The Aging Challenge...

There’s this trend floating around the social media world these days that’s had me thinking an awful lot. It’s the “How well did you age challenge?” and the idea is that you compare your first profile picture ever, which for most people lands approximately 10 years ago (give or take), with your most recent profile picture. So far I’ve only seen this turn out well for people. I suppose I just have a lot of good looking friends that get sweeter with time! Or maybe there’s a select few, ahem, like myself, who are a little too afraid to see just how big the circles under their eyes have gotten or how the good ‘ol LB’s have landed. It has been fairly entertaining and highlighted the fact that 1) styles really do change fairly drastically in ten years, 2) cameras have improved astronomically in a decade, let alone cameras we carry around in our pockets, and 3) these clever little things called filters have helped a lot of us out! I actually did go back and look at my first profile picture just for kicks, and it has been confirmed that I was once just a baby… with a social media account, nonetheless. 

I’m sure it was never meant to take up this much mental capacity, but I just can’t stop coming back to the real idea behind this aging thing. It’s consumed my thoughts in so many ways.  While driving the other day, my mind wandered to all of the life that has happened since that innocent little 22 year old had her picture taken, which happened to be at a Six Flags in San Antonio!!! (insert all the party emojis)

I’ve traveled to Hawaii twice with my sister and mom, but never with Matt (Matt inserted that himself for sympathy), been back to Mexico for our 10 year anniversary, graduated with another degree, birthed 5 children, watched my husband be stripped to his core and learn to walk again, buried a child, celebrated at weddings, mourned at funerals, partied on birthdays, sold a house, bought a new house, planted a church, ran a marathon, traveled some more. 

But those are just the monumental moments. All the little moments that have happened include hundreds of meals shared with loved ones, tears for days, laughter late into the night, sleepless nights on repeat, more tears – tears of agony, tears of joy, empathy tears and some more for good measure. Thousands of loads of laundry, hours upon hours of reading and cleaning and dishwashing – the list of the mundane goes on and on. Life has been LIVED and it has really left me to mull over how well I’ve aged. Like really aged. 

When I think about aging well I think about caring a little bit less about the not-so-important things and a little bit more about the souls around me. I think about taking a step back and choosing the perspective that looks from the outside in, instead of from the inside-in. I think about relating to people a little bit better and naturally being more patient, even, or maybe especially with adults, not just the kids. I think about listening well and learning to be empathetic. I think about appreciating the differences in other people, especially people that are far different from me. I think about engaging in an eternal perspective on a more regular basis and remembering that these days are but a vapor. I think about Moses’ plea, “teach me to number my days, that I may gain a heart of wisdom.” (Psalm 90:12).  Wisdom, it sure doesn’t come easily, but I suppose, neither have the bags under my eyes. 

So cheers to aging, my friends! And here's to what we'll really look like in another 10 years!

                                         May 2008                                                                  December 2018

Thoughts on 2019...

The end of one year and the beginning of another is always a fun time of reflection. In today’s social media saturated age, post after post pops up paying tribute on the past year and saluting the future with high hopes. I have lots of friends who have chosen a “word of the year” each year. I salute them, but I don’t know how they choose just one. Clearly, I’m choosing like 732, so thanks for sticking it out through at least 75! ;)

This morning I rung in the New Year the best way I knew how, with a massage that was gifted to me by the one and only, Haley Jo!!! I spent the morning in a heated bed, relaxing for over an hour. It was glorious!!! Our conversation slowly made it’s way to Jesus and the way that he has worked in each of our hearts over our lifetimes. Haley described certain moments where the Holy Spirit revealed himself as different tent-posts being hammered in the ground throughout her life. I loved her illustration and the visual it created in my head. 

I came home and 2019 continued on much like 2018. I fed the baby. I fed myself. I fed some more kids. I cleaned up and then I started feeding everyone again. I suspect the next 364 days of 2019 will look fairly similar. Eventually I had a chance to jump in the shower which is where I do my best thinking-like most moms-(can I get an amen?!?) and my mind wandered through all the typical goal setting categories. 

My post-partum mom thoughts went something like this…

**I could attempt to eat less chocolate, but that would be a lame life. 

**Running another marathon this year seems next to impossible with the daunting training requirements and the ever present needs of a newborn, so I may as well not set any running goals…better luck next year.

**I don’t want to diet because I’m nursing, but really just because I love food. 

**Attempting to get more sleep with my current middle of the night wake up calls seems less than realistic, so cheers to more coffee.

**Keep reading – finish the New Testament and start and finish the Old Testament again. 

**Anything that requires undivided time can pretty much be thrown out the window. I should chalk this year up to being inefficient and unproductive. (Super optimistic, right???)

But then my mind wandered back to the tent-poles and the visions everyone hopes and dreams of when the horizon of a new year is upon them. There’s no doubt most of us enter a new year with at least some optimism, if not a whole lot (apparently I’m the exception, Ha!). I thought about the people I’ve prayed for this year and last year and the year before that and I thought about all the tent poles that I truly believe can be sunk deep in these lives. When I think about years slipping by, I think about being one year closer to eternity. One year closer to Jesus coming back. One more year of the Holy spirit speaking and working in my heart and in loved ones all around me. One more year full of tent poles being driven deep. 

So my goal for 2019 is to keep on keepin’ on. And When, or if, I reach 2020 and look back on the past year, my goal is to be able to identify with so much certainty, the ways that He met me and showered me with his faithfulness. My goal is to sit with friends I’ve prayed for and listen to them identify all the tent-poles that have been driven in their story-all the ways the Holy Spirit has opened their eyes and shown them His faithfulness. The tent-poles that will forever be “A-ha” moments of how the Holy Spirit lives and breathes and constantly teaches us more about who He is. 

“Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we boast in the Hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.” Romans 5:1-5

Backyard Sunset on January 1, 2019

Life's Scar

One. More. Year. One more year has gone by. One more November 16^th has come and gone. This was four years. Four years since we held our sweet boy in our arms and kissed every ounce of his earthly body goodbye.  We can scroll through pictures and it can still take our breath away, hardly believing he was ours and thatwas our life. 

But it wasour life and thisis our life. 

Grief is hard. It’s long. It’s lonely, and to be completely honest, I don’t think it ever ends. But it does change; I know that. It has seasons and it has storms, and just like living in the Willamette Valley one winter can look completely different from the next. The tears have fallen so easily to me this season and I don’t know why. I’ve tried fighting them and I’ve wondered, why now? It’s been four years! I’ve even asked my husband, why do I have so many tears in my body?He reminded me that sometimes it’s better to endure the seasons that have tears that fall than the seasons when they just won’t come at all. He’s right, but some days I long for the next season, a little drier one. 

On the eve of the 16^thI crawled up in bed with each one of my sleeping children and watched them breathe as I stared into their sweet faces, my nine and a half year old, my seven year old and my three year old. Breath, what a gift it is, I thought to myself. They’ve grown and changed, and even just becomein the last four years and I begged God to open their eyes to Him. 

My life has been forever scarred by grief. It will never be gone, the scar may get lighter in some areas, and darker in others, but it will never disappear. It is a constant reminder that I see the world differently and I have to accept that as a gift. 

2018...

I started out 2017 motivated to write. I’ve had some things on my heart and I wanted to get a game plan going on how to put them onto paper. But then shortly into the year, I listened to a speaker and my heart was convicted. *dun, dun, dun* She said, or what stuck with me, was that to make disciples (our calling as believers) we need nothing more than a passion for Jesus, a Bible, and our living room floor. She gave her testimony and shared about a woman who had discipled her in college and how influential she was in her life-just by spreading her zeal, her love for Jesus. One person, sharing with another person, who shares with another person – multiplying disciples.

My conviction ran deep, of how much more I could know about the Word, about Jesus’ time here on earth, about his love for us and I changed my commitment for 2017. Writing moved to the back burner. I was going to read, and listen, and read some more.

So I started in John and I went through the New Testament – in no specific order, but I kept track of where I’d been. Every reference or quotation that was made of the Old Testament I went back to that spot and made a note and when I finished, I broke into the Old Testament and I read and I listened and I was amazed over all the references and connections from New Testament scripture. When I found something extra intriguing I would dig for more resources (trusted resources) on that passage and I would listen and wonder - pray, and ask questions. I’ve nearly made it through the whole book, Old and New; I have about fifteen books left, and occasionally I’ve stopped and revisited certain places that have been calling to me, but mostly I’ve just kept trudging through. And honestly, I’ve loved every second of it! All of it! He has revealed Himself to me through His Word - passages that I’ve read several times have jumped out completely new to me. Zephaniah! Who knew Zephaniah was such a cool book?!? His word is living and breathing, ALIVE, and every piece of it serves a purpose.  
2017 blessed my heart. My passion for Him, my Anchor, my Deliverer, my Savior is real and I will be the crazy lady who opens up her Bible to whoever will listen on my living room floor because I want him to be real to EVERYONE! I look forward to falling even deeper in love with my Savior and His word in 2018. I look forward to reading it all again and again, and to hearing things anew and longing for eternity even more. I don’t know what this year will bring, but I know My God and His Word won’t change.

“For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account.”

Hebrews 4:12-13

*Fun summer picture courtesy of Emmitt's presentation at school this week :)*

Summer of 2017, Crater Lake

Madi's World

I was digging through some stacks of paper this afternoon attempting to weed through the scraps and come up with enough recyclables to start a fire.  Madi's World slipped between my fingers and my eyes rested on it with a smile. I don't remember which day it was carefully crafted, but my eyes welled up with tears.



My world hasn't felt like this lately. The clouds have been thick - in the sky and in my brain and the tears and rain have fallen easily. The flowers have started to wilt and almost anything that was green is now covered with brown, crunchy leaves. I'm digging hard to find the blue sky. And the sunshine?? It seems far, far away.

The truth is I've thought a lot about this world lately; the world I live in - the one I'm raising my children in. The one where people die too young, where friends get diagnosed with cancer and where gunmen walk around slaughtering people like they're playing a real-life video game.  This world where our hopes and dreams come crashing down around us and everyone just seems to keep on keeping on.

I'm aching for the aching and I'm crying out to the only one who can heal this broken world.

"During the days of Jesus' life on earth, he offered up prayers and petitions with fervent cries and tears to the one who could save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered and, once made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him." Hebrews 5:7-9

Our perfect source of eternal salvation. He suffered, by choice. He was crushed, by choice. He submitted, by choice. He knows this pain, because He chose to.

He came to show us he knows. He came to show us he sees. He came to show us he feels us. He came so that He can be near in our suffering. He came so that He could be our source of eternal salvation. He came so that the sunshine will be here again someday. He came so that the clouds will part and He will appear! He came so that the world will flourish again one day. He came so that we could all be made new!

"And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Look! God's dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. He who was seated on the throne said, 'I am making everything new!' Then he said, 'Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true." Revelation 21:3-5

I'm longing for the day when Madi's World is my reality. I'm longing for the day when this pain will no longer be remembered. I'm longing for a day when the sunshine will be the glory of the Lord and the sky will never, ever grow cloudy.

Thank you, sweet girl, for the reminder.

His Path of Totality

There was a lot of hype. I mean a LOT. News crews couldn’t stop talking about it. The coverage on it had started well over six months ago and if you’ve been breathing in the last two months then there’s no chance you didn’t hear something about it; the path of totality, the horrendous traffic it was going to cause, the gas shortages, the lack of groceries. Businesses had closed down and planned their day around it assuming their employees wouldn’t be able to make it into work. People were prepared; geeked out, or maybe just ready to stop hearing about it.

If you live local, chances are you were just as curious if the crazy was going to be as crazy as they predicted, as you were about the actual event. Either way, there was hype!

I was excited, mostly just excited that it was convenient for us to see. But to be honest, other than a two-minute computer simulated video clip I watched, I really had no idea what to expect.

            So we put our glasses on, pulled out our lawn chairs and buckled up. I tried to be extra cool and show up to the party with donuts, but alas the apocalypse really did occur and the ENTIRE TOWN OF STAYTON was out of donuts by 8 am. And the coffee lines, don’t get me started on the coffee lines! Those were the only two things the news should have been warning people about, but I suppose I digress…

            Emmitt was really into checking the eclipse through his glasses and keeping me posted on the moon’s status.  He heard all about hurting his eyes so he wouldn’t even look out our tinted car window (pre-eclipse) and tell me if there was a cloud in front of the sun for fear of hurting his eyes.  I tried the faceplate thing for Asher to which he screamed like he was being attacked by a lion so I played it cool and ripped his glasses out and just pinned them over his face. He liked looking through them and finding the “moon” and then he’d pull my hands away and try and find it without the glasses (pray for him). Madi just marched around like a princess carrying her newborn cousin, Cami and wearing shades when necessary. We were as ready as we knew how.

            We watched with wondering eyes as the last percent of light from the sun slid away and the moon glowed with wonder.  Darkness swallowed up the light, but not without an unremarkable glow radiating from behind. I really don’t have any words to describe it. Majestic.  Jaw-dropping.  Mystical.  None seem to do it justice. We hooped and hollered and jumped up and down. The kids ran around on turbo speed with glow sticks strapped around their necks and legs and arms. The temperature dropped and the birds started chirping.  Matt reported seeing a super confused owl flying around the sky. Our shadows became extra sharp and a few planets twinkled like stars.

            Matt was watching it from the parking lot of his school (work, *eye roll*) and he said people’s shouts and cheering could be heard all through town. In an instant, an entire valley erupted in worship. Instant, simultaneous worship at the hand of our God.

But I’m not sure they knew it. 

When the overworked network finally calmed down I got a text from Matt that said, “I was really hoping to hear trumpets. Not today, I guess.”

Not today, I thought. Not today.

His beauty, His perfection absolutely radiated our little valley yesterday, and essentially every person stood in pure bewilderment. I haven’t talked to a single person who said, “Meh. It was okay.” Everyone’s response has been even more amazement than they anticipated. For a split second, we all stood in wonder.

            Wonder. 

            Neck’s craned--eyes wide open in complete wonder.

            And the reality sunk deep, of the day we really WILL stand in wonder. 

            A teeny-tiny glimpse of what His radiating light will be like.

“For as lightning that comes from the east is visible even in the west, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. Wherever there is a carcass, there the vultures will gather. Immediately after the distress of those days,

‘the sun will be darkened,

and the moon will not give its light;

the stars will fall from the sky,

and the heavenly bodies will be shaken.’

Then will appear the sign of the Son of Man in heaven. And then all the peoples of the earth will mourn when they see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of heaven, with power and great glory. And he will send his angels with a loud trumpet call, and they will gather his elect from the four winds, from one end of the heavens to the other.”

Matthew 24:27-31

             I doubt I’ll make it to another full solar eclipse. 

             Which is totally fine by me. 

             I find so much hope in knowing that what I saw was only a glimpse of the glory I will see one day.  

            

             Words can’t even describe it.

Majestic.

Jaw-dropping.

Fall-to-my-face glory.

-->

“He who testifies to these things says, 

‘Yes, I am coming soon.’ Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.” 

Revelation 22:20

Three-Year-Olds

In two weeks we would have a three-year-old in our house. I've been thinking a lot about what that would look like. I LOVE three! I was just telling someone the other day that it might be my all-time favorite age. They are so excited about life! (They still love their Mama!) They're so verbal and the constant attempts at new vocabulary end up with the cutest expressions. Their tiny little life-perspectives are exemplified in all the ways they try to learn new things-pulling on what they already know to make more assumptions, often either completely wrong or shockingly profound. Soaking in all the grammar around them like little sponges. And always so cute. So, so cute. As I was mulling over all of this, I stopped, in total awe of their tiny little life perspectives-TINY little life perspectives.

That's me, I thought.
I'm three. 

"You have searched me, Lord,

and you know me.

You know when I sit and when I rise;

you perceive my thoughts from afar.

You  discern my going and my lying down;

you are familiar with all my ways.

Before a word is on my tongue

you, Lord, know it completely.

You hem me in behind and before,

and you lay your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,

too lofty for me to attain."
Psalms 139:1-6

Your knowledge, Lord, is too lofty for me to attain. YOU KNOW ME BETTER THAN I DO!
My three-year-old perspective is vain in comparison to your all-knowing, all-seeing eyes. 

My heart wandered back to my three-year-old. The ways he would test and learn, try and try again to grasp this life just a little more--explore with his speech, ask with his eyes, search with his actions. I would laugh with him, smile with him, marvel in his tiny little thoughts, cry with frustration, agonize over the trying times, all the while teaching and showing truth and more life. The perspective would broaden. Connections would be made. Vocabulary would grow, and progress, and we would keep guiding him through this life.

So I cry out to my God for more eyes to see, more ears to hear. For a three and a half-year-old's perspective, instead of just a three-year-old. Show me the big picture, Lord!

"How precious to me are your thoughts,

God!

How vast is the sum of them!

Were I to count them,

they would outnumber the grains of

sand--

when I awake, I am still with you."

Psalms 139:17-18

Once again I'm left longing for the eternal perspective. The one I can't have yet. This birthday that will come and go without anyone here to celebrate-what is the Lord whispering?

"You'll have a thousand birthdays with him again someday." 
"Trust me."
"This is like a drop in the bucket."

But also,

"I hear you." 
"I feel your ache." 
"You are not alone."

"For you created my inmost being;

you knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and 

wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you

when I was made in the secret place,

when I was woven together in the 

depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw my unformed body;

all the days ordained for me were

written in your book

before one of them came to be."

Psalms 139:13-16

All the days ordained for me...before one of them even came to be. I will praise you, because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. 

Picnics & Cemeteries

I've been promising the kids for  months now that when the weather finally gets nice we could take a little trip up the road to the hidden cemetery.  It's less than a mile away and it's tucked back behind old, overgrown trees.  It's quaint. It's cute and we explored it with compassionate eyes this afternoon. We packed a picnic and put on running shoes, because Emmitt's request was that we "take a run together". We drove to a closer pull out since our road is deadly and packed the stroller for Asher. He caught us off guard with his snores in less than 10 minutes and we spent several minutes strolling the old stones reading them together. 

"Mom, what's this one say?" 

"How old is this one?"

"When was he born?"

Most of the headstones were old. We brushed off some thick moss and did our best to read them. Tiny little headstones with just initials from the 1800's had been replaced with communal family headstones listing all their loved ones with birth dates and death dates. Babies. So many babies that just read, "infant of..." in fancy cursive writing. Reading each made me wonder what that day looked like for each family. One family we found had buried four, FOUR children all under the age of five, all in a different year, and the mother lived to be 95. I read it three times cause I kind of couldn't fathom it. Another family buried a six month old, a five year old, and then the wife died 17 years before her husband. I read them all to Madi and she looked at me with pained eyes, "Mom, that's a LOT of suffering for that man!" Yeah, baby, I whispered. That's a lot of suffering. 

We kept wandering and we talked about whether these people were with Jesus in eternity right now. I looked at each one and I hoped they were. Some of these people had lived a couple years, some had lived decades, a few had rounded off a century, but they all had one thing in common. They certainly weren't here anymore. I thought about my restlessness with this world and I wondered if they were ready to meet their maker. 

Cemeteries give a weird aura. You either enter their presence and feel the urge to turn and run or the desire to wander and wrestle, almost like you're acknowledging that it will eventually be you on the other side of the dirt. I can't say I've ever minded them. Strange, maybe, but the longing to know each story has always drawn me in. I think that's how Madi felt today too as we read through the names and talked about the years. 

Finally, we found an old oak, threw down the blanket and pulled out the goods. We chatted and ate and the kids pulled down maple leaves to make brooms and fans and we wandered again before we left.  "This place sure is sad, Mom," Madi commented, but she never wanted to leave.

I agreed. There was certainly an element of sadness to it. But we talked about how that's real life. Finding joy, but always acknowledging the hard. The sad. The brokenhearted... because they are all around us.

That's what really keeps us hoping, right? Hoping that all the pain and sadness and heartache around us will someday be gone, truly gone? Hoping that there must be something better? 

"If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world." C. S. Lewis

Indeed, C.S. Lewis, indeed.

Oh, also, there were BEES! :)

"Home, Lord, home, Lord - ALL THE WAY!"

My dad turned 65 last week.  Ten years ago that sounded old, and twenty years ago it sounded really old.  Neither of my grandpas made it to their 66th birthday, so as a kid my perspective was slightly skewed (not to mention anyone over 18 just IS old when you're little). So I suppose what I'm saying is that as I ease closer to the halfway mark of 65, I've realized it's actually not that old. (You're welcome, Dad ;)

Several months ago we had this one super sunny day in the middle of February. You probably know it if you live around here, because there are literally no other days to get it confused with. Anyway, in the excitement of the moment I sent a text to a few friends and low and behold we all spent our afternoon at the park soaking in the rays. It was glorious. The kids played and we chatted about all the things. Somehow dying came up and I announced that I couldn't wait to die and that my goal was 65 - I felt that was a fair age for me to aspire to as it still feels like forever but at the same time I really don't want to be 90! I think one of my friends may have choked on her water and they basically all assured me that was probably too young. I kind of agreed to disagree and we moved on with the conversation.

A few nights later it was my birthday (remember that almost halfway to 65 part?!?) and I had the opportunity to steal away for a couple hours and listen to whatever I wanted to all by my lonesome in the car. I turned on a podcast that I'd been wanting to get to and soaked in every breath of this sweet lady's words. Jill Briscoe is almost 82, grew up with bombs being dropped all around her during World War II, and has spent countless days in countries all over the world sharing Jesus with strangers.  She read this poem she wrote at the very end of one of her recent trips to India:

One day in India after a traumatic and wrenching ministry visit, Jesus asked me a hard question. It happened like this:

Shaken, drained, discouraged, sickly
Tired and troubled and depressed, 
Glad the time of serving over,
Now I’ll go home and rest.

Hot and humid was the weather
Sad and needy was the crowd, 
Feeling I had done my duty,
Earned the time of rest allowed. 

Soon I could return to family
"Yes," tomorrow I’d be gone, 
Sitting in the last hot meeting,
I tuned in to what went on.

Listened to my husband preaching,
My, it was a great last talk, 
All about the call of Jesus,
All about our life’s “faith walk.” 

Stuart opened up the Scriptures
Talked of Jesus’ pain and loss, 
How He who was our great sin bearer,
Bore our guilt upon His cross.

What a great word for the students!
Hoped “they’d” listened, yield their hearts, 
They were young, their lives before them,
Now their turn to do their part.

Time for prayers of dedication,
I was tired, so late at night,
Shut my eyes and wished it over,
When a picture sprang to sight!

Saw a cross alone, discarded
Lain at rest against a wall, 
Who’d lain down such holy symbol?
Who’d abandoned life’s “faith call”? 

Then a voice so dear – familiar,
Asked a question – pierced me through, 
Who is it that you’re expecting
Carrying it home for you?

How could I lay down that crossbeam?
How to think that no one saw? 
Who did I expect to lift it,
Carry it to heaven’s door? 

"Jesus, Jesus, please forgive me,
Carried Thou your cross for me, 
All the way to hell to save us,
Help me carry mine for Thee!"

"I’m no hero – special woman
Just a lady, old and gray, 
But my cross, Lord, I will carry,
Home, Lord, home, Lord – ALL THE WAY!" 

Spoke His voice so quiet – but clearly then:
"All the way home, Jill; all the way, all the way home!"

I sat there and wept in the car. "Home, Lord, home, Lord, all the way!" I whispered. The conversation fresh on my mind of dying at 65 creating a much needed conviction about whose life this really is.

Here's the truth. For the last two and a half years I haven't really felt like this is home, and I am so thankful for that perspective. We moved shortly after Zekey died and people were often asking how much we loved our  new home and if it really felt like "home" yet. I often smiled and said it was getting there, but deep down I've longed and prayed for nothing to ever feel like my "forever home". I know it's not here. I might be here for ten more years, or twenty or even forty more years, but I won't be here forever. I long for the day I'll be home, really, truly home, and if that means I'll have wrinkles and gray hair, then BRING IT ON old age!!! I know it's healthy to want to be with Jesus. I know deep down that to die would be such a gain {for me} but what I hadn't been focusing on is all that can be gained, for Him, while I'm still here. I want to be whole. I want to be free from sin and pain and all the evil in this world, and I want to spend my days in the presence of the Lord, but I want it to be in His perfect timing, and I want to carry my cross to the end. "Home, Lord, home Lord, all the way!"

So this is my cross - to dig deep into his word, to point my kids toward Jesus, to love my husband, to beg Him to show Himself to me more and more and ask Him to reach deep into the lives of my friends and family, to take big deep breaths and say, "You are good", even on the days that hurt, and to long to be made whole.

Jesus, help me carry this cross. I can not do it alone! 

Five-and-a-half

We have a five year old in our house who is just dying to be five-and-a-half! He’s been asking wih eager anticipation now for months and we’ve basically had a count down until that day arrives… Because obviously five-and-a-half sounds so much bigger than just five!

I remember so many things about November 15^th, 2014. For just an ordinary day, I can recite what we did almost hour by hour.  But sometime that afternoon I pulled our oldest up onto my lap and I said with excitement, guess what tomorrow is?!? It’s YOUR half-birthday! That means you’ll be exactly five-and-a-half! She squealed with excitement.

We don’t necessarily celebrate our half-birthdays, but we do get excited about them…at least the kids’! Milestones are the best when you’re a kid. They make you feel old and extra special, and it seemed so old to think about my biggest baby being five and a half already!!!

Little did I know that that day would be marked by much more than just a half-birthday. It would come and go without me ever exclaiming with excitement, You’re five-and-a-half! It would be a half-birthday forever marked by the sting of death.

So as we ease up to Emmitt’s half-birthday, the same half-birthday that marked such tragedy for Madi, there’s a part of me that gasps a little with the thought of Emmitt reaching this milestone. Could my second possibly be this big already? Has time really just kept marching by?  Will February 24^th be another catastrophic landmark in my life or just another half-birthday in the books?

The thoughts are all over the board and the sentiment is high. Emmitt was so little when his brother died, just barely over three, but he’s always been the chattiest about Zekey. He often exclaims how he wants him back again and just this week he asked me with deep sincerity, “Mom would Zekey be playing Legos with me if he was still here?” The disappointment of that reality stung a little as I assured him he probably would be.

Yesterday my almost-five-and-a-half-year-old was taking pictures and videos of his baby brother on his watch when he exclaimed, “Mom, I should keep these ones, huh? Cause that way when Asher dies before I do, and I’m still alive, I’ll have pictures and videos to remember him with!” and I whispered, yeah baby, keep those pictures.

Five-and-a-half is here, and I’m excited to celebrate you, Emmitt Matthew!