Hot Mess Express

I've been trying to write the last chapter of my book for 8 months now. We are in another flipping "season" and it's got me searching for the ending.

In honor of keeping one toe on the crazy train and the other 9 firmly planted on the word of God, snippets from chapters 2-3. {I know the sweet Lord above wants both feet planted on the rock, I only speak figuratively friends. *Steps off crazy train platform wearing hot mess t-shirt and last weeks pajama pants*}

Chapter Two: Seasons

Seas-on: /noun/ each of the four divisions of the year (spring, summer, autumn, and winter) marked by particular weather patterns and daylight hours, resulting from the earth's changing position with regard to the sun.

And also: a period when a female mammal is ready to mate. There’s that.

By July 2015, I should have been familiar with *seasons*. You’d think I would have figured out a thing or two about how to just keep swimming and how to just be the vessel God called me to be.

Here’s the thing about Grace. It’s always teaching you something. It will always be teaching you something. You just have to be still long enough to hear it whispering over you.

Grace. It teaches you.

How to be a warrior. How to be strong. How to be graceful. How to appear graceful when you are falling apart. 

Undeserved, unmerited, unearned. Favor. A temporary reprieve. Grace.

We have that definition written on a chalkboard in our kitchen. I’m surprised frankly that our house even has a kitchen. We only have it because it came with the rest of the place. Lord knows it’s not because I have the first clue on how to COOK. On the surface the pretty little sign excuses me from being the domestic diva that simply does not reside in my inner soul. It excuses me when Husband comes home and dinner isn’t on the table. Or even on my mind for that matter.

Grace. We say it before we eat {Take out. From a box. Or a container. Us Davises aren’t picky when it comes to take out}. But it is SO much more than just that. It’s a way of life. It reminds me who’s I am. It reminds me that we can do hard things. It reminds me of where I came from. And where I am going.

The best thing? It reminds me that I cannot earn it. I am a Type A perfectionist kind of girl. I drive myself batty. I gaze lovingly at Type B’s, awe-inspired of their lack of Type A-ness. Then I kick my own tush. Because that’s what us Type A-ers do. We kick our own butts. I love that I cannot work my fannie off and have more Grace. Or snooze through my alarm clock and have less of it. It is mighty. It is forgiving. It carries me. 

You will find that it is easy to express outward grace and gratitude when things are going your way. When things are easy-peasy and the sun is shining on your little red wagon. What never ceases to amaze me, is people who exude these entities even in the face of adversity. I am thankful for the people in my life who, by their own spirit, remind me to be grateful. And graceful. These sweet friends remind me that nothing in this world is to be taken for granted. Nothing.

An old Chinese proverbs reminds us: "When eating bamboo sprouts, remember the man who planted them".

How often do we focus on the bamboo sprouts in our life and fail to remember the man who planted them? I believe that the man who planted the bamboo sprouts deserves our utmost. I believe that sometimes we allow ourselves to become consumed with our bamboo sprouts and fail to offer up praises of gratitude.

So in remembrance and honor of the Farmer who has blessed, and continues to bless, us each and every day, stop in your carefully planned, neatly organized Type A tracks (or your lackadaisical Type B amble, whateves) and whisper up a prayer of thankfulness.

When you are in one of those *seasons*, those moments where you feel like you are suffocating and you can’t find your way out of a shoebox, let alone out of a dark season, I urge you to cling to Grace. Call out to it. Ask it to carry you. As you cling to Grace, you will undoubtedly draw nearer to the one who gives it. The almighty sovereign God who knows each and every season of your life before you get knocked upside the head with them. Press on grace-clad warriors.

Chapter Three: Hobby Lobby

Ho-bby Lo-bby: /noun/ a place to purchase plastic Easter eggs while pushing miniature buggies and listening to instrumental hymns.

A few short months after Husband aaaaaacidentally tried to go through security at Hartsfield Jackson International Airport with a loaded handgun in his backpack while flying out of town on a business trip, I jotted down a few things.

I was eleven months pregnant. No twelve. I was actually twelve months pregnant. Only it was our first pregnancy, the one where we gazed at each other and I tee-teed on a pregnancy stick and the words “you’re pregnant” danced majestically across the sky in a dazzling display of fireworks. Our first pregnancy. The one before the cancer diagnosis. And the chemo. And the fertility nightmare where I grew 3 chin hairs and had to pluck them religiously to keep from going bat-shit crazy. That pregnancy. The first one. The one before we lost the baby girl to Turner Syndrome after not going bat-shit crazy from the fertility treatments. #winning

Nonetheless, we were in the middle of sort of what you might call a little bit of a *season*.

I made a habit that particular season of jotting down my God Wink moments. You know, those sweet, good, and wholesome moments that make up for all of the chaotic ones that try to steal your joy?

-------

January 21, 2010

·         My belly button no longer exists.

·         If you drive too far into the garage you will, in fact, cause damage to nearby items.

·         Lawyers, like cloth diapers, are expensive.

·         Bonefish Grill makes for fabulous take-out.

·         Limiting caffeine increases hunger and ragefulness.

·         Children you once babysat will indeed grow up and go off to college one day. When that day comes, you will feel old.

·         Failing to use a level or laser light will result in crooked wall hangings. It's inevitable.

·         Husbands do not appreciate monogrammed onesies and personalized monthiversary outfits to the same degree that wives do. No amount of enthusiasm and shrieking will make up for the bewildered look they give when you confess your purchases of the day.

·         Attempting to use your bath robe belt as a rope to lift yourself from the bathtub will not prove successful. Repeated attempts will resemble the first.

·         God is capable of more than we can imagine or ask for.

My God-Wink journal sometimes had side notes.

Like the “Top 10 Reasons Why I Love Hobby Lobby”:

{I shall choose to count down because, well, that adds to the suspense and drama surrounding such an invigorating topic.}

10. Storefront located precisely 200 yards from Zaxby's drive-thru. Entirely too convenient to partake in fried pickles and sweet tea on any given excursion.
9. Aisles upon aisles of large plastic Valentines Day decor (i.e. enormous dancing winking heart) and also jumbo bags of colored plastic Easter eggs.
8. Closed on Sundays. Just as you find yourself in need of a distraction from a sudden intense Chick-fil-a craving {like when you wake up and try to get dressed for church but you can’t focus because all you can think about is how you need a Combo Number One}, you pull in the parking lot to realize craftiness must wait until Monday.
7. Cash registers circa 1978.
6. Super cute double-pack seasonal to-do list pads. A must-have on each trip regardless of how many now clutter up the junk drawer in the kitchen. One can never have too many to-do list pads.
5. Miniature buggies.
4. Weekly 40% off printable coupon. I refuse to go without it.
3. Craftiness implosion. Projects I never needed (or wanted) to complete are inspired by simply perusing the scrap book paper aisle.
2. Festive gift-wrapping accouterments. For example: zebra print tissue and coordinating ribbon.
1. Jazzy instrumental hymns played overhead. I am often forced to add my own lyrics as I browse the wall art.

These were the things I thought of as I ran about skipping and frolicking on my Wednesdays off back during that season. When I was eleven, no twelve, months pregnant with Cooper, our first born, buying time before the accidental gun-in-my-backpack incident went to trial. To TRIAL. *Sips sweet tea. Shudders. Finds big girl panties. Marches on.*

My routine looked something like: See private speech therapy patients from 8-12. Eat yummy lunch. Take 2 hour nap. Watch approximately 3 minutes of Oprah. Turn off TV. Drink caffeinated drink (D day as of tomorrow friends). Check mail. Fake a reason to go to Target. Cook dinner (a once a week phenomenon when you work 10 hour days the other 4 days of the week). Watch trashy TV. Cuddle with Husband. Prepare for next 10 hour day. (sigh).

Life was good back then. But not near as good as it is today. Post eleventy more *seasons*. Yes, back to the phenomenon of *seasons*. Footnote. No, sidenote. No, off-topic-but-I-need-to-get it-out-there-in-an-effort-of-full-disclosure, note. I admire folks who can maintain a topic for more than seven seconds. I, as you are quickly learning, am not one of those people. Did you see that they recently said Hobby Lobby might shut their doors? Something about the right to birth control. I digress.

Seasons. Yes. Seasons. 

Update: It has taken me approximately 5 years to write this book. In that time, it has been brought to my attention that Hobby Lobby has since updated their cash registers. Digital fancy pants itemized receipts from here on out fellow crafters. But the hymns? Still no words. Just instrumentals. 

Bat Shit Crazy

Sometimes I nut up and act crazy and run around the house sneaking toys out to the recycle bin when no one is watching.  

Big Al, my OB, recently put me on birth control pills. For the first time in over 6 years I realized I am completely capable of bat shit crazy. 

I go to therapy every week. Seasons are hard y'all.  I have recruited several of my friends.  I can't decide if I am surrounded by crazy people or if I am making everyone around me crazy.   
Every week I have to talk about how I feel. Why I feel. What I feel. 

I have to look at this feelings poster and pick my feel. 

I recently asked D if she would take my picture and post it up there. Right next to "smug". D is my therapist. My sweet, sweet therapist who was hand picked straight by Jesus to be my champion during this season. Under my mugshot, snapshot, I asked her to write: Bat Shit Crazy.

Cause that's an emotion too. A feel. 

So about three weeks after Big Al put me on the pill, Coop and Finn were playing in their ginormous Lightening McQueen pop up tent. Only they weren't playing. They were acting the fool. Hoodlums all up in the playroom. Pop up tent gangsters. They would get a running start (halfway across the family room), run full speed AT the tent, man handle it, plow over it, and throw themselves into the furniture. Mama don't play hoodlum. 

So I went a little crazy.

First I winky face reminded them that we are Davises and we don't go gangster on the pop up tent. When that didn't work after three, no four tries, I nutted straight up. I went all Poltergeist on their little people selves. I wrestled the tent to the ground, karate chopped it into pieces and took it straight out to the garbage. 

Ok I didn't take it out to the garbage. Yet. But I'm going to. As soon as no one is looking. 

Having too much stuff is problematic. It makes my skin crawl and overwhelms my soul. Less is more. Less is more. 

Right after I went Poltergeist on the pop up tent, I threw my phone across the foyer in a fit of rage because auto correct kept changing the word "grace" to "grease" when I was texting my mama about my lack of it.

The struggle is real. Because sometimes you have to karate chop a pop up tent. Because I am beyond blessed to be able to be at home with my most important little people and wouldn't trade if for anything in all the whole wide world. Because sometimes I just want to face-plant on the floor and not get up from there til next week. Because it's hard. And I give the kids too many GMOs. And I didn't use cloth diapers. Or breastfeed. And I don't let Coop and Finn play with sidewalk chalk because it's chalky and dirty and gives me the eebyjibbies. Because I fail daily. 

But also because "I can do this". And you can too. This is for you warrior mamas. Bat shit crazy warrior mamas. March on.

On the subject of dry bars.

I used to wash my hair every single day. I also used to wear sassy, coordinated, and well thought-out outfits. 

I now wash my hair every two three days {if I'm lucky or have someplace other than the carpool line to go} and live in my monogrammed fleece tunic with handy side pockets. Perfect for carrying puffs and/or ninja turtles. 

So the concept of a dry bar is absolutely fascinating to me. You go there. They wash and dry and style your hair. For you. While you sit there. And read a magazine. Or stare at the wall. So why did the lady look at me so crazy when I asked if I could get a weekly pass? JK. You know I haven't gotten to check one out. Yet. 

You know what concept I adore even more than a fabulous hairdresser blowing out your hair? A Kroger or Publix employee who would sashay up to my driver side window and let me ask {beg} them to run to the far back side of the store and snag me a gallon of milk {whole, not skim- we got growing brains in this grocery-getter mommy mobile Holmes} and a box of mini muffins so I would not have to do the car seat shuffle with two babies. In the rain. And the cold. 

Would that not be a dream? If that happened, I would probably be able to go back to washing my hair. And wearing well thought out, coordinated outfits. 

To Blog or Not to Blog

It's been a long time, Between the Lines. Shoowee. I got an aching in my soul that drove me to dig through my purse {diaper bag} on my flight from ATL to Vegas Baby 3.0 and out pen to paper.

I miss writing. I really do.

I didn't abandon this little blog on purpose. It just somehow got pushed to the bottom of the list of priorities in this incredible season of joy for our little family. And also I lost brain cells with my last pregnancy. I'm sure of it because I tried to do a suduko puzzle on the plane and I honestly could not count to nine to save my life.

The girl in the seat next to me tried not to let me know she was watching me and silently mocking me but I know she was. That's ok because I was silently coveting her Chickfila Combo Number One that she magically produced from her Kate Spade bag and chowed down on mid-flight. 

Instead of sitting in front of the computer screen I sit behind board books these days. Instead of getting struck with silly thoughts to hammer out out late at night, I get struck with thoughts of diaper ointments and kindergarten registration (Wait. What? It can't be). And Letter P Show and Tell assignments. And bedtime prayers. And did we remind Coop to brush his teeth tonight?

And I could not be happier. It's in the fabric of my being. 

God has fulfilled His mighty promise to us. It was touch and go there for a while but His JOY came at just the right moment. His Grace covered us and created in us a spirit of humility that I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. 

Sneaking a way for a few days is always good for the soul. Plus you get to go to the bathroom by yourself. {Side-note: I almost did not know what to do in the airport bathroom without Coop and Finn giggling at my feet. "Mommy your booty is big" "Mama tee tee?" "Can I have a drink?" "Have you seen my nun chucks?"}. How can so much happen in 23 seconds while you just try to go to the bathroom?? 

No matter how much I wish I was there to tuck our sweet babies in tonight and whisper prayers over them, I know the value in respecting the need for purposeful, sweet time together as a couple.{Interpreted: Eating loaded chicken nachos together at 3 AM and watching back to back episodes of Shark Tank while snuggling in a giant fluffy bed.} A giant fluffy bed that I did not honor my OCD tendencies with and make up this morning when I crawled out of it. Small victories!

How could I waste time making up that silly bed when I caught a glimpse of the high powered cosmetic magnification mirror in the bathroom? I have a mustache? Why didn't someone tell me? 

I digress. 

I'm happy to be back at this little blog. If nothing else, I need to remember these musings when I am old and gray. Like how Coop calls Darth Vader "Darth Thader" and how Finley Jane carries her babies around by their heads and dances in her highchair when I sing "Ain't No Sunshine". 

No judging if my next post does not happen until 2037 though, mmkay?

"Write what should not be forgotten". ~Isabelle Allende

Joy

I've all but fallen off the blogostratosphere.

It's just that I discovered Pepperidge Farm's Shortbread Cookies so I've been busy. Eating cookies.

What an incredible season this has been for our family. I wake up praising God, fall asleep praising Him, and whisper a million prayers of gratitude and thankfulness in between.

I feel Finley Jane kick and roll and turn and dance and jab and move constantly and there's just no sweeter reminder of God's Grace.

When I decided to blog about our history of loss and infertility, I had no idea how God was going to use our story, I just knew that He had a purpose for everything, and most thankfully, that His purpose surpassed my understanding (or lack thereof). Y'all have shared unending stories with me and each time I receive an email or text or phone call, I am so incredibly humbled. My heart breaks with each and every story that is shared, but I know that God will use everything for His glory, in His time. I humbly pray for so many of you each and every day and cover you in a million prayers of Hope.

I have always tried to strive to separate joy from sorrow and sorrow from joy. In seasons of our own personal sorrow and struggle (Lord knows we've had 'em), I tried my hardest to separate that pain from the joy I felt for others. In this sweet, sweet season of joy, it is my prayer that I separate that from the sorrow I still feel for so many precious friends who are in seasons of "waiting". Because of that, I decided that y'all didn't need to read about how big my ankles have gotten or how many stretch marks I have gained or about how I still can't look at my toothbrush without hurling. Those are beautiful, precious, sacred things undoubtedly, but I just don't necessarily feel right about blogging about being pregnant this go round.

Social media floods our minds and hearts with unending images and words that we sometimes welcome and are thankful for, and sometimes are not. So I've been quietly dancing in God's grace with indescribable joy. It's all but shut "Between the Lines" down, but I feel God breathing a peace and quiet over me that I just can't disturb.

This post is for my sweet friends who are still in that tough space--the gap we call the "waiting"...I urge you to cling to the one thing that transcended both our sorrow and now, our joy: HOPE. It really does cover those dark spaces and lights the way for beautiful things yet to come.

To our precious friends and family members who have shared in our joy over the past 6 months, we just cannot thank you enough. I always go back to "shared joy is double the joy and shared sorrow is half the sorrow"--us Davises got really stellar at walking in seasons of chaos and I have to say, we could sure get used to frolicking in these sweet seasons of joy.

Much love to you all!

Think Pink!

Best beach phone call ever. Ever.

A HEALTHY baby GIRL is on the way!

We shrieked. And hand flapped. And cried. And marveled and marveled in God's goodness. While staring at the ocean. Oh, how I will treasure those moments forever.

Chris was in a condo with 6 (SIX) girls when we got the call from the perinatologist. After all the jazz hands and spirit sprinkles I think he broke into a cold sweat and said something about a shot gun. Bless him. She is already wrapped around his little finger, don't let him fool ya.

We came home and I have somehow gotten buried under a pile of burlap and lace and minky dot fabric.

What a season of absolute JOY for our little family. I almost can't get over how sweet it feels to soak up such a season.

Her name is Finley, meaning "beautiful warrior" and we just can't think of a better name to give this little sassy Sugar Britches. She is already such an incredible breath of fresh air that I just don't know what else to do but monogram and surround myself little ruffly things.

So that's just what I am doing...

Emily over at Holden's Hut had these precious burps made up within 10 minutes of us sharing our news. Sweetest things ever. Great big thank you, Emily!!

Angle of the Dangle

A few things I've learned over the past few weeks:

1. It is entirely possible to be extremely nauseous, choke down a Zofran, and somehow manage to eat a plate full of Extreme Nacho Doritos. Dipped in Ketchup.

2. God's grace and provision can wipe away our human frailty in an instant. 2 weeks ago we sashayed back down to Dr. Sermons' office, sweating *tiny* bullets, praying without ceasing to please, please, please not receive bad news and be shuffled to the consult room where the plastic vaginas stare at you as you shift in the itchy blue chairs of doom.

What we saw brought us to our knees (again).

This is where I start to flail around each time and ask if that is really our little baby on the screen.Then there was this:

Break it down Baby. Break it down. Dancing away in there. Stop the DNA tests right now. We know this one is ours.

 Mighty miracles!

3. I will in fact, spend the rest of this pregnancy nekkid. It's because there are no cute stretchy clothes. Anywhere. Any. Where.

4. If you have not become versed in the "angle of the dangle" theory (we had not), my sweet, sweet perinatologist Dr. Stone will gladly educate you on it from behind his spotfree coke bottle glasses. Bless it. LOVE that man. Loved him 3 years ago. Love him now.

We made it through round one of our genetic testing today. Again, God's grace wipes away our human frailty.

First on the agenda was to rule out any markers of Turner's Syndrome. There are none visible-PRAISE the Lord! Amongst the chatter of Trisomy this and Trisomy that, I somehow got lost in our little one's itty bitty button nose. So perfect. So. dern. cute. Could not take my eyes off of it.

In love. Head over heels.

Perfectly formed, no matter what the gazillion (unsolicited) genetic tests may reveal.

The bulk of the tests will be back in around 10 days and that's awful nice of the sweet folks at Northside and we sure do appreciate their attention to detail but to us, they make no difference. Not a one.

Well ok maybe one tiny difference. Because Turner Syndrome affects only girl babies, one of the tests will confirm "the angle of the dangle". And welp, that makes my heart a wincy bit happy.

I'm a planner y'all. And a monogrammer. Please excuse my sillyness.

"He has made everything beautiful in it's time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men, yet they cannot fathom what He has done from beginning to end". -Ecclesiastes 3:11

We are surrounded by the very best prayer warriors, friends, and family in all the world and we sure cannot thank you enough for your encouragement and kind words. Truly, great big hugs and lots of love! After several seasons of, ahem, chaos, we are soaking up His goodness and mercy, dancing in the joy this mighty blessing is bringing us. Thank you for coming along for the ride. I apologize about the Doritos and ketchup visual picture. And the nekkid comment. And the angle of the dangle offensiveness. That is all.

Cheeseball

I said I wasn't going to do any cheeseball pictures this go round. Uh uh. Nope. Sitting on the sidelines of this pregnancy rocking my sea bands and Zofran praising a God who has given us a second chance.

Then I realized that I look like a busted can of biscuits (howcanthisbewheni'velost7pounds?) and thought what the heck.

Barefoot and pregnant.

This pregnancy has been different. Way. 

I was paralyzed by fear for the first 4-5 weeks. Had to shake my sillies out and remember that I am not in control and therefore being a fraidy cat is just about as useless as trying to order meatless sushi. *I might have done that a few weeks ago.*

Once I got out of the fetal position from being paralyzed by fear, I faceplanted myself (purposefully) on the bathroom floor so I could feel the cold tiles on my cheeks. I think God has given me the gift of all-day-sickness as a blessing of reassurance. As long as I am heaving and sweating, I am reminded that I am still pregnant. It's a beautiful mess.

I feel like we are walking on Holy Ground. Borrowed Ground. God-Given Ground. That alone has made it so very different. Not that I took our previous pregnancies for granted at all, it's just I realize that this go round is an absolute gift.

My human self wants to say that we are holding our breaths and hoping for the best, but I know that's not true. God has called us to more than that. We are praising Him, trusting Him, and leaning on Him.

We've had a lot of ultrasounds this go round. 7 already. I guess that's one perk of being a fruitcake high risk gal I won't argue with one bit. Each time I stare motionless at the little black and white screen and almost can't believe it's OUR baby. Each time I flail and ask if everything is ok. Each time it absolutely has been.

We have always been given the choice of having the extra genetic screening tests and we have always declined. This go round it isn't an option. The second the fear of having lost a baby to a genetic syndrome rises up in me, I have to squash it. Squish squash. So we will take that extra visit with the perinatologist. It'll just be one more opportunity for us to praise Him.

My visit to Big Al this week is the visit that we found out we lost Ella Grace last year. I realize that normal people don't think in crazy terms like that, but for us, it will be a huge milestone and hurdle.

Praying, praying, praying for one more week of staring at that screen in awe of the great things He has done! 

We cannot thank y'all enough for your precious words of encouragement and for covering us in so many prayers. Truly, thank you from the very bottom of our hearts!

Mountains

I haven't blogged in the longest time.

It's not because I haven't had anything to say. Lord knows I've always got something to say. *Jazz hands*

It's been an act of obedience.

I've needed to be still and I've needed to wait.

And so I have.

Disclaimer- this post goes against all news breaking etiquette. All. It’s actually got me all nervous and sweaty palmed just thinking about it. It's just that when God says move, you've gotta move.

Our walk through infertility and loss has been life changing. It's honestly rocked me to the core. It has been a walk of humility, of grief, of God's amazing grace, and often times a walk of isolation. It's not that I've ever felt alone necessarily. It's just that infertility and loss somehow has a way of making you feel very small.

It is what it is y'all.

I have cried out to a God I adore more than anything. I've felt him as close as a hand on my shoulder and as far as a thousand miles away.

We've had several disheartening doctors appointments over the past 6 months. I left my OBs office a few months ago begging him to please call us if someone left a baby in a Moses basket on his front stoop. I meant it.

I went home from that appointment and stepped straight into the looney bin. I decided to ask God to let me just dream about becoming a mom again. I told Him I understood that it wasn't ever, ever going to happen but in order for me to know He was still near, I bargained for a dream. One dream.

I'm telling you, waaaay out of the Ali box.

What I received was two weeks of the most magical, amazing dreams. Vivid dreams. Spiritual dreams. Unlike anything I've ever experienced. I could almost reach out and touch God in them. And in all of them, I was pregnant.

Bear with me.

One Tuesday night I fell asleep and once again dreamed and hung out with my Jesus and my preggo belly. Wacko. I know it. Only this time the dream ended with Him speaking to me and saying "When you wake, you will know and see that I am God".

My mom was also in this dream and she told me clear as day that when I woke up I needed to take a pregnancy test. She reminded me that I am to never stop believing.

I woke up that Wednesday morning completely baffled. I knew without a doubt that I needed to drive myself to Walmart and purchase a pack of pregnancy tests. And that thought alone made me ill as a hornet. After seeing two years worth of negative pregnancy tests, the last thing I wanted was to start my day with another one.

But I went.

And I came home and obediently took a test. For the sole purpose of putting it all behind me and moving on with my day. Grumpette taking the day by storm.

Within 2.2 seconds two lines flashed across the test. TWO.

I didn't know it was even possible for TWO lines to flash across a test at our house. Bam. Bam.

I fell to my knees and began crying out to God.

Chris and I spent the day in complete awe. Somewhere in there I decided that the brand of test I took must have been faulty. So I promptly took eleventy more tests- each a different brand. Each time two magnificent lines flashed across them within seconds. Each time I again, fell to my knees.

There is absolutely no explanation for us getting pregnant other than we serve a mighty and sovereign God who never ever leaves us.

It's not about us. It's about Him and His ability to say to one mountain "get up from here and move over there".

We are humbled. We are gracious. We are down right beside ourselves. And as it should be, the glory goes to Him, the blessings rain down at the very moment He wills them to.

We are claiming Gods mercy on this baby. We are going on 8 weeks now. It’s been a bit of a rough start and we still don’t know what the outcome will be but we are clinging to God’s promise that He will complete the work He has started in us. We are praying that a hedge of protection will surround us and allow us to carry this tiny blessing. We are singing unending praises and thanking Him like never before. We are grateful for every single second, minute, and hour that we get to experience this joy. If we make it 9 weeks, we will praise Him. If we make it 9 months, we will praise Him.

Expecting. Us, the Davises. Unbelievable!

12 Stone: A Corvette Marriage. Hold tight to your knickers.

Our church, 12 Stone, has asked couples to submit "marriage breakthrough" stories as part of our current series on marriage. Because we know that God is using us (always has been), we couldn't ignore his whispers to submit our story. Only when we went to submit it, we learned that the online form has a 350 word limit. We giggled. If only we could sum this up in 350 words. 

Many of you have been our prayer warriors and our champions over the past 6+ years, and for that, we are forever grateful. Each and every one of you who has been along for this crazy ride is so very special to us.
We love you all.

Here goes nothing. Rev your engine. Hold tight to your knickers.

Our Story.


We were married on August 12, 2006.

The day was planned out perfectly. Every detail. Every single moment. The only hiccup was that a monsoon hit the tiny coastal island where we were getting married just minutes before we were to be married. As a result, we got married in the dark, pouring sweat from lack of AC in the tiny historic chapel. We danced. To a tiny boom box powered by a backup generator because the DJ couldn’t play his music due to lack of power. We ate finger sandwiches, because the resort lost power and couldn’t cook our shrimp and grits. The cake melted from the intense heat. The preacher got stuck in the elevator. The fire department came. It was an absolute disaster and it was absolutely beautiful. We danced. We smiled. And we laughed.

Our guests kept waiting for us to fall apart, but we never did. We were married, we had each other, and that was all that mattered. In that instant, God’s Grace swept over us and carried us.

Little did we know that this lesson was going to be an integral part of our marriage for the next 5-6 years.

Soon after we returned from our honeymoon, Chris got sick. Really sick. We didn’t know what was wrong. The doctors couldn’t even figure it out. In the meantime, he broke his back (Rugby players are not in fact, made of steel). During his recovery from major back surgery, his company closed. their. doors. And just like that, another tiny monsoon hit our marriage. But we laughed. We ate Raman noodles. And we laughed.

After months of unemployment, Chris landed an incredible new career with a marketing firm who represented Glock, the handgun company. He flew out for his first business trip one early Monday morning in October. He got to Hartsfield, went through security, and accidentally forgot that he was carrying a loaded handgun. In his backpack.

True Story.

Monsoon? Um, yes please. I’m telling you, we couldn’t make these things up if we tried.

Turns out “accidentally” forgetting that you have a handgun in your backpack while checking in for a business flight, does not, in fact, sit well with the TSA people. He was arrested, booked in Clayton County, and his frantic (now pregnant) wife did the only thing I knew how to do. I made two phone calls. The first to Kevin Queen, our campus pastor, the second to a good attorney.

And we laughed.

We experienced the greatest joy in all the world during those next few months. We welcomed our firstborn son, our little pistol britches, Super Coop, into this world. But not without a near death delivery experience. And we laughed.

3 weeks after Coop was born, Chris went for a routine physical. As you can imagine, at this point, we had come to realize that there was just about nothing “routine” about our sweet marriage. A week later, he was diagnosed with cancer.

We cried. We hit our knees. And we got swept away by God’s amazing grace once more.

That year was the hardest year of our marriage. Seeing Chris fight the good fight was one of the most humbling experiences I have ever had as a wife. From the second he was diagnosed, we prayed that God would be glorified. “No matter what, God, be glorified.” And He was. Oh He was.

Mid chemotherapy, Chris’ gun case went to trial. It would have been over sooner, but it had to go through the Supreme Court. Of course it did.

By the grace of God, the case was finally resolved. I watched my bald headed husband stand in that court room, chemo port and all, tears streaming from my face, and knew that God called us to be courageous. He called us to walk with Him and to make his Power known, no matter what circumstances we were dealing with.

The day before Chris’ last cancer treatment, his brother was killed instantly in an automobile accident. 2 days before his 30th birthday. Again, we hit our knees.

The next few years were quiet. For the most part. As quiet as a quiet moment is in the Davis house.

In January 2012 we discovered we were going to be parents once again. We were filled with joy, overcome with God’s grace once more. Little did we know that we would soon lose our baby girl before we would even get the chance to meet her.

Our marriage is absolutely beautiful to me. It’s not perfect. It’s not always glamorous (clearly). No matter what kind of chaos may find us (because it will), we always know that God is sovereign. We know, in our heart of hearts, that He has brought us to (and through) such extreme circumstances all to glorify Him. And that is a mighty beautiful thing.

We have never driven a Corvette. Or done donuts together. But every single time we see a roundabout, we take an extra spin…or 3...or 7.

And we laugh. Always have, always will.

“The rain came down. The streams rose. And the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. Matthew 7:25

Blog Fog

I've been in a Blog Fog.

It's been good, so good, but I sure do miss this little thing.

I had my hissyfit. I had my Come-To-Jesus moment (in Vegas, no less).

And I came home and got busy savoring every second of this sweet life. I finally let go of the "life" I had once envisioned and began to focus on the beautiful life God has called us to.

Divine. That's all I can say. I had no idea how to even begin to surrender my own human desires and to lay them down for whatever mighty plan God has for us. I finally begged him to take them away. Just take them. Everything I was holding onto, laid down at His feet. I didn't think it was possible. But with Him, anything is. Anything.

We went to the circus today.

Coop miraculously traded in his love for all things trains this week and developed a love for all things dragons. When we realized that the circus was dragon themed, we knew we had to go.

It was magical.

All 4 hours of it. 'Cept for the clowns, Coop says.

The minute we walked into the arena and saw the precious look on Coop's little face and smelled the elephants and saw the light up swords, I was transported to another place in time. I was sitting next to my big brother (who I'd still give my left arm to talk to even just one more time), crunching on my snow cone in my lion circus mug, watching the clowns climb in and out of the clown car jalopy.

My memory is a joke. I can't even remember what I ate for breakfast before we left this morning. But the very second I took in the sights of the circus, I was flooded with vivid memories. I instantly felt the urge to call my mom and dad and to thank them for giving us those sweet memories. I burst into tears realizing, now as a parent, what it means to provide special experiences to your little ones. Indescribable.

My tears came to a screeching halt the minute I realized that there was a grown man, wearing purple glitter spandex, in the middle of a cage full of lions and tigers. I could barely peep at the center ring, never mind sport glitter spanx and wave a whip around in front of hundreds of people, because, well I nearly wet my knickers all the way over in section 106, row v. Y'all.

Then the trios came out on their motorcycles. On a high wire. And flipped upside down. And then there were the Hair Hanging Wonders. Twisting and swirling WHILE they hung upside down by their pony tails, juggling. I got knocked on my tush with vertigo laying flat on my back in bed fast asleep this year, remember? These people are c.r.a.z.y. And I love them.

Question though. What on earth do they put as their "occupations" when they fill out paperwork at the doctor or when purchasing a home or a new car? "Hair twirler"? "Aeriel Artist"? I am secretly hoping one will come to CHOA so I can see just how that translates onto pen and paper.

All I want to do is wear one of those jazzy unitards and drink sweet tea from the safety of our front porch. Risk taker, I am not.

I sat there, watching Coop's little eyes sparkle and realized that it doesn't matter if you are a family of 3 or a family of 33, aabundant joy surrounds us each and every day. We just have to stop planning what we think it looks like and seek the divine joy He has set in motion for us.

Vegas 2.0

Vegas 2.0 Top Ten

We had a complete ball y'all.

I scribbled down a few of my favorites on the {acapalla-less} plane ride home last night and wanted to jot down them down here so that I will always remember the highlights of this trip. Because it was so stinkin' highlightable. Loved every second of it.

I scurried off post hissyfit, decided that God creates gaps in our lives for distinct purposes, searched for Him amongst people watching and fried pickles, and came back in a sweet, peaceful, resolute place.

Isn't that the craziest thing?

I had a come to Jesus meeting with myself and decided that I do not want to be defined [or defeated] by our struggle with infertility anymore. The struggle's not over for absolute certain, but I realized that I have missed the mark. I'm not even sure how I got here, but I know God is calling me to something greater than hissyfits thrown in the parking lot of Hobby Lobby. Remember when I recently posted that He calls us to run the race with perseverance but also with joy and humility? That thought has resonated within me for the past week and I just can't seem to shake it. What good is it to run the race {and win it}, if I don't do so with the very Grace {and gracefullness} that He has given me?

He has showered us with blessings that we once only hoped for and instead of wishing away these days, I'm going to marvel at His greatness, thank Him, and lean on Him. It's never too late to recognize all the good that He has done for us and while I guess I don't necessarily need Big Girl Panties for the occasion, I do need to take off my Control Freak under-drawers and remember that He is writing our story, not me.

Pen down. Deep breath.

So here goes, my top 10 favorite moments: 

1. Soaking in the bath...and watching tv. At the same time. Whaaat?? I did it. 3 times.

2. Plucking approximately 1589 eyebrows (that somehow do not exist in Georgia) under the glow of the 100x magnification and illumination vanity mirror. Yes. I took a picture of it. Better believe we will be Googling this for our bathroom counter at home.

3. Fried pickles at the Grand Lux.

4. Gap Curvy Jeans. Before hopping on the plane to Vegas, I had one pair of jeans. ONE. I discovered Gap's 1969 Curvy Sexy Jean, with the help of a local drag queen/Gap clerk, and haven't looked back. He also talked me into some sparkle lip gloss. Smack!

5. Speaking of all things pants, I dove head first and snatched up my very first pair of Jeggings. And only 6 years too late. No more fold-tuck-roll-stuff just to get into a pair of tall boots.

6. Frrrrozen hot chocolate. I wasn't being overly dramatic with my "r"s. They really spell it that way. I heart Serendipity's.

{We were so. stinkin. tired. this particular morning. Apparently 4am doesn't look so pretty the next day at 10am when your sippin' frohotchoc. Sigh}

7. Rock of Ages. 80's Big Hair meets Jazz Hands. Broadway's interpretation of all things spandex and Whitesnake. Love. Love. Love. I am still fist pumping and it's been 2 days.

8. Cupcake Collision. I prefer to call it Cupcake Tsunami. Holy chocolate. A close second to frrrrrozen hot choc at Serendipity's.

9. Remote control roman shades. I'm serious. How much fun are those bad boys and where on earth can I order them in Atlanta?!

10. Falling in love with my sweet husband all over again. Truly, this trip was amazing. Sneaking away for a few days and reconnecting was just what we needed. Vegas shenanigans and all...The fact that he watched Miss America with me (we still can't get over grown women tap dancing and twirling batons), let me practice my Broadway moves all hours of the night, and pretended not to notice when I bumped the heat up several times a day in his ice box hotel room, he's my bombdiggity.

Love him to pieces.

Remember last year when I texted my friend Jill to tell her that I saw nekkid girls dancing in the hotel lobby and smoked a faux cig only to accidentally send it to my mother-in-law? That my friends, is why I did not text anything about anything this weekend. You know what they say...

What happens in Vegas...