Confessions of a Crazy Lady.

So, a few nights ago, the wicked witch came into my room and waved her wand over my head, sprinkled some crazy juice into my mouth and BAM! I turned into a 5 year old smack dab in the middle of a tantrum.

At least, that is my excuse. Really, I was just a 28 year old full grown woman ACTING like a 5 year old in the middle of a tantrum. And there was no wicked witch to blame. That outburst was all me.

I even said this to my husband, "I don't like you." I mean, let's all point to the girl in the room who needs a nap. Could I have said anything more embarrassing? I don't like you.... I have heard more 4 year olds proclaim that to their mommy's under their breath because their mom wasn't going to cut their pb&j sandwich in half. I almost wish I would have said something worse or more mean...at least it would have meant I was beyond the stage of bedtime pull-ups.

Marriage is difficult...and when you have to deal with baby Steph, it can also be exhausting, I am sure. Marriage is the most rewarding thing, but can be the most frustrating thing at the same time. And, when I get to the bottom of my issues with it, I come to this super annoying conclusion.

I want my husband to do for me what I am not doing for him.

On my drive to work yesterday morning, for some reason, I was picturing myself on a bike ride. And my tire popped. Because I filled it up too much, of course (SIDE NOTE - I am petrified of filling anything up with air for fear of it exploding in my face).  I pictured myself calling Scott and making him drive 20 minutes to come get me and my deflated tire.

And, he totally did it.

Then, as I was marvelling at story-time Scott's quickness to come to my rescue, I thought of what my reaction would have been if his tire had popped on his lovely bike ride.

And, in the middle of watching an Oprah re-run...in my comfy pants and messy hair bun...snacking on dried fruit...ok, oreos...I would answer his call for help...and if I am honest...

be completely annoyed that I had to interupt my uber important activities to go get him.

And OUCH. My daydream instantly became my own personal Dr Phil show.

I am selfish.  Crap.  I mean, really selfish.  I remember hearing Gordy Smith say during a Marriage Matters class that marriage is NOT 50/50. It is each person giving 100. And, man, I struggle with that.

As much as I see marriage as a partnership, I fail to see it as something that I give 100% to no matter what. I want more than I am willing to give. It's not like I keep a tally in my head of how many times I have made him dinner compared to how many times he has or anything like that. That kind of stuff doesn't bother me. But, if I were completely and embarrassingly honest, I spend more time focusing on what he isn't being for me emotionally than what I am not being for him.

I am quick to let him know where he is failing on the emotional attentiveness scale. But, the second he tells me something that bothers him, I have a hard time shutting up and taking it in without thinking of valid reasons as to why I did what I did.

I heard a line in a movie the other night that hit me kind of hard. The wife asked the husband why he did something (that he soo didnt enjoy but she enjoyed)....and he said, "because it matters to you".

And of course, my first thought was, "THERE SCOTT! See?? You should compliment me and my post-baby body that I am not proud of to make me feel better about myself...not because it is true...but, because that matters to me!!! And also, please, for the love of God, TAKE ME TO A MUSICAL!"

When, I should have thought "Steph, even though you don't understand why it is so important to turn every light off in the room when you leave it or close every cabinet door when you are done...do it. Because it matters to your husband. And also, please, for the love of God, stop asking him to TAKE YOU TO A MUSICAL!"

There are a lot of things in life that seem like a constant battle...trusting God with my life and path...believing the best in people...choosing other's needs before your own...

What I am learning though, is it seems like a constant battle...because it IS. And I can't run from it. I can't spend my days imagining and skipping through the fields with a basketfull of flowers and jellybeans.

But, also, I can't go through my days thinking that my marriage could be better if my husband were better. My marriage will be better when I, again, shut up and take inventory of my own crap and start working that stuff out.

Man, for someone who loves to talk, I feel like a lot of my lessons lately have started with the phrase, "shut up..."

This could be a problem for a girl who uses all 297,879 words a day. Plus some.

Ripples.

I will post about our labor and delivery experience soon..but, I HAD to write this story down before the details got foggy on me.

This morning, a lady walked into our room (Scott was picking up our pooches, so wasn't around) and introduced herself. She is the nurse supervisor at Swedes...I thought she was just going to ask about my experience, so I waited for her to start.

"This is going to sound really strange..."

ok, good opener Ms. Supervisor...Could have been a little stronger, but hey....Im not the boss.

But, it got better, and less weird pretty quickly.

She asked if I sang at Heartland...she just wanted to be sure before she kept talking to me... I confirmed and this is what she told me (I am obviously paraphrasing because, well, I didn't have time to find a recording device of some sort, although now I am considering keeping one in my purse):

She said that four years ago, she started going to Heartland but before then, she grew up Jewish..so she was new to Christianity...something that she didn't really understand was hearing God's voice..and it was something that she never experienced.

Then, two years ago, she saw a video that I did at Heartland sharing our story...and this is what God clearly told her while she watched the video:

That girl will have a baby and she will deliver at your hospital and you will be working that day to tell her this when she has her baby.

She didn't know my name...my last name...if I would even go to Swedes or when the heck we would or if we would even try for another baby. But, she said that she found out my first name and for the last two years, whenever a Stephanie has come in and delivered, she would check to see if it was me.

Finally, three weeks ago, when I stayed overnight, she saw my name...and saw me...found out what my last name was and knew that this little whisper that God gave her two years ago was about to happen...

So, yesterday. Two years after hearing God's voice and wondering if what she heard was really Him....He confirmed to HER that He does speak directly to us. A 2 year faith journey where he used our story but didn't even involve us in the details because this part of our story was not for us, but for HER. Think about that for a second. It. Is. So. Incredible.

We both cried. I jokingly asked her why the heck she waited to tell me this information. But, I get it. God used little Emara in a way that is so indirect to build someone's faith in Him and bring glory to Him.

The more I think about what happened in that conversation, the more filled with gratitude I am and the more amazed I am at the complexity of our stories intertwined and the simplicity of God's goodness.

More to come later...like I said, I just HAD to write that down.

Like a Man.

My voice, that is. Expecially when I wake up.

Somehow, in the night, little tiny elves sneak into my throat...create an Adam's apple, all the while scratching and stepping all over my vocal cords...decide against the Adam's apple, remove it and scurry away before daybreak.

This is the only way I can explain how I go to bed with a female tone and wake up sounding like Jack Nicholson. Well, the only reasonable explanation.

But, no matter how manly I sound on the phone in the morning and how surprised you may be to find out you are talking to a Stephanie and not a Stefan...I am all woman.

And being a woman, there is a little bit of territory that I have conquered that I am not proud of. I may just be a little bit of a tiny smidge of an eency weency tadbit of a...One Upper.

I HATE to admit it. In fact, it is one of my largest pet peeves about people. But, Scott and I were talking last night and he was telling my about his observation about some woman, especially now that I am pregnant.

He said, "I think some woman just like to hear themselves talk."

Now, at first, I wanted to throw my oven roasted chicken and potatoes with steamed broccoli at him (oh yes...I cooked that...from scratch...had to throw that in there since this is a once a month accomplishment) and spend the next 10 minutes telling him why I thought he was wrong and give 17 examples of how I am not like that. But, I stopped myself...barely... And said, "go on..."

And he told me that since I have been pregnant, he has noticed that so many ladies ask me how I am doing and before I am done answering, they begin their next phrase with "When I was pregnant...." and THEN I answer with a "Oh, I know! Now back to my pregnancy..." And THEY respond with a " I so get that! When I was 6 months along...." and I say "Yeah, at my 24 week appointment..." And they say, "I remember my doctor telling me...." And so on...both talking about our own experience...hardly taking in the other's experience...

You get my jist. And as much as I hate to admit it. I do like to hear myself talk. And sometimes, when I listen to someone else's story, I am already thinking about my past experience and am bursting at the seams to share it with them.

ometimes, I am not even listening to what is being said because I am just waiting for someone to take a breath so I can start my topic....about my experience...me...me...me...

Well crap Scott. As annoyed as I wanted to be and as much as I wanted to walk away thinking how great I am at listening and really taking in someone else's story without interjecting my own details, I couldnt.

The truth is. I need to remember that conversation with people doesnt have to and really shouldn't turn into Stephanie's storytime. And when someone talks about their wedding...or their birth story...or their horrible boss...or their dilemma with a friend...or their dogs... I should really just listen. And listen. And listen. Period.

Unless, Scott asks me what we talked about...then, I can say, "Oh, this happened to her...remember when this happened to me???" Baby steps people.

Anyways, the lessons are being learned everyday. And my lesson for the week is to remember that the art of conversation has little to do with me. So, maybe, just maybe, I should do something that I hate hearing people say.

Just. Shut. My. Pretty. Little. Sometimes. Manly. Sounding. Mouth.

a simple thank you...

I have this gift. I am super talented at it as I have spent years honing my skill. I am really really good at going to the store and buying awesome thank you cards. I mean, I can pick them. And then, what's even better, is I am really good at is getting them out to write thank you notes to people. I mean, I am a star at putting their names on the inside of the card and writing their name on the envelope. And most of the time, I can write a wicked heartfelt thank you inside the card.

But, where my talent has been mastered? Is in the department of NOT sending the cards off. I mean, if anyone is better at finishing a thank you card but never letting it leave your desk at home, I dare you to come forward. I can easily whip out a good 25 cards that are just sitting in the thank you boxes ready to go.

I would normally be proud of any talent that I can scrounge up seeing as I am married to Scott 'talent seeps out of my perfectly moisturized and never smelly skin' Zibell, but this one? Not so much.

All of that to say, I have been incredibly blessed. I feel as though my life has been a broken record for the last few years and frankly, I am surprised how many people have stayed so supportive and encouraging to me during the whole time. You would think after a year or two of it, they would steer clear of calling me, but no, the calls never ceased. And sometimes, you just need to stop and take a minute and tell them how much they mean to you.

Leah, my sis - you have never stopped acknowledging my three little ones as your nieces and nephews and though it seems like a really small token...it has been one of the most special things for me. Because even though they arent here, it hasnt made them any less family to you and because of that, it has kept them even closer to my heart. You have been a rock of support for me. It is a gift that I treasure.

Jess and Tom - Your phone calls, prayers, text messages, listening ears... Scott and I couldn't ask for better friends... You are way more than our vacation buddies... You are family. Jess, you know the saying "steel wrapped in velvet"? Well, you are velvet wrapped in steel.. The softest heart with the fiestiest mouth... My favorite thing about you.

Amy - 20 years of friendship. I can't tell you how many times I heard you say, "I'm so sorry..I don't know what to say". And I can't tell you how much those words meant to me. You are always honest and always sincere. Plus, you are pretty hilarious and just as self-depricating as me, so that always makes for a memorable time...one that somehow always gets photographed.

Calley - I feel like I have known you my whole life. You are the epitome of what a true friend looks like. You give more of yourself and so wholeheartedly. I am so fiercely protective of you and it's because I have seen how incredible your heart is. I can't count the times I have said to Scott, "She has no idea how much I have needed her friendship". And I dont think you ever will.
My small group girls, Linds, Ahndea, Theresa, Leah and Leah (and Brit!) - You are each a God-send. You have let me be so honest and so raw with my feelings. You have taken me out, let me stay in, brought me dinner, prayed your hearts out for me. You have cried with me and celebrated with me. Linds, running with you has been healing. Ahndea, singing with you has been freeing. Theresa, talking with you has been calming. You all have been God's hand extended when we wanted nothing to do with Him. And even though your words have been loud, your actions have been louder. I don't know how I would have gotten through these past few years without any of you.
Ashley, Jen, Paula, Cheryl, Sharon and Linda... For an entire year, I have been surrounded by your prayers and words of encouragement. God has used each of you to inject me with hope and faith and confidence in His goodness. I have saved every single email. I hope that I can be to someone else what you all have been to me...because it has literally changed my life.
There are many more that I am going to thank in future posts, but I have run out of lunch break time, so I have to get back to the grind....
I'll be back.

Babies and Believing.

Sorry folks, some of you may want to say it was for you, but this past week was all for me. Sure, your child may have taken their first steps or you got the promotion you wanted or you finally got your bangs to look more like Kim Kardashian's and less like this guys:


Even still, this week was all mine.
I got a card from a dear friend. A friend who has seemingly accidently but very intentionally been placed in my life...via facebook. I know, thanks Zuckerberg. I read the card she took the time to write me and as quickly as I read it, my heart began a transformation.
{thank you Jill. your words were so much more than a pen meeting paper. and they brought more healing and hope into my heart than I could ever explain to you}
Then, I spent all week listening to a song that just wrecked me. I mean, every time I listened to it, I cried. Take a listen sometime, its called "Healing is in Your Hands"..cheesy title...amazing song.
All of that to say, this week...has been a week where my heart has started to view hope a little differently.
I am in no way a victim and in no way will ever play that role. But, these last three years have brought Scott and I more bad news than good...more heartache than joy...from losing our babies to sinking like crazy under a mound of medical debt...from unwanted job changes to unwanted partial home owners...from blood diseases to missing kidneys. It has been a road that has left us feeling bruised and broken and exhausted.
BUT. We both have confidently walked through each circumstance believing that God is good. And that we will be ok. Yes, it has sucked...beyond words, at times. Yes, we have both given in to vices at times...but, we always believed that God was good and that we would be ok.
See, my struggle has not been with accepting that bad things can happen in this broken world. My struggle is accepting that good things can happen in this broken world.
I have grown accustomed to saying that the story that God is writing for our lives is far more beautiful than the one we could ever write... but, the beauty has come through seeing His hope and grace through our pain. Not because the story itself is necessarily beautiful.
I say all of this to say. I want to meet this child that is moving and growing inside of me. I want to call him or her my son or daughter when I introduce them to people. I want to think about their future. I want to picture myself holding them the day they are born. I want to do the baby shower thing and the nursery thing and the molding my stomach in that strange paper mache cast thing.
But, I am scared to death to do that. I fall asleep at night and dream about having to deliver my child stillbirth and hold a funeral at our church and come home to an empty nursery. I take pictures of my growing belly wondering if this is the last picture I will be taking. I tell friends how excited I am and know in my heart that most of my words are to appease them and not me.
But, this week has been for me, my friends. Because I have been completely overwhelmed with the idea that God really and truly loves me. And He was the one who created me to be the little girl who walked around with dolls stuck up her shirt pretending to be pregnant AND a piggy bank full of quarters for her future children she would adopt. He was the one who created me to want to give birth to a child and rescue my child from another place on this earth. Both desires. He gave me the strong desire for both.
And so, even though they are words that are close to impossible for me to say. I am choosing to believe today that I will meet this child. on this side of eternity. Yes, Father, this child is yours before it is mine. But, today, I am not separating those two facts.
Because, today, I believe that this child is both yours and mine.

I Can Never End On A Serious Note. You'll See.

Next week, I will be married for 6 years to Scott. And on the majority of those days, I am more than happy that I married him. On other days, I want to shout from the rooftops "DONT EVER GET MARRIED!!!!".

I know, awful right? But, I can't be the only one who is madly and deeply in love with her husband but has never felt more dislike for another human being than him at times. How is it that I can grab him and kiss him and tell him that I couldn't imagine my life without him one minute and then look at him with disdain the next?

I have used my best words on him. And my worst. I have seen the best in him. And the worst. I married a boy who is turning into a man before my eyes. And turning into more of a boy before my eyes.

I love that he plays video games with his friends. I hate that he plays video games with his friends. I love that he can so easily let things roll off of his shoulders. I hate that he can so easily let things roll off of his shoulders. I love that we are at the place where romantic adventure dates are non-existent and replaced with the ease and beauty of our routine. I hate that we are at the place where romantic adventure dates are non-existent and replaced with the ease and beauty of our routine. You get my drift...

The selfish and bratty and immature and lazy side of me HATES how much work marriage takes. How much time is spent talking and arguing and discussing and apologizing and working things out. The female side of me wants to marry a woman on a strictly platonic basis just so I can have someone who cooks with me and for me and goes to rom com's and spends hours talking and trying on eachother's clothes.

But ladies, can you IMAGINE being married to us? I mean, some days I think Scott is bad...please read above and you will see how fickle I can be! "Scott, I love that you have some good friends that you get to spend time with" to "SCOTT! WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET OFF OF THAT $#%& XBOX AND COME UPSTAIRS AND EAT DINNER WITH YOUR WIFE WHO COOKED FOR YOU AFTER A FULL DAY OF WORK AND TWO HOUR DRIVE HOME WEARING HEELS THE WHOLE TIME AND A PONYTAIL THAT HAS NOW GIVEN HER A HEADACHE"

I mean, if I thought he was bad...

And this is the strange world of marriage. Even on our darkest days, I don't want to argue with anyone else. Even during the moments where I want to throw the pasta I cooked for him AT him, I wouldn't want to picture anyone else covered in marinara and noodles. Well, maybe our dogs only because that would be a really cute picture.

In a world where I see more and more friends separating and divorcing and cheating and hurting.... I would take my disfunctional at times, hilarious at times, heartbreaking at times, crazy at times, but always honest about it marriage.

And to my friends who are in the middle of one of those marital moments...You know, the, I would rather pull my hair out one by one than have to re-hash this issue again with you type of moment..

Please keep re-hashing. And keep working. And keep fighting. And keep loving. And whether you are laughing or crying or compromising or talking or yelling or whispering or cuddling...be ALL IN.

Just be All In.

And if it gets really rough, remember, they look pretty darn good naked.

This always helps.

Go Figure.

I am meeting with a new counselor next week. Her name is Gail. I hope she is better than what I am picturing a female pychiatrist by the name of Gail to be. Let's start our time off by clearing one thing up, Gail. I do not like closing my eyes and picturing serenity. I want you to yell at me and tell me what I am doing wrong and maybe slap me across my face and shake my head in your hands and say, "Get ahold of yourself woman!!". Now that would be awesome.

I have a love/hate relationship with counseling. I have never seen counseling as a bad thing or a sign that my marriage or my life are spinning wildly out of control. In fact, I love going to counseling when life is breezy and wonderful...it's when I'm the least foggiest in my selfishness. But I hate going during the times when it is "someone else's fault" because they are always the times when I realize that it is really a lot more my fault than I care to admit. See? Love it and hate it. It's like my own personal teeth flossing session. hurts so good.

See, I love Scott. But, I have a hard time letting him be him sometimes. I married him full well knowing that he was on the quiet side and that he was uncomfortably blunt with some of his conversational comebacks, just like he knew full well that I didn't enjoy cooking. (Ok, I may not have OUTRIGHT said that, but after two years of dating and only cooking frozen pizzas and macaroni, he should have picked up the hint) And we chose to marry anyways. I knew that our car rides would more than likely be silent just like he knew that the dinner table would more than likely be empty.

Here is the problemo. He loves to eat and I love to talk.

And my personal contradiction? I want him to accept all of my flaws and yet I want him to fix all of his.

People don't end up married 35 years with absolutely no relational fruit to show for it on accident. People don't start their vows with "In sickness and in health, except when I decide to cheat on you, which I will". A mother doesnt look at her newborn and say "I can't wait for the day that I abandon you and the rest of this family to go find myself". I don't know of any couple who starts their dinner conversation with, "So, in the next ten years when you and I avoid all of the issues that we have with eachother and start just living separate lives, which bedroom do you want to end up in?"

So, off to counseling I go. Because I married a man who I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I want to enjoy the rest of my life with him. And that doesn't happen by accident. There are far too many good things about Scott that I fail to recognize because I am caught up in his flaws and far too many bad things about me that I fail to recognize because I am caught up in my own needs.

Plus, have you seen my guy? If the word studmuffin ever made sense to anyone, you can insert it here. The only thing I can understand about it is maybe woman who love pastries would connect with that adjective better than had it been studtabletop. I will be safe and stick with calling him Holy Heat Wave Batman. Meaning, he is fiiiiine. and delicious.. and yummy.. ok, studmuffin does make more sense now. I mean really, look at him. I could just put him in my pocket and take him out during snacktime and eat him with a spoon.

Now, I'm just plain hungry and have completely lost my train of thought.

Oh yeah. Gail. Probably has brown short hair. Hopefully she is awesome at her job. Scott. Really excited to spend my life with him. Need to invest in books on tape. Stephanie. Can't just rely on those street smarts and beauty pageant grace. Figure out why you want to control anything and everything around you while pretending like you are laid back and surfer girlish.

Oh, and buy muffin mix. Actually, just go buy a muffin. Who needs homemade?

You.

I remember asking you to write letters with me to our 3 babies when we took a trip to the Dells. And you layed there on the blanket at the park in Devil's Lake. uncomfortable. wanting to be somewhere else. not because you didn't want to acknowledge them or face what we were facing. but because you and I grieve so differently. and this was a part of my grieving and not yours. but you wrote. and you let me cry. and you folded up those letters into a little envelope and let me have them.

I remember laying on the bathroom floor during our second miscarriage completely broken. a mess. i couldnt breathe enough to calm down. and you held me. the strength that you put around me. the shirt you let me soak with my tears as you soaked mine with yours.

I remember reading an email of thanks that you sent out to our friends. you wrote with a vulnerability that i didnt have the courage to write with. your words were so raw and so humble and so honest. i remember you taking my breath away. and i remember thinking, i love this man.

I remember watching you play football when we went camping right after we lost Will. I was so angry with you for making me leave the security of our dark and sad home. I wasn't ready to look anyone in the eye. wasnt ready to smile. but, we went. and i watched you play football and caught glimpses of joy in your face. caught you laughing as you dropped a ball. caught you smiling at me with a sheepish grin when you threw a perfect spiral. you reminded me that we would be ok without saying one word.

I have seen a side to you that I'm not sure I would have seen had we not lost. I have seen a depth of sadness in your eyes. I have heard desperation in your voice. I have felt the ache of emptiness in the air around you.

But, I have seen love that I could never explain. I have seen humility that still brings me to tears. I have seen a strength that I dont even think you knew that you had. I have understood the meaning of hope.

And I have been loved. truly loved by a man who had nothing to give. and yet, still gave me everything.

I know working really hard and succeeding at work... spending time with wonderful friends and family... playing weekly softball and having game nights...going on late night dates and sleeping in.... taking our dogs to the park and enjoying the sun on vacations.... this all just fills the time for you...

Because I know that as much as you love being an uncle and a great friend and an awesome son, you just want to be a dad. And although there has been no loss lately... there has still been no gain.

And I just wanted you to know that our time will come. And in the meantime, I am really sorry that you have to wait.

I think it could be incredibly cheesy and horribly lame. But, if you could put aside the late 1990's associations with this word, I am going to ask that you would...

Because I want to tell you. that you.

are my hero. and we are going to be ok.
because I have you. and you have me.

What I Meant to Say Was...

I'm surrounded by love. Yet, I struggle accepting love.

So, when Scott looks at me and says I am sorry. And I look at him and say, I dont believe you. What I mean to say is, I dont believe that I am deserving of somebody to want to be better for me.

When I say, I want to be alone. I mean to say, I need to collapse and I don't want to bother you with my collapsing.

I am realizing more and more how hard it is for me to fully accept love from others.

I notice when I get slightly frustrated when people ask me how I am doing. And I am not frustrated with them. I am frustrated that I need them. I am frustrated that I might have to depend on someone other then myself and God.

I notice when I argue with Scott and he puts his arms around me, I stiffen. Not because I am mad at him. But, because I am trying to push the lump back down my throat and pretend like his love isn't unconditional towards me.

Something inside of me sees love and wants to run in the other direction because love means that you will be inconvenienced. And I, personally, love the inconvenience of it. The "I'm coming over to your house" or the "I need to talk right now". I love to love others. But, I am very uncomfortable with someone, especially Scott at times, loving me. Someone being inconvenienced for me.

I am an independent woman and I have always taken great pride in that. But, the more and more I search, I am seeing that much of my independence is a guard. It keeps you, my family, my friends, my husband from having to take care of me.

It keeps you from having to take care of me. man, there it is. I am afraid that if I ask, you won't want to.

As embarrassing and humiliating as it is for me to even think it. When I say, I'm fine. I'll be fine. I don't need anything. I'm 27 and can take care of myself. I'll get through it. People have it much worse, etc...

What I mean to say is, I want someone to take care of me and I'm afraid that you won't want to.