A Change of Heart, A Change of Location:

I grew up in the suburbs of Pittsburgh. I went to a very good public high school and, other than my own reckless behavior, I was safe in my neighborhood, safe at school and never felt threatened by my surroundings. All in all, suburban life was easy and in the grand scheme of things, maybe a little boring.

I started attending an urban church on the North Side of Pittsburgh 13 years ago and, shortly thereafter, worked two summer camps at Urban Impact Foundation--a non-profit affiliated with the church I attended. Together, they changed my life and my perspective on my white-bred faith and my narrow-minded suburban culture. It didn’t take me long to fall in love with those urban children and the city itself. I was 19 when I decided that I wanted to break away from all that I grew up around and venture to, not just the city, but the North Side.

The North Side, where I currently reside, is known mostly for gangs, drugs and violence, but what people often forget is that the North Side was, at one point, the richest section of Pittsburgh – one of the wealthiest districts on the east coast known as Allegheny City. Needless to say, while having taken a serious turn for the worse during the 1970’s, the architecture is stunning and there are still pockets of wealth that continue to hold on to the hope that one day, this part of Pittsburgh will be restored. I consider myself one of “those” people – not the wealthy, but of the mindset that one day, this part of Pittsburgh will be beautifully revitalized.

I’ve termed it a “calling” to live here. I moved here for the first time, into an apartment, at the age of 24. I was finally in the heart of the North Side and loved every single minute of walking to the park and to church, to the bars and to the stadiums. I loved being a central place for people to gather together. Things were exciting and if they weren’t happening in my apartment, they were happening on the streets. I was involved and evolving and growing and the “calling” only got stronger and more poignant. I fell madly and deeply and passionately in love with this city.

For a ton of reasons not relevant to this entry, I ended up moving back home with my parents as I finished school. I was heartbroken and, as I drove out of the city that day, I remember looking back and promising the North Side, I’d return as soon as I could. I bemoaned the idea of living in the suburbs, almost as much as having to live with my parents again at the age of 27.

What surprised me is this. Living with my parents worked relatively well and living in the suburbs was quite refreshing. Instead of being annoyed at the small-mindedness of the town I grew up in, I felt a sense of deep contentment and peace. The stirring of city life was silenced and, surprise of all surprises, I fell into deep love with the giant house and beautiful property my parents owned at the time. My heart began to sing a new tune there and, while I knew it wasn’t a permanent location for me, it will always be the place I call home – the place where I changed from young adult to woman. I still felt called to city living, but could not deny that strings were attached to the location I never thought I’d want reconnected to – suburbia.

Shortly after, I got married to a man from Lancaster, PA and while he was not quite as convinced of my “urban calling,” we got an apartment back on the North Side, on a surprisingly quiet street. It was a wonderful year. We had friends over constantly. We had Bible Studies and great talks, keg parties and game nights. We got pregnant and then we moved.

We bought a house. Five streets away from the apartment, we bought a brand-new townhome and we’ve been living there for 8 months. It’s a beautiful NEW house in, what I do believe, is an up and coming part of the North Side. It was a God-send. A year before its purchase, we didn’t think we could even buy a home at all. We’ve come a long way in a short period of time and I am totally amazed at the changes.

But…

Lately…

I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy itself, that I was too sick to entertain for 4 months and too uncomfortable after to really engage or if it’s the way children and marriage changes a person but, I feel confused about the “urban calling.”

I mean, I LOVED our apartment. I felt safe – neighborly – hospitable. We moved literally 5 streets over and it’s totally different. The street we live on is busy, all hours of the night. I don’t feel unsafe, but I do feel edgy. I hate it that when my niece and nephew come over, there’s nothing for them to do and everything is like…don’t touch that, don’t jump there, don’t run that way. We have no grass, no yard to speak of and every neighbor can see everything you do outside. We live close to a park, but its horrible and dirty and the kids who play there are unsupervised. I worry. And I know this will just get worse when our son arrives. I feel like a rat in a cage sometimes. People everywhere.

I think I’ve changed.

I always hated when people moved away from their “calling” because they got older, got married and/or started to have kids. That sort of thing was always so…so yuppyish to me, almost traitorous. But on the other hand, children should not be Ginny Pigs to a mission or calling – subjected to violence and a poor education just because mommy and daddy believe or believed at one point that one good homeowner can change one dilapidated city block and one revitalized city block can change a city. My son, even in utero, means more to me than this “calling.” My main ministry has become being a good mother. The day I saw that stick turn pink, I fell madly and deeply and passionately in love with him, more so than the love I have for this city or this “calling” could ever compare to.

The dream has taken a detour from its predictable route and I find myself in a place, battling for contentment – willing myself to figure out a way to combine urban motherhood in a safe and productive way. For his sake…our son. But I’m having doubts of the possibility to do both well. The reality of city living as a mother is a very different story than the idea of it. I find myself annoyed at the litter, frustrated with the loitering, angry at a culture that rebels against personal responsibility and common courtesy. I’m sick of the cat-calls from crass men who sit on their stoops all day instead of working, while I drag my pregnant self to work every day. I’m tired of the filthy parks and the reality that, someone is always watching - watching to take advantage. I hate the homelessness and the beggars looking for a handout. The grace is gone, the belief that I can help change anything has dissipated.

Because of this sudden change, I’m starting to think that maybe I just wasn’t “called” per say - just…enthralled with the idea. Maybe I fell in love with the concept. I don’t know. But two weeks ago, I visited a house in the suburbs that my dad built and I can’t get it out of my mind. It’s become my new dream house and, horror of horrors, it’s in the town where I grew up. The only thing it’s missing to make it the most ironical turn of events is a puppy and white picket fence.

How did I get here? How did I become so…so…white?

I never wanted to raise my kids in a racially homogeneous neighborhood – I still don’t. I never wanted the quiet streets or a large green yard. I never wanted to live in an area that promotes seclusion in big houses with no idea about what it means to love and live in community with your actual, physical neighbor. But here I am, wanting to get the hell out of dodge before my son reaches the age of 3.

I’m haunted by the displeasure I feel. I love my house in concept and theory, but I don’t feel I’ll ever really call it home.

Conviction or Control?

Convictions are personal, not to be exactly mimicked and duplicated or used to manipulate or coerce others. I think what inspires me most are people who live right, and love Jesus but don’t push it with words or use phrases like “God told me” to get their way or stop a conversation because they’re too immature or thoughtless to have the discussion and hear another view. People who are genuinely under conviction, not condemnation, are free. And free people don’t feel the need to make weighty bonds and yokes for others. They understand that in Christ, there is true liberty and anything else is not from God.

Thee In-Between:

I find myself living in the in-between, standing in a doorway of sorts, not in or out but somewhere…in between. Identity is a precarious thing. A relationship with self is often, just as complicated as or even more so than all my other relationships. It ebbs and it flows, and sometimes it just exists – in between the two.

Part of the reason I find myself squinting in this season of twilight is because of my own choices. I’ve become somewhat unengaged and therefore un-engaging in recent months. Pre-motherhood has brought out a side of me that is very person and tremendously private. I have no energy or desire to put myself out there, to invite human drama into my life. Relationships seen too complicated to navigate suddenly.

Another aspect of this identity dilemma is fairly obvious. I don’t pray often. Mostly, I don’t pray because my prayers are very singular focused. There is one thing I have been begging for in, I believe, alignment with God’s will and yet it remains unanswered. I try to trust but after months and months of seeking in silence, the silence has numbed me. I go through the motions but there is no heart behind the petition, no true communion.

Also, I work in a church. It’s hard not to become jaded and unwilling to engage God as He is, not who others model or say He is. I’ve had moments of outrage and moments of tender compassion over these past few years of working in a church but lately, mostly, I just feel…nothing. The grace is gone. The passion has left. I do my work well out of obligation, nothing more and nothing less.

Lastly, I recently lost my best friend of eight years. We had a falling out and the relationship is severed, irrevocably broken. And I am sad.

The culmination of pregnancy, spiritual blockades and grief has left me…waning. Not in who I believe God is but in who I know myself to be, which has a way of changing all my relationships, even with my own self. I used to know who I was and if I forgot or got lost along the way my best friend would remind me or my church would dictate to me or my lifestyle would determine on my behalf but now, silence. It’s unwritten, neither hot nor cold, light or dark. Not in or out but somewhere…in between.

So I stand, unsure of going forward and having come too far to go back. I’m not frozen, just decidedly dormant.

As a typically impetuous person who usually does not spend a great deal of time thinking through decisions before I make them, I have to say, this doorway of dormancy is quite possibly a first for me. Since I am so rarely in between, I have to admit, I am quite literally blindsided by the force of…standing still.

And I don’t know where to go from here. So I wait. And I hope that, maybe, my life will be redefined by motherhood and that somewhere in all of this, there will be new beginnings.

Baby News

My sister and mother threw my baby shower this past weekend. It was beautiful! Work also threw me a shower today. I feel very lucky to have so many wonderful women in my life who go the extra mile to bless me and my new little family.

The nursery is coming together! Tiny little clothes are washed and in drawers, diapers are stacked, bedding is here and the crib is set up.

All we need now is our son! 6.5 weeks to go.

The Doldrums

I feel like I’m sitting on a ship, oh so close to my destination but completely unable to move. The wind has died, the sails are flat and there is absolutely nothing I can do to move ahead. I have done all I can, and still I sit.

Waiting. Waiting.

Waiting for the wind, waiting for something to happen…waiting for the birth of our son. Have I ever told you how much I hate waiting?

I am a planner - a person of action, a producer. I’m not used to relying on time to pass for things to happen and yet, here I sit. Pregnant with hope and anticipation and anxiousness, so close to land, to delivery, to our new life but not quite there; rendered useless in planning our arrival. His arrival.

New life, the new land we’re about to discover – the destination is so close and yet so far away. The land with baby - the life where I am not my own, or even my husband’s - the destination where I am mother. The life that I have dreamed of since I was a little girl is within reach but the ship has stopped.

Damn unpredictable wind.

I can’t wait. And yet it’s all I can do, day after day. I feel so useless.
Help me God, to be patient. Holy Spirit, breath on us.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
- Coleridge

All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean

Twilight, The Vampire Diaries, and Jesus

A friend sent me the first book in the Twilight series for my birthday. After the fifth page, I was consumed for two weeks until I finished the last in the series of four books. Very good read; even though it is, essentially, a teenage love story. I have a thing for vampires, the good ones at least, thus my obsession with CW’s, The Vampire Diaries. I honestly think it’s the best show on television, though I get a lot of slack for saying so. I think it’s the internal battle for morality that captivates me. I’m a sucker for good vs. evil. (pun intended)

Stefan in The Vampire Diaries, Edward in Twilight…the eternal struggle of doing right when nature calls to do wrong. It’s not a new story; it’s thee epic story – the story that most world religions are based upon. We all need redemption. We can abstain and fight our inherent sinful natures but in the end, nature usually overrides. A vampire’s natural tendency is to drink blood. My natural tendency is to sin, to covet and lie and steal. Abstinence isn’t enough. It is impossible to live sinless in this broken place. Perfect morality is unattainable.

Also, intricately intermingled in these teenage dramas are passionate love stories…Edward and Bella, Stefan and Elena – the lengths and heights they are all willing to go to love and be loved. They overcome legitimate fears and self-protection in order to fight for the one they love because they know what we all should know; love redeems even the most basic instincts and natural cravings. Love conquers all; always. If we let it.

The love affair that redeems humanity is Jesus. His sacrifice is what makes me clean and gives me hope for the future. God’s love story with the world is the great hope and true salvation. Like the “good vampires,” we can all try to be moral and live well but without the hope of glory, redeeming love, saving grace, we are doomed.

I’ve based my life on the concept; I’ve chosen to give my heart to the one who died on a cross so I could live. Not flawlessly, but following a path of honesty and seeking. I believe good wins, in the end. Love finds a way to redeem even the most hideous of human behaviors. Like Edward, like Stefan, the trying is the mark of good and while perfection is impossible, it’s the journey toward the light – in opposition to the darkness – that changes sinners into saints.

An Ode to My Twenties

I turn 30 in two days. May Day!

As I look over my twenties, I can’t help but smile, shake my head, and laugh. Ten years and ten thousand mistakes; ten years and ten million blessings. Even in the worst of times – the heartbreaks, disappointments, failures, losses and hardships I am thankful. I learned so much, more so from the difficult times than the good ones. I have no regrets.

I began my twenties in the year 2000. During the misconceived hysteria of Y2K I stood among what seemed like a sea of Chinese in Hong Kong to bring in the new millennium. In my 20’s I traveled to China, the Philippines and Spain; lived in Hawaii, Texas, Lancaster and Pittsburgh; moved 16 times; lived in 8 apartments, 3 houses and 3 dorms; worked 11 different jobs; went back to school as an older student; graduated college top of my class, dated a gazillion "wrong for me" boys; met and married the man of my dreams; got pregnant; and bought a house. I have partied and I have preached, I have loved and I have hated, I have struggled and I have forgiven. I have lived.

What I’ve learned in these ten years of adventure is that I am the sort of person who stubbornly refuses to live in the regret of ‘what-if’ so much so that it has cost me time, money, and probably a few relationships along the way. But I feel confident in this: that cost of living life to the fullest and falling on my face a thousand times, isn’t nearly as painful as living in a fearful bubble of never risking the unknown. With every risk and with every failure, I have grown more and more myself and more and more sure of the faithfulness of my Savior.

Onto a new chapter. 30!

Finishing Well

There has been no greater example of finish well than the Apostle Paul. I am convinced that not just his extravagant obedience, the depths of his faith, or his boundary-less determination are responsible for his achievements, but also an amazing work ethic - his faithfulness in the little things. I suspect Paul had vigilant parents, people in his life who modeled what it meant to complete tasks thoroughly and completely, without complaining or side-stepping or making excuses. Paul may or may not have been a natural born leader, but Paul led by example and that made him revolutionary and meaningful. He held to his word and followed-through. Paul always finished well.

Sometimes it's hard to hear stories about the "founding fathers of our faith" and relate to them. In our western culture, persecution is not something presented to us to such horrific lengths as is was with Paul or Peter or Jesus. To be "tested" and proven somehow on the same page as Paul is useless at best. However, certainly there are areas in my life that test my endurance, try the depths of my faith, confront my selfish desires to quit, or prompt me to surrender the Kingdom. Even in the little stuff, sometimes life just gets monotonous and frustrating. Even without intense persecution, life is hard. Leadership is tough. Walking with Christ isn’t easy. The responsibility of being faithful in the little things can seem downright torturous.

Paul didn’t find happiness or hope in making tents for income, or confronting church friends with their sins, or getting mocked by his former colleagues (let alone suffering beatings). There were likely days he felt poured out and spent, tired and ready to just sleep or take a vacation from the work God had given him. No doubt, the mantle of leadership divinely laid on him and him alone got heavy. I’m sure despair and a desire to turn away from the call crossed his human heart on more than one occasion. I imagine it was the grace of God and Paul’s steadfast work ethic that held him faithful in the little things, that inevitably enabled him opportunity in the bigger things.

I keep circling around this concept as I near the end of my twenties, near the end of my pregnancy, and near the end of my career-focus, let alone what seems to be the end of some close friendships. I want to close chapters with integrity and open new ones with my head held high, able to focus on new beginnings without the distraction of regret or what-if's. I'm praying I finish well because I really believe, people who finish well - begin again well!

2 Timothy 4:6-8 For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time has come for my departure. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.

Oh Boy, It's a Boy

We couldn't be more thrilled.

“Boys are found everywhere -- on top of, underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around or jumping to. Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters and brothers tolerate them, adults ignore them and Heaven protects them. A boy is Truth with dirt on its face, Beauty with a cut on its finger, Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair and the Hope of the future with a frog in its pocket.” - Alan Marshall Beck

Little Christ

For Lent, I decided to read through the biblical Gospels. I’m always amazed at what I discover and re-discover as I sort though the four accounts of the life of Jesus. Every two or three years, I re-read the Gospels and they truly never cease to inspire and reform my belief systems.

Naturally, as I read, there comes conviction. The very words of Jesus are hard and often filled with the impossible, but even more than convicted, I find myself wondering if I really know Jesus in the way I thikn I know Him. Contrary to the popular belief that Jesus was a politically correct, constantly passive, sweet and timid man, He was, in fact, virtually the polar opposite. The Gospels are filled with His hard sayings, His confrontational agenda and His ever-so-blatant disdain for hypocrisy and injustice. Jesus was a radical. And while Jesus was full of love and compassion, He was also powerfully and wonderfully filled with confrontational truth that came to divide communities and conquer hearts of sin, changing them into the hearts of the saved.

The Jesus I sometimes try to make into a hippy is, in truth, a Mighty Warrior.

The Gospels, to me, confront passive Christianity. What I mean by passive Christianity is this sort of idea that holding a standard for yourself and other Believers is somehow mean-spirited and anti-Jesus. Accountability to moral standards, ethical business practices and a commitment to truth is what Jesus lived and died modeling and preaching. If we want to be like Him, we must realize that it’s not JUST about loving people and being “nice.” It’s about the hard sayings –the hard truths, the hard conversations, the tough love that sacrifices popularity and promotions and painlessness in order to live the way of the Cross.

It might be cliché, but I want to do the hard thing in life. I want to live like Jesus. It's impossible to do perfectly and painlessly, but the effort, we are told, far outweighs the temporary comforts of this world.

Choices

I spoke with someone very wise this week about what it means to set healthy boundaries and allow others to make choices for themselves. I really struggle watching loved ones make poor choices when I have done everything to help direct them in the right way. Sometimes we can teach, preach, lecture, model, guide and counsel those closest to us toward the right path, only to watch them choose the wrong one. It can be discouraging and frustrating.

This wise friend brought up the story of the rich young ruler. The young man asked Jesus what good he could do to have eternal life. Jesus answered that to receive eternal life; this ruler must follow the commandments and give all he owned to the poor. (Jesus knew this man's heart was more dedicated to his wealth than the heart of God) Matthew 19:22 says, "When the young man heard this, he went away sad, because he had great wealth." The interesting thing my friend pointed out is that Jesus did not chase after him, trying to persuade him to change his mind. He did not coerce or control the outcome, despite knowing the ruler’s choice was wrong. He let the ruler choose and reap the consequences of that choice.

I think as people - parents, friends, children - are often uncomfortable allowing God to be God, so we step in with our high and mighty Messiah complexes, trying to fix our families and friends. We entangle ourselves in the choices of others and often assume responsibility for burdens that are not ours to carry. We have poor relational boundaries this way. We think our excessive and obsessive "care" and entanglement in the choices of our loved ones mirrors Christ. Given the story of the young ruler, however, Jesus did not act this way at all.

Jesus loved by allowing the freedom of choice to remain in the hands of the individual. He taught, preached, lectured, modeled, guided and counseled while permitting free-will.

I think Jesus grieved the decision of the young ruler and the many others who rejected Him as Messiah, but he did not chase after them and force His will or His message upon them. Instead, He trusted the heart of the Father and knew that not all would believe.

Sometimes the best conviction is to allow the choices of another to come full circle. Sin does not go hidden and consequence-free for very long. We call it tough love and healthy boundaries. I think Jesus would have just called it the way of the cross. Matthew 7:13-14 says, Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life and only a few find it. We can teach, preach, lecture, model, guide and counsel those close to us toward the right path, but, in the end, every person must choose for themselves whom they will serve and what path they will tred.

I'm trying to set better boundaries!

Midwifery Decisions

I am pregnant. I am four months along and have chosen to manage my pregnancy, labor and delivery with midwives at The Midwife Center for Birth and Women's Health in Pittsburgh, PA. Since it seems I must explain and often defend my decision to go this route, I wanted to explain my rational in detail here.

I can imagine most everyone’s surprise at my decision to go to midwives. My sister, who has done almost everything before me – cut Barbie’s hair, shave her legs, use a curling iron, get married and have babies – delivered her two beautiful children at The Midwife Center. I have to be honest and say, I thought she was NUTS! Before and after her first child’s birth, I was pretty against any delivery that was not in a hospital. I couldn’t imagine birth without drugs and didn’t want to even consider any other options. Keep in mind though, I hadn’t read anything about pregnancy, labor or delivery either. Nor was I in a place in my life where these things required any research.

Fast forward two years. I was engaged to my husband and my sister was pregnant with her second baby. I had recently gotten into a little tiff with my gynecologist of three years because she would not spend time with me to discuss some cervical concerns I had from a previous procedure. She was always rude to me and I just never really liked her that much. Since I cannot stand male gynecologists, I knew I needed to find a new practice soon since neither my soon to be husband nor I wanted to wait very long to get pregnant. Ha!

It was around that time that my sister and I were shopping for some items for my wedding and decided to combine our trip to the flower-girls ballerina store with one of her visits to the midwives, that my eyes were opened. She was in for one of her 7month check-ups. I was really impressed with the relationship the midwife had with her and the time she took just hanging out with my sister and gaining her trust. It seemed so different than my gynecological experiences, and since I moved around so much, I had had many gynecologists over the years. The midwife actually cared and didn’t seem bothered by the time the appointment took.

I was really overwhelmed with a sense of “home” after that visit so I decided I would switch my care to the midwives, since I greatly disliked my OBGYN anyway. When I first found out I was pregnant with the baby we lost, I decided I wanted to stay with the midwives but deliver in a hospital. It seemed the best of both worlds. I could have drugs but also nice midwives to care for me. But then we miscarried. My cervix dilated, the uterus contracted, and we lost the baby. The pain was horrible but something interesting happened in those intense hours of expelling. My body took over and found tolerable positions. I breathed through each contraction, even the medicine induced contractions, and I got through it. Hopelessness and all. There was no pot of gold at the end of that pain, no baby to make it worth it, only disappointment and grief. But I still made it through.

After talking with one of the midwives, she explained that everything I went through, all the meds I had to take to make me contract, felt a lot like childbirth. (minus the pushing and crowning…which I know is really hard!) I’m not comparing it as if they are the same but in a lot of ways, I feel like I got a taste of childbirth those hard days and I woke up to the power and beauty and pain that women are capable of managing, naturally.

It was then that I started to think about the kind of atmosphere I really wanted when we got pregnant again. Did I want any of the local hospitals with their technology and policies and 40-some% ci-section rates or did I want a more family-friendly environment that had a proven track record of safety and low interventions? And the real question, did I want medication or did I want to do it naturally? After much discussion and thinking, I came to a personal conclusion that while I am NOT a hippy/I will never use pain meds sort of person, I AM the sort of person who has a strong will when I choose to do something. I realized that the reason I always wanted to deliver in a hospital was because I was afraid that I couldn’t handle the pain. It was about fear, not about a love for my baby or even for my own body. As someone who does not want to be controlled by fear, but instead love, I decided to read more about natural childbirth. “Perfect love casts out all fear.”

Since I had already gotten a taste of childbirth, minus the baby and including deep sorrow, I decided then and there that I wanted to try to deliver naturally. I had a new respect for my body as a woman and a faith in my ability to withstand pain for the love of a baby. Hope and resolution of will are profound tools! And the fact remains, it IS healthier for the baby to remain drug-free. It IS a better recovery for the mother to deliver drug-free. It’s unarguably better to deliver naturally, unless something goes wrong. Naturally, if something does go wrong or the baby doesn’t turn I will deliver in the hospital, probably with drugs and still be happy if the baby is healthy. I’m NOT saying I can brave it ALL but I am saying, I’d really like to try.

I know there are many differing viewpoints on this subject. I know you many people have pre-conceived ideas about midwives but I think those are people who haven’t experienced the loving care of a midwife, haven’t done honest research and are afraid. I read Your Best Birth and watched The Business of Being Born by Ricky Lake and Abby Epstein recently and it truly confirmed my stand on this issue. It is my intention to go this route, despite the seeming negativity that surrounds the decision.

Asking Too Much

I haven't posted in a year.

I feel like that needs to be said in a whiny..."dear diary, i'm sorry for neglecting you" voice that I used to have when I was an awkward 12 year old writing in my diary about my crushes and my mean mommy that wouldn't let me wear bright red lipstick on my first day of 7th grade. I guess I feel neglectful; my whining above will have to suffice as penance.

It's been an interesting year. My husband and I bought a house. We're homeowners. And we got pregnant, had a miscarriage, and 62 seconds later got pregnant again. I'm four months along and doing well, minus the tri-weekly vomiting and the constant nausea. I could go on and on about the pregnancy symptoms no one ever mentions when you're a blushing, bright eyed, hopeful bride ready to go off birth control. But I'll save that for another day.

I guess I just wanted to say that today, today I'm lonely. A lot more than a house and a soon to come baby happened this year. In some ways, my husband and I grew up a little since last February. Together we've braved some intense relational storms that have left us closer to each other but distinctly distant to several very close individuals we have been deep friends with for years. Life has a way of changing relationships, and marriage has a way of becoming indirectly isolating. While marriage is like always being on a team, the game can get sort of confusing. And pregnancy, well, that has a way of ensuring that isolation in ways I never predicted or could have prepared for.

I don't think it's all bad and neither do I think this isolation is unhealthy. Two becoming one flesh and then creating life is heavy in the areas of responsibility and mystery and beauty and depth and weight. It's impossible to remain unchanged in the midst of that intensity. But I find myself surrounded by friends who can't quite relate. They're all single and childless. It's not that bridges have been burned, it's just that it takes many more bridges to relate than it used to. That goes both ways.

Needless to say, this loneliness, this isolation, goes both ways. They don't know what to say about my painfully swollen baby boobs and I don't get invited out anymore because the bars they go to are smokey. Mostly I'm fine with that. But today, I miss friends. I miss laughing at stupid things over a few glasses of cheap wine. I miss investing in something other than work, work, sleep, and my growing ass.

I am happily married and happily pregnant. I guess I just want the perfect trinity... I want to be happily social too.

Am I asking too much?