Why nice people make my day

When you are pregnant and tired and nauseated, patience can run short. I'm not always the most patient, tolerant person anyway, but this new "condition" I find myself in makes things even worse. I'm have a harder time tolerating whining or people being slow and dragging their feet. It grates me even more when someone talks on and on and on about not a whole lot and I have to sit there taking it. I hate it when people make snarky, sarcastic comments that I know are kind of supposed to be funny but have a grain of truth within them. UUHHH! It drives me crazy. I don't like that my patience is so thin, and I don't like that its hard to be pleasant sometimes.

But I've found some brightness is my sea of impatience--a remedy to a shorter fuse.

Nice people.

Its amazing how freaking nice some people are. They are WAY nicer than me. Running into other people's niceness definitely makes me want to do better, be sweeter, and give more. It picks me up when I'm feeling grouchy. It makes me want to hug someone.

Let me recount some of the especially nice experiences that have happened recently.

1. Candace, my nurse friend at work, stood in for me during an epidural one morning at 5am after a long night shift, which means she did all the hard work while I just sat down. Thank you Candace!

2. My old friend Megan saw me in Target and immediately said congratulations on the baby and "I hope you feel better soon". She knew I was pregnant and sick b/c she saw it on facebook and remembered. So thoughtful!

3. While I was sick the last few weeks, scores of people texted me or facebooked me or messaged me with get well wishes. When you've laid in the same spot all day for 5 days, unable to breath out of both nostrils simultaneously and totally depressed after watching 2 seasons of Law and Order: Criminal Intent, those notes mean a lot.

4. My husband told me to get a massage. That's awesome. I'm going tomorrow morning. The anticipation alone relaxes me.

5. Sweet Lisa called me tonight, just to talk, on our way home from work. I love that.

6. My mom is giving me her rocking chair when the baby comes. It was the same one she used when I was born.

7. My former maternity clinical instructor hugged me today with such excitement when she saw my burgeoning belly. She's a midwife. She likes bellies.

8. A friend, who tends to be fairly private and guarded, opened up to me about some hard stuff she's going through. That's the kind of talking I like to listen to.

9. A coworker is bringing me prenatal yoga DVDs.

10. A friend from church gave me a huge bag full of maternity clothes. Yeah!!! Now I just have to grow into them.

11. My patient last week loved my haircut. Sometimes that's what a girl needs to hear.

12. Even though I'm getting bigger (and badder), Chris still thinks I'm pretty and tells me so very often.

13. My dad told me he's proud of me. It about made me cry.


Those are just the cake toppers to a laundry list of niceness oozing around me, and hopefully rubbing off. I need help, and I'm so thankful for friends who are more sweet and more patient than I am. Hopefully, one day, when I'm less hormonal and less exhausted, I'll be able to get back to my old self. Maybe it'll be second trimester? I sure hope so, as does everyone else around me too! I'll keep ya'll posted :)

What's happening during my 1st trimester

With only a few weeks left until I get to my 2nd trimester, I thought I'd give a quick recap of the last 11 weeks.

We'll start with physical changes. Where to begin...let's see.

Well, my waist has definitely expanded, which I knew would happened but am a little bummed it happened so quickly. It might because I had to eat pretty much all day to keep from puking for a few weeks. And a few times I ate an entire thing of hummus in one sitting, sometimes with my finger or a spoon when I ran out of crackers. It was just so good. As I ate it, I kept thinking of my friend Laurie once saying, "I could like, bathe in hummus." She was pregnant when she said that. Now I totally get what she meant.

My chest has dramatically increased, which I think explains the ever increasing numbers on the scale. My bras hardly fit and I keep "bumping" things accidentally with these things. A girl at work commented, "You will have to get used to your new body habitus," which means get used to growing because it won't stop for awhile. She said that after I totally boobed her in the locker room. We both had a good laugh over it. I'm hoping that my changing chest size will help off-set my growing waistline and booty.

I haven't gotten acne too bad, which some women complain about, but that's never been a big issue, even in high school. Thankfully something is staying the same.

My energy is starting to return, and even as I lay here with a terrible cold, I think I might have more energy this week that I did last week. Its been tough to feel so exhausted all the time, but supposedly that changes with the 2nd trimester.

Finally, the nausea is also starting to wain and my appetite is returning. Salad and cereal are finally sounding delicious instead of repulsive. Now, a few things sound good when I'm hungry, not just one thing. I still crave orange juice, and in fact, I'm waiting for Chris to get home from the store so I can have a glass. Man, that sounds so good.

Emotionally, I'm much more sensitive than before, if you can believe it. While I've also been pretty quick to cry, its about 10X what it used to me. Since being sick the past few days, I've had some time to catch up on upcoming movies on iMovie Trailers, and only cried at like, half of them. I cried during a movie trailor! Good grief. I can barely tell stories from work b/c they bring me to tears. My friend Jena Marie asked me why we weren't finding out the sex of our baby, and I cried recounting the moments when my patients who didn't know had their baby and discovered who and what it was. By the way, that's why we aren't finding out--b/c those are the best moments of my job, hands down. I want that. I cry thinking about our baby--who he or she will be, what they will love, how they will laugh...how Chris will be a wonderful father and teach our little one so much of living and loving and laughing, and shooting guns. Even now I'm tearing up. So we'll move along...

Spiritually, I'm learning more and more of being in God's presence and of prayer for life and endurance and for this new thing springing up within me. Never before have I been so afraid and curious and excited. When I'm afraid, He is faithful to remind me that He is good and near and knows. Though I'm not Catholic, I'm finding a weird peace in thinking of Mary, as she did this. She got bigger and felt tired and probably had weird food cravings, and possibly found satisfaction in hummus as well. Thankfully I don't have to ride a donkey during my 3rd trimester or give birth in a barn. I'm finding a new appreciation for the other mothers in scripture--I get their longing for a baby and also their excitement. I get why they dedicated their children to the service of God. I hope and pray our child will be as Hannah's little Samuel who heard God's voice and served Him faithfully. I'm knowing more of God's goodness in how my sweet husband has supported me and loved me despite my exhaustion and queasiness. He is so patient and kind and gracious and an example of God's grace to me.

So that's that for now. Things are moving along as they should. Our parents are asking about names and colors and showers, which is so fun. And honestly, that's what this should be. It should be fun. Its emotional and difficult and amazing--and fun.

So I peed on a stick and...

Yes, its official...we're having a baby! My eggo is preggo. There's a bun in the oven. A pea in the pod. I'm 100% knocked up.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Let me tell you the whole story, for those who are interested.

Many of you know that I've had baby fever for almost a year now, which was the answer to many of my sweet husband's prayers as I wasn't so gung ho to have kids when we got married. The Lord definitely changed my heart, pretty rapidly, and gave me an intense desire to procreate.

Due to my contract at UNC, we wanted to "schedule" a baby around the time that contract was drawing to an end to allow some flexibility with work as a new mom. With my contract set to end in Sept of 2010, we figured on 3 months or so of trying, which meant getting pregnant in November or December and delivering in Aug or September next year. It was all planned so perfectly.

Little did we know that it would take far less than 3 months to get pregnant. In fact, by all calculations, it took about 3 weeks. Fertile Myrtle over here.

I knew pretty much right away that I was pregnant. I could just tell. I felt weird. By weird, I mean...well, weird. Chris thought I was just having hysterical pregnancy symptoms because I wanted a baby so bad, and we'd been watching Glee and that's what happened to Mrs. Schuster, but I kept saying, "I'm not like that crazy mean lady. I really think I'm pregnant!"

Man I love when I'm right.

So for a week, I peed on a stick every day, watching and waiting for that line to show up. For a few days, it remained blank or showed up as "not pregnant". Ugh! It was awful.

Then one day, a FAINT line appeared...I mean, I could just barely see it. But there was something. Chris didn't get excited yet. He wasn't convinced. I decided to try again in three days, but couldn't bear the suspense so I did a test every day up to day 3, when a pretty good solid line finally appeared to announce, PREGNANT! He finally believed me :) I wasn't hysterical!

That was 7 weeks ago, and now I'm 9 weeks along with a confirmed heartbeat by ultrasound. Everything looks good so far.






Unfortunately, I'm in the throws of early pregnancy and when I say throws, I mean throws. Nausea like I didn't know was possible, complete exhaustion to the point of pulling over and sleeping in my car, and a changing body that's freaking me out. So far, God is good and I haven't puked in public, which is one of my biggest fears. I have, however, fallen behind in housework, so pray for Chris as he has to pick up my slack and deal with me moping around feeling gross all the time.

I keep hearing it gets better, and today was a small glimpse into that as I felt OK for a few hours and actually got excited about food. Yeah! So we're 9 weeks down, hopefully about 30 to go.

For you praying people out there, we would love if you could pray for a happy, healthy little one and some wisdom for two very inexperienced parents. Thankfully we had great examples growing up and lots of friends to offer advice and hopefully some babysitting as well.

Finally, for those of you who were wondering, our plan so far is to not find out the sex, not tell the final name decisions, and have a natural labor and delivery at UNC, where I work.

So that's that. We're very excited about this new chapter in our lives and very thankful for what's to come.

And then a giant katydid landed on my face...

Oh the joys of camping. The friends, the fire, the food, the foliage...and the bugs.

This past weekend, we packed up 2 cars with 3 tents, 6 chairs, and 1 baby and headed out to Hanging Rock State Park for an overnighter in the woods. "We" were the Bakers, the Dagleys, and the Sius...they had the baby.

Our campsite was so pretty, and our venture up to Hanging Rock was spectacular. The leaves were changing and bright. The hike wasn't too crowded, and the view from the top--there weren't words. Storms were supposed to be rolling in, and the sky was a mixture of dark clouds and shimmering sun rays stealing through. Seriously beautiful stuff.

We got back to camp, and Ed started up the fire. He had that sucker blazing within minutes and we lazed around eating hobo packets and roasting marshmallows for smores. Katherine had the great idea of sticking pieces of chocolate in the melted marshmallows once it was on the cracker so it melted too. Oh buddy that was good.

Things were going well up to that point. The rain hadn't started falling, Caleb wasn't crying (he's the baby), and we were all loving camping. Then I noticed a little tap on my leg and saw a huge katydid just hanging out on my pants. When I say huge, I mean several inches long and fat and green--like a giant leaf with legs that flies erratically, and apparently liked my pants. I swiped it off gently, laughing at my new "friend". Then it came back, right back on my leg. Now, it was dark, and the only light we had was from the fire and our head lamps. However, when I felt that tap again, I knew that big old katydid. Just like before, I knocked him off, this time a little aggravated. Stupid bug, stay off my pants.

Not 2 minutes later did that giant bug return. This time, however, he didn't stake out ground on my pants. Instead, that sucker landed right on my face, just by my mouth. Holy crapoly. I could feel its feet gripping onto my skin. I could hear its big green leafy wings vibrating as it landed. Had I stuck out my tongue, I could have tasted it. Thankfully sticking out my tongue is not my general reaction to a huge bug on my face. No, my reaction is to emit a small shriek and do whatever it takes to get the bug off my face and on to somewhere else.

And that's what happened.

Oddly enough, the "somewhere else" was my pants, again. What in the world was happening? Why did this bug love me so?

I had just about had it with the bugs. No more laughing. No more gentle swipes off myself. No more Mrs. Nice-to-the-bugs-lady. Instead of flicking the thing off, this time I was much more diabolical.

I grabbed the bug by its tail and threw it, forcefully, into the blazing fire. And I watched it burn.

Then out of the corner of my eye, I spotted another one, making its way to my pants, or possibly my face, so I preemptively struck, grabbing its tail and slamming it into the fire as well.

By the end of the night, 4 katydids met their fate in the fire at our campsite. Not one more landed on me.

I thought I was in the clear.

But alas, this is not the end of my camping saga.

In the middle of the night, safe and snug in my tent with Chris by my side, I felt something on my leg. Katydid? Could there be a 5th one that made it into my tent? I grabbed whatever it was a flung it towards the door of our tent, that was solidly zipped shut, but there was no way I was holding on to that thing. Quickly finding a headlamp, I searched the area and found the culprit. Not a katydid this time. Possibly even more gross and definitely bigger. There, crawling around in our tent, was a giant centipede, probably 3 inches long. That is what was on my leg. That is what I flung at the tent door. That is what I ultimately threw with all my strength out the tent door and into the great wide open. Eeeeewwwww.

Of course, having woke up in the middle of the night, now I had to pee, and it was raining outside. After much debate, I ran outside quickly and popped a squat in the middle of the woods, praying for no bugs to attack me during this vulnerable time. God heard my prayers, and even stopped the rain.

I snuggled back in the tent with Chris, but only before thoroughly searching the sleeping bag for any new additions. Thankfully we were in the clear, and I slept a little more.

The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful...but I still can't believe a katydid landed on my face.

To The New Dads Out There...

So fellas, the last blog was for single girls, and this one is for you men who have a little one on the way, or even plan on having one on the way at some point in your lives.

After a conversation I had last night with a couple who are expecting their first any day now, I thought I might need to give the guys some advice about what its like on their end, where to stand, what to say (and not say), what to watch and not watch, etc.

So here are some tips for upcoming fathers during labor and delivery.

1. Do whatever your wife/partner needs. Get her ice. Rub her back, or don't touch her, depending on what she says. She needs you to be available and she needs you to not get your feelings hurt if she tells you to stop talking while she's having a contraction. She means it, but in a good way.

2. Ask questions of your nurse and provider as to how you can help. It makes you feel more involved and it helps us too. We love helpful poppies.

3. Don't let your wife/partner watch any medical shows during her labor, which she might want to do after her epidural. They are OK at home, but watching "Emergency Birth" or "ER" or even "House" is a bad idea in the hospital. Not good for the soul.

4. Don't let the pain your wife is experiencing freak you out. Its awful to watch someone you love hurt so bad, but remember, its normal and natural and YOU CAN'T FIX IT. You can support her and love her and say sweet things, but let me say again, YOU CAN'T FIX IT. Unless she gets an epidural, its going to hurt the whole way through. Just be there, and pray a lot.


5. When mommy finally gets to start pushing, stand up by her head and support it while she pushes. That gives you closeness with her, and if you are squeamish, it'll help block your view of the action taking place a little further down. Sometimes a nurse might ask you to hold a leg, but that definitely gives you more of a front row seat. Its OK to say no or sit down. No passing out please. We already have two patients and definitely don't need a third at that point.

6. The nurse might ask you if you want to see the head as mom is pushing (we can usually start to see the top of the baby's head after a while). You can always decline. Like I said before, no passing out. Often we ask if mommy wants to touch the top of the head when it gets low enough. Don't be weirded out if she does--I mean, like the fact that she's pushing another human being out of her body isn't weird enough.

7. Encourage your girl as she's pushing--use phrases like, "Go Mama go!" or "You're doing it, you're doing it!" or "I can see the head!" help a lot. If mom has an epidural, she's usually be very sweet and responsive. If she's going "all natural" (emphasis on the "al"), she might not be as sweet, so don't say things like, "Enjoy these last moments of pregnancy" or "I'm almost sad its over". Yeah, not helpful. There's nothing enjoyable about that part except that its almost over. That's all she's shooting for at that point.

8. Cut the cord if offered by the provider unless its going to make you puke. Its a cool gesture, and honestly, after what your girl just did, its a fairly easy way to say, "I was with you baby, all the way, and I still am."

9. Unless you are super geeky and into science, don't watch the placenta come out. Its unexpected and weird and kind of gross. You just had a baby--don't let the afterbirth ruin your day.

10. If at any time you need some fresh air, by all means take it. If you need to sit, then sit. If you need some juice or coffee, get yourself some. Your girl is going through one of the hardest and best days of her life. She needs you to be on your game.

11. Try not to be weirded out by everything that happens in and around your girl's va-jay-jay. It means some very different to nurses and docs than it does to you. For us, its where something very important has to come out--totally opposite of your experience. We don't blink an eye about having to feel all around up there. Its an odd thing, I'm sure, to have strangers poking around, but remember, we do this every day to dozens of women we've never met. The only one who might think its weird is you, so get over it and support your girl.

12. When its all said and done, hold your baby and kiss your woman. I think she deserves it!

So there you have it. Now dads, you know what to do and what not to do. So go out there and have some babies!

To my single girls

Being single has its perks--something you really learn AFTER you are married--but personally, I love being married way more than I liked being single. And while I sometimes remember what it was like to come home after a long day and not have to answer to anyone, I'll take having someone to come home to over an empty house and pint of Ben and Jerry's any day.

Being married means having a partner and a friend all the time, during the big things like moving and jobs and life goals to the mundane things like grocery shopping, cooking, and sleeping. I haven't been lonely since getting married. I haven't gotten bored. I've laughed way more. I've learned to fight better. I've loved someone for who they are and received that same love back. I've seen God's grace played out on a daily basis. Who wouldn't want that?

This is why I pray for my single friends--so they too can know what its like to be loved in a very tangible way, so the longing in their hearts for a mate can be relieved and overwhelmed by love and commitment, so they can come home to someone that is committed to them for life and not just through the end of their lease.

For some girls, they are OK not being married, but for most, this is something they long for deeply. Deeply. Its something they've asked God to take away because it hurts. Its what they are afraid to talk about for fear of crying real hard at Starbucks into their Chai Tea Latte. Its personal, and its painful.

Its hard getting into your late 20s and 30s and not see any prospects. You wonder if there is something wrong with you. You wonder if it will ever happen. You wonder how on earth you will meet anyone who meets your standards, which you know are reasonable and not too high. You want to trust God, but that trust waivers with each wedding you attend and with each friend that calls to say that he finally asked her out.

Dang. When's my turn. Surely I have something to offer, right? I'm kind and gentle and compassionate and passionate...I'd be a good wife, I just know it. We could do great things together and have adventures and raise our kids to love God. Why am I alone at home every weekend, watching Bridget Jones's Diary again?

But I regress...

Having been that girl and now not being that girl, I pray real hard that God will raise up men who will take a chance on my girl friends who aren't just out of college, who are pretty and sweet and independent but not too independent, who have big goals like missions and church planting and hard core ministry in hard core places. These are girls who will sharpen a man and hold him accountable to his responsibilities before the Lord. They are Proverbs 31 women, and they are amazing. They are the girls I look at and wonder, "Why are guys so blind?"

So girls, you are in my prayers, intently and consistently, and until the big prayers for husbands and families are answered, I also pray for courage, peace, and love. And just know that in those moments when you have a hard time trusting God, someone else is trusting Him for you.

Family History

Ever since visiting my sister a few weeks ago, I've wanted to write a little ditty about our family history b/c its unusual and interesting and it involved one of my favorite things ever--the Appalachian mountains.

I'll start with my mom's side of the family, the Johnston side, b/c that is shorter and sweeter. The Johnston clan originated on the English/Scottish border hundreds of years ago as "Johnstone" and ended up moving to the States during colonization, eventually landing in rural, western Kentucky where my mom was born, 1 of 7 kids, to a farmer and his sweet wife Katie, my grandmother and name sake. They were poor and backwoods--my mom still remembers using an outhouse and chamberpot and getting water from the well. Up until a few years ago, the well and outhouse were still standing at the farm, though unused for years. Grandpa took to storing chicken wire in the outhouse, which I'm sure was not its original purpose. And for those of you wondering, it was only a 1 seater.

My grandparents farmed until they passed away--growing soy beans, corn, tobacco, pigs, and cows. I saw my first birth there (baby pigs), my first death (a deer get shot), caught my first fish, ate my first bite of squirrel and turtle (yes, turtle), learned how to snap peas, can strawberries, make peach preserves, clean a fish and fry it up, and remove ticks. That farm was a haven for learning, and my grandparents and parents were great teachers. What I gathered there didn't necessarily improve my SAT scores, it vastly improved my life, and that matters a little more than stupid SATs.

Now on my dad's side, this is where it gets a little more interesting historically, and its how the Appalachians tie in. My great grandmother was a Cable, and she married a Carringer, which is my maiden name. Now during the Revolutionary war, John Cable arrived to fight the colonist turncoats for the English, though he was German, a Hessian hired to fight by the mother country. John ended up defecting after the war and settling down in the heart of the Appalachians, in what is now east Tennessee. Other families joined around the settlement, and the area became known as Cade's Cove.

For years, Cade's Cove thrived and grew, until the Civil war, when the settlement became suspicious of outsiders, gathered their ranks, and shut off from the rest of the country. There was a little cousin on cousin marriage, I'm sure. These people perfectly fit the "hill billy" mold--poor, uneducated farmers who lived mostly off what the land provided them. My dad still remembers visiting his grandmother, Fanny Cable, up in the holler where her fridge was a cold spring under a rock and she sang "Angel Band" as she cooked in her apron. Fanny had 11 kids, one being my grandpa, at her home there in east Tennessee.

Cade's Cove still exists as a state park, and if you visit there, you can see Cable's Mill, started by John Cable, where my great grandma, Fanny, worked as a young woman. It even has a water wheel.

As a kid, we moved a lot, and no where ever felt like home to me until we landed in North Carolina, where my dad grew up, and especially when I went to school in Asheville. That was my first time really diving in to Appalachian life, with the music and dancing and craft and food. Up there you can still find Carringers and Cables and Crisps, names you don't see too often outside the hills of North Carolina and Tennessee. There, you find people who are country, and sweet, and use muscadines for cider and possum grease for croup. That's where I feel most at home. As much as I love my parents and love being at their house, its the mountains that call my name.

Chris and I talk about moving there one day, somewhere in the Appalachians. We want our kids to play in the woods and have animals and grow a garden. I want those things for me too. I'd like to have a life a little like my great grandmother and my grandparents in Kentucky--a little less money, a little more faith, and a lot more of God's creation around me.

Maybe one day...

All the pregnant ladies...just put your legs up!

In response to comments about the last blog, I'd like to take a second to talk to the pregnant ladies out there who might be wondering what its like to have a baby, and to answer Lauren's question, what it takes to be a great labor patient both for your sake, and for all you nurses out there too.

If you are having your baby at a hospital, you will find that your labor nurse is one of your best assets to having the delivery you hope to have. Labor nurses are with you through the thick and thin of labor from 3 centimeters to completely effaced to epidurals to pushing. We're there with two gloved fingers and a watchful eye. We take care of you and your baby, and most of us love our jobs and want to make the experience great for you and your growing family.

Still, there are some things that you, the patient, can do to make the relationship between you and your nurse blossom. Here's a list, off the top of my head, of things I love about labor patients, and things that can be difficult to manage.

1. Don't be afraid to ask for things, but try to do it nicely, even if you are in pain. We don't mind answering call bells or getting you some ice, but saying thanks in between contractions is just icing on the cake.

2. We love when husbands/partners/family members help out. Our jobs are hard and busy, so it helps makes things go more smoothly and quickly if family members take initiative and get a cool wash cloth for mommy's forehead. Trust me, we don't mind at all.

3. Try not to throw up on the nurse or your partner. At least aim for the floor, please. Lots of women puke in labor, and if you feel even a little nauseous, please please please ask for a bucket.

4. Don't worry about pooping while you push. We would much rather you push great for 1 hour and take a big 'ole poop then push bad for 3 hours and remain poop free.

5. Tell your nurse if something changes, like you all of a sudden feel pressure or this big urge to push, or if you want pain medicine. We can't read minds, and we want to help you, and we definitely don't want to miss your delivery because you pushed and we weren't there. Its like I tell my hispanic moms, "No empuja sin enfermera. No quiero bebe en la cama or el piso por favor." (Translation "don't push without the nurse. I don't want a baby in the bed or the floor please."

6. Its never too soon for an epidural, but it might slow things down. Epidurals make our jobs as nurses easier, but if you don't want one, we're OK with that. If we think you need one because you are freaking out or it looks like your baby isn't tolerating labor, then we'll tell you.

7. Birth plans are great, but its also great to hold them with open hands b/c labor is rarely predictable, no matter what the experts say.

8. If you are trying to decide to come to the hospital b/c you think you are in labor, try to avoid coming at 7am or 7pm. That's shift change, and its always chaotic. Its for your best interest.

9. Just be sweet to your nurse. We're here to help. We have rules we have to follow, like the number of people in the room at a time and what not. Please obey them. They aren't just arbitrary.

10. Trust your nurse and don't be afraid to try weird stuff we might suggest, like the birth ball or squatting or pushing on hands and knees. We do this all the time. Pushing is our deal, and we're usually pretty good at it.

11. When its all over and you are headed to recovery, saying thanks makes our day.

So there's ten things you can do to enhance the relationship you have with your labor nurse. Cussing doesn't bother us, screaming is OK, moaning rules, and pushing hard is awesome.

On behalf of all labor nurses out there, thanks for letting us share in your birth experience, and don't worry, we forget what it all looks like after the baby is in your arms.

The NIght Shift

So I haven't written for awhile, and I'm not sure why. The only thing I can reckon is that I've been working nights and life is just weird when you sleep all day and work all night for three days in a row, then try to have a normal life again for the rest of the week.

In light of that, I'd like to take a moment to describe life on nights...the highs, the lows, and the dark.

Let's start with a simple overview of the shift. We generally arrive between 6:45 and 7pm, with coffee in hand, though some prefer Mountain Dew or Coke Zero. I'm a triple shot iced Americano kind of girl, with room please.

We all want to know what the "board" looks like, which translates into, "Will I have just one nice, normal labor patient, or should I pee now because I won't have a chance again until I get home in the morning." We change quickly into green OR scrubs that are required for the unit and line up to get our assignments. The day shift folks are only too happy to hand over their patients. We get report on our assignment (or assignments, if its busy) and get to work.

Whether its labor, pre-ecclampsia, or cesarean, there is an unspoken rule on night shift that you work together and you always always always know that someone else is watching out for you. Its such a relief when a baby crumps on the monitor to turn around and see 2 or 3 other nurses stepping into your room and pulling on gloves to get things right again.

If things aren't too crazy, it can get pretty quiet around 3 or 4 am, and we find ourselves sitting together at one of the nurses stations, wrapped in blankets b/c its cold, drinking something, and chatting away, always eyeballing the monitors to tell us how each baby and mommy is doing.

Around 5am is when things start to get silly. People are tired, but we know that only 2 more hours are left until daylight, and better still, shift change. Someone will make a "that's what she said" joke, or start quoting their favorite movie lines. Another RN will join in with some story about their patient, like how room 2 just pooted on the nurse's hand during a cervical check, or how room 7 spit out a 10 pound baby with 2 pushes. You hear phrases like "vaginal bypass" or "hosed" or "FLK" (which stands for funny looking kid). Almost everyone has a story from their night.

By 6, we're pretty much home free, except for that one lucky nurse who will have a change of shift delivery that leaves her with loads of documentation to catch up on. It happens to everyone, and if the patient is sweet, then we usually don't mind at all. I mean, its another life brought into the world, right? So what if its at 6:58.

The day team starts to arrive at 6:45 or so, looking fresh and clean, compared to us, who are ragged and barely able to formulate a thought. Sometimes I find myself waddling around the unit because I'm too tired to pick my feet up any more than I have to. Usually I have to sit down and really think through all my charting and the work I did to make sure its all been done. It seems easier to forget stuff at 4:45am than at 4:45pm. Why do you think that is???

By 7:15am, I'm usually out the door and heading to my car, the sunshine hurting my eyes that have grown accustomed to the dark halls and rooms on the unit. Now that I park in the same place, I don't have to wander around, trying to remember where my car is, which happened a few of my first nights.

Driving home is always a time for prayer, mostly to stay awake and not kill anyone on the road. I usually call home and talk to my parents because they are interesting, and Chris is still asleep. Once I couldn't get a hold of anyone, so I called my friend Michelle, another nurse who had worked that night and was also driving home. She didn't answer, and I left her this ridiculous message about struggling to stay awake at the wheel and how I hoped she was still awake and not asleep since she didn't answer her phone. She called me back a few minutes later, worried that I'd be dead in a ditch because she didn't answer and I had no one to talk to. I was eating toast at home when she called, so I was ok.

Then I sleep all day, usually with the help of Benadryl or Ambien. Ambiem made me hallucinate once, so its been Benadryl since then, and there are no more can can dancers in my room nor has the laundry started coming to life.

Then I get up. Then I eat, then I go back to the hospital to do it all over again.

So there's the night shift in a nutshell. I wish everyone could experience it at least once. Its a joy and its hard and its fun and its exhausting. But I love it, and I'm glad to be there. The patients are (usually) great, and the staff is even greater. That combination is worth staying up for.

Fiddle faddle

Within my life, over the past 29, almost 30, years, several questions pop up over and over again. They usually have to do with playing violin, and go a little something like...

"How long have you been playing?"

Or

"Is it hard to learn violin?"

Or

"How long will it take me to learn to play?"

And the grand finale...

"What's the difference between a violin and a fiddle?"

So, in case you were wondering, I'll go ahead and answer those, as well as offer up a little glimpse into my fiddling past.

The story begins with a 5 year old American girl living in Tokyo, a tiny little violin, and this thing called "Suzuki". That's where it all began. Picture it, a toe-headed kid with a mini instrument learning Twinkle Twinkle and Tell Me the Story. Precious.

Back in the states, I started with private lessons at the age of 8 and learned my way through Mozart and Bach and Vivaldi up through book 4 of the Suzuki method (there's 10 books and they get progressively harder and more complicated).

By age 10, we were in North Carolina and I landed in the Meredith College Suzuki program, where I stayed until leaving for college at age 18, having made it through book 8. Books 9 and 10 remain an ocean I will never cross.

During high school, I hated practicing violin, but my dear, wise mother would force and coerce me to play, promising one day I'd thank her. When I got to college, I realized she was right. Dangit.

There I learned to play by ear as I stepped into something completely different than classical Suzuki method violin. Its what we Christians like to call Worship Music. I joined the Cru band and had to play things that actually mattered to me, things I wrote or discovered, things that were fluid and organic instead of rigid and old. The music went beyond the page and beyond honoring some dead guy from the 17th Century to honoring the God I so deeply loved, who was so deeply alive. It was a beautiful thing. Oddly enough, that's when I learned to sing harmony as well, something I could never do before. Maybe I had more reasons to sing at that point.

My junior year of college, I spent a semester abroad in England, 3 miles north of Wales in a city called Chester. My 5th night in the city, I heard traditional Irish music in a traditional Irish pub, and it was love at first sight. I found a fiddle teacher and some free time, and there I learned to fiddle, in about 5 months. We played a few shows, did a little traveling to Ireland to play, and made several pounds, a dollar, a used shot glass, and a few nuts and bolts that I still carry in my case as a little reminder of those lovely days.

When I got back to Asheville for my senior year, fiddling was on my mind. Finally, music that didn't have rules and totally kicked my butt. Its hard and fast and totally freaking awesome. I wanted more.

So I found new friends and started learned Old Time tunes, Appalachian style fiddle. Despite its roots in the Celtic music I'd grown to love, Old Time proved a whole new beast to tackle, and I'm still learning more 8 years later.

Now, I'm in Durham, playing incredible worship music with the most talented group of folks I've ever played with, and sneaking in a little fiddle here and there. Hopefully I can dedicate more time to fiddling at some point in my life, but for now, I love what I play and who I'm playing with, and honestly, who I'm playing for.

That's the story, in a nutshell. Now to answer those popular questions...

I'm play since I was 5, so that's almost 25 years. I think I should be better than I am.

Since I've been playing for so long, its hard to remember "learning" violin, but I'm pretty sure its hard to learn. Learning violin never sounds good. But it pays off eventually.

Its taken my 25 years to learn violin, and I'm still learning. However, to be proficient in violin, I think it'd take about 2-3 years of consistent practice and lessons for an adult. Kids usually take less time, because they are brilliant.

The different between violin and fiddle? For me, its simply style and attitude. Classical violin has a specific tuning (E,A,D,G) and specific rules involving dynamics, rhythm, and tone. Its fairly rigid and absolutely beautiful when played well, especially in a orchestral setting. Fiddles sometimes have a lower bridge, which is the wooden thing that holds the strings off the body of the violin and looks like a bridge, and some fiddlers have alternate tunings (like E,A,E,A). You find that mostly in Old Time and Bluegrass.

As far as style and attitude are concerned, fiddlers are less inclined to follow the rules, and are all about embellishment, speed, and making that instrument sing. It can make you laugh and stomp your feet and even dance a jig, or it can reduce you to tears. I like both, but then again, I'm emotional.

So there you go. Please let me know if you have any other questions. I love talking about fiddle and think everyone else might too.

I'm a twitter-er and dang proud of it.

I'll be honest. I resisted for months despite the buzz about this new thing called twitter. Apparently everyone who was anyone was doing it. But me? Nah. I had facebook, I had a blog, and I had a phone with a keyboard for texting. Why did I need one more thing to add stuff to? I could barely keep up with what I had going on anyway.

But then we were asked, at church, to start using twitter for communicating during Easter, and being the ever excited participant in churchy things, I figured, might as well take the twitter plunge. I mean, its only 140 characters, right?

So I found a few people to follow, just local friends at church mostly. They were pretty interesting and posted funny stuff, but it got to be kind of laborious twittering, then facebooking, then blogging, and I didn't feel interesting at all. Suddenly there was pressure to be funny and witty and have something worth saying in 140 characters or less and if I didn't twitter then maybe it was because I really didn't have anything good to say b/c I wasn't living an exciting life worth talking about. (breath, breath, breath...)

Then I learned a few things about Twitter that helped. One, I learned that very few people were posting tweets that were overly interesting. Most people twittered normal, everyday stuff, like "in a meeting" or "pray for so and so" or "I hate Mondays". Everyone else's life was mostly mundane too. Yeah!

Two, I learned to sync facebook and twitter, so I could post on one and it'd post to the other automatically, like magic.

Three, I started following people on twitter I could never be friends with on facebook b/c facebook is a place for friends, while twitter was a place for 140 character snippets of life. So I started following Lance Armstrong (a little obsessed with Twitter, but interesting none the less), Ed Stetzer (also a big twitter-er and ranges from the mundane to the profound in his tweets), Mark Driscoll, and even People Magazine, so I can stay up to date on celebrity gossip, my guilty pleasure (don't judge me, I have a stressful job), and the band Mute Math, who post stuff like "puked on stage last night and it was awesome" (not from alcohol, but from being crazy).

I will say, in my defense, that I don't follow Ashton Kutcher, the most followed man in Twitter, or any other People Magazine type celebrities. I like to keep it classy, which is why following someone Eddie Izzard is so great. I mean, he crossdresses during his comedy act, and never makes the cover of People.

Now I love twitter more than facebook. Honestly, I do. Its fun to see what folks are up to, and when I see that more famous-ish people post normal things like "in a meeting" or "flying to Paris for the Tour de France", it makes me feel OK about my own posts of "taking a nap", "writing", or "helping deliver babies".

If you haven't tried Twitter, give it a shot. Find interesting people to follow, and be your own normal self as well, cuz at this point, the mundane is pretty cool.

Blood, sweat, and gears--romance in Boone.

A week and a half ago, I left my sweet husband at home and drove NW to Boone with two goals. One, to see my sister and two, to ride in the Blood, Sweat, and Gears half century bike ride. For you non-bikey people, a half century is 50 miles--not a super long ride by cycling standards, but challenging enough when set in the mountains of NC.

Why, you might ask, would I do such a ride, with 4 brutal climbs and 2 fast and winding downhills that double dare you not to crash. I'd love to tell you why in two words.

The Romance.

That's right...the romance.

Its the energy felt at the starting line when 1250 riders, some there to compete, some to have fun, all gather in one small space to begin a long day in the saddle. Conversations range from "Where you from and what do you do," to "Did you hear about the guy last year who did this race on a fixed gear bike just because?" to "Yeah, I just bought this bike yesterday...we'll see how she does," to "Where do we go after crossing the start?" (That last one was my question--I was a little directionly unprepared).

Its the support you get from fellow riders on long climbs. Its the volunteers who hand you water and oreos at support stations along the way. Its the raindrops that fall softly on your face from clouds that cover Grandfather Mountain that towers above. Its the friends you make along the way on the flats so you don't have to ride alone for 3.5 hours. Its the mountain air that thins on the climbs and sweeps around you on fast downhills, giving you goosebumps despite the summer sun. Its burning lungs that beg you to stop and a heart that beats so fast and hard you think it might explode. Its some inner determination to not stop that helps you ignore your body and keep pedaling. Its that same inner something that brings prayers for help to your tongue as the top of the mountain just ahead. Its praising the Lord for 5 miles of downhill to the finish line, and its your sister yelling for you while you cross it, snapping pictures the whole time.

Its pain and tears and laughs and WOOHOOs, and its one of the best times I've ever had. 50 miles of blood, sweat, and gears.

Maybe next year I'll do the 100 mile option.

Dude, that scares me just thinking about it.

Acts 29 and the SBC--let's get real for a minute

I've recently read a number of articles concerning a document written by a Missouri man and submitted to the Missouri chapter of the SBC, asking them to stop financially supporting any churches within the Acts 29 Church Planting Network. The Missiouri chapter agreed.

From what I've read, Moran attacks the emerging church movement, Acts 29, and Mark Driscoll.

Here's an article I found interesting about this subject. I especially like the comments section.

http://www.abpnews.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=4151&Itemid=53

Because I am part of an SBC and ACTS 29 church, and have also learned a great deal from Mark Driscoll, I wanted to comment a moment on this issue--namely, I want to defend Acts 29 and Pastor Driscoll. While he is more than capable of answering for himself, it never hurts to support a good man, right?

Mr. Moran accuses Acts 29 of cultural liberalism--the idea that living out the gospel changes as cultural changes--namely because many Acts 29 people drink alcohol without apology. The above article states, "Moran says in attempting to re-invent the image of evangelical Christianity, the emergent church often compromises beliefs such as the SBC's traditional opposition to use of beverage alcohol".

He sees cultural and theological liberalism as conjoined twins and equally evil, while most with the Acts 29 network would see them as vastly different, and only theological liberalism as dangerous and damaging.

And while many leaders (such as Brian McClaren and Rob Bell) within the "emerging church" preach a gospel of malleable theology that does hold steadfast through history and will continue to change in the future, Mark Driscoll does not and has spoken against these men's teaching. Driscoll sees theology as steadfast and unchanging, rooted in God's infallible word and in the Cross, but he sees living out the gospel and the christian life as ever changing from culture to culture to best represent Christ to those who do not know Him. Pastor Driscoll's "cultural liberalism" is for the sake of God's renown, to which I shout AMEN. And while those within Acts 29 might throw back a pint of ale with their non-believing friends, Driscoll never promotes drunkeness or debauchery, never ever.

For more on Driscoll's unpacking of the emerging church, please listen to the sermon link below from Southeastern Seminary's Convergent Conference in Oct, 2007.

http://www.sebts.edu/news-resources/multimedia.aspx

To make my point about cultural liberalism, allow me an example.

Paul commands we greet each other with a holy kiss. This conveyed hospitality, welcome, and love--all Christian values, right?

Do we ever do this in the US? I don't think so. I'd like to see Roger Moran be greeted by a brother with a holy kiss. I'm sure he'd write a scathing article about it.

Instead, to convey welcome, hospitality, and love, we shake hands. Not Paul's exact command, but culturally relevant and the idea remains the same. We're all about the holy handshake.

People like Moran what to live Christianity like we did in the 1950's. They might say they want to do it like during biblical times, but they aren't kissing people now are they? And honesty, I'm pretty sure some of those biblical characters shared a glass of wine with their friends. Jesus certainly did.

Unfortunately for Mr. Moran, I think people like Pastor Driscoll have growing churches and 1000s of examples of lives changed by Christ to defend their cultural liberalism. I'd like to know how big Moran's church has grown? I'd like to know how many people he's shared Christ with whose lives where changed for the better. I think if he spent as much time loving his neighbor as he does hating his brothers, he might have a change of heart.

my life soundtrack's newest edition

Often I hear songs that strike me and I think, "This would be part of the soundtrack," to the movie of my life. Whether it has some great meaning or just a pretty tune, I keep a mental list. The musicians and artists involved in the songs usually become some of my favorites anyway, probably because I listen to their song or songs over and over. I'm a chronic re-listener, without apologies.

Through God's gift to the internet called Pandora, I heard this British musician named Kate Rusby that I'm loving and can't get out of my head. I love the richness of her voice, and I love that she's dedicated to traditional folk music, and I love her hair.

I'd love to share my favorite of her songs with you. Thank you youtube.com for providing this great video.



Let me know what you think. This song is best enjoyed with a cup of tea, late in the day, with a few candles on the side.

A Second Engagement

I remember when Chris asked me to marry him. So many plans, so many lists, so many thoughts. I had to call the caterer (yeah Danny's BBQ), the flower people, the band, the guests, the preacher (also named Danny), the dress shops. We had to address invites and stuff envelops and pick music and choose vows and figure out who was going to sit where. All this while I was trying to manage nursing school and church and friends and family too. Needless to say, I had a lot on my plate.

Despite the chaos, the one thing I remember thinking over and over was, "I just want to get married." Even a few months before the wedding, I remember being over the dress and flowers and place settings and menu. That was fun stuff and it made our wedding pretty freaking cool, but I didn't need those things to get married. Hey baby lets go to Vegas became my personal theme song. Not because I hated wedding planning...that wasn't it at all. I just wanted to be married and not have to wait another day. Unfortunately I had to wait 4 months. God was gracious and helped me not convince Chris that elopement was a viable options, but it required lots of prayer and petition.

Of course, it was worth the wait, and all the planning that went into the wedding made it the most special day for us ever. I wouldn't trade it for the world...

But now I find myself in a similar situation--a second engagement, if you will. Don't worry, Chris and I are doing great and I don't want to remarry him or anyone else. But that same anticipation I felt during our engagement has resurfaced--in the form of wanting to be a mom.

Now this has not always been my desire. In fact, Chris and I talked endlessly before we got married about kids because I didn't really want them. Even after our wedding, I still was unsure. I liked my life--I had a good job, finally, and a good husband, finally. Those desires of my heart were met (thank you Jesus). Why should some little being come and ruin those things, interrupting my nice life?

Thankfully, my heart changed, almost overnight. The Lord convicted me of my selfishness, and opened my eyes to the opportunity of bringing a child into this world and raising them to know Him and to experience the great things He has done here. Chris was relieved, that's for sure, and my excitement about feeling this way only added to the desire.

The problem lies in my 2 year contract with the hospital. While I love my job, I don't want to have to work full time with a baby. Chris reminds me of this regularly as I try to convince him that we could make it work, really we could, so lets start trying now. He gently tells me to trust God and be patient...that now isn't the time, just like when we were engaged. We could have gotten married right away, but the months the went into preparations only added to our experience entering into marriage.

I hope that the time between now and when we start trying to have babies will, also, only add to the experience. But for those of you who are praying people, please pray for me. Its just as hard to hear that my friends are having babies as it was to hear they were getting married when I was single. Pray for patience and for wisdom. We would so appreciate it.

Chap 2-3

Here's some more of the book. Please let me know your thoughts.

Chapter 2—Finding Home

Anna spent her first few days in O'Kelly keeping a low profile, which is no simple feat with a scary looking Doberman at her side and out of town tags. She looked for a place to live and work, walking past old memories remembered. Taft's General Store still dominated Main Street and flooded Anna with memories, like agonizing over which piece of candy she should choose and of old men sitting around playing checkers on the back porch. The Merry Dairy flanked Taft's, and it still looked like everyone's favorite ice cream in town. Anna wondered if Mr. Taft had ever declared his love for Miss Georgina Merry. Wow, she thought, that is so small town cute, and mildly nauseating. Donnegan's also remained where the town congregated most evenings for food, music, and drink. Anna recalled how her mother rarely visited Donnegan's despite its popularity, and wondered if she could even remember what Mr. Donnegan looked like.

A few new store names stood out—Boone Brother's Outfitters for one, Snaps, which looked like a good place for quick dinner, and Shag, a hippish kind of salon where the stylists wore all black and served bottled water and wine to their clients. Anna would have to find out what happened to Ms. Wanda, who owned the former salon in town, the Do or Dye.

Anna knew she had to buy into the life of this little town in order to survive and, hopefully, discover its secrets. She wondered how she could pull it off and yet keep her roots hidden. She didn't want her plans going up in smoke.

In only three days, Anna found the perfect place to live and set up her shop. The realtor's eyes widened when Anna paid cash for prime O'Kelly real estate. She replied simply to his look with just one word. That seemed to placate him.

She stepped into the living space above the soon to be bakery and immediately called her mother. “Oh Mama, its so great—its small and warm and the walls aren't egg shell.” She said joyously.

“I'm just so glad you have a roof over your head, a good, safe roof. That will have to be your refuge. Well, there and the hills, right?”

“Well of course. I already have a few trips planned out. Its just so beautiful here. How did you ever leave?” Anna couldn't help but pry a little.

“You never stop looking for answers do you darling? You know how I left—in a car, with you at my side, very quickly.” Anna knew that's all she would get from her mother. “How's the town treating you?” Meaghan turned the tables.

“Well, I haven't met anyone, except the realtor.” Anna heard her mother exhale.

“Oh Anna, I'm so nervous for you. You have to be careful.” She paused, “But, of course, they will want to know all about you, with your new shop and pretty face. So, as your mother, I'm giving your permission to lie. Lie lie lie.” They both laughed, yet Anna sensed her mother's effort to hide the fear in her voice.

“Mama, I love you. Thank you for supporting this, even though I know you hate it.”

“That I do, Anna, but I've reconciled myself to the outcome.”

While she easily transitioned into the upstairs house over an afternoon, the downstairs would need some serious help in order to become the bakery Anna pictured. The previous business rented the place, then up and moved to Asheville, stripping it bare—a simple, empty room with white walls, save the small kitchen through a door in the back. Buying the space helped solidify Anna's level of commitment, and she hoped it kept the seller a little quieter. She did not need the whole town knowing about the new girl just yet.

Hiding in her room, she searched and ordered everything she'd need for the shop--mixers and ovens and warmers and display cases, tables and chairs and silverware and mugs too. Definitely lots of mugs, and tea, and coffee. This was, after all, the mountains of North Carolina. Also on order, a sign to adorn the front of the shop.

Then, with Sig at her side, she drove out of town, keeping her eyes straight ahead, but aware of a few people watching. For three days she hiked and camped—places she vaguely remembered from childhood. Constantly tingling with fear and anxiety about this venture, Anna prayed for peace and wisdom. This town ran her mother out 15 years ago, and now they had no idea who was moving into the corner building—or so she hoped.


Chap 3—Meeting the Neighbors

The building next to the future bakery housed a small law firm—Hanson & Hanson, the former a rich, ancient hermit whose only legal contributions for the last 20 years was advice over the phone to his son, the other Hanson. Anna saw the younger Mr. Hanson's not so new black Mercedes parked on the street the morning she arrived back from her time in the hills. He'd driven the same car when she was younger, and then he stepped out the front door.

She tried to quickly unlock her front door while juggling her pack, dog, and keys. Anna had to fight her surprise at how much he'd aged over the years. Maybe those rumors of questionable scruples were true of the Hanson family, or perhaps it was the rumpled clothes. She hoped she'd changed even more, recalling how often this man visited her mother's shop when she was younger. What if he recognized her? Sig turned toward him quietly.

“Need a hand there missy?” Mr. Hanson asked with a gruffness in his voice that belied the early hour.

“No thank you, I got it.” Anna replied, just as her water bottle dropped to the sidewalk and rolled away.

He caught it with his foot and bent to pick it up. “You're new here.” It was not a question. Sig growled a little as the man stepped closer.

Anna place a hand on Sig's head and quietly regained herself. With resolution she looked to her neighbor, but spoke to her dog. “Sig, that's enough.” She took the water bottle with a smile. “Yes I am. Anna Matthison, pleased to meet you.” She shook his hand like her mother taught her, firm and with enthusiasm. Thankfully she'd remembered her contacts before coming back into town. She could easily see his face, friendly but also searching for information.

“Jacob Hanson. Welcome to O'Kelly. Where abouts you from?” He eyed the nose ring.

“Grew up south of here, but spent the last few years out west.” Anna didn't love dishonesty, even with her mother's permission. The old bakery was south of Main Street. “These mountains put a tie on someone, and its hard to be gone for too long, so I came back east—a new start in an old place.” She thought that was just enough information to satisfy Jacob Hanson, to make her seem local enough. She realized how easily she dropped into her old, hill billy accent.

He looked at her for a moment longer, then gestured towards the shop, “And this place—what do you intend?”

“A bakery, hopefully. They seemed full up of bakeries down in Asheville and over in Boone, so I landed here, in O'Kelly. Should be opening in a month or so, just in time for summer.” She flashed another smile, as warm as she could manage, almost certain it would win him over, “You'll have to come by for a treat, on the house, but don't tell anyone. I'd go broke feeding all the neighbors, but you're the first I've met.” She surprised herself with honest enthusiasm.

Jacob replied, after a moment, “Well, now that'd sure be nice.” He stared at her a second longer, almost looking friendly. “Alright Miss Anna. Looks like you have a lot of work to do, and so do I. We'll be seeing you.” He headed back in to his office as Anna watched from her door. Sig barked softly, breaking her thought. She pushed the door open and headed inside.

Painting dominated Anna's day as she covered the bare white walls of the bakery into the colors of the surrounding hills. Green on one wall, blue on the next, brown on the next, purple on the last for the periwinkles and sunrise. Old time music played through her iPod as she covered each wall, interrupted only once by a loud knock on the door. Anna peered around her headphones to see a pointed face peaking through the window. Glancing at Sig, who came to her side, she quickly answered the knock, still holding her paintbrush. “Hello. Can I help you?” She asked.

“Yes, yes, I'm Sylvia, Sylvia Johnson. I have that clothing shop up the street, that one there.” Sylvia pointed to Buttons and Berets. “I, I, I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. Jacob Hanson told me this shop had a new owner. So here I am, and I brought you these.” She held up a basket of muffins and a pitcher of tea. “Would, would you like to take a break. There's a bench out here, but you'll have to provided the glasses. I thought, I thought we could get to know each other.”

Anna smiled to herself a little. Oh Sylvia, I know you already. Your false timidity, your stutter, your outrageously overpriced clothes that my mother never bought. But do you know me? Do you remember? I guess there's just one way to find out. I hope God heard Mama's prayers. “Only if that's sweet tea.”

A confused look crossed Sylvia's wrinkling brow, “Is there any other kind?”

“Give me just a minute Ms. Sylvia,” Anna gestured to the bench and shut the door behind her.

Putting down the brush and wiping off her hands, Anna breathed a moment. She quickly rehearsed her story and ventured outside to sit with Sylvia. Sig followed, of course. Muffin in hand, Sylvia looked concerned. She stared at Anna, but tried not to. “Uh, well, why did you, did you come to O'Kelly? Jacob said to start a bakery?” She sort of toasted her muffin towards Anna with great seriousness.

“That's right. I hope to open by the summer.”

Sylvia took a long drink of tea. “And you've bought the place then? How did such a young woman come upon such funds?” Sweet tea apparently eroded away Sylvia's timidity. Knowing something of this town prepared Anna for such questions, however, she wasn't prepared for Sylvia's intense scrutiny. Please don't recognize me. Please don't...

She looked down at her hands, “A gift from someone.”

“Pfffftt. That's quite a gift there. Someone must've thought you were something special. You're parents perhaps?”

Man, she's going after it. “No, not my parents. They don't have that kind of money—at least as far as I know.” She followed with, “They actually owe me money. Can you believe that?” Anna hoped that might shut her up on the subject.

“Well I never!” The older woman did look flabbergasted.

Anna took advantage of the pause in conversation. “How long have you lived in O'Kelly?”

She asked. “Um, I, well I was born here. What about your parents--where do they...” Sylvia started to ask, but Anna was already on to the next question, “Would you mind telling me something interesting about yourself?” Sylvia eyed her, finally silent. Anna continued, “Just trying to get to know you Sylvia. Surely there's something you'd want to share. Like, what did you do this morning?” The older woman recovered.

“Uh, yes, yes sure. L, Let's see. This morning, oh dear, this morning w, w, was quite the adventure. I have a garden, you see, and the squirrels have eaten it to pieces. To stop them, I put netting all around the trees the devils live in, and they get caught. Then I, I, I take care of them.” Sylvia's voice rose to an almost fevered pitch.

“What does taking care of them entail, Sylvia?” Anna wondered, concerned with what the answer might be.

Sylvia sobered herself, sitting up and folding her hands in her lap. “Well, Anna, I beat them with a broom handle. Little buggers.”

Before finding an appropriate response, Sig jumped up and lay his head on Anna's knee. “Oh, Sylvia, shoot. I'd love to talk more but its time to walk Sig, and I wanted to head up the twins before it gets dark.” She pointed towards Sophie Rock and Siobhan Rock--two peaks that bent towards each other, supposedly named for a twin sisters.

“So you, you've already picked up on some local lingo. That's how all the outdoorsy folks around here talk.”

Dangit Anna, you got to pay attention to that stuff. “Yeah, I read it in my “Appalachians on an Empty Wallet” book. Thought it might help me fit in a little more quickly. They recommend the twins as a great place to hike.” Ok, not too bad.

Sylvia nodded, “I haven't read that one, but I have a lovely collection of Danielle Steele if you need some other reading.” Geez Sylvia, not Danielle Steele. “And Anna, you, you should check...well, you've got to look in a mirror before answering the door next time.”

“Uh, ok, I will. Thanks Sylvia.” She shut the door behind her and looked down at her clothes. Sure, they were covered in paint, but what did Sylvia expect? Her zipper was up, her bra straps weren't showing. What was Sylvia's problem? Anna ran upstairs to the bathroom for a better look. “Oh Anna, no wonder.” The various colors of paint splattered and striped her face and neck from top to bottom. She looked diseased. Dangit. Oh, what will Sylvia think of me? She washed it off quickly and thoroughly.

Thankfully, Anna made an effort to keep her face paint free as eleven other neighboring business and residents wanted to know all about the new girl in O'Kelly over the next few days. By the end of her fourth night in the shop, she had every wall painted and trimmed, ovens and equipment installed, and a fridge full of goodies in tupperware brought by everyone who stopped by. Anna glanced in the mirror while eating homemade mac and cheese, wondering where her fear of recognition came from. No one knew her, and truly, how could they. Fifteen years later, with an amazing haircut and contacts, she almost fooled herself.

80/98

So after 3 hours and 37 minutes, I finished the Over the Mountain Triathlon on Saturday, May 30. It was brutal, and several times I thought I might just quit, or puke. I finished 80th out of 98 other women. While that seems pretty close to last, honestly, I was just happy to finish.

This was my first big tri, at this distance. I wasn't in it to win, only to finish, and to do it with a smile on my face.

For over 3.5 hours, I was alone, in the water, on the bike, during the run. Sure, there were people around me, but no one I knew. Chris and his parents were at my various transition points, but I wasn't up for conversation. I had to move, you know?

So what did I do? Where was my mind for those hours? On several things...

One, Jesus. I prayed so much, for my self, for my legs, for my brain, for my fellow competitors, for safety, for my family, my friends, our church...anything I could think of, I prayed for. I had time...and I really wanted to rely on Him to finish this race. I didn't want to do it in my own strength. I don't think I had enough. I surely didnt' have enough to smile at the end.

Two, the book. Also a subject of prayer, and also of thought. I am trying to figure out how to fit everything together in this story that is pulled from my brain. What's going to happen (I do know that much)...its the "how's it going to get there?" that still remains a little gray. But I love to think about it and let my imagination get a little workout, especially while on the bike. Its pretty monotonous on the road...pedal pedal pedal, gear change, pedal, breath, pedal, breath, pedal, gear change. You get the idea. So I spent some time thinking on the book. Anyone want to read it yet? 15 chapters needing some advice :)

Three, how much I love my wetsuit. This was mostly during the swim, but that wetsuit was so amazing that it stuck with me for the rest of the day, and even now. I can't wait to swim again with it. Its like a body tight float that gave me just enough help to prevent panic. The swim was probably my favorite part of the race.

Funny enough, however, was the other thing on my mind during the swim. I think I've watched too many episodes of Bones, the Closer, and CSI b/c I kept imagining seeing some body part in the water below me while I was swimming. CREEPY! Another moment of prayer...please God, no hands or skulls or feet please, please, please. And don't let me freak out right now thinking about it. That was only for a moment, but it was weird. I think I should watch some Office and 30 Rock. No dead bodies.

Four, how great Chris and his parents were. They cheered me on, took pics, got up early for the start, endured almost 4 hours for the finish, and loved me despite my cussing and sweating and exhaustion. They were the best fan club ever, and I felt so blessed to have them there.

So that's pretty much my thoughts during the race...I did manage to finish with a smile, and I can't wait to do it again. Anyone want to come along?

updates

So I haven't posted in a few weeks b/c things have been busy! Here's a few updates...

1. Been working and having lots of babies (not personally...just vicariously through my patients). I've officially learned how to scrub, which means now I can be the person who hands the surgeon the scalpel when they say "Scalpel" just like in the movies. I also get to see inside people's bodies. That's pretty weird. I think the bad economy is making people stay at home more and make babies instead of just going out to dinner. Yeah for job security!

2. Been writing lots. My last blog post was chap. 1 of a book I've started, and now I'm up to chap. 15. I need some readers to let me know thoughts and offer editing advice. Any volunteers? (Shannon???)

3. The Over the Mountain tri is on Saturday May 30...in two days. I'm pretty nervous, mostly about sinking to the bottom of the lake in a flurry of other swimmers. The swim will be the hardest, so please pray I live, thanks. Its a 1 mile lake swim, a 28 mile bike, and a 6.2 mile run. That last .2 miles is going to be a doozy.

4. Being a wife takes up more time and energy than everything else combined b/c even when I'm working or writing or biking/swimming/running, Chris is always just a thought away, or a phone call away. Sure, marriage is work, but its the best job ever.

5. Doing it all for the glory of God--that's why I do all of the above. It makes all those things so much more meaningful and rich. I love all that I get to do, and even more so knowing its b/c of and for Jesus. He's given me a chance to serve my patients and my coworkers, to be creative, to be adventurous, and to love another person deeply. What more could a girl ask for, really?

So there's the updated list of what's happening on this end.

I'll be sure to update after the Tri on Saturday, if I'm still alive :-)

chap 1 revamped

Many of you know that I've started to do a little light writing, and some have already read chap 1...but I've revamped it a little. Here's chap 1 2.0. Let me know what you think.

Chapter 1—First Day

Walking down the Main Street of O'Kelly Creek, NC on her first day in town fascinated Anna McLeod Matthison. She remembered the feeling that emanated from the shops and cafes and houses—that quaint, quiet joy found in mountain towns by the tourists who come looking for it. Anna also knew that behind the white picket fences dripping with ivy lingered another face of O'Kelly, the real one unseen by tourists. A town full of tradition and whispers, suspicious of any stranger who stayed through summer and into fall. The half backs, those that moved from New England to Florida and then traveled half way back to Carolina, were welcomed into town for the summers, but most locals were only too happy to watch those same Buicks and Volvos head back south come September.

Anna grew up in the thick of the O'Kelly life. Her mother, Meaghan McLeod, came to the area as a baby with her aunt and uncle, nearly 60 years ago. They came from Ireland, though of Scottish decent, and settled there because of Paddy O'Kelly, Meaghan's great great grandfather who founded the town.

Meaghan inherited Paddy's entrepreneurial spirit and opened a bakery in 1968 on Ryan Avenue, just a block off Main. This shop dominated Anna's earliest memories. She could still hear the sound of the big mixer turning some new creation—smell the cream cheese frosting on her fingers even after they were licked clean—hear the voices of friends and neighbors and tourists sitting around the store. Mostly, she remembered her mother, smiling in colorful aprons and heels, baking while she welcomed everyone. Anna would kneed dough or ice cupcakes and just listen as the adults talked about new businesses moving into the area or the latest match made in O'Kelly or how some hiker heard something again up near Emily's Peak. Whenever this got mentioned, Meaghan would glance at Anna and give who ever was talking a look. They would quiet down real quick, knowing full well they might find Meaghan behind them with a wooden spoon, her Scottish eyes blazing.

Anna, now 28, was no longer a child, and her mother's old bakery no longer wafted deliciousness through the town. In its place stood an outfitting company, complete with solar panels and a watering hole for dogs, owned by two young guys from up in Boone, or so the signed claimed. Anna kind of thought some smart grandmother probably owned it and just used the names of her grandkids for marketing purposes. Those boys probably lived in Nashville.

Finding a little cafe across the street from the Boone Brothers Outfitters, Anna pulled out her journal and started to write, to recollect. Her fiercely loyal Doberman, Sig, relaxed at her feet.

This town appears so dear and easy, and yet it turned so quickly, smoking us out. I'd never seen Mama so afraid as she took me away to a new home. Her words that night haunt me still, “What have I done? What is this place?” She never told me what happened, despite all my questions. Instead, I got a new name, a new school, and she got a new bakery. It all happened so quickly, so finally. She rarely spoke of O'Kelly—but I've thought about it, this pretty mountain town. What lies in its underbelly? What lurks around these hills that frightened my mother so much? I never thought to return despite the questions, but here I am, all because of Nathan—sweet, wise Nathan.

Sighing a little, Anna closed the journal and looked to the surrounding mountains. What in the world am I doing here? She reached down to Sig, and flashes of the final conversation with her mother rang in her ears.

“Oh Anna, your hair! I can't believe how different you look with it short and dark. And what have you done to your nose. Girl...!” She pointed to the nose ring, her mouth hanging open. Meaghan's southern accent always came out despite the 15 years since they left O'Kelly, and the south for that matter.

“I know Mama, I needed a change. You like it?” Anna twirled and smiled.

“You look so pretty, like a little hippy from Seattle. Why the change now? What's in your mind?”

Anna sat down. “Its been two years Mama, and I've got to do something—something new and big. And I've got questions that need answering, so I'm leaving, soon.” She paused, “I'm going back to O'Kelly.”

Meaghan's eyes flashed, then flooded. “So my girl's going home then. Oh I know why you are going—and I know there's no stopping you, no matter what I say. No matter that I think its a terribly dangerous idea. But surely he's gone by now...” She muttered the last part, and Anna barely caught her words. They weren't intended for her.

She responded, “And you won't tell me Mama, you won't say what happened?”

Meaghan pondered for a moment, “Darling, I...I can't. There's not much to say, except that it was my fight, my decisions, and my chapter. That story is long written from my life, but not yours, it would seem. I'm sure it will be quite an adventure. But darling, you've gotta stay secret. They can never know who you really are. I like your haircut even more—you look so different.” Meaghan smiled, then cautioned, “O'Kelly is not what it seems, Maryanne Margaret.” Anna sensed the seriousness in Meaghan's voice. Her southern accent became more pronounced and thick with intensity. “Keep your eyes open and your head on straight—do what is right and good, no matter the cost.” Anna saw a quick sadness in her mother's eyes, which then recovered and smiled again. “And keep your contacts in. It'll do you no good to fall off a mountain, right?”

chap 1

Here's chap 1 so far from the new project...

Chapter 1

Walking down the quaint main street of O'Kelly Creek, NC both gladdened and sickened Anna McLeod Matthison. She remembered the feeling that emanated from the shops and cafes and homes—that sweet, quiet joy that can only be found in a mountain town by the tourists who come looking for it. Anna also knew that behind the white picket fences that dripped with ivy and the open windows overlooking thick azalea blossoms lingered another face of O'Kelly, the real one unseen by tourists. A town full of tradition and whispers, suspicious of any stranger who stayed through summer and into fall. The half backs, those that moved from New England to Florida and then traveled half way back to Carolina, were welcomed into town for the summers, but most locals were only too happy to watch those same Buicks and Volvos head back south come September.

Anna grew up in the thick of the O'Kelly life. Her mother, Meaghan McLeod, came to the area as a child with her uncle, a farmer, and aunt, a homemaker and incredible cook. They came from Ireland, though of Scottish decent, and settled in O'Kelly, as the story goes, because Paddy O'Kelly was Meaghan's great great grandfather, a high born young man who escaped a wrathful brother, bent on killing him to gain their father's substantial inheritance. Apparently Paddy valued his life more than his money, coming to this new land and putting down stakes in a small but fertile valley where a small creek fed the French Broad. Paddy's farm grew, and, being an enterprising man, he started shipping his good down stream towards Asheville for the best prices. Soon, other men were bringing their goods for shipping too, and thus the town began.

Anna's mother, Meaghan, inherited a similar entrepreneurial spirit and opened her bakery in 1968. This shop dominated Anna's earliest memories—the sound of the big mixer turning some new creation—the smell of cream cheese frosting on her fingers even after they were licked clean—the voices of friends and neighbors and tourists sitting around the store mixed with intermittent pauses as they sunk their teeth into Meaghan's wares, leaving even the chattiest person speechless for a moment. Mostly, she remembered her mother, smiling in colorful aprons and heels, baking while she talked with her guests. Anna would kneed dough or ice cupcakes and just listen as the adults talked about new businesses moving into the area or the latest match made in O'Kelly or how some hiker heard something again up near Emily's Peak. Whenever this got mentioned, Meaghan would glance at Anna and give who ever was talking a look, along with the statement, “We don't know anything about that.” Always the same look, always the same statement. They would quiet down real quick, knowing full well about those few people who failed to heed Meaghan's looks and were asked to leave the store, or found themselves running out, Meaghan behind them with a wooden spoon, her Scottish eyes blazing.

Anna, now 28, was no longer a child, and her mother's bakery no longer wafted deliciousness through the town, luring customers in for just one cookie. In its place stood an outfitting company, complete with solar panels and a watering hole for dogs, owned by two young guys from up in Boone. At least, that's what the sign claimed. Anna kind of thought it was probably owned by some smart grandmother who just used the names of her grandkids for marketing purposes. Those boys probably lived in Nashville. While it looked like a nice store, it only nauseated her a little more. This town just wasn't right. Maybe that's why they left in such a rush 12 years before.

That fateful night, Anna awoke to her mother urgently whispering her name, her full name, which, at the time, everyone knew her by. “Maryanne--grab you shoes and coat and move girl, move!” As the pair ran to the front door, they both froze. The bakery, across the street on the corner,, blazed in front of their eyes, huge flames reaching for every panel of wood, every roof tile, every flower in the window boxes. It all burned. “What have I done?” Meaghan whispered. “What is this place?” She grabbed a confused Anna, pulled her to the car, and never looked back.

Anna's life changed dramatically—they moved to the Pacific Northwest and started a new life there—a new bakery, new school, and new name. Maryanne got shorted to Anna, and life got on. Despite the unpleasantness of their departure, Anna could not shake the memories of her hometown, or the mystery surrounding the fire and her mother's fear.

In college, she majored in business, minored in history, and worked at a bakery, using her mother's secret recipes to entice customers, eventually managing the store for the owners and finding some measure of success. She got married her senior year to a man who couldn't say no to her or to her butterscotch brownies, only to be widowed four years later. Her beloved husband, Nathan, left for a rafting trip one weekend and never came home. Anna wept and grieved for months, then slowly began to find healing in her baking and in her new found love, hiking. Oregon lended itself to the outdoor types, and while Anna always like being outside, she'd never felt such a pull to climb peaks or reveled in the rush of seeing the world below. There, she felt organic, peaceful, and caught up, for a moment, in some unseen romance. She could finally breathe.

For two years after Nathan's death, that's all she did, with Sig, the sweet and fiercely loyal Doberman she rescued. All morning she baked and served her customers, and most evenings were filled with traversing through the woods.

While she walked, she planned, and eventually made some major decisions. One day, she packed her Subaru station wagon, loaded up Sig, kissed her mama, and headed east down the same road they'd traveled up so many years before.

As she bade farewell to her mother, Meaghan cautioned, “O'Kelly is not what it seems, Maryanne Margaret.” Anna sensed the serious in Meaghan's voice. “Keep your eyes open and your head on straight—do what is right and good, no matter the cost.” Anna saw a quick sadness in her mother's eyes, which then recovered and smiled again. “You'll know what to do.” With one more wave, she drove away.

What do ya'll think??

my book

I think I might try to write a book. Its something I've wanted to do for awhile...like, years. I pondered writing non-fiction, but despite my well known, and loved, verbose nature, I just couldn't think of something that I knew that much about that hadn't been said in numerous books before. So, for now, non-fiction is shelved, and will probably collect a nice layer of dust while I focus some time and energy into a little fiction.

What type of fiction, you may ask? Humor? drama? love and romance? blood and guts? Yes. Blatant Christian romance that will sell out at Lifeways around the nation. Probably not. In fact, hopefully not. I want to write a book that appeals to a large audience, which will probably entail women from ages 16-60. It definitely has to be funny, with twists and turns and unexpected-ness around every page. Of course there will be love (I'm a girl, remember), probably some deaths and accidents but no gore...gore is for weirdos. Ultimately, I want this book to be about redemption--a major theme in my life, and about selfless, life giving love--the major theme of the gospel. This story will not be an analogy or an allegory, but it will have reflections of what I believe about God, Jesus, the Spirit, transformation, love, and life.

I don't know if I'll get through 2 pages and quit, or if I can bust out a few chapters in the next few weeks. Some of you lucky readers (or possibly unlucky, depending on your point of view) might get to take part in this venture, as my "editors" and "critics". Let me know if you want in.

As a teaser, I can already tell you that this story is about a young mother called Jillian, her 5 year old dauther Laurel, a small town called O'Kelly Creek nestled in a valley in the mountains of NC, and something supernatural up in those mountains that the townsfolk don't like to mention.

So here we go...updates to follow.

Oh, I forgot to mention--Chris's anniversary surprise! It was perfect :-) He had a scavenger hunt around durham to our favorite place to find a picture of us that I'd dropped there. The clues ended up leading him to Nana's, where we had a great great meal. SOOO good! We exchanged gifts there--he got me a lovely necklace literally laced with herbs. I got him 2 tickets to see Doc Watson in concert at the NC Museum of Art, and a journal will notes about him from people he works with, family, and friends to encourage his sweet heart. I think and hope he felt as appreciated as he is by me. Honey, I can't believe its been 1 year already...and so many great ones to go. Love you!

Anniversary

As of May 3, Chris and I will have hit the 1 year mark in our marriage. We weren't going to do any super special, but I've been pretty busy lately with work and moving and triathlon stuff, and I appreciate and love him so much, that it just seemed like the perfect time to let him know...

So I've a few surprises up my sleeve...he knows they are there, but he doesn't know what they are:-) Keeping secrets is definitely not my forte, so the next 10 days is doing to be tough b/c I'll want to let the cat out of the bag SO BAD. But I'll hold on, and after all is said and done, I'll fill everyone in on what went down.

If you are a praying person, please pray that everything will go as planned and that Chris will know what a great guy he is and that I'm super blessed to be his wife. Also pray that we don't get a divorce during our move to a new house the next few days b/c its so stressful and last time we moved stuff we fought the whole time. Finally, pray that the next 50 years will be as great as this last one.

More details to come after May 3!

my job

When people find out that I work as a nurse in Labor and Delivery, I usually get two pretty standard reactions. Girls say something like, "Oh wow, that's got to be amazing." Guys say something like, "Ew, gross, I don't want any details."

I also get to hear a lot of people's birth stories, like how long they pushed, how bad it hurt, how incredible epidurals are, how big their baby was, and how hard or easy the following few days were. I think that being a nurse offers people some level of comfort in their candidness. Often, before saying something really gross or personal, they begin with, "Well, this might be too much information, but you're a nurse, so you're used to it." Then they proceed to describe their placenta, their episiotomy, their hemorrhoids, and their subsequent need for Colace. I totally thrive on these conversations. Ya'll are talking my language!

With all that said, I also get asked, "Well, what exactly do you do?" So I'll take a second to tell you, in limited detail, what my job consists of.

First and foremost, I am a labor nurse. I admit patients, put in their IVs, give them any meds or fluids they might need, watch their vital signs (blood pressure, temp, heart rate), monitor their contraction rate and strength, monitor baby's heart rate, stay with them through an epidural placement if that's what they choose, offer labor support, keep them breathing and in control when it hurts so bad, coach them through pushing, call the docs when delivery is immanent, and watch them closely after they deliver.

I am also a baby nurse, which means that I take care of the baby right after its born--making sure baby is breathing and stable, suctioning all the gunk out of the lungs, weighing baby, doing footprints, and wrapping baby up for mommy and daddy. That's one of my favorite things--to take a new baby to his or her parents for the first time. Pretty cool moment.

Then there's the OR...whenever my patient has to have a C-Section, I work as a circulating nurse in the OR, meaning I document everything that is happening, get the patient prepared for surgery, keep an eye on things, and get anything that the MDs or Scrub Techs might need for the surgery. Love the OR.

After the OR, I become a PACU nurse, which means I watch the patient as she recovers from the C-Section. There, I mostly monitor vital signs and do pain management, which is usually morphine, because it works. I also help mommy and baby bond despite a little harder road to delivery.

I'm just learning how to be a triage nurse, which means that I help the MDs figure out who needs to stay on our unit and who needs to go home. This mostly involves asking patients lots of questions and monitoring them for a little while. Triage gets exciting when a patient comes in and tries to deliver in the hallway or at the front desk. Then we have to move pretty quick. Or really quick. This usually only happens when someone has had more than one baby. We keep a pretty close eye/hand on moms who have had more than 3.

Eventually, I will be able to be a scrub nurse, which means I get to scrub in the OR and hand the MDs their instruments for C-Sections. Some people say its great, others say its terrifying. Either way, at least I'll be learning something.

So that's pretty much my job...go team va-jay-jay. I have lots of amazing patients, and some pretty difficult ones too. Regardless, I get to see babies born just about every shift, and it never fails to blow my mind to see a new, little life. God is good...