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Christmas, Uncategorized

Enough

Hannah

I hardly have any photos from Christmas this year. Christmas Eve I missed our candlelight service at church because I was too weak to sit up or stay awake.

Our candlelit tradition of “shepherds’ meal” on the night of Christmas Eve only kinda-sorta happened, because I wasn’t well enough to remember, or to get up and make different choices of soup and bread like I usually do. The night was rescued by a frozen tub of tomato soup found in the bottom of the freezer, and the calming glow of our advent candles. I lay in my hospital bed in the next room listening to the chatter, and chiming in silly questions like “what ever happened to the sheep after the shepherds left to see baby Jesus?”

Late on Christmas Eve I still hadn’t managed to wrap more than 4 gifts to tuck under the tree. Anyone who knows my personality knows that is the polar opposite of my checklists and neat packages tied with string weeks before December 25th. My husband and daughter came through by busting out all the wrapping (with the help of a healthy stack of gift bags) in the late hours as Christmas Eve melted into Christmas morning.

Christmas morning… well, really most of the whole day is a blur with more chunks missing than I’d like to admit.

What I /do/ know is all four of my babes were under one roof again.

My silly dream of a Hannah tree finally happened, in all her pink glittery glory.

Even through sickness and pain, the cozy warmth of a crackling fire still brought with it the memories of Christmases past, and the anticipation of more to come.

Zero kinds of Christmas cookies or fudge happened, but “Kitchen Trash” sure as heck still did.

I did not capture my traditional “photo every hour” series of Christmas Day, but I did manage to grab the still-frames of the most important moments of joy and togetherness.

And as the day wound down and the doubts crept in with the quiet, my wise sweet little sister typed out the balm that my soul so badly needed; I need to adjust my definition of the word tradition from “every,” and “have to,” to “some years,” and “like to.”

When I sifted through my unmet expectations I found that though I didn’t get the Christmas pickle unpacked this year, there was just as much joy and gratitude and wonder in the exchanging of the packages. And even though we weren’t able to visit the lights at the bell tower or drive the neighborhoods looking for the best displays, the twinkling in our own window was enough to cast that magical glow that makes you feel warm with anticipation.

This Christmas started out feeling like I dropped more balls than I caught, but as the day unfolded and the story of the Light coming into this dark world permeated each of our moments and traditions, all of it was suddenly more than enough. I was enough. Because He is more than enough.

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Five Favorites

Hannah

I’ve had some heavier posts lately and still to come, so I’m keeping it lighthearted today by sharing a few of my favorite things! Have you tried any of these?

A sweet friend brought us one of these Danish Kringles from Trader Joe’s. Light and flaky and filled with the most delicious almond flavored filling, it is a true treat! If you want to try it you need to snag one soon, because this is a seasonal item they offer!

These mason jar zipper bags have made my spice situation so much easier! I tend to accumulate a lot of different spices trying new recipes, and it was taking over an entire cabinet. I ordered these bags and dumped my spices into them and keep them in a rectangular basket that now only takes up a portion of one shelf. I made them easy to find by organizing them into letter order. Not alphabetical, but all the A’s are together all the B’s are together, etc. Here is the link if you want to get yourself some! Mason Jar Zipper Bags

If you have been contemplating having special dishes for Christmas these are on sale until December 26th. I have been on the lookout for Christmas dishes for years, but I knew if I was going to sacrifice the space for a seasonal set of dishes it had to be one I really liked. Sam’s Club for the win! Not only are they adorable, they are also huge, and the set serves 6 which is perfect for my family! These cute dishes make me smile every time I serve up a meal. Here’s the link if you want to check them out! Peanuts Dishes

Ok, my Voss water habit may be a little silly. I first started getting these because I like the glass bottles. They are great for reusing. Then they started making this smaller version and I liked them even more, but they started making the bottles plastic and I didn’t like that. Well just recently this one entered the scene, and not only is it a glass bottle, but it’s also sparkling which I find much more enjoyable than flat water! I found these at Dorothy Lane Market, but I know Walmart carries Voss water and I’ve also seen it at different gas stations.

I started getting some kind of respiratory crud a few weeks ago and one of my dear friends immediately brought me a jar of her homemade Elderberry syrup. I had already started using my homemade garlic honey, but when I added the syrup I noticed a positive difference within a day, and after that I only got better and it never really turned into anything. That was enough to make me a believer in having Elderberry syrup on hand. Here is the recipe for Elderberry Syrup and here is one for how to make Fermented Honey Garlic

I hope you enjoyed my five favorites and found something new to try!

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Exhaustion

Hannah

I’m grumpy. Last night I threw every trick I had at my pain. Every essential oil, medication, balm, massage, heavy blanket, heat, and desperate prayer. Yet it managed to throb steadily on through the night hours and into the morning without a moment of drifting off to sleep. Now as I count the minutes until my alarm goes off, it hardly seems worth trying to snatch any last seconds of shut eye against the roar of pain. I’m sure each of you have wrestled sleep deprivation at one time or another, and you know how your usual problems seem 10 times harder when you’re running on coffee beans and daydreams. So yeah, I’m grumpy and I know it and I’m praying sweet salvation over my soul.

Today I will need the strength to care for a husband who isn’t feeling well. I’ll need the wisdom to meet with a school counselor to plan the next semester in a way that’s most beneficial for my child. I’ll need the patience to help with missing homework, and the clarity to stay alert while driving kids here and there. It would be easy to despair before the day has even begun.

I’m reminding myself I am carried though. Carried by my Father who will never leave me, and the prayers of my people who never stop helping me press on. Please meet me there. Meet me in the fight, the grueling repetition, and the endless prayers, because goodness knows they’re needed today.

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Grilled Cheese Moments

Hannah

First off, I am not trying to humblebrag by sharing this post. I want to share this very slap-upside-the-face moment I had with you because my deepest hope is that someone else out there will be able to slow down and have a few of these moments also; before we all wake up one day and realize it’s too late.

Parenting teens is a whole thing. Like, a whole thing that kinda gets glossed over in the What to Expect When You’re Expecting books, and I for one am a little miffed at the whole, “they’ll become complete aliens from ages 12-25 and then the sweet kid you know starts to re-emerge,” because there is /so much/ more to it than that, and I want to be totally here for it. All the things.

They tell us we are in charge of raising these little humans and teaching them to survive and thrive as adults by the time they are ready to jump from the nest into this maddening mess of a world we find ourselves in. If your kid shows up to college and has no idea how to separate whites from colors or boil water for ramen or how to Amazon Prime new socks before they wear holey ones to their potential in-laws for the weekend then we’ve clearly been blowing it at teaching them to be well-adjusted, responsible adults, and they will forever bare the scars of how their own parents left them so ill-equipped for life. Or so the pressure can seem, right?

And so throughout the child-rearing years I have done my best to think ahead to how they are going to function when I’m not there to pack their lunch for them, remind them to take a coat, and ask them when the last time was that they scrubbed the inside of their toilet. Probably to a fault. Yep, I would definitely say I err on the side of expecting much from them in anticipation that they will be able to handle much when they finally take flight from the familiarity of home. This week I had a moment though. A moment that reminded me they don’t always have to be nearly grown-ups; sometimes they are still that sweet little kid just needing their mom.

As my teens are growing and becoming involved in all the things I find myself ever pressing in to find where I’m “needed,” and perhaps more often than I’d like finding that they are quite the independent little adults now! Isn’t this what we have been training for?

This week one of my girls arrived home from a marathon day of school and then practice for a huge singing event that’s coming up. As she plopped all of her belongings on the table and then came to investigate the options for food, her request was pretty simple: “can you make me a grilled cheese?”

The me that we all know would say, “you can make yourself a grilled cheese; everything you needa is in there.” For some reason this time I hesitated. Instead, “of course I will. Give me a few minutes.” And in that snippet of time that it took for me to grill up a warm, melty sandwich something washed over me. It was like a lightbulb popping into a brilliant glow that chased away some of the shadows of self-doubt in my parenting. I realized by saying yes to her this time it told her that she was important and I was willing to put her needs first.

I feel like this is a message all of our teens need to hear, on repeat. They are out there bravely forging their way in this cloudy and upside-down world, and I know that the negative messages coming at them are immense. As their parents we have the power to show them that even though we know they are capable of making their own sandwich, they matter enough to us that we will put our own stuff on hold for a few minutes to say, “hey, you are worth it, and I love you.”

Our children’s slice of time at home is so small in comparison to the rest of their lives, and I want to do better at giving them those snapshot memories to tuck away and remember on the days the world is loud and they cannot find their place. I want them to know that wherever their journeys take them they will always have a safe place of refuge where they can count on being served up a piping plate of unconditional love and acceptance.

This teen thing, we are kind of just figuring it out as we go along with loads of prayers and a few strong drinks along the way. What “aha moments” are you having as you raise up your young adults? I’d love to hear what you are learning as you walk out the important job of raising little humans.

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Slipping & Held

Hannah

I wrote this post a few years back, but came across it in my drafts today…

Sometimes it gets easy to not really think about being sick. In the day to day my normal becomes so routine that it just feels like things have always been this way. Then there are days like yesterday that have an ice cold slap kind of way of reminding me the fragility of my every day.

In the cold drizzle of early morning Mark drove me to my neurologist’s office for my 3 month Botox appointment. My doctor is one of the kindest I’ve met. His gentle demeanor and tender concern have a way of making me feel seen, remembered, heard, and valued. We began the appointment as we always do, bringing him up to speed about any changes in my condition since my last visit. This is where I’m reminded that this disease presses on. We compare my movements and symptoms, and he questions me about my cognition and memory. I have to defer to Mark because, well, I can’t remember.

“How does she seem to be doing?”

Mark’s eyes dart to mine, and I sense a hesitation before he answers.

“She’s slipping since the last time we were here.”

I listened as my groom of 21 years explained how I repeat myself, asking the same questions and going through the same motions over and over without any clue that I’m doing it. My face flushed with embarrassment as I squealed, “Babe! You should tell me when I’m doing that!” And his reply highlights the kind of gentle and selfless loving he showers me with day in and day out. “Telling you would not change anything, it would just make you feel bad.” He went on to explain to my doctor how he and the kids patiently listen to me say and do things multiple times and they play along like it’s the first time so that I can feel more normal and less afraid. And that, my friends is the truest love, and I am the blessedest blessed for having a man who is so thoughtful with my heart as we wade through these sometimes intimidating waters.

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Small Big Things

Hannah

As my body has slowly been taken over by this progressive neuromuscular disease, I have bit by bit lost many parts of my autonomy. For a girl who’s used to blaring sirens and running red lights to help people, as well as getting to be the mama/chef/chauffer/counselor/chaos coordinator/party planner and loads more to a quiver full of little people, losing those bits has been a difficult process. I am not used to nor do I like being the one who needs help, and with each slice of my ability lost, a chunk of my dignity crumbles along with it.

Some things have been easier than others. Grocery shopping? I never cared for it anyway, so I definitely don’t mind that grocery delivery is how that gets done now. Carrying the laundry hamper down to the basement? Enough hard tumbles down the stairs have rewritten that effort with gratitude at my husband’s willingness to take that one upon himself. Even if I have to remind him that the laundry pile is crawling up the wall like a toxic weed gone rogue 🤭. But having to give up a career that I loved, not being invited to hang out with friends as much, not having the strength to pull together birthday party plans, or make it to each of my babies’ sporting and music events; those things have hit me square in the gut in ways I don’t know how to reconcile except one difficult emotion at a time. Despair, anger, resentment, denial… and some semblence of acceptance, though often coupled with deep sadness.

Some days the things I am losing are simply a reminder that I am here still getting to participate in life with my people, far outliving the initial “6 months” I was given back in 2020. Yet some days those reminders are a gut-punch to my identity, reminding me of who I’m not anymore, and what I will never accomplish again.

I sat with a friend last week who is in a serious battle with cancer. We sat staring at a splintery pile of firewood in his driveway that needed to be split, organized, and stacked, but the corners of his body the cancer has laid claim to prevented him from even managing the smallest pieces of wood. My heart twisted as I saw his eyes fill with tears, and in a broken voice he reminisced over the days he used to bench press two of me, and yet now was reduced to struggling over the smallest of loads.

My friend’s grief brought to mind many similar losses I have wrestled and grieved through. Dignity that was labored for with diligence suddenly snatched away to be replaced with feeling like I’m never enough.

My heart ached with knowing what my friend was feeling, but I also struggled knowing that no trite encouragement would do anything to ease the sharpness of the edges that were slicing his tender heart. If I have learned anything from these moments it’s that these losses demand to be felt and grieved. So we sat and we felt that, the weight of it all, and leaned into the hurt of all that this broken world has taken.

So often throughout scripture God urges us to remember everything He is and everything He has done for us. For myself at least, my mind often gets distracted from that and bogged down in the very present pain of surviving one more day. Yet on the other hand the very same book is real and raw and gives us the space and permission to feel the deep pain we feel.

“He forced me off my way and tore me to pieces.” Lamentations 3:11

“He has led me into darkness, shutting out all light. He has turned his hand against me again and again, all day long.” Lamentations 3:2-3

I am so thankful God’s Word is so gut-level honest, giving us permission to feel all the feelings we wrestle with. I am also thankful He doesn’t stop there… He /reminds/ us when we are in too much pain to remind ourselves.

“No one is abandoned by the Lord forever. Though He allows grief, He also shows compassion because of the greatness of His unfailing love. For He does not enjoy hurting people or causing them sorrow.” Lamentations 3:31-33

We do not have to pretend our suffering is not real. We are given the space and permission to sit and stare at the mountain of heavy logs and weep for what we have lost. And then we are given the strength to rise again and allow all of our hurts to be swallowed by the deep and endless mercy that is freshly provided every morning. He has walked along side us in beautiful ways through many trials, and He will do it again. Do you trust Him to do so?

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Invisible

Hannah

In recent years thanks to lots of advocating by people with various handicap challenges as well as rules set by the ADA there has been a shift in many communities regarding the inclusion of people who can’t quite do things like everyone else. I both appreciate and applaud these efforts, because as a wheelchair user I can appreciate the many ways that I am able to participate because of the ways things have changed in recent years. What about when it’s not about the curbs and ramps though; what happens when it’s the people surrounding you that are the stumbling blocks to feeling welcomed and included?

For the better part of the past 5 years I have had to use a wheelchair when venturing outside of my home. While I can get away with a cane or “furniture surfing” around my house, the weakness, spasticity, and shortness of breath that kicks in after a very short distance is just not feasible to going out places away from home. So we’ve just packed me and my wheels into our van and gone about life as normally as we can. Recently though I’ve noticed the closed doors aren’t just the ones without a handicapped button.

A few weeks ago I was volunteering; wearing my badge and my shirt setting me apart as someone who could help, while sitting in my wheelchair. Two others were helping with me, and I noticed that regardless of how I engaged or smiled or said hello to people, if they needed help with something they went to one of the other two volunteers 100% of the time. I couldn’t figure it out; not seeing me there wasn’t a plausible explanation. Did they see me and just assume I was incapable because of my limitations? Did they just want to avoid a situation that felt awkward to them?

Fast forward a few weeks to when I attended a social event with several other people I knew. While two people said a brief comment or question to me, there was no one else in the entire group of people who spoke to me that day; not even a hello. I found myself frequently looking at the clock anticipating the time I could get out of there because it felt so incredibly awkward.

Perhaps someday I’ll be brave enough to ask people what it is that prevents them from engaging with me. I feel like even as an introverted extrovert this would help give me some perspective on how to help people see the real me. For now though it stings a bit. I find myself anxious about attending events and gatherings. I catch myself questioning what value I offer people, and that’s not somewhere I want to stay.

Fortunately I know who I am to God, and I’m confident he accepts and wants me regardless of my shortcomings, and despite my bumpy hard story. I know He is not afraid to meet me in my mess, and so I cling to Him there while I ask for the courage to show others who I am and what I can be besides my illness. God tells me I’m worth knowing, and His opinion is the one I hold closest when the reactions of the world around me sting.

Have you been in situations where you feel like you’re not noticed or wanted? How do you handle those closed doors that don’t seem to have a way in? Do you know your worth, other than what the world has to say about it?

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A Letter

Hannah

Dear Hope,

You were the one who poked shining rays into the darkness in the aftermath of my family’s divorce, and gave me the courage to believe that I could write a different story for my own life and family. And I did.

You were the one who beckoned me to hold on when my own marriage was at the brink of destruction, and gave me the faith to believe that things didn’t have to end that way. And they didn’t.

You were the one who picked me up off the ground following the death of my daughter and whispered that my brokenness could be used for good things. And it has been.

You were the one who gave me comfort during the long nights that I wondered if I would see my wayward child again. And I did.

You were the one who has given me strength to fight against the odds and push through the horror of my illness every day because my life can still bring glory to God. And I have.

You were the one who kept whispering to me that all these broken pieces can be redeemed and used to make something beautiful. And I listened.

You are the one who has never let me give up because you have always shown me the glimpses of what things can turn out to be if I just hold on, but I’ve got to admit something, Hope. I have been struggling to trust you. What are supposed to be seasons are feeling more like lifetimes, and the dark that I keep believing can’t get any darker still manages to. Isolation is crippling, and the barrage of hard things makes it difficult to believe I will ever know something better. I appreciate the relationship we have had so far, but could you throw me a bone here? I’m weary!

I remember “I have put my Hope in your Word,” so I turn there, seeking…

“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.” I feel lacking for the words to even pray, so I just start with what’s inside; “Help Lord, we need you. Please help!”

“Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.” My strength is waning, practically non-existent, but here is a promise I can cling to. So I wait expectantly for renewal.

“Hope that is seen is not hope.” So when hoping for what I cannot see I have to wait with patience. Patience. Deep breath. Realizing there is nothing I can do, but God can.

“And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.” Ok God, you said it. So I’ll hang on and wait. Please give me the strength to do that. Help me choose hope and joy even when it’s the hardest thing to do right now. Bring back my hope.