Pray, Love: We're still working on #2, but hopefully not #2, #3, #4, #5, #6...you get the point.

It has been about 7 months since I blogged about infertility or urine in my fridge or pituitary tumors, but here we are, ready to start working on making baby #2 happen.  Back in August I had finally received some real answers about the amenorrhea I have experienced for 15 years and a reason for the difficulty we have had in trying to conceive a second child. Then things got busy. We decided to take a little break from all the appointments and decisions and let the craziness of the fall and winter holidays and birthdays take us over. Even with the break from the decisions and the appointments, we did not get to take a break from the reality of secondary infertility. You never forget that, more than almost anything in the world at this moment, you want another child. People won’t let you forget, either.

“So do you not want more children?”

“You better hurry up and have another baby or your little girl is going to be a brat!” (That ship has sailed, my friend)

“So good to see you! So you still haven’t had another baby? You better hurry up before you have too much space between your kids.”

Lily and the naked, filthy, brilliant Baby Rowie

Whew! No pressure or anything. I think Lily just got tired of waiting. She has invented a huge family of brothers and sisters and likes them come along with us. Her favorite imaginary older brother is named Belie or B’lai or Buh-lie. She has never actually spelled it for me. He goes lots of places; he went to Chuck E. Cheese with Lily and her grandparents and they actually had to use tokens for him to ride the rides. Alone. While they stood and watched an empty ride move for 90 seconds. Sometimes she prefers a smaller family, but no matter what she has her Baby Rowie. She tells people all about her baby brother named Rowie and right now she is working on teaching him how to say talk and walk. His first words were a full sentence. He said, according to Lily, “I just said my first words.” He’s a remarkable child. Very dirty and usually naked, but remarkable.

We had decided to take a break from infertility treatment options until my second pituitary gland MRI drew closer. We didn’t want to be in the middle of fertility treatments if the MRI happened to show growth, which is, by the way, extremely unlikely. The MRI is coming up in the next couple of weeks, so last week I went to see my reproductive endocrinologist (RE). He is the one who diagnosed my pituitary adenoma just from studying my labs.  Last week we sat down to discuss our course of action.

I went in with some knowledge of what he felt would work from out discussions in August. Basically, my reproductive system seems to be perfectly healthy and ready to go. My follicle count is higher than normal for a “woman my age”, as hitting 35 puts you in the “a woman your age” bracket. Everything is ready to go, but my pituitary gland sends absolutely no signal to my reproductive organs. Since we are only missing the signal, my RE initially suggested we do injectable gonadotropins. Basically we would be injecting the hormone that would normally be sent by my pituitary gland. His only concern for me was over-stimulation of the ovaries, leading to an over-production of eggs. That was 7 months ago.

Even though we were taking a break from decisions, treatments and appointments, my mind never did take a break. Instead, I found myself obsessively googling fertility treatment in the wee hours of the morning when I should have been sleeping. I didn’t do it every night over 7 months, but I lost plenty of sleep. As my RE appointment drew nearer, I lost sleep every night for a couple of weeks. My heart and mind were in a tailspin because, although I know without a doubt that we want a baby more than almost anything, we were entering a realm where our beliefs about life would be challenged. 

There is a word in the infertility world that is used often by many of the experts. The word is “reduction”, as in selective reduction of embryos. I went in to my appointment late this past week with a list of questions, all relating back to our firm stance that reduction is not an option for us. I presented that to our RE in our meeting and tried to do so without seeming preachy or judgmental. He had already casually mentioned reduction as a way to ensure we didn’t carry too many babies. Basically, without leaving reduction on the table, he would not do the injectables with us. Instead, he would want us to make the leap to in vitro fertilization (IVF). He feels the IVF process would give him a little more control over the number of embryos, but that prompted more discussion about our stance on extra embryos and frozen embryos and what would be done with them. He presented a plan that would allow us to pursue IVF while only creating embryos that would be transferred. No life would be left behind, but he made a huge leap (and cost increase) to IVF in a matter of seconds.

For now, we have decided to seek a second opinion. I will be meeting with a physician from a different fertility center here in town to discuss the injectables and some methods for controlling the number of mature follicles. I have done a lot of research on methods such as follicle reduction, and that was not something the RE I have been seeing was willing to discuss.

We are prayerful about the next step in our journey. We don’t want six babies and a reality show, but we do want to have another child and we want Lily to have a brother or sister.  We know we want to take advantage of medical advances that our Creator has given us the opportunity to explore, but we want to do so with respect for life and His creation. We don’t know if our next child will grow in my body or in the body of a woman we may never know, but we know we want to shower another child with love and attention. We want to bring up a second child in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Oh, and we think some soul deserves to have Lily as their big sister, because she will totally rock it!

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you…”

Jeremiah 1:5

And the MRI Results Are In....

When my doctor's office called on Thursday and told me my MRI results were in, I was beyond ready to find out what they were. They did not tell me the results over the phone, as they usually do when a result is completely normal, so I figured there must have been something found. On the other hand, they did not ask me to immediately come in for a consultation, so I figured my brain would not be exploding at any given moment. They scheduled me to come in the next Tuesday, which happened to be today, so I went home and began the feverishly searching Google for updates on my demise.

My doctor probably thought I was pretty smart, because today I was pretty much an expert in the pituitary gland and its role in the endocrine system. I have slept thousands and thousands of times since my last biology class, so the free Google refresher course was pretty helpful. Of course, Google has a way of leading a person to health message boards, which are notorious for people who thrive on sharing their peculiar medical conditions. Sure, I read about a few average cases, but who isn't intrigued by the pituitary tumor wrapped around the carotid artery or the woman who became blind when a pituitary tumor pressed on her optic nerve?

So anyway, on to the results. Today I found out that I have a 6x6x7mm tumor on my pituitary gland. It is an adenoma, benign, and there is no way to know how long it has been there. The gland itself is about 1 cm in diameter, the size of a pea, so my 6mm tumor is a little more than half the size of the gland. My tumor is not perfectly round, but it has what seems to be a very awesome tail to keep things more interesting. I am thinking of the tail as a mullet of sorts, just to keep a little party in the back. The symptoms associated with it have been with me for at least 15 years, but it seems it is medically impossible to conceive a child with a pituitary adenoma large enough to inhibit FSH and LH production. Since I did conceive a pretty awesome child 4.5 years ago, it would make perfect scientific sense for this tumor to have formed after Lily was conceived. We'll never really know, but I have dealt with amenorrhea and an annovulatory system since I was about 20 years old. Figuring that in, there is no "logical" explanation for how we got Lily, but I am so glad we did.

It might sound a little crazy to be thankful for a tumor diagnosis, but I am actually pretty pleased with it. No, I am not a hypochondriac. I generally have to be convinced I am sick. I have thrown up in some very public places in attempts to convince myself and those around me that I was perfectly well.

Really, though, finding what is actually going on is a wonderful thing, and here are a few of the reasons why:

1. I will not be having my ovaries drilled. As excited as I was about marching into the surgery center wearing a "Drill, Baby Drill!" t-shirt and carrying a "Let My People Drill" poster, I am pretty relieved that I will not be undergoing surgery. I am bummed that I won't be getting those days of relaxation that follow the surgery, but avoiding anesthesia and the pain of recovery is a pretty good trade off.
2. I found out this pituitary adenoma has affected my prolactin levels, making them very low. This might sound dramatic, but one of things that caused me the most anguish was breastfeeding. I had read hundreds of pages in books, spent an entire Saturday in a pricey breastfeeding class, went through three lactation consultants, rented a hospital grade pump and tried every home remedy known to man. I just did not produce much milk. Instead of sleeping while my baby slept, I was pumping away to no avail. To be honest, I had always been able to achieve pretty much everything in life I had worked for, and there had been few things in life I was willing to work as hard for as breastfeeding. I kept trying and trying and prayed that no soul would ask me how it was going. According to my medical records, my prolactin levels have been off for a long time. I am finally letting myself off the hook on my breastfeeding failure, and it is pretty cathartic.
3. The size of my tumor is pretty significant, but not so much that they will be cutting through any tissue to take it out. It is large enough to cause some major hormonal upheaval, but small enough that I won't need surgery. Every time I dodge the surgery bullet I am pretty happy camper.
4. I finally know why I don't ovulate. That is huge. Knowing the "why" provides a path to the "how." My physician has a laid out some great options for us. After I follow up with an endocrinologist (my genius doctor is a reproductive endocrinologist), I will receive injectable gonadotropins to induce ovulation. My condition is rare, but my doctor has a 100% success rate in dealing with it.  

Most importantly, I have answers and I am so thankful for them. I have spent a lot of time in prayer during this time of trying to conceive a second child, and prayer naturally leads me to scripture. I have had the "barren" women of the Bible on my mind and heart and have found such empathy with them. Even as a child, reading their stories gave me a heavy heart, but during this time in my life I have begun identifying with them in even greater ways. I can feel their sadness, but most of all I can understand their unanswered questions. Even when I was vaguely diagnosed with PCOS, I knew there were some answers to be found in modern science. I could see my ovaries on an ultrasound screen. I could hope to benefit from modern medicine. I had answers and understanding of the complex reproductive system, while women like Sarah and Rachel and Hannah had to rely solely on the unseen. Because I have the blessing of modern medical science, I suppose I will never know how I would have handled my infertility journey without it. Of course, I do know one thing; my faith has made all the difference in my outlook and for that I am eternally grateful. I don't know what the future holds, but I know God's will is perfect. Tonight I take comfort in knowing that and in reflecting on a scripture that has led me through the best and worst of times.

"For I know the plans that I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope."

Jeremiah 29:11

Pray, Love: Slight Change of Plans

What a change a day can make! I will still be undergoing in the ovarian diathermy, but it looks like we will be waiting 2 weeks.

I have always worked to be a bit of an overachiever, but sometimes I really outdo myself. I met with my OB/GYN/RE today and he had spent a lot of time studying my labs. He found that my luteinizing hormone (LH) and my follicle stimulating hormone (FSH) are very low and based on these findings, it seems that we will be taking a slightly different approach.

Basically, PCOS can originate from two different factors. In the end, you have much of the same result as far as the effect on the ovaries and reproductive system. Because the factors causing the PCOS differ, the ways of treating the two types will differ also. About 95% of women with PCOS have peripheral factor PCOS, where the syndrome is ovarian in origin. The other 5% have central PCOS, where the amenorrhea originates from a central endocrine problem triggered by the hypothalamus and/or pituitary gland. My labs reflect a central origin and I will need to have an MRI to take a look at my hypothalamus and pituitary gland before I have the ovarian diathermy.

We will still move forward with the diathermy and injections in two weeks unless something really crazy shows up on the MRI. It will set things back a couple of weeks, but all in all it does not have a huge effect on our timeline.

Here are a few things I learned today:

1. Although the central factor PCOS is much more rare, my doctor actually has a higher success rate in helping couples dealing with this type of infertility.
2. I won't be getting that nap.  
3. I am a little resentful that I had to do a pre-op phone call and tell someone how much I weigh. I have to do the call again in two weeks and will have to utter my weight again. Not cool.
4. People in waiting rooms are annoying. I was sitting in the waiting room with a couple obnoxiously speaking in a high volume whisper tone. My very loud 3 year-old's inside voice is quieter than the whispers these people were letting out and I had to work hard to maintain my composure. Suppressing your laughter for 30 minutes is very difficult. They got up and were replaced by gum popping couple. It was sort of like a SNL sketch, but much, much longer.
5. My new injection regimen will consist of FSH and LH, increasing the chance of multiples. Fortunately, my doctor will scan me daily during the injections to make sure we aren't getting too productive.
6. With the new likely diagnosis, my doctor is even more baffled that we have Lily. I am not sure how it can be scientifically explained that I ovulated for what might have been the only time in a 15 year period. I do know that I was earnestly praying and that she came at a time when we had significant loss in our family and she was a perfectly bright spot. What a special girl!

Thanks again to everyone for the prayers. That means more than you can ever know! I really struggled with the idea of making our infertility struggles public because I have never been the type to freely share my burdens with others. I had a couple of reasons for sharing. First of all, people naturally want to know if you are wanting another child or trying to have another child. I don't find it offensive when people ask, but when you reply by telling them you are struggling with infertility they naturally feel like they inserted their foot in their mouth. By being more up front and open about our struggles, I can save people that awkward feeling. The second reason I decided to share this struggle was to ask for prayers, because "the effective prayer of a righteous man can accomplish much." (James 5:16) Thanks so much for taking the time to pray for us!

Pray, Love: Just One More...

I was blessed with an idyllic childhood in a Christian home in a small town with a wonderful family. One of the greatest blessings of time spent growing up was my brother, Kyle. I was three weeks shy of my second birthday when Kyle was born and, since he was walking at 9 months, he was part of nearly every childhood adventure in my memory. We were siblings, but best of all we were friends. Our personalities were as different as night and day, but we loved being together. We fought a lot and could argue about almost anything, but we never stayed mad at one another for more than a few minutes. He helped me be a tomboy and I helped him be kind and sensitive. We were (and still are) quite a pair.

When I visualized the family I would someday have, I always visualized a kind, caring husband and two children just close enough in age to be close friends. I hit the jackpot in the husband department (oh, yeah!) and I have an amazing little girl who keeps me on my toes and rolling on the floor in laughter. The only problem? I just want one more.

Doug and I had been married almost a year and a half when we decided we wanted a baby. A few months later we were pregnant and so excited about being parents. We fell in love with Lily the moment we found out she was on her way and feel blessed every day to have such a happy, healthy child. We also knew we wanted at least one more and, not long after Lily’s first birthday, we decided we were ready for another child whenever God felt like we needed one. We hoped we could have our children two or three years apart so they could be close in age and play together. Time passed, and we realized we were not going have children two years apart. We tried to look on the bright side; maybe our kids would be three years apart and Lily would be old enough to be a helper and understand more about having a sibling. More time has passed, and now is Lily is three and a half. We are still looking on the bright side; it looks like we won’t be paying college tuition for two kids at once.

Sometimes it makes us sad, but in ways that are a bit unexpected. I find myself very sad as I long for a family of four, but I don’t find myself sharing that with others. I feel guilty for feeling sad. Every time I begin to dwell on our secondary infertility (the term for infertility experienced by couples who already have a child), I feel like I should count my blessings and treasure the extraordinary child I have. I think of friends who are still struggling to become parents for the first time and I think of Hannah, the mother of Samuel, who pleaded with God for just one child. I find my sadness is mixed with twinges of guilt, as if I am not fully appreciating the gift I have been given with the child I am watching grow before my eyes. I find myself on the verge of grief, but do not feel I deserve the right to grieve. After all, I have one really awesome kid.

Secondary infertility is fairly common, but still not well understood by most folks.  Many people just assume that if you have been able to have one child, then it makes sense that you would be able to have another. Some people assume you only had a desire for a single child. A few people make snide comments about parenting a single child, insinuating that you really don’t know what real parenting is about until you have two. Everyone seems to want to know when we are going to have another one. We’d like to know the answer to that question, too.

I managed to bury the sadness deep inside for a long time. I would tell myself how blessed we were to have Lily and that someday, when the time was right, we would blessed with #2. The defining moment when I recognized my own sadness over the situation occurred when I was reading Lily her bedtime stories and, out of nowhere, she said, “Mommy, I want a sister!” She thought about it a second and said, “Or I want a brother.” It was obvious she didn’t care which; she just wanted a sibling and I, more than anything, wanted to be able to provide her with that.

Until recently, I had once again managed to bury the sadness and the desire. We still had that desire to have a second child, but had only dabbled in fertility treatment. We decided to put our house on the market, forcing us to make the third bedroom an appealing space. Until that point, it was the storage room for all things baby. When Lily would outgrow something, it would go in that room. We had her nursery furniture, clothing, toys and everything else a couple would need to completely spoil their baby. I insisted we set the room up as a nursery to show the house so it would showcase the size of the bedroom. Somewhere inside, though, I made that decision because I could not bear the thought of moving the nursery furniture to storage. The crib and changing table and rocking chair mean so much more to me than showcasing a spacious room; to me, they represent a hope and a dream that we pray for daily. They represent just one more.

Eat: Low Carb-friendly Taco Soup

There is so much conflicting information out there about PCOS, but one thing most everyone can agree with is that a diet low in simple carbohydrates can be helpful. This is a favorite low-carb recipe for our family! It doesn't hurt that it is one of the simplest recipes in my collection.

 

Taco Soup

• 1 lb lean ground beef or ground turkey
• 1 onion, chopped
• 1 tsp minced garlic
• 3/4 cup water + water as needed
• 1 Taco Seasoning packet or 3 TBSP of your favorite taco seasoning (Here's my favorite!)
• 2 cans Ro*tel tomatoes
• 2 cans black beans
• 1 (16oz.) package of frozen green beans (or fresh if you have them on hand)
• Shredded Cheese (optional)
• Diced Avocado (optional)

1. Brown meat with onion and garlic until meat is brown and onion is translucent.








2.Drain, if needed, then add taco seasoning and 3/4 cup water and cook over medium heat until water is nearly evaporated.








3.Pour the meat mixture into a large pot, then add the tomatoes and beans. If needed, add a little water to cover. Cover and cook on medium heat for 20-25 minutes, stirring occasionally.










4. Top with cheese and avocados, then enjoy!

This soup freezes well and reheats well. If carbs are of no concern to you, adding corn and tortilla strips or chips to the soup will make it extra tasty!

Love: Don Williams, Pop, Mi-mommy and Me

"Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.'
Berthold Auerbach

Overwhelmed, exhausted and yearning for the long lost carefree days of my childhood, I sped down the interstate. I turned on the radio, hoping to take a mental break en route to yet another stop on a very busy work day. I was looking for music, but instead I tuned in just in time for a commercial break; the commercial break, it turned out, was just what I needed. It was an advertisement for an upcoming concert with Don Williams at the historic Paramount Theatre and my mind began moving in a direction far from the stresses of the daily grind. I reached into my purse and pulled out my iPod, then put Don Williams on shuffle.

 

The music of Don Williams always takes me back to another place and time, a world without worry or insecurity or deadlines. Don Williams takes me back to two of the most important people in my life, two people who always made me feel safe, important and fearless.

When I heard Don Williams sing, I found myself in the backseat of a white Mercury Grand Marquis riding along with Pop and Mi-mommy, my maternal grandparents, to eat a catfish lunch and do a little shopping. They played Don Williams to get a rise out of me and I pretended to hate every song to get a rise out of them. As the years went by, I would pretend to hate the music even more and they would become more and more amused at my disdain for Don Williams. I would turn up my nose and they would turn up the music. Spending time out with them involved so much more than listening to country music; I always ended the day feeling like I could do anything in this world because my grandparents told me I could.

I found myself sitting on the carpet at my aunt’s house on Christmas Eve, 1992. I was opening my gifts and I kept eyeing the cassette-sized package from Pop and Mi-mommy. I had been asking for George Strait’s Pure Country album for months and I was pretty sure that underneath that paper was a cassette tape containing the songs from my new favorite movie. I saved it for last and I looked up and saw my grandparents grinning from ear to ear, eagerly waiting for me to open it. I ripped the paper, only to look down and see Don Williams’ face staring back at me. Disappointed, I looked back up at Pop and Mi-mommy and watched their grins become laughter, then looked back down at my “Don Williams” album only to realize they had taped a Don Williams insert over the Pure Country tape. I joined in the laughter, not understanding until much later just how much blessed I was to have grandparents who were vivacious, jovial and so in tune with me.

I found myself dancing in my seat to the familiar intro of “Tulsa Time” and couldn’t help but imagine Pop driving along some highway somewhere across the USA, looking forward to being home with his family. He spent most of his work years as a pipeline welder for Local 798, based in Tulsa, OK. He traveled all over the United States to work the jobs that would best provide for his family, just waiting to set his watch back to Tulsa Time, which also happened to be the time zone in which his entire family resided. He worked very long days in dry deserts, humid coastal areas and even north of the Arctic Circle on the Alaskan Pipeline. He set such a wonderful example of work ethic for all of us and like so many other gifts given to me by my grandparents, it took years for me to realize what an impact it would have on my own life.

 

I found myself becoming more relaxed, the stress melting away, as I heard the opening lines of “Lord, I Hope This Day is Good.” I thought of the faith of my Mi-mommy, a great example of a Christian wife, mother, grandmother and friend. She trusted in God and His wisdom always seeking to live a life pleasing to Him. In the process, her faithfulness led her children, grandchildren and husband to Christ. Her entire being was wrapped around her faith in God and she spoke easily and freely of spiritual things. She was prayerful about every aspect of life and always asked in faith; her example will always be with me and I know that when I ask God for a good day, He is there to help me through.

By the time I reached my destination, I had listened to more than twenty Don Williams songs. I couldn’t stay in another time and place forever because I had appointments to make and deadlines to meet. I did, however, bring something back with me. I came back to the present feeling important, fearless, confident, upbeat, vivacious, jovial, faithful and ready to work hard. Although my Mi-mommy passed away nearly 4 years ago and my Pop is journeying through the foggy night of Alzheimer’s Disease, the memories I have continue to bless my life. Thank you, Pop. Thank you, Mi-mommy. Thank you, Don Williams.

Pray: Toddler in Christ

I am not a morning person. Mornings do not come easy for me and never have. Before I had a child, I would shower, dress, fix my hair and apply makeup in about 30 minutes after snoozing for an hour, turning off the alarm clock and waking up to my back up alarm that was in reality, the only alarm that mattered. Although I am known as a gregarious person who will talk your ear completely off, I prefer not to speak to anyone before 8am. As you can imagine, a child rocked my world. I managed to set up a very nice routine; I would shower, then wake Lily up and let her watch a little Mickey Mouse and munch on a little breakfast while I finished getting ready. It was perfect. Then she began forming opinions, and not just any opinions. She began forming very strong opinions that left no doubt that she was mine.

At first it was easy stuff. She didn't want to take her medicine, so I used chocolate milk to persuade (or bribe, if you want to use that kind of language) her to swallow it. She wanted oatmeal instead of french toast sticks or a muffin instead of cereal, so I would give her what she wanted as long as it was nutritious. These requests were reasonable and they did not require much thought or negotiation on my part. I had this morning thing down to a science.

The beginning of the end came when she started having opinions about she would wear. How cute is it when your daughter gets into her dress up case and puts together adorably obnoxious ensembles of mismatched beads, hats and plastic shoes with a tutu thrown in for good measure? You tell her she looks beautiful and encourage her to continue using her imagination and creativity. I remember the first clothing fight well. Lily and I were going to the pet store to look at animals, then on to get a haircut. She came out of her room in beads, hair accessories and plastic shoes that caused her to shuffle around the house. I was good with all but the shoes, not because I wanted to stifle her creativity but because I did not look forward to carrying around a 30 pound toddler when the plastic shoes started to hurt her feet. I sent her to change and she protested a bit, but then came back with shoes that matched her outfit and she was wearing just enough dress up stuff to make it look like I had dressed her and was incapable of matching clothing.

That first clothing argument was a breeze. It was late in the afternoon, I had consumed plenty of caffeine and I had been awake for hours. The real challenge came that Monday when she brought me the outfit she was dying to wear. It was before 8 am, so I was not really in the mood to argue, but she had brought me a shirt that she had found in the dirty laundry. The shirt was so filthy that I am honestly surprised a roach colony had not taken over the hamper and feasted on the foods that were stuck on. Lily's morning personality is much like mine and we had what I will always remember as our first knock down drag out. Maybe I'll add that to the scrapbook. :)

I decided to outsmart my strong-willed 2 1/2 year old fashionista by hiding the filthy clothing, but she found them (probably tracked the atrocious scent) and did whatever she had to do to get them. That's when I decided to give her choices. I would hold up two mommy approved outfits and say, "Do you want to wear this or this?" It only took 2 days for Lily to beat me to the punch and confidently march into my room holding up two filthy, completely unacceptable outfits and say, "Okay, mama, THIS or THIS?" SHE was giving ME choices.

I laugh at the absurdity of my two year-old thinking she is capable of making better decisions about her life than Doug and I are. We provide her clothing and shelter and food. We protect her from danger. We meet her needs. Absurd right?

But seriously, how often do we, as God's children, think our way is wiser? I would like to think of myself as a mature Christian, more than a "babe" in Christ, but I often find myself exhibiting toddler-like spiritual behavior.

I know I am not alone, because the Bible is filled with examples of people like me, people who think they are wise apart from God's will. God instructed Jonah to go to Nineveh, but he refused and attempted to hide from the creator of the universe. When we do something that we know is contrary to God's will, aren't we in essence saying that our wisdom is greater than the the wisdom of our Creator?

He gives us food and clothing and shelter. He protects us and meets our needs. And we think we are capable than God of making wiser decisions about our lives. Absurd, right? Sometimes I am a lot like that strong-willed 2 year-old, wrestling with God. A toddler in Christ.

I find myself relating so much to the apostle Paul and I have to remind myself of the words God breathed through him: "Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men." (1 Corinthians 1:25 NASB)