We spent a considerable amount of time in Iowa this Summer.  I’m quite certain that it is the most consecutive days I have spent in Iowa since my time living there…which I have affectionately termed

The Cold War.

A.  It was cold.

B.  I was at war.  Internally.  During that short phase of life…I had one too many major, life transitions happening to remain sane.

Examples:  Getting married.  Moving across the country.  Meeting my new family.  Graduating from Graduate school.  Getting pregnant.  Planting a church.  Making all new friends.  Having a baby who became very ill during the first week of life.

Not any one of these things…maybe even two or three of these things is too much to handle.

But you put them all together…

WHAMO.

Instant crazy person.

The cold war was not my finest year and a half.

And I’d like to take this time to make a public apology to my mother and father in law…who probably took the brunt of my coo-coo for cocoa puffs attitude during this time.

I didn’t like Iowa.  I wanted to go home…(wherever home was now that I was married.)  The only real home I had known was with my family in Texas.  Clemson was a fun filled couple of years in Grad school…but it wasn’t home.

And that’s the  kind of thing that TV shows and movies and Nicolas Sparks books don’t talk about when they romanticize falling in love and getting married.  They don’t tell you that all of a sudden…you’re home isn’t your home anymore.  And that was super hard for me.

BUT!!!!  The good news is…I really like Iowa now!  And it turns out…I probably didn’t like it then…not because of it…but because of me.  I was mad at it for being my home when it didn’t feel like my home.  I resented the ridiculously cold weather…the gray skies…the icy roads…the shoveling of the driveway…the having to get dressed in my ski clothes to go to Target.  I resented the fact that we were a mile from Chad’s entire family and I couldn’t see mine without traveling across the country.  I resented that my parents had to travel 1000 miles to see their first grandson.  The list of my resentments goes on and on.  But the truth is…it wasn’t Iowa’s fault.  And that Iowa ain’t so bad.

Iowa provided a safe haven for my family this Summer.  It provided love.  It provided healing from loss.  It provided sweet time with old friends…and game nights with family…and music and dancing and laughing.  I went to Iowa so sad from a year of loss…broken and faltering.  And I came home whole.  Iowa was my respite.   And for that…I will forever be grateful.

Iowa:  at a glance…

cousins…

we met baby brand new cousin.

We continued 4th of July traditions.

We cheered.

We rode our first roller coaster.

We swam…and talked Uncles into slushies at swim up bars.

We made fairy food.

We relaxed at Lake Okoboji.

We went across the lake in the evenings to Arnold’s Park.

We watched the sun set.

We watched the Bobbsey twins.

We had cousin sleepovers.

We got Grandma Sue on a trampoline for the first time in her life.

We rode in the Cobra.

We played dress up.

We got staples in our head.

We healed.

Thank you, Iowa.

Today was the fourth day of school and the kids are home and are doing well.  The first day of school and all of it’s pressure has come and gone…and I have permission (from myself) to sit back and relax into the rest of the year.  Perfectionists, like myself, will understand.  The first day of school…like any monumental occasion (and let’s be honest…I can make an everyday walk to the mailbox a monumental occasion)…comes with high expectations.  And the expectations are for myself!  Perfect outfits.  Perfect shoes.  Perfect backpacks.  Perfect lunches packed in perfect lunch kits.  Perfect spirals and perfect pencils.  Perfect penminship on perfectly stapled forms.  Perfect pictures.  Perfect night before tuck in’s.  Perfect prayers.  Perfect goodbyes.  And perfect memories.  I don’t really care if I seem perfect.  No…I’ll go to the grocery store in a get up and hair due that’s down right embarrassing to anyone who’s with me.  And I have no problem telling the room that I completely dropped my basket and yelled at the kids like I was starring in a movie about an exsorsism because they didn’t clean their room after the 3rd request.  (No perfect parent here.)

But for some reason…I’ve associated making things perfect for them with making them feel perfectly loved.

And at times…it can be exhausting.  And a little ridiculous.  Because I know that perfection doesn’t equal love.  But at other times…the meticulous attention to details pays off.

Sometimes…I have to tell myself to just “stop.  Just let this one be relaxed.  If you don’t get the photograph…it’s okay.  Just focus on being present for the memory.

And then at other times…they notice the attention to the details and they smile really big and say thank you…and they feel…

well…

loved perfectly.

All of that to say…

I’m aware of the problem and I’m working on it.

****

Let’s re-visit Summer, shall we.

We painted the living room, kitchen, and our bedroom and bath.

The house was becoming very dark.  The kitchen was a dark, brick, rust, red color.  When I originally painted it almost 10 years ago, I loved it.  It was exactly what I was going for…rustic and ranch-ish.  It off-set the white washed cabinets and mingled with the darker counter tops.  At the same time…we painted the joining living room a chocolate, brown color.  I wanted my house to feel like a cabin in the woods instead of a cookie cutter house in the burbs.  I loved it.  And over time…we slowly replaced couches and inherited antique furniture that added to the look.  But at some point, I went a little crazy with the dark wall colors.  Colt decided he wanted a navy room.  Chase picked a dark, woodsy green.  Until one day…a couple of years ago…I told Chad…”I feel like we are living in a dungeon.”

We finally decided to paint.

I’ve been really pulled toward the color gray.  And I thought a putty color…kind of like river rock…would lighten things up without completely changing the established look of the house.

However…I wasn’t expecting it to throw off my Texas, ranch kitchen so much.  It’s like nothing went in there anymore.  At first I thought I really didn’t like the new color.  But then…I had vision.

Operation farmhouse kitchen went into full effect.

I woke up one morning and thought, “Today…I’m going to take off some cabinet doors.”

So…I did.

Then…my brother trimmed them out and I stained the trim to match.

And then I thought…”What should one do with a few nice cabinet doors?”

So…I screwed them above the windows instead of messing with curtains.

I really hate curtains.

And I really love wood.  So it worked out.

I went on the hunt for some simple decor that would make my kitchen a place that represented the things that I love.

And used some of my old stuff as well.

Now…I’m completely in love with the wall color…and the kitchen.

Plus…I kinda want a farmhouse sink now.

****

Up next…the master bedroom and bathroom.

I’m gonna have to clean them and make my bed before I take those pictures.

Happy Thursday.

I took the Summer off.  From so many things.  I just took off.

I don’t think I’ve ever done that before…not that I recall, anyway.  I’m not a runner.  I never have been.  And I don’t mean “runner” like…fitness runner.  I mean…

“there-are-too-many-things-that-are-hurting-my-heart-so-I’m-getting-the-heck-out-of-dodge” running.

The past year has been the hardest of my life.  And that includes 7th grade…which royally sucked $@*#.

There was one too many losses…

one too many heart-aches…

one too many “oh-my-heavenly-Jesus-I-cannot-do-this-agains.”

Some of you know every detail…some of you are left guessing.  And that’s okay with me.

I took my family…and we ran.  Some of us…of the shorter kind…don’t even know why we ran.  And that’s okay with me too.  Preferred, actually.  I’ve decided that a young faith doesn’t need a lot of testing.  And let’s be honest…going out into a broken world every day is test enough.   So…by God…I’m gonna protect them from it the best I can.

I’ve learned a lot this Summer.  I’ve learned that sometimes…I am the one who needs the support instead of being the one who is giving it…and that I don’t have to feel guilty about that.  I’ve learned that people come in and out of your life at many different times and in many different ways and that just because someone is gone…it doesn’t diminish the importance or love from when they were there.  I’ve learned that sometimes…I have to choose to narrow my focus to just my husband and my kids…because I won’t always have the strength for the “world.”  I’ve learned that putting my phone and my computer down silences a good majority of the noise.  I’ve learned that my family is there for me.  I’ve learned that I happen to be very superstitious and that entertaining superstition has affected my understanding of God’s love and His truth.  I’ve learned that I’m strong.  And most importantly…I’ve learned that I really, really trust Jesus…and that I can rest in His truth and goodness and love for me.

I have missed writing.  I have missed photographing my life.  And I hope that with the preparation and start of school…comes a refreshed desire to come back to reality.  As good as running can be for the soul sometimes…like pounding feet on the pavement is for the body…at some point, you have to stop.  Muscles tire.  You can’t run forever.  But I’m going to be honest…the scenery during my run was beautiful.  And looking back at the images and remembering the stories in the days to come will be a great way to spend the first weeks of this new school year.

But for today…I will stay in the present.  Today…I will breathe in and survive on all of the little details that make life beautiful here…exactly where I am.

Aiden started 4th grade today.  And I’ve decided that instead of dwelling on the thought that she might as well be a junior in high school…I will concentrate on the ways that my 4th grade baby is still, very much, a little girl.  Like…at least she’s not wearing make-up.  She’s not getting her hair colored or highlighted.  She’s not driving…or dating.  She’s not in any danger of getting engaged this year.  She still plays with her American girl doll…and her sister…and laughs at her brother’s fart jokes.  And best of all…she will still…….

….hold my hand while she lets me walk her to her classroom.

Chad snapped these.  And when I looked back at them…I was so glad he did.  There is proof out there that my oldest daughter and I spin the exact same way when our names are called for an impromptu picture.

She walked into school the lone sibling for the first time this year.  She has always had a brother or two to go with.  And although it made me sad…I also caught glimpses of her individuality and her strength.  My girl knows who she is and is confident in her worth.  And I love that.  Plus…it wasn’t but a second before she was joined by friends.

After her drop off…it was the boy’s turn.  The fact that Chase is in Jr. High is mind boggling to me.  I really don’t know how that happened so fast.  I think that the way time speeds up once you have children is beyond any kind of human understanding.  In fact…I’d like to have a word with God about it.  He created spinning planets, for Heaven’s sake.  Surely He could create a slow down button.

Anyhow…I thought he may be a little nervous.

Nope.

It was business as usual this morning.

It was quite comforting to me…that after 2 years…my boys were going to be walking the same halls again.

Now…we are not unlike any other family in the sibling squabble department.  There are times that I feel like I should be wearing a black and white striped shirt and those hideous black bike shorts that referee’s have to wear.  In fact…I just decided to buy a whistle.  Every time they argue over mind craft worlds or who needs to get out of who’s room…I’ll just start blowing the whistle really loud.  It will be like a fire drill……for fighting.

But…to hear them last night…laughing and talking through open bedroom doors across the short hallway that separates them…was a mom moment I want to remember forever.  Chase was asking for Colt’s opinion on what shirt to wear with what shorts.  Colt was explaining how to wear the special Nike socks…and offering locker opening advise. They were going over schedules and making plans to meet in the hallway.  And I heard an older brother promising a younger brother that he would always be there for him.  And my heart beats harder…just thinking about that.  Because that’s the kind of relationship I started dreaming about when I found out that Chase was coming…and that Colt was going to be a big brother to a little brother.

And always able to offer me some needed comic relief when my mommy emotions are swelling to the point of a possible embarrassing breakdown…there comes sister.

She swoops in…displaying her, self described, “special outfit.”  Pajamas…good.  Vest…good.  Boots…very good.  Disheveled hair…well…we’ll have to work on that.  But somehow…it works for her with this ensemble.

And then…there was this moment.  I will never tire of this picture.

I think I’ve handled all the emotion I can for today.  And…it’s not even noon.  I think I’ll go hang with my cowgirl, sidekick now.  Because…I’ll blink…and it will be her turn to spread her wings and leave the nest.  And at that moment…

you may all come visit me in the emotional breakdown wing of the local hospital.  You think I’m joking.  Just wait.

I’ve never been more happy to hear Disney cartoons coming from the other room….

…or be asked to put the doll’s shoes on for the 187th time.

Hoping we all…(you included)…have an extraordinary day.

The girl wore my old tap shoes.  There’s something about this that makes me very happy.  Those were my actual tap shoes.  That I wore.  When I hated dance.  When I was 4.

And she loved that she was wearing them.  And I loved that she was wearing them.

I also think that I might could pick up tap dancing.  But that’s beside the point.

The day of the recital was beautiful.  It was held at the Galveston Opera House…which just made everything seem more important.  The sun was bright in the sky and the ocean was around the corner.

It’s no secret that she had been saying all year that she “was not going to go to the recital.”  But after she picked out her wrist corsage…minds were changed.  We went from “Ow not going”…to “Don’t watch me or take pictures.”

I said, “We will watch you”…and “I will take pictures.”

She really didn’t argue anymore.

Although she didn’t look like the picture of thrilled…she did get through it.

What she lacked in I-love-ballet-pizzazz…she made up for with extreme dance move accuracy.  I mean…she is looking to that hand like nobody’s business.  Just like the teacher told her to.  And talk about a good toe point.  My girl knows how to do what she’s told.  And that bodes well for her in the teacher’s pet department.  I got a call a couple of weeks after the recital from her teacher saying that she was a very special student and she really wanted her back next season.  I told Chad that maybe we should encourage her.  I mean…what if she is supposed to be a star in The Nutcracker someday??  What if the teacher saw some serious potential in her??  He didn’t entertain these notions.  He also said that he wasn’t paying for her to do something she didn’t want to do.

Point taken.

But I can’t argue that she makes the most beautiful ballerina I’ve ever seen.

And that any reason to give tiny pink roses should be respected.

Everyone was very proud.  Her teenage brother even put her recital on Instagram for his friends to see.

Now that…that’s serious business.

The very next day…Chase had his Spring piano recital.

He played a difficult number.  His teacher was a little worried when he first picked it out…but didn’t want to discourage him from trying.  He worked so hard.  He practiced all the time.  And by two weeks in…he knew it backwards and forwards.

He amazed us.

And then he graduated from Elementary School.

This was a difficult day for me.  I can’t even put into words why it was so difficult.

It snuck up on me.  And I just wasn’t ready.  He was.  But I wasn’t.

I am so proud of who he is.

And I know there are great things in store for him.  The next chapter is always exciting and worthy of all the celebratory hip-hip-hoorays…you’re off on your ways!!  With all the look how far you’ve comes and we are so proud of you’s!!  Next chapters are wonderfully freeing…and growing…and deserved.

But with any ending…

…there comes the reminder of the beginning…

…and that beginning was just yesterday.  And the reality of that…made my heart ache.

And I just wanted to hold him a little longer.

Dear Aiden,

This year…your birthday came on the heels of a great sadness.  You…along with the rest of us…had to say goodbye to Claire.  Claire was so special to us all.  She was your little sister’s best friend.  And she was like a little sister to you too.  She loved you so much, sweetheart.  And I know you loved her too.

We have learned while walking this road with our little friend…that sometimes in the midst of some of our greatest sadness…God can still give us a reason to sing.  And you…my darling…are a reason to sing.

I look at you…with your silky, dark hair; your deep, grey eyes; and the freckles that are perfectly splashed across your nose and cheeks…and all I can think is, “She is so beautiful…this daughter of mine.”  I confess…when I examine your face while you are telling me a story or trace it with my finger tip while I am tucking you in at night…I don’t see myself.  And I love that.  I know you are mine.  I remember when the two lines on the stick turned pink…promising that you were there.  I remember you growing and kicking my ribs.  I remember you being tucked inside and I remember when you entered this world.  There is no doubt you are mine.  But you possess your own beauty.  And because of that…I’m kind of in awe of you.

You let me influence you, no doubt.  You wear bandanas, and top knots.  You like pink lip gloss.  And you appreciate comfortable fashion.  You aren’t afraid to go to the store in your sweats with your hair in a messy bun…but you also aren’t afraid to go in your Easter dress and curls.  We aren’t too concerned with what someone will think about us, are we?

Annslee and I came to the school to celebrate with you at lunch.

We brought cupcakes to your class…which in pure, Aiden fashion you told me you wanted at 10:00 the night before.

I stayed up the night before your birthday, after everyone else was in bed.  The house was so quiet.  I slowly and methodically wrapped your gifts and placed them for you to see when you came down in the morning.  I thought about how much I love you.

You wanted breakfast dinner for your family party with Granna, Grandaddy, Honey, and Uncle Kevin.  I think we are going on 3 years in a row with the whole, breakfast dinner deal.  You know what you want…and that is such a great thing.  This year…we did made to order omelets.  You took people’s orders on your little note pad.  You wanted ham and cheese.

It took you a long time this year to come up with something that you wanted for your birthday.  You talked about getting clothes and shoes to send to our sponsor child in Honduras…which showed your heart…and your growth.  You finally landed on a necklace from Daddy and I…

…a basket for your bike (such a good choice, in my opinion)…

and a Vera Bradley backpack from Granna and Grandaddy.

Friends from school made you cards, beaded barrettes, and gifted you with things like googly eyed rings…letting you know how much you are thought of.

You are important to people, darling.  You have always been important to us…but as you grow, you are becoming important to so many others.  You make people happy…by just them being around you.

You are quietly confident.  You gently love.  You show compassion beyond your years.  You are thoughtful.  So much so…that you took your sweet time making your birthday wish this year.

I don’t know what it was…but I do know that you took your time in making it.

You amaze me everyday with your solid handle on who you are and the worth that you hold in this family…and in this world.  And this is, yet another way that we are different.

Shine on, my sweet girl.

I love you the mostest,

Momma

For my friend tonight…

God,

I know you are there.  I know you have not turned your back to the cries of your children.  I can’t pretend to know the depth of your emotion when you see them hurting…us hurting…but I know it must hurt you too.  And when I see my own children in pain, it breaks my heart into a thousand pieces.  So too, must your heart break.  Only more so…because you love so much more.  Tonight, I need you to hear me.  Tonight…I need for you to help my friend and her sweet baby girl.  Tonight…I pray that they have more smiles than cries.  I pray that there is more comfort than pain.  I pray that the sweet baby girl can breathe.  I pray that she be able to rest peacefully.  I pray that she and her brave mama have sweet sleep.  Tonight…I pray that they rest in the comfort of your arms…and that your whispers of love are heard in place of struggled breath.  Father God…I pray that you would block all fear from their hearts…and the fruits of your spirit be in it’s place.  I claim your promise to be the great comforter.  I ask that you would remember how you felt when it was your son hurting.  I ask that you would think of what you would most need as a parent in that circumstance.  And then I ask that you would do that for my friend.  I ask that they have tight hugs, sweet kisses, soft giggles, and meaningful conversation.  I ask you for a night filled with love.  Tonight…please help them to know you are there with them.  Tonight…help them to feel you unmistakably.  God…tonight…let them be just mother and daughter again.

In your Holy name,

Amen

Forrest Gump has been on T.V. an alarming number of nights in a row.  I recorded it on our DVR because it’s a movie that Chase has been wanting to see.  Couple Elvis Presley music and Tom Hanks playing the lead and you’ve got yourself a little piece of movie Heaven in the eyes of my second born.  I lay awake that night, watching until the very end…reminding myself of the scenes that will need to be fast forwarded for my wide eyed and impressionable boy.  I had forgotten about so much of this movie.  I’m a firm believer that as we grow and change through age and experiences…different parts of any kind of art speak to us.  Don’t think that just because you’ve seen or heard or read something once means that you can’t learn anything from it again.

On this particular night, there was a scene that resonated so deeply with my own heart, that I have found myself thinking about it ever since.

It was the scene where the shrimping boat went through a hurricane.  Forrest was trying to keep the ship afloat…steering against the waves…or with the waves…or into the waves of the roaring sea.  And Lieutenant Dan was sitting on a platform at the top of the sail, yelling for God over the deafening noise of the storm.  Some may think that he was yelling at God…but I know better.  He was yelling for Him.  And I got that.

I have been yelling for God for a while.  I know He’s there.  However…at times He appears to be pretty silent.  And I’ve never been one to enjoy one way conversations.  That may be my problem.

Lieutenant Dan and I, neither one.

And as Forrest would say, “That’s all I have to say about that.”

********

Easter seemed different this year.  I wasn’t all crazy about the baskets and clothes.  Ok…it appeeeeeaaaaarrrrred that I was crazy about the clothes…but we really just got lucky.  I found the girl’s dresses at TJ Maxx for $14.99.  Then…I happened to find a dress on sale at Old Navy that I loved.  And as luck would have it…it was blue and white.  Chad needed some shirts and they had oxfords on sale for 12 bucks.  One of them was blue.  Colt’s go-to color this year was blue…so most everything in his closet is blue.  And the only pair of dress pants that Chase would even entertain trying on happen to be blue.  It just happened.  I swear.  But don’t get me wrong.  I do love it when this sort of thing works out.

The Christmas after Annslee was born, an impromptu, apron picture happened in my mother’s kitchen.  Aiden, myself, mom, and Honey were all wearing a mixture of my Great Grandma Kelly’s and my grandmother’s aprons while cooking.  My dad took a picture.  My mother has the picture hanging with all the aprons in her kitchen.  For several years now…we’ve been saying that we needed to get a new picture taken with Annslee in it.  This Easter…it happened.

There is magic happening in this picture.  The sun streaming through the live oak…the blue and white dress…the bare feet…the old apron of her great, great grandmother…the hair flying free as she twirls her way into giggles.  I must see this image regularly.  My heart feeds on this image.

********

We were graciously invited by Claire and her mother to go to Disney on Ice.  And those people did it up right for our sweet, little, princess loving friend.  She did not feel well at all.  We prayed all day that she would be awake to enjoy it.  My heart broke as I made the drive to Reliant, listening to her gasp for breath and go in and out of restless and painful sleep, holding tight to her mama from Aiden’s car seat.  It was an “on top of the shrimping boat” moment.  And just like the sea was calmed for Lieutenant Dan…it was calmed for our precious friend.  She stayed awake the entire show and receive all kinds of special love from the skaters and people who were hosting her.  She didn’t want her picture taken…but I sneaked a few.

Claire shared her twirly lights with her friends.

Annslee has been there with her friend on countless occasion…and silently watched her receive so many wonderful presents and experiences.  She has never said a word about it.  She has never asked why Claire got so many presents and special treatment while she stood beside her quietly.  She has never looked at me with questioning eyes.  She has never said, “Can I have that too?”  She has never been jealous or bitter.  It’s been a sweet thing to watch…this selfless friendship.  I know that this lack of jealousy has to do, in part, with how generous Claire has always been.  She brought Annslee back a present from Disney World.  She always shares some of her candy.  She is quick to give Annslee (and sometimes Aiden too) a Disney barbie or a magical, twirling flashlight, or one of they many princess dresses she’s been given…or a ride in a horse drawn carriage!   However, on this particular night…the night that Belle, herself, gave a rose to Claire…she wondered.

And she began to ask questions.  A recent conversation occurred involving Disney World.

AJ:  “Mom?  Can we go to Disney World?”

Me:  “Hopefully some day we can.  It costs a lot of money to go to Disney World.”

AJ:  “Claire got to go to Disney World.”

Me:  “Yes she did.  And you remember that she got to go to Disney World because she did such a good job fighting her Cancer.  Nice people paid for her to go to Disney World because she was sick.”

AJ:  (coughs)  “I’m sick.”  (coughs)

And at that…I knew that the time was drawing near that we would have to explain to her things that I never wanted to have to explain.  This was the first time that she let me know…without a doubt…that she had witnessed it all.  She remembered it all.  She may have known not to ask for it…but it had not gone unnoticed.

And I think for a brief second, “Four years old is too young to have to process this.”  And then I quickly remember, “Five years old is too young to have to walk through it.”

And my focus changes once again.

Even though Ballet was never my thing…didn’t mean that it wouldn’t be hers.  However…it wasn’t.  Ever since week 2…she’s been saying she didn’t like it.

“Ow want to go back to gyn-natics.”

I feel ya.  I did too.  But…we are ones to finish what we start.  We are also ones to give something a chance.  Well…sometimes, anyway.  And since I had already dropped 1/4 of the recital fee and recital costume fee by week 2…we were in this thing.  Plus…I couldn’t deny how cute the Ballet outfits were.  They are waaaay cuter than the Gymnastics leos (they like to call them that in the business)…and don’t even get me started on the ridiculous colors that they are putting together on those things.  They really are hideous.  In fact…as much as I loved the sport back in the day…gymnastic leotards are probably my least favorite uniform in all possible sports to participate in.  Plus…it takes, like 1/32 of a single yard of fabric to make one and they charge $40 for a child’s extra small.  Yeah…that’s fair.   I still love the sport.  But if she stays in it…I may have to start designing leotards.  I mean leos.  But that’s beside the point.

So…here we are.  It’s nearing Recital time.  And before picture day…she refused to even put on the costume to show Chad and her bothers and sister.  And furthermore…whenever the Recital was brought up…she would always just say,

“Ow not doing the wecital.”

That remains to be seen.

I can tell you one thing though…I was a fan of picture day.

Something about the soft pink, the light blonde hair, and the chocolate eyes just works.  It’s a magical combination.

This one is my favorite…

We like to twirl.

Thank you to my mother for taking these.  Usually I’m the one behind the camera.  And I miss out on shots like these.

In other happenings…we have had quite a bit of Summer teasers.  Evenings like this are…literally…a breath of fresh air.  They keep us going.  They produce smiles and laughter.  They get  moms in long maxi dresses at the plate…and running the bases.  They get grandaddies pitching.  They bring people of 3 generations together…happy…in our backyard.  And that is just where I like to be.

We call her chicken little.

Happiness, indeed.

There are some nights when Annslee crawls into my bed at bedtime instead of hers.  On this particular night…I crawled in next to her.  She started talking…because…let’s face it…if she’s awake, she is talking.

She lifted my left arm and saddled up into the crook of my shoulder, my chin resting on her head…in that perfect spot for hair line kisses.

She said,

“Mom?  When is my hair gonna grow?”

I replied, “It is growing.”

“I mean like Aiden’s,” she explained.

I reasoned with her, “When Aiden was your age, her hair was short like yours.”

Annslee argued, “But Josie is my age and her hair is grown like Aiden’s.”

Hmmmmm…this is true, I thought.

I pulled out my A team response…knowing that the B team would probably have to come off the bench too.  And then likely the water boy would have to come clean up the mess that both the A and B teams made trying to make a little girl feel better about her short hair.

“Well…God makes everybody different and everybody’s hair different.  It will grow.  It will just take more time.”

I held my breath as she pondered this for a second…hoping that the mysterious wonder of the Lord would captivate her little heart and mind…making world hunger take up residence in her list of worries where short hair once resided.  I mean….really.  She’s 4.  I’m 39 and am perfectly willing to admit that if my hair was not the way I wanted it…I would complain and do something about it.  If it’s not the color I want…I spend a ridiculous amount of money on highlights.  If it’s too long and straggly…I cut it.  And once every 10 years, or so…when I decided that a sexy, short bob is definitely the way to go…I complain for days and immediately let it grow back out.  So…what am I really expecting from my 4 year old who just wants hair to braid like her sister.

After a little thought, she explains, “Well…I can’t even feel it growing.”

I realize that this could be my out.  This could be the one sentence in the conversation that offers a “change direction” sign.

I quickly add, “You don’t feel hair growing…It grows too slow to feel.”

Did we just circle back to the beginning of this conversation????  Why couldn’t I think like a teacher and launch into other things that grow slow but beautifully???  Like flowers…or grass…or tress…or fingernails.  I could have even used it as a good nutrition lesson.  If we eat things that are good for us…it helps us grow better.  But I didn’t.  And looking back…I think that is okay.  I don’t think she was looking for a science or nutrition lesson.  I think she was just needing me to listen to her…..and to validate why she is sad about her short hair.  Because then she looked up into my eyes and said,

“I just think a lot of things.  In my head.”

I kissed her whispy, white, short hair line and said, ” I know you do.”

And then she moved on to something else.

****

There are times when I catch images…and think:

“That’s about how I feel.”

And I’m all about the truth that “things” can’t fill a hole in your heart.  We humans spend a lot of time and energy using things to try to sweep away the sad or stress.  I mean…let’s not even talk about substances.  Let’s be honest.  A good outfit or pair of flip flops can often do the trick.  For a minute, anyway.  Until the next day…when your ticking and realize that you need a hit of Target’s garden section with the new floral rain boots because it promises happiness and a reprieve from the blah.  I get it.  It’s temporary.  It’s false joy.  Only God can bring lasting joy.  Yeah yeah yeah…I get it.  But…I’m just gonna go ahead and say that I don’t think it’s all bad to seek out snippets of beautiful and try to find happy.  I like to think that’s what that verse means…wherever it is…about focusing on whatever is lovely and pure and good.  Whenever my kids are scared…that’s what I tell them to do.  This is no different.  Right?  I’m sure of it.

So…this past week, I sought out  happy.  I got rid of that sad, dead plant from the Fall.  It was the past.  And it didn’t need to be sitting on my front porch any longer.  It doesn’t mean it was never there.  But I didn’t need to dwell on it and look at it every day.

I didn’t even have to look past my own front yard…

or driveway.  For the first time…Chase asked to get in the game.  And he did.

I watched my girl cart-wheel.  What’s not to love about watching little girl’s cartwheel…hair flying; limbs flailing?

She wanted to see if her friend could play.  She was a little unsure about going to the door by herself.  And I walk a fine line between “You are a big girl…you can do it yourself” encouragement and “She won’t ask me to walk with her much longer” truth.  This time…I smiled and walked with her…knowing that at some point in the near future…she won’t need me for these kinds of things.  She won’t ask me to walk with her.  And I will miss that.

New brightly colored sidewalk chalk makes flowers and rainbows happier than ever.

We celebrated small bow graduation.  Little miss wore her first “big” bow.

I stopped surviving on frozen waffles and Dr. Pepper and decided to put some fresh food on my plate.

I realized that Easter was only 2 weeks away and found dresses that give “white cotton dresses with blue, satin sashes” a new, fresh meaning.

And I may, or may not have thrown my own cartwheel.  Watching cartwheels makes me smile……

…but doing them makes me laugh.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this life on Earth…and how we are conditioned to do everything we can to avoid pain.  We think that we should not have to hurt.  We spend all kinds of time learning how to build walls around our hearts to protect them from pain.  This morning…Chad and I looked around our lives and admitted the pain that is present.  I am a person that tries to focus on the one blooming flower in the yard, or the rainbow poking through the cloudy skies…but I have to admit that the pain has become greater than my “silver lining” abilities in that department.  Because as we look around…we see pain.

We see my parents going to a funeral this morning.  Their friends are burying their son.  We see one of Chad’s church planting friends and his wife taking one breath at a time this morning after their 6 month old daughter died in a car accident yesterday.  And above all else…we are coming to terms with the fact that our 4 year old daughter’s best friend’s cancer has returned.  And it hurts.  It all hurts so bad.

We automatically think, “What is God doing??  How could he allow these things??  These are good people.  They love him.  They live their lives for him.”

These things are all faith shakers for me.  I start to question the God I am serving and his character.  I start to get angry.  I start to doubt.

This morning I realized that while all of those feelings might be normal…they are not doing what I want them to do.  Because what I really want…is to not feel the pain.  What I want is to live in a world where pain like that isn’t present.  And…that is just never going to be an option here on this Earth.

We were never promised a pain free life.  All we have to do is look at scripture.  Look at David.  Look at Job.  Look at Moses.  Look at the prophets.  Look at his closest friends…his disciples.  They all endured great suffering.  They all experienced pain.

And then…look at Jesus.

He went through more pain and suffering than any of us will ever know.  And he didn’t deserve any of it.  He took it willingly.  For us.

The hard truth is that the rescue doesn’t always come here on Earth.  The promise of the rescue is in His Kingdom.

This morning Chad asked me, “If you knew that you were going to lose the baby…would you have still wanted to be pregnant?”

My gut response was, “No.”

My gut was to protect myself from the pain…to never feel that kind of hurt.

And then he said, “At what point does your answer change?  If they knew that their baby would die in a car when she was 6 months old…….If our dear friend knew that her daughter was going to battle cancer as a young child and that this cancer would claim her life…..at what point does your answer change?”

I thought about that.  I thought about it for a long time.  And that’s when I allowed my heart to break.  I knew that I had to accept this life for what it is.  There is beauty and there is extreme pain.  And I changed my answer.  My answer is yes.   I would still have gotten pregnant…even though it would end in loss…in pain.  Because the rescuing is not on this Earth.  It is in His Kingdom.  I cling to the promise of His Kingdom…where all things are made right…where joy and goodness and beauty promise to overcome pain and suffering.  This morning…this is where our baby is…this is where my parent’s friends’ son is…this is where Chad’s friends’ baby is…this is where Claire will be.  This is were we will spend eternity if we claim Jesus as the son of the living God and the most high…who died a horrific death and laid death in His grave, in order to make a way for us.  This is where suffering ends.

So…now I marry.  I marry pain and joy.  I marry heart-ache and happiness.  I marry life and death.

It’s taken me a full day to write this.  It’s now the evening.  And this evening, I think about Claire.  I think about her with so much emotion.  I think about how my daughter drew her a picture today…because she is her best friend.  To her…she’s just Claire.  She is the friend that she laughs with and plays make-believe with.  She’s the one whom she shares secrets with.   She doesn’t know that she is any different from her.  She doesn’t know that pain will come.  She doesn’t know that she will ever have to say goodbye to her.  And I follow my daughter’s lead…finding joy in all of those little things like the giggling secrets and dress up dances.  Because…although her friend’s body is filled with cancerous tumors and failing her…her body is also living.  She may be dying…but she is also living.  And that is no different than the rest of us.  So…as long as I am on this Earth…I must marry it all.

Life is hard.  And it was never promised not to be.

The longer I try to avoid and protect myself from the pain in this life…the longer that I don’t fully live it.

Chad received a text from the grieving father who just lost his baby girl.  It read,

“We are taking it one breath at a time.  We are focused on the cross.”

And by God……..so am I.

********

Please join us in praying for Claire and her family.  We pray for the great physician to do a mighty miracle in her body.  And we claim the love that He has for her……..

……..the love that He has for us all.