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Well, the last of the “first day of ___ grade” pictures have ticked through the scrolls of social media.  As the breezes begin to carry a slightly cooler tune, the mamas and papas have slipped (slammed?)  back into the routines of sack lunches and earlier bedtimes.  The tears have been shed over the waving goodbye to all the babies eagerly walking into dorm rooms, bravely walking into high school, timidly walking into first days of kindergarten and middle school. Ready or not, the sun tanned and flip-flopped feet have scooted into the fresh darkness of scuff-less school shoes. 

 After months of making big decisions and gathering records and researching and weighing options, we were all ready to set sail on a new adventure as each of the kids started at brand new schools. New neighborhood, new district, new schedules, new friends, new parents, new opportunities.  After such a process, I found myself mildly unamused when I received a notification from one of the kids’ old schools, informing me that my child had been marked absent for one or more class periods that day.  I was quick to see to it that the confusion was corrected, admittedly with an eye roll.  It wasn’t until later that the seemingly insignificant miscommunication sunk in.

The beginning of this school year finds me with one starting high school, one starting middle school, and one at an elementary school without an older sibling there for the first time.  (Enter, “How did I get so old? How did THEY get so old? Enjoy them while you have them.  The days are long and the years are short….etc.”) Yep, a lot of land marks for us this year.  Oh, and the one starting kindergarten.  That’s a big one.  The very first time away from mama for more than a few hours.  The very first lunch box.  The picking out of the very first school outfit ever.  The practicing of writing her name, and pronouncing her teacher’s.  Choosing between pigtails or braids for that first day, and learning what number the little hand has to get to before mama will be waiting out front with a big smile and open arms.   That is what got forgotten though;  I didn’t get a phone call about her missing class.  Because nobody missed her. 

The words whipped the air right out of my chest, and my eyes stung fierce.  That lone elementary student of mine? She shouldn’t be alone; she should be the older sibling this time, holding that nervous little 5 year old’s hand as they walk into school together.  But just like the rush of cars in the drop-off line quickly dwindles to silence, the rest of the world has moved on.  Her teacher still stands in front of the class and introduces herself with a welcoming smile, and her friends still dash pink-cheeked around the playground looking for one more to join their game of tag, but her teacher will never know she is absent from class, and her friends will not know they are missing her brown pigtails and her easy smile. 

There will always be these breathtaking moments in the ebb and flow of grief I suppose; some familiar, some untraveled, and all of them needing to be stared in the face and acknowledged and felt.  Each of these hashes on the blank timeline of my life brings the juxtaposition of experiencing wonderful new adventures coupled with wrenching absences that cannot be called in and excused.  Never will hurt obscure my ability to seize the joy in these life moments, nor will the presence of great excitement mean that the potency of my empty spaces has diminished.  Because I have chosen to open my heart to love, it has also been lain bare to the things which scar.  These moments which steal breath and threaten to break souls may leave me grasping for words and understanding, but the dark will always be at my back at I turn my face up to wait for the sun that always comes.  Always.

There is this moment when you first look upon the fresh, new face of your newborn and you instantly know that you would do absolutely anything to protect them, to keep them well and happy. Honestly, in that moment it is hard to believe anything bad could happen to them.

When Jacob was a toddler, he was very sick.  We were young first time parents sitting in the children’s hospital in a city far from home, watching the sunken eyes of parents shuffling in and out with fragile, bald children, and we were terrified.  As we checked off each appointment and treatment though, we grew confident in what could be done for our son.  We knew that the hours spent watching him be poked dozens of times, and the flow of medicine that left him cranky and sick was serving a bigger purpose.  We knew that the pain he was going through was helping him, and so we pushed through it to get to healing.

I never imagined there coming a day when we wouldn’t know what to do for him, or that there might not be an option to help him get better.  Parenting is a scary venture, but I think to some extent we always believe that with God’s grace there will never be anything we can’t find hope in.  We believe there will always be some kind of answer, something we can do to protect our children and help them heal. Until there isn’t.

I am standing in this hard place, wondering what it is that God wants me to understand through what seems an endless season of uphill battles.  I’m looking at myself and wondering if I will still see Him as good if we don’t get the answers we are asking for. It’s a painful thing as a parent to offer empty hands, to stand knowing that there is nothing you can do to fix this, that this pain they are enduring might be a path to healing, but this time, it might not be.  We might endure this agony and still not get  the outcome we pray for.

I can keep praying for the situation to change, and I may be crushed by the answer. Or I can pray for God’s nearness, whatever the answer may be.

Please add your prayers to ours; we will never stop praying for healing, but most importantly let’s pray that pain would not be wasted, that the story of grace would triumph in our hard, and we would be gentle and gracious as we are changed.

“When you think you’ve hit the bottom, then the bottom gives way… when you fall into a darkness no words can explain… you don’t know how you’ll make it out alive… Jesus will meet you there.”

The words to this song by Steven Curtis Chapman are the groanings of my heart right now.  I fight, claw my way to the light to grasp hope, and still sometimes in the struggle I let my ear be bent that it is hopeless, that the shuddering gape of pain is stronger than the will I have to fight for more.  It is rare that I don’t have words to illustrate my soul, but somehow, that’s where I’m finding myself right now;  speechless, burning, afloat in a sea that renders me flailing, gasping, waiting for rescue.

We are facing things I never dared to imagine.  We get like that, don’t we?  Confident in ourselves that certain things will never touch us.  Thanks for the dose of reality…

How would our hearts even know what to pray?  Mine doesn’t, and people don’t want to hear that.  I am in one day at a time mode; focusing on the next thing, and then the next thing.  There are promises I am clinging to; I know I won’t be left here in this valley alone. I know He will meet me there, but the waiting is tough.   

Please, dear community, pray us through this.  We know in our hearts that beauty comes from ashes, but we have a hard fire to battle first. 

                 Steven Curtis Chapman~ “Jesus Will Meet You There”

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This morning we sat in the plastic folding chairs of our Life Group, which felt suddenly hard and uncomfortable in the ear-splitting silence that had come over the packed room of people.  I tucked my chin to disguise my tears, and the entire frame of my eyesight grew crowded with the feet of the people surrounding our two chairs. In that moment, my emotions were confusing.  Frustration, embarrassment, and because no other word could describe it, resentment.  Not at the people around me, but I felt so discouraged at being the chair in the middle.  Once again, hands were laid upon us as we stood in the middle of tragedy; broken, weary, with the arms of our community holding us up.  I am tired of being the one that needs holding up.  It feels like season after season after season of hard has kept us on the defensive, treading deep waters and relying on the people around us to carry us.  I am ready to be the one who gets to give instead of always being on the receiving end.  It feels selfish, uncomfortable, and humbling.

Humbling…maybe that’s the buzzword.  It’s not comfortable to be vulnerable, no one likes to be needy.  On the flip-side, isn’t that what we are created for?  Community?  Yes, I’m sure of it; we weren’t intended to carry our burdens with our own strength.

Perhaps in this long season, God is waiting for me to learn to surrender to being vulnerable, to gracefully accept the help that He provides.  One would think that sitting back and letting others tend to your needs would be the easy part, but we groom ourselves to be independent, self-sufficient, mighty in what we can handle.  It takes grace and humility to learn to receive with open hands.  This is something I first learned from Kara… she implored us all to work at letting people help, at tending to their hearts by letting them do something for us.  Still, it’s easier said than done.

We are immeasurably blessed to be surrounded by all the feet in that room.  Right from barely knowing us, this body of believers has jumped in with both feet to love us, pray for us, and fill the gaps that we have needed filled.  They are the gospel in human form, who am I to let my stubbornness stand in the way of letting community be exactly what it is created to be?

For now, my seat is in the middle. I am weak and struggling and needing the strength and prayers of my people to carry me through. I am confident that one day I will get to stand in that outer circle.  I will get to be part of the army that reaches out to link arms with a wounded soul and helps to carry them out of the valley.  While I’m waiting, I’m learning to sit, to breathe deep in the compassion that is poured over us, to accept with a humble and thankful heart the many blessings that have been extended, undeserving, to see us to the other side of this dark storm.

How does it make you feel to be the one needing help?  Who are the people that are there for you when you’re going through something hard?  What stands in the way of you opening your hands to the help of those who offer?

Yesterday I fought the urge to pick up the phone and cancel, and the afternoon sun found me shuffling across the cement, a small toddler hand tucked into mine to face the day.  The sky burned a brilliant blue, but my legs were heavy, my heart clouded.  We passed an older gentleman and his wife leaving the building, and his eyes immediately met mine as a broad smile flashed across his face. In that instant, a small pool of tears suddenly spilled across my cheeks.  Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe hormones or pain, or maybe it was that this world has felt mighty heavy lately.  Maybe it was anticipating that today we would say our final goodbyes to a man of strong character; a father, a husband, a son… a friend, a brother whose life was senselessly cut short by the suffocating theme of violence and hate that peppers our daily headlines.

Whatever it was, it was a moment of humanity; a reminder that we are all just trying to make it, that we all leave our homes with a swallow of uncertainty in our hearts, and we long for safety, for compassion, for love. 

This world isn’t going to change.  In fact, it is going to get worse, but when you put on your shoes and your big brave face to confront the moments ahead of you, remember the impact a simple kindness can bring.  Remember that we are all travelers here, facing the fears that lie on the horizon, and longing for our forever home.  I will still drop my kids at school whispering prayers in my thoughts, telling them if I don’t see them later I will meet them in Heaven, because frankly these days are dark and uncertain, but I know in the middle of the things going down that something as simple as a well directed smile can bring a warmth to a cloudy soul, a promise of hope and of enduring love. 

In high school, I kept a journal of sorts; mostly because I enjoyed decorating the cover. I had been deeply hurt by someone close to me in my younger years when they discovered a journal in which I had scrawled my deepest thoughts and frustrations.  I was humiliated and disgraced for having written those things down, so after that I didn’t write down much of what I was thinking.  I took time to write inspiring quotes I came across, Bible verses I wanted to remember, hilarious things my friends’ said, but the one thing I regularly took time to write was a list of goals.  I would draw out columns and write my goal, how I planned to accomplish it, and then a blank column to write about my success of the goal. They related to grades, friendships, sports… nothing life-altering, but kept me on track.  I am a list girl, and there is something so satisfying to me about making check marks.  Like seriously, yes, I add extra things to my list that I’ve already done, just to cross them off.

One day, sitting in science class, another teacher happened to see me doodling in my journal, and asked if he could take a look at what I was doing.  After flipping through the pages, he said something that has stuck with me into adulthood.  He told me to always keep writing down my goals; that people who write their goals are the people who achieve them,

In a life of keeping up with kids, jobs, extracurricular activities, a home, church, writing, and a medical conditional of the energy-sucking, strength-gobbling, painful, discouraging variety, it is easy to find myself caught in a tumble-dry cycle of surviving the day to day ordinary that must be done to keep the wheel turning.  I remember in the aftershock of losing Ellie, thinking I never again wanted to rush my children to bed, turn down a request to read them a book, or make them wait to tell me something. I never wanted to miss a moment and risk having regret… but then, at that time I didn’t know life would continue to throw big, life-changing waves in my course. I didn’t know I would face days of having nothing left to give.

 In these days of new and refining challenges, I am finding it more important than ever to intentionally create moments that etch lasting, joyful memories in the hearts of my little people… in a way, a “list of goals,” to make sure I am taking the time to stop and pause these instants that are but a breath, and yet, such a lifetime.

This summer we decided to starts making a bucket list for each season.  There are always a number of things that we eagerly look forward to with the changing of the weather, and so we sit and brainstorm a mess of ideas, our hearts pounding and our mouths racing as we blurt out all the “must-do’s” that we can dream into being, and somehow plop them into an organized  guide to help us remember to slip these extraordinary moments into our ordinary days.

Summer Bucket 2015

Let’s remember to be intentional.  Make a list, set a goal! Don’t wait until tragedy to start living like you mean it.  Make moments, make memories, make an impact.  Even something as simple as chasing down the ice cream truck is taking back space in a heart that needs it. Take back those spaces, push out the fear, and the struggle, and the pain, and replace it with a moment of delight.  Those memories? They’re forever.

And now… a little photo dump of our summer….

My biggest, picking from the garden!

Sunscreen all around!

Egg Yolk Tattoos

PJ’s all day!  Which may have been…. staying in bed all day?

Camp out!

Beach face?

Homemade pizza!

Ok, hugging a wookie wasn’t exactly on the list, but you have to admit that’s one for the books 😉

Next up….FALL!!!!! What’s on your bucket list?!

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you’re listening!

My Dear Little Sweet Pea,

It’s hard to imagine you would be turning 4 years old today.  I love 4, because it always reminds me that was the age I first have memories of my own childhood, so I always get excited when one of my own little sweetlings reaches that benchmark.  I imagine you feeling so grown up, yet being so small; an age of pigtails and choosing your favorite colors, playdates and independence, but still crawling into mommy’s bed in the night.

There are things I am sad I will never know, like your favorite flavor of cake, and the sound of your voice as you talk to grandparents on the phone calling to wish you happy birthday.  Would you painstakingly pull off little thumbnail-sized bits of wrapping paper like your little brother, or would you tear madly through the tape and bows to see what’s underneath?  And where, oh where would you choose to have your daddy take you out for your special birthday lunch?

We may not know all your favorites, my girl, but it will not stop us from celebrating anyway.  Celebrating your birth, your life, your victories, and your safe journey Home.  I feel like I am the one who got the greatest gift on your birthday; the gift of you.

Each year that we have not gotten to birthday shop for you, we have picked a gift for another special little girl who is just beginning life in the same NICU halls we walked on the day of your birth.  We wrap it all up girly, with a special note telling of your life, your legacy and we hope it will bring a flicker of joy to another family beginning a journey they never imagined.

This birthday, there was something else I wanted to give.  There are things of yours on days my heart hasn’t felt so raw that I have been able to pass on to close friends or family knowing they will use them well and remember you in their going.  There has been one thing though that I every time I try to decide what I should do with it, my throat burns hot with a lump too thick to forget.  Your baby swing.  That fancy, cushy, comforting little seat that we so carefully chose to gently and softly cradle your aching little head and fragile body.  It swung you smoothly for miles and miles as it calmed your anxious heart and lulled you to dreaming again.  I just haven’t been able to bear the thought of just giving it away, or selling it, or anything else.  This one symbol of you has just pulled so hard on my wounded heart strings.  Well I talked to one of our sweetest and kindest nurses in the NICU, Lori, and wouldn’t you know it, she got right back to me and said they would take it to use for the little loves bundled in those lonely NICU rooms.  Those crying little sweeties not understanding why their mommies don’t come to visit will get to rock away to a peaceful escape where you once snuggled.  The hurting, blurry minds shaking side effects they didn’t sign up for will nap with the comfort of soothing sounds and motion, and you, Ellianna Grace, will have made one more tiny footprint in this fading world, and placed a healing kiss on my mommy heart.

Dropping off Ellianna’s swing

Happy birthday, my Love.  We celebrate you and every moment of joy you have brought to our lives.  I love you~ bottom of the ocean, top of the sky.

Love,
Mommy

I have a 2 year old who has mastered slowing down to see the beauty around him. I mean, like, daily I feel ashamed when his sweet innocence and gratitude reminds me of how busy and ungrateful I let myself become.

One of these reminders is  that every single morning this darling little youngster goes charging to the front door to see the sunrise.  As soon as he confirms the morning sky is ablaze with the hues of a rising sun, he dashes off to gather the rest of the family members to ensure they have not overlooked this 5 minutes of brilliance on display.  He takes them one by one to the front door, and then to the front window, and then attempts to drag them to the upstairs windows for the best and most breathtaking views of  daybreak.  I will attempt to put some of the videos of this ritual on the blog…

Flaming morning sky

Breathtaking views from the front porch

With the warmer weather we have been having the last few days, there have been less clouds in the morning sky, which has had a profound impact on the canvas of the rising sun.  On the first of these warm days, Colby ran to the window in expectation, but then turned toward me with disapproval on his face as he pointed out the window.  When I peered out to see what  he was scowling at, I saw instead of the blazing oranges, reds, and yellows of our usual dawn, there were instead pale, creamy pastels of pink and yellow that faded into a muted blue sky.  My answer was quick, took little thought; “Yeah, the sunrises are not as pretty when there aren’t any clouds, are they buddy?”  I got about 4 steps away before I heard what I had just said.

There you go again, little one, teaching me great big lessons with your little, tiny, wise, and intuitive heart.

Isn’t that so true?  The sunrises of our life are so much more breathtaking when we have the stormy clouds to compare them to.  It was a poignant week for me to be reminded of this simple truth.  I had just emerged from a few of the hardest, lowest weeks I had been through in awhile.  After long days of having to lay at home, completely dependent on other people, riddled with pain and exhaustion and defeat, I was back on my feet with a surge in my energy, a dwindling in my pain, and a soul that feel renewed in hope as my days became more manageable.    How amazing those days felt, how encouraged I was, BECAUSE of the profound lows I had just experienced.  I would not have realized how beautiful this strength was if I did not have those dark clouds to reflect it off of.

Sunset is equally stunning

What clouds are you facing?  Can you step back and see how they reflect the coming sun in your days?

These past few weeks have been a wee bit… draining.  After spending most days barricaded in the homestead, I have made purposeful effort to get us out a few times, so the kids would know life around us still exists.  Ok, maybe not that bad, but still, my little loves need some kind of normalcy.  One particular weekend recently it took a lot of gusto, but despite our main morning motivator being away for a few weeks on business, I managed to get us all ready and out the door.

I was well aware, because of the amount of makeup I kept arranging and rearranging on my face, that I looked, ummm, not so much.  I looked a lot like I felt, and it wasn’t very pretty.  This is what really struck me that day though; the day that my insides showed up so blatantly on my outsides.  That morning, several people that I had seen time and again, even reached out to, purposefully made their way to me to reach out, to extend friendship, help, concern.  There is nothing wrong with that, no, I was weary beyond my own capacity, desperate for the hands of others to help carry what I could not.  What nudged my conscience though was the timing… why do we wait, dear friends?  Why do we pose in the background until we see the dark circles of defeat in their faces, the heavy limp and labored breath that announce the weight of the battle being fought?  I do it, same as you do.  We are timid, passive, exclusive.

Shuffling back to the safety of my nest, I scowled at myself, knowing I had been approached because I looked so startling,  and thought if we had talked sooner, these kind strangers would already have known my road to here, even on the days it has not shown on the outside. Then I thought of all the times I have not stopped to know; to catch that a friend was struggling, to realize a kindness I could extend, to see that all the cashier needed at the grocery store was someone to genuinely care about how they were doing.  We assuredly can not run around being all things to all people, but let’s step out, you and I, and see what we can help carry for those around us.

I guarantee you, there are battles being waged all around you that you will never see from the outside.  Don’t wait; palm up, reach it out.  You do not have to win their battle, just help lighten the load; commit to pray for someone (and then really do it), send a meal, invite someone over for a meal, drop a card in the mail, pick up a friend’s grocery list and debit card and do the shopping for them… there are endless ways to make a dent, to help fuel hope, and to help someone who is struggling feel less alone.  And someday when you shuffle in feeling ragged, those people you have invested in will be right there ready to infuse that love right back into you.

What holds you back from reaching out?  Who comes to your mind that you can extend a hand to this week?

This post was meant for New Year’s Eve, but I’ve been struggling with a really bad attitude… torn between wanting to embrace the promise that a brand new year brings, but wearied, so wearied by the inconveniences I hold grudge against from this past year.  I have come again and again to write and just struggled to bring the joys and the pains all together to say anything of worth.  The drop of that crystal ball just doesn’t bring the clean slate that it used to, does it?

How do I trust a new year when the last one began with such promise, and yet ended up breaking my life in two?

Sitting among shards of deepest hopes, and wondering if I pick up the pieces how long I will get to hold them before they are scattered from my grasp again.

The distant memories of a life I longed for pull me backwards, but life, life before me pleads me to follow, to believe, to move forward.

Dare I follow?

Yes, a year filled with sorrow,  but without that I wouldn’t be reminded of what real joy feels like, and that I can’t know one emotion without the other. The months that were full of heartaches and disappointments were indeed tempered by peace and joy, thankfulness and laughter.  Seeing the bottom reminds you to appreciate the top.   I can love in an even deeper way because I have lost, and I can have compassion among the compassionless because of my deep scars that ache with the wounds of others.

So a new year? Yes, I will open my heart to it, because I know that in the pain of losing, there will be people who make life full and beautiful and brighter and sweeter and richer.

I have my loves who are the treasures of my heart. Our conversations end with an unashamed “I love you.” They slow down beautiful everyday moments, and remind me to stop and watch sunsets, listen to birds chirping, appreciate the death of winter because it simply means new life is coming soon.  I know to cry without shame, to love with abandon, to speak up, to listen, to hear, to give my biggest effort to embrace the ordinary, and see the grace in the everyday around me. Even. When. It. Hurts.

My scorched spirit knows not to expect a year without pain, but my soul foundation whispers confidence that whatever the waters, I will not drown.

Arm in arm, prayer by prayer, let’s take this year on.