Fourteen again

 Oh, my Ollie Boy,

Tonight is the last night of the year in which you were thirteen.  As is always the case, it doesn't seem possible, but I've learned to trust that it is and to try to savor more moments as they pass, like they're a currency in savings I need to hold onto forever.

This past year has been a year of incredible growth for you, and not only physically, now that you are almost the exact same height as me.  I laugh to myself thinking back to tiny little Collin, who was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, and he answered "tall."  You're almost there now, with a lower voice and darker hair, and while you felt like it took forever, it seemed to happen in a flash in my momma eyes. 

You've grown emotionally, mentally, and spiritually as well.  While getting older does present challenges, especially with emotional regulation, I have been impressed with your ability to handle it, most of the time.   Your "race-car thoughts" and instant reactions have slowed, and your ability to process a moment has increased.  You recover from hard moments so much easier, and are much wiser in your age.  I have loved watching you and your brother become great friends, and you and your sister strengthen your bond as well.  It has been wonderful to watch you all enjoy things together.  

I am so grateful, though, that even with all of this growth, you're still attached to me.  I love that you want to be around me, are not afraid to hug me in public, say "I love you," and just generally spend time together even if the world is watching.  You have sown your roots into family traditions, expeditions, and memories, and to see you grounded in love for your family (both nuclear and extended) leads me to believe that you will always feel that we are your home and your safe space, which is what I've wanted for you all along. 

I know sometimes you still worry about not fitting in or that you won't find your space and your people in this world, but I truly believe that you will, and that it's happening now.  In many years past, changes and upset have thrown you off, but now, you're able to rely on consistency and confidence in ways you had not before.  It's beautiful to watch my prayers be answered in that way.

Your sense of humor and sense of exploration still continue to amaze me.  You're wise and well-spoken, and you've become more in-tune with the world around you.  I love that things that fascinated you when small continue to as you continue to grow, and that the intellectual and adventurous appeal of paleontology, archaeology, and other sciences still have a hold of your heart and mind.  One of my favorite memories of your thirteenth year was visiting the archaeological dig with you, and seeing how incredibly focused and excited you were walking around, observing, interacting, and asking questions.  Not many people I know look at a pile of dirt and debris and are excited by it in the way that you are, and it's one of the unique and treasured things about you that I hold dear.

Over the past year, you've become more in-tune with your own mind and personality.  I've watched you learn to advocate for yourself in ways you haven't before, and put words to things that cause you to struggle.  You have been able to step back from the heat of a moment to process situations before reacting more than you ever have.  You truly have grown so much.

It's been a delight to watch you grow into your role as an older cousin, taking responsibility and care for your younger ones, being firm in redirection sometimes but also full of joyful play.  

We joke lately about you being a cat whisperer, and it's a joy to watch cats from various places seek you out, crawl up into your arms, and purr, especially if they're not usually a cuddly feline.  They can sense the gentleness in your soul. 

Of course, there's always room for growth in some of the weaker spots, like working hard to control which of the thoughts in your brain sneak through your lips, but even that has been steadily improving with your maturity. Thank you for always taking redirection knowing that it's stemming from a place of love.

I know that you aren't excited about your last year of middle school, but I pray that you embrace it and continue to find your footing in the space, hold onto friendships you've made, and really connect with your peers.  I know you are excited for archaeology club in high school, and I hope that continues to be your goal for your middle school graduation.  I pray that you are a good role model and mentor for the younger kids in school now that you are in the oldest class.  I pray that you treat people with respect and kindness, regardless of how connected you to feel to them.  I love seeing the smile on your teachers faces when we walk the halls together, and the care that they have for you, reaching out to me periodically with anecdotes or questions.  People truly do invest in you, buddy.

Collin, I pray that you never lose your sense of adventure and exploration.  I pray that your bravery continues to develop.  I pray that you always feel loved and appreciated, seen and heard, and never that you do not belong.  You do.  You were made and placed perfectly into this family and our entire support system.  You are treasured more than you realize. 

Thank you for loving deeply, fiercely, steadily, and wholly.  Thank you for never hesitating to give a hug.  Thank you for saying I love you regularly.  Thank you for bringing a new perspective into many situations. Thank you for always standing up for those you love, no matter what.  Thank you for being a fierce protector.  Thank you for bringing joy into my world.  

You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I'm so glad you're mine.

-Mommmmmmm

Washed by the Water

Growing up, I was raised believing in God, and attended Lutheran churches for my entire childhood, as well as my first couple of years in college.  I was baptized in the Lutheran church shortly after I was one year old.  I went to a Lutheran elementary school for my first two years of education, and sometime after my family and I moved into town in the spring of 1991, I began going to a Lutheran church just down the block from my house. 

I loved going to church, largely because I was going with my grandma, who loved going to church.  The services were very traditional, and I learned them quickly, able to recite the various parts alongside the congregation before too long, without needing to use the hymnal for reference much of the time.  I attended confirmation classes in that same church, was confirmed, choosing Proverbs 3:5 as my life verse, and took communion for the first time in that church.  I can still picture the red carpet, warm wooden pews, and countless stained glass windows that surrounded us.  My senior year of high school, we had our baccalaureate service in my church.  I helped teach Sunday school and vacation Bible school there. I felt so at home.  

Even now, as an adult, when I attend a Lutheran church, I can pull the traditions out from my memory and integrate myself seamlessly amongst those who regularly attend.

Halfway through college, I discovered new churches, and began to attend them.  At first, they seemed a little “out there,” with contemporary worship songs instead of traditional hymns, following different layouts for the service.  Communion was more open to everyone, and often less traditional in how it was taken.  There was much less repeating creeds, call and responses, and the sermons were more vivid to me.  I stopped taking sermon notes, as I had learned growing up, and started to really just listen and remember the messages.  I started laughing in church.  I started to love the music, raise my hands, and sway along with the beat.  

I found myself focused much less on what was coming next and much more on the experience as a whole.  I grew up knowing God loved me, Jesus loved me, and Holy Spirit loved me.  I grew up afraid of messing up and going to hell.  I grew up reciting memorized prayers.

My former husband and I were married in a contemporary church, with contemporary services, although our wedding ceremony was still traditional in most ways.  After a few years, we moved to South Dakota, and started attending new churches all over again.  We found one we fell in love with, the pastor, the programming, the children’s ministry, the worship, the Bible studies, the community.  For the first time since my childhood in my hometown ELCA church, I felt this church was home. 

By this time, I began feeling differently about tradition and was working on letting go of the “rules” I felt religion called to me, and more on trying to just feel, hear, or sense what God was calling. At first, when our oldest son was born, I was unsure of dedicating him instead of baptizing him in infancy like I grew up knowing we were supposed to do, but after prayerful consideration, I really believed that’s what was right for our family.  Along with our dearest married friends who had also recently had a baby boy, we dedicated our sons in that new home church. 

After a couple of years, my marriage started on it’s beginning toward the end, and we sadly went to church less and less.  Our second two children never were dedicated, and for years after my former husband was gone, I felt such guilt about this. I knew in my heart it wasn’t a “necessity” and if they grew up believing and trying to know God, whether or not they were dedicated as babies was not going to keep them from a life of salvation.  The enemy tried hard to dissuade me of that for many, many months.

By June of 2015, my marriage was basically over and my children and my world was crashing down around us.  We no longer attended that church, were living in transitional housing as I worked a new job after being a stay-at-home-mom, with my former husband more a figment of our imagination than a person that was actually around.  I began attending a Lutheran church that was close to where we were living at the time, because I could walk there.   I attended only a few times, and felt so out of place.  

At my new job, however, I was placed in a room at a church daycare, with mobile infants and a couple other staff, one of which became my confidante, one of my best friends, and a beacon of hope and shining light of Jesus love.  Eventually, she convinced me to come to a Sunday service at the church where our daycare located. I confided in her that I was anxious about it, not sure I would fit in, worried what it would look like to be a single mom with three little children, and hated the idea of sitting alone.  She invited me to sit beside her and her family, right there in the second row.  I put on my brave, and I attended the church.

I was completely surprised by how welcome I felt.  The children’s pastor welcomed me and my children with open arms and a heart full of joy.  Over the years, she has become another one of my closest friends, even though she has moved on from that pastoral role.  The congregation welcomed us as well.  There were so many kind, caring people who began to love on me and my littles, and we never stopped going.  That church is still our home.

Soon after we attended, there was a baptism service.  At this church, as well as the one before, children could be dedicated, but you choose when and if you want to be baptized.  I recall, so clearly, watching, cheering, and worshipping as baptisms happened up in front, and in an instant, I had this thought.. “What if some day all three of my children were baptized, and I was re-baptized, and we did it together?”

I could almost envision it in my mind.

That thought never left.  Over the years, we witnessed many baptisms.  The children would often watch, and they would cheer alongside us all as people re-surrendered, re-professed, and publicly invited us all to be a part of the joy as they celebrated their re-birth by water baptism.  Each time, I would think, “what if…”

Occasionally, throughout the years, I would ask my children if they were interested in or ready to be baptized.  Each time, they would say no, for various reasons. I would not push it, because I knew in my heart it would happen when they were ready for it to happen.

Fast forward to a couple of months ago this year, 2023.   My daughter, the youngest child, watched baptisms happening at church and told me she might be ready next time it happened, but she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to do it on her own.  Immediately, I went back to my vision, though I did not tell her that.  I simply said that perhaps, by the time they happened next, someone else in our family would want to be baptized too. I prayed it would happen, and we let the idea rest quietly.

My oldest son woke up one morning, a month or two later, and after I sang the “good morning, I love you” little song I sing each day, he asked me, before any other words came out of his mouth, “Mom, when is baptism happening again?”  I was so shocked that I was not sure I heard him correctly, and asked him o repeat the question.  It was the same thing.  I asked why, and he said, “I think Jesus wants me to be baptized.”  I found out later that it was because he had a dream he was with Jesus, and Jesus lead him to be baptized in it.  

That same day I went and found the children’s pastor and we figured out when the next baptism Sunday would be. I shared the news with my son, and he did not say much more about it.  During the end of the school year, he began attending a youth group at my friends’ church instead of our own, and started becoming more invested and open in his faith.  One day, the second week, he asked me for his own adult Bible.  He attended a youth-group summer camp with that youth group, and about a month later, a youth-group retreat with our own.  The retreat was the week before baptisms were to be happening at our church, and I had not heard much about it again, and was hesitant to ask and make him feel coerced, but I found out he told the children’s pastor at our home church that he was still going to be baptized.  I was elated for him.

The week prior to the youth-retreat that lead into baptism Sunday, I began asking my second son, the middle child, about the possibility that he might want to be baptized, too.  He was largely not committed to an answer, and would sway back and forth between a yes and a no depending on the breeze or his mood.  He told me he would think about it, seriously, and asked multiple times about the temperature of the water.  Once he heard from the children’s pastor that the water was warm, he told me he was ready to be baptized.

Just like that, it seemed, after 8 years of holding onto this vision, all three of my children were planning to be baptized on the same Sunday.

I was ready, too.

I know that to many, it may seem strange that I would choose to be baptized again as an adult, considering the fact that I was baptized as a young toddler back in my first home church.  Even I was battling that thought for a moment or two.  

I wanted to lead by example, on one hand, and on another, I wanted to stand alongside my children and proclaim to everyone that Jesus is MY Lord, Savior, Father, Friend, and Brother.  I wanted to make a public declaration that I believe in His life, and how he gave His for my own, so that I would not go to Hell because of my birth into a fallen world, like I was afraid of growing up.  He makes us new and washes away our sins, and it was time to declare all of those things for myself, of my own choosing.

On Sunday, July 30, 2023, in the middle of worship, all dressed in t-shirts that read “You are a treasure,” my children and I were water baptized in our home church, surrounded by our church family that has prayed for, over, and with us, for most of my children’s lives.  They have supported us in so many known and unknown ways, and loved us during our worst times.  

It was a perfect morning.

I entered the water first, guiding my daughter to join me.  She declared that she loved Jesus, and because of her faith, I was able to baptize her in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  The joy in her face as she rose out of the water was indescribable and she giggled quietly as I hugged her so tight.

My middle son was next, as he had asked me to baptize him too.  I was unsure what reason he would give for deciding to be baptized, because the entire week leading up to it, he was not really able to form an answer if I asked.   When given the opportunity to speak, however, he told, with beautiful language, how he knows Jesus loves him for who he is and he is under God’s wing (in his own words, which are recorded on the church Livestream for revisiting). I baptized him the same, and he rose with one of the largest, most genuine grins I had seen on his face in years, and we embraced before he left the water.

Next, our Lead Pastor joined me, and after we joked about me baptizing him, he asked me why I was choosing baptism that day.  I told a brief account of my vision 8 years ago and how every one of my children had decided, individually, to be baptized, just like the idea I had, and this was fulfilling that vision.   Pastor Brent, the first lead pastor I have met who really sees me for me, loves me for who I am, me, Nicole, as a person, was who I knew I wanted to take this step with me.  Our pastor, who is a brother to us as well, is legally blind, but really, truly, has been the first lead pastor to see me as a sister in Christ.  

 The actual submersion of the baptism felt like it was happening in slow motion. I felt the water as it rushed from my torso up over my head, warm, light, comforting, and freeing, and as I rose, it all fell away with utter weightlessness and I was immediately filled with joy.  I immediately knew that this was a prophecy that he had spoken to me, over the life of my family, being fulfilled, and I had not thought of it that way prior to that moment.  I felt strong, confident, and peaceful, all at the same time.  And as I peered out into the congregation, I saw, even without my glasses, the smiling, cheering faces, of so many who had been there while awaiting the prophecy to be fulfilled. I turned to Brent and hugged him so tight, and then made a way for my oldest son.

My son has become such a brave young man over the years.  Once, he was so anxious about things that he would hide in the back and sometimes cry.  He did not want people watching him.  But this day, he walked with pure confidence and determination, and entered the water ready. I could sense it.   He spoke of how God came to him in a dream, calling him to be baptized.  He too had Pastor Brent baptize him.  He is blessed to have an amazing, honest connection with our children’s pastor too, who has watched him grow up for many years now, and had deliberated between both of those amazing male role models to baptize him.  When he rose from the water, I saw the most brilliant grin on his face, and he came, arms wide open, to embrace me.   As we did, Brent cheered him on from behind, with the church family joining in their seats.  The hug was electric.  It was a perfect moment.

It was a perfect family baptism.  

I have watched and re-watched the baptism and looked at the photos I have multiple times over the last week.  I can play the experience back in my mind so effortlessly. I pray I never lose that ability.  I have cried beautiful tears over it all, and been amazed by how steady God has been through our lives as we all aligned to that day. He is so, so good.

(Thank you to my friend Jolynn of Beloveds Design Photography for capturing baptism photos, including the one I share publicly here.)

Disclaimer: Nothing I have expressed here is meant to condemn or ridicule the Lutheran Church (or any other traditional ones). For me, personally, the church I was raised in was becoming more tradition and repetition and feeding my soul less, and I needed a change. Contemporary church is where I found myself at home again. I still have love and fondness for my roots!)

Relating to the Christmas Story

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

So, naturally (haha), I said yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——-

Merry Christmas, everyone!

That Christmas changed me.

One year ago, on Christmas Eve, I was asked to open up the Christmas Eve service at my church.  I surprised myself by saying yes without thinking about it, and even more so by following through and speaking in front of a large crowd of my church family.

Just a few days ago, I saw a post online that reminded me of that night and what I tried to express verbally about how my approach toward the meaning of Christmas has changed over the years.  Since I read the online post, I have been thinking about it again, as I do every year, but maybe just a little bit more this year than in the past few years. This year has definitely given more time for thinking about things, hasn’t it?  I have been revisiting my own experience with the meaning of Christmas so frequently since then, feeling the compelling need to write it out, that I do not fully recall the details of what I read that prompted this self-reflection in the first place. 

It has been an exceptionally long week, it feels like, and I am past the brink of exhaustion, but now that my children are sound asleep and I am sitting in quiet stillness beside the lights of our Christmas tree with remnants of gift opening still scattered a few places throughout the living room, I feel compelled to try to express the thoughts of my tired mind through my fingertips before I can drift off to sleep.  My spirit feels awakened and like there is so much to say, I just hope that it flows out in somewhat coherent formation.

Christmas is such a profound time of year.  In the Christian faith, the meaning of Christmas centers around the arrival of God here on earth, as a tiny human baby, ready to live a life for us, to die for us, so we can live forever.  It’s about true love.  It’s about blessing.  It’s about giving.  It’s about family.  It’s about all of these monumental, incredible, overwhelmingly good things.

It’s also about sacrifice.  It’s about saying yes to the most encompassing love you can feel, birthing a true miracle, knowing that it is a gift for you, but knowing it is to be given as a gift for all of mankind, for all of your life, and for all of eternity.

I can hardly fathom that, even knowing what it is about.

I can remember the first time that all really penetrated my heart, though.

It was a decade ago.  

It was a barely lit room.

It was the middle of a quiet night.

It was with a tiny, almost 8 week-old baby boy on my bosom, and a dog at my feet.

It was a gut wrenching, tear producing moment in the middle of a cold winter’s night.

It was the moment that I feel I saw what Mary saw, the night she held Jesus in her arms in that stable, half a world away from where I was, centuries before I ever walked the earth. 

I had my miracle son in my arms.

I felt so selfishly grateful that I knew I was not in Mary’s shoes, having to sacrifice my son for the world.  I wept as I imagined what her life was like.  I tried to fathom what it would be like, to grow my son inside my body, and years later, have to watch my son’s body be beaten and broken, the life tortured away in front of the masses, the weight of the world’s sins upon his back as he bled and died for all of those who loved him, those who did not know to love him, those all around the world.  At the same time, I realized that it was possible that, loving and living a life for Jesus could mean that some day, however unlikely it seems, my son may end up sacrificing himself for the love of others in this world.  I prayed it would never happen, and I could keep him for ever and always until the end of my time.  I felt relieved to know that it was never God’s plan for me to fill Mary’s shoes.

However, I admired Mary. She had the most amazing strength, and I bet she did not realize how strong she was. 

Yet, also, I pitied Mary.  She watched the most brutal and prolonged murder of her blessed baby boy and knew she had to allow it to happen.

I thought about how she spent her son’s entire loving him, nurturing him, and devoting herself to him, in a way no mother had to prior nor ever will again.  She knew from the moment she conceived him that he was sent for the world but her momma’s heart would have had no idea what that entailed.  She knew she was going to be sacrificing her body, her heart, and her soul for her son, for all of humanity, and despite knowing the details, she said yes.  She had the most incredible, willing faith.

I know that Christmas is not about Mary.  But I also know that thinking about Mary that Christmas changed me.  

Holding my own son in my arms that night brought such a deeper meaning to the gift of true love, blessed upon the world, born to save us all.  I saw the true meaning of Christmas in my own baby’s eyes.

I believe that processing and understanding the depth of this realization will be a lifelong process for me.  Every year, I believe I understand a little bit more.  It is a gift given to me by my journey through motherhood.   I have heard commentary about how magical and joyful it is to experience Christmas as a child, but how much more magical and joy-filled it is to experience children living out the wonder of Christmas.  I think there’s truth to that, but I definitely contend that the meaning of Christmas is what changed most for me having my children to experience Christmases alongside.

Knowing that Christmas is about the true love born as a baby, given for the restoration of our eternity and relationship with our Heavenly Father is something I try to instill upon my children.  I know it gets lost often in the merriment of giving and receiving of gifts, the chaos and clatter of paper and packages, the fawning and fighting that may go along with an abundance of material blessings all in one grand swoop, but I try.  Knowing what I know, recalling that night a decade ago helps guide me through exciting, yet sometimes stressful holiday moments, and helps me take some quiet moments to center my heart back where it belongs, not in current circumstances where children maybe had a little too much Christmas excitement for the day and are emotionally exhausted and physically fried, but in my gratefulness for the gift only our Heavenly Father could give, and the thankfulness for that young mother, eons ago, who said yes to a calling and gifted her most treasured blessing, her miracle, for me.

I pray that someday, my children are able to more fully embrace a deeper, truer meaning of Christmas.  I know that they know it’s about Jesus being born for us so that he could die and bring us to God. But, perhaps, one day as an adult, they too will be able to feel the depth and profound meaning of Christmas in a child’s eyes, if they do not have that opportunity while gazing into their mother’s as children themselves.

I have had my share of monumental type Christmases in a wide variety of ways, each of which had a lasting impact on my memories and emotions, shaping my life story and sculpting me into who I am.

That Christmas ten years ago changed me in ways I am still discovering.

NMW

 No Matter What

NMW

Those are my initials. 

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

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

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

Peace, no matter what.

Peace, NMW.

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

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

The world needs peace.

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

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

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

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

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

Peace is a who.

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

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

But it is true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let the words flow from my mind through my fingertips

I love to create.  I love photography, painting, coloring, crafting, crocheting, singing, wood burning, and so many other random ways of seeing something come into being by the work of my mind and my hands.

I love writing.  I love writing beautiful words in script, I love writing notes and letters, I love writing down my thoughts and sharing them with others when applicable.  I have kept a journal or a blog of some kind for most of my life. 

Last year, it was spoken over me that I would speak in front of people.  I saw that come to life shortly after, giving a portion of my testimony in front of the women’s group at church, and then by opening up Christmas Eve church a couple of months later.  But, as I’ve said to multiple people, I write more fluidly than I speak.

This year, it has been spoken over me that I would write more.  I haven’t been sure of how that would come to fruition, but I have seen myself writing more and more, whether it is comments in online Bible study and church services, social media posts, little notes, digital artwork, or blog posts, I have been slowly seeing more words flow from my mind through my fingertips.

It’s even been spoken over me that I should or will write a book some day.  Time will reveal that, I’m sure, although I cannot even begin to imagine what I would fill an entire book with.

This morning, I watched church from home once again, still recovering from the after effects of my second positive Covid test and infection at the end of September.  Today, our pastor and his wife, again, spoke over me in regard to releasing writing.  Then, to my surprise, the service was about creativity and how we are all crafters in our own ways.  We all bring things to life.

As I sat and listened and reflected on my own personality and my love of making things, often times to bless other people, I remembered the weekend prior to getting sick again.  

I attended a women’s conference at my friend’s church- the Enough Conference.  This year, it was focused on being equipped and empowered, and reflected quite a bit on the pandemic we are currently living through.  Multiple times, it was asked, “what are you afraid of, what’s holding you back?”  The premise is that we are all living through a scary, overwhelming, unknown time in our lives, but we are surviving and overcoming it all.  If we can get through these days, what is keeping us from our purposes?

I recall, that weekend, wondering what my purpose is.  What am I supposed to be bringing to this world right now?  If I was created for such a time as this, what am I supposed to contribute to this time?  

Those questions lasted a few days, until one night, I laid in my bed, and the words “empowered” and “equipped” kept circling around in my mind.

Years ago, I wrote poetry, frequently, in my bed, in the dark, with my pen on the paper and unable to see what my script looked like until morning. I would let it fly from my fingers without criticism until I refined it in the daylight.

That night, I pulled out my phone, and with very little editing involved, I let the words glide onto my screen. 

I love music, especially worship music.  I sometimes think of my own testimony as a worship song, although it’s not really put to an audible melody.  After I wrote these words, I thought of them as worship as well, although they too, lack an audible melody.  I haven’t been sure of what I am supposed to do with these words, so they’ve been sitting in secret for almost two months.  

This morning, I felt it was time to release them.  I wrote this as a reminder to myself on the days and nights I wonder, questions, and struggle.  I have spent many hours searching, and sometimes, I search for so long that I see right past the beautiful, simple, wholesome answers that God provides.

Perhaps you’re out there, much like I was, and have been multiple times, wondering what your purpose is in times such as these.  Perhaps, you wonder who you are inside.  Perhaps, you wonder what your value is in this world.  These words are for you, too.

Let me assure you, you have a purpose, you are a beautiful, treasured creation, and God has a plan for you.  There’s something only you can bring to this world.  You too, were created for such a time as this.  

I pray you know that you are cherished, important, and Loved.

 You tell me that I'm a masterpiece-

A wonderful creation, I am unique,

And I know in my heart it is true,

Because I put all of my trust in You.

But some days, I find myself confused.

I pray and wonder “what should be my use?”

I try to read between the lines

Of the words you write over my life.

I peel the layers off the canvas that you paint,

And inspect each imprint on this clay,

Just to see if I can figure out who I'm supposed to be.

But, when I'm finally still and breathing in 

Your Spirit floating like the wind,

And soak in the gentle melody 

you composed for only me,

I realize it's so simple, I don't need to keep searching.

I'm your beautiful, beloved one,

The sparkle in your fiery eyes,

The one you sent your son to guide 

Into your safe and steady arms.

I am chosen and I am equipped,

Empowered for this time I'm living in,

And nothing I can do will change 

The way you feel about

Who I am:

Fearfully, wonderfully, beautifully, carefully, joyfully, perfectly made.

I am your Love.

I will not live a life of fear,

Because the weapons that I need are here

Inside my heart, soul, spirit, and my mind.

The battle rages all around,

But with you the end of war is found.

Death has come knocking at my door.

I will not cower in its shadow anymore.

Your breath of life fills me to overflow...

When I'm finally still and breathing in

Your spirit, floating like the wind,

And soaking in the gentle melody

You composed for only me,

I remember...

I'm your beautiful, beloved one,

The sparkle in your fiery eyes

The one you sent your son to guide 

Into your safe and steady arms.

I am chosen and I am equipped,

Empowered for the time I'm living in,

And nothing I can do will change

The way you feel about me,

What you see when You gaze upon me,

The person I am called to be,

Who I really am-

I am your Love.

I am made to Love.

So, let me Love.

The Ravine

You find yourself teetering the cliff of darkness, pulled away from falling inward by focusing upward instead of down into the pit.  As long as you know where to look, you will be safe.

Sometimes, you have to remind yourself every couple of seconds to look up instead of down, and it’s an exhausting battle for your focus.  It is so much easier to look downward when the weight inside your mind feels like a bushel of stones.  It’s such a heavy burden to carry sometimes.

You realize how close you could be to falling, as a slight falter in your footing knocks a pebble, and as you listen you cannot hear it reaching the bottom.  You realize the cliff is much higher than you can comprehend and if you topple, you do not know if you will ever quit falling.   

Sometimes, you don’t see yourself at the cliff until you’re in that balancing act, having slowly wandered on your way, led there without necessarily realizing it until you’re already at the brink, or maybe you have been traipsing about endlessly, trying to navigate through thick and murky fog, only to realize where you’ve ended up as you are flirting with the gravity lurking before you.  You know that you’re one small misstep from falling, so you try to keep your body still while your head spins around to ascertain where exactly you are in relation to where you began.  

How did you get there?  What lured your steps this way?

You look up again.  You know where to look.  You position yourself the slightest degree, and plant one foot firmly in front of the other.  You know where you belong.  You will not succumb to the ravine.

Sound familiar?

When I wrote that the other night, I saw the ravine as just a dark pit of endless negative thoughts.  I have experienced that ravine before and I have fallen continuously into it for days on end sometimes.  I have always been able to find my way back to where I am centered and focused, thank the Lord.

Admittedly, it’s been a rough year for not only myself but thousands of others.  

I have found in my own life experiences, mentally and emotionally, my nights can be much tougher than my days.  As I lay awake, alone in the dark during those night-time trials, I can feel my spirit weighted down when my thoughts start plummeting.

I have faith in God.  I know He is always with me.  Always.  In fact, I have been blessed with visions or dreams of Him alongside me living out my day to day life.  

But, I am human, I am broken and made whole, but I still struggle sometimes.

Lately, it seems more than I have in months or maybe even years past (and I have had quite a collection of rough years).  I think a lot of it has to do with the loneliness of isolation and quarantine during a pandemic.  I have spent months inside these walls with my children.

While living in isolation, the first two months, I was more open and honest about my thoughts and emotions. I was more willing to talk about what I was thinking or feeling at any given moment.  I was more aware that if I was becoming closed off, I should speak out.  I wrote more for myself and publicly.  I talked on the phone more, even though I have a hard time staying focused on phone conversations.  I cried to more friends.

This time, it has been much harder for me.  I found myself thinking, “here we go again” and not wanting to burden or bother anyone.  I found myself reaching out to people less and less, and as the pandemic surges all around all of us, I don’t even know that I realized it was happening and I certainly did not expect anyone else to notice.

It’s been tough. 

But I’m aware of it now, and that’s step one.  Step two is opening up about it and inviting someone in.  

I want you to know that in the world we’re experiencing right now, whether you believe in God and hold fast to Him as I do, and know He’s always right there and catching your tears even if you don’t feel or see Him, 

Or you don’t,

That it’s okay to admit when you’re struggling.  

It’s okay to get help.

It’s okay to ask others to help you see the joy inside of you.  It’s okay to have others to help you find your hope.  It’s okay to ask others to help guide and anchor you.

Don’t let your perceptions of yourself and the perceptions of the world stop you.

I also venture to say it’s okay to call a friend who you think might be struggling even if they don’t see it themselves.  Sometimes, you will crack that heart wide open and the first steps of the journey can begin.

“In his kindness God called you to share in his eternal glory by means of Christ Jesus.  So after you have suffered a little while, he will restore, support, and strengthen you, and he will place you on a firm foundation.”  1 Peter 5:10. (NLT)

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.

Beauty from Ashes

“He will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair.  In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the Lord has planted for his own glory.”  Isaiah 61:3 NLT

 If you know me personally, you are likely to know that on March 31, 2020, I tested positive for COVID-19.  I have yet to write a detailed post on that, although it’s been on my mind to chronicle my journey medically because the stories are still helping others to fight that battle.  It was a long journey.  I was sick with a fever and persistent symptoms for over six weeks.  I had COVID-19 turn into pneumonia, and shortly after returning to work for a handful of days, I came down with bronchitis which knocked me down and out for another two weeks.  I battled almost all of the symptoms, and while I was fortunate enough to be able to fight the illness off at home, there were a few nights I was not sure I would survive it, many nights I could hardly sleep, multiple nights I was quite scared because I could hardly breathe to walk a few steps, and many, many nights after I would wake up in a panic unable to breathe, or feeling like while I was sleeping I was also suffocating with a lack of oxygen.  I had terrible, migraine like headaches for weeks on end, body pain like I had never experienced before, and so many more issues.  I was contacted a week or so into the illness to ask if when I recovered I would be willing to donate plasma with COVID-19 antibodies (convalescent plasma) and I said definitely.  But they said I needed to be recovered first. I tried multiple vitamins, supplements, antibiotics, and rescue inhaler just to keep on going.  My kids were terrified many nights that I was going to die.  They thanked God that I didn’t almost every night for multiple weeks.

After the six weeks of fever, I realized I still had shortness of breath, cough, headaches, body aches, exhaustion, fatigue, joint pain, muscle pain, nerve pain, and it felt like I was going to have a heart attack more often than I care to remember.  I was considered recovered, but also not considered really recovered. Every time they would call I would still be coughing.  That was the main thing in their mind.  I had to stop coughing and I had to be done with the shortness of breath.

In the middle of July, I had another follow up appointment.  All of my bloodwork came back within normal ranges, with kidney function levels at the very cut-off for the low end of normal range.  But, I still had fevers.  I still had nerve pain.  I still had chest pain and shortness of breath.  My heart was constantly racing when I was awake.

My EKG that day was fine so I wore a Holter monitor for 24 hours to see if it would catch the tachycardia and palpitations I felt.

It did, but I wasn’t considered “bad enough” to need further testing.  I was placed on a beta blocker for the tachycardia (my heart rate exceeded 150 for normal daily activities) and an anti-convulsant for the nerve pain.  I was still coughing, exhausted, in pain, with random spikes in fevers, and always, always tired.

In the middle of August, my cough seemed to mostly disappear.  It’s now the beginning of September and my cough is very rare.  I actually only notice it when I over exert myself, or when I miss my dose of beta blocker.  When I miss my beta blocker dosage, the tachycardia and palpitations come back.  I still have nerve pain, every single day, usually now located only in my hips and legs.  It’s tolerable because I’m used to it.  It’s definitely less on the medication, but it hasn’t disappeared.

I am still exhausted so easily.  My muscles are still rebuilding and hurt and ache.  I still get headaches pretty frequently, and I have some days with really intense brain fog where I feel like a fool.   I rarely wake up in a panic that I am unable to breathe, but I always sleep holding a pillow because I can’t handle the pressure of my arms crossing in my sleep.  I have random days were there are minutes of blurry vision I for no reason.  I already said it, but I’m always tired.  Last week I napped every day and still felt exhausted.  My blood levels are still normal and so there’s no documented “reason” for any of it, other than lingering effects of a long battle with Covid-19.

I still have healing left to do, but I am so thankful that I am where I am after what feels like an eternity.

However, last week, after months of battling, because my cough was finally considered to be gone, I was able to go into the hospital and donate convalescent plasma.  I was nervous that day because I haven’t been inside a medical facility without a fever in months.  My heart rate was always way too high, and so was my blood pressure, and I was not sure if I would pass the vitals check that day.  Thanks to the beta blocker, I was able.

It was going well, but about halfway through, the needle pierced through both sides of my vein. There was an instant bubble and blood leaking, and I had to stop early.  I was able to fill a few bags almost halfway, which is better than nothing at all.   I am still recovering with quite an unsightly bruise with some swelling and pain, but I will gladly do it again if and when I’m able.

I had said from the beginning of my battle, I just hoped something good would come from my journey.  I wanted to bring hope.  And now that I am closer to healed than months before, I am hopefully able to take my fight with the taunt of death and give someone the hope for life.

Finally, beauty from the ashes.

Once Upon a Lifetime Ago

Once upon a lifetime ago, on August 5, 2006, a bright-eyed, creative, social justice seeking young lady married the man she dreamed of for as long as she could remember, a kind, caring, hard-working, musical and charming young man.

Their friendship had blossomed and deepened quickly, and grew into a deep love for one another, and on that hot summer’s day, in front of family and dear friends, they pledged their lives to one another.

Now, as we know, sometimes forever doesn’t last that long, at least not when humans are in charge.  As is the case more often than we would wish, “Come What May” faded and the fairy tale took a turn that two devoted love birds would never imagine possible, and the union between those two was severed.

I was the young lady in this story.

It’s been over four years now since my divorce was final.  As many know, the divorce did not come easy, and it was actually something I had to work very hard to be granted, for multiple reasons.  It was never anything I really wanted, but it was something I had to have.  Throughout the past six years, actually a little more, life has been a rollercoaster of occasionally unbelievable variety.

Here we are, 14 years after my wedding day.  After separating from my former husband, and especially after the divorce, I sit and wonder, each year, on this day, if it’s something I should acknowledge, publicly or privately.  It’s not an anniversary of continued marriage commitment, but yet, it is an anniversary of a huge life milestone.

I decided, this year, I will acknowledge it, publicly.

It is a big deal.

That love shaped me into a kind, devoted woman.  That love battled infertility to allow me to be a mother.  That love created innumerable memories, both good and bad.  That marriage shaped my life.  In the good times and the bad times, it molded me into a strong, brave, compassionate, woman full of faith in God.

Now that my youngest, my daughter, is six, and her father is in a new relationship with a woman he loves, a woman I am quite fond of as well, my little girl has a lot of questions about love and marriage.  She thinks kissing is gross, but she knows once upon a lifetime ago, I used to kiss her dad. She knows her dad kisses someone new now.  She thinks both situations are yucky.  Oh, I love how innocent she is.

In this new season of life, the kids all three talk about marriage and divorce more than they ever had in the past.

This year, on the anniversary of my wedding, I decided I will do something I have never done before with my children.

I will talk about my wedding day.

I will show them photos.

I will let them ask questions.

I will remember the day for the beautiful celebration that it was.

Being the sentimental and emotional woman that I am, someday I will also show them my wedding dress, if they’d like.  It currently is stored with my sister-in-law.  I believe my wedding rings are there too.  I saved both in the event that my daughter, especially, would like to see them.  I did not know then whether her dad would ever be in her life again, because for most of it, he really wasn’t, but I wanted her to know that she was created by love, out of the dreams her mom and dad once had together.  I have a shadow box their dad made me with my bouquet, our vows and my jewelry, which is stored with a dear friend, that perhaps someday I will desire to get back and share with them.  I just don’t know.

But what I do know now is that this year, I think it’s okay to open up those memories for my children.  I will let them see the joy in our faces as we became man and wife.  I will let my daughter marvel over my pretty white dress.   I will let them create their own memory in their minds of what could have happened that day, and let them know that it’s okay to talk about the joy that led up to their lives, even if that marriage no longer exists.  I will celebrate that lifetime ago that began their journey.        I will remind them (and myself) that even though happily ever after did not turn out the way we imagined, because God is SO GOOD, we have a happily ever after that we can love to live this way too.

(And what’s an anniversary without a wedding photo?  Here’s one of my very favorites of that day.)

I am okay.

I am okay now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am broken.  I am hurting.

But I am okay.  

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

All at the same time.

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

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

I realized it was.

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

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

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

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

I remembered the verse and I went in.

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t remember each layer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God has me.

I’ve known it all along.

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

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

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

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

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

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