I get an "F"

Yesterday was pretty much a complete failure for me. I tried to go to church. I tried to be "normal." I failed. As soon as I got there, a well-intentioned person mentioned my daughter, and though I made it through worship (barely--all of those songs about Heaven? Not cool. Some days it's just not a comfort, you know?!?), I was ready to leave....and then the same well-intentioned person stopped me mid-flight, and oops--there went the embarrassing ugly-cry.
I give up.
I have no intentions of going to church on Mother's Day ever, ever again. I don't like feeling like I have a target on my head...like, even if there's really not a spotlight, and no one else really thinks about what my husband and I have been through, all it takes is one person, and I'm in the weeds. I just don't want to feel like a spectacle, and since I seem unable to do that, I'm just DONE with church on Mother's Day. FOR. GET. IT.
That being said, in the midst of my flight out of the church (and subsequent ugly-cry/sob/bah!), I neglected to have conversations with two very special people that I simply wanted to hug.  I GET the whole "I don't really want to talk about it" thing. I don't want to talk about it unless it's on my terms. I'll start the conversation if/when I want to; you just don't know how fragile someone can be until you hit them with that subject right out of the gate, and watch them crumble. I was keeping it together for the sake of my own dignity, for the sake of my husband...I really didn't want to talk about my daughter yesterday. I have days like that. It's incredibly intimate, regardless of how many times I've blogged about Hannah-girl. So, for the two people I was thinking of, I just wanted to hug them in silence.
I appreciate silence.
Please don't laugh...if you laugh at that sentence, you don't know me very well.
There is such a deep, deep unpredictable tenderness with grief...10 years now, and I am still so fragile certain days of the year.  This was my 10th Mother's Day without my daughter...I can't put my feelings into words, and if I can't, why would someone else try?
I can't.
David and I have walked such a searing path...we understand the timing of the discussion between ourselves, as we are the only ones who went through Hannah's loss in the ways that we as parents went through it. He asked me yesterday why I wanted to leave church, and I got aggravated--"Do I have to freaking explain?!?!?" He didn't know I'd been "triggered;" he also had the sense to not question me any further. He did what he does...he took me to a park.
That man takes a lot of crap for being thick-headed sometimes, but darn it if he doesn't GET me so incredibly well...Sitting outside while he played with Jericho was what my heart needed...sitting at home, drinking a margarita, eating barbecue and binge-watching The Office? Perfect.
He makes me feel as normal as any post-loss-anxiety-struggling-post-thyroidectomy-stuck-with-stupid-cancer-loon-of-a-wife can feel.
It's very easy, post-embarrassing ugly cry, to beat myself up for not being able to keep it together.
I really shouldn't care.
I cried. Big Deal.
Yep--10 years later, it still hurts. Last night, I had a phone call with my bestie from elementary school, where we basically told Hallmark to suck it, because Mother's Day is an atrocious stick in an open wound that makes us want to drink. That's such an awful thing to say, because as a daughter, I want to honor my awesome Mama (we celebrated her on Thursday due to logistics). But as a mother, MD makes me want to scream at the universe for all of the questions that are answerless...and as a Christian, I guess I'm supposed to be okay with that.
I'm not.
Neither is my friend, who lost her Mama and her Grandma...who never conceived, and who will never conceive, in spite of the fact that she and her husband would be AMAZING parents. Or my other friend, who lost her mother as she was becoming a mother herself...Or my other friend, who has spent the better half of a decade trying to conceive, only to hit one obstacle after another, and has a whole new series of appointments looming....Or my other friend, who just had her second failed attempt at IVF...
Why do we go through these things?
What is God thinking?
Do I trust Him enough...do I love Him enough...to set my questions aside and keep going?
I do....
That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, and that doesn't mean I have to wall off that hurt. Do that, and watch your life be over as you know it.
Mother's Day is so, so hard...so many unanswered questions, so much heartache, for so many people that I know, that I love...for myself, for my family...
I love my friend at church that mentioned my daughter, that had the best of intentions...she couldn't have known that I was just hoping to survive the day. She couldn't have known that she knocked on the door of a glass house...because normally, I don't consider myself to BE a glass house. I can normally discuss my daughter and keep it together.
Well, I didn't yesterday, and rather than apologize for it, I'm just gonna own it and start over, today...
And give up on it for next year.
Next Mother's Day, I'm sleeping in and watching Netflix.
(BTW, the best part about Mother's Day, besides barbecue? Rico-Bean--who never saw me cry; it's important to me that he not, at this point--tried to "kiss my freckles off." I thought that was the sweetest thing in history, and gave me much-needed warm fuzzies.) :) 
For every heart out there that struggled this weekend...who dreaded another Mother's Day full of confusion, secret hurt, public hurt...who dealt with a tender heart, or even a broken heart...
I am so, so sorry you're hurting...
There is no perfect way to grieve, and no one can tell you how you're supposed to feel. If they try, they're not your friend.
I will not slap a churchy-answer-band-aid on your hemorrhaging heart and feel like I've done my Christian duty...You are allowed to grieve your loss, your missing piece, any way you need to. Give yourself permission to hurt. Don't clean yourself up to approach the God you're questioning, the Jesus you don't understand. He gets it. He gets YOU, and He knows how it is to hurt and feel like the heavens are silent...He will love you in the dredges of sadness or in the sidelines of grief.
Please don't feel like you have to "church up" in the process of grief, regardless of where you are in the process...I struggle with that.
You are loved, I am loved, even when we don't understand or have the answers, or when the answers just plain suck. We are loved, even when we ugly-cry and leave church or accidentally cause a scene, or stand in our backyard and yell, "SUCK IT, HALLMARK!!!!" with our bestie over the phone.
So, yeah...
That was my Mother's Day.
Ugly-cry-missed-conversation-fleeing-church-sitting-at-a-park-post-ugly-cry-nap-barbecue-margarita-The-Office-freckle-kissing-yelling-at-Hallmark
And waking up the next day, pouring my heart out to God in my morning commute, and getting reminded once again that where I am in this process, this never-ending process, is where I am supposed to be...that I don't need to explain myself to Him, or rationalize myself to Him...that He hears me as I am, and He hears you as you are, and He Loves Us, even when we're ugly-crying over things society tells us we should be over. GOD NEVER TELLS US TO GET OVER IT. He says "Let Me help you through this."
He never tells us we're stupid or silly for feeling the way we do; He honors our hearts, because He created them.
Jesus gets me...He gets my husband and my son, and for that, He GETS me for eternity...and I get Him...
I remind myself of eternity on a daily basis...
And I remind myself that there is no "right" or "wrong" way to navigate this process...the only thing we have to do is to trust Him (which is sometimes the hardest thing of all).
One foot in front of the other, y'all...
Just keep swimming...
Even on Mother's Day...

Observation vs. Apology

I want to clarify something in my blog that I wrote yesterday. David (my husband) commented on Facebook that he loved "most" of my blog (frankly, I was surprised as h*ll that he even read it--that's two, now!--not that I'm keeping track---Okay, maybe I am). Well, that's a loaded statement! 'What do you mean, "most"?!?' I said. "Well, I feel like you kinda bashed some people," he said."
"Oh....You do?"
My heart sank.
"That was never my intention...I wrote a disclaimer at the beginning of the blog...."
"Well...."

Sigh.

I don't ever want something I've written to hurt someone. My intention wasn't to make anyone feel singled out or "bashed;" it was only to record an observation I'd made as a parent, and that I'd felt as an adult in making/forming relationships (and in failing). I'm not good at making friends, personally, despite what you may think. I say dumb things, I have bad timing, and I'm far better at sympathy than empathy (which sucks). I am AWKWARD, I feel awkward, and social gatherings tend to bring that out in me at its worst. I tend to stay close to those I know, because they know me, and they know when to write off my quirks.

Matter of fact, I tend to do the same thing that I accused others of doing in the blog I wrote yesterday: I limit myself to the familiar when surrounded by the unfamiliar. The difference was that I was in a situation where everyone around me was the unfamiliar (beyond a surface level), for the most part, and I was miserable. If I wanted to, I could have worked my way into any number of conversations; I chose not to, and I chose to stew over the fact that no one invited me into a conversation. That's the truth of the matter. I limited myself, and got pissy over the fact that no one catered to my subliminal pleas for acknowledgement.

So, please, please, PLEASE do not think I was insulting or bashing anyone. I was surrounded by lovely people, and I wouldn't for anything want any of them to think I thought otherwise. Social situations are so incredibly uncomfortable for me; no one would generally guess that, but my anxiety levels are through the ROOF on occasions such as that--especially at church. I'm not taking down the blog I posted yesterday, because it wasn't about WHERE we were; it was about my journey as a parent, watching my son grow in to a little boy. It was about my hopes for him, my struggles to relegate myself to being an observer, and my love of just being in his world...

Sometimes, I write something that is more brutal than brutally honest...If you're hurt because of something I wrote; if you felt it was accusatory or "bashing," please let me know. I can guarantee you that was never my intention, and I am truly sorry if I made you feel that way.

I am learning...and maybe this time, I knocked someone else down as I was skinning my own knees...

An Open Letter to My Son: You Are Not A Dinosaur

*Nothing in this blog is written with the intention of offending anyone. It is simply my observation of a recent social situation I found my son in, and that I found myself in. This is a real-life event that was revolutionary to me, and this is my perspective of it/response to it.

Dear Son: 

I’m not sure you’ll ever read this…but you might. Maybe someday, you’ll realize that your mama talked about you online, and you’ll decide to root through the archives to find out what I said…and I hope you do. Because in spite of the mistakes that I have/I will made/make, I think the biggest thing you will glean from these archives is that I love you with my entire heart and soul, and that my hope for you is nothing less than a personal relationship with Jesus…and that I am endlessly grateful to Him for you, your sister, and your Daddy…But, I digress:

Son, I want you to know that in spite of your best efforts, You Are Not A Dinosaur.

I know, I know—To be a T-Rex, in all of his roaring, short-armed glory, would be a wonderful, exciting thing. You get to be the biggest thing on the playground! You get to be the center of attention! You get to command the room, to be the most frightening, coolest, awesomest thing around!!!

Buuuuuut, you’re not a T-Rex.

You’re a you.

And while you’re pretty much the center of my world, to everyone else you’re another person in the room…and in some situations, your roaring and stomping about is kinda scary/annoying/weird (although I think it’s adorable).

Over the weekend, I had the chance to watch you in a different social circle. You were the only boy in your age group; the only boys in the room were older, and they were related. You haven’t learned about “cousins” yet, because we don’t live near our families. We don’t come from what’s called a tight-knit family, and although we’ve been fine with that up until now, I’m beginning to wonder if that should somehow change (I have no idea how, being as you are considerably younger than most of your cousins on either side, and/or we live too far away). I watched you play with the little girls that were close to your age, until they decided to run off like little girls do, and play amongst themselves. Then I watched you try to break into the group of boys/cousins that were older than you…You went up to them; they carried along with what they were doing. You tried to be a dinosaur and to chase them (it worked on the little girls), but they paid you no mind. You went over to them and roared louder; they still paid you no mind, and one of them actually kicked you.

You weren’t hurt (physically), and he was duly reprimanded; you continued playing like nothing had happened, and I kept my distance, following you around the room in case you decided to jump off of something/attempt to injure yourself.

I realized something in that moment.

I realized that you were echoing what was in my heart…I had wanted to talk to a group of women that were my age, but they formed a tight circle, and I continued to be on my own. If I could have roared like a dinosaur (something that, in my head, translates to, “Hi! Will you be my friend? I don’t know anyone around here very well, and I’m a tad lonely, being as my husband seems to know/like/be liked by everybody, and I feel like a total freak show, so could you just talk to me so this cafeteria doesn’t give me a high-school flashback?!?”), I might have…It is EXHAUSTING, to be in a group of people that you’ve known for several years but don’t really know, and to smile and act like that’s all okay, when what you really want to do is just leave and never come back, because it all feels like a complete waste of TIME.

In my heart, I was roaring.

In my heart, I felt totally rejected…and when I saw you trying to get the attention of the boys by roaring like a dinosaur, it broke my heart. You’d roar, and your bright eyes would dart back and forth between their faces, looking to see if they’d heard you….looking to see if they would accept you into their circle, and to see if they would play with you.

Sure, you were fine (it seemed), but I was not. Feeling rejected for myself is one thing, but seeing it happen to you? I’m not cool with that.

I realize that you’re 3. You’re not drawing the same things from perceived social rejection like I am at 38. You’re not looking at things through a lifetime of being a perceived extrovert (when you’re actually totally NOT). You’re 3. You have a lifetime of rejection ahead of you, because you’re a human being, and that’s what we do to each other, regardless of whether or not we’ve slapped a “Christian” label on our shirts. You will spend your lifetime making friends, losing friends, being made fun of, making fun of people, and learning the ropes of relationships. I can’t learn these things for you, especially since I haven’t learned them well enough yet myself.

I wanted to pick you up and carry you out of that cafeteria. I wanted to hold you, to tell you that it’s okay—you don’t need to be friends with those boys, anyways; you’ve got ME. And later on in the day, I called my own Mama, and told her about my own perceived rejection, because even when I don’t have or can’t make friends, I have MY MAMA.

Oh, son…You are so bright and shiny, and the world is so new to you. I know that learning the ropes of social situations will be a process for you, and I’m certain it will be an intense process for me to observe. I have to wonder if I will ever stop wanting to collect you and hold you, and carry you out of the room when your attempts to make friends go south.  I think of all of the times my mom had to rescue me from the cliques and the bullies and the peer pressure I faced even in my Christian school, and I wonder how different/same it will be for you as a boy…I think of the times my mother didn’t intervene, and let me learn my lesson (or when I didn’t tell her what I was dealing with, because I figured she had enough to handle).  I think of the unsolicited advice my mother probably got (granted, with all of the sancti-mommies online, I think unsolicited advice is a greater issue today than it was in the 80’s), and/or the comments other parents made at her methods of parenting (“You’re not letting her drive when she’s 16?!?  What’s wrong with YOU?!?”).

(Sidebar: Unsolicited parenting advice is yet another form of mom-shaming. You don’t like that my son sits in his stroller while we eat dinner in an establishment that doesn’t have a high chair, instead of running around like a hellion? KEEP IT TO YOURSELF. I can see that you don’t agree with my methods; I really don’t care. Thank you, but no thanks.)

I’m going to do my best for you. I’m going to try to watch you learn your lessons; I’m going to try to take the necessary steps back, to let you jump when you need to…but I will be close enough to catch you if I have to.  People may tell you I’m hovering. They might even be so stupid as to tell you that I’m so close because I’m afraid to lose you, because your sister passed away (if anyone EVER says that to you, let me know, because I will handle them. Harshly.). 

Son, I love you more than words. I will be here when no one is impressed with your dinosaur impression, and you can roar all you like. I might even roar with you.

I will not tell you that you are the smartest, the cutest, the best in the world. I will tell you that you are the smartest, the cutest, and the best in MY world. The World will show you that you are simply YOU…that you are not a dinosaur, no matter how much you want to be. You are just another little boy, growing up and figuring life out with millions of other little girls and little boys, who have mommies and daddies who have different rules, different goals, and different priorities.  I can’t make that any easier for you.

What I can do is to point you toward the Lord…I can love your Daddy, and in this unstable world we can provide a stable home for you to grow up in. We can love you, kiss your boo-boos, hug your little chest, and let you cry when you need to. We will laugh and play with you, and you will continue to be the center of our world; hopefully, you can carry that love and stand on the foundation we will lay in your life. That foundation can carry you through the rejection of friends, girls, whatever…you will always know you can come home and be the biggest dinosaur in the room. And you’ll always know that if you need us to pick you up and carry you out of a situation, we will…We will discipline you as needed, we will make mistakes, we will forgive and ask for forgiveness, and we will all grow in this process…

Our family is just….well, we’re a bit different, and you’ll figure that out. In our social circles, lots of mommies don’t go to work; lots of kids go to school at home; and lots of families have lots of kids. We don’t do/have any of those things, for multiple reasons that I constantly second-guess. There are things you won’t get to be a part of, but there are really cool things that you WILL get to be a part of, and we will do our best to keep you as involved as possible. Your family is really unique, and you’ll learn to appreciate what makes us special, and what makes us perfect for you. You’ll also learn that your family is fierce, incredibly loyal, independent, co-dependent, colorful, hilarious, messed-up, and awesome on every side…just like a lot of families. We’re all going to be here for you, and we can all roar, together.

Life is all about learning. We never stop, whether we’re 3 or 93. Just like this weekend, there will be so many times that I will look at you and learn about myself (good and bad), just as much as I try to teach you by my own example (also good and bad).  We all have times where we feel overlooked and uninvited, and we all have a dinosaur in our hearts that just wants to be acknowledged and loved…We all want to belong.

My little guy…my brave boy…how I love you, and how I wish I could learn it all for you, to keep you safe and unharmed. I wish I could take all of your hurts for you (and therein lies an entire volume dedicated to the grace of Christ), and make life as easy as possible. I wish I could make all of your friends for you, and filter out those I don’t want you to know…in my Type-A mindset, I wish I could make all of your plans and run your life to be as bump-free and methodical as possible. We all know that’s completely impossible and unhealthy. You have to grow, learn, discern, process, evolve, and eventually, break out on your own, away from our carefully-cultivated nest and out from under my ever-vigilant watch.

I’m absolutely terrified/exhilarated/petrified of that day…

But it’s coming…

And every day is one day closer.

You are going to be so amazing…I can’t wait to see what God has planned for your life. These things, these worries I have, and this journey you’re on, are so far beyond you right now…you have so much to learn and to grow into.  Take your time. Go slow.  Be free to be loud/annoying/weird to the world.

When you’re grown, you’ll learn that you are not a dinosaur…

But for now…

Roar as loud as you want.

Just an Update...

I am overdue for a catch-up on this thing. It’s been over a month, and what a month it has been…

Halfway through the month of December, I had to stop my thyroid replacement medications (TRH) in order to prepare for the scheduled radiation tracer/whole body scan that was scheduled at Siteman on 1/8/16. You have to stop your meds for 2 weeks, because the meds suppress your Thyroid Stimulating Hormone (TSH) and your thyroglobulin levels (cancer/tumor markers), and your labs need to reflect your true levels. I’ve said before that thyroid cancer will not kill you (it’s true—it’s slow-growing, totally not aggressive—usually—and is easy to treat. You just remove the thyroid and do a simple round of radiation). Nope—the cancer won’t kill you. Getting the thyroid medications regulated, however, just might, as it can make you lose your damn mind. Once you’ve got it regulated, then you’re cooking with peanut oil…but it takes a really long time to do that, and it can change out of nowhere (weight gain/loss, solar flare, mercury in retrograde, etc…I’m kidding. Sort of.). So, we think we have my dosage sort of regulated…maybe…

That being said, I’ve fired my treating endocrinologist, because either she or her staff failed to communicate the correct dosage of my TRH to my pharmacy, and I wound up borderline-suicidal in a church parking lot, while my poor husband contemplating having my @$$ locked in the funny farm. It was a disaster. I transferred care to the Center for Advanced Medicine at Barnes (since all of my other doctors are at Siteman/CAM), and had my first appointment with the new doc this week. We’ll see how it goes; he seemed nice enough, but basically said I'm condemned to utter fatness for the next 6 months, and to stop beating myself up over it. I say "whatevs" to the skinny man...blah.

Anyways, back to December: I had to go off of the meds for almost 3 weeks. I had no idea what I was in for. The hormones your thyroid produces (and that the synthetic TRH tries to duplicate) affect Every. Single. Cell. of your body (http://www.bastyr.edu/news/health-tips/2012/04/what-your-thyroid-and-what-does-it-do).  Every one of them. When you have your thyroid unceremoniously removed (without notice or true explanation), or when you stop your TRH, your cells FREAK THE HECK OUT and you go into a horrific tailspin of exhaustion/psychosis/stupidity that is truly unprecedented. No one can prepare you or your family for the trainwreck you will become; you get super-emotional, you start gaining weight like a manatee (#15 in 2 weeks!!!), you can’t stay warm, and you don’t have enough sense to adequately explain what is happening to you, so your family just thinks you’re being a giant douchebag.You forget things, you have (-) energy, and your brain function declines into something resembling Silly Putty.

It sucks.

That was my Christmas.

And then the floods came. 

JD and I were staying at my parents’ house, which was supposed to be a time of rest for me. However, their basement flooded, and they had to unpleasant task of keeping the water at bay. JD had to be corralled into the largest room of their house, and I had to chase him more than I physically could…and THEN the highways closed, so David couldn’t come get us until New Year’s Eve. We were all exhausted, JD was out of his routine (and acting out), and my “break” wound up being incredibly stressful for ALL of us. Honestly, it was just a total comedy of errors that was further complicated by nature…I’m grateful to my family for letting us stay with them, and for as much help as they were able to give with JD when I wasn’t able to manage him at times during the day…but it was definitely difficult.  By the time we were finally back home, my bed never felt so good (and I really didn’t want to crawl out).  I still had to go back to work for 1 week without my thyroid meds; by the time the week ended, I was only able to work a half-day before coming home and sleeping it off for a few hours. BRUTAL.

On Friday, 1/8, David and I headed to Barnes for my baseline scan (I’d had a radioactive tracer two days before). The scan took about 90 minutes, and afterwards, we headed to Siteman to get the interpretation. I already had my lab results, so I knew my tumor markers were up, and that my cancer was back. I was totally prepared to deal with that—you take a dose of radiation, you start your thyroid meds back up the next day, and all is well for 6 months. Except….

That didn’t happen.

My scan was negative.

According to the Radiation Oncologist, because my labs show that I have cancer, but my scan can’t find it. They believe the cancer cells are now “smart” cells, and no longer uptake the tracer radiation/treating radiation, so the next move is to have a PET scan at the end of this month. I really don’t like that idea; to me, PET scans tell you a lot of stuff that you don’t necessarily WANT to know…I realize that I’m being ridiculous about it, but in my gut, that’s one test that I’ve never been a fan of. It’s the equivalent of someone asking you, “How are you?” and instead of you answering with “Fine, and you?” you instead word-vomit on them with everything they ever wanted to know about you, your day, your ancestry, and your Instagram of what you had for breakfast. It’s too much information, and more about myself than I really want to know.

I told you I was being ridiculous about it.  It really is the best kind of scan for what I’m dealing with (which is NOTHING. Slow-moving, non-aggressive cancer that really should be called something else.). It’s just super-invasive to me, and something I’m not looking forward to.

I’m disappointed, kind of scared, frustrated at the lack of time/money, time off of work. Driving to-and-from Barnes is an exercise in anxiety-management for me, dragging my family into this for care of myself and/or my son is a pain, blah, blah, blah, blah…It’s stupid. I’m totally not cool with what’s going on right now. I’m resigned to it, but I’m not cool with it. My biggest frustration is the nagging question of “why” that I’m struggling NOT to ask God, but I find myself asking in the wee hours…Like, why are we dealing with this (after all we’ve been through, do we not have enough “credit” to get a “pass” of some sort?!?”)? Why can’t we just hit our “Easy” button? Do we get an “Easy” button? Did we piss God off some way, that He’s hitting that “smite” button? Are we cursed? People must think we’re cursed at this point…or just, like, really, really bad sinners, that we’re dealing with this kind of judgement on our lives…

I am ridiculous.

As soon as these questions flash through my brain, I smack them down. They’re gnats from the enemy, annoyances that attempt to embed in my heart and my brain, to take down my spiritual life. I see them for what they are, and I try not to give those thoughts the time of day. They only lead to pain in my heart, and they’re ultimately pointless. I want His will, and I want to lean on Him. I want my husband and family to lean on Him. I trust Him, even when I’m not seeing Him clearly, which I’m not right now.

He knows what He’s doing, even when I feel ultimately perplexed. This is a season, and it will all be clear at some point. He lets me know through random things that He’s here, and He’s listening; that He has a point, and that He loves me ferociously. That’s what I can focus on. A lot of people are going through a LOT worse, a lot harder, and I really have nothing to whine about. It’s the aggravation more than the physical issues that I’m struggling with; I know SO many people that are dealing with BOTH, and my heart goes out to them. They are far more deserving of prayers, meals, hugs, etc., than David & I are, because we are not dealing with a severe issue here.  My TRH is regulated, and as long as I stay on it, I’m good. I’m back on it now, so my life is fine, even with the PET scan looming at the end of this month.

We’re good. We’re fine; JD is getting back into the swing of things, and after a week of being a Tiny Tyrant, he looks like he grew 3” and has finally calmed down. We are well, we will continue to be well, and we are thankful for the health care providers that are in communication and are managing my issues.

That’s my update…Now, if only I could nap….a lot…

"Storyteller...."

I am a born storyteller.
I don't say that in an arrogant way; it's just part of who I am, and how I live. I'm from such a colorful family that I think I came into being a storyteller in the most organic way possible. We're just a fun, crazy, vibrant bunch of people that live in superlatives. I can't tell you about anyone in my family in a simple, short way. We're all too complex...but then again, isn't everyone?
I married another bright, colorful, emphatic person (although people don't always see that in David, trust me when I say that he's funnier than all of us. You just have to wait a little bit...) from a hilarious family. We're all as they say, the "salt of the earth." We're honest (to a fault), ornery, ferociously loyal, and just...well, we're just US. You can't survive in that kind of family without learning to relay your experiences to others (if anything, just for the moral support, LOL!), and in doing so, you have to learn to fully describe/justify/embrace the crazy, so you become (in the best of ways) a STORYTELLER.

I love songs that talk about the stories of our lives. I fell in love with a song called "Happily Ever After" by He Is We a few years ago; the lyrics caught in my head, and I find myself humming them in various moments:

"We all have a story to tell. Oh, happily ever after, wouldn't you know, wouldn't you know.
Oh, skip to the ending, who'd like to know, I'd like to know.
Author of the moment, can you tell me, do I end up, do I end up happy?"

Everyone has a story to tell...and sometimes, all we want to know is the final answer.  Do we end up happy?

That's the greatest thing about knowing Jesus: Yes. Yes, we end up happy, and we end up happier than anything we could have ever realized on this earth. That's the assurance we have, and I've had to embrace that assurance just to keep breathing, more times than I could tell. No matter how this life ends, we have that hope, and I can tell you, it is more than a figment of my imagination. Heaven is real; Jesus is real, and His salvation is tangible. I've felt Him embrace the most broken of hearts...I have no doubts in His existence, and I have no doubts in what His love can do for your life (end mini-sermon :))

Someone posted on Facebook today, and asked what the greatest thing we've learned in 2015 was. My first reaction was, "Well, honey, the year's not over yet!" I've learned that no matter how much I want something to be over and done with, it's not over until the clock strikes midnight on 12/31. Frankly, I'm DONE with this year. It's been a difficult year, but it certainly hasn't been my hardest. It's just been confusing and frustrating, but far from heartbreaking. I answered the post and said three things: 

1. I've learned about brokenness in new ways (that word, "cancer" will do that to you, even when it's an easily-treatable one. It still hurts.).
2. I've learned about motivation (knowing that you have a toddler to take care of, will motivate you when you think your strength is gone).
3. I've learned a whole, new definition to the term "teamwork" (I am terrible about telling my husband what a team we make...how helpful he can be...how shrewish I can be, about things like socks on the floor, when he's come home and taken over caring for a Tiny Tornado because I'm too exhausted to move. Knowing he's coming home, and that my little family is complete, is a joy to me every single day. I love that man, and I wouldn't have picked anyone else. Also, my mom and dad have stepped up more times than I can count, in helping us through this year...I can't imagine life without them).

There's a lot more I could say, that I've learned...I've learned about different ways to have fun, I've strengthened some relationships, and ended others. I've embraced changes and fought changes, and just...changed, hopefully, for the better. I've let go of a few wishes and allowed "pause" to affect my dreams. My dreams have changed, and I can feel even now changes coming to the desires of my heart...Things I never thought I wanted are knocking on my heart's door, and I don't know how it's going to play out, but I know if it's of God, He will work it all out. There are mysteries to come, and changes to come, and I know 2015 has been a year of preparation in some ways...although I don't necessarily know for what.  

I went to a birthday party yesterday for my Aunt Mary. A lot of people never realized that my mom was adopted into the family, years and years ago, and that she and my Aunt are actually step-sisters (mom's adopted dad married Mary's mom, Henrietta. Henrietta was the only Grandma I ever knew, and I miss her a great deal). Aunt Mary is so much like my Grandma; from her colorful personality, her constant joy, and her endless travels, she resembles Grandma as much in spirit as she does in body. Now, mind you, in my eyes, my Grandma was a saint. For me to say someone reminds me of Grandma is the highest compliment I can give, and in my lifetime, I've only said that about two people: Mom, and Aunt Mary. That should put it in perspective.

There were pictures everywhere from Mary's life, with her kids; we hadn't all got together in years, and I couldn't believe the changes in all of us; we all grew up! My cousin Jonathan had a full beard! AND KIDS!!!!! And I have kids! What happened to us?!?!?!?  Meanwhile, Aunt Mary pretty much looks the same, minus the beautiful, white hair.  It was wonderful, to see everyone gather and show love for such a wonderful person...such a beautiful story, and such a vibrant soul. I love my Aunt Mary and all of my cousins, and to all be together in one room just evoked the spirit of my Grandma in the very best way. It was pretty rad, truth (photo of Mary and the Grandkids from Cousin Judy!)

That being said, my Mama made an UH-MAZING cake, and she did it the only way she knows how: BIG. Four separate layer cakes, frosted and piped in homemade buttercream:

It was gorgeous, tasted awesome...and crashed to the floor.

Those top two tiers? The made-from-scratch carrot cake and the red velvet cake? Yeah--they crashed right where Mom is standing in this picture, shortly after Mary got to blow her candles out. The entire room gave a collective "OOOOOOOHHHH!;" I went running to clean up, and Mom? Mom just charged in, cut up the surviving cakes, kept smiling, and looked fabulous. No tears, no swearing, and no throwing of sharp objects.

I'm impressed, to say the least. 

When I say that I'm a natural-born Storyteller, things like this explain why: My mom used the experience of a destroyed cake to talk about how God makes messes into miracles. She used the experience to give Him glory, even in the middle of what could have been a total disaster. She was able to laugh, when anyone else would have fallen through the floor in embarrassment. She lived her faith, even in that small of a thing...this is the example that God gave me. This is what I have in my life, to point me toward Him.

How could I not have a story to tell?

We laughed through it; we have QUITE a memory of the party and of the day (so many laughs!); and we were definitely tired by the end of it all (except for my pickle-thieving toddler--he was wired. Cake.).  But more than that, I have a new point of reference for the year. My whole year kind of feels like a cake that crashed to the floor, in a lot of ways. It's been a really tough year for me, physically, but more than anything, spiritually, in ways I haven't really discussed. I feel like I've put so much effort into "life," but in a lot of ways, it's a bit of a smashed cake. 

We're gonna laugh about it, though. 

We're going to look at the bright spots: My son, and his ever-changing personality...his discoveries....the adventures of life with a toddler.  My husband, and the ways he's expanded into doing things he didn't realize he could do, both at home and on the job. My parents, and the ways they've been absolute rocks through the storm.

We're going to laugh about not only the "smashed cake" of the year; we're going to laugh at the work that went into it, and the love, and the heart...we're going to focus on the ties that bind us to each other on this journey, and we're going to embrace the good, the bad, and the hilariously broken.

We're going to tell the story together, of 2015, and we're going to love every page.

After all--we all know how it ends. He loves us....smashed cake, and all.

"Storyteller"
Morgan Harper Nichols

On a Sunday evening I'm looking back
Over all the years and where I've been.
Looking at old photographs, I'm remembering
You were right there and You have been ever since.
With every page that turns I see Your faithfulness.
The mountain where I climbed
The valley where I fell
You were there all along
That's the story I'll tell
You brought the pieces together
Made me this storyteller
Now I know it is well, it is well
That's the story I'll tell
There were some nights that felt like
They would last forever.
But You kept me breathing.
You were with me right then.
And all that You have done for me,
I could never hold it in.
So here's to me telling this story over and over again.
The mountain where I climbed
The valley where I fell
You were there all along
That's the story I'll tell
You brought the pieces together
Made me this storyteller
Now I know it is well, it is well
That's the story I'll tell
That's the story I'll tell
You hold the broken
You hear my every cry, every cry
My eyes are open
I know that it is well, it is well
[x2]
The mountain where I climbed
The valley where I fell
You were there all along
That's the story I'll tell
You brought the pieces together
Made me this storyteller
Now I know it is well, it is well
That's the story I'll tell
That's the story I'll tell
For years and years and years I'll tell
That's the story I'll tell

Find Me in the Waiting...

Find me in the waiting….              

So, here I am…waiting.

Lots of people are waiting for something right now. I have a friend who’s waiting for travel visas to China, so she can pick up the special-needs child her family is adopting. The process is agonizingly-slow, and she’s READY TO GO…The nervous anticipation she’s posting on Facebook is palpable. I find myself curling my toes and bouncing my knees when I read her posts, because I’m So. Darn. Impatient, on her behalf.

God moves on His own timetable.

Darn it.

So we wait….

My sister is waiting for something right now…a chapter to close. She knows it’s coming, but she doesn’t know when, and every week or so, I’ll text her and ask, “Do you have a date, yet?” We’re trying to plan out the holidays, but it’s nearly impossible, without definite information.

Time is dragging.

And so, we wait…..

I am waiting.

I am waiting to find out what the swelling in my neck means. I am waiting to find out why an ultrasound was needed…and then a CT scan, after the results from the ultrasound looked less-than-ideal.  Having your doctor call you and say, “We need you at the imaging center right away; how soon can you get there?” is scary…You gather your things, leave your office, make arrangements for your son, and you drive (mostly within the limits)…You get there, and the staff remembers you, and gives you “the look.”

You say, “Don’t feel sorry for me! Let’s get this over with!” and you call your pastor, because even if neither of you know what’s going on, there’s something beautiful in hearing him say, “Let’s pray.” It’s good to know people that mean it, when they say they’re praying.

I didn’t make the imaging center wait; I hauled myself there in record time…But they are making ME wait, and I know it’s not their fault…

But let’s get it over with.

Rip the damn band-aid off, and tell me what’s happening in this mutinous body of mine.

I am waiting.

I am praying.

And I know He’s there now, and He’s already there at the end, and He already knows the results, and He isn’t scared, at all…

This weekend, David & I had an extended date that was already planned. We had a friend who watched JD; David had done their family photos a few weeks ago, so they kindly agreed to take care of The Loinfruit. They love him so much, and I know he was happy to see them. We went to The Original SpringsHotel and Mineral Spa in Okawville, IL (highly recommended), and did a simple spa admission. The mineral baths are heavenly; there’s a dry sauna and a pool, and if you want to pay extra for a massage, they have wonderful massage therapists. We skipped that part, because I’m not a good candidate for massage right now.  The restaurant is AMAZING, and has the best fried chicken you’ve ever had (True Story!), so we stayed for lunch, and headed home…We laughed (a lot), and really didn’t talk too much about the Elephant in the Room.

We just hung out, two people that love each other fiercely, and who have been through so much worse…two people that couldn’t navigate this crazy life without one another holding on. He’s my soulmate, and I’d like to think that I’m his, as well. He’s my very best, dearest, most attractive friend, and he knows me better than anyone…We had fun, and as we drove back, I thought about our life together, and what an adventure we are always on…never a dull moment!

That evening, David did what was to me, the most important photo shoot he’s done since our children were born. He was asked to do an impromptu, informal photo shoot with a family where the patriarch is terminal. So far, I’ve been unable to look at the pictures, because from the two shots I’ve seen, the love this man has for his family, and they, for him, is so rich and so beautiful; my heart can’t handle it. This man loves Jesus, he’s raised a godly family that has had children of their own, and he knows where he’s going. That doesn’t make it easier to leave, or to say goodbye…Well, maybe it does, but it still hurts.

He doesn’t have an exact date, just a timeline…

So they wait.

They cling to each other; they make these the sweetest days…

And they wait.

My friend is waiting for travel passes and adoption papers…my sister is waiting for closure.  I am waiting for answers, and my other friend’s father is waiting for the end of the last chapter of a story he’s been writing for decades….

The waiting will break you, if you’re not grounded.

The waiting will take you to your knees…which is perhaps, the best place for all of us to be as we go through these processes. We find strength in ourselves, when we can answer our own questions. When we have definite dates, we begin the stress of preparation.

But in the waiting, everything is open-ended. Everything is up in the air, and we are on shaky ground…we are on rafts, in the middle of the rapids.

He is our Anchor.

Find Him in the waiting; cling to Him, and have stability in the ever-changing waters of uncertainty…

He is our Peace…He is our steady ground…

All of us that I mentioned in this post are waiting, praying, hoping, and seeking…and all of us know that He has His ways, and His timing…we all know He is not ignoring us, or pushing us away. Our Father loves His children.

So, we wait for Him to rescue us….even when that doesn’t look like what we think it should look like.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OVd7Hh5WCyc