Relating to the Christmas Story

 A couple of weeks ago, my pastor asked me if I would be willing to light the Christ candle at Christmas Eve church, read a verse, and maybe even read something that I might write.  I said yes before I could talk myself out of it, which I knew I would do in a short amount of time if I was given the opportunity.  You see, I am not really fond of speaking in front of groups of people, and even though I know almost everyone in my church family, standing up front and talking in front of all of them… is unappealing.  I would much rather write something and just leave it for others to read on their own.

So, naturally (haha), I said yes.

I decided my best approach was to pray about what to write, which I did, and then (im)patiently waited for an idea to flow.  A few days passed before late one night, when I couldn’t sleep due to pain, an idea sparked into sentences and I text myself the very beginning of a rough draft.

I worked on it a bit the next day, and then got distracted.

So, I waited a few more days, and then let the remaining words flow through my fingers, onto the keyboard, to be printed onto my screen.

It was a bit lengthy, but the idea behind it was genuine, and it seemed to be the only thing I could think of to write about.

Fast forward to this afternoon, I was preparing for church, and trying to print out the two pages I had developed, and for the first time since buying it, my printer decided it was going to give me issues.  First, it was low on ink.  Then, I couldn’t get the ink cartridge area open.  So, I googled the issue, switched the ink out, and then wouldn’t you know it… there was a paper jam.  I couldn’t find a paper inside the printer ANYWHERE, so I decided to try and print again.  I printed, but it looked like someone had taken the top half of all the letters and slid them to the left about a centimeter, and it was incredibly difficult to decipher, even though I knew what it said.  I tried again, and it printed a little more clearly, but still not in a way I was comfortable trying to read from.  Suddenly, the jammed piece of paper popped out, so I figured I was good to go.  I was wrong. I wasted 12 more pages of printed text that looked like I was trying to read through someone else’s glasses, or those drunk goggles you used in high school learning about drinking and driving.  It was terrible!  It was also a half an hour until church started.  I tried one more time, and finally, a version that was mostly legible popped out, and I gave up so we could go.

Tonight, I stood in front of our church, recorded and broadcasted live over the internet (so nerve-wracking), lit the Christ candle after only two clicks of the silly lighter (I hate those things), read Luke 1:14, and then my 3 minute piece.  I’m sure my voice trembled and my daughter said I looked nervous, but I was nervous, so I’m not surprised.  My children all said I did a good job, and the message was good.

After I left church tonight, I decided that maybe I should share the rough, unedited, longer version on my blog, in case there is someone out there who needs to read it, for whatever reason.  So, without further adieu, here is the long, first draft of how the Christmas Story spoke to me this year, and became more relatable than ever before.

——-

In the hustle and bustle, mingle and jingle of the holiday season, I find myself captivated by the sounds, the sights, the flavors and scents that evoke emotions and memories of Christmases past, and rejuvenate anticipation of Christmases coming. I can be overtaken by the sparkle and the joy in the atmosphere, the smiles and friendly warmth of many you come across, but also the very real truth of heartache for others, activating my empathy and compassion just a little bit more.

It’s easy to get caught up in the here and now of the Christmas season, or to reminisce on both good and bad memories of the Christmases we have already been through.  It’s so easy to buy the gifts, to sing the songs, watch those movies, to decorate the trees and homes, send the cards, fill those red buckets, recreate your family traditions, and say “Merry Christmas” to those who cross your path.

It’s so easy to forget to see the days blitz by without reflecting deeply on the true meaning of Christmas, until Christmas Eve church, a lot of times.  We know both in our hearts and our minds what the real meaning of Christmas is, but it’s just so easy to get caught up in the festivity of it all.

For many, myself included at times, even knowing the meaning of Christmas, the Christmas story seems like it’s so far removed from our modern day life, that it’s just a beautiful, true story that reminds us that Jesus is the reason for the season, and that God so loved us that he gave Jesus to us as the best Christmas gift ever. 

This year, life circumstances have slowed me down, yet again, and I have had ample time to sit and reflect just a little bit more on what Christmas means. 

This year, I have spent hours creating decorations with scenes from the Christmas story, the manger, the angels, the wise men, the shepherds, and as I’ve sat with Christmas in my heart, I’ve come to find that the Christmas story is much more relatable than I ever realized before.

As I sat in silence, painting the starry night sky, I began to see the myself in the parts of the Christmas story.  I wonder if you can see yourselves scattered throughout the story, too.

In a way, I feel like we are all a little bit like Mary, believing in God, waiting for him to speak to us- to give us a sign, a word, a plan.  Sometimes, he surprises us, and shows up in a way we never imagined, asking us to things we never saw ourselves doing.  And like Mary, we sometimes say yes.  We invite him within us to fulfill this plan he has spoken over us, and in doing so, we birth Light and Love into this world to change it for the better.  We may not always know what we have gotten ourselves into, but we trust that he will guide us, just like he guided her all those centuries ago.

In a way, we are all a little bit like Joseph.  Sometimes, we make plans, and we end up blindsided by the way things end up panning out.  We occasionally get thrown a curveball that sends us well out of our comfort zones, and on a long, arduous journey where we feel out of control.  Sometimes, there’s panic and frustrating urgency, trying to get everything lined up according to our own plan, searching for comfort and security and a place we see fit for whatever is coming next, all while trying to meet a deadline.  We run into doors being shut right in front of us and other obstacles on our journey.  We find that we must relinquish control and just let God lead us on our way.  He has a destination and an outcome in mind and it may be beyond anything we’ve ever seen coming.  

We are all like the shepherds.  The shepherds, who at the time of the Savior’s birth, were minding their own business, off in the hillside, on a quiet, peaceful night.  They were undoubtedly disheveled, likely smelly, and probably socially awkward outcasts, just doing the one thing they did best to provide in this world.  There they were, just doing their own thing.  And suddenly an angel appeared to them.  While we may not have knowingly seen angels in our lifetimes, we, like the shepherds, have heard joyous heavenly messages that have completely shattered the mundane moments we find ourselves in, and change the course of our lives.  Or, at least, I hope that we have, or will, at some point.  This is also a clear demonstration that God doesn’t see us for our rank or notoriety, and he is willing, able, and excited to bring his message to even the outcasts, the lower society, the “nobodies” of the world.  I believe at some point, we have probably all seen ourselves as a nobody, but how amazing is it that when we peer into the Christmas story, we can see that even THEN, God is excited to speak to us.  Like the shepherds, those words from Abba spark joy inside of us, and should lead us to shout from the mountains, the valleys, or plateaus of our lives the good news of Jesus in our world.

We are like the angels as well, in some ways.  It is in our love and admiration for our Father in heaven that we sing, we exhale, we praise Him.  Our worship and praise rings out to those around us, breaking up the darkness with a divine splendor, echoing in hearts all around.  Like the angels, we live to spread the news, share the promises of heaven, and inspire the lives of those around us. In some instances, we may even be like Gabriel, in that we have heard a specific message from the Father, and through his voice and urging, we are able to tell others that God has something unique and wonderful in store for them if they choose to say yes!  Yes, like the angels, we can hear our Father’s voice.

We are all like the wise men, (and even that fictitious little drummer boy).  While we all come from different backgrounds, upbringings, families, and economic standpoints, just like these people, because we love and revere Jesus, we long to bring gifts.  We shower him with these gifts, whatever they may be.  For some, their gift is song, like the legend of the drummer boy.  For others, their gift is more tangible, like that of the wise men.  Each of us has our own unique giftings, and Jesus loves when we use those gifts to honor Him.  In honoring Jesus with our gifts, we are also blessing others. If you think about it, in the Christmas story, the gifts that were brought were for baby Jesus, but he was not the only person there who could benefit or be impacted by them.  The scents and splendor of spices would carry through the air to anyone in the babe’s vicinity.  The sparkle of gold would bring beauty to the atmosphere.  A song of love and worship catches in the hearts of others and brings radiance and joy to their spirits as well.    

Perhaps most importantly, God calls us to be like Jesus, who entered the world, hungered, grew, and learned as we do.  He entered the world the same way we all did, hungered as we do, grew, learned, walked, and lived alongside others, just as we do.  His miraculous entrance to the world as a mere human baby led showed us how to live and love as God calls us to.  We are one with the Father, just like Jesus.  We were born at the perfect time, for a perfect plan, just as Jesus. 

Each of these characters is integral to the Christmas story. I hope, like me, with a bit of pause, you can see the Christmas story is not only one of the first Christmas, but a relatable representation of where we’ve been with Jesus, where we are now, and the places we will continue to go on our journey with Papa God.

——-

Merry Christmas, everyone!

NMW

 No Matter What

NMW

Those are my initials. 

Actually, years ago, my dear cousin, my Bean, Tarah, pointed that fact out to me.  She said when she saw the phrase “no matter what,” she thought of me.

In church this morning, Pastor Brent Parker gave an amazing message about peace.  I recommend it to anyone right now, and it’s accessible via Church at the Gate’s website.

In the midst of the message, he used the phrase “no matter what” and it latched my attention, hook, line, and sinker.  I actually picked my phone up from under my chair and wrote myself a note- “NMW + Peace” is all it said.

Peace, no matter what.

Peace, NMW.

This world has been shaken this year in countless ways.  We are living through something that I believe most would think, we were completely unprepared to live through.

Because of the chaos and the uncertainty we all face right now, the world as a whole is struggling.  There’s upheaval and unknowns and it is unsettling for many.

The world needs peace.

It was a timely message, in that it’s December, it’s advent, and we are preparing for Christmas.

Christmas is the celebration when none other than the Lord of Lords, the King of Kings, the Prince of Peace, inhabited the earth.  He born himself among us, to walk alongside us, to show us the goodness of God.

Then, he gave His life so that we could be with him, always.  We are with Him now, in each and every moment, and if we allow Him to, He is with us in each of our hearts.  He is our spirit and soul.  

The world is searching for peace right now.  They’re looking for it- as a thing.  

And, as Brent pointed out, peace isn’t a thing.

Peace is a who.

That Who is right here, right now, every moment before, every moment coming up, every miniscule space of this gigantic world.  Peace is all around.

I know, to someone who doesn’t know the Prince of Peace yet, it all sounds silly.  It sounds like something that cannot possibly be true.  It sounds like something to research and try to prove as reality instead of just going all in and believing.  It sounds too good to be true.

But it is true.

We can have Peace, NO MATTER WHAT, because Peace has us and is just waiting for us to accept Him.

No matter what, NMW has Peace.  While I know I have it, every moment of my life, because I have Him, I also know the reality of the situation is sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it.  I’ve found that’s usually because I’ve forgotten to look for peace as a who, and have started striving again for peace as a thing.  It’s easy to fall back to that, though it gets less frequent with time.  

I’m still learning this.  It’s a lifelong journey, and the destination is not the goal, it’s the process we take to arrive there that has the most meaning.  It’s what grows us the fullest and roots us the deepest.  It’s what softens and expands our hearts and our minds.  When we finally arrive at the destination, we will understand that much better. 

Honestly, when I realized my Peace is a who, I can see CLEARLY that I've been walking this year, this lifetime, out in Peace all along- even when it didn't seem like it.

I write this not only to you, but to myself, as a reminder.  This year has been incredibly difficult and I’ve spent days lacking peace as a thing.  Thankfully, I’ve been blessed with a family that has been so firm but gentle, and overwhelmingly loving, when they steer me back to my Peace as a who.

I pray that in this Christmas season, you can join me in preparing and accepting the Peace that’s been here all along since the figurative beginning of literal endless time.   I pray striving ceases, and acceptance abounds, and from that acceptance, Love will overcome the world before our eyes.

“Our faith in Jesus transfers God’s righteousness to us and he now declares us flawless in his eyes.  This means we can now enjoy TRUE and LASTING PEACE with God, all because of what our Lord Jesus, the Anointed One, has done for us.” -Romans 5:1 (TPT)

I am okay.

I am okay now.

It took me quite a while to get here, though.

If you aren’t my friend on Facebook, you might not know, but on March 31, I was sent home to isolate from the world.  I had ended up in the emergency room after helping my three littles with their distance learning, after the schools all shut down.  I thought there was a possibility I was going to have a heart attack. 

I had to test for Covid-19, which at the time, seemed crazy to me.  After the test, I was sent home to wait on the results.  They told me in approximately 3-5 days, I should know, and best case scenario was that I did not test positive and I could go back to “regular” life when that result came.

I had no idea how sick I was going to be.  I barely had a cough at that time, and my temperature was 100.1 and I had no idea.  I felt fine, nothing unusual from the colds I so often seem to get.

As the week went on, I slowly started feeling more yucky, and like I had bronchitis or something.  I was sure it was not coronavirus.  I hardly left the house and did as much as I thought I could to prevent possibly catching it.

I tested positive for Covid-19.  I received the phone call that Friday.

By then, I was surprised, but also not surprised.  By that point, I definitely didn’t feel well.

I spent the next EIGHT WEEKS battling Covid-19, and then pneumonia as a result of it.  I am still battling a cough, though every day it’s less and less frequent and forceful.  

Those eight weeks are both a blur but also burned into my soul.

I am not going to get into all of the physical symptoms I dealt with, although there were multiple days and nights I was unsure if I was going to be able to battle it at home.  

On June 1, the children and I were finally released from our isolation.  While this was an extremely joyous and welcome release, it turns out, it was also the trigger for emotional and mental turmoil I did not realize I was suffering from.  

It was this really weird feeling like the world had collectively been through this pandemic, all sorts of changes and restrictions, and world being turned upside down and closed off for weeks. I knew and understood it but did not relate. Similarly, I had been through the pandemic but personally through an intense period of illness, breathlessness, struggle internally and externally, feeling like a failure as a mom unable to care for my kids as I knew I should, trying to balance my fear of them getting sick if I was around them with the fear of their hearts being sick if I wasn't around them, being isolated with no one to call on physically for assistance in the home, solitude and feeling like my struggles were unrelatable. I was part of the world but displaced from it. Being released felt like being let loose into a place I no longer really fit into or understood.  It also timed perfectly that my "release" occured at the moment the country was quite literally on fire with civil unrest and I did not know how to process it. 

Finally, I was going to be able to go back to work, the job I’ve had for five years, a job I LOVE, with people I LOVE.  

But as soon as I saw my name on the work schedule, my heart started racing and I felt sick to my stomach.  I wanted to be there, so it did not make sense to me that I would be having this physical aversion.  The thoughts started swirling and tears started falling as I realized all the ways things have changed there- children in new rooms, different staff, new policies, art taken off the walls, and new paint.  They all sound so trivial.  I told myself it was just me overthinking things. 

I went to work on Monday.  As soon as we walked to the door, the kids pointed out a poster on the wall talking all about Covid-19 and instantly a wall went up around my soul.  I could hardly make eye contact with my dearest coworker, who I trust with everything.  She’s seen me through so many traumas and heartaches, trials, tribulations, breakthroughs, and joy in five years.  But I could hardly form words.  

I just kept telling myself I did NOT want to cry.  I am a crier, as much as I hate it, and I was doing everything, consciously and subconsciously, to avoid tears.   I went to the grocery store and was completely overwhelmed when I couldn’t find the apples from where I was standing and all of the weird dots and arrows on the floor did not make sense in my mind for any route I would have taken under normal circumstances.  By Tuesday night, I realized the self-sabotage of that wall, and fought off so many negative thoughts toward myself of stupidity and embarrassment.  

Throughout the week following being at work, I realized just how messy my spirit was feeling.  I spoke and wrote the words to more than one person that “my faith is okay, but my mind is a mess.”  I knew that God would see me through this next leg of the journey, but at any given moment, I just didn’t feel okay.

I tried to trivialize it within myself.  I told myself I didn’t have it THAT bad with Covid-19 and pneumonia.  I never did end up in the hospital on a ventilator.  I played down the severity and refused to use the word “trauma” to describe my situation.  I was just sick, and I had been sick before.

The more I thought about it, and the more my emotions kept creeping up (no matter how hard I tried to push them down), I was able to begin to put them to words.  A few close friends suggested possible things like PTSD related symptoms or moral trauma.  They were able to pinpoint emotions and things I had taken on before I even could.  They were able to point out so many ways my heart and spirit were injured or affected by the two long months.  They were spot on and I could not argue, just embrace the insight being given to me.

I am broken.  I am hurting.

But I am okay.  

I am broken BUT I AM HEALED. I am hurting BUT I AM COMFORTED.

All at the same time.

It’s interesting, isn’t it, how Jesus makes it possible to be both.   We are earth-side but we are eternal.  He understands and sees our pain but he counters it with his life.

Last night, I expressed to my friend that I was unsure I was brave enough to go to my actual, physical church building and experience the service live today.  She asked if it was fear.

I realized it was.

So I asked what God could give me to replace the fear I was trying so hard to give up to Him.

I heard the word “assurance.”  I did a quick google search for that word in the Bible and the verse that struck me was 2 Chronicles 20:17 “You won’t have to lift a hand in this battle; just stand firm, Judah and Jerusalem, and watch God’s saving work for you take shape. Don’t be afraid, don’t waver. March out boldly tomorrow- God is with you.”

This morning, I woke up, and immediately my heart was racing.  I was feeling anxious.  

I put on my best “brave” which felt so weak and uncertain, and drove to church. I sat in the parking lot, feeling overwhelmed.   

I remembered the verse and I went in.

I was embraced by a hug and instantly started crying.  I received another hug and was holding my composure fairly well, and went to sit down.  I felt like I was going to burst at the seams so I left and came back again.  Then I sat there, just trying to breathe through all of the anxiousness I was feeling. I didn’t want to cough, even though I know I’m not contagious anymore according to the Department of Health, but I did not want to scare anyone.  I did not know if I was sitting too close to people.  I knew if I started crying I would start coughing and did not want to make a scene or stress anyone out.

Well, as God would have it, I cried all the way through worship. 

Then the message was about overcoming- the first half was about the healing of one’s mind.

I realized that God had led me to where I needed to be.  No, He pushed me where I needed to be, into uncomfortable waters, so he could calm and restore.  

After the service, I let him pull me forward for personal prayer.  Step-by-step, my trusted friend led me through breaking off so many layers of chains that had wrapped around my spirit.   When I couldn’t think of words, she helped me.  I tore off guilt, shame, fear, anxiousness, unworthiness, loneliness, and so, so much more.  

I don’t remember each layer.

I remember there were many.  I remember I shook and I sobbed and I told her how I felt like I had been imprisoned in my home, and felt burdened like I was wrapped in chain mail.  And now that I was “free” I felt out of place where the freedom was being given back to me.  Where I first felt imprisioned and alone, I had begun to find my “comfort,” and the freedom overwhelmed every part of me. 

When the breaking off was done, the filling began, and I remembered who I really am. I could see her again.  I am okay.  The healing has begun.  I feel better.

She hugged me, and I was not afraid or nervous for the first time in two months.  I realized that even though I had been given hugs from my children, and then a few after being let out of my apartment, they were always tainted with the fear of harming others or making them sick.   They were tinged with the fear of  “death.”  

This hug was not like that.  This hug was filled with hope and life.

And I was able to walk out of that sanctuary without the weight of the world on my shoulders.  I had a real smile.  I was able to make eye contact with people who loved me.  I received more hugs.  I cried good, healing, releasing tears.

I did not get a chance to talk to everyone who prayed for me or loved me through these months, and I was feeling a little overwhelmed again, not negatively this time, but just in the way that I had been through a whirlwind and I was getting tired.  

I had to go back to the grocery store before coming home.  I walked in and I felt okay.  I did not cry.  

I came home and prayed again.  I turned church back on, and continue to listen to the message again as I write this story.  

God has me.

I’ve known it all along.

But I kicked that wall down this morning and I now I feel it.

I know, realistically, there are still triggers out there I am going to face.  I know that there may be struggles.  I know that I am human and I may falter and stumble still.  I know that the enemy is going to continue his pursuit of me.

I’m thankful though, that today, I can see more clearly.  I am thankful that I am comfortable again with being honest and open about how I really am.  I am so thankful that God pushed me where I needed to be today, despite myself, so I could be embraced by His love, through His words to me, and through those He placed beside me who love me. 

I pray that as I continue to face these triggers or thoughts and memories that may come along, I’ll have the strength and openness to keep that wall broken down.

I am finally able to say that this experience was a trauma.  I say it without quotations marks to downplay it.  It was a trauma.

However, if there’s one thing that God has shown me, through worship, church, and others alongside my journey, is that I am an overcomer.  He and I will overcome this, too.

Unrecommended

I am just going to be completely honest here, and here's the forewarning- it's going to sound like a pity party even though it's not really meant that way. No pity, please. 

If you know me well, though, you know that writing out my thoughts is therapeutic (as in I have kept journals, written poetry, blogs, letters, notes... For as long as I can recall). I don't really want to unload this on my children, because they're children, and there are no adults here. And when I talk about emotional things I start crying and get snot faced, and when I'm sick, I cry and cough and gag and it's a mess. I also get pretty tongue tied and mix up nouns for no reason sometimes... So... Writing it is. I've prayed and cried it all out to God, but there's just something about writing to also help me process, and I often tell myself there might be someone out there struggling to pinpoint their own thoughts or feelings that may resonate with what I say.

But truthfully, I feel bad considering writing this, and even worse actually doing so, because my life is not nearly as difficult as countless others out there and I'm so very fortunate in so very many ways that it feels like I should just silence my thoughts and be simply grateful for the life that I have. I AM grateful for the life that I have, and for the countless blessings bestowed upon me and my children during this stressful time.

But yet, here's how I feel...

This past month has sucked- not all of the moments, but overall, it's been wretched and I want to just curl up in a ball in my bed and sleep for a few days because every part of my body, my mind, my spirit, my emotions, and my ambition is exhausted.  I used to tell the kids not to say "sucks" or forms of it, but during this isolation time, I agreed it was an acceptable description of the circumstances.  I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired while being a mom.

In the past, when I've gotten really sick, I've still been a mom, and really in those times the only parent around. This time is different in that their dad came back to their lives, but it's still very similar in that basically, because of the circumstances surrounding the Covid-19 pandemic, I'm the only parent around. They live with me and therefore they are considered contagious or potentially so, and they've had to quarantine with me while I have been "isolating" for a month.  And, since I can't "isolate" myself from them because they're not self-sufficient (or cannot be trusted) even when I'm finally better, they're supposed to be quarantined here. I feel absolutely terrible, guilty, ashamed, angry, and sad for their little hearts having to have not only been stuck here in this apartment for over 30 days now, but with a mom who is sick and tired of being sick and tired, who has little energy or ambition, and less patience than normal, although every effort is made for patience, grace, and mercy.  The only upside is that when I'm finally feeling better, at least I will hopefully be able to provide more enjoyment for them during this time than I currently have been, though goodness knows I've tried. 

I feel like I try so hard. I push to play games, listen to their stories, anecdotes, ramblings, and songs, cuddle, do creative things, watch movies, cook, and enjoy each other. I try so hard to be persistent and encouraging with the distance learning for school, which it seems, no matter what, ends in tears for at least half of us on a daily basis because the environment right now is not conducive to actual learning and it feels like  a chore or punishment to work through in such an array of distracting situations.  I feel like I fall short from their expectations or hopes though, and that slays me. 

• I know I'm not alone in my feelings, I just haven't had a homework assignment telling me to write about it yet.

In times past, when I've gotten sick, even though their dad was MIA, sometimes the boys could go to school, Norah could go to daycare, or friends or family could take them to church, or on a date, or hang out with them so I could rest. 

This time, that has all basically been stripped away because of coronavirus. 

So there's the diagnosis and the insanely long recovery time that I was finally working through, and then pneumonia hit me and set me back to basically square one. And while that's not an illness that would itself cause this isolation to continue... It's all wrapped up in the coronavirus pandemic. 

I worry my kids are suffering because of this. I know they're technically fine, and I know they know I don't feel well. Some days I had been doing better than others, and it has been such a rollercoaster all along, I feel like it's so hard for them to understand or anticipate and it's incredibly frustrating for them. It has to be, because it is for me. 

This month-long illness for me has been one unlike any other.  I cannot even fathom what it would be like to be a single parent with a terminal illness and it breaks my heart so heavily to think that there are people out there who have that reality as their life story. 

The doctors and advice all say to rest and not stress... And it just feels impossible when you're the only parent of three children in the home. 

528 out of 10 : I do not recommend getting sick when it means the world shuts down around you and locks you away like it does during the covid-19 pandemic. I do not hold strong opinions one way or another on the way the government and population are approaching things, because I see many facets of thinking and how many options are simultaneously good and not so good. 

I don't understand why this has happened. I do know that, just like every other difficult, overwhelming, exhausting, or traumatic thing we have been through in the last 7 or so years, we will come out declaring that God is still good (because He is). I am just... a beautiful mess singing a broken hallelujah, I suppose. 

Sorry, that was heavy and long. 

Thankfully, while I was writing this, worship music and prayers playing in the background gave me the press I need to carry on and try to tackle this day too. 

Special thank you to anyone who has prayed over us during this time, sent mail, texts or other messages, brought groceries or meals, helped us stay afloat, and so much more. I can't even imagine how much more difficult this would have been without you.

Day One

Today is a milestone day. It's one I don't talk about frequently, and in the past, pretty much only with people I know well.

Five years ago today was day one.  Day one of myself really taking charge of my children and my future in big ways.

Leading up to day one was almost a year of struggles and heartache and turmoil and unknowns and the world falling apart in front of us, where I felt we were just being washed up by the tide and I was trying to stay afloat and just praying we would make it by.  With the help of some dear and trusted family and friends, we did make it by, and I found the footing underneath myself to step into day one.

Day one happened at night.  One night after work at my job of 6 weeks, I came home with the children, and made the terrifying, bold, now-or-never decision to pack us up and move from our temporary shelter in a friends apartment to the new (at the time) homeless shelter, knowing our time would have to end with her soon anyway due to a lease being up, and feeling like if I didn't act, we would run out of options quickly.

So, we went, one cold winter night.

It was a temporary solution that felt like an eternity, especially the first night, as I heard my infant daughter's crying in our cold, empty bedroom, because my two-year-old son had woke up screaming and terrified, as it echoed into the high ceilings and sounded like it would echo for eons.  We had to be up and out before the sun rose the next morning, and I had hours to waste before I had to be at work, but 90 minutes to waste before we could be let back into the doors of our temporary shelter.  The next nights weren't any better, really, and I barely slept in days.  But, we stepped out, day one, day two, and continued, one foot in front of the other, until we found a temporary apartment at the St. Francis House (which is sort of like transitional housing for the homeless) and then I had enough footing and finances to secure our permanent home, the same apartment we have been at since.

Tonight, I came home on another freezing cold night, to a warm, inviting home, where instead of hearing my baby cry echo, I hear laughter in the bedroom as the children play together happily.

We have come such a long way since that first day.

I am very proud of us for holding onto God as he helped us navigate year after year of struggle, to bring us to this fifth year, where I think we are happier and healthier in many ways than we have been since, I dare to say, before my daughter was ever born.  God is so good.

I won't continue on, I've written about this before.  If you care to read more about it, or another milestone post, you can by clicking here.

Here's an excerpt I read this evening from my journal that night.  I have to smile as I read the last sentence.  God has done just that, in more ways than one.

"Tonight, here we are. In a family room at a homeless shelter where we can’t have food or drink in our possession, our clothes had to be sanitized before we could have them, we can have no TV, and minimal personal belongings.

I know I should and shouldn’t feel both ashamed and embarrassed. I do feel both. As I walked through those doors with a few bags of clothing and a few handfuls of toys, I knew this was the bottom or very close to it. I feel betrayed by myself and my marriage and my hope and my faith.

As I laid down beside my two toddlers tonight to help them relax and fall asleep, I sang to them, and their eyes quickly closed. My tears started flowing, and I realized that my heart is still so full of love. I feel beaten, but I feel brave. I have been told for years I am strong. People admire my strength and my outlook.

Tonight, I am tested. I am at the edge of my strength and my positive outlook. But, I am going to take that leap of faith that miracles will happen and my children and I will have a home soon. I have faith that my credit can be restored. Someone will give is a chance. It won’t always be this. I won’t always be at the bottom.  I am seeking strength like never before. Strength I don’t know that I have. I am praying endlessly for miracles. God can redeem this all, and maybe if I’m so fortunate, my children will have a mended family someday too."

Six in the Center

Mister Collin,

Tonight, you are still five.

But six years ago, at this time, I lay in the hospital, wondering just who I was going to meet in the morning.  At 2:11am, I found out that my second little miracle birth was a second little boy.  Born with a tightly cinced, stacked, undetected double-knot in your umbilical cord, it was decided that God and his angels had clear protection over you.  From the moment God created you, you were a warrior.

I see that more and more each year.

This past year has been a rollercoaster ride on many levels.  You and I have had our struggles, you've had your own struggles, our little family has had struggles... but we have had SO MUCH JOY.  We have laughed until we've wheezed and cried.  We have loved until our hearts might explode.  We have sung as loud as we can over and over again.  We have made so many memories, both a little terrifying, like just a few weeks ago when I thought I lost you, and a couple weeks later when I saved you from drowning, and jubilant like when we pet sharks and held snakes, or did cannonballs into the pool together, just to name a few recent ones.

You, my little man, are incredible.  You have overcome so many things the world has thrown against you, and you still walk tall with eyes filled with light and joy.  You don't let anything get you down for too long. You're quick to apologize, and quick to forgive.  You take your mistakes, and you try, most of the time, to learn and move forward.  We all struggle with this, so I understand how sometimes that's just too hard.

You've been working hard at managing the huge emotions in your little heart and mind.  

You are so smart. Sometimes, I feel like you've taught me more this year than I have taught you.  You are always filling our days with random facts, especially about animals.  It never ceases to amaze me how you hold information so well.  

I've learned just how highly you think of me, and it has come in perfect times when I felt like I might be failing you.  I've been told by sources you confide in, and it gives me such strength.

I know we've had tough times.  I won't dwell on those, though.  We strive to choose joy, day in and day out.  

I've felt, since you were a baby, that you would be a big brother, and therefore, a middle child.  You're in the center of your siblings, and it's a perfect fit for you.  You're a fun little brother, a little ornery at times, but you're also a fun big brother too.  You're a protector to both of your siblings, and you don't hesitate for a moment to stand up to anything coming against them when you see that it's wrong.

I know that five was a heavy, busy, fun, difficult, brilliant, joy-filled year of growth and challenges.   I know realistically that six may be similar.  But the best part is that we face each day with hope, with joy, with love, with grace, with God, family, and friends.  Six is going to be amazing.

This year, you've experienced the finality of death and end of life.  I know that it weighs on your heart sometimes, and we have been talking about turning six, which brings conflicting emotions.  I know you struggle with realizing that you won't live forever, and turning six tomorrow makes you feel like your life is flying by.  I feel the same.  It's gone way too quickly, and will continue you to do.  I know it scares you.  I promise to try my best to help you overcome those fears, to pray with you, and to have answers to your questions.  I pray for peace in your heart when you worry.

I pray for joy- an over abundance of joy.  I pray for laughter that echoes in our minds forever.  I pray for strength. I pray for courage.  I pray for peace.  I pray that each and every day you see just how wonderful you are.  I pray that when you feel like things in the world are against you, you remember who is always FOR you.  I pray that you feel comfort in my arms every day, and love enveloping your every breath.  I pray this for you, and I pray it for your siblings too.  I know how lately, you like things to be equal like that.  *wink*

I love that time keeps passing and your looks keep changing, but some things haven't changed at all- like the pure excitement and joy, and reckless abandon in which you embrace the people you love after you haven't seen them for a little while, whether it be hours, days, weeks, or months.  You're basically famous for your full-contact, full-force, full-body hugs, whether it's at home, daycare, church, or family settings.  There's not a doubt in anyone's mind when you love them.  It may catch us off-guard sometimes if we aren't quite ready, but it's a beautiful, wonderful thing to see just how fully you love.

You have great, wonderful, amazing, untold things in store for you, my little miracle in the center.  As much as I hate that time keeps passing by so quickly, I cannot wait to see what God has in store for you.

I love you.  You (and your siblings) are the best thing that's ever happened to me.

And, I don't know if I've told you this recently, but I will never grow tired hearing you say that right back to me.

As you laid down tonight, with your new stuffed Rex in your arm that you let my friend autograph today, then flexed to show us how cool you were, I watched the juxtaposition of little-big drifting off to sleep before my eyes.  Please stay little-big just a little-lot longer if you can.  

You make me so proud, Ollie Bear.

Love,

Mommy

Another Dad-less Father's Day

Here we are again.

Father's Day.

My children... still without their earthly father in their lives.

I thought it would get easier, going through yet another Father's Day with my children longing for their dad, but somehow this year was harder.

Their dad was "around" last year for Father's Day, sort of.  He had spent roughly six months seeing them multiple times a month after a year-and-a-half-ish disappearance.  But by Father's Day, he was slowly fading out again.

It's now been nearly a year since the kids have seen or heard from their dad.  I am holding onto hope that progress is being made, after finally talking with their dad again, that they will see him again soon, and that he will be a positive in their lives.  But, when you've had your trust violated hundreds of times by the same person, even when you believe with your whole soul that God can and does perform miracles, and can redeem anything and everything, you're very skeptical and guarded even when things seem they may turn around.

This year, the children are all older, obviously, and each one of them understanding Father's Day now, makes it harder on them.  In turn, it's harder on the mom who is also pulling the weight of the dad.

This morning, we woke up for church, the kids were excited as they are every Sunday.  Then, the oldest mentioned it was Father's Day.  The middle one laid back down with the covers over his face and proclaimed he was sad.  He missed his daddy.  He never sees his daddy, and his daddy is rude because his daddy doesn't make good choices.  I never have told them any details of their dad's abandonment or betrayals, just that he's not making good choices.  I started crying, unable to hold back tears, and told them all how sorry I was that their dad is still not making the choices that lead him back to them, and that I know they miss him, and that I miss him being in their lives too.  We regrouped and moved happily on to church.

While at daycare, the children made their gifts for me, or for their Papa.  They were all thrilled to do so.

At Sunday School this morning, two out of three of them made pictures for their dads.  It was either an oversight or perhaps the teacher had no idea.  The kids handled it well, though.

I sobbed at church.  I often cry, because worship moves my soul like that.  But today, I just felt the pain my children have been expressing over the past week.  I have been weighed down with their burden, knowing that I cannot understand what it must feel like to be rejected by their dad.  I cannot imagine being so young, and feeling like my dad doesn't care enough about me to see me.  Or call me.  Or send a card.  I just cannot wrap my mind around that, and to know they have pain I can't understand breaks my heart.

They're all so strong, though.  Truly.

At daycare on Friday, someone kept asking my oldest son repeatedly, "Is your dad even gonna be there for Father's Day?"  My son said nothing.  He was so strong.

The message was obviously themed around fatherhood, fathers of all kinds, including spiritual fathers.  I am so blessed to be able to look around the sanctuary, right around my own seat, and see men who have stepped up as spiritual fathers in my childrens' lives.  God placed me in the perfect church for my children for that reason.  They are loved there.

The message was hard, though, as I sat, knowing that their dad was somewhere across town, not embracing his God given role to be a father to his own children.  I felt the burden of a father, pulling as much as I can of the weight of both roles.  But I'm not a father.  I'm a mother doing as much as she can in the absence of a father.  It's obviously not the same.  I wept.  I'm so grateful for the support I have in church, as my dear friend whispered she had already placed tissues under my chair, because she knew it was going to be a hard day for me.  That's love.

We came home, and the kids all were silent for a while.  We talked about missing their dad again. They watched a cartoon and I hid in my room for a bit, crying again, just thinking about how much they miss him, and how I hope with all my heart he will follow through and be reunited with them.

I decided that we would leave and enjoy the park and the sunshine and fresh air, laughter and memories together, because we are good at that.  But, of course, being Father's Day, the park was filled with big gatherings and lots of kids with their dads.  My children noticed too, and we each had separate moments together under the tree where I filled them with God's Truth about who they are, their value, and my love for them.  Every single one of them told me I was the best mom in the whole world and that they loved me so much.  And I stopped crying.  Because I knew they were really okay, even though they were hurting.

Because God's got us, as he always does.

But, like I said, this year was harder.  I also believe it was harder, because it's yet another year, another milestone, another holiday, where their dad is consciously choosing to be absent.  Yes, he's contacted me with interest in seeing them.  But he hasn't followed through completely, has stalled out some, and we aren't where we thought we would be by now.  And I know that's on him, and I know that I am doing what's best for my children in giving him steps to follow through and not a free pass.  But that doesn't make it easy.  It doesn't mean it doesn't feel like I'm hiding things from them.

I have to just keep praying.

Even when it's hard.

Especially when it's hard.

But hopefully, this year will be the last year where my kids have a dad-less Father's Day.

The good news is, we WILL make it through, no matter what, stronger, happier, more resilient, and filled with boundless joy and love.  It has been our testimony since the day our world started crumbling.  God's mercies are new every morning.

A Mother's Message

Part of my Mother's Day gift this year came a week ago.  I kept it to myself for six days,  and now it's time to share.

It was a message.

Last Sunday, I was in church, as I am almost every Sunday morning.  Worship is my favorite part of the week, but last week, I was struggling to be in the right space with my heart and my mind open and free.  I didn't realize it on my own until a gentle hand from beside me came, followed by loving guidance and prayer, commanding the enemy to flee.

And just like that, the tears began, as they often do, as I suddenly found myself in worship, really in worship.

And seconds later, I realized what was hindering me.  You see, the week before was tough in momma-land.  I struggled through it almost every day, having been sick for multiple days with a nasty stomach bug, the kids and I both feeling the strain of it mentally and emotionally.  Each day was fraught, on some level, with challenges between my children and I, my children and each other, or myself and myself.  And I had, on multiple occasions, doubted myself as a mother.  More than once, I was wondering if I was a good mother at all, if I was really able to do it all as the only parent involved in my childrens' lives right now.

Much of the time, I believe I'm a good mom, because I know that I've got God with me in it all.  I always know God is with me, even if I don't feel him, but I'm not impervious to the self-doubt that seems to plague most all mothers at some point.

But, in that moment, I was given a message.

"You wonder if you're a good mom, and you fear you are a bad mom.  You fear you are not cut out for the job.  But, you KNOW and you BELIEVE that I made you perfect in MY image.  You know that I called you to be mother of those children.  So, if you believe that you ARE perfect because I SAY you are perfect, then you must KNOW and BELIEVE that you ARE THE PERFECT MOTHER for your children.    You are perfect."

Oh goodness, did I cry.

There was the answer to my doubt and my struggle.

Am I always a great mom?

Of course not.  I struggle. I make mistakes.  But, I try to learn from them, and I try my best (almost always) to be a good mom.  I've prayed countless times, asking God if my purpose really is to "just" be a God-loving mother to my three children, raising them in the Spirit, and He seems to tell me that it is my job now, in this season, to focus on them.

So, I know that I'm called for them.  But, I've doubted anyway.  I'm human, after all.

But here I was, weeping, as I felt the Father telling me, so clearly, that I'm not good.. I am PERFECT.

Up until tonight, I hadn't shared this word with anyone.  I've been keeping it in my secret arsenal as I began the week leaving church, thrown into battles and fires as a momma always is.  But this week, it was different.  I didn't doubt myself. I didn't doubt my parenting.  I saw each battle as a lesson in growth, grace, mercy, persistence, and patience.  Yes, I am sure I was imperfect in parenting.  But, I AM the perfect parent for my children.

Tonight, in silent meditation on a two hour drive home, with the children sleeping in the back seats, I felt the pull to share my personal message.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day.

And I realized, this message isn't for me alone.

No.

This message is for all women out there in mothering roles- biological mothers, adoptive mothers, foster mothers, aunts, grandparents, sisters, close friends, mentors, teachers... and anyone else I may be unintentionally forgetting.

YOU are PERFECT.  God made every single one of us, whether you accept Him yet or not.  And knowing He made you, the Bible says that we are each fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), and we were made perfect in God's image (Genesis 1:27- because God is perfect).

Each child you are given is a blessing from God, and if you accept your calling to be in the lives of child (young or grown, really), then you need to know that you are the perfect one for them.

Yes, you're going to make mistakes.  You're going to be imperfect as a person, but you ARE perfect for the job.

In being imperfect and simultaneously perfect, it is your duty to embrace the imperfection, to learn from it, grow because of it, and share it.  Because we are made stronger and we are formed more beautifully when we do.  And, it's a blessing to others when we do.

Each of us is going to struggle.  It's a given.  But, knowing you're made wonderfully and specifically for the purpose of being a mother of any kind to any child in your life, you can carry on when you do fall short.

But, you have to be willing to accept God in it all, to live up to your true perfection's potential.

With God, you are renewed each day (Isaiah 40:31, Lamentations 3:22-23).

With God, all things are possible (Matthew 19:26).

With God, you can do hard things... like what I believe to be one of the hardest things of all- being a good mother. With God, you can keep on when you feel like giving up.  You just have to ask Him to guide you, lead you.  You have to abandon your need to have everything in control, and let Him be the one to help you.  And it's easier said than done.

I have to do it, personally, every single day, and often more than once.

I believe in you, Mommas of all kinds.  God believes in you, too.  It's why He placed children of all kinds in your life.

----

I apologize if this read was a little difficult to understand or decipher as I am quite exhausted and about to fall asleep. I just couldn't go to bed without getting it out there.  I hope it makes at least a little bit of sense.

(This entire message also very much applies to every kind of father figure out there, too.)

When the summit is the valley

Hills.  Summits.   Peaks.  

Valleys.  Trenches.  Rock-Bottoms.

Opposites.

Usually.

Three years ago tomorrow, January 15, marks the day I hit rock bottom.

Three years ago tomorrow, January 15, marks the day I reached my summit.

Three days ago, exactly, is when I realized that they are the same.

Those of you who have been following my life story over for a while now know more than the basic details, but those who are reading for one of the first times, you might not.  In summary fashion, over the course of the last half of the year 2014, my former husband was fading in and out of the lives of me and our three children, who were then less than a year old, roughly two, and almost 4.  The day before our oldest son turned four, we left the home we had been living in for over two years, to stay with a friend in a small two-bedroom apartment.  She saved us at the time.  You see, when my former husband was leaving us, slowly, painfully, and dramatically, he stopped paying bills and had our only vehicle, which meant that as a stay-at-home-mom to three young children, I was barely contributing selling work from home.  I had been employed full-time prior to the birth of our youngest child, who was a "surprise" to us, and when she was born, he agreed staying home was best for our family financially.  Two weeks prior to moving out of our home, on my birthday, we were served an eviction notice, and the secrets and lies that I had been living amidst unknowingly started unfolding and rearing their ugly heads.

But, for the time being, my friend rescued us, giving us a warm place to live while I found a job and started saving up money.

But it was stressful to all of us, and unfair to her, to have so many young children in small spaces, with opposite work schedules.

January 15, 2015, started as most of the days at that time in my life did, with one exception, that my now former husband allowed me to have use of our only family vehicle, and I drove myself and the children to work on my own.  I worked throughout the day, feeling weighted down with the burden I was imposing upon my friend, knowing she was moving soon anyway and we needed a home when she left.  I had hardly any money saved up as I had been at my new job for 5 weeks, but the stress was mounting, and I was feeling the pressure causing cracks in my life.

At the end of the day, I made a huge decision.  I put down myself, and fell to the bottom.  I jumped into the valley.  I made a phone call to the then new homeless shelter to see if they had room for my children and I.  They did, and they said it wouldn't be available long, so if I wanted a room, I better act.

So, I fed the children, packed up some clothes, a few small toys, baby bottles and sippy cups and a few snacks, and I drove the four of us to the shelter. I sobbed on the way there, regretting my decision and then supporting myself in my decision, switching sides every couple of seconds.  As the recipient of a bachelor's degree in social work, and with experience in a community action agency straight of of college, running a food shelter and various other programs for low income individuals, the gravity and reality of the situation shook me to my core. We had become the people I had been trained to help, and I felt absolutely moronic for being so blind as to let our lives go down this route.

And, with the exception of less than a handful of people, I had made this move in absolute secret.  

I felt like a failure that night.  

It turns out, though, I was a success.

It turns out, though, that when I threw myself into the valley, I unknowingly reached my summit.  

Tomorrow is three years since that day, when the summit and the valley became the same thing.

But as I said, I didn't know that until three days ago.

I've been listening to worship music a lot more than usual lately, and nearly every morning, I wake up with a song stuck in my head.  It usually is not a song I heard recently, which is somewhat surprising to me, but that assures me God put it there and it's not just stuck in my mind because of the radio.  A week ago, I listened to the song "Hills and Valleys" by Tauren Wells, while driving, about six times in succession, belting it out at the top of my lungs as we made our way on the road.  That song has always hit home for me, and I love it just as much today as the first day that I heard it.  I hadn't listened to it once other than a week ago Friday when it looped on the radio for me.

But, three days ago, I woke with it stuck in my head.

I've walked among the shadows
You wiped my tears away
And I've felt the pain of heartbreak
And I've seen the brighter days
And I've prayed prayers to heaven from my lowest place
And I have held the blessings
God, you give and take away

No matter what I have, Your grace is enough
No matter where I am, I'm standing in Your love

On the mountains, I will bow my life
To the one who set me there
In the valley, I will lift my eyes to the one who sees me there
When I'm standing on the mountain aft, didn't get there on my own
When I'm walking through the valley end, no I am not alone!
You're God of the hills and valleys!
Hills and Valleys!
God of the hills and valleys
And I am not alone!

I've watched my dreams get broken
In you I hope again!
No matter what I know

I'm safe inside Your hand

Father, you give and take away
Every joy and every pain
Through it all you will remain
Over it all!

The lyrics are so powerful and perfect for my life.

The first night in the shelter, as I lay awake in the huge, empty room with ceilings that seemed to reach the sky, the noise of my children sleeping echoed, and I stifled my sobs into a pillow.  I knew that I was in my valley.  But, I knew there was only one way to go at that point, because living on the streets wasn't an option.  I knew I was making a choice to stand firm for my children.  I was no longer going to sit and wait on the man who promised to provide.  I was no longer putting my faith in the man I made vows with to help us through hard times.  I was going to do it without him, and in his place, God was going to help me.  I have believed in God for what I recall to be my entire life. I believed in him, but I never threw myself down at His feet like I did in my prayers that night, relying on Him to get us through.

Now, as I play the memories of those days in the shelter through my head, feeling so imprisoned by their rules, feeling so constricted some days I didn't know how to breathe normal or stand straight, hiding it from most everyone, I see that as I threw myself into my personal valley, I was in that exact moment on a summit.  I was at a peak in my faith, and in my life story.

Because that was the day I chose to give my children a better life.  That was a day I chose myself.  That was a day I chose my God.  I didn't see it then, but I see it now.

I stood up, on that mountain, all alone in my darkness, and I took ahold of our lives.

It's overwhelming when you can look back and see the dark valley in this new Light, realizing that even as the lowest point in your life in some ways, it was also the highest point in your life in other ways.  

Over the course of three years, I've accomplished so much, personally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.  I don't feel like I'm anything but an ordinary woman and a commonplace  mother at best, but I also know that most days, I don't give myself enough credit for where I've come.  

I have had the same job for over three years, and it's become so much more than a job.  My coworkers who know me well seem to love me and my children.  I let down my guard inside the room where I work and allowed the first new person (followed by others) to see me wholly broken, and allowed them to walk beside me as God healed me again.  We have lived in the same apartment for longer than any home we have ever lived in as a family since my first son was born.   I have taken charge.  I took charge in my failing marriage, and freed myself from the bondage I didn't even know was inside of it.   I found God in ways I have never known Him before.  I have begun to lead my children to God as well.  I have taken on challenges and struggles in parenting I never imagined my life would entail, and I've done it as a single mother.  I've developed my interests, passions, and creativity all over again, and found my way back to my true self.  I've found a church for our family to call our home, and a church family that loves us.  I truly can't wait to go back to church each Sunday morning, as worship has become my favorite and most fulfilling part of each week.

It's liberating.

I'm proud of myself.

There's no way I would be who I am today, my faith in God and my love for myself, my children, and others as strong as it is today, had I not thrown myself into the valley and landed safely on the summit instead.

My first summit.  I know there are higher ones.  I've reached a few since that first one.  Timidly, and with a bit of apprehension, knowing that the struggles are hard and the road is never truly easy, I wait to see which are yet ahead.

And it will all be okay, in the lows and in the highs.  

I know it.  God has been faithful.

God is SO good.

A Life in few Words

Along with countless others I know, and probably even more people that I don't know, this week engulfed my heart in sorrow and challenged my emotions like no week has in recent past.

The world lost an incredible man.  I've known for years just how incredible this man was.  He had been around my entire memorable life.  I was in his wedding as a toddler, when he joined as one with my dear aunt.

I've known.

Or at least, I thought I knew.

But it turns out, it takes someone being gone forever to realize that what you know isn't all there is to know.  What you know is only the surface, and the depths of what you don't know reach further than you'll ever begin to uncover.

It's overwhelming, really.

As family and friends gathered today to bid our earthly farewell to this incredible man, I realized just how small our words are when it comes to the life of an individual.

Obituaries and eulogies are beautiful, significant, and often poetic, but they too just scratch the surface.

On my return home, I began to dwell on this fact.  It seemed to me, in a way, that obituaries trivialize and marginalize a person's entire existence into a few key facts that are out there for others, so they can get the highlights, if you will, of someone who many held dearly.

They're important.

They're inadequate.

Listening to people talk about my uncle, Gregg Edward DeSmith, born June 12, 1964, to his parents, Dorothy and Edward, who passed away on Saturday, September 9, 2017, it became all to clear to me that the man I knew and loved for my entire life was even more incredible than my small mind could comprehend.   Gregg, the devoted husband of Linda, and beloved father to Sasha (and Kyle), Carissa, who left this earth at age 2, and Hannah (and Dylan), wonderful grandfather to Kalesia, Elijah, and Miles, dear brother to many, uncle to even more, and friend to countless others, was a man of Jesus.  It was evident today, as I heard about his life and saw numerous people whose lives he touched.

It overwhelmed me, as I longed to be able to tell him that I admired that in him.

He and I spoke occasionally on aspects of God.  I never really pressed in, knowing he believed in God and was raised in a Catholic church, the one in which he was baptized, married, and said goodbye to today in the Mass of Christian Burial.  He knew more about my faith journey than I did his, and today, I felt selfish for not knowing more about what he believed to be true.

But, at the same time, I could see in the way he lived.

Gregg had a servant's heart.  He spent countless hours with those in need, in both small and large ways.  He devoted time, energy, love, and so much more to those around him.  He did so with a willing heart. He did so, expecting nothing in return, and often wouldn't accept anything in return.  It wasn't all that long ago that he saved me in a small way, where my van window wouldn't go all the way up, and it was about to rain for my two hour drive home.  He was on it in a flash and had a temporary solution that still enabled me to see, and I made it home safe and dry, so relieved and thankful for the small gift he was delighted to give me.

He went out of his way to take you aside and tell you that he was proud of you.  No matter what you had done, no matter where you had come from, no matter where you were going, or what you had been through, he saw you as you were, a human, full of giving and receiving love, and he let it be known that you were worthy.  He built you up in spirit and mind.  I cannot personally recall an instance I heard him tear someone down.

He loved and served the least of these, just like Jesus did.

His love for his family was unconditional and overwhelming.  He stood faithfully at my aunt's side for 32 glorious years that were no stranger to stress and sorrow, trials and tribulations, but also great joy and blessing.  They were one.  You could see it and you could feel it when you were with them.

Gregg loved spending time with people.  He had a jolly laugh and a great wit.  He wore a smile often.  He loved to tell a joke and hear the laughter of others as well.   Some of my best memories of him were at his farm, where my large family would gather for days on end.  He would go all out to ensure each gathering was phenomenal.  He had such great humble pride in welcoming us all and allowing us to create everlasting, joyful memories.

He was a delightful mix of manly man and teddy bear, who loved fixing things, classic cars (both real and miniature), go carts and his Harley.  He collected countless unique and older things and loved to share them with people around him.  He loved the outdoors and having a great time with family and friends.

He was adored by so many.  Children and adults alike could call him a friend.  My oldest son, who is not quite seven, sobbed this weekend, as he realized just how great a buddy Gregg was to him, and how devastating it was to know that they would not be making memories together anymore.   He told me about how Gregg helped him to be brave, and how cool it was when he finally rode go cart for the first time, and how Gregg told him he was a little man now. Gregg knew when to encourage my kids and when to be silly, and each of the three of them loved him deeply for that reason.

He was a great buddy to most everyone he met, I feel.  I heard so many claim that over the past two days.

He is going to be missed daily, wholly, intensely, by countless people who knew and loved him, who he loved in return.  Knowing that his all-encompassing bear hugs will never be given again leaves my shoulders feeling vulnerable and cold.  I know I'll receive hugs for the rest of my life, but not one will be quite like his.

Gregg loved the phrase "No Regrets." I smiled as I heard that, because long ago, I had coined that phrase for myself.  I didn't live it like he did though, as I sit here tonight, regretting that I hadn't told him one more time that I loved him, thanked him for all he did for us, and for the endless encouragement and support he never ceased to provide for me and my children.  I regret not taking more photos of him with the people he loved and not having photographic proof of the hardest working hands I remember seeing.  Even with life gone from his body, when you saw him this week, you saw the proof that he worked endlessly to provide for his family and his friends, the stain left behind on his fingerprints as a reminder of how much he gave of himself.

I know with all of my heart that he is with our Jesus now, and my children have reminded me multiple times, through tear-riddled eyes, that his soul is in heaven.  I stand firm in my faith and thankful for everlasting life and salvation through Christ, but at the same time, my human heart and limited mind is having a most difficult time envisioning our lives without him.  I see the farm, and it feels emptier knowing he will never be pulling down the driveway in one of his vehicles, never racing around on a go-kart or hauling with a tractor.  He won't be building or bringing new and exciting fun to us all, or helping the children feed the birds.  His spirit will never leave, but his body and his voice will never be with us as we sit in the summer sun.  That realization takes the wind out of my lungs for a moment and burns my eyes with tears.  I know I'm not alone in this space, missing him so much already, being devastated for us left behind, and overjoyed for he who will never again know sadness.

His body is gone, but his light can shine on.  I hope that his loss will encourage others to live a life like his, showing Jesus inside us to others.

I sit here, exhausted and weary, writing away, knowing that although my words are more in number than an obituary or even some eulogies, they do not suffice.  They will also never begin to scratch the surface of the life that Gregg lived. 

No words really will.