Passing...

I just thought I should let everyone know that I passed my comprehensive finals. All my t's are crossed, and my i's are dotted, and I should receive my M.A. in History on May 6. Thank you to everyone who prayed for me. My test day went really well, there were no nasty surprises on the test questions, and my thoughts came pretty easily. I felt pretty good about it, but you never know, so I was glad to get the news for my committee chair. I'm a little reluctant to share the next bit of news because I don't want to act like this is too big of a deal, but I got a letter in the mail letting me know that my department has named me as the 2006 Outstanding Graduate Student in History. It's a nice thing to have on my resume, so I appreciate that. It's nice to know that my professors must think I've had something besides inane babbling to contribute during our seminars together. So I'm letting those of you that care about this sort of thing know about it so I don't have to hear indignant grumbling about how I didn't tell anybody. When I started my M.A., I wasn't sure if I'd be finishing, or if I should be starting or finishing. But David encouraged me, and I enjoyed it, and it just might come in handy some day (an M.A. in anything can be an asset). Thanks to all of you who have supported me in numerous ways.

A visit to see my nephew...

I'd like to introduce everyone to the newest member of my family. He's a little heartbreaker, isn't he? This is Isaac Nathaniel Whitaker, the first child of my brother Vance and his wife, Terri. Last week was my spring break from preschool, so I went up to Minnesota on Wednesday to visit. David came up on Friday to join us, and we flew back on Monday. I was a little nervous about how I would do with Isaac. The smallest babies are the hardest for me to look at. But when I held him for the first time, I knew he had me at hello. =) Who knew I could fall so hard for a man who poops in his pants and throws up on me? Isaac looks uncannily like my brother at that age. The first time I saw a picture of Isaac, it gave me goosebumps. I was a toddler when Vance was born, so I don't remember what he looked like, but I've seen the pictures and heard the tapes of him cooing and laughing a hundred times. It was a bizarre feeling to know that I'd hugged a child that looked just like this over 20 years ago. He's a little thinner and longer, and his chin may be a shade bit different, but other than that, they could be twins, in my opinion. Terri was out of luck on this one, but I'm praying that next time around she has a little girl who's as beautiful as she is. My brother is a plant geneticist, so of course he had to take out his calculator as soon as I arrived and figure out how many genes Isaac and I share. The answer is about 12.5% of the same genes, in case you were curious. This is the kind of stuff that I get a kick out of in being family. Family resemblances and passed down traits mean something to me. That's one reason why the thought of adoption is so hard for me. I'm really enjoying being related to this little guy. I'd give him a kidney any day. =) I hope he doesn't need it. Anway, I digress. I went up early to help Terri with the baby, and she let me do just that. Terri has a philosophy that is great, but I think a bit unusual for first time mothers. Her basic idea if I understand it correctly is, "He sees you once or twice a year. If I'm not feeding him, you can hold him, change him, burp him, and spin him until he pukes. You can do this all day until bedtime. I will accept the fallout of a baby who has been held constantly for 72 hours with patience and grace." =) Ok, I'm kidding about the spinning until he pukes part. Thanks for being so generous, Terri. I'm not sure that I would be. We went shopping at the Mall of America, Terri got to nap with earplugs, talke 15 minute showers, and exfoliate her feet, and I got to cook dinner most nights. I got to let them watch a movie I'd already seen during Isaac's fussy time. I've never chopped carrots while rocking a baby with my foot before, but I did it this week. We all passed the baby around when we played a game one night. It was funny to watch Vance bounce a fussy two-month-old while attempting to play his cards. I've learned through this experience what a gift you give to others when you allow them to serve you. It's hard for me to accept help sometimes, and I think it is for all of us. But Christ talked about our role as servants so much, and we keep others from receiving the blessings of serving when we don't allow them to serve us. We don't have to have it together all the time like we think we do. Giving and receiving help strengthens the family of God so much, and I know its strengthened my relationship with Vance and Terri. I helped take care of the baby and cook, and that was my gift. I gave what I could give. Terri and Vance accepted me and loved me as a hurting, emotionally vulnerable, unpredictable sister, and that was their gift. I don't think its a fair trade, but they're willing to make it anyway. I think if I climbed on the roof of their house and took a megaphone and started singing sad songs to their neighborhood, they would shrug their shoulders, say "Ellen's having a bad month. This isn't her all the time, and we'll think the best of her basic character anyway," and go get a ladder. There aren't many people that can do that. I love you for it, Bro and Sis. I enjoyed my time in Minnesota, not because of I got to walk on a frozen lake, but because being with you helps me to allow the ice to thaw on my heart. Thank you for your warmth. I miss you.

See Rock City

Well, yesterday David and I decided that lying around the house and feeling sorry for ourselves was for the birds. So we decided to go and SEE ROCK CITY. For those of you who don't know, Rock City is in Chattanooga, TN, about 2 hours from Birmingham. Apparently, their advertising is more famous than the place itself. You can't drive far into Tennessee without seeing one of their billboards or their famous red barn with a black roof and those words written on the roof. People have been telling us to visit Chattanooga before we move, and we hadn't, so it seemed like now or never. We headed out searching for adventure, and we found a little. I was actually kind of impressed with Rock City. I think it's worth a two hour drive to see. Basically, its a winding walk through huge rocks that make really interesting formations. Some of the passages are very narrow. David is standing by the entrance to Fat Man's Squeeze. You actually have to squeeze your way through that narrow opening. It was a beautiful day, and just being outdoors is really soothing and pleasant to both of us. The place is privately owned, and that means that the owners were able to do weird things that never would have been allowed in any state park. For instance, in some of the passages, you can see statues of gnomes. They also have a Fairyland Cave with scenes from fairy tales. I don't know about you, but there is something fabulously tacky to me about gnomes. They make me smile with their immense tackiness. In the gift shop, they had gnome mugs with your name on them. I found my name, so of course, the mug had to come with me. David and I have a collection of mismatched mugs that we've picked up in different places that have significance for us. It sounds silly, but the mug just about made my day. =) After we left Rock City, we went down to the Chattanooga waterfront and to the Tennessee Aquarium. David and I have this new theory about aquariums. So many people tell us about different aquariums, and they always say, "You have to see this aquarium. It's one of the best I've seen." You rarely get a bad recommendation on an aquarium. It just doesn't seem to happen. Our theory is that everyone has only seen one aquarium, and they liked it, so its one of the best. That is why the Chattanooga aquarium is one of the best, as is the one in Atlanta, as well as the one in Gatlinburg. But, since we took everyone's recommendation, we can now objectively identify the best and worst aquariums in the world. Let us know if you need our services. The Chattanooga aquarium is very nice, by the way. =) David liked the butterfly room, but I enjoyed the otters--who were sleeping out of view when we first stopped by, but we managed to catch them playing after coming back a second time on the advice of a friendly otter expert. After we observed the fishes, we went to the Pickle Barrel for dinner. I wish I'd taken a picture of this restaurant. It was downtown, situated between two streets, and was kind of narrow and shaped like a rounded triangle. We seated ourselves at the only table available, and one of the two waiters, the white guy with the blonde dreadlocks, shortly cleared off the dishes from the last person. The walls were a mixture of wood and stone--with names carved or written everywhere, and the ceiling looked like it was made from mismatched wooden boxes. It was quite eclectic and artsy, and you could order fried pickles if you wanted. We didn't. Your sandwich could come with tater tots if you wanted, and I did. I enjoyed ordering tater tots at a restaurant. While we were there, I thought about the fact that I was eating dinner in Tennessee in my mom's time zone, and she didn't have a clue where I was or what I was doing. Kind of a sneaky, guilty pleasure from college days feeling. It was funny. We had a really nice day together, and I was reminded again why I married my husband. We are a team who can enjoy life's big and little adventures together. I love that he wants to go and do these things on a Saturday. I love that he bugs me to eat at a place called the Pickle Barrel because it has a cool name. We are our own wacky family, the Bragdons, and we're going to be ok.

King Hezekiah...

Hi. Well, it's been a nasty little roller coaster ride around here. Anybody who read my previous post knows why. For several reasons, this particular devastating month was worse than others for me. This was my first month of spending hundreds of dollars on a miracle drug that the doctor assured me was the greatest thing since sliced bread with far higher pregnancy rates than the other drug I'd been taking. Blah, blah, blah. I'd really gotten my hopes up about it, far higher than they should've been. Of course, this had to be it. This was going to fix everything Especially since its my last hope for medical treatment, right? Surely, God was going to show up and fix it all. Wrong again. So this month, I was absolutely furious. Furious may not even be a strong enough word. I was furious at my doctor for getting my hopes up. I was furious at myself for believing him. I've also had some news that a formerly infertile friend is expecting for the second time. So, natually I've been furious at the unfairness of that. And of course, we can't leave out being furious at God, and furious at myself for possibly misinterpreting a ton of things that I think He may have told me. The interesting thing is that I know one big reason why I'm not getting pregnant. The month that I got pregnant with the baby we lost, I had a hormone surge while the egg was growing. One day it was tiny, and the next time they checked, it was huge. It grew faster than it should've, and my hormone levels went from low to high all at once. That month, I asked my doctor about it, and he told me, "I don't want to get your hopes up, but this could be it for you. We really like to see a hormone surge like this because it makes the egg good, especially in our patients doing the shots (what I did this month)." I remembered that, and I paid attention. I did not have a surge this month. I've only had it once, and that month I got pregnant, no problem. And this is the kicker. With all their medicine, with everything modern technology can do, THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING THAT THE DOCTOR CAN DO TO MAKE THIS HAPPEN. Nothing. There may be other things wrong, I don't know, but I know that without this, medicine can do nothing for me. And that's a really interesting feeling. I have run out of medical options. Without a miracle, I will never be a mother. In the past few days, this has made me feel ways that I haven't felt before. I have given up. I have not believed any more in the possibility of this dream coming true for me. I don't believe anymore that I can do anything to get myself pregnant. This makes me desparate and sad and mentally unhinged at times. But it is also a relief. I have been reading a novel where the lead character is King Hezekiah. Hezekiah trusted the Lord, and he pleased the Lord. But his fear that God would not protect him led him to make alliances with foreign powers that led to the Temple being stripped of its gold and Jerusalem being laid seige. All of his plans for his own security came to nothing. Relying on himself didn't get him anywhere he wanted to be. God stepped in and brought a plague on the Assyrian army, but they wouldn't have been camped outside his door if Hezekiah had trusted God enough not to make stupid decisions. I don't want to be Hezekiah, so afraid that God won't take care of me that I have a million plans to take care of myself that leave me worse off than if I'd trusted Him in the first place. I don't trust in the medicine anymore. It has no power apart from God. We will do another round before we leave Birmingham because we're not sure God wants us to stop yet. I'm less sure now than I ever have been that I know what God is trying to tell me. Scary and humbling. But do I think it'll work this month or the next month or ever? I really don't know, but if it does, it won't be the medicine healing me. I'm really sure of that now in a way I've never been before. I cannot trust in chariots or horsemen, but in the Lord my God. And He's taking me to the absolute end of myself to show me that.

Tired and angry

I had my blood pregnancy test this morning. I'm not pregnant. It is better if I don't comment any more right now.

Ok, ok...

Alright, I had my little freakout session, and I'm fine now. Hope I didn't scare anybody too bad. Sorry, Mom. =) I wrote the last post on Thursday night late, and on Friday, the topic of my daily devotional was "Mobilizing Fear." The verse was, "Even when I go through the darkest valley, I fear no danger, for You are with me."-Psalm 23:4. The devotional went on to say that some people try to control situations in an attempt to ensure a certain outcome. Hmm, guilty of that. "Instead of giving in to fear, move closer to Christ." As if that wasn't a good enough kick in the pants, the nightly devotional that David and I read together before bed was about how seemings and feelings are often substituted for faith. We have to distinguish between the fact of God's presence and our emotions about the situation. Hmm. Ok, ok, I guess I'd better try to get the point for about the 1000th time. God is here, He doesn't hate me because I don't get to do what I want when I want, and my fear is only going to make living by faith a lot harder. It won't change my circumstances, anyway, so why worry? Maybe one day I can get this to sink in for longer than 2 seconds. Thanks for your prayers. My comps are tomorrow from 12-4.

The roadmap

Ok, if you're looking at the time of this post, it's late. I can't sleep. I have too many things buzzing around in my brain, and I'm hoping that if I write them down, I'll be able to make a visit to Dreamland.

Nightime hasn't been fun for me lately. My comps are getting closer and closer, and so is my pregnancy test. During the day, this doesn't bother me so much. I can keep the worry at bay. At night, when I should be sleeping, lying in my bed, is where all my fears assault me. I imagine all kinds of impending doom coming to get me. I won't pass my comps; I won't have a baby. Nothing will turn out right. I'll eventually go crazy. I will need a padded room or two wherever we live. If there's a fear out there to be had, I take it and make it my own. I make up ridiculous scenarios that will probably never happen, but they seem perfectly legit to me at 1:00 a.m.

Tonight I was thinking about all the things I fear, and I realized that it all boils down to feeling completely out of control. I think I heard this analogy in a sermon, but I can't remember where, and tonight while I was lying in bed, I put myself in the story.

I started out traveling with a roadmap that God gave me. He put the directions for my life in the Bible, and He gave me guidance to interpret that through reading His Word, answers to prayer, circumstances, etc. He showed me where to go. I'm sitting in the car, and I've got this map out in front of me. David and I are driving, and at first, I really like the drive. If this is where God wants me to go, I'm all for it. The scenery is beautiful; there are trees and hills and valleys everywhere. Everthing is green. I sit back and smile with satisfaction. Apparently God and I had the same idea about my life.

Then the map calls for a turn. This road doesn't look like something that should even be on a map. I wonder if I got the road name right when we turned. The terrain is getting rougher and rougher. The road becomes a dirt road. There are no trees. There is nothing but red clay and dust for miles. The potholes could swallow cows, and we're driving a Camry. I've got my map turned upside down, sure I'm reading it wrong. But I know I'm reading it right. All the signposts are there. This is what God had in mind. And I hate it. My throat starts to close with fear. I begin to wonder if we'll ever see a tree again. I begin to say, like the Israelites said to Moses, "Did you bring me out here to die in the wilderness? I'm running out of water. I want to go back to Egypt. It would be better to die there."

That's how I feel right now. I'm afraid, and I don't want to go. David and I are sure that God led him to apply for the Supreme Court clerkship at this time in our lives. I was excited when I realized that at least He hadn't forgotten we existed, and He did have some plan for us that He was willing to tell us about. I still am excited sometimes about that part of it, just the surety that there is some sort of plan, and we haven't been forgotten.

But...we are picking up, and we're moving again. We're starting all over, and we're doing it in a city that I don't particularly care for at just about the worst possible time to start over, in my opinion. I will see David less than I ever have because of his job demands. I may be looking for a job yet again. And what scares me more than any of it is the fear that we will move, and I won't be pregnant. We'll be there, we won't be able to do treatment because of David's busy schedule, and it may be at least a year before we can figure out what else to do.

I think I can handle all the rest, but I'm afraid that I can't handle moving to DC with a broken heart. Not on top of everything else. Time is speeding on, and I feel like I'm on a conveyor belt in a bad movie. I want to get off before I reach the knife blades, but I can't.

The bottom line is that I don't like God's roadmap for me. I have one idea, and He has another. His plan gives me no control whatsover. It looks nothing like what I imagined it to be. I don't get a say. I just decide to obey or not. I'm praying that He will give me the strength to obey. I want to remember, not forget, all the ways He has carried me. I want to put down an Ebenezer stone and say, "Thus far, the Lord has helped me."

I want to believe that there is some Promised Land out there that is far better than I imagined, and maybe I'm just taking the long way around. But its hard. It's really hard. It's harder than I ever thought possible. Tomorrow, the road may be smoother. But it may not be. I just don't know. But I know who made the roadmap. I just have to look back and remember His goodness along the way. He hasn't failed me.

Madama Butterfly...

David and I went to the Birmingham Opera this weekend to see their production of Madama Butterfly. This was the third time we've gone. I'm so glad David likes opera. We saw Rigoletto first, and then Aida. The opera is always held in the Alabama Theatre downtown. We can park in David's regular parking deck around the corner from work, and the theatre itself is gorgeous. It's one of those restored, art deco, 1920's theatres. The walls are covered in gold gilded images, there is lush red velvet everywhere, the bathrooms have a separate powder room with Chinese themed makeup mirrors. It's very grand. And we can get tickets really cheap. We went to the Sunday matinee, and the ticket office gave me two student tickets even though the guy knew David wasn't a student, so we got to see great opera for only $20. You can't beat that. When I think about how out of our price range opera in Washington will be, it makes me want to cherish the experience here even more. Watching opera is a little like coming home for me. I know this sounds weird to about 98% of my generation, so let me explain. My mother was an opera singer. She got her B.A. in voice from UNC-G, and she went on to get her M.A. in voice at the Cincinnati College Conservatory. We have book after book at home of photographs of her in various operas. She probably sang a role in Madama Butterfly at one point. I know she had the lead role of Mimi in La Boheme. Classic music and classical music training were largerts of my life from the time I was very little. Vance and I would sit around the piano every morning, and we would often practice sight singing (that's reading music and singing it with only one chord to guide you). Did we always jump up and down with joy when we had to do this? No way, but it'll grow on you. I was in a professional children's choir from age 11 to age 18, and we sang in every language imaginable. I might not have understood what I was singing, but I enjoyed hearing the strange phrases in Norweigan, Latin, Italian, French, etc., rolling off my tongue. Our choir was top notch, so UNC-G's opera department would come calling to get children for their opera productions. I was a street urchin in La Boheme, and I was a shepherd in Ahmahl and the Night Visitors. I loved it. I got to wear cool costumes and stage makeup and sing with some really great voices. Mom got us into the arts, and she drove us all over creation for rehearsal. Several years of piano lessons were mandatory in the Whitaker home. Music was something she really wanted to pass on to her children. Now I'm all grown up, and I have much less time for classical music in my life. I'm not in a professional choir anymore, and I miss it. I'm afraid that it may be difficult to continue the tradition, but I hope to try one day. But when I watch the curtain come up, and I hear the strains of a familiar Italian composer start to swell, I remember, and just for a minute, I go back. One of our family traditions was classical music. All families have traditions, and when we grow up, we inevitably have trouble continuing some of those traditions. But it is good to remember, and if we can, relive some of those memories where we are and share them. After all, they're part of who we are now, even if they're a little buried at the moment by daily life.

Comps...

I don't know how the rest of you are, but I don't deal well with stress. I wish I did better with it. For the past couple of days, I've been stressed. What this means to me right now is that I have bad dreams all night and wake up unrested and stressed out. I then lie in bed and remind myself out loud that I'm going to be ok, and I will live, and everything will be fine. I can usually calm myself down this way at least a little, and its even better if my cat jumps up and lets me pet her. That'll slow down my heart rate, too. Why, you ask, am I stressed out? Well, its because of a little thing called comprehensive finals. After 2 1/2 years of hard work, I am getting my M.A. in History this spring. I hope. If I pass my comprehensive finals which are on March 13. Yes, that's right, just a little over a week away. If I do not pass them, I will be in big trouble. I will not get my M.A., and I will become a bag lady shuffling through town, picking up cans for spare change. Comprehensive finals mean that I sit in a room with blue books and write for 4 hours on whatever 3 essay questions my three lovely and illustrious comps committee professors decide to give me. My program doesn't attempt to make comps a nightmare, as opposed to other M.A. programs I've heard of, so this means that I do have some idea what my essay questions will be about. I'm thankful for this, but it hasn't seemed to keep me from being stressed. I did get to pick the professors on my committee, and I think they all like me. I guess I'll find that out for sure on Monday, March 13. Anyway, if you're reading this, please pray for me. Pray that the Lord takes away this stress so that I can function better. Pray that He will lead me to learn exactly what I need to learn to pass. Pray that I am diligent at studying, and that I don't procrastinate too badly.

The Bad Birthday Blues...

Hey, everybody. I realized I hadn't written for several days, and since my sister-in-law's blog is faithfully updated every couple of days, the guilt began to eat at me. =) The reason I haven't written is because I've been too busy being sick and grouchy about it. My 27th birthday was on February 21. That was also the day that I woke up with a horrible cold. I made it to work, thinking it was just a sinus problem from weather changes, but the fever that came on made me realize that I was sadly mistaken. David had Papa John's pizza (my favorite) delivered to work, but unfortunately, I was too sick to really enjoy it. He made me cashew chicken for dinner, and he lit the candles on my birthday cake. I made my wish, but the thought of the cake itself was odious to me, so I didn't eat any. How pathetic. The crud continued, leading to me tossing my Cheerios by the trash can in the parking garage on the way to an early morning ultrasound. I tried to rally enough to go to the Beth Moore live event, and Friday night was good, but Saturday morning, I was sick to my stomach again. This time the nausea was related to swollen ovaries and elevated hormone levels. David was scheduled to take me out for dinner that night, but I didn't even want to go. After all the work he'd put into making my birthday special, he didn't get to see the fruits of his labor pan out. I'm most disappointed about that, really. All in all, it was a stinky week. I can't remember ever being sick on my birthday before, so that probably lends to the problem. I guess I didn't realize how much I'd been expecting my day to be all about me like it always is, and when it didn't happen, I felt cheated. Just another lesson about putting all my hope in everyday circumstances, I guess. It's so tough not to get bent out of shape when life doesn't go your way, even in something small, like a ruined birthday. But there is always a silver lining. I'm feeling much better now, the weather has significantly improved, and I got to reschedule birthday dinner with David's mom and dad for last night when I could enjoy it. I got to have Mr. P's steak and Mom's delicious homemade cheesecake, and I got to blow out my candles with a smile on my face. We'll just call this a two week birthday "season," I guess. Here's hoping that all your birthdays are happy ones. =)