Eighty Percent Less Greens

Did I ever tell you about the time I was going to have a hypnobirth?

This was notably during my "becoming vegan" phase, where I decided everything not made in an old medicine woman's cast iron tub was harmful to everyone under the sun, and how dare you?

Eventually, I did become vegan, and my husband did, too, (by default), and I could dive into that, but maybe it would be better if you just showed up Wednesday evenings at St. Mark's in the basement where you can hear him share the post-traumatic woes of eating something called "bok choy."

That's not even one of the hardcore vegetables, but I digress.

Just as "default vegan" as my husband was, he was also a "default hypnobirther" because guess who was nominated to softly serenade me into a soft, twilight trance that would obviously (and most definitely) make me forget that I was ushering my daughter out into this world via the smallest door in the universe?

My husband.

Granted, he does have a soft, angelic-like voice that makes one lose control of their extremities if donning the exact right timbre, but I highly doubt there was anything he could have said, danced, mimed with his hands, that would have made me forget what was about to happen to the lower half of me.

Oh, and last minute, I chose the epidural.

Sometimes, I laugh. Okay, fine, I laugh a lot. I realize, out of everyone, my husband has had a front-row seat to knowing the person I was before Jesus and the one after, the one still growing and changing and being refined like silver in the fire (Psalm 66:10).

And man, has he seen a lot.

But he, above all people, is thankful for my sanctification. If not for the fact that we eat roughly eighty percent less greens in this house now, maybe for the fact that God has shifted my priorities back to where they properly belong.

Before, I had an achingly ambitious heart. I was competitive beyond belief and didn't know a person I couldn't turn into an arm's length frenemy, even if only in my head.

Now? I die every day to my family, to the dreams that were once trying to kill me, and to the fact that suffering–in those bits and spurts that can really rough a heart up–is sometimes the best antidote to what we try to run and hide from most.

Ourselves.

Before I wrap this one up, I wanted to share something from where I've found most of my best life guidance.

Reddit.

Somebody named "Tesaractor" aptly defined the process of accepting Jesus and what sanctification through Him looks like:

"We accept Christ and the Holy Spirit in our lives. This is done through surrender and sanctification and faith. The more we surrender to Christ, the more area He has to work with. Some people never get filled because they don't have faith in the Holy Spirit or that God will move, and they never surrender."

It's God's work within us. But it's also our desire to know Him better by reading the Word, spending time with Him in prayer, and serving His people.

He moves, and in doing so, we should move too. Especially when vegetables are involved.