Since it has been a while since I last wrote, allow me to update you. In September 2018 I went back to work after my mat leave, but only returned to work part time (I held a 2/3 position, so I taught two classes a semester instead of three). By the end of October we found out we were pregnant with Baby #2, which meant I entered into that world of working, raising a toddler (and one incredibly independent, energetic one at that), and experiencing pregnancy. By January 2019 we began to get the sense that our two bedroom unit wasn't going to work anymore for two kids plus housing any of my family that came to visit when the baby arrived. By the beginning of April our house had sold and thus began the stress of having just over two months to find a house. By the end of April we had found a house and I began the process of packing, knowing that the end of the school year would be incredibly busy as well as that moving at 37 weeks and 5 days would make packing close to impossible. Just over a week after the purchase of our house was finalized, we ended up in the hospital for a pre-term labour assessment as I started having some mild contractions (I was 31.5 weeks pregnant). Everything was fine, though the overall assessment came back that I was stressed. Somehow we made it through the next month and a half. In the two weeks leading up to our move, Jordan implemented a new system at work that took longer than anyone anticipated, and so he had to put in 12-16 hour days for those two weeks, as well as going in on Saturdays to work. I was in the throes of marking, final summatives, and report cards.
I honestly don't know when I have been as stressed as what I was. It got to the point where I found myself wishing for high blood pressure at each midwife appointment so they could tell me I had to go off work. I figured that would remove one stressor from my life, even though I really wanted to finish the year (I loved my classes. My grade nines challenged me in a way I had never been challenged, and my grade twelves were a class of introverts who loved to write... did it get any better?). At each appointment my blood pressure betrayed me and my midwives declared me perfectly healthy.
The Thursday before the move we met with the lawyer, met with the bank, I had a midwife appointment, and then I was late picking up Anson from daycare. I got home, fed Anson, bathed him, and dealt with "strictly-bath-related" meltdown #9 in that two week period. I had finally gotten Anson dressed when my father-in-law called. It was pouring rain and he told me Jordan had asked him to drop a package off and did I mind leaving the front door unlocked so he could just pop it in and not have to wait in the rain. Like I good daughter-in-law I said "Sure." Then I hung up, looked towards Heaven, and cried out to God, "I don't need another f***** box, Lord." And I cried.
A few moments later I heard the door open and shut. As I went downstairs, one of my best and oldest friends appeared. And I lost it. I wept.
*Thank-you, Ashley, for not posting the video you were recording of when I first saw you. I don't think the world is ready for that level of ugly crying.*
Which leads me to the point I really wanted to reflect on in this post. I have never been more humbled that I was throughout this move. I often struggle with feeling like I don't belong. Like I'm just on the outskirts of friend groups. Of wondering why anyone would want to help me or be my friend. And during this time, I had more people offer their help than I thought was possible. And not just in a "Let me know what I can do" kind of a way, but in a "I'm free this Thursday. Can I come clean and pack boxes for you while you sit and mark." I had meals made for us so we were eating something more nutritious than chicken fingers and french fries. I had people offer to watch Anson for me so I could get work done. On the weekend of the move, we had more people come to help load, unload, and clean on the Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, than I thought was possible. Once we were moved in, I had people come to watch Anson so I could get some unpacking done. Ashley and Jordan took over the logistics of moving weekend, and I was sent away on the Saturday to get marking done. Which meant that by the time our first weekend in our new house arrived, my marking and report cards were done.
I don't like asking for help. And I hate feeling like an inconvenience to people. But this experience brought me to a whole new level of realizing that I can't do things on my own. I was physically, emotionally, and mentally unable to do everything that needed to be done. But what humbled me far more than having to ask for help, was the vast amount of help that was offered. To those who helped watch Anson, cooked meals, helped me pack and clean, and helped us move, thank you. Thank you so much. You will never know how much your friendship and help means to me (I have cried so many thankful tears over this, it isn't funny!). To those who helped with Anson and food our first week in the house, thank you. To Ashley and Jordan, thank you for getting Ashley out here. It is amazing how after 20+ years of friendship, you are able to completely hand over the reigns of your own move to your friend and know that she will make sure everything gets done the way you need it done. To Donut Monster and Vintage Coffee, who kept us alive over that weekend, thank you.
What blows me away, is that God didn't stop humbling me with help at this point. We moved on June 17, and on June 22 I finished my report card comments and sent them to my proof reading partner. On June 23, while running errands in the morning, my water broke. That night I submitted report cards (finishing the last of my work responsibilities), and on the morning of June 24, we headed to the hospital to be induced. That night, at 10:57, Gwendolyn Margaret Anne Visser was born (she was 8lbs 13oz and 20.5in long).
*pictures included because I think my kid is adorable and couldn't resist*
As I had to ask for help with Anson, God continued to humble me with the help that came. When Gwen and I were released and I was told that I was supposed to do as little lifting and moving as possible for the first week, I was again overwhelmed with the people who showed up to help. Friends would come and spend a morning with me so they could keep Anson occupied so I could just feed my baby girl and rest. Friends who provided meals. Family who helped me clean and continue with the whole moving process (given that we had only had a week in our house before Gwen came, and there is only so much unpacking a very pregnant woman with a toddler can do).
And even now, with Gwen already being 6.5 weeks old, people continue to bring meals and offer help. God continues to provide. As I slowly start figuring out the steps that are involved in this dance of being a mom to two kids instead of one, God continues to provide.
As I look at the life I have here, as I realize that I'm not on the outskirts of a community but am instead immersed and a part of a community, I see God's provision. When I have to be vulnerable and ask for help, I see it as God's grace on me. He is stretching me and growing me, even though I am in a season where I don't feel like I have the capacity to offer Him as much as I know He deserves.
The moral of the story? If you want to feel humbled, time a move at the intersection of several major points in your life. And then be required to ask for help, lol!
