Brirthing Zoë.  Many people have asked me to tell the story.  Some expect a tale of agony and negativity, others expect a retelling play by play of a 'movie' scene. 

I have neither.

What I do have, is a marathon experience I will never forget.

Birthing Zoë was one of the most powerful experiences I have ever had and I know, if given the opportunity to bring another life into this world I will do it again in a heartbeat.

It started between 10:00 - 11:00pm.  My husband, Jeremy and I were soaking the bathtub (something I highly recommend to all pregnant women and couples in general) when I began feeling what were the beginning of contractions.  They were mild and could only be explained as cramps at that point in time, but they felt oddly more patterned than the cramps I was experiencing off and on the past two to three weeks.  

"I'll time them to see if they are the real thing."  Jeremy said, urging me to tell him when I felt something.

"Now."  I replied when I felt a slight cramp.

"It's gone."  I would reply when it had ended.

This went on for a while when we realized, that if this indeed was the real thing, we needed to get as much sleep as possible.

Of course, I didn't get sleep after that, but after a call at around 1am to our Doula, Jeremy was able to sleep for the next almost two hours while I worked through the rest of the mild contractions.  

They progressed for the next few hours from mild to moderatly strong.  I went from laying beside Jeremy with phone in hand going through pinterest and saving motivational birth quotes to my camera roll and as phone wallpaper to motivate me, to getting out of bed and breathing through more powerful contractions that made me sway with the intensity.

Are they painful? So many people have asked.

What is pain?  Is all I can respond with.  When your body is doing something right, do we feel it as pain?  Pain is what our brains tell us it is.  I chose to see these powerful surges as ocean waves my body was experiencing to bring this baby down and into my arms.  I am not sure that I remember feeling 'pain', but I remember thinking "THIS IS INTENSE!"

Intense it is and intense it was.

Between 3 and 4am I woke Jeremy up and told him it was time to be awake and help bring our bags to the car.  I was going to stay in the shower.  I let my body expierence the surges get stronger and stronger in the shower until the inevitable for me.  I began to transition from contractions that were 7-9 minutes apart to contractions 4-6 minutes apart and I vomitted my dinner as the water poured over my body.  I turned off the shower, giving up on that kind of relaxation teqnique.  

Between 4am- 5am our Doula arrived and the contractions were now 4-5 minutes apart.  We moved to the bathroom where she helped get my yoga mat and exercise ball in place for me to kneel and have support.

By 6-7am we made the transition to the hospital where my contractions were then a consistent 1-2 minutes apart.  The registration office tried to downplay my need to be seen right away, but it became obvious very quickly that 'first baby' or not, I was in very active labour.  The transition from seeing the nurse in registration to being seen upstairs on the labour floor did take more time than I was in the mood for, but I stayed focus on the waves and laughed when I was asked to lay down so they could check my cervix.

"Your kidding!?"  I remember saying after another wave subsided and another began.  I did get on the bed, and she did check my cervix.  All the while, I was telling myself that labour can take days for some people and that I needed to not care about numbers, time, or how fast things were progressing.  I needed to stay present.  That was my only job.  

Stay present and strong.

"You are six centemters."  She said.

I tried not to let that number excite me, but I do remember giving myself a mental high five and inward dance.

From there, they transferred me to our room and again, I inwardly laughed when the nurse pointed at the bed. 

"In what world does that look comfortable?"  I said to myself with inward snark. "But this looks great."  I walked towards a huge garbage can and vomitted again.  It felt good to know I was transitioning from stage to stage well.  

"Tub." is what I remember saying to my doula and Jeremy.  And there I stayed in the tub on all fours, on my side and sitting holding onto a bar.  

I didn't say much out loud, or make noises.  Noise bothered me, and probably because I had so much going on in my head.  Inside I was talking a mile a minute to myself.

I said things like 

"I am going to do this and be amazing."

"This could take more than twenty four hours.  Don't have expectations, just do this."

"These are the precious moments our lives are made of."

And I had endless lyrics and beats filtering through my mind as well:

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stand a little taller ...."

"One jump ahead of the breadline ....I steal only what I can't afford, and thats everything....Riffraff street rat, I don't buy that..."

In some ways it felt like time had stopped.  In others it felt like time flew by fast and before I knew it I was on all fours in the tub, with all kinds of things floating along with me.  Jeremy wasn't phased by what my body was shedding.  Blood, poop, membranes... it was all apart of the process and as I glanced at the floaters I remember thinking 

"This is the real *shit* right here.  This labour thing, it's more real than any poop I've ever had."

Before I knew it my body was pushing.  What they don't tell you about pushing, is that it really isn't an option.  Like a sneeze, or vomiting, it is a neccessary action your body doesn't give you a choice on.  Nobody tells animals when to push, and I guess thats why I accepted the pushing when it came.  

"Trust in God, and trust your body."  Our doula whispered in my ear when the pushing began.  

I could feel Zoë's head in my pelvis and I thought she was going to come out right then.  The nurse and doctors had no idea how far along this was until finally they checked and I could hear the bustling began.  Jeremy and the nurse lifted me out of the tub and onto the bed.  It was an unfortanate positioning that I got stuck in.  I couldn't get my body to change positions after she entered my pelvis so on my back I was.  

There I pushed for almost an hour, and to some that might seem exaushting.  But this was my favourite part.  I felt like I was in the biggest workout session of my life.  Every push felt so rewarding and full of a rush I cannot explain.  

If it were not for the membrane still over her head, she would have been out in no time, but of course, Zoë and I couldn't make it too easy for everyone.  With every push she would come farther out but get sucked back in because of the pressure of the membrane.  And I knew this because the Doctor, who was Katherine Heigals doppelgänger, was explaining all of this to her resident.  

"I AM IN A GREYS ANATOMY EPISODE!!!!!!!! THIS IS TOO COOL!"  I said to myself, and only hoped Jeremy was thinking the same thing.  "Too bad theres not brain surgeon needed... maybe he would look like Patrick Dempsy."  

Needless to say, at 11:53 I gave that final push that felt like all my intestines were falling out of my body, but was actually all of Zoë and her umbilical cord. I was grappling for her as she layed on my lower abdomen.  She wasn't yet cut from me, yet I wanted her as close to my face as I could get her.  She was so strong, so beauitful and utterly captivating.  I didn't check to see if she was a girl, because I already knew.  Mothers just know these things.

We snuggled and cuddled and the bonding process began.  I had always read about skin on skin bonding, how it has saved babies and moms lives just by doing it.  How it regulates both baby and mom, but it wasn't until Zoë was born that I truly understood how important.  This was essential to us and it was magical.  

There I was completely naked as I was when I was born and there she was herself, just as she is.

We were the most raw of ourselves.

It wasn't long after she was born that I began to talk everyones ear off.  Zoë was a strong little girl who was already lifting her head, climbing to the breast and feeding off me as if it was her last meal.  It was the her first of many.  

After a half hour without the placenta coming out naturally Dr. Katherine Heigal look alike told me she might have to think about giving me the pitocin shot to hurry things along.  I made a face, let another mild contraction wave build and pushed, letting the placenta fall out of me.

"You mean all I had to do was ask?"  She laughed.

"Pretty much."  I smirked, enjoying the high natural labour was giving me.

And that is where the problems arose.  

Due to the tears and extra membranes still inside me, my bleeding seemed abnormal and strange.  It was confusing to them as they inspected my placenta and saw it all intact yet still found membranes.  

They rolled my stomach like bread dough and Zoë still resting and nursing on my chest heard her mamas first yells.  

Labour was nothing.  Contractions and pushing was nothing that needed to be yelled about.  Just deep breathing and concentration.  

But.

When your stomach is being rolled out like dough to find if there is more blood to come out, that, my friend is the real unexpected painful moment.

All in all, it didnt last long, we made the decision to give me the pitocin my body needed to stop the bleeding and although they had to stitch me up, I was still in a very good mood and place.

"You've had such a good birth, I am really sorry we had to do this."  Dr. Heigal said to me as she watched her intern stitch me up.

"Oh it's okay!  It's probably a good thing you look like Katherine Heigal though."  I teased. 

"YES!  THANK-YOU!"  Jeremy exclaimed.  "I've been thinking that the whole time."

The room burst with laughter and I held Zoë tighter as they finished their work.

Once they were finished, the nurse helped me get up to shower.  The first time since she was conceived that I was separated from Zoë.  I missed her already.   I felt unsteady but strong.  Like a warrior and I looked at the key around my wrist.  I felt like I lived up to the word and was determined to continue that journey as I recovered with my daughter.

Settling back into the bed with sore lady places I took my halter top down and placed my daughter back onto my skin.  

And I ate and ate and ate.

I have never had as much food as I did that day and the next three days.  

I downed protien drinks, oatmeal, prunes, fruit bars, cookies and more.  

Once in our room Jeremy asked me what I wanted for dinner and a quick glance at the menu said it all.

"Waffle breakfast for dinner please!"  I grinned up at him with our daughter asleep in my arms.

It's been exactly seven weeks since that day and now, I still wear this key as I continue on my journey of Mama Wellness with the word Strength around my wrist.  I've watched the weight fall off as I have embraced my yoga practice, and introduced cardio back into my life.  We have embraced nutrition in a whole new way and those extra five pounds that are on their way out, they have taught me a lot.

I embrace the tiger stripes on my abdomen and although it makes me hesitant to wear a bikini I have found that sexiness isn't about how your body looks, but in how strong you are.

Strength is sexy

Scars are sexy.

And my tiger stripes are just another story that brings my husband and I closer together.

Mamas who embrace their strength and scars are the most sexy of women.

It was in January of 2014 that I began preparing for motherhood.  I decided I wasn't going to put my body in the position of child bearing until I had conditioned it in strength, endurance, health and wellness.    As the months passed by, I began to see how strengthening my body to support a life was paying off.  I felt the most alive I had ever felt.  

It was in June 2014 that I felt my body, mind and soul was ready for the carrying of a new life.

It was August 2014 that a pregnancy test came back positive.  I was pregnant.

It was September 2014 that we picked her name and I knew she was a Zoë.  Sometimes a mother just knows.

It was January 2015 that I knew I wanted to deliver as natural as possible and was needing a support system for the journey.  Adrienne Kelher joined my husband and I on the preparation for this girl.

It was May 3rd 2015, when Zoë Wing Zhe Lai was born.  A petite but healthy six pounds and twelve ounces, this little girl was all muscle tone and wild lungs.  

Now, it is June 11 2015, just under ten pounds away from my pre-birth weight and working hard to recover and help my body back into that place of strength and endurance again.  Zoë is over ten pounds, sleeping from 7pm - 10pm & 11pm - 4:30am, smiling and finding her voice.  We girls are strong women and both of us, with strong voices have been bonding.

Now I believe strongly in the importance of prenatal wellness preparation and postnatal wellness strategies.  Baby blues and Postpartum depression is very real and the societal knowledge of it is still spotty,  

Now I believe that the desires of mom and baby come first before any expectations.  We should be encouraging the mother and baby bonding before rushing to take over and 'hold'.  Babies are tiny humans with very small and still developing nervous systems with research now showing that their abilities to withstand being passed around and being over stimulated is low.  Moms are pressured to be sharing the one thing they worked hard to maintain and keep safe for almost a solid year.  The repreccusions of rushing the bonding process has detrimental health affects on both mom and baby.  

Now I believe in everyones individual birth story being a miracle and an amazing journey.

Now I believe that the journey to motherhood is holy, spiritual and a very individual process.  No one woman's journey is the same.  

Now I understand my own mother just a bit more.

And now,

I work hard to be the balanced and well mother that this girl deserves.

I dedicate my life to live by example and encourage her to seek her identity in the One who made her.  

She is Zoë, and I, am Amy.

Spiritual Wellness:

I was arrested here.  Brought back to and aligned with the spiritual side of me.  

We all have it.  A side that yearns for the part of this world that is all things abundance, growth, wonder and beauty.  Here in this moment by these stone steps: 

Captivated.

Captivation is the key to awakening your spiritual wellness.  What captivates you?  What arrests you in a moment and makes you pause?  Can you remember the last time you were captivated and felt that stirring.  That yearning that this world has more for you than the mundane?

The Creator wants to give you more, to captivate you by the beauty of this life that you breathe.  Yet it is so easy to miss, amidst the notions and commotions of the day to day.  

Open your eyes today, this week, this month.  Keep ready for a moment that captivates you, and sink into it.  Sink deep into the waters of your spirit.  Listen to it.  What is the whisper that tries so hard to cry out?

There is nothing like giving birth that brings one to a whole new level of awareness of life.  Life is a treasured and powerful force.  It comes on strong and it doesn't let up until it has completed it's story.   With every contraction my body took over the span of 12 hours, I was intrinsically aware of how powerful the journey I was on is.  The words that spun around in my mind as I breathed and focused were many, but among them the phrase 

"These are the precious moments our lives are made of."  A simple phrase I stumbled upon while watching weekly pregnancy videos and how true they are. 

The journey of life is precious and there are times where we submit to the force of it all and sink into each wave as it comes, and then, there are times we rest.  We rest in the pure and sweet shallow waters of a resting pool.

Recovering from anything is when we need to be retreating into those shallow waters.  The quiet and safe places we find in the everyday.   Those places are an individualisitic expierence and what heals one, may not heal another.

Learn your places.  The quiet places of rest.  A library, a field, a bedroom, a skating rink, a dance floor, a beach...

For me?  The ocean and it's off shore breeze.  My home and it's small peaceful rooms.  My bed at night with it's cool sheets and a husband who holds me close.  My yoga mat and it's welcoming colours as I stretch tired limbs.  

No matter the places, the whys or the hows, recovery isn't a process overnight.  Recovery is a journey and we can't rush it.

When a spirit needs rest and space, we must nurture that and protect that.  We must be the guardians of a spirits' need to recalibrate and reset.  Because the push and pull of this world will never heal, but tear.  But the peaceful rest of a spirit lead recovery will stitch up the wounds of the broken.

I have emerged from a week of guarded rest after childbirth and have bonded deeply with a husband and a daughter.  We have gathered precious moments that were not rushed but expierenced deeply.  Sleepless nights have been had, and tired lungs have wailed but the space we created around us has developed into a passionate love affair and a healing environment for our spirits. We are bonded closer, tighter and deeper.  This is the journey aspire to.  

Let us emerge slowly and gradually from our recovery as a chyrsalids process and watch us flourish as we spread our wings.

Recovery.

A process.

I've got my singing voice on blast now, because it's getting down to the wire.  This little one and I have a marathon to run and we've been preparing.  Her with her persistence and me with my determination.

Emotionally, Spiritually, Mentally and Physically. 

The journey of bringing a life into the world is all encompassing.  The more this life moves and follows me daily as I do my own life, I have been realizing how important our surroundings are.

Maintaining an atmosphere of strength, purpose and sweet surrender to the beauty of life unpredictable has been a mantra.

We've set up a birth plan, washed the clothes, got the carseat locked in, and we've embraced the unpredictable.  We don't want to live in a life of fear or perfect planning, but in the moment of the daily. 

Words are so important.  Keeping the words around us positive and speaking life over this process has been a realization of the life our little family want to live.  

A life redeemed with spirits released to the trust and peace that only God can give.  

So many of us do not realize how our own experiences, worries, fears and overall mindsets can affect another. 

May I be so aware of myself and how I affect this little heart.  May I speak words of life and faith.  May I deny "myself" so I can be the grounding my child needs.  Not to negate myself and needs, but to take stock in what I may carry that need not be shared.  May I be the fighter and the protector but not the controller.  May I train my mothering like an athlete, that I will understand how to use my abilities in a way that holds on when needed but knows instinctively when to let go.  Because the letting go is as important as the holding on. 

There is an amazing team of people preparing for this life and we are blessed daily by them and their care.  

This is it sweet one.  The stage is set, the curtains are ready.  This is your first call.  

Sometimes life is in those quiet moments.

You know,

Those real live moments that are quiet.  

The nothing but ticking of the clock.

The twitch of a cats tail.

The feeling of a baby inside a tummy stretching for more room.

The blinking of a cursor on screen as thoughts scattered try to come together.

...

I don't want to be so busy that I miss those moments.

And often we are in the quiet moments when we least expect it.

Leave room for the quiet moments.  The moments that take us by surprise and make us pause.  Pause further.  Press into the silence.  There is something there worth finding.  Something there worth trusting.  May it rest on us and may we not be too scared to accept it as settles.

.....

A new year for The Creatives means more than just a number, it means embracing the unknown and in many cases, being okay with where we are now.

There wasn't an agenda set forth or any particular way to go about how this group collectively shares and communicates.  That's how it has become.  It ebbs and flows with those that join and the room for an openness is expected.

There are close knit friendships, there are newly met aquaintences, and there are unknown faces that sprinkle the room.  With a third trimester belly, I do my best to sit back and observe as I so often tend to do.  I take in the dynamic of the room.  I monitor for safety, and I monitor for vulnerability.  Sometimes I sense a sensitivity and work hard to watch out for it.  Sometimes I notice an eagerness in a newcomers eye and I hope for it to be blessed.

The Creatives is a scary concept.  It isn't for those who wish to pretend that they are 'normal'.  Whatever 'normal' means.  These women gather and display all their differences and journeys without hesitation and those that are new to it, I hope are wrapped up in safe arms and feel moved.

What took place on this first gathering of 2015 was the knitting together of these women.  One by one, each and every woman shared and nodded with the journey of 'acceptance'.  It isn't about where you can't seem to get/reach, but what you are doing today.  And 'doing' today is the movement that will bring you into 'tomorrow'.  

One actor-woman has the voice of a true singer and there is merit to this talent and dream.  It isn't just 'you sing well' , it's a 'that's natural and beautiful'.  And there is always a struggle for artists/creatives to feel validated enough to go out and do, but there is a whole group of women behind a voice saying 'do'.  And we want us all to 'do'.  Not for the pressure, but for the love of it.

And there it was.  Our reasons behind ourselves.  We crave to do these things, yet feel incapable, inferior and as if we've missed that boat.

We were made to do these things.

We are capable.

We are skilled.

We are on the boat.

There are seasons where we will be quiet, and restful in our passions, and there are seasons where we will be loud and busy in our passions.  Neither season is to be ignored or seen as better as the other.  In the quiet we are given the ability to see things, do things and expierence things that we need to be present and acceptant of.  In the loud, we are given the ability to take all of ourselves and put it into something that makes, does, is, and will affect others.

Ultimately , we move where we are at.  No matter what that looks like we will be moving to the beat of ourselves.  Comparison isn't for us.  It destroys us, so we say no to it and anything else that may block us from where we are and need to be this year. 

We do 'Dreams' like we do 'Now'.

And

We do 'Art' like we do 'Life'.

Babymoon in December 2014

Twenty-seven weeks pregnant,  glass of milk in hand, savouring these moments that have accumulated over the past three or so months.

They were right when they said the second trimester brings a new sense of energy, glow, and renewed sense of body awareness.  I am not sure if I have ever felt as sexy as I do now.  Sure I can't fit into that dress I bought from New York.  The one that hugged my frame and showed that I was indeed all woman.  But this is something magical!  This growing body of mine has taken on a life that has words to share, and adventures up her sleeve.  There is a delicate but very notable change in my curves and I never knew one could stretch in this way.  Stretch in all ways physical and all ways spiritual.

Pregnancy is a spiritual thing I have come to realize.

It is an ode to creation and all things that speak to something more.  I have been digging for the more, and it has been refreshing and renewing.

She bumps and turns.  She hiccups and kicks.  She has felt the rumble of her cats purr above her while they sleep and she has learned that her mama is a reader and a singer.

My heart began to burn during these moments and I realized how much it truly does burn.  A mama will burn for all things to procure a journey for a life.  It's realizing the values and morals.  The hopes and dreams.  The way in which we crave to raise her.  It brings a new sense of reason to the day to day.  And we aren't scared.  

We've been through fire and we came out refined.  We'd do it again.

So all this talk about parenthood taking us out:  

"You'll never have your body back."

"You'll never pee normal again."

"Save up on your sleep now, you won't get it back for a long time."

"Say goodbye to a social life."

I call those negative, destructive words and claims over our lives out.  They have no place over us, and no claim on our hearts.

Because people trash real life as if it's a shame.  They walk around wounded that life has seasons and responsibility.  They miss the real life moments because they are too busy thinking they got tricked by a transition.. 

So those people who like to sarcastically add 'helpful' quips to a soon-to-be-mamas heart...they don't have it right.  They have it all messed up and contaminated.  Life is meant to be lived not everyday the same, but everyday anew.  I won't trick myself into thinking that my physical, my mental, my emotional can maintain the same.  I'll be renewing it again and again, because I want to enjoy this life and all it's seasons no matter the circumstance.  No matter the convienence or inconvenience.  

This has been magical.

These months of growth have been filled with glimmer and sprinkled with worry.

All the way it is supposed to be.

Because she is life, and life is full of all the moments.

Not just one. 

The calendar is starting new this first full week and there isn't a soul on this earth who can tell you what you need to put in it.  People sledge hammer their way through this life and through our weeks.  Go here, do that, make time for this and don't forget I need you to...

The calendar is full of boxes.  January has 31 boxes and only twenty-four boxes left.  

Our calling goes beyond the box of a day, beyond the needs of others and beyond the labels that people slap on our days as if it's theirs.

Your days are not anyone else's but yours and the One who created your days. 

It's a limited life that we have lived with our boxes and our square instagrams telling our moments within the confines of a simple shape.  Life is beyond the shapes, beyond the upcoming and the unknowing.

This is the time to make your calendar a different shape.  Metaphorically I mean, because the squares aren't really the problem.  The problem is us.  How we let them define us and create us into walking squares of limitations.

This is the week we let our squares lose their shape and we become who we were meant to be.  What we want for 2015 that is beyond our boxes and our limited world view.

I'll start:

Amy Grace - 2015

• Create a life that welcomes baby without the sacrifice of personal identity
• Purchase new home that fits our desires and needs
• See growth & maturity in work 

These sound all vague and pretty right?  So I'll redefine it because what I actually mean is this:

• Being 'Amy' before 'Mama' will keep your feet on the ground.  You know this, so live it.  Shake off others expectations of 'mama-hood' because you are your own version of 'mama'.  
• Don't settle for a house just because you need one.  Yes, you need one, and that nature, ocean spray home is out there.  So go and get it, and don't think you can't.
• Friggen, just blast work on loud this Winter and don't stop there.  You glow when you work so you just keep it glowing, because becoming a mama is going to be the best thing for your word pocket and life. 

Thats what it looks like.  To burst through the box.  It means to get down and honest with the depth of you and then take the limitations off and put the gloves on.  

Stop tidying up your days with 'appropriate wording' and just 'get real'.

Tear down your life so God can build you back up.  Yeah, I said God... because no matter who you think made your beating heart, you've got one and that heart needs to be tended this year.  And hearts aren't stored in a box.  They are stored inside your unique shape.

So break down your limitations of what's possible and start 2015 with limitations on what's impossible.

The Dalhousie Swing Dance Society has graciously asked me to MC  their now annual Halifax Swing Exchange of 2014.  

"You're Intentionally Amy." My Grandmother says with a smile back to me, often after I let how I truly feel slip out in ways that aren't always delicate.   Delicate was never something I felt described me, so this whole middle name of Grace thing didn't mean anything to me.  Not until I realized that Grace had a whole other definition outside 'graceful like a ballerina'.

Before this small website, there was "Amy: With Intentions".   At the time it was a dare to myself to learn how to write again.  A weekly exercise to get me writing and focus on the things I felt were important as I walked into my twenties. I didn't know it then, but that was the journey back to my core.  It took some years but Amy With Intentions became a blog I was happy with leaving behind and focusing on other things.  The concept of intentional living had sunk deep within my soul and somehow became a part of me. 

Intentional means to drop your expectations of the moment you are in.  It means that you are in the 'here and now' and you will be and find out what 'this now' means.  Eating a simple lunch brings a whole new expierence when it is done with intention.  A pinterest board made out of wishful thinking becomes a vision board full of potential and action.  An autumn walk becomes a journey for your soul... Anything and everything becomes a whole new expierence when intention is involved!

Breathing becomes a moment to remember, and when I write words on my chalk board painted fridge I think different, because words carry intentions and energy.  I may as well grasp this intentional thing for all its worth and write quotes and things that will inspire, move and help create a better place.  

So I choose the intentional life because the alternative is a side of me that brings nothing good.  I can be destructive, and so can anyone really.  I found a way to get to the best of me, and it's not me doing it.  I call it out right here and now.  It is a deeper calling on my heart and I know that God places desires in each of us, and for me it is to live fully and grasp the moments, so maybe intentional is my natural and most best place to be

Either way.  I do it

This intentional life.

I live it. 

©2014 Jeremy Lai

The past thirteen weeks have been the most humbling weeks of my life.  I assume that the humbling has just begun, because you see... I am carrying a life. A life completely different from me.  A life full of unique possibilities and although it may share half of my DNA it has a unique voice that I cannot speak to.

We are calling 'it' Roo while we wait for the big ultrasound appointment coming up in about a month or so.  Names have been picked out but wait for delivery day to get used and for now Roo, because of Kangaroos ... and if anyone knows Winnie the Pooh, I need not explain.

Considering myself to be 'A Maker' this is about as 'Maker' as one can get.  This growing belly, heart beat inside of me, and purging my stomach of foods and smells I cannot stand.  This is the ultimate making.  I am a factory for life, dreams, hopes and personality.

This hasn't been easy, this morning sickness thing.  We mamas brave the storm of life and vomit in all sorts of places.  Cars, parking lots, garbage cans, toilets...other peoples toilets... we do what we can to stay hydrated and fed, but the truth is, it is the ultimate test.

Can you take care of your child's mother the way she deserves?

It would be so easy to skip the water and the meals... trust me,.... when you are vomiting daily...the concept of meals becomes a chore and for a fooide like me, well, utterly disappointing.

I have felt a little less than.

Sure, I get it, the hormones do that.  But the 'doer' and the 'maker' of me is yelling daily.  "Get up!  GO!  Do it all! Dance, write, sing, party, don't be slaking!"

I let it slip out a time or too.

"I am not making anything of worth right now!" 

A woman or two scowl in reply. 

"You are making a human being of major worth right now!"

And I slump back and realize that the purging of my stomach and the whole shift of my life is for the health and goodness for a tiny soul inside, and for me as well.  Because becoming a mama isn't a sentence for an artist.  It's a blessing. 

A child's eyes have the wonder every writer, painter, dancer, singer, musician needs and I will be drenched in it.  However this tiny life comes out, I will see life new and different because of it, and that will only make me better for it.

So I guess the morning routine of pee, vomit-in-garbage-can , and husband passes breakfast to slowly digest, is all worth it, and truly... how amazing is this growing belly?

©2014 Jeremy Lai

I choose Grace again and again.  It's inescapable.  Not only because it is my middle name but because it is the call on this world.  It is the concept we all are living under if we only just grabbed the keys that hang around our necks.  We all have grace keys.  We all have grace moments and we all have the ability to pass on a grace key to someone else.

I freely talk about that time I did the unthinkable.  That time that swept me off my feet and made me think I was made out of heart break and endless pain.  Comments were made from sideliners, from the grace-holders who kept it hidden in fists instead of in open palms, and I was trashed.  I wasn't worth the risk or the comments of nothing more than disgust.  I was that bride who chose to throw the veil in the trash can because I couldn't fathom a way out.  So I torched a union for something that glittered gold in moments.  And the glitter moments, they were real and messed up, because that is how it is with people who are lost...they make unions in pain and they connect over loss and emotions run ragged from running.  

Running from Grace.

Everyone was running from Grace.

Everyone around that scene were grace-key-holders, stuffing them in the deepest pockets they could find because they couldn't comprehend how passing a key to three messed up spirits could solve the mystery they couldn't relate to.

And when it was all said and done and everyone was in their corners of destructed love and lies .... it was all just a hopeless mess.

But something happens in the hopeless.  Grace-keys shine , and those who can get over the egos, the pain, the denial and the rift of people trashing, they grasp the key and hold it out...they would rather pass on grace then let anymore of this continue.

And I tell you this, because this Canadian-Church raised girl in a generation of God-Isn't-Real, found more in a Grace that is gifted than in the solutions of this world.

I tell you this because I am watching all these broken stories and I want to hold my key high and shout Grace at the sky.  I want to cry with the hearts rather than ignore them.  I want to gather the men and women who found solace in each other, broke one another and tell them I understand.  That Grace understands.  That there isn't a messed up moment that couldn't be redeemed.  I want to tell them that I have seen miracles and I have seen new life come out of the cemetery of my dead one.

I want to sing and dance Grace all over these hearts because they need it, they will thrive in it, and I know that my Grace giving God has more in store than just blood and a cross.  There is everything fresh and renewed and that show,  it is not sold out, because it is yours and you are the honoured guest to a Grace-Event made just for you. 

So stop withholding Grace from each other, because that cheating wife, and that sneaking man, and that desperate husband just needed Gods Grace.  

I was that wife, and I couldn't have remarried a husband and found a whole new life if it wasn't for the messed up wedding and the  Grace that was given to me.

Give Grace like you would give water to a thirsty man.  Give grace even when the betrayal is deep and the circumstances bloody.  

Give Grace because the alternative is a war within your spirit that you will never overcome.

----

The key I am wearing is from  http://www.thegivingkeys.com where keys are made, bought and given.  Read their story http://www.thegivingkeys.com/pages/about-us 

I will be giving this key away this season to someone who needs Grace ... which is all of us.  

©2014 Jeremy Lai

Sometimes I ask myself the question "Why write?  Why write at all?" 

It's a question that comes out from the dark places.  The places I go to when things are not as intentional as I want them to be.  Because, lets face it...I thrive on the intentional.  I get energy, drive and life from inhaling an intention.  

But even intentions get stale and become like bad morning breath that you can't seem to chase away.

So in those moments I ask myself why I do it at all... I know its a dumb question and I know I always and forever will be tripping over audible words in conversation only to quickly go and write it down and find myself there in the paragraphs all precise and clear.

But I have to ask.

And I always come back to.

I was made to be a word/story girl.

I know this.

It has come back to me again, and again.

After a book consumed, a new intention written down, a new story in progress, a new journal it all gives me the biggest rush that only a romance can give.

And thats it

I am in love with words and story.  Head over heels, an addict really.  I consume them like water in dessert. 

I write because if I didn't, I would not be me.  I would not be Amy Grace.  Girl of intentional living with words and story as her harmony. 

There are stacks and stacks of journals from age six onward that prove writing isn't just a hobby for me.  Its a way of life.  It is the way I find myself and reunite with my spirit and soul.  Journals are not for the ones in denial, they cannot lie or tell a story a different way when things go different.  Journals are the historical documentation of every idea, thought, dream, wish and attempt.  These are the books that have helped me work through life one step at a time.  And those gaps of times when I didn't write...when pages glare empty or a journal abandoned too early.  Those are the markings of when I was in denial and recovery. 

It is important to declare and remind ourselves of the reasons we do things.  

Why do anything if we cannot reflect and find anew the intention behind our whys?

Whys are important.

If we can answer a 'why', we are giving ourselves and those around us a better version of us. An honest one.

I write because it is the part of me that always stays true.  No matter what stage of life I am in, what other activities I do, what people are in my life , I will always be writing through those things.

I write, because somewhere inside of me, Amy Grace, is a heartbeat that lives for words and stories.

And right now my heart beats strong and healthy.

©2014 Jeremy Lai

Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada is a Canadian East Coast treasure.  Growing up just outside the city but always near the ocean I was everything typical of East Coast little girl.  Every Sunday skipping rocks into the oceans surface of the Bedford Basin and spending summers in the almost deserted but still thrumming community of Sandford, Yarmouth, Nova Scotia at an old farm.  The rock beach behind the farm being a treasure trove full of secret pirate notes planted by my grandfather.  I didn't know any different.  The salt water was engrained in me and the waves of an ocean were like the beats of my heart-dreams.

©2014 Jeremy Lai

It took a few formative life changing years to realize the East Coast Glory that I was raised in, is in my blood stream.  The salty tears that stream down my face from time to time are Halifax, Nova Scotia made.

I wouldn't put it past you to think "Halifax...just a small city with some bag pipers and New Scotland history in the mix.  Nothing special to sink your teeth into."

And that would be fine.

But I need to share... this City, this province is a treasure trove.

The city is small yes... in comparison with its East Coast competitors.  Maine, New York City... they are all on steroids... but Halifax, it has gems.

The Nook on Gottingen opened and run by Mark Pavaloski and his glorious partner in crime Katie Roux - two dear friends who show hospitality that will blow you away.

The endless places to eat good food and have a good time with friends.  The Board Room Cafe, Morris East, The Middle Spoon, and there is even a secret Speak Easy along Barrington Street if you can figure out the place and password that changes weekly.

The wind blows through the city streets reminding us to dream and move.  The salt air infiltrates your lungs as you walk and there is nothing more relishing than a moment with your thoughts and the ocean air.

Neptune Theatre whom so dearly trained me for eight precious months sits as a becan of story among a city full of Indie theatre.  

Red Swings litter the core waiting for anyone to take a journey 

Halifax Local stores collaborate together and become a tie...

And East Coast Lifestyle...a clothing company that has boomed through the stores, instagram, online orders and journeyed across roads...stems from this very place.

Halifax is making its way on the map, and my roots are salty and deep here.  My cheek is pressed to the moist dirt with the fog swirling around me.

That endless fog that comes with this east coast city...it is everything refreshing and cool to touch.  

And when I returned to Halifax after an East Coast journey to New York City...I realized the truth of me:

Walking in Halifax City is a look at my heart. 

This East Coast small city girl of Halifax, Nova Scotia decided that an adventure to New York City after eight months of theatre training was a necessary check mark. After all the classes, dedicated early mornings and learning, I felt I had to see this shiny city that spurs so many artists into action.  It was a necessary and exciting journey to take on. 

At first, the plans were with friends.  Lovely travelers who bring life to everything that they do, and I was excited...and yet, we all felt that this trip, although necessary for me, was not necessary for everyone. 

Plans changed.

A family traveled instead.

 And walking in New York City was not less glamorous then it would have been with my best lady at my side.  I felt her presence on my wrist (a key bracelet) as I journeyed the streets she had walked before. 

I walked into Central Park as the first day progressed and with wild-city-wonder took in the nature that contrasted with the sudden city around it.  Birds were loud as if demanding attention.  Music laced with wind this jungle-city-park was full of moments I had to sink into my thoughts and try to find myself within it all.  City.  Nature.  Nature. City. 

I walked through Times Square and felt the hype, the drive for more...and yet my heart wasn't truly wanting 'things'.   It was wanting 'stories'.  Sifting through stores and although easy enough to release money into a cash register to receive clothes I don't usually allow myself, I was not given happiness, nor did I expect it.  I knew the purchase of items was not my bag.  I have a gift of saving and the gift of spending.  I can save for what I need and I can spend for the sheer response of living a life that needs to be lived.  Money is not to be glorified but used, as food is to the stomach, In and out, so money should be.  The ebb and flow of receiving and using.   

I entered "The Strand" and immediately felt at home.  Finally, peace and courage within a simple but complex building of rows and rows of books.  I could breathe easy here, it was inviting, normal, clean of thoughts...like one could blank slate and think from the start.  There was a canvas bag that said it best for me "She has a way with WORDS, red lipstick & making an ENTRANCE. - Kate Spade"....along with four books I took these with me with pride, thinking I had a bit of my own heart to carry back home with me. 

Phantom of the Opera 2014 

Attending a Broadway show...a dream finally realized with the perfect white dress found for such an occasion.  Showering luxioursly and taking my time relishing in the preparation.   "Phantom of the Opera" was even more than I could ever hope it to be.  The Majestic Theatre presented the show with elegance and standard one could only imagine of.  All the mysterious phantom characteristics like a thread that pulled the whole opera together in a seductive and spirit stirring show.  I could barely breathe when they sung "Think of Me" ,  "The Phantom of the Opera" , "Past the Point of No Return" and "Down Once More".  It was an evening of swoon, seduction, surrender and ended with appetizers wine and amazing conversation. 

Then the Zoo with all it's creatures and awaiting secrets of what animals do.  It kept the sacredness of wilderness and space and it reminded me of everything that made it.  The One who pieces life together for us one part at a time.   

I was moved... I was overwhelmed with joy.

And then it hit.

Overwhelmed. 

By a city that didn't give me the time to be me.  Or rather, the pressures that built to see it all, and taste, feel, expierence it all.  I pushed back.  No.  I need time to write this out, time to go back home and figure out what it was that I was feeling.

It wasn't for lack of desire to expierence or overwhelming of the culture of the city.

The city and the hustle and bustle was a lot less than my expectations,  I was met with what I viewed a normal crowded big city.

But.

Something inside me was upset.

Because the big city adventure girl I thought I could be.

I wasn't.

I didn't want this.

The lights, the flickering ads, the sights, the pace... it wasn't me.

And yet, I wanted to want it.

Sure, I was everything dazzled, enraptured and loving the dress up nights and the delicious food at every bite, but there was something missing.  

The time I needed. 

Part of this, the nature of travel, and the other part... the nature of a Halifax girl being exactly that.  A Halifax girl...and she loves her city.  Her family, her life.

It can be disspointing to realize that everything you thought you wanted was not what you wanted at all.  

What you wanted was right in front of you the whole time.

And isn't that the lesson that I find true time and time again.

All that shiny isn't golden.

What is golden is what stays true and real no matter the circumstances.

The real gold is in you.

Amy Grace - a Natural East Coast Girl.

The real gold is what you naturally do without the push.

I write.

I rest the best in my city.

I love short, quick but high risk adventures.

I am a natural east coast girl. 

This month was without a doubt, a collaboration of just three minds. 

This is the time of year when artists are coming and going.  They are traveling and amidst multiple different projects.  Ultimatly May was quiet, but three art women sat at a table and started talking.

"What were you going to talk about today?"  One asked.

"Well this... but, it doesn't seem relevant." I indicated at the paper in front of me. 

"Not now, no." She replied.

And thus is the way of collaboration, someone shares, another responds and all of a sudden you are working on a multiple minded project.

This is what the night became.  A conversation of collaboration on 'collaboration'.

"What do you do if collaborating is hard?" I posed

"Where is the commitment to collaborate?" I searched.

These are tough questions and the communication of the answers even tougher.

"Communication." One responded.

"What if communication is disjointed and hard?" I asked

I was throwing questions at two collaborators I hold dear. 

"There are two kinds of people Amy."  this  'photographer-girl-friend' of mine said.  "There are those like you, and those like me."

What she meant:

There are the motivators, the organizers, schedule keeper creatives who spear head projects.

and then

There are the joiners, the sporadic, the follow the muse and follow your nose creatives who join in on projects.

"And isn't that so true." I replied.

"But what happens when you have two Motivators trying to collaborate?"  I wondered

"Two Joiners trying to collaborate?"

And we discussed:

Clear communication on what expectations are, is paramount to maintaing a healthy balance and strong outcome of work.

So this 'Collaberation?' night, became a true and honest "Collaberation" night.

Without these two women, who are both collaborators with me on multiple projects, I would not have come out with a stronger and deeper topic for the month.

Sometimes it is those that join with you, that bring you to that "Titling Project" moment.

"I dont understand why you feel so strongly on collaboration."  one solo artist had said confused.

But I have a better understanding now more than ever.

Collaboration brings a whole new perspective, understanding and expierence.  

Collaboration brings unity, depth and life. 

Collaboration is nothing without honest clear communication.

The struggle of Collaboration is nothing to be ashamed of.  It is a true and amazing journey of multiple spirits working together for an end product.

©2014 Jeremy Lai

A renissance tradition that now influences the field in the study of any art.  

“mentor |ˈmenˌtôr, -tər|
noun
an experienced and trusted adviser
an experienced person in a company, college, or school who trains and counsels new employees or students.”

— New Oxford American Dictionary

“mentee |menˈtē|
noun
a person who is advised, trained, or counseled by a mentor.”

— New Oxford American Dictionary

During the time of Renaissance, a young boy at the age of twelve would begin helping the "Master Artist" at his workshop, work along side him, slowly learning over the years the art and eventually, move on from there to become an artist on his own.

Now, we have girls and boys all capable of learning their art by attending classes and through the education system.  Unfortunately, it is those who are in privileged families who can afford the classes, and those in the few schools who have strong artistic classes that benefit.  Even then, the arts span past the famous writing and painting.  School children do not have every art form under their finger tips, as art has grown more widespread and diverse over the centuries. 

We can agree:

In all fields of work and study it is important to be mentored.  To connect with another who is more skilled/learned/experienced, but also encouraging and wants to see growth into independence and success. 

A real Master

A real Mentor

Is someone who is ageless.  They do not see age or experience, but potential in another.  They do not see limitations or doubts but opportunities and hope.  They are someone who teaches by how they live.  They teach without teaching.  They are those that sit down and cultivate and create rather than ponder, obsess and stew.  

A real Apprentice

A real Mentee

Is someone who seeks wisdom.  They do not get caught up in their unworthiness but that they are worthy enough to receive.  They do not judge quickly, but spend time weighing out advice, methods, and experiences.  They are answer seekers everyday they live.  They learn by asking and listening, listening and weighing.  They are those that sit down and ask, soak and do rather then talk, yell and obsess.

I want to be that Mentee.  I want to be that Mentor.

Shouldn't we all be Mentored, and be mentoring?

I believe we need to seek out those with their hands raised, the answer-seekers and start meeting their needs.  We need to each take responsibility for who we can mentor.

And similarily.

We need to be raising our hands and seeking answers.  We need to be open and ready to recieve when a mentor comes our way.  We need to cultivate communication that we are not above being taught. 

This is the renaissance way, and in 2014, we can do one better.  Men and women, boys and girls of all ages can and should be in the mentoring process of whatever art form / field they are in. 

I am raising my hand.  Do you see me?

I am looking for you.

"I facilitate thinking, I engage minds, I listen to questions, I encourage risk, I support struggle, I cultivate dreams, I learn everyday I teach." - Unknown. 

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©2014 Jeremy Lai

It is curious that the Renissance movement spanned the 14th to 17th Century and yet the origin of the "The Starving Artist" came from the 18th - 19th centuries.  

Why has our culture embraced this belief?  That to pursue the arts is to pursue poverty?

The trades, the academics, the athletics, and the arts.  Why cannot they exist together in possible lifestyles and work to pursue?

All of these things are what make our society move, breathe and evolve.  Without one we are unbalanced.

Why do graduated artists from various art forms decide to stick to a nine to five when their heart beats for something else?  Why do so many say " it's a nice hobby" when a writer says they are going to write?

One hears: 

"How will you pay for bills if something goes wrong?" 

"At least you can always go back to the other career if this doesn't work out." 

"It's a nice thing to do on the side."

All of these things stem from the belief that to pursue art means to pursue a lack of provision.

In the Renaissance, artists were as nesseccary as tradesmen.  They studied and lived the same. They were respected as a person who is pursing a higher calling.  They were hired and used within the community.  They were not always successful or wealthily, but they pursued their work, without the stigma of 'poor'.  They pursued their passion without the belief that it was 'a cute hobby on the side.'

Yes, I have less money now as a storyteller than when I worked as an Interpreter.  It is also true that I am happier now than I was then.  There is a moment of walking into your passions and you realize that provision for work and living happens as you walk in faith.  

I am striving to find the stories that need telling and I will tell them with a passion that surpasses anything I did before.

This striving, has led me to taste the luxiourious real-tastes of a dinner shared with others while truly being present.  This striving has led me to the true enjoyment of the ability to study and learn when the funds are provided.  This striving to live and tell the truth has fulfilled me with a whole new outlook and it this that has fills my pockets.  

Somehow when you strive for more than 'satisfied' you end up with an overflowing.  Tight moments become moments of adventure, and when you see provision you know that you are truly pursuing that higher calling on your life.

So just a note.

I have not starved yet.  In fact, I eat more.

I am striving, in fact, I may have more passion now than ever before.

I am thriving.

Striving

What a difference a table can create.  After much labour of love "Barkton Place" home D.I.Y. Project was completed and the table with six chairs now was covered in food and glasses of wine and other beverages.  New faces and old faces attended this gathering and we were all relieved to finally share in another friday night together.

This month was the beginning of change in a lot of these lives.  In all this hustle and bustle of creativity, each artist was going through some sort of development in their work.  

Even waiting.

Waiting in and of itself is development.  What develops while you wait, for one soon to be architect student, is the growth of what that outcome will have.  

Interested to see how these women were dealing with their need to hold in / share / communicate their work or lack thereof , a question was posed.

"As an Artist/Creative, what does it mean to have a safe person to share with?  Do you have one?"

Mostly stemmed from my own discoveries and revelation from Julia Camerons' "Walking in this World" 

"One of the trickiest issues in a creative life is the issue of private support and encouragement for our creative leaps - no matter how they are received.  As artists, we do not need private adulation, but we do need before, during, and after friends, those people who love and accept us no matter what our current creative shape and size.  We need friends who understand that a creative success may bring an onslaught of pressures nearly as devastating as a creative failure."

The responses:

• "I have a safe few people but it was a journey to discover who is enriching to your life and who isn't.  For me, It's more about who is a positive more than a negative."
• "Having a safe person to talk to, is as simple as life or life.  Death perhaps not in a physical sense, but mentally, emotionally...it allows you to keep moving - When you would otherwise be stuck.  Without movement in the creative mind, there can be utter confusion and stagnant waters.  Having a safe person continues the ebb and flow of the creative tide."
• Having someone to share your ideas and be confident that they will be honest with their opinions.

Our discussion weaved in and out of topics and we agreed that being able to vent when confusion comes while having someone who will give advice to get you back on track is imperative.

It is in the knowing who to go to.  You don't need to get all from one person.  In having 'safe people' to go through the process of being a creative, is taking the time to know yourself and know who you need to talk to in the moment. 

The thing with unsafe people who can say damaging things to our inner artist child, is that they are not being deliberate (for the most part).  Most of those lovely people, are simply not equipped or made to be aware or sensitive to the process that we are going through in that moment.