The Culp's Realistic Christmas Letter 2015

I LOVE receiving Christmas letters. People need to send more Christmas letters. You need to send me a Christmas letter.
However, do you ever think, like I do, that maybe we put a little too much gloss and glamour in our recounting of the year? Maybe we only hit the highlights so that people will never know the real in our everyday, or maybe it's because we think that's all people want to read.
So, for your reading pleasure, I am about to write...

The Culp's Realistic Christmas Letter 2015

 Wow, what a crazy full year!! 2015 brought us the greatest gift, our precious daughter Eowyn, who was born on May 3rd after a whole lot of labour and promptly yelled- NO SLEEP FOR YOU! This little girl is true to her word. It's a good thing God made babies so cute! And we do actually believe that we have the cutest one. Our apologies to baby's everywhere. 
The following days, weeks, and yes, months, have been hard as we completely change our way of life for this little peanut. She takes up a lot of room! Nothing seems to go as planned when a baby enters the picture. I had grand ideas of how lovely every day would be with my perfect child. Eowyn had an undiagnosed tongue and lip tie for the first 5 months of her life which meant that nursing took up to an hour and a half every three hours. Netflix was my friend. This went on for 5 months before I had the doctor check again- 'Oh, she has a tongue tie.' And with a simple operation, our precious girl finally began to gain weight and I had my life back!
As if having a baby and saying goodbye to sleep and sanity wasn't enough for the Culp family, Jordan decided to go back to school. (Take note that in going back to school he completely disregarded my direct order three years ago when we were taking one class together, I turned to him and said- You are never allowed to go back to school.)
Over the past year Jordan felt the tug quite strongly to study music and more specifically worship arts. He has a gift and a passion to lead others in worship. Coincidence that we live in Three Hills where Brian Doerksen started a Worship Arts program just a year before? I don't think so! So remembering my promise to 'go wherever he goes and there to be buried' I told him that of course I want to stay in Three Hills longer and have meals at my parents house! 
Jordan is a full time student at Prairie College as well as construction worker, Prairie Chapel Coordinator, Guitar teacher and Drums Teacher! (He can also teach Piano, any guitar, and probably the tuba) Life for this amazing husband and father is busy. 
Rachael stays at home. All. The. Time. Help. 
Without friends who come over to have tea and chat, as well as the wonderful world of Skype and FaceTime, I do believe I would start to babble full time. But somehow I keep quite busy! There is laundry, and dishes, and sweeping, and knitting and play time. I am trying to keep our cozy rental house a beautiful sanctuary for the three of us and quite literally keep the home fires burning with the wood stove! Speaking of the oven...since moving into our Gingerbread House, I have burnt the majority of my dishes. I don't usually do that, really, only occasionally. A month ago the oven, instead of burning our food or under cooking it, finally quit. Then two weeks later started again, and ever since has been going through menopause. Hot, then cold. Jordan's poor stomach is without many Christmas cookies this season!

Things that Jordan and Rachael have been lovingly arguing about in 2015:

Jordan has the hard journey of being married to a minimalist wannabee (Do I hear a Holla!?). He often catches Rachael tip toeing to the closet with an (unneeded) item to toss in the second hand bag. Sometimes she is able to make it past him and the bag gets quite big in anticipation of its journey

to the Tilly, but before freedom, Rachael starts to find certain items back in the original space, or tucked away in one of Jordan's boxes in the basement. You will often hear raised voices that will sound something like this: "Rachael, what are you doing?" "Umm...we're not using this..." "That's my candy jar for my future office!" "But you don't have an office!" "I will someday! Put it back!"

To top it all off, Rachael is now on a quest to rid the house of plastic, processed food, MSG, and gluten. Pray for Jordan. 

Likewise, Rachael has the hard journey of being married to an expert password creator. Jordan pulls out all the stops when it comes to security. The only problem is, Rachael can't remember any of them. On a recent outing to print some things off, Rachael, like every other time, had to call Jordan to ask for the passwords. He wasn't answering. She tried texting. He wasn't answering. She would have tried Facebook or email but she couldn't remember the passwords. So finally, she jumped in the car and stormed into the house, ready to show him how wronged she was. Boy was she mad, there was nothing Christ like or submissive about her attitude and she may have said a few words that she later 

regretted. Her best friend Jordan Ann walked into the house just in the heat of Rachael's threats to "change all the passwords to one letter!" She looked at them, then promptly turned around and left. 

Yes, we argued a few times in 2015. And now we laugh about most of them. In all seriousness, this year has been so FULL. Every day has had its challenges, and its joys. Eowyn keeps reminding us just how selfish we are! And God's grace keeps reminding us that He loves us freely and completely. I am learning a new dependence on God through the life of my daughter. I am terrified for her. How will I protect her throughout her life? I have had to realise that I can only do so much, the rest I need to turn over to God and trust Him. I literally have to raise my hands and say: I surrender. Jordan has been learning how to juggle. There is so much on his plate, work, school, demanding wife, adorable daughter. It's a lot for one man! He has been doing such an amazing job, but sometimes it gets hard. 

We hope that this strange blog post about our year has brought some laughs, groans, and hope into your normal or crazy day! God is GOOD, all the time and He has been good to us through all of the ups and downs of our year. God bless you richly as you celebrate His birth wherever you are!

Love from the Culps

  

 

This Is Hard- A Letter to My Husband

Hey you. My love. The man I wake up to. The man who gave me two daughters. This morning I handed her to you asking you to please take her all wide awake, then fell back on the pillow. When I woke up there she was, snuggled next to you, both asleep. It is amazing how little sleep you and I live on.
Sigh. "This is hard." Is repeated by us both several times a day. We are navigating new waters with an infant and you going back to school. This is hard. We used to stay up watching movies or each other, now we rock and sway and say SHHHH, then place her in bed and fall asleep mid prayer.
I was remembering the first years of us, when we thought we were being selfless looking after each other. Back when date night was priority and I made you supper every night. We read marriage books and were able to go places spur of the moment.
I miss you. I miss us. I miss not having to be quiet or live on a tiny persons schedule. I miss theatres of all places. I miss making you a priority.
I can't remember what I'm like with 8 hours of sleep, I was stunning and radiant I'm sure! These days I look in the mirror and those words are far from my mind to describe my reflection.
I don't feel beautiful, I feel like a cow. And I'm sure you feel spread over thin between home, school and work. I can understand now why couples say they "fell out of love". In the craziness of this family life it is easy to lose sight of one another and forget you are on the same team. It is easy to stop choosing love every day. It is easy to snap back because the days are long and emotions stretched tight. It is easy to stop sharing yourself with the other.

This is hard.

So I wanted to tell you that even though this season is hard, and the past seems rosier, I still look at you and catch my breath. I marvel at the man of my dreams who comes home to me. Who can't wait to come home to me. Home, with the messy kitchen and the unprepared meal. Home, with the
sleepless nights and the desperate wife. Home, where these two girls are crazy about you. I marvel at the man who makes me laugh after a long night. A man who will be pushed awake at 5 am and without a complaint, take his daughter so I can sleep.  

This is hard, but it's beautiful.

Soon, when we are on one of our date nights, we'll look back and marvel at the beauty of these days. We'll laugh about how tired we were, and maybe even wish some of it back. It will slip by all too quickly. So in between the hustle of our day make sure to catch my eye and wink. Make sure to grab me and squeeze me tight. Make sure that we don't lose sight of who we were, and of who we are.

I am so thankful for you, that you love so deeply, and lead this family so courageously. And though sometimes I forget to say it, I am so deeply in love with you, in each season we are in.

Doing Everything Wrong

I am typing with one hand, the other holds my DAUGHTER. I still can't believe I am blessed with a daughter. She is sleeping, though she does this freaky thing with one eye and likes to hold it open a crack so as to have us always guessing. She doesn't want to miss a thing this one!
When we were in the hospital I was scared they weren't going to let us leave with her, then they did and I was almost as scared, and a little perturbed, how do they know we'll be good parents? How do they know we're ready for this? Where is the questionnaire and the cameras installed in our house? This is a human being! But no alarm sounded when we walked out the doors, so we kept walking.

If I have learned anything from the Internet and books I have read about raising a child, it is that from the moment she was born I have been doing everything wrong. Everything. That's a lot to take in for this new Momma. She is almost three months old and I have completely ruined her!
When I was pregnant, and even before then, I knew exactly how to raise a child, I was more expert than the experts. But since I held her on that hospital bed with blurred activity all around, witnessing the fulfillment of a promise, a promise that belted her first cry and opened those brown eyes large and clear as she was named Eowyn, all my knowledge left. All my expectations and plans flew out the window into the lightly falling May snow that came and went as she lay on me all snuggled and warm.
Since then I have been doing things I said I never would. I was never going to let her sleep with me, but when I knew her, I wasn't going to put her down. I was never going to use formula, but when she started to loose weight at two months old and I was sobbing because I couldn't give her enough of my milk, I had to swallow my pride and give her a small amount. I was never going to let my house become a disaster zone, but when it's 3:00 and I haven't showered and she's crying and I'm crying because she won't sleep and she's hungry but I just fed her and I'm hungry because I didn't eat lunch and all I want to do is sweep the floor for goodness sakes! Then I realize that this is my baby girl who is a little bit more important than the kitchen floor, and I stare at her eyes so like her fathers with the household chores forgotten.
As a new mom, I have to stay off of google. I have to close the book.  I have to take what other moms and professionals tell me, and toss some away, then stomp on it.
I will make so many mistakes, and already have. But I am not doing everything wrong. I can't, because every day I plead for help from the only One who can give it. And I ask that He will cover over my mistakes with His grace. He has already promised that He will help me, even if I don't think He is which is why I am so glad I memorized this verse years ago-

"For I am the Lord your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear, I will help you." 
Isaiah 41:13 

I am so excited to be a part of the age old profession of making mistakes and doing everything wrong! I better get used to this, I'm in it for life. Help!

The Fact of Pregnancy

Fact: I have never felt more manly than since I've been pregnant.
I spit now. And the baby is a gas machine. THE BABY. Not me. That's always important to note when I have to say excuse me in public.
I never learnt how to burp. I am a lady. My dad taught me how to throw a ball, but burping? Definitely not. Burping is for men, and apparently pregnant women...
My husband likes to tell me these days as I struggle to let one out that I really should have been taught how to burp and asks me if I'd like him to teach me. I hold my head up high and inform him I am a lady. He told me that he is going to teach our daughters how to burp and I told him that I will teach our sons how to paint their nails.
We still haven't decided who wins that argument.

Oh all the things that I am learning! I am learning that skin can stretch way beyond what you thought possible. I have learnt that a tiny body can indeed fit a pineapple inside it, and soon a pumpkin. But I don't like to think about the pumpkin. Please don't mention the word pumpkin in my presence.

I have learnt that everyone has an opinion about what my baby is, how my labour should go, and everything I should do after this child is in my arms.
I have learnt that my heart is no longer inside my chest, but has moved to my uterus and will soon be walking outside my body making its own choices.
One of the most beautiful things I am seeing is my husband become a father. This didn't happen with this child, I watched Jordan become a father by grieving his daughter Regen's death. And now, I get to watch as he celebrates our second babies life. The first night I knew it was a kick, I yelled for Jordan, he came barrelling in and when his hand was kicked he jumped up and let out some kind of squeaking noise I didn't know he could make.
Ever since then his hand or ear is on baby every chance he gets, practicing his story telling and letting baby know how great we are. When baby doesn't move for him, it doesn't phase him he just says- Baby, be still! But the majority of the time, whenever he touches my tummy, baby moves so fast to where his hand is that I am sure this child is going to follow his/her daddy around every day.
I married a man I wanted my sons to be like, and my daughters to be cherished by. I can't wait to hand this child over to him amidst the blood and water and weird white stuff that I am told will come off. I can't wait for him to call this child by name and watch as he truly becomes a father, a protector, a big mushy teddy bear.

Till then, I burp, and spit, and waddle like I have a beer belly, and Jordan pretends not to be too grossed out which is quite sweet of him. I am a mother, and I have stretch marks, poor eyesight, dry skin, and a new weird mole on my hand to prove it. These stretch marks are beautiful and there are many women who would give anything to have them.
I would have loved to give my body for my first child, but didn't have the chance. This time, in less than two months, I have the incredible privilege of being a part of partnering with God to bring life into the world. And as long as I stop thinking about the size of a pumpkin, I think I'll be alright!

All Is Well

All is well. I have that song on repeat in my head. My favourite version is sung by Michael W. Smith and Carrie Underwood. I pretend that I can sing as well as her as I pound out the notes in my head, boy do I sound good!
That song was in my head this morning at church as I glanced over at friends of ours who are expecting their first child. Her hand is over her stomach, protectively, and they are beaming. The kind of people you cant help but adore and beam back at. All is well.
In the same row is another couple that I don't know yet, but know that they have tried for years to have children, they have one baby in Heaven, but not one to hold. She is closing her eyes in worship as we sing and I am in awe. All is well.

I glance down at my stomach. Our second little baby is taking its merry time showing, after four months and days of sickness you'd think I'd have more to show for it, but this little Turnip seems to be comfortable in it's hiding place. I think of our Regen, and I tell her I love her, something that is immediate now, this talking to my daughter whom I don't know. All is well.
And it is. Because two thousand years ago the Light came to this world, as a baby. And even though I don't understand the sorrow that grips every single one of us who breathe here on earth, somehow, all is well. I will see Regen one day because of that baby and His sacrifice. And this child growing inside of me, this one whom I expect to hold, he or she will live with the hope that I am still in awe of, because of that baby. One day there will be no more orphans, no more bad guys, no more death. And this, right now, that you are living through, breathing through, this pain or hurt you deal with that is choking you? That baby grew to be a man and took the world on His shoulders. I have seen the Carpenter in the darkest pit, been held by Him through the ripping apart.

All is well, because of Jesus. So I sing it, very loud when I am at home, and very loud in my Carrie Underwood voice when you see me grocery shopping.

And I simply want you to know, I think, that no matter how dark your Christmas season, that little baby, the one who grew into a Lion, He's got this. He conquered death after all. And all is well.

What Not to Say

Today, October 15th, is "International Miscarriage and Stillborn Awareness Day." Did you know? I didn't, because I was never aware. Now it is a part of my story. I have been wanting to write this blog for a while now, but to be honest I'm a little terrified to. This might step on some people's toes, it might change the way you see things and make you aware. So here goes!
Our miscarriage was widely known, because we had to make our pregnancy widely known. It kinda crept in and changed our job, the country we lived and our entire universe. Because of that I think Jordan and I have become experts on how NOT to respond to a loved ones miscarriage. I have heard every response that there is. I have had people completely ignore the death, people offer advise because their sister in laws mothers friend went through one, people who come to me because they suffered one and want to talk through it even though it was twenty two years ago, and I have heard a few pretty ridiculous christianisms such as- "Jesus just wanted to hold your baby." I smiled and said thank you, but inside screamed "Really?! Yes, that is the God I serve. He kills children so He can hold them." I have also heard that God knew I needed an angel to watch over me. This is my baby we are talking about. She isn't floating above me, she's chasing lions and asking Jesus to throw her up one more time.

So why the little rant? I don't want this blog post to be me screaming at the world, but to be a tool you can use so that you don't say something hurtful to the next empty mother. There have been so many wonderful people who have said the right thing, and done the right thing and made the loss more bearable. But If there's one thing I've learnt through all this, it's that people who mean well say stupid things. People are awkward with death, and there is no death as awkward as miscarriage. What do you say? Do you say anything? Do you talk about babies ever with them? Do you keep them distracted? Do you hug them? I understand all of the uncertainty and awkwardness and I hope that I can take from my experience and help you be a blessing.
There are no memories of the child, no smells, no favourite items of clothing or favourite foods. It was a life that came for seconds and touched no one but the parents. So how do you as a friend or family member come into the situation and not make it more painful?

I have a short list.

1. Acknowledge. Say you're sorry and then if you haven't gone through it yourself- SHUT UP. Don't talk about the friends you know who have gone through it. Don't talk about what God can teach her through this. Don't give her medical advise. There have been people who literally do not take a breath, they keep on talking. There have been people who immediately unload all of their own past struggles on to me, and it's not that I don't want that, I have always welcomed it. I love to listen and help, but not when my baby just died. I was the one who needed to talk, I needed to unload but sometimes all I did was tell them how sorry I was and ask questions and counsel. The mother and father don't need your advise or burdens, they need your listening ear and your quiet love.

2. Ask Questions. I'm not joking. I think there are maybe one or two people of the literal hundreds that we have talked to who have asked me about my baby. My baby. Not tissue. A living being. I have memories of Regen Lavonne. Jordan has memories. We want to talk about our baby just as much as the next parent. So ask her if she wants to talk about her baby and if so, ask how she found out she was pregnant. Ask her how she told her husband. Ask her what songs she danced around to. Ask her what they did together as a family. I would have loved it if someone did that.
We took Regen to four countries within nine weeks. We celebrated her life by going to our favourite restaurant. Jordan cried when I told him I was pregnant and then he prayed for our baby. We spent the day skyping and calling family. My parents couldn't make out the drawings I had done to tell them and it took them about ten minutes to figure out what was swimming across the page. I called her 'Meine Kleine' which means my little one. I wrote so many entries into her journal, telling her how much I loved her.
Those are things I've never told anyone because no one has asked.

3. Be There. Death is a natural part of our sinful world. And miscarriage happens in one of every four pregnancies. It's common and every one is horrendous. Don't be afraid to pop by her house. Do go to the hospital or send the email or send a gift. So many people don't know what to do so they do nothing, and I think that is the worst of all. I so appreciate peoples kindness in acknowledging Regen, even if they say stupid things. At least she isn't forgotten. There is a song by Casting Crowns that says it better than I can-
"Just love her like Jesus. Carry her to Him. His yoke is easy and His burden is light. She doesn't need the answers to all of life's questions, just know that He loves her and stay by her side. Love her like Jesus."

If you are one of the people who have spoken to us and are worried that you did more harm than good, please don't. I understand and that is why I need to write this. I too was awkward with miscarriage before ours and I wish I knew these things sooner. This is taken from my own experience and by talking with dozens of mothers who lost a baby and have told me the same things. This won't be true with everyone but my hope is that the next time you hear those awful words and see the pain in her eyes, you will not shrink back but know what to say. Acknowledge, Ask Questions, and Be There. Please.

There Are No Words for This

I was speeding down the mountain in a panic/thrill. My feet couldn't make their mind up to stay on the racing snow or the sled and so they flip flopped from both. I squealed, then laughed. Jordan was giggling ahead of me, then behind me, then ahead again. AHH! Coming through! My friend Kate yelled, trying to catch up with her husband. The Alps that surrounded us were completely obscured by the snow pounding down around us. The path...what path? Where did the path go? Feet go down again to slow my racing heart. Sledging in the Alps.
There are no words for this. 

We borrowed our hosts bikes near Amsterdam to bike through the countryside of Holland. Passing field after field of tulips. I felt like Corrie Ten boom the whole time, rescuing a baby in the basket. Then hearing my name called and rushing into the arms of a good friend after 7 years apart, squealing and jumping, hugging and talking at the same time. Going to the beach with old and new friends to watch the cold waves and run through the sand. Learning about Dutch culture and being awed by its beauty.
There are no words for this. 

We cooked and baked and laughed till our sides hurt. We hugged the boys goodbye and welcomed them back home with food. 24 teenagers. Loud music. Soccer. Long talks. Teasing. Water fight. Deep breaths for a long day. Driving down winding roads to drop off and pick up.
There are no words for this. 

Then one day there was a positive sign on a pregnancy test that changed everything. I started dancing around with my hand on my stomach to songs I couldn't wait to teach. And our time on the Alps and with the boys and old friends came to a close as we dreamt of a new life. New plans. And all of a sudden life stopped and it didn't make sense. It doesn't make sense. Long days turned into long nights and loneliness and grief were companions.
There are no words for this. 

Our year in Europe was a romance. And there are no words to do any of it justice. God brought us there and God brought us home. He gave, and He took. Blessed be his name. I can say that now. Because right now, in Alberta, where it is snowing in early September, I am still being pursued by Jesus. This Jesus who picked me up from a nightmare and enfolded me in His arms of joy and grace. He is no stranger to suffering. And as I sit in our new apartment, thinking over our year, all I see is Him.
We try to put feelings and experiences into words, but how can you describe grace? How can you describe pain? How can you describe jumping into the future with no plans, no ideas, just a crazy belief that God is good? I have no words, but I try to explain all the same.

 Skyline Hill by Jenny and Tyler

Dawn breaks over Skyline Hill
Beauty and grace, all is still
Canvassing this sight, I'm sure
There are no words for this

Your breath is heavy on my skin
I close my eyes, breathe out and in
Spinning 'round, a steady rhythm
There are no words for this

And I don't know what to say, to properly convey
The lines of this earth, the lines of your face
I am small and unsure, but more and more I learn
There are no words for this

Tears roll gently down my face
I lick my lips for the salty taste
Reveling in deep, deep grace
There are no words for this

And I don't know what to say, to properly convey
The lines of this earth, the lines of your face
I am small and unsure, but more and more I learn
There are no words; there are no words

There are no words for this