Ol' Sweet Day

 Seventeen years ago today, I became a wife. The day was absolutely fantastic, and I carry so many wonderful memories with me still. Although our marriage ended a few years ago, I still recognize and "celebrate" the day each year, because it's an integral part of my life story, and I am grateful that it happened. 

When I was married, my youngest sister was seven years-old. My former husband and I were fortunate enough to have each of our immediate siblings in the wedding ceremony, but she was the youngest bridesmaid. She was not even up to my chest in height. It was one of my dreams come true to have my siblings with me on one of the most important days of my life. 

Today, seventeen years later, wearing my grandma's wedding dress, my youngest sister became a wife.

Before she and her fiance were ever engaged, she had asked me if I would officiate her wedding someday, if her path lead her to be married. I was completely shocked, but absolutely honored, and said yes, I would be willing to have that role.  Months later, her wonderful boyfriend, now husband, proposed to her, and she asked me again, to make sure I was still willing. I was overjoyed for her, and again, said I absolutely would do that. 

The day she introduced him to myself and my children, and I saw how well they immediately got along, and how he seemed to already love my kids, who are also a big part of my sister's life as they somewhat "grew up together" (she became an aunt when she was 11), and how at ease he was with us, I fell in love with him as a man for her. As we watched their relationship continue to grow, I prayed for them, believing he would be the one she would someday marry.

Granted, I am not one who likes public speaking, but there was no reserve whatsoever in my heart. She recently told me that she knew I would be the perfect person to write her wedding ceremony and officiate their marriage. I won't lie, it made me emotional and I laid there with tears, blown away by how strongly she felt that way about me. 

Being a divorced, single momma, married just shy of ten years... I will not lie and say I had not had a few moments where I questioned whether or not I was the right person for the job. My marriage did not last. How could I possibly be a good fit for helping someone begin a new one? It took being told that I was not bad at marriage to help me reframe my view. When I thought about it with a fresh perspective, I started to see where my little sister was possibly coming from when she thought of me as the perfect fit for her wedding. I was not bad at marriage, even though it failed. And, honestly, because it failed, I have a perspective I did not have prior, as to some integral parts of what helps a marriage be strong. I laid in bed last night, unsure of myself in this role, but woke up this morning filled with joyous anticipation of the wedding to come. 

The wedding was wonderful. I was slightly nervous speaking in front of the dear family and friends who were able to attend, but as soon as I saw my brother-in-law begin escorting his mother in, my nerves were met with pure happiness. I could not stop smiling. It was a privilege to officiate alongside his grandpa, who helped with a few components of the ceremony, making it truly a special fit for both the bride and groom. When the rings were exchanged and I said they could give a great big high five (yes, that really happened, but they got to kiss after it), I had a rush of pure exhilaration, and I proclaimed them Mr. & Mrs. It was such a beautiful evening. 

My dad held on to my sister's bridesmaid dress from my wedding all those years ago. As I look at this photo of her today, holding the dress from my wedding, wearing my grandmother's dress for her own wedding, I have so many emotions. I feel slight sadness that the years go by so quickly, because even though I was 16 when she was born, I loved spending time with her (and our other sister who is a few years older than the bride) growing up. I had them visit me so many times and created some magnificent memories. I find myself in awe of the fact that not only is she my sister but one of my best friends, and that I have had the chance of seeing her as a newborn and grow into a wonderful young woman. I've been blessed by our relationship in so many unexplainable ways. There's something indescribably beautiful about having your baby sister grow into an adult best friend. To top all that off with being involved in each other's weddings, and those weddings being on the same date, and I feel overwhelmingly blessed by the gifts God has given us in this journey. 

I am so grateful that we have been key figures in each other's life stories, and our love is so deep that we can't imagine our most important days without the other. 

I wish nothing but the absolute best, and am praying a lifetime of blessings for the new husband and wife. 

It still feels surreal to say that. 

I will celebrate me.

 

Today, I turned 37.  

This past year, as many know, has been quite a year.  I’ve had “quite a year” multiple years in the recent past, where I find myself, on my birthday, reflecting on the year and on birthdays past.  There’s been some real long journeys, many trials, plenty of struggles, and even more perseverance.

This past year has seemed much longer than most years before it, with six long months being spent battling covid-19 and some of it’s lasting effects on my body. If yo know me well or have seen me in “real life” over the last six months, there’s a good chance you’ve noticed.  I try to take it on with a smile, but some days are just tough.  This past week, especially has been a tough one. As much as I would like to try to explain why that is, the truth is that I just don’t really know.  I believe realizing the loneliness that I find myself living through is a portion of it.  Knowing that people out there love me, but cannot be around me, is a difficult thing, especially on a birthday.  Time drags on, for certain, when you spend weeks and months in isolation.   Having my children around during isolation and quarantine (for endless weeks this year) is a blessing, but also, if I’m being honest, can wear on a person when you’re all four stuck within the same walls day after day.

As I have been reflecting on this past year of my life and what it has transpired to be, I remembered, back in February, at a women’s conference at my church, that during personal prayer, dear friends spoke over me that perhaps, this year is a year to be still.  I might slow down and see what God is speaking to me, pray over and wait to hear what plans He has for my life.    I had no idea that only two months later, I would be in for one of the longest “still” journeys I’ve had in my life.

I’ve spent hours in prayer, in worship, in tears, in conversations with God, in online Bible studies, online church, trying to be in touch with his whispers and songs to me.  Looking back, I can see the quarantine has been a blessing when it comes to being still.

It’s been a lonely year, too.  I have voiced before multiple ways it’s been hard on the body, the spirit, the mind, and how strange the world feels to me during this pandemic.  

As life would have it, not only was I infected with covid-19 in March, but I because ill again at the end of September, testing positive for the virus yet again.  Because the wear on my immune system was fairly intense the first time, again, it took weeks for the fever to subside, and guidelines for quarantine have us home again.  I join Norah in having a quarantine birthday this year, meaning there aren’t parties (not that I have birthday parties, but she enjoys them each year, or need fanfare and celebratory events) or hugs from family and friends.  Thankfully, the weather was great this morning, and we were able to quarantine out in nature a while.  Norah woke me up with a “Happy Birthday” yell in my face and presented me with a book filled with art she created for me as a birthday gift from her heart.  

As I continued to reflect on my year, it hit me hard last night, that despite the isolation of my birthday this year, one thing is for certain- this is a birthday worth celebrating.  I was very sick at the beginning of the year, and there was potential to be quite sick again on my birthday today.  God carried me and my children through both of those storms, and I am here, today, to turn 37.

Another dear friend text me earlier today, when I was opening up about this past week and how it was hard on me in various ways.  She said “ask Papa God what He thinks of you.”

So, as we walked along the trail, struggling a little for breath, pressure building in my chest, I asked Him.

He reminded me that I am an Overcomer.  He treasures me, because I am worthy, I am important, and I will do amazing things with my life, even if I don’t always see it.  I have more days ahead to live out His love.

That’s something else to celebrate.  I told the same friend last week, “I get through stuff.”  It’s what I do.  And God always has been faithful to help me find the peace, the joy, the light, even in dark parts of the journey.  This past year was no different, and this next year will be the same.

So, today, I am taking a few quiet moments to rejoice in my own birthday, to celebrate another year well lived, and to embrace the quiet joy I find in my spirit amidst the valley we are making our way through.  I will celebrate me, because I am worthy of celebration.

I know it's time...

Tonight, my slightly dramatic Momma heart is aching.  Tonight, I sit in quiet living room, my mind whirling as I prepare for bed, exhausted and tired, but not quite wanting to go to sleep.  I would like to postpone the hours of the day just a little big longer in hopes to prevent tomorrow from coming too soon.

Tomorrow is another milestone in our little family.  Tomorrow is the end of a chapter in our lives, one that's been almost five years in the making, that's somehow arrived at a close way too soon.

Tomorrow is my little girl's last day of full-time daycare before she goes off to elementary school.

It's funny to me that I'm so emotional about this.  Both of her older brothers have come and gone from the daycare rooms already.  Her oldest brother has been gone for almost as many years as she has been there.  I don't know if it's harder just because she's the youngest, or more likely, harder because she's been there longest.

Daycare has been a huge part of my life story with this beautiful girl.  

Her first day of daycare

She, the boys, and I all started daycare together on December 8, 2014.  She was 8 months old, and the other two were a toddler and a preschooler.  We ended up at our daycare by a sheer act of God, where I was able to be employed and there was room for all three of them to be there with me in the building while I worked.   It was a huge blessing in a very dark and chaotic time in our lives.  

Nearly every single day since, Norah and I have gone to daycare together.  The boys were with us too, for a while, but they both eventually left us behind, and the last two years, it was just the two of us.  My baby girl has spent the majority of her life at this daycare, with many of the same staff throughout the years, and a lot of the same children growing up alongside her.  It's been a huge constant in our lives.  It's so familiar.  She radiates joy throughout the halls, and I love bringing her with me every day to stop in and say hello to her "best friend," a momma-like figure in her life, her first daycare teacher, and my dear friend.  Every day she comes in for a hug, gets the lowdown on the lunch for the day, and bounces out the door calling out "I love you!" before we make our way to her classroom.

Tomorrow is the last day for that daily tradition (except for school breaks, which seem so far away right now).  Soon, I'll just be coming through that door all alone.  As I write this, it seems like an echoing memory that hasn't even had a chance to actually develop yet.

I've loved the security of having a job and also knowing my babies were safe within the same walls with people I've trusted and known were loving them all day.  It's been so hard to let each of the boys go.  This one just feels a little harder.  My dramatic side already worries that the halls will seem a little colder and the days a little lonelier knowing that all of my children will be down the street for most of their days from here on out.

Yet, I know it's time.

It's time to let go.

It's time to see her grow.

A few weekends ago at church, we were asked to take a moment to listen and hear what we thought God was wanting to tell us, and write it down.

The only thing I heard was, "You are raising light."

It made sense.  "We are the lights" is a lyric to one of our favorite songs (by Cade Thompson), our wi-fi network is "Be a light," and I get "light" songs stuck in my head frequently.  But this was a little different, which I didn't really grasp until tonight as I kissed them all to sleep and left the room.

Photo Credit: Seize the Day Photography and Video

I am raising light.  I have been doing the best I can to raise them to be bright, positive influences on the world, before I let them all go out on their own.  The boys have already entered the school.  Now, she will.  Now it's her turn to bring light, sunshine, joy, and love to the world outside the walls who already know her for those exact reasons.  She's ready to join her big brothers, and I pray that together, they're able to spread joy, love, laughter, kindness, and Jesus to those around them in their personalities, words, and actions.

I know it's time...

Even if I don't want to let her go.

Just a Little Different this Year

Christmas is here, again!  Can you believe it?

It's been another long year of ups and downs, triumphs, setbacks, and trying to give glory to God amidst it all.

This year was so much like the past few years, in that we found ourselves showered with love and blessings in many shapes and forms, from hugs, to being welcomed into homes, to spending time with family and friends, to being given gifts without any expectation.

We continued with the traditions we have been developing over the last four years.  We made some gifts, we bought some gifts.  We spent a Christmas weekend with my family back home.  We dressed up (well, this year I wore jeggings and not a skirt which was a bit different than usual, but we were crunched for time) and went to the candlelight church service.  This year, my children all sang "Silent Night" loudly, and I had the biggest grin on my face throughout the entire song.

We spent Christmas Eve with the children's aunt and uncle, having pizza and breadsticks and exchanging gifts.  We all were given new Christmas pajamas to come home to, and I stayed up too late doing the last gift wrapping duties. 

There was one gift for each child wrapped in brown paper, blessings from "Santa," just like years past, because I've wanted the kids to know each year that there are so many people out there who love them deeply and want to bless them with items that they chose especially for each of them, that we don't "need" much from Santa so I've asked him to be simple. The brown paper is to help take the focus and glamor off of Santa and more on the abundance of blessings and love from others. (In no way is that supposed to be condescending to anyone else and how they approach the Santa issue, that's just how I've decided to do it.)  And when it's all said and done, their aunt plays the role of Santa anyway.

The children let me stay in bed until I was light outside, then we took a few photos, and had our gift opening marathon.  We spent the afternoon at our dear family friends' home, enjoying homemade Mexican food, conversation, laughter, and gifts.  We came home to unwind, and here I sit, reflecting.  Some things are better left unchanged.

But, this Christmas was different in some ways too.

For example, this year, as years past, I set it in my mind that I should probably grab a couple small gifts for myself to wrap up and stick underneath our tree.  However, this year, I took my daughter, who is now four (and a half, mind you), along the day I happened to find a small item I thought "they" would like to give me.  I decided to run the idea by her, which resulted in a strong counterargument.

"But, Momma, we didn't get it for you.  We didn't go shopping.  We didn't buy it."

"I know, but I can wrap it up and pretend that you did.  I will act surprised, for your brothers..."

"But I will know that you got it and that we didn't."

Good grief.  This is the same little girl who used the exact same argument for her fourth birthday, where she chose her own gifts, we locked them in the back of the van, and she had to wait two weeks to open them.   "I'll act surprised so my brothers don't know," was her exact argument.

Well, I bought the cup anyway.  And before all the commotion started, I enjoyed a quiet cup of coffee on the floor by the tree this morning.  This year, we've past that era.

This year, as in years past, there was one big expensive item that was requested.  It was actually the same item that my oldest son requested last year, but he never received.  This year, his siblings knew what it was and joined in on thinking it would be a good item to have.

In past years, if there was something that was out of my budget, they either wouldn't receive it, or it might come from someone outside our apartment walls.  While I have always been grateful from the depths of my core for generosity and kindness, as humbling and overwhelming as it is to accept sometimes, there's always been this small sliver of sadness inside of me that I couldn't always provide their most expensive, popular culture type items myself.  I always knew it wasn't failure on my part, because I've been working full time and trying hard for years now, but still, I often wished I could just do everything on my own.

This year, out of unexpected urging from a friend, I started baking macarons for other people.  In an absolutely surprising request, I was able to bake a few hundred macarons, which helped me with bills, also was the provision for the item my children had wanted that I never imagined I would be able to give them.

This evening, after all the hustle and bustle was done, I revealed that the one gift on the couch labeled for me was really for all of us, and the joy in my oldest son's face after I explained that I had worked very hard to get this gift for them, and that was how much I loved them, showed me that it was a choice worth making.  They knew I had been working hard at all that baking for other people, and he knew how expensive the gift was.  It was then that he realized what I was saying, and he ran across the room to hug me, and hug me, and hug me.  He had tears when he finally backed away.

This year, that was different and it was a huge milestone and accomplishment for me, and the meaning behind it was perfectly timed for my oldest son especially.  I believe it's a Christmas he will always remember.

This year, you see, he and I have been struggling a while.  He's eight now, and his intelligence and language are great enough that he is becoming more adept at expressing his feelings verbally.  But, for the past few months, he just... hadn't been.  He had been quiet and quite speechless most of the time, especially for me.  Recently, we had a breakthrough, and those language skills came to the surface, where he admitted his deep heartache and sorrow at the continued absence of his father.

I know, it's still about that.  I've received a few comments in the past about so much of our lives and our story being about that.  And, truthfully, it is going to be about that quite a bit of the time until there is some sort of resolve or healing (or both) for my children.  We pray it through as we wait.

Anyway, this year... he admitted that he's angry with me.  He's angry with me for divorcing his dad.  We have had lengthy discussions about it since he expressed himself, and it has made me realize that's why he doesn't speak to me much and is so withdrawn sometimes.

But, the great news is that because it is in the open, this year, we are going to be able to work through it, and he can join me on the healing side of the path.

But on that topic, this year... this year I didn't even miss their dad on Christmas morning.  I feel so conflicted saying that, but it is the truth.  Most Christmas mornings, I wish he was here to see the joy and hear the laughter in the room around us.  This year, I didn't even think about him until this evening at bedtime, when we said bedtime prayers, and I realized that in my blissful ignorance, my children had probably missed him silently all day long.

This year, I forgot to make a birthday cake or cupcakes for Jesus like we have the past few years.  My children forgot, too, so I'm in the clear.  Hopefully, next year, we will remember.

This year was a good Christmas, just like the years past.

It was just a little different this year.

Joy to instant Terror

I love to take photos.  I especially love to photograph my children and to document our adventures together.  Having a cell phone makes that incredibly ease to do and to share.  I know that some people wish we weren't taking so many photos and living solely in the moment.  I strive as best as I can do have a good balance of both.  

Today was a busy day filled with adventures.  We started out with an oil change and a bouncy house for the kiddos.  Then, on a whim, we decided to head to the Outdoor Campus for the Outdoor University 2018 event.  We have never participated in it before, because my kiddos have been so young, and there's three of them and only one parent in our family.  This year, we've experienced the freedom granted with them being slightly older, more focused, and willingness to stay together as a group most of the time.  We don't usually do big, overcrowded events by ourselves, though.  This was a first, and it was simply because I hadn't researched it more than a cursory glance, so I did not know just how big and how busy the event would be.

We could hardly find a parking space, but I had talked up the adventure and the children voted 2 over 1 to still attend.  So, we parked far away, had a talk in the van while finding the spot, and then again while waiting for the shuttle van to take us to the campus, about staying together as a group at all times, listening well, and being able to see each other at all times.  If we couldn't see each other we were supposed to call out for mom and the other names.  They all understood, and I felt fairly confident, and off we went.

And truthfully, they did great.  We spent three hours together doing various activities, taking photos, having laughs, giving each other compliments, using manners without prompting, and just having a good time. 

I took lots of photos, but I also did lots of activities with them.  We mined for treasure, we touched pelts and skulls and identified creatures.  We played with toy fishing rods and rifles and we went fishing.  What I didn't truly enjoy, I faked enjoying for the kids sake to make it the best experience possible.  Then, we excitedly hurried over to the touch tanks, which were filled with frogs, toads, salamanders, snakes, turtles, and fish.  It was a very crowded and excited area and we ALL loved it.  We held all sorts of creatures.  The kids squealed with delight.  We took photos.  We passed snakes back and forth.  We spent over half an hour in that one spot just having a great time.  We nearly came home with a pet garter snake.  It was wonderful.

After about half an hour of that, though, Collin, my second child, was ready to be done, and he politely asked me if we could head back into the main building and see the rest of the amphibians and reptiles inside there, which I had promised we would do before we left.  I told him that would be fun, but that I had to tell the other two that we were going to do that, because they were still standing in front of us all hunched over the tanks.  He said that was okay, and I told him to wait right there and I would get the other two.  

I walked about five feet away from him and tapped Spencer and Norah on the backs and told them it was time to say goodbye to the frogs and snakes because we were going inside.  It felt like five seconds that I had my back away from Collin.  It could have been thirty.  I really don't know.  It was quick, that's all I know.

Quick in a crowded space where there was a slip of mind.

The joy we were feeling turned into sudden panic when I turned around and Collin wasn't standing by the pole anymore.  I said to the other two, "Collin is gone, let's go NOW," and they followed me as we walked around that tent full of people looking for Collin, thinking maybe he went back to the frogs quick.

But he wasn't there.

I thought to myself that maybe when he saw us stand upright and turn toward him, he decided to start walking to the main building, so that's where we headed next, walking as quickly as possible with little legs.

As we walked, a security officer was in the path, smiled at us, and asked if we were enjoying our day.  I said, "Yes, but I've lost my son."

It was the craziest thing to say aloud.

He immediately walked with us, asking about him.  How old is he? What's his name?  What's he wearing?  I answered all his questions as we walked, looking around as we did.  Where did I think he was heading? Where were we?  Why did I think he was headed that way again?

Because he said he wanted to go there.  I really thought that was where he was going.  And when he's determined, he is determined.

We got into the main building and he went to one side and I went to the other with the kiddos, calling out Collin's name.  But he didn't answer.  We gathered again quickly, and walked to the main desk, where he asked the volunteer at the desk if she had seen Collin.  He pulled out his phone when she hadn't, and had me type in my number.  He called me quick to save it.  Then he got out a paper and pen and asked me the questions again.  Name? Age? Hair? Eyes? Clothing? Size?  As I answered, I pulled up his photo on my phone.  He took a picture of the photo with his and said "we have our own Amber Alert system here, I'm going to send this and my team will all be looking."  He took a photo of the description and sent it off with Collin's photo to his team, and all I could see in my mind was this photo on a MISSING Child poster.

Instantly, as I know many who read this might think, I began doubting myself a mother and protector of my children. How could I let this happen?  What was I thinking turning my back on him?  I know he's strong willed and an occasional wander.  I knew it was crowded and crazy busy.  Why did I trust my five-year-old to stand still in an exciting place?  When will I learn better?  

And then it went to things like... Why is he not in this building?  Where could he have gone?  He loves people and is too friendly... what if someone took him?  What if he fell in the little lake?  What if he's scared?  What if what if what if what if?

On the outside I was calm, but on the inside, I felt like I might crumble, and I felt like it was 100% totally my fault for being the very worst and least competent parent in the entire world.

I've never professed to be perfect at parenting.  Most of the time I wonder if I'm a good enough mom, even though my heart knows God knew I was the perfect mom for these three children, because he chose ME to bring them into this world and lead them through all our hills and valleys.

But in that moment, I was sure that I was quite literally the most wretched mom on earth because I trusted by baby boy.

The security officer said that everyone would start looking for Collin, and that he thought it would be best if we just stayed in the building in case Collin did show up and was just being pokey.  He said he would call me as soon as he was found.  He was confident he would be found safe and was just fine, and I placed my trust in that and just prayed that they would find him soon.

I told Spencer and Norah to go play in the play area and I sat there staring at my phone and looking up as they played.  It had been 15 minutes since I looked at the clock when Collin asked to go inside.  I sat there, trembling with tears in my eyes, a slew of terrible things going through my head, mostly belittling myself, if I'm being completely honest.

After 8 minutes, the phone rang. 

"Nicole?"

"Yes."

"We found him by the pond.  He's okay and wondering where you are.  We are bringing him to the front door."

"Thank you!" I squeaked and hung up.

I told his siblings he was found, and we ran to the front door to wait.

As soon as I saw him walking alongside a security officer, I began sobbing.

I was mad at myself.  I was a bit mad at him too, truthfully.  But, I was just overwhelmingly grateful that he was found and he was completely okay.

I hugged him and squeezed him and his siblings did the same.  And then, I looked him in the eye, and I told him what I have in the past, "We HAVE to stay together. ALWAYS."  I told him how I thought I had lost him forever.  I told him that I love him WAY TOO MUCH to lose him.  I told him I was scared, but I was so glad he was okay.   

"I'm so sorry mommy," he said as he teared up in front of me.  "I thought you were lost."

We had lost each other.  It was a terror.

But, God had us all under his protection.  Again.  Like he has so many times before.

The guard I first met who took the information and my number showed up and told Collin how happy he was that Collin was okay.  And then he told me that he was grateful that I had that photo of him, because in a place that busy, there's lots of red shirts, and sharing that with his team made it easy to spot him and know exactly which child they were looking for.

When we arrived home, I posted photos of our adventure online.  They showed a day full of joy.  But they didn't show how it turned into terror.

As I said before, I love taking photos of my children to document our adventures.  And tonight, I'm thankful that I did for a different reason.  I choose to believe that no matter how many minutes it could have taken to find Collin, he would have been found safe and sound today.  In a calm mind, I really believe that.  But, because I had taken a photo of him just minutes before, I had him in the outfit he was wearing, his favorite red sweatpants and his church shoes, his brown eyes and now sun-bleached hair holding a frog.  They knew him as soon as they spotted him, and we only had to wait 23 minutes to see him again.  Only.  23 minutes that felt like forever.

While we had been playing with frogs I saw another child across the way with a phone number in permanent marker written on his arm.  I thought to myself, "huh, that's pretty smart. I might have to do that next time."

Go figure.

I know that I'm capable, overall, to take my children on adventures by myself.

But, I think that for now, when it comes to these busy, overcrowded activities, I'll gladly go back to begging someone else to join us.

Tonight, while I battle the demons trying to keep me from posting this, knowing I could be ridiculed for being a terrible mom and for being unobservant or failing my son, I also know it's important to share stories like this, because it's something that I will learn from, and I know others can to.

It's so easy to make an absent-minded mistake such as turning your back for one minute, based on three hours of children doing exactly as they were asked in a crowded place.  This world is a scary place, and there's so many reports of predators out there, and it's always in the back of my mind.  But I stopped paying attention for a minute.  And then he was gone.

And it happens so quick.

And I really believe it can happen to anybody.  Or almost anybody.

I apologized to my children for letting this happen today.  They forgave me.  Collin apologized for wandering off.  I forgave him.

I still am battling the demons that are beating me up for it, though.

I pray it never happens to any of you.

But know that if it does, I will not judge you.  And I will pray alongside you if you need me to.

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.

Now 5, Little Big Ollie Bear

Dearest Ollie Bear,

Today, I think I called you by my little nickname more than the rest of the week combined.  I realized, as we spent so much of the day together, that you're so little big now, and someday soon, there's a chance you'll ask me to stop calling you that for good.  You already tell me too frequently that 'I'm COLLIN' when I address you as my little cub.

But for now, today, and hopefully a few more tomorrows, you're my little Ollie Bear, my teddy bear, my cuddly bear, my grizzly bear.

Collin, I can hardly believe that it's your last day being four.  I don't want it to be true.  I have tried to deny it.    I put you to bed tonight and I said "what is going on tomorrow, again? I forgot." You laughed SO hard and said "I'm FIVE BECAUSE ITS MY BIRTHDAY!"  I hugged you as tight as I possibly could and kissed you before covering you up, declaring our love, and asking you to please stay in your room and go to sleep so I could wrap your presents.  

Today, we were blessed with the surprise pre-birthday gift of time together.  We spent a portion of it with your brother and sister, who are your closest friends and also occasional foes, investing our time making memories at a park, and then adventuring with sea creatures and butterflies.  Your laughter echoed all around us, as you delighted in wonder and also in knowledge about the creatures around us.

Then, we said 'see you later' to them, and we were given time for just us.  It was of immeasurable value, as I listened to you talk about the things you love.  I took you for a special lunch, where you asked to take a fun picture with me.  You talked non-stop with one of the employees there, who you also asked to have cut your hot dog, to which she gladly obliged.  You love people, and it shows.  You are a true extrovert in that way.

Mister Man, I know we definitely have our differences  There are countless ways that it seems we are exact opposites, which makes for some interesting power and stubborn struggles on a regular basis.  You're loud, I'm quiet.  You're a firecracker, I'm more of a Scentsy warmer.  You're demanding, I'm requesting.  You love dirt, I prefer dirtless.  You hate pants, I love pants.

But we are also very similar.  You love with your entire heart, for better or worse, and you have a huge heart in your tiny body.  You care when others are sad and hurting, and you take great care in protecting your treasures.  You love to snuggle, to read, to wrap yourself up in a cozy blanket, to sit and watch the clouds go by, to oogle over babies, and to just sit and be still (sometimes).  You have great passion.  We share that, for sure.

You're starting to really come into your own now, little big boy.  It's exciting to me to watch your interests unfold.  You play sometimes that you don't really "know" stuff, but the moment my head is turned, you blow me away and share your knowledge when you think I'm not paying attention.  You're incredibly intelligent, and it makes me proud.  I'm amazed with the way your mind works.  You've even begun to help me with problem solving of my own from time to time!  Just the other week, I was struggling to figure out how to do a project to make some paint stick on a shiny surface, and you simply said "why don't you paint the back."  It made perfect sense.  Thanks for your genius, Ollie.

This year has been filled with joy and reunification, but also repeated loss, and I know that makes it a little bit of a tarnished birthday for you.  You've been looking for one who isn't around again, and I know that puts some cracks in your little big heart.  But buddy, I promise you, even though one isn't there, you're completely surrounded and enveloped by the love of countless others who are, and I know for a fact that God is going to heal those cracks right up for you in time.

As much as I wish you weren't already turning five, and away from your baby and toddler years toward the big, bright world of elementary school, I am thrilled to see what the fifth year has in store for you.  You're going to blossom so much more, I can feel it in my heart.  It's going to be an overwhelming and wonderful world for us all, and I'm so thankful that I am such an integral part of yours.

Ollie Bear, thank you so much for being you.  Thank you for the struggles you provide that make me a better mommy, and thank you for the calm and love you give me all the same.  Thank you for loving me no matter what we go through, and for being excited to see me at the end of every day.  Thank you for never withholding a hug, even if you're mad.  Thank you for showing me love I didn't know I had.  Thank you, for being mine.

I pray that we both have patience, grace, and mercy as this next year continues. I know that there's going to be big bumps in our road, heated moments, loud voices, and struggles all over.  But, there's going to be thousands of hugs, millions of giggles, tons of kisses, and infinite love.  And that's just from me... it doesn't include your brother, your sister, your family, your friends... your village.

I love you, Ollie Bear.

Happy Birthday, when you wake.
Momma Bear.

I love them to tears.

Every so often, I'm laying in bed, and it overwhelms me like a flood...

Just how much I love my children.

These three precious littles, all born within 4.5 years, who have stolen my heart from the moment I knew they existed, cause my love to deepen more each passing day.

Some days, yes, I struggle. I am not always as grateful as I should be to be entrusted with their lives. I admit it. I have faults.

But, I am always appreciative that they are mine.

Some days are tough. They bicker or cause chaos. They exhaust me. 

But I wouldn't have it any other way.

I lay in the dark tonight overwhelmed with my love for them. I soaked my pillow with tears of joy as my heart aches to hear their laughter while also willing them to sleep soundly all night so I have some moments of silence.

The glimmer in their eyes as they proclaim their love for me is etched into my memory as I hear the faint echoes of their voices from the day we spent together.

For better or worse, God has entrusted me to be their mother. He has called me to lead them to Him. It's a joyfully bewildering realization as I daily question my strength, patience, and wisdom to do so.

I fall short sometimes, and I pray that they have the grace to forgive me, just as I pray for the grace to forgive them when they choose to wander from my guidance.   God always forgives me, I always forgive them, and I can only hope that the example is clear.

Sometimes, I want a few minutes of personal space. Other times, I wish I could cuddle all three of them forever.

What a beautiful burden it is to live in paradoxical days like this.

With this love so deep, so fierce, and so overwhelming, I pray they never believe for a minute I feel anything less than pure agape (love). 

In the morning, she will be three.

My sweet, beautiful girl,

Tonight, I laid you down, and you told me "tomorrow is my birthday, mama."  We said our bedtime prayer, which ends "God is great, God is great (you insist we say it twice), AMEN!" You asked me for a kiss, and then a hug, and then to cover you up, and then for a kiss, and then for a hug, as you do almost every night.  I closed the door behind me after hugging and kissing your brothers and turning out the light, and I breathed deeply as I realized that tonight is the last night of this year of your life.  It tugs at my heart.

This is the first year you've shown excitement about it, after celebrating a few other birthdays over the year, your memory being much more acute, and feeling traditions take place as you and your brothers grow older.  I'm excited for your excitement, though it's bittersweet to see you transition from baby-hood even further.

Darling girl, tonight, you're still two.  Tomorrow, you'll be three.

I sit here thinking about how, growing up, I had hoped that someday I would have a daughter.  In my mind, she would be a perfect, smiling ball of joy, with curly hair, and beautiful features.  She would be kind and smart and so much more.  After God blessed me with your two brothers, I felt it was my calling in life, loving them so deeply, to be a mom to three or four boys, and felt I would never have a daughter.  I don't know why I felt this way, and it was bittersweet, but I was so sure.   When I was told you were on the way, I didn't believe it until they placed you on my chest, and you were in fact my little girl.  Every day since then, it has made so much sense that you were brought into our lives.  I didn't ever imagine you would fulfill my dreams to precisely.  You belong with us, and God knew it.

My heart can hardly handle another birthday.  Yet another year has flown by too quickly, though, fortunately, the chaos in our lives has slowed down quite a bit, and this transition from two to three years of life with you is much clearer in my memory and I feel I was much more focused on our days together, enjoying them, savoring them, and cherishing them.  Not that I didn't in years past, but someday, you'll understand what I mean when I say they were busier and harder and much more muddled together.

Not this year.

This year, I watched you blossom from a young toddler into a much more mature toddler.  I've heard your vocabulary soar with countless words and phrases I have never heard a two-year-old use before.

I've seen your sweet little self turn a little more sassy, as I was warned may happen over time.  I miss the days when I don't have to remind you to use a "kind voice," but I cherish your personality all the same.

I've seen you grow so tall, your hair so long and curly, your eyes so wide and filled with deep wonder.  You've become very independent, but you still totter back and forth from being "big" and "little" where sometimes you want to do everything on your own, and other times you'll cry on the floor because you think you need to be carried.  I'm sorry when I don't give in to the tantrums.  It's not because I don't want to carry you, it's just that I don't want to fuel that behavior.  I do, in fact, love that sometimes you still want to be carried, and I love the feeling of your arms wrapped around me as I carry you.  Your brothers very rarely express that desire anymore, and I know it will be all too soon that you won't want me to, either.  You use the most adorable phrase when you want to be held, as you tell me "I want to hold you," even though you really mean it the other way around.

I love that you still want to cuddle, sit on my lap, and snuggle in bed sometimes.  I love that you still ask for a kiss and a hug when I drop you off at daycare or Sunday School in the mornings, and that you still want them both before bed at night.

I love when you call me "Mama" instead of "mommy," and I don't know why.

You've got an excellent memory, little lady.  You know almost everyone's name at daycare and Sunday School, and you can recall the middle names, favorite colors, and eye colors of the people who mean most to you, assuming you've inquired what these things are already.

You love music, and art, the outdoors, and your blanket. In the morning, your favorite cat is Benjamin, but when we get home at night, your favorite cat is Lucy.  They both love you, and they're so gentle with you.  When you're sick, they are by your side.  You recently developed a love for birds, and you proclaim it almost daily.  You also love tigers, and dogs, and fish, and bunnies, and lions, and horses, and ponies, and unicorns...  I'm sorry I couldn't give you a pet tiger for your birthday like you requested repeatedly.  Someday, you'll understand.

You've surprised me and gone from wearing diapers full time to barely wearing them at all, and you're so proud of your big girl status in this area.  While I'm grateful that the diaper budget has dwindled immensely and I don't have to change diapers all day every day, it's a reminder that you're not going to be little for much longer.

I love listening to you sing songs and narrate your play.  You've such a bright imagination.  I love that you will play with both of your brothers on a daily basis.  They love you dearly and they make sure you know it.  They are so good about building you up with positive affirmations and compliments.  I hope you'll always remember how beautiful they think you are, even if sometimes they're not being very nice to you.

Baby girl, soon you will lose the remaining baby features on your little body, and become a preschooler like your brothers.  I pray you'll take the days a little more slowly than you have been over the past year.  I know you want to go to kindergarten, too, but you've only a few short years to be a tiny little girl.  Don't rush through them, please.

I pray that as you grow older, you'll continue to be kind, gentle, intelligent, helpful, and hilarious.  I hope you'll want to spin in a dress for years to come, rock baby dolls gently, and give hugs freely.

You light up every room you walk into with a smile full of sunshine.

I pray that I will always be able to remember the deep chocolate color of your bright eyes, the spirals in the back of your hair as they dry after bath, your dark, long eyelashes, especially as you sleep against my shoulder sometimes, the warmth of your tiny little hand as it holds my finger while we walk, and the jubilant melody of your laugh, among everything else about you.

I pray you'll always let Jesus in your heart, and show other's his goodness.  I pray you'll be a blessing to each person you come across.

Miss Norah, you stole our hearts from the get-go.  Cherish it as we cherish you.

Thank you for all of the joy you bring to this world.

I love you, Sweet Pea.
-Mama

The silence was broken.

There was silence.

Seventeen-ish months of silence.  That day in July began it all, and a day in December ended it.

Seventeen months of absence.  Seventeen months of wondering. Seventeen months of trying to believe on my part.

Seventeen months where my oldest son believed, prayed, and hoped, even when I felt like giving up, and even had given up from time to time.

Before that day in December, when the silence was broken, I had begun to wonder if my children would see their dad again in this lifetime. My mind would wander and I would contemplate what I would do if I had heard through the grapevine that their dad had died.  Would I take them to his funeral? Would it be worth it? How would I help my daughter learn about her dad? What would I tell them about him later in life?

Yes, that's where I was at.

And every night, my six year-old would pray that God would protect his dad and help him to make good choices. He would hopefully ask that someday, they would see their dad again.

Honestly, I've been nervous to let this secret out of the bag, because I'm sure it could be a controversial topic, but I feel like it's time to swallow my nerves and just be honest.  I know God is telling me it shouldn't matter what others think, but my human nature gets me sometimes.

I've been keeping the secret for a couple reasons.  The first being that I wanted my children to have the privacy, and our family to have the freedom to see what unfolded without feeling the pressure of society or social media.  I didn't want or need the countless differing opinions on the matter, and needed to just pray it out, seek God's guidance, and go with what I believed he was leading me to do.

I was also a little scared. I didn't want to admit that I was being cautiously brave and believing life over death in this situation, and then have it all fall apart in a couple of weeks.

If people had come to me questioning how things were going, or flat out asked about the situation as it had been, I was honest, and I told them this secret, asking them to keep it to themselves.  I thank those of you who have upheld that promise and allowed my children the privacy and time to walk through these last few months.

And for others, I'm sorry if I have offended you by not telling you about this development.  But, I hope you can try to understand and respect my decision.

As I was saying, in December he broke the silence.  I had given up on trying to get ahold of him, and had tried to put on a positive face for my children when they continued to pray for a reunion and God to help their dad make better choices.  I had been through Cleansing Stream, and despite what I believed I could do, and what popular culture would tell me to do, I forgave the unforgivable.

It was perfect timing, in some ways, when he waited until December to break the silence.

I prayed long and hard afterward (I blogged about it weeks ago, without much detail), and believed that, although many would call me crazy, or stupid, or tell me he shouldn't be allowed to, that it was okay for him to see his children again.

I don't have to explain why I chose this, but I'm sure many will wonder.  Why on earth, after all that had happened, after all those months, did I let him see the kids?  I talked with him in depth for quite some time, met up with him without the kids, talked some more, and made my decision.

Because he is their dad.

People would say he has no right to see them after all that happened.  Legally, that's true. The children are 100% mine legally.

But he is their dad.

In my heart, I knew I couldn't look my children in the eye someday, after he had been gone so long, and admit to them that, had I chosen to not let them be reunited, I would have been the thing to keep them apart even longer.  I didn't need the blame for that.

It had already been so long. My daughter didn't really know him.  She would look at photos of him and not call him daddy, and the boys would get irritated.  She didn't remember him, really. But the boys, they still had that longing desire to have him in their lives.

And here he was.

Perfect? No.  Did it make everything that had happened okay?  Certainly not.  Did it erase the pain?  No.

Did it give the potential for greater healing?

Definitely.

After consulting with a few professionals on the matter, and praying of course, I knew that the only way to allow healing and restoration, was to give their dad a chance to try.  Yes, he could have been lying and just trying to fill a temporary void over the holidays.  But, I couldn't know that.  Just like I couldn't know if it was for real, and God was really leading him back to his kids unless I gave him the chance to be with the kids.  I couldn't give this a chance for success without giving it the chance to fail, but I couldn't live with myself knowing that there would be no chance at all.

I had to really, truly give it to God.

And I did.

It's still fresh and new.  There are still details we work out as we go along.  I am in control of the situation, the visits, everything.  It is all under my stipulations and schedule.  There are many details that I will not go into, but, after three months, I truly believe I've made the right choice, as vulnerable as it made me feel, as terrified as I was for my children.

I believe, as does my son, that God was answering months worth of prayers.

We are still praying for their dad as we maneuver this new road in our path.

It can and likely will get messy and confusing, and there will be countless questions from the children as time goes on. But, I have to believe that God will guide us through them as they come along.

Because, as our story has shown in so many ways, God has been here alongside us this entire time.  He's taken our pain and brought joy.  He's taken the mess and brought so much beauty.  He's taken the brokenness and restored our hearts.

He is so good.

And, I have to believe that He will continue to be good and perfect, no matter how these chapters pan out.

Because He's unchanging. He's sovereign. He's perfect.  He will never leave us, even if everything fell apart again.

I am sure there are many reading this who vehemently disagree with my choice. I've encountered that already.  I pray that there are those out there who understand, and that regardless of how you personally feel about it, you can trust that I am doing what I truly believe is best for my children.  I've always had their best interests in my mind, from the moment the world started crumbling.  They're my treasure, and I would do everything I could to protect them from pain, but I can't sacrifice their chance for healing and joy with their dad.

There may be heated and controversial opinions.  I know.  There are countless people out there who care so deeply for me and my children, and who are so angry over the pain we've been through.  I get it. I was there too.  We are so blessed that we are cared so deeply for that people have such strong emotional responses across the spectrum.  Regardless, I pray that anyone who hears my children speak about seeing their dad will be respectful of their excitement in the story, non-judgmental in their presence, ad just give them your love and support.

Thank you to everyone who has been there for us through any and all of the legs of this journey.  Thank you for the prayers you've prayed, the tears you've wiped away, the hugs you've given, the words of encouragement, consolation, humor, compassion, and everything else you've given us.

(There are MANY posts leading up to this one. If you're new to my blog, feel free to search through by topic, or start scrolling backward to 2014.)

Because, Spencer, you're almost not five...

Dearest Spencer,

This morning, you proclaimed to me, "Mom, I'm almost not five!" We have been talking about your upcoming birthday for quite a few days now, and the excitement of it's impending arrival is definitely stirring excitement in your little-huge heart.  

It's true, buddy, you're almost not five.  In fact, within a few short hours, the clock will strike midnight, and it will be the first of November, and you will turn six.  Now granted, you weren't born until the evening, so you won't officially be six til after 7:30pm, but I will keep that secret to myself for now and enjoy a few more hours knowing that you're "still five."  My momma heart isn't ready for a six-year-old just yet.

Spenk-a-Doodle, you are growing way too quickly.  Within the past few months especially, you've transformed so much from a slightly anxious preschooler, to a confident kindergartner.  You've shown me that you are now incredibly brave, gentle, strong, intelligent, and surprising.  You're so full of wonder and intrigue.  It may drive me to the brink of wanting to put in ear plugs and pretend I can't hear the seven bazillionth question you've asked on the way to school (which, by the way, is about a 7 minute drive, sir) some days, but truly, I appreciate your intense desire to learn.  "I like to know stuff," you told me recently when I asked why you fire off questions so quickly.  It's true, you do.

Spencer, I am incredibly impressed with your compassionate heart, and your desire to know Jesus, God, and the Holy Spirit.  You talk of all three of them frequently, and questions about them and the Bible are among the never-ending questions you ask.    Your questions are so deep sometimes that I am unsure how to answer, and while I feel timid attempting, I am so impressed and so proud of you for where you are in your faith. You may be pint-sized in the eyes of some, but you are growing ginormous faith.  I pray that others will see this and be inspired by you, especially your siblings.

You love nature and athletics, art and music.  I am continually impressed by your many skills.  Some of your recently acquired ones are tree climbing, reading some words, writing and painting words, hockey, skee ball, climbing walls, and identification of many musical instruments.  

Your brother and sister adore you and look up to you very much.  I hope that you know this, and remember this, even when they're pestering you, in your personal space, and driving you crazy.  They miss seeing you around as much as they did, now that you are in school, and sometimes they don't know how to really handle those feelings.  But, they love you. They talk about you when you're not around, and miss you, asking where you are and when we will get you back.  

Spencer, I want to thank you for all that you've taught me in our almost not five years together.  It's crazy to think that we've been on this team together that long.  Six years sounds like such a long time, even though in the grand scheme of things, it's minuscule. You've taught me so much about patience, unconditional love, parenting, faith, wonder, and whimsy.  You make me laugh until I cry sometimes (although the interrupting cow knock-knock joke has really worn out it's novelty, no offense).  Sometimes, I just look at you and cry tears of overwhelming joy and gratitude.

You're the one who made me mommy first.  We've had so many firsts together in these past five years, and I know we have countless more ahead of us.   I'm so grateful that they will be with you, my brave, caring, funny, ornery, blue-eyed miracle.  

Thank your for still being willing to cuddle, to hug me, to kiss me, even in public and in front of your friends, and for telling me that you love me countless times a day.  Thank you for inviting me to play, telling me your stories and dreams, and challenging me (even when I can't stand it sometimes).

I'm sorry there are days your heart still hurts and aches incredibly as you miss your dad.  I know you're still looking for him, and I know that you're still sad he's missing out on your growing up, and things like your birthday.  I love that you still pray for him.  I'm sorry he's missing your birthday again this year.  But, I am so thankful that there are so many others out there who love you, who tell you how much they love you, and show you how much they love you.  From family, to friends, to Sunday School teachers and neighbors- you are one adored little boy.  It doesn't make it better, but I pray it fills your heart to overflowing.

I've said it before and I will say it again- You're the best thing that ever happened to me (and yes, I say it to your siblings too). 

 Happy Birthday, Spencer Jacob.  I pray immeasurable joy, love, and blessings upon you.  

I love you.

MOM