Chief

You and me baby... where to begin? How to define this convoluted mess of intense love, fierce passion, and devastating blows? What is the point where "we" become "us" instead of you and me? Who am I without you, and who are you without me?

These random moments come where you pop across my eye balls, deeper than the usual comfort of your presence. Random moments where the lights all dim, and the spotlight shines on you... your eyes will pop out, and I'll catch you doing things unexpected. I fall in love. I fall in crazy love with you, over and over again.

You are as familiar to me as myself. I understand your every fiber. I have obtained you, level expert. I have been at the epicenter of your hurricanes, I have been in the eye of your tornadoes, I have been the fire in your lightning, I have felt the cold of your blizzards... I have seen you at your worst, at your lowest, at your darkest. I have felt the force of your rage, your loss, your grief. I have seen you fall outrageously in love, with me and then each of our children. I have been blessed with your hard work, and your dedication. I am thankful for you.

Where would I begin? How would I write enough to explain? There aren't words... only actions. I pray that every single moment, you have felt my actions. I pray that when I die, those actions will carry you through, and if you go first, vice versa. I pray that our children will understand that love is not feelings and words, but deeds. I pray that they will understand that it is not earned, but freely given. I beg God for them to grasp that it hurts like hell, every.single.day. to love like this. I hope that they will understand that nothing else will compare to it.

It's you and me baby. I'm lovin' it.

Nuggets

I watched him drive away and I felt a pang in my chest. It hurt to see him go. It aches. I kissed him as wholly as I could, I poured all of myself out of my body. I am his.

We live in a world of unknowns. We don't know which moment will be our last. We don't know which kiss or embrace will be our final one. Thank God. I don't want to know. How could I possibly kiss him in a way that would last forever? How could I smell him, feel him, love him in a singular moment that would hold me through until my own final moment of life on earth? I can't. It's not possible to do, so I do it over and over and over again. I hope that the culmination of all of these events, will last forever.

My children, I am fiercely blessed to have your Daddy. I am blessed beyond what I deserve, what I ever hoped or imagined that God would give me. It is not without immense pain. To love someone, is painful. This is one of the things I feel the least able to make you comprehend. By painful, I don't mean that it is rejection, or disloyalty, or abandonment. I don't mean that it's being a doormat, or having no voice, or being abused. I don't mean that it's being controlled or micromanaged or belittled. I don't mean that it's being ignored or devalued, or deemed less than worthy. Have you seen your father treat me in these ways, or I him?

The pain is in the human component. It's in the hurt of their absence, in the ache of their sorrows. It's in the giving completely of your own self to another, and them giving their own in return. It's the weightless burden of holding their life, their heart, their passion in your hands. It's the children that Love creates. It's assuming the best, believing in goodness, and pouring out mercy over and over again.

I am recklessly his. This is entirely Divine. You know the stories of the immense sufferings that we have endured. You know the hurts we have dished out. You have had a front row seat, a magnifying glass perspective of all of our sins and weaknesses. I hope you spotlight the Mercy that abounds. I hope you see Jesus in the forgiveness. I hope you see through the momentary weaknesses, and set your eyes on the Love and acceptance. I hope you walk through life, knowing what real Love looks like. I hope you don't settle ever for less.

As a youth, I walked through immense hurts. I navigated many experiences that I am thankful you have so far been spared from. But at the same time, those deep wounds, etched the deep Love that is carved in to my soul. Love rises up out of the ashes of hurt, and overcomes. Love conquers all, if we are brave enough to allow it to. Love requires courage. It demands acceptance. It only exists with open hands.

Chief

People think he isn't fierce. They think that I walk all over him. They think because I'm loud, boisterous and confident, that he's somehow less of a man, or incapable of "winning"... as if that's even possible between a husband and a wife, but I digress.

I wonder if he feels unnoticed or like his sacrifices go unseen. He works his ass off, in the shadows. He isn't loud about it. His work ethic is unrelenting. He will go and go and go and go and never complain. He can be pushed to places where I would have had a nervous breakdown, and still come out smiling. I am in awe.

In my mind, the best of the best, are often the people who don't need you to notice. They're the people who don't want or seek out accolades. They're the people who don't cry out and beg for attention, and ask for banners or grandiose statements, or anything for themselves. The best of the best are the people who just.keep.going because that's who they are. And he is, America. He is.

He is my safe place. He's where I can go in all of my might and disintegrate into a puddle of tears. He is the embrace when I feel empty, he is the light when I feel lost, he is the warmth when I feel frozen. He is my laughter, my silliness, my positive outlook.

He guides this ship. Not as a dictator, but as someone entrusted with the most valuable gift I have to give: me. What a calling! To be the firm, to my flimsy; the decision, to my indecisiveness; the calm to my passion; the drive to my laziness; the yin to my yang...

America, he is my champion. I am wholly his. I am rendered to tears when I think of his value to me. What could I possibly say?

Zero

"I hope you don't give up on all of your dreams. I hope you don't forget your potential." I stumbled across these words from my Grandpa a few weeks back. He was writing to me after I'd just become a Mom to my oldest. I walked away from a lot of goals, as I embarked on that journey. It was a clearly defined fork for me: one way or the other. 

I have always been "all in" America. I don't have a dividable heart. I'm either magnificently obsessed or not at all. 

My life has been a series of choices. Almost none of them have turned out the way I imagined. Thank God. 

I chose to leave my family, my friends, and move across the country to this tiny little private college smack dab in the middle of snowmageddon. Choices.

Marriage was not on my radar. I didn't believe in love or magic or fantastic gifts beyond Salvation. I didn't believe beautiful things would happen in my life. I can't pinpoint why I had that opinion, other than to say that I did. And then he came... I chose his life of uncertainty, lack of control, and insanity. It might have taken me a while to jump off that cliff, but man oh man how I have loved the fall.

I chose my child over myself. This is no way to say that she owes me a golly darn anything, America. She doesn't. It was my gift, my sacrifice, my heart, with strings unattached. I chose to give her my best, not because there were no other ways to do it (and not to criticize the way that anyone else does it either), but Chief and I chose to bring her in to this world, and I chose to give her me, in whatever best way I could. 

I want to be clear, America, I have zero regrets. Every choice that I've made was filled with deep fear and trepidation. Every single circumstance has been filled with a plethora of unexpectedness and unpredictable outcomes. Every single moment has been worth it. 

I have lived a magnificent life. I have loved a magnificent man. I have born magnificent children. I have been given magnificent gifts. I have zero regrets. My life is better than I could have imagined it to be. Hurts, scars, bruises, kisses and all. 

America, I wish this for you: live with no regrets. Adore the life you have. 

Chief

If you knew him, America, you would fall in love. If you understood how he makes me laugh during really rough days, how his embrace and the sound of his heart beating soothes my mind... If I could just figure out how to define it, how to expose it, how to explain...

There aren't enough words.

I fumble and fuddle through nonsensical sentences, and I do my best to make it clear. I've been told it's clear to "everyone with eyes" but yet I still doubt... If I die today, have I shown him enough to carry him through? Will he close his eyes and know that he was loved and accepted with every single fiber of my being? Will he understand how deeply I have cherished our years together? How full of joy my heart has been because of him?

Supernatural. Holy. Divine.

I see him. I see how he struggles and gives. I see how he retreats when he's depleted, and how he recovers in ways different from me. I see how he looks at our children, and how he moves mountains in our son's world. I see how all of us, all.of.us. feel so happy when he comes home at the end of the day. I see how his face lights up with every single meal I make for him. I see how makes sure the kitchen is clean at night, so I can wake up to it in the morning. I see how he is faithful and loyal and steadfast. I see how he stumbles. I see how he loves. Oh, how I see how he loves! It's bigger than mountains, deeper than waters, like fresh streams. And somehow, somehow America, I was the one he chose to direct it towards! Oh! My!

What is it that affords us a love so grand? I can take no personal credit, nor offer any words of advice. I begged God for this gift, and He granted it. He gets the credit, not me. He has carried us through the depths of despair, hurts greater than can be defined. He has bound us together while we walked through the valley of the shadow of death, while we navigated the fires of hell, while we endured immense sorrow and hurt. He kept us going when our heart's stopped beating, and our minds were numb with grief. He gets the credit.

I'm sitting here, sipping my coffee, thinking about this guy... my great, great friend. I sure do dig him. :)

Today

The wind is gently blowing through the trees. They are slowly transitioning from a deep, dark green, to lime green. They are getting ready to go to sleep. Fall is rounding the bend, and coming upon us.

I spend a lot of time looking at these trees. I think they have become a sort of addiction after so many years in the desert. I love green. I love life. I love freshness. I love lots of different colors. I do not take the ability to see these things in front of me for granted.

Sometimes life feels monotonous. The changes are slow and subtle. Some days it feels like everything is always the same: get up, make breakfast, teach school, clean this/that, train up children, navigate arguments, talk, talk talk. There are moments where I feel trapped - stuck in the cycle of boredom, feeling drained, but not useful at the same time... like an evergreen: always standing, always the same, never changing.

Growth is super slow. Raising children is super slow. It's only when reflecting backwards that it seems fast. When I remember the moments holding my oldest as a baby, I can see how quickly it's all blown away in hindsight. Parenting feels slow in the day-to-day, but overall flies at supersonic speed.

I know I will carry these moments with my children, forever. I will reflect back on these days and think of how much I adore them. I will long for them when my children are grown up and raising their own children. I will ache for the noises my children are making. My ears will hunger for the arguments, the laughter, the endless "pew-pew" sounds of my son... The silence, that will one day befall on my house, will haunt me and pierce me to my core.

I know this is ahead of me. I work hard to be present in the now. I work hard to revel in each discovery, each "new" experience, each change. I focus my eyes on the growth, the transformations, the challenges, so that I don't feel trapped in my circumstance. They're subtle, but they're there.

This is hard work, but for me, almost all beautiful things are.

The weight of the task is huge. Four little lives... four Spirits, four hearts, four minds, four people... The consequences are eternal. They deserve my absolute best, my complete and undivided attention. They deserve my love, my focus, my attention, my passion. They deserve my compassion, my hard work, my work-a-holic mentality. They are priceless!

I wonder some times, at which point they will read this blog. I wonder the thoughts that will flow through their brains. I wonder if this will help to understand me in a way they possibly never did before. I wonder if it will help them to heal from any hurts I may have caused them over the years. I hope they will always walk away with this message: come what may, they are worth everything to me. They are worth the sacrifice of a paid career. They are worth me not chasing my own personal ambitions. They are worth every meal, every early morning, every "monotonous" moment. They are worth all of the slow days and all of the fast ones. They are worth every frustrating day, and every smooth sailing one. I would do this all over again any day of the week and twice on Sunday. I regret nothing.

I'm sitting here, watching the wind blow through the trees. They're slowly changing colors, getting ready to go to sleep. In a few weeks, they'll look completely different from how they look today. I am thankful for the ability to recognize that, and enjoy them today.

When Thunder Was Sick

Mommy? I threw up.

The words no parent wants to hear in the middle of the night. The words that launch a tired body out of bed, fumbling around for a light, and hoping that they made it to a toilet or a bin or a bucket. Those moments are all reflex. You're too tired to be anything but that. In those moments, your whole self is exposed. Sometimes, the results are surprising.

Chief was asleep through the whole process. I was neither resentful or upset about this. Vomit makes Chief vomit, and it's not really a lot of fun to deal with two sick people. This is where I can shine: my nugget is sick and she needs my help, my heart, my comfort. Rise to the freaking occasion, self. No matter how tired you are.

Up we go to the bathroom. She made it to a bucket (THANK YOU JESUS!), but she's got some on her face. I clean her up, and the bucket, and lysol everything down. My beautiful child, in her beautiful child wisdom, thought to put her hair back because she was feeling a bit nauseous before she went to bed (thank You Jesus times two!), so there was nothing in her hair.

Sleepy arms and legs, walk her back to her bed and tuck her in.

Mommy? When I threw up, Boe tried to come and get you for me. But he couldn't open the door.

Really? That was so sweet of Boe! I think it's because you're his little mumzy and he wants you to be okay.

She smiles.

My mind is launched back to a few weeks earlier. She had an MRI because there was some concern that she had a very, very serious condition (she does not have that serious condition. Thank You Jesus times three), and had to be put to sleep for the test. The staff told her that she would have to be awake before they could come and get me, so she was prepared to wake up alone. The anesthesiologist was beautifully wonderful and had the nurse get me before she was awake. When she opened her eyes, she looked up at me and smiled. Through her sleepy, drug-induced haze, she exclaimed You're here!!!! and grabbed me. It was so beautiful the nurse said "Oh my! I'm tearing up! I've never seen a reaction like that! It is SO sweet!"

I'm here, my priceless nugget.

I ran my fingers through her hair, while soaking it in. I'm here. For this moment, I can hug you and hold you and show you that you're not alone. For this minute, I can comfort you and shield you with the magical powers that this Mom's been given. For now, I can rub your achy back, and calm your shaky body, and wait until you fall asleep.

How beautiful it is to be present. I found myself saying "God? I wish she wasn't sick, but I'm so thankful for this opportunity to be here with her."

Being a Mom is fantastic. I am so fortunate that I am one. May I never take a second of it for granted.

A House?

America,

Yesterday Chief and I embarked on what could seriously be considered one of the most terrifying experiences of our adult life. No, America, I did not birth another child (hahaha). What did happen, America, is that we put an offer in on a house. That's right, America, we liked a house enough to ask some strangers to sell it to us, for an insane amount of money (up when we're in HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS of dollars, it's insane. I don't care if there is a house involved.), and we're hoping that they'll say We dig your offer! Here you go!

America, this has riled up all sorts of levels of anxiety in my Scottish heart. What if they reject the offer? What if those other mo-fo's who "like" the house put in a better offer and they take theirs!? What if we buy this house and it's a lemon? What if it's cursed? HAVE I EVEN GOOGLED THIS HOUSE TO MAKE SURE NO ONE HAS BEEN MURDERED THERE AND BURIED IN THE BASEMENT!?!?!? What if it's haunted? Has this house been on those stupid haunted house tv shows? What if there's criminals living next door that have a murderous demon dog, hell bent on killing my peace of mind with unending barking!? What if it's infested with fleas, or lice, or ticks!? What if the backyard has a snake infestation and that's why these people are selling it and have gotten the heck outta dodge...? What if the neighbors are beeelzebub's best friends!!!!!???? What if.... what if.... what if....!?!?!?

Okay, so I may have been joking about a lot of those "what ifs", (you laughed, right America?), but the first couple were genuine. What.if. It's a valid little two word sentence. And you know what the response is? Here ya go: Yeah! What the frick "if!"

I can't control the outcome. I can't control what is or is not to be. I don't see what's coming at us around the corner. I function on a limited amount of knowledge and information. But you know who doesn't? God. So we've asked Him for some help here. We've asked Him to choose our home for us, to guide us to wise choices, to take this away of this house will not be a blessing for us or our children, or the community as a whole. The hard part (at least for me), is to now trust in His work.

It's sad that my reality is that I blind my eyes to His goodness. It's sad that time and time again I have closed off my heart to the miracles He has given me: my husband (his life, his presence, his love, his mercy), my children (their lives, their health, their joy), my family, our home, an income, etc etc etc. Why does my heart tend to fall back on doubt? Why am I so unbelieving?! It's stupidity. That's the only thing that makes sense. I am clearly an idiot.

If someone shows you their character, shows you who They are, believe Them. God shows, and I stupidly don't believe.

America, if you're anything like me, I hope that today you will be challenged (as I have been), to believe in God's character. I hope that together, we can keep the black out curtains open, so that we can see outside of our minds and fears and worries, and recognize the good gifts we've been given.

I have no clue if today we'll become homeowners. I have no clue as to what is coming around the bend. But if I choose to not be an idiot, then I know my God has this in His beautiful hands, and I can wait peacefully for His guidance.

Youth Group

America,

Have you ever done something big and huge and completely terrifying? Chief and I are about to do that. We've recently volunteered to take over the high school youth ministry. Say whaaaaaattttt!? Yes, you read that correctly. To be perfectly honest with you? I. am. freaking. out! I was up all night researching studies and outlooks. I've been reading over "how to connect with high schoolers" stuff and regurgitating the frustrating feelings I had as a high schooler. I'm passionate and sick and tired of people who pre determine that high schoolers are young and stupid. I believe wholeheartedly in raising the bar and believing they will meet it.

In my angst, I brought my heart to my Savior. I have big ideas and big dreams and no clue if any of them are plausible. But to be honest, it's so astoundingly important to forget about imagery and remember Love. It's the most easily forgotten foundation. We get hung up on numbers or music or powerful words, we lose the message: Love. God's Love, manifested.

It is my hope and passion that whether there are two kids in our "group" or one hundred, that they all understand two things: 1) God's Love and 2) what they genuinely believe.

I am terrified. Chief and I are messy people with messy lives and sinful hearts. We're complicated and insecure and overwhelmed. But we love, so we will offer what we have to share.

Please join us in praying for the kids we will be meeting soon. Please pray for us to have wisdom and discernment, and open hearts. Pray we will be the hands and feet of Jesus. Pray for protection from sickness and courage to withstand trials. But most of all, America, please pray for us to be God's instruments. May we speak His words, love with His heart, and hold firm to His truth.

Monday Delights

America,

My husband has recently become a bit of a social butterfly. If you know him, you might be saying to yourself what-what!? and I would be saying it right along with you. Take for example this evening. We went out for a ride. Quite frankly, this weekend has been one heck of a crazy carbohydrate consumption event (ovulation nation sucks America... and my uterus--let's not get literal about things America, and roll with "uterus"--demands carbs!) so I needed to ride so that fluffaluffagus will not morph in to orcaluffugus (these are real terms here...).

On "our" ride, Chief stops and befriends some random fellow. "We" proceeded to ride for four miles all by "our"selves, while chatty mc-chatterson had a grand old time. And you know what, America? I loved it! Chief needs to be able to talk to dudes. There's a lot about his job, his leadership stuff, his experiences, that try-as-I-might I just don't fully understand. It's the exact same reasoning for why I need my ladies. As supportive as Chief is, he's not an XX and he just doesn't get some of the components that extra X lays down on my life (if you're behind, America, "XX" are the female chromosomes).

I don't mind riding by myself. The kids made friends, while Chief made friends, and I rode off carb-ville. It was a win-win-win!

In completely unrelated news: I am sick of ingrown hairs today. If you do not suffer from operation sasquatch nation, America, then I envy you. The lengths that I go through to tame the fur on these legs is outrageous! It urks me to NO END when I shave my legs and I look down to see fourteen thousand buried hairs! WUH! They always seem to become illuminated in my mind, as if my brain as labeled them with a hot pink highlighter, and now I'm certain they are all ANYONE can see when they look at my legs. I'm pretty sure the whole world is saying "Did you see her ingrown hairs? Has she heard of tweezers!?" (you have to read this is a stereotypical valley girl voice, or as one of the characters from "Clueless"). I will leave you, so that I may tame the wild beast. Sometimes I'm jealous of the XY... he doesn't have to shave his legs! HA! :)

Molehills

America,

How often do we walk these silent sufferings, and no one knows? How frequently do we navigate endeavors or hurts and no one knows? Sometimes there are scenarios where there is little to say, and nothing to do, but the hurt is big. SO big.

I like to make molehills out of mountains. I like to convince myself that big deals really aren't.

I'm climbing and climbing and I'm mentally wearing out of this incline is little. It's almost over. My muscles are aching and sore and I've got little left in my reserves, if anything at all.

I don't want to talk about it. I want to be able to discuss the emotions, and the lessons learned, while processing in silence. This is my "molehill" and I want to rock it to its core.

It's not that I have anything to prove to anyone, America. It's not that I need you to believe that everything is perfect or lovely or blah blah blah. To be honest, I am much too complicated to waste time on that kind of nonsense. I'm vastly imperfect, and I'm married to a vastly imperfect person. I'm okay with that. I'm even more okay with you being completely aware of it. I am comfortable with being both perfect and deeply damaged. I'm also okay with you not grasping that concept or thinking it makes even the slightest bit of sense.

Don't mind me while I'm over here with my molehills.

Cutting ties

America, ain't nobody got time fo dat. Okay, okay... I'm a total white girl and I am way too old to be saying that. I get it... but I kind of don't care. That sentence is funny, and life is too short to be worried about whether or not other people think I should act like. So I'll say it! HA!

In the past year, a lot has changed in me. I mean, a lot! My focus has shifted and morphed. I've started taking real stock in where my time and focus are. I'm less and less interested in wasting them. I'm more and more focused on the people around me.

Take, for example, television. We are "entertained", generally, by watching people do things (on tv, movies, internet videos, etc) that we are not doing ourselves! I started to be really struck by that. We see pictures of our friends' adventures or we watch shows about awesome DIYers, while we sit on our tushes thinking about how cool it is. Why don't we go out and actually do it?

I've decided to stop watching the world do things, and start actually do it myself. The strange consequence of that is that I'm less interested in the internet. I want to have an actual conversation. I want to connect in a real person way. I want to go out and live, not watch people live enviously! I want to experience things, and push myself. I want to live a life fulfilled, not numbed away.

To be frank, America, I am exhausted by the end of the day. I wake up with a completely different outlook. I've deleted all social media from my phone, which has drastically changed my relationship with both avenues (social media and my phone). Gone are the days of staring away at the cell. Gone are the moments of wondering about the latest gossip on facebook. Yes, I want to know about what's happening with the people I love, but I'm working on new ways to build and foster relationships. Quite sincerely, I want more than the internet is dishing out.

Side note: for the love of humanity this is not a bashing or hating of facebook/twitter/instagram/social-anything. I am not opposed to these sites or convicting them of wickedness. If you use them, and are capable of doing so and still living awesome lives--like many, many, many of the wonderful people in my life--then you rock the casbah and are way cooler than me. I was not able to do this in my life. I changed for myself. Please do not feel that what works for me, must be for you too. I recognize that I am uniquely me and you are uniquely you and it's okay if we do things differently. This is merely me sharing what I've learned and understood in myself recently. It also might change. I'm okay with that too. Just sayin'. :) End side note.

America, I hope that you will examine your own life and see what isn't working and then let it go. I hope you will seek out and foster things that bring you joy and good health. I hope your day will be filled with laughter and love.

The Fellowship

Here it is. The beginning of the end of this endeavor. In some ways, I feel like Frodo... too exhausted to continue, unwilling to let go of this new something that has come as a result of this experience. I feel...

I wish I had words. I wish I was an artist or a musician so that I could paint or play what I can't define because there's too much of it. Too much big and confusing and contradictory stuff to every be able to make sense of it. Yet, my passion for words results in my attempt to do so anyway. In some part, for you America, but mostly because I want to remember for me.

My struggle this past year has been deeply private and personal. Outside of my very inner, inner circle, few have known about what I have navigated. I think there's a lot of beauty in that. There are phases in our life that need to be privately navigated... quietly experienced, and processed. There are undefinable hurts, even for this word loving gal.

I am so immensely excited to be unified again. And so utterly terrified of it too. The journey of last year changed so many things in me, and that makes what is ahead of me look so different, unpredictable, and scary.

I've learned I'm so much more fragile that I ever realized. I've also learned I'm so much more strong too. I've realized so much about my value that I've forgotten or ignored for so many years I can't even describe it. I've found new passions, that were born out of immense embarrassment and challenge, but I genuinely  love  them. I have actually fallen fantastically in this beautiful fascinating love phase for my children. To explain (I have always loved, loved, loved them), I have fallen in love with their fascination for things. I've been able to wake up from the haze of illness and disorders, into how they learn, how they challenge, how they grow. America, I wish I could share with you the absolute beauty in that. I wish I could make you see how much being a Mom has given me such joy. I wish I could show you the tears that pour joyfully out of my eyes at the very thought of them. Most of all, I want them to see it. I want them to understand it and know it deeply in their whole bodies, hearts and minds: they are the most valuable of all values to me. They are worth more than rubies, more than diamonds, more than my "youthful" body, my sleep, my anything. They are priceless and I adore them. Flaws and all. They're a blast to love. Even on the "bad" days.

I've changed. I'm not who I was. I'm still uncomfortable saying "no" but I'm now willing to do it. I've learned to stop trying to please everyone, but to also sift out the people in my life just around for the ride, or the side line tickets to the freak show. I've grown in my deep and immense love for my inner circle of support. These people have shed tears with me in ways you couldn't believe this past year. They've had mercy, when I had none, they've shown love, when I've felt so lost. They've literally been the porch lights for me to follow out of darkness. They are, together, my Samwise Gamgee. This journey would have fallen apart if it wasn't for them carrying me through.

How does one begin to define the feelings? Where do the words begin? I'm not really sure. But I can tell you that this adventure finishes in a matter of hours. Then a new one will begin.

I hope it's a comedy, America. I really like those. :)

Riding

It's been nearly five weeks since I've had a decent ride on my bicycle, with one short day in there as an exception. I was on a medication that kept me off for two weeks (no sun). When I finally finished that, I went for one ride and wrecked my bike and broke my elbow. That was almost three weeks ago. Today, I threw caution to the wind and I got on my bike. I needed it.

To be honest, it was really freaking tough. It's amazing how much strength and endurance one can lose in five weeks. I struggled through a two mile ride. By struggled I mean, I really, really struggled! If I'm being fair here, it was also over a hundred degrees outside, so... let's all smile and nod and say that must have been what was causing the challenge! HA!

I needed to go, as I wrote before. I need the movement of my body pushing against the earth. I need the quieting of all of my thoughts and I need to push myself to the point of exhaustion. I need to feel the wind on my skin and see my body push itself up one.more.hill. I need to conquer myself and my desire to quit. I need to be where I was.

Riding has given me freedom, clarity, comfort. It vents my disappointments, and shows me that I'm stronger than I believed myself capable of being. Even on the days where I struggle through two miles.

Vacuums

America,

Living life as The Face of Boe must be quite challenging for our beloved Newfie. He does some pretty hilarious and strange things, which illuminate his distinct personality in our home.

Recently, he's developed a love and devotion for our vacuum. No, you didn't read that wrong, America, my dog loves my vacuum.

It began with a curiosity about the device that makes so much noise. One day, while I was vacuuming my baseboards with the hose attachment, he decided it was time to check it out. He came over and began watching me, evaluating what I was doing and why. This lasted for about three minutes. Then he moved closer and started sniffing the hose.

I don't get worked up over things that Boe does, generally. We want him to have a curiosity and interest in people and experiences (obviously within the realm of safety!). If we foster an attitude of fear, then he'll behave as a frightened dog behaves. No thanks.

He sniffed at the hose, so I held it up so he could sniff it better. He didn't seem to understand what all the fuss was about. I showed him how it felt, by putting the vacuum on his fur, so he could feel the suction.

America, at this moment, I wish I had a video camera on his face. His entire face lit up like a Christmas morning expression of joy and happiness. He started moving his body along the suction of the vacuum. America, Boe became convinced that the vacuum is a massage/brush device created for his pleasure.

You know what I now deal with, every time I get out the vacuum? An enormous Newfoundland who, quite pushily, wants to be vacuumed! Every. single. time.

To be fair, I love this! Newfie's shed like a son of a motherless goat. One time, I was scratching his chest, and about a cup of fur fell off of his body in thirty seconds or less, on to my arm. The fact that I have a hairy dog who wants me to vacuum him, helps me to cut down on the insane amount of sasquatch that develops all over my house, every single day (I sweep my kitchen and dining room every night, and every night there is at least a gallon ziploc bag worth of fur in those two small rooms). If I can vacuum it out of him, there is less to fall on the ground!

This has become a bit of a ritual with us. The vacuum comes out, and the dog comes around.

I hope that you have a dog who brings you such delight and laughter as The Face of Boe does!

On another note: today we celebrate the bravery of a small group of people who stood up for freedom, at great risk to their lives and financial security, and said "no" to one of the most powerful people in the world. Their bravery and sacrifice, began a tradition of standing up for justice and what is good. It is my hope, America, that you will honor this tradition of goodness in your lives, today and always. It is my prayer that America will never lose courageous people willing to sacrifice it all, for the benefit of others. Happy Birthday America!

Bullet Holes

Every once in a while, you pop up on my radar. You come waltzing in to my brain with your trickery, and your unfulfilled promises and your silent treatment. Sometimes it's a passing glance in the mirror, or a person who shares your name.

The topic of you often times renders me silent, a grief so big and so vast that I don't really know how to define it, so I sit still. I've spent a lifetime processing you. I've been infected with your virus and I know I'll never be the same. 

In many ways I wish I could hate you. I wish I could define you by your failures and your great disappointments and ball it all up in a soccer ball of rage and then kick it around every once in a while for good measure. But the simple matter of it all is that I just feel so sad for what you've walked away from, what you've abandoned, too sad to be angry anymore.

I'm one hell of a human being. You've really missed out. All of my successes? You don't have a damn bit of handiwork in that. All of my accomplishments? Nope. The lessons I've learned throughout my life, and the tears that I've shed over loves and friends and life... none of them have you as the good guy. And you had a million trillion opportunities and chances to make that different. You could have, you should have, you didn't.

You've missed out on how utterly freaking hilarious I am, and how I work hard to see the positives, a polar opposite to your misery and unending fear and unhappiness. I've stared down the barrel of a plethora of guns that shook me to my core, and never once were you a piece of the equation of support or encouragement of safety. You've missed out on my happiest moments, and the most challenging hurdles being overcome, and you never had an idea that they were even happening. What a shame...

I built up a thousand walls of protection, and then I sat on top of it all and saw how utterly lonely it would make me. So I began the tedious work of chiseling it away piece by piece, and letting the fresh air in. It was agonizing, and overwhelming and exhausting. I spent years sobbing, and grieving. I stopped trying to understand and define everything. I dove in to the pain and rode its wave to shore, and when I got there... when I got there you were nowhere around. You were not a part of what kept me standing. You were one of the sharks in the water trying to knock me off. What a shame...

I didn't go without, as a result of you. I wasn't starved for support and affection. Your infection didn't remove the outside forces from their healing words. Yet, every once in a while, I catch a glimpse of you in my mirror and I feel so sad that you choose not to be a good guy in my story. You pop up in my head and I feel such a heavy sadness about that decision of yours. I've gotten to the point where I'm not even sure if there are any tears left to cry over it. What a shame...

At the Arrivals Gate

It builds slowly over time. It's an anticipation like no other, and I've been fortunate to anticipate some pretty big things. It starts out in my belly and rises up like a volcano. My whole body jitters and shakes and I feel like I'm going to explode out of my skin.

I can't help looking for you everywhere. I can't help searching out your sound, your smell, your presence. Your imprint is carried around in my soul, and it pops up randomly.

The worst is the immense experience of seeing the plane land, knowing you're no longer miles and miles away, and that all that separates us is feet. Feet! My eyes search for you among the bodies, as if your eyes are the only eyes on the planet that can save me. So I search, and then... there you are! The seconds it takes between our connection feel like eight million hours! My lungs inhale as if they haven't experienced oxygen in ages.

Your hands go around my waist and every single muscle, every single cell, relaxes. My whole body lets go. My whole body calms down. All of the tension of hundreds of sleepless nights, waterfalls of tears, lonely moments, the waiting and waiting and waiting is finally over.

It's like the most magnificent explosion of fireworks in my soul, and the calmest, most peaceful and beautiful river you've ever seen.

I've done it so many times. It never gets old. Never. I love figuring out what to wear. I love imagining what your eyes will want to see me in, for the first time in what felt like forever. I love when it's over. I love when we're us again.

Marathon

Sometimes I forget that You're doing something in me. Sometimes I want what I want right now, and the idea of waiting and working and changing and growing becomes exhausting and heavy and overwhelming. Sometimes I feel like screaming and raging at You and throwing a full.fledged.temper.tantrum, and sometimes I feel like sobbing, and sometimes I just sit still with You, asking you to help me be better... asking You to give me more time.

I'm a mess.

I make a thousand professions of confidence and belief and peace. When a scenario plays out differently from what I want, in comes the You NEVER do what I want! comments, so indicative of the mind of a child. I am a child, Your child.

Truth is, I feel so sad. It's the strangest thing to be both overwhelmingly sad, and joyful at the same time. It's bizarre to ache for what I don't have next to me, while grateful for the opportunity to grow and expand my relationship with You. Will I ever stop being such a contradiction in terms and desires? How can I want Your will and my own? How can I live like my will must be Yours, or you don't "love me"? What kind of screwed up notion of love is that? Do I love my children that way? Or my husband? Or my friends?

Why do I demand that your plans be mine, as if I know what's best?

The mind of an immature child...

The truth is, You know I've been sitting here wallowing. The truth is, You know I've also been whispering that I will trust in Your reasons. Does trusting mean, no emotion? Because I feel grief. What a joy it is that You've given me someone whose absence causes my heart so much grief! How blessed I am. You give, You take away. Job's words, that have permeated throughout my heart over the years. You've given me life, You will take it away. You've given me Love. You've given me more than I can actually comprehend, deeper than I can understand. You've walked me through the depths of solitude, challenged me with abandonment, shown me the darkest pits of suffering, where there aren't words to define. You've built a heart in me able to withstand, and overcome, and Love. You've given me a heart that has to Love. It has no other option. It kills me sometimes, Beloved. It hurts like hell to love like this.

So, I'm not alone, but yet alone at the same time. It's strange, isn't it? And all praise to You for Your plan. I never would have envisioned a more perfect plan. I never could have fathomed a life like this!

This one has been tough, Father. In some ways I don't want it to end, but in so many more I'm counting down a celebratory cheer to its end. This year of basic training has broken me, rebuilt me, changed me. I am not the same. I'm thankful for that.

As it nears its end, I wonder what's next. Where will we go from here? What will the road look like? Nevermind. I don't want to know. If I focus too far ahead of myself, I lose sight of what's right in front of me. One of the lessons you've been challenging me on... living for today. Letting go of what's behind, stopping trying to brace for/prepare for/anticipate for what's to come... living for the now. Loving in the now. Recognizing that I have no control over what's about to happen. It's in Your hands. What glorious Hands they are!

I feel joy here, Father, in this place. Joy and sorrow. Comfort and solitude. Loneliness and love. I miss my companion. It hurts.

Thank You for sitting with me while I wallow. And not pointing out what could or should or would be different. Thank You for the freedom to hurt, while also knowing that Your picture is better than mine. Thank You for not mandating how my heart handles things. Thank You for giving me the space and love to be who I am. A mess.

My eyes are on the Prize. I'm running the Marathon to finish it. Mind over body. One footfall after the next. I'm not stopping.

Maybe

Maybe if I was better with words, I'd figure out how to write out what my body experiences when you walk in the room. Maybe I'd be able to explain how the image of your face in my brain floods my body with all sorts of feelings that I don't know how to communicate. Maybe I'd be able to explain what it's like to sit next to you, your leg accidentally brushing up against mine... my whole heart beats in my chest, my stomach flip flops, my palms sweat.

How many years has it been now baby?

Maybe if I was more eloquent, I'd figure out how to not fall all over myself with trying to not scream. Every single night without you feels like an eternity in suffering. It feels like I'm in a dark pit, or a pitch black room, and I'm just waiting and listening for the footsteps that I hope will come and turn the lights back on.

You're the one who has the balls to untangle the mess I make of myself. You're the person who knows how fragile I can be. You're the person who sees me at my worst, and understands the intentions and best thought out plans underneath, and knows I'll figure it out, eventually.

Maybe if I knew how to be more mesmerizing, I'd figure out how to say that your breath on the back of my neck lulls me to sleep. Maybe I'd tell you that you're the warm that wraps me in rest. Maybe I'd be able to explain that trying to sleep without you is an exercise in futility. Something happens, I don't know I'd call it "sleep".

Remember how I used to make you sleep under a different blanket from me? Remember how I used to withdraw from your touch? Remember how much I used to hate to be close? I was like a rabid person... touch was dangerous. Overwhelming. You were the gunslinger that shot that armor up.

Maybe if I was able to communicate more effectively, I'd tell you that sometimes I pretend like you're sitting here next to me. I close my eyes, wrap myself up in your clothes, and imagine... Maybe if I wasn't so ridiculous I wouldn't be embarrassed by how much that sadly comforts me. It's better than nothing.

Maybe if things were different, you'd be here and we would be tangled up, sleeping peacefully.

Maybe if you were better with words, you'd figure out how to say all this same stuff to me. But I'm not, and you're not, so we just know because we do. Some things can't be said, they have to be felt.

Broken bones

I'm sitting here in my living room, wrapped in an afghan, cup of coffee beside me, listening. I'm listening to the noises going on around me: my children singing songs and talking to each other, my brain swollen and sore from a recent injury, my arm: broken and wounded...

I'm alive.

I was riding my bike with my Newfoundland, as I do almost every day. A number of situations came in to play that were unusual, on this particular day. We hadn't ridden in several days because of a medication I'm on that needs me to not be out in the sun. My bike was shaking and handling funny, so I slowed down to get off of it, when a neighbor's unleashed dog came out around a vehicle to approach me. My dog (who can pull up to a 1,000 lb cart), yanked hard (part pent up energy from no walk, and part wanting to play with a dog, and part puppy nonsense that has trouble with impulse control) and launched me about 10 feet over my handle bars and on to the ground. I heard my head hit the ground. I felt the impact.

I was dazed, stunned, and a plethora of medical crises education washed over. Assess, assess, assess. I sat up, and my neighbors crowded around.

Are you all right?
Just give me a minute. I just need a minute. What happened? Where am I? Can I move? Oh my gosh! I'm on the ground. I can sit. I can move my feet, and my legs and my arms. Oh my arm! My arm hurts.

You're bleeding. Your bleeding really bad.

I looked over and saw blood dripping down my arm from my shoulder. The skin was gone and gravel was embedded. It's going to suck scrubbing that out...

Boe was freaking out with confusion. He was so excited to be outside, but now I'm being surrounded by people. I remember watching him trying to figure out what to do. He wasn't sure if he should be playing or protecting, or enjoying some attention. I told him to chillax and he laid down.

I asked a neighbor to make sure my eyes were not shaking, and that my pupils were even. I was slightly dizzy, but nothing overly intense. I knew that my head was the first priority, the rest could be dealt with. Brain's bleeding and whatnot are no good, no matter the situation.

A neighbor helped me home, along with my children. I wanted to get in the shower as soon as possible. I needed to scrub the gravel out of the left side of my body (shoulder, hip, leg, arm), and there was so much surface area to deal with that I knew a shower would be easiest. Adrenaline stops pumping relatively quickly and it's more helpful to navigate extreme pain when it's still flooding the system.

I took off my helmet, and glanced down. The foam was shattered. It was still intact because the plastic pieces are glued to the foam, but the foam was completely broken. My neighbor said I heard your head hit the ground from inside my house. That's why I came out. Wow.

In the shower, as soon as the water hit, the adrenaline wore off. I screamed, I mean actually screamed. The pain was undefinable. I soaped up and scrubbed. I knew it was going to hurt. I also knew it had to be done. Infection is nothing to mess with. My kids ran for the first aid kit, so I could treat and dress the wounds after I got out.

When I got out of the shower, the pain in my arm surged. Trying to dry off and get dressed was practically impossible. I screamed through the entire ordeal. This was not the horrible skin pain of shredding off flesh, this was deeper... it was bone pain. I will deal with this after I address the bleeding...

I gauzed, wrapped, and bacitracin'd my cuts. Then I went to the arm. Can I move it? Can I touch it? Is this muscular or bone? It was here I discovered that my arm would not lift about a ninety degree angle. Crap... I might have to go to the ER...

The kids grabbed ice packs, while I elevated my arm. My head was starting to really hurt. I started sobbing. Not out of self pity. The pain was very intense. I called Chief, who told me to go to the ER. I argued, because that's my nature, but he was right so I went.

The triage nurse was concerned by how calm I was. In fact, she was quite concerned, especially given my head injury. The took me off to X ray very quickly. I screamed and cried through the entire experience. It was agonizingly painful. But I knew that when it was over, it'd be over.

I broke my arm on the tip of the radius. It's tiny, but it's leaking bone marrow tissue out into the surrounding tissue. No cast, because of the location of the break. Just a sling and ice. I can't take any pain medications because of the brain injury. Pain meds increase bleeding risks, so my body is navigating this injury all on its own.

Pain is powerful. My body is telling me it's hurt. It's telling me to slow down, rest, stop.

I'm alive.

No, I won't be riding with Boe anymore. I am not mad at him in any capacity. He's a dog and he was doing what dog's do. I just know it's not worth the risk. I'll have to come up with a new way to give him the joy of hard physical work, without risking my life. Anyone have a cart they'd care to share? ;)

I am in a decent amount of pain. But to be honest, this accident has filled my heart with joy. Why, you might be wondering? Because I didn't die. Seriously. If you saw my helmet, you would maybe understand. In that singular moment, if I had not had a helmet on, it could have been my brain on the pavement. The story could have ended with my children watching me die in the street. It could have been with a funeral, instead of a broken, painful arm. I'll take the arm. I'll take the extra days, minutes, hours, to tell my children how much I love them. I want the extra moments to share with them the things that I've learned, and the joy I feel in being their Mom. I want the extra days to kiss my husband and wake up in this beautiful life I am so fortunate to live.

I'm alive!

I celebrate life. I celebrate one more chance to pour out my life, my love, my heart into the world around me.

Our time is running out. It's the craziest thought, but it's immensely powerful. We have a limited number of unknown days on this planet, and our time is running out. There isn't enough time to share it all. There isn't enough time to love enough. There isn't enough time to say all I want to say...

I'm sitting here in my living room listening. I can hear my children building and creating lego cities. I can hear my body healing itself and demanding rest. I can feel the love of my husband pouring out from miles away. I feel joy. I feel gratitude. I'm alive.

At this point the sucker punches are beginning to get to me. The prayerful dialogue is contorting from Give me peace. Help me to navigate this. To What the FRICK!?!?!?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?!?!?!?! 

It's strange to see yourself and recognize your plethora of weaknesses. It's easy to think that you're resilient and strong, when things are going well. Start peppering in daily disappointments, daily let downs, daily emergencies/disasters, and the mental/emotional resolve dissipates quickly. It's bizarre to be so utterly alone. It hurts.

But the truth is, there really isn't anything for anyone to say. And the truth is, I don't really know how to even talk about it. I'm exhausted. I'm a child. True to my childish ways, I want what I want and I feel like if I could only have that one thing, then everything else would be better.

It doesn't work like that.

It never has. No, not in the I'm-feeling-sorry-for-myself kind of way (I am feeling sorry for myself, America. I will be clear about that), but more in the sense that things are rarely what you imagine them to be (or what you perceive they will be). Life is so much more unpredictable than all that. Thank the Lord! Otherwise I'd be bored to tears! I am struck, by wanting a little less excitement. I'm sobbing because I have to watch all of these people around me have all of these things that they've always wanted, while I have so little of it.

This is not what I imagined. Or maybe it's exactly what I imagined and that's why I'm so freaking pissed about it all. I wish I didn't know things. I wish I could be less alone. I wish I could be noticed beyond the projection. I wish I could stop feeling like I've been hollowed out. I wish he was here. I wish, I wish, I wish.

I wish I didn't wish for those things.

The trouble is figuring out how to hurt, comfortably. The reality is that I'm grieving, and these peppered in "disasters" are pecking away at the shell I have wrapped around the big giant hurt that I don't have time, or much desire, to deal with. Maybe I don't have the skills.

I wish I couldn't see things from so many angles. I envy the oblivious. I envy the naive. I want to know less. Knowledge brings so much pain with it. How can you know and not be burdened to act? How can you see and erase it from your mind? I am haunted.

The thing is, America, he fixes my brokenness. That's what he was created for. He was made to help me do whatever it is that I'm supposed to do. He leaves, to remind me that he is not my Protector (in the final sense), but rather He is. My Creator envies for my single focus, and He reminds me of my deepest need: Him.

War

It's me against the road. Me against myself. Me against my brain's ability to just.keep.going, when everything in me wants to quit. Sweat dripping off of me, I've somehow stopped giving a shit about whether or not people think I look like an idiot. Because I don't care. They aren't working their ass off. I am. And I think that's pretty damn cool. So screw them and their opinions.

Food is a weapon, in my arsenal of self punishment. It has been for ages and ages. The delight in hunger, the craving for that sensation, and the gorging and shoving because food can shove down feelings, despite what the skinny self help guru's say. Food can be a fabulous distraction from whatever the hell else you don't want to be focusing on. Food is a weapon, for self hatred, self punishment, feeling in "control".

None of us really have our shit together. I think realizing that is one of the most powerful steps to any sense of happiness. We've all got skeletons, we are all destructive (in some sense), we all have scars... So.what? Your scars, while may be different from mine, don't make you any more or less worthy, and neither do mine.

But all of that gets poured in to my body, or maybe out of it, when my legs are begging me to stop, and my brain is saying that I decide when I'm finished. I can feel my heart beating. I can feel my lungs breathing. I can feel the movement of every single one of my muscles. It's bizarre to feel so acutely aware that I'm alive, and yet to feel so fiercely like I'm dying, in a singular moment.

The voices go silent. It feels like the only time I'm actually listening, to myself.

Me against the road. Me against myself. Where does self hatred go, when you take away the weapon of food?

Easter

I find this "holiday" to be painful. I find it difficult to celebrate and cheer. I find it brings my heart much grief and sorrow. Before you start trying to quote scripture at me about how He has risen (I DO, in fact, realize that He has risen), keep reading. :)

I hope that if you consider yourself to be a Christian, the recollections and events of the past few days have brought silence and contemplation in to your life. I hope that you have pondered what it means for someone to actually die for you. I hope that renders you quiet and serene. I hope it causes you to evaluate and question yourself in the grand scheme of this world and possibly change some things.

On this symbolic day, oh so many years ago, women walked to a tomb with broken hearts. Their hopes were dashed. Their understanding of everything was destroyed. They were devastated. This person, that I believe is the Messiah, showed himself to them (or possibly her) first. Not to his bro's, or the hot shots that killed him. He showed himself to broken hearted women. In a society that seems hell bent on destroying the value of women, I find this move astounding. I find this action to be powerful. Women are who He went to first, before He went to the Father (John 20). Maybe this is God's way of saying Hey females, I see you... You are not forsaken or worthless... 

The greatest challenge for me is what believing demands, what it requires. Jesus said it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven (Matt 19.24). I am that rich man. It's bizarre to acknowledge that in a society which is constantly seeking out more, and evaluating what is lacking, but it's the truth. In this big blue planet, I'm one of the rich guys... So, it's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for me to get in to heaven. Say what!?!?!?! You mean it's not just popping over to church and participating in the Eucharist? You mean it's not reading Bible verses and praying prayers and going on with everything like usual? No, America. It's not. And that's where I grieve. Because the reality is, I like stuff. I'm addicted to this world. I'm not so excited about the ideas and realities that Jesus laid out for me to follow, if I'm honest. 

Easter makes me stand still and question. Easter makes me realize that I have choices to make. It's all or nothing, to be honest. I don't get to be comfortable and go to heaven. I either have to be all in, recklessly abandoned, or just give it up. Oh how hard it is to love Jesus more than the things of this world. Back to that old camel through the eye of a needle... 

I find it exceedingly difficult to battle those addictions where I am living now. I hunger for the homeless of EP. I hunger for the needs of people bombarding my face at every opportunity. Here I feel to sheltered, too secluded and it is feeding the lust of my soul for creature comforts. Don't get me wrong, America, the broken are here. The hungry are here. They seem to be hidden away and not pounding my eyes at every intersection. My sinful heart brushes their existence to the side and gives me the space to believe my donations to a shelter make me "good". Bullshit. Jesus said sell everything, give everything away. Not just my cast-offs. Give until it hurts. Care more about Him than stuff, or money, or power, or status. 

Easter makes me ask am I really a Christian? Am I a fraud? How do I love Him more than this world? What does that look like in my every day?

"You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering" -Ernest Hemingway

There are points in life where the dialogue runs out. Where you just don't have anything left to say, or do, or share. Silence is deafening. It's powerful. When the hurts are too big and too large to keep going as it is, something has to break. Something has broken. 

We hear it said that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. I call bullshit on that. A woman scorned wants vengeance. She is angry and she's still fighting. If she is doing those things, then she still cares. I submit to you, America, that the experience one should most fear is a woman who is empty. A woman who is exhausted. A woman withdrawn. Maybe it's because you poked so many holes in the bottom of her bucket of love. And even though she kept turning up the tap working her ass off so freaking hard to keep plugging the holes and filling herself back up, eventually the holes were too big and too many and all of the love just drained out. Maybe she kept screaming and crying and begging for you to just.stop.poking.holes... Maybe she told you time and time and time again that she is exhausted and running on empty, but you kept right on stabbing and now what you're left with is an empty bucket. And you're "sorry". You are always sorry. 

Maybe it's too late to undo what you've done. Maybe the train you have set in motion can't be stopped. Maybe you need to experience grief so big and so wide and so deep that you feel like you just.can't.breathe. Knowing you, I'm sure you'll deflect it away and distract yourself with whatever comes across your path. It's your general go-to when the world stops revolving around you.

The worst of it is there's nothing left to scream. There's nothing left to beg for. There is no more belief or hope in your ability to notice me. The silence in myself is deafening. The ache in my core is undeniable. I'm not sure what it means when there aren't any more tears to cry. I've never been in this space before. I've never stuck around long enough to feel it. 

Me

I confess to you, America, that I spent a LOT of months, not praying. Well, not in a personal sense. God and I had a serious disagreement. For those of you who I am very close to, you know all about it. I was devastated and broken. I lost hope. It was fierce and ugly and powerful. It changed me.

Recently I've been attempting to tackle the concept of prayer. I feel like it's morphed, more recently, in to this BS notion of running to a genie in a bottle and expecting to get everything you ask for. Cue the whole "make all of your requests make known to God" bible verse. The problem with that view, is that there are an awful lot of people whose prayers are never "answered". There are so many people who never get miracles or have their passionate pleas heard. There are also a LOT of people who never pray, but do.

I started wondering whether or not could potentially care about whether or not I find that bottle of XYZ that I've been looking for at the grocery store, when so many people in the world are starving. How can God genuinely be focused on me wanting XYZ shoes (please God! I need these shoes!), when people are going barefoot, and begging God for a pair of shoes so that they can go to school. What kind of "loving god" would seriously not be disgusted with those requests from me? What kind of loving God would not be enraged by my complete and utter lack of thought, care, concern for my fellow man, and determine to close His ears to every single one of my stupid pleas until I get my heart right?

Why don't we teach each other to pray about suffering, and how we can end it? Why don't we challenge our selves and our children to pray without ceasing over the women who are raped and tortured simply because they exist? Why don't we weep and mourn and grieve about the children who have no food, no shelter, no clothing, no love! Why are we so far removed from a personal connection to the suffering of people around us? Why are we irritated when homeless people ask us for money/food/water? Why am I?

I battle with a toddler mentality, America. It is mine so you can't HAVE IT! What makes that view even worse, is that I am willing to bend over backwards to ease the discomfort of those around me who are living such comfortable existences. Oh! Susie Q is SO stressed out because she put all over her children in eighteen thousand activities, and she leads the this and the that, and she volunteers for the this and the that, and now she's asked me to lead the this or the that because she just "doesn't have the time"! But HOW DARE a homeless person ask me for my water bottle! See the disconnect? (side note: this is not to say I should not help "Susie Q", but rather to point out the difference in priorities.)

Perhaps the purpose of prayer is not so much about a genie in the bottle who grants wishes and makes people fit, fabulous and wealthy, but rather so that I will see God in the little things of every day life. Maybe prayer isn't so much about requests and gifts, but about eyes becoming more open to goodness, love, mercy, and genuine need. Perhaps the point of it is to show us how to love those who ask us for water, or "intrude" upon our daily paths. Maybe prayer is about changing us to see how foolish it is to focus on increasing our bounty, when we should pour out our abundant wealth on those around us.

Forgive me, America, if I come across as judgmental to your heart. I'm not judging you, I'm judging me. I'm judging myself for wearing this hat of Christian and Catholic, without being the heart of it. I'm also learning. I'm learning about how much my heart needs a transformation, and how greatly I should be broken by the suffering in the world.

Work it out

America,

Right about now your facebook feeds and blogs are lighting up about how so and so completed this run or that crossfit or this shakeology or that blah blah blah. I wish I could announce to you about how this blog is not going to jump in to that fray, right here and right now, but alas I can not.

I hate exercising. I have never in my life been able to run. Ever. Even at my most physically fit times of all times (when I had a true six pack and could pump out 1,000+ sit ups in a single setting... that is a true.story.), I could maybe run 5 feet before I couldn't breathe. I tried everything I could to get answers (there will not be a cue: buy this product that fixed everything magically!!!): doctor's, trainers, videos, couch to 5ks... nothing worked. Every single time, I would run about 5 feet and I wouldn't be able to breathe, my hands would go numb and the stars would alight in my brain.

It was sort of by accident that I found out what may have been causing things. I was walking up a flight of stairs with a fellow FRG boss lady, and I couldn't breathe. She said It's because you're holding your breath. I read somewhere that there are certain brains that are triggered to withhold breathing while moving. America, I took those words to heart and I started paying attention. My brain is one of those brains. Now, I have googled this information until the cows came home, and I've never been able to find any science anything to support that, but I can say with absolute certainty that my brain demands that I hold my breathe while walking, running, jumping, going up stairs, anything to that effect with one exception: dancing. So I started dancing again.

The thing is America, I am obsessed with my weight. I am obsessed with how I feel in my own skin, with how I look in the clothes that I love. I am obsessed with what my husband's face looks like when he looks at me, clothed or unclothed, dolled up or dolled down. I am obsessed with whether he not he can't keep his hands off my body, or his eyes off my ass. I am obsessed with whether or my not my body has the energy, desire, and drive to pick itself up off of the couch, walk outside with my children, and ride bikes, or kick the ball around, or run around the neighborhood. I am obsessed with whether or not my brain craves physical activity, because I want my children to be healthy and believe it or not, being outside, being active is a huge element in physical and mental health! So, I am obsessed with my fitness, because I want to be better than I was yesterday.

I spent four months devoted to dancing, yoga, and pilates every single day. I didn't lose a single pound, or any inches. Please read that again: I did not lose a single pound or ANY inches off of my body. Weight loss has never been, in my body, about activity. My body's ability to lose or maintain my weight has always been controlled by food. I am not announcing this as biblical fact for any person other than what I know of myself right now. Please do not use my words as your excuse to remain idle. Your body is different than mine. I lost no weight, but I did gain wonderful things. I started to notice I was less quick to snap at people. I started to see how much more energy I felt. I started to crave challenging myself physically. I started to feel disappointed when my body adapted to exercises and I had to change the routine/make things harder (side note: I am a creature of habit. Down to the same breakfast every day for years. Don't believe me? Ask the Chief.). I started to worry when I injured myself or became sick that it would impact my brain's ability to override my body's desire to quit. So I would pray God, please help me to stay the course and remain faithful to taking care of this body.

This past week, America, for the first time in my life, I have been able to run a quarter of a mile, without numbness or tingling, or blacking out. To you, that may be pathetic, to me, it's outrageously empowering. My body grew four human beings. My body pushed one out despite a most challenging situation (she was sunny side up, and massive....). My body delivered three living babies, despite all of the odds against them. My body survived being cut open, not numb, and fully aware, for doctor's to get to those babies. My body has handled a plethora of stresses and demands, some put on it by myself, and some by outside influences. My body is fierce. My brain is even fiercer.

When I write on facebook about my working out, it is not about look at how great I am because I'm working out and I need attention!!! It is entirely about my own brain taking a moment to recognize how ridiculously hard it is for me to do this. It is absolutely about my head needing to stay focused on the positives that come out of working out. It is about making myself keep going. Because the truth is, America, my lazy self doesn't want to. Even though I know all of the good that has come of it.

So, keep sharing your fitness stories. Keep on challenging me to keep going. I need it. So share away.

To you

I want to be able to say I have all the clarity I need. I want to be able to say that the emotions are gone and the rage is finished. I want to be able to say it's different than it is. But it isn't. And I'm trying to figure out how to be okay with that.

I'm not used to this position. I'm not used to being the perpetrator of hurtful actions. I'm not used to a sea of bitterness and resentment. I'm used to understanding and clearness of thought. I'm not usually confused or so internally divided. This is unfamiliar territory for me.

I've never seen Jesus more clearly than lately, in you. The mercy you consistently pour out over me, the grace, the gentleness, the kindness... I don't understand it. It makes no sense. I've been blown up in to a million little pieces and I'm laying all over the blast sight, still reeling... still in shock. Maybe I'm still exploding. Maybe I'm still grieving, or maybe I haven't even begun.

Somehow you find new ways to love me. In this period where I've been at such a loss for words that it's terrifying, you've just waited. I've never felt so safe. As insane as it seems, I've never felt so safe with you. I've never felt so accepted. Because I've been so hell bent on being perfect. I've been so hell bent on holding everything together. I don't think you can fully grasp the freedom that exists in falling apart (though it has been quite involuntarily done, on my part), and you holding it together. I have always underestimated your strength to handle the chaos in me. I've underestimated your grace.

How unkind of me to have done that. How ridiculous to have missed the point of you. In my head, it was all about me... how I loved you, how I fought, how I worked, how I made things function. In my pride-filled mind, I didn't grasp how much of this equation was you. I didn't see how much you have accepted me, come hell or high water, come what may.

I don't think I've ever loved you more. I don't think I've ever felt more loved. And it's ridiculous, because you've always been that person for me. You've been my safety net, the platform from which I could fall apart, and put myself back together on. You've caught me, when I was disintegrating, and you've loved me through whatever battle I was raging against. You've been the hands and feet of Jesus. You've been His mercy, and His grace, and His acceptance. And I have been blind. Blind to you.

My God... what treasure I have been given.

You are the strongest person I have ever known. More stubborn than me, more merciful. When I grow up, I want to be like you. I am humbled that you choose me, this fragile little girl that walks around pretending to be a grown up. A "basket case" in a pretty dress... A warrior that doesn't know how to calm down. You are the better side of me. In every sense that I can possibly mean that.

You know, better than anyone, this fight inside of myself. You see more clearly than anyone, that I am not okay. But you believe one day I will be, and your belief makes me believe it too. Oh the wisdom of God to pair me with you! I am so humbled by it.

I am broken, beloved. I am lost. And I'm sitting still in this muck and this mire wallowing, tring to bolster up the strength to fight my way out. And I look over and see you sitting there with me waiting for me to be ready to go. My God, what words are there to define that astounding comfort? I am not alone here. You are with me. How can I ever give you the credit you deserve? Where would I begin?

Choice

I choose him. Always. 

There are waves of uncertainty in marriage. Waves and chapters and periods where you don't want to do it anymore. There are months where the bad outweighs the good, and the hard decimates the easy. There are mornings where you swallow all of your feelings of disappointment and rage, and find a way to mutter I love you. Why? Because you don't? No. Because you do. 

Marriage is a roller coaster. It's boring and exciting, seamless and tattered, clear and confusing, delightful and destructive, wonderful and horrible, beautiful and ugly, and on and on and on. But it's wonderful. 

I've been through hell with Chief. I've been through hell and then been through it again and then again. I've fought through war and fires and death and betrayal. I've been abandoned and forsaken and wounded deeper than I can say. And it has changed me. It has altered my perception. 

Love is hard. By definition it is a sacrifice and a gift. You give up pieces of yourself to the one you love. Period. And I choose it. Every.single.day.

The flip side to the hell, is the undefinable heaven. The opposition to the wounds, is the way his breath has healed my heartaches. The way his hands have rubbed away my tension, soothed my achy muscles, comforted my broken heart. The illumination of his belief that everything will be okay, when I felt like it couldn't possible be, and his courage that carried me through a really dark night. The unbelievable delight of his breath on my neck, his words in my ears, his heart in my hands. Because that's where he's placed it. His heart in my hands, and mine in his.

It's the most vulnerable and potentially detrimental place one can be in... And I adore the risk. I adore the things he knows about me, because he chooses to. I adore the things I know about him, because of the same choice. I adore the journey. I adore the heaven, and I adore the hell. 

When the darkness comes, I know it's only temporary. I know eventually the light will come again, and joy will be renewed. I choose him. Always. Even if it isn't the easiest thing to do. I choose him because I promised him I would. I choose him because I delight in doing so. I choose him because he put his heart in my hands, and asked me to take care of it. 

You have a choice, America. You have a choice whether to stick it out or to walk away. You have a choice to wait another day or throw in the towel and quit. You have a choice. You have a choice to focus on the moments of heaven, or the moments of hell. You have a choice to highlight grace and mercy, or disappointment and rage. You choose. Always.

Me

I felt you cross in to my borders. You're a presence that follows me around, like a ghost or a shadow. You're always lurking in the darkness, somewhere in the outer realm. I can't really see you, but I know you're there. And it's weird because I can feel you here... again.

My chest has been hurting lately. It's felt both full and empty all at the same time. It's been depleting and fulfilling. I've felt lost. And what's the solution to it all? We'd sit and hold our smoking guns and our battles and find the answers in the crazy. I felt less crazy when you were around. Lurking. Watching. Waging war against the world, against me, against the demons.

I told you once I knew I could love you. I told you that I knew that I would. And I did, damnit. I do. In a sickening and dizzying type of way. In a strange and obsessive way. I always hoped you knew what that meant. I always needed you to understand that I have to love you. Because if I can love you, then maybe, just maybe one day I'll be able to love myself. Bigger than I deserve. Better than I do. Possible...

And if I could just get you to love me, then maybe, even more maybe, maybe I can love myself even more. Maybe there is someone worth something, in me.

I say this not for platitudes. You've always known that I don't desire fleeting compliments. Love is the greatest compliment one could ever be given. And to be loved, by myself, has long been my deepest goal. The trouble with all of that is that I know me. And I have little to offer to myself. I think it's what connected us together to begin with. I think it's where the bond came. You needed me to love you. And I needed you to love me. Because I could be surrounded by a thousand affectionate bodies, I could be surrounded by awards and accolades, and a gazillion at-a-girls but what the hell difference do they make if it's impossible for me to accept that I am valuable, to myself?

I believe in soul mates. Or soul portions. Or soul pizzas. You're one of mine. Say what you want, reject how you will. But I need you. I need to know you exist. I need to know I matter to you, and that I come across your mind every once in a while.

All of this shit to say that I felt you cross in to my borders. I see you lurking in the shadows. I feel you whispering to me at one o'clock in the morning. Maybe, just maybe, one day I'll see what you see in me.

Frick

There are moments, America, where hysteria sets in. Where you have all of these things that you're bottling up and you're holding on because you don't have time to go batshit crazy and you've got to keep on truckin... but these moments come knocking on your door and you end up in a puddle of tears. Frick. I'm stronger than this.

But am I? Frick.

Back in the day I fell crazy in love with this guy. It was the most intense experience of my life. I mean, it completely and truly rocked me to every single fiber of my being. It was obvious to everyone who saw me. I was mad about the boy. It was the simplest, deepest, truest thing ever. He was all that I wanted.

When we got married, I knew it would be tough. First of all, marriage is just freaking tough to begin with. You don't merge two different people with completely different ideas on life and expect everything to be roses and candy. It's a challenge. Accept it, don't accept it, I don't really care. The facts speak for themselves. Throw in to crazy lang challenge, the US military. That basically escalates all things crazy to extreme mode ultra. It's like crazy on steroids.

So. What's all that "back then" stuff got to do with tonight? I want that boy home. I want him to sit with me in the muck and the mire of these crazy emotions surging through my little pink heart and I want him to help me cry, and to make me laugh, and to wrap it all up with a bow of love and acceptance. I want to fall asleep in that fabulous, beautiful place that is his comfort and then wake up to his warmth and his taste and his smell. Frick.

Life keeps on happening, whether or not he's here. Life keeps on wounding and confusing and crazying it up, whether or not he's warring or waiting or schooling or training or a gazillion other "ors" that get dished out. Frick.

Keep on  truckin'...

I am so thankful for the gifts in my life. I have worked so hard for the beautiful components of our journey. I have fought with everything in me. It has made me largely who I am. I am so thankful for the lovely experiences. I am thankful for the laughs. I am thankful for my Beloved, and our magnificent children. Who would I be, where would I be, if there was no them? They have changed and molded me for the better. What a excellent experience it is to be changed.

Letters

America,

Deployments and hardship tours are difficult to navigate when you have children. In my personal experience, they're more difficult the older one's children get. There are a limited number of minutes that we get to speak with our soldiers. As our children get older, the minutes that they need grow in number, and it becomes really hard to navigate the needs of all members of the family to connect with their soldier.

Long ago, I set up the plan that when our children missed Daddy, we would write it down. When they were little (and could not write letters), it was pictures.

I miss Daddy! 

Me too honey. Let's go color him a picture! 

Okay!

This was our norm. And through it, Chief has been bombarded with coloring pages and little notes written by grieving and heartbroken children.

I have treasured these things in my heart. I have celebrated the truth that he is such a great impact, such an amazing Father, that his absence wounds them. That they long for him deeply, and look for ways to connect with him.

This morning, I woke up missing Chief. My heart felt heavy. I'm not feeling very well today, and maybe that amplifies the longing of missing one's spouse. Either way, I slept in late, and then laid in bed for quite a while.

My kiddos were wondering what was wrong and I told them. You know what they did? They all brought paper and pencils and journals and ideas and they said Let's write Daddy some letters and color him some pictures until we feel better. So that's what we did. And it worked. I feel better. Yes, I still miss him. Yes I still feel a bit under the weather. But there is power in picking up a pen or a pencil and writing words of love to one's beloved. 

I hope you have a happy weekend.

Facebook

Facebook has become a common form of communication among people. But truth be told, Facebook is a lie. It makes one feel like they aren't alone in their universe, or bored in their existence, like the random thoughts that flow through their brain at any given moment actually matter. Why? Because they have a real time examination of whether or not their circle of people "like" it or not. Not because they have someone looking them in the face and challenging their thoughts or their reactions. Facebook is false. And I'm becoming less and less inclined to utilize it. 

I want to feel lonely. Okay, not in the geniune aspect of the words, but if all that I have to connect me with the world is facebook, then I need to feel the loneliness that is my masked reality. People need people. We need conversations and challenges. We need to get our hands dirty and our feet wet. We need to be out living the lives that we watch from our couches in the form of reality tv programs. We need to stop feeling so "connected" so that we can actually be connected.

It's why Skype isn't good enough. I feel like I realize these internet myths all the more strongly when Chief is away. Yes, I have access to him in the form of social media. We connect via video chat or through conversation, but I do not feel close to him at all. I don't feel the bond that I feel when I sit down and take out a piece of paper and actually write him a letter. I don't feel the intimacy that I experience when I open up an envelope and read the words he's written to me. I don't smell him, or touch him, or taste his sweet kisses. The internet... lies. 

I've been gradually distancing myself from the facebook platform. And not in favor of any other platform. It's not that I'm paranoid about privacy or the taliban trying to seek revenge. It's not that I feel like the facebook guru's are going to steal my photographs and ruin my children's entire future. It's just that I'm tired of pretending like I'm so interconnected with so many people, when the reality is that I'm not. I'm tired of spoon feeding myself the false notion that I have all of these "friends" when the truth is I can count on one hand the number of people who I genuinely trust and know I can rely on. The kind of people that I know see me for who I really am, in all my hilarious, preposterous, outrageous, and insane glory. The people who've experienced my tangents, my disappointments, my tears, and my rage. The people who know that I would walk to the ends of the earth to support them, encourage them, accept them, and will them to higher places than they ever believed themselves capable of. The kind of people that you can go forever between a meal together, or a glass of wine, and it's okay because the love is never, ever lost. Ever.

But Facebook doesn't allow you to realize that. It sucks up your time and your distractions and makes you lose sight of what matters. Facebook is dangerous to the human psyche. 

No, this is not some grand announcement that I'll be deleting my page. No, I'm not coming from a viewpoint that I'm so high-and-mighty like I'm not addicted to the page... No, I'm not saying we should protest or riot or cancel Christmas because Facebook is destructive. But yes... send that email. Pick up that phone. Hell, come over! Pull down the curtain and realize the truth. You are more than the number of likes on your comments. You are deeper than the fleeting gratification of someone reading your words. For the love of yourself, get up and interact with a person, face to face. Because that's where the real living really is.

Oh how weary my heart is. Oh how heavy this feels tonight. I know tomorrow it will feel lighter, but tonight is feels oh so heavy.

A letter to you.

There was a point when these experiences felt like life or death. There was a moment when I was standing outside of a fast food joint begging one of my closest friends, one of my deepest confidants, for you to come home safely from war... for me to not have to endure any more of these farewells and unknowns.

The picture is stamped in my brain. All of us at an airport, watching you walk through a gate and getting on an airplane. The images of our four children disintegrating at the seams. Our son, trying so hard to swallow it all down, while simultaneously reeling from the impact of the trauma. He pushed me away, because my comfort meant he had to accept something he was unwilling to accept. Our youngest child hysterical. Sobbing so hard she could hardly breathe. She tried to make herself small, until I hugged her from behind, then she jumped in to my arms. I swear it was as if she let go she'd evaporate into thin air. One by one, our daughters clutched to me. And when our son lost the battle against his overwhelming need for comfort, he too succumbed to my affection at that terminal. Somehow my arms managed to hold all five of us together at that window.

It was at once instantaneously familiar and foreign. This was the first time that the finality of the moment was not solely mine, the two of us in a gym... This was the first time where we all experienced it together. I found in me a new moment of resolve for the time being. I stopped weeping. It stopped being about me, about us. It was entirely about them in that place.

The flight attendants, and airport personnel were beautifully merciful. They waited so patiently for your plane to take off because our children wanted to see it, and watch it through their tears. They didn't rush us or ask us to move along. They stood off to the side and allowed us the privacy of our grief. I thanked them on our way out. A gentle heart said It's okay. We see this often. We understand. You were welcome to take your time. Sweet mercy. I wanted more time. I think it's what we always want in some capacity. More time together, less time apart, more time to laugh, to love, to cuddle...

Jesus help me get through this. Just help me.

All five of us held hands all the way to our car. We opened the doors got in and I turned on the engine. I was distracted with finding the ticket to get out of the parking garage, and the business of getting everyone buckled and safe. I started to drive and then I couldn't breathe. The gate wouldn't come up, almost as if it sensed that I needed a moment. I sobbed. Behind my oversized shades and behind my blaringly loud music I sobbed. Damn you for leaving me with an empty seat in our car.

For the first time in the history of us, there was no talking in our car. All of us cried. All of us listened to the music. Our family tradition of theme songs for every single time you leave. Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders. Let me walk upon the waters. Wherever you would call me. Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander. And my faith will be made stronger. In the presence of my Savior. I am Yours... and You are mine...

It's been a lot of weeks now. Everyone's lives are sort of just... going on. And I suppose to some degree, ours are too. I think there's so much to the truth that probably the vast majority of things that happen in my life, I will never fully understand. I think it's true that I have always wanted ten million things, and I never really believed that God gave a damn about them..

I desperately wanted you not to go. I hated Him for not hearing my calls, pleas, and begging. He betrayed me. It was both impossible to forget and completely life altering. I think it's difficult to describe it, if you haven't walked it. But to wrestle with God... is not something one walks away from unscathed, unchanged, and unaltered. I will never be the same. The straw that broke the camel's back...

But loyalty carries us in those moments. Loyalty helps us to hold on to something when all seems dark. Through my brokenness, I said that I wouldn't walk away, and I didn't. Love isn't easy. Loving God is not easy. And truth be told, I believe that anyone who says otherwise has never really walked through the fires of the shadow of death. They haven't felt evil. They haven't felt betrayal or loss or abandonment. They haven't felt the wounds of destruction. And I envy them. I envy their naivete. Wisdom sucks. Why? Because it grows through experience, and it sucks to experience sucky things.

Out of the ashes, beauty will rise. Never a truer statement. Loving God... that's at the core of me. It's messy, and complicated, and crazy as all get out. And I find, nearly every day, that I don't even begin to scratch the surface of understanding what that even means in my self, but freak-an-A, it's the truth of all that I am and I'm still learning. Learning about what needs really are, and how many wants have been dished out to me, many of which I never really thought of at the time.

I wanted you to come home to me, from that war. I stood in a parking lot begging my best friend to make sure you came home. I stood there pleading and wrestling and finally relenting. I was terrified. And you did. Much sooner than anyone could have anticipated. A want fulfilled, in ways I couldn't have fathomed at the time. I wanted war not to win. And it didn't.

I'm sitting here, finding our groove, getting into the every day paces of life without you. Getting used to the empty pillow, and the hollow spot in our bed. I've stopped noticing the empty toothbrush holder, and the missing hairs in the sink. I've stopped listening for the garage door opening at the end of the day, and for your sound emanating through the house. I've stopped looking for you all around me. Soon enough, those things will return, and loyalty won't allow me to forget. It will etch the hurt of the aching for you on my brain, and that will carry us through thousands of sweet cuddle filled days. It will drive the desire to never take you for granted. Our moments together are more beautiful than a thousand forests, more sweet than honey.

And that's the greatest want of all that was granted. Or maybe it's the greatest need, that I never knew existed. I wanted love, and spent a lifetime fearing I would never get it. Maybe the truth is that I've got needs and wants all confused and backwards. Because I need you. Not to fall asleep next to. Not to have your hairs in my sink. I need you to hold me up when I'm falling down. I need you to boss me and put me back in line, when I'm too angry or stubborn to do the right thing. I need you to love me like only you can love me. I need you to pick me up when I'm crumbled up on our kitchen floor broken hearted and screaming at the top of my lungs about how much it hurts and how tired I am. I need you because you're the only person who grasps how truly fragile and strong and complicated I am.

And that's the most beautiful gift of God's love and mercy in my life. Because he crafted you, knowing all of this about me. He crafted you and molded you and shaped you. He allowed you to walk through ten thousand life shattering experiences, so that you would be molded to handle mine. And He did the same for me. He walked me through ten thousand life shattering experiences, so that I would be molded and crafted to love you in this crazy way that I do. That is His divine mercy. Two utterly broken individuals, molded together as one. The sheer magnitude of that is astounding. The trickiest part is to never lose sight of it. When I'm wrestling with Him because you had to go away again... when I'm begging and pleading and drained and exhausted because I hate war and I HATE how much it hurts me over and over again and how it takes so many moments away from us, this is what I must remember: we are still being molded and shaped. That Creator who began a good work in us from our conception, who allowed us to walk through so many hurts to bring us together, has not stopped molding us for what is to come. And those things to come will be glorious.

We are His. And He is ours.

I'll be seeing you.
Me