Still Hope: An Introduction to a Series on Miscarriage

I had another miscarriage.

Yes. Another.

I took the test a few Fridays back. Spotted that Sunday. Got myself into the doctor on Monday. And miscarried on Tuesday. Four days. That’s it. I was barely pregnant.

This is my fifth miscarriage. It overwhelms me to be putting that ordinal number (fifth!) in front of a word that speaks of defining loss. I can’t coherently string together words that would explain what it feels like to lose five times, but here’s some words come to mind: numb, angry, pained, discouraged, disappointed, and maybe even the word apathetic.

I admitted to a friend that I feel like a freak. Sometimes I even wonder if I just imagined those extra lines on the pee stick. I wonder if it’s possible to give false positives, and every time I’ve lost so early I want to kick myself for not waiting a full week past my missed period to take the test. I’m embarrassed to be sharing that I miscarried again… because it feels like I failed, and I keep failing.

I have a feeling anytime our bodies betray us, we feel a bit like a freak. When a uterus gives way or a cervix dilates too early or a fertilized egg implants in the wrong place, when our bodies fail to properly house the little life we so desperately want to bring into our home. When DNA hardwiring malfunctions, and life stops in its tracks before heart ever pumped. When an ultrasound reveals the life you’ve been carrying no longer lives. Oh friends. This is hard.

The most difficult part of this process for me, has been this need in me to define my loss—something besides zygote or failed pregnancy, something that validates that I indeed have lost something. Even when I miscarried at 10 weeks, the little life I carried grew no larger than the period at the end of this sentence. Doctors refused to say the word baby, and they corrected me if I did.

The Lord answered my broken cries for some kind of name to give my losses by giving me a picture. Do you know what there was in my womb?

A seed.

The tiniest of things with all the potential and hope and dreams the size of an oak tree. It might not have sprouted for reasons I cannot fathom, but I lost something. I’ve lost five seeds.

I can mourn the little lives with unformed hearts who never felt life-blood course through their veins. I can mourn because really it only takes a mother but a couple minutes to fall in love and see a future (even if she's still reeling from the shock of it.)

Though not all seeds get to send up a stalk into the warm sunshine, even the tiniest seed leaves an impression on the soil.

Can I tell you that this is not my favorite topic? I’d rather not write about miscarriage, about grief, about these things so hard and unexplainable. I feel vulnerable opening up about my grieving process, because it is so personal. I have this hope that one day I will look back and be grateful for this road I’m walking… but today, I would much rather be walking a different road. And that’s honest.

Sometimes I’ve felt like moving forward through the grieving process has been a bit like hacking through the jungle. It’s like blazing a trail, walking paths unwalked. I know that’s not true, but grief can be isolating. And miscarriage doesn’t get talked about much, especially a miscarriage belonging to an unannounced pregnancy.

I’m writing what I wish I could have read.  I’m writing because I have longed to know that I wasn’t alone. 

I’m writing what God has been speaking to me along the way.

My hope is that if you are walking this hard road (oh dear heart. I am so sorry) maybe we can hack through the jungle together, maybe we can blaze a wider trail, maybe we can offer the wisdom of experience and the encouragement of camaraderie that makes a trail easier to walk.

We will be talking about losing, about grieving, and about hoping again. I even have a project God laid on my heart that I want to share with you. I think it will give you a tangible way to both grieve and hope--no matter the stage in pregnancy in which you miscarried.

Even if miscarriage isn’t your story of loss or suffering, you are so very welcome here. So is your story. This hard substance of miscarriage touches on topics that are deeply woven into the fabric of Christian life. I believe there is something here for you this week.

Friends, I hinge my life and this blog on Romans 8:35,37:

that in all these things… yes, even

this

thing… they cannot separate us from God’s love, and we shall press forward and overwhelmingly conquer this darkness.

God’s love is here. It is. I know it. And by His strength, I shall keep pressing forward. I shall overcome. You too, friend. And that’s what this series is really about.

I know this is hard, this subject, this kind of sharing, but it's an important subject, and your story is important. Here is your invitation. Will you join me? 

Here's the part where I ask you to be brave and share your story. 

If a comment on a public domain terrifies you= amandaconquers AT gmail DOT com

By Grace,

Amanda Conquers

To Continue Reading the Rest of the Series:

Season of Mourning

When You Are Trying to Make Something Out of Your Ashes

Project Still Hope

What Hope Really Looks Like

What You Need to Know When Fear is Suffocating You

Practical Advice for the Grieving Woman and Those Who Love Her

About Me and This Blog

Hi!


I’m Amanda.

I am an imperfect girl, a huge fan of Grace, and a follower of Jesus. I believe in absolute Truth.

I am the wife to one smoking hot cop. We’ve been married 9 years.

I am a momma to 2 littles: Addy (6) and Jed (3). They are my heart.



Coffee and deep conversations are my love language. I am a California girl (like totally) to my very core. I love road trips, bird watching, literature, and playing in the dirt (aka gardening).

 I battle depression and anxiety. I have walked the hard road of repeated miscarriages. I struggle to embrace that God could really love me. I make a lot of mistakes; really, I'm just a bit of a mess. But I hinge my life on these verses: 
“Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? But IN ALL these things we OVERWHELMINGLY CONQUER through Him who loved us.” (Romans 8:35, 37)

This blog pretty much hinges on those verses too. God made me to conquer, you to conquer. 

{Pssst... did you notice that Romans says overwhelmingly conquer?} 

Yes, in all those ordinary everyday ways you might fail: frazzled momma yells, dirty dish piles, forgotten birthday cakes, toddler messes that should cue the creepy Psycho theme music... 
And yes, God made us to conquer even in those hard things. I believe that there is no place His Grace can't reach.

I talk a lot about being a Jacob girl. Jacob who wrestled God. Jacob who was given a limp. Jacob who with a limp became, Israel, God prevails. Because the only way for God to prevail in our lives, the only real way to overcome, isn't to try harder; it's to walk leaning on Him. 

I am not a girl who has it all together. I am a girl who walks with a limp. I am a girl who leans on her Savior-become-Friend. I am a girl who, by the Grace of God, shall be called an overcomer.

I am inviting you to join me here on this Grace journey.

First Time Here?

If I could pick the posts visitors were to read, these are what I would pick. (They are my favorite and the most telling about me):  

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I firmly believe that even though this is a blog called Amanda Conquers, it's about you too. I want to know the places where our stories intersect. I need your encouragement, your story. This is about community. And you are so welcome here. 


Okay. So... Tag. You're it! 
Tell me about you? Where do you hail from? What do we have in common? I'd love to get to know the AMAZING YOU. 
(If you are a blogger, don't be shy about leaving your URL in the comments. I would love to visit you back!)



Thank you so much for being here, new friend! I am honored to have you over at my place ;)

xo
Amanda Conquers

Favorite Things GIVEAWAY

I was asked to participate in a giveaway of favorite everyday items.

I really wanted to be apart. The women and the blogs participating are awesome. (Like seriously, click on a few of the links I have listed at the end of this post, you will not regret it. Warm, kindred spirits. Straight up.) And I just love the chance to give good stuff away.

Only problem. I could not figure out what my favorite thing could possibly be (other than coffee. It's always coffee.)

I searched my kitchen drawers looking for some handy tool I couldn't live without, I looked through my bookselves, my desk, my vanity... for something that would bless one of you.

I couldn't find anything. But as I looked, I kept seeing words. Words printed out and taped to my desk, post it note reminders, encouragement printed on cards, lip-liner scriptures on my mirror, hand painted Jesus words on wooden boards, words trapped in chalk-painted frames... Encouragement. Reminders. All words, pointing to my Savior and the kind of woman/mom/wife He's shaping me into.

Yes. Encouraging words really are my favorite thing.

So that's what I am giving away. A printable and a hand-painted frame... a visual reminder of who you are in Him. Because sometimes, we need reminding. And we need it where we can see it.

{and even if you don't win the giveaway, I'll be giving away the printable to you all next week}

Also... I am giving away a Starbucks card, because coffee really is my love language.

To enter, just follow the instructions on the rafflecopter at the end of this post. (Psst... it's easy)

Giveaway ends this Friday (Oct. 31).

The winner will get each and every favorite item contributed to this giveaway.


What's in the Giveaway (Plus Links to Some Quality Blogs):



  • Kayse is giving away a collection of Martha Stewart Office items!
  • Britta is giving away a ConAir Power Facial Cleanser!
  • Jennifer is giving away a "Be Still" print!
  • Monica is giving away a Let It Go (by Karen Ehman) Study Pack!
  • Erika is giving away a super cute coffee cozy of your choice!
  • Carey is giving away Cravings, a daily devotional for moms!
  • Kristin is giving away 2 books by Angie Smith - For Such A Time As This & Audrey Bunny!
  • Anna is giving away a candle, tea, and chocolate!
  • Bethany is giving away a Ginger & Lime Sugar Scrub & a 5ml bottle of Wild Orange Essential Oil!
  • Jamie is giving away a Better Homes & Gardens Cookbook!
  • Amanda is giving away a framed print and a $10 gift card to Starbucks!
  • Leeann is giving away a set of linen notecards!



    • a Rafflecopter giveaway

    Okay, so now I really want to know... What is your favorite everyday item? 



    By Grace,
    Amanda Conquers

    On the Ugly Business of Comparison: A Letter to Us Moms

    Can I say something to all us mommas, something God has been speaking to my heart?

    I have been reading in Galatians 5 for a study I am doing. I read it, and it’s like I can hear it written just for us moms on this very real struggle of comparison and the weight of expectation we live under.

    Would it be okay if I take my liberties with this passage that was written to the church of Galatia in the first century and write it to us, in our time and just for us moms?

    For in Christ Jesus neither is homeschooling nor public schooling nor private Christian schooling anything…

    Neither is Walmart nor Target nor Whole Foods. Neither are cloth diapers nor disposables. Neither gluten free, paleo, whole food, nor McDonald’s drive thru.  Neither breastfeeding nor bottle-feeding. Neither all-natural home birth, planned c-section, nor begging for the epidural the very second you enter the hospital.

    Neither is minivan, jalopy sedan, nor hybrid SUV.  Neither is a streamlined chore system nor a pile of laundry sitting on the couch for 3 days. Neither is birthing a child every eighteen months nor stopping after one.

    But the only thing that is anything is faith working through love.

    Sisters, you were called to FREEDOM. Freedom to prepare bento boxes for school lunches or not. Freedom to adhere to baby-wise or to just wing it. But, sisters, do not turn your freedom into an opportunity to think yourself better than anyone else. THROUGH LOVE SERVE ONE ANOTHER. For the whole law is fulfilled in one statement, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” But if you compare, judge, gossip, and try to find yourself a morally superior high ground that is better than one of your sisters, take care that you are not consumed by one another.

    But I say, walk in the Spirit…

     

    Motherhood is this vulnerable place. No matter whether you chose to ride into motherhood on the premise that it couldn’t be too hard or whether you read no less than twenty-three books on parenting before you pushed that first baby into the world at some point you will feel clueless.

    Even if book-learning and the sage advice of experienced moms could give us a leg-up on this parenting gig, there are things like colic, illnesses in a babe who can’t tell us where it hurts, terrific two’s, even more terrific three’s, mean kids at school, and preteen hormone surges that all level the playing field. And if none of the aforementioned scenarios leave you stumped, there are always those awkward moments, like when your daughter calmly and matter-of-factly announces to company that mom and dad shower together. (?!)

    Friends, we all find ourselves feeling clueless, our shortcomings laid bare, and so very vulnerable in this thing called motherhood.

    {And don’t we hate that?}

    I think in all the beyond-our-control variables of parenting, in all the mistakes we just know we are making, in all the guilt we feel for all things we never get around to…

    Our lives shout at us:  “You aren’t enough! You need to do better! You need to try harder!” We miss the grace we have been freely given and the invitation to walk arm in arm with the Savior.

    Our finite minds seriously miss the eternal view God has of our lives, our kids’ lives, and the way He is beyond able to use it ALL and work it ALL out for His Glory.

    We struggle to accept God’s love for us.

    We try to do motherhood by law, instead of grace.

    We compare ourselves. We play judge. We treat the intelligence and talents of our kids as a competition and as a measure of our worth as parents. We think we have some kind of place to look at another mom’s life and determine whether she’s right or wrong, better or worse. Sometimes in our zeal for whatever passion we have stumbled into, we assume it must be best for everyone.

    We look at a mom glowing in her talents, walking in her call, and read her personal excitement as a personal attack on the way we are living life.

    We feel like we are somehow less of a mother for bottle feeding when we get up in the middle of the night AND make a bottle. We feel like we are somehow missing our badge of honor because narrow hips required a c-section AND a month of recovery with a newborn. We look at our mess of a home and feel like a failure AFTER a day of errands, wiping bottoms, picking up toys, and feeding… and feeding… and feeding again.

    {Could we stop that?}  

    I have a feeling the heart of all this originates in the same reason Paul penned Galatians and addressed the Jewish Christians who were preaching circumcision and the Gentiles who were choking on the hard demand.

    It’s fear. And it’s pride.

    It’s Grace-negating. And it’s freedom-squelching.

    Momma, outside of love, there is no law to motherhood. There are only callings and talents and tools.

    Follow God’s call for you and your family wherever He leads. Shine in the God-given talents you were given (cooking, organizing, music, teaching, exploring, crafting...) And use the tools that are best for the making of your home and the raising of the precious kids God placed in your care--whether that’s baby-wise, homeopathic remedies, or chore charts.

    The only thing that is anything is faith working through love.

    So, rather than compare and judge and think we know a sister’s life from the fleeting glimpses of her Instagram account, let’s hold each other up. Let’s pray for each other. Let's serve one another.

    Even in our differences.

    ESPECIALLY in our differences.

    We are all moms. We all love so big. We are all tilling the fallow ground of a child’s heart: both soft and rocky and full of strong-willed defiance. We are carrying the gospel to an unreached people group—our kids. It’s important work. And, oh sisters, how we need each other’s encouragement. And truly we need a little less zeal for methods and fads and a whole lot more room for grace. 

    THROUGH LOVE SERVE ONE ANOTHER. For the whole law is fulfilled in one statement, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

    From one momma to another, I am standing here encouraging you, sister, to let His Grace wash over all your failings, to follow Christ where He leads, to shine in your talents, and to be a YOU kind of momma.

    Maybe we could talk about this here? What is the one thing that is hardest to you about motherhood? What is one of the most hurtful comments you have ever heard from another mom? What is one of the most life-giving statements you have ever heard from a fellow mom?

    By Grace,

    Amanda Conquers

    What I Want You to Know About Homeschooling


    I ran into an old friend a few weeks past. I hadn’t seen her since Addy was first born. She had asked about Addy: how old? what grade? what school?… In the conversation, I mentioned that I was homeschooling Addy.

    “Oh! I could have never done that. I just don’t have the patience.”

    This is the response I most often hear when I say we are homeschoolers. I think I have heard it at least 3 times since.

    It seems like 75% of the population views homeschoolers as good and holy saints, full of patience, meekness, and humility and always soft spoken. Maybe even as women who don floral aprons and whose homes smell of fresh-baked apple bread. Women with burlap-covered chore charts and aspirations of no less than 7 kids.

    I feel like I need to set the record straight. I can't speak for everyone, but I am not patient. I am not humble or meek… and I am definitely not soft-spoken when Jed decides he simply cannot wait five minutes for a snack and boycotts my lesson. I struggle with organization, and I might just be the world’s worst procrastinator.  I only wish I owned an apron, my clothes would thank me (anyone else a super messy cook?).

    I have had it pointed out before that I used to be a teacher so homeschooling must come so naturally to me. I may have been a teacher before I had kids, but did I ever tell you about how when I was a substitute in a local school district I declined all assignments kindergarten thru third grade because I do not like teaching young kids? I may have been a teacher and teaching might be one of those talents God placed inside me, but I am great at teaching things like literary analysis, historical context, and algebraic functions. I assure you teaching phonics, handwriting, and basic arithmetic baffles me. Can I also just say that it hardly comes natural to deny my selfish desires and dreams to sit at home and educate my kids from whom, truth be told, I would like a break from every now and again.

    I have this sinking suspicion that while I might not be a patient, meek, or humble person yet, homeschooling requires that I learn how to be. And let me tell you, homeschooling grates against every single one of my shortcomings. I am being refined.

    I want you to know that the reason I homeschool has almost nothing to do with my abilities or my strengths. I do it, simply because when I weighed public school, private school and homeschool, and I laid it all before the Lord, this was the very thing God put on my heart.

    Can I tell you sometimes it terrifies me?

    Can I also tell you that {most} mornings I wake up with this distinct feeling that I am doing exactly what God made me to do? Each morning I wake up and surrender, press my rough-edged self into the potter’s molding hands. I know I am in His hands. This is where I belong. I know my kids are in His hands in spite of my failings. I know this is where they belong. That is a good feeling. I could ramble on about what I see in my family and Addy and Jed and just how much it means to watch us cross milestones together.

    What I want you to know is that if you want to homeschool, you can. No, really, you can. We serve a God who gives strength to weak things. You don’t have to be patient to homeschool. Though I quite guarantee, a few years in and you might find yourself a good deal more patient.

    What I want you to know is that if you don’t want to homeschool, that’s okay. Follow Jesus wherever He leads your family, please. Homeschooling isn’t holier or better. Wherever God places you and your family is full of benefits and, yes, shortcomings too that require you, momma to lean on God. The only thing that could ever make a person holier is weakness leaning on the strength of the Lord. Homeschooling can be a tool, but it’s only a tool. It is not holiness itself.

    Correct me if I am wrong, but I bet it is with the same amount of terrifying surrender that I open my lesson books and take my kids’ educations upon myself that a momma releases the hand of her child to walk onto a school campus and entrusts education for six hours a day to someone else. It all requires bravery, camaraderie, and trust in the Lord.

    I think it’s easy to compare. We stand and watch from a limited outside perspective and torment ourselves with our skewed imaginings of other’s lives. We do things like brush over pastor’s wives or homeschoolers or teachers with whatever idealistic notion we might have attached to that role. We play judge, and we play it horribly. But truth is, we are all just moms. Flawed, struggling, and finding ourselves holding our breath when we look at the child that was once a tiny baby fresh and new… and aching and proud over how much that child has grown and changed and wondering where the time went. We see the talents and the struggles, the gem under the rough surface. We love big and hard, and we love so much it hurts to our very core. And we fear how we might fail. We are moms, walking with fear and trembling. We struggle with releasing our kids to the Lord, with trusting. And we struggle with holding on to our kids who in so many ways never stop wriggling from our grasp. We are moms who need to know we all walk with a limp and the only way to walk whole is to lean on Jesus.

    I am standing here humbly, telling you, sister, that I am cheering you on… and in however you are deciding to educate your kids. I am encouraging you to press into the One who molds and shapes, yes, every one of those imperfections. And, this girl? Well, I have certainly not arrived and will not cease to need encouragement until the day my heart is truly Home.



    By Grace,


    Amanda Conquers



    Sharing in this lovely community

    Things August Taught Me

    It's been a while! And I miss you all. So I thought I would put on my comfy jammie pants, sit down with my piece of chocolate and share all the things I've learned last month, some random and some profound, as though you were sitting here curled up on the couch with me, talking like friends. (By the way, all that means my writing is comfy too... i.e. barely edited.)

    Okay, August, here's what you taught me:

    1. This summer has been busy. I thought that those years when the little ones are just starting to walk and they are into everything were the busy years. You know, where you feel like you can't ever actually do anything because your toddler might climb up on a table, figure out the child safety lock lid on the Nyquil bottle and proceed to pour the entire bottle down their front all in the time it takes you to pee (not that I would know anything about this, ahem). Like so many other things related to parenting, I thought wrong. Right now, we are brimming on the "soccer years," you know, music theater lessons, midweek kids club at church, soccer practice, soccer games, friends, extra classes and I am now beginning to fully understand why moms of older kids refer to their cars as taxis. Yes. My kids are potty-trained and relatively independent when it comes to playing with toys and brushing teeth... but my kids keep me busy nevertheless. Parenting changes over the years, but I am not so sure it ever gets any less difficult or busy.


    2. Somewhere in my mind I think I imagined kids went from eating like picky two year olds to ravenous teenagers sometime in their preteens. And here is yet another thing about parenthood I imagined incorrectly. I used to be able to plan my meals and do one big shopping trip a week. I don't know when it started happening, but it feels like everyday I am either going to the grocery store or talking about how I need to go to the grocery store. Budget aside, I cannot keep up with my kids' appetites. They eat SO much and SO many times a day. I want to ask if this is what the teen years look like, but I am fairly certain this is only a glimpse. *sigh*

    3. Mike is rarely able to make it to church with us because of his work schedule. I have been seeking the Lord, desiring to a place where we can live out our faith before our kids, a place to share what life in Christ means to us, to grow and learn as a family. I came across this devotion. I loved how truth is not watered down but it's presented in a way my kids can grasp it and Mike and I can be spurred on in our faith too. I love how opportunity for discussion is woven through it and how there is a simple activity we can do (or not do) to further demonstrate the topic. I also love that it doesn't take too long (Hi. I have squirmy kids. You too?). Two weeks in a row we have managed to set aside one night for family night. We eat a good home-cooked meal. We look each other in the eyes and talk about life. We do a devotion. We pray. Then we eat dessert and some other family activity (movie, walk, board games, legos...) It's so simple, it only happens once a week, but it just means so much. Game. Changer.


    4. At the end of July, I took the kids with me while I ran errands at Target. Petsmart was next door having pet adoption day. We call Petsmart the "free zoo" and I am not above bribing my kids to behave in Target with a trip to the "free zoo." This trip always comes with the following pep talk: "We are not getting anything. No pets are coming home with us. We can only stay so long, so when I say it's time to go, you don't cry, you say, 'Yes, mom'." On this particular trip though, I walked by another standard issue dog cage and saw a puppy with big brown eyes, ginormous ears, brindle coat and spotted feet. When I said "Hi," she nuzzled me and licked my hand. Maybe it was the fact that I was still grieving the miscarriage, maybe it was the ears and the puppy-dog eyes, but I threw my own peptalk aside. I couldn't leave without that puppy. We brought her home and named her Pepper. She has already chewed through every pair of shoes my son owns save but one pair I am currently guarding with my life. I gained another "child" to potty train, and, so help me, if she pees on my brand new carpet one more time, I will scream. If you would have told me that one day I would grow up and have a dog that would sleep in my kids' beds I would have told you, "That's impossible, I'm not much of a pet person." Somehow our hearts and our home have expanded and made room for this big-eared pepper-coated puppy. She's become apart of this family, and we kinda love her. Perhaps, what I have learned is that when you are grieving a loss, pet adoption day should be avoided at all cost... then again, perhaps, I learned exactly the opposite.



    5. Minivans are magical. No really. Stow and go seating, two back rows so kids can be kept out of punch/pinch/poke/slap/tickle range from each other, doors that slide open at the push of a button and do not bang into another car when a rough-and-tumble three year old determines he is opening his own door and without help thankyouverymuch... They're magical, I tell ya. My car from college completely bit the dust a few weeks back and now I get to experience the magic for myself.

    6. The car I just mentioned that died... it died the same week I was pulling together my homeschool stuff for the year, the same week I was knee-deep in ribbon and doilies and L M Montgomery quotes for my sister's bridal shower that week, when, between homeschool curriculum and a bridal shower, it felt like I was all of a sudden hemorrhaging money and had zero time to car shop or have the what-is-best-for-our-family-and-budget talk with my husband... Is it just me, or do cars always die those weeks?

    7. We are into our fourth week of homeschool. This year, I decided to establish a good routine. I now wake up, make coffee and a good breakfast, I eat my breakfast away from the kids (well, most mornings anyways), and read my Bible and pray. Homeschool only starts when Momma is caffeinated and fed, spiritually and physically. This has been a game changer. For whatever reason, last year I just couldn't find my groove, at least not consistently. This year, I am placing the greatest value in my priorities on inviting Jesus into my day and starting well. I am also placing value on routine and homeschooling and it's meant being consistent and saying no to some things I wish I could say yes to. But you know, I am loving homeschool this year...LOVING it. My kids are loving homeschool this year. It just kinda feels like I am doing exactly what God is asking me to do in this season.


    Favorites from my kitchen last month:
    PW’s Sloppy Joes. Confession: I had never eaten a sloppy joe in my whole life till my sister tried this recipe and swore it was amazing. It is yummy, easy and kid-friendly, which is pretty much the trifold holy grail of family cooking. I make it without any tabasco and pepper flakes because I have spicy-food-hating kids, but I definitely add those in after the munchkins are served. I do not hate spicy food.
    Cooking Light’s Jerk Chicken and Stuffed Mini Bell peppers. Another confession: I love this recipe's homemade jerk, it's worth the time to chop and blend those ingredients. BUT between homeschool and my husband's schedule requiring an early dinner, I just don't have that time right now. I have been using a McCormick Jerk seasoning mix and a tub of chive cream cheese spread with a little sour cream and cilantro mixed in. We eat the chicken, the peppers, and a heap of broccoli and our tummies feel warm and happy and guiltfree... with about 15 minutes of work. Hallelujah.


    I am hoping to get the chance to sit down with you all again. I feel chock-full of words and encouragement. Until then, would you share with me one thing you learned in the month of August? Or maybe share a recipe you've been into? I'd love to hear from you! (I'd also love some fresh dinner ideas **wink wink**)



    By Grace,
    Amanda Conquers

    The Thing About Fire


    I wanted to get away. I needed to get away. 

    My husband saw this, and took me to the foot of Sierra-Nevadas for a short retreat.

    I was eager to hike something, anything. So before we even checked into our room, we found a nearby trail.

    When we stepped out of our car doors, it felt like we were walking into a furnace. It was hot. 105 degrees. We took our last long drink of water and headed to the trail. We just planned to do a quick hike so it didn’t seem necessary to carry anything.

    As we walked and the trail led downward, I came across an astonishing tree, beautiful and a little bit strange in a place that was all conifers and manzanitas, rocks and red earth. The madrone. It stood twisting toward the sun, relishing the heat. The sun scorched its bark so that it curled away from the tree like ribbon on a perfect birthday package. It shed layers of black bark, then red, revealing a silvery-green underlayer that was smooth and glassy like butter touching heat.


    I found one perfect ringlet. A curly-cued piece of red bark that looked like it could have been a curl off Shirley Temple’s head. I wondered at it. How and why? Such a strange piece of beauty.


    We walked on from the stunning madrone and found that the grade kept getting steeper and steeper. The trail was full of loose rocks, and our knees hurt from the steadying.

    I kept waiting for this moment: a grand vista, a majestic waterfall, something that made the hike seem worthwhile. It never happened though. The trail ended at a crowded watering hole. It might have been pretty if every rock formation and inch of water wasn’t covered with loud people and floatation devices.  We headed back up the trail disappointed.

    Now, one of the unchangeable laws of hiking is that if at some point you walk down, you will eventually have to walk back up. Another one of those laws is that downhill is always much easier than uphill. (Can I get an amen?!)

    Sometimes I tell people, “I am a delicate flower. I just wilt in the sun.” I say this with a southern belle accent, eyelids fluttering, full of jest… but it’s true. As I climbed back up that hill, I had a moment. My heart seemed to have relocated to my throat, I could feel it pounding making my airways feel small and tight. My saliva got thick. I felt like I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. Panic rose in my heart. Then little black stars in my eyes’ peripheral appeared, the kind you see when black out is imminent.

    My legs went weak, and I let my husband steady me with his arms.

    And then I cried.

    First, it was just a few tears that I quickly wiped away. Then the tears flowed, too many, too fast to stop them from sliding down my neck. My shoulders crumbled as though I had been carrying a sack of cement that I just let tumble off my back. I was trying not to cry, but I just couldn’t help it.

    Mike pulled me away from his chest just slightly so he could try to read what was wrong on my face.

    I was worried he thought I was a big sissy-la-la girl. “I’m not crying because I am hot and miserable. I mean I am hot and miserable, and I feel like I can’t do this, but it’s not why I am crying.” It all came out in jumbled sobs. I am not even sure Mike understood what I said. “It’s just… I’m crying because…” I stopped short. I couldn’t get it out.

    Mike gave me this gentle look. “I know, Amanda. It’s why we are up here.”

    We took a lot of stops on the hike back to the car. I drew deep breaths, slowed my racing heart, and I cried… a lot.

    This miscarriage, it’s made me angry beyond words. When I sit in church and hear songs of God’s awesomeness, I can feel the rift in my heart. 


    I think of Abraham walking Isaac up the mountain. God asked Abraham to do the inconceivable. I wonder at the questions that might have burned in Abraham’s mind and how he kept putting one foot in front of the other. I wonder if he felt anger as he gathered stones, then sticks, then bound Isaac’s hands and feet. Did he want to scream at God?: “You promised this son! He is my blessing and my miracle and you want him back?! I thought you gave him to me with the promise of descendants as numerous as the stars. How are you going to pull that one off, God?!”

    When you read it in the Bible, it only indicates that Abraham obeyed.

    The passage repeats this phrase twice: "So the two walked on together." Two together, just walking on. The Promise and the Promised side by side. I can't fathom the bravery and the trust in each step Abraham took. He didn't tell Isaac to go back or to hide, Abraham just kept walking forward knowing he was headed to the place where he would lay Isaac down. You read it, and you just know, Abraham would have followed God anywhere.

    I struggle with that kind of trust.

    I walked up a mountain and cried because life is hard and our refinement comes in the scorch of fire. I really am a big sissy-la-la, and I want it easy. And I certainly don’t want to lose.

    Eventually that hike led us back by the madrone tree. I knew it was that tree by the perfect curly-cue. The piece of wonder and gratitude that I marked when it was easy was the same marker that pointed to home when it was hard. I think of Ann and 1000 Gifts, yes, the counting of gifts always points us Home.

    I discovered in researching the madrone that they actually thrive in fire. Their wood is hardy and slow-burning. The conifer overstory is cleared out for a season, giving the madrone time to revel in unadulterated sunshine. Their seeds take root and flourish in the aftermath of fire. A madrone is so desperate for sunshine that they twist their way upward, rarely a perfect vertical, desiring to live in the most amount of sunshine as possible. They even can sacrifice a shaded branch... just so the tree gets the most sun. I think God wants us like the madrone. Desperate Son-seekers, coming out of fire better, stonger, reproductive, giving God everything. And God, He is able to work miracles even in the scorching heat, turning our dark layers into something beautiful… something that one could stop and marvel at and mark the way to Home.


    Before Abraham departed from his servants, he told them, “I am going to the mountain to worship.” That word strikes me. Worship. He could have said anything else: rock-collecting, nature-observing, father-son bonding… Abraham said worship.

    Abraham obeyed waiting for the moment when God would redeem the hardest, bravest, craziest thing he had ever done. Worship chooses God over understanding. Worship trusts God. Worship walks into the unknown with fear and trembling, one foot in front of the other, grasping the hand of Jesus.

    With knife in the air, a clinched and fearful son bound before Abraham, and the realization sinking in that God really does demand everything (EVERYthing), God stops Abraham and points him to the bleating ram caught in the thicket. At the 11th hour and right on time, God revealed His plan for abundant redemption.

    Abraham marks the place. If he’d had a smartphone, he would have taken a poetic picture of a smoking altar and hashtagged it: #GodProvides.

    There are places in my life marked where God has revealed Himself. They are my madrone tree curly-cues; so perfect and timely that one could only describe them as abundant. My husband’s job—Redeemer. A place to live—Good Provider. The times He’s closed doors and opened doors—Loving Shepherd. The times when I held my tongue and God moved on my behalf—Just Judge.

    The pain of these miscarriages? Well, I am walking one foot in front of the other carrying them to the altar.

    I am waiting for God to reveal His plan for abundant redemption.





    By Grace,

    Amanda Conquers


    Bible Reference: The story of Abraham can be found in Genesis 22.