"It's a...FEMALE!"

Our Valentine's Day gender reveal (yes, this post is long overdue) was exactly as I imagined it would be, both memorable and meaningful.

Bobby opened the handmade card as I looked over his shoulder, anxiously waiting to see the word "Boy" or "Girl" when we looked inside. We were both thrown off for a brief moment as we each read "Female". (Apparently the ultrasound technician who wrote the note thought the anatomically-correct phrasing of our little one's gender was more appropriate than the traditional "It's a boy/girl!" announcement. Good grief.) We looked at each other and in a glance realized together:

"We're having a daughter."

There were tears of joy, magnified (of course) when I opened the gift bag with a newborn-sized girl's outfit, specially-selected by Bobby. Red, white, and blue...perfect for our Firecracker. (Well-done, Daddy!)

Bobby got to open baby girl's first (though undoubtedly not her last) Kansas City Royals ensemble, and although there were no tears on his part, he was quite excited.

We celebrated together, cherished the rest of the evening, and began to wrap our heads around the reality that a little girl is about to join our family.

That fact has taken a bit of time to sink in, but is becoming increasingly real to both of us. For exactly a month now, we've known that baby is a "she"...and we cannot wait to meet our little Female!

Deliberate

Bobby had a sock problem.

Every time he took off his socks, they ended up inside-out. Apparently, that's just his natural tendency for sock-removal! Which, is okay, except that Bobby's sock problem...

...meant that I had a sock problem.

Every time I did the laundry and folded socks, I was spending additional time turning them the right way. Not a big problem, obviously, in the big scheme of things, but an annoying extra step in the already unpleasant task of laundry folding.

I tried to do my wifely laundry duty with little complaint, and lovingly fixed the socks. (Admittedly, I considered leaving them as they were a few times, but that wouldn't have been kind, and I don't think I ever stooped that low.) But, I did regularly mention that it was wearisome, and would help me considerably if that was taken care of before the socks made their way to me.

For some time, nothing changed. I don't fault Bobby for it. Habits are hard to break...especially when it changes the way one changes clothes at the end of a long work day. Anyway, the message didn't seem to be getting through, and I was preparing myself for what I thought could be a lifelong pattern.

And then, just like that, it all changed. The laundry basket was full of clean socks, not a single one of them inside-out! He did it! It didn't come naturally, but he made the change deliberately, out of love.

It's a little thing, I know. (The most meaningful expressions of love often are.) But, every time I fold the laundry, and the socks are easier to deal with, I think about how much Bobby loves me. Does it matter to him how he takes his socks off? It does now. Because he knows it matters to me. And it's a deliberate demonstration of his love.

What this sock-folding lesson has taught me, and continues to remind me with each laundry load, is that my expressions of love to Bobby must also be deliberate. They must be intentional. It doesn't always come naturally to show him how much I care, which means that I need to make intentional efforts. Daily life, ever-changing pregnancy hormones, and a brain continually focused on preparing for baby can take my mind off of expressing my love for him as frequently and clearly as I should.

Today marks our eight-year anniversary of "togetherness". Our relationship has changed during these past eight years. We used to be high school sweethearts; now we're married and having a baby. And, I know that our interactions with each other will continue to change as children enter the picture and our family grows. My desire for this next chapter of our love story is that our love will continue to grow, as well, through intentional, deliberate efforts.

It matters. And, it's worth it.

Happy Valentine's Day, handsome. 

Thanks for being my husband. 

Thanks for all you teach me. 

And, thanks for taking care of your socks. 

I love you!

The Big Reveal

The waiting is almost over...tomorrow is the big reveal! Tomorrow night, over dessert (chocolate-covered strawberries...a Valentine's Day tradition in the Phillips household), Bobby and I will privately open the envelope that has been staring at us from the mantle since our ultrasound last week, and learn whether or not we're expecting a little boy or a little girl. (Thankfully, the ultrasound didn't accidentally reveal baby's gender to us...not even close. In fact, I have my doubts as to whether or not Mr. Ultrasound Technician actually saw what he needed to, but that's neither here nor there. We'll trust that he did.)

Much to the surprise of several friends, the waiting has not been difficult for us...truly! In fact, there have been times in the past couple of days when I've questioned whether or not I even still want to find out early.  Practically, it makes so much more sense to find out now. The nursery can be painted and decor chosen specifically in shades of pink or blue, the wardrobe can be gender-specific, and goodness, I know we're going to need all the time we can get to settle on a name...particularly if Baby Phillips is a 'she'. Still, there's still the traditional part of me that says, "don't you want to wait until delivery? Why do you want to take away one of life's only surprises?" Of course, we'll still be surprised tomorrow...but it isn't exactly the same as waiting until birth, which is the plan I thought I wanted until five months ago.

Oh, well. All that to say, we're finding out tomorrow! Second thoughts (and nerves) aside, we made the decision months ago, and I'm certain it'll be highly romantic. Valentine's Day PLUS the celebration of our eight years as a couple. February 14th is a particularly special day for us, and learning more about the person joining our family in a few months will make the day even more memorable. I'm incredibly excited! Even if I am a little apprehensive....

Friends have offered guesses as to what they suspect baby is (and it's so much fun when they do!), and have asked whether or not Bobby and I have a preference.

For me, that's an impossible question.

On the one hand, I'd love to have a baby boy. I'd love to watch Bobby teach him to throw a baseball, and I'd love imagining what my husband was like as a little boy himself. I'd love experiencing the messes and the mud, and learning all about trucks and trains and superheroes. I'd love seeing Bobby teach him how to be the kind of godly gentleman that he is. And, I'd love to be an example of the kind of godly woman I'd hope for my son to someday make his bride.

But, on the other hand, I'd love to have a baby girl. I'd love to see her melt her daddy's heart, and watch Bobby tenderly protect his little girl. I'd love to see glimpses of myself as she grows up. I'd love playing 'dress-up' and dreaming together. I'd love to show her how to take care of a home, how to lovingly handle her dolls, and picture her as a mother herself. I'd love to teach her to wait for a man as special as her daddy is, and I'd love watching Bobby walk her down the aisle someday.

Either way, I am content in knowing that it's part of God's perfect design...that He knew long ago whether we'd be welcoming a son or a daughter this summer...that there's a plan for the child He's creating for us...and that our little one will be fiercely loved by its' parents, and by the Lord.

How can we be anything but overjoyed, whatever the envelope reveals?!

For the record...
Bobby thinks it's a girl.

I think it's a boy. 

Although, whether as a result of intuition or Bobby's influence, I've started to think 'girl' in the past couple of days, as well.

I know one of us is right!

He or She?

Tomorrow is a big day! Tomorrow we have our 19-week ultrasound, which could, along with (hopefully) providing reassurance that our little one is growing and functioning well, reveal baby's gender.

I say "could" because although in less than twenty-four hours we could know whether we're having a boy or a girl, the plan is to wait even longer. Seven more days, to be exact. (Maybe we're crazy.)

But, Valentine's Day is just a week away, and the plan for our appointment tomorrow is to ask the ultrasound technician to write down the gender on a piece of paper and place it in an envelope for us to open together on the 14th. (Romantic, right? We think so.)

With that said, I have been mentally preparing myself for the possibility that the secret could be revealed tomorrow morning. We could accidentally see a little, uh, "something"...or, not see a certain little "something"...if you know what I mean...and I think you do.

And, that realization is absolutely surreal. Because whether we're surprised tomorrow or when we open the envelope in a week, I'm sure that learning our baby's gender will be another "this is really happening!" moment. I can only imagine the new connection to and excitement for this child that we'll experience when that happens.

There's a difference in saying...in knowing..."we're having a baby", and "we're having a son" or "we're having a daughter". I'm so looking forward to that.

He or she? We shall see! (Or, will we?)

Journal Excerpt: Our First Ultrasound

December 13, 2011 
(11 weeks)


I saw a miracle today.


...


The nurse came in the room first, and tried to find baby's heartbeat. Quietly we waited while she worked. It took a while to find it ... and for a moment I was nervous that we weren't going to be able to. And then, all of a sudden, there it was--"thump, thump, thump, thump...", strong and fast and so very real. Bobby and I locked eyes, knowing in that instant that as we heard your heart beat, you had completely stolen ours.


Later, (the doctor) came in for an ultrasound. And there you were! Our baby. She could hardly get a sonogram for as much as you were moving! You were so very active, moving every which way. (I told Bobby afterwards that it seemed obvious we either had "an athlete or an Emily!")

As we watched the screen in absolute wonder, the doctor said, "this is the real deal, guys!" People say that pregnancy feels more "real" once you've seen the baby, and I can now say that I concur. There is, without a doubt, an active, growing, alive baby inside of me...the "real deal". And, thank the Lord for that!


It was an incredible experience. Another beautiful milestone on this journey. I could have watched you wiggle on that screen for hours, Little One. You are breathtaking, and deeply treasured.


I saw a miracle today.

First Trimester Memories

As of this past Tuesday, I am fourteen weeks pregnant. And, during those fourteen weeks, I have shared nothing about the entire experience via this blog. (However, to my credit, I have documented the time somewhat in a private journal, so that's something. And, to be fair, I didn't learn I was pregnant until I was six weeks along, so really, I've only missed out on writing about it for the past eight weeks.) If I were doing it over again, I would have chosen to write blog entries throughout the early weeks, and then post them after the secret was out. Oh, well. Next time.

Although I'm somewhat frustrated with myself for not chronicling the events of the past eight weeks a bit better, as I reflect on the dark pit of discomfort that was much of the first trimester, I'm remembering the constant state of "...bleh..." that I found myself in. And, I'm finding it hard to imagine that I would have been in any sort of condition to write much more than "well, I threw up again...this is ridiculous"...and that's really not particularly eloquent.

In any case, as I begin what I can already tell really is going to be a much more pleasant second trimester, I'd like to share some of the memories from the past two months, for posterity's sake. Because pregnancy seems to very much be a journey with throw-ups-and-downs, good times and bad, happy moments and puny ones, I'm going to borrow a format (with a bit of variation) from my cousin's blog that she uses frequently and that I admire. So, without further ado, a -/+ look at some of this pregnancy's early occurrences.

(-) Waking up at 4:00 a.m. to throw up

(+) Having a job as a substitute teacher and being able to choose to stay home for the day

Let me say right off the bat that I vastly underestimated the phenomenon of "morning sickness". I knew it was a possibility, of course, but I didn't appreciate (how could I?) what it means to truly be in a constant state of near 24-hour nausea. I was not prepared for that miserable feeling. The morning after Bobby and I found out we were expecting, at six weeks exactly, I woke up at 4:00 in the morning and headed straight for the bathroom. I would say that it was only a psychological response, that I was perhaps expecting to get sick...were it not 4:00 a.m. But no, it was very much the real deal. 

For the five-ish weeks that followed, this was a normal trend that continued throughout the morning and eased around noon. There were several times when I was already committed to going to work, and there were a few days when it took all the energy I had to blow-dry my hair...while I sat on the floor...and took breaks to hover over the toilet again. Not fun. 

There were a couple of days when I was subbing at my mom's school, and during that time I was feeling miserable but still trying to hide my symptoms. And when you're feeling sick and your mother is one door down and you "can't" tell her all about it...well, it's rough, I tell you.

Still, I am incredibly fortunate to be able to stay home when needed and allow myself to rest. How expectant mothers working full-time do it, I don't know. 

(-) Getting sick

(+) A vast improvement in my attitude about it, 

in large part due to Bobby's constant encouragement

No one likes throwing up. I really don't. And that first week or so of tossing my cookies 3+ times per morning was really a strain on my mental health. I was discouraged, and I'm embarrassed to say that there were brief moments of feeling a bit of resentment about the whole thing. I knew the queasiness was a healthy sign, and I was thrilled to be expecting. The problem was that I didn't feel pregnant at that point; I just felt sick. 

Bobby was a significant source of strength during that time. He was constantly encouraging ("you're such a trooper!"), and saying he was proud of how I handled it. As unpleasant as it was for me to wake up in the middle of the night to vomit, it couldn't have been especially great to wake up to hearing it on a regular basis, or hear me complain about my symptoms. He was a trooper, patiently taking care of me as best as anyone could.

Anyway, Bobby thinks I "got better at getting sick". True, it turned into a bit of hobby, if you will, and around week ten, I started just taking care of business and moving on with things. It had a lot to do with gaining a better attitude, but was also a result in the changed physical state of no longer feeling constantly drained. By that point, I was getting sick, and then getting better. 

(-) Not sharing our news with loved ones right away

(+) Sharing a big secret between the two of us

Because the chance of miscarriage is greater during the first twelve weeks of pregnancy, Bobby and I chose to keep our baby news private for the first few weeks. It was a challenge not to share such major information, because we were both immensely overjoyed, and I was also really quite puny. Having family support a bit earlier may have made those initial weeks of sickness more bearable, but it was still special for Bobby and I. We got to celebrate our little one's upcoming arrival together, and that time of secrecy was time that I'll treasure. 

(-) The need to eat...constantly

(+) Dill pickle spears

Pregnancy nausea seems to be relieved by maintaining a full tummy. Ironic, since nausea doesn't at all inspire eating. But, that was exactly what was required. Aside from the vomiting, my biggest early pregnancy complaint was the need to constantly eat. I've always had a healthy appetite, but this incessant eating took a lot out of me. It was mentally draining to be continually thinking about not only what food I could eat next (often not more than half an hour after my previous snack), but what healthy food to eat. A healthy food that sounded appealing and wouldn't cause more nausea. It was tiresome! And it was constant. When I did substitute teach, I took a grocery bag full of food to get me through the day. It looked like far more food than one needed, and I didn't always eat all of it...but I sometimes did. I just couldn't risk running out of food lest I feel sick again. 

There were several foods that brought relief in those early days: lemon drops, oyster crackers, mints, chicken broth, ginger ale, pretzels, dry Cheerios, popsicles, Rice Krispie Treats, applesauce, bread, saltine crackers (so help me, I never want one of those again!)...and dill pickles. 

Cliche as it is for a pregnant woman to crave pickles, crave them I did. I bought three jars of them at the grocery store...for three weeks in a row. They were so satisfying, and I couldn't get enough. If I had to be eating, having a food that was so appealing was a blessing. 

I'm sorry to say that my desire for pickles has waned significantly, but not to worry! I still have a cabinet-full should the craving return. (And I'm really hoping that it does.)

(-) Having a dirty house

(+) Having a husband who understands

I am just now realizing just how exhausted I really was in those early weeks. I'm enjoying a boost of energy now, and things like grocery shopping, loading the dishwasher, and folding the laundry are actually getting done now...which just makes me realize how much time went by when they weren't. Bobby never complained when the laundry sat unfolded in a pile at the foot of the bed for days. (Hey, at least it got washed! Most of the time.) He never complained when he had to stop on his way home for dinner because I couldn't bring myself to make him a home-cooked meal. He wasn't suffering, but it wasn't the standard of married-living to which he's accustomed, and that I so enjoy regularly providing. I hated having a messy house, and feeling as though a nap was all I had energy for. But, I'm so thankful for a husband who not only didn't let me know that he probably hated it as much as I did, but did his best to make it better. 

(-) Getting sick in the BedBath&Beyond parking lot

(+) Only having two public morning sickness incidents

I'll spare you the details. It wasn't pretty. But, for feeling nauseous so often and having to leave the house on occasion like a normal person, I'm quite pleased with my track record of public "incidents". The first experience was actually at the doctor's office, after having blood drawn. (But, I figure it's a clinical environment, so surely they've seen it all, right?) And really, both experiences took place in relative privacy, so that's something to be thankful for. 

(-) Waking up at 4:00 a.m. to eat

(+) Not waking up to throw up

The nausea eased considerably around thirteen weeks, and I am highly enjoying this new pregnancy phase. My drive to eat has eased considerably, too...such a blessing! I still have an appetite, and when I need to eat, my body lets me know...but it isn't the constant annoyance that it was, and it feels easier to manage. My body's new habit, though, is hunger in the early morning hours. I've never been a midnight-trip-to-the-fridge kind of girl, so waking up with a growling stomach is a new thing for me. Two nights last week I woke up and had to make myself peanut butter cracker sandwiches in the kitchen at 4:00 a.m. (If you ask me, nothing tastes good at that time of morning. Nothing.)

After walking through the cold house twice, my new method of hunger control is to make my crackers the night before, store them in a plastic container in the bedroom, and munch on them one by one almost every time I'm up to go to the bathroom...which is frequently. So, throughout the night, I'm eating approximately four peanut butter cracker sandwiches. I'm hoping this pattern doesn't continue for long, but for the time being, it's tolerable, and is keeping my hunger at bay until the morning. (And yes, I'm eating hearty dinners with protein. This nighttime snacking is hardly a result of an insufficient meal, I assure you.)

I think that just about covers it (with the exception of a couple other momentous occasions, deserving of their own posts). What a memory-filled few months it has been!

(++++++) Knowing that in a few months, I get to be a mom

We're Having a Baby!

Our little "Firecracker" is due July 3rd!

Words cannot express our joy.

Oh, Possum....

This morning, 30 seconds away from needing to walk out the door and head to work, Bobby came into the kitchen, wide-eyed and momentarily speechless. Then, he said...

"There's a...'possum...laying in front of the couch in the living room."


I don't remember what I said. It doesn't matter, really.

I looked around the corner and peeked into the living room, where, sure enough, was an opossum laying on its side in front of the couch.

Yes, the floor needs to be vacuumed.
(As though THAT'S the biggest issue with this photo.)
The sticks Royal keeps bringing inside to chew on make
keeping the carpet clean a losing battle.
Oh, well. We (clearly) have bigger problems.

Was it dead? Was it "playing 'possum"? Who could say?! (You never can tell with 'possums.)

The other question on our mind...how the heck did it get inside? And, when?


The point of entrance, we're thinking, was Royal's doggy-door. And our suspicion, mortifying though it is, is that the intruder came inside...last night. As in, while-we-were-still-awake, last night. The interior laundry room door which leads to the doggy-door is closed before we go to bed, and so our little guest couldn't have come inside after that. Which unfortunately means that last night while I fell asleep watching t.v. on the couch in the other living room, waiting for Bobby to get home, there was a 4-legged, hairy critter with a tail (that wasn't Royal) meandering through the house. Ewwww. 


We can't even blame Royal. Truly, I'm not sure he was even involved. If you've met Royal, you'll likely agree that if he knew about the opossum's existence, the likelihood of it hanging out in the house and not causing a stir is slim to none. I just really think I would've been aware of any 'possum vs. dog interaction going on...in the next room. But, who knows? (If anything, I'd rather thank the dog. Even if he did bring the 'possum inside or play with it somehow, there was no obvious chase or damage to furniture, and no bloody mess. Let's face it, it probably could've been way worse.)

Anyway, back to this morning's predicament. Sure, the thing looked harmless enough, motionless and sleeping (?) as it was. But, if it was just "playing 'possum", would it bite when jostled? Jump? Run around the house? What does one DO in that situation?!


My first suggestion was to shut all the interior doors in the house and let Royal back inside. Surely he would bother the opossum enough to allow us to figure out whether it was alive or not. Brilliant, right? (Okay, I'm not proud of my thought process...but it was the best I could do given the circumstance. It seemed appropriate.)

Bobby, using his brain a bit more than I, pointed out that the 'possum could bite Royal, might be rabid, etc., and Royal needed to stay outside. (See? Smart in a crisis. I love him.) So, while I maintained a safe distance from my position on top of the kitchen island, Bobby heroically placed a large plastic bin over the critter. The thought was that the 'possum would either wake up and just walk out the door underneath the bin...or have to be scooted across the carpet.

Of course, the latter was what happened. The biggest problem was getting the non-moving 'possum up over the door trim by the front door. Bobby used a broom, and swept the little guy off the porch. Gross.

We're pretty sure the thing is dead. He seemed pretty stiff, and although he is a nocturnal creature and likely traumatized, the fact that he's been lying in the same spot on the cold grass for the past two hours getting snow-covered seems to suggest that he's a goner. But, only time will tell, I suppose, if he decides to get up and walk away. Ugh, whatever.

Needless to say, I felt a strong need to clean this morning. I shampooed the carpet (you know, since an opossum was laying on it...and was then scooted across it), and then Royal got a bath. Mark my words, the disinfecting has only begun.

It was a funny and obviously surprising way to start the day, and most certainly the strangest situation in home ownership we've experienced thus far. But, most of all, Bobby is my hero for bravely playing exterminator this morning...in his business suit. What a guy.

myPhone: Part III

Last post about my stolen and then recovered iPhone, I promise. (Well, no, I don't promise. You just never know.)

I'm fascinated by the amount of personal reflection and thoughts of faith that have emerged as a result of such a seemingly insignificant event in the course of the world (i.e. a lost phone). I'm thankful for the reminder given by this experience, that God uses the moments we least expect to guide and grow us. Seeing Him work in big ways in our little trials is such an excellent display of His intimate involvement in the smallest of life's circumstances.

My mom's blog post regarding this incident is encouraging and insightful, and truly makes the happy ending to this story "Even Better". Check it out.

Happy Friday, everyone!

myPhone: Part II

In case you missed it, my iPhone was stolen Sunday night.
Now that we're all caught up, let's move on to the really good part of the story....

Last night, Bobby took me to AT&T to get a new phone. I was not eligible for an upgrade, and so we would have had to pay face value for a replacement iPhone 4...not gonna happen. Thankfully, though, Bobby's phone was eligible for an upgrade (read: contract extension). I should mention that if anyone is actually in need of an upgraded iPhone, it's him. He has put up with a slower iPhone model (with a big ol' crack across the screen) for months now, and never once has he complained. As he said yesterday, "it works just fine, it just has fewer bells and whistles". He's a good guy. Bobby used his much-needed upgrade to get me a new iPhone yesterday, one that's slightly better than my old one, in fact. And although an unfortunate and unexpected expense, the cost of the phone with the upgrade was a far more reasonable price to pay, given the circumstance.

Yes, I was excited about a brand new phone. But, I still couldn't help but feel guilty for getting a second, new iPhone 4 when my ever-so-deserving husband was still dealing with a broken old one. We got in the car after making the purchase, and I was moved to tears considering his selflessness and generosity. He never complained. He never balked at the idea of using his upgrade. He just did it...and I highly doubt that I would've been equally as loving had the situation been reversed. I know I am married to an incredible man, but getting such a poignant reminder every now and then of what a truly excellent husband I have is certainly a powerful blessing.

When we got home, I was surprised and overjoyed to discover that my apps and music and contacts (though not entirely updated) were backed up on the computer and transferred easily to my new phone. Last night, as we waited for trick-or-treaters, I worked on getting the phone back to my preferred settings and was officially back in business. Life was very, very good again.

But, the story isn't over yet! Oh no, my friends...read on.

This morning, Bobby and I were awoken bright and early to the doorbell ringing. Thinking it was the utility company coming to read our meters so early in the morning again, I had no intention of answering the door, but peeked out the window curiously. There, sitting in the driveway, was a police car.

"Bobby! It's the police! I think we need to answer the door!" Of course, by "we", I meant Bobby, as I was hardly feeling presentable for an early morning visitor.

But, when I heard the officer say that a cell phone was recovered at a local high school (my alma mater, in fact), and that they were able to trace the number back to our address, I was hardly concerned with appearances. I came to the door and said "no way...." (Sidenote: Bobby and I never actually offered to let the officer come inside. We are so not experienced in proper policeman etiquette. Oops.) The officer (another alum) was very friendly, and his very much unexpected news absolutely made our day.

The individual that we had suspected was responsible for the theft does, in fact, appear to be the perpetrator, and was described by the officer as a "regular troublemaker". (Yeah, that's evident.) After the teenager brought the phone to school yesterday, it was stolen from him (ironic, yes?), and somehow made it into the hands of the school security officer, who questioned the student. And his story wasn't adding up. Why couldn't he get into the locked device? Who were those two people on the home screen?

Lesson #1: Passcode protection on the phone works. My data should be entirely secure, as he was never able to get into the phone. Fantastic.

Lesson #2: A personal photo on the home screen makes it quite clear whether or not the phone is yours. Nobody has a wedding picture of the bride and groom on the home screen of their phone if they aren't part of the happy couple. And, when you're in high school, and look nothing like either of the newlyweds, it raises suspicions. (Although you've got to appreciate the story he came up with when asked who the bride and groom were. Apparently, he met "us" downtown, and took our picture. "That's John and Karen". Good one, dude.)

So, the phone was apprehended and I should be able to pick it up soon, data (photos! contacts! calendars!) in tact and secure. For a brief second, I was annoyed that we had purchased a new phone no less than 14 hours prior. But, my well-deserving husband should end up getting his earned upgrade, and be able to use the new phone as his own. That's what being loving and unselfish will do for you, I suppose!

The difficult question today was determining whether or not to press charges against this young man. I certainly don't wish to ruin a 15-year-old's future, and it's tempting to think that offering grace as a Christian should mean giving him a free pass. But, recognizing the deliberate and brazen manner in which this individual did what he appears to have done, it feels as though the more loving thing to do is to provide an opportunity for him to learn, grow, and change...before stealing an iPhone turns into stealing a car, or worse. That potential for change is exactly what we hope a juvenile intervention does for this young man.

I've considered where my heart is with this matter: am I simply seeking justice for wrongs committed against me out of spite or vengeance? No. I'm not out to get anyone. But, after considering the facts as they've been presented, about this event and about this teen, I truly believe that not getting away with this and suffering the consequences could be the best thing to happen to this adolescent. I'm so hopeful for an even-happier ending to his story.

We'll see what happens.

Tonight, I am feeling unbelievably refreshed. After feeling discouraged and frustrated by this experience, I now feel nothing but deeply blessed. I am grateful that my phone was rescued. I am grateful that my husband will now get a better phone as a result of this ordeal. But, more than anything, I am ever so thankful for the opportunity to realize again what special people I have in my life.

I was at church when the theft occurred, and many friends there offered such encouragement and sweet words when I was so clearly distressed. My parents fed us a spaghetti dinner afterwards, providing comfort and hugs and patiently letting me mope. My best friend checked on me the next day, and gave an enormous compliment that was of more comfort than she knows. And Bobby, besides making sure that my phone was replaced quickly, did his best to make me happy again. He takes such good care of me. ("I said, 'for better or for'...now.")

I am surrounded by individuals who through their example of compassion and love don't allow me to foster malice, but instead help inspire an attitude of grace. This entire experience has reminded me of that; I believe God intended this trial as definite evidence of His abundant blessings in disguise.

How can I be anything but grateful?

These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith

—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—

may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.

1 Peter 1:7