we were all still young and single and had every opportunity to take on that famous tag line, “Just do it!”

When I got to work I jumped into my tasks, but in the back of my mind was a part of a song I remembered my Mom singing when we’d drive over the bridge in my hometown and see the sailboats on the water. “Come sail away. Come sail away. Come sail away with me.” Pretty soon I was humming it as I crunched numbers, and by lunch time I was in full “I want to go on a cruise” mode. So I did what any good number cruncher would do.  I Googled “21-day cruises.” One of the movies we had watched the night before was “Roman Holiday” with Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck. We had all exclaimed over how great it would be to take a holiday to Rome, so of course the Mediterranean was our pick. I found a great deal…and the deal was done!

 At dinner that night I dropped the big question. I shared about Florence on the subway and the tears in her eyes as she shared her story with me. I told them all how much they meant to me and that I didn’t want to get to the place when we would have another slumber party to honor the life of one of them (or of me) only to regret not having taken that one big trip.

They may think I’m crazy asking them to take a cruise with me, but it didn’t take long for each of them to pull out their smartphones and look at the site with me.

We’ll be pulling out of port in T minus 60 days. 

All of me...the WHOLE me!

On February 7th I embarked on a new journey. I had been following some friends of mine last Fall when they embarked on the same journey and had the opportunity in mid-January to meet one of them for coffee at her house. I knew what the premise was of the journey. Understood the sacrifice it would mean. I did not, however, imagine how great the results would be!

Last Fall, October of 2012, was the first time I'd heard of "The Whole 30." It is an eating plan ~ a life change ~ that focuses on not only "healthy" eating, but "eating healthy food." There's a difference. Really. There is. It's like driving and riding...one is an action, the other is a passive action. To eat healthy you are aware of foods you're putting in your body. To eat healthy food you are not only aware of foods you're putting in your body, but also of the chemical makeup...the affect that food has on your body's makeup...the hormonal effects, etc of the foods you are putting in your body.

In the book "It Starts with Food" (ISWF) by Dallas & Melissa Hartwig I read things about food, information about my body and my life, that I thought I knew but really knew nothing about. It literally changed my mind about food. It also changed my mind about me, but we'll get to that later. On page 25 of the book they say, "We care about what is making us, here and now, more or less healthy." That was my first highlight. Many, MANY more have followed.

I had been eating a relatively "fine" kind of diet. I enjoyed a Diet Dr. Pepper every once in a while. I Thoroughly enjoyed my Salted Caramel Mocha creamer in my 1-2 (or sometimes more) cups of coffee each day. I ate healthy breakfast cereals and healthy sandwiches (ie: veggie sandwiches with no mayo), and I ate salads sans dressing because I wanted to enjoy the taste of my food and dressings were heavy (no matter what kind I used). I snacked on rice crackers and hummus and only indulged in french fries once in a great while...when I'd dip them in mayo. :) Yes, I know. I said I was following a *relatively* healthy diet. I did indulge, but not very often. Dark chocolate was my choice over milk or white chocolate, and Fro-Yo was my choice of frozen dessert while going easy on the Yo and heavy on the fruit toppings. Bread was whole wheat or pitas and on Fridays I thoroughly enjoyed eating Cheesy Pizza Bread from Little Caesars.

I was, however, at the least 50 pounds overweight and at the most 60 pounds over weight. I didn't "feel" fat, but I did look fat and it especially showed itself in my swollen fingers and face as well as a fat abdomen I couldn't get rid of and was the sure insignia of the foods I was eating. I knew, somehow, that when I pushed on my belly and I felt the muscles under a too thick, but.. not as thick a layer of fat as it would appear, that something was going on *underneath* my fat that was the source of the problem. I don't know that what I just said makes any sense other than to say I knew it wasn't just a "fat" problem.

In my early years I was never overweight. My mom used to get so frustrated because she had to pay the extra $2.00 for "slim" jeans because regular jeans in my size were too big and the size smaller was too short. I always had a poochy tummy, though, and even at 110 pounds and 5'1" my tummy was evident. I had no idea why ~ back then I thought I simply had to do more sit-ups and crunches. That would slim me down, but my tummy still stuck out...and that bothered me. Add three births to that body and about 7 years of real hormonal struggles after going cold turkey on an anti-depressant when I found out I was pregnant with the last one, and my lifestyle and choices were definitely showing in my outer appearance.

So come back to last October. My foodie friends ~ the ones God has blessed my life with to get me thinking about food in a different way than I was raised ~ invited me to join a group of them on Facebook who would be going through the Whole 30 during the month of October. I knew I wasn't ready (they were, too, but they're sneaky, those God-given friends! ;-) ) and they invited me and a few others to just go ahead and "lurk" while they went through it. I have to be honest here...(Amy, Marlene, Ronda...I apologize beforehand, but you know I love you deeply!)...many times my thoughts about what they were doing were more on the scoffing side than the encouraging side. I thought they were nuts! Seriously!! WHO, in their right mind, would give up sugar in the month of sugar ~ October ~ that would then lead in to the Season of Sugar ~ November and December??? Ding dongs!! Oh, and they gave up legumes and dairy, too. He-lllooooooo! I understood the giving up of grains (I have two cousins who have been diagnosed with Celiac and have gluten issues myself), but that included RICE? Whatevs. This made no sense to me.

Then they started talking about how good they felt.

And they started saying how amazed they were at the differences in their bodies and minds.

And I started paying attention to the recipes they were posting on the page and I have to admit that when I see "shrimp" and "bacon" in a recipe my foodie antennae go up. Add "Coconut milk" and "coconut oil" and I imagine myself in tropical heaven.

Fast forward to January when I met with my friend, Ronda, at her house. She opened the door and I could not believe how great she looked! She always looked good, but this time she looked really healthy and, well, for lack of another word, contentedly well-nourished. We chatted about different things for a bit and then I asked her about this "Whole 30 thing." It was as if I'd pushed the "theater" button in her. The excitement that came into her voice was contagious. She answered my questions about having to give up this or that (things other "low carb/high protein" diets require) and she'd say, "no, you don't have to give up that ~ if it weren't for such and such I couldn't have done it, either" (with proper grammar because she's an English teacher. HA!)

I left her house really intrigued by this "Whole 30 Thing." (that's what I called it then...now I call it "THE Whole 30!") I knew I was having trouble focusing my mind and putting thoughts together. No matter what time I went to bed I could not get going in the morning without my coffee (and then after hitting the snooze for a minimum of 45 minutes!), and no matter how hard I worked out I seriously could not lose the weight in my belly and the swollen fingers and face. I knew something needed to change in my life.

Here's the kicker, though. I knew GOD was calling me to fulfill His Plan in my life, and I didn't think KNEW I couldn't do that in the state I was in. In a very real way I knew I was sinning in my life by not paying attention to what I was doing to my body. I was fat, but not out of shape. I was fighting depression, but a joyful person. I was eating relatively healthy, but not healthy at all. I was NOT the person God had created me to be. All the other stuff? It mattered. I like looking good. I like being energetic and spontaneous. I like being able to sing and play and be active. It mattered, but it wasn't enough to change my life. Just because I like something doesn't mean I'm willing to give up other things I like to have it. (evident throughout my life by my finances, but that's another blog for another time...)

Ronda had lent me her kindle edition of ISWF and after the 1st chapter I had purchased my own copy for my Nook. I knew I'd want to share this with my husband after I'd read it. After going through and reading about the affects of food on our bodies page 35's highlight said this, "We're here to tell you: IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT. You are not lacking willpower. You are not lazy. And it's not your fault you can't stop eating these foods." They go on to explain they're not saying we don't have responsibility in our choices, but because of the chemical makeup of the foods we ingest they make it hard to resist. I knew that on a cerebral level. I knew that when I craved white cake with the thickest buttercream frosting and I HAD. TO. HAVE. it....SOOOOON! that I was responding to the food and not the need, but, like any other hold in life, I didn't know the why of not being able to resist it. Thanks to Mr. & Mrs. Hartwig I began to unravel what was making up my dietary life.

It was because I read the book (and continue to read, I have't finished it yet because there is thought provoking information on it's pages), that I had no problem giving up Dairy, Legumes, Sugar and Grains. It wasn't a "piece of cake" if you'll pardon the pun, but seeing my *REAL* fingers the size they're supposed to be and seeing the almost immediate change in my face (that *I* could see and I knew others couldn't yet) I was hooked. I eat real food. I eat shrimp with peppers and zucchini and shallots and coconut milk with turmeric and cilantro. I eat eggs and sausage (not just any sausage ~ good for me sausage!) with my coffee con coconut creamer for breakfast in the morning. I have almonds and bananas and clementine cuties as snacks. After trying them and hating them last Spring I have discovered that Larabars are amazingly delicious and filling!!! I ate "Beet Chips" (like potato chips but made out of beets) yesterday and I thought, "this is what beets were made for!" I went to the beach with my family and our friends and while they ate ice cream I was completely content to eat blueberries with coconut milk "whipped cream" on them. There has been no deprivation, no feelings of "aw, I can't have that so I'm just going to give up," and definitely have not missed what I was living with 22 days ago!

Now, before you think I've been super good and never cheated, let me tell you about last Saturday. CJ, my oldest son, had his last basketball game of the season and afterward his coaches had white cake with thick buttercream frosting for the team. (Can you guess what my "kryptonite" is? UGH.) I had woken up that morning energized and refreshed (another great side-effect) but was tired of having to *cook* all the time. I was feeling like I wanted to be lazy...I just wanted to run through a drive through and get a coffee instead of having to get it at home, etc. Basically, I was having a pity party for my pitiful self. I was also feeling like this life-change (this has never been a "diet" for me...it's a change I'm making in my *life*) wasn't really making that big of a difference in me. So, of course, I gave in to a finger-full of frosting off CJ's piece of cake and then I had what was, quite literally, a  piece of cake the size of a domino. Not the size as in width, but size as in if you were to lay a domino beside it they would be the same size.

O. M. GOODNESS!!!

I was not expecting a reaction.

I felt an immediate headache coming on, my stomach was roiling all around like I had the flu, and my tongue felt like there was a layer of plastic covering it that I couldn't get rid of. I was amazed. OH. And my fingers immediately swelled up. I couldn't remove my rings. Hmmmmm....think there's something to this? Imma thinkin' so.

So here I am on the final countdown to the finality of The Whole 30. I am, as have been many others before me, entering this week with trepidation. I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I may decide to continue it until Easter (do the whole Lenten sacrifice until then). I may decide to just continue following it with less rigidity in the plan. I honestly don't know what I'm going to do. I do, know, however, that I am REALLY glad ~ completely thankful ~ that God brought Dallas & Melissa Hartwig into my life through my friends and their website, Whole 9 Life.

One other thing I'm looking forward to? Weighing in and taking my 30 day measurements. I know I've had to go down 5 notches on my belt and I've lost at least one size already, but I can't wait to see what the numbers say!

Oh. One other thing I'm looking forward to? Seeing what God's going to do with this life I've given to Him and am now working at getting ready to fulfill His Plan in it. He's already opened a couple doors I am  amazed by, and He's showing me what my next steps in the business side of life are shaping up for. I am really excited to see what He's got in line for a life obedient not only to His offer of Salvation, but especially in obedience to resisting the temptation of unhealthiness, knowing that all things are edible, but not all things are healthy, and finally, living as if I've been redeemed and worthy of health ~ physically as well as spiritually.

If you want to know more, let me know ~ ask me questions. I may not know all the answers, but I'll be willing to share my journey with you. I really, REALLY encourage you to check out the book, "It Starts With Food." If you only read the first section and change nothing? That's okay ~ but I'll bet you can't. :)

Sorry for the super-duper long post, but if you've read any of my posts or know me at all you know I'm willing to share what I'm passionate about, and this is definitely something worth sharing. Have a great day!!

King V. Roe

It's interesting what yesterday and  today's dates signify. On one hand we have Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday. A man dedicated to freeing people no matter where they came from or the color of their skin. A man who saw the value of every human life. A man who was willing to die for something he believed in.

On the other hand we have the anniversary of Roe v. Wade. An anniversary of a decision in which millions (latest estimate is 53 million to date) of people have been sacrificed for the sake of personal gain. An anniversary that devalues every human life. An anniversary that has been willing to kill to make people believe.

I spent time yesterday reading through some of Dr. King's speeches. This man of God ~ a man of tremendous faith who knew that every life was valuable and worth fighting for ~ is a hero in our day. He is a man to be upheld and thanked publicly for the good he helped to bring about in our country. Every person, no matter their skin color or ethnicity, is a human being made in the image of God and therefore deserves to know the real beauty of freedom.

I have spent many days over the past 25 years thinking about Roe v. Wade. When I was in college, before I ever thought I would find myself in a place of having to make a "choice", a friend and I were talking about abortion and the girls we'd gone to school with who had made that choice. In all my self-righteous haughtiness I sucked in a deep breath, puffed out my chest and said, "Well! If I am *ever* in that situation I would *never* dream of having an abortion! I plan to wait until I'm married to have sex, but if I ever find myself in that situation I would certainly choose adoption!"

A short 6 years later I placed a phone call to Planned Parenthood asking what my options were.

I was barely pregnant ~ not even three weeks ~ but they said I'd have to wait another 5 weeks to abort but could make my appointment now. There was no compassion. There was no understanding. There was nothing but disdain for the fact that I would be so stupid and would need their services to hide my shame.

My boyfriend thought it'd be the right choice to make, although it did come out it wasn't what he wanted...just what he thought would be best for both of us.

I couldn't think of only me.

Every second of every day I thought of the life growing inside me, and I knew I could not ever make that appointment. I know friends who, although dealing with the same thoughts, made that appointment. My heart breaks for them when they tell me their story. Not because I think they were foolish and stupid enough to render the services of a multi-billion dollar industry. Not because I think they were weak and self-centered to make that choice. Not because of my own piety. No. My heart breaks because I know what it's like to be in that position and wonder how in the world your initial choice would ever turn into something good based on the position you are now in. My heart breaks because I know what leads to making that choice.

Last night a new series began. It is called "Surrender the Secret." It is a reality show that will follow five post-abortive women through a Bible Study by the same name. Here is the trailer for it:

I encourage you, whether you are post-abortive or not, to watch this series. There are women around the world who are holding this secret close to their hearts. For those who are Christians (yes, even good Christian girls make this choice) it is a secret akin to Hester Prynne in "The Scarlet Letter." They wonder what their fellow Christians would think of them if only they knew. There is a fear of how they would be perceived and how forgiveness could really be accepted for *this* sin. In a relationship with a Savior Who says, "Come to Me all who are burdened and heavy laden and I will give you rest" their greatest fear is how their "brothers and sisters in Christ" will respond if their secret got out.

Again...heartbreaking.

I could go off on such a tangent here! I find it to be a fine line between grace and justice, but for the sake of a soul I would rather err on the side of grace....

Watch this series with me ~ let your heart be troubled for those whose hearts hold burdens they should no longer be made to bear.

Watch "Surrender the Secret" Here