Boxes.

We arrived to our new life in July. I don't even know how to describe July. It was a mess of boxes and travel and time with some of our favorite people... and chaos. In August, Dan was still hoping to travel... I needed to stay put for a bit. So he took the girls to Disney, and I stayed here to get us settled. I unpacked some of the boxes, spent time with some friends, binge watched some shows, and enjoyed our new view.

School started for the girls. Dan still had some time off and we worked on unpacking the basement. During this time, I ended up with a jacked up back, a bizarrely jacked up eye, and general frustration that things weren't getting unpacked as quickly as I'd hoped.  The boxes persisted.  

A storm threatened our house. We boarded up and headed west. I already had a trip booked, so I carried on as usual. Dan and the girls stayed with our friends. The boxes stayed behind. 

The storm came and went- we only lost a few shingles. We had one final week of Dan being off- so down in the basement we spent time. We also went to brunch. And watched TV. And cooked. And still... boxes.

Dan has just started his new job. They girls are getting in to routines at school. I've just started to make friends in our neighborhood. We've had people over for dinner. We've been to playdates and cookouts. We've figured out our grocery store layouts. We have our favorite local restaurants. We see the water daily.

And here's where we are with the boxes... The way our new house is laid out, we have as much space as we did in our Winston house, it's just is designed completely different. Currently, the basement is unfinished. To have the amount of space we'd like to use, we need to have the basement finished. Our goal is to do that by Christmas. The problem with that is that we are still floor to ceiling boxes in parts of the basement. Until we have furniture in place, we can't unpack the boxes. Until the boxes are moved, the furniture can't be in place. 

People have told us that it took them a year- or longer- to get fully unpacked. Others have told us that they still have boxes from their moves years ago that they still haven't unpacked them. UGH. While that makes me feel "normal"... it also stresses me out that it could take us that long to be fully settled.

These boxes are making me crazy. Everyone has words to share: "If you haven't used it yet, do you need it?" "Shouldn't you throw half of that away anyway?" "Take your time! The boxes will still be there when you're ready!" All of those statements come from well- meaning people. And I get it... but we've spent MONTHS getting rid of things and it feels like it's never going to end.

This was my view this morning right before I driving to our bus stop. I see this loveliness daily. Even Monday- when I immediately went back to bed because I'd had an asthma attack. Even on days without the boxes unpacked. I'm trying to remind myself that this is my view... not the stacks of boxes. And when you hear a great cheer coming in the days to come, it will mean we have the boxes unpacked. I'm not sure how soon that will happen, but until then I will tend to the boxes when I'm able, and enjoy our view when I'm not. 

 

Alarm clocks and Polly and joy.

Dan's alarm clock woke me up this morning. Early. And loud. Louder, truly, than during the week because for some reason he had changed it from the regular "beep" that is maddening to a "radio" setting.  Honestly, I didn't even know that his alarm clock had a radio on it.  But it was LOUD. And it was early.  And I was frustrated.


The last few weeks have been rough- to say the least- for our family.  I have been drowning a bit- and can admit that now as I am coming out of that space.  Several weeks ago it became apparent that something big was going to change in my beloved job.  I was in regular contact with our board chair- nothing was a surprise for me- but my heart has been broken as we have put The Abraham Project on hold for the upcoming year.  I don't know if down the road it will rebirth itself as something new or not.  But as of now, this program I have fallen head over heels in love with has come to an end.

At the beginning of those weeks of conversations about closing it down, I'll admit that I took part of it personally.  Then I began to see that parts that were outside of my control and then my heart was able to look more clearly at what truth was already there- that to all things, there is a season.

Unfortunately, during the same time this was all going down, it hit Elizabeth for the first time that her Mimi wouldn't be there for her 5th grade graduation.  This was the first "big" event that Mimi hasn't been there for, and it stirred up in both of us the realization that this is what a future without her looks like.

And to create the perfect storm, after going through 4 pregnancies, 1 birth, and loads of issues along the way, we determined that I need some minor surgical help to take care of parts of my body that weren't "cooperating" with what was normally expected of them.

The week of Elizabeth's graduation is when we announced TAP was closing and when I got the call to schedule my surgery.  Of course it was.

Now, one week post-surgery, I'm doing well, Elizabeth is fine (and is excited to be one of the Cats today in Seussical the Musical!), and plans are coming right along to make our TAP closure smooth.  All of that is said with no tears- the storm has happened and I am safely to the shore.

Back to this morning: that damn alarm clock.

Dan and I were hosted for a delightful dinner party last night.  There was great conversation, amazing food and wine, and it was the first time I'd put on "real clothes" in a week. (I came downstairs and both girls ooohed and aaaahed... maybe a week in PJs is more than they're used to for me?  Let's be honest... probably not.)  We got in late and both girls were awake.  Julianna took more convincing than E that it was time to sleep, so I was grateful we had nothing early on our Saturday morning agenda.

Until that damn alarm.

Frustrated and awake, I started catching up on social media.  So many pictures of vacations and exciting things.  So many political and painful posts.  And then I saw it:  a sweet woman I had the privilege of hanging out with last fall during Medicine and Ministry had died.  When we hung out in November, I had absolutely no idea that she was unwell.  And yet, today she is gone.  It literally took my breath away.  


From our brief time together here's what I know about her life:  she loved her husband.  She loved her job.  She loved her daughter.  She made it a point to maintain friendships she had from years past (I happen to be mutual friends with two of them!).  She was fun and wise and calm and a delight to be with.  And now, she is gone.

Our family has gotten in the habit of watching James Cordon's Carpool Karaoke together.  This one brought us all to tears.  I told Dan that if I were famous, I think I would want to be like Paul McCartney.  I get the feeling that he enjoyed this day- bringing joy to everyone he interacted with.  James Cordon does it too- he makes people light up around him.  I want that.  Dan, being the good doting husband taking care of his post-break down wife, encouraged me that on some level I do that now... but oh, to be able to say that across the board.  I want to bring people joy and make them light up.  Polly did that for me.

Yes, there will be job losses.  There will be bug bites like the ones on my elbow (!!) that are currently making me bonkers.  There will be events where loved ones aren't there.  There will be surgeries that bring out our anxiety.  There will be alarm clocks that ruin good sleep on the one morning you plan to sleep in.  But there will also be Pollys.  And Pauls.  And Jameses.  And joy.

Dan and I are heading off to our own version of summer camp after we drop of the girls at theirs on Sunday.  We are indulging in seeing a couple Broadway shows and going to the concert of my favorite band.  All of those events were decided before we knew that I would be 10 days post-op.  Rather than let my physical limitations ruin our trip, we've just altered our schedule and planned more down time.  We're choosing joy.

Here's to the people around you who bring you light.  The ones who bring you meals for your family.  The ones who swoop in and send a card at the perfect moment.  The ones who make you laugh even when it hurts.  The ones who serve good wine.  The ones who send you silly gifts.  The ones who constantly play Words with Friends with you while you're recovering.  The ones who recommend new shows to watch.  The ones who hold your hand.  The ones who bring you joy.

May we all know those kind of people... and more importantly... may we try to be those kind of people.

And may we always remember to turn off our alarm clocks on Friday night.

Rest in the light of joy and peace, sweet Polly.

On being sad.

Today, 6 years ago, I entered a new kind of nightmare.  I got the call that my Daddy had died unexpectedly.  There are loads of posts about it here on my blog, I don't need to rehash it in this one.

Six years is a long time.

Six years without his laugh, his kindness, his smile.

Six years without all the bad stuff about him, too... but that's not what my heart holds onto.

In all of the grief workshops/ therapy/ reading I've done in the last six years, I know that everyone grieves in their own way.  That time doesn't exactly heal all wounds.  I know that.  But this yearly loss anniversary caught me by surprise.

Last Sunday as I was driving back into town, I began to ache in an indescribable way.  It was almost a heart pain.  Before I even remembered the week coming up, I attributed it to the stress of what I'd left behind when we went out of town: bills unpaid, a tree that fell on our deck while we were gone, laundry that had to be done.  But as Dan and I began to debrief the anxiety that I was feeling, I realized my body knew the sadness of this upcoming "anniversary" even when my mind hadn't fully processed what was happening.

Dan and I talked about how to handle this week of grief and came up with tangible ways to protect my fragility.  I said "no" to lots of things this week.  I made an appointment to check in with my therapist.  And, I made a reservation at a nearby hotel so that I could cocoon this weekend.

There was a season in our lives when running away from home would not have been possible.  Whether it was that we didn't have the financial resources or that our children couldn't handle me leaving, it just wasn't in the cards.  But now is a different season.  It's still not ideal for me to be gone from my kids.  It's not great that I've missed some things at church this weekend.  I will go home to a potentially chaotic reentry which will undo some of the good self-care I've done this weekend.

But I needed to be sad.

I am not in a bad spot.  My mental health is in a solid place today... there are some days I can't report that with such authority.  But I'm sad.  AND THAT'S OKAY.

It's awkward being sad, you know.  People don't like to be around sad people.  They want to fix it- to make it better.  Often times that comes from the best of intentions... we don't want other people to be lonely or suffer.  But sometimes we want to "fix" their sad because it could potentially rub off on us- and make us sad, too.

Being sad isn't fun.  And staying sad is when things derail.  One wise woman in my life told me that I wasn't just dealing with grief- I was dealing with grief upon grief which can break someone.  There have been moments it's almost broken me.

Last weekend at Why Christian, I heard a minister say words that were life giving to me.  She stated that anxiety and depression aren't a result of something wrong with us- they are often a NATURAL RESPONSE to trauma.  Lord knows I've had trauma.  I lost all 3 of my parents in 5 years.  One right after another.  During those same 5 years, I was caregiver for my Mom as I watched her disease progress and wreck her life.  I was sad.   To add to that pain, I experienced the loss of my known community when we changed churches.  Sad.  I lost friends.  Sad.  And all of that pain changed who I am in some ways.  And during that time, I often stayed sad.

Continual sadness has made me more tender.

It's made me ache.

It's made me sensitive to suffering.

Those aren't bad.

Sometimes, it's caused me depression and anxiety.

Those can be bad.

But today, I'm just sad.

The thing that keeps me whole when I'm sad is those who aren't scared of my sadness.  Those who send me gifts of journals and cookie dough.  Those who send texts and call to let me know they remember the life of my Daddy... and they acknowledge my grief.  Those who let me escape and let me run back to open arms.

This morning I drove past a junkyard while listening to The Wailin' Jennys sing "The Valley".  It was a perfect moment of reflection of what this feels like.  A visual reminder of what the "piling on" looks like.  Grief upon grief.

I live in the hills  

You live in the valley
And all that you know
Are these blackbirds

You rise every morning
Wondering what in the world
Will the world bring today
Will it bring you joy
Or will it take it away?

And every step you take is guided by
The love of the light on the land
And the blackbird's cry

You will walk, you will walk
You will walk in good company

The valley is dark, the burgeoning holding
The stillness obscured by their judging
You walk through the shadows
Uncertain and surely hurting
Deserted by the blackbirds
And the staccato of the staff

And though you trust the light
Towards which you wend your way
Sometimes you feel all that you wanted
Has been taken away

There are days when I'm in the valleys.  And days I'm on the hills.  Through it all, I will try to trust the Light.  That trust may happen while I'm eating spoonfuls of cookie dough... and I think that's okay.

There is so much more to say...

5th grade Odyssey of the Mind

Yesterday I had the privilege of speaking at my buddy Michael's celebration of life.  His sweet momma asked me to a while back... likely because she knows I've never met a microphone I don't like.  I pointed out that I was better equipped to speak to 4 year old Michael than 40 year old Michael, but you don't go through roughly 37 years of a friendship with someone and not have a few stories to share of your time together.

I shared this as I opened: Dan gave me the laptop that I'm typing on now with one instruction... "Write your damn book."

Well, that's daunting.

Even for someone who loves writing... and who often feels like there is a story in there somewhere... the first step of writing a book is paralyzing.

So eventually, I wrote what I know.

I wrote about Michael.

And to this day, that's the only chapter I've written ...

I shared a bit of my relationship with him yesterday, but there is so much more to tell.  I walked away from the microphone- overwhelmed with emotion and love for my buddy- and realized I left so many things out.  Rather than jump up and say "OH WAIT! I FORGOT....", I decided to share some of that here.  For the rest of it, you'll have to buy my damn book.
---
Michael and I met in the late 70's at Hominy Baptist Church- either in preschool or in Sunday School.  We remained friends for all of the years after- even in the times that we argued. #Mistyliker  Michael was, however, the only person I ever hit.  (Other than my brother, of course.)  In seventh grade he said something to me worthy of being hit- and when I went to hit him, he let me.  He knew he was in the wrong, so he stood still and "took it".  And when the teacher responsible for us asked what happened, he quickly said "Nothing."

In 12th grade, we had the privilege of registering to vote in our school cafeteria.  Michael said to me before we went in, "I might as well fill out your card for you... you're going to be a Republican, right?"  I'm guessing he assumed that because I spent more time in Bible Study than in Bent Creek, I would align with the Religious Right.  Whether to prove a point to him or not, I was pleased to check DEMOCRAT on my card.  And even though my Momma told me politics were private, I immediately went to tell Michael that his guess was wrong and I was not a Republican.

Along those same lines, he constantly was unimpressed with my music variety.  He rolled his eyes at my love of Amy Grant and 4Him, and rather than just harass me, he put into my hands new music.  I have a tape he made for me with Red Hot Chili Peppers on one side and Soup Dragons on the other.  I kept it for his handwriting- my cassette player long gone.  That was the first "mix tape" he made me... and why I wrote a RHCP shirt yesterday.  He opened my eyes to music beyond my own preferences- some bands I loved and some I didn't- and I'm grateful that like so many of you, he educated me.  And constantly encouraged me to go see live shows.

One day, someone brought acid to school.  It was the first time I'd ever seen it- and I was surprised at how pretty it was.  I said "If I could afford that, I'd wallpaper my house with it."  Michael said (without skipping a beat) "And I would come and lick your walls." (#justsayno)

Michael was so fun to be around.  His laugh was infectious.  His smile was radiant.  And he never smiled bigger than when he was talking about his kids.  After the football game we saw during our 20th Reunion Weekend, Michael drove me and Emily back to her car.  First, he took Trenton to a youth group activity.  When we dropped him at the church, Michael said "Can you believe my son is going to a church thing instead of a bonfire? I'm so proud of who he is. He's a much cooler kid than I ever was."  And that says a lot, because Michael was the coolest kid I knew.  He raved about Savannah's artistic side.  Every time he mentioned her, he'd say to me "You would love her."  I do, Michael, I do.

So many more stories. Hours of stories- only about Michael.  Many people told me yesterday that maybe he should be the focus of my whole book- not just a chapter.  I got offers for "guest authors" helping write it.  There's something that makes my heart smile to think of that... the story of Michael. The story of us.

Let's write it together, friends.
Let's #makeithappen.

Connection.

I'm currently sitting on my couch... watching Grace and Frankie.

Dan and I started watching it several months ago, and then we never got past the second episode.  It didn't "hook" us like we were hoping.  All of the reviews and hype just didn't click.

Until....

Some time recently I decided to give it another shot.

Something was different.

It clicked.

And it was because I knew it was something my Mom would have enjoyed.

Maybe it was because of 2/3 of "9 to 5" actresses were showing the world that their heyday wasn't over.  Maybe it was because I knew she would cringe and laugh with every moment that they were bashing their exes.  Or maybe the time was just right.

I've recently entered a new phase of looking for- longing for- connection.  Finding something that would bring my Mom... or my Daddy... or Michael, joy.  I enjoyed the BNL concert even more than usual... because of the company, the beer, the music- all because I knew Michael loved each of those things.  I enjoyed buying a new grill because I knew Daddy would want to buy it for us- he actually bought our previous one.  I enjoy wearing earrings of my Mom's because- while she would still be frustrated that I had been in her jewelry box- I long for the connection they bring.

I think this is a normal part of grief.  I think I'm actually in a healthier spot these days- trying to connect with those I've lost.  I feel more like "myself" than I've been in the last 5 years.  It feels good.

----

I haven't updated my blog since September.  A lot of that is because of lack of connection.  I attempted to update it in October, but the words were half-assed, the sentiment wasn't genuine.  I wrote out of a sense of obligation, not out of the love of writing.

And this has mimicked itself throughout my life- not just in writing.

A friend said to me last week "I've missed you recently"... Funny, I've missed myself.

In September, right as I was writing my last post, I spiraled.  An off-handed comment from a friend pushed my tentative self right off the ledge of grief.  It has taken me months to claw my way out of that hole.  It's not been a straight up journey- I've fallen back down a time or two.  Hurtful words from people, feeling left out, not having a "place"... those tend to trip me up.

But thanks to the wonders of modern medicine, good therapy, a purpose, a strong church community, and some helpful friends who won't let me fall off the ledge alone... I feel like I'm back.

I've missed connection.

I've wept over friendships that have slowly faded away- ones that I thought would last a lifetime.

We've hosted fewer events in the last 9 months than we ever had... partially because I've started a new job, partially because we have a new dog, and partially because I've been too weary to be social some days.

But that job?  That dog?  They have given me connection.

----

I share all of this with you not to make you feel uncomfortable.  It's not to put grief upon you if we have faded apart recently.  But I share this to you to let you know that sometimes when people fade away, they need you to continue to reach out.  They may not respond, they may blow you off, or they may legitimately be too busy/ tired/ whatever to hang out.

But sometimes, as was the case with my buddy Michael, they are on that edge of the hole and just need to know that they are not alone.

That's the whole premise of Grace and Frankie- finding connection when the connection you thought you had is no longer there.  I'm still making amends with my heart and it's broken connections... but even in this bizarre social media connected world, I'm thankful for what connections we have.


Here's hoping you find your Grace (and Frankie), too.

Part Two... a Liturgy Newbie

Whew.

Thanks for reading Part One and not hanging me out to dry.  I'll admit now that I had loads of anxiety during the hours that the post was being read.

So St. Tim's... What was this Baptist girl to do?!?  I grew up at a mainline Baptist church.  I worshipped more recently at an Evangelical contemporary church.  Both of these feel familiar to me. I know how to follow along in a hymnal, or even on projected screen.

Dan had grown up in an Episcopal congregation... worshiping at St. Tim's felt like old home to him.  But me?  I felt like I was reading a script.  It wasn't worship as much as it was a group reading.  My only experience in an Episcopal church prior to this was as a visitor.  In fact, my first experience was when my friend Angela had me visit with her in high school.  The bishop was visiting her small congregation and she wanted me to come to the service.  All I remember is that at some point during all of the sitting and standing I tripped over the kneeler and fell for all the congregation (and the bishop) to see.

When Dan and I married, we didn't have much of a discussion of where we would worship together.  I was on staff at a Baptist church.  No discussion needed.  When we moved to Winston, however, and we began our search- we picked more contemporary services over those of a traditional bent.

So (again) St. Tim's... What?!?!  How on Earth would I even begin to fit in when worshipping in this space at first appeared daunting?  Again, I have nothing to ascribe it to other than the Holy Spirit.  This place felt right.  Immediately.  I knew I was supposed to give it a try.  I knew I was supposed to be open to new things, including giving this faith heritage a chance.

(Small caveat... I am not a big proponent of going where it "feels right"... Church shouldn't be a consumeristic space in our lives, yet it often becomes this.  All I'm sharing now is my perspective of how something so different than my previous experience immediately felt sacred and, well, right.)

What I have found at St. Timothy's is beautiful.

It is a chance to participate in the Church universal- knowing that my prayers are being echoed throughout the world.

It is learning a whole new (to me) faith tradition- and I often feel as though I'm right back in my Religious Study days.  Sometimes in Bible Study my hand goes numb as I am furiously writing all of the nuggets of wisdom I'm learning.

It is beginning to understand the beauty of Liturgy.  And to agree with what my friend John said when he pointed out that Liturgy gives him the structure to worship even when his heart doesn't feel like it. It's putting a dialogue in front of me that I get the chance to participate in- and know that I'm not alone in that process.

15 years ago- the thought of Liturgy would have been a roadblock for me.  It would have felt limiting to all that God could be teaching me.  Today, however, it gives structure for the way in which I hear His voice.

One of the biggest things I've learned in these recent days is that there is so much freedom in how we worship.  Something in which we fail frequently is assuming that truth can only be learned in one way- our way.  And now that I've worshipped in churches that are traditional, mainline, conservative, liberal, liturgical, contemporary, and other... I'm seeing a bigger understanding of Jesus's teachings.  I'm grateful for this path- although at moments it's been beyond painful.  I'm grateful that my community of the faithful has been gracious when we don't line up theologically and politically.

And I'm grateful that His mercies are new every morning.

Thanks be to God.

'Coming Out' Spiritually...

Yesterday I posted a picture on my Instagram account- publicly acknowledging for the first time the shift that has happened in our spiritual home over the last year.  While I am in no way making light of any experience my LGBTQ friends have had... I'll tell you that I felt a little bit that I was Coming Out.

The love I feel for my former church is so intense.  I have been so careful to not share about our current journey for fear it would look like we somehow didn't like them anymore.

Let me save you the trouble of looking for dirt if that's why you're reading this- wondering if maybe I'm gonna spill some big, juicy drama that occurred between us and our former church home.  NOTHING (bad) HAPPENED.

The road to a new church home has consumed the last year of our lives.  So much so, that I'm going to share that experience in two parts.  Not for a drama factor, but just for ease of sharing.

I have been a member of 3 (now 4) churches for all of my life.  The first one, I was born into.  The next one, I chose because of my time and service in Chapel Hill.  The last one, we found after a long search when we moved to Winston.  We knew going into our membership there that we didn't line up theologically 100% (spoiler alert: we're sorta liberal)... but we fell so in love with the people and the fellowship that we allowed ourselves to look beyond any differences and dive right in.  It was in this place that our biggest life events to date took place: we longed for, conceived, lost, and gained children.  We developed deep friendships- and lost some of those friends to tragic, unbelievable death.  We prayed fervently during extreme illness of children and parents... some with joyous outcomes, and some that won't be joyous again until we reach heaven.

In short, we grew in all ways during our time in that sacred space.

Along the way, especially as Elizabeth began to ask hard questions, we wondered if we needed to look at other church homes.  This is where the beauty of our marriage partnership became even more evident.  When I would feel a need to go, Dan would gently remind me that we don't all need to "look alike" in a church... and we would stay.  When Dan would feel a need to go, I would remind him about our beautiful fellowship... and we would stay.  Last year, however, we both came to the same point of needing to go at the same time.

We wept, we talked, we prayed... and we repeated that process over and over until we knew we were doing what was best for our family.

Last summer we began the Church Search again... a long and lonely process of not feeling rooted.  We were blessed, however, to explore so many neat places of worship all over our city.  We met people we wouldn't know otherwise and got a chance to see how Others are "doing church" oh so well.

We found a Community close to our house and were so excited to be welcomed in to their fellowship.  Our kids were part of their Christmas program.  We were loved well during the loss of my Mom.  It felt good.

And then....

One Tuesday night in February, my Book Club went to serve dinner at the Overflow Shelter at St. Timothy's Episcopal Church.

When we walked into the building, I had an experience that I can only accredit to the Holy Spirit.  As I entered the church, I knew it was a special place.  I knew it was somewhere we were supposed to- at least- visit.  St. Tim's had been on our short list, but since we'd plugged in elsewhere, we weren't continuing to look at new churches.  Prior to walking in that first night, I'd had 3 good friends mention to me how much I'd like it there.  One of those friends had a child in E's class and she'd also invited E to come.

So right in the middle of heading toward plugging in elsewhere, we decided to give St. Tim's a try.

And that was the end of that.

We've been there ever since.

Tomorrow's post... Liturgy Newbie

Piles and Rugs and Pain and Faith

Growing up, I thought that by the time I was "an adult", I would be done changing.  I assumed that by the time I was "grown up"... and surely being 40 would be grown up... I would be who I was for better or for worse.  Right?

Wrong.

Our house has been one big pile recently.  Piles of paperwork, piles of plastic toys, piles of Julianna and Elizabeth's clothes because they continue to get bigger and outgrow them before I can even put up the most recent load of laundry, piles of photo albums, piles of books I bought but haven't read, piles of things that make me feel overwhelmed.

I am just now able to sort through those piles.

That was a side of grief I wasn't prepared for.  The debilitating feeling of being overwhelmed.  Not even seeing an end in sight- so much to do, such a constant reminder of being the only one who is going to be able to get it done.

Also in those piles of being overwhelmed- somewhere tucked in between the death of each of my parents- was the remnants of my previous faith.

I never renounced my faith.

I did, however, try to work through how my faith looked on the other side of chaos.

I never doubted the reality of Jesus.

I did, however, wonder how a sovereign God lined up with all of the pain we experienced.

I never ran away from the Lord I knew so well.

I did, however, yell at Him with all I had in me.

In all of the chaos... in all of our piles... as my new self is starting to break out of the debris... I am just now starting to deal with the crap left behind.  I am just now filling bag after bag of trash, making lots of trips to Goodwill, and sorting through some precious heirlooms that I've been handed.

One of the material things we've "inherited" is a rug that was in my Mom's house.  Mom didn't have air conditioning until a few years before we sold her house.  (One benefit of living in the woods is that we rarely needed a/c!)  We're not sure what happened during the installation, but something made the entirety of Mom's house smell like burning rubber for a while.  (Comforting, right?)  The smell eventually went away- except for in that rug.

It's not a smell we necessarily like, but it definitely reminds us of Mom's house.

That's how so many of the things are in our house now... and in my faith.  I don't always like what I smell, or see, or feel... but I'm grateful for what it reminds me of.  The places I've been.  The people who have mentored me.  And the faith that is evolving.

We are still nothing more than a bunch of piles in this house.  There is a good chance that when you stop by, we'll have to move the laundry before you'll have a place to sit.  But I'm hopeful that eventually the piles won't bring panic and pain, but will show the strength of where we've been.  Even when we have a bizarre smell because of it... maybe eventually it will make us all feel a bit nostalgic.

Growing up is hard.

Maybe when I get to be an adult, it won't seem like it's been that difficult.

I'll let you know when I get there.

On turning 40...

Tomorrow when I wake up, I'll be 40.

What the crap.

I remember *vividly* when my Dad turned 40.  He was O-L-D.  His old friends made fun of him and he laughed it up about being 40.

And tomorrow it's my turn.  I'm not sure how that happened, because I'm kind of sure that I'm still 18.

Other than the fact that I'm still confused how I'm actually 40, I'm okay to be 40.

My twenties were a blur of newness... my first job. My first husband. (Kidding, Dan...) My biggest decision ever in choosing to say "yes" to the kindest, sweetest, nerd I had ever met- and having no idea what in the world I was in for in the years ahead.  We embraced ministry together, made friends together, and then picked it all up and moved to Winston- together.

Our life here began with the excitement of trying to find a church, learn our way around town, and begin the process of starting our family.  It was in my twenties that we lost our first child... and unfortunately I would know that pain twice before I turned 30.

I rounded the corner into my thirties- having no idea the hell that was going to unfold.

To celebrate my thirtieth, Mom and I went to New York.  We waved to you all from the Today Show courtyard and saw the Rockettes.  We shopped and ate and I took her to Starbucks for her very first time.

What I wouldn't give to spend tomorrow with her at Starbucks.

Dan finally "gave in" and gifted me the best 30th birthday present ever... a sweet little mutt named Webster.  He comforted my tears for 10 years before I held him on the floor of the vet while his fur caught my tears one last time.  He left a hole in our family that is still a fresh wound each time Julianna asks "Where Webster go?"

Shortly after Webby joined us, all of those doctor visits and blood draws paid off when we experienced the miracle of all miracles: we were expecting a baby girl.  Because she decided to show up a month before her due date, we were all surprised to end up in the hospital earlier than planned.  What a crazy day it was to kill time waiting for my labor to progress in a room watching Food Network with Dan, Mom, and Daddy.  (And maybe some doughnuts that sweet Abby snuck in... whoops.)  That funny looking preemie entered our wold with a (literal) earthquake and has shaken our lives up ever since.  Every day I am grateful that she shares the name of my sweet Momma, and that those two had such a precious bond before Mom got sick.

In my thirties, we had our eyes opened to things we could no longer ignore.  I walked with friends through their adoptions and traveled the world to meet some of those precious kids.  And after Dan's persistence and patience... I finally "agreed" to a life of caring for those children in Foster Care.  That "yes" would change my life and give me the daughter of my heart.  It would also give me more grey hair, more frustration with a broken system, and more compassion for those who others than I could ever imagine.  One of the joys in all of our process of becoming a Foster family is knowing that Daddy gave us his whole-hearted blessing on our decision.

My thirties brought about inexplicable pain when we lost friends to death.  I still attest that we are far to young to have experienced so many peers gone.  I miss my friends.  I miss them for their own spouses and families, and I miss them for me.

And most of all, I miss my Daddy.  16 months before he died, we lost his beloved Mary.  I was beyond fortunate to have the World's Best Stepmother... and I am so very sad that my girls don't get her wisdom, her charm, and her humor.  And I am so very sad that they won't grow up with their Dadaw to give them a hard time about their first boyfriends, their lousy driving skills, and their first jobs.  I am grateful that his legacy lives on with the Do Good movement... but dang it, I miss him being the one doing the good.

So forties?  Come at me, bro.  I've survived my thirties and that was no joke.  And while all of the things I mentioned before about killed me... they didn't.  Because in my corner I have Dan.  And Elizabeth.  And Julianna.  And all of you.  And the chance to figure out my ever changing faith.  And my ever changing self.  I can take classes to help me, to challenge me, to teach me.  I can admit when I'm wrong.  I can say "I don't know."  I can laugh when I mess up.  I can find help to fix whatever needs fixing.  I can cry in front of you and not feel like I have to apologize when it gets awkward for both of us.  I can say no to commitments that drain me.  I can walk away from things I don't enjoy.  And I am almost to the point I can step away from relationships that are toxic... I'm not there yet, but I'm trying.

I am ready to be done with my thirties.  They were painful.  So maybe my forties are my time to soar.

If not, then we'll look forward to 2025 and claim that my 50s will kick ass.  

normal.

For the last 3 years, I have been in a state of holding my breath.

I feared we would never hit "normal" again.  Nothing could be normal without Daddy ... after learning of my Mom's dementia... after losing friends to death... after feeling like we lived in a continual state of loss.

And yet here we are.  Normal.

This is what my new normal looks like:

I have an 8 year old who is funny, too smart for me, and helps me navigate our new world.  She keeps me thinking through my answers as her questions challenge me daily.  She is light and laughter and consistency in my days that are chaos.

I am the proud legal guardian of a beautiful, stubborn, and sweet 2 year old.  She has brought us hope in times that we couldn't conjure it up without her.  She loves loudly and deeply and fiercely... and we are thankful for the charge to help guide all of that energy in a safe and loving environment.

I have a mother who is constantly losing who she is.  Her face and sometimes mannerisms remind me of days gone by, but her current dementia filled days make me ache for our old "normal".  I go through times where I can't remember the good... and I am grateful for those who come along side me and fill my heart and mind with memories of her grace, dignity, and wisdom.

I have a precious husband who is often my barometer of pause.  He tells me when I should slow down, encourages me to write more, and will often bring out the next bottle of wine when days are as lovely as they were yesterday and our deck is filled with an impromptu gathering.

I have a faith that is changing and growing... I feel a bit like it's made of Silly Putty- words of days gone by are still imprinted on it, yet in moments I've allowed it to grow harder than is malleable.  I long for the soft and stretchy ease, yet I'm certain that I'm to learn something new in this season.

I have a home that is messy and fluid.  This past week was our Spring Break and we saw friend after friend come through our doors, leaving their mark on our hearts as we enjoyed what spice they add to our home.  Never have I enjoyed a Spring Break more... although I need to detox from the food and drinks and sleep for about 34986 more hours.

And this is our new normal.  Days filled with love and loss and joy and pain and heartache and celebration.  Normal.

I have cringed a bit lately as a few well-meaning friends have suggested that the addition of our sweet  girl is somehow supposed to fill the gap of losing our most recent baby.  While we love that their stories overlap and intersect (we think that Baby J was born right about the time our baby died), one is not a replacement for the other.  One brings hope and mothering into a bleak heart of loss... yet a life cannot be traded one for another.  Yet that is where we are- celebrating the life of one as we remember the loss of the other.  Normal.

I guess this is what being fully human is about.  Holding on to normal quite loosely, realizing that it changes moment by moment.  Trying not to get stuck in the longing for easier days, trying not to wish away the current moment while still anticipating the next.  Reaching out for spicy friends when our own bowl has become bland.  Returning the favor for others by pouring the wine when we are able. Reading and praying and writing and hugging and laughing and crying.  Encouraging others- no matter what their normal looks like- that we will gather with them through it all.

Peace and grace.
And hope for your Normal to be filled with Light, as we exhale together.

Self Care and Washing Machines

My washing machine makes this noise as it's going from one cycle to another.  It sounds kind of like an airplane taking off.  The moment it hits the next cycle (rinse?  I dunno), it has this very anticlimactic "THUD" and then it kicks into a lower gear.  Before you become concerned about the well-being of our appliances, let me assure you that it is fine.  This is par for the laundry-washing course.

Lately, the frantic-ness of life has felt a lot like that machine.  The violent hum of gearing up... you can almost tangibly feel the anticipation and chaos... and then THUD. Stop.

Historically, I have lived my life in this same pattern.  I used to say that one of the reasons God allowed me to have asthma was so that I would have an automatic shut-off valve.  When my busyness got to be too much, I would have an attack and be forced to shut down.  As I have gotten "more experienced" (and gotten better asthma maintenance drugs!), that seems to happen less and less.

But lately, I've been in that crazy spin cycle longing for the sloshing sounds of "rinse".

I felt myself being stretched to a point that wasn't possible.

I let my laundry pile up beyond the normal mountain it already was.

I allowed my family to eat out more than we cooked because of pure convenience.

I started my days in full "GO!" mode and went until I crashed- sometimes as early as 7:00pm.

And then... I stepped back.

Realizing that the last 2 years of grief had altered my body as I knew it, I assessed the situation.  What did I need to do to make things right?  Who did I need to talk to?  What should I say "no" to in my schedule?

This is not one of those blog posts where I let you know of the success of this endeavor.  I am not here to report "And thanks to Jesus and good medication, I'm fine!"

I am still wading through the evaluation.

Still catching myself in moments that I hear the hum escalate.

Still wanting to be more mindful, to feel more whole.

But here is what I can tell you: I am worth it.

I am important enough to take time for myself.

I am worthy of rest.

This is said not out of vanity or pride... but out of a basic understanding that I was made for so much more than frenetic days and harried thoughts.

As 2014 began, I challenged myself to jot down one thing I'd done for myself a day.  ONE THING.  Early in January I wrote down these treasures:
* Took a glass of wine and a book to the bath.
* Watched mindless TV and didn't multitask while doing it.
* Took a nap while Dan and E watched a movie.
* Washed my face with really good skin products

Then... the baby joined our family and we went into survival mode.  In all honesty, when I thought back to those treasures, I felt spoiled... the next few weeks were spent just getting by.

Thankfully, we're not just getting by anymore.  We are learning how to survive this crazy thing of loving someone else's child, and we're adding her to our joy.

And now that we've gotten past the crisis of "Triage Mode", I think it's time to remember my goal of self care.

Would you join me?

I have heard so many of you already cry out to Summer Angst... your kids have already reeked havoc on your house and your sanity.  So how about committing to finding ONE thing a day that is JUST FOR YOU.  Maybe you'll treat yourself to an iced latte, or a new pen, or a beer on your porch at night. Maybe you'll go on that vacation and not take your stack of thank you notes to work on... but you'll just enjoy the moment.  Maybe you'll finish that book or call that friend or paint your nails... but make it about you.

I believe that I- and you- have worth because we were created by One who desires more for us.  Whether or not you share my belief... please trust me when I say that you are worth it.

In this busy world in which we all live- we tend to put others' needs before our own.

This summer, how about taking some time for you?

You. Are. Worth. It.

Blaming Germs

My Facebook feed has blown up the last little bit with people posting of their families' various illnesses.  It's just that time of year.  But in all honesty, is it not always "that time of year"?  It seems that we live in a world where illnesses are passed rapidly as we are more and more connected to people.  Please note: I know loads of you are selling, pushing, participating in things, medicines, treatments, healthy living changes that make illnesses less-likely to hit your family.  That's awesome... yet that's not the point of this post.

I'm writing this as my sweet 7-year-old is napping on the couch after beginning her bout with the stomach bug.  She said to me in that super sweet sick-kid voice this morning "At least I know what to expect.  I've thrown up before, so I know when I should get to the bathroom."  So true, sister.  (And I'm guessing she was thinking about what will happen if the Wee One gets it... not prepared to tell us when she needs to be sick.)

I've already gotten a text this morning from a friend I've spent time with recently who was worried she was the culprit for bringing us the germs.

I expect that more than one of my friends will assume that guilt at some point today... as loads of people I know have had this recently.

Which led me to think of the wise words my friend Leigh engrained in my mind years ago:  You can't blame (other people for giving you) germs.

We live in a well connected world.  We are a social family.  In fact, Tuesday night we spent the evening with 70+ people coming in and out of our home.  My prayer this morning is that 70+ people don't get this same illness.  But if they do?  I'm sorry.  That's all I can say... I'm sorry.

We are not going to live in a "bubble" where we exclude ourselves from activities because we are concerned that we'll get sick because "someone" might be.  

The exception to this, of course, comes from knowing that your child (or yourself) is sick and bringing them to events/school anyway.  I have little tolerance for people who knowingly bring sick kids somewhere... I know it's a pain to change your plans, find a sitter, whatever... but please, for the good of us all, if they need to be home, keep them home.  We're knee-deep now in deciding which of our weekend plans we'll need to revise because of today's illness.  It sucks, but it's what you do.

Within this "exception" comes my friends with medically fragile children.  Hearing stories of people who attend functions with these compromised children knowing they are ill makes me crazy.  My sweet friend Tamar (whose wee one, Leah, has leukemia) walked a beautifully fine line with this during Leah's treatments.  Having 2 school aged children in addition to Leah made living in a bubble not possible, unless she planned to keep everyone home, all the time.  And she didn't.  They lived life- still attending school, still coming to church, still going out in public- as they were able.  Leah's preschool director would alert Tamar when a bug was prominent in the school (which was great!) so Tamar could make an educated decision about whether or not to attend.  Brilliant.  Let it be up to the parents of the children whether or not to take the risk.  Yet I've heard loads of stories of other children in various treatments who arrive at activities where people show up with fevers and flus and not one nod is given toward how it will affect those immunocompromised children.  No excuse.

But in our case... today, and days in the future, we will take "our turn" at sickness and know that no one is to blame.  Germs happen.  And they will happen... as long as we continue to live our lives with other people.  We will not "blame" germs.

And I'm hoping that you won't, either... 'specially if E gets you all sick.

numbers

My life has been dictated by numbers.  Forever.

- The age marker.  At 7, I wanted to be 10.  At 10, I wanted to be 13.  At 13, I wanted to be 16.... it continued until I grasped that the age I am now is all that I'm promised.  I love 38, even though I've only been it for 1 month... because it's all I'm promised.

- The number on my scale.  Contradictory to EVERY person I've ever known who's talked to me about weight loss vs. healthy living, I check my scale often.  My friend Renee used to talk about her weight being "one blank 4", or whatever it was at that moment.  Once I crossed into the triple digits (which was way before my peers did), the number immediately after the "one" was what took up much space in my mind.  If I was at 1_4, I wanted to be 1[ _ - one]4.  Times in my life, that numbers have easily gone down.  Other times they have shamefully gone up.  And the shame is all mine- I guilt myself into thinking I'm measured by that number.  I.  Am.  Not.

- My GPA.  Hallmark created a wonderful card a few years back that said something like "True Life Fact #513... No one cares what your GPA is."  Truth.  No one does... but me.  I struggled for those college years because the number on my transcript wasn't as high as I'd imagined it would be.  I allowed it to convince my mind that I was "less than."  That somehow my worth was tied up in those numbers... and somehow I told myself I wasn't the person I knew myself to be.  Lies.

- The number of things on my to-do list.  I will never, ever, ever have an empty list.  I imagine that on my deathbed I will feel guilty for the things still there... and likely some of those will be thank you notes I've not yet sent.  (I blame my thank you note aversion to my wedding.  True story.)  I have recently allowed myself some grace on my to-do list... and that was only after living through tragedies that gave us clarity about what really matters.

- The number in my bank account.  I have never been one of those people who is a natural saver.  Neither am I constantly concerned about how much money we have- it's not a source of pride for either Dan or myself.  But after our rocky financial road in the first few years of marriage... that number says to me whether or not I am doing something "right".  When our checking account dips low, it brings back deep seeded anxiety that I have failed.  Guilt and shame creep back up over issues that are years behind us.  Ridiculous.

None of the numbers I noted above matter.  NONE OF THEM.  If my to-do list is crazy long and we don't have money for our "wants" and I gain weight... IT IS NOT ETERNAL.  "Ain't no mountain gonna fall" because I send thank you notes late, or because it took me 10 years to graduate, or because I can no longer eat whatever I want (could I ever do that?).  I am a smart woman- and not because my GPA reflected that.  I am wealthy beyond most of the world's population... and I am blessed to never have known the other side.  Some of the numbers above are important- I want to be healthy, I need to keep on top of my list because some of the tasks affect other people, and I want to be a good steward- yet none of them determine my true worth.

And yet there are other numbers that are critical.  Some of our friends are in crisis as one of Dan's oldest friends has had a stroke.  As her husband watches the numbers on her monitors and hears the numbers her physicians report... that matters.  A key number in their life is 5- the number of young children they have and now have to provide for all while sitting bedside with their beloved mother.  Those numbers matter.

In this New Year, I pray that I keep my numbers in check.  Focus on the ones that matter, give grace to the ones that aren't big rocks, and let go of the rest.  I'll pray that for you, too.  And I ask that you keep our sweet friend Cristi and her number one fan, Hoke, in your prayers.  They truly are some of the best people we know and need all of our prayers.  While I don't fully know or understand how prayer works, I know that when we petition God in great number, our hearts are knit together.  And those numbers, indeed, do matter.

(You can keep up with Cristi's progress on her Caring Bridge site here.)

A Change in Heart in 2013

Yesterday morning I was up before my family and had some time alone in our kitchen with my thoughts and the sausage balls I was making.  I was thinking through the "What would a 'best of 2013' blog post look like" and all of the fun things that I would include.  These same thoughts went through my mind as I typed our New Years letter... still with our cards that I'm hoping to finish before the weekend.

It's no surprise that in my heart of hearts I've been in a hard spot these last almost 2 years.  Losing people I love has caused me to lose a a little bit of myself.  While, at first, I was ashamed of what those losses changed me to be, I now embrace the new and am hoping to honor the life with which I'm left.  And don't be distraught!  This will not be a "what I lost" post... but rather a "what we gained" reflection.

Our personal 2013 highlights, in no particular order of importance or calendar dating:

September 24 has become Do Good day- not only for just our family, but for so many who have spread the love in their own circles.  This year was no exception.  We opened our home to locals to join us as we celebrate the Good.  Not only was I floored during the day (Daddy's best friend from home SHOCKED me when she arrived unannounced!), I was amazed throughout that week as I heard stories of people Doing Good.
  * We collected over $500 in gift cards to distribute as needs arise.  We have already given several to families in need of some Good, and have been blown away at the stories of how our friends' generosity has met their need in immediate ways.
  * A friend in Asheville put together a drum kit with the help of local musicians to give to a child who was taking lessons and did not yet have a kit.  While his mother may not see hear the Good always in such a LOUD gift, she was thrilled- as was her son- with such a significant gesture.
  * People sent me story after story that day of paying for others' meals, coffees, groceries in anonymity and how amazing that felt.

Goodness won on September 24.  I invite you to mark your shiny new 2014 calendar with Do Good Day.  I'll be posting again in the month of September to remind you of it.  Let's Do Good throughout this new year.  (And, if it's not too much to ask, I'd love you to message me how your Do Good gesture affected you and/or the recipient.)

****

We made it our mission this year to say "yes" to things that would bring us happiness.  Several events led to big smiles for all 3 of our family.  We enjoyed a Disney trip during Star Wars weekend- I've never seen many happy nerds in one place (my two included.) I finally met Jen Hatmaker!  I saw Glennon Doyle Melton twice.  I told Philip Yancey how much I've enjoyed his books through the years.  I had a life-giving conversation in the rain with Frank Schaeffer that I reflect on often.  I went to see my other half in Arizona and experienced some of her life there.  I took part in a Grief group at Sawtooth that was healing to my soul.  I ice skated with my little girl in Rockefeller Center as it snowed.  We saw 5 (ridiculous!) shows on Broadway.  Dan and I shared a meal with his best friend from college (and his gorgeous new bride!) and I saw him grin in a way that I've missed.  We had Camp of Kids again with days full of crafts, snacks, and giggles.  E attended her first "grown up" concert- The Indigo Girls- in an amazing venue with amazing people singing loudly all around.  Dan and I saw the Barenaked Ladies, Guster, and Ben Folds with some of our best friends (and rode home with the top down in a convertible... lovely.)  I then followed up with a second BNL show in which I finally met the band.

As silly as some of those things sound- they restored pieces of my heart that had been knocked away by pain.  While it would likely get me a restraining order, I thought about writing BNL a "fan letter" and telling them how their shows connected me to years gone by and how healing they were in my 2013.  I'll never forget Brad Spires introducing me to them in 1996, and I've listened faithfully for the last 17 years.  Singing songs (loudly) that I loved in my 20s reconnected me to the girl I was then... and for that, I am grateful.

****

The turning point in my year happened on June 15.  Just two months prior I had sunk to my lowest of points and grieved in new and painful ways.  That Saturday in June, E and I were doing some grocery shopping when I got a text from a friend.  He asked my opinion on ring sizes for his beloved- and I am not exaggerating at all when I say my heart grew two sizes that day.  I got taken out of my hurt and put in the middle of his joy.  While his reasons for including me in his planning were likely practical, for me it became holy as the Joy began to outweigh the Pain.  I texted him yesterday to tell him that while I joked after that moment that he was "better than Xanax" (or Zoloft, depending on the day) that honestly was not far from the truth.  My life is better because of that day, my 2013 was better because we celebrated their engagement, my 2014 will be better as we celebrate their wedding, and my friends' lives will be better as they will share them in marriage.

"Oh, the feels."

****

While your 2014 may not be filled with engagements and concerts and celebrations, I pray that your heart will be filled with moments of joy.  We know that there will be dark days amidst the light ones, but I'm committing to focus on the light this year.  Happy New Year, my friends.

Elizabeth and Advent

This afternoon I was waiting on a friend in Old Salem.  We were *finally* going to attend the Candle Tea together.  While I'm ashamed that it's taken me 11 years of living in Winston to go, I won't throw her under the bus and point out that this was her first time in 19 years.  (See what I just did there?)

As I was waiting, the line behind me grew and an older woman kept saying "Elizabeth!  Elizabeth!"  She was calling to her daughter who had let her out of the car and gone to park.  Later, her Elizabeth went off to the bakery in search of Sugar Cake, and her mom again called out to her "Elizabeth!  Elizabeth!" We shared a moment- as strangers tend to do with people named Waldrup- and began to talk about names.

My sweet Elizabeth's name was on the forefront of my mind as our time came for the Tea and we were admitted to the Single Brother's house.  Much to my surprise, I came face to face with one of the best parts of my 2013- a friend that I gained through my grief group this summer.  She was playing the part of hostess today, so we grabbed only a quick moment to speak, but the hug from my soul sister on this journey was both sacred and life-giving.

It wasn't until we were downstairs that my mind wandered back to my friend... and I spent time thinking of her sweet daughter who I never had the joy to meet.  Her precious girl- Elizabeth- was taken from this world as a teenager.  Seeing my friend living out loud years past her daughter's death is awe-inspiring and hope-producing.  Seeing someone who keeps her daughter's life alive to those she meets as well as who is honest with the pain and the grief... that... that is real.

We eventually entered a room in which the Nativity was laid before us- both in word and in sight.  I have shared with those close to me this year (and now I share with all of you) that 2013 has been a tough year for me spiritually.  I have sought wise counsel, given myself grace, and am daily working through my confusion and frustration with a God who is Big Enough to handle all of that.  I have worked through my anger with how His People care for one another- and some of the hurtful things that we say all while using His Name as power.

Yet as I found myself in front of the Nativity, I was again drawn to Elizabeth.

We chose to name our daughter Elizabeth because of the connection we felt to Biblical women who struggled with fertility.  Elizabeth in the New Testament- cousin of Mary (mother of Jesus)- shows up and we are told her story.  And a lot of her story is told in relation to the story of Jesus.  When Mary came to tell Elizabeth that she was pregnant, this is the account according to Luke:

³⁹ A few days later Mary hurried to the hill country of Judea, to the town ⁴⁰ where Zechariah lived. She entered the house and greeted Elizabeth. ⁴¹ At the sound of Mary’s greeting, Elizabeth’s child leaped within her, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit.

⁴² Elizabeth gave a glad cry and exclaimed to Mary, “God has blessed you above all women, and your child is blessed. ⁴³ Why am I so honored, that the mother of my Lord should visit me?⁴⁴ When I heard your greeting, the baby in my womb jumped for joy. ⁴⁵ You are blessed because you believed that the Lord would do what he said.”

As Elizabeth is pregnant with her own child, that has nothing to do with her response to Mary.  Unlike so many women (present company included) I know, her response was not "YAY!  We can have babies together!!"  Her response was genuine joy for her cousin, reverence for being the presence of God, and admiration of Mary for her faith.

And in the midst of trials of faith and dark nights of the soul- that is what a I long for.  I long for someone to look at my life and say the words "You are blessed because you believed that the Lord would do what He said."  While I am not there in this moment, I look to Elizabeth for encouragement.  She was a woman who knew her God, and a woman who loved her family well because of it.

In these last few days in which we celebrate the Advent- the coming of Christ- I wish for us all to have a true encounter with Jesus.  While I don't know lots about how God works- I know that His son is good and kind and generous to those He loves.

And lucky for us all- we are those that He loves.

Oh come, let us adore Him.

ThankFULL

In 2010, I started taking cues from my friend Gina and posting a daily "Top 5" of things I enjoyed about my day on Facebook.  This was after that random tumor surgery, and while I sat on the couch feeling sorry for myself all day, I needed some mental redirection.  Like most things, after a while I stopped.  It wasn't that I was less mindful of my Top 5, it was that I began to feel I was bogging down my News Feed.  After Daddy died last year, Dan pointed out that he thought it was time again to start focusing on my Top 5... there was so much sadness, I needed to remind myself of the good in my little corner of the world.

When I brought back the Top 5, I got several private messages about how others "needed" to see them... that they encouraged their children/spouses/friends to do the same... and how a mental redirection was just what they needed, too.

This week, I had the pleasure of hearing a friend speak at my church about the same idea- choosing gratitude.  My friend, Peggy, shared her story of a bike accident in which she was hit by a motorist and left in a wheelchair for months- during which time her mother and several friends died.  Like my own story, grief upon grief can wear a person down.  But Peggy chose gratitude- she said from the first moments in the ER, she began focusing on what was good in her life and even in her unfortunate situation.  (She also noted later, btw, that she does a "Top 5" of her own in her journal each morning.)

Peggy's talk stirred up my own desire to re-visit my daily Top 5.  My last couple of months have been wrecked with grief, disappointment, frustration, and exhaustion.  But they also have been blessed with homecomings, laughter, shared meals, warm hugs, and joy.  I have shared snipits of these moments on Facebook, but more importantly I have gathered my gratitude in my heart.

One would think that with the "November 30 Days of Thankfulness" trend on the interwebs, that I'd be all over that.  I actually have never done it- not because I'm one of the people who is opposed to it (although the people who are the complainers 335 other days of the year who lead with "I'm thankful for the happiness I've found in Jesus" do crack me up), but because I kinda feel like I overwhelm my News Feed with it the rest of the year (see above.)  But given Peggy's gentle prompting this week- I feel compelled to share some of the great things in this brutiful life of mine with my dear Reader Friends.

Gratitude: November 2013 Edition (not in order of importance, lest any of you get offended easily)

1. Half Price bottles of wine a dear friends with which to share them.

2. Papas and Beer

3. Whimsical Women

4. A super fun Barenaked Ladies concert

5. Finally meeting the Barenaked Ladies at that super fun concert

6. My Book Club

7. Someone else offering to "throw me a party" for the first time in years

8. Upcoming weddings

9. Upcoming vacations

10. Reconnecting with old friends

11. Pumpkin Beer, Jaime style

12. Blogger dates

13. Working out- the biggest surprise of what I'm grateful for, because I've never EVER had that on a list

14. Watching E get so excited about babysitters

15. Date nights

16. Scandal

17. Buffalo wings

18. Upcoming holidays

19. Finding Daddy's coffee mug at Mom's house

20. My new planner

21. That Bunko got reborn

22. Movie dates

23. Planning showers to love on friends

24. Knowing that I have a Laurie Date on my calendar

25. Good books

26. New makeup

27. Good pens- including my new Dry Erase markers

28. Coffee

29. Our bus stop. Most of the time.

30. Short hair.

I've had 30(+) things this month (and last) that bring me joy... that make me pause in gratitude... and that take my mind off of the hurt.  And, as Peggy pointed out, there are still days with lots of moments of me wanting to scream out "God- I WANT MY OLD LIFE BACK!"... but in the moments in which I am thankful, I can enjoy this brutiful space where I am.

I am blessed.

And I am full of thanks.

Bradshaw Lane

I've been a little MIA on the interwebs lately.  It seems that the stress of selling Mom's house has caught up with my body and I'm still fighting a week long cold.  As I shared some of my last few weeks with someone today, it's no wonder that I'm sick... my body just couldn't keep going at the pace I was pushing it.  So I'm going to allow myself to slowly process where we've been and where we're going.  For now, I'll share with you the note I left the owners of Mom's new place.  Warning: it's lengthy...  And a bit sappy.

Congratulations on your new house!  I hope that it quickly becomes your home and that you fall in love with 11 Bradshaw Lane like we did.  Not to force my story upon you, but I thought I would tell you a bit about it’s history...

My parents bought the house from Walt and Becky McCullough in the early 70’s.  I’m not sure if Walt and Becky were the original owners.  One of their 3 children, Natalie, was my Sunday School teacher when I was in Middle School and shared with me which of her siblings had what bedroom.

My brother, Chris, was a toddler when they moved from Woodfin and I was brought home from the hospital to my bedroom (the one beside the master) in December of 1975.  I never had another home growing up- nor did I ever switch bedrooms.  I left Candler for college in 1994, and only came home a few summers after that.  Around 2000, Mom turned my room into a den.  (My brother’s room- the one beside the hall bathroom- stayed a bedroom during our tenure here.  Not that I’m bitter or anything.)

My Daddy was responsible for the fabulous backyard at your new home.  He landscaped the steps- I often played wedding there and dreamed of my own backyard wedding.  I ended up not getting married there, but as you watch the light come in through the trees in the mornings, you’ll see why I was enraptured by the beauty of the woods.  He put in a hammock- complete with a spotlight which would be blinding to unsuspecting teenagers, and which only was turned on if a “warning” needed to be shared.  The swings he built were my respite- and I still would swing on them even through high school.  The Pièce de résistance in the yard, though, is the treehouse.  My Daddy and Papaw built that around 1980.  I helped by bringing them glass after glass of grape Kool-aid.  My brother and I played in it, my Daddy escaped to it, and it became a sought out location for (only the bravest of friends) summertime sleepovers- complete with spiders.

The house itself is full of great rooms and wonderful memories.  The room beside my brother’s was our Playroom that became a Computer Room that became a sort of Guest Room later in life.  My Mom worked in I.T., so were were one of the first families to have a PC at home.  My brother’s friends monopolized that during their visits.  I spent hours developing my skills on King’s Quest and Frogger, then later began using the computer to type letters to my pen pal in Wisconsin and as I toyed with my growing love affair of writing.

Mom and Daddy’s room housed a king sized bed which all 4 of us would pile on during special Saturday mornings.  Daddy would bring our portable black and white TV from the kitchen, put it on their dresser, adjust the antenna, and we’d watch Bugs Bunny while snuggled beneath their green blankets.  It was under those same blankets- and any others we could get our hands on- where Mom and I burrowed deep during the Blizzard of 93.  Our house was without power for days and got ridiculously cold.  (And boring.)  Ultimately, we were taken by sled (with the help of neighbors) to a nearby house on Monte Vista with a generator so that I could have a breathing treatment... and the best dinner of Shake and Bake chicken that I’ve ever eaten.  Nearly a week of canned peaches and Ritz crackers will make Shake and Bake taste like a 5-star meal.

The bathroom in the Master was Daddy’s- his smell of cologne, hair spray, and (gasp!) cigarettes is one that will bring tears to my eyes when I catch it now at certain bars.  (For the record, he started smoking outside in about 1983 when my pulmonary specialist “suggested” that maybe smoking around his highly asthmatic daughter wasn’t the best idea.)  When he moved out in 1989, Mom took over the bathroom and the scent changed to one of Ultima II makeup, Windsong powder, and Vaseline lotion.  

Mom had the bathrooms redone shortly after Daddy left.  Those bizarre low and quiet toilets were all the rage in 1990.  My friends loved coming in the bathroom and just flushing to watch it work.  My brother and I shared the hall bathroom at that point- I had the drawers on the right, his were on the left.  Our bathroom began to smell of curling irons and crimpers, Rave hairspray, LA Looks gel, and whatever girlie perfume was popular in that moment.  Chris left for college in 1991, so his scent never had a chance to permeate that room like all of the ones I enlisted to make my high school years perfect.

And speaking of those teen years, the downstairs den was the ideal location not only for sleepovers, but for tucking away with boyfriends in hopes not to be seen from upstairs.  There was only one spot where we could hide completely, so that was the spot we best not be in as Mom walked by on her security patrols upstairs.  I spent hours down there watching Monty Python with friends, watching my first presidential debates, and sitting by the fireplace on snow days.  Not to mention the time out on the patio porch swing- the exact location of silly homemade videos with best friends or stolen kisses with boys I haven’t seen in 20 years.

Our living room and dining room were revered in our family to be “special” rooms just for company.  We spent time in there on holidays or whenever we had visitors.  Our Christmas tree went front and center in the living room’s window and I spent tons of time mesmerized by it’s lights and by the train that encircled it’s base.  As we got older, we were “allowed” more time in those rooms and I enjoyed feeling so grown up as I would sit and read in the living room.  The one exception made when I was younger was that I was allowed in to practice piano.  Which I still wish I had listened to my mother and not stopped taking lessons.  

The woods surrounding the house lend themselves to unlimited exploration and enjoyment all throughout my childhood.  In the spring, little red berries and purple violets appeared to take over and bring life back from a dark winter.  Chris and I picked flowers, played spy, and developed our own Terabithia within the walls of the limbs.  We ran through the field behind the house and played in the creek- furthering my love of nature and developing my “non-wussy-girl” status among the neighborhood boys.  We explored and played together in the spring, summer, and fall and sledded together through the winter.

And speaking of winter- one quick suggestion: My Daddy planted bamboo as a privacy barrier between our house and the one next door.  On snowy days, the bamboo will bow down under the weight of snow and ice.  It’s beyond a pain to lift each stalk and pull your car out, but without that, the bamboo will break.  I’d suggest cutting it back before it turns so cold you have to deal with that inconvenience.  

I hate that because of the later stages of my Mom’s illness and her departure from the house that the “grounds” weren’t presented to you in their best state.  While the house is wonderful, the yard and woods will cause you to fall in love with your home.  I hope that as the Easter Bush blooms this spring and you are able to entertain on the deck, you’ll see glimpses of all of the egg hunts and cookouts and parties and memories as they float around you.

And my room.  While now the closet space leaves a lot to be desired, back in the day there was nothing I didn’t like about my room.  I apologize if the door isn’t in the best shape- it was slammed many times in teenage angst.  It was covered in bumper stickers (Ollie North for President!) and posters (Michael Jackson and Michael J. Fox to name a few.)  It was my respite from parents who didn’t understand me, from parents who separated, from a brother who annoyed his little sister, and an escape to spend hours on the phone with friends.  It was where I sat and journaled and read.  Where I laid in bed sick.  Where I grew up.  And before all that it was where I would climb up on my green toybox and look out the window waiting for Daddy to come home for lunch- a midweek treat.  I’d open the window all summer long (you’ll note that air conditioning only arrived a few years ago) and smell the scent of the woods and hear the call of the birds each day.  I’d nearly burn down the house there as I played with matches in second grade- and then proceed to lie about it to my Mom while she could see the paper smoldering in the trash can.  It’s the same room where I first began reading the Bible and started to figure out for myself what I believed.  And, ultimately, it was the same room where I sat at the desk and typed my Daddy’s obituary last year.  That room holds my memories, my tears, and part of my heart.

I hope that you will love this house nearly half as much as we do.  If you look at it from the driveway, it almost appears to smile.  My mother continues to ask about her home (as she constantly wants to return there and doesn’t understand that her Assisted Living transition is permanent.)  We always tell her that we’re sure that things are “fine” in Candler and that her house is okay without her there.  It’s my hope that as we continue to tell her that when she asks that her house would be more than just “fine”.  My hope for you is that her house... your house... will be quite wonderful.