Not Forgotten

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There are moments in life when we feel forgotten.

This past Tuesday afternoon was one of those for me.

I was sitting in a cafe at the entrance of Machu Picchu, trying to stomach a sandwich. (That’s probably not a sentence I’ll ever write again.) The truth is that it was the middle of a day I’d looked forward to for, pretty much, most of my life, and I was sick. 

Like, altitude + stomach + probably dehydration + whatever else was taking over my body and making me feel terrible, sick.

I’d made it through half of the tour we’d started that morning, after enduring the craziest (read: most puke-inducing) driving conditions I’d ever seen, along with the most beautiful train ride I’d ever taken. I’d trudged up the steps to several lookout points, taken every possible selfie with a few real smiles even, but most were half-fake. I’d pushed with everything I had, but then that moment came. 

I knew that if I didn’t sit down, I’d become a tourist casualty on the steps of one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

I’ve worn a lot of titles in my life, but that’s not one I want. 

And so I forced myself back down the too-many steps, managing to stay upright, found a place for something to drink where I could sit as long as I wanted, people watched, and chatted with a group of Canadian guys who had hiked for five days to just get to Machu Picchu. I kind of felt unworthy of their presence, but at least they were nice. And also, they couldn’t stop talking about how much they just wanted to sleep in their beds, and I totally agreed. 😉

And as I sat there, I started to ask why…Why, God? Why on this one day? You could’ve picked any other day, and You picked this one? 

Honestly, it’s probably a little early to begin processing this. (It sort of blows my mind that I’m sitting in my Chicago suburb home only three days after this all went down.) I fought back tears as I started writing this post on my phone that afternoon, trying to answer the question I was asking Him.

Why?

I felt so forgotten in the middle of one of the things I’d hoped to do for over two decades. I’d dreamed of it. It happened…and then it didn’t. Or, at least the way I wanted it to.

And here’s the thing: I know it’s not the end of the world. In comparison to the many things others are going through or even living every single day, missing half of a tour is really nothing. This is not a pity party; it’s reflection.

I spent last week among some of the strongest, bravest, kindest people I’ve ever met, people who are living out challenges I can’t even imagine. They face hardship and with every moment, they trust God and the work He’s doing in the tiniest corners of the world, the places we’d never think to vacation or visit. (Except, now I’ll visit.) I’m sure, at times, they feel forgotten.

But they’re not, and they know it, and they have this unshakable faith in God that’s hard to put into words. It’s honestly one of the most humbling things I’ve ever experienced, to hear them share stories of their faith through things that hurt so much. It brings tears to my eyes as I see their faces and know that these are my brothers and sisters, and though miles and hemispheres separate us, God’s love doesn’t.

As I sat there and reflected (and, yes, cried a little) I was reminded that my Father always sees me. He doesn’t forget me or any of us because we’re His children.

Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.
Isaiah 43:1

One of the verses God has written on my heart is this one. I’m redeemed, I’m called by Him, I’m His. And because of that, I’m never, ever forgotten. It’s a promise I return to often and choose to trust.

In reflecting over the last few days, I’ve made peace with the things I missed out on. I’ve found smiles and sweet moments in what I did get to be part of. I’ve smiled at some of the crazy photos I’ve snapped (or others have taken) to remember these life-changing days. I’ve had a few happy tears over the friendships God has grown, over the new people He has brought into my life, people I already love and am praying for.

I have a lot to be thankful for, even in the midst of something that didn’t quite turn out like I wanted it to.

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The next days will bring a lot.

And thankfully I’ve already caught up on some sleep. I’m hoping for a lot more. 😉

I’ve seen God take a missed connection and turn it into a Starbucks sipping, lots-of-extra-space flight, complete with headphones and movies…the perfect way to breathe a little before the wheels hit the runway at ORD.

I’ve seen smiles and hugs from my people, things I’ve missed so much. Because it’s true that no matter where we go, there’s no place like the home God has given us here on earth.

I’ve gone back and looked through pictures and laughed and cried and remembered and thought that maybe I’m a little crazy. But I’m not (too much, anyway)…I just love people, and God took me back to Peru to give me the chance to love even more people. That gift isn’t lost on me.

And now I get to do the work of asking Him to show me what needs to change. How do I trust Him with the life I have and also enough to be open to whatever He asks of me? How can I take my more-than-enough and use it to help others?

There’s a lot more I need (and want) to share, but first I need to process and pray (and also sleep) 😉 and ask God for what He wants from me…how I can obey Him right now.

And so, though I can’t make promises, I’m looking forward to returning to this space more often to share stories and consider things and maybe…maybe go beyond myself more than I have before.

It’s what He asks any of us, right?

So here’s to a missed tour and a day that morphed into something not at all like what I was expecting.

May I learn to find the blessing in it and remember that I am not forgotten.

None of us are.

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Sig

Peru: On Humility, Generosity, and the Things That Change Us

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Hi, friends. :)

So we wrapped up our official time in Lima last night, and everyone is off to the airport (or already gone) except me and Ginger. We’ll leave for Cusco later this afternoon for a few days before heading back to the States. (But not before we go for a snack run because…well, because snacks. See two posts ago.) 😀

It’s a strange sort of quiet this morning as I look around a room that‘s been filled with laughter, love, jokes, and memories…all of those things spanning just seven days that somehow felt like much more. God truly blessed us with a wonderful team, and I love each of these friends so much.

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I got up before 5 a.m. to see most of the team off and also because, selfishly, I wanted one more hug and memory with each of them. And then I climbed back into my bunk bed and tried to go back to sleep, but my mind started wandering and processing all we’ve experienced.

As much as I should sleep because, honestly, there hasn’t been a lot of it lately, I guess I want one more blogging memory, too. 😉

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So the coffee is brewed, I’m drinking out of the mug I’ve been using all week…and I’m hoping that maybe my words this morning might begin to give our time here some justice. Begin, at least.

Lima is an interesting city…it has so many things that other large (read: HUGE) cities do: more restaurants than I could ever visit, the crazy driving that somehow makes sense but doesn’t really at all (ask me about our last taxi ride here sometime), and so many people.

So many people. 

They are what make this place what it is…a beautiful, heartbreaking, amazing city and country with maybe the kindest people I’ve ever met in my life. (And also some of the best food. I promise I didn’t come for the food.) 😉

And all of what we did here centered around people. Whether we were visiting their churches, feeding them (but more often, they fed us), teaching, going to their homes to hear their stories and pray with them, playing with the kids at the park…the people are what make Lima what it is. They are kind, generous, and open…I totally jumped on board with the whole greeting with a kiss thing, I guess because it just shows how accepting they are of others. I love how warm and welcoming they were, from the first moments we entered their churches, homes, lives.

It was instant friendship, and that will stay with me forever.

One of our first mornings here, we split into two groups and had the opportunity to visit the homes of several members of the church in Los Olivos. At the first home, we talked with a new mama while her baby napped. I was amazed, as she shared her story, at how much we have in common, and my heart went out to her as she talked about the struggles I have, too…with life and her past, with parenting, with feeling like she’s enough. The things that are universal with every mama’s heart.

A few mornings later, God set it up so I could be in a home with another mama of three, including a nine year-old girl and a three year-old boy. Again, hearing her stories and pain and joy and faith, sometimes all in the same sentence, reminded me that we’re really not so different from each other. We struggle, but we also have hope because of Jesus.

The last few days have been spent in a different part of Lima, where the challenges seemed a little more tangible. It’s pretty hard to forget walking into someone’s house with the first door being to a bedroom…and then realizing that it’s the whole house. There were beds, the tiniest kitchen area, clothes, a tv, everything this family possessed…all in a space smaller than our family room back home. Plastic stools were lined up, and they stood so we could sit.

We were given their very best. 

It was humbling and it was also life-changing. I thought about the place I come from and how I don’t ever have to think about my next meal or what I’ll do if I need or want something. And yet, the poverty here is real, and it stabs a person in the heart so deeply that it hurts…maybe so we can enter into their pain just a little.

And so we don’t forget.

And beyond those struggles, we heard a father of three talk about a difficult health challenge he’s facing, and we saw his brokenness in worrying about his children. I think there were tears in all of our eyes as we listened, and then he stood there and proclaimed that, despite all of this, his Heavenly Father would take care of them because He’s the best Father, and I can’t get this man’s face or words (even if they were in Spanish) out of my head.

If anyone in the world is justified in losing hope, it would be him…but he knows and believes with all his heart that Jesus is our true hope. 

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And I suppose I could keep writing this morning…I could tell you more stories and talk about the amazing place called Castillo Fuerte (Mighty Fortress) and about the life-changing work being done there and about how the place is so full of love that it makes a person never want to leave. One of the teachers there asked me, when will you return? 

And I told her…I want to. So much. And I meant it with all my heart. This church and school, a tiny space I’d never be able to find without a map, is doing life-changing Jesus work and families are being transformed. I hope and pray I’ll have the chance to go back (and hopefully before another twenty years pass) so I can hug these people again and see the rewards of their faithfulness.

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It’s been a good week. 

It’s been a hard week. 

It’s been a week where the love, grace, and mercy of our Father has been so present. 

There’s so much more to share, and I hope that will happen soon.

For now, it’s time to figure out how to cram everything into my suitcase and still leave room for a few souvenirs for my people. (Including snacks.) 😀

Thank you, all…for your prayers, for your support, for being part of this journey. I’m blessed.

And may I live that way, knowing how blessed I am so I can be as generous as the people I’ve met this week. 

God is good. So. Good.

And I’m so thankful. 

 

Sig

On Miracles and (Coffee) Mugs

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I remember the day. It was twenty years ago this past June. (Yes, I’m old, but this particular post isn’t about that.) 😉

I stood at the edge of the Amazon River as our team got ready to board a speed boat that would take us back to Iquitos, a city in northern Peru, so we could catch our flight.

I stood there, and I said goodbye.

Wrapped up in more hugs than I could count, that goodbye brought a thousand emotions and even more tears as I watched people, who had become so precious to me in just a few weeks, wave their farewells.

It felt like a forever goodbye.

I couldn’t stop the tears, and I didn’t even try. That morning, the then-20-year-old I was grieved and sobbed over all that came with saying such hard goodbyes…the kind I’d never had to say before.

I didn’t want to go, and I didn’t want to think of life without people who’d found such an important place in my heart.

But the goodbyes were inevitable and had to happen, whether I cried or not. (So of course I let tears fall because I’m me.) 😉

When I first returned to the U.S. after almost a month in Peru, I lived every moment for the opportunity to return. I looked for ways to plan for a life there, I prayed a lot, I pushed on doors. I figured that if God had hollowed out such a deep corner of my heart for this place in the world that surely He was going to send me there.

And yet, weeks and months passed, and life went on. The ache for a life in South America remained, but it was less.

And then a year had gone by. I found myself distracted with a new ministry and student teaching, with college graduation on the horizon. Once in awhile I’d still think of Peru. But, really, the plans had stopped, and the dream I’d once had to return…was dying.

And then a year became years, and I found myself even more distracted by a guy named Tobin, who would become my boyfriend, then my fiancé, and then my husband. (And in the God-thing our relationship was, he had a love for the country of Brazil.) As we carved out the new, married-kind-of-life for ourselves, some days we’d come back to the conversation. I think we always believed we’d go back to South America.

But in the ways that God does His thing and in His sense of humor, He moved different mountains and sent us across an ocean or two instead for half a decade.

Indonesia became a forever part of our lives during the years we called it home, and I can honestly tell you I never once wished we were in Peru instead. There were times when I wondered, but I never questioned.

God’s ways had always been bigger than mine. Why would that change?

And then the Indonesia season flipped and switched to Illinois and motherhood, and we found ourselves creating a different life in an unexpected place. While there was a trip here and there to somewhere exciting, I think we’d both come to an understanding and acceptance, even, that the overseas part of our lives was over. For whatever reason, God hadn’t pressed on us the burden to go again. Yet, anyway.

And over the past decade (almost), I’ve been choosing to love (and I really DO love) the life I have here. I’ve dug deep into motherhood and friendship, community and church, and it’s been wonderful. We’ve had blessing after blessing poured out on us in this place, and I hope we’ve returned some of the blessings we’ve been given to others. We often talk about how God put everything in place, just to bring us to where we are today.

And now that I’m at today, I guess I’ll get to the point, too. 😉

I’ve been sitting on a little bit of a miracle. It isn’t really a secret, but it’s not something I’ve shouted from the rooftops yet, mostly because I’m still wrapping my mind around all of it.

A few months ago, a friend was talking about a mission trip she and her family were going on. It sounded interesting, and being the girl who loves allllll the things that involve culture and adventure, I was ready to do a flying leap right into it all. But I also clearly heard God say, No. Not yet. And so, in a very un-Mel way, I stayed quiet. 😉

A couple months later a similar conversation happened, and this time that friend told me that she kept thinking of me and she thought I should go.

Out of the 195 countries that make up this world, guess where this group was headed?

Yep. Peru.

PERU, y’all.

And even though the flying leap was again tempting, I prayed. I really wasn’t sure this was the right fit or time for me, and so I took it slow. I drug my feet, I prayed, I still didn’t apply for a passport, even though mine (I know…M.I.N.E.) was expired.

But God wouldn’t leave me alone 😉 and it seemed like, at every turn, this trip was supposed to happen.

And so I applied. Interviewed. Prayed some more. And finally committed.

And two months from today, I get to board a plane and return to this place that has been tucked away in a remote corner of my heart for over 20 years.

I’m excited, I’m nervous, it feels surreal. But everyone around me has been so encouraging, and God clearly drew this one out for me. And so, I’m going. At least, I’m planning to.

My hubby, who has been incredibly supportive, challenged me to raise the money for this trip. And I chose to take him up on his challenge in a total Mel way.

And so, I want to tell you another (shorter) story…and confess something, too. 😉

The artist in me is always doodling and drawing. And lately, some of my favorite things have been created during sermons at church. (Which I have confessed to the pastors…because I listen better when I’m drawing anyway.) :) About a month ago, I doodled something in between singing songs for praise team, and I loved it so much that I joked about getting it printed on a mug.

And instead of leaving it as a joke, I actually did it.

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And so, for the first time, my art is on a coffee mug, and I sort of love it. And I’m sort of selling them, too. Or, giving them away for a donation…whatever you prefer to call it. 😉

If you’d like to support my trip (total cost will run around $1,000), I would love that. For anyone who donates $25 or more, I’ll send you one of these as a thank you. (Local friends, I’ll do $20. I just have to factor in shipping.)

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When I look at this mug and the artwork etched onto it, it strikes me as another God-thing. In all the times I’ve doubted and questioned, God has always been able. And He showed that by opening a completely unexpected door for me to be part of something in a place I’ve loved for so long. He didn’t do it in my timing, but He DID do it.

And I’d love for you to be part of it all.

If you’d like a mug (and to support me), you can Venmo me @barefootmel or send a check/cash. (Message or email me for my address.) And then I’ll get that mug sent off to you as soon as possible.

When we lived and worked overseas, asking for money and support was the hardest thing. I don’t love it, even if it’s for a great cause, and while I’ll happily give to others…it’s tough asking for the money. I appreciate your support, however you can give it…whether it’s through giving or through prayer or through both.

And if you do end up with one of these mugs, I hope it’s a sweet reminder that God always sees your heart and the things you hope for most.

Don’t ever doubt His ability to do above and beyond…because He IS able. Always.

Thanks for reading, friends. Thanks for being willing to still show up even if it’s been about ten months since I’ve written anything. And thanks for your prayers and support, too. Love you all!

Sig

Three Decades: Remembering a Friend

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It’s been one of those days, the kind that I can’t exactly explain with words. But y’all know I’ll try anyway, right? 😉

I suppose that happens with surprise, Polar Vortex vacations that land smack dab in the middle of the time of year we’re not supposed to have a break from school. Kids are home, hubs is home, and we’re only venturing outside for seconds at a time, long enough for the pup to do what he absolutely must. His poor paws.

We tried to sleep in, but the toddler missed the memo, we’re wearing extra layers, and though I talked myself into a shower and brushing my teeth, that’s about it. I spent approximately three seconds on my hair before I twisted my growing-out-pixie-now-really-a bob, into a half knot, the kind reserved for only my family to see, and called it good.

Yay for freezing days off school, the kind where I can hole up in my bed during naptime under the warmest blanket I can find and tap out the words that desperately need to escape my heart. Yay, too, that these kind of days come with SO. NEEDED. extra coffee, cold toes but warm socks, and super messy hair that is somehow acceptable and doesn’t make anyone even look twice. I’ll take it allllllll. 😉

And also, it seems like the blog has been a stranger over the last few years. Instead of splashing out the words as quickly as they come, I almost overthink every letter. I confessed that to my husband this morning…and then I told him I wasn’t going to worry anymore. Ha! 😉 I guess what that actually means is that I’m just going to write, and you can feel free to stay or leave. (But please stay? Thanks.) :)

Today is one of those days for other reasons, too. And those wear a little more deeply on my heart and make the tears brim on my eyelids a little more.

January 30th is today. And though it won’t be today when I share this with you (it’ll most likely be yesterday or even two days ago because I totally sleep on my words these days before I publish them) it’s a date that doesn’t pass without me thinking about a friend.

Today it’s been thirty years. 30. Three decades is a long time.

Thirty years ago, I sat in my 5th grade classroom on a Monday morning, writing out my spelling words and trying not to think about the rumors that had somehow already started circulating between students. There’d been a car accident that morning, a 5th grade friend and his family. His sister was a year younger and a good friend of mine.

In my shaky, shy voice, I’d asked, Is my friend ok?

No one knew, and so I tried not to think about it and focused on doing what the teacher said that morning.

But when the door opened in the middle of spelling and the principal stepped into our room, we all knew something was wrong. He briefly shared the details that yes, there had been an accident and one of our 5th graders had been in it. And then he said, And K passed away.

My friend.

Even decades later, I can still take myself back to that moment, where I sat in my classroom, the jeans I was wearing, how much my hand shook as I continued to work on my writing as if, somehow, that would push it all further away and make the news less real. I remember it all.

I remember the days that followed and then sitting at a funeral two days later, gripping the hand of another girl. We were both so confused and hurt, and we couldn’t stop the tears from slipping down our cheeks as we sat hunched over, unable to even look at the casket before us.

The cemetery was slippery that day, and I remember tapping at the ice with my shoes, trying to break through it as the pastor said a prayer. I remember going home with my parents and how exhausted we all were, and so they ordered a pizza for dinner. But I don’t remember eating it because I’m not sure we were even hungry.

That was grief, at least for a ten year old who didn’t understand loss just yet.

What I knew was that my friend, the one who lived just a few blocks away, would never come over to play again. We’d never meet at the park again or ride bikes or become teenagers together. She’s with Jesus, the pastor had told us, and so I think we all clung to that as we tried to make sense of this small town tragedy that never should have happened.

And I suppose I wrapped my mind around it as best as I could, but the hurt didn’t stop even as the years went on.

Her dad was the janitor at our school, and every time I saw him, I wanted to go up and hug him and tell him, I miss her. I’m sorry. But I suppose being shy won out.

I desperately clung to the one photo I had of her, just a newspaper clipping of the local children’s choir we both sang in, knowing it was all I’d ever have. It’s still packed away in a box somewhere, now yellowed and wrinkled from the hundreds of times I held it in my hands.

I’ve thought about her often over the years. Not every day, but always every January 30th and many, many times in between. I still slip out to where she’s buried at the cemetery just outside of my hometown when I’m back visiting. Sometimes I leave her a flower and sometimes I just talk to her. I’ve thought about the friendship we might have had and I’ve also thought about what I missed and also about what her family missed.

I know they’ve thought of that, too, and ached for her probably every single day…the kind, caring girl who left this world too soon. The years have passed and a lot of memories have faded, but I haven’t forgotten the things that made her who she was, at least through the eyes of a ten (and now forty) year old.

There are things in life that change us forever, and that January morning in 1989 was one of them for me.

Losing my friend taught me, so early, that life is fragile and friends should be treasured. Our friendship wasn’t long enough for there to be things I deeply regret, but there are things I would change. I’d go back and make more memories. I’d go back and run over to the park the last day I saw her here on earth instead of just assuming we’d have tomorrow. I’d tell her that I was so glad she was my friend.

There are a lot of things I’d do…but I can’t.

And so, instead, I give myself a few moments to tear up and think about how, even thirty years later, I can learn from a loss so deep…and do better. Be a better friend, be a kinder person, be a little more like Jesus.

That’s how I can honor the life of someone who still holds a place in my heart so many years later.

And the thing is, I feel like I run to this space most often when things are harder, but the truth is that there’s a lot of good in my days. There are things to celebrate, things to write about, things I want to share, and I hope I’ll come by this space a lot more often so I can tell you about them. :)

I’m crawling out of the depths of parenting a toddler (not really…he’s still a toddler through and through) which really means that I feel like I can think coherently again, that he listens (at least sometimes) to me now, and once in a great while I can reason with him enough to talk him into an orange instead of yet An.Oth.Er. package of foosaks. (Fruit snacks.) 😉 I’m watching my sweet, eight plus year-old girl fly and do her thing, and it’s pretty darn amazing to see, even in the midst of the struggles that come with becoming.

There’s redemption and sweetness with my marriage, too, and while some of those details need to stay quiet, there are some I’d like to share, so I sure hope I’ll make it back here often to do that.

My Father keeps painting His story for me, and I love it.

Life is sweet, even in the midst of a wave of grief and the in-between emotions of missing someone I wish could still be part of my life.

But the journey we’re on is about learning from every twist and turn, crack and crevice, mountain and valley, about taking the sweet with the bitter and the glorious with the heartbreak…knowing, always, where our destination is and shining Him on our way there.

Maybe that’s what I’m taking from the words I wrote today…I’m taking the sweetness of a friendship that ended here on earth too soon and holding on to what she left me with.

May I use those things to love people a little better than I did yesterday.

Thank you, God, for my friend, for weaving our lives together for the season You did. And for today and the thousands that have happened since I hugged her.

You are good. So. Good.

Photo by Anthony from Pexels

Sig

Redemption in a Dog: Our Sammy

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There are days when a writer has to sit down and bleed at her computer…to just open up, spill all the words in their messiest, most imperfect, often-ugly forms, and get out what’s there.

It happens some days and, on most of them, those words stay locked away.

Today is one of those days for me, but those words won’t be locked up. They can’t be. They’ll be shared because they absolutely should be.

This is the day I want to tie up a story that’s been told in pieces over the years…here and there, in different places in our lives to others…and share the entire thing. It will be long, it will be messy, and not everyone will understand.

I get it, but I invite you to stay anyway.

It’s a story that needs to be told, and I’m going to do it in honor of the sweet golden retriever boy who shared our lives and love for over 12 1/2 years. He died just over two weeks ago, and it’s taken me that long to even find words that might attempt to tell about all he was to us. We miss him fiercely and heartbreakingly, but his presence and the ways God grew us through him will always stay with us.

So this. It’s for Sammy.

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It started on a Monday night in January of 2006, the kind that was rainy and gloomy and wasn’t stormy, though that would’ve made a great intro. 😉 Indonesian rain and gloom in January is about as close as it gets to winter in the tropics. At any rate, we just needed to get out of the house so we braved the rain on the bike and drove down the hill to the closest Starbucks.

Watching the tropical rain pound the windows from our cozy couch seats, we worked on school…planning, grading, lessons…and occasionally chatted about life. After a few hours, with the mall closing down in just about 20 minutes, we decided to pack up our things and head upstairs to check out the new pet store before we went home.

I don’t remember how it all went down, but I’d like to think it’s as if I semi-remember/imagine. 😉 I stepped off the escalator and locked eyes with a golden retriever puppy. He was panting, he was smiling because goldens smile so darn big and it’s awesome, and I was instantly smitten. I must’ve begged pretty hard to get my hubby to say yes, but within 20 minutes, we’d visited a cash machine, paid for our new family member, purchased a crate, and were on our way home, me and our new boy in a taxi.

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Our, we’ve-got-two-dogs-now, season of life had begun.

It seems like yesterday. And I have to stop here and let myself cry a little because the time just flies so fast. There are so many memories of that night…tied to dogs, tied to a place, tied to a time in our lives that can only be in our hearts now.

We already had an almost-3-year-old Golden Retriever at the time, Andre, and he was truly our baby. (Eye rolling is permitted here as long as it’s gentle.) I guess when I tell you that, I also remind myself that there’s more to this story than just loving a dog. Now, dogs.

It wasn’t all daisies and rainbows from the beginning, though…rather it was double the poop, double the dog hair all over everything, double the cost, double the crazy. And double the love. He kept us up most of his first night home and for a few more after that, life was always a literal wrestling match between the two dogs, and sometimes we felt like we were going crazy whenever we (or anyone else for that matter) walked through the door. But we smiled and laughed and loved it all…I guess we’re just created to be dog people, and we let them add all the love and crazy that came with them to our lives.

And we continued our lives overseas, too…some days were easy, some days not so much. That’s life in another culture when you have a busy job and ministry. It’s good most days, but that good can mix with hard, too…and we messed up a lot. We chose to love…or try to love…anyway, embracing it all, and we had two sweet, big-hearted furry boys along for the ride to help us feel a little more at home.

It was a sweet life, and there were so many incredible blessings. We wouldn’t trade those. Not for anything. 😀

And then there was the year when we decided that maybe we’d like some human kids, too, and by maybe I meant we absolutely couldn’t wait to be parents and by the time we we realized this, nine months felt like an eternity. I never imagined we’d struggle. But after months and months it became clear that this wasn’t going to be an easy road.

And I guess our dogs became even more precious to us.

Andre&Sammy final

Maybe that’s right and maybe it’s not…but there are no apologies in this story today. I’m just sharing it…all of it, my heart wide open.

When I go back to that season, I remember how heartbreaking it was to see one pregnancy announcement after another. Knowing that there was still no baby for us. There were so many days, for me, of surrender and choosing joy in all of it. The faces of my doggy boys made me happy, made me smile, made me forget my aching heart for a few moments at a time. In a very real sense, they were our kids, at least in that season. They filled a void that not everyone can understand.

And so it hit us hard and out of the blue the September morning of 2007 when my husband walked into my 4th grade classroom. I’d just sent my kids off to music class, and I looked up to see his face. I’ll never forget the look on it.

Sammy’s gone.

Somehow, without anyone seeing, someone had taken our precious boy from our yard. Our housekeeper had been home, but like always, she’d let the dogs run around the yard during the day. We had no clue that anyone would ever dream of taking him. Who does that?!

Apparently there are people who do.

That moment tore my heart out as we raced to figure out a plan, whatever that looked like, in a country where things worked differently and where we couldn’t always communicate well.

We didn’t know what to do, but we had to do something.

We spent days and days blanketing the city of Bandung with flyers, promising that we’d keep the police out of it, that we’d offer a large reward…we just wanted our sweet dog back.

Multiple times a day we’d hop on the bike and drive down to the two places in town known for selling stolen dogs. One, shamelessly set up on a street corner and the other in front of a shopping mall, we’d go and ask them over and over: Have you seen our dog? Please help us. We won’t tell the police. No police. Just a reward. Please help us get him back.

We spent six days living like that, on broken sleep with even more broken hearts while still trying to do our “jobs” at school.

Talk about messy people in a broken place.

During the day, my students…oh, my students. They would pray. They would encourage me with the love they poured on a teacher they’d only known for a couple weeks. One was so bold as to approach me one morning and say, “Mrs. Schroeder, God gave me a vision of Sammy. He’s going to come home.” I weep at her faith, even now.

To top it off, all of this went down during our Spiritual Emphasis Week at school.

While my faith was floundering and shrinking and the devil was having his way in my own life, Jesus was being lifted up. Satan wasn’t going to win, and even if I didn’t feel that…everyone else claimed it for me.

Four days after Sammy was stolen, something happened. I’ve gone back to this day, over and over, for two poignant reasons.

That Sunday afternoon I’d reached a breaking point. My hubby had just hopped on the bike (again) to drive by the two stolen dog markets (again) and I knew in less than an hour he’d be home (again) to tell me Sammy was nowhere to be found…again.

The tears had been constant, but I remember them flowing like they never had before. It hurt too much, physically, to even sit up and so I let myself lie down on the cool tile in our hallway. Face down.

And I wept. Tears-pooling-on-the-floor, wept. At first I wept for myself and my broken heart, but then, even more, I wept and surrendered. God, Sammy’s yours. I love him and I want him back so badly, but if this is Your plan, then he’s Yours. If I could just have him one more day…one more. But, still. He’s yours. Face down, I prayed those words as I pressed my forehead into the floor, as if that would make my prayer holier…or something like that.

And looking back, there was more to that surrender than a dog. I think I was surrendering it all then. My plans, my dreams, my hopes, and yes, my dog…and my future children, too.

And even after I sat up again, I cried more. It was maybe the most paradoxical, soul-crushing-soul-redeeming moment of my life. Yes, the two can co-exist.

A few minutes later my husband returned to get me, and we went down to the second market again. I think we went back there that day because I just needed to be there. I needed to look into the eyes of whoever was working the joint that day and let him know that there were real people and feelings behind this.

I remember approaching the mass of people huddled around all of the animals, locking eyes with a man working there, and immediately trying in my oh-so-broken Indonesian, covered with tears, to ask him to please find our dog.

That was when a miracle happened. I call it one anyway.

A fully-covered Muslim woman, with only her eyes showing, touched my arm tenderly. What an odd thing to see her there, standing and looking at dogs, something her culture didn’t allow. Ma’am, may I help you please? In perfect English.

I explained to her what was happening. She turned to the man and, in Indonesian, gave him every detail.

I thanked her and then I never saw her again.

But I hold on to that moment to this day and wish with all my heart that I could go back and thank this woman again…because my husband got a phone call two days later from the man we’d spoken to. He knew who had our dog, and he’d arranged for Tobin to meet him at a Dunkin’ Donuts, down by the mall, with cash, so this man could go buy back our dog and return him to us. (Yes, it was exactly like it sounds. Basically paying a ransom. At a Dunkin’ Donuts. In Indonesia. Everyday stuff.)

In just minutes, Tobin had hopped in a school vehicle with one of the drivers and another employee and they were on their way. We were skeptical that this was legit, but it brought a shred of hope. Something we’d prayed for, something to hang on to.

I went back to my kiddos, who had abandoned their recess to stand in a circle and pray. (Golly, this just makes me love them all over again.) And then I went back to teaching…my cell phone sat on my desk, and I shamelessly left the volume turned up, waiting for the phone call that my shaky faith still didn’t believe would come.

But it did. My phone rang and I set a record getting to it.

It’s him, it’s him!!!

That’s all we heard. His cries were loud enough that my entire class heard.

My boy was found.

I’ve never forgotten the emotion of that moment as I told my students to go tell everyone. That’s what they needed to do…what we needed to do. We had to let the people who’d lived this with us, who’d covered us in prayer, who’d supported us though they didn’t understand…that God had answered our prayers.

We’d all knocked down the doors of heaven…and God said, Yes.

He said Yes. And He not only said yes to one more day with our dog…he said yes to 11 YEARS, 1 MONTH and 2 DAYS more. That’s humbling.

I think so often of those days, and while they don’t bring the heartache that they used to anymore, they do remind me of a relentless God. For six days, Tobin and I did everything to wholly pursue getting our dog back. To redeem him and bring him home to us.

And, friends? Our God is the same way.

He moves heaven and earth and relentlessly…WITHOUT. GIVING. UP…pursues those He loves because he WANTS us more than anything.

That makes me weep. He wants to redeem every single one of us.

Sammy & the fam

It’s true that the life we lived with Sammy gave us so many memories. He lived so many things with us besides being stolen and then redeemed…he was there for the everyday joys, heartaches, big transitions, so much love. He lived life with us no matter which hemisphere we resided in, he welcomed Mae and Mac home as babies, let them climb all over him as toddlers, he kept on loving us every day, and he became part of the lives of the people we love so much, too. It’s hard to see that come to an end. It makes me cry today. Every day.

But Sammy leaves us with a lesson that our hearts have held on to for so long…it’s a lesson in the faithfulness of God.

Friends, we serve a God who hears us and knows the cries deep in our hearts. He understands heartache and there are times He allows it, but He never leaves us alone. He brings redemption and that redemption looks so much bigger than we can even imagine.

Tobin and I have talked a lot over the years about what might have happened if Sammy hadn’t come back. It’s not really a place we ever needed to go…but it’s something that would come up as we’d reflect on the miracle…and it really was…of him coming home. Several people told us, gently, that there was no feasible reason Sammy should have been returned to us. And, yet, God allowed it.

We’re so grateful.

Family-101 final

We said a hard goodbye to our sweet boy two weeks ago. My hubby and I both held him as the vet gave him a shot and he went to sleep for the last time. Our hearts broke and the tears felt endless for a few days…and honestly, I’m sitting at my computer bawling. It’s ugly and messy and that’s ok today and tomorrow and in the next days.

But, even as the tears just poured down our faces, we also couldn’t help talking about him as we drove home.

About how God gave us SO. MUCH. MORE. than we deserved in that sweet dog. How the love and the time and the memories were multiplied so much I can’t even do the math…and about how God knew how much we needed him and so He let us keep him longer.

We’re holding on to that right now…and we’re finding ways to remember him. The dog hair on everything feels sacred right now, which is totally stupid. But if you see me and there’s a dog hair on my shirt…just leave it there, yeah? It’s a mark of love.

I will never forget this sweet dog. Our Sammy Boy, who will always occupy a special corner of our hearts and lives and remind us of the faithfulness of our Father in all seasons.

I will always be grateful for what God did in our lives through him.

Goodbye, sweet boy. We will miss you with all our hearts.

Sammy redemption final

Sig

Between Hello and Goodbye: the Story of a Table

newtable final

I remember the Sunday afternoon in June of 2002 when we bought it. We didn’t really have the extra time in our day…in just a few hours I had to be back to sing at church, and so it was a quick trip. But the new-to-us, very-empty house on Abbott Avenue, where my husband was partying up (not really) the remainder of his bachelor days before our wedding, needed to be filled up. Somehow. And so we drove, probably too fast, the 45 minutes to look at some used furniture.

The family was selling most of what they owned, and so after we’d agreed on a price for their bedroom set, they showed us their other offerings. Among them, the table.

It was a beautiful, nearly new, cherry finish with six matching chairs, and to this just-starting-out couple, it looked like something well beyond what we could…or should…own. I remember how I gave that hopeful smile to Tobin, but in my heart I knew our bank account couldn’t do it.

But they gave us an offer so good that we said yes. We made quick arrangements to return, pay for, and pick up everything, before sprinting back to church that evening.

We got married that August, and as soon as we returned to our home following our honeymoon, that table became a gathering place.

We’d invite people to share meals and conversations with us, always seated in those six chairs. We’d laugh over silly board games, we’d eat too many tacos over shared stories of how God was leading us and then, where He was taking us when, just a few years later, we followed His call to the other side of the world.

That table was passed around to different families during the five years we were gone…and though we never heard the stories that happened at it, I’m sure there were plenty of laughs, probably some tears, and many, many memories.

And then we came back, and our table was waiting for us…maybe a little more used and lived at, but still our table.

And very quickly, it resumed doing what it had always done…it became the place where we shared life.

It saw us through early baby years, many toddler meals, scritches and scratches because that’s what kids do to furniture…and many, many more memories.

A few months ago we began to look for something new. We knew it was getting close to the time when it needed to be replaced, or at least repaired heavily, and with the remodel and changes going on at our house, it was a good time. We placed an order for the farmhouse table of my dreams, the kind you only get once in your life…and that was that.

This past Friday, my husband and a friend picked up the new table. They carried it in through a snowstorm because that’s just how we roll, and I took my sweet time admiring it.

But it needed something, and so I took the vase of still-kinda-alive flowers from our old table and placed them in the center.

Later that night, we started cleaning off the old table…my husband was going to take it apart until we could get it listed for sale or find someone who needed it. Once we’d cleaned it off, he leaned it down on its side to take the legs off, and SNAP!

It broke. Irreparably broke.

As I held it so he could finish the job and then move the pieces outside, we talked about all the life that had been lived at that table. It’s held conversations with friends we won’t see again until heaven, tears in some of the hardest seasons of our lives, laughs and giggles and sound effects as our kids grew and changed and tried new foods. 😉

It’s held seasons upon seasons that have built our lives into what they are.

I wrote blog post after blog post at that table, I wrote a book and just a few weeks ago, started another one. I’ve cried into the pages of my Bible more times than I can count there, and I’m sure there were days when the tears rolled right off those pages to the table.

The table was the source of most of our fights and disagreements as it was my makeshift office, art center, and landing space in the middle of all the rest that should actually happen at a dining room table.

It was truly the most tangible center of our lives, and so it seems appropriate that at the end of a December we replaced it with a new one.

There’s a bittersweet feeling in me this morning as I run my fingers over the edge of this new one. It’s beautiful in its ruggedness…the old that we, for some reason in this crazy culture, pay extra for. 😉 I have no doubt that thousands of memories will be created at this one, too…that life in its rawest and realest and most precious moments will be spilled out as friends and family share their hearts here.

My eyes fall on the flowers in the center, and they hold the simplest of lessons for me, but it’s one I desperately want to cling to as this year comes to a close.

Every year…EVERY ONE…holds beauty. I can’t think of a year we’ve had when something wonderful didn’t happen. But I also can’t think of a year when something hard didn’t happen, too…whether it was a heartache or a struggle or a sickness or a loss.

That’s just life, isn’t it?

But we took the good from the broken and moved forward, determined to let our Father make something beautiful from it all. And that’s kind of how I feel about our new table…there are all kinds of possibilities about to be lived out there as we move from what was, what is, and what will be tomorrow.

I don’t know where you find yourself this December 31st. Maybe it’s smiling and anxious for a year full of new beginnings. Or, maybe not. Maybe you’re hurting from 2017 and not sure how you’ll face 2018. I think I fall somewhere between the two of those.

I don’t have a lot of answers, but I do know…I do know this. I know God can always take broken and make it beautiful, old and make new. I know He brings life through the hellos and goodbyes, through the changes and the moving forward.

Maybe you need that reminder. I know I do.

Here’s to 2017…a year that held a lot of life for our family.

And here’s to 2018…a year that will hold even more.

family pic 2017 final

Our house has been under construction since summer…some of you have asked about that. It’s going great, and soon I’ll be able to show you lots more! But for now, I’ll leave you with a family photo that perfectly depicts our 2017.
Under construction, yes.
Messy? Yeah, almost every day.
But somehow…it’s still beautiful.
And we’re so grateful.

Sig

Confessions from a Tired, Whole30 Mama Who Needs to Tweeze Her Eyebrows

coffee table final
So I typed out that title and laughed a little because it’s totally and completely 100% true. The tired part AND the Whole30 part AND the part where I tell you that I have largely ignored my eyebrows for my entire life.

But I’ll get to that later.

First we must sit down with something to drink, preferably coffee since I can still drink that on Whole30…thank you, Jesus…and talk about the tired. 😉 I kind of wish we could chat it up in real life because, let’s be honest, for most of us it’s been way too long. But since this is the best we can do today…well, let’s get to it. :)

I was telling the sweet, fellow-mama cashier at Walmart yesterday, as she rang up my…AHEM…eyebrow mascara, that there will be a day, again, when we shall sleep. I don’t know when that day is, and it may very well be in heaven, though I’d like to think there’s hope of it happening before then. Now don’t go getting all theological on me. If God is creating a place of pure and absolute joy for us, then I have to believe there will be naps. (Uninterrupted ones with fuzzy blankets and just the right amount of darkness and rain on my mansion rooftop to accompany them.)

But, enough about heaven. For now, I’m tired.

When we had Mae, I didn’t know how good we had it. She was an instant sleeper and slept through the night, EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT., from 7:30 p.m. to 7:00 a.m., at FIVE AND A HALF WEEKS.

Let’s just let that sink in.

I thought it was normal and surely a result of reading (sort of) and implementing (kind of) this book.

Easy peasy stuff.

She has continued to sleep like an absolute champ, and while there are other things we struggle with, sleep is not one of them. Bless it all and her, forever and ever, AMEN.

Mae 7 years final(Isn’t she SO grown up? I just adore this girl.) :)

And then, there’s Mac…probably, and by that I mean absolutely, the happiest kid I’ve ever seen. He’ll give a smile to anyone, and he’s full of cute words and giggles and kisses and love. But sweet little smiley boy that he is, sleep is NOT his gift.

Here are the facts: I’m over-the-moon lucky to get one good nap from him a day. And nights? He almost always maxes out by 5:00 a.m.

Oh, dear Lord, I pray as I hear him whimper each morning. Aroused from sleep and aware of my insatiable need to pee, I refuse to move even the slightest. (This is helped, not at all, by the fact that he is in the alcove attached to our room. I CANNOT WAIT for our addition to be finished and for there to be a DOOR. on. his. ROOM.)

Hallelujah and another amen. 😀

Once in a very great while, he’ll have a cup of milk and go back to sleep until 6:15 or so. But not always.

And so there have been many early mornings and a tired mama often. Always, perhaps?

I am blessed by this sweet face. He is pure joy, and it’s a good thing because I would like a nap pretty much every single moment of my entire life, currently.

Mac laughing finalAnd let’s be honest. He may be the cutest little boy ever.
(In my incredibly unbiased opinion.)
😉

The other day, I was examining the crows feet that have taken up residence in the corners of my eyes. I sort of wanted to cry as I realized that we are here, and next year my age will not begin with a three. No, no it won’t.

And while I’m planning to celebrate with a huge party of epic proportions, it’s all kind of sinking in right now.

And then there are my eyebrows, which are really close to those crows feet.

To be honest, I’ve ignored them pretty much my entire life.

Oh, I’m a makeup girl. Not a ton, but you’d better believe that there’s powder, mascara, and eyeliner involved before 8 a.m. every day. (Except Saturday.) But my eyebrows have never bugged me too much, so I just kind of left them alone.

Except now. NOW they’re changing to grayish. What on earth?!?! And I’ve been dying my hair for years because hello, genes, but eyebrows? What does one do with those?

So off to Walmart I went this week. Mac and I wandered the makeup aisles and finally found a little tube of the right color of eyebrow mascara (I. KNOW. RIGHT.) I’m probably the last person to know it existed.

And so I bought that tube, and we came home, and I tried it out, and HOLY EYEBROWS. They exist! And my daughter told me they look weird, but I’m going with the opinion of the girl who actually knows how to. use. makeup. 😉 So I think they don’t actually look too terrible, except now I can see every hair, and NOW I am going to have to tweeze them.

Yikes.

Should I wax them instead? Please send help???

And also, it would be a total injustice to my current existence to leave out the part where I also confess that it’s Whole30 time again for this girl. Friends, my jeans don’t fit. And out of all the eating plans I’ve ever done, this one helps them fit the fastest. (Even though it’s not technically a weight loss program. But let’s be honest…when you remove sugar and dairy and grains and beans and alcohol from anyone’s diet, they’re gonna lose weight.)

So, while I wait to recover my lost sleep and long for some dark chocolate and tweeze my eyebrows, you can most likely find me with a cup of black coffee and a bowl of cauliflower rice which, contrary to what everyone says, is NOT an acceptable substitute for the real thing. It tastes like…Cauliflower. Blech.

But I do like the part where I can eat bacon. So there’s that, too.

Life…it’s just a beautiful mess, isn’t it? Every day.

But then, every day, too, there are always reasons to smile. It’s September (one of my favorite months), fall is on its way…and hellloooooo to all the hoodies and boots and things that can be made pumpkin spice, even if they shouldn’t be. 😉 Why can’t we just live in September all the time?

The kiddos are growing, changing, becoming even more of who God made them to be. Hubby and I…we’re good, too. Still growing in Him and in life and in marriage. Perfect, no…but He’s not done working on us yet.

Community still continues to be a precious gift…a beautiful one that is sometimes a challenge but always a blessing. The roots for our family are being dug even deeper, and the joy that comes from anticipating a lifetime in this place is good. He’s good.

And I’m thankful that, despite horrible sleeping patterns and funky eyebrows and a bit of a pudgy belly that spills over the top of my jeans…that God meets me anyway.

He loves me despite those and in spite of me and the way I run ahead of Him often and try to do things my own way and, instead, just end up making a mess of things.

And I wasn’t really planning on ending up here today, but I did. And so I’d like to share this with you.

One of my dreams is coming true this year.

AMTB_PreOrder_Square final

I’m over-the-moon humbled and so very grateful to be included in this book as an author. :) And there’s a part of me that does an inner, WOOHOO!!! scream every time I see the cover, but honestly, letting it sink in makes my eyes well up with tears, too. The happy kind. 

It’s one that’s for people like me…the ones who want to follow Jesus and make him their all every single day, even in the middle of the mess.

You can pre-order it here, and if you do, you get that super cute mug FREE from Dayspring, too. (Ummm…yes, please!) :) I feel like you kinda can’t lose with extra time with Jesus and another cute mug to drink coffee out of. (And mine will have creamer in it in 25 days, too!)

You know what? You all bless me, just for taking the time to read the random words that spill out of my heart through my fingertips. I may not ever author a published novel or be a storyteller who goes viral, but I’m a writer, and it’s very much a piece of what defines me. I’m learning to speak that and believe it.

And so it means the world when you read my words.

Blessings, hugs…and may you go eat a piece of chocolate for me today since I can’t. 😉

Happy Friday!

Sig

Wandering Home

Wandering Home final 2

I had determined that so much time would not pass before I wrote again, but six months happened anyway.

Six months of life and joy and ups and downs and all the things that come from what happens when less and less time is spent at a keyboard.

I miss it, often. Most days, really.

But I also see the gift in giving myself the freedom to breathe away from screens and, instead, sit on the floor and play with bristle blocks. I didn’t even know they existed until my little boy came along.

Somewhere in the last six months…

…we went from first to second grade.

…we went from seven months to thirteen, six to seven, 38 to 39, and someone, who shall remain unnamed, found his 40’s. 😉

…we went from fourteen years married to a milestone. 15.

…we laughed and cried, fought and rebuilt, hurt but chose love.

…we built a thousand plus more memories.

…we turned a two bedroom to a working-on-becoming-three-with-an-extra-family-room thrown in there. Hello, awesome construction and MORE space. 😀

And so much more. (Including miserably failing at anything related to writing.) 😉

I’ve never been the type to stick my roots down. I think insecurity and painful childhood memories have a lot to do with that. When I actually did fall under the title of nomad, I reveled in it. The freedom to go and see and do…

And leave.

Yet, here we are, and the house at #127 has the deepest roots we’ve found so far. I’m not sure they’ll ever really be yanked up, and that’s oh-so-good.

And hard. Some days, really hard.

The July day we broke ground was the day my Indonesia heart broke a little, too. No one knew because I masked it with a big smile, but I knew that, most likely, an Indonesia life wasn’t in the plans for us anymore. My heart has always longed to return, somehow. Short-term, probably, but long enough to love again. But God has to move in all hearts, not just the emotional one.

And so, above dragging my family across the world and tearing us from a place we all love, I choose to honor God’s calling for us in this season. I press into the relationships and hang on to those that need a little extra hanging-on-to. They’re precious, and friends like this don’t walk into my life every day. I cover our lives in prayer because we always need it, but I think we all need it a little more right now. If that even makes sense.

I choose to invest, even on the days when it hurts; I smile when I sing a praise song because even though the act of praising is sometimes bittersweet, the God I’m singing to is unchanging. Always the same.

And we breathe silently and deeply, the kind of breath that catches in our throats because another year has passed…and we walk our girl to her second grade classroom, where she flits off and gets ready to fly just a little more. And tears pool in the corners of our eyes as we watch it all. But then the stories of recess and art-creating, of singing songs and learning math spill out of her at the pick-up line, and I know to the depths what a blessing this all is.

But my wandering heart is still learning to stay anchored to the One Who holds me.

And so I stumble out of bed every single morning, a bit earlier than I’d like thanks to the baby boy who enjoys those early hours. I sip a little extra coffee, find some time and space for my Father and what He has for me that day, and then she rises so we can really start the day. It’s routine…it’s our becoming.

The kind of becoming that teaches us, again, that no matter where we go, He is always with us. But the part of that verse I never see there, and maybe He just meant to imply it because we should already know it, is that wherever we stay, He’s there, too.

I’m finding myself again slowly, in the most close-to-Jesus way possible. I know he’s my everything, and so I lack nothing.

But sometimes I still wander.

Away from my blog, away from what I should be doing, and even, at times, away from Him.

I’m so, so grateful He doesn’t wander from me.

There’s a lot of life not shared here anymore…and I miss that part. I was half-joking, kind-of bragging to friends the other night that when it comes to words, I’ve still got it. 😉 But the truth is that sometimes He asks silence from us so He can quiet us and teach us more than we’d learn if we were making noise all the time.

So that’s our season. For now.

Seasons definitely change, and I don’t know what the next one will look like. But I do know Who tells every leaf where to fall.

And so I’ll wander a little bit more, looking for His next plan…but I’ll always wander back to Him.

I’ll always wander back to Him, because in the end, He’s Home.

Sig

On Seasons and Sleep…and Giving Thanks

path-grass-lawn-meadow-final
It’s been a long time. A really, really long time.

And I don’t know why this morning is any different from the other mornings other than I feel like there are some words. So I should write them, yeah? :)

Potentially it’s because I browsed facebook for all of five minutes this morning and dissolved into a puddle of tears twice because of Humans of New York and CBS. (Thanks, guys.) And then I watched a story last night, too…this one. And it made me weep because that’s just what I do these days, apparently. (Though…major tissue alert. Just sayin’ that right now.)

Maybe those tears are pushing the words out, I don’t know.

Or maybe it’s that the last two nights I’ve been out cold before 9 p.m. (Actually, the first night was 6:30. SIX-THIRTY, y’all.) Clearly I’m catching up on sleep. This is sort of funny, but I fell asleep in my puffer vest and leggings last night…the night before it was in my jeans and hoodie. Who needs pajamas?! 😉

At any rate, it’s not even 6:30 a.m. 7 a.m. and I’ve already had two three (and a half) cups of coffee and am considering stock in Kleenex.

So it might be that kind of blog post. We’ll see. But I haven’t written in a long time, and I miss it sometimes. So I’m guessing there will be a lot of words this morning. (You’ve been warned.) :)

It’s honestly been a random sort of existence lately.

I don’t so much remember this with Mae, but I’m sure it happened then, too. It’s just that with her, I never had to be anywhere. We never had to do anything. So our normal was whatever the day brought. With Mac…it’s different.

We have a first grader to keep up with…and she needs to get to school, be picked up, have her mama there for certain things. It’s all good and it’s all beautiful, but it’s changed the baby game plan I had in my head. The kind that looked like two solid naps a day, sleeping through the night…all that good stuff with which I was so incredibly spoiled with Mae. (But I’ve tried not too compare my kids. Too much.) 😉

The truth is that I’ve loved watching my daughter grow up, even though it’s bittersweet. Every day I take her to school, and my heart pinches and explodes at the same time…leaving her there. Knowing it’s right, but accepting that it’s going so, so fast. I mean, look at this girl! Seriously. So. Grown. Up.

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She’s such a cool person, in my incredibly unbiased opinion. 😉 She writes plays that make us laugh our heads off, she fills up journals at the age of six, she’s asked to “real blog” (though I won’t let her use her domain just yet), she’s rocking the big sister role, and she’s reading chapter books with her reading light, late at night when she’s supposed to be sleeping. She’s got such a tender heart, always praying for others and hurting when they hurt.

I don’t know God’s plans for her, but I know they’re going to be amazing. I just love this girl.

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And watching her be Big Sissy to this Little Man? Oh, my heart. (In a puddle all over the floor.) I was so, so worried about two kids, girl and boy, six years apart. And, yet…Mac completes our family…and these two. Just the best.

Baby boy keeps growing and changing because that’s what little boys do, and it seems like it’s already going way too fast. Flying. HOW is he four months old already?!  He’s rolling over and moving around tons, and I think he’s getting ready to crawl. OY. And, judging by the amount of drool he produces, I’m pretty sure that teeth aren’t too far off either. WHERE is time going? Ah, this face. Melting again.

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It’s Thanksgiving week, and I really love this time of year. It’s starting to get colder, which might not be my favorite…but a change in seasons always makes me stop and think about life and how there are always changes. Challenges. Sometimes pain. But a lot of joy, too.

On Saturday, fall-ish winter finally arrived. I (somewhat painfully) put the flip flops away and put on an actual coat as the temps dipped into the 20’s and 30’s…and I was forced to reconcile with the fact that my toes will now need to be covered for approximately five months. (Give or take. And here in the bi-polar Midwest, it will probably be give.) :)

Sometimes I gripe about change, but the truth is that I enjoy it most of the time. I like the surprises of life, and I love a good adventure. Sometimes change brings hurt, too…but I’m learning to deal with that. Just like I’m learning to put on a winter coat. Because…reality. I live in Illinois, and it’s November. 😉

Our last year has been full of change, for sure.

Sometimes I look back and am amazed we survived. Or, me at least. 😉 A year ago, I’d just seen the positive pregnancy test, and a few days later I was already vomiting my guts out. (Sorry for that bit of graphic information.) And as the weeks progressed, it became apparent that, if baby was going to make it, I needed help. (And IVs and lots and lots of medication.) We were scared…there are side effects and unknowns that come with those things, and I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I was worried there would be something wrong with my baby boy. But God…He’s good, and Mac is healthy. Though I do wish he’d take naps! (We’ll save that post for another day.) 😉

macmommy-finalSorry for my freakishly large-looking hand.
Selfies will do that to ya.
😉

I truly have so, SO much to be thankful for, and no doubt, topping the list is a sweet little boy named Mac. My little family, my friends…many of whom ARE my family, a place to live, more than I will ever need, prayers answered beyond what I could have imagined by a Father Who loves me more than I will ever understand.

Life is really good, even if it’s really random.

And thank goodness there’s coffee to help survive the random. 😉

This has always been one of my favorite songs. It’s been around awhile now, but…I still love it. Maybe having a listen will bless your day, too.

I’m so thankful for all of you. Happy Thanksgiving. :)

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Stepping Back

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I was so close to quitting it all. SO close.

Sometimes life has a funny way of telling us that’s the best thing, right?

Things were getting overwhelming and I felt, often, that I struggled to even keep my head above water. Between being a wife and a mama and now a NEW mama, six years later, who was re-entering the infant stage…let’s just say it was all becoming too much.

My house looked like a tornado had ripped through it, the dishes continually piled up, I couldn’t remember to actually finish a load of laundry in one day, and let’s not even talk about how many times I didn’t cook dinner…

AND? I was doing good to keep the kids (yes, kidS…plural now) fed and alive.

That’s how life felt two months ago when I messaged my dear friend, Alecia, and told her I needed a break from God-sized Dreams.

I was taking that oh-SO-much-needed break…but in the back of my mind, I wondered if it was a step toward being done with the site, too.

Between an extremely difficult pregnancy and, now, a brand-new baby boy…and trying to give everything I could to my family and life here, I didn’t feel like I had much to offer to other dreamers.

Today I’m over at God-sized Dreams, sharing a little about life lately and where I am now. I hope you’ll join me here:)

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