This came to me on my way to church yesterday. My husband and I were a little nervous during our 22 minute drive; the brakes are going out in the van. The van is a 1994 Grand Caravan with 116K miles on it. We've already lost the radio, heater, a/c and interior lights. I can live without all those things, but brakes are kind of essential.

I don't need to remind my husband that we need to fix our only vehicle. I know that money will come in a few weeks to repair it, but in the meantime, I'll be patient.

The problem is that our guests are visiting soon. They'll have their own car; they won't need to ride with us, (even if we had room), but they certainly will hear the grinding metal every time we slow down. And they'll say something accusing.

Now, I've heard Dr. Phil say that there is no better indicator of future events than of past experience, particularly in dealing with people's character. Dr. Phil isn't a definitive authority in my life, but I believe that statement's true. So, I feel like I'm justified in anticipating a few smart comments from these relatives since I've heard so many in the past.

Additionally, they won't just see the van, they'll see the leaky dishwasher that often drips a puddle on the kitchen floor, (then they'll see the warped wood floor around the dishwasher), they'll use the broken garbage disposal and we'll have to explain to them that food products should go in the trash. They might hear the clunk clunk of the terminally ill washing machine and it's sickly twin, the dryer. They'll get frustrated that they can't just pop in a DVD for the kids, because it's dead too and we have to watch DVDs on the computer (they're frightened of computers!). Oh, I'm sure something will be said about the dozens of loose tiles on the bathroom floor.

None of these bother me, because if the funds were there, they'd be fixed. We can make do until they are. What bothers me is the shame that comes with each little comment. I don't have shame until my guests arrive. To make matters worse, these guests, in the past, have taken our little problems and broadcast them to our mutual relations with the purpose of ridiculing us.

Yesterday's drive was full of this fear of shame. I wrote "I'm trading my shame" in big letters in my small notebook. My husband saw me write it and knew immediately what I was thinking.

God knows about all these little broken things around our house. He has allowed me to be in the presence of my "enemies" and "accusers" lacking in something. He is going to give me grace to handle it.

I can either hold tightly to this fear and anxiety of shame or I can trade it in to my Father in exchange for the Joy of the Lord. I can't do both.

The song goes on to say, "We're blessed beyond the curse 'cause his promise will endure, that his joy is going to be our strength. Though the sorrow may last for the night. His joy comes in the morning!" God's very abundant blessings are upon me. I am rich in ways these particular people will never see. My light and momentary troubles are like gnats in light of eternity. If they want to make a big deal out of them, if they want to use my inconveniences for evil, if they want to discredit my reputation or the reputation of my husband, I will let them because my shame doesn't belong to me, I traded it in.

God loves me. I have his Perfect Joy instead.

Yes, Yes, Lord, Amen!

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On Thursday nights, my husband and I start talking about Friday. Friday night is DATE NIGHT!

We don't have the resources to hire a sitter, go to a restaurant, go to a museum or movie and stay out ridiculously late, so this is what we do instead:

The children get their supper early, say around 5:00. When Daddy comes home about 6:00, everyone should be finished and preparing for bed. By 7:30, we've moved Corbin's little mattress into the bedroom, and all four big kids are in their beds, kissed and prayed over (and sternly instructed NOT to leave the room or cause a disturbance!)

Daddy and I make our traditional Friday night food --Tex Mex! We make burritos or nachos with beans and rice and set up a little table in the living room for our dinner. We're about 15 feet away from the children,(but their door is shut) and of course Baby V is in her crib next to us, but we make do.

After dinner, we usually watch a movie from our DVD collection. (We're both film fans. DH likes action and foreign film. I like the Classics.)

We've been doing this for years. We like it so much that we've decided that when we are more prosperous, and restaurants and museums are more feasible, we're still going to spend Friday nights with our favorite films and food. And of course, our best friend -- each other.

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"I heard recently that if your marriage can survive a renovation, like say of a bathroom . . .then you've got a good marriage."

"Oh, yeah, we had a to re-do our bathroom too. It took two weeks. I about pulled my hair out. But we got through it. I guess we've got a good marriage."

I knew these two ladies personally. I also knew that the bathroom remodel they were speaking of was a secondary one, not the only one. Quite frankly I wanted to slap them both silly, give them a laundry list of what my husband and I have endured for the last eight years and then personally hand them a clue: that a keeping a marriage strong in trial is a lot more than compromising on the color of the tile. I don't want to be around them when the real trials come at their house.

My first response, you will be glad to know, was kept under my hat, so to speak. I did complain to my husband. I did complain to God a bit. I also got around to believing that my circumstances, as difficult as they are, are a sign that God loves me. He wants to purify me. He does this to all his children, and my journey throught the fire will look differently than anyone elses.

When I came to this realization, I kind felt sorry for these women. They didn't know the indescribable joy that can come when all you've got is Jesus. They didn't see the resurrection that comes when you've finally died to yourself over another unexpected crisis. They hadn't received the unlimited bounty of a church body whose arms and hands are overflowing with practical help.

But they do have that new bathroom and a seemingly sturdy marriage.

And a friend who's learning about grace.

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Dear Readers,

In my e-mail this morning was this devotional written by Elisabeth Elliot. I won't often do this, but I felt that in light of the purpose of this blog, her words were perfect.

I hope it blesses you.

Author: Elisabeth Elliot

Source: Keep A Quiet Heart

Scripture: Philippians 4:12 2 Corinthians 4:15

Lord, Please Remove the Dilemma

Because my husband Lars is a Norwegian who would happily eat fish three times a day if I'd give it to him (I seldom do), I often have fishheads and fishbones to discard. I don't like the noise the disposal makes if I put them in there, so I fire them out the window onto the grass. A prompt and thorough garbage service is provided free of charge by the seven resident crows who materialize out of nowhere (nine minutes is the maximum time it has taken them to detect my offerings). Recently I watched one of them attempt to stuff all the pieces into his beak before his buddies had arrived. He carefully picked up everything except one long backbone. Here was a dilemma. How was he to grab the backbone without dropping the beakful he already had? Solemnly he surveyed the scene, stepped slowly around the bone and cogitated. So everything is done by instinct, is it? I don't believe it. He was reasoning. He made a decision. He dropped the smaller pieces, grasped the bone right in the middle and raised it. Too unwieldy. More cogitation. Then, delicately, he lifted one end of the backbone, bent it around with his claw and picked up the other end. Now, holding both ends in his beak he succeeded somehow (I couldn't for the life of me see exactly how) in gathering all but a few small bits and flew off, triumphant, to relish his find in solitude.

Is there anyone reading this who is not faced with a perplexity of some sort? Some of you face serious dilemmas. We want to pray, "Lord, please remove the dilemma." Usually the answer is "No, not right away." We must face it, pray over it, think about it, wait on the Lord, make a choice. Sometimes it is an excruciating choice.

St. Augustine said, "The very pleasures of human life men acquire by difficulties." There are times when the entire arrangement of our existence is disrupted and we long then for just one ordinary day--seeing our ordinary life as greatly desirable, even wonderful, in the light of the terrible disruption that has taken place. Difficulty opens our eyes to pleasures we had taken for granted.

I recall one of the times my second husband Add was released from the hospital when he had cancer. I did not suppose he was cured, but just having him at home once more was all I asked for that day. I set the table in the dining room with candlelight as I always did for dinner. I had fixed his favorite meal--steak, baked potato, salad, my homebaked apple pie. As he bowed his head to give thanks in the usual way, I had a sudden urge to do something very unusual--to drop to the floor and clutch his hands and sing "Let us break bread together on our knees." I didn't do it. Things proceeded in the ordinary way, but there was a new radiance about them simply because we had been deprived for a while, and knew we would soon be deprived again, probably permanently.

Paul said he had been "very thoroughly initiated into the human lot with all its ups and downs" (Philippians 4:12, NEB). He was hard-pressed, bewildered, persecuted, and struck down. God in His mercy did not choose to remove the dilemmas with which he was faced (some of His greatest mercies are His refusals), but chose instead to make Himself known to Paul because of them, in ways which would strengthen his faith and make him a strengthener and an instrument of peace to the rest of us. Hard-pressed he was, but not hemmed in--God promises that none of us will ever be tempted beyond our power to endure. Bewildered he was, but never at wit's end--God promises wisdom to those who ask for it. Persecuted, but never left to "stand it alone"--God promises His unfailing presence, all the days of our lives. Struck down, Paul was not left to die, though some of his rescues were ignominious in the extreme--the great apostle, let down over a wall in a basket, and on occasion making it to land on a chunk of flotsam! Hardly the means he would have envisioned God's using to fulfill His promises. But on second thought, why not? The absurdity of it all does us good. Life is absurd--on the surface of things--but every bit of it is planned, as Paul goes on to say:

"It is for your sake that all things are ordered, so that, as the abounding grace of God is shared by more and more, the greater may be the chorus of thanksgiving that ascends to the glory of God" (2 Corinthians 4:15, NEB). Maybe Paul's testimony, which has cheered countless millions, will cheer somebody who still faces a dilemma he has begged the Lord to remove. All of Paul's were solved, but not all of them in Paul's way or Paul's time, Selah.

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Due to circumstances I will get into later, my husband and five children (all 8 years old and younger) have lived in the first floor of a 105 year old Colonial house since August of 1999.

Now since then, I've grown up a lot! I've seen what God can do with us when our circumstances are not ideal. My hope for this blog is that I can encourage others who are frustrated, who are waiting on God or who are trying to be faithful when their homes aren't perfect.

That's enough for now. I'm planning on filling in my story as I find the time. It's late and I have to rearrange the living room furniture and pull down the Murphy Bed so I can go to sleep. Good night!

How My Small Space Came To Be, Part One: 1998 In the summer of 1998, my husband and I had been married two years and had a newborn daughter. We decided it was time to buy a house in a major city. Like other major cities in the U.S., houses, real houses, are extremely expensive and nearly impossible for young families to acquire. However, at the urging of financially savvy friends and with aid from First Time Homebuyer Program in the city, we were in a pretty good place to get something reasonably affordable.

We were in a rush. Ariel was born May 29 and our apartment lease was up August 31. We couldn't stay in our current apartment because of lead laws and we also thought it was too small, at 700 square feet. This was a big order to fill: we had to find the right house, for the right price, close the deal and move in three short months.

August 1 came and went, so we had to come up with Plan B. My husband's invalid widowed grandmother had recently moved from her house to my mother-in-law's, so her house was empty. We could take up temporary residence there! The only problem with that was it was 45 miles from the city. My husband would have to take the train, 2 hours one way, in order to get to work. Since Grammy's house was furnished, we packed up most of our possessions and put it in a storage facility, and moved out of the city on August 31.

Fortunately, after a relatively short search, we found a house. It was a Side Stair Colonial, built in 1901, with a very small "footprint" (about 650 square feet), but had first and second floors and a converted attic. It also had a full basement and a small yard. The previous owners had converted it into two apartments; one for just the first floor, which had just three rooms, a kitchen and bath; and one for the upper two floors which was bigger, it had two bedrooms in the attic, and a living room, kitchen and bathroom on the second floor.

I don't remember much about the initial viewing, as I was busy with my baby. But I do remember that as we stood on the sidewalk outside, our Buyers Broker suggested that this was a good house for us. Either he or my husband suggested that we live in one apartment, renovate the other, switch, rent out the empty one until we had enough cash and then convert it back to the single family home it was intended to be. The final renovation would include three bedrooms, two and half baths, a school room (as we envisioned homeschooling in the future) a dining room, living room, kitchen and a small office, a grand total of 1500 square feet.

I am from Oklahoma, where real estate is cheap and starter homes are never less than 1500 square feet, so this idea was difficult for me to work through. I didn't know of anyone who was a landlord. Few homeowners in this city our age had single family dwellings. If we were to own, this is really our only option.

So we signed the purchase and sale agreement and waited for our closing. As the weeks went by, my husband, who is a great visionary, used his daily train commute to redesign our house. He likes bold, but tasteful colors, creative and efficient use of space and inviting design. (He could easily make this into a career.) When he would get home every night, he would show me his ideas. And when I would get past being alone, with a baby, in a strange town, in a strange house, I would get excited with him. (I would have enjoyed everything much more if I hadn't been so caught up in self-pity!)

On December 7, 1998, my husband and I signed the proper papers and took ownership of our house, moving into the second floor apartment. We bought Thai food from a local restaurant for our first meal, but then realized we had no flatware, not even plastic ones from the take-out joint. We ate our first meal with our fingers. As soon as the meal was over, my husband went downstairs and gutted that hideous drop ceiling in the first floor.

We were settling in the upper apartment with only the essentials, no decorations, and little furniture. Our thought was that we didn't want to move it twice, so we'll just live Spartanly for a few months and then move everything into the renovated first floor.

My daughter's first Christmas was approaching and I was concerned not only about this not really looking like a home, but making it special for her (what a foolish Mommy; how much can a 7 month old remember?) So, instead of having a Christmas in our home, we flew to Oklahoma to celebrate Ariel's first Christmas with her 8 month old cousin, the first two grandchildren for my parents.

I spent a lot of my time in Oklahoma sleeping, which I thought was peculiar. Also, I was having a lot of trouble nursing and gave it up. While I was getting dressed, I pushed on my abdomen and felt a familiar hardness. I told my husband that I thought I should visit my obstetrician when I got back home.

(To be continued)

My suspicions were correct. In early January, my OB confirmed that I was nine weeks pregnant! My husband and I had planned a large family, but we hadn't planned on two babies in 14 months! I began my life that winter enduring pregnancy, caring for my baby, settlng in the best I could and trying not complain. I really wanted life to be easy.

My stay-at-home mother life had been either packing, seeking, moving or settling house for several months and nothing felt real yet. It wouldn't for a few months more and I found that depressing. Normal people had all their furniture in one place and their homes looked together, Mine didn't and I thought it was terrible.

My husband spent every waking moment renovating the first floor. Our plan included a complete gut job of the kitchen, converting the "bedroom" into the original living room in which we would eventually have a Murphy Bed (http://www.americanmurphybed.com/) in there, with shelves on each side, all covered by a curtain. We would have our entertainment center near the windows that faced the street and our couch would be on wheels. Every night we would move things around and open up the bed, putting it back in the wall come morning.

The whole Murphy Bed idea was my husband's. I did NOT love the idea when I first heard it. I wish I could blame pregnancy hormones, but the truth is, I balked because I wanted to be comfortable. I wanted to enjoy my house in the short term and not think about the long term. I wanted a real bedroom! Little did I know that this selfish nature of mine was the very thing God wanted to purge and he was going to use this house to do it!

Directly behind the living room is the dining room. The wall that is adjacent to the side of the house had a bay window. Our plan included building shelves on either side of that window. Which, in addition to a built-in corner cabinet, created a great deal of storage (relatively speaking, of course.) A small 8'X10' room was behind the dining room. There was just enough room on one wall for a crib and a dresser, which is to be used for a changing table. The opposite wall could contain the second, smaller crib for baby #2. The entire living space was about 650 square feet. Very cozy. We also had the basement, while not furnished, could store extra possessions, contain the washer and dryer, and other utilitarian things.

I honestly thought that the renovation would take two or three months. I pouted around my bare apartment thinking I could endure three months, but no more! I was thankful that my husband, while he had little experience, wanted to do much of the work himself. But I didn't appreciate his meticulous nature that insisted everything was done right. I was disheartened to find out the right way was often the slow way, and I'm sure I exhibited impatience and ungratefulness.

Also, like every renovation, we had a few surprises. A rotten sill under the kitchen required the funds that were earmarked for the roof. We had a few misunderstandings with contractors and inspectors. But that June, the kitchen was completed and my husband started working on the other two main rooms. Of course, our hope was that the living space would be completed intime for the baby's arrival.

My parents came from Oklahoma and stayed for over three weeks to aid in the completion since other looming deadline was August 31; the upper apartment had to be empty and ready to rent. Renters in our city frequently start their year long leases September 1.

Something else was progressing too. My pregnancy! Every seemed to be normal, except that our city suffered a record breaking heatwave. My due date came and went, but on August 18, after pleading with my doctor, I was gently induced and delivered Miranda, a beautiful, chubby, blonde daughter.

By the time Baby Miranda and I were settled at home, our first floor was completed enough and our first tenants had signed their lease. The whirlwind was over, at least for a while.

(To Be Continued)

How My Small Space Came To Be, Part Three: 2000-2002

I could accurately call the next eighteen months or so the "Salad Days". My husband and I had rental income in addition to his salary working in information technology for a very small company. While we still practiced frugality, we didn't hesitate to rent movies, go to restaurants and buy what we needed for each other and for our home. We were even able to go to Italy to celebrate our 4th wedding anniversary.

In June of 2001, I had that old familiar feeling. My husband assured me that we were able, now that the tenants were moving out in August, to start the upstairs renovation. We could at least get the bedrooms and bathroom done before our third baby arrived in February.

The tenants did move out on Miranda's second birthday. The next day my husband started a complete gut job of the entire second floor. He demolished it down to the studs, removed all the wiring and plumbing and it sat, like an empty shell, waiting for a new life, when the unthinkable happened.

Now four months pregnant, I had a restless night's sleep. When I awoke on the morning of September 11, 2001, I was very anxious and fearful, not for the events that were to develop, but that a very intense dispute was going to resurface between me and someone in another state. I knew that God did not want me to walk in fear, so after I kissed my husband good-bye about 8:30 and stayed on the front porch to pray. I wanted His perfect peace to overtake me. I wanted the dread of this personal situation to be powerless during my pregnancy. I said out loud, "There will be NO FEAR in this house, in the name of Jesus!"

At that moment I heard the phone ring. I picked it up and it was my husband, telling me to turn on the television and watch what was happening.

We were aghast over the next few weeks. By mid-October, my husband's company solved their economic crisis by cutting everyone's salary by 33%. While we were not directly effected by the horror of the attacks, we suddenly felt it economically. We were nearly financially destitute. We didn't have paying tenants. We didn't have a habitable apartment to rent and now we could not pay our bills at all.

I remember being numb with anxiety. I went through my day, caring for my two toddlers and I did my best to be encouraging to my husband, but neither of us knew what the future held. Would his salary be re-instated? Should he look for another job? Would we make any progress on the house before the baby came?

At my OB appointments, there was more bad news: my blood pressure was up (hmmm, I wonder why?) and my doctor didn't feel comfortable medicating me. Preeclampsia was a distinct possibility. I was instructed to be in bed, as much as possible, for the remainder of my pregnancy until my OB felt safe enough to induce me; I would certainly not go to my due date of February 22.

These were the darkest days my husband and I had ever faced together. He was stretched thin, for from the moment he walked in the door at night, he had to care for me and the girls and then spend what free time there was either searching for a new job or working on the renovation.

We were crying out constantly to God. He heard our prayers, but instead of solving the problems with money, He sent his children to bless us. We received check after check in the mail from family members and church members. We were given meals, free babysitting and many of promises of prayers. One young woman in our church, who never knew of our situation, brought a "candlelight" dinner to us -- complete with sparkling cider, candles, roast beef, salad, asparagus and dessert. She said that God told her we needed encouraging.

That winter, while I was praying, again, and seeking the Lord for his direction on what we should name our son, I felt he gave me a vision. On my husband's list was the name "Corbin" which meant "raven" in addition to "Nathaniel" which meant "Given by God." I felt our situation was much like Elijah's in the Old Testament. He was sent to the wilderness, for why I'm not sure, but God sustained him, meeting his needs through the ravens. "Corbin Nathaniel" would be our boy's name as a symbol of this time in the wilderness and a statement to God that we would trust him to meet all our needs.

I believed that God could do something miraculous for us, like have thousands of one hundred dollar bills blow through our front door. I also wanted him to be aware of our time constraint and that my blood pressure was going up the longer I waited to get what I want.

Just like an earthly father with a compassionate, yet stern word, the Lord said to me, "I could give you everything you asked for, but you would still have a wicked heart. Ask me to change your heart, then we'll talk about your house." I reluctantly prayed that, but I don't think I meant it at all.

By January, I was going for non-stress tests, ultrasounds and check-ups several times a week. Induction was not an option and it was scheduled for Tuesday, January 29, 2002.

That night President Bush was giving his State of the Union address, the first since 9/11 and I wanted to hear it. I teased the doctors that I wanted to have my baby by 9:00 p.m., so I wouldn't miss it. About 6:00 p.m, the drugs started to kick in and I was in active labor. I delivered a very tiny boy, Corbin Nathaniel, five pounds and five ounces at 8:55 p.m., time enough for me to watch Mr. Bush's speech.

Our first son, Corbin, was here. My difficult pregnancy was over, but my medical troubles were not. Because of my history of high blood pressure, I was closely monitored all night. My numbers crept higher and higher, to the point that I was not allowed to hold my baby, get out of bed or even think about leaving in two days.

I was scheduled to have, at least I remember to be, the magnesium sulfate treatment. This meant 24 hours, motionless, in a dark room (to relax me, I think) with no food, no water, just this IV drip that made my whole body feel like it was in a sauna. It was very relaxing, until all the muscles that I used to give birth knotted up painfully. When that treatment was over, my blood pressure still wasn't down enough. I went through other, less severe, treatments, but even after three more days, my doctor wasn't satisfied enough to send me home.

In addition, Corbin was jaundiced, three weeks premature, and because of his size, not a very good nurser. I was pretty naive, but I thought that once we were home, we'd be fine. We talked the doctors into sending us home on Sunday night under the condition that I stayed in bed (or rather the couch, since my Murphy Bed goes up during the day) and that Corbin was regularly weighed to insure he was gaining weight.

The next few weeks are a complete blur. I did get better; my pastor and his wife came and laid hands on me that I was healed of high blood pressure. I was, or at least I was enough to satisfy my doctor. But Corbin wasn't gaining weight fast enough and we spent a few weeks supplementing his nursing.

Our church continued to minister to us by bringing meals to us and praying for us. I think it was the first Sunday in March we felt able to go to church. When we entered our small auditorium, we got a standing ovation! It was all to the glory of God that he brought us through the most stressful, most debilitating season of our lives.

We set up our little boy's crib in the living room. There was room enough for a crib if we moved Daddy's desk to the basement. Life was getting back to normal, or at least what normal looked like here.

(To Be Continued)

How My Small Space Came To Be, Part Four: 2003-2004

About two weeks after Corbin was born, my husband started lobbying for the next baby name. He wanted to name our next boy "Perrin", as a deriviative of Peter. I gave him one of those looks. Wasn't he paying atttention to the turmoil of Corbin's birth? Um . . . .honey . . .there will not be another baby, I said repeatedly.

In addition, our house renovation was going in fits and starts. My husband worked on it as he could. He taught himself some carpentry, installed dressers that fit into the slanted attic walls, planned the wiring, constructed a built-in shelf and did what he could with the money, time and energy that was available. The upper apartment was far from renovated; it was not insulated and had exposed wiring. It was not even the least bit habitable.

In the meantime, I was stomping around the first floor, crying out to God, "When will you finish this?" Almost daily, I wallowed in my own self-pity, looking at what I didn't have as opposed to what I did.

I had three healthy children. I had a hard working husband with whom I had a great relationship. I had a supportive church. I also had a God who loved me, who gently wanted me to be more like Jesus and had a sense of humor.

The first thing God dealt with was my housekeeping skills. I was never really taught how to be organized, keep a schedule, tidy up after myself and run an effective home. I was bored, discontented, humbled, discouraged and lonely. I felt unimportant and insignificant. I was resentful of the smallest of my responsiblities. Laundry was a personal attack on my intelligence. Washing dishes was a nightly punishment. Each diaper was a huge inconvenience. Seeds of discontent were taking root and growing into bitterness.

Through the suggestion of a friend, I stumbled upon the Flylady, thinking to myself, "What kind of a woman has to tell you to put on shoes every day?" But I didn't wear shoes during the day, I flopped around in a funk and let the messes multiply around me. When one lives in a small space, messes can be spontaneous and what might seem like a small project in a McMansion is a major inconvenience to our humble home.

I easily embraced the practical suggestions of the Flylady, like shining one's sink and starting a night time routine, but what I balked at was her insistence that our attitude about our homes and toward our family was the most important thing. I've found in my walk with Christ that the unseen character of our heart is always the first thing on God's mind, so I knew that Holy Spirit was going to use the Flylady in my life, whether I liked it or not.

I humbled myself before God. I confessed to Him and to my husband that I had been lazy, bitter, self-pitying, and angry over this house situation. I asked them both to forgive me and to help me in my new quest to be cheerful in my tasks, led by a routine and diligent in all I did.

The change in me was remarkable. I started to enjoy the tasks I once thought was drudgery. I used my dishwashing time to meditate and pray. I used my laundry time as a time to be alone for a moment and listen. I enjoyed the results of an orderly home. I gave my children chores and tried to encourage their efforts through games and songs. My heart was much less wicked and the discontent was melting away.

On one thing, however, I remained steadfast; we would not have any more children.

Each spring my church holds a week of prayer. Every night of the week, the doors are open and members of our small congregation comes to pray for our city, worship and ask for healing. Usually, I can only go one of the night. This year I chose to go on Tuesday night.

On Monday night, of that week, I had a dream. I dreamt that my husband and I were putting little ones to bed, but the place we were was not our house. It was a corner of a warehouse. The warehouse itself was larger than a Wal-Mart, but we were confined to living in a small section of it. In the dream, we were getting very creative with how we managed our space and we had a contentment about it.

Then all of a sudden, the walls came down and we were free to move into the warehouse. The warehouse was full of all kinds of expensive furniture, with fine jewels and gemstones scattered everywhere. My husband and I walked to the opposite wall and found two more enormous rooms; one a schoolroom, with ceilings 20 feet high, filled with bookshelves, holding every imaginable text, publication and curriculum. The other room was a darling pink room, with two twin beds, decorated with the most feminine and most frou-frou things you could ever think of.

In my dream, my usually calm husband was ecstatic (he was also wearing a cowboy hat). He kept shouting, "It's ours! It's ALL ours! It's ALL ours!" I was elated too! But I said, "We're having another baby!" Then I woke up.

Over breakfast, I told my husband about the dream, really believing that it was God trying to encourage me. He surprised me, and said, "WOO-HOO! We're having another baby!"

I argued with him. "That is NOT what it means. It means that God is going finish our house." At least that's what I was choosing to believe.

That night I went to church for the prayer meeting. I stopped my friend, Linda, and told her about the dream. I said, "I think God has a message for me in the dream. Does the cowboy hat mean my DH is getting a new job?"

"Are you pregnant?" she asked.

"NO!" I was getting impatient.

I explained the dream to my friend, Jeannine. I said, "I think God is trying to tell me that we'll be living in abundance soon, what do you think?"

She said, "Are you pregnant?"

"NO! That is NOT what it means!"

I went to Meghan. Surely she would see it my way. Instead, I was in tears. I told her the dream but before I asked her what it meant, I asked her to pray for me. I knew God was dealing with me. I would need help just to approach God.

She prayed for me and if I remember correctly, we prayed that I would see the truth and obey.

On the drive home, I knew what was going to happen. I knew that my 22 minute drive would really be a conversation between me and Jesus, as I pictured him sitting in the passenger seat.

At first I stated my case; why I thought this new baby idea was a bad one. But I also knew that He calls us to obey completely. Okay, then I'll negotiate. If I can have my house done this year, if my husband gets a new job, if I am assured of a healthy pregnancy and delivery AND if I get a boy, then I'll obey.

As sternly as any father would, the Holy Spirit reminded me that He does NOT negotiate. Either it's living by faith or it's not. Either it's complete trust in His plan or it's not.

What do I choose? I was really bawling now. Another baby? I mentally calculated the days of my cycle and was horrified to realize I was currently ovulating! Tonight??!!??? You want me to get pregnant tonight????!!!??

Then I felt such a tender and gentle feeling. "No, my child. That would be cruel to spring this on you and expect you not to have a little time to get used to the idea. Next month you'll conceive."

Next month! I was numb with what I was hearing. How can I control that? How can I be sure I heard correctly? What can happen in a month?

When I came home, I told my husband most of what happened in the car. I did not tell him I was ovulating. I just told him that I had surrendered the control of having more children. I would obey, and to pray for me, that I wouldn't be afraid.

He was very sweet and understanding. "Remember," he said, "We're going to name him Perrin!"

The next month was a busy one. So busy, in fact, that there seemed to be no time or opportunity for the . . .ahem .. requirements of having another child take place. I thought that my little conversation in the car was just my imagination. I kept thinking, I'll just get to my period and everything will be fine. Just in a few more days and I'll feel better. Just get through tomorrow. Okay, it's not today, maybe tomorrow. Ummmm . . . it's probably time to buy a pregnancy test. Exactly six weeks after my conversation in the car, I was pregnant with baby #4.

I contacted my OB immediately to discuss with her my blood pressure. She put me on medication, told me to "go easy". My first trimester sailed by. I was rarely ill, in fact, I was happier, stronger and less nauseous than any previous pregnancy. My blood pressure stayed under control and my doctor was pleased with my progress.

Looking back, I think that I wasn't bothered so much by the pregnancy, but I was really bothered by my husband's job situation and the house. I had chosen to obey God's leading to have another baby, but I was still walking in a lot of fear. I believed that God had really let us down during Corbin's birth because it wasn't perfect, it was really difficult. I had the mistaken notion that God's plan for us is a beautiful, tidy little plan, with no surprises, wrapped up in a baby blue ribbon. I was also bitter that I was so different from my other friends. Plenty of women I knew had effortless pregnancies, were never induced and were never on bedrest. Then, when they came home from the hospital, they had a real bedroom, sometimes even a bathroom, to themselves! Their babies had nurseries! With matching furniture! If God really loved me, why couldn't I have a life of ease?

God did love me. He loved me so much that he brought women to me to help me. Someone volunteered to organize my babysitting when I went to the doctor. Someone else organized a long line of "helpers" to come to my house on weekends so that my husband could do what he could on the renovation. We were at the top of everyone's prayer list again. God did love me, but it was so hard to receive his love in this very humbling place

"See," I felt the Holy Spirit tell me, "I do know your desires." I smiled when the ultrasound technician told us that yes, our baby was a boy.

Well, I deduced, if you're going to give me that, then you'll probably give me my other desires too! Oh, how FOOLISH I was! I was viewing God as a Sugar Daddy, and I was not using my circumstances just to draw nearer to him. I still believed that we would have some miraculous event that would finish our house just in the nick of time. I envisioned each room perfectly and I had arranged and decorated them countless times in my mind. Now we had two boys and two girls! Since there are two attic bedrooms, it would be just perfect!

But God doesn't want perfect, he wants broken. As my due date drew nearer, I was crying out ot him more and more. Our baby was due January 29 (Corbin's birthday), but I knew I would have an induction well before that. I just had to get through Christmas.

Christmas in a small home is a puzzle. Weeks beforehand, we start thinking about what we can live without so that we can erect a tree. Then, all the gifts have to be small ones, because you have to store them somewhere, and then somehow, you have to stay cheerful and make it special for the other children, now 5 1/2, 4 and almost 2.

My children have no reference to a Currier and Ives, Norman Rockwell kind of Christmas, so they aren't the ones who are disappointed. It's my expectations of what Christmas should be and what a good mother should do that can potentially ruin my holiday.

In addition, due to my delicate health,we downsized every imaginable aspect. We mimimized our travel, declined all invitations and shifted into survival mode. Our Christmas Day was simple and satisfactory. My husband did all the cooking and cleaning for us and I stayed on the couch.

Once that big day was over, we were wondering just when the next Big Day was. Even though my due date wasn't until January 29, it was a given I would be induced at least two weeks early. I went in on January 5 for my routine non-stress test and ultrasound. At that point my doctor was so concerned about my elevated blood pressure, that she insisted on an amioscentesis, to check the development of the baby. If my doctor could tell that my baby was developed enough, induction was certain.

But I wasn't ready for a baby. We hadn't taken down the Christmas tree, which is a big deal when you live in a small space. The tree, which was the only decoration we had room for, had to come down before our small cradle could go up. My poor husband could only work at his daily job, come home and cook, clean and care for the kids and then spend the last couple hours of his day either working on the renovation or seeking a new job. No, I wasn't ready for a baby. My body decided it wasn't either; for I had developed a major sinus infection.

I awaited the results of my amnio in the hospital room and I was overcome with stress. I had a hundred little details to figure out, and the only way I was allowed to handle them was by being strapped in a hospital bed. Additionally, the tears that flowed down my cheeks did nothing for my blood pressure.

I looked out the window of that cold January day. I felt like my troubles were all lined up on the sill like marbles, mocking me. I couldn't reach the sill. I couldn't touch my troubles. What would I do?

My friend Meghan was with me and prayed over me. I cried out for help in a way I had never cried before. I felt the Holy Spirit tell me that he saw my trouble too. He would handle each one for me. I shouldn't be afraid. I closed my eyes and trusted God. There was nothing else to do.

My results that day confirmed that my little boy was NOT ready for an induction. I could go home, but come back the following week. Praise God! Perhaps my sinus infection could clear up by then.

More importantly, we had a reprieve. Within the next few days, my friend Tina came by to help. She was willing to do anything I asked. So, I had her take the tree down, rearrange the furniture, wash the baby clothes (I folded them), assembled the cradle and supervised the children all while I watched and before my husband came home from an exhausting day at work. We had awoke that day in a panic and gone to bed that night with everything under control.

The induction was definitely scheduled for a week later, no turning back. I tried not to think about a repeat of the preeclampssia problem, I just trusted God. In spite of a 48 hour ordeal, I delivered my second son, Perrin Christopher on January 14, 2004.

My blood pressure remained normal, even a bit below normal and surprisingly, I was released to go home after two days, just like a normal mom.

I felt like we had just completed a marathon. We enjoyed every bit of our victory. Everything that could have gone wrong with Corbin did; everything that could have gone right with Perrin did.

Glory to God, we were over that ordeal.

How My Small Space Came To Be, Part Five: 2004- May 2005

My readers will be very pleased to know that in this installment of "How My Small Space Came to Be", no one gives birth.

We brought our baby boy home on January 16, 2004, which happened to be the day of a record-breaking lows in our city-- minus 15 degress. I joked to the hospital that I was sure that my insurance covered us if we should extend our hospital stay due to cold. They didn't find that funny.

That winter, I was stuck in my tiny house with three children and a newborn. God gave me ideas on how to use our time wisely; I taught my children the skill of picking up after themselves, I ordered audiobooks that we listened to incessantly and my best idea, was ordering a US Geography Songs and a map. While I nursed the baby, my big girls colored the map on the floor and learned all their states and capitals.

Meanwhile, my husband was seeking better employment. His employer had not reinstated anyone's salary and their financial decisions often left me, and sometimes even my husband, angry and bitter. I did not respond the right way to their offenses. I nagged my husband, I encouraged my husband to retaliate, walk out or grow bitter.

To my husband's credit, he didn't see it that way. He wanted to be faithful to them regardless of how he was treated. At times he was discouraged and disgruntled, but he always knew the right thing to do and he did it, even though he was looking for other employment.

My husband's field is a very specialized one. Even in a city the size of ours, there are only a handful of places he could apply, if they had an opening, which few companies did. Since October of 2001, he went to exactly three interviews, and none of them worked out, even though he was qualified.

My husband tossed around the idea of becoming an independent contractor, not only to do the work that he had been doing, but expanding it. Metaphorically, he had been the resident electrician at his current company, teaching himself all the skills needed for that job. He wanted now to become an electrical engineer and help design electric systems for larger companies within that field. He wanted to be a man of vision for a company; to not just fix things, but to be the architect, so to speak, of the entire electrical plan. During the late summer of 2004, this consultant idea seemed like the way to go. He started teaching himself marketing strategies, he investigated how to become independent, he calculated the risks and needs, he sought as much training as he could.

I was very proud of him. I repented of my bitter attitude toward his employer and I started to look at my husband and his strengths. He is perfect for a entrepreneur/contractor type position. He is meticulous, he is a visionary, he is persistent, he commicates well, he isn't afraid to work hard physically, he isn't afraid to learn something new.

My position of nag changed to a position of cheerleader, even though I realized that this was a big step of faith. I figured I had practiced a lot lately in this faith walk business and I was getting pretty good at it.

That fall, my husband was convinced. Starting January 1 of 2005, he would pursue gathering clients so that he could resign as soon as possible. I was very excited about this.

So construction was paused again on our house -- the next step was replacing the 100+ year old windows and that was expensive! But construction began on something else; no, not a baby, my quiet and gentle spirit.

Long before I was a wife and a mother, I pursued a career in writing. Over the last few years, I gathered enough story ideas and experience to do a number of things.

While researching household organization sites, I stumbled across Ladies Against Feminism (ladiesagainstfeminism.com). I was so distracted by the truths that these dear ladies presented, many of which I had never heard before, that I put my writing on the back burner.

Now, I had been raised as a feminist (the implications of which warrant their own blog) and even though I had walked with Jesus for nearly twenty years, I was blindsighted by my own sin! How willful I had been toward my husband and to God! How demanding I had been! How divided I had made my own household! I believed, like so many others, that a sub-culture that demands that a woman cover her head was certainly oppressive. Wrong! A head covering is a symbol, like a wedding ring, that shows the world who is the Lord in a woman's life. If she is married, her head covering shows that her husband is her protecter, defender and yes, even ruler, It also symbolizes that she is precious, delicate and worth much.

I remember being so enchanted with this concept -- this was a life-changing truth for me! I never really understood that I was worth much --even though the Bible says I am, but this communicated it to me beautifully in ways I understood. I remember asking God to figuratively cover my head. Make me understand my position completely. Let me see my position in him and my position under my husband accurately.

Now that my thinking changed, I wanted my appearance to change too. I did a major purge in my closet and threw out everything that wasn't feminine. I drug out the dresses and skirts and wore them as an act of obedience-- as a symbol to God that I was serious about this submission business and I wanted him to know it.

Even with all that, I wasn't quite done with Ladies Against Feminism. I was also struck by the articles which commented on the popular trends of small families. I know a woman myself who has literally stomped her foot after the birth of her only child and said, "I WILL NOT DO THAT AGAIN!" Her reasons, in light of the Word of God, seem pretty selfish to me.

The gentle Holy Spirit whispered in my ear, "What is the difference between this friend of yours, who is so defiant of my Word, and YOU? At least you make the appearance of obedience with all this new clothing. The truth is, if I AM REALLY THE LORD OF YOUR LIFE, you will surrender complete control of your family's size, regardless of medical history, space and job security."

WHOA! This was a blow between the eyes. I could only weep, because I knew it was true. It was also true that my husband wanted more childen. He never brought up the subject, due to the extenuating circumstances, but we had discussed, from our very first conversations ten years ago, that we wanted a big family. He knew in his heart we weren't done and he was praying that God would change my heart.

In April of 2005, we planned to attend our local homeschooling convention, which takes place far enough away, that an overnight stay is a given. This was a very peculiar trip for me, alone with my husband. I was looking at him in a new way, the way a submissive, godly wife should, and I was deliriously happy. Outside of our honeymoon in 1996, I don't remember ever enjoying my husband, on every level, the way I did that trip.

As for the convention itself, Todd Wilson spoke to the wives on Friday night and to the husbands on Saturday. His ministry gears specifically to marriage; his main point is that homeschooling without a sturdy marriage is a waste of time.

I heard him say, "Now wives, I know you all think that your hotel room is for spreading out all your catalogs and samples and goodies and talking to your husband about homeschooling. Ladies, please, take care of your marriage! That's not what the hotel room is for!"

We all giggled. He had a point. One that would change my life forever.

How My Small Space Came To Be, Part Six

May 2005-January 2006

We did not discover our souvenir from the homeschooling convention until a month later when we were on our vacaton. While we were there, my husband and I bickered repeatedly over the silliest things! I racked my brain to figure out what the problem was and then I did the math.

I pulled my husband aside, apologized to him and told him that there was a possibility that I was pregnant again. He was elated.

When I got home, I called my OB and she prescribed hypertension medicine immediately. She was the only one who knew for a while, as we, I mean I, was nervous; I didn't know how this would go over in our public relations department.

About ten weeks into my pregnancy, we told our friends and family. Most people were shocked, but happy for us. Two Christian friends of mine surprised me by their insinuation that God would not protect anyone who would be so stupid One family member even hit something out of anger.

I was hurt by the negative reactions we had, but I felt I had no choice but to trust God fully.

I sent this in an e-mail to the women in my church:

"This is a free fall of faith for us. We cannot reason a solution. We can't say, "POOF" and the house will be done. We can't worry my hypertension away. We can't bargain with God. We must either take Him at his word or stop calling ourselves Christians. The blessing of children and His Plan for our lives far outweigh any distracting liitle details.

I am a stupid little sheep. When my shepherd calls me to follow him, I must not hesitate. He will always guide me, protect me and sustain me and my family." .

I wasn't so bothered about the house and money anymore. I believed that God had lead us perfectly. We didn't have all the answers, but we weren't supposed to. Maybe this is what a submitted heart looked like. God gave me so much grace at that point, that spiritually speaking, I was a thousand miles from where I was during my previous pregnancy.

In the meantime, God gave us ideas. We removed a non-functioning radiator (did I say 'we' I mean, my husband and a friend moved it) and built a window seat in the dining room bay window with storage underneath. The seat was just the right width for a toddler mattress. Corbin slept there with his clothes and toys underneath, sharing a room with the dining room table and chairs and five bookshelves filled with homeschool supplies.

We eventually bunked the girls' toddler beds and pushed Perrin's crib into the tiny bedroom with them.

If I had a problem, say, where to put the new baby's clothes, I would just ask God to show me where a few inches were in a drawer or closet and I would get an idea instantly. I always had what I needed when I needed it.

Now, don't get me wrong, I had moments of fear too. But this time, I was sustained with a strength that I never knew before.

I noticed that I wasn't all that nauseous nor was I weepy and I could only credit it to was this inexplicable joy. Joy became such a key concept to me over the summer that I knew "JOY" would play into this child's name somehow.

At church one Sunday, a man, whom had I never met, stepped to the front because he had a prophetic word. He spoke over our congregation but particularly to those who were waiting on something from God. He said that God sees our hearts and he longed to give us the desires of our hearts.

Something stirred in my spirit. I felt like that word was for me, but my heart's longing wasn't for a finished house -- I figured God had heard that prayer for a long time-- but it was for something else. I wanted another daughter.

I wanted a blond haired, blue eyed, daughter that looked like me. (Fortunately, it was a genetic possibility!) I wanted this daughter to be heavier than six pounds, to avoid the problems that my tiny boys had suffered. I wanted her to be born far enough away from Christmas.

My due date was January 19 and I was listening the third verse of the "we've got to induce you at least two weeks early" song. After this man spoke, I heard the Holy Spirit say, "This is such a no-brainer for you. Of course you'll get your heart's desire!" So we plugged along, week by week.

Medically speaking, things were going very well for me. My blood pressure was excellent! I was taking medication and functioning as wisely as I could with four small children. My doctor was very pleased, but still nervous about what November and December would bring. Members of my congregation prepared to rally around us again as summer moved to fall and fall into winter. I was never officially on bed rest this time, but I was at the doctor twice a week or more from the end of October until whenever our baby girl (!) decided to arrive.

In early November, my husband attended a men's conference for our denomination. He was to be gone all weekend. He told me that he would go if I couldn't find someone to stay with me to help out. I found help for Friday night, but due to a misunderstanding, my help for Saturday never came. I was at first tempted to get on the phone and call every one I knew to beg them to help, but I felt like the Holy Spirit was challenging me just to trust him. Again.

I remember sitting at the table after breakfast and thinking that I should shower, but I knew for a fact that I had no clean underwear. The only way to get clean underwear was to walk down the basement steps (I hadn't been to the washer and dryer in weeks) and start a load of laundry in the washer.

This is a very big problem for someone who is 7 months along in a high risk pregnancy and shouldn't be exerting herself. I prayed, "God you arranged it so that I would depend only on you this weekend. Please, Jesus, help me get some underwear." I wasn't afraid or anxious. I just went down, took care of the problem and walked back up the steps. I was fine. I wasn't light-headed. I wasn't out of breath. I wasn't tired. I felt so good that I wanted to jump up and down for joy! God will ALWAYS sustain me!

Later that morning, my husband called from the retreat was taking place. He was unsually excited. He said, "I have to tell you what happened to me last night!" He said that a member of the audience came forward to share a word. The man said, "There is a businessman here who is having a tough time. In fact, it's crunch time and you can't see the end of it. But GOD SEES YOU! He wants you to know that has heard all your prayers. You are moving into a new time, a time of completeness. This is more than just more business, it is a completeness, bigger than you can expect."

My normally calm husband nearly jumped out of his seat and ran to the front. He spoke to the man who had the prophetic word. My husband said, "I know that word's for me! And I'll fight anyone who wants to take it away!'' The man laughed and prayed for my husband, his business and his family.

When my husband came home, he and I looked up the word "completeness". The closest Hebrew word we could find that fits the propetic meaning was SHALOM. We knew Shalom meant peace, but we didn't realize that it means more than just an absence of conflict. It is a complete wholeness, like perfection.

We believed that God wanted us to see Him that way, to trust Him fully in every area.

Two weeks before Christmas, I overdid it at home and had bad test results the next day--possibly requiring an induction. My OB said, "we might have a Christmas baby!" NO! This upset me greatly. As I cried out to God to hear my heart, He revealed to me again that I was focusing on the wrong things!

I wanted a perfect Christmas. Having an induction is not in my plan for the holiday! The Holy Spirit reminded me that every battle I've had since 1999 has been one of control! If I release control of one area to God, I pick another right up again! I had to trust him with my whole heart!

I wrote this on my previous blog:

"With every test result and ultrasound (that results in a furrowed brow from any number of doctors) my plans for Christmas seem to dissolve. I fight back the tears and try to be brave, but the question is not when my little baby girl will be born, but whether I am willing to surrender everything to the will of the Father. But it is not all death at the cross. With surrender comes resurrection. I distinctively remember a Sunday in August when something broke inside me and instantly I was filled with a hope and joy that I can't explain. I understood, finally, that God didn't want me to suffer just for the sake of suffering, but he wanted to me to let go of my control of the suffering and choose to rest in him, so he could fill me with his perfect peace amidst the trials. I don't understand how it works, I just know that I've endured this pregnancy with more joy and peace than I ever have. It is this peace that I must hold on to, now that I'm facing the home stretch. I need peace for each medical test and procedure, peace for each diagnosis, peace for surrendering every plan. If I am not willing to lay down these plans at the foot of the cross, then I've completely missed what Christmas is all about. This Christmas is very different for my children. The decorations are simpler, the visits are cancelled, the gifts aren't as costly; all things that will be swept up in vague memories as they grow up and away from me. If they remember one thing, it is that this Christmas, Mommy finally understands. And that makes all the difference in the world.”

By the mercy of God, I endured Christmas and the entire week after. I entered the hospital on January 3 for a scheduled induction.

Veronica Blythe Shalom Humbleman was born at 5:15 p.m. on January 4, 2006. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, weight six pounds and 14 ounces and was born far enough away from Christmas to satisfy me.

I also think she looks a lot like me (and Miranda.) We chose her name because Veronica means "Bringer of Victory". Blythe means merry, we chose it as a synonym for Joy, and Daddy wanted Shalom in there too, as a reminder to us of God's complete peace in our lives.

Some have asked me if the meaning "completeness" is indicative of our plans for no more children. My answer is this: Jesus is Lord of my life. He will decide. Yes, I'm 38 years old and yes, I have a problematic medical history and yes, if we have another baby, we'll have to hang them on hooks at night to find places for them. But, if he calls me to it, I will go, and I will most definitely see victory.

This is the end of my story of how I got my small space. Not much, relatively speaking, has happened since Baby V's birth. I'm planning on writing more about practical tips and what I appreciate about living large in a small space. Stay tuned!

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