So I decided to celebrate feeling old by hurling myself into a doorjam trying to break my hip.
No really, it was a accident. I spent the better half of last Thursday night praying that I did not break my hip after falling assisting Jeff in finishing the hallway floors. I was not a good assistant since he couldn't finish because I feel and we had to go to the ER. I would also like a refund for the 18 years of dancing school my parents payed for, please.
Praise the Lord, nothing was broken but I do feel a bit like a senior citizen when I try to get up from my chair, or stand or lay down or such. I am sure it will wear off eventually, but I do like the drama it adds to my vocabulary. You know I can say things like oh goodness gracious each time I try to stand up.
Anyway, there is no crying on birthday weekends so the show must go on. And by show I mean bowling parties that try to drain my bank account and my patience. Nick had 5 friends and 3 family members to bowl with him. They bowled, ate pizza and cupcakes and played video games.
God moments from the party: Nick's friend William from school had his grandparents drop him off. I had never met William before but he was the only kid from his new class he wanted to invite. Well, William is new to his school and class. His grandmother was in tears when she picked him up happy because they have custody of him for this year at least and William was scared he would not make friends at the bigger school then he got the invitation from Nick and it made them all so happy. My kids amaze me sometimes. They always seek out the friendless. Such a blessing.
Also, our party host was a newly graduated from high school girl. She had these spiky piercings all over her face that made me want to yank them out and hug her. Anyway, she was not the friendliest or the most attentive but somehow she found out the church we attended from someone at the party. She asked about our church and I was able to talk with her about church and Jesus. She said she was going to visit our church the next day. I pray she was there.
After the bowling party, Nick had two friends spend the night. Both are friends from church. Jacob is Nick's best buddy. They play each week and they get along so well. I would say they are like brothers but honestly, they get along better than that.
Malachi was the other friend that Nick chose to spend the night. He goes to church with us and comes from a lot different background. It was fun to have them with us.
Basically the boys pummeled each other with nerf products, played video games and ran around being loud for most the evening. Eventually, they settled in adn we all went to bed. It was a fun night. Nick loved it.
Also, our family came over for cake and ice cream and the boys got to play with cousins and family members. It was a good time and Nick had a blast turning nine.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
New blessings
I would like to compare and contrast the last two mornings in the Pore house.
Yesterday-
I felt nauseous. Abby cried about her tummy troubles. Nick had to blasted out of bed. Jeff forgot his lunch. i missed the exit to take it to him. I was still sick feeling. I was cold and tired enough that by lunch I took a nap in the back of my van.
Today- I woke up thankful because my alarm was set wrong and God woke me up. I had energy. No tears from Abby. Nick did some homework for tonight before school. Jeff still forgot his phone but I didn't miss my exit and he gave me a danish for my 'pay'. I ran a productive meeting and I am still well and energized.
What a difference a day makes? Not so much, what a difference a thankful heart makes. lesson learned or more likely lesson once again re-learned.
THANKS BE TO THE ONE WHO PAID MY DEBTS AND RAISED THIS LIFE UP FROM THE DEAD.
Yesterday-
I felt nauseous. Abby cried about her tummy troubles. Nick had to blasted out of bed. Jeff forgot his lunch. i missed the exit to take it to him. I was still sick feeling. I was cold and tired enough that by lunch I took a nap in the back of my van.
Today- I woke up thankful because my alarm was set wrong and God woke me up. I had energy. No tears from Abby. Nick did some homework for tonight before school. Jeff still forgot his phone but I didn't miss my exit and he gave me a danish for my 'pay'. I ran a productive meeting and I am still well and energized.
What a difference a day makes? Not so much, what a difference a thankful heart makes. lesson learned or more likely lesson once again re-learned.
THANKS BE TO THE ONE WHO PAID MY DEBTS AND RAISED THIS LIFE UP FROM THE DEAD.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
9 years
Today is my son's ninth birthday. It was a day of birth for me too.
Nick's birth was traumatic, frantic and scary. An emergency c-section in about 20 minutes from admittance to birth. Not something I would want to write in the baby book. But it is also a story of beauty from ashes, about faith vs. works.
It was around 12:00pm when I strolled into the birthplace at the local hospital. I was having contractions and they were pretty frequent. I was also a week overdue ( a hallmark of a Karen Pore birth story) and ready to have them keep me, please.
I was hooked up to monitors and was hoping I was dialated enough for them to say those magic words- YOU ARE HAVING A BABY TODAY.
The midwife got concerned right away with Nick's heartrate (another hallmark of a Karen Pore birth story). Jeff checked it out and mouthed to me- 'it is no where near as bad as it was with Abigail' so I settled in thinking that by morning I would have a little bundle of joy. I had to stay on my side and they strapped an ever fashionable oxygen mask on.
The midwife called in the dr for consultation. He looked at the monitor and confirmed the midwife's decision to break my water and get things started. He was planning on going back to the office but would be available if we had to move to c-section if labor did not progress quick enough.
He walked out of the room and the midwife started admitting me. I looked at the clock and it was about 12:50 and I started trying to guess how long I would labor and when my little bundle of boy would be in my arms.
While paperwork was in process, the midwife broke my water. At that point the room started to get really crowded.
The nurses came and left faster than I could count. I asked what was happening and I was told that Nick's heartrate had plummetted with the breaking of the water. In less than a minute my dr jogged into the room, told me I was going to have an emergency c-section. I was shaved, blood drawn, iv'd and rolled out in the matter of minutes.
It was all so fast by the clock standards but from my point of view it was in slow motion. God did that so I would not every forget our encounter.
Our first relational encounter.
The one where I truly knew He was there, He was real and He could save not only my son but my life.
As I sat there, I looked into my husbands eyes knowing he was trying his best to reassure me when he felt like the floor was jello beneath his feet. I remember turning and looking straight ahead and felt absolutely numb. My comfort did not come from my man, where I had for so many years relied on his strength.
Then I began to pray, I began to pray in a way I never had before. In a real way. Not a rote memorized doxology but a pleading that left me raw, comforted, peaceful beyond understanding, mixed in with fear, tears.
While I don't know exactly what I prayed some things are burned into my memory. All of the things I remember are based on scripture that at that point in my life I had never read or even heard.
Lord, You are God Almighty, my help in this troubled time.
Lord, hold my son in the palm of Your hand. Cover him in the safety of Your wings.
Lord, you are present and with me. You will not leave me or my son.
Lord, you are big, bigger than anything that is against us.
These were mixed in with internal sobs and fears like Lord, take me not him. Lord, save him. Lord, let me go under before they start cutting.
But the still small voice of reassurance was there. The first I had really listened to it and recognized it. I had heard him sing over me before, but I always thought it was just a good feeling not something that required a response or relationship.
Now I would love to say that when I came to, I was immediately changed. That everything was rosy and God-filled from that moment on. It wasn't, Praise God my son was fine. But Satan does not like it so much when people living for the world realize they can be close to God, in fellowship with Him and His Son and may actually live for Him.
Satan kind of steps it up at that point. So I was pretty much in a pit for a good while. My body hurt, my feelings were hurt because I was "robbed' of a good birth experience. My hormones were in full swing, my husband totaled my car then got sent to Indiana for the first week I was home, the roof leaked and caved in while he was gone, my 4 year old didn't understand that the baby was staying and the dog died. Yep. It was not the picture perfect begining of life as Pore party of 4.
I was depressed, mad and sad. I watched A Baby Story over and over and every time they laid the baby on the Mom's chest and she saw him for the first time. I sobbed. I didn't see my baby for hours and then was too drugged to even remember it.
But I felt that I owed God for his life. For our little miracle baby. SO I got up early on Sundays and ironed clothes for the family for an hour, went and sat in a dead church and left during the sermon to either rescue my crying 4 year old from the nursery or because my baby was crying. It was not peaceful. It was not even informational. It was pitiful. But I was raised that if you did what was required and was good that God would not be angry anymore. So I kept it up for one whole year. I was miserable, my husband was miserable, my kids were confused.
Then I heard a song on the radio, it was on a mainstream station but it was talking about imagining what heaven was like. I loved it and it drew me into the lyrics.
Standing in your glory,what would I say
would I dance for you Jesus or in awe of you be still
I can only imagine by MercyME
I thought to myself, if this is christian music I want more of it.
The next day as I sat in line at a stop sign the car in front of me has a bumper sticker for KLOVE. I turned my dial and fell in love with praise music and Praising My King. I told my husband about it and we both started listening regularly
Then a month or two later, I prayed God if you could just show me a church that gives me the feeling I have singing to you but during Sunday Service.
A month or two later, my brother-in-law got married in a church and the preacher was approachable, real and actually spoke like God was real in life. My husband and I were sold. We started attending this growing little church.
Let the blind eyes see.
Our eyes were opened to the grace and love of Christ and the Word of God. Nick was two and Abby was 6 when we started attending church regularly. I never once had to pick them up in nursery crying like before. THey loved it and were learning the same foundation Christian things that Jeff and I missed the first time around and were hearing now.
Slowly and steadily, God began to work on our hard hearts. We dedicated our lives to Him and our family to Him. We read his Word instead of just hearing it. Our lives were forever changed. We are still learning and relying on His grace today.
Looking back though, I know it all began with that still small voice in the hospital room on September 20, 2002.
He is faithful.
Nick's birth was traumatic, frantic and scary. An emergency c-section in about 20 minutes from admittance to birth. Not something I would want to write in the baby book. But it is also a story of beauty from ashes, about faith vs. works.
It was around 12:00pm when I strolled into the birthplace at the local hospital. I was having contractions and they were pretty frequent. I was also a week overdue ( a hallmark of a Karen Pore birth story) and ready to have them keep me, please.
I was hooked up to monitors and was hoping I was dialated enough for them to say those magic words- YOU ARE HAVING A BABY TODAY.
The midwife got concerned right away with Nick's heartrate (another hallmark of a Karen Pore birth story). Jeff checked it out and mouthed to me- 'it is no where near as bad as it was with Abigail' so I settled in thinking that by morning I would have a little bundle of joy. I had to stay on my side and they strapped an ever fashionable oxygen mask on.
The midwife called in the dr for consultation. He looked at the monitor and confirmed the midwife's decision to break my water and get things started. He was planning on going back to the office but would be available if we had to move to c-section if labor did not progress quick enough.
He walked out of the room and the midwife started admitting me. I looked at the clock and it was about 12:50 and I started trying to guess how long I would labor and when my little bundle of boy would be in my arms.
While paperwork was in process, the midwife broke my water. At that point the room started to get really crowded.
The nurses came and left faster than I could count. I asked what was happening and I was told that Nick's heartrate had plummetted with the breaking of the water. In less than a minute my dr jogged into the room, told me I was going to have an emergency c-section. I was shaved, blood drawn, iv'd and rolled out in the matter of minutes.
It was all so fast by the clock standards but from my point of view it was in slow motion. God did that so I would not every forget our encounter.
Our first relational encounter.
The one where I truly knew He was there, He was real and He could save not only my son but my life.
As I sat there, I looked into my husbands eyes knowing he was trying his best to reassure me when he felt like the floor was jello beneath his feet. I remember turning and looking straight ahead and felt absolutely numb. My comfort did not come from my man, where I had for so many years relied on his strength.
Then I began to pray, I began to pray in a way I never had before. In a real way. Not a rote memorized doxology but a pleading that left me raw, comforted, peaceful beyond understanding, mixed in with fear, tears.
While I don't know exactly what I prayed some things are burned into my memory. All of the things I remember are based on scripture that at that point in my life I had never read or even heard.
Lord, You are God Almighty, my help in this troubled time.
Lord, hold my son in the palm of Your hand. Cover him in the safety of Your wings.
Lord, you are present and with me. You will not leave me or my son.
Lord, you are big, bigger than anything that is against us.
These were mixed in with internal sobs and fears like Lord, take me not him. Lord, save him. Lord, let me go under before they start cutting.
But the still small voice of reassurance was there. The first I had really listened to it and recognized it. I had heard him sing over me before, but I always thought it was just a good feeling not something that required a response or relationship.
Now I would love to say that when I came to, I was immediately changed. That everything was rosy and God-filled from that moment on. It wasn't, Praise God my son was fine. But Satan does not like it so much when people living for the world realize they can be close to God, in fellowship with Him and His Son and may actually live for Him.
Satan kind of steps it up at that point. So I was pretty much in a pit for a good while. My body hurt, my feelings were hurt because I was "robbed' of a good birth experience. My hormones were in full swing, my husband totaled my car then got sent to Indiana for the first week I was home, the roof leaked and caved in while he was gone, my 4 year old didn't understand that the baby was staying and the dog died. Yep. It was not the picture perfect begining of life as Pore party of 4.
I was depressed, mad and sad. I watched A Baby Story over and over and every time they laid the baby on the Mom's chest and she saw him for the first time. I sobbed. I didn't see my baby for hours and then was too drugged to even remember it.
But I felt that I owed God for his life. For our little miracle baby. SO I got up early on Sundays and ironed clothes for the family for an hour, went and sat in a dead church and left during the sermon to either rescue my crying 4 year old from the nursery or because my baby was crying. It was not peaceful. It was not even informational. It was pitiful. But I was raised that if you did what was required and was good that God would not be angry anymore. So I kept it up for one whole year. I was miserable, my husband was miserable, my kids were confused.
Then I heard a song on the radio, it was on a mainstream station but it was talking about imagining what heaven was like. I loved it and it drew me into the lyrics.
Standing in your glory,what would I say
would I dance for you Jesus or in awe of you be still
I can only imagine by MercyME
I thought to myself, if this is christian music I want more of it.
The next day as I sat in line at a stop sign the car in front of me has a bumper sticker for KLOVE. I turned my dial and fell in love with praise music and Praising My King. I told my husband about it and we both started listening regularly
Then a month or two later, I prayed God if you could just show me a church that gives me the feeling I have singing to you but during Sunday Service.
A month or two later, my brother-in-law got married in a church and the preacher was approachable, real and actually spoke like God was real in life. My husband and I were sold. We started attending this growing little church.
Let the blind eyes see.
Our eyes were opened to the grace and love of Christ and the Word of God. Nick was two and Abby was 6 when we started attending church regularly. I never once had to pick them up in nursery crying like before. THey loved it and were learning the same foundation Christian things that Jeff and I missed the first time around and were hearing now.
Slowly and steadily, God began to work on our hard hearts. We dedicated our lives to Him and our family to Him. We read his Word instead of just hearing it. Our lives were forever changed. We are still learning and relying on His grace today.
Looking back though, I know it all began with that still small voice in the hospital room on September 20, 2002.
He is faithful.
cameraless blogging
I wish I was good at blogging. I wish I was good at picture taking.
If I were good at blogging I would have recorded taking my daugher to tswift for her birthday or her actual 13th birthday.
If I were good at blogging I would have all kinds of wonderful summerfilled stories of sunkissed children, pool time, an amazing camp experience, the craziness of vacation right after said camp.
If I were good at taking pictures, I would have documented all of these events into smily faces on the screen reenforcing how blessed my life is.
If I were good at taking pictures, I would stare in amazement how my little girl looks more and more like a woman everyday. How long it takes for my son to grow grownup teeth.
Sigh.
I am not good at blogging or picture taking. I commit it to the Lord. I want to be because each day brings a new season and a reason for me to want to remember the past one. Mostly because of my ever depleting memory and my ever growing children.
If I were good at blogging I would have recorded taking my daugher to tswift for her birthday or her actual 13th birthday.
If I were good at blogging I would have all kinds of wonderful summerfilled stories of sunkissed children, pool time, an amazing camp experience, the craziness of vacation right after said camp.
If I were good at taking pictures, I would have documented all of these events into smily faces on the screen reenforcing how blessed my life is.
If I were good at taking pictures, I would stare in amazement how my little girl looks more and more like a woman everyday. How long it takes for my son to grow grownup teeth.
Sigh.
I am not good at blogging or picture taking. I commit it to the Lord. I want to be because each day brings a new season and a reason for me to want to remember the past one. Mostly because of my ever depleting memory and my ever growing children.
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