[Don't] Catch a Falling Star

As any nurse knows, EKG leads can be a bit of a pain.

Of course, I'm grateful for what they can tell us, but those boogers just don't want to cooperate sometimes.

In the NICU, we change out a baby's leads when he or she gets a soap bath (roughly every three days), but I'll be darned if a new set doesn't immediately start pulling away from their skin and stick to something--the blanket, the isolette, anything!--other than the baby. I have literally spent entire shifts periodically peeling the same set of leads off of various items in the bed so that the monitor won't read "X" or a flatline.

Whatever the case, sometimes, they just won't stick.

Now when I was a kid, stickers were kind of a big deal.  My older sister and I had books of stickers we had collected--sparkly, gel-filled, scratch-and-sniff.

To me, stickers were so cool.  I just couldn't get enough.

In fact, one of my favorite books growing up revolved around the concept of stickers.

It was called You Are Special by Max Lucado.

I never actually owned the book, but it was available in our church bookstore, and I loved to sit on the floor and read it over and over.

It's a story about a group of wooden people called Wemmicks.  Each Wemmick owns a box of stickers--some are gold stars and some are gray dots--and they dole them out to each other as they see fit.

Pretty, talented, "special" Wemmicks are adorned with gold star stickers.  Ugly, clumsy, untalented Wemmicks are marred with gray dots.

Punchinello is shrouded in shame as he walks around covered in nothing but gray dots.  He longs to feel like he's worth something.

And then he meets Lucia, a Wemmick with no stickers at all.  Like the EKG leads on a wiggly NICU baby, it's not that people haven't tried to sticker her.  The stickers just won't stick.

She confides in Punchinello that the reason for her sticker-less complexion is due to her visits with Eli, woodcarver and creator of the Wemmicks.  As Punchinello discovers, Eli treasures each of his creations, and when they start to rely on his approval, the stickers lose any ability to cling to the wearer.

My favorite part was the ending, in which Punchinello leaves Eli's shop, pondering and beginning to believe that Eli truly loves him, causing a gray dot to tumble hopelessly to the ground.

I care a lot about what other people think of me, and I wish it wasn't so.  The "stickers" of other people's opinions matter (unfortunately) more than they will probably ever know.

The "stars" of shining approval let me know what I'm doing right.

The "dots" of criticism help me know what to change.

Because deep down, I just want to feel like I'm something special.

While the story is refreshing because it means that I don't have to meet everyone else's expectations (worst of all my own), isn't it funny that it's not just the dots that won't stick.

When you look to the Father for your worth, the stars can't stick either.

They'll fall.

And yet, what am I tempted to do?

As the song goes...

Catch a falling star and put it in my pocket,

Never let it fade away.

Catch a falling star and put it in my pocket,

Save it for a rainy day.

It's not hard to say goodbye to the dots.  But boy, is it ever hard to let the stars fall without hiding them away in my pocket to save when I feel less than good enough.

The truth is, even though I know that my worth should only come from who I am in the Lord, and even though I know that His opinion is the only one that matters, those stars have come to mean everything to me.

What is so wrong with keeping the stars?  Is it wrong to enjoy a compliment?

Why don't you ask yourself why you want it so badly.  Why you crave it.  Why you've convinced yourself that you need the approval of others.

There's nothing wrong with wanting to feel special.

There is everything wrong with allowing the world to decide if you are.

In fact, though it seems contrary, the stars might just be more dangerous than the dots.  Along with boosting your self-esteem, they inflate your ego and fill your glass with a deluded cocktail that leaves you thinking that you don't need Him to be great.

You do.

And it's so easy to forget that when you aren't spending time in His shop. 

Where He can remind you of how loved you are.

How He knew you before you were formed.

How He knit you together with a specific purpose in mind.

How you were worth dying for.

Those are the things that make you special. 

Don't catch those falling stars.

Don't put them in your pocket.

Don't save them for a rainy day.

You don't need 'em.

"Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God?  Or am I trying to please men?  If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ."  ~ Galatians 1:10

Newborn Pictures!!

We can't thank Sara Rose of Sara E. Rose Photography enough for taking these AMAZING newborn pictures.

Please turn up your volume to listen to the beautiful music and share in our joy!

Password is chelsea :)


http://saraerosephotography.com/viewing/?slideshowID=338651

PS: the angel ornaments Harlow is holding toward the end of the slideshow were gifts from my sister-in-law April to honor Eli and Sarah.  The ornaments have their names and dates on the backs of them.

My 600-lb. [Christian] Life

Hi.  My name is Chelsea, and I'm addicted to reality TV.

I know, I know.

Ashamedly, I'm one of those who's kept the likes of The Bachelor, Toddlers and Tiaras, and even (gulp) Jersey Shore in business.

I'm aware.  I should know better.  But there's something infinitely fascinating to me about how people live their lives--what they'll say without a script, what they'll do without direction.

Besides...my life is far from entertaining.  I might as well tune in to view what transpires in someone else's...say someone who huffs gasoline hourly or dresses like an adult baby (My Strange Addiction, anyone??).

Enter TLC and their four-part series provocatively titled My 600-lb Life.

It follows four morbidly obese patients over seven years as they undergo gastric bypass surgery and subsequent skin removal surgeries, as well as fend off enabling family members and the ever-present allure of unhealthy food.  Each patient tips the scales at at least 600 lbs., making the surgeries highly risky...yet, in some cases, highly necessary for better chances of long-term survival and improved quality of life.

Meet Melissa before...

...and after.

Her episode was, by far, the most captivating to me.  She began her journey at a whopping 650 lbs. and lost nearly 500 lbs. throughout the course of her treatment.  She battled cruel jokes, a miscarriage, and her husband's infidelity along the way, but her persistence, positivity, and perpetual honesty portrayed her as one of the most successful (and likeable) participants in the series.

If you want (and have the time), I'm including her story from YouTube, but even if you don't watch the whole thing (it's quite long), I do ask that you watch from 51:06 to 52:38, so that you can see one of the things that stuck out most to me.

The scene I'm referring to shows Melissa at one of her darker moments.  Following her second skin removal surgery, she experiences a setback.  She's a prisoner of her hospital bed with wounds that won't heal.  But what truly piqued my interest is why her wounds wouldn't heal.

It was how she was walking.

At this point in her story, she had dropped a considerable amount of numbers on the scale--at least 300 lbs., I believe.

Her weight had changed.  The fit of her clothing had changed.  The way she looked had changed.

But she was walking as though there had been no change.

Her husband and doctor mime the swinging-arm motion she refused to relinquish because she still felt like she was over 600 lbs.

Melissa had taken a number of "right steps"--entrusting herself to a qualified doctor, securing a support system, changing what she put into her body.

But she wasn't going to get and stay better until she committed to walking differently.

Drastic changes can leave our minds and our behaviors feeling like they have to play "catch up."  For instance, how many times have I had to render an "S" into a "C" when I've begun to automatically sign my maiden name since getting married?  Flubbed my new zip code?  Dialed an old phone number?

It's plain and simple, really: old habits die hard.   Our minds become, in a sense, programmed to do things one way, and having to make any sort of alteration can require intense concentration and effort to avoid relapsing into the former way of doing things.

But when it's a welcome change, shouldn't it be easier to break those habits?  I know it took me a LOT less time to get out of the studying habit once I graduated college and passed the NCLEX than it did to adjust to sleeping during the day when I began working night shift.

Melissa's considerable weight loss was a change that excited and thrilled her.  So why was it so hard for her to stop her old way of doing things, especially when it put her health at serious risk?

I could ask myself that same question--spiritually speaking.

Becoming a follower of Christ at the age of six was, by far, the most drastic change that has ever taken place in my life.  It changed everything about me--my purpose here, my goals, my future.  Like Melissa, I have taken some "right steps"--placing myself in the Hands of a capable Healer, surrounding myself with supportive believers and church families, changing what sorts of things I put into my mind.

But I don't always walk like I'm different.

He loved me...but I can be slow to love others.

He accepted me...but I am quick to judge.

He forgave me...but I hold steadfastly to a grudge.

He saved me...but I often live like He hasn't.

I gossip and lash out in anger.  I often don't think before I speak.  I join in unkind talk when I'm surrounded by it.  I'm the first to complain when things don't go as I had hoped.

I'm swinging my arms like I'm the same person I was before He got to me...and it's ruining who I could be.

One of the hardest parts of being a follower of Christ is having to learn to stop having one foot in both worlds.  We tend to be "Christians" in church and when it's convenient and admirable to be, but we may be no different when we're surrounded by the stuff we (supposedly) left behind to be His.

I baffle myself, though, because being His is a welcome change.  He's even outlined how to "walk" like I should:

"You took off your former way of life, the old man that is corrupted by deceitful desires;
you are being renewed in the spirit of your minds;
you put on the new man, the one created according to God's likeness in righteousness and purity of the truth...
...All bitterness, anger and wrath, insult and slander must be removed from you, along with all wickedness.
And be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving one another, just as God also forgave you in Christ." (Ephesians 4:22-24, 31-32)

A long time ago, the "weight" of my sin was removed by a wonderful Healer.  He has cared for me and given me everything I need to live an unencumbered life.  He's shown me how to move, how to be.

Now it's up to me to walk like that weight is gone.

Here we go.

One step at a time...

"Therefore, be imitators of God, as dearly loved children.  And walk in love, as the Messiah also loved us and gave Himself for us, a sacrificial and fragrant offering to God." ~ Ephesians 5:1-2

A Few More Never-Before-Seen Pics...

I started working on this video a while back to chronicle our journey through this pregnancy, and I wanted to share it with my blog "family."

It has some never-before-seen-pictures (belly shots and the like) that are very special to us, and I hope you'll enjoy watching it.

The song--"Starry Night" by Chris August--was one that I listened to time and time again during the worst part of my grief.  I especially love the line, "And I'm givin' it all to the only Son/ Who gave me hope when I had none..." because it feels so appropriate to our situation.  I even quoted this line when I announced my pregnancy on facebook--not that my "hope" stems from finally having a "successful pregnancy," but because He truly gave me hope when I had no strength left.  He has been so faithful to me throughout this journey, and so...

As the song goes...

"Let the praises ring
Because He's everything!"

Enjoy!

Maternity Pictures!

Just received our maternity pictures taken by the very talented Sara Rose with Sara E. Rose Photography!

I wanted to share them with all of you who have been following our story.

If you click on the link below and enter "chelsea" as the password, you should be able to pull up the slideshow (turn up your volume for some great music!).

Hope you enjoy!

**The pink rain boots I'm wearing in the last several pictures are in honor of the theme of "Bring the Rain" (song by MercyMe and blog by Angie Smith [check it out on my blog roll if you haven't already!])--after our losses, we are learning to welcome anything and everything that comes our way if it can bring glory to the One who gives and takes away.

http://saraerosephotography.com/viewing/?slideshowID=308263

It's Not What You Think!

Did you ever play the game "Telephone?"

Just in case you've never been a giggly preteen girl, here's the scoop on how to play:

(1) Gather a group and sit in a circle.

(2) One person will silently concoct a simple phrase (i.e. "I want some banana bread") and then whisper the phrase in the ear of the person to the left.

(3) The phrase is then whispered from person to person until it reaches the last member of the circle.  Only one repeat per person is allowed (via saying "Operator"), but after that, whatever you think you have heard, you pass on.

(4) The last person must announce the phrase out loud, which is usually a far cry from the original message.

My older sister taught me how to play, and I would get so tickled when she would tell me how distorted phrases would get in the rounds she played with her friends.  I loved it when she regaled me with the tale of how her original message of "Bring me some figgy pudding" somehow eventually translated into "Nebuchadnezzar is a butt."

Ahh, elementary school humor.

Sure, it can demonstrate how powerful and out-of-hand a mere piece of gossip can get, but what strikes a more resonant chord with me is how easily the truth gets lost.

The past couple of weeks, I've allowed little bumps and bristles to steer my mind off track.  Nothing truly dire or significant has transpired, but minor annoyances--surprising things about my new health insurance that will cost us more money when June arrives, a brand new phone that my clumsy mitts managed to destroy days after our warranty expired, a second back order for our crib that postponed its arrival for an additional three months (which would be a full month after Harlow is born)--have me feeling a bit chaotic.

Yesterday, I was tempted to throw a mild fit when another inconvenience was mounted onto the pile.  I paced back and forth around the living room, choking back the ugliness I wanted to vocalize in my momentary anger.  Instead, I opted to shift the blame toward the easiest Target.

God, can't you just cut me a little break here?

I desire perfection from my life's circumstances on a daily basis, and I'll admit I feel much like the cloud of dust that engulfs the Tasmanian Devil when things aren't "just so."

And when my circumstances make me feel out of control, I often accuse God of not being in control of my situation.

Chaos must mean He's lost the reins.  He's dropped me.  He must not be protecting me anymore.

Often, when my life feels out of sorts, it affects my ability to get a good night's rest.  I'll toss and turn and mull over the "what ifs" and "what do I do nows."  But every now and then, when I anticipate the arrival of a restless night, I'll hum the tune of one of my favorite songs from choir, "Thou, O Lord."

I cried unto the Lord with my voice,
And He heard me out of His holy hill.
I laid me down and slept and awaked.
For the Lord sustained,
The Lord sustained me.

One night recently as I pondered these words, I remembered that they come directly from Psalm 3.  I hoisted Dru's study Bible from the nightstand onto my lap and flipped vigorously to the brief passage.

Lord, how my foes increase!
There are many who attack me.
Many say about me,
"There is no help for him in God."

But You, Lord, are a shield around me,
my glory, and the One who lifts up my head.
I cry aloud to the Lord, 
and He answers me from His holy mountain.

I lie down and sleep;
I wake again because the Lord sustains me.
I am not afraid of the thousands of people
who have taken their stand against me on every side.

Rise up, Lord!
Save me, my God!
You strike all my enemies on the cheek;
You break the teeth of the wicked.
Salvation belongs to the Lord,
may Your blessing be on Your people.
(Psalm 3)

The part I've placed in bold (verses 5-6) had an interesting note beneath it:

"To lie down and sleep are poetic and tangible ways to describe a state of security.  Only a person who feels secure will be able to sleep undisturbed by troubling thoughts ... The psalmist was confident that he would wake again because it is Yahweh Himself who sustained him.  The psalmist's security was unrelated to his circumstances even though he was surrounded by enemies.  Confidence in God's protection does not depend on one's circumstances."  (Holman Christian Standard Bible Study Bible)

Oh, how quickly I tend to forget this vital piece of truth.

Four years ago, Steven Curtis Chapman and his family said good bye to one of their precious adopted daughters following a tragic car accident.  Because I went to school with his kids and heard the ambulances from my church the night it happened, I, like much of our community, was captivated by the story.  It made national news, seemingly reported on every blog from here to Timbuktu.

Many came out in droves to support the Chapman family.  Others were less than kind.

Knowing what devout Christians they are, many hurled violent, distasteful comments at this grieving family.

Where is your God now? they wrote.

Just like "Telephone's" circumstances can alter an original message, oh how often do we let our circumstances color what God has told us to be true:

I will never leave you or forsake you...

Even though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me...

I will not leave you as orphans.  I will come to you...

The second things get rough, we let our circumstances shrink God's sovereignty, His grace, His mercy, His protection.  We deem Him not strong enough, not good enough.

Do we really believe that?

If we don't, then we need to stop acting like we do.

In a recent sermon at our church, our pastor cited a quote from The Chronicles of Narnia--an allegorical series written by C.S. Lewis.

The quote concerned Aslan, the story's lion, mighty king of the magical world of Narnia, and a metaphor for Christ.

One character asks frighteningly about the nature of Aslan in the first book, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, questioning, "Is he safe?"

The response?  "'Safe?' said Mr. Beaver.  'Who said anything about safe?  Course he isn't safe!  But he's good.  He's the King, I tell you.'"

Did you get that?

God's goodness has nothing to do with our circumstances.

Zero.

What we seem to have set in place instead of the promise of God's unwavering goodness is that if we love and trust Him, things will always be easy.

He never said that.  He never promised that.  Not once.

At some point, we will all experience undesirable circumstances.


But if we trust Him, if we follow Him--we don't have to do it by ourselves.  He is with us.

That's the truth we overlook.

"Telephone" never could alter the fact that the original message was said.


And no matter how much we twist and distort it, bend it and tweak it--God's truth will remain the same.


But to whom do you choose to listen?  The fickle group?  Those fickle circumstances?

Or the One Who said it in the first place?

But Thou, O Lord, are a shield for me...

I will lie down.

I will sleep.

I will wake again.

For You sustain me.

Thou, O Lord, I choose you.

"The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.  Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged."  ~Deuteronomy 31:8

Don't Tap on the Glass

I.  Love.  Gatlinburg.

I've been at least twenty times in the almost twenty-five (eep!) years I've been alive, and I still get a thrill when we round the bend to enter this perfect, touristy town nestled in the heart of the Smoky Mountains.

What do I love so much about it?

The fresh mountain air when stepping out of the car.  The sound of the water rushing over the rocks during an early morning walk down River Road.  The taste of tangy apple butter and chocolatey brown bears.  The hilarious catcalls of rowdy country boys in their massive trucks as they drive down the strip looking for a date.

But what I love most about Gatlinburg are the memories.

When I was a kid, our trip to the mountains was a sweet family affair--my grandparents (Nanny and Papa, as we called them) would accompany us.  They often gave me and my sister money to do a little something "special" while we there, which usually resulted in an exciting ride up the Sky Lift or a trip up the Space Needle.

"Now," as Nanny would say, "when you get to the top of the Space Needle, you call out for me and Papa, okay?"  She'd settle in her orange balcony chair outside of her motel room.  "I'll be right here listening."

I did as she asked and sent the two of them a giant "HELLOOOOOOO!!!" when we'd reached the top, and when I'd get back down and ask her if she'd heard, she'd always assure me that she heard it loud and clear.

They didn't go with us for many years when Papa got sick.  A few years after he passed away, Nanny began joining us again.

As we got older, instead of sending me and my sister out to do something fun, she'd spend an afternoon with us taking us anywhere we wanted, followed by a scrumptious lunch at Waldo Pepper's--a burger joint with (get this) fries in the shape of airplanes.

We usually picked to go to a local tourist trap, like a museum.  I'll never forget the first time I got to go to Ripley's Believe It or Not! museum.  There's a million exhibits and weird facts along their two or three floors, but one of the most memorable parts was where they showed a video of people who could roll their tongues in a myriad of shapes.  At the end of the video, the commentator invites you to look in a nearby mirror and "try it for yourself!" There we stood, attempting to morph our faces into the crazy shapes we had seen onscreen (to no avail, of course).  Eventually, we grew tired of it and moved along through the rest of the museum.

And then at the end, passing through a narrow corridor to the exit, you see it.

A window.  But it's not a window.  It's the other side of a two-way mirror.  The mirror you look into as you distort your face like a lunatic.

Feeling ridiculous, we blushed and smacked our foreheads, then paused to chuckle at the poor, clueless saps who were desperately trying to twist their tongues.

As we stood there watching, a couple of mischievous boys sidled up to us to make the same discovery. Between guffaws, the boys decided to knock on the glass.  Immediately, the color drained from the face of the current ignorant face-distorter.  Another tap, and we watched as he literally ran off around the corner.  This furthered the boys' side-splitting laughter (and mine, to be honest), especially when the frightened museum-goer peeked back around the corner for another look, only to be scared off by another tap on the glass.

As I mused over the concept of this two-way mirror this week, it sparked a thought about how sometimes we find that a situation has an alternate, surprising perspective.  And when we move from the "raw end of the deal" to one that is less vulnerable, how do we handle it?

Do we empathize?  Or do we tap on the glass?

When I was going through the worst part of my grief last year, I found it most difficult to be around pregnant women.  Not necessarily women who were already mothers; sure, I'd long for the coos and giggles they so heartily received from their little ones, but they weren't the most difficult ones to be around.  It was the expectant women that stung worse.

Everyone is different in how they cope, respond, or view things.  Perhaps I felt this way because I'd never had a newborn--the tangible thing I had lost was a pregnancy.  So it wasn't the babies that necessarily got me down.  It was the beach ball bellies and the promise of new life that made my heart yearn.

I promised myself that if I ever got and stayed pregnant, I would remember what it felt like to be on that end of it, especially when interacting with those who still happened to be on that end of it.

It was important to me that I didn't forget.  Not one little bit.

And since September, I've found my way to the other side of the two-way mirror.

Unfortunately, I've had to watch a number of friends remain on the "raw end of the deal."  Infertility.  Miscarriages.  Hurts.  Whys.  Tears.  Pain.

But now that I'm on the other side, I refuse to let my mindset be, "Whew!  I'm glad I'm not over there anymore!"

And you know what?  This perspective is harder than I thought it would be.  Sure, it's relieving to be in a less vulnerable position.  But it kills me to have to watch others remain on the other side and to know that there's really not much I can do to help.

I remember.  Oh, how I remember being on the other side of the mirror.

When everybody else seems to magically "know" that at some point, it will happen for you.

When it hurts to smile.

When it hurts to congratulate.

When it hurts to get a hug from a beach ball belly.

When you wonder if it's always going to be this hard.

I haven't forgotten.

I can remember feeling a lost connection to "infertile" or "struggling-to-stay-pregnant" friends when they became pregnant successfully.  They were no longer next to me, feeling my pain, but opposite me.  She is one of "them" now, I would think.

I may be one of "them," but I'm still one of you.

There are times when I wish my pregnancy was a suit that I could take off so that I could be a better support to those who are hurting.  I want you to hear my heart.  Please know that--whether we know each other or not--if you're going through a difficult time with this pregnancy and baby stuff, drop me a message, and I will be there for you.  To pray.  To listen.  To do whatever it is that I can to help.

And if you're someone who's also made it to the other side of the mirror, I encourage you to look through and remember what it was like to stand on the vulnerable side.  Don't take advantage of the fact that you're no longer there.  Don't stare and point as though it's something entertaining for you to view.


Don't forget.  Don't forget.

And for heaven's sake, don't tap on the glass.

"Share each other's burdens, and in this way obey the law of Christ."  ~ Galatians 6:2

A Stone's Throw Away

It was Friday, June 17, 1994.

I was 7, my sister was 12, and we were nestled in the back room of my grandparents' house, likely munching on mini Kit Kat bars and learning how to burp on command with our Coca-Colas (sorry, Mom).  We spent many a Friday night there watching TGIF and gorging ourselves on sweets.

But on this particular Friday night, our favorite shows (and apparently the NBA finals) were interrupted by breaking news.

A white Ford Bronco was being tailed by cops as it coasted down the road in California.

This meant little to me, as I was young and uninformed of current events.  All I knew was the man driving the Bronco must have done something...bad.

I suppose you realize that the man driving the Bronco was the infamous OJ Simpson, who was being accused of murdering ex-wife Nicole Brown and Ronald Goldman just days earlier.

OJ's trial is perhaps one of the most notorious ever.  He had a strong history of violent behavior, and all evidence pointed clearly that he was as guilty as homemade sin.

And yet, in 1997, a jury deliberated.  And returned.  And revealed that they had unanimously voted that he was not guilty.

It was the shock heard round the world.  Those who had invested their time and emotion in the case were dumbfounded, as OJ lit with excitement at the news of his newfound innocence.

Most people today still feel certain of his guilt.  But on that day, he wasn't found guilty.  And he went free.

Nearly seven months ago, on July 5, 2011, history appeared to repeat itself when the controversial trial of Casey Anthony came to a close.  Like OJ, the vast majority of the public seemed to agree that this defendant was quite certainly a murderer and, perhaps, dead woman walking.

I watched much of the trial and media coverage surrounding the untimely death of Caylee Anthony and her mother's apparent lack of grief and concern concerning her disappearance.  That day in July, I was cooped up in a Starbucks waiting for Dru to finish his first CPA test, when my mother called me with the news.

"Well, did you hear?" she said ominously.  "Not guilty."

My eyes bulged, my face felt hot, and I was consumed with disbelief.

"What?!"  I exclaimed.  "How?!"

I can remember taking to Facebook to convey my rage, accusing jurors of having sub-par IQs.  There was no way she wasn't guilty.  And yet, like OJ, she was getting away with it and going free.

It's hard to watch those kinds of things, isn't it?  As humans, we demand justice to be served, prices to be paid.

But these people just get to go free.  They can't ever be tried again for these crimes.  A "not guilty" verdict means we presume innocence and [gulp] move on.

But as I watched with gritted teeth the verdict reading for Casey Anthony for what seemed the 100th time on the news that evening, I sensed the Lord tapping on my shoulder.  I was hoping He was there to agree with my anger.  It was "righteous" anger after all, right?  Her satisfied smirks and relieved, dramatic weepiness made my skin crawl.

But He tapped me again, clearly trying to open my eyes to something else.  Something uncomfortable.

"What, Lord?!" I wanted to say.  "This woman is despicable!  She is vile!  She's guilty, and I know it!"

I felt Him gentle as a breeze but steady as the wind.

"Oh, Child," He seemed to whisper.  "Don't you see?  She may not be getting what it seems she deserves.  But neither are you."

Yuck.  I didn't want to see it that way.  I still don't.  I don't want to be compared to her.  I'm not a murderer or abusive.  I could never do those things.  She's way worse.

But is she?  Is she really worse than I am?

Suddenly, looking at her felt like gazing at a looking glass under the harshest lighting, where no flaw can be concealed.

Casey Anthony and I are [gag, retch, vomit] alike in some ways.  She is a sinner.  And so am I.  I may not be a murderer, but I've slaughtered people with hurtful words.  I've lied when I felt the truth was too embarrassing.  I've been proud and self-seeking.

In truth, just by being a human, I'm guilty.  Psalm 51:5 tells us that we were guilty at birth, sinful from conception.  When I fall short of God's glory--and I do, every single day--it hurts Him, grieves Him, displeases Him.

I, too, am despicable, vile, guilty.  I know it.  And He does, too.  I can't fool Him with big words, fancy phrases, or self-righteous statements.

There is Someone always present at my "crime scenes," Who could so easily testify of my faults and judge me guilty.  And the sentence would, indeed, be a fate worse than death.

All of this reminds me greatly of when Jesus was urged by the Pharisees to stone an adulterous woman.  She had been caught red-handed.  And based on the law, it was clear what her sentence should be--death.

There she sat on her knees--dirty, guilty, ashamed, and surrounded by a sea of self-righteous scribes, stones in hand, ready to let her have it.

Oh, the bloodlust that must have been in their eyes.  The pride in their hearts.  The satisfaction that justice would be served.

But sweet Jesus looked at the woman.  He knew what she had done.  He saw her heart.  And, yet, he ruled otherwise.

He looked at the men and spoke sternly in her defense:  "Ye without sin, cast the first stone."

Surely, the Pharisees (like me) gritted their teeth, perhaps nearly crumbled their stones in their greedy hands.  The temptation must have surged like a live wire in their arms to throw anyway.  But one by one, the stones dropped.  One by one, the crowd of men scattered.

Only Jesus remained.  The only one who could have cast a stone.

I love what he says to her.  Oh the compassion, the mercy that exists in his words.  After calling her attention to the lack of judgment around her, he says, "Neither do I condemn you.  Go and sin no more" (John 8:2-11).

Like Casey and OJ and the adulterous woman, I deserve a good stoning.

But someone else who loved me decided that it didn't have to be that way.  He took all my "crimes," my sin, my guilt on his shoulders.  Even though he was and is innocent.  Even though he was and is perfect.  The price was paid for what I've done and will do, but I didn't have to pay it.  Because he did, I am also found with a shocking verdict of "not guilty."

If you know me, you know that verdict couldn't be further from the truth.  But because I believe in Him, praise Jesus, it is so.

What's more, I can't be tried for the same things again--He forgives and forgets, remember?  He doesn't rehash what you've done when you've repented and turned around; any notion that He seeks to inflict further guilt on you is a lie straight from the pit of hell.

But I can't just be complacent with being let go.  Being not guilty compels me to leave the old behind and move on.

By no means do I seek to condone what OJ and Casey might have done (after all, I guess we'll never know for sure?).  But I hope you, too, will realize that we don't necessarily get the verdict we deserve.  That you aren't any better than they are.  And that you will fall to your knees in gratitude and become something better with your newfound innocence.

Our exoneration is wonderful and perplexing, isn't it?

By golly, it's enough to make the outside world grit their teeth.

But look around...

Does anyone condemn you?

Neither does He.

Go and sin no more.

It's A...

...HEALTHY baby girl!!!

Again, thanks to so many of you who have continued to pray for us.  She is wild--wouldn't be still for any of the ultrasound (I believe our tech called her "crazy"...so at least we know she definitely belongs to us...), and she appears to be perfectly healthy.  Praise God!!

Here are the other pictures we received today.  Again, couldn't be more thankful to those of you who have kept on praying!

Sucking her thumb :)