Meet Bo.

Short for Hobo. He's my newly pseudo-adopted furry friend.

A few weeks ago I saw this skittish orange Tabby hanging out on our deck. He ran and hid whenever I'd come near. Over time, whenever I'd see the giant cat lounging on one of our patio chairs, I'd slowly slip outside with a can of tuna as a peace offering, which he accepted cautiously.

Now, he's here every other day or so, soaking up the sun on the comfy padded chairs. He even stays into the dark hours of the evening, and then vanishes to who knows where else. He now will approach me within inches, and today even let me pet his head. When I first met him he was a sad looking thing, and he still is to a degree; he had scratches on his face, his fur was thinning on his back, and he just looked like a tired old Tomcat, moving slowly and emitting scratchy pathetic meows. Despite the angle of this picture, he does have a nice long tail.  Now, I'd like to believe the benefits of the hearty tuna servings he's been dished have improved the looks of his mangy coat.

I know Judah's too young to understand the concept of charity, but whenever Bo is here, I talk to Judah about the importance of doing kind things for others, as Jesus teaches us to, which can on occasion include feeding an old homeless cat a yummy meal. I look forward to the day when he's older and we can go to nursing homes and orphanages together to volunteer our time and give away the love of Jesus to others in need.

Fixing Our Eyes

Last night while waiting for Andrew to get home from a late trip, I did the usual routine to put our son down for bed. I swaddled, prayed over, tucked in, and kissed Judah goodnight. About 15 minutes later I was back at his cribside to console the distressed 5 month-old who just couldn't seem to quiet himself down for sleep this time. I picked him up, kissed him, told him I loved him, and set him back down, gently tucking the fuzzy blankets around his little body again.

And then, one of those special moments happened that I hope to never forget. I was about to leave the room when Judah gazed up at my face, completely quiet and completely content, and I saw through the dark that perfectly peaceful expression...the comfort and satisfaction that he felt in just being able to look at me. There was silence between us as we held each other's gaze, yet deep inside I felt my heart being touched by his. I just want to look at you, Mommy. 

My eyes welled up with tears, and fearing I would drop a fat wet one right on his sleepy face, I leaned in and kissed him one last time before leaving the room. He was silent and drifted to sleep without a single fuss after that. I returned to the pile of laundry I had been folding, but the tears didn't go away. I wondered why I was so undone by this simple event, and then I sensed the echoing symbolism behind it. 

Just as Judah loves to gaze upon his mother's face, whom he knows and trusts and delights in, so ought we to long for the gaze of our Creator, our Heavenly Father, who treasures us above all His creation and is the Author and Finisher of our faith. And just as I felt deeply touched by the contentment Judah found in staring into my eyes, so is God's heart touched when we desire Him above all else, when we content ourselves in Him and fix our eyes on our Savior.

I was both blessed by this beautiful picture of God's longing for us as His beloved, and grieved at how I all too often fix my eyes on our checkbook, or my family, friends, T.V., etc. looking for comfort and security and peace. Especially this Christmas season, I am once again reminded that my Peace and Hope and Salvation do not come from gifts, money in the bank, Santa Claus--or even myself, but the One True God, the Living God, who is my Redeemer, Forgiver of my sin, and the Lord of my life. I need to fix my eyes on HIM.

What or who are you fixing your eyes on?

"One thing I ask from the LORD, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the LORD and to seek him in his temple." Psalm 27:4

Mommy Steps

Last night was a big step for this momma.

Judah graduated from sleeping next to our bed to spending his first night in his crib...in his room. All the way at the other side of our house. Away from me.

Okay, I know that's not saying much, since our house is only 900 square feet and his room is a whole 6 steps from ours...but still. It was an adjustment! And more for me than for him.

We decided it was time since he now consistently sleeps through the night and Andrew would like access to his closet again, which Judah's temporary crib setup has blocked. But when I laid Judah down for bed, walked back into our room and saw the empty spot where he previously slept, I was greeted by a strange new ache. You might call it a kind of growing pain; a pang that is felt at each new stage of a child's growth and independence that reminds Mommy she's not always going to be able to hold her child this close...that her baby's growing up.

I told Andrew I was sad. This was the first time I'd be sleeping without hearing our baby's tiny breaths next to me. Without the comfort of his little sounds and movements during his slumber. I wanted to go snatch him up and bring him back to my side. Andrew told me lightheartedly, "Well, we have to wean you sometime." A few moments later he said softly, "I'm sad too."

I found it difficult to fall asleep last night. I had dreams that he was lost and needing me, and I was ready to jump up and run to him if he woke up and fussed. I feel a bit silly confessing this part of my mild "separation anxiety". But really, Judah made the transition without a peep of protest and while this Mommy was having a harder time adjusting emotionally, I ultimately accepted that this is one of many "firsts" that I will have to embrace and praise the Lord all the way.

After all, Judah's precious life has only been stewarded to Andrew and I; although we helped bring him into the world, our Heavenly Father is the One who created him and knows every step he will take in his life...from sleeping in his crib to taking his first steps, to that day when he chooses to give his life to Jesus Christ. Each step we take as parents that leads our son closer to adulthood and further from our wings of protection is promised the tender care of our God that made him and wants the best for him even more than we do. That, I can take comfort in as I look to the future.

I'm not ready for fall. But ready or not...

...The leaves are turning, the air is cooling, and the farmers are bringing in their harvest to the silos down our street. The shelves at the grocery store are now donned with warm shades of brown and orange-colored decorations, pumpkin pie fillings, and other autumnal items.

Andrew has purchased his hunting tags for the season. He can't wait to dust off his bow and bring home a buck.

Judah now wears size 3/6 months. All those cute summer outfits now lie beneath a fresh pile of warm long-sleeved onesies and pajamas.

And, as if the above haven't been sufficient to tell me the season's a-changing, my allergies sure have. Funny, fall is usually my favorite season, but this year I've been reluctant to let go of summer. Maybe it's because this summer held so many new, fresh, wonderful milestones and memories for me.

The birth of our firstborn son. The wonderful experience at the hospital. The adventure of childbirth and bringing our baby home. All the "firsts" for us as parents and for him as a growing child.

I realize my new apprehension for the permanence of fall's arrival is two-fold: One, as much as I look forward to the moments and days and years ahead watching our son grow, I don't want to let go of these precious "firsts", and two, I am not ready for the cold!

But I do not hold Time in my hand. I am not the Maker of the seasons, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot still the hand that brings growth and change. And why would I want to? So, while I purpose to engrave these wonderful experiences and memories into my heart's memory, I will praise the God who has given me these blessings and embrace the changes--and more "firsts"--that are to come.

I can see the light!

I’m climbing out of the pit that was the Baby Blues, and I am so glad to be out of the darkness! One month has passed since our son Judah was born. Thinking back on those first two weeks home from the hospital makes me shudder. The feelings I had are hard to describe. I felt so yucky. Lonely. Isolated. Overwhelmed.

Depressed.

I hated how I felt and how if affected my husband and probably our baby, but I couldn’t help it. Now, one month later, I’m not immune to all the anxieties that surround parenthood, but I’m faring so much better. I’m still sleep deprived, but the Hormone Rollercoaster has definitely slowed and I feel more…collected. I’m so glad to be past the “laughing-one-moment-in-joy-then-sobbing-the-next-in-sadness” phase. That was a dark, awful place to be.

I’m tired of writing about depressing stuff. I want that spark that used to ignite my thoughts and fan into words on a page…words of joy, of beauty, of hope and comfort and peace and worship that come from the Freedom and Life that Jesus Christ has given me. 

So. Here’s to the end of one chapter and the beginning of a new one. 

From Business Casual to Spit-up Comfortable: The Transition from Work at a Bank to Work as a Stay-at-Home Mom

I used to get up at 7am, shower, and go to work.
Now I get up at 2 am, then 5am, then 8am, to nurse our son Judah.

I used to order loan processing documents, manage loan files, and handle multiple tasks for a loan officer.
Now I change diapers, nurse Judah, wash dishes, do laundry, nurse Judah, make dinner, nurse Judah, and try to spend quality time with my husband before we both crash in bed.

I used to be surrounded by the company of bankers, tellers, and customers whom I enjoyed conversing with.
Now I am the only adult from 6am-6pm, in the company of a 2 1/2 week old who can't yet talk other than vocalizing his hunger or discomfort.

I used to count down the days until I could say "Adios" to my job and stay home all day with my baby.
Now I wonder what to do with the quiet.

I am not complaining here; I am merely noting the stark differences in my career change. I knew it would be an adjustment. I knew it wouldn't be completely easy. And though I am so blessed and thankful to be able to stay home and raise our son while my husband works extra hard to provide for us, I nonetheless am still journeying through the unique transition that is leaving a full-time workforce position to become a full-time stay-at-home mom.

It's...lonely. It's quiet. It's boring. It's sad at times. It's relaxing and exhausting. At least, in this stage.

It's also special. Precious. Wonderful to cuddle and kiss and sing to and pray over my son. To know that he will be in my care and not daycare. I thank God for His gift and His provision to Andrew and I.

I'm just...sharing the rawness of this life-changing shift in my vocation. I know many other moms have been here too. Which is why it helps to write about it.

Judah's Birth Story: An Epic Journey (quite literally!)

*This entry is exceptionally long! It is more for my recollection than anything, but feel free to read about our birthing experience. Don’t worry, no graphic details are shared! J *  

Much has happened in the last few weeks, the biggest event being that we welcomed our son, Judah Andrew Easling, on July 7^th! Here are Andrew and I with Judah in our first family picture:

I normally pen my thoughts in a journal, but there’s so much that’s flooded my heart and mind recently, I’m afraid I’m too impatient for pen and paper expression.  So here’s the story of how Judah came into our world.

Andrew and I agreed to induce labor on Friday July 6^th because I was going on a week and a half late with no signs of labor in view. I had been dilated at 1cm for over 5 weeks with no progress and we agreed to protect our baby’s health by not going too far past due. The night before our appointment I hardly slept. Knowing I was finally going to meet our son or daughter kept me tossing and turning until it was time to get up!

Andrew and I walked into OSF St. Joseph Hospital in Bloomington at 6:45am and were greeted by my parents and sister, who prayed with us, cheered us on and videotaped the long journey to Judah’s delivery. The nurses started me on Pitocin at 8:30am. We walked laps upon laps upon laps around the birthing center, waiting for contractions to intensify and for dilation to occur, but the only thing that seemed to be intensifying was my anticipation! It wasn’t until 4:30pm that I had dilated to a mere 3cm and Dr. Dalton, my fantastic OB, came and broke my water. After that, things started to pick up. My contractions became much stronger and closer together, as I had expected but couldn’t prepare for completely.  Andrew and I got in the birthing tub and I labored through the next couple of hours with increasing pain.

The warm bath helped take the edge off the pain, but as time dragged on I started to feel like my body was taking over me. It was a strange feeling; I tried to remember the breathing techniques I’d learned but it became a real challenge to keep my body relaxed. Around 10:30pm or so I gave in and asked for an epidural. They wheeled me into a new delivery room and we waited for the anesthesiologist to arrive, who had to be called in. I remember feeling panicky and almost in tears with each intense contraction hitting me like a giant wave, robbing me of words and leaving me struggling to keep my breath. I kept praying that the anesthesiologist would arrive quickly because I didn’t think I could make it through the next contraction.

Finally the anesthesiologist did come, and O Happy Day!! He couldn’t get those drugs in me fast enough! It took a while to kick in, probably because of my Scoliosis he said, but when it did I finally felt my body begin to relax and I could breathe again. The doctor, who told us he was from Burma, noticed an exhausted smile at the corners of my mouth and told Andrew, “I think she likes my drugs.” I remember sleepily replying, “I love your drugs! You’re my hero!” Soon after that I passed into a blissful slumber. Andrew and I were able to get a good long nap, which was much needed for what we had yet to endure.

It felt like heaven to be able to sleep and not feel the contractions. Every now and then I’d wake to the nurse coming in to check on me. I remember in the wee hours of the morning she checked and said I was at 8cm, and then around 6am on Saturday I had finally reached 10cm and was told it was time to push! They called Dr. Dalton in but she was tied up with another patient, so the nurse began the pushing stage with me. Andrew was by my side the whole time, encouraging me and helping me get into position for each push. With the epidural I couldn’t move my legs or feel myself pushing, but it wasn’t long before it started to wear off just enough that I could feel the contractions coming again. Even though I dreaded feeling the pain again, it was good to know when I needed to push. We had a birthing mirror in the room, so I was able to see our baby’s head start to come down, which was an amazing experience, but also another test of patience because to me, he wasn’t coming out fast enough! It seemed like he’d never make it out!

Dr. Dalton eventually came in and I was so happy to see her! I kept pushing and pushing and pushing, but our baby’s head kept sliding back up the canal. I truly began to feel like I wouldn’t be able to get our baby out on my own, and was approaching the point of sheer exhaustion. It was a strange, feeling like I couldn’t do it and wanting to give up, but knowing that I was the only person on the planet that could push this baby out of my body. It was up to me; I had to keep pushing!

Well, 3 hours later, at 9:02am, our baby finally came out! Andrew helped pull him out, and Dr. Dalton invited me to hook my hands under our baby’s armpits and pull our baby out. I reached out with weary arms and pulled our baby up. As we “helped” deliver our baby, someone said, “We have a boy!” Judah Andrew Easling had finally made his debut!

Right after that was an exhausting yet exhilarating blur of events. Andrew held our son to his bare chest, and I remember shedding tears of exhaustion and relief and joy all mixed together as I reached out and touched Judah’s feet while he was in Andrew’s arms. Then they laid Judah on my stomach, and I got to look at his perfect face. I couldn’t believe this little human had just come out of me! He had arms and legs and a handsome face, and was grunting, making noise! He had a voice! It truly was amazing seeing God’s miracle right there before me. All those months of waiting and daydreaming and finally, here was our son!

The nurses weighed and measured Judah, and all of us including Dr. Dalton were shocked to hear that he was 9 pounds 14 ounces and 21 inches long! It took him a while to get a good cry out, and he had very little Vernix on his body, but he was a healthy baby, praise God!

Andrew and I, upon reflection of the last 24 hours we’d spent waiting and laboring up to Judah’s birth, agreed that it was a blessing for me to have gotten the epidural when I did. Had I not had that rest and freedom from the pain, I would have spent several more hours in intense contractions, which would have likely sapped me of the strength I needed for the long pushing stage. I really think I might have needed a C-Section had I not gotten the epidural, because even which the break from the contractions and the long nap, I still had barely enough strength to push for three long hours.

Now that I’m on the other side of the pregnancy, having gone through an induced labor and getting an epidural (both of which were not a part of our plans!) I can more clearly see the need to be flexible with one’s labor and delivery plan. At first I felt like a cheater or a quitter for giving in and getting the epidural. I felt like a weak Easling (other female Easlings have done home births with no medical intervention—completely natural!). But with Andrew’s encouragement and my own change of perception, I realized that it wasn’t wrong or bad to change our plan, and to get medical assistance with the birth of our son was a wise and helpful choice we made, one that I still feel was worth it.

On top of it all, I had the best hospital experience of my life at OSF! Our room was big and comfortable, and didn’t have that depressing feel of a bleached, bright hospital room. It felt like a master suite. Each nurse that tended to us displayed exceptional friendliness, courtesy, and respect for our needs and desires. This hospital is not at all like the horror stories you hear. They were so willing to honor our desires for labor and delivery, made sure Andrew and I were comfortable, and even tended to some needs of my family who camped out in the hospital in patient support of Andrew and I. They informed us on procedures and tests, and truly made me feel at home. It’s so true that going through the experience of delivering a child essentially robs you of all dignity, and those who know me know I have an aversion to hospitals due to the nature of the often awkward but necessary invasion of privacy, but I had no problem accepting the help of the nurses. When it came time to go home, I didn’t want to leave the safety, security, and comfort of the hospital and staff!

The first night home was the worst. Andrew had to go to work early the next morning, so I got up and took Judah out to the living room every time he wanted to feed. I had no idea what to do! I was up and down, up and down, checking on him in his bassinet, feeling totally clueless and helpless and exhausted again by the next morning. I wanted nothing more than to go back to the hospital, crawl back into bed, and be surrounded by the expertise and comfort of the nurses and staff. I felt overwhelmed! (Shocking, I know). The next night was slightly better, but still a whirlwind. The third night was a little easier than the last, but I still felt alone. I definitely had the Baby Blues. I was so emotional. One moment I’d feel fine, the next I’d feel like I was in a trap of feeding and burping and changing diapers. I wanted to just get the heck out of Flanagan and move to Bloomington, to be close to my friends and other women; to escape this feeling of isolation. My whole world was upside down. I went through a few crying spells, and though I had nothing but love for Judah in my heart, I couldn’t shake the numbing feeling that weighed me down. Thankfully, through answered prayer, the feelings wore off in a few days. I’m still worn, but mostly due to lack of sleep J.  

And now, Andrew and I are joyfully and with many yawns trekking through this first long season of parenthood, all the while thanking and praising our glorious God who created and purposed our son to be born into our care, to be raised up as another warrior for God’s Kingdom!