Promise and Provision

In sixteen days, 2014 will be a closed chapter. History. I’ll be able to turn the page to a new year, and although it’s really just a day on the calendar, it does bring me hope and refreshment. It wasn’t until the past 365 days that I realized just how much a year could bring. And I’m done with 2014.

On the wall beside my desk at home, I have a piece of paper that hasn’t moved since January. It’s separated into two columns. On the left: my needs. On the right: God’s provision. It’s very black-and-white with no grey areas. When I wrote the left column, I was alone, six months pregnant, with no home, no money, no idea how to be a mother, very little desire to even be a mother, and faith the size of a mustard seed.

To be fair, I didn’t wake up in that situation. I made decisions I shouldn’t have, chose people I shouldn’t have, ignored others I shouldn’t have, and befriended my worst enemy.

I drew that line down the paper, waiting, hoping and praying for God to move. It’s December 15^th, and every blank space on the right is filled in. I found a small apartment for me and my daughter, furniture was given to or purchased for me, baby clothes and items overflowed my tiny living room, I was accepted back into school, my daughter was born with no complications, and I survived and succeeded this semester juggling work, school and a baby. There is so much to rejoice over.

This year I’ve also walked through some of the lowest valleys imaginable. Being pregnant alone is utterly miserable. Staying up nights alone, tending to every cry, every dirty diaper, every need to be held, every doctor appointment, every major decision, every fall, every spill, every midnight bottle, providing for her, alone, is beyond exhausting, physically and emotionally.

I’ve definitely cried in anger at the “unfairness” of it all. But I clung onto, and repeated incessantly one promise the Lord gave me early this year, in the midst of one of those “why is this happening” prayers with hot tears and lots of doubt:

“One day, this pain will be a DROP in the OCEAN of your joy.”

Can we all just take a minute and picture a literal drop of water in an ocean… it’s such a gentle, yet shocking response, when you feel like the hurt is swallowing you whole. It’s been my life raft when I’m tempted to write my situation off as hopeless. God promised. Don’t give up. He promised.

Everything is still so difficult, but I made it. One baby and successful year of school later, I made it! In 2015, I’m ready to celebrate baby girl turning 1, my graduation, and new beginnings.  

He is so faithful.

It is Beautiful

I spent the better part of today sorting through my daughter's tiny clothes, most of which are now TOO tiny for her. She's growing ridiculously fast and I don't have sufficient time to really let anything sink in. Packing away all of her newborn clothes was pretty emotional for me, and at this point in motherhood, I don't even try to hold back tears anymore. Anything can set me off, really. I'm pretty sure I shed a tear at work the other day because I found one of her socks in the bottom of my purse. 

She's officially three months old and just when I think I can't possibly love her more than I already do, she learns something new, smiles when I walk into the room, laughs when I tickle her, and my heart explodes. 

I am convinced that her birth, even though in the midst of difficult and trying circumstances, was SO timely in my own life, and definitely the Lord hedging me in, slaying and healing my heart all at once. Lately, I have been earnestly praying for a solid, secure, true, deep, rich and unshakable foundation, with an identity rooted in Him. I'm definitely a black-and-white, "bullet-point" kind of person, so grasping how to practically integrate this into my life isn't easy for me. I think the basic, deepest level that is imperative to have is the knowledge that Jesus loves me, unconditionally, fiercely, jealously... and to believe it. This season is me scratching everything and starting over. Learning to trust and love and enjoy and receive and walk again. 

So as I sat there, sorting her clothes, I came across a few dresses that she won't be able to wear for at least a year. I looked at them and tried to imagine her in them, walking and talking by then, wondering what she will be like, look like, and I thought about how grown up she will be and how absolutely BEAUTIFUL she will be wearing them. 

And then there it was. That voice of truth that comes to you, from outside yourself and so far beyond anything you could conjure up on your own:

"I feel the same about you. But those dresses are your dreams, your purpose, your talents, your love for Me, your future, your righteousness. I don't have to wonder. I can see it. And it is beautiful on you." 

I am not a theologian or bible scholar by any stretch of the imagination, and I know that Jesus loves us the same, always, unconditionally. But some part of me thinks that there is something that erupts in His own heart the moment we choose Him, choose to love, and choose to walk out our purpose. 

I am a broken, limited, sinful human, but my heart overflows with love for my daughter, with depths I have yet to discover, for another limited human. 

But Jesus.

How He must be overcome when we put on this love, and it fits. Look how she chooses Me, or how he loves Me, how they trust Me, it is BEAUTIFUL on them! 

God that we would love You more.

"Let us rejoice and be glad and give the glory to Him, for the marriage of the Lamb has come and His bride has made herself ready. It was given to her to clothe herself in fine linen, bright and clean; for the fine linen is the righteous acts of the saints." - Revelation 19:8

Eliana Julene Orosco

Over the past few months, I think I’ve visited every baby name site known to man, and reread all 75,000 names in my hastily purchased ‘Best Baby Names for the 21^st Century’ book, at least twice. I thoroughly believe in the importance of the meaning of a name, which was a definite “make or break” factor in the process. Then of course was the (hopefully) normal fear that comes upon anyone responsible for deciding a permanent name of another human being that they will carry around for their entire life. It’s daunting.

In the midst of all of my over-thinking, this name seemed to settle itself on me. Eliana means “God has answered.” I love this. This simple, yet resolute declaration. I wholeheartedly believe in the blessing and hope she brings, even when I can only feel her moving and kicking inside (usually in the middle of the night, when I’ve finally constructed the perfect pillow placement to support all my aching muscles).

He has answered. He has answered my every need, desperate cry for help, for a clue, for strength, peace, comfort and grace to keep all else dim in the light of who He is. Sure, I still wake up most days completely overwhelmed and scared, wondering how to support her alone, how to be the only one changing diapers and waking up with her every night, wishing she had a father, and regretting most of the decisions I’ve made up to this point. Except my decision to choose life and choose Jesus. But He answers. Every time. I want this truth to resound in my life and hers, to teach her to rest and live in this.

So, Eliana it is! Full name: Eliana Julene Orosco, for those wondering. Middle name graciously passed down from grandma :) And feel free to call her Ellie, because that’s just adorable.

Baby Bean

Hello! :)

I am choosing to share this story for the simple fact that I have many beloved friends and family members scattered many miles apart and the chance of me being able to converse with everyone face-to-face is an impossibility. Also, I think sometimes, a picture of a sonogram and a piece of fruit just doesn’t cut it. I usually frown upon social media sites being used as a platform for sharing deeply personal information, but I think I can tactfully make an exception, this once.

Nearly fourteen weeks along, I have experienced every emotion imaginable (some more than others), and have probably had the longest, roughest, most trying three months of my life. But I’ll spare you those details. I’ve astonishingly even lost friends over this issue, because my life doesn’t fit into the mold of “ideal circumstances” for things such as this. You know, like, marriage, house in the suburbs, or a plan. All of those things would be welcome in this situation, but it’s not my reality. A few people have asked me if I considered abortion, because it would be “so much easier and convenient.” I feel sick just typing that. I’ve also been asked how ashamed I was going to be to have to tell people, because I’m single, and the father isn’t a part of my life anymore. I have to admit that feelings of shame and regret are something I still deal with, but not shame of the little life inside me, but only because of the circumstances that it was brought to life. My personal favorite is, “Oh no! What are you going to do?!” I’m not a doctor or anything, but I think I’m going to get really big and then have a baby.

I’ve honestly had enough negative comments to last me the remaining six months.

But this is my reality: I truly and honestly believe that He gives life and makes no mistakes. He orchestrates all of creation at all times and is perfectly in control, regardless of whether I wake up feeling completely overwhelmed and incapable or not. What has so often been referred to as my “mistake” and “irresponsibility” is truly a gift, and I will treat it that way.

I was able to have my first ultrasound a few weeks ago, and it was the single most greatest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life… and the most terrifying. Hopefully some of you can relate. I mean, there is a PERSON inside of me. I was truly speechless as I listened to the heartbeat and the nurse pointing out all its tiny little features. That was the moment that everything became real. I wasn’t just puking every morning for nothing (the struggle is real, y’all). Side note: It’s unnerving to think that something so small has complete control over my entire being. I can’t even look at a steak without getting all gaggy. If you know me, you understand the severity of my situation.

With that said, I hope you can join in this exciting time, as well as put up with all the upcoming preggo pics… because that’s definitely happening (you’re welcome).

So… say hi to Baby Bean (endearing food-nicknames open to suggestion)… due May 2^nd, 2014!!!!

Land of Enchantment

"Between them, our parents had about seven thousand books. Whenever we moved to a new house, a carpenter would build a quarter of a mile of shelves..."

This quote is unfortunately not from me. When I did read it, however, my heart skipped a beat and I had to force myself to quell a little anger and frustration (that so desired to manifest itself) at not living a similar childhood. Actually, from what I can remember, my childhood was completely the opposite. I don't remember ever seeing many books in my home, and of course as consequence, never remember seeing my parents reading. This may have been because they had five children, six years apart, to handle, which is completely understandable. However, something inside me is jealous of those kids who were able to rub their little hands over the spines of such wonderful gems, balancing themselves on bookshelves as they learned to walk, and being scolded for slobbering on the corner of Hugo.

I was never a legatee of such treasures. Yet somehow, the treasure was buried in me, to bequeath on to my very own.

I have this feeling that the only reason my children will hate books is because they have grown tired of tripping over them, having to push them aside to sit on the couch, eat at the table, or seeing them instead of their parent's faces.

I even have dreams of going on "reading dinners" (name change open to suggestion) with my little family. This, of course, is where we go out to some cute local restaurant, each with our favorite book (or book we are currently absorbed in) in tow, and spend the evening reading and talking about what we love, hate, and are learning from our lovely portable friends. And if you're sitting there, tilting your head to the side and whistling one of those "Eeesh, she's gone off the deep-end" tunes (think: the infamous slide whistle when Wile E. Coyote was thrown off the edge of a cliff, TNT strapped to his back, by that cunning roadrunner), let me mention that I've seen more than one family thoroughly enjoying this exact little ritual.

One of my favorite paintings is "Land of Enchantment" by Norman Rockwell, one of my favorite artists. I fully determine to have this painting hanging in my children's room. Possibly right above their crib in the nursery:

So, until I have my own little ones to impart the joy of reading to, here is a little list of "Books Mothers/Fathers/Both-tag-teaming-at-once Must Read to Their Children." Feel free to add or remove as you please!

1. The Giving Tree

2. Where the Wild Things Are

3. Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs

4. The Phantom Tollbooth (chapter book. For the older ones)

5. Corduroy

6. Peter Pan (The original is incredible)

7. Ferdinand the Bull

8. A Light in the Attic

I could go on about the statistics of the benefits of reading to children and bore you half to death, but I'll skip that and leave you to hopefully tiptoe to your children's bedside, lulling them to sleep with some wonderful literature.

Velcro Shoes and Mermaid Bikes

Not sure what it is about coffee shops that make you want to exhume your roots and pour out all you inner chaos onto paper (or a macbook), thinking that people really want to read about all your personal musings. Maybe it's the warm lighting. Or the being aloneness. Either way, you are still reading...

Do you ever have those moments where you are suddenly transported back about fifteen or so years (assuming you are in your early to mid 20s) to your early childhood? Of course you do. My moments usually happen during those [frequent] aimless drives to nowhere. Growing up, there were few things that captured my heart more than sitting six inches away from the television, Hi-C juicebox in hand, listening to LeVar Burton read book after glorious book on The Reading Rainbow. Unfettering my mind, memories flashed and danced and poured and ran and flew over me. As one would pull itself up, another would be attached to another and another.

Memories of EZ Bake ovens, kindergarten graduation, school plays, Little Mermaid bicycles, honey-suckle and pecan picking, making sweet-tea popsicles (this happened), and much muchhhh more so generously greeted me.

As I drove on and was pulled back to present-day, I decided these little gems were too precious to let fly on without capturing a little something. How much will my 80-year old mind remember about these tender years? And oh the joy it will bring me in the future to think upon these times.

So here I sit, jotting down memory after memory that shows it's little face as quickly as I can. After just fifteen minutes of reminiscing, I have two full pages of wonderful (and now permanent) memories. I encourage you to do the same.

(wow, look at those shorts, would ya?!)

Cheers!

Ex Libris

Recently I opened the cover to what I thought would be nothing more than a cozy little read, knitting my love for books even tighter as I delved into the mind of a fellow bibliophile.

Now, I've always had quite a fondness for words, forcing myself to look up words I am unfamiliar with in my reading, but as I [very] slowly turned the first few pages of this wonderful book, I realized how quickly this lady was wearing out my nifty dictionary app on my phone (is this weird to you?). It was quite unsettling.

Here are some examples of words I had to look up, confident I had never even seen them before:

Grimoires
Adytum
Adapertile
Camorra
Aspergills
Opopanax

I think you catch my drift, or at least, by this point have wandered into the kitchen, positive that making a pb&j sandwich would be a much better use of your time.

Two conflicting feelings quickly surfaced after this first chapter: First, a hovering cloud of dread as I realized my love for the written word may have just been all talk (oddly enough), and a spark of excitement as my mind mused and masticated (stop giggling and go look it up) on this hearty bill of fare.

And who doesn't want to be able to correctly call someone a "milquetoast" to their face? I sure do. Moral of the story? Better vocab = better insults.

No, in all seriousness, constantly growing and developing your vocabulary clearly has many benefits.

Want to integrate new words into your drab vocab?

• Sign up to receive the 'Word of the Day' in your email via Dictionary.com here.


• Go to Freerice.com. This site helps build vocabulary while feeding impoverished nations. Win-Win.


• Don't skip over (or mumble incoherently) challenging words that cross your path. Take a moment to actually look up the word (the thought of a dictionary app suddenly isn't so foreign and laughable now).


• Watch this


• Buy this and thank me later.

-me-