Hope

Nuggets,

I get accused of a lot of things. Some people think I'm mean. Others think I'm controlling. People tell me I'm too passive, or too much of a people pleaser. I also hear that I'm inconsiderate, and I don't care about the feelings of people other than myself. I'm too sarcastic, or too serious. I'm too sad or too cheerful. I'm too this or too that or too blue or too orange... yada yada yada yada. Why am I telling you this, my dear nuggets? Because even though I'm a "grown up" I'm still being criticized. I'm still being "picked on."

I know it hurts when people point out what they would like you to do differently. I've spent a lifetime having that pointed out to me. The truth is, it doesn't stop because you "grow up". It doesn't change because you become a parent. Human nature, it seems, is to be fixated on how to improve our opinions of ourselves, often times at the expense of others'. How does that manifest itself in real life? By telling everyone else what they're doing wrong, and very rarely saying what they're doing right.

I hope, with all my might, that you will not be like that. I hope you will choose to take off the ugly glasses with which so many people view themselves, or the world, or others. My hope is that you will instead looking around at those around you and choose to see what they're doing right. Of course this is not something that will be accomplished always. And absolutely we need to be able to communicate our wants, expectations and needs. But I hope you will not be the type of people who do so with a need to destroy. I hope you will learn to communicate in an edifying manner. I hope you will understand that no matter how hard you try, someone will always be dissatisfied, and that the fact of this will not destroy your sense of worth. I hope you will be stronger than me, and that you will learn from my mistakes.

I love you!

Fun

Nuggets,

Have fun. I think that's a sentence that is often times lost on the perfectionists of the world. We are constantly striving towards some greater element of success in ourselves. We work like crazy to achieve some unknown internal mental success bar that, truth be told, is not really achievable. We bombard our brains with requirements and we dig in and work ourselves to the bone, and at the end of the day, where do we stand. Have we actually enjoyed anything?

I struggle with having fun. I wonder if you will grow up understanding that to be true in me. I spend so much time laughing and making jokes, that I sometimes think it's impossible for people to see that. I struggle with being present in the moment. I give so much of myself to honor my commitments. Honor, integrity, loyalty... these are big deals to me. But fun...? It's not so much on my radar. I am trying to change that.

You see, Nuggets, I want to learn to be more like you. I want to wake up and find wonder is silly things. I want to awaken my imagination and sense of awe. I want to be present in each moment that we are together.

So have fun. I'm trying to. :)

Ring on it

In less than a month, my last name turns 10. Ten years ago I walked in to a church and put a ring on this dude's finger, half panicking throughout the entire ordeal, riddled with sweat, and nearly vomiting. The inner monologue is all comedy now, but then... I felt like a caged bird. Strange thing to say about the greatest single situation I've ever committed myself to.

Try as I may to hide it, I guess somehow the story got leaked that I adore him or something. I linked up with the single most capable person of handling my personality and my sense of humor and I get to shag him too (Don't be jealous America. You will find your own piece of hottness too!). Yowza!

I wish I could write effectively what a day in our lives is like. I wish I could express how much of our days we spend laughing together. I wish I could communicate how his face still makes my stomach do sommersaults, and his hands interlocking with mine, make me the bravest person on the planet. I wish I could effectively say how his laugh instantly melts my irritated heart and warms it up. I wish I could define it so that other people could understand it, so that I could somehow bottle it up to make it last for forever and ever and hand it down to our children.

Lolli reminds me often Love is the only thing that never goes away. It never dies. The act of loving is unending, infinite, the greatest of miracles. He is my big shining ball of miracle.

So we're about to turn 10, Chief... Double digits... How you doin? ;)

Christian Troubles

I think as the sea of busy-ness consumes me, and I feel like I'm watching my life happen through photographs and videos and other people's experiences, it is important to figure how to stand still. It's not something that I've ever been good at. I don't thrive in stillness or silence. I think it's because stillness compels action. And who wants to actually have to stare down their own demons? Who wants to actually examine their selfishness, greed, pride? Who wants to acknowledge the evil that they so eloquently hide?

I think it's the biggest problem with Christianity. We convince ourselves that we're nice, and that we're loving, and that we're "good" people. We tell ourselves all of these self inflating things, and we absorb these notions about ourselves that make us feel better. But when we put ourselves up against the image of Christ, when we sit still enough to absorb it, and allow our reflections to settle in, then we are forced to accept things we don't want to: either Christ is a lie, or we are probably not following Him like we think we are.

It's why Heavenly distance is so comforting. It's why "christian" stagnation seems to be so prevalent. We can be and do and say and have whatever we want and we don't really need to be any different from anyone else and we get to go to heaven too! It's a win-win. Except it's completely unbiblical. It's immensely anti Christian history. It is basically the opposite of what our role models have laid out for us.

So I sit here and I think to myself that I am the guiltiest of all in regards to this "problem" of Christianity. I think that my life really doesn't look all that different from anyone else's. I wonder if I will ever figure out how to get on the right road to salvation. I wonder if a time will come when I will know that I have figured out how to get it right.

To You

Two glasses of wine, candlelight, a bench, you, and our backyard... this is what comforts my spirit. This is where the words I've had bottled up and under lock and key can find their way to the surface and out of my mouth.

Your fingers found my back in the darkness. They run like electricity through me. It is like I am frozen and you are warmth. Your touch softens me. Your words revive me. Sometimes I am so tired of talking. Sometimes there is nothing left to say. So we sit on a bench, and your hands find my flesh, and I find comfort there.

This is what I need... You.

Letter To The Police

Police Officer,

I honked at you as you pulled out in front of me on my way to church. I had to brake very hard to avoid T-boning you. The honk was to tell you to hurry up, I might hit you.

In a normal day, I would have muttered some derogatory phrase. Something like look at this idiot! Or HELLOOOOO!!!!! But not today. I can't give myself any credit for that. It did not come from myself. Instead of cursing you, my soul uttered a blessing. God be with her and keep her safe. Thank you for preventing an accident. Give her energy, clarity, and focus today. Sustain her, help her to be alert.

I can't imagine what it's like for you to be a police officer. I can't even begin to share the immense level of respect I have for you. We live in a society that is so quick to berate, complain, and bash you and the profession that you hold. I give you the highest esteem. You make me and my children safer. You settle horrible situations, and you walk in to people's lives in the worst of moments. You have to make very quick decisions that affect people for the rest of their lives. I can't imagine the stress that must place on your heart and mind.

I couldn't remember if I closed the garage door, so I had to turn around and come back home. As I pulled back up to my housing area, you were slowed down and speaking to a person walking down the street. Perhaps this is why you were distracted and pulled out in front of me. Maybe you were in the middle of searching for a lost teen, or a disgruntled soldier. Maybe you were looking for a stolen item. Maybe you were just making sure that person was safe, and okay, and not in need of help. Maybe you were exhausted from a horrible night and you're just trying to get through the final hour of your shift  before you can go home and fall in to bed. Maybe you're drained from people cursing you, yelling at you, hating you...

I want you to know that I am praying for you, and all of the other individuals who share your profession. I want to declare that I teach my children that you are heroes, and you should be valued as such. My children shout out "THANK YOU!" at the top of their lungs when you drive by in your cars. I wave, but most of the time you don't see (my guess is you've become so accustomed to being flipped off that you've learned to stop looking). I. am. thankful. for. you.

There have been moments when you've held my own life in your hands. You were course, rough, and not exactly the most friendly. But God gave you the ability to see what the needs were, and handle the situation. I am in awe. You saw me in my ugliest moment, knee deep in the middle of what was the worst period of my life, the darkest journey my soul has walked through to date. I was desperate, destroyed, lost. And you were about to arrest me. Crazy, isn't it? That I still admired you, as you read me my rights? I did and I do. Because it's your job to defend the law, to protect the people, to participate in justice.

It worked out that the truth was exposed (before I was cuffed). You had the ability to see through my lies, my protection, my attempt to hold it all together, and you saved me. You saved me when I was incapable of saving myself. You protected me when I was resistant to the safety that you offered. You were my heroes, even when I was so terrified of the result of that heroism. And you, saved my life. You helped to give me back what I adored with every fiber of my being. And I bet you never knew it. You were there and gone in one night and you never knew that you changed my world for the better.

I'm sure I've over sharing a bit. I tend to ramble about things that really matter to me. I often times repeat myself over and over again, because the clarity of thought is difficult to separate from the intensity of the sincere emotions. Please know this: I value your contribution to my safety. I will continue to buy you a meal, when I can. I will continue to wave when you drive by. I will do my best to show you my gratitude, make you have a smile, and brighten your day. I will continue to pray that the Holy Spirit will protect your heart and mind from bitterness and resentment, that you will remain soft despite all of the horrible components to humanity that you see every day. I will continue to pray for your families to have peace and comfort despite you always having to work on Christmas/New Years/Thanksgiving/weekends/every-other-holiday. I will continue to pray for your safety because this is Jesus, as I know Him to be. And this is Love the only way I know how to show it.

I hope your day today is filled with an abundance of blessings. I hope you are flooded with beauty and majesty and glory today. I hope you know you are valued.

Sincerely,
The Honking Mom

Broken Birth

Nuggets,

This time, every year, is emotionally exhausting. It's complicated and powerful, and devastating, and magnificent all rolled in to one bundle of...stuff. Nine years ago (in just a couple more days), Lolli came in to the world. That pregnancy was wrought with extreme joy, extreme grief, and immense love. I learned what love felt like as you grew in me. I learned what sacrifice looked like. I learned. Growing you was like growing something I couldn't conceptualize. Growing you while Daddy fought a war, and his friend died, and we were surrounded by loss, injury, and death... was immense. But we got through it. You and me. We came out of it stronger, incredibly bonded. To look at you is to see the most astounding of individuals. I can't even write about you effectively because my words become fuddled and retarded. So I do my best to say how fiercely I love you, how proud I am of you, and how grateful I am for every day that I get to share with you. Don't ever lose sight of the magnificent calling that has been placed on you. You were chosen to be the big sister to three siblings, all born at the same time. You were selected for this great calling, because only you could handle it so beautifully. You are a beacon of strength. You take my breath away.

It was one year and a little less than six months later, when my whole sense of my "life picture" was shattered. My confidence in my body, my confidence in what I understood about my own capabilities were destroyed. I walked in to a hospital, believing I was experiencing the death of the child I knew myself to be pregnant with, and walked out with the knowledge that we had an insurmountable amount of babies growing in me. I was sent home to rest, and take it easy. A week later the unimaginable pain led to bleeding, which led to a doctor's visit, which led to strict bed rest until I could see the perinatologist. There is a lot about that entire endeavor that my mind has chosen to forget, but certain snippits, certain images and sounds stand out in my memory like explosions. The moment when the ultrasound tech went to "get the doctor" during the ultrasound. When the chatty, friendly, welcoming tone disappeared and silence entered the room. When the questions stopped being answered...

Into the office we went, and he laid it all out. You need to put your affairs in order. Do you have a will? Who will care for your child? Am I dying? You could. You very well could die. Are you serious? You could lift a gallon of water and your placenta could completely rip off... two minutes until you bleed out... the weight of sitting up could cause it to rip off... 

I remember sitting there and thinking about Lolli... my beautiful, magnificent daughter that I had just spent two years being completely and whole heartedly bonded to. I remember thinking What the hell is going on???? I remember all of the feelings of nervous excitement about these beautiful babies about to come in to our worlds, washing away and being replaced with fear. I remember joy being replaced with dread. I remember freedom being shackled away, and being confined to a couch, or a bed. I remember all of the thoughts of having the next several months to prepare Lolli for this next chapter of our lives, being ripped away, and replaced with having to let other people care for you while I watched. I remember hating my body, hating my uterus, hating myself. I remember feeling like I couldn't win, no matter what I did. I loved the babies growing in me, and the baby growing outside of me. I loved Daddy, and I loved God, and I wanted all of this to not be happening. But it was.

At the time, I had to push everything aside. I had to ignore it and suppress it. I was told not to allow myself to be "overly emotional" because stress could cause contractions and contractions could rip off the placenta. So I did. I tried to be grateful (and I was grateful to all of the magnificent people that helped us!!!!), and cheerful. I tried to prepare Chief for the possibility of a life without me. I wrote letters to Lolli and Chief just "in case". I had a file on the computer full of all of the music, scriptures, and things I wanted them to know if I died. Daddy refused to look at it.

Please understand, my beautiful ones, that I loved all of you. There was never a concept of not loving all of you. I adored each of you for your individualities and I was so honored that I could be the vessel from which you all came in to the world. I was willing to die for your lives. But I was so scared that I would. I was so scared of not being able to keep you alive, and myself alive, and all of us together. I was so helpless and trapped by my stupid, fragile body. I was so scared of all of the scenarios that they laid before us. So when they wheeled me in to the operating room, I could barely breathe. I couldn't stop shaking and sobbing and aching. All of the feelings that I had bottled up, and put on a shelf, under a box, wrapped in barbed wire came flooding out. There I sat, in the arms of that nurse (whose name I don't even remember) while they gave me five million spinal taps so that I could be awake while you were born), for two hours, crying uncontrollably. And even that wasn't meant to be. I was not numb, and I had to be put to sleep. I didn't even get to hear your beautiful entrances in to the world. Even that was wrought with immense physical pain.

It was all so traumatic. It was entirely devastating. And I hate that. I hate that Lolli's birth was beautiful, and immensely powerful, and you triplets' was so defeating for me. I hate that your birth was agonizing and filled with grief and loss. I hate that immediately after your birth, you were intubated, and IV'd, and stuck with a thousand different things on your body, because my stupid body couldn't hold you any more. I hate that you were born in to a room where you didn't get to hear my voice telling you how I love you, and how I prayed for you, and how much your Daddy and I love you. I hate that I didn't get to touch you when you came out of me. I hate that you were born, I was asleep, and you were immediately whisked away.

So, every year, I bawl my eyes out. Every year I walk down memory lane, and reflect back on that most difficult of times for me. But you know what else I reflect on? All of the miracles and beautiful gifts. My God, there were so many of them. The hospital policy was that C section mothers were not allowed to go into the NICU until they could go in a wheelchair (24 hours after surgery). My doctor made it so that I was wheeled to you right after I left post op. They wheeled my entire hospital bed in to your room and I got to touch every single one of you. Someone took pictures of my fingers holing your tiny, tiny, hands. I remember them being yelled at to stop using the flash. I remember the red lights and them explaining that they only use red lighting because that's what the babies see in my belly. I remember the horror of what looked like three coffins, and you babies in them. I remember crying and saying that I had killed you. I remember the nurse telling me that I didn't and that you were all so strong and doing so well. I remember feeling the most helpless I had ever felt. I remember the nurses trying so hard to be comforting. But it was a waiting game, and we had to see what your bodies would be able to handle. All of it was out of our hands. It was up to God and you, and we just had to see...

I didn't know that night that I wouldn't be allowed to touch you three again for days (and for Brun it was three weeks). I didn't know then that I would spend the next five years in and out of hospitals with each of you for various sicknesses and ailments. I didn't know... But in that moment, I felt so many conflicting feelings that I couldn't communicate, but most of all I felt broken. I felt like I had killed you all.

Your birth broke me. Thank God it did. That's the thing I can see the most clearly as the time has passed. The wounds are still ever so fierce, but the beauty of it has emerged. You three changed the hell out of me. And you three, were the only force strong enough, to have done it. I was so freaking self involved, controlling, egotistical. I knew it all, could handle it all, and could solve any problem. And here you came! Something I couldn't control, or solve. I finally learned the lesson of complete and utter Heavenly reliance. I finally saw a God who was ten thousand times bigger than I could ever understand. I finally broke so badly that I had to be rebuilt. You three saved me. And you four keep saving me, over and over again. Every time I think I've got something figured out, you throw a wrench in the picture and I learn something new. Every time I think I understand self awareness or psycho babble bullshit concepts, you show me that all of that "I just want to be happy" stuff is shit and it doesn't work. You teach me, over and over and over again, that happiness is loving you and your Daddy with all of the messy heart wrenching stuff it entails. You save me from the stupidity of the world and launch me in to the constant daily reminder that I am nothing without Ehyeh. You move me to be better, to learn more, to keep. on. growing. You teach me to say "I'm sorry". You show me what humility looks like. You never allow me to think that I am better than I am. Not because you bash me, quite the contrary, but because you ask me things like Why is water clear? Why are sweet taste buds on the back of our tongues and not the front? Have you ever wondered if porcupines just want to be hugged? I'm glad I'm not a porcupine, because I like hugs. 

You four are more wonderful than the sweetest words. You four are more magnificent than any thing I could ever describe. You are my pieces of Heaven. You are my delights. To say I love you is an understatement. I love you is too simple of a concept. It's too over abused in our society. I would offer you my pulse. I would give you my breath. I will continue to go to the One who can keep you safe all the days of my life.

So yes, these days are hard and tearful for me. But hard doesn't only mean ugly and tears don't only mean hurts. You are my miracles. You are the outcome of my most difficult journey. And raising you has been the greatest pleasure of my life. I can't wait to see what will happen in your astoundingly beautiful lives over this next year. I can't wait to walk alongside of you, and hear your thoughts and questions. I can't wait to continue to grow as you grow.

I love you my nuggets. More than I could ever say. I will continue to attempt to show you this fact, with all that I am, every day that I have breath in my lungs.