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.