The month of September is deeply meaningful to our family. Our lives changed drastically during this month because it is the month we became parents—twice.
On September 21, 2021, amid a tumultuous year for our world, Fletcher came into our lives in the flesh. I had spent many months caring for him inside my body, but once he was in my arms and entrusted to my care, I felt the stark reality of just how fragile and precious life truly is.
Of course, we take care of our bodies while pregnant and nursing. We limit our intake of processed meats and cheeses, back off on the sushi—yes, heartbreaking, I know—and, most importantly, caffeine.
I resolved to cut out caffeine completely during my pregnancy with Fletcher. Thus began the importance of decaf coffee. As poor a substitute as it often was, at least I could still enjoy the process of making coffee and drinking a close…representation. I can name several coffee shops with fair decaf worth consuming. Otherwise, it may be best to stick with something else entirely.
There were other consequences to this decision besides sad imitations of a good cup of coffee. Much to Cody’s dismay, I could fall asleep at literally any moment. I gained a newfound respect for those suffering from narcolepsy. I slept through every movie or television show we tried to watch together. Cody could pull out of the driveway with me in the passenger seat, and I would be asleep before he shifted the car from reverse into drive.
Aside from that minor issue, pregnancy was not too bad for me.
Now, I will admit that I did not make the same decision with Archer. During my second pregnancy, I consumed the “doctor-recommended” amount of caffeine.
My reasoning? I had a toddler.
Toddler parents know that being incapacitated on the couch and sleeping through pregnancy was not going to work unless we lived in a padded room and I was wrapped in bubble wrap. My active two-year-old was not—and has never been—the most independent human. He required constant interaction with another person.
Beyond the caffeine decisions, we walked through some bittersweet experiences with both of our boys from the moment they were born. My pregnancies were healthy, but because of pre-existing health challenges, both boys were delivered by cesarean at 38 weeks. This led to both of them experiencing breathing difficulties immediately after birth.
We had Fletcher with us for the first ten hours or so of his life before he was moved upstairs to the NICU. What followed was an eight-day stay and a complete crash course in caring for an infant. We were surrounded by the most wonderful NICU staff, and by the time we left with our little ginger-headed boy, we nearly felt like veterans.
During those days, we came face-to-face with the utterly helpless feeling of watching our brand-new child being kept alive with breathing support and feeding tubes. We were also incredibly isolated because of the COVID era. Our friends and family could not visit our room to offer encouragement or support.
But amid the uncertainty and fear, God was present. He surrounded us with care and encouragement from the most unlikely places. In a season when we were painfully aware of our own weakness, we experienced the truth of Paul’s words:
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”
—2 Corinthians 12:9
On September 3, 2024 we entered into a new phase of parenthood when our second child was born. I did not get to hold Archer until five hours after he was born. To some, that may not sound like much. To me, it felt like an eternity.
He was taken from the delivery room while the medical team worked to help him breathe. I did not even lay eyes on him before he was carried out. I told Cody to go with him, and then I lay there alone while a caring and meticulous team put me back together. They spoke only five or six sentences to me as I prayed in bursts between anxious thoughts.
I was moved into recovery, where quiet nurses handed me scratchy tissues while I bawled my eyes out and endured the post-surgical shakes. Eventually, they brought in an enormous apparatus holding my tiny six-pound boy so I could have a brief moment with him before he, too, was taken upstairs.
Cody felt utterly helpless. He could not give me much information about Archer, and he could not do anything to help him while the professionals did their jobs.
Five hours after my cesarean, I stood up and left my room to be with my newborn.
Archer, being an overachiever, was breathing on his own and back with us within 20 hours. We left the hospital after a two-day stay.
These introductions to parenthood—and the seasons of change that followed—gave us an entirely new perspective. Whether it is giving up caffeine or crying alone in a hospital room, we are reminded that this life is not about pursuing only what is easy, simple, or comfortable.
Pregnancy is hard.
Infertility is hard.
Parenting God’s way is hard.
Experiencing loss is hard.
James writes:
“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”
—James 1:2–4
That does not mean the trial itself feels joyful. It means we can trust that God is doing something through it. It is often in the hard and uncomfortable places that we experience His power and presence most clearly. These are the places where we learn to lay down our expectations and desires and exchange them for His. They remind us that growth rarely happens all at once. It takes time, surrender, patient care, and faithful presence.
Growing Arrows, our decaf blend, represents that process for us.
This blend reflects the intentional work of raising, teaching, and nurturing—especially during the quiet hours when presence matters more than productivity. It is a coffee for parents, caregivers, teachers, and anyone who understands that growth takes time and that faith is often formed slowly.
With all the comfort of a full-flavored cup and none of the caffeine, Growing Arrows invites you to stay present without rushing the moment.
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