My Giant

I stand so small beside him, like an ant beneath a boulder.  The battle has not yet begun, but it seems as though victory has already been assigned.  There's no way I can win.

He's nine feet of confidence with an armor of lies and swords of doubt.

And me?  I'm five-foot-nothing with rattletrap knees and a penchant to flee.  Not a stitch of armor; not a quiver or an arrow in sight.  Just this measly little rock entrenched in the clamminess of my unsteady hand.

He's my giant, for sure.  And for me, Goliath, thy name is insecurity.

I meet him daily on the battleground of life, and even on the days when my chest swells with extra heart and determination, he zings me with the taunts he knows will wallop me below the belt.

You're so stupid.  You'll never be great at your job.

Look at you!  You're a mess!  Your hair, your face, your body!  Nobody wants you!

You're just not good enough, and you never will be.

And I do the worst thing possible when these jeers start flying:

I listen.  And take them to heart.  And I tell myself that's who I really am.

It's been probably my biggest internal struggle for quite some time now--that quest for greatness and confidence that's continually shattered by a world that sets unrealistic expectations and external voices of criticism.  And it isn't until I started listening to those ridicules and replacing my internal tapes of self-talk with such digs that I somehow lost who I am.

Who am I?  Mediocre and defeated.

And it becomes nearly impossible to do anything without fearing failure or what others might think.

I know I don't stand alone in this, even if we stand in few numbers.  And so, this post is for you--real talk for the Davids battling the insecurity giants.

Never do I feel like I have the answers when I post, but I especially feel like I come up short on this subject because I'm just not there yet.  I haven't figured out how to live my life in a way that it isn't solely seeking out how to avoid criticism or imperfection.

And so, all I can do is tell you what my heart knows, which is what my hands and feet have yet to figure out.

Just like David selected five smooth stones from the river as his weapons for battling Goliath, here are five stones to pack in your slingshot to face the war on insecurity.

Stone #1:  You are who you are.  You were made just the way you are for a purpose.  You were crafted with great care and exuberant love by a Master Artist who makes no mistakes, only variety.  No matter what you lack--real or perceived--you were created to be you and not anyone else.

Stone #2:  You are beautiful.  I doubt you hear it enough, but you are!  No matter what ideals of curvy or thin or blonde or brunette are perpetuated in the millions of media outlets you encounter every day, there is no such thing as only one kind of beautiful.  There is something (probably lots of things!) that makes you beautiful, and you owe it to yourself to discover what that is and embrace it.  But most importantly, never forget that the kind of person you are is the only kind of beauty that matters, so you would do well to invest your energy on your heart rather than on your looks.

Stone #3:  Other people are out of your control.  Their thoughts, feelings, and opinions about you are not in your hands, so let them go.  There is no way to please or be liked by everyone.  That's just the way it is, and there is no point in wasting your life trying to win their approval.  Their approval doesn't matter--no one's does!  The Lord's approval is paramount; live your life in a way that seeks to please Him.

Stone #4:  Learn to spot the lies.  We get sucked into the notion that what we can or can't do is what decides who we are, and when we inevitably fail at something, it means that we aren't good enough.  These are lies concocted by the Enemy, and when you start to believe them, he's got you.  You'll end up squandering your time and energy on faulty fundamentals and letting him win.

Even though David had five stones, he only used one to fell Goliath.  And when we can collect these stones of truth and tuck them securely in our hearts, we need only one weapon to defend ourselves:

Stone #5:  A Solid Rock is on your side.  You are precious and priceless because you belong to the Lord, and no amount of mediocrity or criticism or failed attempts can take that away from you.  You are loved immeasurably by a Savior who would give His all for you.

And that, my friend, is a stone worth hanging onto.

You've got a giant in your face and lies in your ears.  But what he doesn't realize is that he's not fooling you.

You've got a Rock.  And you're not afraid to use it.

"So David triumphed over the Philistine with a sling and a stone; without a sword in his hand, he struck down the Philistine and killed him."  ~1 Samuel 17: 50

It's Coming

The calendar is telling me that April will be here any day, but the view from my window deceives me.

Nothing much is green or blooming.  The wind is biting like that of early January.  And more snow has fallen this week than has all winter.

They say spring began a little more than a week ago, but...

Where?

I can't see it.

When the grips of winter's bony fingers refuse to let go of our forecast, my memory becomes foggy, and I soon have forgotten what it's like to step on the patio after the sun has set, and the air is still warm.  When the smell of grilling hamburgers becomes a staple for the evening hours.  When sleeves become short, feet go bare, and the sun blaring through a set of drawn blinds is all the indoor light you'll need for the day.

The unveiling of spring can create anticipation in me like that of a night before a birthday, a Christmas Eve, when you know...

Something incredible is coming.

But here you are.  Stuck in the season before.  The day before.  The minute before.

This is the end of Holy Week.  We've observed Palm Sunday.  Maundy Thursday.  Good Friday.

But what about Saturday?

What about that day before?

We learn in each of the gospels that once Jesus is crucified on Friday--a process which lasted a mere six hours, as opposed to most crucifixions, which could last days--he is quickly removed from the cross and buried in a nearby tomb, just before sundown.

The next day, Saturday, was the Sabbath, and because it was a day of rest, Scripture is silent as to any events, thoughts, or feelings experienced during that period of waiting on the day before.

And quite frankly, it drives me nuts!

I'm dying to know how Mary felt as she waited for her Son to rise.

What Peter's thought process was as he ruminated his denial.

If, like when our hope of spring runs dry as the winter weather lingers, did they wonder if this was it?

Was Jesus really coming back?

Perhaps the cold reality of a crucified Savior scorned their hearts like a promise forgotten.  Perhaps their outlook was as bleak as a spring snowstorm.

Even as I look forlornly at the dreary sky, I know the sun will shine again.  I know the trees will bloom.  The weather will warm.

Spring will come.

And even as He remained in the grave on Saturday, surely those who knew Him, who believed Him, knew that Resurrection Day was upon them.

It's coming.

A snowflake can't dissipate the promise of spring.  A tomb couldn't bury the promise of His return.

It's coming.

The sun will set tonight, and the day before will end.

It's coming.

Those burial clothes won't stay on.

It's coming.

The Son will rise before the sun will rise.

He's coming!

Praise God for a Savior who didn't forget to return.  Who remembered you and me.

We're almost there.

Just a few more hours.

Something incredible is coming.

"He is not here; he is risen, just as he said." ~ Matthew 28:6

I Love You. But No.

I shuffle through the packet they had given me at Harlow's 6 month check-up.  It lists developmental milestones, solids we should be introducing, blah, blah, blah.

And then I see it.

"Your child is now old enough to be told 'no.'  Begin telling them 'no' to establish boundaries."

I peer over the edge of the paper at my fuzzy-headed dumpling, who is happily clacking two stacking rings together to see what kind of noise they might make.  She gazes up at me with a smile so big that her healthy, round cheeks crinkle her eyes nearly shut.

I have to tell her...what?

It really hadn't much crossed my mind to tell her "no" before then because, well, she's just a little baby.

And so sweet.  And happy.  And I love her.

And the word "no" just sounds so...mean, doesn't it?

"No" is usually the word we never want to hear ("No, I won't marry you!"  "No, you didn't get the job."  "No, we're out of that amazing salmon dinner you like here at Stoney River, Mrs. Childress." [Sigh. True Valentine's Day story.]), and it's rarely the word we wish to say.

Why is "no" such a difficult word to inject into our vocabulary?  Is it because we fear it makes others feel rejected, upset, maybe even a little bit insulted?

If you're like me (and I pray you aren't), you desire to be agreeable and accommodating, so that everyone will be compelled to like you. (This just in: it doesn't work.)  Truth be told, I'm prone to letting someone slide by with a "yes" when a "no" is clearly in order if it scores me extra popularity points.

And if I can't bring myself to say it to an adult, how am I supposed to go about directing this harsh two-letter word at my daughter, who has never actually done anything disobedient or wrong?  It leaves me heartsick.

Until.

Those sweet little grimy fingers start creeping toward my white-hot hair straightener.  Or an electrical cord.  Or the scalding face of her bedroom heater.  And suddenly, it's lunging off my tongue, like Jessica Simpson hunting down a buttered Pop Tart:

"Harlow Nox Childress, that lighter is not a lollipop! NO!!"

And of course, she cries at this new tone in my voice and the loss of a new "toy" when I pry it from her fingers.  Her smile is gone.  She can't have what she wants.  And she.  Is.  Mad.

But that's quite all right with me.  I'd rather have her pouts if it means her protection.

When we long for something, reach for it, do anything to attain it, we may pray to God endlessly that it might be ours.  That if we pray hard enough, believe enough, have enough faith, God has to say yes.

A "no" must mean that He's opposed to our happiness or that something we did just wasn't enough.

Make no mistake about it.  Every action has consequences, whether they are positive or negative.  And flagrant disobedience often lands us in a position of missing out on some of God's incredible blessings (think Moses missing out on the Promised Land because of how he treated a rock, the death of David's and Bathsheba's first son due to his acts of adultery and murder).

"No" is the hardest word to hear when it seems to make no sense to you.

When you pray for the right man or woman to enter your life, yet you spend another Valentine's Day single.

When you pray to find a job and continually come up empty-handed.

When you pray, God, please heal this person that I love because there is no way I can live without him.

Like a wide-eyed baby in a room full of the unknown just waiting to be explored, you see and strive for something you think would be good for you, only to have it wiped away with a "no" from Someone you thought was on your side.

He is on your side.

Be assured, He is good and holy and just.  As much as circumstances He allows may crumble your soul, nothing He ever does has evil intent.  He doesn't wish anything but your good.  To make you great.  To set you apart for a greater purpose.

And if it's a "no," it's a "no" for a good reason.

Maybe it's to protect you, be it from physical or emotional harm or even from things like pride or a weakened witness.  Maybe it's just that you aren't quite ready yet to handle it.  Maybe He needs to rock your view of what a miracle can look like.

It's likely that the reason is something you couldn't possibly foresee.

Harlow has no clue what could burn her or prick her or do goodness knows what else to her.  That's why I have to protect her.  And teach her.

Friends, when the Lord must answer you with a "no," be thankful that you have a merciful Savior who is selfless enough to risk His popularity with you for your greater good.  That He doesn't give you over to those whims that might ultimately come to destroy you.  That He concerns Himself with our holiness and not just our happiness, which can be as inconstant as springtime weather in Tennessee.

It's a prickly kind of protection, but it'll set your heart straight if you let it.

He loves you.  But maybe this time, for now, it's just a no.

"And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." ~ Romans 8:28

[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!