PRT. Still doing it. :)

I have been faithful doing my PRT every single day since I can't remember when. It feels like it's been five million years, but I am quite certain that can't be right! :) I will say, though, that I am having some pretty neat results. In one week I lost one inch off of my waist, and a half an inch off of both arms. I also lost a half an inch off my neck. Yup. My neck folks. Try this one on for a kicker, "Your neck is fat!" haha! But at least it seems to be getting smaller.

When I first started this process, I could barely do one push up, I am now at twenty. I can maintain two hundred sit ups (yes, I said 2 hundred....it was not a typo!). My body is slowly cooperating more and more with the jumping activities and the lunges and whatnots. I have discovered, however, that my wrists are not digging the push ups so much. I'm wondering if I will have to start wearing a brace or something. We will see. For now, I have started spacing my arms further apart for push ups, and that is really helping with the wrist pain.

So this is basically it! I have successfully made it through one fancy shmancy holiday without quitting. I have no idea how long the results will continue, before they plateau (I hear this happens eventually), but for now it's going great!

Hope you all had a Merry Christmas and HAVE a happy new year! :)

update on PRT, etc etc etc

Okay. So I have to be honest...PRT took a back seat the week of Thanksgiving. Some of it was the fact that it literally took SIX days for the extreme soreness that my body was experiencing, to go away. But the majority of it was that I was insanely busy.

Now that I have made my confession, three days ago, I began the routine again. However, I have reduced the number of exercises, and tweaked it a bit to work on my target areas. Perhaps as I get stronger, I will increase and go back to the Army's version of insanity, but that remains to be seen. I will never forget the pain that PRT gave me. Probably as long as I live.

My routine is this. Every morning, I begin my day with my time with Jesus. Following that, before awakening my chicken nuggets, I exercise. Some days it's been a power walk with the dogs, some days it's PRT activities. It has been going well. It is tiring, but enjoyable. I feel better about myself. Not that I'm noticing some drastic changes. I honestly will say, I am getting bigger. But I have been assured that this is completely normal. The muscles swell when you begin working them, and they should go back down after about a week. So we'll see in four more days. :)

This morning was a stretching/pilates morning with some push ups throw in. I have a couple of slipped discs in my back and I woke up with them agitated and hurting. I am guessing that I haven't been stretching enough after my other exercises, and the exercise "people" say that it's important to maintain flexibility. Plus, my husband probably wouldn't mind that too much.

Okay, completely off topic, but my FEMALE dog just came up to me, hiked her leg, and used my foot dangling off of the sofa to scratch the underside of her belly. She literally moved back and forth so it would scratch her. Weird, but pretty creative! :)

Okay, back to topic. The stretching was good, pilates was good. I have long been a pilates doer. It was introduced to me by one of my dance teachers in ninth grade. Keeps the skirt muscles looking pretty and shnazzy, and it really does help to keep my belly from looking pregnant (after giving birth to triplets and literally destroying my uterus and abdominal muscles).

Sorry this post is kind of boring. I have four kids running up to me repeatedly asking when they're going to eat lunch. I swear that they have convinced almost the entire world that their father and I never feed them. They are constantly starving! :)

Hope you're all having fun days this month. I am 100% looking forward to my husband's up coming block leave. It will be strange to see him for two whole weeks! :)

egh

I am having an emotional day. Seems like everything is either making me really angry or causing me to burst into tears. Truth be told, I have so much to do, and very little will to do anything at all. My laundry list of chores, errands, and activities seems to be growing by the minute. My house is suffering ridiculously from lack of a thorough cleaning.

My heart feels so heavy. I am burdened by a demand to trust. Truth be told, I feel like I have very little faith, if any at all. I feel like I'm in a blacked out room and I can hear torture happening. Like I am just waiting for my turn on the chopping block.

I may have reached my limit. I am quite unsure. This doesn't feel like Christmas and I don't feel cheery. I feel like crying most of the time. Why? Worry? Is this the only reason? Seems so stupid to write it out.

PRT

My husband is getting fit. Seriously! Yes, I know he's a soldier, but the Army has just adopted this new physical fitness routine called PRT (Physical  and Readiness Training) and it has yielded some beautiful results! He went from plumpy (I say this with a bit of mocking in my tone because his version of "plump" means that he looks "normal") to six pack and drop dead muscularly gorgeous.

After noticing this beautiful new physic that he has going on, I started noticing that I am not rocking such a beautiful physic. Okay, I'll admit. I am pleasantly plump, portly, chubby chubster, not what you would call "skinny", fat. That's me. And I ate my way into this position that I am in. Okay, so back to my point. After noticing that he was looking so darn sexy, I asked him if he would be willing to teach me PRT and then help me to do it every day. He said that he would, and my adventure is beginning.

I am giving PRT two weeks. I will do this every day with the exception of Sundays and Wednesdays. I have taken my starting measurements and I will see how the results go.

Tonight was my first night and let me tell you, it was a challenge! My husband started me out on the entry level stuff and I was struggling to breathe through it! But it was an awesome workout and I am excited to see how this changes my "portly" (look...I don't want to live in denial...lol) body.

Day one complete. Oy vey! Tomorrow I'm going to be achin'! :)

Baby fever

I've got baby fever.

Settle down and close your jaws. I DO NOT have baby fever in my own uterus, I have baby fever for other ladies' uteruses. :) My sister is pregnant and scores of my dear girl friends are all pregnant. I am elated! I can not wait to hug on, pray over, love on, give cuddles and kisses and holdings to babies that are so beautiful and precious. Not precious because they're ugly (you know what I'm talking about....ooooh! You're baby is SO.....precious....), but rather precious because they seriously are amazing. I feel almost like I'm counting down the clock on all of these deliveries!

I was just telling my sister tonight, it is my favorite thing to love on a baby and then hand them to mom and dad and head to bed. :D It's all the fun without the same commitment that the parents had. :)

It is completely beautiful to have a baby. I don't even know how to put into words the experience of carrying a child. Feeling the flutters, then the kicks, then getting to experience the entire invasion-of-the-body-snatchers movements. It is beautiful watching your body transition and change as your baby grows. It is beautiful to experience labor. The pain and the struggle with which life is born. It is beautiful to hold your child in your arms. It is beautiful to feel the emptiness that your soul immediately feels when your child has left your body. There are no words.

Of course there are a thousand comical aspects to having a baby. The whole pooping during labor, and throwing up/nausea, and on and on. Don't even get me started on what happens where the sun doesn't shine for the next few weeks. And um...breast feeding? Seriously. Hook your breasts up to what can only be labeled as the vacuum from down under and see how long you enjoy it! :) (And don't send me hate mail. I breastfed. In fact, I also breastfed my triplets too. Talk about a dairy farm. Been there! Done that! lol)

But the sweet joy...the most amazing experiences...they come in the hard to explain moments. They come at three o'clock in the morning when this beautiful person that you love so deeply, won't stop screaming bloody murder at you and you feel like you are about to lose your mind. They come when you are breastfeeding and your child falls asleep. They come when you just stop for half a second and realize what it is that you are experiencing...you are raising LIFE! I still remember the moments when I was all alone (my husband was deployed) with my new born daughter, in the middle of the night, rocking her in the rocking chair. I remember sitting there crying and thinking in my head, "How will I ever keep you safe? I don't want you to grow up." That precious creature is now almost six years old.

Oh how my arms ache. I ache to hold all the beautiful and wonderful creatures who are soon to be coming out of their mommy's bellies. I ache to hold my little niece/nephew.

I have a tradition when the babies are born. It started with my oldest and I have continued it on with every baby. I pray a blessing over them. It's one of my favorite things to do.

Okay, I know this one's a bit sappy. But seriously...who wouldn't be!? I have a friend in labor right now! :)

Thankful

I am thankful for my life. I am thankful for the beautiful and wonderful aspects of my life. There are so many things that I have been blessed to experience, to suffer through, to share, to...have. I suppose when I reflect back on my life, I did not expect anything that I currently have in my life.

When I was fifteen, I had all sorts of grand notions about where I would be when I was approaching thirty. I envisioned myself to be a surgeon. I wanted the glamor and ego that came with being able to manipulate people's broken hearts. I wanted to be able to fix things. If it was broken, I wanted to be able to fix it. I also wanted people to look at me and go...that girl is smart. She's a surgeon. It's shameful to admit it, but I was that sort of egomaniac. I envisioned myself singing some place and having all these people love me. I didn't want children, because that wasn't part of my agenda...having to give to others. I wanted to work hard and have the world love me for it. Interspersed throughout those ridiculous visions of grandeur would come moments where I longed to feel loved. I would dream of having some hot shot spouse who adored me with all of his heart.

When I was sixteen, I went through an extremely difficult year. So many of the things that I had envisioned and hoped for disappeared. During one night of prayer and prostrating myself before Christ, I had a vision. It was clear as day. A fork in the road. Right. Or left. Which way? God's way? Or mine.

I wish I could tell you that the choice was easy for me. It wasn't. I cried and cried, knowing that all of the plans that I had made would fade away and submit to the plans that He had for me. After a long road, I chose His path. 

I also wish that I could tell you my life has been roses and flowers since making that choice. It most definitely has not. But I can tell you with complete certainty that my life has been abundantly filled to the brim with love. I am not a surgeon. I don't really sing anywhere (except in my seat during the worship services at church). I am not a star. I am not a hot shot. I am not married to some egomaniac hot shot military guy. I am not married to a man who compares self worth with ambition. I am not married to someone who is defined by his salary, job position, or what the world defines him to be.

I think that is honestly the greatest gift I have ever been given. In my husband I have been taught so many amazing lessons. To sit here and try to define them all is virtually impossible. You would literally be here reading for the next ten years, and quite frankly I'm not all that interested in writing it all out in this one session. :)

My point of this whole entry is that I thought I knew what I "needed". I thought I knew what was best for me and how everything should work out. I had drawn out in my mind my own count by numbers picture and all that was left was for life to connect the dots.

My picture now is absolutely nothing like what I envisioned. I am a stay at home mom to four kids. I don't have a "job", at least not one that I get paid for. I am not making some tremendous contribution to society. My ego has been deeply deflated. I am not a hot shot. I am not a surgeon. I don't save lives. Heck, I don't even think I can save my own. In the world's definition of capabilities, I have most certainly not lived up to mine. But yet my life is filled with laughter. My heart is consumed by joy. My arms are rarely empty. My hands have so many other hands to hold. I am loved. I am deeply and passionately loved by the man God gave to me. I get to travel and live in parts of the world I never would have imagined or dreamed of living in. I am challenged intellectually on a constant basis. Let me tell you, there are no greater intellectual challenges than the one's your children ask you at the most random of times. "Mommy? Why are leaves green and not pink?" I honestly believe I spend the majority of my day discovering. How neat is that? Instead of me being on some high horse look-at-how-great-I-am position, I get to discover LIFE through the eyes of my children. I get to explain to them the intricacies and beauties of living. I get to teach them about goodbyes and hellos and science and physics and love. 

I am blessed because I have the most wonderful of all men walking beside me. I wish I could make you understand just how wonderful he is. I made no settlement when I married him. There was no compromise. I knew what I wanted and I knew what I could give. Yet, it was entirely a fifty/fifty guess. His perfect union with me was out of my hands. When I was younger I thought I knew what I needed, so how could I have been certain that this man was the one I needed? I wasn't! And I ran as hard and as fast as I could away from him. Yet God in His goodness, and my husband in his patience, brought us back together. He deeply is the love of my life. In every single way. I don't even know how to put words to it.

So my point here is this: just because you maybe have plans on how everything is supposed to go...be thankful when it doesn't. I promise you, it almost always ends up WAY better than your creative mind ever could have envisioned.

Break...

This past week has been an emotional roller coaster. To be perfectly honest, I am still sort of reeling from the exhaustion from it all.

Today has been a tearful day. Have you ever had those moments? I just feel so sad. It's not that anything is wrong. Things aren't perfect but my life is not falling apart. I am healthy, my kids are healthy. My husband loves me. My family loves me. I am blessed. Beyond imagination. Yet today, it seems that everything is reducing me to tears.

I miss my best friend. In ways that only he can understand. There is something about the certain knowledge that he won't be home at night that is difficult. It feels so heartbreaking. There is something about looking at his spot in our bed and knowing he won't be in it tonight, or the next night, or the next... There is something about the day going by when I know he won't be coming home at the end of it.

Busy yourself...yes, I know all the Army Wife tricks. Be busy. Truthfully there is quite a lot to do. My home has seriously been slacked on the cleaning portion. Or rather, I've been slacking on cleaning it up. I have just had so little motivation to get down on my hands and knees and do the scrubbing.

I need to give myself a break. I know it's okay if the bathroom goes a week without a thorough scrub down. I know my floors won't disintegrate without being scrubbed too... I know it's okay to have those times in our lives when we are exhausted and emotionally drained. I also know that the ultimate source of Comfort is always here...I am never alone.

I asked my Creator this morning to give me a lot of things to laugh about today. I know He will. He always listens. Or maybe He won't. Maybe He knows better than I do, that some times we just need to have a day of tears and mourning. Maybe we need moments where we just pour all of our emotions at His feet and let them go. Maybe He knows that today is one of those days where I'm sad and that's okay. Maybe He knows that tomorrow will be a joyful, laughter-filled, silly day. And today... Today just needs to be a reminder. Not everything is rose petals. Not everything is simple. But He is always working in the midst of every moment, every situation, every experience. And even the sad days have purposes...

Tick tock

I find it strange that so many human beings want someone to notice them, but yet go to great lengths to blend in. We want to be someone's familiar. We want to be studied.

I want my husband to have me so permanently memorized that my very smell can conjure up emotions. I want him to be able to describe to you in perfect detail, the way I pour my cereal, prepare it, and eat it. I want to know with complete certainty that he and I are that meshed together.

So then why do we play games? Why are we so manipulative and foggy in our actions? Why is it that when our heart's mates ask us questions like "What's wrong?" we immediately launch in to this dance of "Nothing..." (heavy sigh)...etc etc etc. Why do we pretend like we don't want people to know our suffering, when in truth and reality it is exactly what we want people to know.

Why do I sit here in this house feeling so many different feelings and emotions that I do not know how to describe? Why do I feel so lost in a thousand different conflicting feelings?

I miss him. I miss the magical moments that seem to occur over and over again when he's around. I miss the running into each others arms and sitting entangled on the sofa talking for hours at night. I miss laughing together and talking and being silly. I miss playing. I miss dancing. I miss fellowshipping. He is my best friend and when he's not around...

I feel so angry about his job. I am so tired of it taking him away all of the time. Bitterness is working so hard at taking up residence in my heart...Truthfully I grow weary of constantly battling it away.

The tick tocking of the fifth deployment is constantly going off in my head. So strongly that every moment, heart beat, experience is already feeling like a countdown to goodbyes. How many more birthdays before he leaves again? We'd better make Christmas count this year because next year...I am feeling sorry for myself. I hate it when I do that. I hate feeling all of these negative feelings.

The other half of this equation is joy, thankfulness, peace and trust. I know his going aways are good. I know they have a purpose. They are honorable. I am honored that I get to be a part of this beautiful gift we collectively give to God and country.

My confidence and joy comes from God. I know that. Truly I do. I have barely seen him...that soldier of mine. He works so late and comes home exhausted and goes to bed.

Here I am sitting on one of the days he was supposed to be home "early". It's almost eight and he isn't home yet. I wish I could describe how deeply I want to be tangled up on the sofa talking to him. This, however, is not to be in this moment. He's busy. He's off playing war so that he'll be ready in a few months when he goes back to real war. Oh how I want him to play well. Be prepared. Tick tock. Tick. Tock.

Ryan Aaron...

Whose eyes would you have had? Mine or your daddy's? What would your smile have been? What would your laugh have sounded like? Were you shy, or outgoing? Were you bold or easily frightened? Did you look like me? Or daddy?'

The two weeks we had you with us were beautiful. The gift you gave me in those days was beyond measure. Beyond what I could have hoped for or imagined...you were more than I believed I wanted, or could have had. We were filled with fear, then peace, then excitement. You had a name. It seems to be a tradition with us...almost immediately we pick names. Perhaps that's foolish...I don't know.

I wanted to hold you. I wanted to nurse you. I wanted to hear you cry. And when my broken, foolish, unwilling body failed you...

I am so sorry. 

I believe that Sunday morning, you went to heaven. You left me, your daddy, and your brother and sisters and went to be with Jesus. This world wasn't big enough to hold you. You came for such a brief second, for only a moment of a heartbeat, and then you were gone. 

I stood in that worship service...unable to sing. All I did was cry. Not for you... You are in a much more beautiful place then I could ever have given you. I cried for me. I cried for what I imagined myself being able to give you. I cried for the hurt in not having all of the beautiful moments I could have had. 

I must admit it was so strange to have affected me so greatly. I am such an unemotional being. At least, not so much in the outward fragile sense... When we discovered that morning that you had left us... I put on a smile, told your daddy, and attempted to go about my day. The physical pain was unbearable. I've never experienced pain like that. Perhaps my body agreed with my heart and ached over our goodbye. Your daddy asked me if I wanted to go to church, I told him it was where I knew I needed to be... I needed those moments of tears in the darkness. I needed to hear the songs, and be abandoned from reality...pour out my soul at His feet. Yes, I could've done this anywhere... I find immense comfort in singing to your Creator when I am heartbroken.

It was in the car on the way there, that I couldn't stop. We started the engine and one of your siblings laughed...and I just couldn't help it. Tears started falling. I ached for you. I wanted you back. 

For I know the plans I have for you...

I look forward to the day when I meet your smiling face. When I hear your laugh. When I see our Creator in your eyes. I long for the day when my arms get to hold you.

Thank you for being with us. I am so sorry that I did not get to hold you for longer...

With all my heart...

It's a darkened room, lit only with candles. The faces are hard to make out until I start moving in closer. I walk around and begin to realize they are all there. Some of them familiar, some of them not. They are all looking at me. Talking about me. Murmuring about me. I immediately become self conscious. Why are they looking at me? What am I doing here? I spot some of my "trophies" huddled together: Chris, Cardamon, Sam... Each of them beautiful in their own unique ways. Each of them pinging a deep sense of regret and sadness into my heart. There are more boys there too, though none of them hold the same level of significance to the three...Henry, Caleb, Lukas, Mark, Aaron, Steve... Don't we all have a "steve" somewhere in our histories? Chad, Bryan, Ruben, and on and on and on. There are even some there whose faces I recall, but names I don't remember...

Each of them know something, anything, too much about me. I am distracted and uncomfortable. But also curious. Part of me delights, secretly, in this sadistic recollection of each piece of myself that I offered to them. My heart, my tears, my laughter, my trust, my lies, my insanity, my immaturity, my purity, my body...The three hold the highest regard in the aspect of each of those parts. The three held my heart the longest. The three changed me. Forever.

I begin to feel angry. As I tiptoe through the room trying to fade into the wallpaper, my gaze falls upon Him. There He is standing there. He's silent. Staring at me. I don't really feel all that guilty. I'm single. I'm free. I know He forgives me. What's the big deal? He focuses His stare at me for a long time. I stare right back, hiding my shame but determined to act confident. After what feels like ages, He points off in the darkness. The men separate. I can tell a figure is standing there, but I can't make out who it is. My parents? A friend? My self?

Slowly I start to walk forward. Something is pushing me towards that figure. Maybe this is the end of my life. Maybe all of these men are examples of how terrible I am. I start to question myself, and my outward confidence begins to fade.

The figure starts to take shape. It's a man. It's not someone I recognize. He is not very tall. I can see his shoes. They're black. His clothes start to take shape...Camo... His face comes into the light. He is a soldier.

I laugh at Him and say, "What the heck do you think you're trying to do here? Don't you see? I have never struggled for finding men to pay attention to me.I certainly don't want someone who is never around."

He says nothing to me. He walks over to the soldier. He positions himself so His face is right up to the soldier's face. He starts saying something but I can't hear. The soldier laughs, then He disappears into the shadows.

The soldier starts looking at me with the kindest face I've ever seen. The soldier starts beckoning me to come to him. Something about him is so familiar to me, but I don't know what it is. I begin to feel very uncomfortable. I look around at all of the men and laugh nervously. The soldier keeps calling me...more and more passionately. I start to turn away, because it's beginning to make me feel afraid. I run over to Sam and hide my face in his chest. Sam comforts me because that's just the sort of guy he is. While I am hiding in Sam, the whole time we both keep hearing that soldier saying my name over and over again.

I can feel the eyes of each of those men on me. I start to feel embarrassed. Each of them have seen so much in me. Each of them know too much about me. How can I possibly go over to the soldier like this? I am filthy, my heart is gone. I am stained with the blood, flesh and scent of those men that I gave the pieces of my heart to, Chris. Cardamon. Sam. All the rest.

I push away from Sam. The comfort I found in him for a while is gone. He begins to be a stronger symbol of what I hate in myself. I have nothing to give to this soldier.

The soldier keeps calling me, gesturing for me to come there. I decide that maybe I can deceive him. Maybe I can scrub all of the filth off. Maybe I can go to each of those men and take my heart's pieces back. I start chasing them, demanding my heart back. Every time I try to take my heart back from them, it attaches more strongly to them. The soldier keeps calling me...but he can't possibly understand! He can't possibly know there isn't anything left for him! He wouldn't want me if he knew!

I start to cry. First one tear, then another, then another. Before I know it I am wailing. It's the sort of cry that pierces into the depths of the darkness and penetrates the soul. It's the hardest I have ever cried in my life. I fall to the floor...broken...shattered...drained. He shows up and comes over to me.

I start to cry to Him. Why did you bring that soldier here? Why do you play with my heart? I have nothing left to give the soldier! I have nothing left! Leave me alone here!

He comes over to me and picks me up from the ground. He takes His clothes and begins to wipe my skin. The filth that was on me starts to transfer off of me, on to Him. I am now clean, and He is dirty. I feel shamed. I feel sad. I still have no heart to give to that soldier. But how can I ask Him to give me a heart when He already voluntarily put on my filth? It seems that He senses this thought in my head. He reaches into Himself, and hands me a piece of His heart. As He holds it up, all of the pieces of my heart that were attached to the men, are ripped from them, and are formed around His heart. My heart molds and shapes into a new heart, and He puts it into my chest.

I am silent. I don't know how to explain. I can hear the soldier calling me, but I don't want to move. Tears pour out of my eyes...and I say, "Thank You." He smiles and gestures me towards the soldier. I say, "I don't want to leave You!" He finally speaks and says, "Baby girl...I am in you now. Love the soldier with My heart, not your own, and I will be with you always."

He walks with me toward the soldier. I am petrified. I have no idea what it means to love with His heart. He takes my hand, and joins it to the soldiers. He says, "What I have joined together, let no man tear apart." With those words, all of the men in the room disappear. The room morphs and changes into a romantic setting. I am now dressed in the most beautiful ball gown. A quintet of musicians are in the room playing "Come Rain or Come Shine". There are rose petals everywhere. I ask the soldier what He had said to him. The soldier replied, "He said, 'She's a firecracker, but she's just what you need. You asked me to give you a woman with My heart. Here she is. Take care of her. She puts up a brave front, but she's fragile. Keep your eyes on Me, and I'll show you how to lead her. I'll teach you how to challenge her. I'll teach you how to hold her. I'll teach you how to fight her. I'll teach you how to love her. I promise you there will be difficult days. But at least she is funny, and will always keep you laughing."

Then the soldier said, "You are exactly what I prayed for and everything I hoped for. I will love you all of my days."

I knew that He had rescued me from the arms of those men. I knew He had brought me to such an amazing gift. I was so thankful, that we walked out of that room arm in arm...the soldier on one side, Jesus in the middle, and me on the other.

I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine. Thank You for cleaning me and making me white as snow.

I "think" I can? Psshhh. I KNOW I can! :)

Have you ever been stuck in an oh woe is me mentality? You know what I'm talking about. The kind where you say to yourself, "I could maybe be like susie smith if I didn't have seven children" or "a husband deployed" or "no money" or a thousand other "ors" that can finish out that sentence. We are constantly comparing ourselves to other women and declaring in our minds and hearts how we don't measure up. Then we lay out a list of a thousand reasons why "she" is able to do something that we are not.

I have often found myself guilty of this type of thinking. I am one of those "I just can't" type of thinkers. "I can't road trip across the US with my four kids and two dogs by myself." "I can't keep a neat and tidy house, I've got four young children!" "I can't contribute financially to my family." "I can't think in advance about how to help my husband and adjust my day accordingly." "I can't! I can't! I can't!"

I had the pleasure of meeting a most beautiful individual. You know those women that you meet and you immediately see in them a beauty, passion, peace, joy, and complete wonderfulness in them? I'm not saying she's perfect, but I'm talking about those people that you go, "Oh my goodness I just want to soak you in and learn how to incorporate your wisdom into my life!"

I am all about studying people. Seriously! If I see someone around me who is doing something wonderful, I want to learn from them and change behaviors in myself! Why wouldn't I? To not do that seems completely and utterly foolish. If I meet someone who is joyful, I want to learn how to be joyful! Study! If I meet someone caring, I want to learn how to be more caring! The list goes on and on. I want to learn from the people who have already figured stuff out!!! :)

Okay, back to the beautiful woman I met. She has a LOT of children. Seriously. More than I do. She has a joy in her heart rarely seen in women's lives. Her home? Beautiful! Seriously. The dream that I hold in my heart for my home to look like. She homeschools. She road trips with all of her kids! But this is what makes her amazing. In all of the things that she successfully accomplishes, she is not prideful, she is not boastful, she is not holding herself up on a pedestal. In fact, she does the opposite. She does not fill her day with "I can not's", but instead she says, "I can!" and DOES!

I was so blessed to meet her, because she inspired me! I have been so surrounded by an attitude of defeatism (I would do XYZ if I had less children, or more time, or more money, etc etc). But seeing this beautiful woman accomplishing so much showed me how wrong my thought processes have been. I CAN do anything I set my mind to. There is enough time in a day to accomplish everything I have in my heart to accomplish. All it takes is proper planning and mapping things out.

I was so encouraged to meet her. I won't post her name all over this page because it might cause her to feel awkward. I hope she knows how thankful I am to just know she exists! :)

Open the eyes of the blind.

Many of you know how often I have been writing about my oldest triplet. She has brought into my life so many beautiful and wonderful gifts. I am excited to inform you...I am truly just starting to get to know this ray of heaven.

A couple of weeks ago, on a weird whim, I thought it would be good to get my children's eyes checked. I have no idea what made me do it except that God put it on my heart and it all panned out.

At this appointment, I wasn't surprised when my autistic flower (Triplet A) didn't read the shapes on the wall. She kept calling out any word that would pop into her head. What is this one? (It was a hand) "Car!" she would say with enthusiasm. Nope....not a car... This happened with every single shape, no matter how big or small they were. I will admit to you, that I felt a bit frustrated. I told the tech that she was autistic and that was probably impacting things.

The doc came in and did all sorts of funny tests I had never seen before. He put 3D glasses on each of the kids and had them look at a picture of a giant fly. He then instructed them to pinch the wings...Triplet's B and C did this pretty well. Triplet A....failed miserably. She didn't even pinch, she just tapped the picture. Doc said, this is a sign that her eyes are bad, but it's hard to be sure since she's autistic. Then he had them look at a series of pictures and to pick out the picture jumping up at them (with the 3D glasses on). Triplet's A and B, could not successfully do this. Triplet C...got it down perfectly (on a side note, she was also the only one who named all of the pictures and did everything perfectly...). Off to eyes dilation they went.

When their eyes were finally dilated, each of them hopped up in the big chair while the doc examined their eyes. The Doc was completely amazing with each of my children. He genuinely made each of them feel safe and comfortable and there was not a SINGLE tear in the entire three hour long appointment. I was amazed. I think I might send him a card asking him to come and babysit my children...seriously, he was THAT good! :)

Okay, back to my story... Triplet C had perfect eyes. Doc said he couldn't even see the slightest hint that she was premature (he explained that almost all premature babies have vision damage...even if it's slight and doesn't impact their ability to see. He said you can see in the shape of their retinas that they were premature). He was amazed, as was I, since she was my tiniest baby. Triplet B (my boy) had some vision damage. Nothing too serious, but he would need glasses, which explained why he had a bit of trouble with the 3D imaging.

The time came for Triplet A to hop up there. Immediately he started pulling all of the lenses out to look at her eyes. He seriously was looking at her eyeballs for about forty five minutes. He then asked if I would mind if he took her out to test her eyes with a special machine (I am amazed at the advancements in technology that exist!). I didn't mind at all. A few minutes later he brought her back and announced the verdict: "She can barely see." She is almost to the point of being legally blind. Her up close vision is nearly perfect, however from about a foot out from her eyes, everything gets blurry. I started to cry. All of these thoughts starting pouring in to my mind...With all of the things that this child has had done to her (examinations, CT scans, MRI's, child development tests, specialist visits, etc etc etc) NO ONE had suggested to me EVER to check her eyes. I started to question, why didn't I see this? Why didn't I know? The Doc said she had probably never been able to see. The vision damage was so severe that he wanted to test her eyes on the machine to make sure his calculations were correct. He said in his entire career, he had not seen a three year old with such extreme vision loss. So I started to wonder...is she really autistic? Or is it just that this beautiful child has never been able to see? I asked him if this could be the case. He said that in all honesty he didn't know, but that he believed she has probably never been able to see. He said the biggest clue will be after she has had her glasses for a couple of months, to see if her behavior changes.

When we were in the office, the doc created a pair of "test" glasses (metal frames that have removable lenses) to see how she adjusted to them. I wish you could've been in the room with her. When he put them on her, an expression came over her face that I have never seen before. Her jaw dropped and she just stared. She didn't move, she made no sound. Her eyes were big and she just stared at the world in front of her. I started to cry again in watching my little girl see things that she had never been able to see before. The Doc said, "Watch mom. She's going to get these shapes now that she can see!" He started the picture test again, and I kid you not....she named EVERY. SINGLE. PICTURE perfectly! Picture of a hand, nailed it! Picture of a car, nailed it! Cake, got it! Every single one! Doc said, "See!? She just couldn't see!"

When we went to the glasses place to fill her prescription, even they commented on how bad her eyes were. The woman helping me was like, are they certain this prescription is correct? And then she double checked Triplet A's eyes with the machine there! But it turns out...yes her eyes are THAT bad.

When we got home that afternoon, I spent a few moments talking to her about her eyes. I said, "Did you know you couldn't see?" She said, "No." Then I said, "I'm sorry I didn't know you needed help." She said, "Mommy...my eyes are not working. They are broken." Through tear filled eyes I said, "Yup. They're not working right, but you're going to get glasses to help them work better! Are you excited!?" She shook her head yes and said, "I can't wait!" Beautiful moment!!!

I will also throw in here, I had an afternoon of tears and guilt. Her eyes are bad most likely because of her prematurity and how long she spent on a ventilator. For every day spent on a ventilator, the damage to the eyes, ears and brain gets more risky. The longer you're on it...the more the risk of permanent damage. Triplet A was vented for over three weeks. I have cried and felt so heartbroken but in that mixture of sadness, I was also excited. I couldn't wait to see how this would change her!

My son's glasses came in first. He wasn't very excited about wearing them, but after a few hours he adjusted and now doesn't seem to mind it.

I was a bit nervous about Triplet A and glasses. She is for certain sensory deficient and I had a lot of nerves about whether or not she would hurt herself with these lenses on her face. I had these images of her poking her eyeballs or breaking the lenses or all sorts of different things. My mom told me not to worry. My husband told me not to worry (they both wear glasses....I do not). They both said that she'll probably love having them.

After what felt like ten thousand days, her glasses finally came in. She was excited to go with daddy to the store to pick them up. Within five minutes of having her new glasses on, she broke them. Thankfully we ordered two pairs (a nice set and a back up set) for each of them. Walmart offers a one year free warranty on all of their glasses, so my husband just dropped them back off to be repaired, put her back up pair on her and then home they came!

The child that walked into my house is a child I have never known. What used to be my reserved, quiet, shy, barely audible, always alone child is gone. I have not seen that child in the past week (she's had her glasses a week today). Into my home walked a outgoing, curious, playful, hilarious, leading, boisterous child. This child who rarely smiled, rarely talked now sparks up conversations all the time. It's almost like this world around her was revealed to her and now she just wants to talk about it all the time! In the car her eyes are wide open and focused on the outside world. Whereas before she had her finger in her mouth and would be silent, now she's pointing things out and staring in awe. She has fallen in love with books! She reads them all the time and begs to be read to. She is hilarious too! I never in my wildest dreams knew that this child was funny. This girl is cracking jokes and doing hilarious things all day long. She used to be afraid all the time...not anymore! She runs around all the time (never used to do that). She laughs! She laughs all the time. And her laughter melts my heart every single time I hear it because it is so new! She's talking about her best friend (Triplet C is her best friend and they "share everything"), and wanting to do things...ASKING to do things!

I am so emotional over this subject. I don't know if she is autistic or not. Truthfully, it hasn't been long enough to know for sure. If things continue in this direction...I would say that no she isn't, but truthfully, it doesn't matter. The moments I have had with her this past week I wouldn't give up for anything. God has given me a miracle. He has given me so many beautiful gifts that I am thankful for. But to see my child come alive after three and a half years....there are no words that I could adequately write for you to understand. My heart is so emotional. My thankfulness is beyond my ability to define.

Oh how my heart sings. Thank You God for this gift. Even if these moments fade away and she fades back into the darkness, I am still thankful. Thank You for giving me these days that I will never forget. Thank You for helping her to see. Thank You for showing her foolish mother that she needed help, when she was unable to ask for it herself. Thank You for knowing what we all need, even when we don't know it. Thank You for giving us the desires of our hearts, even when we have a faith so small that we don't know how to ask for them. Thank You! Thank You! Thank You!

Mark 8.25 "Jesus put his hands on the man's eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly."

My beautiful baby can see. She can see!

Yowza!

I love Hans Zimmer. Okay, maybe not in that sexual, romantic, spicy, hoo haw kind of way. But I love his music. I believe that man's musical score in his head and mine are identical twins. He can write things that my soul seriously dreams, feels, and projects daily. I just don't have the ability to write it down in musical notes.

We have finished our time in Iraq. Seriously. That country is no longer on the forefront of my mind. I have been looking around for a tune to describe to you what it's like. How my feelings are and where they're at. I have found it! It's from the movie Spirit (my family reading this is currently laughing....side note story: when I was pregnant with my oldest child, she would go crazy any time the Spirit soundtrack was played....they all mocked me heavily for this). It is called "Run Free". Google it. I'm serious! Yes, I know it's over synthesized, and yada yada yada. But the spirit behind the music...it is exactly how I feel.

My heart is insanely in love with my husband. I honestly do not believe there are enough words to put on paper in the course of my entire lifetime to say how blessed I am. This man is the love of my life. To try to even begin to contemplate how deeply, passionately, intensely I love him brings tears to my eyes. Not in this sappy, trying to brag or irritating way. We are both flawed and imperfect. We both fail, sin, fight, argue, are selfish, and on and on. But the joy I have been given in being able to love him...I am thankful that I am able to love him! I am thankful for being his helper! For being his partner! I couldn't have asked for a better mate. God seriously was so generous in giving him to me. And it's all God. I'm not kidding. I dated an enormous amount of dooshbags and losers. I also dated a wonderful assortment of amazingly wonderful men, who were COMPLETELY wrong for me. I do firmly believe that each of them assisted in molding and shaping me into a better woman for my husband. But they were, for lack of a better word, all inevitably disasters.

I have always been a passionate, emotional being. My feelings are intense and powerful. I have also always been aware of this. But here is the kicker...my husband is the perfect balance for it! He so wonderfully gets fired up when I am, and also mellows me when I am ridiculously upset. He balances my insanity, and encourages my passions. He allows me to sore on wings, by pushing, prodding, and assisting me in growing into a better woman....into a better image of God.

Okay, so you're wondering what the heck is the correlation between all of this romance nonsense and the end of the Iraq situation....I am working on bringing you there! Be patient! haha! I am giving you the emotionality of being finished with Iraq. Four years of my husband's life have been spent in that country. To say goodbye stirs sad feelings, fearful feelings, and enormous amounts of joy. I am sad that what has become familiar to me is going away. It is a country with so much civil unrest, that it is unlikely I will ever be able to visit there. Plus, most likely my soldier will never desire to go there. But I have enjoyed looking at pictures and having my soldier explain to me where it is, what he was doing there, and the stories behind the locations. I will miss those moments, and the hope of ever hearing more of the wonderful stories my husband has. I feel fearful because this means he will deploy to other locations... I know his life is in God's hands and I have peace about that. But the fear comes from the unknown. I know what to expect in regards to Iraq. I know how things roll for the most part, and how everything plays out. If he should go to Afghanistan...everything will be different. Different=a little bit of scary. The joy...well, do I really have to explain where the joy comes from!? One less place for him to deploy to! WOOHOO!

So anyway...go check out that song. And forgive me if this doesn't make too much sense. I'm too happy to worry about clarity! HAHA!

humph

It seems like I woke up only to discover it has been QUITE a while since I've written on here. Here I sit trying to think of some witty and interesting topic. Truthfully, I don't think anything pertinent is coming to mind.

My kids have started school. I homeschool them and it keeps me quite busy. Now before you put your "uh oh...she's a weird one" panties on, let me just say...I dare you to try it. Seriously! I do! I dare you to actually take on trying to educate your kid. It. Is. Hard. Okay, the word hard is maybe not quite the right word. It's not exactly extremely difficult to understand. It's not like trying to venture through a read of Atlas Shrugged (seriously, one of the most difficult books to read...). It is hard because of the enormous amounts of organization, creativity (how many different ways can YOU think of to do a craft, memorize, study, practice writing, and being able to grasp the concept and sounds of the letter "A"), patience (lots of this is required), persistence, being able to teach one subject in a multitude of ways (one child learns one way, a different child learns another), flexibility (no...we're not talking splits here folks), and insanity. Yes, I say insanity. It is not a typo. I think you sincerely must be insane to educate. Why would any sane person CHOOSE to sit down with a bunch of young children day after day going over the alphabet. I mean, this isn't exactly adult stimulating.

Okay, yes, I'm complaining, and yes, I know I've chosen to do this. I want to educate my children. The schools here=not so good, and I will NOT do to my children what was done to me when I headed off to college (me in class-I don't understand anything you're saying despite being valedictorian.... them-Where did you go to school? me in class-L.A. them-OOOOHHHH. That explains everything! Your high school education is our junior high...you're going to have to work very hard). I refuse to put my children through this. So until we move to a better school district...this is what they'll get. But my point behind my whining is...teachers are amazing. School teachers, Bible teachers, life teachers, parents, Sunday School teachers....they are all amazing. We honestly have NO idea how much hard work, determination, and self discipline is required from our "leaders" in our community. I know that more people are becoming aware of this notion of gratitude, and wanting to pay them more. I'm not arguing for or against that. I'm just saying, have you thought about saying the word "thank you" recently? Has it even crossed your mind how completely and utterly irritating it can be for leaders? Seriously! People are urgently quick to complain, point out flaws, state all of the problems... But yet they are literally moving at a snail's pace to appreciate, congratulate, or thank. humph. I don't like it.

Yellow blanket

I learned to knit when I was very young. In fact, I've been doing it for so long that I can hardly remember how old I was when I actually learned. My mother taught me to knit and her mother before her. In fact, my grandma was so avid a knitter that her knitting abilities are almost interwoven into all of my memories of her. To think of her is to think of her afghans, slippers, pillows, dish cloths, and many more hand made, knitted items. I have so many sweet treasures in my heart of my grandmother. I will honestly say though, that I believe my love of knitting is a trait I have been blessed to inherit from her. My grandma died two years ago on my anniversary. It is impossible for me to pick up some knitting needles without thinking of her. When she died, I was blessed to be given so many of her knitting treasures. Needles, yarn, pins, patterns, and on and on.

I found it completely accidentally. I was looking through a bag of a mixture of different colors and types of yarn I had been given from my mother who thought I might be able to use it since I love to knit. The yarn had been my grandma's before she passed away. I was sorting through what I thought I could use to create with and what I could use for crafts with the kids when I found a plastic bag. Inside was a skein of yellow yarn and a treasure that have been knitted. It was too big to be a scarf or a washcloth, and too small to be intended as an adult sized afghan. The stitches were imperfect. There were dropped stitches and some errors. As I picked it up in my hands...I could smell her. I knew in my heart it had been knitted by my grandmother.

I called my mom to be certain. She hardly remembered it at all, but she said towards the end of my grandma's life, she had given my grandma knitting projects to do to keep her busy. This, it turns out, was one of those projects.

I found this beautiful treasure of my grandmother's work shortly before my sister gave birth to her second child. I got into my head that maybe I could complete this little "afghan" and give it to my soon to be born nephew as a gift from his great grandmother. So one day, I set about the task. This was the first time my fingers had been so blessed to knit an item after my grandmother's had already been there. I lovingly took up where she left off. With every stitch I have thought of her sitting on her sofa knitting away. I have thought of my nephew, snuggled up underneath it. I have thought about whether to fix the imperfections or leave them. I decided to leave them. Not because I wanted to embarrass her or show any flaws. But because to remove them meant to replace the work she had done. This very well may be the last item my grandmother ever knitted. To me, each of those stitches (flawed or not), are beautiful and wonderful. They are also emotional.

Tonight, I have almost completed this afghan. Here I sit with the final stitch on the needle. I have yet to remove it, because in removing it, that means it's completed. Her work has been finished. I miss her. I miss her laugh. I miss her books on tape. I miss her black shoes and white socks. I miss her hair appointments. I miss "tut tut". I miss her smell.

So here I go. I am ready to complete it. One, two, three. It's done.

I wish you were here to see it.

I thought I had dealt with this. Yet here I sit, with this book right next to me, barely able to make it through one page. Tears are pouring out of my eyes. Today in church, tears just kept coming. "God doesn't make mistakes. He makes people as He intends them to be." Why was that statement so exceptionally painful to hear? Why when I heard it did I sit in my seat fighting back tears? I thought I had processed and dealt with her autism. Yet, here it is. In my lap and tears are falling.

We have gone through several months with her seeming to be so normal, that I suppose I forgot. Or maybe I adapted. I can not be sure. But here lately, so much of the behavior that seemed to be gone for good is back with a vengeance. Her speech is difficult to understand, assuming she'll talk at all. She is withdrawn. Disconnected. She sort of wanders around aimlessly. She doesn't want to be held, but she doesn't want to not be held. She's been pulling her hair recently. She hits herself again, and slaps her face. She's biting herself again.

She doesn't listen. She barely uses utensils anymore. All of this since the 4th of July.

Some of it may honestly be that we ran out of a supplement that she has been on. I hate to be dependent on a supplement or vitamin, but truthfully, DHA and ARA and fish oil make HUGE differences in her behavior. It's almost like her brain is cloudy and foggy and something in those supplements help to clear things up a bit. I ran out and I have ordered more, but they're not here yet.

I also think this is happening for a purpose. I need to be reminded. I obviously have not dealt with it. I clearly have not accepted that this is here for good. It won't go away. And it hurts. Not in a selfish oh woe is me way. But it hurts because I hurt for her. This is my child. My beautiful, immaculate, and wonderful little girl. If you could see the beauty in her...if you could just understand her, you would fall madly in love with her.

God made her this way. There is a purpose, a meaning behind it. He has allowed her to be this way.

Why is this book so difficult for me to read? Why do I feel almost frozen still? I have known for the last three years that she was "different". I have known that she did not fit into the status quo of any child I had ever known, for a long time. Or perhaps, I have always known. I don't think I can clearly put it into words.

I guess I will just have to go through this. One page at a time. One sentence at a time. I know I need to read it. I know I have to process the information. I know this is a journey that I will take. I MUST take. How can I possibly allow her to walk this road alone? I will not. I CAN not. So I will cry my tears. I will sit here with my box of kleenex. I will go through the process of coming to understand...she is perfectly and wonderfully made. She is beautiful, immaculate. And all of my dreams...all of my hopes...are nothing in comparison to the purpose that she has been created for. I will let go. I am thankful for this day. I am thankful for this moment. I am thankful for her presence here. Oh the lessons that she has taught me. And continues to teach me.

There is this song that every single time I hear it, makes me cry. If you have never had a child with "difficulties"...then it is probably difficult for you to relate to. For me this song brings me enormous amounts of comfort. Because I remember the exact moment where the words he says happened in my life. He sings, "When you realize the dreams you've had for your child won't come true. And when the phone rings in the middle of the night with tragic news. Whatever valley, you must walk through...Jesus will meet you there." It is by Steven Curtis Chapman. I remember the moment when I realized it. I remember the moment that it finally hit me that she was "different". And even now, as I recall that moment, my heart breaks all over again. There is so much that I want for her and I don't know if it will ever be possible. But none of this really matters. Ultimately, the only thing that really matters, is that she was created for a purpose. She wasn't an accident. She wasn't erroneously created. And neither was I. God knew that one day I would give birth to a child in this situation. And He knew that I could handle it. He also knew that I would so desperately and deeply need His presence, His love, and His healing in order to do it. So I am thankful. I am grateful that Jesus has met me here. And I know that He and I are walking side by side, hand in hand, down the road. He's on one side, she's in the middle, and I'm on the other. I find enormous comfort, also, that one day I will pass away, but she will not be alone. Her Creator will still be walking with her.

Can I get your digits?

At one point in my life I didn't think they were terribly significant. It isn't that I thought they were insignificant, it's just that I didn't really put much thought to their presence. They have always been there and I suppose on some level, I completely expected them to always be there. I was born with TEN fingers. That's right. TEN! Now I know that ten sounds like an awfully high number, but I completely believe, and have grown to understand in my older years, that I WANT to have ten fingers.

My hands used to show my youthfulness. There was a time when I would put my hand against my mom's and pay attention to how small mine was compared to hers. They weren't wrinkled, scarred or tainted. They were small and stubbly.

Now that I am older, fingers have taken on certain roles. I must admit, my most favorite label on my fingers is that beautiful multi thousand dollar hot shot blingaby bling that wraps around the second digit on my left hand. That's right! You guessed it! My wedding ring finger. That finger used to be identical to my other ring finger. Over time, this has changed. For the last six years, it has had a wring on it. I can tell you that now it bears a permanent reminder of that ring. If I slip my ring off to clean it, that finger bears a permanent impression of the ring. There is an indentation. There is a tan line. It shows that a ring belongs there. This is not to say that I must wear a wedding ring, or that my value comes from this ring. But it's a beautiful reminder to me that so many years ago, my knight in shining tanks put a shnazzy gift on my finger and gave me a new name. He re-identified me. I was no longer "Jane Doe" I was now "MRS. John Smith". I was no longer "single". And I think it's pretty cool that one of those ten fingers gets to wear a reminder of that beautiful gift.

My left hand bears a scar. It has a scar where a five gauge IV (that's a big one) was quickly shoved into it on an ambulance ride to a big city an hour away. That was an adventurous moment because it was the night I delivered my triplets. I remember the EMT holding my arm while the Paramedic drove (he was on the phone with the medivac team. The BIG guns! lol). They didn't want to stop the ambulance because my contractions were back to back. They didn't want to lose any time and risk me delivering thirty week old triplets in an ambulance. Literally, the paramedic was telling me if I felt like I needed to push, to NOT push and to hold those babies in. He literally said that he could only MAYBE keep ONE baby alive in that ambulance. MAYBE. So the EMT held my arm as steady as he could, while I breathed through a VERY painful contraction and he put that IV right in. He was an expert because he got it the first try. But in his haste, he taped the plastic part of the IV so tightly to my skin (and my adrenaline was rushing for hours) that I didn't notice it had sort of dug a bit of a hole. So I have a scar there. I always wonder, just a bit, if every time I have to give blood, the technicians wonder if I'm sort of recovering junky. My vains are pretty shot. I gave blood so much and had IV's so often with that pregnancy...Thank God I'm not scared of needles!

My fingers have done well by me. They help me accomplish the many actions that I take in each of my days. They have held bottles, held breast pumps, buttoned up clothes, folded clothes, written, opened doors, driven cars, and on and on and on. With my fingers I soothe my children's tears, memorize my husband's face, cup my children's cheeks, and hold hands. I have re enlisted my soldier, touched my baby for the first time, and let go of the man I loved. My fingers have been with me through every tear, every smile, every laugh, every moment.

I honestly am not really sure how to accurately describe my fingers to you. They're still short. They're still small. I don't have long nails. I don't wear nailpolish or fake nails. I like to keep them "natural". I figure, if God wanted me to have red nails, He would've delivered me with them. :)

Okay, but seriously I kind of dig them. So how about you? Have you thought about your ten digits today? What would you do if they suddenly went away?

autism. A beautiful gift.

There are times in my life when everything goes along so smoothly that I almost forget. I forget she is "different". I forget that her brain doesn't work like yours and mine. So this past fourth of July, I was all excited to celebrate as I always do. We spent wonderful time together with family and friends and were all revved up to watch the fireworks. I prepared the kids in the sense that it's loud noises and big lights. Completely spaced that this is a bit much for autistic children. And then BOOM! They began. Friday night, sitting out in a windy parking lot, looking up at the sky. She screamed. No, this wasn't that beautiful scream of glee and delight that so many children and adults let out when the beauty of fireworks are displayed. This was complete panic. She started swishing her head back and forth in the three point five seconds it took me to jump up and grab her. So began a very long and challenging evening. I picked her up and she was completely rigid. This is typically how her spells begin, however, I have never had her so rigid that it took all of my adult might to get her bent in half. I have been taught to bend their legs at the knees, and that usually relaxes them. It was a physical impossibility to do this to her body. She dug her tiny little fingers into her legs and squeezed. This isn't a normal response. She squeezes so hard that blood pours out. I pulled her hands away, and kept trying to soothe her. She put them into her mouth and started biting. One hand in her mouth the other covering her ears and her rocking head. She was crying. A cry I honestly have never come out of her. Completely rigid and yet shaking uncontrollably. I pushed her head against my chest and started rocking her. All of the "training" stuff wasn't working. So I resorted back to rocking her, which helped when she had the swine flu. No such luck. Didn't work. I rubbed her back, I paced her. I sheltered her from the noise and lights. Nothing. It was like she wasn't there. Like she couldn't hear or see me. Like she had been removed from this world and was now in a completely different place filled with terror and horror. To watch your three year old go through this...

I held her for hours. My arms were completely aching and broken from exhaustion. My husband kept asking to take over. I appreciated his desire to help but he hasn't been through all the training stuff, so to try to explain to him would take too long and could possibly cause harm to her in the meantime. And I was blessed, God gave me the strength to endure. Honestly, I didn't even notice that my feet were swollen to twice their size until I fell into bed and noticed them then.

In those moments, what I normally adore, became my enemy. I hated the fireworks. My mind drifted to the mothers who hold their screaming children while ACTUAL bombs are going off. And I felt horrified for them. How many women have endured moments like that? I was blessed that I could hum to her and soothe her and know that she would be safe and that this would end. What is it like when you can make no such promise to your child?

I love my little girl so deeply. I do not understand what goes on in her beautiful mind, but she has a soul that is amazing.

Since that night, she has been awful. Completely withdrawn, disconnected. It is a struggle to get her to talk (she is barely above a whisper) and she doesn't answer when you ask her a question. She acts afraid when my husband or I call her to come to us. It is almost like that experience was so traumatic for her, that she is in complete fear of it ever happening again.

She is so beautiful. I would give anything to save her from this anxiety. I want so desperately to prevent it from happening to her again. I felt so helpless, but yet so blessed at the same time. I felt helpless because I couldn't bring her out of it. But blessed because I was able to be there beside her, holding her, doing everything I could think of while she endured it. I am blessed because she exists to begin with.

I would give my life. I would give it in a heartbeat, in a second, with no thought or hesitation. How blessed am I to be in the presence of such a beautiful person?

Walking...

I have grown to adore silence. When I was a child, my mom would always lament about how she wanted quiet. I remember thinking she was crazy....why does this woman constantly want silence!? Noise is great! But as I sit here in my rarely quiet home, I enjoy the silence. My family is all asleep. They are beautifully resting and peaceful in their beds...snuggled up under the comforters and dreaming. I think it's wonderful. I enjoy not hearing all of the noise that so often becomes a distraction in our lives. I have spent many years working hard to fill the void with noise. I never wanted to feel alone. I never wanted to feel afraid. I never wanted to listen to the silence. What is it about silence that can be so intimidating? What is it about our own thoughts, or maybe God's thoughts, that we don't want to hear?

Recently God has challenged me to embark on a journey of alone-ness. Sin is constantly crouching at the door. It is ready and willing and eager to destroy me. Often times, I have found that sin entices me, through other people. It is extremely difficult for me to have female friends. Not because other women are wicked or evil or bad or anything of that sort. It is difficult because I am! I love to hear the juicy details of gossip. I have spent many years enjoying "being in the know" and feeling like I was a part of some "organization" of women. I have spent years seeking that out. It is all foolishness. I have no need for any other human being. Period. No need. I have often found that when I come home from spending time amongst a group of women at a social gathering, if I truthfully examine myself, I have come home from spending time gossiping or judging or ensnaring myself in drama.

I think we as Christians are completely unaware of how much we judge others. For example, if a friend comes to you and she's mad at her husband, you automatically will have an opinion about it. That's judgment. It isn't your place or your right to have an opinion about anything in that situation. Your "opinion" is irrelevant. But we get all high and mighty and we like to pick sides. This is foolishness. Women, as a natural tendency, like to vent our problems to other women. We like to retch out of our mouths all of our discomfort or dislikes or irritations, and then sit back and watch everyone congratulate us on how we're "such a great person" and "how could they do that to you" and "you'll get through it." We like to be pitied.

I must admit, I am the worst of all at this. I adore pity. It is a terrible wickedness that grows and swells and often times pours out of me. I seek pity. I have no idea why. Why does that aspect of myself have such a dominance in me? I believe it is because of pride.

I recently read this book about pride that my husband brought home. It was the most amazing book I have ever read. I don't know if I should really call it a book, or a large pamphlet. It was pretty short. But it hit the head on the nail, completely accurately, about how much I struggle with pride. It had so many examples of why people's sin are related to pride. Quite honestly, probably all of sin is somehow attributed to pride. We are so quick to see the sin and errors in other people and completely slow to understand or perceive the sin in ourselves. "Becky Sue judged me and was mean to me. She is a terrible 'Christian' and I can't believe she is doing ABC for the church." This is a perfect example of how we focus so much on the sin of everyone else...not ourselves. Because in that statement, the person talking about "Becky Sue" is the one who is completely immersed in wickedness. She is proud, judgmental, and slandering towards her SISTER in Christ.

Why are Christians so quick to forget that we are ONE BODY!? Why do we go on wickedly believing that we are able to have quarrels and fights and just to let it go? That is the complete root of evil. It is divisive and wretched and awful. Why do Christians believe that there can be clicks and that God would think that's okay? We are ONE! Like a husband and a wife. The Body of Christ is ONE entity. You can not have clicks, quarrels, drama, and problems and go on as if life has not changed and nothing is different. As Christians we are called to obey God. Not ourselves, not our pride, not our fear, not gossip, slander, malice, dishonesty or anything of that sort. We are called to be one body. One people. One unit. The essence of belonging, as being a part of the body of Christ, is not that we "belong" to our small group of friends at our church. It is that we belong to Christ as a whole. All of us, collectively, are the bride of Christ.

I grow tired and weakened by the wickedness that seems to thrive everywhere. Honestly. I hate how sin has such dominance in my life. I hate how what I want to do I don't do, and what I don't want to do, I seem to continue doing over and over again with such ease. I feel sometimes like sin is always winning.

The other day I was talking to someone, and all of this rage and hatred and resentment was pouring out of my mouth. It had been welling in me for several days, and I was praying for God to take it away...but He did not. He had a lesson for me to learn. I sat there and poured out these horrible, horrible, horrible words on my dear Christ brother. I unleashed a wickedness in me that I have not seen in a long time. I remember sitting there watching this horribleness defeat and deflate my brother in Christ. I could visibly see what it was doing. When my eyes saw through my own horrible pride and saw what this was doing I became silent. My brother in Christ asked me why I had stopped talking and if I needed to continue. I started to cry. And pride continued in its wickedness and I walked away so that he would not see me cry. Alone, I cried to God and asked him what He wanted me to learn. Why this situation was here. What did I need to change. My dear friends, I kid you not...my brother in Christ, my fellow heir in the kingdom of heaven came in and comforted me in my tears. He poured no wrath or rage on me. He retaliated in no way. In humility and kindness, he embraced me with complete forgiveness. I was broken.

This is such an example of our glorious Father in heaven. As we pour out enormous amounts of wickedness...He is there embracing and forgiving.

To be honest with you, this post is now so long that I have completely forgotten what I was originally writing about. I suppose, I am trying to write about what I'm learning. Oh yes...now I remember what my point was. My brother in Christ had "wronged" me. I mean, he literally did. It was a clear cut, anyone could see, how he had wronged me situation. And I was hell bent on licking my wounds and being angry and feeling sorry for myself. I was determined to be angry and to wallow in self pity. I was completely blinded by my own pride. Instead of embracing my brother (as he did to me when I was completely sinning against him) and forgiving him with open arms, I resented him and wanted to hurt him. I was so focused on his sin, that I didn't see my own.

In the busyness and the noisiness and the chaos...it is so easy to ignore my own faults. It is easy to continue walking onward, as if I was really different, or really changed by God's grace. It is easy to convince myself that I really am obviously different from the "non saved" and that people can see God working in me. When I surround myself with believers, who will be there to actually tell me whether or not I really am different? Christians have been taught to seek out Christ in other believers. We are quick to do that for our fellow Christians. We rarely do it for those that are not in our click. I was too comfortable. I was too contented by the people I had surrounded myself with. I do not want to be comfortable ever. I want to constantly be bended, challenged, pushed and changed. I want at the end of my life, to be so clear an example of Christ, that there is NO question about who lives in me and who leads me. I don't want to be like everyone else. I want to be like Christ.

Okay...so this has been really rambly. God is good. Please always know...when I write these things...I am writing about myself. I am judging myself and condemning myself. I would never be so presumptuous to assume that I know what anyone else needs to hear. God is teaching me so much about myself, who He wants me to be, and how He wants me to get there. I am a constant work in progress. I am not now, nor will I ever be, content with who I am. I do not believe the day will ever come where I will go, "Okay. I've finished working. I am a complete puzzle now" at least not while I walk this earth anyway.

Oh I can't wait to get to heaven! I can't wait to be free from myself! Until then...these boots were made for walking, and that's just what they'll do! :)

Memorial Day

What does it mean to memorialize someone? I mean, seriously...how do you honestly tribute someone whom you have adored, whom you have loved? How to you say during some one hour time frame...goodbye? How do you find words to say what they meant to you? How do you walk away from their coffin and let them "go"?

I have a few beautiful women that I have been blessed to know who have buried their husbands. They buried their lovers, their partners, their children's fathers, their best friend...their soldier. Each of them have handled their heartache in amazing ways. I am humbled to know them. I am humbled to call them my friends. I am humbled to have sat at the funerals.

I am broken by this nations attitude about Memorial Day. Sure...people will maybe take one or two minutes to comment on the "cost" of freedom, but then they turn around and move right along to their pool parties, or their barbeque's, or their "family" vacation. To many people, it's just a three or four day weekend.

In our home, we have no party. We do not play or do anything "vacationy". We remember the fallen soldiers. We spend our weekend talking about those we have loved and lost to war. We remember their family members who have been left behind. We pray for them. We talk about them.

I want to take a few moments to talk to you about one soldier in particular who was very significant to my husband, and also to me. He was the first soldier that we have ever known to have perished in Iraq. My husband had a deep love for him. He considered him one of his best friends. His name was Yoe. The first time I met Yoe, was when I had come up to visit my husband one weekend from college. He came over to visit with my husband and we all three sat around talking. I think he was on CQ and he wanted a movie to watch. I sort of forget the small details. Anyway....he was telling us about his wife. He was telling us about how he met her and that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. He was saying that love like that was worth everything and that if we loved each other that way...we should never be apart. The subject came up because my husband and I (at the time) were not yet married and the question came up if we were going to get married or not...

Yoe used to always make me laugh. Before they deployed, I was pregnant with our first child. He told me that he would always call our child CAJ (this was because if the baby was a boy, his name would have been Caleb Aiden Jones). I remember asking him, what if it's a girl? And he said...I don't care. It's not a girl! It's a boy! And HE will always be CAJ!

My husband has a thousand stories of Yoe. He tells them to me and our children often. Something will trigger his memory and he'll talk about how Yoe did this, or Yoe said that. One story that he told us about recently was that during the ground war his hair got so long that he would slick it back. So another Sgt in the platoon started calling him Guido and that the entire company joined in on the nick name. Or how he would tell all of the Iraqi children to go see another Sgt because that Sgt had "chocolate". My husband said Yoe thought it was the funniest thing ever when the children would swarm that Sgt asking him for chocolate.

It has been almost six years since Yoe went to heaven. Honestly, it feels like yesterday. The wound is still fresh. The hole is still here. My husband misses him terribly. I miss him. And the depth of our grief and our sadness is nothing compared to his beautiful wife. She has the highest level of strength I have ever seen in a woman. Throughout all of the years I have been blessed to have known her, she has mourned with the utmost grace and honor. I will never forget sitting beside her and her family at Fort Riley for his memorial service. I will never forget the moments where they gave her the flag. I will never forget his laugh and his silliness. I will never forget what she gave for this country. I will never forget him.

So, you will have to forgive me if I struggle with how people "celebrate" Memorial Day. To me it is a heartbreaking day. It is a sad day. It is a day that honors and remembers the fallen. It isn't just another three day or four day weekend. We are sad to have lost those we have loved. We are sad and mourning with the families who are still here. We are broken. We are crying. We are grateful.

growing

Have you ever looked around and found yourself lost? Okay, no, this is not some pun on the series finale of Lost last night. I haven't seen it. We don't have cable. So please don't talk to me about it. Okay...back on target. I have found that the busier I get, the more people I'm surrounded by, the easier it is to get "lost". This happened to me recently. I was so busy, so immersed in people's live (which is good, not necessarily bad), so focused on being "distracted" that I realized I was exactly that! Distracted! My house wasn't being cared for appropriately. My children were being dragged to and fro my various activities. Life was busy, but not God honoring. I looked at myself and was like, "Who the heck are you?" To be honest, I didn't like what I saw. I have long striven to be a person not interested in, nor participating in, gossip. It's the dreaded "G" word that so many women struggle with. Well, I guess men do too, but I'm not a dude so I can't relate. :) I looked at myself and started paying attention to how I was speaking. I started having all sorts of opinions about things that had nothing to do with me. I started venting about other people who were upsetting me. I started being one of those busy body women that seems to have a lot of "friends" but isn't really doing what God wants her to do. Side note: this is not a judgment on anyone else. I know several women who are able to be actively involved in many aspects of people's lives and NOT be this way. They are amazing women and I am in complete awe of their self control and glory to God. I, however, am NOT (yet) one of these women.

Okay, back to topic. So I started praying. I started going...okay God...what do You want me to do? How should I handle this? How should I change? Truthfully, I just had to stop. I went to one of my advisors and asked her take. She told me I needed to step back and evaluate. What was I doing out of obligation? And what was I doing out of glory to God? And what was I doing to feel "busy"? And what was I doing out of love? Truthfully, there was a little bit of that in everything I was doing. It was partly out of love, obligation, Godness, and "busy-ness". So I just stopped. I stepped back and I examined. Who am I? Why am I here? What am I doing?

So much seemed to come to light in the process of that experience. You learn so much when you start to go through experiences. You learn a lot about who is a part of the "close" circle, and who isn't. It's sort of like Jesus and his apostles. I imagine that there were ENORMOUS amounts of people that called Jesus their friend. And I'm sure Jesus in His heart adored and loved each of those people back. But there were also a chosen few who were a part of His support "team". He had twelve people (and one that he knew would betray Him) that He told special things to. He leaned on them. He prayed with them. He fellowship with them in a unique way. He loved all, but had a select group. I started realizing how important that is in my own life. I have always lived my life like an open book. If someone asks, tell them. Lay it all out. Be clear. As time is going on, I am seeing how this can be quite foolish.

I am to love everyone. But I am not necessarily to share my life with everyone.

I am still not quite sure what this will actually look like in my life. I am learning so much about who I am and who God wants me to be. I want my life to be a reflection of Him. I want my thoughts, words and opinions to be a reflection of him. I want to be genuine, loving and different...I don't want to be a part of the "norm". Not the "normal" Christian world, nor the "normal" world in general. Ugh. Sometimes growth sucks. :)

Emerald City

Today for the first time in ages...I played church hookey. No, I did not cease to worship nor praise God...I just didn't happen to do it in a building. Have you ever awakened and realized...you just need to get out of town? That was me this morning. We have all been sick in our household, so we weren't exactly planning on going to church anyway. We were sitting on the sofa with our sniffles and our coughs and our scratchy throats and I looked at my husband and said, "I need to get out of El Paso." He sort of laughed and was like....uh....where are you going to go? I said, "No. Seriously. I need to get out of El Paso. Now!" I said, "Let's go on an adventure!"

So we packed up our four kids and headed off. We weren't exactly sure where we were going or what we were going to do when we got there. We had in our minds the idea of going to this space museum about an hour away, but we were not exactly sure if it was what the doctor ordered.

I LOVE adventures. I love the idea of getting in your car and just going. The trouble with where I live, though, is that it is surrounded by nothingness and ugliness. It is the truest sense of the word ugly that ever existed. Buildings stretch as far as the eye can see. It is a sea of concrete and man-forced "trees" amongst rocks and sand and dirt. Ugly. I explain this to you so that you can sort of grasp the notion of going on an adventure here. We did NOT expect to discover anything beautiful.

We drove for a couple of hours. We did in fact find that space museum and we thoroughly enjoyed touring it. It was fabulous and quite educational. But something prevented us from heading back towards home when we left there. We got back in the car and kept on. We saw a sign for some apple orchard and thought that we should head that way. So we did. We drove further and further from home, when I kid you not...we discovered the emerald city. Okay...so maybe not literally the Emerald City, but a green like my eyes had never before seen. I had forgotten what it meant to me to see beauty. We drove in this beautiful scenery (green grass fields, huge pine trees, birch trees, birds singing, brooks babbling, etc etc) for hours. The whole time my heart was bawling its eyes out. I literally had no words. I was so in awe of God's creation. The sky was this vivid magical blue, with huge fluffy white clouds. I am convinced this was all created so that I could discover it on this much needed day.

I have seen so much ugliness here lately. My eyes feel weary of seeing and my ears grow drained from hearing. It seems that everyone has a complaint or a drama issue and it is so discouraging. Even those who are trying to obey and honor God are bogged down from the drama that other people are constantly pouring onto them. The world, as a whole...just sucks. But to go to this place, where all of the dirt and muck and ugliness just faded away...I felt for the hours that we were there, as if all was right with the world. My soul felt at ease. That feeling came from the scenery. I believe that I am a person who is affected by physical beauty. I mean, scenic beauty. I still hold in my mind the visions of a Kansas sunset....where the beautiful trees are black against the darkening blue sky and the dark green fields. I wish that I was a painter so that I could paint you the beauty that I was fortunate enough to experience in Kansas. This place reminded me of that. I could get lost there and never come back. My husband kept telling me, "Maybe we will retire here." I just smiled and told him not to joke about such things. But it truly was beautiful. I wonder if the people who live there acknowledge it for what it is. I wonder if they appreciate what they live in. I wonder if they wake up every morning in awe of what their eyes are so lucky as to behold...

I feel alive again. I didn't even realize how close to dead I had been feeling. It's strange because I know I am alive in Christ and I know my strength and encouragement and ability to do ANYTHING comes completely from Him. I also believe, though, that He knows me so intimately, so passionately, so romantically, that He is aware of the desires of my heart. He knows how deeply I long for green. So in this place, where it feels like the brown, dark, death is always looming. Where the cockroaches have their day and the spiders rule the town...a victory has been made. I KNOW there is LIFE not too far away. And you can't beat me down with your dirt anymore! :D

PS. My husband, after having me read this post to him, felt it necessary for me to mention that our daughter threw up (projectile vomited) all over our car while we were in emerald city. Yup...even THAT didn't ruin it for me! :)

Change.

I am very unsure how to begin this post. I don't have a catchy phrase or one liner. I don't have an extravagant opening. I honestly feel almost like a sick and demented individual. I do not function well, when all is "well." It is a weakness that I have struggled with since the year of my fifteenth birthday. That year began a journey for myself and my family that lasted quite some time and before it was over...boasted the burning of my house, multiple car accidents (all of them terrible), the almost death of my little sister, and the complete and utter emotional demise of my family. I grieved for over a year, as a result of those days. They are forever engraved in my mind. They were excruciatingly painful, challenging and awful. Yet, I found more comfort during those days than I know how to explain.

I find that I seem to grow the most, endure the best, and function the most clearly, when all is terrible in my world.

I am a control freak. I make every effort to control everything about my existence that is humanly possible. I know this is foolish and completely stupid, because I honestly can not control ANYTHING in my world at all. It is all out of my hands and in the hands of my Maker. However, that never seems to stop my sick and depraved mind from trying...all the time...at all costs. In the midst of chaos and heartache, I am most honest to internally admit my weakness. It is easy for me to write to you that I am weak...that I am helpless...But do I really believe it? Yes, I believe it. But do I really EXPERIENCE it? No. I do not. I am not having forced in my face any inability to get through my moments, or my heartache. Life is good in my home. My husband is amazing and beautiful. My children are intelligent and growing. They all love God and are seeking to please Him and honor Him in their lives. Yet, I find myself looking around and going...I've got it ALL under control. It's foolishness and it's stupid.

I believe that one of the biggest lies the devil has tricked us with, is the belief that "good times" are actually good. How so? What joy is it for me to gain the whole world, and yet to forfeit my soul? Why is it so good for me to have a beautiful home, nice cars, manicured and cleaned children, all the things I could hope and ask for...yet to forfeit my soul? I am a sick person. Truthfully I am. When all is falling apart...then I see His beauty rising.

I have to be honest...I feel completely devastated. I find myself crying over so many things. I find myself frustrated by my circumstances. I drive by these men...filthy, dirty, unmanicured, no hair cut...unshaved...and I am repulsed by myself. Sure, the compassion wells in me for a few minutes, and maybe even some bible verses pop into my head "feed the hungry...feed the homeless...whatever you do for the least of these, you do for Me." Then begins the internal struggle within myself...how do I know they're not buying drugs, or alcohol? How do I know he's not some liar, that really lives in a nice house with nice clothes, and this is what he does just to mess with the world? All of the excuses pour into my mind. Or maybe I'll get on my high horse and say to myself, "Yes. I will give them some money." Here! Let me throw you my loose change! It doesn't really cost me anything to help you. It doesn't really matter if I no longer have that fifty cents. Big deal. It cost me nothing. It's like throwing it at a dog and then walking away. Or maybe I'll hand out some loose breakfast bars I've got sitting in my car. Again...costs me nothing. Don't get involved. Don't ask questions, and most of all...don't touch them. WHY!? These are people! PEOPLE! They're not dead dogs, or human waste. They have feelings. They had hopes and dreams. Sure, maybe everything sucks now...but they are still of value. Why am I afraid to touch them? My God, what on earth would that feel like? To have people not want to touch me? To have no one to touch my hands or hug me, or hold me? What would it be like to be cold, and have nowhere to go? What would it be like to have to BEG to eat. And then have people in their nice cars judging me, and assuming I was on drugs? Or an addict? Or crazy?

I am sickened by myself. I am sickened that I honestly believe I am a person of value. I am sickened by what these people go through. I have no idea what the answers are. I can only imagine what it would be like for them to have shelter. To have a warm bed, and clean sheets, and a shower. To have a shower! Clean clothes! To be able to cut your nails, and wear clean socks. I know there are shelters and all that nonsense in this town. I know that there are ways to "send them off' to people who are there to "help" them. But why am I so resistant to be the actual person who does the helping? Why don't I think about this all the time...day and night...unceasingly? Why does this only haunt me when I drive by them begging on the street corners? Why am I not kept awake at night by their torment? Why am I not driven unendingly to make this change? I'm not talking about changing laws, or governmental regulation...I'm talking about PEOPLE. Why am I (this one person) not doing all that is in my power to help them?

This same notion applies with what is going on in Darfur. Do not be deceived, Americans...we are turning a blind eye to the sufferings in the world...in our country...in our streets...God, even in our homes. Half the time we are oblivious to the emotional agonies that our own dearly loved ones are enduring. How can I possibly look around this place and believe that all is well? All is NOT well! All is terribly, terribly wrong. We, as Christians, waste so much time arguing this policy and that policy. We waste time fighting against "gay" marriage, or whatever other token argument is going on in the political realm. I'm not saying I oppose a political voice. But I am saying this: why are we so completely NOT focused on the things that actually matter? Why are we completely distracted from loving others the way that God commands us to over and over and over again in His word?

I am sickened by myself. I am sickened by my sinfulness. By the ugliness that dwells in me. And this sense of pride, or like I'm better than anyone else. I am sickened by our government's position that we must FORCE people to help others, rather than people being so emotionally and psychologically driven to help. I am sickened that we are not solving the problems before us. I am sickened that I am one in the "group" of ignoring the sufferings of others. I am sickened that we are so focused on our own self pity, our own heartaches and frustrations (weight, cars, houses, credit cards, lovers, distance, etc etc etc). I can say, with almost a complete certainty, that people struggling with starvation could care less about their "weight", or their lovers, or their cars, or houses. They are simply working to survive.

I am hungry. I am hungry to change myself. I am hungry to leave this place where life is so focused on stuff and the acquiring of more stuff, or the self deprecation of how much stuff you have, or the arguing with people not to be "judged" about how much stuff you have...but the focus is the same. It's all about "stuff". Who the hell cares? Seriously. Who is going to go to your funeral and go, you know? She was really cool! She had a BMW. She lived in Bel Air. She was freaking awesome, she always had a Gucci purse. And she was NOT fat. I mean, for crying out loud, if that is what was said about me...I would be very likely driven to come back from the dead and punch everyone in the face.

I know this is a rant. I apologize to you, dear reader, for my tirade. I want to be different from who I am. I want to be so in love with God that I could care less about what I have, or don't have. I want none of it to matter to me at all. I want to be a "crazy" Christian. In fact, I don't even want to consider myself worthy enough to label myself "Christian". I'd rather be known as someone who loved Jesus. Not a "Christian". I want to be DEEPLY moved, to tears even, when I see someone starving, or homeless, or in need of a shower. I want to be moved so passionately that I ACT. That I reach out and hold their hand while they're standing on the street corner. I want to be driven to do that without reaching for the hand sanitizer after I've driven off. I want to stop being sickened with myself. I want true and lasting change in myself. Forever.