I Broke Down After My Toddler Spilled A Bag of Oats. I'm Not a "Super" Mama.

Yep, thats a bag of uncooked oatmeal you see spilled across the floor.

And this is the moment I broke down.

You only see the oatmeal.

I saw the hundredth fire that I had to put out that day. I saw that dinner still wasn’t made. I heard my small baby crying wanting something to eat. I remembered that the living room and kitchen were both still a mess after already cleaning it twice…in one day. I felt my own stomach rumble-reminding me of my own humanity.

My curious toddler tore the bag open. The oats spilled across the floor. And I simply sat. I stared off and took several deep breaths - while my two kiddos played with oats as if it were freshly fallen snow.

Then I heard them skating across the pile of oats like figure skaters--laughing and giggling with the utmost joy.

I couldn’t get up.

Well, I could. But this time, I chose to sit. For whatever reason I couldn’t muster up the unction to go at it again. To plough through. To think positively. To even worship and rejoice in the midst of the chaos.

I turned on some Nat King Cole to calm my nerves (random, I know).

I texted my husband: “Pray for me."

I FaceTimed my sister.

I contacted the mother of my “mother's helper” - a sweet preteen who lives down the street and helps me for a few hours a week for $$- to see if she could come over abruptly (something I never do.)

The oats continued to scatter. Into the living room. Into the crevices of our baseboard. Into our half-bathroom. But I sat still.

I didn’t have the energy to even react.

Without me giving him any context, my husband texted back saying, "I’m on my way home."

The mother of my mother's helper understood (a mother of four herself) and texted back, “She only has 50 min to help, but we are on our way.”

And without me knowing, my sister got in her car and drove 20 min to come over immediately.

Ought I to have better systems? More organization? A fool-proof plan?

Life isn’t that simple. Oh, what an understatement.

It wasn’t the spilled oatmeal that sent me to a state of breaking down. It was my own precious humanity.

I’m not a supermama. What makes me “super” are the additional hands and feet that come alongside me when I simply can… not…do... it.

On this day, I cried. God saw beyond the spilled oats. And He supplied His sufficient grace through additional hands and feet.

To all my mamas out there with little ones… you’re not alone. This is just a season.

Here's the crazy thing.

I now look back to this picture and smile…on a day that I cried.

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When I was little, my friend and I vowed to never become like our mothers. Well, here's how I did exactly that.

Growing up, I had several friends whose mothers were friends with my mom as well. One afternoon, my mom and I decided to visit one of these family  friends for a quiet Saturday afternoon. While my friend and I were chatting, I witnessed my mother talking in immense detail about a fern—a type of flowerless plant—to my friend’s mother.

My mom wanted to know where the fern was purchased, how much water the fern required, and which window the fern needed to be placed in order to get the maximum amount of light.

They talked for over half an hour. My friend’s mother was just as equally engaged with excitement.

My friend and I looked at our mothers in astonishment. We then  promised one another that we would never become like our mothers—talking at length about a plant. We were destined to do more important things in our life. 

I’m now a full-time homemaker and mother to three little ones.  Seeing a  leaf sprout on my fiddle leaf tree leaves me in sheer awe and wonder. 

Growing up, I wanted to do important things. Things that would cause grave consequences if mishandled. I wanted to be in a position of authority governing serious matters. Life and death situations. For instance, I pictured  myself  in the operating room saving someone’s life. At someone’s deathbed sharing the Gospel.  At someone’s doorstep providing a life-saving meal. 

Years ago, during one of my college breaks,  I sat outside the doorstep of my parent’s home and allowed my mind to roam as I envisioned my future. Day after day I looked into the clouds and asked the Lord to use my hands, my feet, and all of my being for something great. 

Something great. 

Yes, I wanted to do important things.

 I still do.

And I am. 

When my husband comes home from work, he tries to match my excitement surrounding what I consider “major” events of the day that leave me beaming from ear to ear. Whether it's a new leaf that sprouted on one of our plants, or the fact that I got to finally clean our sofas with our  new upholstery cleaner,  or the fact that I managed to not have a meltdown after cleaning, cooking, homeschooling, and getting everyone dressed…these are often my highlights from the day.

He truly tries to match my level of excitement. I often smile at his earnest attempts.

Who have I become? 

Humor me while I share a quick story. 

I recently bought a new pair of sheets from a store called Tuesday Morning. Unfortunately, the sheets didn’t meet my expectations in terms of texture.  Therefore, the first opportunity I had to sneak away from the kiddos, I drove to Tuesday Morning to complete the quick return. 

The moment I stepped through Tuesday Morning’s double doors, two older workers greeted me without hesitation. I saw no one else in the store and became hopeful that my trip would indeed be quick and efficient. I followed one of the workers as she motioned me to her cashier’s window. After explaining to the worker that I was doing a return, she asked me the expected question,  “What’s the reason for your return?”

“The sheets were stiffer than I'd liked,” I responded in short, trying not to look at the clock for the time.  

“Oh goodness, they are! Come here and feel these,” she said while motioning to her coworker to come feel the sheets. 

Her level of interest in my complaint intrigued me and took me slightly aback. 

“Oh goodness. They are stiff,” the other worker stated in disbelief. 

I hesitated, in shock by their commentary.

I opened up a bit more. 

“Yeah. I had never heard of this brand but wanted to give them a try. I even asked one of your coworkers last time I was here for advice on this  brand. But I’m going to stick with Peddleton from now on.” 

“Yes, Peddleton has some really good sheets,” she said with emphasis. 

Someone who understood my world. 

“And Patty, come here and look at the color of the pillow case. It’s different colors than the actual sheets. I mean it just looks like a rank pink. Do you see that?” 

Patty shook her head. The different colors in the sheets disturbed her too. 

“Oh wow. No, I didn't notice that. You’re right it is,” I chimed in with a bit of awe—less at the sheets and entirely at their concern. 

The unexpected camaraderie between these women and I, while we discussed sheets, made me giddy. 

Two ladies who took just as much care as I did to feel the texture, to analyze the color, to envision the feel… of sheets. 

Two ladies who didn’t view my purchasing decision as insignificant. 

Two ladies who understood the importance of having quality sheets.  

Did these ladies know that this short conversational exchange would be the highlight of my day that I’d share with my husband later? 

They didn’t.

She continued.

“You can’t go wrong with Peddleton.”

I couldn't go wrong with Peddleton. 

I grabbed my sheets  and drove home.

For the next several weeks, I kept thinking about Patty and her coworker. Thoughts plagued me until I wrote down what I learned that day.

Here it is.

 You don't know the feel of quality sheets until you’ve slept on 100% polyester. 

You don’t know the taste of a home-cooked meal until you’ve been forced to have takeout for weeks. 

You don't know what it feels like to come home to the feeling of home until you’ve moved into your first home and attempt to recreate that feeling for years. 

You don’t know the importance of creating memories until you lose your grasp on time as you get older and time somehow moves at triple speed. 

I never knew how nor why my mother would spend Saturday afternoons  in stores looking for display plants. Or why she wanted to spend several days decorating our home for Christmas. Or why she wanted us to all dress up to take family photos….

Or why she could talk at length about a plant. 

I am destined for greatness. 

I do important things. 

I became my mother in this way. 

And I’m so happy I did. 

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My beautiful mother with my three precious kiddos.

We got pregnant after winning a raffle ticket.

Evan Jr. was conceived due to the hand of God. 

The miracle of pregnancy is beyond what my mind can conceive. 

One sperm and one egg coming together at just the right time, implanting itself in a womb prepared for weeks prior, and somehow growing into a fully-functioning baby without a single human hand directing the show.  Even more fascinating is the forever inhabitation of a soul, even before our human eyes can see.

This is without a doubt...a miracle. 

But this isn’t what this blog post is about. 

It’s actually about the time my husband agreed to us trying to get pregnant, after months of him wanting to wait. 

But before I share the story of how that came about, I think it’s worth rewinding a bit more and sharing how the Lord allowed Evan (my husband) and I to have three years of marriage before having children...all without any conventional forms of birth control. 

When we first got engaged, Evan and I decided pretty early on to refrain from using conventional forms of birth control.

This is the night Evan proposed. Read the details of my engagement story in God, Princeton, & My Pondered Thoughts.

I’d recently been healed, a few months prior, from some pretty severe food allergies and had finally begun gaining weight, healthfully exercising, and eating a diverse array of foods without issue. With that said, I had no desire to have my body experiment with conventional forms of birth control. Evan, thankfully, agreed without question. 

I didn’t adopt this stance due to being well-researched. In fact, I hadn’t done any. I simply didn’t have a good feeling about going this route. So I asked some older married couples what they did, and the idea of family planning seemed appealing. I ordered Taking Charge of Your Fertility and began reading.

I felt pretty confident that if the Lord wanted us pregnant, despite our best efforts, we would get pregnant. And if He didn’t, He would allow for us to not get pregnant.

I was 22 at the time and quite naive. However, I trusted my Heavenly Father.

Evan Sr. was on board. Our close family members were frightened. Our friends thought we were crazy. And the last few words of most conversations with others were often, “Y’all will be pregnant in a few months. Just watch,” uttered with worry and grimace.

I wanted to retort in response, “And if we do...Well, Praise the Lord!” But my inner mommy-boldness hadn’t yet arrived. Instead, I’d lightly chuckle during these conversations and quietly hold Evan’s hand a bit tighter. 

I had no idea what we were doing.

We married soon after and two years flew by. Evan and I experienced several lazy mornings together. A few binge-watches throughout. Several dates in different restaurants and movie theaters.  A few walks alongside Lake Shore Drive overlooking Lake Michigan. And time…we experienced so much free time.

After two years of marriage, I felt a nudge from the Lord to begin discussing our timeline for kids.  I shared this with Evan.

Evan said he’d take it to prayer.

The only issue? Evan’s “taking it to prayer” appeared more of a coy to delay, and months flew by. 

I felt pretty helpless. Evan maintained his unwavering posture of hopefulness. And our discussion was nonexistent. It ended with me thinking that it was time to begin trying to conceive and with Evan sitting unphased saying again and again “Okay...lemme pray on it.”

What could you say in response to that?

Father’s Day of 2017 was when everything changed. 

Evan and I were both getting dressed to go to church when Evan received a text from our Pastor.

“C’mon man-let us wish you a Happy Father’s Day. We waiting on you, bro!”

Evan laughed aloud and sent him a text back.

“Lol in due time brother. Happy Father’s Day to you!”

Our Pastor was discipling Evan at the time, and they had a close relationship.

Due to Evan running behind, I decided to go ahead to church, since it was only five minutes away. While walking up to the church door, I saw Ms. Carolyn, the best church greeter in all of Chicago, giving out raffle tickets to all incoming fathers. The raffle entry afforded fathers the opportunity to win a gift card at the end of service. 

“Aw..how sweet and thoughtful,” I thought to myself. I hugged Ms. Carolyn and took my place in our usual pew that Evan and I loved sitting on. 

Evan and I standing outside our church building during the summer of 2017.

Evan showed up minutes later.

Towards the end of service, our Pastor walked on stage and directed the fathers in the audience to pull out their raffle tickets. Evan began rustling inside his suit jacket for something. Instantly, he pulled out his raffle ticket. 

“Evan….the tickets are for fathers,” I said while looking around, in fear of breaking an unwritten rule. 

“Oh… I didn’t know. I thought they were for all men,” he said, pleasantly unphased.  

“Evan, you can’t participate in the raffle,”  I responded more urgently. 

“Well, let’s just see,” he said with a humorous smirk.

Apparently, the prize was a gift card for a new suit. A temptation Evan seemed to not be able to resist...even in church. 

But what I didn’t know was that Evan was actually talking to God. Perhaps he had been. He told the Lord that if his ticket was selected that he would take that as a sign to begin having children. Yes, a raffle ticket.

I knew none of this. I just knew that my husband was... well, being my husband: doing as he pleased, without fear of judgment. 

Our Pastor announced the first set of numbers from the pulled raffle ticket.

After much silence, our Pastor asked everyone to double-check the numbers on their raffle ticket.

No one claimed it. 

Our Pastor turned the wheel again and pulled out another raffle ticket. 

Still nothing. No one claimed the second set of numbers either. 

At this point, slight frustration ensued as our Pastor again directed church congregants to pull out their raffle tickets and read their numbers more carefully (church service was running behind and pushing into the start of Sunday school).

Our Pastor turned the wheel again and called out the third set of numbers.

Evan stood up, raffle ticket in hand.

Our church had quite a large congregation. But since we frequented the 8 AM service, everyone knew each other. And they all knew that Evan was not yet a father. 

Evan went up to the stage and claimed his prize. Our Pastor laughed. “Well, we know that Evan isn’t a father...yet but we’re going to give him this gift card.” Our much older church members smiled at me upon seeing Evan on stage...as if to say, “I look forward to seeing you two younguns procreating one day.”

 I was the only one who felt embarrassed.  

When Evan finally returned to his seat, he looked like a deer in headlights. He went on to share with me a revelation I never anticipated him receiving.

“That’s it love. It’s confirmed. I’m going to give the gift card away. But it’s confirmed. I just prayed literally to the Lord that if my number was called that I would take that as a sign to begin trying (to have children).” 

“What?” I questioned in shock.

“Yeah. I can’t deny that one. You just witnessed it.”  

Evan gave the gift card to another father and we began trying that day.

I praise the Lord that my husband was not like Gideon. He knew that the Lord had spoken, as strange as it may have seemed, and he didn’t need a further sign. The likelihood of Evan getting to church late, grabbing a ticket unknowingly, and winning a raffle ticket after two people didn’t claim their prize. This was not a coincidence. The Lord had answered. I just never expected the Lord to get my husband’s attention through a raffle ticket.

We conceived a few weeks later and named him Evan Jr. 

Pondered Thought: What are some interesting ways the Lord has gotten your attention in the past?

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New City, Newly Married, No Immediate Family... And My Husband Quit His Job

It was our first year anniversary, and we went all out—as best we could at the time. After celebrating with a candlelit dinner, a scheduled massage, and a night in a fancy hotel, our celebration was complete. We felt pretty accomplished.  366 days of marriage and counting. 

The next morning, my husband and I woke up in our hotel room and began reading the Word together. While reading a chapter in Matthew aloud, Evan, my husband, paused. He highlighted, said a couple of “hmmm”’s and continued reading. He paused again, considered speaking, but then hesitated at the last minute. 

A few seconds later, and with careful word placement, Evan completely upended whatever 3 year-plan we didn’t quite have. 

“I think I’m supposed to quit my job. 

Yeah, I don’t know. 

But I’m pretty sure this is the Lord speaking. 

Can you pray on it too? It’s just that….while reading, I heard that.” 

“Yeah. Okay. Just like... while reading that section (a section of scripture that had absolutely nothing to do with relinquishing a stable source of income) you heard that?” I cautiously questioned.

It wasn’t that Evan hated his job. But it wasn’t something he lept with joy about when returning home from work. It was more like that subtle nuisance of an activity that he felt forced to do eight to ten hours per day, as a postgraduate who needed more work experience. And when he was home, any recollection of that nuisance was politely put away until the next day’s clock-in. 

“Yeah. I can definitely pray.” 

I prayed right then to myself and knew immediately that this was the Lord speaking. Not only did I feel the hand of God in this, but I also knew that whatever Evan was led to do, he needed to act quickly.

One day later,  Evan put in his two weeks’ notice.

Immediately, we felt a sense of peace. As scary as it was- a new city, newly married, and with no immediate family around-we knew we did exactly what we were supposed to do. 

We just didn’t know the journey that awaited us upon doing so. 

Evan took to applying for jobs immediately. Living on my income (a teacher’s salary at that), in the city of Chicago, wasn’t quite ideal.  I felt led to fast from eating all meat (including fish) until Evan got his next fancy job. At the time, I ate meat three times a day. But it didn’t matter. I knew he’d get a job pretty quickly...since it was the Lord who told him to quit, right? 

Well, after three months of unexpected rejections, Evan became an Uber driver.

Some mornings before leaving the house, I’d let Evan know the exact amount of money he needed to make before a bill was withdrawn from our account. Our savings were slowly dwindling. 

One Sunday evening, Evan left the house at 11 PM due to an Uber driver demand. Because there was a surge in pricing, Evan made $74 in 38 minutes (he still can recall these exact numbers years later). He walked through our apartment door feeling accomplished. I couldn’t have been more proud. 

Our first apartment.

After three months of Ubering, we decided to celebrate Evan’s birthday by going to Memphis to spend time with family. Thank God for Megabus’ pricing. 

Evan photobombing me on our Megabus ride from Chicago to Memphis.

After six months, whatever adventure we signed up for began to look less promising. It honestly didn’t make any sense as to why my exceptionally qualified husband was not getting a job. It baffled us both. Every time Evan neared a final round of interviews, someone else was chosen. Or the job was handed to someone else in-house. 

 We needed money. I craved meat. And people’s skepticism over our “following the Lord faith move” began to annoy me. 

After eight months of searching, Evan came across a promising job opportunity through one of our close contacts. Although this job would be in a completely different area of work than preferred,  it offered good pay with an early start date. Our contact anticipated excitement from us both. And we were. But then we prayed. 

We both knew that this wasn’t it. 

Eight months turned into nine months. 

Not only did we appear crazy, but some moments we felt crazy. 

One evening after work, I got home and found Evan dressed up. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Oh, the Hendersons invited us out for dinner. Apparently, they have some really good news to share with us.” 

“Ohh… where?” 

“Indian Garden.” 

Indian Garden was an upscale Indian restaurant in the heart of downtown. One of my favorite eateries in Chicago. 

We got in the car and drove to the restaurant just 15 minutes away. I couldn’t help but ask. 

“So where is the money going to come from? We just did our budget. This is going to easily cost us $50 with tip.” 

“I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.” 

I sighed. 

We pulled up and began to park. 

“Ev...let’s park further down. Parking is going to cost us at least $10 if we park here. Let’s just walk.” 

“It’s okay. I’ll make some extra money Ubering. Don’t worry.” 

I rolled my eyes. We could use that extra money towards a lot else. 

We walked into the restaurant and were immediately seated. The Hendersons hadn’t made it in yet. I could smell vindaloo and only imagined the different meats marinating in an array of spices. 

“Go ahead and get whatever you want.” 

“Ev, we have a budget.” 

“In fact, get some meat if you want to.” 

“You know I’m fasting….” 

Evan let out his invisible lion’s mane. 

What was he so proud of? 

He continued speaking.

 “ You know that weekend that I said I was going out of town for that church conference?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, I was actually interviewing for ___. They paid for my hotel and everything. I wanted to surprise you. I got the job bae. Here’s your new client exec.”

He got the job. (And I could order my fish vindaloo.)

I got on my knees and kneeled over the seat of my dinner chair. Not symbolically but quite literally.

“Thank you Jesus. Thank you Jesus. Thank You Jesus.”

Tears streamed down my face without effort. No one knew how hard it was to not give up. 

This was what we were waiting for. 

Ten months of waiting. 

We never missed a meal. We never missed a bill. The Lord took care of us throughout, even in the midst of so many thinking we were crazy, naive, and unwise. 

This was what was on the other side of obedience—increased dependence and trust in the Lord. 

Evan’s new job was double the pay of his previous job. Yes, DOUBLE.

One year after initially quitting his job, we bought our first condo. 

Six months into his new job, we conceived our firstborn. Three months into my pregnancy, Evan received an email stating that his new job’s paternity policy had recently changed. He would be receiving three months of paternity leave, with 100% pay. His new job doubled their paternity leave period.  Yes, DOUBLED.

2.5 years after Evan quit his first job, we were in the financial position that allowed me to leave my full-time job in order to work at home, nurturing our little one (and now little ones).

God is good. He is Faithful. And I hope this testimony leads you to look to the One who is unchanging, forever Good, and always available. If He did it for us, He is more than capable of doing it for you. 

“But without faith it is impossible to please Him, for he who comes to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.” ‭‭

Hebrews‬ ‭11:6‬ ‭

Fun fact: I don’t even eat meat anymore, by choice (hahaha). 

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We Discovered $5K Outside Our Doorstep

We bought a townhome in late January of this year, and the first thing my husband said before we even signed the dotted line was the following: "We are going to cut down that tree, immediately." He was referring to a very large shrub growing on the back patio. 

Fast-forward four months, limbs were growing wild. Our entrance from our detached garage into our home was becoming blocked by this wild-growing plant. Anytime we walked from our detached garage, across our patio, and into our home...we would have to strategically move our heads so as to avoid limbs and spider webs. I was ready to begin hacking away myself. The shrub was becoming more of an annoyance. It bloomed once and March and then just as quickly the blooms died. I wasn't sure if the shrub was any good.

One day, my father-in-love came to visit. He immediately took notice of the interesting situation going on on our patio. And without mentioning it to us, he called one of his landscapers to come out the next day to properly shape the shrub.

"Just cut it all the way down," my husband said the next morning when the landscaper came by. 

I inwardly agreed. At this point, I didn't care what happened to the shrub. We had a baby coming in 4 weeks or so, and I was becoming annoyed at the thought of always bending my head and watching out for spider webs every time I entered our patio from the detached garage.

The landscaper carefully noted our vivid requests. But then he said the unthinkable.

"You know what this is?"

My husband's dumbfounded look, coupled with his lack of interest in knowing the genus identification of some shrub, simply shook his head.

The landscaper went on to answer his own question. 

"If you sold this, this would be worth $5-6K easily. This is a grandfather Azealia. Whoever had this before you took really good care of it. It takes years and years of maintenance for an Azealia to grow to be this size. You just have a little fungus on it. But I'm telling you, people want something like this."

My ears perked up. My husband's eyes looked more delightful. I could see my husband making calculations and pitching creative ways for us to invest this money.

I walked back inside and made breakfast. While I watched the landscaper trim the shrub, I couldn't help but see God.

Just a few days ago, we were considering cutting down our biggest treasure in our patio because we didn't know its value. We only saw it as an annoyance.

How often do we do this and even advise others to do so?

We see a struggle, a trial, an annoyance...and quickly find ways to get rid of it in order to make life "easier, less stressful, more efficient" etc.

Here's the lesson learned.

Stop cutting things out of your life that was meant to make you look more like Jesus—Your greatest treasure.

Often times your greatest sore, your greatest annoyances, your greatest trials...are actually the refining that the Lord is using to make you rely and depend on Him—ultimately leading you into greater communion, greater spiritual maturity, and greater patience.

James 1 says, 
"2 My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, 3 knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. 4 But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing."


Before you choose to give up on your child who has run your nerves amuck, or to quit your job because you're not being valued, or to stop that project because things simply aren't coming together as smoothly as you'd like, or to cut that friend out of your life because he or she is just too much...first ask the Lord is this a treasure in disguise? Because before you take out the scissors to cut certain people out of your life or certain things, you may be cutting out a treasure that is being birthed in you... which is Jesus.

Pondered Thought: What are some hidden treasures in your life right now that the Lord is using to refine you?

(P.S. Right now, my greatest trials are seeing the goodness of the Lord even in the midst of uncontrolled schedules, potty training, hormonal fluctuations, and feeling needed all the time. In the midst of this, I can still find the goodness of the Lord and make the choice to depend on Him even more. Oh, how I need Him. And if you were wondering, we couldn’t sell the azalea because the roots go down so deep that it would upend the foundation of our patio if uprooted lol. )

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They Thought We Were Crazy to Plan a Home Birth...And Then Corona Happened. Here's Our Labor and Delivery Story.

Before Evan (husband) and I tried to conceive for the second time around, we wanted to select our healthcare provider first.

For our firstborn, we were under the care of a midwifery group in Chicago. This midwifery group was affiliated with a hospital and only did in-hospital births. Since we had such a pleasurable experience with our midwives in Chicago for both our prenatal care and labor and delivery, we knew that we wanted a midwife again—especially after reading too many horror stories regarding the subpar treatment of African-American women during labor and delivery. 

But once we moved to Memphis, we realized that our options were more limited. 

9 Weeks Pregnant with Baby Girl.

We couldn’t find a midwifery group affiliated with a reputable hospital near our home. And there aren’t any birthing centers in Memphis. Therefore, we decided, after much prayer and research, to do a home birth with a midwife of choice. By the grace of God, we landed our feet with the best midwife in Memphis. Many thought we were crazy to do this.

But let me tell you.

Our prenatal care was out of this world. I’ve never felt more heard and seen. It felt like this midwife cared for me and my baby with the mindset that she would one day have to stand before God and give an account for her treatment of me and my baby girl. Her reverence and respect for my health, and the health of my child, were unmatched.

In addition to the superb care I received, the level of accessibility to my midwife truly mattered during nights when I was at a loss and needed answers to questions. 

But more than that, when Corona happened, I’m so thankful we had the option to labor at home.

I know the ability to have a home birth is not accessible to everyone, nor do I ONLY advocate for home births. There are circumstances in which a hospital birth is needed and probably better for a person’s psyche, depending on the woman.

But for me, I’m thankful my husband and I chose this path because it made a world of a difference being able to labor at home. I felt at peace. I felt relaxed. And due to Covid-19, the added perks were that laboring at home meant I could still have my doula by my side while laboring; I didn’t have to worry about possibly being exposed to Covid-19 while hospitalized with other patients and being separated from my baby girl if I tested positive (stories like this were coming out around the time of my labor in May).

But enough of that. 

Here’s the story of my labor and delivery. In this post, I use several technical terms because, honestly, other women’s stories helped me in the past to make decisions. And such stories gave me hope. This is why I write in such detail. Enjoy!

I woke up around 11:30 PM to use the restroom. This time, things felt different. While using the restroom, I felt a slight cramp while pooping. I glanced at my phone and saw a missed phone call from my mom that was sent around 10:30 PM. My mom is typically in bed by 9:00 PM. She never calls past 9:30 PM. 

“Hey Mama, I was asleep when you called. Is everything okay?” I texted. 

“Yes. Just calling to check-in,” she texted back immediately. 

Then I knew. I knew exactly why she was calling. 

She was calling to see if I was in labor. And I think I was. 

Around 3:30 AM, I raised myself up off of the bed for the third time that night. What I was feeling weren’t Braxton Hick contractions. These were the beginnings of labor. I woke up my husband and let him know that I was sleeping in the living room because I’d been having contractions for the past hour. He got up,  pumped more air in my birth ball, helped me downstairs, and then went back to sleep. By this second birth, we both understood that labor doesn’t always come quickly and that we would both need our energy for what was to come. 

Thankfully, I got another two hours of restful sleep and then texted my mom around 6:00 AM to come pick up Evan Jr., our two-year-old son. I was still having irregular contractions that were stronger than Braxton Hicks.

I texted my doula and my midwife and let them know that I’d been having contractions. At this point, my mucus plug hadn’t dislodged yet nor had my water broken. 

My midwife came over by 8:30 AM to check my effacement and dilation. I was 3cm dilated. She did a membrane sweep to help kick start things and then she left my husband and me alone to labor peacefully at home. I’ve heard this before, but women often don’t like to be watched while laboring—especially in the beginning stages. This couldn’t have been more true for this labor. 

After my midwife left, Evan finished some last-minute emails before taking off work for the day, and I set off to clean the house. When we both finished, we went outside for a walk around 10:00 AM. At this point, the contractions left me paralyzed in place until they passed. I was definitely in labor. 

This position on my birth ball felt great in between contractions.

Although the contractions were fairly strong, they were also very much irregular. As with my first pregnancy, I thought I was having “prodromal labor”, But what I’d soon find out, I’m simply prone to having irregular contractions during all of my labor (even when in active labor—6cm+ dilated). 

As Evan and I walked outside, anytime I felt a contraction, Evan knew to become completely quiet, to grab my waist from behind, and to squeeze my hips together until the contraction passed. In addition to regular walking, I did some curbside walking too. After 30 minutes, we went back inside. 

At this point, my doula came over and helped Evan set up the birth pool in our bedroom. She coached me through different positions to do while contracting. She brought over a peanut ball and instructed me to lie on my side and to prop my leg over the peanut ball for about 30 min-60 min on each side. And then she showed me the following exercises: forward-leaning inversion, rebozo manteada, and walking up the stairs sideways. Although my doula advised me to do these exercises, she emphasized the need for me to rest as much as possible. I was going to need my energy once my contractions picked up later on...especially during the  “transition.”  At this point, my contractions were definitely more acute than Braxton Hick contractions but they weren’t unbearable. 

Birth pool. For those of you wondering, there is a lining underneath the pool as well.

Once my doula left, Evan Sr. and I began watching a movie while I propped my leg over the peanut ball. Then we ordered some Indian food. While I laid on my side, I still had contractions, but again, they weren’t unbearable. Many times, Evan Sr. didn’t know I was even having them. By the time the movie was over, I got up off the couch to use the restroom and realized that the back of my pants was wet as if I had used the restroom on myself.

My water had officially broken! 

I was told that the peanut ball would help open up my pelvis. I just didn’t expect my water to break so quickly. 

Evan and I eating takeout food and watching a movie. The blue ball is the peanut ball.

Now that my water was broken, I knew that my contractions were definitely about to pick up. (My midwife needed to know the exact time my water had broken, the color of the water, and the smell.) At this point, I became more excited. I never experienced my water breaking on its own with our first child (my midwives ended up breaking it) and so this was exciting for me to experience. 

Sure enough, my contractions began to become more intense, but they were still very much irregular—every 5, 10, or 20 minutes. Around 4:00 PM, my midwife came back over.

Here’s what’s crazy.  The moment my midwife came over, my contractions completely stopped. The reason why was because my midwife brought her assistant over as well. I didn’t realize just how much my body would respond to the presence of a stranger. Due to COVID-19, I never had the opportunity to meet my midwife’s assistant beforehand, as a precautionary measure to limit unnecessary exposure. But here she was. And although the assistant was extremely nice and friendly, my body still responded by my cervix beginning to close back up. My midwife checked me and I was 5.5 cm dilated. Since I still had some ways to go, I thought I’d feel better if my midwife and her assistant left (since my midwife lived 5 min away) and came back later to check me.

Once the midwife and the assistant left, Evan and I watched another movie. I laid down with the peanut ball, and we ordered some more takeout (Moroccan food). My contractions were more intense at this point, and Evan definitely knew whenever I contracted. 

Around 8:30 PM, my midwife and her assistant came back over to check how far along I was. Right before they came over, I was mopping the floor and Evan was putting dishes up. I share this because although my contractions were more intense, things were completely normal in between contractions. Honestly, watching movies and carrying on as normal helped time to go by more quickly.

In the middle of my midwife checking me, I had the most intense contraction while lying on my back (it’s unfortunate that many conventional healthcare providers ask many women to labor like this).  Although I was dilating more (6.5 cm), my effacement remained the same. Apparently, baby girl was coming down but then going back up. If I didn’t do something differently, this was going to be a long labor. In order to help baby girl contract downwards, my midwife used a Boba wrap to wrap around my belly and tied it right underneath my belly as a sort of bind Whenever I contracted, this belly bind helped baby girl go downwards instead of outwards. Once this wrap was tied around my waist, I could tell an immediate difference in my contractions.  My contractions were much more intense. 

After I was checked, the assistant recommended I sit backward on top of a toilet and spread my legs out to help my cervix open up more. I did this for about five contractions and became extremely tired. I could feel the baby pushing downwards. The assistant shared with me that she had two children and that her labors were quite long. For whatever reason, by the assistant sharing her childbirth experience with me made me relax completely. I no longer viewed her as a stranger. Just knowing that this was another mother who had gone through what I was currently going through (and probably a lot more), made me feel connected to her.

Around 9:30 PM, I decided to lay back down with the peanut ball as the contractions were becoming very painful. At one point, I thought to myself, I really need my Doula now! My doula had experienced seven natural births. She understood me and had a motherly way about her that made me trust her completely. I knew my mom would have a difficult time watching me in so much pain and I needed her to take care of Evan Jr. So having my doula there meant everything. I didn’t realize that I had forgotten to tell my doula to come back over at this point (she only lived five minutes away.) But without me realizing, I guess my doula just had a hunch, she came back over on her own volition. With the next contraction, she was already behind me holding me! When I saw her behind me, I just cried because the contractions were hurting pretty badly at this point and I needed her. 

After a few contractions lying down with the peanut ball, I wanted to change rooms. We all headed downstairs, and at this point, I began to feel exhausted. I felt the baby coming down and the contractions were growing more intense. I needed to sleep. 

Here I am lying on my side with my leg propped over the peanut ball.

Apparently, at this point, I’d go into a deep sleep (snoring and everything) and then wake up the moment a contraction came. I was still having irregular contractions, although they were growing more intense. 

After three hours of going in and out of sleep, my body began to do some weird bodily stuff. During a contraction, I’d become hot, and then right after the contraction passed, I’d become very cold. At one point, I began shivering and shaking—indicating a change in hormones. Later I had an episode of throwing up profusely and then felt the urge to poop. It seemed like my body was being taken over. Transition was coming. But the baby didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight (from my perspective.) 

I had no concept of time. Hours and minutes blurred together. My only focus was making it through the next contraction. I could feel myself growing weary. At one point, I turned on the song “Waymaker” and in between contractions, I said aloud repeatedly “I CAN DO THIS.”

But I felt so weak inwardly.

I really needed the Lord.

At 4:00 AM. I was done. I couldn’t take it anymore. I looked at my midwife and rhetorically asked, “How long? How much longer do I have to do this?” 

My midwife, in her melodic voice, continued to reassure me that I was doing an amazing job, that I was so strong, and that this labor was going really well. My doula echoed her same sentiments. I didn’t believe a single word. I needed to know how much longer. My husband, midwife, and doula appeared crazy. At this point, I didn’t know how they could possibly sit here and watch me go through this. Then I began to wonder how my midwife and doula even had natural births...and then chose to do it multiple times. All I knew was that I needed this baby out of me. In response to my midwife and doula’s commentary, I told them with great assertion that I was done laboring in the positions that they were advising me to labor in (which were all for the purposes of opening up my cervix).

I looked at Evan and told him to go get the pool ready. I needed some relief. I hadn’t gotten in the birth pool up until then because my contractions were still so irregular. Evan, my midwife, and my doula were concerned that If I labored in the pool, my body would relax too much and stop contracting all together. This happened during my first labor with Evan Jr.

But I didn’t care. I needed relief.

My midwife approved and told me to do whatever I needed to do in order to rest. With that, Evan and the assistant ran upstairs and began getting the birth pool ready. But after 20 minutes, the pool still wasn't’ ready and I was angry. I got up and told my midwife and doula that I needed to squat for the next contraction. I just needed some sort of relief. 

My midwife told me to do whatever I felt was comfortable. With that, I took two steps to the living room and squatted. I endured three or four contractions while squatting. At one point, I asked my midwife to hold me while I contracted. Her embrace helped so much. These contractions were coming right after each other, which was in complete contrast to the irregular contractions that I was experiencing before.  

After the fourth contraction,  I got on all fours and pushed.

I felt something coming out and heard something. It almost sounded like an egg hatching. At this point, I believe my midwife thought I was pooping. But then I began doing a deep inner groan while pushing.

I heard my midwife and doula pause. I could tell that they had heard this type of groan all too often and knew what it meant, even if I didn’t. This baby was coming out...now!

My midwife yelled for her assistant and for Evan to come downstairs immediately. I heard feet hitting the stairs. But I was in such a transfixed state. I just kept groaning from deep within and pushing. At this point, my doula was facing me eye to eye and telling me to breathe. “You’re almost there sweetheart. Keep breathing. You’re doing great. This baby is coming. Yes, just like that, ” she kept repeating assuredly.  My midwife was behind me. One thing I kept hearing my midwife say was, “Slow and steady. You’re doing great. Slow and steady. Push on the next contraction. Slow and steady.”

Our baby girl’s head was already out. 

What’s interesting is that with this birth, unlike my first in which I had an epidural, the pushing was the best part. It felt so good to push. It felt so natural. I didn’t need advice on how to push, when to push, or what position to get into. I just knew. I knew to groan from deep within. To get on all fours. To push whenever I felt like I was supposed to push. 

Within seconds, the baby glided out. 

Our baby girl cried immediately! My midwife cleared her nose and lungs and then handed Ada to me between my legs. I was still on all fours. I reached for Ada between my legs and then everyone helped me slowly sit down on my bottom.  

After that, everything's a blur. Her umbilical cord was cut. I do remember laying back and delivering my placenta (it happened so quickly).  And I do recall giving Ada back to the midwife so the midwife could do some quick assessments. At this point, I could feel my perineum swelling up but I wasn’t in pain due to not having any tearing, praise the Lord.  I’m so thankful my midwife told me to go slow and steady while pushing. My doula and midwife then helped me to the restroom to pee and to put on a diaper. Afterward, Evan guided me to the couch so I could feed Ada. Ada latched on instantly. Her body felt so warm. Her vernix smelled so sweet. And her beauty captivated us all. I bonded with her instantaneously.

Later, my doula and midwife shared with me that they knew the baby was coming the moment I said, “I can’t do this anymore.” Apparently,  every woman says that right before the baby comes.

And I was no different. I’m so thankful for this experience.

Ada Rose was born on May 27th at 4:20 AM.

Looking back, I felt like there were thousands of angels in my living room ministering to me during this birth. I felt the strength and presence of the Lord so acutely. With our first child, I truly believed that I was strong enough, well-read enough, child-birth educated enough to have a natural pregnancy. The Lord humbled me real quick. With this pregnancy, I knew I couldn’t do this without Him. I actually knew—not some false humility kind of “knew.” I seriously knew I needed the strength of the Lord.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that it’s typically the moment a laboring mother says, “I can’t”, that her baby comes.

To any beautiful mama about to have her baby. Eat your dates, do your squats, get chiropractic care, go through child birth education classes. But you better not forget this…

“ …apart from me you can do nothing.” -Jesus John 15:5

so pray my sister. And ask those around you to do the same.

God, Princeton, & My Pondered Thoughts: A Memoir of My Encounter with God at an Ivy

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To Husbands: 4 (Insider) Tips To Naturally Enhance Your Wife's Level of Respect for You

One night in college, a friend of mine could hardly contain a new-found revelation she received from the Lord. 

“Jessica, I’m just now seeing it. The Lord showed me that when Jesus came to Earth,  He could’ve done certain miracles that would’ve placed a tremendous amount of fear into the hearts of the people. He could’ve blown fire down from heaven at any moment’s notice, marshaled hosts of angels from heaven to appear instantaneously, or incited any sort of plague against those who opposed Him. But I think He didn’t do that because He didn’t want people to submit to Him out of fear and intimidation. He wanted people to submit to Him out of love. His miracles revealed His love and character, and in response, many people submitted.  ” 

It was quite a profound revelation. 

Looking at Jesus’ example, I have one question for godly husbands today:

What type of respect do you really want? 

Do you want your wife to respect you out of fear and intimidation, or out of love for your personhood, character, and seen example?

I believe the former has caused some men to exhibit misogynistic, aggressive, and intimidating behavior that is both unbiblical and deeply troubling.

Jesus never demanded respect.

It was freely given to Him by those who had ears to hear and eyes to see. 

Looking at the example of Jesus, I want to give you some insight into what draws wives into naturally giving the respect you desire and need.

If I were talking to wives, I’d emphasize that respect and submission is not conditional (meaning it shouldn’t be given or taken away based on the behavior of one’s husband).

But since I’m speaking to you, here are a few things you can do that will naturally drive your woman to want to respect, submit to, and follow you. (SN: All the credit to my husband Evan for making this blog post easy to write. He truly allows me to see his growth in all of these areas every single day.) 

1. Openly confess your sins, tell her your weaknesses, and admit when you are wrong

   My husband shared with me recently that most men live with the hidden fear of being found “inadequate.” Satan loves to drive men to live with this fear for their entire lives. Therefore when many/some men get married, they put on a mask because they don’t want their wives to see the baggage they really carry. But can I let you in on a secret? Most women saw many of your imperfections even before saying “I do,” even if you didn’t. And guess what? She still chose you.

   The sexiest and the strongest thing you can do is be vulnerable with your wife regarding your fears, hidden sins, and struggles. Because in doing so, your wife gets a glimpse of your true humility. Christ displayed the perfect example of humility while in the flesh. Although Christ was perfect and never needed to confess sin, you doing so is still a reflection of Christ, because it reflects that same humility.

   She didn’t marry you because she needed you to be Superman. Instead, she needs you to constantly point to the One who is.

   When you do that, even if it’s not well received at first, please know that your example in doing this is appreciated and opens up the opportunity for your wife to do the same.

   When a wife knows that her husband is one who isn’t ashamed of being vulnerable with her, it breeds respect. It may sound counterintuitive, but trust me on this. 

2. Keep Your Word 

   Keep your word, even in the little things. When your wife knows that she can rely on you to do what you say, she naturally feels secure, protected, and loved. Yes, taking out the trash when you say you will can induce these deep feelings. So be very careful when you say you're going to do something. Because when you don’t, it can breed a sense of insecurity and instability in your wife that can manifest in ways that you’d find disrespectful later on.

   I’ve seen too many older women who do “everything” not because they want to, but because they’ve lived in years of disappointment and resentment towards the indifference and passivity of well-meaning husbands who didn’t realize that being intentional and consistent in the little things was actually a big deal. This breach in trust led to them questioning their husband’s ability to pick up the kids from school on time, to pay bills, to schedule certain appointments, or to stick with the budget.

   Many husbands don’t realize that nagging is actually an unhealthy weed that grows from your wife not seeing you doing what you say you’re going to do. While this disrespect is completely unjustifiable it’s helpful for you to know where it stems from.

   You may think it’s not a big deal to break your word here and there, but trust me, you don’t want to deal with the weeds later.

   Let your “yes be yes” and let your “no be no.” Again, I must emphasize that no one is perfect! So go back to #1 when you find yourself not keeping your word...even in the little things. Confess to your wife and work to overcome that challenge by God’s grace 

3. Personally sacrifice...even if it costs you more than you desire

   “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her…” Ephesians 5:25

   “A man lays down his life for his wife.” What imagery comes to mind when you read this? Do you picture a movie scene where a burglar tries to break into your home and you jump in front of your wife right before the assailant pulls the trigger? No? You can tell, I have an imagination huh? 

   Well, no matter what valiant imagery comes to your mind when you read that phrase, laying down your life for your wife can often be simpler than you think.

   It can look like arranging for her to take a weekend away to rest while you care for the home and kids (my husband did this for me recently, and wow did it mean the world to me!).

   It can look like patiently listening to another story about her day, filled with too many details you don't really care to hear, but listening anyway with as much enthusiasm as you can muster.

   It can look like not retaliating when she lashes out at you, because you know it’s just that time of the month or pregnancy hormones (my poor husband has dealt with this so graciously all too often).

   It can look like cooking dinner, washing dishes, or giving her a massage.

   And sometimes it can look like you simply watching that RomCOM on TV with her, going to Target and walking through the Home section with her, desiring to listen to whatever music/podcasts she’s listening to these days, or doing whatever activity she’s been asking you to do with her.

   Women have a natural tendency to sacrifice and give their families more of themselves than what they actually possess.

   No matter who you are, it’s really hard for a wife not to respect a man who sacrifices. In return, she’ll want to serve you even more. That’s how we women are wired. But here’s one word of advice: listen to what she’s been subtly already asking you to sacrifice and don’t create areas of sacrifice that she never asked of you to do. That will only leave you resentful if she doesn’t appreciate that particular sacrifice. Every woman is different. Whereas one wants you to surprise her with a trip to the mall, another may just want you to take a walk with her outside.
   Know your wife, and give of yourself in the way that will mean the most to her personally

4. Tell her one thing you appreciate about her daily 

   Your words probably got you that second date, so continue to woo her with your words. Every wife desires to be seen and acknowledged. Every day, look for one thing that you appreciate about your wife and what she does and simply let her know. When you see Jesus writing letters to the seven churches in the book of Revelation, before granting a word of rebuke, He listed one thing that He loved about that particular church. Go read it. It’s quite beautiful (Revelation 2-3). So tell your wife just 1 thing daily that you love. Do you admire how diligent she is in her career pursuits;  or do you admire how she takes time to make dinner; or do you admire her pursuit of God? Tell her one thing you admire and be as specific as possible. For instance, “you look beautiful” is nice but try this: “I know that you have little time on your hands these days,  but you always manage to step out of the house looking like the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen . I don’t know how you manage to do it but I’m one blessed man.” Talk that talk, fellas! Your woman needs to hear it from you. 

I conclude with emphasizing that your wife’s respect shouldn’t be conditional. This blog post is merely meant to give some insider tips into what will naturally drive your wife to respect you for your personhood, character, and example.

Lastly, I must end this by saying thank you to Evan, my husband, and the sexiest man alive. Thank you Ev  for constantly growing into these qualities for me to see. Your leading example made this blog post truly easy to write, because the traits I am encouraging other men of God to embrace, I see you work to embody more and more every day…seriously, thank you.

PonderedThought: Not convinced? Make these mentioned points a conversation-starter between you and your wife. You might be surprised at what you might hear...and ultimately the changes you might see in you alls relationship upon consistent implementation. 

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A Man Stole My Cellphone in Whole Foods, Then Returned It To Me

Have you seen War Room?

It’s a movie about the power of prayer. The most memorable scene in the film occurs when an elderly lady is robbed at knifepoint. In typical thematic fashion, the elderly woman stared at her perpetrator point-blankly and stated, “Now you put that knife down right now, in the name of Jesus!”

And then he did. 

I can’t lie, sometimes I act this scenario out in my head. I imagine what I’d do if someone were to try to harm me or my children. And then I think back on this film. I envision myself saying “In the name of Jesus” and then the heavens part and a flame of fire descends on the attacker, while I stand heroically saying, “No one messes with a child of God.” Of course, I then walk away while others look on in amazement. 

Well, something sort of like this actually happened in real life. Except, I didn’t have that big self-congratulatory moment in the end. It was more like me awkwardly standing in awe. Confused. Trying to process what God had just done. 

A few months ago, Evan Sr. (husband) and I left church and headed to Whole Foods to pick up a few items. Evan Sr. dropped me and our 8-month old son off in front of the store (our son was very clingy at this age and also wanted to get out of his carseat), while he circled the block. I grabbed the few items that we needed, and then made my way quickly to the cashier.

 Reaching for my phone to call my husband to meet us out front, I discovered that my phone was missing. I had it moments earlier in a small opening in the grocery cart (I know, probably not the best place). And so a logical guess would be that it fell out as I was walking to the cash register. But the moment I realized my phone was missing, I had the unmistakable feeling that it was stolen. 

Making my way to Customer Service, I explained to the rep my situation: 

“Hi, this is an odd request but my phone was just stolen (I felt so sure).  Could I use your phone to call my husband?” 

Before I move forward, you have to understand Chicago. There are sides to Chicago that feel uppity, foreign, and cold and certain persons give off that vibe. Then there are sides to Chicago that can make you feel like you’re sitting on your grandmother's fluffy carpeted floor, watching reruns of Sanford and Son, and eating apple pie and homemade ice cream on a Sunday afternoon.  

The lady at customer service reflected the latter.

“What’s your number? What Ima do is, call your phone, and then you walk around the store and see if you hear it ringing.” 

I loved her already.

Before I knew it, Evan Jr. and I were walking the perimeter of the store inching our ears to hear a ring. Coming around the corner, I saw the lady at customer service heading in our direction, walking at a pace of purpose. 

“Okay I saw him! He’s in a black trench coat and walked out the door and headed towards Office Depot. You can catch him now if you leave! I called your number twice and heard it on him, but you gotta head out right now!” she said in one incredible breath. 

“Ohhh… I can't do that. Lemme call my husband first.” I said, amazed (and slightly concerned)  by her boldness. 

“Well, okay. But you really could just catch up to him. You’ll be fine,” she said, while leading me back to her station

By this time she had a customer she needed to service. This meant that I had to wait until she was done servicing the customer before I could call Evan Sr.

  I knew that Evan Sr. had probably grown concerned due to the amount of time I’d been in the store up until that point. There was absolutely no way for me to contact him and the customer in front of me was taking an unusually long time to be helped. Finally, I just turned around and asked a stranger for his cell phone.

I called Evan and he immediately answered.

“Hey Bae, someone just stole my phone. The customer service lady called it and said she heard a guy walking out with it and heading towards Office Depot. Could you track my location?” 

Evan Sr. had already interjected a few times (with a few emphatic words) in the middle of me explaining, but then he quickly got off the phone upon hearing two words: track location.

So there I stood in line. Evan Sr. and I got off the phone without any sort of plan for what I was to do or agreed upon meeting place for me to be picked up at. Either way, I still needed to purchase my food items and so when I was finally next in line to check out, I pulled out my items to be scanned. 

“Did you get your phone?” the customer service lady asked, while bagging my items. 

“No.” 

Pulling out my card to pay, I looked up for a second and made eye contact with a young man. A young man who was heading in my direction from across the store. Whose eyes were solely locked in on me. 

Trench jacket. 

He came closer, and when he was one foot away from me, he pulled out my phone and politely asked, “Is this yours?” 

Without waiting for an answer (I must’ve nodded my head speechless), he dropped the phone in my hands and then turned around and headed towards the exit. 

I stood paralyzed. Completely shocked.

Bagging the last few items, the customer service lady saw the entire event transpire. Yet, she didn’t look the least bit surprised.

“Yeah. See, some people can still make the right choice. I spoke to him on the phone and he told me that he was going to come back and give you the phone,” she said without blinking.

“Wait. So you spoke to him on the phone when you called?”

“Yeah.” She, continued bagging while looking down. Then she continued. “He said that he’d passed Office Depot and figured that it was his lucky day, but then he started to feel really bad and said he was going to turn around. Alright, Here’s your receipt.” 

And just like that, I was on my way, phone in hand.

 I called Evan Sr. and made it to the car safely with our baby boy. 

Evan Sr. pulled up and I opened the door to the backseat. 

“How’d you get your phone?” Evan Sr. asked bewildered. 

 He kept talking while I strapped Evan Jr. into his car seat.  I didn’t answer. So my husband continued talking.

“I tracked your location and it was near Office Depot but then it started to head back towards Whole Foods,” he said, desiring an answer to his initial question. 

I climbed into the passenger's seat, buckled my seatbelt, and then stared out the windshield in pure awe. 

As we drove home that day, I gave Evan Sr. the complete rundown as to what happened.

A man stole my phone at Whole Foods, left the premises, and then voluntarily returned in person to give it back to me.

No fear of consequences, no fear of my reaction, no fear of me potentially calling the police.

He just walked up to me and gave me my phone, as if nothing happened. 

It didn’t make sense.

Later on that night, Evan and I watched a movie, made sure that no locators or bugs were placed on my phone, spoke about our day’s events some more, and then settled into bed. But before going to sleep, I continued to reflect on the day’s events. I found myself asking the same question, “Why?” Why would someone steal something...get away with it...and then turn around voluntarily and return it?  

And that's when I felt the sweet response. I received the answer in my heart.  

“No one messes with a child of God.”  

“18 I will love You, O Lord, my strength.
2 The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer;
My God, my strength, in whom I will trust;
My shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
3 I will call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised;
So shall I be saved from my enemies.”

— Psalm 18:1-3

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Avoiding God and don’t know why? 1 practical habit to implement now.

I’m a loyal Costco shopper. I was before getting married, after getting married, and even moreso after having a child. I love everything about it. I love the deals on household appliances, on clothes, and especially on the frozen organic fruit and vegetable section. And did you know about their gas prices? Anywho, on any given week, you'll find me strolling the aisles of Costco, breathing in the familiar fragrance of…bland air.

A couple of weeks ago, I walked down an aisle containing endless amounts of chips. For anyone who knows me, I love quality potato chips. So I grabbed a bag of the Kirkland’s Krinkle cut kettle chips with the Himalayan salt.

In no time I was driving on a Chicago highway with one hand on the wheel and the other hand effortlessly mining through this huge bag of chips like a professional.

The chips were so good that I found myself eating them a couple of days later... for breakfast. No warm water with lemon. No supplements. No smoothie. Instead, I couldn’t wait to taste the pure saltiness and greasiness of these chips right when I first woke up. It didn’t end there though. My cravings turned into wanting salt’s feigned cousin... sugar. Therefore, shortly after, I found myself eating some good dark chocolate and vegan ice cream for dinner. No lentils. No sweet potatoes. No salad. I didn’t care. Let’s just say, I enjoyed myself.

How’d I end up there? It’s really not that deep. Through a set of daily choices, I quickly trained my tastebuds to crave fat, salt, and sugar.

What is deep though, is how often we end up developing spiritual cravings that are just as strong and just as unhealthy. Things that once gave us periodic pleasure become items we can’t live without.

Allow me to explain.

During the week of my potato chip episode, I coincidentally had been struggling in my relationship with God. Simply put, I’d been avoiding Him.

Nothing major happened that caused this shift in my pursuit of the Lord. In fact, life was going well. The moments of me coming close to insanity as a stay at home mom, with a new child, were becoming less frequent. My husband and I were in a really good place maritally. And my schedule was becoming more pleasant on a day to day basis. So things were good. But for whatever reason, I found myself avoiding God. Call it a spiritual attack... or spiritual laziness, but all I know is, deep down, getting through the day become more of a priority than encountering God throughout my day.  

Here’s how it happened and how I came to the realization.

First my mornings became more busy than usual. One day led to another and I found myself not spending time alone with God. In doing this, I started to feel an odd loneliness. Almost like an emptiness. But I was feeling it unconsciously because I didn’t make the connection between my lack of spending time with God and this empty feeling.

Therefore, I chose to busy myself more to escape the feeling. The more time that passed, the more the idea of reading the Bible appeared less appealing and more burdensome (see how Satan works?). Housework and Podcasts appeared as more credible escapes and outlets then plugging into the Ultimate Source.

Suddenly, I had everything to do and so little time to do them.

But secretly, I didn’t mind. Because deep down, I desired to hide behind my schedule as the reason why I couldn’t spend time in God’s Presence (or rather in the awareness of His Presence).  Anytime I did squeeze my devotional somewhere in the day, I dreaded it and mainly did it out of obligation.

Everything culminated when my husband had to go out of town for work. I’m used to him traveling, but this time, I felt down even before he left. Like I was sad an entire 48 hours before he left. Once he did leave, an incredible level of loneliness shrouded my being and before I knew it, I felt myself craving noise. Be it social media, youtube videos, even good sermons. I needed some kind of noise to distract me from what I was feeling.

I felt myself literally turning to everything else...except God.

With my husband being gone, I found myself with more time on my hands and even more excuses as to why I just didn’t have to just “Be still and know that He was God.”

On the second or third day of my husband’s absence, my son and I sat down to read a children’s book gifted by his grandparents. The book was entitled “Good Good Father” by Chris Tomlin and Josh Barrett. This activity was not out of the usual, because I attempt to read at least one story to my son every day (even though I sometimes wonder if my son appreciates my voice inflections, sound effects, and careful pauses between pages, since he often chooses to chew on another book or open and close drawers a few feet away).

But that day as I read, something strange happened. My son decided to chew on another book as usual. But the strange part was that I myself became unawaringly engrossed in the storyline of this new book. This little bear was hoping to bring the perfect gift to the King in order to win the King’s approval. Therefore, taking the advice of so many different animals, the little bear brought the King a plethora of gifts.  But by the end of the story, the little bear realized that all the King wanted was the little bear. The little bear was the perfect gift. Y’all, I got choked up.

I felt the Holy Spirit trying to get my attention. There was a brief pause. A brief moment in which I felt my Lord waiting for me to respond to His open invitation for me to simply walk through the door and return to our usual communion.

 But I craved more noise. The dishes could be washed. Another blog post could be written. I could return more calls and texts. Baby Evan needed my attention. And so I ignored the brief trickled tear and busied myself on to the next task.

But everything reversed through one habit the Lord taught me to implement later on that week. It made me stop in my tracks, stop running from Him without reason, and retract from the noise and distraction.

Here it is—Choose God first in the morning.

Not because you “have to,” but because you get to. Similar to how a salty chip set off my taste buds for the day towards craving salt and sugar, what you initially feed your Spirit can set a trajectory for what you inwardly desire throughout the day.

I realize now that it is critical for me to begin my day hearing God’s whisper before I amp up the noise. What I mean by this is that before I listen to the news, turn on a video, check my text messages, and scroll through social media, I can hear God so much more clearly when I choose Him first.

I can also feel most satisfied when I allow my hunger to be met by His manna before I devour empty junk. This is not meant to be legalistic. Literally just 2 days ago,  I set out to do my devotional and baby Evan had a huge blowout which caused me to have to give him a bath and then I decided to shower and then he was hungry...and so the day went. But whenever the Lord graces my day to do so, it’s been a joy to wake up with His love and His Word being the first thing to quench my thirst.

Sometimes this looks like me devouring just one verse, and sometimes this looks like me devouring a couple of chapters. Sometimes this looks like me journaling and praying and worshiping for half an hour and sometimes this looks like me only being able to say a quick prayer before the baby wakes up. Lately, this has looked like me waking up and simply not doing anything but stopping and receiving God’s love by asking “Abbah Father, how much do you love me? What do you love about me?” and then simply basking in His love so that I can love others.  My point is this: Choose God first. I deeply believe He will honor your time with Him when you do this. Just try it!

(Why do I think this habit is so effective? I don’t believe God desires to compete with your noise. I often desire for Him to yell and scream over the bussiness of my life in order to grab my attention. But what I’m learning is that He loves to whisper. Anyone can yell to someone miles away. But a whisper is heard to the one who is nearby. He loves when we are close! He doesn’t move, but we often wander.)  

PonderedThought:

What do you feed yourself at the start of your day? What do you allow your eyes to consume when you first wake up? Do you check your email, social media, or text messages first thing? Do you turn up the noise before hearing God’s whisper?  I challenge you to set out by choosing the Lord’s manna, which is His Word, and talking to the Lord first. When you do, share with me and with others what happens.

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On my wedding day...I didn't know I'd be saying "I do" to this.

Sometimes I look at him and wonder. I wonder where the butterflies went, the sweaty hands that suddenly found stability, the upset stomach that sequestered calm, and the frantic eyes that somehow steadied. I look at my husband and am more drawn into the mystery of what brought us together.

Of course, his charm, his humor, and his really good looks helped. But more deeply, I wonder what made us say “yes” to each other and “no” to the rest. Was it my go-to perfume that put his head in a daze? Or was it my sharp sass that held him in want? Was it his swag coupled with quick wit that kept me on my toes? I point largely to the exterior, not due to vanity but due to the fact that without any other reason,  I don't know what brought us together, what made our eyes lock into one, and what made our hearts pant deeply for one another...except for God.

On our first date, we didn’t discuss the number of children we wanted, where we desired to live long-term, the percentage of our check we’d like to see in our 401K, or our anticipated parenting styles. We talked. We laughed. And an uncanny chemistry drew us closer and wouldn’t let us go.

You see the older I get, the more this mystery becomes of growing intrigue. Because when I said “I do,” I really didn’t know exactly what I’d be saying “I do” to.

I didn’t know I’d be saying “I do” to a man who held strong faith in God when we were unexpectedly down to 1 income 3 months after marriage. One who’d try to understand me when I was PMSing and I needed a huge hug right around my waist (but not too tight). One who didn’t make fun of me when I was having extreme pregnancy hormones and missed my mom and sisters and decided to watch Steel Magnolias at 4 AM on a Sunday morning, wept loudly at the end, and then proceeded to get dressed for church as if nothing happened.

I didn’t know I said “I do” to a man who is an amazing father and who cherishes greatly the legacy he passes down.  I didn’t know I said “I do” to a visionary, to one who asks “why” at the most inopportune, yet crucial times, and one who debates me for fun or for my sheer annoyance.  I didn’t know I said “I do” to these things, and yet I did.

Sure, we dated for a long time, talked seriously about our future goals, discussed our compatibility and sought pre-marital counseling. But even with all of these things, saying “I do” took a leap of faith. For when anyone says “I do,” one can’t see the coming arguments, the full extent of a spouse’s sinful condition, all of the difference of opinions, nor life’s different trials that comes with simply living.

And yet every argument my husband and I have, every sinful condition we wrestle out of each other, every difference of opinion that challenges our worldview, every unexpected trial that comes our way, reassures me all the more that I said “I do” to the right man. I said “I do” to my forever love. I didn’t know all these things then. And yet I made the right choice. That puzzles me. 

Proverbs 30: 18-19

18 There are three things which are too wonderful for me,

           Four which I do not understand:

19 The way of an eagle in the sky,

          The way of a serpent on a rock,

           The way of a ship in the middle of the sea,

           And the way of a man with a maid.

I can’t put my finger on what exactly drew us together. It’s hard to articulate the unseen attraction felt that was noticeably different from previous lusts. And it’s even more unnerving to evidence the certainty we both felt in knowing we were each other’s forever-early on. For when I made a vow, I honestly didn’t know what all that vow would entail.

And yet, I looked into my soon-to-be husband’s eyes on our wedding day, and said “for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, till death do us part…I do.”  That’s the essence of marriage—faith. I didn’t know the exact direction life would take us...and I still don’t. But don’t you see that that’s the mystery and the beauty of marriage?

We didn’t know. We don’t know. And yet we said, and say “I do.”

PonderedThought: What are some things that you said “I do” to that you didn’t know would occur in your own marriage? If not married, what are some things you’re already considering saying “I do” to that you’ve put great thought into?

Additionally, if you’re a believer, ponder more deeply on the fact that God said “I do” to you while knowing your full sinful condition. While knowing when you’d turn your back on Him. While knowing when you’d choose the things of this world over Him. And yet, He said, and continues to say “I do” to you every single day. That too is the mystery and beauty of a covenant relationship with God.

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