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

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.

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.

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.

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

A Healed Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is a big deal to my heart, and has been for a long time.  It's a family, love, and gratitude focused holiday that I've always adored.

Thanksgiving this year was a bigger deal than I realized.

A year ago at Thanksgiving, I was still married to a man who had gone MIA.  I was brokenhearted, on the verge of feeling defeat, feeling a bit like a failure, feeling lonely, feeling anxious, and feeling a bit out of place in my own world.

The children and I were invited to Thanksgiving dinner with our friends and some of their family.  I accepted, knowing that my friend knew my heart and emotional state quite well, knowing I would feel safe, and that my children would have fun.  Still, I was nervous, not knowing how the others at dinner would approach the fact that he was not with us this time, as he had been months before when we were over for Easter.  I was cautiously optimistic that no one would ask a single question or even mention his absence in our lives.  The day, as far as I remember, was wonderful, filled with joy and laughter, friends and great food.

But I missed him.  I felt like our family was incomplete in some way.  I came home that evening, without my kids, I believe, and cried as I realized I went the day without him and made it through.  I longed for the vision of life that I had thought we were creating.

I spent a little bit of time over the past few weeks in prayer, trying to prepare myself emotionally and mentally for what this year might be like, whether the children and I were home alone celebrating in solitary fashion, or if we were fortunate enough to be surrounded by people we cherish somewhere.  I knew in my heart I would be emotionally and mentally okay if we were going to be celebrating alone, although I hoped we wouldn't be.  It wouldn't have been devastating though, like I may have felt it would have last year.

This year, he's still missing, and I am divorced.  This year, we were invited to the same family home for Thanksgiving dinner.  I've not been feeling well, so I was a bit quiet this year amidst all the hustle and bustle, but I felt at home anyway.  My friend still knows me well, and I know her family accepts me and my children for who we are, as we are, how we are, even without him.

When the children and I arrived home tonight, they were all fast asleep in the van, and I sat there for a bit, realizing that it was my first Thanksgiving as a divorced, single mother.

I didn't cry.  I didn't even emotionally flinch.

I then realized that I didn't miss him at all today.

This year, he was mentioned.  We discussed how the son who used to look so much like him looks less like him this year, and how my other son looks much more like him now.  I talked about how some of their mannerisms are very much like their dad.  I mused over how my daughter doesn't have close attachments to men, except my friend's husband, my dad, my brother-in-law, and she's somewhat close to a co-worker and her uncles.  But she's never felt a relationship with a dad that she would remember, and it affects her, somewhat, I think.

I was even asked by one of the family members if I would ever consider remarriage or having children in the future if "the right guy" came along.  I didn't freak out or withdraw really, although I was completely taken aback, I didn't act like it.

I didn't cry.

I didn't miss him.  Not like I used to.  I mostly miss him on behalf of my kids, and I feel sorry for him missing out on them.

But I didn't hinder me.

It didn't overwhelm me.

It didn't cause me anxiousness or nervousness.  I didn't even think about him before going.  I didn't sit and wonder if anyone would ask about him or mention him or worry about how I would react if it happened.

That's a lot of healed wounds.

Thank you, Jesus.

If it weren't for the Cleansing Stream retreat less than a month ago, I am sure I would be in a different emotional state tonight.

But I'm okay.

The kids and I are okay.

I don't long for him to love us.  I don't feel like we are missing out on his love.  I know we are, realistically, but I don't feel that soul-crushing overwhelming longing that was there a year ago.

Because we don't need his love.  It would be nice, but it's not a necessity.

We have God's love, first and foremost, and because of His love, we are loved deeply by many others.  It's obvious to me that we are loved more deeply by others in our lives than we could be by him at this point anyway.  My children are lacking their dad, but they're not lacking their Father's love; they're not lacking love at all.  Today, they were surrounded by love, like they are every day.

Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, to me, are especially important emotional holidays.  They flood my heart with appreciation for God, family, friends, love, memories, laughter, and companionship.

For the last 15 years, up until this year, a huge portion of all of those holidays were invested in him- even the last two, when we was sort of here and then not here at all.

This year, that chain is broken.

This year, I see so much more clearly the love that we are showered with.  I saw it last year through clouded lenses.  This year, it's more real.

I can see so much more clearly this year that I am not alone.  I wondered a few days ago, while the enemy was after my mind, that I would be alone eternally, spending holidays without adult cameraderie, huddled up with my children, forgotten by the world, because I was just a pity case or that people were sick of the burden I am, wishing for interaction aside from only children (I know that sounds horrible, and I love my children dearly, so please don't assume I hate spending time with them).

But that's just crazy. I have family, and friends that are family, and friends beyond that who love us so much.

I am not alone.  We are not alone.  And God wouldn't allow us to go through this life alone anyway.  I get reminded of that on the regular.  Sometimes, I just get in my own way of seeing it.

Thank you to the many friends and family who have sent me messages of love, empowerment, gratitude, prayer, and blessings.  Your love is deeply felt and appreciated more than I find myself able to express at this time.

Go, Team!

I haven't really let on, but the past week has been a struggle for me emotionally. Ever since church, despite my continued efforts at giving myself pep talks, praying, listening to worship music, and talking to a friend, I've been feeling weighed down. I've been feeling kind of oppressed.  I've been feeling a bit defeated.

The parenting struggles have been many, the exhaustion has been exceeding, and the reminders of the life we had for a while are many.  There have been multiple avenues bringing me back, and not as many leading me forward this week.  I know that happens from time to time for everyone, so I haven't been trying to dwell on it much.

But a dear friend pointed out midweek that she could tell, and we talked about it.

Today, we prayed about it together.  She lead me to break off the spirit of defeat that has been weighing me down.  I feel silly admitting the spirit of defeat, because obviously, from outside looking in, I haven't been defeated.

As we prayed and commanded it to go, she reminded me to ask God to fill me up with something to replace the defeat, to speak to me or show me something, and fill me with his love and peace.

Almost as soon as we finished praying, I felt my shoulders rise and my mind felt clearer.

Then, I heard "I know you feel defeated, but I AM undefeated. I AM un-defeat-able."

I sat there, quiet, thinking about it, and feeling myself regain the consciousness that I had been lacking for most of the week, just muddling through each day.

I have never been really into sports.  I collected basketball cards as a child for no reason I can discern as an adult.  I've watched them occasionally, but I've never been a die-hard fan of any sort of sports team.

But here I was, sitting there, hearing God speak to me in sports analogies.  Perhaps it's because my kids like to play ball.  Who knows.

It's been almost 51 weeks exactly since the children and I last saw their dad, or since they had any contact with him whatsoever (despite our efforts to be in contact with him over the weeks).

I felt Him telling me, "You've played these last 51 innings, batting hard.  You've been struggling through them on one team, with half of your team having forfeited already. You've pressed on. You've played hard.  Overtime is done."

I realized that when my former husband and I were raising kids, we went to church, but we didn't really do much more than that in regard to God in our family.  We were our team, and for most of that time, I really was the only one fully invested in outcome.

"You're on my team."  I had goosebumps, chills, and tears.

Of course I am, I thought.  But I felt it again. "You're on MY team."

"I'm the coach.  I'm the quarterback.  I'm the MVP.  I AM. And my team is bigger than yours.  You aren't going at it alone on my team."

Well then.

He's right.  I am on His team. I have been all along. He's been on my side, and I have been on his.  But I haven't fully invested in my draft, because I've been still longing for my old team.  That team that failed me.  And why should I want to play alone, investing in that team, when I have the undefeated champion right alongside me.  He's got it all under control after all.  He defeated death.  

I realized also that, as I have been reminded numerous times by my friend, that we aren't supposed to live life alone.  We don't live life alone.  He gives us people to support us, to play on our team with Him, and to help through each tricky inning.  I know this.  I've known it.

But, apparently, I didn't see it as clearly as I should have, and God had to show me through sports.  Go figure.  I'm an art person.  I married a sports person.  My oldest son is definitely a sports person.

Go, God!  Go, Team!

She's still with me.

June 19, 1939.  A beautiful baby girl was brought into this world.  Her name was Leora Mae.  Through the years, she grew into a loving child, a wonderful mother of six children, a wife, a single mother, a grandmother, and a great grandmother.  She was a cake artist, a baker, a cook, a crafter, a singer, a dancer, a friend, a mentor, a chatter, a joker... and so much more.  She left this world on February 1, 2007.  It's been an emptier place since.

It's hard to believe that it's been 9 years since I last heard my grandmother's voice.  Had she not taken her place in heaven already, she would be 77 years old this weekend.

I miss her so.

But, lately, I see more and more that she's never truly left me.

I don't say this in a ghost-haunting or angel-on-earth sort of way.  I say this as a reflection of myself and of my own daughter.

My grandmother is someone I have always cherish and respected.  I look up to her, even still, knowing that she went through many struggles in her own life, and came out of them still smiling, still believing in God, still professing His love and her faith, and still believing in the good in people and the good in the world.

She had a husband she loved, but due to complex reasons, it didn't last forever... much like my marriage.  The reasons for our divorces were greatly different, but the result was similar.  We became single mothers, never in our lives imagining that would be the case.  She raised her six children on her own, and I wonder often how on earth she did that, when I struggle with only three young ones to provide for.

She was one of the biggest influences on my faith.  I loved growing up going to church with her on Sundays.  She would bake goodies for the fellowship hall, and we would attend. I sat next to her, instead of going to Sunday School, and gladly took sermon notes.  I sang my heart out to the hymns and professed my beliefs via the Apostles' Creed, and would pray the Lord's Prayer with heartfelt meaning, not just reciting it as many.  I loved our time together.  I attribute my desire to continue to go to church largely to my Grandma as my mentor and role model in my early years.

Instead of turning away from God when life got hard and messy, she turned to Him.

Now, I can't say that my Grandma was never weary or burdened, or felt worn down raising her children, because obviously, I wasn't around to see it.    But I believe she relied heavily on grace and mercy and all of the promises God makes to us to sustain her each day, through each frustration that motherhood inevitably brings.   I strive to live in that fashion.  Though, I wish she was around to help remind me on the toughest of days, I know that I have other supports who will and often do, not to replace my Grandma, but to walk alongside me as she would if she still could,.

I developed my love for baking and crafts because of my grandmother, largely, as well.  I would often come over to her house and help her bake or cook, or we would paint things, create knick-knacks, doo-dads, earrings, and Christmas decorations.  We colored, and drew, and played card games while listening to the radio, singing along.  She loved country music, but also hymns and Christian songs.  I can still see her foot tapping under the table while her black radio sat beside the window and we played Yahtzee or some other game.  We would both sing along.  I hear songs that remind me of her frequently, and I still sing along and remember her vividly.

I miss her so, Some days more than others, but always, I miss her.  I wonder if she would be proud of the choices I've made, what she would stay when I start crying with struggles, what advice she would give to me in the trenches of single-motherhood, and how much she would love going to church with me now.  I long for her to have met my children. I think she would be amazed and overjoyed that they love to pray, that they sing "Jesus Loves Me," and that they're learning other hymns that I can't help but sing sometimes.  I think she would be so excited to hear my oldest tell his siblings about the Garden of Eden or about Noah's Ark or about the Resurrection of Jesus.

I believe she would tell me I'm doing a good job out here.

As I said, though, she's never fully left.  You see, I feel her inside me, somehow.  Not in a physical way, but in a way that's influenced my spirit, my soul, my mind, and my heart.  I think that she helped me develop so much during my younger years that parts of her personality are shining outwardly through me.  I believe I'm very much like her in ways I never saw before.  I suppose trials will bring character you never expected, and that is what happened here.

I also see her in my daughter.  Norah was named after my grandmother's blood line, the name coming from her own mother's middle name, Nora.  I've loved it forever and to be able to pass it on to my own daughter was such a blessing.    But it's more than a name.

Somehow, I see my grandmother in my daughter's eyes.  Now, my daughter has brown eyes, as does her dad, but when I look at her, I don't see his eyes.  I see Leora's eyes.  I don't know how to pinpoint it exactly, but they seem so familiar, like I'm looking at my grandmother all those years ago.  My daughter looks like me, she looks like my mom, and she looks like my grandmother.  Some of her stances, her gestures, her poses, her remarks, her expressions... they all remind me of my grandmother though.   As much as I  miss my grandmother, I love that about my daughter. 

I wish I could tell my grandma happy birthday this year, to her face, in a card, over the phone... I've left her notes on her grave in years past, done commemorative photos, poetry, and blog posts.  I miss her the most on her birthday.  It's always a hard day, and I often find myself lying in bed, crying over my loss, wishing she was around, and stunned that I've made it so long without her.  I remember the night she died I sobbed hysterically to my former husband "I don't know how I'll live all these years without her with me!"

Somehow I have.

I suppose, it's because she still exists, within me.

Testimonial Stones

These are my memorial stones.

I'm building a memorial.  It's not the type of memorial you might imagine when you think of someone making that statement. I won't be using flowers, gold, bricks and mortar.  I'll be using stones, a set of small stones. They'll be placed in a jar or a vase, and displayed on a shelf in my room when I'm all finished.

Yesterday, in church, the message was given surrounding the book of Joshua, chapter 4, in which God parted the river and they were all able to cross.  In the midst of this miraculous chaos, God commanded them to pick up stones and to build with them.  They were commanded to do so, so that when they were seen, their children and others would ask them what the stones were for, and they were to recount the miracle that was bestowed upon them and testify to the greatness of God.

In fact, we were given the ability to take home our own stones from church.

As I was sitting there paying attention, I decided I wasn't just going to take home a bag of random rocks.  I was going to go home and select rocks myself.  Part of this was because I like the idea of being able to control the color pallet, of course.  But, beyond that, I decided I would likely need more than 12, and I wanted them to be smooth, so eventually, I could write on them.

I took it upon myself to start working on a list of the bits of my testimony.  Our pastor gave many ideas, and I included them all on my list because in one way or another, they all fit.  Included in this list are: Salvation, Healing, Strength, Overcoming Power, Revelation, Faithfulness, Miracles, Provision, Protection, Favor, and Family.

That's a pretty good list to start, I would say.

I will admit, I haven't been having an easy time coming up with words to add to the list that fit my particular testimony and aren't already somehow included in those words, but I am trying.  I want my memorial to be as personal as possible.    There are so many elements that I want to be able to include.

And why be so specific? Why label them?  Well, I want it to be personal, as I said, but I also want the ability to be able to take them out when I'm in a funk or on a dark road, feel like God isn't near, feel the enemy attacking, or just need my memory jogged when I am feeling down.  I want to be able to touch the stones, see the words, and really have a concrete vision of all that God has done for me.  I want to be able to add to it as I see fit.  I would love to see that memorial grow.  I will enjoy my children asking what the rocks are for someday and explaining all the ways that God has been so good to me.

But what about you?  

I challenge you to build your memorial. Maybe you'll use rocks.  Maybe you'll use words on slips of paper and tape them to your mirror.  Maybe you'll write them in your Bible. Maybe you'll comment here and share.  Maybe you'll tell a friend. Maybe you'll just pray your thankfulness privately.

Regardless of how you build your memorial, I really urge you to sit and think about your testimony and all of the amazing things God has done for you.  He has done amazing things for EVERYONE.  Salvation is a big one.  When you've accepted Christ, your testimony is solidified, as you are wiped clean and you are a part of Him. That's HUGE.  Maybe you've overcome an addiction. Maybe you've conquered a disease. Maybe you've been given children.  Maybe you have the most wonderful siblings or friends in the world.  Maybe you've simply been blessed with day after brand new day to take deep breaths, find a reason to smile, and face the world.   No matter what, there are stones to your memorial, and there are layers to your testimony.

My testimony is written all over my blog, if you feel like diving deep into my words.  

But my rocks... well, some of them will say-

Salvation

Spencer

Collin

Norah

Family

Friends

Healing

Deliverance

Strength

Grace

Mercy

Overcoming Power

Revelation

Hope

Faithfulness

Miracles

Provision

Protection

Favor

Purpose

What about you?