On Friday we braved the snow and slush and went to Seattle Children’s Hospital for another neurologist appointment for Sage. It was the first appointment we had about her microcephaly where the doctor didn’t say, “well, it could be nothing…” the neurologist we saw was thorough, asking a lot of questions and spending a lot of time looking at Sage, checking her reflexes and movements. He was straight forward and clear, telling us that he definitely saw enough to concern him. He told us that her head is now 2.8 deviations and that since her weight and height are on the growth chart it’s called disproportionate microcephaly. He recommended an MRI, saying that it was the best place to start figuring out what is going on and would give us some direction.

And then it happened… He told us he thought we should start having someone work with her and getting her some early therapy. Then he gave us a packet for “children with special needs” It made my head spin…”special needs” I knew Sage had microcephaly. I knew there was a chance that she would have some delays, and although I knew that label was a possibility I hadn’t really imagined it or truly thought of my child as having special needs until that moment.

It was like a reality check for me.

Suddenly I was reminded of when I took a class in college on Teaching Children with Special Needs. I remember feeling convinced during that class, with an irrational intuition, that I was going to have a child with special needs. And I remember begging God to not let that happen. Now I look at Sage and I can’t imagine asking God that I wouldn’t have her and can’t imagine having any other child. But, I still wish I knew for certain that she would be able to live a completely full functioning, “normal” life. But, I knew in that moment that wasn’t a certainty I could have. It may yet turn out that way, but there’s enough concerns that I have to come to terms with the fact that it might not.

I sat there a minute a little stunned still by the term “special needs”.

I couldn’t deny it anymore. I couldn’t justify the fact that she hasn’t met her milestones. I couldn’t keep holding on to the “well, it could be nothing” statements.

All along I have sort of known this was coming. I knew something wasn’t normal. Not in the way you know that two plus two equals four but with an intuitive sort of knowing.

When she was six weeks old I had a vivid dream within a dream where things kept threatening Sage and I had to fight for her and protect her. At the most vivid part I saw a number of wasps and hornets stinging Sage. I woke up still in the dream and preceded to dream that everything that had happened in the dream within a dream was happening in real life. It was after having this dream that I knew we had to schedule Sage’s first well visit with the pediatrician.

Maybe it’s bad for me to say it but I’m glad that we didn’t go in earlier, glad that we had those two months of ignorance, to just be with Sage, bond with her and get to know her. Being able to bond with her without the uncertainties of microcephaly hanging over our head was precious and I’m grateful for it.

But, as we sat with the neurologist I knew that the time of denial was over. It was time for a new season. Time to grow up and face my new reality. Time to do the research. Time to make the phone calls. Time to get the help. Time to do whatever we can to make sure that my special little girl can have the best life possible.

On February 2nd Sage will have an MRI of her head and spine. It will be under general anesthesia. If you pray, pray for her safety, pray that we get the best possible answers, pray that we are able to get the results back quickly (as it is right now our follow up with neurology isn’t able to be scheduled until April – we don’t want to wait that long) and pray that we have no problem getting the MRI pre-approved with our insurance.

Rejoicing in the journey,
Bethany Stedman

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Our pediatrician recommended blood tests and an MRI to try and determine the cause and extent of the issue. So far the blood work has all come back normal and we have yet to do the MRI. We’ve also seen a neurologist and been referred to a geneticist. As we’ve learned a little more though, it seems likely that we will never know a cause or, in advance, how it might effect her. It also seems likely that she will have some developmental delays of some sort. They could be mild delays or severe delays, they may show up right away or not for a while, and at this point it seems we have no way of knowing.

I honestly feel weird writing about it, since I don’t feel like we really know anything. All we really know is that she’s measuring at 2.4 deviations and that there’s a good chance she will have some developmental delays, although there’s also a chance she could grow up without any noticeable delays at all. We just don’t know.

In some ways I’ve been really thankful that we found this out right in the middle of a move, when there’s lots to do and not much opportunity to stop and think. The little research I’ve been able to do has made me realize that maybe its better for my psyche if I don’t do any at all. It’s hard to feel so helpless, though, and to live with this constant unknown.

I love my little girl so much. We bonded so much more quickly than I did with my son. I look at her and my heart melts. I can’t imagine my life without her and have already sort of forgotten what life was like before she was born. I want her to have a wonderful and full life. I don’t want her quality of life to be diminished because of this. I don’t want her life to be more difficult because of this. It breaks my heart to think of all of the what-ifs and how this may affect her over time.

And then she locks eyes with me and smiles and I know that whatever comes we are going to be ok. My beautiful little girl will always be my beautiful little girl. And I feel ready to face whatever comes, together, as a family.

Rejoicing in the journey –
Bethany Stedman

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I felt weak, scared and tired. I didn’t feel like “one tough mamma.” Shell kept saying, “you’re so strong.” But, I didn’t believe her, I couldn’t believe her. I didn’t feel strong. I felt weak, in fact I felt all of the weaknesses and inadequacies that I’d wrestled with ever since becoming a mother two years ago come rushing over me. I felt like I couldn’t do it… and so I couldn’t. I didn’t really want to push her out. I was scared of feeling “that pain” again. I was scared of bleeding too much (as I had with Thaddeus). I was scared that she would be just as difficult as Thad was and scared that I wouldn’t be able to handle having two kids. I was scared that the pain was going to continue forever and just wanted it to be over, but I didn’t want to go through the only door that would make the pain stop.

Finally, I muttered out something about feeling discouraged. Shell decided to do an internal to see what was going on. I remember her putting her fingers against my coccyx on the inside and telling me that was where the baby needed to go, that I needed to push the baby into that space. I knew she was right and I tried to do what she was asking, but it was a half hearted attempt. As soon as she had touched that area I was flooded with the muscle memory of Thad’s birth, I remembered that spot and the pain it took to push Thad past it (Thad had gotten stuck at my coccyx since it hadn’t moved out of the way like it should have, Shell had to pull it out of the way and we are pretty sure I either broke or bruised it during that labor). The memory of that felt so tangible and I couldn’t bring myself to push past it.

It was at this point that Shell suggested we do something she called “the rotisserie” and took a moment to describe it to us. Basically the laboring women lays on her back for a contraction or two pushing her lower back into the floor then turns to lay on her side with her top leg bent and bottom leg relatively stretched out for a contraction or two and then on hands and knees for a contraction or two and then on the other side for a contraction or two and then back to her back for a contraction or two.

We did two rotations this way. I have never known pain like that. It was beyond intense, it was unbearable. I remember kind of hating Shell in that moment for making me do this. Normally I deal with contractions with a fair amount of movement so having to be in one position the whole contraction was excruciating and the fact that most of those positions were not comfortable positions for me made it extra hard.

During my last rotation Shell turned the water on in the bath and started filling it up, I can’t really explain the feeling I felt when I heard that tub turn on. On the one hand I was sort of ecstatic thinking that the end of the rotisserie must be soon and imagining how nice the water would feel. I spent almost all of my labor with Thad in the tub and felt such relief from that. Earlier in labor the tub had come up – I think my sister asked if I was going to use it – and I hesitated and didn’t really know how to answer. Shell said something about how it seemed I wanted to see which came first if I reached my breaking point or if the baby came. I remember thinking she was exactly right.

As I did that rotisserie and heard the tub filling up I knew I had reached my breaking point and it was time for the tub – really I felt like I had reached my breaking point long before this and was just so far past the breaking point as to be completely desperate by this time. I was also angry as the tub filled up though, because I just wanted to get in it right then, and Shell asked me to do another set on my back and on my side – I remember feeling really angry in that moment. I didn’t want to do any more. I wanted to get in the tub. I didn’t think I was capable of doing any more – I was already broken into pieces, there wasn’t any strength left. But, then I did it. When I thought that I was completely unable to, when I thought I had no strength left, when I thought I was already broken as far as I could be…I did it. I broke more. And even without strength I pressed through…screamed through, but made it.

When I finally got in the tub it was such a relief, but things were still moving pretty fast and intense. I remember the water felt like it was really cold to me, even though Shell and Bryan kept telling me that it was plenty warm. I shivered and turned on the hot anyway.

By this point I really wanted it over. I pushed a bit in the tub, but quickly felt like I had to pooh. I got out and went to the toilet. I poohed a little and worked through a contraction on the toilet and then it hit… My bottom split open – or at least that’s what it felt like. I jumped off the toilet and cried out “she’s coming!” Bryan had just then gone to get me more water, so Shell hollered for him to come back and he was there a second later. It was then that I really started to push.

I reached up to feel the head as I had with Thaddeus. It felt so different, so smooth, I was a little freaked out at first. It wasn’t until later that I realized what I was feeling wasn’t exactly the head – it was the head still wrapped in the membranes since my waters hadn’t broken yet.

I squatted in a sort of half kneeling half squatting position and pushed, Shell and Bryan pushed in on my hips from either side. I pushed more. There was a popping feeling and sound as my waters broke. It was 3:22am. I pushed more and reached down (Shell said I actually pushed her hands out of the way, but I don’t totally remember that) what I do remember is Bryan and I together catching our beautiful little girl. She was born at 3:25am on labor day, September 5th. She had her hand up by her ear and her chin tilted up instead of tucked down, which explained some of why the pain had been so intense.

I laid her down on the floor in front of me and waited a minute or two till I was feeling like I was back in my body and ready to pick her up. I held her for a moment, but felt pretty shaky and laid her back down in front of me as Shell gave me a shot of pitocin (we had decided to do pitocin right away after the birth since we had some concerns about hemorrhaging). Shell also gave me a drink of Chinese herbs after the shot.

After the cord had stopped pulsating we cut the cord. I remember asking Shell about waiting till I delivered the placenta and having her tell me with a little bit of urgency in her voice that she wanted to get it cut and me laying down. She showed me the cord then and it had clearly stopped pulsating so Bryan went ahead and cut it. Shell then had me lay down with the baby on my chest/belly. Bryan and Shell both kept telling me to look at them and keep my eyes open, which I remember being really annoyed with because I thought I felt fine… just tired. I remember thinking, “It’s all over now so why can’t I just rest for a second?” I also remember feeling a lot of pressure from the placenta and feeling so relieved when it was delivered. Shell said something about it coming out a different way from normal, something about how placentas coming out that way are more commonly low laying in the uterus.

Bryan was asking me what song was playing on the playlist, it was A Thankful Heart, which was the first song that had played from the playlist back at the beginning of my labor. He kept telling me to keep my eyes open and I still felt annoyed. By this point I couldn’t stop shaking, which is not uncommon for women after birth. Shell gave me some oxygen and kept asking “are you with us? Bethany! Look at me.” I guess I must have looked much worse than I felt.

Shell checked me out and told us my bleeding was really light (a big relief), she also told us I didn’t need any stitches (of course that was also a relief). I think she checked my heart rate and blood pressure as well and all was normal. She told us that physically I was perfectly fine. Nothing was wrong with me. But, she and Bryan still seemed worried about me and wouldn’t let me close my eyes. For the next little bit they seemed to focus on keeping me from passing out. Bryan brought me a couple of spoonfuls of raw honey and that seemed to really help. Once I started to feel a bit better I really wanted to sit up since my back hurt and I still felt pressure while laying on it.

I sat up, leaning against the bathroom cabinets and held Sage. It was the first time I really truly looked at her. Bryan sat next to me and we both just stared at her. It was a really sweet moment for all of us and I was glad that we were able to enjoy that time for a little while. I nursed Sage a little, but she wasn’t all that interested. I remember Shell telling us that the song that had been playing when Sage was born was “Hey Jude” – I hadn’t even noticed.

After a bit, Shell took Sage to look her over and weight her. It was about then that Brie came in carrying Thaddeus. Thad cuddled up to me and together, with Bryan next to us, we all watched as Shell checked Sage out.

She weighed 5 pounds 15 ounces and was 18.5 inches long. Shell guessed by her reflexes and size that she was actually about 38.5 weeks gestation (we had already been speculating that my original estimated due date was wrong and this confirmed it). She was a tiny little one, but healthy and strong with the most beautiful rudy coloring.

After Shell was done I got cleaned up and crawled into bed with Sage. Shell took a short nap before checking us out again and heading home to get some rest. Bryan got Thad breakfast and played with him. And thus began our very long first day as a family of four.

Rejoicing in the journey -
Bethany Stedman

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I remember crying at the library. I checked email on the ipad while there and I got a really sweet and encouraging message from my friend, Melissa. In a moment when I was feeling especially discouraged about still being pregnant (I was a week past my estimated due date) she told me she was proud of me and wrote this “So today, instead of saying when is this baby going to get here?! I want you to say ‘I am one tough mama, I can handle this!! I can be patient for nature. Not everyone does this and I am proud of myself for waiting it out!!’ and give yourself a nice pat on the back. Or just pat your belly if that is easier.” It made me smile and then cry. And it made me feel a little better too. Little did I know how much I would need to hear, and remember her words that I was one tough momma in the hours to come.

My labor really got started Sunday evening around 6pm. I’d been having contractions steadily all afternoon, but they weren’t really labor contractions, they were just the same tightening feeling that I’d been having since I was about 20 weeks pregnant. But, around 6pm things changed, these contractions were different, they felt like labor. Suddenly as I felt them I remembered, really remembered, my first birth in a whole new way.

I continued having regular labor contractions as I made dinner and put Thaddeus to bed. When a contraction would hit I’d just lean over against the counter and do what I needed to do to deal with it and then go back to making dinner. We had a broccoli and green bean pasta for dinner. Bryan and I split a beer and toasted to the baby being born soon.

Dealing with the contractions got a little harder while putting Thad to sleep as they got more intense while I was nursing him. Thankfully he fell asleep quickly and I only had to work through two or three contractions while putting him to bed.

After Thad was asleep we called our midwife, Shell, and gave her a heads up about what was going on. Then I had some chocolate crème brûlée that my dad had made the night before and we tried to watch some tv. That didn’t last long.

It was getting later and things were moving along well so we started getting some stuff ready – moving birth supplies into the bedroom, changing the sheets on the bed, etc. We put on the playlist of songs I had made for the birth and danced our way through a few contractions. Shell called back to see how things were going and told us she was on her way. We called my sister and asked her to come be with Thad in case he woke up. We texted my mom (since we knew she was up any way because of the time difference in Cebu) and I sent off a quick email to some close friends who had agreed to pray with me throughout the last few weeks of pregnancy.

When Shell got here she started setting up her stuff, and helped me through a few contractions. Then we all moved out into the kitchen. Shell had one of dad’s crème brûlée’s and a coffee. Bryan and I had some tea and we all just sat and talked in-between contractions. Shell shared stories with us that made us laugh. (She really should write her memoirs some day – I know I would love to read that!)

Soon Brie arrived and joined us for a crème brûlée of her own and plenty of her own energy and talkativeness. The contractions at this point were difficult but manageable and Shell kept saying “I think you’ll be surprised. I think your farther along then you think you are.” which was of course an encouraging thing to hear.

After everyone had finished their desert and drinks we moved back into the bedroom and Shell did an internal exam – more for the opportunity to turn the baby since she was still posterior than to find out how dilated I was, but it was encouraging when she told us that my cervix was dilated to a five on it’s own but could easily stretch to an eight. My sister asked something about how much longer Shell thought it would be and Shell said something to the extent of it being up to me, that my cervix wasn’t really the issue, and it would quickly open and stretch as it needed to once I was ready and about how it was going to be more about me being ready and not afraid to push…or something like that. It was getting harder for me to concentrate at this point.

After I was checked Brie and Bryan started laying down the plastic floor covering stuff that we got to protect the carpet (my dad was worried we’d ruin the carpet in his bathroom again, like we had when my son was born). The stuff we got this time had adhesive on one side so it actually stuck to the carpet and didn’t slide around. It worked really well. My sister got really into the job of covering the carpet and even made a little “run way” from where I was laboring on the floor in the bedroom to the bathroom. It even had an arrow in the middle made out of duct tape. We all got a little chuckle out of it.

It was nice to laugh during labor – my labor with Thaddeus had been really, intense and heavy and even contemplative. Up to this point in my labor with Sage things were much lighter, more relaxed, and I felt much more present and grounded.

Once we moved into the bathroom with everything all set up I hit what I’m going to call the peeing stage of my labor. By this point the baby was very low in my pelvis and putting a lot of pressure on my bladder. For a while this was the pattern that was my reality – have a contraction, go to the toilet and pee, come back out, feel thirsty and have something to drink, have another contraction, get up again to pee, again have something to drink. It went on like this with me peeing about every two minutes for quite a while.

Then things slowed down a bit. I remember my sister asking numerous times “what are we waiting for?” and looking at her phone. I remember her asking Shell how much longer she thought it would be and how far along she thought I was now. I didn’t realize it at first but her anxiety and desire for it to be over started rubbing off on me. I was the one who really wanted it to be over, I was the one working through the pain every few minutes! My stress level rose.

I remember telling them that I felt a lot of pressure (which isn’t surprising since the baby was very low by now) and that I kind of wanted to push but didn’t really feel ready. Shell told me if I wanted to push I could try and that if I wasn’t ready it wouldn’t really do anything. For the next few contractions I pushed. Shell listened to the babies heart rate, which sounded great. The pushing felt nice with the contractions, but it didn’t really do anything.

I started to feel discouraged as Brie asked again “what are we waiting for”. There started to be longer distances between contractions. I remember during a particularly long break between contractions I thought to myself “you need to ask brie to leave” it was clear as day and I knew it was what I needed for everything to pick back up again. But I wrestled with telling her for what felt like a mini-eternity. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, I knew she had said she really wanted to be at the birth. I had planned on having her video the birth and take pictures (as long as Thad didn’t wake up), since I was always a little sad that I didn’t have video/pictures of Thad’s birth. Would brie take it the wrong way, or would she understand? I struggled with these things for a while, but I knew I had to ask her to leave. So, I asked her to go, and she did, and pretty much immediately things picked up again.

…. check back tomorrow for the rest of the story…

Rejoicing in the journey -
Bethany Stedman

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The whole six months leading up to my wedding my parents kept telling me that “something is going to go wrong, you just need to roll with the punches.” You’d think they were paranoid I was going to go all psycho on them by how often they told me this. I guess they know me. I have a tendency to be a bit high strung and type-A and a bit of a perfectionist. I can be pretty bossy at times and especially when I was younger I had a temper to match my first-born reputation. Funnily enough I must have taken their advice to heart, or let my husband’s laid back personality rub off on me, because I think I was really calm for the six months of planning the wedding and during our Italy wedding trip. I had a few things that I really wanted – like something besides wedding cake for desert, and a good photographer, and I pushed for those things, but other than that I pretty much said whatever and let things just happen.

I decided early on that I didn’t want to be bridezilla. I didn’t want to make my bridesmaids and everyone else do and wear a bunch of things that that didn’t want to and I didn’t want to spend more than was necessary (I mean we did go to Italy, but other than that I wanted the wedding itself to be very simple). So, I let my bridesmaids each pick their own dress and I just gave them a few requirements so that they would all look good standing together. Basically I told them the dresses had to be black and had to be about knee length and that I didn’t want any of them to have exactly the same neck-line. It worked perfectly. They each choose dresses that flattered their body, that they liked and were able to wear again.

For flowers I was pretty picky about my bouquet (I wanted to have a lot of the same flowers that were in my mothers bouquet and I wanted to use some flowers that had positive traditional meanings/symbolism). But, I kept it simple and easy with the bridesmaids and had them each just carry a single long stemmed white rose. We didn’t have center pieces on the table, I didn’t pick place settings. And I let my dad pick out the menu and food for the evening.

I did sort of get in bossy take charge mode when it came to the rehearsal. I guess the director/choreographer side of me came out. And I did have one minor melt down the day of the wedding. You see the place where we were staying had three balconies. We had planned on having the ceremony on the top balcony since it had the nicest view and then doing the reception on the second balcony since it had this beautiful 900 year old tree that I thought would be lovely to eat and dance under. The day of the wedding the chef said that he wouldn’t carry the food down the stairs to the second balcony and we would have to have the reception on the first balcony. I’ll admit I did panic a little. We had to scramble to re-plan things and move the chairs and tables and we didn’t have time to rehearse the ceremony again – hence why the music for the me entering didn’t last long enough for the longer walk down the aisle on the second balcony. My dad and I ended up walking the last bit of the aisle in silence. But, really in the end I am SO glad that we switched it around. It ended up being so beautiful to get married under the giant tree and having the reception up above was perfect too. It was really how we should have planned it all along.

There were a few other little things that didn’t go quite how I wanted them – like I should have maybe been more specific in picking out our vows since I’d really wanted the old fashioned traditional “in sickness and in health, till death us do part” vows and I guess wasn’t clear enough about that with our pastor (my wonderful brother-in-law). I also didn’t realize that the photographer would want to take some more pictures after the ceremony, which I hadn’t really wanted, but it worked out fine in the end.

There are also things that I sort of wish I had done differently now. Like at the time I was uncompromising about the fact that I didn’t want posed pictures and I specifically picked a photographer who didn’t do posed pictures. Now I sort of wish we had a few nice posed one’s with some of the family. Yes, mom, you were right.

But, overall it really was the best wedding I could have ever imagined. And in the end I got to leave married to the man I love more than anyone else in the world. It was perfect.

Here are a few pictures from the day:

Getting Ready

Walking down the Aisle

The View From Above

The View from Below

The View from the Front

The Reception from Above

Celebrating

Leaving with my hubby (The dress I wore leaving is the same dress my mom wore leaving her wedding)

Our Get Away Car

Rejoicing in the journey-
Bethany Stedman

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Some of my favorite memories from the week include the opera re-enactment of my husband and my relationship that my family put on, family and friends cooking together in the giant kitchen at the villa, the girls only dinner complete with marriage advice, and of course, the scavenger hunt sort of thing we did – where we paired everyone up in groups of four or so and gave people different things they had to find and buy for our anti-pasta dinner that night. When we got back to the villa everyone had made such great finds and we had a wonderful meal. My dad got different olive oils and balsamic vinegars that had been aged for different amounts of time and we had a massive olive oil and balsamic vinegar tasting – yes, it was awesome!

Probably my favorite pre-wedding festivity though was when we went to Sienna. Most of the group split up and toured around, but Bryan and I got dressed up in our wedding attire and took pictures with our very Italian photographer. It was one of the only times all week where Bryan and I really felt like we got a chance to actually talk. I felt like we got tojust wander around the city and talk and kiss and the photographer took our picture as we went. I’m sure that he gave us much more direction than that, but it felt like it was just the two of us for so much of the day.

Something else really special about that day was that it happened to be the day after the famous horse races in Sienna, so there were flags and parades everywhere honoring the winning family. The main square was still filled with mud from the races and there were still bleachers set up off to the side. We hadn’t known about the races or planned on any of that, but it ended up being really fun and creating a fun background for some of the pictures. We followed the parade to the end and even got our picture taken with the owner of the winning horse – that picture was in the paper the next day! So, we even got to be semi-famous in Italy.

I also loved my bachelorette party. I had the best bride’s maids ever! All six of them are just the coolest ladies ever and we had such a blast talking and giggling and playing truth or dare. There was of course some drinking, and lots of dessert, and even a little skinny dipping in the pool. It was so much fun to just relax with my girls before all the wedding festivities began.

The great thing about having a week with all the wedding guests doing all these things together was that by the end of the week everyone was so comfortable with each other. A lot of people had known each other before the week began, but there were also a lot of people who didn’t. By the end of the week it felt like we were all family. Because of that at the wedding there wasn’t much “his” side and “her” side separation. We’d all gotten to know each other. It really felt like throughout the week Bryan’s friends and family became my friends and family and my friends and family became his friends and family.

Having a weeklong celebration also meant that well… we got a week long celebration! Instead of feeling like we put in all this planning for ONE party we got to feel like the party just kept going. We got to work up to the wedding, each day celebrating a little more until the big event at the end. I liked that. It really made it last and made it all the more special.

Well, that’s the week leading up to my wedding… up next: the ceremony and reception.

Rejoicing in the journey-
Bethany Stedman

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It was a Saturday and after a busy week of school and work we had planned to have a long day just the two of us. We decided to go to a movie and then to a wine and chocolate tasting at Whole Foods. We had an enjoyable time at the movie and an even more enjoyable time at the wine tasting. After trying some chocolate and wine we decided we weren’t quite ready to head back to Bryan’s parents, where we had plans for dinner. Bryan suggested going down to the Kirkland waterfront and walking by the water a little while. I quickly vetoed that since it was cold and raining (it was February in Seattle after all). I suggested we just walk around Whole Foods for a while more, which is what we did.

We got a gelato and wondered through the store looking at various items, talking casually about food and our future. It was the weekend before Valentine’s day so as we walked we snacked on some candy hearts. Bryan had them all in a bag in his pocket and would pick them out and hand them to me. We’d read the little saying on the top and respond by giggling, or smiling or stealing quick kisses. I remember feeling incredible happy and content.

On the way out Bryan bought me a single rose. THEN we were walking to the car and just as we reached the car and he opened the door for me he handed me another candy heart, this one said “Marry Me”. I was NOT amused. I turned and looked at him with a seriously-how-could-you-tease-me-about-that look on my face only to find that he was getting on his knee and pulling out a ring. I am pretty sure I screamed and kissed him. He says I never actually said yes, but I am pretty sure it was somewhere in that scream.

We got in the car and I instantly started calling my parents, and family and friends. I had gotten about half way through the calls, when we got to Bryan’s parents house. Little did I know that most of my family and friends were already inside. I walked in to find my parents and sister and a number of other people who are near and dear to me. Bryan had planned the whole thing. Poor guy had planned on proposing at the waterfront, but when I vetoed that he needed to come up with another plan as the date came to a close he knew he had to ask before we got back to the house so he did it in the parking lot. We laugh now about the fact that we got engaged in the Whole Foods parking lot (and about the fact that Whole Foods was the only place I went when I was in labor and one of the first places I took my son after he was born – I might like that place a little too much).

The party at Bryan’s parents was perfect. It was good food and great people and we all just talked and dreamed about wedding plans the whole time. That night the girls and I stayed in a hotel room together and had some great girl time dreaming about colors and flowers and other wedding things. The next day we all had brunch together back at Bryan’s parents house and there was a lot more wedding discussion. By the end of brunch we’d all agreed that the wedding would be at a villa in Italy.

Well, that’s how we got engaged. I like thinking back on that story – thanks for letting me reminisce.

If you are married, how did you get engaged? I’d love to hear your story.

Rejoicing in the journey -
Bethany Stedman

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When I was seven my family moved to New Jersey. Every summer we would come back to California to visit family and we would rent a beach house for a week along the cost. Bryan’s family would always come visit us at the beach house and I have many memories of looking for crabs with him or building sand castles with his sister. But, he was always “my little brothers friend.” And most of the time I ignored him.

Just before junior High my family moved to Arizona and Bryan’s family moved to Seattle. Bryan’s family came to visit us in Arizona soon after we moved there, but after that we didn’t see each other for a very long time (I think about 6 years). Our mom’s would get together occasionally and we would get Christmas cards from each other’s family, but nothing more. I would have NEVER imagined that I would one day marry the scrawny dark-haired boy in those Christmas cards.

The summer after my freshman year of college Bryan and his family and a few of his friends happened to be in California at the same time that my family and I were visiting there. So, we all got together. I remember my sister and some friends and I going to coffee with him and his friends that night and talking for a long time. I don’t really remember what we talked about, but Bryan has sense told me that whatever it was we talked about he really liked how passionate I was about it and he was really intrigued by me. I on the other hand was at a stage in my life when I was pretty angry with all men and didn’t think twice about Bryan, with his long hair and baggy clothes. Thankfully God worked on me a lot and by the time Bryan and I saw each other again I was a much more gracious and open person.

When my sister got married Bryan came with his mom and his sister and stayed with my family the whole week before to help my mom with all the preparations and festivities. After years of being family friends, my sister’s wedding is when we finally became friends in our own right. We stayed up late almost every night the week of the wedding, talking and laughing and sharing stories. When he left to go back to Seattle I remember being honestly very sad to see him go.

About a week after he left I was at dinner with my parents and my dad made some comment about how a guy we knew would be a good match for me, I said something to the extent of, “I see myself with someone more like Bryan Stedman.”

A month later I was talking my cousin and a friend into driving to Seattle with me for a road trip. We spent New Year’s in Seattle. While we were there Bryan kissed me… and the rest is history… (or at least another blog post – hehe).

Rejoicing in the journey -
Bethany Stedman

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My memories of elementary school include things like a field trip to make bagels at a bakery, and going to see Plymouth Rock and walking on a recreation of the May Flower, following deer tracks through the forest, copying scripture, painting a world globe on a pumpkin, doing math problems with my dad in the kitchen, and reading tons of books, but especially Lewis, Tolkien and George MacDonald. Yes, you guessed it. I was homeschooled. And I loved it. Well, that is I loved it until I hated it…and then loved it again.

I loved homeschooling when we were doing it, but when I started going to school again in six grade I found the transition incredibly difficult. It was a private Christian school and they were pretty adapt at working with homeschooling families. But, it was still hard for me. I’m naturally very introverted anyway and the transition from learning in a free atmosphere with close family and occasionally close friends who also homeschooled to being in a big school setting with lots of people I didn’t know – well, it was a bit of a shock to my system. I withdrew a lot and sort of hid into myself for most of that first year. Eventually a few other girls really drew me out and befriended me and before I knew it I was doing great and loving school once again. But, throughout most of junior high and early high school there was a part of me that resented my parents for homeschooling.

I felt like they had put me at a disadvantage socially and like it was their fault that I had such a difficult time transitioning into a social school setting. I resented the fact that it was easier for me to socialize with people twice my age then it was to socialize with my peers. I think there have even been times in my life when I have used the fact that I was homeschooled as an excuse for my own fears and insecurities when it came to meeting new people. Thankfully, I eventually realized that my difficulties meeting new people weren’t my parents fault or the fault of homeschooling. My parents had given my siblings and I lots of opportunities to socialize and in homeschooling us they had give us other gifts that were invaluable for our development and overall success in life.

Now that I’m older (and hopefully more mature) I love the fact that I was homeschooled. I love that the schooling I received was truly unique for my needs. I love the fact that the schooling I received instilled in me so many of my current values. I love that it enabled me to see so much and experience so much from a very young age. In fact, when the time comes to put my son in school I will seriously consider homeschooling him because overall I have such positive feelings toward my own experience. I am so grateful now that my parents homeschooled me and I know now as a parent myself the sacrifice that it involved for them.

I’m also thankful that they put me into a Christian school for junior high and High School. Once I settled in I had an amazing experience there. Especially by the time High School came around, I felt like I fit in there. I had close friends, and knew everyone in my class. I was involved in nearly everything. I felt like I had a place and a purpose there and I loved that feeling. I had a very positive high school experience and I’m so grateful for the education I had.

But, I did go to a private Christian school, and as anyone who has been through that can tell you, there are definitely some negatives associated with Christian schooling. I lived in a bubble for high school – it was a bubble I loved, but it was a bubble that would inevitably be broken and I for one did not take the braking very well.

When I graduated high school my parents had only one requirement: I had to go out of state for college and I had to live on-campus. Going away and living on campus was something they never really experienced and I think they thought it would be really important for my siblings and I. In some ways they were right, going away was incredible significant for me, but it was also one of the most difficult things I’ve ever been through.

I went to a university where I didn’t know anyone and suddenly I felt like I was in six grade all over again. That first year in college really shook me. It shook my faith, my health, and pretty much everything I believed about the world and my place in this world. Now I am so grateful that I went through it, but at the time it felt like a long nightmare.

After the first year I moved home and changed schools. After that I went to three different universities and took classes at three different community colleges. I changed majors three times – from Theatre to Education to my final major of History. I think in some ways during that time I was searching for some place to belong, some place where I fit, a community I could call home. I never really found it in school again, like I had in high school.

In the end I finished my bachelors degree in four years with an above average GPA and I was so glad to be done with it. I felt completely relieved to be finished with school, which I had started to hate by the end (28 credits a semester might have contributed to that).

Sometimes I wonder what it was all for. All the stress, all the rush to finish, all the money spent. For what? So, that I could get married, run off to Europe, have a child and do work that in no way utilizes or requires the degree that I received. Other days I’m grateful for the experiences that pressing through allowed me to have. I’m proud of the fact that I’m the only one in my immediate family with a college degree. And I’m thankful for the experience getting a degree gave me. My dad used to tell me that getting a degree wasn’t so much about the information you learned or what degree you got as it was about the process and how that process shaped you. Now I know he was right.

So, what is your education story? If you were homeschooled how do you feel about that now? If you have a college degree do you use it? Are you glad that you have it even if you don’t use it?

Rejoicing in the journey -
Bethany Stedman

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So, that’s a little bit of my parents and the background I was born into, but what’s my story…well…

I “accepted Christ” when I was 5 years old because they had talked about hell at church. I remember sitting at the top of the stairs with my mom and praying “the sinner’s prayer”. I was terrified of going to hell and my decision to accept Christ was based almost solely on that fear. The fear of hell then haunted me for years; I remember asking Jesus into my heart nearly every night for most of my childhood.

In 8^th grade my mom baptized me in a friend’s pool. That was the beginning of what I could call the “God years”. High school was for me a time when I deeply pursued God and felt his presence. I was involved in everything and would spend long hours praying and reading scripture. I was good – I did my devotionals, I obeyed my parents, I didn’t party, I got good grades. Looking back I can recognize that in many ways I thought I could earn my way into God’s favor and out of hell.

It wasn’t until freshman year of college that things started to really fall apart and I had what could classically be called a “crisis of faith”. I think I had always carried a lot of doubt and questions in my mind and heart when it came to God, but there were some things that happened during this time in my life that really brought those questions to the forefront. Suddenly nothing seemed solid and God didn’t seem to fit in the nice neat box I had been told (and had believed) He should fit in.

There are a lot of things that eventually lead to the quieting of those questions (notice I said quieting and not resolving). I think one of the most significant things that brought me through that time in my life were a handful of very dear friends. God surrounded me with people who weren’t afraid to let me really dig into the questions. He brought people into my life, who really listened to me, and spoke truth to me and were willing to share their own struggles with God. I don’t think I had ever before that time seen someone honestly and authentically struggle with God and that made my own struggle seem so terrifying. But, in a few close friends in particular I saw people who struggled openly with God, and people who loved God desperately even while they struggled with him. And that gave me incredible freedom to wrestle with God myself.

This was also when I first began to realize that the narratives and theologies that I had grown up with weren’t the only Christian answers to the questions. I became to discover that Christians had answered theological questions differently throughout history and there was not a consistent theological narrative like I had always thought. But, I also began to see that even with all the diversity in the church throughout history God was still clearly at work and His spirit was clearly moving among his people.

It was also around this time that I began blogging and reading blogs and I discovered that there were other people out there were in the same boat I was in. Knowing that others were asking the same questions, wrestling with God and with his church, was incredibly freeing for me. Knowing that others were also re-thinking what it really means to be a Christian, to walk with Jesus, to love Him and love people was incredibly encouraging to me.

Eventually I came to a place where I could love God for Himself and not what I thought he was or should be. Eventually I came to a place where I could choose to follow him even if I didn’t understand him. Since then God and I have been on a wild journey of discovery. He continues to take me inward, allowing me to ask all the difficult questions that arise in my soul, allowing me to live the questions, and walking through them with me.

There is still so much farther I have to walk with God. He is still so unknown to me. There are still places of my heart that I keep hidden. There are still questions that I haven’t found answers for. There are still places of brokenness in my soul that need to be healed. There are still sins in my life that need to be washed. There are still journeys God and I need to take.

So, I just keep walking, clinging to faith and trusting that God walks beside me.

Rejoicing in the journey -
Bethany Stedman

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