Is miscarriage really that big of a deal?

The moment I see the second pink line, I am all in. In the twenty eight seconds of intense, sweaty anticipation, I know nothing. But as soon as that second pink line shows up (faint as it may be) on the bulk pregnancy test I bought on eBay,  I am fully vested. My mind and body immediately begin preparing for the next Keefe Kid. My brain and heart warp time and I can literally see this baby. I visualize this child. I recognize the teenager. I watch the high school graduate. I'm there at the wedding day. I'm kneeling in wait for the next generation. A whole life. From diapers to diapers. In five seconds. 

Then comes How do we tell Daddy. Pinterest. Google. How do I let Daddy know that you're here and you're coming? And your siblings...oh, how your siblings have been waiting for you! Just wait until they hear you're on the way! I already hear "Please let it be a Boy" and in seven seconds I am completely in love with you. Terrified. But so completely in love. 

It takes about another three seconds before the underhanded and despicable spiritual attack begins. *What If*s flood my already saturated brain with its dangerous and toxic cocktail of estrogen and progesterone. The scared prayers begin. Not my will but yours, Lord. Help me. 

Trauma has a peculiar way of stealing your joy in the instant you feel it. The perpetrator says Don't celebrate.  Don't share the news.  Because What if. What if you don't have this baby. Do you really wanna tell everyone you lost another baby? It's so awkward and weird. Is it really that big of a deal? Maybe they didn't even know you were pregnant. Add to the pain that so many people think you shouldn't be pregnant again anyway. What if you tell them and they are relieved? What if they say that!? What if they say things meant to comfort and only testify to your fear. Maybe I am too old. Maybe we already have too much on our plate. Maybe my body can't handle it. The Lies of trauma are meant to isolate and shame and stunt and shake. 

So we wait. We anticipate. We pray. I freak out. We pray. I drink more water and I eat cleaner. And I start to feel some freedom from the fear. I start to gag when I brush my teeth and Sometimes when I lie down on my left side my heart flips and beats like a bat out of hell and I know. I know it's real and the knitting as forming has begun. You're really on your way. 

Until the blood. The blood comes and it is like I've been shattered from the inside. How can this be. The panic and the disbelief and the fear and the phone calls. The please pray texts. The phone calls and the waiting. And the googling. Is it? Could it just be ok? And 23 hours and 100 trips to the bathroom later it is not ok. And hormones shift and minds bend and husbands still need you to function and children still ask for cheerios and toilet paper and all you can do is blink. Blink and bleed and gush and examine and pray and cry. And I think this is going to kill me. Really though this cannot be right. I think I'm going to need a transfusion and a padded room and I never wanna be in this bathroom again, studying sanded grout and counting tiles.

And then ultrasounds. Occasions that for many are joyous and beautiful occasions. But for the mom who has miscarried, it brings a sick feeling down to the soles of my feet. My joy stolen again by trauma and lies.  My husband reminds me that God's got this and I try not to hate that phrase. 

The warm jelly. The small talk. The wait. Wait. Wait. The concern on her face. The furrow in her brow. The searching. The silence. No...that's my heartbeat. Up to 148bpm lying flat on my back as still as a body can possibly be. More silence. Then the Apology. The I'm sorry. No. No. No. Not again. Please. Keep looking. Please. Let me try. Another apology. The dream vaporizes. And the blackness of loss fills the room and my lungs and I'm sick. Tears. Tears. Tears. Tears. Quiet tears that flood my ears and drown the silence. Quiet tears as not to make Nancy feel any worse. Sucking breaths and spit and snot and coughing cries come later on the drive home that's never long enough. There are no grainy black and white photos to share. 

Several foggy days pass. My doctor gives me options. None of them are good. Wait it out. Have surgery. I've done both. I still have this baby. But I don't. I hold inside me a billion would-be moments and possibilities gone. So I am like a walking coffin. Waiting for a funeral that will never happen. 

We tell the siblings. Some cry. Some cry quiet tears. Some cry gut wrenching sobs. Some smile and hug. Some ask why we never told them. And I wonder why and I hurt for keeping something so precious and wonderful and exciting a secret from them. I want to shield them from pain but I rob them of the joy that makes it all worth it. They pray for me and the baby with Jesus. Alex keeps his hand on my shoulder. Mine should be on his. His pain is just as painful. The severity of loss for him can be even more complicated than mine.  Condemnation and guilt and shame and sadness know no bounds. 

So we walk around stunned and shocked for a few weeks.  Or years. I try not to think of what could have been. I try not to think about how I never want to go through this again. I try not to make any rash decisions about any aspect of my life. I pray and thank God for friends who cry along with me. Who remind me that my baby was a real person. A real person with a divine soul and a sacred purpose. A real person with a family that grieves the loss and feels the absence. 

And for this reason I am so grateful to the State of Florida for recognizing the authentic losses women and men face everyday in miscarriage. I'm thankful that healing can begin for so many just with the acknowledgment of the humanity of our babies. 

With acknowledgement of loss I gain the perspective of my children who have an invincible faith and hope in the reunion of Heaven. When people marvel at our seven children, my kids  quickly reply that We have four more. People balk and gawk and kids say The other four are in Heaven. With Jesus. We'll see them one day.  We know one is a girl. 

Yes. Our seven becomes eleven. And we are eternally grateful for each and every one of them. Each has made an indelible and eternal impact on our family.  They were Keefes. And they always will be. 



Prayers and blessings and handholds and neck hugs for those experiencing pain and grief and loss today.  Praying you will feel confident and hopeful in the day you're reunited with your little one. 


Sidenote: What doesn't make sense to me are the parameters chosen for the miscarriage law.  Most babies are miscarried between 7 and 12 weeks and yet the state only acknowledges miscarriages between 9 and 20 weeks. Why place parameters on the certificates? 

Happy Birthday, Marriage.

My marriage is twelve today.

Wow. Twelve years ago today I pledged my life to a young Air Force Pilot that barely made it to the wedding. Twelve years ago I thought a white dress, a big fat diamond and a DJ meant marriage. I dreamed of no longer sneaking around, being free to see my man whenever and wherever we chose, not having to explain where I was or how I got there. It meant the end of phone bills I paid with my credit card(s) and the beginning of beautiful, blissful mornings and never having to say goodbye.

Riiiiiigggghhht.

So our marriage is twelve now. And I can’t stop thinking about what twelve looks like. It’s sixth grade. It’s braces and training bras and changing voices. It’s learning when to talk and when not to. It means still making silly mistakes and hoping no one sees them. It’s awkward. And that’s where we are. We’ve moved out of our toddler/early childhood stage and we’re working into awkward pre-adolescence. We are becoming. We are moving. We are growing. And as long as we are doing this together, that’s all I care about. I know this marriage is essential to the well-being of four little girls. They depend on this marriage maturing. And it is. We are learning to adapt to our new roles, shift our perspectives to the common good, to release the safety in selfishness. And I’m so excited and thankful for what we are becoming.

And I’m so very thankful for the man my husband is becoming. And I’m really thankful that he sees my (ever annoying) shortcomings and looks past them. Especially lost ATM cards, dirty laundry, costly procrastination and disorderly conduct. And that all happened this week.

So when I think about what my dreams were for our marriage, they are just a little different now; now we have our kids sneak around, we have the best conversations oceans apart and we spend beautiful blissful mornings surrounded by four beautiful babies. We say goodbye, but we do it with smiles instead of fearful tears. And I love that. I love how this marriage has aged.

And I love you, Alex, for your commitment to this family, for your dedication to this marriage, for your patience with me, and your faith that makes all that possible. I love you so ferociously and I want to be better at letting you know that. Happy Anniversary, Big MAK! I love you!

Watch Your Ankles, Lady.

Pizza Buffet. Four tired little girls. A pre-menstrual Mom. And a mean old lady.

That’s what’s got me spinning tonight.

We spent the whole day out running errands today. Mostly returning stuff to our usual places and getting a little lunch out. There’s this little Pizza Joint that ‘s a pseudo Cici’s that we love to eat at. Unlimited food seems to be a big pleaser for this family.

Some days the girls are just off. Especially after a night of not-so-good sleep or a morning of too much TV or just not enough structure or attention. These days suck. They suck the life out of me because my kids and I aren’t speaking the same language. It’s like even the subtitles are in a different language. I say “Please sit on your bottom” and they look at me as if I’d just said the Pledge of Allegiance in Mandarin. So I was NOT happy when I had to pull Edie out from underneath the thirteen HUNDRED dollar grill and tell Sophie to put down the sprinkler flags for the fifteenth time. All I kept thinking was that I needed food in my belly and everything would be ok.

…onto lunch.

White pizza, soup, salad, dessert. Unlimited cherry coke and mello yello. For real. Do you see why this place ranks high? We made our way to our tables and picked a place where we could park a stroller next to our table. We enjoyed lunch…Telemundo and Cartoon Network on the plasmas and we all just kinda vegged. Edie finished first and decided to take Lil A for a lil stroll around the table. I was at most 2 feet from her at all times and as the lady bussing tables approached, I told Edie to come back with Audrey….

…pause….

We get compliments all the time when we are out in public. People always ooh and ahh at our four girls and smile and wave and gush over how cute and sweet they are. We get approached in restaurants by people all the time…people say ‘oh, how well behaved your girls are.’ And ‘oh, what sweet little girls you have’. ….

….play….


….Edie rounds the stroller in a circle and the bussing lady has to wait for me to corral her…at this time I look up at a woman sitting across the row from us. She is making eye contact with the bussing lady. Her eyes say it all. She looks with disdain and disgust at Edie. She rolls her eyes and looks to the bussing lady for confirmation. The bussing lady looks at Edie and smiles. I apologize to bussing lady.

I turn to Alex and explain what just happened. I watch the (mean old) lady get up to get more food. I am seething. Edie has done no harm.

Then I go bad.

“Edie, go take the stroller and run into that old lady.”

Oh yes I did. I told her to purposely crash the stroller into the ankles of that bitter old woman. I TOLD MY CHILD to take the stroller and use it to cause bodily harm to another human being. And I was not playing.

And she looked at me and said “What, ma?”

And I regained my composure and said
“nothing, babe….nothing.”

Before she left, the lady made it a point to go to the table next to us where sat a father and his two girls that were at least 10 and 12. She gushed about how well behaved they were and how kids these days have horrible manners.

Just as the estrogen in my blood stream, my temper spiked and I thought I would get loud for a minute and give this lady a piece of my mind….that I would tell her to not judge me….that I would tell her to walk a mile in my nursing bra.

But I didn’t….I left there discouraged. I left feeling like a terrible parent. I left feeling like I’d let my children disappoint me again with their behavior. I left there thinking all the thoughts of someone that was looking for favor and approval from perfect (or imperfect) strangers.

But tonight... now…? I am remembering what makes my kids so awesome and my family so different: Sophie leaving the dinner table saying her cheeks hurt from laughing so hard; Charley sharing her favorite Barbie with a sister who could so easily snap Barbie’s neck and leave her permanently disabled; Edie offering Audrey a toy she ‘can spit on’.

So it’s not all about how my kids behave in public….it’s not about how proud they can make me….it’s not about how many compliments old ladies give me…it’s not about who can get through Home Depot without jumping out of the cart.

It’s about their hearts and whether or not they know to love others as they love themselves.

Even mean old ladies.

Dear BP

Dear BP, I think I know what will stop the leak. Rice Crispies. P.S. Does anyone have a pick axe or a cetyline torch I can borrow?

Only a Girl Named Julie....

Yesterday was a great day at church. Even though my jeans were too tight, and Charley couldn’t find satisfaction in any of my shoe choices for her and Edie had a glob of conditioner in her hair from last night’s shower, we made our way to Journey Church at our new location at Park Vista High.

I learned a lot yesterday. I learn a lot every Sunday there….even if I don’t step foot into the Sanctuary. Just getting there teaches me patience.

Yesterday PScott talked through 1 Samuel. He challenged us all to find our Goliath. I’ve been staring down my Goliath for weeks now, slowly slipping into the armor, only to find that it’s too big and too cumbersome and way too heavy to allow my arms to cast stones. All I need is a sling and a stone.

Yesterday I got my sling.

Today I’m going after the Goliath of Perfectionism in my life.

He whispers to me every morning.
Why get up…you’re already so far behind?
You know if you start this, you’ll never finish.
You know what people will say if you don’t finish.
What will people think when they see another one of your fine messes?

It screams to me through half-hung curtains, wrinkled dresses, and dirty fingernails. It shouts to me through my unmade bed, a glob of toothpaste on the bathroom sink, and the gap between my teeth. It screeches to me in the piles of upaid medical bills and birthday cards I never send.

For me, perfectionism paralyzes me and silences me.

So this morning, I’m answering back.

Because people are depending on me.
I will finish…and I won’t take twenty years to do it.
God loves me anyway....even if you don't.
It will be my fine mess. To His Glory.

So this….THIS is one of my stones. I’m picking up this stone. And I’m chucking it.

See ya, Goliath, I’m about to hit PUBLISH.

Perfectionism isn’t a problem because it does too much, it’s a problem because in trying to do too much it causes us to do nothing at all. Dustin Wax

Seriously, Venus?

I thought it was Halloween for a minute.

Caption Please.

Happy Birthday to Me

Thirty four years and eight months ago my parents made the decision to keep me. Though their lives were full already with two beautiful children, they decided to take a chance on one more. And today I am very grateful for that.

Their lives were already very full. They had a brilliant six year old that blessed them with her amazing perspective on life. Amy was energetic and precocious. She loved her little brother immensely and was a big help to her mom. Richie was a precious, loving little boy that was born with a genetic disorder that would have him hospitalized often for many different reasons. He was needy but happy, and Dad had his boy. And yet, they took a chance on having another baby. And they welcomed me in March.

Little did they know how that decision would affect the rest of their lives. And the rest of mine.

Six months after I was born, our lives shifted. As a result of pregnancy, my Mom got very sick. She could no longer care for my sister and brother and I. She was hospitalized on and off for the next four years. Sometimes it was for a short period to stabilize her health. Sometimes it was longer. Time was frozen and hearts were broken. I can’t imagine how it must have changed our family’s dynamic. I can’t imagine the grief she felt, handing over her six month old baby to endure hours, days, months of treatment. I can’t imagine the torture my Dad felt having to admit his beloved and leave her behind. Amy was six, and had to quickly become a little woman, while her little heart was breaking inside her. Richie had to give up his Mommy and the precious care that only she could give him. The threads of our family unraveled the day that Mom was admitted.

And yet, my Mom says this on her facebook status:

“well tomorrow at 11:51 a.m. my second oldest daughter will be 34 years old. How time flies! I am so happy and thrilled that she is mine! I love you Julie> Love and many, many kisses-Mom”

And at 7:11 this morning, my Dad sends me this email:

“Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday Dear Midget. Happy Birthday to you!!!!!!! I'm sure that the day you were born, God looked down from Heaven and said, "Am I good or what!" I just want to wish you a wonderful day and to tell you how proud I am of you. We are truly blessed.I love you.Dad”

My parents endured severe emotional and physical pain to have me. They didn’t know at the time that their lives would be affected the way they were. My Dad didn’t know he’d be shaking his fists at God for years to come. He also didn’t know that one day he would trust God with his life. My Mom didn’t know what blessings were to come in hers either, yet she trusted.

So today I am praising my God, who gave me parents that believed enough to bring me into their family, who has taught me so much about His grace and His sovereign plan through my parents, and who can restore brokenness like no other.

Thank you, Jesus, for allowing me this life, for allowing me to feel the miracle of parenthood, for blessing me with a husband that hears you and loves you, for amazing daughters that test and try and teach me. Thank you for this celebration day. The glory is all yours.

Flooded.

I started this ambitious journey of tap water about 13 days ago. I had no idea how broken it would leave me mentally or how challenged I would feel physically. Yesterday was a breaking point. The girls and I loaded up and headed to CBS in the morning and we were only about ten minutes late. This was the latest we’ve been so far, and it was mostly due to my lack of sleep. Thankfully, it was Pajama Day. No, the girls didn’t go in the jammies they’d slept in the night before. They all wore clean, matching princess jammies, of course.

I brought my glass of iced water and my Kashi bar and hoped that would get me through the morning. It did, but once I hit 12:30, I was totally exhausted. My body has needed caffeine for days and yesterday I hit the breaking point. I couldn’t think straight, my mind was racing, and I felt trapped in confusion. It was painful. I wanted to cry. I DID cry. Not only do I use caffeine to wake my tired body in the morning, but I use it as a medication. I was diagnosed with ADD when I was 25 and have been on several medications since. I remember the first day I took Concerta and felt for the first time that I wasn’t limping around on half a brain. I washed my car that day, from start to finish. Then I put everything away. The vacuum, the sponges, the soap, the hose. Then I sat and cried. Multi-step tasks were never easy for me. I finally felt capable. It was wonderful.

But then I started having babies, and stimulants and pregnancy don’t go well together. I got off the meds and started drinking coffee. It wasn’t the same, but it was almost better. I could drink coffee and not worry about major side affects. It warmed by belly and my soul and helped to put the puzzle pieces together as well. I could have a cup (or 3) in the morning, and dose again in the afternoon and avoid the mental fatigue I’d suffered my whole life.

Then I heard about the blood:water mission via Anne Jackson. I heard about the 40 day challenge. Forty days of nothing to drink but water. I loved the idea from the beginning, though I was a little apprehensive of giving up my beloved fountain Dr. Pepper and my beautiful morning mug of happiness. But a fast is good for everyone, at any time and I knew that. I jumped in, registered and drank my last DP for breakfast the day before.

But then my house flooded. And my belongings were strewn about my house like a rogue wave of my lake came through. And I was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed to the point of tears, setting my timer, but never able to figure out where to start. My disorganized approaches left me exhausted and without a single sign of order. To be honest with you, I’m still sitting in a mess here. But there is hope.

I’ve been praying for help. I’ve been praying that God would help me get this place together, that I would stay focused for 15 minutes at a time and be able get this stuff back where it all belongs. I know one cup of coffee would be my jumping off point. I know one cup would allow me to focus, make a dent in the work and feel better. But I don’t wanna give up on my commitment to blood:water. And you know me, the legalist I am, I WON’T give up. So yesterday my sweet husband (who has given up soda as well) sent me in to the gas station to pick up his King Size Peanut M&m’s and I see this.



Oh, Sweetest Jesus. Seriously? Caffeinated GUM? I thought for a minute I was at the Pharmacy, picking up my prescription. Did I gobble up a piece? No. I waited. I waited until this morning, when I knew that I would need it for a shopping trip to BJ’s with four little girls. And it worked. I parked the car, got all four girls out, hooked my keys on my purse, grabbed my phone and put it in my purse, closed and locked the van, headed into BJ’s and started getting the things on my list that I did NOT leave in the car, did NOT get overwhelmed when looking for breakfast bars, did NOT freak out when one of the wheels on the shopping cart mysteriously stopped rolling, found my BJ’s card without a hitch, did NOT lose the receipt from the cash register to the receipt checker guy, got back to the locked (!) van, unloaded and drove away. Thank you, Lord, for sending AMP’d gum.

Now this fast will be what it was intended to be for me, enduring and sacrificing for the sake of others, reminding me what luxury I have in clean water, and praying for His strength and proximity as I struggle with cravings and weakness… NOT the home destroying, depression inducing, mind boggling fast that was once killing me one morning at a time.

Will you consider joining me in a forty day fast? Check here for more details and follow #40days on twitter.

Wrapping my mind around Matt Chandler’s Brain Tumor.

On November 26 of this year, Matt Chandler fell ill at his home. He had a seizure. They took him to the doctor. They did some diagnostics. They found a tumor. They did surgery. They waited for the test results. They got the results. Malignant. Non encapsulated. Horrific.

When the Village Church said they were waiting to post results of Matt’s tests, I had a sick feeling at the pit of my stomach. But I reminded myself that no news is good news. That’s what we always hear. But that wasn’t the case this time. This time was no news was the worst news.

Flashback…September 2001: Beltway Park Baptist Church. Our pastor, David McQueen was out of the country on a trip to Israel. Matt was the college pastor at Beltway and spoke the Sunday after the 911 massacre in New York City. Alex had always been a huge fan of Matt, even after he (Alex) decided that church just wasn’t for him. But he came back, the Sunday after 9-11 and heard the message that thousands of preachers were preaching on that Sunday. But this was not just a message from Matt. None ever were. He was funny, emotional, loud, quiet, loud again and just utterly amazing, convincing, and loving. I sat next to my unsaved, rebellious husband and watched him tremble as Matt gave the ‘invitation.’ I didn’t know until over twenty four hours later that Alex had accepted the invitation.

Jesus changed us in Abilene. We found hope, safety, acceptance, gratitude, wisdom in that place. Matt Chandler was a huge part of that. I wore out my sermon tapes (remember those?) listening to stuff that boggled me and encouraged me and challenged me and even pissed me off sometimes. We were new. But the voice of truth spoke loudly to us there and we were forever changed.

We left Abilene with incredibly heavy hearts as we trekked across the US to Mississippi, but through the internet, we were able to download sermons and listen to our favorite church and pastors with full hearts and tears in our eyes. We followed Matt to the Village, and watched the explosion of the hearts in E. Texas. We listened to Matt’s messages often and that piece of our hearts that will always be in Texas would join us again in the voices of Matt and David.

Our transitions always brought us spiritual and emotional challenges, and once again we found ourselves back in Florida and listening to Pod Casts. Then we find out that Matt Chandler isn’t just Matt Chandler from Grace Bible Study in Abilene. We find out that his fans and followers are worldwide and share the same love for him we do.

And now we face this next step in Matt’s life. Three small children. A beautiful and brilliant wife. Love for Jesus all over this family like crazy. And trusting in God’s sovereignty and grace and healing. Me too. I’m praying like crazy for this family I’ve never met, that would never know me, that has never known that I’ve cried tears of relief at hearing that the surgery was finally over and I could sleep. They don’t know that Alex and I have held hands and hearts and lifted them up because it’s all we can do. But I know it’s the best we can do for them. The best.

And I wonder for Lauren. I wonder where she is, what she is feeling, how she must be struggling and surviving. I think about my house, with my three children, their incomparable and whole hearted love for their Daddy. I think about the silence that comes on the nights that he isn’t here. I think about how she has endured that, without the beautiful sound of a text message alert in the middle of the night saying ‘here’. I think about how I’ve already googled Matt’s diagnosis with tears streaming and how I would crumble into a million pieces thinking of a future without my husband. I think about the twenty eight thousand pictures I have of my precious man and his girls and how that may be the only way our children experience him. It is almost too much to bear. And in these moments, I just want to scream….and He whispers back.

He whispers back…for my Glory. It is for my Glory, Julie. Nothing can steal that from me, little one. But all of this can reveal it. In ways that you could not ever dream, I will reveal it. In ways that you may never see, I will reveal it. In ways that you will rejoice over, I will reveal it. In ways that you will relax in it, I will reveal it. But until then, little one, trust me. Drink in the sweet sedation that is me and wait.

And that is what I pray that He is screaming to Lauren in her moments of madness or sorrow and in her moments of celebration and gratitude.

And I thank you, Jesus, that Matt knows you like I don’t. I thank you that he is gifted with your presence…that he is able to communicate in ways that allow us to see you as we’ve never seen before. Thank you that he doesn’t fool around, that he shares the way he loves you and that the personal, precious walk he’s taken with you has become some of the sweetest moments of my life.

Do not be terrified.

Do not be discouraged.

For the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

Joshua 1:9b

If you feel led, please don't hesitate to send Matt and Lauren and encouragement at 2101 Justin Road, Flower Mound, TX 75028.

You can also get updates at the Village website: http://fm.thevillagechurch.net/blog/pastors/?p=453

Praying Again.

Would you please pray for Stellan. He is very sick again....they are on their way to Boston.

Word Search

Man, I'm tired. I'm just plum wore out.

And I really wish there was something to show for it. But there isn't, really. Mentally and physically exhausted, I've worked through this day with my jaw locked and my brow furrowed. I've spoken thousands and thousands of words, but feel like they fell straight to the floor and landed in a big puddle around my feet.

Every once in a while a little person would come pick one up...usually 'lunch' or 'cookie'. They liked those. But the others went out of my mouth and straight to the floor.

I picture some of them making it a few feet away, landing and bouncing around a corner, but the words sometimes just don't get heard. It helps to make eye contact. It helps to be touching a shoulder or a hand while I'm speaking. The words pour out a lot more gracefully that way, too.

Not so much when I am angry. They come out way too fast to be caught. They have razor sharp edges and stick like little chinese stars. Ouch.

Sometimes they come out happy and bounce around like little walmart happy faces. And then they bounce back. That's always cool.

My favorite ones are pointed heavenly. They bounce around in my head for quite a while before I let them go...carrying my heart with them. Carrying my cares...my will...and making their way around, up, over, until I am quiet again.

Thank you Jesus, for hearing every word. For forgiving the ones that don't please you. For loving the ones that do. For sending your own to comfort, guide, and soothe.

Nails

 

I think this is the most amazing picture of my husband. My heart be still.

Perfect Pancakes

Perfect Pancakes have always evaded me. I’ve blamed the stove, the pan, the spatula, the mix, and mostly the pancake maker. For some reason, I’ve always thought that making pancakes was always another indicator of good motherhood. I have friends that make a daily stack of flapjacks for their kids and I always thought my Eggos in the toaster took a sad second to their mixing, pouring, and flipping. I’ve avoided pancake mixes in the grocery store, just knowing that I wasn’t going to put myself through another failure faced as I scraped the charred remains of cake from the hot griddle. None were the same size, they were all differing shades of dark brown and tasted like a silicon frisby.

Until one day. One day I came across the show Good Eats on the Food Network. The topic for the show that day: Pancakes. I watched Alton Brown explain simply and succinctly how pancakes are really made….how simple it is to find the perfect temperature, how to only stir the mix for ten seconds regardless of what lumps are left behind and how you absolutely don’t need ANY butter in the pan if you’re using non-stick. Say WHAT? Every step I took in preparing pancakes was wrong. I was uneducated. I was overpreparing every step and creating problems for myself.

I just stumbed upon this show. I didn’t google “Perfect Pancakes” like I usually would for EVERYTHING. I didn’t call a friend. I didn’t consult any cook book. I just let the pancakes beat me. I lived with the fact that I could not make pancakes and took with that the fact that I was less of a Mom. It took a revelation to teach me that I could very well make pancakes. I could blend, pour, flip and serve with the best of them. I even got fancy with some chocolate chips.

Am I a better Mom than I was the day before Good Eats? Are my children better nurtured? Will they get better SAT scores? Will this keep them out of jail? Most importantly, does having a perfect pancake in the morning bring them any closer to the face of God? No….no it doesn’t. So once again, my notions on what makes a good Mom are shattered, and I am healed in another place by an amazing, gracious God that continues to rewrite my own personal dictionary.

Thank you Jesus, for your revelation, for your response, for the reminder of the truth and for the reward that is You. I love you more than perfect pancakes.

Freudian Slip

Daddy was packing his bag this morning. When Edie saw the webcam in his bag she said, "Whaz that, Dad".

His reply:

"That's the camera I use to talk to you when I'm on vacation."

As soon as he said it, he immediately corrected. "I mean at work."

I had to smile. I'll be using this one for a long time.

right now

Yeah, I know...it's been a while. I guess this is another reason that I'm not a 'writer' per se. Though I do like saying Per Se. Anyway, I just wanted to share what's making me happy right now.

right now:

my spandex clad man heading out to condition his heart (which rests at 50bpm...i know..)

my kiddos sharing an apple and muchly enjoying Madagascar 2. Moto Moto, baby.

thinking of edie's huge diaper at Gram's pool today.

watching the last post on josiah's blog.

my sewing machine on the dining room table. she's waiting.

evidence of my trip to stacy's this weekend. paper, paper and more paper.

coffee.

knowing my P90X is on it's way.

Please pray for Baby Stellan

Please pray for this sweet baby...

Rare Disease Day

Hug a person with a rare disease today!

RTS is considered a rare disease because it affects only 1 in 300,000. Yup!

Read more about it at one of my FAVE websites, http://www.specialfriends.org/. Then leave a few bucks for research.

Baby Bella Goes Home

Another sweet RTS baby went home to glory on Sunday night. She struggled long and hard in her 23 months and I had the honor of praying with her mom, Monica a few months back when Bella was having a rough go. Once again, my gratitude is overwhelming. Please lift this family up today and give each of your kids a special kiss in memory of Bella.

Can't wait to see you, sweet Princess Bella. We love you.

I cried in Target today.

Here we go again. Another late night, another tender heart from a day of tears. I'm not sure why I feel like this place is safe enough, but it is for now and I just have to trust that whoever is reading will know.

I cried in Target today.

Sophie needs shirts. My big five is finally getting too big for 4Ts. Before her little belly button sees sunlight as she hangs from her favorite playground toy (the zip line), I must get her some new t-shirts. On my mega two week shopping trip today, I was at Target and thought I'd check out the little girls' section to see if there was anything for Soph. The first gut-check came when I had to move from the toddler section to the girls section. Not because the shirts are at LEAST a DOLLAR more, but because my little girl was moving SECTIONS. That's crazy. I've never had a baby move SECTIONS before. So I was okay until I passed through the little door from toddlers to girls.

And a memory hit me. Like someone had come from around the corner and laid me out flat with a big, red, five hundred pound shopping cart, I was breathless. I'm not even sure what the emotion could be called at that moment...it was like suffocating gratitude.

Shopping used to terrify me. Before Soph turned one, I had no idea what the future would hold for her. I didn't know how many days had been ordained for her. I didn't know if I bought Sophie that sweet twelve month outfit if she would ever wear it. I didn't want to go through a closet one day to find that outfit and grieve the little girl that I loved so deeply that it choked me. So I didn't buy ahead. I know that was fearful and faithless, but I just couldn't.

When Soph was little...really little...I remember praying that she would have a first birthday. It was a daily prayer for me...that I would be able to blow up a hundred helium balloons, make the invitations, pick out her special outfit, send Daddy on wild goose chases for very specific items, create games and decorations and all that insane stuff that I really don't even understand now, but still love. I prayed every single night that Jesus would just grant me one more day with her and I prayed every day that Jesus would grant me the privilege of that celebration. And He did. And I'm sure people were wondering why I spent so much time behind the tripod wiping tears away at my little one's first birthday party, but it was precious. Just precious to me.

So I cried in Target today. Out of gratitude for the 5Ts that I was searching for...for the little arms and hands that will reach through those sleeves with sheer determination...for the little head that slips so easily through the neck hole, for the chest that holds a heart that still continues to beat pure love...and for the smile that continues to melt me in places I didn't know even existed.

Oh, I can scarcely take it in. Thank you, Jesus...for your provision, for your plan, for the precious privilege of paying one more dollar for a t-shirt. I love you.

THE weather man.

The heavens are telling the glory of God; they are a marvelous display of his craftsmanship. Day and night they keep on telling about God.Psalm 19:1,2


"The sun shines back here every morning and I am sad, almost ashamed that I miss this amazing rebirth every morning. I know you aren't about shame; so I will not dwell in it, but I do mourn the many days behind me that I have lost because of my lack of sleep, discipline, zeal. Today is a new day though, and the way the sun is rising here is just another reminder of your faithfulness. I can feel your fingertips on my eyelashes as that huge ball of fire rises above the lake and kisses me through the trees. You are always with me, aren't you? You can be found at any moment if I believe that you are part of me. I can be full of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control. i can own all of those amazing gifts by abiding in you and finding my address on your street."


Overcast. Yesterday at this time, the sunrise was tickling my eyelashes and the chair I sat in felt like the inside of God's own palm.

Today the skies are white with billows of cotton, almost like the ground covered in snow on a wintry non-South Florida morning. I see the blue skies just behind the blanket of clouds waiting to make themselves seen in His time.

Instead of the warmth I felt yesterday, there is a chill in the air that only makes you slightly uncomfortable. Just enough to want a sweatshirt and until you go and get it, that discomfort will persist like a little five year old hungry for breakfast.

Though today is different than yesterday and the chair that I sat in yesterday is slightly damp and cold from the dew that hasn't burned off, I shouldn't feel any farther from God than I did yesterday.

But the truth is that I do. I know, it is so human of me. So conditional, so inflexible. But true.

A good friend and I were talking over coffee the other day and I mentioned that God has been so patient with me. Her response was "He's such a gentleman, isn't he?"

Uh. She was so right. So patient. So understanding. So tolerant. Though I awakened this morning disappointed that the sun was hidden, and was content in thinking that God's amazing miracle of one more day was just ok, He still meets me here.

He meets me here on this chilly back porch, from where I sit I see the chaos and confusion of two pink bicycles, a blue rubber ball hiding under the hedge, molded plastic cars that are poised and ready for their drivers. I see a lone flip flop that holds beauty that makes me gasp. I see Jesus here, in mismatched patio furniture, unfinished projects, and a stuffed puppy in the backyard baptismal font (the bird bath).

Yesterday, I felt the sunrise all over me...His sweet daily embrace. But that was yesterday. It was a different forecast with a different perspective. Today, an even greater gift - seeing another version of His physical miraculous in a world of extreme, undiluted blessing. My backyard.