the life of (n)joy
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grief and joy

6/25/2020

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The fresh air of this late June morning is softly blowing in through the wide open windows. The sun is bright and the sky is the happiest shade of blue. I have my homemade salted caramel almond milk iced latte in close reach... Legit obsessed.

Describing the sky and breeze outside literally made me relocate from the living room to the shade of our maple tree; we only get June in Wisconsin once a year. We live across from a stunningly gorgeous park and cemetery and there are currently elderly veterans setting up formation for the burial of one of their own. It’s simultaneously beautiful and sobering. I can hear their choruses of laughter and indistinct chatter. There are little American flags surrounding them on all sides

​Late last night I wrote a long winded blog… The kind of intensely painful, raw, vulnerable, and slightly ugly blog that I don’t let many see; the kind of journaling I do to process things, show it to my husband (if I’m feeling brave), and then bury in Google Drive forever. I’ll share little snippets here but today’s stories are the heavily edited version of what is raging in my mind & heart these days.


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When life gets extra painful, extra overwhelming, extra heavy… It requires intensely purposeful and deliberate work, communication, Bible study, and prayer to keep going. It takes difficult and intentional thought and processing and conversation, to help heal what can be healed and to keep wading through the depths of what can’t be healed. It takes wisdom from the Lord and counsel from the most trusted and closely held family members & friends. 

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It requires supernatural strength, especially when physical illness and weakness magnifies and multiplies the intensity of pain and exhaustion. When pain runs rampant through my body and clinical anxiety reactivates, patience levels are reduced, hurt and confusion are intensified, and difficult news feels insurmountable.

It feels like drowning and suffocating and burning all at once. 

The depths of my grief and overwhelm hit a new level of low last night, after a very difficult conversation with my gastroenterologist. After waiting months to speak with him (hello, COVID-19), I finally went through my list of questions and concerns with him.

And my greatest fears were realized. What I knew deep, deep inside was probably true, is actually true. Nothing can prepare us for the kind of grief when deep, personal fears are confirmed.
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The details won’t be shared here but my ability to safely conceive, carry, birth, and breastfeed more precious babies is almost non-existent, humanly speaking. The disease that ravages my body grows uglier and meaner the older I get. 

Tears flood my eyes as I write this and the words on the page blur together.

If you know me even a little, you likely know my incredible love for babies and children. If you know me a little better, you probably know my lifelong dream and goal has been to be a momma and have lots of babies.

And here I sit, stuck in a broken body that fails me over and over and over again, gasping for breath in my driveway, as the sobs overwhelm me yet again.
I know God is bigger and that with Him all things are possible. But I also know He promises trials and suffering and He uses them for our sanctification and eternal wellbeing and for His glory. He promises healing but He doesn’t promise it will be in this lifetime.

It’s hard when God says no and it’s really hard when He says no to good, biblical dreams and desires. 

I experienced this previously for many years while I waited for marriage...  and while I witnessed approximately 85% of my friends get married & have babies when they were practically babies themselves. 

The pain is familiar yet different in this time of waiting and praying. 

There is tremendous joy and gratitude in the reality of having the best husband on planet earth and the most beautiful, intelligent, and sassy curly haired, blue-eyed blonde two-year-old in all the land. These are gifts I don’t take for granted, after waiting years and years. There are not enough pages in the world to contain my depths of thankfulness to the Lord for these two humans.
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So again, like I’ve been finding in nearly every area of life, this isn’t an “either/or” situation, this is a “yes/and” situation. There is space for both gratitude and longing; for pain and for abundance of joy; for grieving and for rejoicing.

I can burst with gratitude for the child God has given us and grieve for the children we ache for Him to give us.

I can enjoy a marriage beyond my imagination and work through the unmet expectations, the conflict, and fight for greater levels of intimacy.

I can praise the Lord for improvement in health here and there and groan &  weep over the endless physical ailments.

I can grow in and seek the peace of Christ that passes all understanding and battle severe clinical anxiety.
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The funeral procession has arrived and the veterans stand at attention. A small group of loved ones hover under the little canopy that covers the gravesite. A little old lady with a walker sits graveside and a momma rocks a stroller back & forth, calming her baby. The three shots just fired and the trumpet soberly sang “Taps”. 

I love living by a cemetery. Maybe that’s weird but it’s the most gorgeous cemetery with a beautiful park, pond, and river. I walk through it all the time and again, it’s sobering and beautiful. It gives perspective and renews my eternal focus. It reminds me to live each day focusing on what matters.

It increases my gratitude to my God, amidst the pain and disappointment this earthly life holds.

It switches my mindset from lack to abundance.
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We have Christ and He is EVERYTHING… I’ve spent weeks studying this in Colossians this summer.

We have a beautiful, loving marriage, no matter how difficult it can be and how hard we have to work at it. 

We have the most amazing daughter who brings abundant joy, no matter how much she may test our patience. 

We have absolutely incredible families who love, support, and care for us in ways many only dream of. 

We have friends who love us and forgive us and speak truth to us, who share books and Bible studies and wine and roasted marshmallows.

We have our cozy little home, in all it’s imperfection and endless projects and lack of basement & backyard. It’s beautiful and homey and ours.

We have money in our bank account, a vehicle (and a half) that runs, good health insurance, and food in the pantry.

We enjoy countless yummy dinners around our beautiful kitchen table, everything from homemade pizza with its golden chewy crust…  to charred lime chicken tacos in the cast iron skillet, with salty sweet margaritas… to scrambled eggs with goat cheese and a side of crispy bacon… to leftover grilled chicken made into a fresh tangy lemon pasta dish.

We dance to our favorite artists, have bonfires in the driveway, wave to all our neighbors, splash in the kiddie pool, go for walks, read a million books, watch the thunderstorm out the living room picture window, make blueberry crisp just because, and watch episodes of The Office on Netflix. 

We cry together late at night and offer up simple prayers to our Father. We laugh about the dumbest things, overtired after long, full (often difficult) days. We make fart jokes (because Crohn’s) and wiggle our toes next to each other. We sleepily crawl out of bed to calm toddler cries. We hold each other in our grief.

And while we long to share this fullness of life and love with another child (or two or three), we gratefully choose to live in these moments together. We seek to serve & glorify God with what He has given us. We invest our days into discipling the precious child that He has already entrusted into our care. 

And all the while, we pray and dream and hope about the future souls He might give us.
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2 Comments

when there was no way

3/31/2020

4 Comments

 
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Note: I bawled while writing this post... for hours, while I unloaded so many things from my heart & memory. Once I was done, it felt like an actual, physical weight had been lifted from my chest. Many details are omitted but this is a synopsis of the past 19 days.
(I have Micah's full permission to share these stories.)

It is another gloomy Tuesday. It might be the COVID-19 doom & gloom but honestly I'm almost 100% sure the end of March is NEVER this dark and gray. Any time the sun peeks out I do an actual dance!

I'm sitting here with a mug of coffee, reflecting on the past nineteen days. It's only been a few weeks since I last posted... But it feels like a few years. Amidst a global pandemic, our family endured a terrifying family emergency, completely unrelated to the worldwide crisis. 

On a normal Thursday, while I was getting ready for work, my big brother texted me from Texas and asked if I'd have time to give him a call to discuss some weird symptoms he was experiencing. Praise God I saw the text 30 minutes later, and immediately gave him a ring. It was very quickly apparent to me that he needed to go into the emergency room, pronto. (And yes, his roommate should drive him!)

I was mildly concerned and praying, texting, and checking in continually. He was losing lots of blood, but they couldn't figure from where or why. So they kept observing him and running tests, eventually admitting him to the ICU late afternoon.

By dinnertime, emergency exploratory was being discussed, as he grew weaker & weaker. At this point, my older older brother, on his 35th birthday, had joined Micah in the ICU. So much gratitude that he was there.

By 9:00pm, he had been rushed into surgery, the surgeons going in completely blind, not knowing what they'd be dealing with. At 10:00pm, we received a text to PRAY WITH UTMOST FERVENCY. My big brother was bleeding everywhere, due to ruptured veins from an extremely rare genetic blood disorder he has. There was nothing the surgeons could do at that hospital, they're only hope was to stabilize him enough to fly him to a bigger hospital.

Typing this has me weeping, tears pouring down my cheeks. The emotions of that night are still so raw and real,  2.5 weeks later (feels more like three years, seriously).

No words can describe the emotions of being 1,000 miles away, while your precious brother is bleeding out on a surgeon's table. We were told later it was a total "bloodbath" and the doctor was unable to see what he was doing, because they couldn't suction the blood fast enough. 

(These are the times I regret watching medical shows because I can picture things too vividly.)

I remember kneeling on our bed,  my face buried in the sheets, prostrate before the Lord begging for His mercy & protection over my brother's life. The agony, the grief, the fear... Sounds were coming out of me that had never come out of me before. Justin and I cried out to the Lord together, his words being far more intelligible than mine.

At 10:06pm (I remember the time precisely), I called one of my bestie's, crying so hard she couldn't make out what I was saying. All I really remember saying is, "he's bleeding to death, Emily" and just bawling & bawling. She cried & prayed with me. We hung up... I fell on the kitchen floor and cried & prayed some more.

Shortly after 11:30pm, I spoke with my sister-in-law who was in the ICU waiting room with my older older  brother. At that time, Micah was being loaded onto the helicopter to transfer to the bigger hospital, in *extremely* critical condition, his body only being kept alive by blood pressure medications and blood transfusions. (He had a blood clot in his stomach and bleeding from veins all through his abdomen and esophagus.)  

By 11:46pm the helicopter had landed at the other hospital, where a medical team was ready and waiting. It was a miracle from God that they were able to keep him alive & stable enough to transport him at all. We praised God and kept pleading with Him for further healing.

At 1:30am, a surgical team performed a procedure and put a balloon in to stop the heaviest bleeding. God used that procedure and our prayers and Micah stabilized for the remainder of the night, while still being extremely critical. 
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During the night, God brought to mind Psalm 56:3, which I recalled to be one of Micah's favorite when we were kids. "What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee." Amidst the overwhelming grief & concern, this verse brought comfort to my soul.

I finally slept in bits and pieces between 3-6am. Friday was a long weird day of waiting and praying and waiting and waiting and waiting and praying some more. Multiple surgeons were working together to create a surgical plan to try to save my brother's life. We were told it would be an extremely risky surgery but they would try.

Around 3:00pm, I texted one of my younger brothers to say I was putting my phone on Do Not Disturb to try to nap, but to call if there was an urgent update. He texted back and told me I probably shouldn't nap... Immediately my heart started racing, because I knew that meant something big had happened.

I gave him a call and he was weeping... He hadn't heard the details yet, but he had been told that the surgeons determined there was nothing they could do. Nothing. NOTHING. I collapsed to the floor, half on carpet, half on hardwood, in front of our little coffee station. I was weeping so hard I couldn't speak or breathe.

Justin joined me from the other room and we put the phone on speaker and Justin prayed with me, my little brother, and his wife. We all decided we needed to gather at Dad & Mom's house, with the remaining two siblings that had not yet flown to Texas (our parents had already flown down as well).

I jumped in the shower and we made arrangements for our baby girl and dog. An hour or two later, we sat with my two little sisters and shared with them the grim news... Doctors said it was terminal and there was nothing they could do. Holding them while they sobbed and cried out to Jesus was one of the hardest things I've ever done. My baby sister is especially close with Micah and it was heart-wrenching to participate in her grief, amidst my own. 
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Playing with our little nephew, once we finally arrived in TX
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My beautiful triple sister
My brother, Caleb, and his wife & baby girl arrived and we had a conference call with Dad. We all cried SO MUCH. After we hung up, we immediately put plans into action to get to Texas via road trip, because two of us were unable to fly (health reasons). We borrowed a mini van, got our baby girls ready to leave with family members, packed our bags, and hit the road around 11:00pm that Friday (13th), driving into the night, before stopping for a few hours of sleep in a crap hotel.

God showed up in SO many details... A spacious minivan to use at no charge, cash from friends for gas & hotels, childcare and dog care for both girls & puppies, snacks for the road, an iPass, friends to get our mail & care for our home, and prayers from hundreds.

Shortly before midnight Friday, we received our first tiny glimmer of hope, when a different specialist presented a potential game plan to try to bring Micah back from this. It was the tiniest bit of hope, but it was something, and we prayed fervently.
Amidst our travels Saturday, the concerns, precautions, and news surrounding COVID-19 were spreading faster than wildfire. Being immunosuppressed and extremely high risk for anything like this virus, it was insanely stressful having to go in and out of dozens of dirty public restrooms, eat from restaurants, and sleep in hotels. (The day before we left, I had officially started my own personal quarantine, before most of the country, due to being high risk.) God was teaching me whole new levels of surrender and trust, as I was literally unable to do anything about being exposed to so many germs (besides constant hand-washing and sanitizing everything in the van over and over).

Also on a personal note, I was having a horrible "Crohn's day" Saturday and we had to stop constantly for my tummy. I am so grateful for all my siblings love, understanding, and care. There wasn't a single complaint.

Around 7:00pm Saturday, our van full of siblings/spouses was sitting next to a gas pump in Springfield, MO, when we received further bits of hope. The new specialist had done a procedure/testing and discovered things were far better than the day before. God was working miracles in Micah's body behind the scenes, while people all around the world, prayed on behalf of him and our family. I am crying tears of gratitude right now while I type this... No words in the world can begin to express how grateful we are to each and every single person who prayed.

By 10:30pm that night we crashed at a (much less crappy) hotel somewhere in Oklahoma and got some much needed hours of sleep, followed by a slow morning of taking time to shower, get some necessities from Walmart, etc., allowing those of us with health issues a bit of time to heal & recoup.
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On Sunday, God blessed with amazingly smooth travels! It was a night and day difference from Saturday... We were able to travel for hours at a time without stopping. Plus, the mood in the van was filled with much more hope for Micah's recovery, than it had been the previous day of driving. We laughed, got yummy takeout, and cruised... At lunch time we got a photo of Micah, signing "I love you". I cried. Later, we even got to hear his voice on speaker phone! (And I cried some more.)

My dad sent the song "Do It Again" to our family group chat Saturday afternoon.... These are the lines that struck my heart the most, bringing instant tears:
"I've seen You move, come move the mountains
And I believe, I'll see You do it again
You made a way, where there was no way
And I believe, I'll see You do it again"
By God's grace & mercy, we got to the hospital in Austin JUST IN TIME for all six of us to have 5-10 minutes with Micah, taking turns by pairs. It was incredible to hug him and talk with him, even for just a few minutes. All the hospital visitor regulations were constantly changing and we weren't sure if we would even be able to see him.

The very next morning regulations changed again and we were not allowed to see him (praise God they still allowed one "caretaker" in and my mom and oldest brother & his wife took shifts 24/7). We were so incredibly grateful to God for giving us better health and smoother travels on Sunday, so we got there right before visiting hours ended. Such a gift.
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The next few days were weird and slow... Naps, family chats, runs to Target, helping out at the home of my oldest brother, meals together, a memorable outing for ice cream, while "social distancing".

God blessed ALL of us with incredible hosts, friends of my Texan siblings, who opened their homes and beds and kitchens and dining room tables and living rooms and land and vehicles and meals. God cared for us so well through their Christian love and hospitality. Truly the Gospel at work, a picture of the larger Body of Christ. We deeply, deeply grateful to each of them.
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And again, as COVID-19 concerns increased, so did our concern at being separated by a thousand miles and multiple state lines from our daughters. We had hoped and prayed Micah might get to come home while we were all still there, but God had other plans and we trusted Him for that.

Thursday morning (19th), we loaded up the van, and started the long trek back to Wisconsin, via a different route to avoid the state lines most likely to shut down. God again blessed us with safe, smooth, and (mostly) healthy travels. We crashed for the night in Kansas City sometime around 11:00pm, in a weird smelling hotel with a heater that rattled so badly Justin took it apart and put it back together - ha. (Also, Justin happened to "sniffle" his nose while checking in, and the gloved receptionist immediately asked if he was sick. So so crazy to travel while the whole world was shutting down, due to a pandemic.)
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Friday night we finally got home to our sweet girl! Friends had kindly left us toilet paper and other necessities, along with freezer meals. Such an incredible blessing as we went through a difficult transition back to home life, amidst growing uncertainty and unrest around our city, state, country, and world. (Side note: I do *not* recommend leaving your almost-two-year-old for a week... Such an overload of emotions, clinginess, tantrums, and tears as we all readjusted. <3)
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In the past week and a half of being home, we have learned ever deeper levels of trust and surrender, as we have lost large portions of income, been homebound, and been covered by dark gray clouds and rain. 
The continued concern for my immunosuppressed body is a constant anxiety to give over to the Lord. 
The continual need for further healing, procedures, etc. for Micah keep us continually in prayer. 
Concerns for other family members & friends affected financially & physically by this pandemic give us endless things to bring before the throne of our Father.
Community wide and nationwide health & economical tragedy can threaten to drown our hope. 

And yet we know our God is greater. He isn't surprised by any of this. He is just as sovereign, just as kind, just as loving, just as holy. We are in prayer, in the Word, in virtual community  via FaceTime & Zoom, and doing lots of fun family things at home & in our yard (when the weather cooperates).

I am doing phone sessions with my Christian therapist... I'm tuning out the news and leaving it up to Justin to notify me if anything super important changes/happens. I'm journaling more, reading more, and enjoying extra Netflix.  I'm taking my supplements and drinking my water and doing deep breathing exercises. I'm going on walks/jogs and having lots of dance parties with Em & Justin. I'm brewing more mugs of coffee and steeping more cups of tea. (And the coffee effects on my tummy are fine because I'm always home with my bathroom... ha.)

Justin and I are developing deeper intimacy and growth, as we have navigated and continue to navigate deep, deep waters. Thankful we have our Anchor and Hope, the One who commands the sea, the One who enables us to walk on water. He is good, always and forever... Forever and always, He is good.
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illness and identity

3/7/2020

1 Comment

 
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It's later afternoon on this Saturday.

The birds are singing, the sun is shining, and it's a balmy 44 degrees outside.

I'm enjoying the warmth of the sun rays and the songs of the birds from my cozy bed, while a chilly breeze blows in through the open window.

Crohn's disease (and all its side effects) and medications (and all their side effects) continue to make me very, very ill.

The pain is often unbearable. The nausea, overwhelming.

The clinical anxiety is a continual monster to battle. The raging hormones, a force that is hard to beat.
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I've been pondering lately; where is my hope, what is my purpose, where is my identity? If I'm never healed, what does that mean for me and my family?

While I ponder especially that last question, I remind myself of the passage in Matthew 6.
25-27. Therefore I say unto you, Be not anxious for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than the food, and the body than the raiment? Behold the birds of the heaven, that they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; and your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are not ye of much more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add one cubit unto the measure of his life?
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34. Be not therefore anxious for the morrow: for the morrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
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And so I change my focus to today, to right now, to God's grace, strength, and joy for THIS moment, no matter how painful.

And yet, after almost two years of a horrible Crohn's flare, following a challenging pregnancy, delivery, & postpartum, I do have to find an answer for the looming question, "What if I never get better? Ever? What if the Crohn's doesn't go into remission again? What if the remaining few meds to try don't work? What if all this time and money on natural, holistic solutions is just a waste?"

And the answer to this question is this: My hope is in the Lord, who made the heavens and the earth. (Psalm 121)
For you, O Lord, are my hope,
    my trust, O Lord, from my youth.
Upon you I have leaned from before my birth;
    you are he who took me from my mother's womb.
My praise is continually of you.
​Psalm 71:5-6
Where is my identity? Is my identity in my illness? Is my identity the "sick wife", "sick mom", "sick coworker", "sick church member", "sick friend", "always, always a sick woman"?

No. My illness is not my identity. My identity is in Christ. I am a new creation. Old things are passed away, He is making all things new; even when it feels like He isn't; even when it feels like all of life is consumed with the "old" illness I have battled for half my life (crazy, btw). 

When it has been twenty months in a row, of intense physical pain & suffering, of severe levels of depression and/or anxiety, of more nausea than most people have in a lifetime, of more tears than could possibly be counted... Who am I then? And who is God to me?

I am a daughter of the King of kings and Lord of lords. He gives me the power to overcome, even when the physical maladies are out of my power to overcome. I can be an overcomer because His Spirit lives inside of me and life is so much bigger than physical health. Physical health (or lack thereof) is a HUGE part of life here in this life before eternity... And it DOES affect every part of every area of life. It just does. 

But I have the strength of Christ, when I am weak. I have the hope of eternity and no more pain or tears, even when things *feel* hopeless.

Should this illness only progress, instead of get better, I know that death has no grip on me because of Christ's sacrifice on the cross and His resurrection from the dead, defeating death itself.

This thorn in my flesh is temporary and does not affect who I am in Christ. And also, it doesn't make me a bad wife, a bad mom, a bad friend, etc. It makes it so I can't nearly always be the wife, mom, friend, volunteer, etc. that I WANT to be. But illness does not equal failure. It just doesn't. It is something God has ordained and allowed for His purposes and my eternal good. So whether I find healing in this life or not until the next, I am safe and secure in Christ and His plan for my life... Even when that means not being able to do a fraction of the things that I would *like* to do in this lifetime. 
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While I daily learn to more deeply trust the Lord and rest in His plans, I also have responsibilities... 

...being diligent in exposing my heart to the reading & study of God's Word.  Joshua 1:8  Romans 15:4  Psalm 119:10-11
...praying faithfully and fervently, even when God seems silent.  1 Thes. 5:16-18    1 Chron. 16:11
...doing all things without grumbling or complaining (ALL things... yikes).  Phil. 2:14-16
...being content with living a "smaller" life, due to incredibly high health expenses (and not coveting what others have).  Exodus 20:17
...choosing gratitude, always.  Eph. 5:19-20  
...working to the best of my ability, as my health allows. Col. 3:23-24
...crying when I need to cry and pouring out my heart honestly before the Lord.  Psalm 62:8
...choosing to REST (even when it's the last thing I want to do).  Matt. 11:28-30  Psalm 127:2
...focusing on the good and lovely and beautiful, amidst the pain and ugliness. Phil. 4:8-9
And so I simultaneously fight and trust, work and rest, give thanks and weep, pray and read.

God's faithfulness and love remain strong and true, even amidst the ups and downs, victories and failures, trials and triumphs.

It is now 3:00 on Sunday afternoon and the sun is even warmer. A 55 degree breeze is blowing my sheer living room curtains... Birds are chirping, woodpeckers are pecking, people are walking their dogs, and I'm so grateful for this taste of the upcoming spring. My sisters will be here soon to play outside with Emmy and me. We'll blow bubbles and play frisbee with the dog and maybe go for a walk. We will deeply inhale the fresh air, laugh, and catch up on our weeks. 

And I'm so grateful. For the mess, mayhem, and magic... All of it.
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the girl crying at the hospital reception desk

9/18/2019

1 Comment

 
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It's an average September Wednesday. Sun is shining, air is warm, kids are in school. Justin is at work, I'm at home with Emery, during one of my days off work.

But it doesn't feel average. It feels very way crazy super far below average. It feels like pain and anguish that will never end. It feels like exhaustion deep in the bones. It feels like sleepless nights and sinus infection and fevers and snotty noses that won't stop. It feels heavy and dark and too much.

And so, I was the almost-thirty-year-old-girl, crying at the hospital reception desk (but at just one of the four reception desks I visited today, thank goodness). The desperation suddenly leaked out of my eyelids and down both my burning cheeks. It was embarrassing and humbling and hiccupy. 

This Crohn's flare has been raging in my body for thirteen+ months. There have been delays and detours and a surgery and unfit doctors and insurance denials that have brought us to where we are today. And where we are is far from ideal, with far from desirable doctors, and less than desirable options.

But my body is failing. Rapidly. I am a depth of ill that is hard to describe. I have tears and snot pouring down my face while I try to type this. It's hard to describe the pain & suffering in a believable way, 99% of people see the smile I put on, the carefully done makeup to hide the swelling and dark circles, the quick steps I take in the office during my Tuesday and Thursday work hours to keep my job, the (shakily) standing and worshiping on Sunday mornings (if I drag my weary body out of bed in time). They see the smiling filtered photos on Instagram of enjoying beautiful moments with my beautiful little family. 
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And to be honest, people don't need to understand. Ultimately, it doesn't matter who does or does not believe me when I say I'm ill. I try my darnedest to maintain a "normalish" life, to find joy each and every day, to not miss the precious memories with the people I love.

But sometimes, no amount of willpower or self-control can stop the hot exhausted tears of pain & defeat. Enter said embarrassing moments like the one above, to the left of the elevator, on level two of the local hospital.
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Last night, as I laid in bed at 10:30 in uncontrollable abdominal pain, while the tears poured into puddles on my pillow, I spoke statements about God over and over in my head.

God is good.

God is merciful.

God is kind.

God is healer.
 
God is faithful.

God is strength.

It doesn't matter if it *feels* like He is good, like He is kind, like He is healer. The facts remain.

And those facts, those promises, those attributes of my Father, those are what keep me going. There is no where else I can put my hope. Where else can I go with my anguish and weeping? My husband is the most amazing man alive, and even his arms can't contain the amount of tears and the weight of suffering.
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Last night, these words of Jesus were also going through my head, as I had read them that morning as part of my Bible reading plan. "I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”

Christ has overcome every bit of darkness and tribulation and suffering. It doesn't mean He takes it away when we want Him to but He does promise ultimate victory. I know that, whether in this life or the next, I will be set free from the pain, free from the suffering, free from the stress, free from the financial burden of chronic illness.
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Also? Each day I'm (mostly) choosing to also be a joy-hunter. Life is never all bad. There is always something good and beautiful. And honestly, when I pause and reflect and give thanks, the good actually far outweighs the bad. Right now, the bad is urgent, it is fiery, it is violent, and it is always present in my life. 

But so much beauty and joy abounds amidst the suffering.

A giggling spitfire of a toddler.

A loving husband.
 
Beautiful fall weather.

Warm apple crisp & vanilla ice cream.

Homemade soup & bread from a bestie.

Twinkling unscented candles.

Diffusing warm & spicy fall essential oils.

Time to read and study the Word.

Nightly prayers with Justin.

Drop in visits from sisters.

Playtime with cousins.

Crunching leaves.

The list goes on... But my head is pounding and my eyes are aching so I will end with that. To my fellow friends on this life journey, take heart. The big, bad, fiery painful things are not too much for our Father. And He sends abundant blessings beyond what we deserve.
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summer mercies

8/21/2019

1 Comment

 
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Photos by Bethany Grace Photography
This morning, after an early wake up, I stumbled upon and scrolled through several old blog posts that I wrote within the first year of our marriage. It was almost like reading someone else's blog... So much has changed in just two short years.

And as I read, I was reminded of how much I miss writing. How much I miss chronicling this journey of life, the ups and downs, hills and valleys, joys and heartaches.

My Emmy June finally went back to sleep so I have a brief window of morning quiet; an unscented candle is burning, while lemon & spearmint spritzes from my kitchen counter oils diffuser. I have a cup of coffee to my right, the house is clean, calm music is playing from Spotify, and I am just soaking it in. 

Amidst the calm & quiet, I am almost paralyzed with overwhelm. After a whole summer of writing silence, how do I begin to put it all into words? This same paralyzation has stopped me from snatching up other brief moments to write recently. 

Do I begin with how deep the suffering of chronic illness is this summer?

Do I talk about my baby girl's first experience with high fevers and what that taught me?

Do I scribble about the joys & struggles in the mundane of work and cooking and parenting and appointments and vacuuming the living room?

What about mental illness, do I share about that again?

Ah, maybe I could nerd out about the Enneagram and all it's taught me?
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The truth is, I could write a chapter book about the past few months. But what I want to focus on most, is the goodness and kindness of God. I need to speak the truth to my own heart. I need to rehearse His faithfulness and mercies.

I think that is what I've missed the most about writing; writing to my own soul.

Through the depths of continued physical suffering, God shows me His unending strength. He allows me to come to the end of myself, over and over and over, and I find again that His strength is made perfect in my weakness.

With my puffy tired eyes and intense exhaustion, He reminds me that it is His design that we routinely rest. He teaches me to implement rhythms of rest, amidst the busyness of an active toddler, a part-time job to hold, a husband who works long days, big family celebrations & sudden family emergencies, and endless medical appointments. In His kindness, He has given me a husband who continually encourages me to slow down, to listen to my body, to sit down and simply be. (This does not come naturally to this Enneagram 1.)

While experiencing the peace and joy of an uncluttered home, He reminds me that it is His design that we not be weighed down with the cares and excess of material things. His peace shines through on cleared off tables & counter tops, a clean bathroom, and laundry that is actually manageable. (Thank you, Allie Casazza, for sharing your life-changing story and truth!)

Through the sparkling eyes and mischievous smiles of our little one, I see His design for delight and  wonder. And through her defiance and tantrums, I am reminded that it is only He that can save us from ourselves, from our sin nature, from our rebellion.

And through navigating the very beginning stages of parenting and discipline, I see Him even more clearly as our Good Father, our Kind Shepherd. I look to His example and character as I prayerfully seek to turn this tiny human's heart and mind toward Jesus and obedience.

While bank accounts continually drop lower and lower, and the bills get higher and higher, He shows me that He is our Provider. He reminds me to have no anxiety about tomorrow because He provides enough for today. 

Amidst continued struggles with anxiety, PTSD, and depression, He reminds me that He has the power to renew my mind and that He walks with me gently through the dark valleys.. He shows me in His Word and through the counsel of others, that there is hope for chemical and hormonal imbalances, that there are medications for physical causes, that He has given us an abundance of plants and herbs and nutrition to support healing, and that He gives us the ability to retrain our thought patterns.
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On a spontaneous Friday night date at our absolute favorite local microbrewery, while we ask each other dozens of questions from an article titled, 137 Uncommon First Date Questions – Easily spark conversations, He reminds me that laughter is good medicine and marriage can be stunningly beautiful, amidst its brokenness.

During tense moments of a screaming one-year-old and a parenting disagreement, He reminds me of the power of repentance and forgiveness and humility.

While living in a continual state of partially done house and yard projects, He reminds me of many things... 1) This world is not my home and is not meant to be perfect. 2) It is a good and beautiful thing to better, improve, and "redeem" things in this world, to display God's beauty and order and remaking into new life. 3) Hard work is a gift from God and brings satisfaction and joy. 4) Progress over perfection (again, Enneagram One here). 5) Relationships and health trump getting things done. Projects can wait as long as they need to.
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It is now nap time and I'm back to wrap this up. A double batch of Justin's favorite chocolate chip banana bread is in the oven and the aroma fills the whole house. Banana bread is one of his love languages and speaks directly to his soul. I have cinnamon banana coffee cake half-made, to bring as a treat to the office in the morning. (I had tons of overripe bananas... Obviously.) I need to do my quick fifteen-minute home & laundry maintenance routine and then Emery will be awake again. 

I'm thankful that God is good and gracious and kind. Every single day. No matter the circumstances, He doesn't change and His light shines through.

​Happy Hump Day, loves. ​
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winter in my soul

5/1/2019

1 Comment

 
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It was a cold Sunday afternoon in December, roughly a week before Christmas. Justin & I were sitting in the living room, just lounging and talking. I'm not sure why we were talking about Em's birth but we were. I still had (and still have) many questions, hurts, & traumas associated with those days of labor. There was one specific, small question I found myself dwelling on again, so I pulled out my phone and randomly texted my doula, Jeni.

I had no clue when I sent that blue little iMessage, with one tiny simple question, that she would call me a few days later and unearth things deep inside me that I didn't want to unbury. 

The truth is, I knew i wasn't okay. I knew things weren't right. I knew I didn't feel the way a new momma is supposed to feel (whatever that even is). 

But I thought it would get better. I thought I was being dramatic. Maybe I was too self-centered. Maybe it was my fault and I was choosing to feel this way. Maybe I just wasn't strong enough. Maybe after all these years of longing to be a mother, it really wasn't supposed to be for me after all. Maybe Em would be better off without me.

On a December morning, my doula & i relived my entire labor & delivery. I bawled so hard I couldn't breathe. I was in physical pain. It was horrific. It was a tiny bit healing.

We then discussed my current thoughts, emotions, and circumstances. She patiently waited while I tried to find enough oxygen to form words & questions.  

When in the depths of mental illness, we're too ill to know how ill we are. We need an outsider's view. In my case, I needed a postpartum professional to help guide me. Per Jeni's instructions, I took the Edinburgh postpartum depression scale test and was appalled at how high I scored.

I then met with a psychologist and was officially diagnosed with extreme depression and anxiety. Seeing those test scores was crushing. Why wasn't I strong enough to keep myself from getting this "bad"?

I began meeting with my Christian therapist. I tried medications (that didn't work for me) and my therapist recommended a health food store in a nearby town. I started on some supplements that began to give me a sliver of hope and healing. 

But it was and is a slow, up and down, battle. Good days and bad days. There were days and nights in the early months of this year that I was close to harming myself. It is difficult to be in a place where you need to have the suicide hotline number in your phone contacts. One night in particular could have claimed my life.

But God. 

The darkness isn't as black today as it was several weeks ago. It is still hovering, still here. Some days it threatens to envelop my entire being again. Some days it wins. Some days it doesn't. The anxiety attacks aren't as frequent but the anxiety is still present. Some days it courses through my entire body.

The truth is, I'll never be the same person that I was. Motherhood changes a woman. There is no going back.

My body will never (ever) be the same. My heart will never be the same. My brain will never be the same. My faith will never be the same. My marriage will never be the same. 

But you know what, I don't think we're supposed to stay the same. The breaking, the remaking, the gut-wrenching pain... It's all meant to make us better. It's meant to grow us, as individuals and families and churches. It's meant to sanctify and transform us. 

This journey with anxiety & depression may never be over for me on this side of eternity. Previous to pregnancy & postpartum, I deeply struggled with anxiety & medical trauma induced PTSD. I battled pregnancy depression during the first several months of carrying Emery. Seasonal depression is also a recent addition to my story. 

But I'm learning to be okay with these facts.

In scripture, we see that our Father promises trials, He promises pain, He promises suffering. We should not be surprised by the storms, although it's not wrong if we are. Nothing could prepare a woman for the shock of postpartum depression, anxiety, and rage. There's no way to not be surprised when you birth a beautiful baby, that grew and kicked inside of you for 9 months, and you have no bond with her. 

In Paul's second letter to the Corinthians, he wrote three of my favorite verses in the whole Bible.
"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 12:9-11

These weaknesses I have... The autoimmune diseases, the depression, the anxiety, the PTSD... God allows them to make Christ known in and through me. He offers His grace that is sufficient for each day.  Even on the days when the furthest thing that I FEEL is peace, I can rest content knowing that even in the anxiety and panic and grief, Christ is still in me, working in me, growing me. 

It's not failure or sin or wrong to feel and experience these things. The doubts and the hopelessness are not sin. As Kristen LaValley said on Instagram stories today, "When you're depressed, your brain is lying to you all the time. All the time." Depression & anxiety are illnesses that God sovereignly & lovingly allows. And through the struggles, He promises strength. He promises His presence. He promises hope. He promises grace. And He promises eternal triumph.

 I don't have a perfect way to end this post. No pretty bow to tie to wrap it all up. I'm still in the trenches, still in the storm. But one thing I know to be true: if God is for me, who can be against me?

31 What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? 32 He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? 33 Who shall bring any charge against God's elect? It is God who justifies. 34 Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. 35 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? 36 As it is written,
“For your sake we are being killed all the day long;
    we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.”

37 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 38 For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, 39 nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:31-39

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words for the weary and worn

12/9/2018

1 Comment

 
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It's dinnertime on a freezing December Sunday. I'm home ALONE, which pretty much never happens. I honestly didn't even really want to pull out my MacBook and write because for MONTHS now, I have only completed half drafts of heartfelt blog posts, never getting back to finishing them (life with baby + chronic illness). 

But tonight, I'm ignoring the washer that just beeped, reminding me to switch the cloth diapers to the next wash cycle. I'm giving myself full permission to post this without editing it, without adding lots of pretty pictures. I have my vitamin packed electrolyte water in my Mason jar to my left and an almost-gone box of organic bunny grahams to my right, feet propped up on the couch in front of me. This is where I will stay, unless I need to run to the bathroom (again). #lifewithCrohns

Friends, I am weary and worn. My body is battered and broken. Autoimmune disease is a horrible beast. The postpartum storm continues. And ten days ago, I had abdominal surgery to remove my gallbladder & do a bit of exploratory looking at my intestines.

Chronic illness has been part of my life for roughly 14 years (basically half my life). It has been a daily battle, a continual fight, a familiar "friend" (or more appropriately, a familiar foe). I have fought and fought HARD. I have done research, gone way outside traditional Western medicine, gone straight through the traditional Western medicine route, been on huge mega drugs, felt the raging effects of steroids, tried a bajillion diets and supplements and "formulas", been on liquid diets more times than I can recall, spent days and nights and weeks in hospitals, had more colonoscopies than most people have in a lifetime, fluctuated 60 pounds in my weight, etc.

And most recently, I have grown, birthed, and breastfed a little human. It has broken me in ways I can't even put into words (and not just physically). It is the most brutal and beautiful thing I have EVER done. My Em J is six months old now and no words in the world could describe my love for her. (Note to new momma friends: we don't all feel this huge fuzzy & overwhelming love & bond right away when baby is born; sometimes it takes time...and I'm here to tell you that's okay because I wish someone would have warned me and told me it's okay. xoxoxo.)

Pre-pregnancy, I was in the best health I'd been in for YEARS. I had been rebuilding my health, thanks to my nutritional online grocery store, for years & years and could hardly believe the quality of life I was able to live. I still had Crohn's, don't get me wrong, but it did not dominate my life.

Fast forward fifteen months later, after a pregnancy & postpartum, and my body is the most broken it's been in years & years. In a moment of honesty with my sister tonight, I told her I feel like giving up. 

It's hard for me to say that out loud. I am a FIGHTER, I KEEP GOING, I DON'T QUIT. My normal attitude is I will kick Crohn's in the BUTT. I am Naomi and this is what I DO.

But right now? I am so tired. I am so exhausted on every single level. I am brokenhearted over how my illness affects my little family. I am crushed that my breastfeeding journey is almost over with my precious squishy baby girl (something I didn't want to end until at LEAST age one, if not age two).  I am mentally fatigued on a level I haven't felt ever before in my life... parenting, marriage, illness, surgery, finances (and the most recent addition, dealing with identity theft, starting the day after my surgery...insert angry emoji).

Why do I say all this? Am i just having a venting party? A woe-is-me fest? 

No, I say this because I know I have many friends dealing with illness... Friends dealing with hard things... Friends who are weary, worn, and worked to the bone. Friends who are just so. dang. tired. Our details may be different, but I feel your brokenness, your exhaustion, your despair. I cry hot stinging tears right alongside you.

And to those friends (and to myself), let's remember... 

Jesus is STRENGTH. He tells us to come to HIM with our weariness. He promises rest for our SOULS.

Jesus is VICTORIOUS. He wins every. single. time. When it feels like we're "losing" in the trials of life or to the evils of this world, He is using it for His glory and our eternal wellbeing. 

Jesus is LIGHT. I am all too familiar with darkness... Sleepless hours during the night, depression, drowning in overwhelm, and the utter darkness of defeat. He is the Light of the world and the Light of our own heart. He comes in and pierces through the layers of black darkness, with His conquering light.

Jesus is JOY. In the depths of pain, the joy of His presence (however intangible) can keep our faint heart going, even if it's just for the next fifteen minutes. In daily life, I find that He sends numerous "little" joys, no matter the depth of pain. Fresh clean laundry, Christmasy essential oils in the diffuser, my favorite fuzzy snowflake pajama pants... huge smiles from my baby, a game of Farkle with the hubby, snuggles from our beautiful golden retriever. We HAVE to be joy seekers and joy finders. We MUST.

Jesus is HEALING. This one is hard for me to truly believe in the depths of my soul sometimes. But it is true. He is the Great Physician. He does not always heal the way we want, when we want, how we want. 

Jesus is LIFE. He literally keeps us alive. He keeps our hearts beating, our brain wires firing, our liver detoxing. And of much greater importance, He alone gives us spiritual life. If we're honest, even after He creates a new heart within us, we can feel dead inside at times. We must fight this. We must speak the truth to our hearts extra loud during these times. We cannot live based on the feelings, we have to live based on the truth, the Living Truth, Jesus Christ and His Word. Let's preach the Gospel to ourselves daily... one of my favorite ways to do this is to have audio Bible going on my iPhone while I clean, do my makeup, drive, etc. 

Jesus is ENOUGH. His presence, peace, strength, comfort, care, love, etc. are the only things we are promised we'll never lose. We may lose our health, we may lose our homes, we may lose our savings accounts, we may lose our loved ones, we may lose our reputation, we may lose our physical life. We must not be dependent on anything or anyone besides Christ Himself. He often lives, works, and loves through other humans. He often provides financially through jobs & hard work. He delights in giving us good gifts. But this life is temporal. This life is lived in a fallen world. This is probably the "point" I struggle with the most in my daily life. I jump on social media to numb my brain. I'm moody and stressed if life doesn't allow us to keep up on housework and things are a mess. I am disappointed when my husband doesn't fulfill my unspoken expectations. I get frustrated when my baby is cranky & difficult for "no reason". Anything and everything outside of Jesus will let us down and leave us longing. In both the good times and the bad, Christ alone can satisfy us and meet our needs. And He promises us that He will.
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It's now 9pm and I'm finally wrapping this up. I'm thankful tonight for slobbery baby kisses, a hubby who did a huge grocery run (with baby cakes) while I continue to rest and heal from surgery, for a delicious chocolate chip pancake brunch (see photo at beginning of post), for time spent in my Advent Bible study & journal, for family worship at home when none of us are feeling 100%. God is good, absolutely always.
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here

7/30/2018

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Four months and one week ago, is the last time I posted on here. It feels like four years ago.

Blog posts have been started but never finished, largely due to my baby girl, who is eight weeks old today. She always wakes up from her nap before I finish writing… We shall see how far we get today.

(Someday I do hope to edit and complete the other posts I began. They’re rather raw and real, an honest glimpse into my life as a first time mom. The realness and rawness slightly scares me from posting them…)

It’s almost noon on a gorgeous Monday. My beautiful girl & I recently returned from a brisk walk, followed by pulling weeds, followed by a much needed lunch for this breastfeeding momma. I need a shower in the biggest way, which is only possible while she’s napping, but I sat my sweaty self down to write instead.
​

It has been a very heavy & hard couple of weeks.

The kind that leave you gasping for air, for relief, for God to make good on His promises.

The type that have you deleting all social media on your phone, because it’s just adding too much to the noise & confusion of this thing we call life.

​The sort that have you stealing money from savings to have a two night little getaway.
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Two heartbreaking miscarriages experienced by people very close to me. I cried for days and days, prayed like crazy, and fought with God on WHY He’d allowed these painful losses. I made food (it’s my love language for real) and tried to just “be there” as much possible.

The sudden and shocking passing of a dear friend’s dad and subsequently helping out as much as possible with childcare, housing arrangements, etc. The funeral was one of the best & most hope-filled that I’ve been to but the deep sadness & loss was very real.

Two other deaths that hit close to home for my family.

Broken relationships.

Long & stretching conversations.

Continued overwhelm of crazy hormones & debilitating sleeplessness.

A chronically cranky baby.

Tears on tears on tears.

God and I have battled. We’re still battling.
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But amidst the grieving and the crying and the anger and the battling, I see God.

I see Him in the eyes of my amazing blue-eyed daughter.

I feel Him in the arms of my husband, even on the days we’re arguing and impatient and exhausted.

I see Him in the amazing selfless assistance from my family, when I need them most.

I feel Him in the beautiful breeze and rays of sunshine.

I see Him in His Word, as I continue to daily read and flood my doubt-filled mind with truth.

I feel Him in the delight of baby smiles.

I see Him in the simple joys, like a two hour date night with free ice cream and a romantic walk through nature with my hubby.

I feel Him when I somehow have the strength & ability to carry on when I’m running below empty.

I see Him in the stunning beauty of the Mississippi River and surrounding bluffs, trees, and soaring eagles.

I taste Him in the enjoyment of delicious food and drink.

I feel His love when a sister sends a text at just the right time, when I’m feeling utterly defeated.

I see Him when our finances somehow work out, amidst reduced income.

I feel His joy as I observe the deep bond between my handsome husband and gorgeous baby girl.

He is here in the daily.

He is here in the pain.

He is here in the ugly.

He is here in the beautiful.

He is here.
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friday. flexibility. forever.

3/23/2018

1 Comment

 
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It's Friday, friends. Can I get a woot woot? 

Ah. The weeks are extra long right now, even though my "work weeks" are the shortest they've been in about seven years.

Hauling around a baby girl in my belly ,who is hanging very low for only being 28 weeks, is exhausting.

(Plus all the other pregnancy / health issues but that's not what this post is about.)

This particular Friday has gone nothing like planned. But I'm rolling with the punches and smiling through it all.

That's a pretty big win for me. Just ask my hubby.... I struggle to be a "roll with the punches" kinda gal.

Best part of the changed plans and appointments, is being "stuck" in the town 20 minutes away, where we run errands. I'm in the middle of a few hours to run to Target and then get lunch at a the coolest local coffee & lunch spot. My chicken avocado ciabatta sandwich is being made as I type and this hungry momma can't wait.

This morning, as one plan after another fell apart, I made the conscious choice to let go of "my" plans for the day.

The seven loads of laundry can wait to be folded.

The entire house that needs scrubbing can wait until next week.

The clothing organization project won't go anywhere.

Justin and I were talking last night about how temporary this life is; how temporary our beautiful in-process home is; how an "imperfectly colored" recliner doesn't matter; how driving an old beater care means nothing, in light of eternity.

It wasn't a morbid conversation, it was a healthy discussion on not getting so caught up in the things of this world.

Because, dang, it is so easy to lose sight of an eternal perspective.

As I work daily to prepare our home, freezers, etc. for the arrival of our baby girl, may I not forget to prepare my heart to be a mother.

As we spend weekends and hard-earned overtime money to fix up our house, may we not forget to fix up our hearts in preparation for an eternity spent after we breathe our last.

As I work hard to plan & prepare healthy food for our bodies, may i not forget that these bodies are only temporary.

​I sit hear surrounded by the chatter of a lovely cafe. Upbeat chill music plays in the background. A glass of cucumber & citrus infused water to the right of my MacBook. 

My delicious looking chicken-avocado-bacon-spinach-tomato-onion-homemade-avocado-ranch-dressing-on-toasted-ciabatta-bun sandwich just arrived, along with salty kettle chips & a pickle spear. I'm in pregnant momma food heaven.

And while I ponder on eternity, I'm overwhelmingly grateful for the gifts of today, in this short life.

This life is so painful. It's filled with endless trials. Even as I sit here thoroughly enjoying eating & writing, I pray specifically that the food won't cause another bowel obstruction and that the lighting won't trigger another massive migraine. I pray for energy & strength after another difficult and pain-filled night. I pray that God will uphold my health enough to enjoy a lovely baby shower for Emery tomorrow, that my beautiful mom & bestie & little sisters are hosting.

Beauty and pain.

Good and bad.

Fun and horror.

Laughter and tears.

This is the dance of this temporary life. Little glimpses of heaven & eternal joy, mixed in with the moaning and groaning of living in a fallen world. 

I am grateful for all of it. Do I *feel* grateful every moment of everyday? No. Definitely not. An "attitude of gratitude" has become an overused cliche but i do believe it is a biblical concept.

God uses every single detail of this life for His glory and our eternal good. Who am I to think I know better? Who am I to not give Him thanks and praise, no matter what may come my way?

I say this with a bit of fear and trepidation. God has tested me on this before, is testing me on it now, and I know will test me on it in the future. 

There are times I am gripped with fear, when I wonder what God will ask of me in the future. In those times, I remind myself of His faithfulness so far. His words of promise, comfort, and strength, which have proven so true over the past nearly three decades of my life, will not change. They will not fade away.

And that, my friend, increases my joy and faith. It helps me enjoy the gifts of today, without fear of tomorrow. It helps me endure the pain, knowing there will be a day with no more pain.

I am grateful for today.

I look forward to tomorrow.

​And I eagerly await our forever home with Jesus.
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on weariness and rest

3/15/2018

1 Comment

 
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Weary. It's a word I've been thinking on a lot this week, largely because it's the best word I can come up with to describe how I feel at 6+ months pregnant. 

It's how I feel on this Thursday morning, after another rough night of pain & not nearly enough sleep.

Weary. Hot mess. Crazy pregnant momma. Delirious. Foggy. 

All of these would work to describe me myself and I this morning.

All week God has been surrounding me with scriptures that speak on weariness, anxiety, and fear (funny how all three go hand-in-hand). 

This morning it was the reminder that no matter how weary I may become, my God will never ever grow weary. Ever. His strength has no end and no limit.

A couple days ago it was the reminder to go to Him with my weariness. I have a tendency to forget to do this, instead wallowing in overwhelm and hopelessness. But He promises REST when we humble ourselves and go to Him. Sometimes "rest" won't look exactly like we want it to (i.e. a full night's sleep) but He is the source of true rest: spiritual rest.

There are all kinds of weariness in this journey of life. Whether we are married, single, working long hours, unemployed, have little ones running around, struggling with infertility, you name it: weariness is real.

Physical weariness from endless pain.

Emotional weariness from any sort of trial & struggle. (Also the amplified emotional weariness when you add raging preggo hormones. Just saying.)

Spiritual weariness, when fighting the attacks against our soul.

Relational weariness during difficult times in marriage, family, etc.

Mental weariness, when the huge decisions are endless and the way is murky & confusing.

​Financial weariness, when the medical bills show up in the mailbox every other day and a baby is on the way and the house needs fixing up.

Weary.

Exhausted.

Overwhelmed.

Done.

Do any of these words resonate with you? Can you relate?

We all go through these seasons. Sometimes the seasons last longer than others.

But no matter the season, no matter if it's an exhausting week or an exhausting decade, our God remains the same.

His mercy never grows weary and it is new every morning.

He does not weary of showing His faithfulness, for it is great.

Our heavy burdens are never tiresome to Him. He tells us to come.

So amidst extreme weariness of many kinds, my soul can find rest at the foot of the Cross, in the arms of my Savior, and on the chest of my Heavenly Father.
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