On the same page

We rang in the new year quietly this year.  No friends, no fancy outfits, no adult beverages.  Just the two of us snuggled up in blankets on our couch waiting for midnight to come.  Jacob has been sick and Todd had to work late on New Year's Eve so we reluctantly stayed in. 

Before midnight though, we remembered the year behind us.  Interestingly enough, the best and worst moments of the year for the both of us were the same. 

The highlight of the year was how Todd arrived at the hospital just a half hour before Jacob was born - that God brought him home in time for the birth of our son.  Even in the moment, we marveled at the miracle of His timing.  How He was in to the details and He wasn't late.  Watching God come through like that - to give us that memory even though we prepared not to have it - was the biggest gift. 

The hardest moment that 2013 brought was leaving North Dakota and closing the door on what we thought was going to be this life-changing thing for us.  And I suppose our lives were still changed even in not moving, but the disappointment from that has shaken us.  Honestly, I think we are both still recovering from what we lost.  It's funny though because it was our decision to stay here in Texas, yet it still feels like a loss, as if something died.  I second guess our decision all of the time, but Todd remains strong in his certainty.  Even still, our hearts broke this year - in different ways for the both of us. 

We reflected how we just coasted through the year.  How Jacob has changed the dynamic of our family and life together, what has felt hard and what's been overwhelmingly rewarding.  But after North Dakota, we went into this default mode of just getting by again.  I realize how much we do this with disappointment.  We go back to the familiar and do that because it's all we know.  

We talked about our hopes and goals for the next year too.  Again, we named the same things.

In many ways, we felt like the two of us got by and survived the year together, but it felt reassuring to know that we were on the same page.  And that we have been all along. 

The new year though has come with life annoyances.  Like a sick, snotty baby with an ear infection.  My car is having issues and no telling yet if it's minor or major.  I caught myself telling someone this morning that "I would be better" if I knew my car wasn't going to require a huge and expensive repair.  I was immediately convicted of how I still search for joy in easy and pleasant circumstances.  I still distance myself from God when life doesn't go the way I want.  And I'm very aware how I can't change this quality in myself. 

Today, I'm grateful for the man I do life with.  The parts we coast through, the parts we struggle through, the parts that are fuller than full.  I wouldn't change 2013 for the world.  I'm hoping this year brings less coasting through and surviving, and more living and loving.

And that we stay on the same page....

True love paints your toenails

I've never cared much for the word "lucky."  Maybe it's because I've never thought I was a "lucky" sort of person.  It's rare that I'll ever win anything or find money laying in the street.  I never get the parking spot up close, the light always turns red when I want it to stay green, and I've never had a winning lottery ticket.  Though to be fair, I've never played anything other than a scratch-off before either. 

If there even is such a thing as luck, I don't know if I believe in it.  Because when it comes to the really good things in my life, I don't consider it luck that I have them.  I consider them a blessing.

Someone told me the other day that I was lucky to have a man like Todd.  And I felt myself bristle to the word, because am I really "lucky" to have him?  Did by some chance the universe hand me a brilliant deck of cards when he came in to my life and it was by complete chance that we ended up together?  I've always thought that our meeting and our relationship was divinely orchestrated and had it been left up to "luck" I don't think either of us would have ever found each other.

I've felt mushy lately when thinking about him.  Maybe it's because I'm hormonal and extra-sentimental these days.  Tears flow easily and my mood swings are off the charts at any given time.  But, whether it's pregnancy or life or just who he is - I'm aware of this amazing man I'm married to and I've felt over-the-moon with gratefulness.

He's a trooper.  I've been sick for what feels like an eternity, struggling with allergies or a cold or congestion that comes with pregnancy - I don't really know what.  But it's taken a toll because I'm not sleeping and because I'm not sleeping, he's not sleeping.  And my lack of sleep has turned me in to a crazy person so I'm up crying and freaking out about the end of the world and the financial cliff and troubles in the middle east and wondering if I'm going to have a heart attack at 2:00am every night.  (Perhaps I should quit watching the news?) I'm a chaos-creator and he knows it.

But in all of my crazy-making due to this sickness I've been trying to shake off, he's stuck it out and still manages to find places to show his love for me even though I know I've gotten on his last and very sleepy nerve.

The other night he painted my toenails for me.  My belly isn't quite big enough to be in the way of doing it just yet, but I was tired and kept complaining about how ugly my toes were.  So he got out the nail polish and treated me to a little pedicure. 

This came after doing half of the Christmas decorating even though it's so not his thing.  And after doing the dishes and giving Tommy a bath and a hundred other things he steps up to do because they need doing and because he cares about me.  Because how Todd shows love is through doing and through actions and serving.

It's taken me a few years to gripe about the lack of flowers or mixed CD's full of love songs that he might compile or planned-out romantic date nights.  But I've been able to see that his love for me spills out of him daily in all of his doing if I stop and notice.  And I guess I've done a lot of stopping and noticing lately.

And what's having a blog if I can't brag and boast on the love of my life?  He really is a keeper. Maybe I am lucky to have him.  Either way, he's all mine.  And I'm very, very grateful.

Always

I always wanted to always be in love.  For there to always be flirting and romance and kissing and dancing to Christmas music in the street on cold December nights.  It was my teenage dream to be always in love.

I observed relationships and couples and marriages at an early age.  Intensely watching how couples interacted with each other.  How closely they sat together, if they held hands, if they exchanged knowing glances or shamelessly flirted.  Or if they seemed tense or distant or bit at each other with sarcasm or shortness.  I made long mental lists of do's and dont's and what I wanted and didn't want when I was married someday.

So much of my perspective shifted though when love did find me and I became married.  I wouldn't say that I was completely disillusioned about what marriage would be like, but there is so much you simply can't know until you've been married for a few years and when doing life with another human being gets real or complicated or tiring.  It's not like the movies and it's not even like what you've observed in others your whole life.  It becomes unique for the two of you and what you share together is it's very own melody, distinct from anything else you've heard before.

I've had to learn that disappointment is a part of marriage, as it is a part of any relationship.  That my husband won't get everything, do everything, and be everything I've ever wanted or hoped or dreamed for.  There will always be a void in his ability to love me and show that love - the same is true for me.  And I've learned that just because something feels bad in one place, doesn't mean that the whole marriage is bad.  Just that certain parts of a relationship need some care and attention and maybe even some "work." 

The weekend provided some closeness for the two of us. And it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but my heart deeply felt how closely connected he and I are together.  Where there is deep love and passion and flirting.  Friday night wasn't just date night.  It was sharing chocolate ice-cream pie over conversation where we did some dreaming and hoping and talking about what is to come.  It was holding hands while going to see the new James Bond movie - a genre of movies we both equally love.  Saturday wasn't just a small road trip, but a time to be still and hold hands and laugh together at the silly things our little boy always says.

There were several moments that allowed us the ability to really connect and enjoy each other and I ate up ever ounce of the feeling that was there.  The feeling that is still there between he and I.  Where I think he's amazingly handsome and he finds me sexy and we laugh and enjoy and talk like we did at the very beginning of us when we first fell in love six November's ago.

When we can take a few moments for us and take a step back from the things in our life that feel heavy or hard - it's there.  That always in love thing.  Sometimes we lose sight of it.  Some days, life steals it away. But it's there.  And I'm reminded that even though it looks different than I ever thought it would, I really do have what I always wanted.

like old times

It felt like it always felt.  Not like she was really five million miles away from Texas and our conversations happen over the phone rather than face-to-face.

But yesterday was like old times.  Visiting in real time, eating salads and sharing life.  There seemed to be more tears than laughter this time around.  Probably because of all that our hearts are holding.  Where life is both full and lonely,  and wonderful and discouraging all at the same time - because life always comes with some good and some bad in it.  We took comfort knowing that we felt like we were in the exact same place in life.  Even in our loneliness, it feels less lonely to know what we were going through was familiar for the other.

But I was grateful for her face.  For her smile and tears and hugs.  For conversation and for the time she made for me during her short and very full time here.

Today, I'm missing my friend and the connection and closeness we shared when she lived here.  Knowing that she is irreplaceable - there will simply never be another Bethany.  I'm feeling grateful that we could pick up right where we left off - as if we were used to meeting up for lunch on a Monday afternoon.

And that even though distance changes friendship, it hasn't taken it away.

For who he is

Change came when I faced the truth.  When I sat honestly with the ugliness and selfishness of my heart. Change came when I realized that loving someone is hard sometimes.  And it came when I was able to see that I hadn't been loving him well at all. 

What was true was that I was at fault.  I had failed him, I had let him down.

Love him for who he is, not who you want him to be.

That was truth.  I can't remember now if I read it or pinned it or someone spoke it to me.  But it penetrated my heart and it shook me to my core and I knew it was something God wanted me to really hear.

I had been so stuck in this place of wanting more.  Wanting more out of our life together.  Wanting more out of my own life.  Wanting him to be more of that and less of this.  In all of my desires for more, which I believe started out as good, discontentment was born and then bitterness set in.  I ended up losing sight of him.  I lost us.  And we almost lost our marriage.

But change came.  It came when I started observing him - how he loved me. His love for me is visible and it's something I can touch.  It shows up in painted shelves and a clean garage and dishes washed because he knows that I hate to do them.  I felt gratitude that I could see proof of his love for me. 

Gratitude ended up being what I needed most when I found myself wanting to be done.  Finding thankfulness for what I had, for who he was, for what we did have together.  For knowing that he could have left and quit long before I began thinking about it.  It was gratitude that began to melt away the coldness of my heart.

I put aside all of my wants for more and different.  When I did that, it was as if I was able to see again.  

Love him for who he is, not who you want him to be.

My husband is so much.  He is kind and gentle.  He uses his words to lift me up and encourage me.  He is silly and fun and because of that, he frees me to be my quirky self.  He is quiet and thoughtful, caring and generous.  He is genuine and appreciates the genuine, real side of people.  He speaks when it's important, when his words are needed.  He accepts my invitations to play and laugh and dance and let loose.  He helps to calm my fears and stills my worries.  He cares and provides.  He works hard and is full of integrity.  He's handsome and dreamy and I still look at him sometimes and catch my breath because I remember he's mine.

And it's true that there are many things that he isn't.  I'm sure he could say the same for me.  We are both on a journey to be more of who God created us to be and we are far from it still.

But it was being able to see all the things that he was that ended up changing us and where we were.  It took us to feeling like we were at our end, to a new start. And somehow, it was my seeing that seemed to bring him back to life again.

Things have changed.  They're different.  We are different.  And there has been more.

The baby I'm carrying is proof of the more we've been enjoying together.  My heart swells and my eyes brim with tears at God's timing for us.  For a baby to be the finale of such a season to have gone through together and to be the beginning of something else.

Somehow in surrendering to my desires for the more that I was so desperately wanting, I'm very aware that all of a sudden, we have it.

What I learned from my father

I learned to appreciate all kinds of music from my dad.  I enjoy some of the greatest greats because of him - like The Eagles, Elton John and Fleetwood Mac.

I learned what it was like to be enjoyed.  To be the favorite, to be the apple of someone's eye.

I learned that it was more important to know why I believed something than just to say I believed it.  He taught me how to study scripture, how to use a concordance, and to ask good questions when it came to the Bible and doctrine.

I learned how to work hard and go the extra mile.  To not do things "with a lick and a promise."  To give my employer my best because God was watching even if they weren't.

I learned that I should (and I quote) "drive like everyone else on the road is an idiot." 

To this day, I still haven't been in an accident. 

I learned that music should be listened to at one appropriate volume.  

LOUDLY.

I learned how to be mindful and thoughtful when it came to celebrating holidays.  Especially Christmas, Easter and Halloween.

I learned that words can hurt when you don't use them with care and kindness.  I learned that some words can never be unspoken and leave a lasting impression on your heart forever.

I've learned that I can speak truth to my dad when I need to.  And he will hear me even if he doesn't like or agree with what I've had to say.

I learned that sometimes the people that love you the most can cause you some of the greatest hurt.  And sometimes, it takes a very long time to heal. But when the healing finally begins, it's pretty glorious.

I've learned that some of my greatest fears stem from making some of the same mistakes that he did.  I've also learned that we are more than our mistakes and his example has shown me that.

I've learned that the sweetest memories of our time together were when  he would play guitar and I would sing.  Music always connected our hearts together and I hope it always does.

I've learned that people change.  We never stay the same.  

And in that, there is always hope for more.

I've learned that our relationship as father and daughter has changed.  It needed to.  And I'm learning that we are still trying to figure out what it should look like.

I've learned that even with the hurt and the confusion and the questions, that I still wouldn't have wanted any other father.  God wrote my dad's story into my own, and the impact it has had on my heart is shaping me into the woman I was created to be.

I've learned that it's taken me a few years to come to an honest place where I am truly thankful and grateful for this man.  My father.  My daddy.

Happy Father's Day Dad.

I love you!

Years in the making

The four of us gals went out to celebrate Robin's birthday on Friday night by going to her favorite restaurant.  It was an epic girl's night and I hope the first of many that we share.  There were margaritas (Dr Pepper for Laura of course), laughter, a few tears, and girly stories.

This picture feels like it was years in the making.  My step-sister Chelsea, my step-mom Robin, me and my teenage sister  Laura.  (Don't you love her expression?)

Even with Laura's "why-the-heck-did-I-come-out-with-these-crazy-people?" face, having this picture means the world to me.  I am smack dab in the middle of my family, with my sisters and the mom in my life. I am there because I was wanted to be there.  And I am there because I wanted to be too.

It's taken years for me to be able to show up here.  It's taken years for me to heal.  It's taken years for me, for all of us really, to grow and experience and extend grace.  Even though it may have taken years, what makes me smile is knowing that this picture could still be captured.  It wasn't too late.

I love when redeeming moments and places can be forever kept in a photo.  It feels like I can have something tangible to hold in my hands and look at to remind me of where God is good when I tend to forget that.  I can hold proof and acknowledge where we are always changing.

For a long time I thought the relationships I had hoped to share with Robin and my sisters was hopeless.  That me, that us, would never recover or heal or be able to begin again or start fresh.  But, the weekend reminded me that there is always, always hope for more in relationship with others, even when we thought it was lost forever.

On loss and life

I said goodbye today to my very special and dear friend Bethany. There has been much ambivalence about her leaving. I am excited about the adventure she is starting with her family in Michigan, and I feel sadness at losing someone who knows and loves me like she does.

It's felt like a loss because it is a loss. I know in my heart our friendship isn't going anywhere. But the distance will change it, and there has been much to grieve there. I've been grateful for the places she has allowed me to vocalize how I feel.

These last few days though, I've been reflecting on how much loss I've experienced in my lifetime.

The loss of a brother. The loss of having a "normal" family. The loss of my parent's marriage. The loss of memories that never got to be made because of the divorce. The loss of my mother to alcohol. The loss of my mother in death. The loss of my dreams of singing and "making it big" in the opera world. The loss of my boyfriend to a violent murder. The loss of much money and pride to a man who quite literally robbed me and was never to be found again. The loss of heartbreak and rejection by the man I thought was supposed to be my husband. The loss of a church. The loss of relationships.

Those things feel like the "highlights" so-to-speak.

Those losses felt big because they are big. Yet I never really entered in to those things and let myself feel what was going on. Partially because I didn't know how, and partially because I just didn't want to. I've lived my life just trying to survive my losses instead of entering in to them, feeling them and grieving. And I've dealt with loss by medicating with addictions and just checking out.

Maybe it's my age or the work I've put in to therapy and counseling, or maybe it's just the grace of God. But as I've navigated through this newest loss in life and saying goodbye to a woman who is probably one of the best friends I've ever had, I've chosen to really enter in. As hard as it's been, I've pushed through and allowed myself to cry the moments that needed tears. I've voiced the times when it's hurt. I've remained present in this loss. I've fought the urges to medicate or check out.

As a result, it's felt like a light bulb has gone off for me. All of the things that were ever lost for me - I didn't do this. I never allowed myself to enter in to loss and acknowledge everything I was feeling and just get in it. It makes sense why I am where I am today - I am just now, only in the last few years, allowing myself to feel all that was lost for me. I'm crying tears that I didn't cry when I was 14, and 17, and 21 and 24.

It feels both beautiful and redeeming for this loss to be the one that I first truly entered in to as it was happening. In doing so, it allowed me to love and be present for her in a way that she needed.

Before she left, Bethany gave me an old wreath that she thought I might be able to breathe some new life into.
After we said goodbye today, I went to Hobby Lobby and bought some felt and came home to do just that. Breathe some new life into an old wreath that my friend gave to me.
New life seems to be waiting on the other side of loss. How about that...

Goodbye Tiffany

Some friendships come naturally. They're just easy. Something inside of two people just click and your heart just knows you've found something special.

It's been that way from the beginning with Tiffany. I met her shortly after I met Todd, and she and I instantly clicked. And I knew when I married into her family, that being sisters-in-law was only going to make us closer.

We could be ourselves.
Our sassy,

sometimes weird,
and always very silly, selves.
Friday night we went out on the town one last time before her departure for Dallas on Sunday. We did some of our most of our favorite things. Like taking random pictures in Hobby Lobby and sharing margaritas at Chilis. The night was awesome and couldn't have been more fun.

And then Sunday came and we had to say goodbye.

We hugged and cried. And then hugged and cried again.

And maybe Dallas is only fourish hours away. But it is too far to call her up on a random Wednesday night to see if she's in the mood for some Chickfila and a chick-flick. It's too far away for me to see her almost every Sunday for lunch. It's too far away for a trip to Target where we just walk around and find absolutely nothing but have the best conversation. It's too far away to share a margarita on a Saturday night and gab and gossip and laugh.

It's just too far.
She's one of the best friends I've ever had. And though she's "family," and though she'll be back in town to visit now and then, she's not here anymore. And I miss her like crazy already.

Her name was Kelly.

I think we met in choir at the end of seventh grade. I remember that she had somehow sat on a Twinkie at lunch and her black shorts were covered in some kind of Twinkie paste that no amount of water could get out. Our choir teacher humiliated her about it and she walked out of the choir room and left class. I don't know if she ever got in trouble for doing that, but I admired her bravery in not putting up with Mrs. Hunsucker's cruelness about the whole thing.

I think after that, we became friends who would talk about how much we hated our choir teacher and how awful it was that she had ever sat on a Twinkie. Because who does that happen to?

We were the best of friends in 8th and 9th grade and some into our 10th grade year as well. We watched movies together. We wrote notes to each other in special spiral notebooks that we would give back and forth to each other. We went to the mall on a regular basis. We talked about our crushes that we had on the boys in school. And she was the friend that was with me when my brother died. We tried to figure out death and God and things that were far deeper than our early teenage minds could even begin to comprehend.

Kelly and I got together several years ago right before I got married and reconnected again. I ran into her mom somewhere and she gave me her number and told me to get in touch with her. It felt just like old times and it was fun to see each other as adults - there was years worth of life to be caught up on. At that time, neither of us could remember why we had fallen out of touch in high school - we decided that somehow we had just drifted away perhaps.

Later, I dug into my journals that I saved from teenagehood and learned why we hadn't stayed friends. Somewhere around the time of my parent's separation I decided I didn't want to be friends with her anymore. I had felt like we had nothing in common and I just quit showing up to lunch with her or talking to her in class. I felt like such a brat. And I wondered why I did such a thing? It felt awful to find out that I was the one who was responsible for our friendship not lasting and I was curious as to why I had forgotten about what happened until I read my 16 year old's notes.

We met up yesterday for lunch - thanks to the wonders of Facebook and bringing old friends together again.

After catching up on another few years of life that we had missed, I told her about what I had read in my journals about sabotaging our friendship. And I apologized for being a brat though she never really thought that about me.

As I've had the chance to think about my actions as my 16 year old self and now that I have learned a great deal about who I am and why I do some of the things I do, I am pretty sure that I set out to sabotage something great. During those teenage years, I felt so miserable and I didn't know how to feel anything but sadness. I'm pretty sure I was clinically depressed during that time, thought it was never diagnosed and I never sought help for it. I remember making everything miserable around me so that sitting in my pain felt more comforting. I remember quitting good things - like competing for All-State Choir, and backing out of fun activities with friends because I wanted to stay home and just feel sorry for myself. Maybe to someone reading about such a thing it might sound stupid or it doesn't make sense. But it makes sense to me now as an adult.

I've spent years trying to kill good and happy and joyful things, along with good relationships, because feeling miserable has the comfort of being familiar and known to me. It's been a very depraved and small way of living. And now I recognize that pattern, and make a conscious effort to live differently. I feel saddened as I think about similar relationships that look like Kelly and me. It's a common thread over the years.

Kelly talked yesterday about wanting to take me wine tasting, especially since I don't like wine and I'm convinced I could never find a wine I liked. I've wanted to like wine, I just think it's bitter and I apparently have a lousy and very unsophisticated palate. She expressed a desire to hang out more and try to rekindle a lost friendship too. Which feels like a precious gift and a taste of redemption for me.

We both married men named Todd. Which I think is a very cute coincidence. We've come a long way from talking about boys and going to the mall. And as we talked about shoes and our favorite TV shows and some of the sillier more simple things in life, I remembered how we had become such good friends when we were just girls. It was a very sweet time and I hope for more of it.

I'm smiling today at the thought of that sweet friendship that has come back around to me again. And I'm smiling at myself as I recognize where new patterns in my life are more normal now than some of my older ways of relating. It feels like victory or maturity. Maybe both. But it feels good and makes me smile.