All the Small Things

What happens when you push yourself, and stop listening to the subtle messages that your body sends you to "stop"?

You land up in hospital for eight days, followed by an order to take up bed-rest thereafter.

Well, maybe not for everyone, but that's what happened to me a few weeks ago. At 32 weeks pregnant, I finally crashed and burned one Sunday, and we made a hasty trip to the maternity ward to discover that I was in preterm labour. Long story short... I am now 35 weeks pregnant (phew!) and on strict orders to rest, with baby girl growing healthy and stronger every day.

Thing is, when you find yourself stuck in a place like a hospital (or a prison, I imagine) unexpectedly, with all your personal comforts suddenly taken from you, you come to appreciate all the small things (and some big things) that you didn't even think twice about beforehand. As if life somehow owes you those things upfront, like oxygen and sustenance. During my eight days incarceration, and on the day of my homecoming, I came up with a list of things that I will never again take for granted, some of which I thought to share....

Tweezers. A week in hospital without tweezers, and I closely resembled the hairy James P. Sullivan from Monsters Inc. This was my first act of homecoming - to re-shape my eyebrows and sigh in satisfaction at the mirror. Followed by a gloriously close shave with a non-disposable razor... It was heavenly.

James P. Sullivan, AKA "Sully" - Monsters Inc.

Yep that's what I looked like, don't judge me.

Music. There is no music in hospital. The nurse's badly-chosen ringtone does not count. I eventually figured out that if I kept the TV above me on, tuned to a movie channel, I could catch the ten minutes of music played during every movie credit roll. Yes, I actually did this, such was my desperation. I watched a lot of junk for those ten minutes...
On my homecoming, I put on a favourite music album... and nearly cried for the beauty of it.

The smell of home. You know what I mean - that mixture of scents and fragrances that you know as yours, almost as though you and your loved ones have unintentionally marked this territory as 'home'. On the day of my return from hospital, I came into the house via the garage. It smelled of my husband's greasy rags and the petrol lawnmower. I took a deep, desperate-for-more breath - it was the scent of "welcome home".

Waking up with someone you know and love. Poking my husband for snoring, fighting over bed space, listening to him breathing... what a joy to wake up next to him every morning.

The Silences. A familiar wind rustling familiar leaves just outside my very own window. The hum of my own ceiling fan, and the creepy house-noises I've come to recognize. Strictly speaking, these are sounds, not silences, but after eight days of trolleys, beeping machines, and clanging trays... these are the sounds of Silence.

My breakfast ritual. One WeetBix stick. A dessert spoon of whole linseeds. Two dessert spoons of All-Bran flakes. One sliced banana. Loads of milk. Yum, and a very happy tummy... I've realized that I am such a creature of habit - I missed my daily breakfast so much that I actually had it for lunch on my first day back home.

Normal chatter. However well-meaning it may be, "How are you feeling?" becomes a tiresome topic of discussion. I feel tired and sore and scared and annoyed to be in hospital. But I don't want to get you down, so I'm going to smile and and say "Oh fine, better than yesterday". Since being back home, normal small-talk has been resumed. So-and-so's dog's strange behaviour. What's-his-name's new Christmas tree. The latest specials at Pick n Pay. It's La-di-da's birthday today, did you wish him? Tell me something, anything. It all matters, no matter how mundane.

Variety. I came home, and desperately wanted to be in every room of the house, all at once. From being confined to one bed and a drip all week,  I wanted to sit and breathe in the languid stillness of the bedroom; flop onto the horribly uncomfortable lounge couch; prepare tea in the homely mess of our sprawled-out kitchen; sniff the towels in the bathroom that smell of showers and fresh soap...


In a nutshell, it is great to be home. There's no place like it. You should think about your life, your home, your loved ones, your little habits, your surroundings... and take the time to enjoy them. When I got married, my amazing, wise brother gave me the best advice about my wedding day: he said, "Stop often. Look around, listen, and just take some time to enjoy that moment of your wedding day. Otherwise, it will go so fast, you won't remember anything."

The same could be said of life in general: Stop often. Look around, listen and take some time to enjoy that moment of your life. Do it, fellow inhabitants of this planet. You will regret missing all the small things in life far more than wasting a few moments to experience it.

Forget Your Lips

I had a bad Monday today. A murderous one.

Circumstances weren't great to start with, but do you know the worst part of the day?

Me.
My suckie attitude.
And that fact that I was stuck with me the whole day.

And as I was driving home this evening, I heard a song on my iPod that really slapped me on the wrist, particularly the phrase:

"Forget your words;

It's what you do - that is what you say."

(The Little Things - Musician: Shaun Jacobs) 

I realized, listening to such simple wisdom, what a rotten example of patience and kindness and joy I'd been today. Sure, people are people, and people have 'bad days', but man... today I failed!

As usual, my mind wondered completely off-track, and I was thinking about quiet times, prayer,  reading the Bible, worship... I was pondering about the best time to have quiet times, and how it affects my day. You see, certain circumstances have recently forced me to re-locate my usual morning quiet time to evening, and it occurred to me...

My morning quiet times used to serve as a peaceful, positive start to my day. I'm fresh, I commit my day to God and ask for His help.

My evening quiet times seem to now serve more as a remorseful time of repentance for all the foul-tempered and stressed-out things I did and said all day.

Circumstances won't likely change soon - I have to find a way to make this work for me.... without slipping up every single day. Hmm.

Anyways, just some random thoughts, Dear World, and for those who crossed my path today, I hope you'll forgive my blind hooting and crazy-eyed lunacy...

Tomorrow is another day, and I sincerely pray my actions will speak far kinder words than they did today.

Pregnancy: The Answers

What's it like?
How's it been?
How do you feel?

These are some of the most common questions that I have encountered in the last several months, all in response to the sight of my enormous, and apparently adorable, belly. At 29 weeks, our baby girl is now a very obvious protrusion from my mid-section, and I often find myself short on words to describe what it's like... how it's been... and how I feel....
This may be a problem related to porridge brain, which I have already described here, but when asked about something so hugely life-changing, in such a tiny context as 'small-talk'... Well, you may as well ask scientist to briefly explain string theory in one short sentence. I wouldn't know where to start, and so I usually just end it with, "Oh, it's been fine!"

So here's the story...

We discovered I was pregnant at 5 weeks, some time in early June. I didn't have any symptoms, except a 'niggly feeling', which was confirmed by a disgustingly cheap over-the-counter pee-on-a-stick-and-wait-for-the-pink-lines test. I always imagined I'd find out I was pregnant with the use of an expensive digital test that sang "Hallelujah" when it turned positive - the cheap ones had let me down so many times before. But on that particular day, not a single digital test could be found, and the only one I could find was a midstream test that cost all of eleven South African Rands. (Americans, that's about one US dollar; Europeans, you're looking at less than one Euro) How revolting. I purchased two, to make myself feel better about accuracy.

Hubby and I had been trying to fall pregnant for around 2 years, and at the beginning of this year, I made the conscious decision to "live my life". I made peace that I did not have a baby, and so I stopped living as though I 'might' be pregnant. I started drinking full-blown coffee again, caffeine and all. I took up hiking with a local club, braving 13km hikes around the beautiful mountain ranges just outside the city.... I did not shy away from exciting activities, late nights, and bad food. I had decided that what I wanted for my birthday in August was a 6-hour caving experience in the nearby Sterkfontein Caves. I was looking at my bucket list and had decided that this year, I would start ticking off the adventures.

So much for that.

And that's why its often said that when you stop trying so very hard, and just get on with your life, that's when it happens. It's almost inconvenient in it's timing. And since that glorious Saturday in June, it has been the most wonderful and awful rollercoaster experience. The highs giving you views and thrills you could never have dreamed of, the lows bringing your stomach and heart leaping into your throat, making you want to swallow hard and smile bravely for those around you.

I felt our baby girl move for the first time at 17 weeks. This is supposedly early for a first flutter, but not entirely unlikely for someone of my size. It was magical. I was at my desk at work, facing my computer. It was a tiny poke in my lower abdomen, and then it stopped. All I could do was sit and grin and hope for more.
And more there shall be. At around 20 weeks, baby girl's movements had grown strong enough to tickle her mum, and I'd find myself jumping and giggling at random intervals... only hoping that no one notices and has me certified.
There's been plenty more since the first flutter, with our baby girl now wriggling and squirming all day long. I love watching my belly move - it really is more entertaining than anything on television, although that's not saying much, considering all the crap that's on TV these days.

Which brings me to my next thought... my recent zero-tolerance for crap. Funny, most information sources describe the first trimester as the most 'moody'. I can't even remember my first trimester, such was the exhaustion and fatigue, but I would have to say that this last month, the beginning of the third trimester, has been the most challenging, as far as hormones go.

I have learned how irritating people really are. People who drive. People who send me emails. People who ask questions. People who tell stories. People who stand too close. People who phone me. People who can't make eye contact because they're so busy staring at my belly.  People who talk loudly. People who talk.  People who eat. People who breathe.

People.

The only kind of people who have recently not irritated me are those who either stay far away from me, those who approach quietly and with a hug, or those who approach with cake.

When pregnant, one is always asked about cravings. The answer for me: Orange juice. Chocolate. Salty snacks. Bananas. Milk. And no, I have not dunked my chocolate in orange juice and put it onto a salty cracker with sliced banana. Don't be ridiculous.

There's a first time for everything they say, and I'm discovering that many of those firsts fall within your last trimester of pregnancy. I snorted myself awake for the first time last week, for example. Apart from the fact that I found it truly hilarious and could barely keep from laughing out loud and raucously, I was fairly disgusted by the whole event.

And speaking of hilarity, it is said that pregnancy, while rendering you a slave to your mood swings, also blesses you with a sense of humour so profound, it's almost dangerous. Yesterday I was driving on one of our main roads, Hendrik Potgieter, and passed a most bizarre accident on the other side of the island: a very large tipping truck had miscalculated his height, had gotten himself wedged underneath a municipality sign post that extended right across the road. The tipping portion of the truck, which was mercifully empty at the time of the incident, was elevated at full tilt into the air, propped up firmly by the very-much-abused sign post.
Noting that there appeared to be no tragedies or injuries.... I found it absolutely ludicrous. I laughed until I cried. And then I got my breathe back and laughed some more. How very inappropriate of me.

Not to worry, I am paying for my sins in other ways...

My feet have started swelling up. People say, "Drink more water, and go to the loo more often." Short of drowning myself and taking up permanent residence on the porcelain throne, laptop and all... I do not foresee much change in this area.

I have started to sleep badly, the major problems being heartburn and a giant belly that feels like it goes "THUNK" whenever rolling over to the other side. No amount of pillow support seems to make a difference, and I imagine the only solution would be to find a way to fall asleep safely in a swimming pool. Baby-girl also has quite an opinion about my moving around at night, and makes it known with her own tossing and turning... I can't blame her, especially if my changing sides has caused her to land on her face, or something equally uncomfortable.

The fatigue has returned, which I was forewarned about in the third trimester.  I was reading an interesting fact the other day: A pregnant woman expends more energy lying on the couch than the average healthy man's work-out at gym. Take that, you men who don't understand! (Begin hormonal rant) Now we're not talking physical exertion per se, but we are talking energy, the essence that you use to move around and do stuff. Growing a baby is no walk in the park dudes. It's an exhausting affair with the sofa.

Among other things, there are challenges that non-pregnant people take for granted. Shaving your legs is one. Putting on shoes that have laces or buckles. Getting out bed. (Rather, rolling out of bed) Removing and applying nail polish to ugly toes. Seeing when your toes have become ugly. (seeing anything below the belly-button, for that matter) Increasing clumsiness, both as a result of the hormone 'relaxin', which softens ligaments, and as a result of not seeing where your feet are going...

...All these bizarre changes and experiences, which add up to the most miraculous and amazing thing: our baby girl growing right inside me. We were blessed with a wonderful baby shower last week, and something about that one event makes it so much more real. We've had the cot, the furniture, the linen, some basic necessities... but having all these wonderful people caring for this little girl, and all the amazing, cute little gifts showered on her... well, this just got real. Baby-girl is going to wear this dress, and those adorable little booties. She's going to need this fluffy blanket on a cold night, and she will wear her lime-green sunhat one summer's day.

Its a lot to take in, and combined with her kicks and wriggles.... I love being pregnant, swollen ankles and all.

So in a nutshell (a very large nut, if you will), being pregnant is an ultimate contradiction: the most un-glamorous, and the most beautiful experience a woman could go through.

Today's Prayer

My dearest Lord,

I don’t know how today is going to go.

I feel that I may be bad-tempered and lose my cool.

I might speak words that don’t glorify You.

I might act like a child and cry.

Maybe I’ll glare at someone, throwing daggers with my eyes.

My thoughts may be filled with irritation and unkindness.

Forgive me, Papa. 

Lord, please don’t leave my side today.

I need You, despite my foul-temperedness.

I need You, because of my foul-temperedness. Because of my humanity. 

Please be with me, Your peace – that passes all understanding – constantly by my side.

Psalm 139

Where can I go from your Spirit?
    Where can I flee from your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
    if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
    if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
    your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
    and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
    the night will shine like the day,
    for darkness is as light to you.

W-O-R-D-S

What do the words you speak say about you? You see, you think you’re talking about other people. You think you’re giving your opinion on matters outside yourself. But what you don’t realize is that every word that comes out of your mouth says more about you than anything outside of you. Your words, chosen to give the appearance of your own great wisdom, provides a candid window into your own soul, making those around you all the more wiser to who you actually are.

Words that hurt. Are you mean?

Words that break down. Are you insecure in yourself?

Words that gossip. Are you two-faced?

Words that cause conflict. Are you a snake?

Words that lie. Are you hiding something?

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

Your words breathe these answers to every question even though you would outrightly deny them. Your words speak louder than you think.

Look into yourself. Who are you?

If you don’t know, then listen to yourself speak. It can be a life-changing, and sometimes inside-changing, experience.

Words should be Kind.

Heavy-laden with Love.

Filled with Compassion.

Inquisitive for the truth.

Laced with Understanding. Or at least the desire to understand.

And if understanding, kindness, love, compassion and truth cannot be found, then the advice my mother once gave me might be wise: If you haven’t got anything constructive to say, don’t say anything at all. 

"Be sure to taste your words first, before you spit them out." 

What was I saying?

I haven't written much over the past several months.. Not for lack of interest or even lack of topics up for discussion. So my excuse? 

Porridge brain. 

I used to wonder just how real porridge brain was. Other women would warn me, saying, "One day when you're pregnant, be careful when you do this, concentrate more when you drive, try to avoid doing that... because you become stupid and slow - it's called porridge brain." I used to wonder if "porridge brain" was just an excuse that women used for freezing the car keys, or setting the kitchen on fire by leaving their handbag on the stove. 

I did a little reading up and it would seem that porridge brain is indeed a real condition related to pregnancy and early parenthood. It really is a result of a woman's brain being soaked in progesterone and estrogen, and aggravated by the gradual decrease in good sleep. According to an interesting article on WebMD, porridge brain even serves a purpose in preparing one for motherhood. (How?, I ask you with hormonal tears in my eyes...)

Well, at five and a half months, I can confirm that porridge brain is not a myth. I have forgotten whole conversations that I've had. I find myself staring absent-mindedly at my computer at work, having completely forgotten what I was busy with. There are times that I have been thinking about something, and then the next moment gone completely blank. I've never been much of a chatterbox, but one of the weirdest things that I have found is that I struggle to hold a conversation in the first place. Socially awkward doesn't begin to describe it. I just have nothing to say, nothing to add to the conversation. So sometimes I find myself smiling stupidly at someone and thinking, "What on earth do I say in response to that...?  Umm... Wait... what were we talking about?..." 

Louann Brizendine, MD, director of the Women's Mood and Hormone Clinic at the University of California, San Francisco, says "Pregnancy brain is the feeling of walking into a room, going after something, and not remembering what you went for - about five to 10 times a day."

That just about sums it up. And that's why I haven't written much. 

Thankfully I haven't done anything enormously stupid yet... or maybe I have, and I've just forgotten about it... but I wonder what some women have done in this state. There must be some real stories out there :) 

What was I saying?...

*wonders off to make tea*

Sinking My World

While listening to an old song by the band Delirious? this morning, I was struck by a thought. The song is called "Sanctify" on the King of Fools album, and some of the words go like...

And all I want

is all You have.

Come to me

Rescue me

Follow me

with Your Love. 

I was in my "plan-my-life" world when this song came on. You know, we all have that "My World" - that selfish place in our minds where we tick off things that we've done, and make long lists of the things we want, the changes we wish for, and where we recount the indignant experiences that we've had to wrongfully suffer at the hands of this unfair world...

So I was in this world of mine, and without warning, a most unwelcome thought slapped me across the face. What does it matter, this fickle thing so-called "happiness"? 

What do you mean, "what does it matter??" What an absurd thing to ask. 
Does it matter to eternity? 
I don't know..
Is God's Kingdom better for it? 
God's Kingdom!? Where did that come from? We're not talking about God's Kingdom, we're talking about the things that will make me happy! 
Tell me, if this thing that will bring you so-called happiness would hinder the expansion of God's Kingdom... If your decision to sacrifice this thing you want would result in the saving of lives.... would you sacrifice it?
Wait, wait... I still don't think we're talking about God's Kingdom, can we just get back to the matter at hand? I don't like where this conversation is going. 
Would. You. Sacrifice. What YOU want... for God's Kingdom? 
But what about that stuff about "the desires of your heart" being added to me...? I thought my desires mattered? 
Seek first the Kingdom of God..... And THEN all these thing shall be added unto you... Is that the verse you're talking about? 
Um. Yes that one. 
*Inner voice smiles smugly*


I have these arguments with myself often, so just bear with me.... I'm not saying that our desires aren't important to God, but is it possible that our desires have become too important to us? Do our own desires consume us to the point where we are blind to the desperation of a dying world that needs passionate Jesus-followers to reach out with arms full of life? 

I sometimes get the feeling that  us Christians wipe our forehead with the back our hand, say "Phew! At least I got saved!" and then move onto the finer (and sadly such temporary) things in life. Have we become such a selfish, and self-righteous people, no better than the Jews of Christ's day? Have I?

I'm all for balance. 
Yes, having some degree of happiness in life is good. 
Yes, having my basic needs provided is important, both to me and to God. 
Yes, there is place for personal growth and ambition and the desire to grow my life on earth. 
BUT... 
Never at the expense of God's Kingdom in my life! If God's Kingdom purpose is lacking, then my life is so horribly out of balance, being all about me, me, me... happiness, being a temporary thing, will fade to nothing. 

I'm starting to face the challenge that if I can truly centre my life on what Jesus wants on this earth, He will take care of all the rest - all those things that I arduously try to sort out in "My World", all those things I fret over, the things that keep me up at night, the doubts that haunt me day in and day out... the selfish things.
There are more important things at hand. Life and death.

This really is just the tip of a very large iceberg, one that I'd like to see crashing into the cold, selfishness of my heart, sinking the whole rotten thing... making way for God to transplant His immensely compassionate heart in its place.

All I want

is all You have...