She's Got Legs

I hate my legs.

Not like oh, I wish my legs were 3% thinner.  I am truly embarrassed to claim my legs as part of my body.

I used to wear jeans year-round.  Even in the heat of summer.  I eventually got bold and moved up to capris.  Look out!

Last summer my friend Michele pumped up my confidence enough and convinced me to wear shorts.  I went to Walmart and bought about four pairs of shorts in different colors.  I wore them daily, even though it felt as wrong as if I was walking around shirtless.

You see, my legs aren't exactly like the other legs I know.  My legs have pockets of fat that don't even exist on other legs.  I'm fairly certain my legs have different genetic code than all the other legs walking around on this earth.  Even when I was at my verrrrrry thinnest, my legs were still made up of lumpy, bumpy, squishy matter.

I have tried diet and exercise.  I have toned and squeezed.  I've tried self-tanner to cover these jiggle sticks, but nothing seems to change what I'm working with.

Perhaps it would be prudent for me to share the fact that my older sister has great legs.  Not just great.  Killer legs.  She and my brother could have a calf-off and they literally have.  They are toned and muscular and shapely.  My sister tans very well and my brother is hairy, so I'm the only one walking around with ghost legs.  These people were drawn out of the same gene pool as I was, and yet my legs just don't match theirs.

I realized the other day, while trying to decide if I'd rather roast in pants or expose my deformed limbs in shorts, that I just haven't seen other legs like mine.  Celebrities don't have these bad boys.  The other moms at my kids' schools aren't shaped like me.  Even my plus size friends have super toned legs.

So I guess it boils down to feeling like the oddball.  I'm different than everyone else in a way that I already don't like.  I mean, why couldn't I be different in a way that's super awesome?

I've accepted that I'll never wear a two-piece swimsuit ever again.  I've accepted that I have more wrinkles than all my older friends and that I have to fill in my eyebrows with a pencil.  But I just can't seem to accept these darn things that have the audacity to call themselves legs.

I've worried about how my views of my legs will affect my daughter, but I've seen her legs and they're fantastic.  Thank heavens.  I'll have to teach her to love her long and lean perfect body in a "do as I say, not as I do" sort of way.

We will soon be going on a family vacation.  To Florida.  Where people wear shorts all the time.  We will be vacationing with my stick-thin sister-in-law, my cousin who has been a life long dancer (read: fantastic body), and my aforementioned sister.  There will be swimsuits involved.  I couldn't seem to find a swimsuit with pants, so I had to settle for a skirt.  It's not even a maxi skirt.

I so badly want to enjoy this vacation with my family, and I will.  I just know it.  I don't want to be distracted by body image issues.  This will be a mental battle for sure.  But it's one I intend to win.  My kids are worth it, and they deserve a mom who is having fun with them and not one who is wearing a robe on the daily.

It would be so cool if this next paragraph contained my mind-blowing wisdom about how to love your body for all it can do and because it is fearfully and wonderfully made.  Actually I do thank God quite often for what my body can do.  I can walk without any pain.  I could run if my children's lives were in peril.  I'm tall enough to reach all sorts of things.  I can drive myself and park wherever there's a spot, and these cottage cheese gams make it all possible.  I'm thankful for what I can do, but I'm still not a fan of how I look doing it.

Maybe you have something about your body that genuinely bothers you.  Not just the little insecurities of wondering if your hair looks frizzy or if your shirt shows that weird back fat indent that women get from their bras.  I mean maybe you base your whole wardrobe around part of you that you deem strictly unacceptable.  We can get through this together.

Maybe our deformities keep us humble.  Maybe they keep us grounded and help us look past physical appearance.  Or maybe I'm just still learning how to grow out of body issues.  Maybe I'll be brave enough to wear shorts, and another woman will see that I'm letting my imperfections show and so can she.

That's what I'll be telling myself in Florida.

Jessica

Jenga Straws

I couldn't hold my emotions in anymore.  I got up from my work chair, leaving it spinning as I stood too quickly, and went into the tiny bathroom adjacent to the patient therapy room.

As soon as I closed the door behind me, I cried.  I gave in and let the tears flow.  My face did that squished up unattractive thing.  I pressed a tissue just below my eyes to soak up any dripping mascara.  I didn't need to have my makeup cried off so everyone could see what a hard time I was having AND how my undereye regions look like someone with a terminal illness.

It wasn't that something awful had just happened.  It had been building all week.  I kept thinking about the phrase "the straw that broke the camel's back."  I had been carrying a load of straws, and the final one had just been placed on top.

I actually felt like I had been playing a game of Jenga with my straws all week.  My pile of straws included things like my 8-year-old daughter with a broken leg, my boys surviving middle school, my stomach refusing to just freaking digest food, my messy house, our family calendar, increasing migraines, my body image, and all the normal things that a part-time working mother of three balances.

These straws were constantly shifting, and new ones were thrown on the stack. 

I cleaned my messy house in an attempt to clear my mind, and within that very day, my lovely children turned my house into a national disaster.  I have been faithfully working out to a specific 90-day fitness system, making sure to get in at least 4 one-hour workouts per week.  This week I hit the 30-day mark and weighed in.  I weighed exactly the same as I did at the start.  Exactly.  I lost 0.0 lbs.

I eat gluten-free and take specific supplements in an effort to help my ridiculous stomach digest normally, but this week my stomach has been especially painful and nauseated.  I haven't been sleeping well, and I have no idea why.

I just felt like none of my efforts were making any difference in any area of my life.

On the plus side, I had been doing well taking care of Nora.  Her broken leg required help in all sorts of ways that I couldn't have anticipated ahead of time.  We had hit our groove with school.  I had a good handle on how to get myself ready for work as well as getting her ready for school each morning.  On the day I ended up crying in the bathroom at work, everything had started fine.  We got the boys to their school and got to Nora's school a little early.  I walked her in (she's on crutches) and carried her back pack.  I helped her to her desk and propped her foot on the extra chair and pillow I had made her.  I put her lunch in the basket and her folder in the bin.  I handed her the activity book I had remembered to bring for her to entertain herself while she waited for her classmates to arrive.  I checked my watch and felt good that I had exactly enough time to get to work on time.  As I bent down to kiss her goodbye, the principal walked into the room.

I had met with Nora's principal, teacher, and school nurse earlier in the week when she first returned to school.  We discussed any accommodations she might need, what the schedule would look like, how I would help her in and out of school each day.  I felt so blessed that my daughter attends an amazing school with such caring staff.  These three women were so kind and so willing to do whatever was necessary to help my girl.

But on this day, the principal was coming in to let me know that I needed to start walking Nora just inside the school and leaving her on a bench there to wait for someone else to help her to her room.  She said we couldn't be in the classroom "unsupervised" in the mornings.  I was confused.  And flustered.  She was so sweet and delivered her message like she was telling me my outfit was cute.  Nonetheless, I started to stress sweat immediately.  All I heard her say was, "You're doing it wrong."  I had to get out of there.

I felt the sensation of the last straw landing on the pile.

I arrived at work 5 minutes late.  I am never late.  And I walked in at the exact same time as my boss, so he definitely saw me arrive late.  There were already two patients in the waiting room and the phone was ringing.  I tried to switch from Mom Mode to Work Mode, but my emotions were already spilling over.  Thus I ended up crying in the bathroom at work.

As I reprocess all of this now, I realize that I had let a lot of things beat me up during the week.  People's words, my thoughts, numbers on scales and tags, circumstances.  Not only did I have bruises and fractures from receiving the blows, but I also had bloody knuckles from taking my own shots.

I think a lot of the thoughts that swirl around in my mind are coated in my own misconceptions and insecurities.  It's time for them to take a little bath in truth.  My house is messy, but it doesn't mean I'm a bad wife.  It means my family members suck at picking up after themselves.  It means we could all do a better job picking up after ourselves, and it's not all my responsibility.  I haven't lost any weight, but maybe my heart is healthier from my exercise.  My stomach is a constant source of pain and frustration.  I am doing the best I can to make good food choices, and some days are good.  I'm a super rule follower, and I never intentionally went against any of the arrangements we had made with Nora's school.  The principal has a responsibility to manage the school just like I have a responsibility to manage my kids.

Nora's leg will heal.  Some days my house will be clean and I'll feel good.  Some days I'll take my chubby hindquarters into the work bathroom to cry while my stomach hurts and I remember someone's critical words.  The beauty is that I get to start fresh each morning.  Sometimes I don't even have to wait for the next morning.

After I finished my ugly cry and wiped my face, I came back out to my workstation.  I took a few breaths in and out.  I turned to my coworker and said, "Morning:  take two.  How are you today?"

Jessica

Where I Am

I need a safe outlet to say this:  I'm terrified of the anniversary of Griffin's accident.

St. Patrick's Day will be exactly one year since the worst day of my life.

A few months after the accident, as I started to heal, I imagined the one year anniversary.  I envisioned a celebration of Griffin's life and a tribute to what God did for us.  Maybe we would have a party to commemorate being survivors.  No longer would I feel nauseated at the sight of the color green.  Green would be our banner of proclamation that God gave us a miracle.

As we turned over a new year, January brought me the realization that I'm not where I thought I'd be.

Disappointing.

Pinterest and Instagram are flooded with Valentine's Day images, but St. Patrick's Day ideas are sprinkled into my feeds.  Every time I see any reference to the green holiday, it's like a silent punch to my gut.

Rather than hosting a big celebration, I literally don't want to leave my house on March 17.  I don't want to see green or shamrocks or people living ordinary lives as if the day is like any other.

This isn't how I want to feel; it's just where I am.

This new year has brought me a fresh batch of flashbacks and fears that the worst things imaginable can actually happen.  I pray through each situation and fight my urge to keep my children in my view at all times.

I look forward to a time when I don't notice casual references to death.  I want to forgive the color green.  And jumpropes.  And swingsets.  And St. Patrick.

I'm relearning spiritual lessons I thought I already learned.  I need to tend to wounds I thought were healed.  I need to write a blog post that isn't well thought out or witty or wisdom-packed.

I need to say some of the things that have been weighing me down.  So much for where I thought I'd be.  I need to start where I really am.

Jessica

Happy

Apparently my boss has been talking about me.  To his wife.  I know because she told me when we ran into each other in Hobby Lobby and I helped her with a craft project.

He's not sure why I'm so happy all the time.

This made me chuckle because I'm not sure if other people in my life would describe me as happy all the time or not.

I knew this conversation was the perfect opportunity for me to tell my boss' wife all about what God has done for me and how I can have joy even if it doesn't match my circumstances.

Instead of delivering an eloquent speech salted with the Holy Spirit, I clumsily said, "It's God.  God is the reason I'm so happy."  Insert awkward silence.  Then I changed the subject back to what we were originally talking about.  I felt like a kid in Sunday school who didn't understand the question but shouted "Jesus!" as if it was surely the answer.

But I haven't stopped thinking about it since.

There's so much I could've said!

Plus I started evaluating myself.  How happy am I?  How much of my joy do I let leak out to other people?  Why is it so easy for me to compartmentalize my life stress so I can always be cheerful at work?  Don't other people in my life deserve the same cheerfulness?

Here's what I've come up with.

I think I really am happy.  I haven't always been, and I won't always be, but I'm happy in this season of my life.

I treasure my kids.  I love them like mothers love their children.  But I also savor my babies.  Because we've been through the fire and we are mostly on the other side.  Still standing.  All together.

Imagine someone you loved deeply who has passed away.  Now imagine that you got that person back.  That is basically the life I am living.

I didn't know if my son was alive or dead.  He did not look alive.  First responders didn't know if he would be revived.  Four hours later, when I finally got to see him, he was on life support with no sign of life within him.  Minutes passed like weeks for I-don't-know-how-long.  I lost my baby, and then I got him back.

There's has not been one day since that hasn't been affected by that accident.  Every.  Single.  Day.  I am aware that Griffin's mere presence is a gift.  And I can't help but feel the same way about my other two children.  And my husband, for that matter.  My husband, who is the winner of the title Best Husband Ever.  For realz.  It took months to heal from the trauma of what we went through, but we are finally healed enough to bask in the awesomeness of being a whole family.

So every morning my alarm goes off and I grumpily hit snooze until panic tells me that we're all going to be late unless I get up NOW.  I sleepily uncrumple myself and head directly to the kitchen for coffee.  But I come around the corner and see precious, soft Griffin at the table.  He's alone, eating breakfast, reading his book.  He's in just underwear and he is the softest thing ever created.  His hair is crazy and his cheeks are begging to be kissed.  And I am eerily aware of this alternate life path where Griffin didn't receive miraculous healing, and my morning walk to the coffee pot would not include the detour to kiss his sweet face.  So I kiss him a few extra times.  And maybe just once (twice) more.

Then I have the task of waking Nora, which is roughly like slaying a dragon with my hands tied behind my back and shackles on my feet.  But her long, lean body is tucked snugly under her blankets, and only her mass of wild, living hair is visible.  When I kiss her warm, smooth cheeks, she wakes just enough to tell me what she wants for breakfast.  She often croaks out, "Please and thank you."

As I make Nora's breakfast, Nolan groggily saunters into the kitchen.  He makes his own eggs for his breakfast and then he makes and packs his own lunch.  He cares if his outfit matches and if his hair looks good.  I notice that today he looks 0.1% less like a boy and more like a man than yesterday.

And I know that I get to enjoy them exactly like this for this morning only because tomorrow morning they will be a whole day older and closer to being teens and then adults.  I have no idea what it will be like when I can't just kiss their faces whenever I want to.  I know how each of their skin smells.  I won't always be able to hold them and savor their physical closeness like I do now.  So morning time with my kids is one of my favorite things about my life right now.

Things get a little crazy when I am trying to get ice packs in lunches and lunches in back packs and kids in their shoes and coats and oh wait the water bottles and oh we have one minute to get in the car and why am I not wearing any socks?

But then there's this part of my day that fills my heart to overflowing.  Once we back out of the driveway and head toward the boys' school, we enter an adventure that we have created together.  We mentally catalog the color of every leaf right now.  We note the fact that there will be fewer leaves tomorrow.  We are searching everywhere for the rare sighting of "Mario."  He is an older gentlemen who walks in our neighborhood wearing a red track suit and a red cap with an M on it.  We only see him once every few weeks.  But when we spot him, it's the most exciting thing that has happened in weeks.

Then we drive by Lonely Lake.  We have named it this because of how often it is void of animal life, which prompts me to do this low-toned sing-songy thing where I say "Lonely Lake" in a way that sounds like a foghorn.  But then there are days when we see a couple of ducks or a gaggle of geese.  That makes us happy, and we cheer because Lonely Lake isn't lonely!

Next is the spot where we can see Wilson School between the trees and we shout, "Oh Mr. Wilson!"  We drive by Duck Bottom Pond, where we used to always see ducks diving for something (we make up what they are actually diving for).  If we spot a duck on the pond, we yell "Duck bottoms!!" as loudly as possible.

This school year we have the added bonus of watching two houses being built just past Duck Bottom Pond.  Each day we look to see what's new as we track the progress.  But then we get to the stop sign where we can see the factory stacks pumping out smoke.  I ask, "What are they making at the factory today?"  Each child takes a turn answering, which usually fills our drive until we reach the school.

Once the boys are dropped off, Nora and I have a tiny bit of girl time.  We get one bonus driving adventure.  We drive by a ditch that has been filling with water for quite some time.  A month or so ago, we noticed one male duck and one female duck floating on the water.  We have decided that they are teenage ducks secretly in love and they meet at this oversized puddle each morning.  But all last week there was no sign of the duck couple.  We assumed the parents discovered their forbidden romance and grounded the teenage ducks.  We are holding out hope that they will one day be together again.

By the time I drop off Nora at her school at 8:25, I am bursting at the seams with joy from my children.  I can hardly believe that I get to do this Mom thing.

Three days a week, I head immediately to work from Nora's school.  My work is about 15 seconds away from the school.  I enjoy chatting with patients and love getting to know my coworker.  I've been there since September, so I'm finally feeling confident in what I'm doing (about 80% of the time...).  I earn just enough money to help pay off the medical bills from Griffin's accident (yuck).  I get out of the house and feel useful.  I have a reason to do my hair and makeup, and yet I get to wear scrubs to work.  And then I leave at lunch time and still have two hours to run errands, do home tasks, etc.

Basically, what I'm saying is...I get to live my dream.  I am disgustingly in love with my husband.  I have three children who are alive and thriving.  I get to work and be home.

All of this ridiculous happiness is juxtaposed against the last two years of hell.  I love every 3.5 hour shift of work because I spent a year homebound with Nolan.  Instead of driving my son to endless pointless doctor appointments, I am earning money to pay off medical bills.  Instead of trying to sit Nolan upright to do school work at our kitchen table, I'm making up adventures on our drive to school.  Instead of aching for the son we lost in unexpected tragic accident in our back yard, I'm listening to him learn Chinese and practice piano while his hair is crazy and his clothes don't match.

This season makes me happy because of the season we just came out of.  And I know there will be tough seasons ahead.  Which is all the more reason to be annoyingly happy about life right now.

And let's not pretend that things are perfect.  My kids fight with each other and leave the lights on and toothpaste on the counter and whine about going to each other's events and never go to bed when I want them to.  I'm at least 20 pounds overweight, my hair color is wrong, and I have digestive issues every darn day.  Our van needs new tires and decides if it wants to start when I tell it to.  The dishes are never done and our house is never clean for more than four minutes.  And precious Nolan still has his headache 24 hours per day.

But I have the choice of which things to focus on, and right now I can't help but be grateful for the good.  You know why?  Because of God.

God brought us through all of that insanely hard stuff.  God gave me strength when I was all out.  He helped Nolan find a way to do life again even though he is still in pain.  He literally brought Griffin back to life.  He gave Nora the gifts of humor and creativity.  He gave me the desire to have children and then fulfilled that desire.  He created Jared to be this exceptional man, and then He brought Jared and me together.  He blessed us with a home and two cars and food and clothes and the ability to walk and run and play basketball and tumble.  My kids are doing great in school, I'm learning a new job, and Jared is still employed after his company has gone through multiple rounds of layoffs.

So every morning I thank God for a full night of sleep (because I didn't always get this).  I read a quick devotion and truly aim to put into practice what it says.  Today.  I want to know God more today and live more for Him today.  And I thank Him for my kids as we do our morning routine, and I pray for Him to help my friends and people who are going through difficult stuff.  I know that every good thing in my day is a gift from God.  Every hard thing in my day is something God chose to include and He has a plan to use it.

So these are the things I wish I could have said when asked why I'm so happy.  It's probably a bit much to explain in the aisles of Hobby Lobby, but I had to get it out or I would burst!

Jessica

In All Things

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.            Romans 8:28

I have always loved Romans 8:28 because it was my grandpa's favorite verse.  He wrote my grandma letters when they were dating and he would always sign his name at the end and write "Romans 8:28" under his name.

As I grew into adulthood, I started to dig into the verse to find out what it looks like in real life.  Sometimes I can see exactly how God is working things together in my life, and sometimes it seems as though He dropped a few stitches while knitting events together in my day-to-day.

The week before this past one was comically bad.  It became the week of stuff breaking.  Our garage door wouldn't stay down.  Our four-year-old fridge stopped working.  I injured my back while doing my hair.  DOING MY HAIR, people.  And finally, my car tried to break down and leave me stranded a half hour from home. 

I had to just start working on each problem.  I tried solutions to get the garage door down.  Eventually it started working again.  We got a small fridge and saved the food we could.  Jared started making calls to see if we could get a refrigerator repair man out and if it could be covered under warranty.  I called the chiropractor Nolan had seen and made an appointment for my first ever adjustment.  In the meantime I took shallow breaths and tried not to move.  My brother came over to look at our van and see if he could help us fix it.  We also made an appointment to take it into the dealership to be looked at.

Life went on.  We continued to work through life with a sore back, small fridge, questionable van, and general life fatigue. 

This past week I had the privilege of seeing some of the broken pieces being put back together for my good.  Not all of them, mind you.  But enough to remind me that God knows what He is doing.

I went to see the chiropractor.  He pointed out how tense my back was.  Um, duh.  That's where I keep my stress.  And there's been a bit of stress lately.  He began to untangle whatever mess had happened when I was doing my hair.  He also suggested that I come up with a better story for how I hurt my back.  I was too tired to think creatively.

When I went back for my follow-up appointment for my back, the chiropractor told me that two of the girls who work for him were quitting due to one having a baby and the other having surgery.  He asked if I'd be interested in working for him part-time.  I haven't had an official job in 11 years, but this opportunity started taking shape as the perfect next job for me.  I prayed about it and talked to Jared, and my excitement grew to a level I haven't experienced in a while.

Yesterday we had an appointment for our van to get worked on as well as an expectation that a refrigerator repair man would be coming to our house some time between 3:00am and 11:30pm.  You know how that goes.  So Jared made arrangements to work from home.

We were able to cancel the van appointment thanks to my brother's help.  But Jared still worked from home so he could meet the fridge guy while I took kids to school.

After I dropped off my kids at their various schools, I went to a friend's house to meet her precious new baby.  Mere minutes after I got my hands on that soft tiny baby, one of the other ladies there saw a truck crash into my van as it sat parked on the street.

I didn't even get upset.  I continued to hold the baby while someone else went out to assess the damage.  I was quickly summoned out to see my crunched van.  The man who hit my car was sincerely apologetic and took full responsibility.  He actually works for a local insurance company.  My van was not driveable so he said he would start the claim and get me a rental car.  He kept apologizing, and much to my own dismay, I just wasn't upset at all.  Accidents happen.  After all the crud we have been through, this just didn't seem like a big deal.

Now you may or may not know this about me, but I hate making phone calls.  It's a part of adulting that I just haven't settled into.  Thankfully, Jared was just a few blocks away from our crunched van thanks to everything else breaking down and his arrangement to work from home for the day.  So he came over to talk to the guy who hit the van and get all the necessary info and call our insurance company.  He took care of the van incident while I went for my last chiropractor appointment, where I also made final arrangements to start working next week.

It was a crazy morning, but I just kept thinking how thankful I was that Jared was home to help me.  I truly could not have survived the day without him.  I had friends who also helped with the morning by taking pictures of the damage, offering help with my kids, and even lending me a vehicle so I could make my chiropractor appointment.

God had set up a series of dominoes the week before, knowing where they needed to fall this week.  The back injury led to my new job.  The broken van led to very enjoyable time with my brother.  The broken fridge led to Jared being there when I needed him.

It's tempting to think things like:

• Why did my van even have to get hit?
• What does the broken garage door have to do with anything?
• Wasn't there an easier way to accomplish what God wanted to do?

I have to consciously steer my mind away from these questions.  I tell myself that God was doing things I don't have to fully understand.  Sometimes I fill in my own explanation, like He let enough stuff break that I would get to the point of simply laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

I'm just thankful He let me see enough connections to reinforce my trust in Him.  I understand enough to go along with what I don't understand.

I discovered something new about Romans 8:28 as I typed it in this blog post.  It doesn't say that God works all things for our good.  It says that God works IN all things for our good.  There is a huge difference.  He doesn't have to tie every single thread together.  His promise is that He is working in all things.  He's doing something in all circumstances.  I don't always see how one cause is linked to an effect, but I can always trust that God is working.  

In relationships.  In broken things.  In chaos and stress.  In schedule changes and next big opportunities.  In excitement and exhaustion.

God is working.  In all things.  For our good.

Jessica

Belong

I recently pulled some treasures out of storage.

I inherited most of my grandmother's sewing supplies when she passed away because I myself spend a fair amount of time sewing.  But I put Grandma's sewing supplies into our storage unit when we moved, and I haven't really touched them since.

Part of me didn't really want to use Grandma's things because they were too special.  But I've healed enough from losing her to realize that using her sewing supplies is like spreading her love around.

So I went to the storage unit and grabbed a few things I can use.

Some of these antique buttons are exquisite.  They are beautiful.  Some have a neat story because of what they were originally used for (a wedding dress, a handmade coat, etc.). 

Some of the items are more useful than beautiful.  Zippers and snaps that can finish off projects and make things functional.

Each and every item is breathtaking to me.  Not because of how they look or what they can do.  They're priceless because of who they belonged to.

This afternoon I made my sister two pillow covers, and I used Grandma's zippers to close the covers.  I could have chosen the exact same zippers brand new from the store, but just knowing the zippers were Grandma's will make them instantly special to my sister, too.

They are special because of their owner.

The same is true for us.  You and I may look beautiful or work well, but the real reason why we are so valuable is because of who we belong to.

I belong to God.  You belong to God.  We are His. 

I've seen a lot of parents with their kids' names tatooed on their bodies.  Isaiah 49:16 says that God has engraved us on the palms of His hands.  If you believe in God, that Jesus is the Son of God, and that Jesus died for your sins to give you eternal life, then you belong to God.  Your name is engraved on the palm of His hand. 

"My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.  I gave them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand."  John 10:27-28

There's a lot you can do well in this life.  But the true reason you are so valuable is not what you do or how you appear but to whom you belong.

You are treasured because you are His.

Jessica

The Cost of a Miracle

As Jared and I sat together in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, he said to me, "If you blog about this, don't overthink it.  Just write what you need to write."  So I'm taking his advice.  This isn't in chronological order or any kind of logical order because logic has left the building, and signs show no indication of when it will return.  A few of you know the details of our ordeal.  To the rest of you, I hope you never know.  Then the details won't haunt you like they haunt me.  You just need to know that on a Friday night, our middle son Griffin had a horrific accident in our very own back yard that led to him being on life support.  We went through hell.  We came out on the other side, and we brought Griffin home with us, but we can't go back to before our lives changed forever.


It was St. Patrick's Day.  The hospital chaplain had a silky green scarf tucked in the collar of his button-up shirt.  The nurses were wearing green tops.  Our worst nightmare had a color.


God did an actual miracle by bringing Griffin back from the brink of death.  You think that elation will be the overriding emotion.  But it isn't.  Because you don't feel your emotions in real time.  Your mind tries to suppress your emotions so you can get through each moment.  But they leak past your defenses and the reality hits you for a moment and it's unbearable.  So all of that emotion gets logged to be processed later in a less critical moment.  By the time the miracle happens and the news is good, your log is full and it's time to start processing the harder stuff first.  That's why I ended up in a crippling panic attack the day after Griffin woke up.

The triggers are everywhere.  The night we came home from the hospital, I was putting away my kids' clean laundry that had been lovingly washed, dried, and folded by my precious friend.  I was so thankful.  The blinds were open just enough that I spotted the blue plastic sled in the back yard.  And I remembered.  The sled was on the muddy side yard hill as I ran, leading the firemen to my lifeless son in the back yard.  I yelled for Nolan to move the sled so no one would trip on it.  My bare feet squished into the mud as I ran.  The bottom hems of my black pajama pants skimmed the mud and I could feel the wet fabric slap my ankles.  I'm never safe from the onslaught of painful memories.

A team of sweet friends went to our house on Sunday to try to erase all evidence of Friday.  They threw away the popcorn Jared had just popped for our family movie night (the very reason we were calling the kids in from playing in the back yard).  They washed dishes and did laundry.  They organized and wiped and vacuumed.  They restored order to our home.  They put up a banner in Griffin's room and filled his bed with yellow smiley face balloons.  One of the dear friends said to me, "Don't look in the back yard.  But if you do, we've put Bible verses on all the windows."  Sure enough, every window facing the back yard had verses to cover over the image and remind us that God had never left us.  When I thought I had seen everything they did, and I had cried all I had left to cry, I went into my bathroom and found one more sign:

These ladies somehow understood that we had much hard work ahead of us.

Their incredible work made such a difference.  But we still found ourselves assaulted by the mental replay at unexpected times.

The day after we came home from the hospital, I was preparing Nora's back pack for school.  Her folder still had papers she had brought home from school.  On top of the stack was a freshly printed picture of Jared and the kids, with Griffin standing tall in the middle.  It had been taken Thursday night at a school function.  I had been volunteering at one of the stations, so I wasn't in the family picture.  It was our last night of "before."  The picture nearly undid me, and I couldn't help but think what it would have done to me if we hadn't brought Griffin home.

Jared says we have Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.  He said if you were in a battle and got shot, even if you survived and you won the battle, you still have to deal with the fact that you got shot.  He added, no offense to those who have actually fought in battles.  Men and women come home from war, and they struggle to cope with what they have seen and experienced.  Normal doesn't quite fit.  This is us.

I discovered that there are lots of types of crying, more than I ever knew before.  We are all familiar with the silent streaming tears.  Squinchy-faced hard suppressed crying that produces an instant headache.   Lump in the throat accompanied by tears that fill the lower lids to the brim but don't spill over.  In the ambulance as I rode up front and listened to the paramedics working on my baby boy, I literally grasped my face with both hands and cried with all my might.  I didn't produce much noise but certainly lots of tears.  At times I uttered indistinguishable noises as I simply shook my head.  The form of crying I found myself most often engaged in was a style completely new to me.  It included heaving that started in my chest and came out my mouth.  Deep forceful breaths that involved my whole body.  But oddly not many tears.  Dehydration was an actual factor, but I also think this new form of crying was reflective of a new level of anguish.  I highly recommend sticking with one of the other forms of crying previously mentioned.

Today I thought of the story in the Bible where Jacob wrestled with an angel all night.  He refused to let the angel go until he blessed him.  The angel touched Jacob's hip and hurt it, but he ultimately blessed Jacob.  Jacob limped away with his blessing.  I wrestled with God in that hospital.  I got what I asked for, but I came away limping.

One thing that has been such a blessing in all this is that Jared and I are processing things roughly the same.  If one of us was fine and the other was struggling, this would be exponentially harder.  Because this isn't how I expected to feel after having my son's life miraculously restored.  But Jared feels all the same things I do, so I must not be too crazy.  Jared went back to work the day after we came home from the hospital (which turned out to be way too soon).  He left me a note that morning that said, "I'm still in so much pain."  Those words connected us.

Last night my dad came over and stayed with the kids so Jared and I could be alone together.  It was our first alone time since "it happened."  We could think of nothing else to talk about, so we dove into saying all the things that won't stop bouncing around our minds, but we don't feel it's appropriate to say them out loud.  I had spent the previous week rearranging the kids into three separate rooms (Griffin and Nora shared before).  In the hospital I thought things like, what will I do when Griffin's bedding and desk arrive?  I had already ordered them.  They were already coming and I couldn't stop them.  But I could already envision my meltdown when some unsuspecting UPS man delivered a nightmare to my house.  And that's just one of the many morbid thoughts that I had no outlet for until Jared and I sat in our van eating salads (the first natural-looking food we had had in days) and exchanging thoughts.

Jared and I discussed the spiritual components of our ordeal.  I told him I was considering titling this blog post "The Time I Told God No."  I rode in the ambulance to the hospital.  Longest ride of my life.  As soon as they wheeled Griffin out of the ambulance at the hospital, they told me I had to leave him.  A chaplain soon came and escorted me to a private room.  I've seen tv shows.  I know what chaplains and private rooms mean.  My inner mantra was "breathe in, breathe out, don't puke."  Over and over.  Trying to form words felt like an impossibly hard task.  The effort required was the oral equivalent of doing an Ironman triathlon in the mud with no arms or legs.

As I sat motionless trying to obey my own mantra, I remembered two facts at the same time.  One, my current book for daily reading had been "Through the Eyes of a Lion" by Levi Lusko.  It's written by a man, who happens to be a pastor, whose daughter passed away very suddenly of an asthma attack.  The book is about how God can use pain.  And two, I had just been to see the movie "The Shack."  It's about a man whose daughter is abducted and killed, and he journeys through the hardest questions in life to make peace with God and with his loss.  I remembered these two facts back-to-back, and I very clearly and succinctly told God, "NO."  I'm no dummy.  I can hold these facts together and see how He was preparing me, and I simply told Him no.  I mom-voiced God.  I'm not proud that this was my response.  At some point during our hell, Jared prayed out loud and his prayer included, "We know that Griffin is yours..."  My insides fought Jared's words.  You can have opinions about my reaction if you want, but please form them after you have seen your own child in a lifeless state.

This actually wasn't the first time we pleaded for Griffin's life.  When I was 20 weeks pregnant with him, our doctor found choroid plexus cysts in Griffin's brain that could indicate a fatal genetic disorder called Trisomy 18.  We had to wait two long weeks to see a specialist who would tell us whether Griffin would live or die.  It was a very dark time as we pleaded and waited.  When we saw the specialist, he saw a healthy baby in my belly.  We told our family the good news and celebrated together.  We told them we had chosen Griffin's name because a baby name website told us that it means "great faith."

Griffin knows this story.  As Jared drove us home from the hospital, Griffin sat smiling in the back seat, the sun highlighting his impossibly soft face.  He said, "I'm a miracle twice."  Yes you are, Baby.

Griffin is a miracle.  He's a walking, talking, computer-hacking, British tea-drinking, piano-playing miracle.  I just never knew before that it could hurt so much to receive a miracle.  I suppose the really painful part is needing a miracle. Once you have been to a dark enough place that you can only be saved by a miracle, the experience will be forever imprinted on you, no matter the outcome.

My dad tried to help me through some of my spiritual questions by reminding me of Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane.  He was deeply troubled so that his sweat was as blood.  My dad was telling me that if Jesus was that troubled over what God asked him to walk through, it's ok that I was terrified out of my mind when God asked me to walk through this horrific ordeal.

I started thinking about another Jesus example that could help me.  Most people know it as the shortest verse in the Bible:  "Jesus wept."  Do you know what made Jesus weep?  Lazarus was dead.  All throughout John chapter 11, Jesus knew that Lazarus would die and that Jesus would raise him back to life in order to glorify God.  He knew this plan while Lazarus was still alive, when he was sick, and when he died.  But when Jesus was actually with the grieving family members and saw their sorrow, he was deeply moved and he wept.  And then he performed the miracle.  So if Jesus wept even with complete assurance that Lazarus would live, I think it's alright that my emotions were blown to smithereens and I'm still picking up the pieces.

I know that time is needed to process all of this.  Everything is still so raw.  Tomorrow is Friday.  One week since the accident.  We were getting ready for our traditional Friday night family movie night when it happened.  Friday night family time has been our favorite thing for quite some time.  We look forward to it all week.  We protect it.  We cherish it.  Now I feel sick at the thought of it coming around again tomorrow.  I don't think I'm ready for the smell of Jared's freshly popped popcorn.  We still haven't gone in the back yard or let the kids go back there.  I hate all things related to St. Patrick's Day.  Someday when we are healed, we would like to celebrate Griffin's life on St. Patrick's Day.  But for now I get sick at the sight of all things green and/or shamrocky. 

There's so much I don't know so I choose to remember what I do know.  God never left us.  God preserved Griffin's life as well as his "Griffinness."  God continues to be our Rock and our only source of strength and hope.  He will make something good out of the pain we have been through.  For now we are living through the mess.

I couldn't think of a good way to end this, so I'm gonna take Jared's advice about not overthinking.  These are my thoughts for now.  This is what I have to give and where I am right now.  More to come, on and off the blog.

Jessica

People

Yesterday I experienced my first ever shopping trip at Costco.  Jared and I have been secretly making fun of Costco and Costco fanatics since a store was built near us a couple years ago.  But we see the practicality of it and took the plunge.

I had an open morning and decided it was a good day to go browse and see what all the hype is about.

It felt so good to be out in the world.  It was chilly but the sun was shining, which always puts me in a great mood.  Leaving our city limits is a fairly rare experience for me, so it's both a cheap thrill and a possible panic attack.

I pulled into the lot and tried my best to guess which spot would be decent.  Are all Costco parking lots as zig-zaggy and maze-like as ours?  I noticed the driver of the car next to me was sitting in her car scratching off some sort of lottery ticket.  Then I noticed that other cars in the lot still housed their drivers.  A quick search on my phone revealed that Costco opens at 10:00 and I had arrived at 9:56.

Then one elderly man got out of his car and walked up to the big metal garage door of an entrance.  He planted his feet in a stance that let everyone know he was the first to go in when that door opened.  Next pandemonium broke out.  If he's lining up at the door, each of the other shoppers was most certainly lining up at the door.  Each driver quickly exited his or her vehicle, carrying boxes and shopping bags.  I was supposed to bring my own boxes and bags?!

They gathered in front of that big silver door.  They didn't form a line.  They were more like a mob of twitchy, anxious people, shifting their weight from hip to hip and silently shuffling an inch or two in front of the next person.  I couldn't help it.  I laughed out loud in my car.  And then I pulled out my book and read a chapter while the Black-Friday-on-a-random-Wednesday crowd fought for space and preference.

Because I don't particularly like crowds of people.  In fact, I struggle with people in general.  I'm an odd creature when it comes to people.  I love individual people.  And I mean I love them.  Fiercely.  Eternally.  But people as a general population...they're not my thing.

There is no place this is more apparent than when I am driving.  I can spend my whole morning smiling at fellow shoppers and chatting with clerks and shining my light for all to see.  Then I get behind the wheel to head home, and suddenly I can't stand anyone.  Every car I follow decides to go well under the speed limit.  Each driver wanting to turn onto my road decides he is the lucky one and only person who is not required to stop at the stop sign between him and me.  I grip my steering wheel and clench my jaw and sing along with my Christian radio through gritted teeth.

I was recently stuck behind a car driven by a woman who was going 7 miles under the speed limit.  I don't do under-the-speed-limit very well.  And SEVEN miles under??  That's a bit much.  But her speed was not her greatest offense.  The bigger issue was that she had MULTIPLE CATS WALKING AROUND HER CAR.  They were stretching in the back window and scratching at the ceiling between the front seats.  And she was PETTING THEM.  The crazy cat lady on wheels was paying more attention to her cats than to her car or her speed or the road and I held my breath in an attempt not to explode.

I'm still working on me.

I'm reading a book called "Carry On, Warrior" by Glennon Doyle Melton.  Her writing cracks me up, chokes me up, and makes me think.  Sometimes I relate to her so well, and other times I respectfully disagree.  But I always think about what I'm reading.

A line I read last week has been stuck in my brain and I have been savoring that thing like a rare candy.  She was discussing confidence and humility, which she says are two sides of the same coin.  Here's the quote I can't stop thinking about:

"I am confident because I believe that I am a child of God.  I am humble because I believe that everyone else is too."

So good, right?

I admit that I haven't figured out the confidence-humility thing.  This simple explanation has really propelled me forward.  It changes the way I see myself and other people.

Lately I've been trying to see people as, well, people.  Not as crabby store clerk, distracted waiter, disheveled mom in front of me in line.  I try to make eye contact and notice each individual and think about what else is behind them.  Somebody had a fight before they came to work.  Somebody will be going to care for an elderly parent after their shift.  Somebody is just doing the best with what she has.

This wasn't an intentional experiment with humanity.  After we came home from Cleveland and attempted to find "new normal," I found myself appreciating minute things.  This meant I noticed more and I offered gratitude more.  I had been the tired customer or the lady in the way or the mom who wasn't doing it all right, when in fact I just needed someone to see me as the weary soul who was one stumble away from falling and one kindness away from beginning to heal.

So I found myself interacting with people differently.  And before I knew it, I caught myself humming during normal daily activities.  Humming.  I don't hum when I'm out where all the people are.  But apparently I do.  Because being able to run out and buy what I need isn't an inconvenience but a privilege that I lost for a year.  All the moms of little ones probably know what I'm talking about. 

Today I went to the pharmacy to get some cold medicine for Griffin.  Two older ladies were in the same aisle, and one was shopping for cold medicine for her husband who is sick.  She kept talking about what a baby he is and how she was looking for something to knock him out, and pretty soon we were all laughing!

I've missed a lot of these moments while I've had my head down just trying to get my thing done and get home.  But I've benefited from the small kindnesses enough to know I want to hand them out. 

I even let another parent cut in front of me in the school car line this morning.

Baby steps.

Jessica

Good or Right

Earlier this week one of my favorite events occurred:  my women's Bible study started back up.  I love my Monday night ladies!  I was delighted to see each and every one of them.

Our leader, Julie, is so precious.  She's a spiritual sister and mom and friend to me.  I tell her that her prayers are like a spiritual back rub.  Sometimes when I bump into her after church, I can feel my soul let out a contented sigh.

On my first Sunday back in church after our time at Cleveland Clinic, Julie walked across the sanctuary to come hug me.  She sat down and asked me how things were going.  I gave her the same plastered smile and basic info that I had given others.  Cleveland Clinic had taught us strategies to cope with Nolan's chronic pain.  We would be fine.  But Julie cried and gave me a hug.  Then suddenly I was crying.  Because Julie saw the hurt I thought I had hidden.

Our gathering this week was our first since November, so we had a little catching up to do.  Julie asked me to give more details about our time in Cleveland and how we are doing since.  I still have a hard time even forming complete sentences about our time in Cleveland.  I fumbled a bit and then told my group that Nolan has attended every school day since we've been back home.  He played in two basketball games (one went very well and one went very poorly).  His head pain is still bad and his nausea is very bad, but we are plugging along with life.  We are acknowledging small victories as we find our new normal.

Julie tried to summarize by saying, "So Cleveland was good?"  I froze.  I can't actually say that Cleveland was good.  But there is something I can say.  So I said, "Cleveland was the right move for us."

Good and right aren't always the same thing.  Our three weeks in Cleveland were unspeakably hard.  Sure we had good moments and huge blessings.  But I would not characterize our experience overall as good.  However, I can say that going to Cleveland was the right thing to do.  Ultimately, I would rather do the right thing than the good thing.

But I didn't always know that Cleveland was the right thing.

There was a point in Cleveland when I was just done with everyone and everything, and I didn't want to be sitting on a gross bed in a tiny room with all my family members within six inches of my body.  I didn't want to put on shoes to go down to the dining room to eat what someone else had chosen (but thank you to all who so generously provide meals to Ronald McDonald House residents!!).  I didn't want to have every minute of every day scheduled for me while I homeschooled two kids and fought for another.  Jared was busy trying to keep up with work and participate in back-to-back conference calls in a loud, tense environment.  And I just wanted to be somewhere hidden and safe with someone who already knows me and loves me as I am.

So I sent a text to my dad and sister.  They are my tough love people.  They show me endless grace and let me be sensitive and emotional and analytical.  They know when I need sympathy (always).  They are also no-nonsense people who can offset all of my *ahem* quirks.  I can count on them to pray for me immediately, and they can usually say something to give me a needed nudge.  But don't tell them any of this because it will feed their bossiness.

So back to my Cleveland crisis.  I reached out to my dad and sister, and they replied immediately with prayers and sympathy.  I didn't even know what I needed or what I was expecting from them.  I just knew I was stuck and couldn't move forward.  Then my sister said the words I desperately needed even though I didn't know it.

She said, "No matter what comes of your time in Cleveland, it was the right thing for you to do."  I was focused on how hard everything was and I just didn't think the limited improvement was worth all the hard.  My sister reminded me that I couldn't control the outcome, but I was doing the right thing just by being there.

I know lots of other people are walking hard paths.  Some of you are choosing to do the right thing, even without seeing the benefit or the outcome.  Sometimes in the absence of results, you and I have to simply hold tight to the comfort of knowing we are doing the right thing.

It also helps to find somebody whose prayers feel like a spiritual back rub.

Jessica

Why

My dad recently had knee replacement surgery on his right leg, and I have been able to help him with parts of his recovery.  I've seen him push through excruciating pain as he does exercises to strengthen his muscles and increase flexibility.  He is working hard, and it's a painful process.

I have been delighted with each baby step of progress he makes.  I'm thrilled to see him walking with a cane instead of a walker.  I keep track of how many degrees he can bend his new knee.  I see that working through his pain is accomplishing something.  His pain will be worth it in a few weeks when he is fully healed and can do all the things he couldn't do before.  (The bigger reward will come when he is healed from the second knee replacement, but I'm still so excited about his progress here and now.)

I shared with my dad that I'm inspired by him because in my own household, pain does not serve the same purpose.  In my home, pushing through pain does not bring progress.  There is no end in sight for Nolan's constant pain.  There is no discernible reward.

I do not yet see what Nolan's physical pain--or my family's emotional pain--is accomplishing.

I've obviously battled with this for over a year now.  Sometimes I've done a better job than others at letting go of grasping at the bigger picture.

When we were staying at the Ronald McDonald House in Cleveland, I had a deep conversation with another mother while we were doing laundry.  She said she struggled a lot with why her daughter had to go down the difficult road they are on.

I told her, "I had to break up with Why.  We were in a toxic relationship."

I really meant it.  I had broken up with Why and was putting my energy into moving forward. 

But Why is a stalker.  Why is a creep.  Why sends me texts when I'm trying to fall asleep and peers in my window when I'm stunned at how difficult parenting really is.

I'm certain that I've had bouts of surrendering the search for what God is accomplishing, and I've chosen to simply trust that He knows what He is doing.  I've held hands with Trust.  We have embraced when I couldn't hold myself up any longer.  Which has been a lot this last year.

But then more stuff just keeps coming.  Someone hacked my store credit card and made a purchase.  Our cat is now diabetic and requires insulin shots twice per day and repeated vet visits.  A violent stomach bug hit two of my kids and I have an actual phobia of puking.  A long-fought parenting battle with our middle child has reared it's ugly head with fresh vengeance lately.  I have to make repeated phone calls to get other people (insurance, medical personnel, etc.) to do their jobs. 

And I find myself exhausted and wondering, yet again, what all of this hard stuff is accomplishing.

I was thinking this morning that this is the longest I've waited for God to start revealing His purpose in something.  But then I remembered that's not true.  After my friend Megan was murdered, God and I wrestled for two years before He brought me to a place of accepting that He does things differently than I think.  That He never forsakes us.  That He is far more protective than my eyes perceive.  That He can heal any wound.

I'm still trusting that He will bring me to a similar place regarding my current battle.  I never thought it would take this long, and there truly is no end in sight.  So I'm trusting that there's an end I just can't see.  I'm trusting there's a purpose I don't know.  Because I choose to believe that God is good and works all things for His glory and the good of His children.  I often have to make that choice (to believe) multiple times per day.

I really was doing well.  I even started a couple blog posts that were much more upbeat than this one.  But it was too awkward to jump back into actually posting my writing because too much time has passed and too much has happened.  I'm still processing everything.  I'm still not ready to talk about our time in Cleveland.  I think there are parts of that month that will never leave my mouth or my fingers on a keyboard. 

I have napped almost every day this week.  I just can't seem to get through a whole day on one night's sleep.  I think my body is trying to recover from over a year of not sleeping well.  I like the idea that my body is trying to recover.  Maybe that's it.  Maybe I'm moving into the recovery stage.  My dad was in pain for a long time before his surgery was finally scheduled.  The surgery was violent and traumatic.  And now the recovery is painful.

I'd like to think I'm in recovery too.  The physical wound--whatever caused Nolan's headache--has not made any progress, but that doesn't mean I can't start healing as we work post-wound.  My dad's new knee will never be exactly like his old one, for good and for bad.  When asked how we are doing, I have been telling people we are working on finding our new normal.  It will never be the same as the old normal.  For good.  I'm trusting.

Jessica

Accomplishments

I've been wearing real clothes more lately.  I'm talking jeans instead of pajama pants.  Shirts instead of t-shirts.  Real bra.  Even jewelry sometimes.  Yes, these are accomplishments for me.

The fact that I'm sitting at my computer typing something resembling a blog post is a good sign.

For those of you just joining the party, my son has had a headache for almost one year.  It has flipped our life upside-down and brought challenges that can't be explained.  My husband says we have gone through the stages of grief, and it seems we are finally landing at "acceptance."

We didn't lose our son, but we sure lost our vision of what life would look like right now.  Over the last year I experienced denial ("This is just a headache.  It'll end soon."), lots of anger ("Why can't any doctors help us?!  People don't understand what we are going through!"), a bit of bargaining ("I'll take his pain so he can be a kid."), and lots and lots of depression.  It's apparently a shameful thing for a deeply rooted Christian to admit to experiencing depression.  But it's the truth, and now that I'm camped out in Acceptance, I don't see any good reason to pretend I didn't spend entire days in pajamas, not cleaning my house, too tired to accomplish much.

Here in Acceptance, it doesn't much matter if people don't understand our circumstances or how we cope with them.  Nolan's greatest love is basketball.  We found a way to let him play by switching to a less competitive league and having Jared coach his team.  Nolan is on homebound schooling, meaning he is home all day, goes in after school for tutoring, and does most of his work at home.  Earlier this week someone made a negative comment to Nolan regarding the fact that he doesn't feel well enough to go to school but he was able to play basketball.  Nolan told me about the comment and I simply told him that that person doesn't understand what we are going through, so--respectfully--their opinion doesn't really matter.  I didn't get my feelings hurt on his behalf.  I didn't go talk to the person.  I just brushed it off.  Another great accomplishment for this girl who has never been a brusher off-er.

When Nolan's headache started ripping responsibilities out of my hands, I resented it greatly.  I did not like giving up my areas of ministry and volunteering.  I loved being a Sunday school teacher, throwing baby and bridal showers at church, helping at my kids' schools all the time.  I did not appreciate having to give these things up.

Here in Acceptance, I see the value of a more open schedule.  I don't fret having to say "no" when asked to do something that doesn't fit well into my current life.  I used to feel trapped at home.  Now I use my days at home to make and shop for Christmas gifts--and even have many wrapped!  I poured myself into a Beth Moore Bible study and now I'm reading a fiction book just for entertainment.  I took and edited family pictures for several of my friends.  This is a very time-consuming process, but I had the time to give.  Last year I went shopping with a couple other moms to buy all the goodies to be sold at the school Santa Shop.  This year I worked out deals online and placed an order from my couch. 

Since I'm not teaching my Sunday school class, I was free to go to my brother's church for my nephew's dedication.  When Nolan is having a bad morning, we go to one church service and then come home.  We haven't experienced this freedom in the decade+ that we've been at our church.  I used to think that people who went to one service and then went home were not as committed.  But I have had to struggle just to make one service work for our family, so I soak up that time amongst brothers and sisters in faith.  I miss some of the extra time with believers, but I find other ways to meet my spiritual needs.  And let me tell you that my faith in God is more real during this season of my life than it was when I was at church many hours per week.

There's a lot of drama going on around me, and I just don't have the energy for it.  Apparently exhaustion can serve a good purpose when it forces me to not let things bother me that would have sucked me in before.

And this new place of acceptance is not just a place to lie down and stop fighting what's happening.  I finally cracked the door open enough to let Hope in.  Hope can be a tricky thing.  Every time we went to a new doctor or tried a new medicine or treatment, I got my hopes up only to have them crash and shatter.  So then I just stopped getting hopeful.  Hope can hurt.  And at some point I had to minimize the hurting as much as possible.

I've never lost sight of God's ability to heal, and I know He has walked through this with us.  Holding my trembling, bawling son while knowing that God could heal him in the blink of an eye and yet He chooses not to...boy, that is something to wrestle with.

"As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:9

"[Job] said, 'Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I will depart.  The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.'" Job 1:21  

I used to be able to quote these verses.  Now I know what it is to live them.

Baking used to be a fulfilling hobby for me.  Over the last year baking became a lot of standing and a mess to clean up, so I quit doing it.  Yesterday I spent the day baking homemade rolls for Thanksgiving next week.  Accomplishment.

My sister's family will be staying with us next week.  My house won't be spotless with little gifts to welcome them (as I used to do), but I will be DELIGHTED to see them and have them in my home.  Accomplishment.

I have more weight and less hair than I did this time last year, but I will dress up next Thursday and enjoy special time with every family member possible.  I won't get caught up in making the cutest dessert or the most delicious side dish.  I will be thankful.  Accomplishment.

There's a lot more suffering going on than what's happening in my little world.  And there's a lot more good in my life than hard.  I want to be a woman who praises God right now, before Nolan is healed.  I want to someday look back and know that I never let go of God's hand.  Even just envisioning being past this season and being able to look back is a big accomplishment for me, when not too long ago I declared that there is no light at the end of our tunnel.

I'm a work in progress, but the point is I AM making progress.  It feels good to start plugging back into my life.  It feels good to accept where we are and believe we won't always be here.  Honestly, it felt better to wear pajamas, but I'm grateful for the desire to get dressed and accomplish something.

Jessica

Where's the Line?

There are a lot of things about my appearance that I would change if I could.  I have about five short eyelashes total.  My skin has mysteriously aged much more quickly than the simple passing of time.  Four year ago when I lost a bunch of weight, my hair started coming out by the handfuls, and it hasn't recovered even to this day.  Don't even get me started on my actual body (saddle bags, chunky calves, droopy chest).

There are some things I can do to improve my appearance.  I color my hair to hide my grays.  I try to style my hair in a way that covers the thinnest spots.  I combined a sale and a big coupon to buy Crest White Strips for my teeth, but they didn't actually seem to make a difference.  I buy concealers, foundations, powders, blushes, bronzers, primers, anti-aging moisturizers, and under-eye creams.  I'm not sure that any of these products actually help any of my "problems," but they at least mask them so I can try not to think about them when I'm with other people.

A friend of mine recently opened my eyes to an entirely new realm of possibilities.  She has contraptions and products I hadn't even heard of before.  She uses some sort of light-up device to instantly whiten her teeth.  She uses a needle roller on her face and stomach before applying special skin-tightening serums.  She uses a boar hair brush on her body and an expensive rotating brush on her face.  She has special beauty masks and hair products.  I always admire her abundantly long eye lashes, and she recently told me that she uses Latisse to make them grow.  She has had the one surgical procedure I would actually consider to improve my body.  She has even tried Botox.  She has special nutritional drinks that give her energy for her daily workouts.

When I found out the full extent of what this friend does to enhance her appearance, I started wrestling with something in my own mind.  Then I went to a hair appointment last week.  My stylist was baffled as to why my hair will not stop thinning and barely grows.  She strongly encouraged me to try a particular line of hair care products.  They cost $99 for a set of shampoo, conditioner, and hair mask.

I've been looking over all these newfound options and wondering what could be beneficial to me.  Some of these products, gadgets, and procedures could actually make me look better.  Looking better could make me feel better about myself. 

But I've really been wrestling with this question:  Where is the line between self-improvement and vanity?

I think it's okay to wear makeup to hide flaws and accentuate features.  I think every woman should find hair products that work with her natural hair type.  There are ways to dress any body shape to accentuate the good and downplay the not-so-good.  I protect my skin from UV damage and try to slow the formation of wrinkles (apparently unsuccessfully).  Freshly painted nails make me happy, so I get a cheap thrill from a new polish (at home, not even at a salon).

So where are my boundaries?  How much of this new stuff can I try before I have officially moved into the land of vanity.  What will help me focus less on my flaws and what will make me focus too much on my appearance?

I don't think there's a clear answer to any of these questions.  But I needed an answer so I came up with a couple of new questions to aid in my decisions.

1.  What is my budget?

This is fairly simple.  I shouldn't buy anything that I don't have money for.  It was only a few years ago that we struggled to buy basic necessities for our kids.  We very rarely ever bought anything for ourselves.  As Jared has been promoted, and we have done our best to make smart financial decisions, we finally have a little extra to spend on wants rather than needs.  So we are still learning how to manage our wants.

I buy concealer from Ulta but powder from Walmart.  I alternate between expensive salon-brand shampoo/conditioner and inexpensive shampoo/conditioner from the drug store.  I can buy new jeans when my old ones are worn (or are too tight...ugh), but I can't just pick up a new pair of shoes because they are cute.

So the very first test of whether a new item fits into my beauty routine is whether or not there is room in our budget to pay the price.

2.  What is my motivation?

Even if I can buy something, that doesn't necessarily mean that I should.  I need to look at why I want the item.

When I lost all that weight four years ago, I wasn't trying to look good.  I didn't want attention for my new body.  I actually wanted the opposite.  I was so consumed by feeling unhappy with my overweight body that it overshadowed everything that I did all day long.  I felt fat as I volunteered at the school.  I was heavy playing with my kids.  I was chubby whenever I had to speak in front of a group.  I decided to lose weight so I could STOP thinking about my size.  I wanted to be able to focus on life again, rather than constantly focusing on my body image.

So, do I want my skin to look better so people will admire it or so I will actually look my age (and not my mother's)?  Do I want my hair to fill back in so I'll get compliments or so I can stop vacuuming stray hairs daily and feeling like I should join Hair Club for Men?

I can honestly say that I have a couple of insecurities that probably just need to be released.  I need to embrace some of my imperfections as just how I'm made.  But there are also a couple things that really could be improved in order to free up some mental space and allow me to focus on more important things.

For me, the Botox is outside the line.  I don't know that I'll be rolling needles over my face anytime soon.  But I just may try that expensive shampoo and conditioner just in case they'll keep me from having my grandpa's hairline.  And I still can't shake the desire I've had since high school to have one particular surgery (hint:  puberty hit me early and hard, and I nursed three babies, and now I have a lot of back and shoulder pain).

I think each person has to find their own boundaries.  I really don't think many people have the exact same lists of what's acceptable and what's ridiculous.  I keep thinking of 1 Corinthians 10:23, which says, "'Everything is permissible,' but not everything is beneficial.  'Everything is permissible,' but not everything is constructive.'"

Using fancy contraptions and products is not forbidden, but it might not be the best use of time, money, energy, and focus.  So each of us must look at our own motivations and budgets and decide where our line is.

Jessica

Deeply

I randomly woke up in the middle of the night last night.  As I laid in bed, I started thinking about my friends.  I have been so blessed with friends.

My longest friendship is with Leslie, whom I met in 6th grade.  It was my first year in a new city, at a new school, with a new stepmom.  I had become friends with the girls in my neighborhood, and one day they told me they didn't want me in their circle of friends anymore.  God tapped Leslie on the shoulder and she obeyed by giving me a place to sit at lunch.  Soon we were exchanging creatively written Bible verses and mixed tapes of DC Talk songs.  Our technology may have changed, but we still send each other Bible verses and song lyrics via text.  She's one of my prayer warriors.

I'm still friends with two of my college roommates, and my family recently drove to Kansas to visit one of them.  It was amazing to see her and her husband and children.  I love that we've known each other at different stages of life.

Megan moved here when our girls were chubby little babies.  We have journeyed together through play groups, potty training, preschool, traveling husbands, family trauma, school drama, Bible studies, and the ups and downs of being entrenched in church ministry.  Megan possesses strength that few people do.  We have seen each other sick and unshowered and ugly crying.  We operate completely differently but I appreciate learning from her.

I couldn't find a good picture of Megan and me, so here are a few pictures of our kids together early in our friendship.

About two years ago, Michele and her daughter Abby were walking towards the school as I was walking out with Nora.  Abby declared to her mom that "that girl" (Nora) would be her best friend.  A few months later Michele and I started talking and getting to know one another, and we became besties right along with our daughters.  Michele is very generous and has forced me to accept her help.  She keeps my kids when I have an appointment for myself or one kid.  She offers whatever she has to people around her.  I never clean my house or put on makeup before Michele comes over.  Plus I got to be part of Michele finding God and allowing Him into her heart and life, and there is no greater joy than that.

Me and Michele

Kim moved into the house across the street from me about a year ago.  We waved when we passed each other.  One day we bumped into her in Target while she was carrying her teeny newborn baby and we were worn out from the battle for Nolan's health.  We got to talk more about real life, and she said she would be praying for Nolan.  There's nothing that sucks me in more than a little baby.  So every time I saw Kim outside with her kids, I found a reason to cross the street and hold her little guy.  This summer my kids have fallen in love with Kim's older two kids and play together nearly every day.  Kim and I have had many in-depth chats and know a lot about each other's struggles.  Each of our interactions has been like a thread that God is weaving together as part of His plan.

Last week I got to spend time with Jess, whom I have known for a couple years but don't see all that often.  In the last few days, I have learned so much about Jess and her history and where she is in life right now.  I treasure these moments where she trusts me with her story.

I have fabulous groups of friends as well:  the school moms, the church family, the Bible study ladies, the neighbors.  I'm even close friends with some family members.  Recently one group of my friends had pictures taken together.  Getting my picture taken is one of my least favorite things ever, so this was sacrificial love for me. :)

These friends are my "Crew"

Over the last week, God has really been moving in the circle of Michele, Kim, Jess, and me.  It's been so exciting!  But I also found myself worrying what my "old" friends might think of my increased involvement with new friends.  I actually worry about this a lot.  I want every one of my friends to be my best friend.  I don't want anyone to ever be left out or feel forgotten.  I recently read a blog post about how God brings you some friends for a season, and He eventually leads you on to new relationships in His timing.  I had such a hard time accepting this information because I just love all my friends so much and don't want to let go of a single one!

One friend told me the other day that God has given me the gift of loving and caring for people.  I hadn't really thought about it that way before.  But the more I thought about it (what else am I gonna do when I'm wide awake at 4:00 am?), the more I could see that maybe the way I feel about my friends is a gift from God.

I love my people so deeply.  I sometimes feel a physical ache in my chest when I miss someone or a surge of joy when I get to see one of my peeps.  I genuinely care about what is on their minds and I often feel whatever emotions they express.  I crave close connection with people.

The irony of how God made me is that I have this deep love for people but I'm also an introvert.  So after I get to spend time with people, I need alone time to recharge.  It would have been more convenient for me if God had made me an extravert!

Another downside of how I experience emotions is that while I love deeply, I also hurt deeply.  Both of these weaknesses of mine lead me to seek comfort and renewal from God.  So I suppose He knew what He was doing when He made me this way.

This has been a season of uncertainty for me.  I don't know if Nolan will be able to handle traditional school or if I will be his full-time caregiver and educator this year.  I don't know if Nora and Griffin will get the teachers I want for them or if we might have a year of learning to deal with tough people.  I have no idea what my daily life will look like starting next week.

So I'm following little bread crumbs God has been leaving me.  The season of Nolan's health struggles has been a time of letting go of responsibilities and activities.  We've been simplifying life as much as possible.  After all of this stripping away, I keep waiting for the rebuilding to start.  This past week or so I have felt a long-lost glimmer of passion as I've been talking to new friends and sensing where God might want to use me.  There are so many questions unanswered, but I think God waking me up in the middle of the night to talk to me about my deep love for people is a good lead to follow.

Jessica

Let's Catch Up!

I haven't posted on here in a ridiculous amount of time.  So let's catch up, shall we?

I'm just gonna give you the main bullet points and a few pictures of what's happened in our world since my last post TWO MONTHS ago.

Nolan, my firstborn baby, turned 10!  I struggled with moving into double digits.

He had a friend party with basketball as the theme.

Then he had a family party with basketball as the theme.  I let him choose anything he wanted as the family meal, and he chose cereal. :)  He wanted strawberry shortcake for dessert, so I made two types of shortcake from scratch.

Nora lost two more teeth.

I got bit by a mystery bug and had to track the swelling/spreading with markers.

I did a lot of puzzles.  Like, a really lot of puzzles.  This is only a sample.

I planted a garden.  It started to grow.  Peter Cottontail ate said garden.  So Jared put a chicken wire fence around the garden to see if anything could be saved.  Since putting in the fence, the garden has gone from this:

To this:

Jared's oldest brother and his two boys came to visit.  We had some fun cousins time at Wildlife Prairie Park.

Griffin became obsessed with our family history and he read every page of a book my dad made about our family.

Then he took and edited this picture of himself to look like the old pictures in our book:

Griffin kept up with piano lessons this summer.  That was our only kid activity.

We went strawberry picking with some friends.

They were the best strawberries I have ever tasted!  We ate so many of them just straight up.  Then I made strawberry rhubarb jam.

We made "The Blob" that I've seen over and over on Pinterest.

Nolan hurt his shoulder playing basketball.

My brother and I met my dad for lunch on Father's Day.  Our kids had so much fun together at the restaurant!

We watched every single game of the entire NBA Finals.  Jared was out of the country during the very last game so Nolan and I stayed up late to watch it together.

My niece Layla flew here from Florida to visit.  We were so happy to see her!

We went to Kansas so Jared could attend some meetings for work and I could spend time with my college roommate Angela and her two adorable boys.

I helped a friend paint a couch.  Yes, I do mean we painted the fabric cushions and all.  It was an experience.

My sister and her husband and son arrived from Florida and were reunited with Layla.  They all stayed at my house for half of their visit and I so enjoyed my time with them! 

They were here for the 4th of July.

I bought lipstick.  Yes, this is newsworthy.  Lipstick scares me.

After driving some distance to an appointment for Nolan, I took the kids to a nearby museum called the Wheels O Time Museum.  It was so cool!

We had a dinner to celebrate my brother-in-law's 40th birthday, and Nora fell asleep on me at the dinner.

One of the most exciting updates of all:  My brother and sister-in-law had their fourth baby!  Little Lyle is so tiny and perfect.

Finally, my sister and I had pictures taken with three very close friends.  I'm still working on editing the pictures, but here's what I have done so far.

Did you recognize the couch in the pictures? :)

Whew!  I don't know about you, but I feel MUCH better now that we are up to date!  I have been avoiding blogging because there was just too much to share.  Also, the one topic I didn't address is Nolan.  He continues to struggle with daily headaches and nausea.  I had so hoped that this summer would bring great relief for him, but this dark cloud seems to follow us wherever we go.  That's a discussion for a different day.  For today, I wanted to tell you about the rest of life that's been going on around here.  Until next time!

Jessica