Today is the 20 week mark of this pregnancy.  Halfway…but not really, since 40 weeks isn’t 40 weeks of gestation.  But still, it’s an easy milestone to latch onto in pregnancy.  So far, this time around has been the same in many ways, but different in some, too.

:: There was fairly constant nausea and fatigue for the first 15 weeks or so.  Though in the weeks since, I have felt much better than I remember feeling in past pregnancies.

:: There have been some days, though, of horrible headaches that pretty much put me out of commission for as long as they stick around.  This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with headaches, but it hasn’t been an every pregnancy thing, either.

:: I have had some major temperature-regulating issues.  In the beginning, some parts of my body would be sooo warm, while other parts were shivering…all the time.  Lately, I have just been really cold, which is very strange for me.  I don’t know that I’ve ever really tried chopping vegetables with hands shaking from cold before.  We do keep our house at a relatively low temperature, but though Tim has offered on a number of occasions that we can just turn up the thermostat, I have a hard time accepting that my body just won’t adjust to what has always been a normal environment for me.

:: I have gained lots of weight, everywhere…probably about what most doctors would say I should gain in the entire pregnancy.  Definitely not new, but something I always kind of hope will be different the next time around.

:: I have eaten a lot of green olives and mexican food.  Two foods that have, for the most part, never been unappealing to me in any of my pregnancies.  I have, however, been avoiding “whole wheat” anything for much of the past few months.  While I know white flour is just not supposed to be good for me, it doesn’t upset my stomach, so that’s what I go with.

:: I have been seriously petrified of the impending labor, from the very beginning of this pregnancy.  Not worried that anything will go wrong, just certain that I can’t do it.  I am not great at physical discipline to begin with, and finding resolve for labor seems impossible right now.

:: The past few weeks have brought with them what I think is carpal tunnel issues when I sleep.  I only ever had issues with this during my last pregnancy, and this time around, it seems to be even worse, sometimes keeping me awake for long stretches at night because my hands hurt or have lost feeling.  But that has been motivation for me to try to address it, with some success so far.

As always, each of these symptoms of pregnancy bring with them the reminder that my body is growing a baby, whom I will get to hold and love and take care of, and who will make me [almost] forget all of the uncomfortableness that pregnancy can bring.

Today, Elijah turned four.  Honestly, I am mentally relieved that four is here, because for months I have had the hardest time remembering that he is only three.  I don’t know why exactly.  I think, in some ways, it is that my expectations of him have been set at a level that has been a bit high for a three-year old…or, at least, that is higher than what I’ve had for his older siblings.

And, a lot of the time, I find him seeking responsibilities that are beyond his years.  He sees his big brothers and big sister doing chores and schoolwork, using the computer and, in general, just being more autonomous than him, and he wants to be like them.

He sees Tim or me spending time working on things, and he wants to be near and involved, so he asks questions and offers to help, and tries so very hard to get us to see that he’s a big boy.  He asks almost daily if he’s getting bigger or taller or stronger or faster.  He tries to understand humor and movies and how things work, and he asks really specific questions to refine that understanding.

There is an innocence about Elijah that is deeper than just his age.  He unabashedly seeks approval when he thinks he’s done a good job, and he is so quick to praise others when he sees something good in them.  He is outgoing (at least in my eyes) and I try not to cringe, or fear for his rejection, when he says hi to someone whose name he remembers after hearing it just once, and they [often] ignore him, because he’s a little kid that they don’t really know at all.  I hope that innocence stays with him.  I hope that love for people stays with him.

While this birthday reminds me that there are limited days left of him asking to sit on my lap, or wanting to give me goodnight kisses on both cheeks and my chin and forehead, or telling silly jokes, I am glad for reminder.  As easy as it can be to just count him as a tag-along to the bigger kids, I am thankful that he is only four and that I can let him be my little boy for a while longer still.

It can be hard for me to focus on Jesus at Christmastime.  Sounds ridiculous, huh?  But with so many other things demanding attention, or at least making me think my attention is required, and with the added stress that I always feel at this time of year (somehow, for all of the preparation I think I get done in early October, all organization and preparedness seems to fall apart right about now), any attempts to adjust my focus to the Lord usually just make me feel so distant from where I should be in my time, attention and affections.

I wonder if I’m failing my kids because I can’t seem able to adequately convey the magnitude of what that first Christmas morning meant for us, for humanity.  I find myself thinking that, maybe, God’s not going to be too interested in showing up to our less-than-perfectly-thought-through celebration.  Or that He’ll find our invitation for Him to draw near perhaps not entirely sincere when it inadvertently gets relegated to a to-do list…not because it isn’t most important, but simply because I know my tendency to sometimes fumble my priorities when life gets hectic.

So in the midst of the foggy chaos that has been my brain the past few weeks (or maybe longer, if I’m being honest) God has been drawing my attention to the nativity story.  More specifically to the stable.  And even more specifically, to Mary in the stable.  I imagine that when Gabriel visited Mary and told her that she would give birth to “the Son of the Most High”, it probably never entered her mind that the birth would happen amidst the dirt and straw and smells of a stable.  Did she have a thought, as she realized that the time for giving birth had come, that she should have been more prepared?  It couldn’t have been completely unexpected…did she ever worry that she was failing God by not having made reservations at the inn, or anywhere, just in case?  Did she wonder whether God would think that she had made this great responsibility an afterthought to the more immediate, tangible cares of life?

I don’t know what she thought.  But I know this: God came near – in the stable, in the dirt and straw, in the middle of life’s other responsibilities.  He wasn’t waiting for Mary to be perfectly prepared.  He had no expectations of pomp and fanfare, pristine surroundings or a life put on hold.  And he wasn’t ashamed of the humble surroundings into which He came.  Angels celebrated His entrance, a star spotlighted His presence in that stable.  Whether or not Mary found it acceptable to welcome the Son of God into the mess of life, God made it clear that He was okay with it.

And, I think, He’s okay coming into my mess, too.  I mean, I guess it should be obvious.  He came because life is a mess.  He came because even my best efforts can’t make my heart pure enough, or my life clean enough, or my world perfect enough.  And maybe that’s part of the reason He came to the stable in the first place – to let Mary and mankind know that He’s not put off by messes and inadequacy and real life.

At the very least, that stable has been a welcome reminder to me lately.  I know I shouldn’t be surprised by His goodness, His irreproachable character, and His limitless love.  But I still am.  What an amazing God.

I have a lot of thoughts going through my head these days.  Thoughts about how to love and communicate worth to someone, thoughts about being a part of a body, thoughts about prayer and seeing God’s face and hearing His voice, thoughts about where the balance might be between being the analytical person God made me, and being someone who sees good in spite of flaws.  These thoughts are all going through my head because they are topics that leave me unsettled.  Sometimes, reality doesn’t match up with explanation and I need to figure out where the breakdown is.

I have strong opinions on most of these things, without a doubt.  But, honestly?  Having something make sense is so much more important to me than holding tightly to my opinions.  It’s funny, though, how easily an attempt to find understanding can be misconstrued as stubbornness, or as some prideful ploy to not be proven wrong. 

Of course, my starting point is always going to be where I am at in my opinions or beliefs at a certain moment.  And, of course, there needs to be a compelling reason to draw me away from my position.  That’s common sense, isn’t it?  I mean, even when I know I’m not entirely right (or even at all right), there’s no logical reason to start heading down a different path until I know it is the right one, otherwise I might just get farther from the truth.

So, I won’t just accept someone’s word that something works.  I won’t be okay with a cursory explanation, or a Bible verse applied  too generically, or too specifically.  I’ll ask questions – not to disprove someone else’s argument, but to get them to really prove it to me.  It might seem hard-headed of me, but I need to be really convinced of something to believe it and walk in that belief.

That makes sense, right?