Our lovely daughter

Raelyn Joy Carter was born on May 21st at 6:34 am weighing in at 7 pounds 7 oz and 20 inches long! The Lord greatly blessed the labor and delivery and the first weeks of transition. We are doing well and you can see lots of pics of Raelyn and what we've been up to at the following site! We take way too many pictures to try to post them to the blog. Enjoy!

http://carterbook.shutterfly.com/

We'll still blog as we can, it's a goal!

Has it really been 9 months? .....yes

I know, it is pitiful. I have only blogged once since being pregnant. Since this amazing season of life started in which there is so much to share and talk about! I am not going to make excuses, I am just going to write.

The Lord has blessed us tremendously during this pregnancy. I and the baby have remained healthy throughout with no red or yellow flags or cause for concern. I have been amazed at how my body gets used to each new phase of pregnancy. I am at the end of the pregnancy now. It is wednesday and my due date is this upcoming monday. I start to feel my body preparing for labor and know that so much is about to change, but Josh and I are very excited to meet our little girl. We have prayed for her throughout this pregnancy. For her health, safety, and ultimately her salvation. We pray that the Lord will use her to glorify himself. Which, can be a scary prayer, but we know that unless we practice opening our hands up to the Lord now it will only get harder as we fall more and more in love with our daughter.

Things I am most excited about with meeting our little one: snuggling with her, how big will she be?, will she be super long from tall sides of our families?, seeing Josh snuggle with her, seeing Josh change a diaper for the first time, and announcing her arrival to the world.

The doctor keeps saying labor could be any minute, or a week from now. My parents are graciously being on call to fly up when I go into labor to come help us after the baby is born. Josh's parents will come soon after my parents leave. Then, my best friend Renzia will come in early July! The church has generously offered to step in and fill the holes with meals as needed. We feel incredibly loved by the people around us and continue to offer praises to our Lord for his goodness. Hopefully, in the next couple of weeks the newest blog will be a birth announcement, so stay tuned!

Faithful through Frostbite

(Mt. Mansfield in snow)

On the night of January 13, 2010, I saw God’s faithfulness in the midst of frostbite.

My work finished a little early that morning, and I decided to take a quick snowshoe trip up to Mt. Mansfield, a gorgeous mountain nearby, the tallest in Vermont. I gathered a scant amount of gear into my backpack, including some light coats, a camera, and an extra Nalgene bottle. Only two packs of crackers remained for me to grab on the pantry shelves; I had been charged to make a grocery run later in the day. I headed out the door toward the mountain with an excited heart, ready for a beautiful adventure. As I approached, the whole peak was shining clearly and brightly in the January Vermont sunlight, surely an omen of good weather and lovely scenery.

The start of my hike at 11:30 am was wonderful – an absolute delight. Bright skies and light, fluffy snow made for a great experience. The trail revealed the snowshoe tracks of several other snowshoers before me – it was nicely packed down and just wide enough for my classical wooden snowshoes to slide through. After a pleasant hour and a half I emerged onto the Sunset ridge, an exposed half-mile of ridgeline that stretches up to the summit of the Mt. Mansfield, called the Chin. There were a couple of hikers up ahead of me, and I was on pace to catch them. I stopped briefly to take a few shots with my camera and pull my wool hat over my literally frozen hair. The clouds had intruded upon my picturesque day, and the summit was barely visible; the valley floor was impossible to see.
(The two guys are barely visible ahead, the Chin is far ahead in the clouds)

At the end of Sunset ridge, the trail turns sharply to the right and loops back around to the summit. The two guys ahead of me were not aware of these directions, and evidently planned to bushwhack their way up the side of the Chin through some difficult, steep terrain pock-marked by half-buried pine trees. Thinking that staying on the trail would be easier and safer, I puzzled out where I thought it might dive through the trees and picked my way through via that route. No one had been here in some time, and my snowshoe prints were alone. As I approached the top ridge, the ground became altogether different. No trees were present, the wind had picked up considerably, and the thick snows on the trail below had changed to a windblown sheet of packed ice. After a few careful minutes, however, I reached the snow covered wooden sign admonishing hikers to stay on the trail- an ironic message today, as the trail at this point was utterly indeterminable and the only clear direction was that of the overall uphill trajectory.

With only a few dozen yards to go, the two snowshoers emerged out of the still-thickening clouds on their way back down the peak. They had arrived before me. We chatted for a bit with some congratulations passed around on our achievement. I thought it surprising that their blazed path had proved successful. The thought crossed my mind to ask them to wait and descend the peak with them, just for the strength in numbers, but my pride pushed that thought aside, and I continued alone. Not but a minute or two later, I was atop the highest pinnacle in Vermont, having bravely conquered it in the heart of winter with an old pair of wooden snowshoes. 2:00 pm – a 2.5 hour ascent in the snow. Not bad. I was already practically on my way to the grocery store. Applauding myself, I snapped a cold photo, turned around and began my descent.
(A cloudy photo on top of the Chin)

Immediately things looked different, and I was thrown into some disorientation by the various contours of land and ridges that I had not appreciated before. My previous tracks were impossible to retrace in the windy, cloudy, icy conditions. I stumbled about for a few minutes uncertain of my plan and trying to remain calm as the winds howled. My two compatriots were nowhere in sight. Then with a stroke of brilliance, I thought to simply follow their idea and bushwhack back down to the trail, hugging the steep face of the cliff. Seemed like a safe, foolproof idea. Indeed, any plan to hastily escape that nasty, exposed hill seemed better than remaining open to the elements.

So I acted. I took the plunge off the side of the Chin and headed down the mountain, stumbling through some snow deeper than I was expecting. After several hundred yards, I was really curious about why I was not encountering the trail. Something was strange. At 2:10pm, just a scant ten minutes since my moment of triumph on the summit, I made a phone call to Jessica just letting her know I was having a little trouble finding the trail, and asking for her prayer. It probably seemed like a pretty calm conversation, but inwardly I feared I was already in a pickle. I was flailing about. The going was very tough. The depth of the light, loose snow was hard to gauge, but I often found myself buried knee- or even waist-deep in the 5- or 6- (or 10?) foot snow despite my snowshoes. With tops of pine trees scattered all over the mountainside, snow was constantly shifting underneath frozen branches or settling around tree trunks. My large wooden snowshoes would then inevitably slide around on my feet, get lodged or even disappear in the snow, and require several minutes to unearth them. My ski poles were of little help, as the snow could easily gobble up their entire length. Progress was slow.

Finally at 3pm I decided this was foolish. I needed help. I had no idea what I was aiming for, had limited ability to move, and time was running out. Clouds had rolled in thick, and I could not even visualize the ridge. The sun would be setting in an hour and a half, and my prospects after dark appeared bleak. So after calling Jess again, I called 911.

The next seven hours involved multiple calls to several authorities, and especially the Stowe Search and Rescue Team leader. Initially they tried to triangulate my position with my cell phone and instructed me to sit still and that help was on the way. I tried. But without moving, even my six layers of clothing were not enough to block the chill in the single digit breezy temperatures. So I was told to head back up the mountain toward the summit, where my chances of being found would be greater above the tree line. They were assembling a rescue team that would be mobilized to explore the Sunset Ridge Trail area over the next few hours. That sounded hopeful. My cell phone noted that the afternoon had progressed to 4:30pm or so, and the light was thickening at this point. Yet the plan made sense to me, and so I trudged back up the steep, snowy hillside. Initially I had thought to simple retrace my footprints. Impossible. The snow was so loose that even my deep, wading steps had immediately collapsed as I passed, and I could not follow them back up the hill in the failing daylight. So I aimed for “uphill” and plodded along with the same struggles I had had previously.

After perhaps an hour of struggle, I suddenly met a wall of rock, probably 20 feet high. My initial thoughts were full of excitement – I was making progress. After all, where would a cliff-face be except near the mountain summit? Yet before long, I found this insurmountable obstacle to be very frustrating. Initially I tried to pass to the right, but found no easy trail. So I mustered the resolve to flank the cliff on the left side. That proved quite a challenge as well. Night had arrived in full force and my visibility had been reduced to about 3-4 feet. I frequently pulled my iPod Touch (a gadget without GPS or phone capabilities) from my frozen pocket to shine its light for a few seconds to distinguish between an approaching pine tree or rock or abominable snowman. This change of path, however, proved steeper, darker, icier, and altogether worse. OK. I turned again and headed back to the right side. The going in the blackness was miserably slow. I spent several hours in my encounter with the rock wall.

The time stretched to beyond 10pm. Another phone call to the team leader confirmed that I needed to keep going – the team was deployed on the mountain in full search mode. Even this news, while hopeful, did not break through my frustration. I had reached the most discouraging time of my experience on Mansfield. I could not climb over the wall, could not go left or right, and did not want to drop back down into the trees lest my rescuers never find me. I felt stuck. I could not see, my fingers and toes were cold, and all of this was my own dumb fault. My spirits had stayed positive the entire time as long as I could pursue a goal. Now my plan seemed impossible, and I was beginning to be frustrated. “Help me, Lord!” I thought.

It was about that time that a faint breeze carried the sound of dog barking. I froze and listened intently. Sure enough – I had heard barking. Maybe the rescue team had brought a search dog with them, I reasoned. I hollered as loud as I could. Nothing. But a minute later, a fuzzy phonetic babbling carried across the cold mountainside- the unmistakable mark of a distant human voice. I yelled again, and this time a faint voice returned my shout, acknowledging that they had heard me call. I was found.

Now that was a great feeling. A warm rush of near-glee coursed through my chilly body, and I began to slip and slide my way toward the sound. I was found. As the voices strengthened, a faint illumination began to blend through the clouds. As the minutes and the rescuers marched on, this hazy light coalesced into individual headlamps of men walking toward me through the thick snow. The pair of men came within ten or fifteen feet from me before they could spot me in the dense cloud. Warm greetings were exchanged, warm gloves replaced frozen ones, and the ferocity of the mountain seemed somehow milder. The guys gave me some candy bars, and strapped a much-needed headlamp to my snow-covered wool hat. We began to march back the way they had come. Soon the rest of their team emerged from the night - there were altogether five of them (and no dog) – and we snowshoed our way back up toward the summit. “Where is your lottery ticket?” one of them asked, “You sure had a winner tonight.” “Yeah, we gave you no better than a 2% chance of being found on a night like this,” another commented. Wow, I thought. Thank you, Lord. The men helped me hike back the several hundred yards to the trail I had lost, and then on to the summit. Our destination was on the opposite side of the peak – the Stowe Ski Resort was just over the ridge on the eastern side of Mansfield. Fifty MPH winds met us on the top of the mountain - a nasty place to be on a January midnight. Everything up there was disorienting. The summit trails are like a maze at noon in the summertime, let alone in conditions like these. In the night and cloud and wind, our team struggled to find the appropriate path, even with GPS help and a combined experience of hundreds of Mansfield ascents between the rescuers. It required three separate attempts on three separate trails before we began our descent on the appropriate one. After a final half-mile of hiking, the open avenue of a wide ski slope emerged. We hiked to the end of the ski lift just as a Snow Cat, a large tractor made for pushing snow around on the steep ski slopes, wheeled up. We all piled aboard.

“So what do you think you might do differently next time?” asked the most experienced hiker of the team. I chuckled and asked him how much time he had to listen. The folly of my trip was glaring. The combination of hiking alone on the highest peak in Vermont, being exposed above tree line in the middle of January in waist-deep snow, using old-school wooden snowshoes without crampons or cleats, lacking any reasonable amount of food or water, neglecting any provision for overnight warmth, forgetting a light and compass, and all while wearing cotton pants and gloves just begged for catastrophe. And most of all, I lacked the main thing, the essential nugget, the supreme tenant of hiking: I neglected any respect for the mountain.

A few minutes after midnight, we disembarked safely at the Search and Rescue station, a part of the Stowe Ski Resort, I found myself suddenly in the loving and remarkably well-composed arms of my wife. She had come with her good friend Heather Ebbers, who had proved invaluable in shouldering some of the emotional load for Jessica, not to mention sharing her snow tired-Subaru with us. Jess reported that a small army of friends from the church had diligently been in prayer for me. We hugged in tremendous gratitude for a few minutes, stopping finally so that I could shed my frozen clothes. My hands were inspected first of all. A pasty white color demarcated where the tips of all my fingers had been mildly frostbitten. My left ring finger had been bitten a little more severely, bearing the eerie texture and color of a dead fish and lacking any sign of pink, perfusing blood flow. My toes had been practically untouched. Praise the Lord. On the mountain, I was completely unaware that my digits were under such an extreme cold assault. Every minute that passed was damaging tissue, and I never would have realized it.(Fingertips three days later)

After thoroughly thanking the entire crew (how can you appropriately thank someone who saved your life by risking theirs?), Jess, Heather, and I piled into the Subaru and drove the hour back to Burlington. Jess urged me to keep my fingers in front of the car’s heater for the entire trip. I stopped by the hospital to discuss my fingers with some of my fellow orthopedic residents, re-warmed by digits in some hot water, and headed home. Jess and I joined together in a heartfelt, thankful prayer at 3:30am before crashing in bed, physically and emotionally spent.

I type these words one month after the scary events of January 13th. Since that time, the Lord has been abundantly gracious to me. Dozens of people have been praying for my fingers, and God has worked through those prayers mightily. My fingers are heading toward a complete recovery: old dead skin has peeled off the tips, leaving pink, healthy skin underneath. My ring finger has some residual numbness that should continue to improve, but it still feels funny every time my left hand strikes the “s” or “w” or “x” key on my computer. Lord willing, the nerves will all regrow.

A month has also given some new perspective on the whole experience. In retrospect, being lost and found on Mansfield paints an amazing picture of the Gospel. I was lost, plainly and simply lost. I was lost in pride and folly, unable even to recognize the impending danger of my condition. Destruction was so close around me. Only the gracious hands of God kept me from an injury or a slip or another misdirection that easily could have proven fatal. I was totally unable to help myself in that situation, was utterly powerless to improve my state. In fact, it required the work of another to pull me out of sure disaster, because I could not do it on my own. It required their sacrifice on my behalf to bring it about. When the rescuer finally arrived, I had no debate, no long decision about whether I should accept their help or not, no choosing what to do. No, I had but one immediate, reflexive response – walk toward the light of my savior who had come for me. And thankful joy flooded through my heart, leaving me forever grateful and forever changed. Thank the Lord.

Seasons. Seasons in life. Seasons in nature. Seasons equal change.

We have now experienced two natural seasons here in Burlington, summer and fall. In that time we have experienced a change in temperature, a change in surroundings, and a change in recreational activities. Work stays the same, church stay the same, friends stay the same, but the surroundings change, our clothes change, and we have an added factor to consider when we go anywhere, the cold.

We are currently experiencing a couple of new seasons of life. One, home ownership. As I write this Josh is unhooking a thermostat from the wall to start a project to build me a pantry. He's awesome. We have made decisions about tearing down walls, replacing windows, and tiling our bathroom floor. We have never had to make decisions like this before.

The other season that we are embarking upon is parenthood. As I type this, a 12 week little baby is growing inside my belly. That is also awesome. We are excited about growing our family. We are making decisions about what will be best for the baby both while I carry him or her and also after we are able to meet our child. We have never had to think about many of these things before either, and we know that there will be many more factors that we will have to consider each time we leave the house. The prospect of parenthood is overwhelming but there is definitely a peace that comes with knowing that this is the Lord's child more than it is ours, and He loves it more than we ever could. We pray that the Lord is already working in its little heart and that we would be well equipped and ready to show our child Jesus.

Several times we've been asked, "Why Vermont?" and though we could always give them some canned answers (that it's beautiful, that we wanted to see a different part of the country, that Josh really liked the residency program, or simply - why not?), the true answer was always, we don't know, but we have a feeling that God is going to use this place to shape us for use in His Kingdom. Well, the Lord has definitely been blessing us with our time here, and we have the distinct comfort that He has sovereignly placed us here. Prior to coming to Vermont we asked many of you to pray for three specific things: a good church, a good home, and good friends. We'd like to share of how the Lord has displayed his goodness to us.

Request #1: Good church. Have you ever browsed the web looking for churches to attend? Quite interesting. You try to look at their doctrine and theology, the different ministries they have, a sense of their overall direction, and whether they seem to have free coffee in the foyer. Well, Josh was doing a web search prior to our first Sunday, and suddenly I heard an excited call come from the study. I went to the computer monitor to see what he was so pumped about, and I saw two words that always thrill Josh's heart. "Ulitmate Frisbee". Yes, the church had an ultimate frisbee ministry. So, with that said, we had no choice but to try Christ Memorial Church first. We also knew that is was one of the only reformed doctrine churches in the area. We attended the church and were amazed by the true feeling of the Body, the delivery of the Word, and evidence of active praise and repentence through their sharing time. We were immediately invited to dinner by a couple our own age, which have become fast friends. We have attended other churches in the area, but it has been incredible how we feel like part of the body of Christ Memorial Church after such limited contact. We have continued to attend CMC and are starting to get involved with their young adults ministry, women's ministry, and hope to be in a home group this fall.

Request #2: Good home. After being here 3 months we are starting to get the feeling of being settled in. It was a bit of a wake up call to see the prices on housing here, but the Lord provided in a way that we did not expect. We purchased a condo very similar to our Lexington townhouse, but one that could use a few home improvements. We are situated in a great location, in a crux between the busyness of Burlington, access to the "box stores" of Walmart, Home Depot, etc., and still on the the border of the open country. The Lord provided the home, the funds, and the relationships in our neighbors which we have been able to form so quickly. It is not the cute little single family home that I dreamed of, but it is perfect for us at this time, stage of life, and resources.

Our new address is:

4 Hayes Avenue

South Burlington,VT 05403

Request #3: Good friends. The Church has been amazing in its provision of friendships. It continues to astound me at how the bond of Christ enables you to form relationships so quickly. We have met an incredible group of people who are teaching us a lot about what it means to serve and strive after holiness. We also have made friends with our neighbors and people at work. Josh really enjoys his other Orthopedic colleagues. Our social life has not been boring and that is a great thing.

Josh and I are both enjoying the jobs that the Lord has provided also. Josh's residency demands a lot of him, but he truly has been able to enjoy it. He's more tired than usual, but he has continued to be the man of God that you all know him to be and an incredible husband to me during this transition. I am working part-time at an orthopedic outpatient clinic and per diem with a home health agency. The combination is suiting me well, giving me a great mix of job and time to get our house in working order.

We have also had a blast enjoying the beauty of Vermont. We have done lots of hiking, biking, and a little sailing! We are looking forward to the beauty of the fall and the new sports of the winter. I have my eyes on some snowshoes :). We are trying to mentally prepare ourselves for the cold of the winter, since I am freezing in the mornings right now, but we know thar it will be fine.

It's cold, but nice!

So, here we are in Vermont. Wow, there have been a lot of changes in the last three weeks. Josh and I feel like we have been on a "highs" and "lows" rollercoaster with lots of excitements and a few disappointments. This rollercoaster is easily explained by the necessity of the ride we have been taking.

Getting on the ride- We had a great move here with only one major hiccup. We accidentally left our laptop in the hotel at Lexington and it was stolen. But otherwise we really enjoyed the drive up here with my parents and getting to do a few Burlingtony things with them. We were definitely geared up for what was ahead of us.

Hill #1- Finding a place to live. Well, things are a lot more expensive up here than in KY. That combined with not having an income over the last 3 months can tend to complicate things. But, in the end after lots of looking, making offers, experiencing competing offers, and praying we are very excited about the little townhouse that we signed a contract on and hope to close on by the end of July. If you were wondering what it looks like, well, just imagine where we lived in Lexington and change the number by one and paint the outside brown (Josh's description). Our new address will be 4-Hayes Ave, South Burlington, VT. It will be close enough for Josh to bike to work (in the summer) and far away enough to escape the busyness of downtown Burlington. The lake is about 5 minutes from our house and the mountains are about 25. Beautiful views abound.

Downhill #1- The blast of exploring Burlington and the surrounding areas. I have posted many of our pictures on Facebook, I will try to figure out how to post an album on here. Simply said, it is gorgeous. I am already looking forward to the beauty of the fall colors. We have hiked the highest and 3rd highest mountains in Vermont. We have seen waterfalls, we have been on bikepaths, we have ran the neighborhood hiking trails, we have ridden the ferry, we have savored the Ben & Jerry's Factory Tour, and enjoyed a delightful B&B, we even splurged and got the 99 cent upgrade of Pure VT Maple Syrup at Denny's.


Hill #2- Logistical transitions (aka Headaches): Getting my PT license transferred, registering our cars, joining a bank, getting new licenses, figuring out how all this home buying stuff works. Its hard to get a lot of things done because we do not have a permanent address and will not have one until the end of July (we hope). For example the DMV wants a signed lease or a bank statement sent to our VT address before issuing a license. The bank wants proof of permanent residence before opening an account. We finally got it all figured out but it was a headache.

Downhill #2- Church hunting. The first Sunday that we were here we went to a church that we both got very excited about. Withing the first 15 minutes of being there we were already invited for dinner by a couple our own age. We enjoyed the praise, the message, the fellowship, and the vision of the church. We have had our new friends Jonathan and Heather over for a good game of Settlers since then and feel very blessed that the Lord has placed them in our lives.

Well, my imaginary rollercoaster is only going to have 2 hills. Partly because that encompasses a lot of what we have done and also because I need to figure out dinner. Josh started his residency on Wednesday and I have a PRN job with a home health agency and am also investigating some other part-time options. The reality that- this is it, we are here, what is the next 5 years going to look like- is hitting. We continue to strive to rest in the Sovereignty and Salvation of our Lord and pray for patience and perseverance.

Packing madness.

Our house looks downright chaotic right now. I mean, it's really impressive. We have stuff strewn everywhere. Bombshells, twisters, and freshmen college students could be described as neat and orderly in comparison with our upstairs hallway. I'm not joking. For me to make it to the bathroom, for example, I have to dodge the precarious stack of sweatshirts, maneuver around my barricaded closet door, pick my way past the imposing pile for Goodwill, and squeeze through two enormous boxes brimming over with clothes. All this without slipping on the growing mountain of trash.

It's really interesting the things you throw away when its time to move. Yesterday I chucked a massive folder that had housed my elementary school awards for the last 2 decades. Somehow, you just don't quite feel right throwing out such an archive of ancient commemorative stuff, you know? Now granted, no one is ever going to care that I was student of the month in October of my fourth grade, or that I received a certificate for most original poem in Mr. Frank's writing class, but still, my hand hesitated to throw that pile of fading papers away. Lots of fun memories came rushing back to mind, and it was good. Yet just as I was admiring myself for how accomplished and mature I was for ditching all of these petty, insignificant, outdated relics, I broke down when I saw my middle school basketball team picture. I just couldn't part with that photo of the impressively tiny, skinny kid with the comb-over and braces who had a vague resemblance to a beardless me. That portrait got tucked into the trunk right next to my 5th grade report on the Apache indians, which was fully illustrated, I will have you know. Everyone has their weakness, I guess.

The other thing about packing is that you realize you've been keeping some pretty crazy stuff for who knows how long. This can be eye-opening and mind-boggling. I'm giving a stack of clothes to Goodwill that is two feet high. Why the heck do I have two feet of extra clothes? Where in the heck did they come from? Why do I still have a stack of receipts from 2005? And why is that expensive silk tie hiding underneath my muddy workboots? What do I do with a Discman CD player these days? Since when did I think that a fourth pair of jean shorts would be a good idea - like I just couldn't stand having only three to sit unworn in my closet? Why do I literally have nine different types of socks that have no match? Nine! It is baffling to see the bizarre items that are hiding in the cracks and corners of your home.

The most ironic thing about it is that we are going to box up all of these items, cram them into a 16 foot long truck, haul them over 17 hours of interstate, and eventually pull them all out in a reverse sort of mayhem where instead of too much excess, we will be unable to find this or that, we go buy more items, and wish we hadn't sold that extra George Foreman grill. Mayhem. Madness. For the moment, however, these cramped passageways that we used to call "halls" are still mocking us. There is more packing to be done, more package tape to fight with, more trips out to the dumpster, more bubble wrap, more dust bunnies...

...and less time remaining in this good home.