"God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing. " C.S. Lewis

Last week was rough.

Between the attacks I got from people threatened by my talk about baptism (via e-mail and FB), my asthma flaring up, my anxiety rising, I sunk.

I worried about what others thought of me. I worried about other people's beliefs.

I felt under attack in more ways than one.

I cried. A lot. I wasn't myself. Last night, it culminated in finding myself up, at 2 am, sobbing, and reading Psalm 27 on my phone.

Had it not been for some friends who educated me on how and why this exact thing is happening to me right now, I'd have thought I was losing my mind.

One hour of yoga helped a lot this morning, but that was nothing compared to tonight.

Because I went to church this evening and the pastor spoke on exactly what I'm going through. Through the Holy Spirit, he got right into my head. Again. I think my eyes were full of tears more often than not during that hour. I walked out of that service with more peace than I would have ever thought possible after the week I'd endured.

Some things can't be explained through science or coincidence.

Anyone could say that it's coincidence that the pastor talked about keeping faith in the midst of those who disagree with you. That him talking about, to a tee, exactly what I'm struggling with has got to happen sometime.

But this is not the first time that's happened. Or the fifth. Or the tenth.

And tonight, when our pastor said something that made my friend Elizabeth and I gasp, because we had just been talking about it two minutes before walking into the service? Just another coincidence? Sorry, I can't chalk it up to that. I just can't.

While I can promise that this blog won't change from a mommy blog to a Jesus-freak blog, I can't promise that I'm going to talk any less about my faith from here on out. The funny L and G stories and randomness will keep popping up around here. Hopefully, I'm going to have some awesome before and after pictures of our new house coming as soon as next week. I've got an ADD-related post swirling around in my very distracted brain.

But the spiritual posts will keep on keeping on. I've gotten lots of emails this week from people who share my beliefs and those who don't. The vast majority, even from those of very different faiths, or lack thereof, have been supportive, and kind, and for that, I am so very grateful. And I feel renewed again.

Plus, as our pastor said tonight, if Jesus is this big, how can we not talk about him?

Namaste'.

It's my party and I'll celebrate if I want to.

I want to post this on Facebook, where I'm getting the backlash, but I'm not a fan of good ole FB drama, so the ole saying, blogging is cheaper than therapy? It applies again.


Wowzers. I posted about getting baptized yesterday here and on Facebook, and although everyone here and on Twitter was supportive (even those who don't share my beliefs), I got some hateful comments, messages, and status updates from others regarding my faith.


I'd just like to say that those people, who are so offended by my excitement over a new life, are completely hypocritical. They don't want me to talk about baptism or my love for God, but they think it's okay to talk about their beliefs and how wrong I am. It goes both ways.

You know what baptism isn't? It's not a ticket into heaven. It's not a conversion from Catholicism. It's not me judging others for not having a relationship with God. If it were, I'd be the hypocritical one. Because if you look back just a few years on this blog, you can find a post about me being afraid to walk into a church for fear of lightning striking me. And even after I joined and fell in love with my church, I was seeking. Questioning. Doubting.


So let it be said right here that I judge no one for their beliefs. I might pray for them, but I don't judge. I've been there, for a long time.

But asking me not to talk about something that has made such a profound impact on my life? It's almost impossible. It's like asking others not to talk about the dream job they landed. Or their children.

Because in the past, I didn't drive down the street, marveling at the creation that God gifted us. I didn't know to pray when overwhelmed, finding that it would bring me a sense of peace. I didn't see God everywhere I looked.

I was a mess. Anxious. Confused. Hurt. Angry.

Are things perfect now that I've found Jesus? Nope. Do I still lose my temper with my kids? Yep. Do I still cry in the kitchen when the dishes are piling up and I ruined the rice and G is screaming? It happened last night.

But this life change I'm going through? It's phenomenal. Literally.

I'd apologize for continuing to talk about it, but the truth is, I'm not sorry. If you don't want to read it, move along. And if something strikes a nerve in you, perhaps there's a reason. I wondered why the baptism videos made me cry before I ever stepped foot into my church. It was God whispering to me.


So excuse me while I continue to celebrate.

Namaste'.

Big, gigantic, exciting news!

Both times that I became pregnant, I had a cute idea of how to tell my husband that we were having a baby. I like to think of myself as pretty creative and I had ideas flowing through my brain. And then I peed on the sticks and my ADD-fueled impulsivity kicked right in. I told him RIGHT! THEN! (In G's case, I actually sent him a text to say that I needed him to bring home another test, because the 5th test I took finally had a second faint line and oh my gosh maybe I was pregnant!)

I never told my parents in a cute way either. I was going to see my mom the night I found out I was pregnant with G but unable to wait, I called her and screeched that L was going to be a big brother.

When I have news that excites me, I scream it from the rooftops.

So on the night before Easter, I was serving at church, and my friend Elizabeth walked in the room, I should have known what I was going to do. Elizabeth has been an integral part of my faith journey. She's held my hand literally and figuratively. She's answered questions, some of which were beyond random. She's listened to my doubts. She has prayed for me and with me.

When I saw her that night, I did it again. I had ideas of how I wanted to share some big news with her, but I ran up to her and blurted it out, saying something like, "I have to tell you something and I think that Easter is the perfect time because (insert 'squeee!) B and I are getting baptized and will you please be my water witness?"

And then we dissolved into a tear-filled hug.

I sent her a text later apologizing for my impulsivity and she responded kindly as she always does, explaining that heartfelt and excited is far better than cute and planned.

Today, I filled out the registration to get baptized next month. Baptism at our church is so, so cool. They flood the field in our backyard and all the pastors help immerse hundreds of people proclaiming that they are His. I went last year and cried and cried. And then I cried harder when I looked over at L to see him crying too. But it's powerful, touching, awe-inspiring stuff.

I plan on writing a few posts about how our church feels about baptism; why we don't baptize babies (or anyone under third grade, for that matter), what a water witness is, and why I feel the need to be baptized even though I was baptized as an infant. So if you have any specific questions, let me know, and I'll answer them in future posts.

For now, though, I'm screaming it from the rooftops, er, internet because like I said, that's what I do with good news. And this news is pretty stinkin' awesome. I'm getting baptized!

Namaste'!

God-given gifts

Every so often, you have a moment. A great big honkin' moment when some people say the stars align. Other people say the universe smiles on you. Still others insist it's good karma. Skeptics say it's luck.

Me? I say it's proof of God doing His thing, right there in my midst.

A few days ago, we got a text from someone close to us, saying that he wanted to come to church with us. We'd been praying for this for two years because we wanted to see his heart healed. We love him so much and yearned for him to experience what we had through our church because like us, he needs some hard-core love.

And it just happened to be on the weekend that friends of ours, one of whom was initially as anti-church as I used to be, were dedicating their daughter at our church. We barely got them in the church doors months ago, and yesterday, I got to watch them stand before the church, publicly proclaiming that they wanted to raise her knowing God and wanted the church's help to do so.

So as I listened to our pastor explain the meaning of dedication, looking at our friends who had recently agreed to their own faith journey, feeling a skeptical but willing loved one directly next to me, I had tears shining in my eyes. My heart felt like it was in danger of bursting out of my chest.

I had the opportunity to join our friends in the front of the church, cry and pray with them, and it was intense and holy.

And when I returned to my seat to hear my all-time favorite song, I couldn't have wiped the smile off my face if I'd tried.

Then the pastor started his message and spoke directly, I'm convinced, to our visitor. Questions he asked and topics he covered were so perfect for him that I rubbed my arms to try to rid myself of the goosebumps. Clearly, the Holy Spirit was working right through him and I got to see it with my own two eyes.

He wasn't the only one who was a recipient of a perfect message, though. The pastor taught this week about the parable in Luke 6: 47-49. Of all things, it was about houses. With two different foundations, one of which protected against flooding.

Last week, we decided to walk away from a contract on a house that we'd put money and time into, because it had a poorly constructed foundation and was built on a spring.

B whispered to me, "God has a sense of humor."

And as the pastor explained that storms will invariably come, but our faith needs to be deep-rooted and strong; that we need to be open to new learning; that it's crucial to let God be our support, I nodded.

Yesterday, God gave me some gifts. I couldn't be more sure of this had He presented them on my lap with a shiny red bow. I just wish I had the words to express my gratitude.

Namaste'.

Here's hoping.

I keep saying that I don't want to blog about my faith journey. I don't want to make people uncomfortable or, worse, label me a Jesus Freak. At least I can admit that.

But then, I do mention something on here, and the comments, and especially the e-mails, come rolling in. People encourage me to post about the cool things that are happening. And since this little ole blog is a baby book/diary/processing tool, I want to use it as such. I want to include everything that is important to me, and create something that my boys can read one day.

So guess what. I'm telling another God story. Go ahead and peace out if you feel so inclined. I don't mind.

If you are going to read, I'm grateful enough for that that I'm going to make a big confession right here. And it's worse than "I never ever iron" or "every room in my house is trashed right now" which are both true.

Deep breath...here it is.

I have huge, gigantic, ginormous doubts during my journey sometimes. I go to church and I get all inspired and I cry and I write in my Bible and I boogie during the songs and I believe.

And then as the week goes on, I wonder. I have lots of friends who are atheists. Who tell me they strongly disagree with what my church teaches. Who tell me the Bible is not to be taken seriously. Who tell me, on many levels, without saying the words, that I'm wrong. Crazy. Stupid.

I'm embarrassed to admit that then I wonder if I AM wrong. If the Bible is just written by people who want to control society. If...gah. If there is a God.

Sigh. I said it. I do. I wonder. I doubt. Even though I know in my heart what I believe, sometimes my brain takes over. I pray about that a lot. I apologize to God. I ask Him to come near and show me He's with me.

And? I told B this weekend that I wouldn't blame God for saying, "Gina, short of coming to you and speaking to you, I don't know how much more you want from me." You can read all the huge things He's done for me here on my blog. God likes to hit me upside the head with things, because I obviously need that.

This weekend, I had another bonk on my head moment.

I had taken some cough medicine that gifted me with a lovely bout of insomnia on Friday night. I had woken up and for the life of me, couldn't get back to sleep. I felt the strongest calling to get up and read my Bible. I kept getting this feeling about the name David.

Typing this makes me realize how crazy it sounds. It does. So I do realize that I sound like a nutcase. Don't worry.

Although I have a very strong Catholic background, I have very little Bible knowledge. When I volunteer in the kids' ministry, I learn as they learn. So I just went with this weird feeling and looked to see if there was a book of David. There wasn't. I decided to simply flip my Bible open and read whatever I landed on.

So when I opened to Psalms and Psalm 53 said "a maskil of David" at the top, I might have peed my pants a little. I definitely chuckled at it. I knew it wasn't a coincidence.

I really knew it wasn't a coincidence when I read Psalm 53. It began: "The fool says in his heart, there is no God."

Like I said....hit-upside-the-head moment right there.

At peace, I read a few more psalms, all speaking quite loudly to me, and went to bed peacefully.

Two days later, I went to church. As the pastor preached about David, B and I exchanged knowing smiles.

And as they played a closing song (Jesus Messiah), one lyric in particular hit me, again, upside the head..."All our hope is in You."

I consider myself fairly intelligent. I have my master's degree and always did really well in school. But somehow it took me that long to realize that of course I don't know for sure. Even with the coincidences that are clearly not coincidences. Even looking at my boys, who are obvious proof of God. I don't know for sure. I have to choose to believe...to have faith...to HOPE.

It delighted me when, later that day, my friend Elizabeth sent me my daily Scripture text and it gave me chills. Smiling, I read, "Hold unswervingly to the hope you profess, for he who promised is faithful. (Hebrews 10:23 NIV).

Namaste.

Detours

I don't talk a whole lot about my faith journey. It's big, it's central to my life, and I'm really excited about it. I'm bringing friends to church. I bought a Bible. I will talk about it with people who will listen. But tonight, I had a big moment with it that I want to remember.

You see, I'm really walking this road of faith. I'm putting one foot in front of the other. I'm doing it.

Except for when I hit the detours.

And when my kids are sick, those detours are filled with road blocks.

Tonight, L has been coughing. And coughing and coughing and coughing and coughing and coughing. Coughing triggers something PTSD-esque in this mama bear. I remember the days, pre-allergy diagnosis, when we rushed L to the ER when he couldn't stop coughing. When he couldn't breathe and therefore, neither could I. Now, when he coughs, and I can't help him, I become weak. I become weak emotionally. Mentally. And spiritually.

After L had been coughing, almost literally nonstop, for several consecutive hours, and his strong little spirit was starting to break, he started to whimper in his sleep. The whimpers turned into tears, and I joined him, feeling my own cheeks become wet.

I fell to my knees and I said, "Why did God make him like this? Why didn't he give him a decent immune system? Why does He think I can handle it? Brian, I can't. Why doesn't He know that?"

Look. I know what you are thinking. My kid doesn't have cancer. He is typically developing. In the grand scheme of things, some might say I'm overreacting.

But I know what it's like to have a weak immune system. To get sick all the damn time. To not be able to breathe, and to not be able to stop coughing for one stinkin' minute. I know how it hurts so badly. And just like a gazillion other things that L has inherited from me, this is just another thing that makes him so much like me. But unlike his love of chattering with strangers or singing show tunes in the car, this thing sucks. Plain and simple.

And as I knelt in front of the couch, my hand on my little boy's face, crying, B reminded me that L will be all right. That he's strong. That he's smart. That he's athletic.

B walked away to get L a drink and I sat down on the couch next to him, taking his little hand in mine. I looked at him, and I promised him that he was going to feel better soon. Between wheezing coughs, he said "okay," and "I know, Mommy."

I asked him if he wanted to say a prayer.

"You say the words, Mommy," he whispered.

I stammered through a prayer, still gripping his hands. With tears falling down his cheeks, he looked in my own tear-filled eyes and listened as I prayed that God would make him better. That we knew it wasn't going to happen right this second, but that He'd heal my L. That in the meantime, He'd come in close. That He'd be here with us as we waited for God to make him better. We thanked God for everything He'd given us and told him we loved Him.

Oh, this road. It's rocky. It's messy. It's full of detours and road blocks and ditches.

But as L perked up a bit, ate a snack and requested to watch Iron Man, I dusted myself off and retied my shoes.

And I started back on the journey.

Namaste.