Becoming Momma made me beautiful

Momma. I think that's what he'll call me. Although, he's a rather determined, feisty little fella. He may decide that Mom or Mommy or silly face suits him better. Regardless of what he calls me or I call him, he's my little man, my little shadow - the one whose heart beats alongside mine. 

When I conceived, I was a little shocked. OK, I was a lot shocked, even devastated. I don't like calling him an accident because God doesn't accidentally do anything. Every strand of my life is intricately designed and put into motion by my sweet Lord for my benefit. But sometimes it takes a while for me to wrap my head around it all. I'm human. Just because I know the Lord as my personal Savior doesn't mean that my mind automatically sees the good in all of life's situations. No. Sometimes, I want to scream and kick and question the Lord. And that's OK. He knows I'm human, and He knows that eventually I will see the big picture. And believe me, I know now one of the many reasons He made me Momma. 

You see, I've never seen myself as beautiful in the right here and now. In my head, I see the beautiful girl with a wonderful shape that I dream of becoming. So I've worked endlessly at the gym, on the track, doing workout DVDs, Pinterest-ing healthy recipes, trying to "eat clean", turning my nose up to sweets and even wholesome good-for-you foods. I've had a problem. 

I, yes I, have dealt with a negative body image for as long as I can remember. When I got to high school, I discovered that if I cut my calories way back and ran every day I would lose weight. So I did. I developed an eating disorder and obsessed over running/working out. It plagued me until college where I realized I had a problem, and I needed to do something about it. But I wasn't serious about it. I still wanted that awesome body and thin figure I saw other girls have without trying. They were so confident. They didn't care if they missed a day at the gym or ate the piece - heck, five pieces - of pizza just because they were craving it. I envied their contentment with themselves. But I was trapped. Trapped in a mindset that abusing my body was good for it and normal human food was poison. 

I tried to get out of it. I tried to tell myself that I was crazy and that I was pretty and that I looked just as good as anyone else, but none of it mattered. The image I had in my head would never be the image I saw in the mirror because it wasn't about the image. It was about my heart. And until I asked God to change my heart and let go of the control I thought I had, I would continue to waste my time on this earth being unhappy and discontent with myself. So I prayed that God would help me and I told Him I would sacrifice my control if He would help me out of this pit. And boy, did he want sacrifice.

I didn't realize how hard being a Momma was until Jude was born. I guess no mom actually knows until they go through it. Jude didn't sleep well at all in the beginning. And nursing shifted all the weight of tending to him on my shoulders. It was tough. But I sleepily faced each day as it came - even if there were tears involved. As he got a little older, I learned how to clean my house and still tend to him. But there was no time to workout. Even thirty minutes on the treadmill was a luxury. Which - all them Mommas out there know - it takes a loooooong time before you even feel like lacing up those tennis shoes. Pat yourself on the back Mommas! Because you gave birth! And that is a mind-blowing accomplishment all in itself. 

Finally, Jude started to sleep, and I was learning how to better manage my day. I started getting on the treadmill for a few miles three times a week or more. And then I felt it, it was creeping back. That image was even more distorted now - that belly and those thighs! I secretly hoped nursing would take care of all my excess. But it wasn't seeming to help much. 
And then one day, as I was sitting on my living room floor halfway through a HIIT workout, it hit me. The more time I spend on myself, the less time and energy and passion I have for raising my child, spending time with my husband, and being used for the Lord. And for what? Right there, in that very sweaty, humbling moment, I surrendered it all. No more me. No more getting on the scale every day to see if it's budged. No more time spent abusing my already tired and worn body just so I can see a better body staring back at me in the mirror. I was ready for contentment. I was ready to shatter the image I yearned for and become the best mom, wife, friend, mentor I could be. I wanted to be used by Him in such a way that others are drawn to Him because of my contentment with the best Me. 
I was reading just the other day and found this verse - now my heart beats for it. Colossians 4:17 says,

...take heed to the ministry you have received in the Lord, that you may fulfill it.

When the Lord asked for surrender, I didn't realize the blessing I'd receive in return. Jude is staring at me as I write this. His little fuzzy, white head is bobbing up and down and he's starting to get frustrated because he can't crawl. He and his daddy are my world. And the Lord has placed me in their lives for a purpose: to love them with every part of me. My love for them is hindered until I learn to love Me completely. So I'm learning. And it's a process. I still load the Jillian Michael's DVD in the player every once in a while, and I still love to lace up my running shoes and go for a jog, but I don't allow them to plague my mind any longer. I'm loving Me, so I can fully love them. And thanking God for the ministry in which he has placed me right here, right now: Momma. 

My little bundle of Jude

Pregnancy wasn't something I prayed about. In my book, it wasn't even desirable. I wasn't baby-crazy, and honestly, it might have crossed my mind once. But even then, it was erased with thoughts of preparation like building a house, establishing my jewelry business, spending sweet time with my new husband - just us two, starting a ministry for teen girls, getting in the best shape of my life, running a half-marathon, and really just enjoying my twenties. But God had a different plan.
It would be a lie if I told you I wasn't devastated when I found out I was pregnant. There were lots of tears - and not happy ones. They were tears of frustration and confusion. I didn't understand why God would do this to me. I couldn't possibly be "Momma". My mind started racing with all the reasons God would be punishing me. Had I not been faithful? Had I not followed His will? Why, oh why, would the Lord place this responsibility on my shoulders?
And then, all at once, I understood.
Ever since I was a little girl, I have prayed for God's guidance in my life. My mom and dad taught me at a very young age that when you don't know what to do, you should ask God. And even if you think you know what to do, you should ask Him if you are making the right decision before stepping out and actually doing it. I prayed about what college to attend, what major to choose once I got there, summer jobs, who I was supposed to marry, career paths, where I was supposed to serve in ministry, and everything in-between. I don't say all this to brag on my willful dependence on the Lord. Rather, I am dependent because I can't make a decision to save my life - just ask my husband or my mom.
My life has been filled with worrying about what decision to make next. It could be something big like whether to move to a different state for a job, or something small, such as what color boot I like better (dark brown or slate). Geeze! It's so exhausting. So in my quest to be a better decision-maker, I have discovered that a complete dependency on Him makes everything easier for me - even the small stuff.
After discerning and calculating and trying to come up with every possible reason God had placed this new life in my lap, my heart changed. My thought was no longer, "Why did God do this to me?", but rather, "Why did God choose me?".
I have many, many friends who have battled infertility. Some have found that it wasn't the right time and now God has blessed them with their little bundle of joy, and others continue to battle the singular neon line on the stick. They have fought with discouragement on a monthly basis, but continue to squeeze out the last droplets of hope remaining. I would pray for them. I would pray that the Lord would give them peace until they met the right timing - His timing. But I could never wrap my head around it: this desire to have a child, to have a little one to tend to, to feed, to diaper, to coo, to feel and love and protect. It all seemed overwhelming, and I didn't understand - yet.
I sit here, now, waiting on the next move of my little fella. He doesn't kick anymore. No, he's much too big for that. His moves are slower yet more aggressive. He wiggles his feet over on my right side trying to stretch out, and his little hands squirm lower causing me to jump because I've never felt that before. It's the most peculiar thing. Jon looks at me as he watches Jude shift and stretch and says, "That has GOT to feel weird." Some evenings we just sit on the couch and watch him - our Son, his first movements.
My bags are packed. I've been working on getting his room set-up and picking out what kind of knick-knacks I actually need rather than buying everything on the "checklist" sent by the baby store. I finally picked out a bag to use as a diaper bag (because I'm too difficult to buy an actual diaper bag), and I have already tied a beautiful, I mean, manly scarf on the side because that's just what I do. I have washed all his clothes in the special baby detergent and put each and every little onesie in his dresser. I've been decorating for weeks. I've read my pregnancy book from cover to cover, and tried to mentally prepare myself for labor (this usually involves lots of prayer and a few deep breaths to try to recover). I'm terrified and excited all at once. The doctor said he's head down and ready to meet the world, to meet me. We are eager.
And then it hits me. I'm the same girl who - nine months ago - didn't want to be pregnant.
I reminisce to those first days of being mad at God for making me this way, for the nausea and the uncertainty and, what I thought was, really crappy timing. And I thank Him for His blessing of choice. His choosing of my body to carry this helpless little one who I'll raise up to serve Him.
Because Jude is something special. And God has a place for him in this world. Those prayers I prayed for God to show me how He wanted to use me are being answered - and it's got nothing to do with me. My selfish hope of starting a ministry and teaching may not be in the books. Maybe God wants to use me through Jude, and the purpose of my life is not to only impact those I come in contact with but the ones who Jude will seek out. He may be a preacher or a missionary or even a humble man with a common job who will tell others about Jesus every chance he gets. Maybe the lives I'll influence won't be because I taught a good lesson or wrote a wonderful book, but rather, because I was chosen by the Lord to carry Jude. It's not about me - it never is. It's all for HIS glory. And I am thank-full.
This little boy will be here soon, and I can't wait to start our adventures together. Because that's what life is: an adventure. Whether we're ready or not, God calls each of us to our very own. And I'm so very thankful He's guiding me through this next chapter of mine, The Adventures of Jude Henry.