Going Green and Halloween

Watching the excitement in my boys build up the closer it gets to Halloween, is one of the moments in parenthood that I enjoy the most.  Early in October, costumes were selected and planned for and every day all month long, I was asked the same question: "How many days until Halloween?  I want it to be Halloween now!"  While some of that was looking forward to a bucket of Skittles and chocolate bars, they were just as excited to dress up.  Since they were babies, that has been my favorite part - watching their personalities embrace their favorite superheroes and movie characters.

This year, we had a very cool Spiderman (with web wings - and you should know that is the most important part of the costume according to Jacob).

And a Tony Stark! 

Ya'll.  I pitched the idea to Tommy months ago about being Tony Stark for Halloween and to my utter glee, he was totally down for it.  I made a light up arc reactor out of a tap on LED light, drawn with the symbol and covered in some light blue fabric to give it a bit of a blue color.  I found the really real glasses online that he wore in Civil War because I couldn't help myself.  The day they came in the mail, Tommy was with me when I went to check the mailbox, and he let out crazy happy screams.  Watching his joy and excitement about them was the best thing ever.  I darkened his hair and drew on Tony's facial hair which was his favorite part. His costume literally made my night.

And did I dress up as?  Well, I had originally planned on being Disgust from the movie Inside Out.  Unfortunately, the green dress I ordered didn't come in until the day after Halloween so I had to improvise.  

 I'm Hulk's girly twin sister.  Obviously.

When I finished my costume, I came out of my room to show the boys and they squealed with excitement.  Jacob lit up and said, "Oh mama!"  He ran to me and hugged me and said "I love you so much!"  He stared at me in wonder and asked how I made myself green and laughed when I put on his Hulk hands.  In that moment, I could see in his eyes how much he loved seeing me dress up with him, entering his world of play and pretend and imagination.  He beamed with pride at me all night, "Look at my mom!" he would say to everyone.

We made a few stops to see all of the Grandparent's.  The boys filled their buckets with all of the candy and knocked on a few doors.  Each time, Jacob would show the person at the door his web wings and Tommy held his Ironman glove out.  I tucked away another year's worth of silly and fun memories in my heart, praying I would always remember the fun we had together.  Of Jacob's running and posing as he would use his web shooters. And of Tommy's swagger in the way he walked and carried himself all night long.

I'm not certain how it's November already. 2017 feels like the year that went by in a blur.  Time seems to be going my faster, my boys growing tall and confident right in front of my eyes.  I find myself in that place in motherhood wanting time to slow down a little bit.  The years I have with them like this are going just as fast as every other mom told me it would.  Tommy will be a grown man in ten years.  Jacob starts Kindergarten next fall.  A couple of gray strands here and there show up on my head of hair reminding me that I'm growing and aging right along with them.  It can't be stopped but it can certainly be lived fully. 

Tommy and Jacob, how I love you so.  You are my deepest joy and my greatest pride and being your mama is the best thing I've ever done.  I will cherish these memories, this childhood you got to live with me, forever and always.

Watercolors and Worship

Colorful threads and the wooden wheel holding the white cross-stitching fabric still laid there on the floor.  A partially stitched outline of what was supposed to be a glass mason jar holding pastel flowers, tiny scissors and a case to hold my threading needles all reminded me of my effort to care for my heart and soul.  I remember cross-stitching when I was young.  It felt easy then and I remember my mom doing several of these growing up.  I thought it could maybe be my thing.  I needed something to do with my hands that wasn't eating chips and something for my mind to stay present as I had spent most of my free time in a comatose state watching Netflix.  After walking the crafting aisles, I made my selection at Hobby Lobby for the project and decided this was going to pull me out of whatever thing I seemed to be stuck in.

I had the brilliant idea that I would stitch this beautiful design and frame it and give it to my friend Ellen who had encouraged me to spend the same amount of money on myself in the name of self-care as I was for self-harm.  I imagined her crying and opening the lovely gift knowing all of the hours I didn't spend eating or drinking and it would be lovely and good for us both.

But then it took me 20 minutes to get the stupid fabric attached to the wheel the right way.  Another 10 to thread the needle, and then I realized how much math and counting went into cross-stitching.  I stupidly read some of the instructions and tips after I had started an outline of the jar and realized I was supposed to do that last.

"F*ck this!"  I threw it on the floor that night exasperated and feeling foolish.  How could I think something like cross-stitching was ever going to be my thing?  Would anything bring me to life and vibrancy again?  I felt like I was dying a slow and miserable death in the corner of my bedroom each night with a drink and a snack, until I finally felt sleepy enough to go to bed.

 A few weeks later, I found myself at Hobby Lobby again with my boys, perusing the craft aisles waiting for something to speak to me.  I was trying to not buy porcelain pumpkins or Christmas ornaments and found myself in the painting section surrounded my acrylics and oils, pastels and brushes, and blank canvases ready for art and beauty.  Some watercolor pencils drew my attention and I remembered being in the seventh grade, sketching out designs with those pencils and watching it come to life with water and a brush.  I wondered if I might be any good at it.  What did I know about watercolors or painting or art for that matter?

I made my purchases that day of watercolors and watercolor pencils, a thick pad made for that kind of paint, and a few brushes I didn't know much about but that looked important.  Pinterest offered ideas and tips for getting started, different techniques and some basics for beginners and I sat there in awe of others created beauties doubting I could ever create anything that beautiful.  Comparison always there to steal joy and possibility and hope and it was there with me as I sat there with my unopened art supplies. I didn't get started right away.  I was afraid it was going to end in a pile on my bedroom floor like my forsaken cross-stitching project and maybe it was better not to try again.

Two weeks later I sat at the Brave On conference for Red Tent Living and listened to my friend Libby speak about the heart and soul, how poetry has been her outlet for both pain and beauty.  I was captivated at her words and remembering my untouched watercolors at home.  I knew I needed to go home and try again.  Maybe it would be a big mess and I would have no clue what I was doing, and it would like like a seventh grader's art work and I would find yet another place to speak harshly to myself rather than speak of care or kindness.

Finally, the day came when I felt brave enough to set up all my supplies and try my hand at watercolor for the first time in 24 years.  I turned on some light piano music in the background and sat for a moment at the blank paper and colors that surrounded me.  And then I began.  Using some of the pencils and some of the brushes with my palette of water colors I began drawing out trees in the four seasons.  The golds and reds of autumns, the bare branches of winter, the new life of spring and the vibrant green of summer. 

With every stroke of color, I could literally feel something inside of me both settle and come to life at the same time.  I realized how forgiving watercolor is.  The whole point of it is to be a little messy and unfinished.  There are few hard lines and little structure as the water and paints bleed and run into complete loveliness.  I felt like a girl again, creating something beautiful for no reason other than because I could.  As my trees took shape and color, I remembered that I am an artist.  I may be a bookkeeper for a living, and be a little obsessive about meal-planning and scheduling our calendars, but I am an artist.  My days might be full of work and mothering, and tending to a home that never stays tidy or clean, but I am an artist.  I may have dreams that died long ago and part of me that died with them, but I'm still here and I am an artist.


My beauty and brokenness painted all over a page and I didn't want to stop.  I called my piece Sunday Morning Worship because it felt like just that. Offering my heart up to God in both my praise and heartache, of thankfulness and longing.  Remembering how good He is in every season, even if I forget that He is.

My friend Libby said something that stayed with me and makes me smile every time I remember it:

"Take your shame and your pain, and turn it into a freaking work of art."  And I did just that.  I plan to do it again.

How could you turn your shame and pain into a work of art?

Love is not the fence we build around our lives

As we hunkered down in our homes last weekend, bracing for the worst, Hurricane Harvey took an unexpected shift and unleashed it's fury on our neighbors in Houston.  As the horrific events continued to unfold, I felt sick to my stomach.  I cried real and big tears for the families caught in rising flood waters.  Images of children laying on their kitchen counters, people sitting on their rooftop waving desperately for help, the elderly sitting in a pool of floodwater waiting to be rescued flooded my Facebook newsfeed.  


I watched my beach home-away-from-home, Port Aransas, ripped to shreds from the hurricane.  The whole little town will need rebuilding, and while I don't live there or even own property in that little port of a town, I feel like part of me got ripped apart too.  Seeing the video and pictures of the wreckage was emotionally devastating.  It's amazing how places become part of who you are over time. 

On Monday, I sent Tommy off to his first day of third grade.  As I snapped his annual first-day-of-school picture, I thought about the Houston mothers who weren't sending their kiddoes off to school.  School supplies and new school clothes that will be considered one of many losses in their homes.  I wondered what they might be feeling and I felt a heavy blanket of ambivalence between guilt and gratitude.  Mostly though, I felt grief.

I have found myself uttering small prayers throughout every day as I feel a wave of sadness wash over me.  It's so close to home, and it's Texas.  They are my people.  They are me.  And I would need someone to think of me and pray for me because I know I would be crying on a Monday morning that I was supposed to send my child to school and instead was mourning the loss of our home and belongings and our everyday mundane normalcy.

Yesterday morning, I walked outside my door to an absolutely beautiful 75 degree morning, which simply does not ever happen in August in San Antonio.  The sun was shining and the sky was nearly clear.  There was an autumn-like breeze in the air that caught my breath and I stood in my driveway and closed my eyes.  It was so beautiful and lovely and I was standing there outside of my home, with car keys in hand ready to head off to work on a normal day.  I prayed for Houston and I prayed that some wife and mom just like me could feel some measure of comfort and peace in the same moment I was taking in the glory of my morning.  I felt overwhelmingly blessed and so undeserving. 

I've taken so much pride in watching my city and state come together to help one another.  There has been an abundance of people showing up, taking care, ready to help and chip in.  Our own Texas-based grocery store, HEB, had a disaster relief team in place the moment it was clear for them to get to the affected areas to offer food, supplies, banking services and medical attention.  Friends with boats have headed there to rescue those stuck in rising waters.  The very company I work for, created a donation station and our customers and employees showed up with water, food, and stuffed animals for the kids to deliver to Houston and the outlying areas. 

Churches and schools, radio stations, musicians, banks, stores - everyone is in this.  And while what has happened to our dear brothers and sisters is absolutely devastating, what is happening right behind it is glorious.  Everywhere you go, someone is helping, volunteering, and putting something together to help everyone.  All of it feels so much like the body of Christ I can hardly stand it.  People helping others, loving on those in need - it doesn't get more Jesus than that and I see His light in this everywhere. 

Our little family is donating, volunteering, and praying together every night.  Would you join us in prayer especially for Port Aransas, Rockport, and all the small towns outside of the Houston area that have suffered greatly as well?  All of us praying, giving, doing, going - it really does make a difference.  Let's keep it up - we have a long road ahead of us to love on our neighbors as we help them rebuild.

Recently, I've been listening to Nichole Nordeman's new album, Every Mile Mattered.  She has a beautiful and tender song called "Anywhere We Are," that feels so fitting for anyone who is going through any kind of storm.  If you are in need of some comfort tonight, I hope you have a listen and that her words and melody bless your heart and soul in all the places that need a bit of tenderness in all you are facing.

Resurrection Day

As a girl, Easter Sunday was all about three things: the outfit, barbecue, and Jesus.  And probably in that order.

My Grammy sewed handmade Easter dresses for all of the grandgirls of hers.  They were the kind that came with puffy sleeves, a white apron, a dainty collar and a giant bow to tie in the back.  The whole outfit was always completed with lacy ruffled socks and mary-jane shoes, white gloves and a bonnet with the same color of ribbon to match my dress.  There was, after all, only one Sunday out of the whole year one could wear a hat to church and I looked forward to Easter Sunday every year for that very reason.  Oh, and Jesus.  Yes, Jesus too.

Growing up, Easter Sunday was called Resurrection Day in our family.  My dad was pretty intense about not letting us do egg hunts or have easter baskets so that we could keep our focus on Jesus and His resurrection.  And I was mostly okay with not having those things, except I had seen one too many Cadbury Egg commercials and I spent my childhood dreaming about having a basket full of them because they looked UH-mazing.  I remember years worth of Easters where my Poppy would walk in the front door, wearing a yellow, button-down shirt, his face all aglow and joyful declaring loudly, "He is risen!"  And we would all reply, "He is risen indeed!" We would grill fajitas or some kind of barbecue where my dad had perfected the art of charring the barbecue sauce on a link of sausage, that to this day, no one else in the world knows how to do but him.  We spent the day as a family - we would sing and worship and laugh together.  Sometimes, my Poppy would talk to us about the importance of this day and what it means to us as believers in Jesus. 

Even though I went without baskets full of candy and never dyed a single egg, the weight of the day always sat with me from an early age.  Jesus - He never sinned, but was put to death on a cross.  He knew every bad thing I would ever do and gave His life so I wouldn't have to give mine - all so He could spend eternity with me in heaven.  Every Good Friday we talked about the cross and the crown of thorns, and the beatings He endured.  How the nails were driven into His hands and feet.  He died and was laid in a tomb.  And Sunday was a joyful day of celebration.  Because Jesus is God, he conquered death and rose again.  He came back to life and still lives and I know He does, because I have seen and experienced Him first hand in my own life.

One year, I outgrew the idea of Grammy's puffy-sleeved dresses and my love for easter bonnets, and as I got older the holiday changed a bit, as did our family.  The year after my brother died, my mom gave me and my best friend Kelly small easter baskets full of candy and colorful scrunchies and CD's  which was the best surprise ever.  My dad seemed a bit grouchy about it, but I saw his eyes soften and sparkle as I excitedly went through my basket of goodies.  I think by the time I was 15, he knew what he had been trying to instill in me all those years about Jesus had already been done, and no amount of candy hidden in green, plastic grass would change that.

When Tommy was much younger, I made huge, elaborate toy-filled baskets for him, giving him everything I never had as a child, including Cadbury Eggs, which I discovered at some point, were absolutely disgusting.  But a couple of years ago when Tommy asked what he was "getting for Easter," I choked on my Robin's Eggs and realized my dad was on to something back then and maybe I had forgotten a thing or two with all that he ingrained in me from my youth.  Since then, baskets have become more of an afterthought.  I spend more time with the boys leading up to Easter Sunday, pouring over the gospel accounts in the Bible, because while I want them to have colorful and fun memories to look back on in their childhood, more than anything, I want them to know Jesus the way I have come to over the years.

As our Easter traditions evolve and grow over the year as a family, there are some things I hope always stay the same.  Like confetti eggs and Todd's barbecue ribs, and taking communion together as a family. And our annual family easter-egg nose picture.  Those are my favorite.  

It is a day of joyful celebration, because Jesus is alive.

Easter morning, Resurrection Sunday, my boys had left their small baskets on the coffee table and were sitting on the couch looking at the pages in their devotional about Jesus on the cross and His coming alive again.  I listened to them talk and ask each other questions. Tommy read and Jacob pretended that he knew how. To them, Jesus mostly exists in the form of story books and Bible study lessons.  He is but mere pictures on paper and they only know of Jesus what they are taught.  But someday, all of the stories and lessons, the church-going and song-singing, will hopefully become something more.  And as I stood in the kitchen watching my young boys touch the paper-Jesus, I prayed to the Jesus who is very much alive in my heart that He would become to them, what He is to me.

Thankful

Oh, it was so wretched.  The diverticulitis, the month long stay in the hospital, the blown IV’s, the lonely days and nights without my husband and family, the physical pain, the tears, the loneliness.  The immense hunger and thirst my body experienced for days, and weeks and then months.  The helplessness, the sitting in my recliner in a narcotic drugged haze as days and flew by without me.  It was so terribly awful and when I was alert enough to really feel what was going on, I would cry and ache for normalcy.  To be buzzing away at my job, folding laundry at home, sitting around the table with my family for a meal.   

Every once in a while, I have to stop and cry about it all.  There was so much I didn’t feel this year.  I was pumped so full of drugs to help with the pain, that so much of my experience, especially in the hospital is a blur.  I seem to remember the most traumatic moments the most, while I have vague memories of friends who stopped by to see me.  I wish it could be the other way around.

This journey has marked me.  It was a kind of undoing that I never saw coming.  But in the undoing, I was remade somehow.  There was so much of me that was like hard ground, cracked and grey with death and God came in with these sharp, jagged tools that hurt at first, but has brought up the soft, rich, life-giving soil that has been buried underneath.  Over the last several months, I’ve been humbled with gratitude for what He took me through.  How God loves me enough to take me through hard things, to deepen my understanding of His faithfulness and love.   

Perhaps He is still doing some tilling and breaking ground in me.  But I am hopeful about what is being planted and what will spring forth in a season to come.

Leaving our church was one of the most gut-wrenching decisions we were faced with all year.  Six years as a part of this church family and it was home to us and our boys.  As things began to unravel two years ago, we tried to cling to what we had and prayed it wouldn’t change or shift.   It took a toll on my husband more than I took the time to see.  I was so focused on trying to glue broken things back together that I couldn’t see how much he was hurting.  When he made the decision for us to leave, I was devastated, yet I trusted his choice for our family and followed his leading.  Since then, I have missed it and cried for it and grieved our leaving, wishing I could somehow go and apologize to those we hurt or tie something up with a bow and maybe that would make it all better.  I’m so thankful for that church – for God putting us in this place for the time He did, for the people who reached in and touched our lives and impacted our hearts.  Most of the friendships made there, I’ve learned, were for a season.  And while I’ve pouted and gotten angry and cried over the loss of the community we once had, I’m grateful for the time that we had it.  This perhaps is the hardest place to bring Him thanks.  Even though we were the ones to leave, it feels like He took something away.  And how do you thank God for isolating you?   

I may not be able to thank Him for the lonely place we’ve ended up as a result of leaving this church, but I can praise Him for the giving and the taking away He does.  He allows things to happen, allows hearts to callous and harden.  He allows people to come in and out of our lives for a purpose and a season.  He allows us to make our own choices too and He is faithful to show up in the aftermath of those consequences.  And if we’ve been paying attention, He will grow and refine us in the process.

That’s what makes walking with Jesus so wondrous.  We go through awful pain, we make bad choices, we wrestle with addictions, we struggle, grieve, rage and pout.  And He is faithful to show up.  He brings His light to every dark place in our life and somehow, He makes it good.  He always, always makes it good because He is good.   

While the year feels plagued with death and loss, I find myself thankful for the places He continues to invite me to stretch and grow because of it.  And if I could some up anything that I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving, it’s for Him, always Him.  For His love, patience, forgiveness and unending, sufficient, amazing grace that I would be so desperately lost without. 

Sunday Gratitude

Windows open kind of weather.

My favorite tree, heart-shaped leaves, dancing in October breezes.

Tommy's toothless smile and Jacob's expressive faces.

The anonymous cash gift we found in our garage yesterday on a day we really needed it, reminding me of God's faithful provision in times of need.

Pumpkin scented candles.

Warm mugs of coffee on a quiet morning.

Autumn sunlight streaming through windows.

Boys dressed like super-heroes.

Watching my son make healthy choices on his own.

Phone conversations with my Grammy.

Wearing cowgirl boots.

Kindness found in smiles of neighbors and new friends.

A body that feels healthy and active, pain-free and energized.

Ellen's face, her tears, her kindness, her words for me.

Second chances and starting over.

God's grace that never runs out, that multiplies and is always given in abundance.

 

Family dinners around our table full of conversation and laughter.

A Story of Rescue

Since I was a girl, I have struggled with food, my weight, and various eating disorders.  Over the years, I have tried and failed dozens of diets, started up and canceled gym memberships, gotten personal trainers, seen doctors with medical programs, and tried various pills and shakes a hundred other crazy things to get this weight off of me.  I have been through countless sessions of therapy to process through every facet of why I am the way that I am.  Nevertheless, I have been scarily obese for a long time.

My body has been incredibly sick.  Last year, I gained more weight than I had in a while and I was nearly at the point of no longer being able to find clothes in a store in my size. My blood pressure and Rheumatoid Arthritis were becoming increasingly problematic.  I felt like a ticking time-bomb and was living with this great, unspoken fear that I could die from a stroke or heart attack because of the severity of both my weight and inflammation due to my RA.  I remember teaching my son how to dial 911 on my cell phone and how to give them our address in case anything happened to me or Todd.  I taught him this mostly because I was scared something could happen to me.  I felt stuck in a body that I didn't know how to care for and in desperate, desperate need for help.

I have cried out to God about this for most of my life.  I have prayed, confessed, prayed some more, and tried to do whatever it was that I thought He was leading me to do. But to be honest, I have always felt like God turned a blind eye to me in this place.  I felt abandoned by Him, left to figure it out on my own.  He has felt silent and quiet and all the years that I would cry out to Him - even for the strength to do anything in Christ like we read in Philippians 4:13 - it felt like He wasn't there or  wouldn't give me whatever it was I needed to have to stick to a healthy way of living. 

Last year as my fear over my body, my RA and my overall health began to mount, I began begging God to rescue me.  I asked Him to heal my body, to do something and get some of this weight off of me somehow.  These words are in my prayer journal:

Please God, I need Your rescue.  I don't know what else to pray about this anymore. Just please step in and rescue me!  Do something. Intervene.  Save me!  I beg you, please!  I need You.  I am so scared.  Please, rescue me?

And months later, He did.

It started on December 20th when I was hosting a Christmas party for some friends.  I was having some abdominal discomfort and began running a fever.  Two days later, my pain was so intense I decided to go to the hospital.  I was diagnosed with diverticulitis and sent home with medication.  However, my particular case turned out to be an infection of epic proportions.  Several ER visits later and a transfer to a different facility, I ended up in the hospital for 27 days to treat my infection and an abscess that had formed.  Once I was finally sent home, I was still ill and was treated with IV antibiotics and a liquid diet.  I then awaited a second surgery to remove the bad part of my colon that had been the most infected.

These five months have been both awful and wonderful all at the same time.  It seems as though when we go through something difficult, that there is joy and beauty to be found from the people that come to love on you and be the hands and feet of Jesus. 

I have been in intense pain and have experienced an equal amount of comfort from family and friends.  I have been out of work and our finances could have been in shambles.  But God provided all we have needed and we haven't gone without a single thing.  I went 27 nights without kissing my boys good night and tucking them in to bed, but they were loved and cared for in my absence.  My mother-in-law did my laundry and washed my dishes and vacuumed my floors and kept my home running when I couldn't.  I cried a thousand tears for all I knew my husband had to shoulder, and was blown away by his ability to hold and handle all of this with strength and grace.  Friends brought meals, watched our children, took down my Christmas decorations, came to pray, brought gifts and wrote cards of encouragement.  I have never been more humbled in my entire life by the love and support I was given during this time.

It is now the end of April.  I have now had the second surgery and I am almost back to normal and routine and work and ministry and doing the things I enjoy.  But, it was at the end of February when I was home sick when I finally realized what was happening.  This was the rescue I had prayed for.  He was doing what I had begged of Him.  It was happening and it had come through this awful bout with diverticulitis.

I feel as though I've been given new eyes to see.  My perspective has shifted on my body, on food, and on self-care.  My taste buds have changed because I have had to go so long without solid food.  My thought process behind eating is different because I want to nourish my body and care for my insides by what I put into them.  I realized that all of the time I dieted and felt as though I was missing out on something, I really wasn't.  Missing out is when you're bed-ridden and can't do anything for yourself.  When you can't live, and love and work or play with your kids - that is missing out.

So far, I've lost 75 pounds. While that loss has come with great cost and it's been the worst way in the world to lose weight ever - it is evidence of the rescue that I so desperately prayed for.  For the first time, I finally feel like I can keep going and lose the rest of what I need to be at a healthier weight.  My surgeon who went above and beyond to repair my broken body, offered to monitor my weight loss and continue to see me for maintenance.  She has been such a gift to know and has made me feel safe, comfortable and confident in her care. 

Over the weekend, Todd and I took a day trip to the coast with the boys.  It was our first really fun outing since before I got sick with the boys and we all needed it.  The beach is my most favorite place in the world.  I've always felt like I could almost reach out and touch God with my fingertips because  it feels as if He's just past the edge of the horizon.  As I sat there on the shoreline watching my boys play, basking in glorious sunshine and listening to the waves crash one on top of the other, I began to cry.

Thank you.  Thank you for all of it.  Every blown IV.  Every morsel of food I couldn't eat.  Every pain, every tear, every night I spent alone in the hospital.  Every face and friend and loved one that held me up.  I am so grateful.  You rescued me.  You've changed me.  You did this thing and I don't know what else to say but thank you. Thank you!  I praise your name!

And because I hear God speak to my heart.....

I love you.  I worked all of this together for your good. I am with you and I am for you - I have ALWAYS been.  I make all things beautiful in My time.  I love you.  I AM.

I don't know why it took so long to get here.  I don't know why God felt silent for so many years in this place. Perhaps He was waiting for me to come to this place of utter desperation.  I don't know why He chose to rescue me with diverticulitis or to answer this specific prayer in the way that He did.  But, I do know that this was His doing.  I do know that He showed up and rescued me here. 

My heart, my faith, my body, my life is forever changed by it.  Oh, may it ever be so.

Motherhood Eucharisteo

Little faces covered in fudge popsicles, all drippy and sticky.

Snuggles and singing before bedtime and "I luh-you mama" from my littlest.

Learning how to vaccum and do chores like a big person.  Glory.

Conversations about God and Jesus, and our greatest enemy: Satan.  And when I tell Tommy how the enemy does whatever he can to get us to do or say bad things, or even believe things that aren't true, his innocent reply of "Satan isn't the boss of me.  I'll never listen to him!"  Oh Jesus, let it be so.....

Lego spaceships and train engines and superheroes and stuffed monkeys.

Small toes and magical blue eyes and loud laughter.

 Tears from a boy when he knew he had hurt me deeply.  And His grace there in the moments where we both had failed.

Children's glee in spring sunset.  And His light covering them, shining over and through.

A Thrill of Hope

This December, I currently feel lost in a swirl of suffering.  Not of my own, but others around me hurting and dying and grieving.  Pain upon pain it keeps coming in waves for loved ones around me and I can't stop it or fix it or say anything or do anything to make it better.  I can't feel the hurts for them, and I can't take away cancer, and I can't put a baby inside of a womb, and I can't bring back loved ones from the dead.

I feel restless though.  Desperately wanting to do something, say something, be somewhere.  If I take a meal or clean a house or write a card or give them my face and my tears then maybe it will bring some comfort, some relief.  And though those acts are kind, I can't be what any of them are needing.  I can't be Who they are needing.

There were moments in my evening the other night that I stood over my stove making a meal for my family, all whole and healthy and present, and I found myself weeping into a pot of beef stew.  Maybe because I feel guilty for all I have when others seem to be having these same things ripped from them.

But it's more than guilt.  It's this unnameable feeling that comes when you feel what someone else is feeling.  When you are bearing one another's burdens and weeping with those who are weeping.

I wish I could somehow feel all of my Robin's pain so she could have some relief - even for a day.  She bears so much physical pain and an emotional heartache that I could never understand the depths of.  My best friend in the whole world....her mom is dying. I can hardly bear the thought of her knowing this kind of loss and I have found myself crying off and on for days, hurting not just for my friend and for my Robin - but hurting with them.

More news this week of death and hardship and break-ups and disappointments and broken relationships and deep, deep need.  Here, now in this beautiful season of Christmas and miracles and giving.  And hope.

I keep asking Him why now, why in this season, why during Christmas.  The timing seems off and all of this sorrow and suffering doesn't coincide with all of my Hallmark movies with cliche endings and cheesy story lines and how it always magically snows at the very end of the movie.

And as I finished bathing my boys and getting them tucked safely in bed, I walked past a cabinet in my living room. 

A reminder of Him.  A reminder of what God gave us.  Hope here on earth.  The answer to our suffering.  My Jesus.

A thrill of hope....the weary world rejoices.

Gratitude trumps fear

In a world that is growing with fear over terrorists and diseases and so many things unsure and unsettling, it seemed fitting to remember gratitude.  To thank the One who is on His throne – who sees all and knows all and somehow has a miraculous plan to work out all things for His good and glory.

Gratitude not only squashes out discontentment, but it silences our fears.

On this ordinary Thursday in October, I am grateful for....

Sunlight and October breezes coming through open windows.

The smell of sweet spices baking warm in the oven.

Faces, tears, hearts of precious teenage girls I spend my Wednesday nights with.

Health, safety, our home, my family, clothes to wear, food, water, cars to drive, jobs that provide income – even if only for just this day.

Coffee.

The ability to move, walk and push my body to do things it never has before.

Life-long friends.  The ones that endure every season of life, every age and trial and circumstance.

Remembering my mother – and those who remember her with me.  Memories, even grief at times, are gifts to our hearts.

Sweet teaching moments with Tommy.  Like how he lied yesterday because he was hoping to do something “fun” with dad - and if he made up a story then maybe we’d feel badly for him and treat him to a special outing.  We heard his heart asking for attention and quality time.  And he heard that it’s okay to ask us for what he is needing.

Jacob’s messes and disasters and chaos.  His laughter and liveliness and mischevious blue eyes.  Oh that boy, he has my heart.

My husband – loving, adoring, serving, flirting, playful, caring, supportive, helpful, gracious, handsome.  And mine.

My faith in Jesus Christ – He is my hope, my everything – in Him I have everything I could ever want, everything I need, even in death. 

Weaknesses.  For it’s there I cling to God the most and where He is most glorified.

Christmas music.

Being read to by my Kindergartener.

Our refrigerator covered in drawings and hand-prints made into spiders and notes that say "I love you Mom and Daddy."

How God wrote it in Scripture, again and again, over and over, that we were not to fear.  He is for us and with us.  He goes before us and stands behind us.  He never leaves us or forsakes us.  No terrorist, no Ebola virus, no political party, no controversial law will ever make that untrue.  I am grateful for such a God.

Are you afraid today?  Try gratitude.

Every fear has no place - at the sound of Your Great Name.