Monday, September 8, 2014

When Dreams Aren't Really Broken

The radio DJ says God wants to fulfill all my greatest desires, and at inspirational conferences, I hear, "Dream big!" and "Do something great for God!"

I got my 10,000 hours of dance in growing up, and there was something really satisfying about getting to join a company and perform after college. It felt like the first real risk I'd ever taken, the first time I'd admitted to having a dream.

So there were plenty of questions and doubts when I left three years later, looking for love, a job that could pay the rent, and some kind of healthcare coverage. Was I selling out?

I've spent a lot of years mistaking big dreams and godly ambitions for financial stability and health insurance

But I've also spent a lot of years thinking spiritual highs and shining in a spotlight were God's signs of favor in my life. 

After leaving the dance company, I picked up a couple of jobs teaching dance. I realized I enjoyed it, and started grad school to get some credentials in it. 

I married a wonderful man, we got pregnant 18 months sooner than we planned, and I dropped out of grad school to get a "real job." I still wonder if these were the right choices, or how life will turn, or if I'll ever return to something that was such a big part of my life for so long. 

It's easy to feel that the busy seasons of life are more important, or that seasons in the spotlight are more esteemed, or that a season on bed rest is just a big waste of time. (My current full-time -- hopefully temporary -- job is hospital bed rest.) 

But I'm seeing that life is less a Disney movie and more a miniseries, and what I see as drifting from the storyline might just be a new episode. 

And the Author of all of this is pulling together our stories into something bigger and greater than we could ever imagine or write for ourselves. 

A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps. Proverbs 16:9 

Saturday, September 6, 2014

A Very Unexciting Update

The whiteboard in my room told me it was "Monday, 9/1" all week, until Thursday, when it was updated to "Monday, 9/4." It currently reads "Friday, 9/5." I think today is Saturday (9/6?). I guess it doesn't matter. 



I think the nurses have a secret chart at their station that makes fun of how many times I think I'm in labor. I buzz the call button at least twice a day to alert them: "I'm having real contractions." You would think after birthing two kids naturally, I could identify labor. Nope, no idea. If we have future kids, at least one will be born in the van on the way to the hospital. Hopefully we can make it to the van, because if I give birth in the driveway, we'll have to move.


I don't know what medications I'm on. Morning and night, I'm handed a medicine cup of brightly-colored pills, and I take them.  

The bed rest crazies started getting to me when I almost lost it over a brownish banana I got on my breakfast tray. Until I realized that every day, someone delivers a hot breakfast to my bedside, after I've been drinking Ensures and half cups of coffee for months, so I should shut up and be grateful. So that's what I did.

Wally took care of checking me in, while I got changed and evaluated upon admission. One of the nurses got annoyed and frustrated when Wally wouldn't list my social security number (because they don't need it, and their systems aren't secure, and stuff happens.) Anyway, all the nurses are super nice to me, except this one. She seems exasperated by stuff like taking blood pressure and temperatures. My Southern instinct is to be super sweet and compliant to win her over, but I'm pretty sure she just hates me. Thanks, Wally, for protecting my identity. 


Picture Source

My "big" kids: I love it when our preschoolers call me at the hospital. But I love it even more that they can't ever stay to talk, because there are more exciting things going on in their lives, like sandboxes, hiking, and Texas high school football games. I think, if Joe and Josh weren't getting such good care from Wally, Mommom & Poppop, I would have to get myself back home to give them Mama love, and just let these baby twins be born in the driveway. 

Last night, after my latest girl-who-cried-wolf-contraction-drama, the nurses gave me Ambien. I hear it's addictive and has crazy side effects, but wow, that was the best sleep of my life. 

And I guess, most importantly, babies: still inside and doing great. 32 weeks on Monday!