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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.

It’s a quiet winter day, and families are snuggled in to enjoy their favorite breakfast and watch the little ones open surprises cloaked in shimmering foils and patterns.  There’s a comfort in the warmth of a hot mug, and excitement in the day of celebration that lays ahead.

All about my day there are “Merry Christmases,” and jolly hats, and baked goods, and lobbies boasting colors of the season.  I’m reflecting in my heart the gravity of this day for all creation, and quietly thanking for the rescue that it means, and the hope we received from this one little baby in the stable.

All this joy and celebration and quiet awe, and my heart is feeling heavy, feeling like that little-girl enchantment of this long awaited day has been rubbed away by the scraping of the hard sorrow that meets us in the corners of a broken world.  There is chatter of wanting a white Christmas, and I am thinking  to myself, “I would give up every white Christmas for a Christmas without cancer.”  There are couples arguing over splitting time evenly with the sets of parents, and I am thinking of Kara having whispered, pleading that she would get to be home with her family for Christmas, for any amount of time.  In the decked halls and the holly hung, I still meet faces that can’t enjoy the eating and the unwrapping and the telling of the ancient story, because they have to leave the glow of home for the sterile white of the hospital and the hopes of a remedy to soothe their broken bodies, broken souls.  I meet in the eyes of a sad-faced man the dashing of a silent night as he waits for the coroner to arrive.   I choke back my “Merry Christmas” and instead an “I’m sorry, so sorry it happened today.”

In the dark end of packing up my day, I drive weary to get home and spend the last hours with an angel food cake and a birthday song, and curling up with the little loves of my life to feel their sweet warmth,  watching those last few Christmas sparkles in their eyes as they nod into a satisfied sleep.  The traffic is thicker as the travelers leave their gatherings to return to their own homes to finish the night.  My radio still crackles low the carols of hope and new life, and the weight of the world breaks loose the dam that held my tears from the questions of those around me.  A cry for the loss of my innocence, of the knowing that even in the glimmer of a Christmas day, when all is celebration and family and gratefulness, that it’s still not fixed.  Hearts still break and pain still ravages, and families missing loved ones make the gatherings feel missing.  Then the radio is a deep lulling voice, and David Crowder is telling me to lay down my burdens and heartbreak; that Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can’t heal.  And I know it’s for me, and it’s for all the hurting, that in each of our days where we fight to see grace and we beg for some mercy, we are one more closer to the healing that we reach for.  That one day, some day, Christmas will be all joy, and all newness, and all the glisten and gleam of the healing we got when that baby came here, right in the middle of our mess and braved the heartbreak Himself, will be the only thing on our minds on Christmas.

Shepherds’ Meal, Christmas Eve

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Right now all I can taste is bitter tears.  Just when I thought I had spilled every last one, another flood comes rushing.  That’s the thing of life, isn’t it?  Every day requires our tears; joyful tears, bitter tears, tears of mourning, tears of relief.  That is where we see again the paradigm of joy and sorrow, sorrow and joy.  The same hot, rolling tear can mean the both of them.

In the weeping, we hope that the rush of our joyous tears can drown out the flood of droplets that burn with deepest heartache; that someday each tear that has been counted and held will dissolve with the radiance of true healing.

There is not much that will express my true heart right now, other than the sobs which tell far more than my words can explain.

While this night of weeping seems to have no end, I rest in knowing each tender drop is captured by the only One who knows the meaning behind each one.

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

This sweet little phrase has become so common!  Tell me you haven’t seen a hundred wooden plaques, stenciled picture frames, and wall decals with this on them!  It’s well worn, perhaps overused, but really, perhaps it deserves a closer look.

Seems only in the darkest days we lament our neglect to clinging more tightly to these 3 simple rules.  As we aim to grasp hold of the ordinary amazing graces between our tears, let me urge you friends:

LIVE fully. Don’t get caught up in the imperfections of the day.  Let the crumbs stay on the floor of the family car, the library books go a few days late, and let go of the guilt for hastily whipping up mac-n-cheese for dinner.  Spend those moments drinking deep the beauty in every gift to be found, the mighty swell of lungs still puffing life. 

LAUGH often.  How light the heart feels with the rush of roaring laughter.  A giggle brought to someone’s lips is something long remembered.  Find those smiles, the humor, the inside joke, and engage it often.  A merry heart does good like medicine.

LOVE much.  Don’t hold back.  Bear your scars and dare to let someone in, loving with all abandon.  You never know when you may be the only soul to show that person love.

We are rich, so blessed in every dawn of our days, don’t wait to grasp hold of the best of life until it’s too late.  We have today.

July has been a tough month the past few years. (The Why of July)  This July though, is going to pack a different punch.  I have felt it coming the past few days, and by the tears and misbehavior the kiddos have been showing, their hearts must sense it too.  It’s always been funny to me how your soul remembers the day is coming, even when your mind isn’t thinking about it.

Grandpa and Ben

It started with the day of my sweet Grandpa’s home going, the 4th of July.  A perfectly fitting day, since he was one of the most patriotic men I know.  Then it was Ellianna’s passing on the 14th of July.  It’s hard to go through that day without remembering the devastating events that took place.  This year, the 2nd of July will be another day of mixed emotion.  July 2nd is the day I became a big sister.  My brother Ben came into the world 29 years ago on my mom’s birthday.  Being so close to Independence Day, it was natural that the 4th became an extension of his birthday, and his favorite holiday.    He waited all year long for the opening of the first firework stands.  Each year, his own firework show grew, to the point where he was having them shipped from the places who supply professional shows, and his small town of Sterling brought a crowd each year to enjoy his masterpiece.

This July will be a salty-sweet month of grief and celebration.  We will be remembering and honoring our precious ones that are absent, and celebrating the moments that we enjoyed with each of them.  We will cheer my little sister as she begins life with her new husband, while quietly sorrowing over the empty chair.

We are immeasurably thankful that we do not grieve without hope.   We know where our loved ones are, held close, and surrounded by joy and healing.  We will miss them in our celebrations this July, but we will fondly replay our happiest memories, and whisper prayers of thanks for their salvation.

I hope that somewhere in Heaven there is a firework show like none Ben has ever seen…

Pyro…yep, that’s about right.

Birthday buddies

Celebrating Ben

My first ever attempt at a “fancy” cake was for Ben. Please leave me a comment; it lets me know you’re listening!

“There may be pain in the night, but joy comes in the morning.”  That is a phrase we often hear as struggles are afoot.  I have to tell an embarrassing story… the day after Ellie died, my kind neighbor gave me a cd she had burned with one song on it.- “Joy Will Come,” by The Desperation Band.  I put it in and listened to the first few sentences before ejecting it.  Anger bubbled.  I thought, how dare she!  To imply this bleeding of my heart would ever turn to something beautiful.  I never said anything, but I didn’t pull that cd out again until a good two years later.  Two years when I could see beyond the crippling pain, and know there are pieces of good falling together because of our loss.  I could finally hear the hope in a song for the broken.

Ever since we went through a grief support group/grief study as a family, we have talked about someday leading one of our own.  For the longest time though, the heaviness of my heart kept me from believing that I could minister to anyone else.  Now we are stepping out.  Our awesome new church is supporting us in getting a Grief Share up and running, and we are thankful, so thankful that He can use our loss to reach out to the hurting.

There is another battle we fight, one that is only shared with our innermost circles.  A pain that brings fear, heartbreak, and uncertainty.  Right now, I don’t  know how to get through the muck, but I know with certainty that one day, when we are emerging on the other side of this storm, there will be a whole new opportunity for me to share with others who are in the thick of it.  That’s pretty humbling, to think He can use ME.

The greatness of life is not in avoiding the struggles, but in leaning into them, being changed by them, and then using them to bring hope to crumbled hearts.

God’s plan wasn’t for this world to be broken, but He has been faithful to make beautiful things from our suffering.  What will you do with your battle?

Perusing the local thrift store in L.A., we came across one of those finds that makes you dance right there in the aisle.  A very nice boogie board. . . for about an eighth of the price of a new one! Baylie and I were so stoked we could hardly stand waiting the 10 minute drive to get to the beach!

My brave little beauty

We had so much fun!  Baylie and I were the only ones brave enough to get out deep enough for the big waves, but everybody sort of tried it at least once, even Bella just barely gliding on it while I strapped it to my foot. 

It was grace for my body, I felt like a kid, healthy and strong. We laughed and laughed.

Colby did amazing! This boy quickly got over his timid shyness of the ocean, an charged for it every chance he could.  Oh my word this kid is giving me gray hair!  I have never had one so adventurous!

No fear!

Wipeout!

We had such a blast, and it was great to enjoy ourselves and the time together.  Mark is terrified of the ocean, but we are plotting to get him out there on the board by the end of the week!

Baylie getting read to head for another wave

Picking up to go again!

The other day I came across  this picture I hadn’t seen before.  It is simply, beautiful.  My heart melted to see such a perfect freeze-frame of her little button nose and her sweet, tiny lips.  Truly a gift to this mommy’s heart.

This picture though, it released a wave of  hurt so deep I sat in my closet and cried; an ugly, red-faced,  runny-nosed, swollen-eyed, hiccupy cry.  I didn’t cry because she’s precious, I cried because I. Am. So. Tired. Of. Missing. Her.

Her 3rd birthday this March, I really felt like I had turned a corner.  I finally felt joy, genuine joy about where she is, and really came to a place of  being happy looking forward to being with her again someday.  I felt like I could see Heavenward, past the deep wounds that had been left.  I was able to smile for all the good memories.

One step forward, three steps back.  I don’t know why; I think the death of my brother brought me back to those days, the horror days of  losing her and walking empty-carseat home, folding vacant blankets, packing up hopes and dreams.

I am tired of being a bereaved mother, tired of  being told how I should and shouldn’t grieve, tired of  all the things that remind me that she’s gone.  I am worn by the tears always hovering beneath the surface, by the questions, and the guilt, and the sheer agony of moving on without her.

I can barely stand right now, and I’m wondering where You are, wondering when You will make beauty from these ashes. . I know you can hear my heart.  It’s raw, it’s exposed, and it’s waiting for Your healing touch.

This broken bone, it’s never going to heal right.  Please help me learn to dance with this limp.