The girls spent all summer watching Sing. There’s a line that I’m hearing as I write this, “Do you know what’s good about hitting rock bottom? There’s only one way left to go, and that’s up.” So there I went, carried by a bushel of balloons, just like in the movie Up. (Can you tell we let our kids watch a lot of TV?)

I decided to submerge myself in the head faith that had been cemented so deeply, and let my heart follow, no matter how slowly and far behind she chose to go. I decided to apply to grad school. I sat for hours talking to my dad about my longed-for-future-husband, and how finding someone as great as him was by far the hardest part of rising up. But in that talk, never did I think that nine years, I’d actually have found him.

I never imagined that together, we’d be soaking up the smells of baby spit-up, and her sweaty little palms.

Never did I think that I’d be braiding hair, over the taste of flat coke at 8 a.m. I couldn’t have imagined the smiles I’d see as my twin girls found their surprises from the back-to-school fairy. Hah. TWINS. Do you think I ever imagined that?? Never did I imagine that I’d get to have my mom by my side for all the great moments of this stage. I miss my dad terribly, but God, am I ever so thankful for your provision…

But here we are. And 35, is just the best most possible year yet.

I asked Trey on Sunday how old I was turning. I blame it on the mom brain because admitting how old I am (as evidenced by my memory loss) is too painful in the silliest of ways. That, and honestly, mom brain is something I never knew I always wanted. The loud screams, both theirs and mine, that make it so incredibly hard to focus on anything other than “Lord, I need you NOW.” The “hurry, hurry, we’re going to be late,” while juggling a pacifier, a water bottle, a pull-up, and a cheese stick while buckling two kids into the car seats– all things that also contribute to said mom brain daily. The “stop pulling her hair,” said with a baby on a boob while trying to break up a toddler catfight…yes, still possibly the best year yet.

It’s the year my dad rejoined our family in the form of our Robbie. The year the girls started dance. The year they started preschool. I couldn’t have asked for a better present either than the deafening silence in our home…once again contributing to my mom brain as I ask myself, “What do I do now…” to which I just looked at the clock and said to Trey… “oh no, I forgot about Robbie!”

My father-in-law texted me birthday wishes today, to which I responded, “The best gift, by far, is the quiet home.” My sister-in-law and nephew called not long after, and the first thing she asked was how my emotions were handling today. It’s funny because most of my other friends have texted to check how Trey was doing. To be honest, there were almost no fallen tears… I’ll let you guess whose tears were the ones to fall.

For me, goodness gracious of course I had tears in my eyes. How, oh how, oh how did we arrive here? Those balloons haven’t stopped floating since the moment the girls were born. I joked at the silence, but in those quiet moments (after I remembered Robbie and started to feed her), I smiled pride. The same pride, I remember my dad smiling upon me, as he watched me rise back up. Because this is their time to rise. And oh my Lord, don’t they look so good doing it…

beholding these blessings and life and redemption and these moments that are fleeting so quickly.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m in the midst of self-pity and disappointment—I’m just in this quest of a new self-discovery that goes something like “Nicole—the MOM?”  Don’t get me wrong as if I’m not loving every moment of this.. the moments where it’s become completely acceptable to place my face against another human’s butt, or the little white lies I communicated to my husband as I laid motionless in bed so convincingly pretending to be asleep just waiting to see if he heard the girls so that HE’D be the one to get them so that at some point that “white lie” would really be a definitive truth because this new me is working a 24-7 job with no rest for the weary and mama needs her sleep.  Holy run-on sentence!!

Last week, Elsie went through a “I-don’t-want-to-sleep-through-the-night-anymore-I-just-want-you-to-come-play-with-me-and-make-me-laugh” 2 a.m. phase. I swore I could hear my super sweet husband say “SHUT UP!!!” WE ALL KNOW he would NEVER do, but that sleep deprivation does some horrible things to the mind… still the experience forced us to have a heart to heart acknowledging once again that “the days are long and the years are short,” conveniently followed behind by a much needed and reiterated message at church that Sunday about the blessings we’re called to give to our children. 

…Somewhere in the midst of all THIS, I became the more patient one.  The one that CALMLY whispered to my husband… and by whispered I definitely don’t mean “whisper-yell”.. but an actual, kind, whisper… “Let’s be proud of her.  She’s talking!  She’s making coos into laughter!  And don’t you want to be the parent that celebrates her victories long before scoring her first soccer goal and dominating the writing section of her SAT?  Don’t you want to tell her we’re proud of her, before she knows what ‘I’m proud of you’ even means?

Behold friends: I’m self-loving the fact that I can now use my words.

Mom and I were at the mall on Tuesday with the girls screaming in the stroller.  I rolled up a blanket and propped a bottle for Hannah to which she willingly took.  I tried to do the same for Elsie—big surprise…in that tiny little body of hers is a much, MUCH larger personality that told me, “No, Mommy!  I want you to hold me instead.”  With one hand, I paid the guy at H&M.  With my other hand, I held a bottle and my wiggly girl against my hip.  My knee caught the bottle slipping off of Hannah, and somehow my other foot kept me balanced.  THIS is why God made women to be mothers.  And I suppose, THIS is why God chose me to be a twin mom.

Last month, my sister-friend (and mother of three) came to meet the girls.  My mom in her very “Mary-esque” way talked around me, yet in front of me… “unintentionally” mocking my unending devotion to Baby Wise not yet understanding that the whole idea of a predictable schedule that ensured sleeping through the night by 8-weeks and “happy” babies was blessing my sleep-deprived, half-way functioning, searching-for-sanity, person.  Like any other irrational person who had not yet learned to “use their words” I reacted in my only-child-like self with tears defensively yelling saying, “Mom- can you just tell me one thing, ONE THING that I AM doing right as a new mom?  I question myself every day and the least you could do is affirm me instead of sitting there talking around me…”

I felt badly later for reacting that way.. especially in front of Jess… Lord knows she saw much worse in my teenage days, but I was seriously hurt.  I try and make it a point to apologize to my mom (and I especially want my girls to grow up knowing that apologies are always a non-negotiable in seeking forgiveness—and especially in knowing how to show respect to your mother…) …only this time, it took me awhile.  I eventually did apologize, but I think God was working through not only my own self-discovery, but mom’s as well.  Behold, she’s now mothering me while grand-mothering too.  News flash- I’m not just any new mom, but her daughter… and I need her blessing, not a recounted story of “well when I was a new mom…”

After the survival of “World War Three” aka “I need to eat now or I will kill you with my WWE grip” at H&M, we sat down to finish feeding the girls.  I know not every new mom is lucky enough to have theirs with her for every second of this new self-discovery, and so in this moment, I really hoped and prayed that she would give me some sort of lesson turned blessing… “Mom, I know I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I think I’m more drawn to Hannah and that Elsie’s neediness is pushing me away…” Seriously, could I have been anymore real in that moment?!  Who knows me better than my mom (which by the way, I totally get now..)

“You don’t have favorites!  You saying this… you’re fearful.  You know that Elsie demands more attention and as her mom you have to give it to her.  But Hannah, you love the fact that she just snuggles up to you and does everything she’s supposed to be doing. You’re fearful that she’s not getting the same attention and so you try and make up for it in ways that appear as though she is your favorite…” Hold up!  Who is the one with that masters degree in counseling?  “You love them equally and I know you do because I see how you are with both of them. You don’t meet Elsie’s needs more than you do Hannah!  You meet them equally—and I don’t know how you do it, because there are two of them… at the same time.  Some women have problems doing it all with just one…”

Behold friends: I’m self-loving through this affirmation from my mom.  I’m telling myself that I’m doing a good job… if I’ve amazed my mom at the job I’m doing, I’ve made it. I’m doing okay and I’ve actually made it…

Our time was cut short by some mall spectators: “Are they twins? My wife said they weren’t but I knew they had to be… because they’re the same size and all… A girl and a boy?”  THEY WERE WEARING PINK!!!!!

Behold friends: I made it another day without laughing in a strangers face when answering the obvious questions.  Friends: let this be your lesson, do not approach a twin mom and say, “are they twins?!” I can’t tell you why, but just don’t.  While we’re at it, here’s a second forbidden comment, “My sons are fifteen months apart- it was like having twins…” No. No it wasn’t. No, actually, it’s not.  NOT AT ALL.  I can’t make promises but I don’t think I’d be able to stop the human in me from setting truth straight… I’ll go on and on about that in another post (someday). Mom says I’m doing okay though- apparently I’m more patient than I’ve ever been and maybe the something that I’ve always hated about myself… the impatient me, is loving this new “patient” me.

We sat in her living room later that evening, I think “hot-mess” is an understatement…at least that’s how I felt.  I got up, very tiredly, (surprise! … to go rock Elsie) and she said, “You know… I’m pleasantly surprised.  You’re doing more with these girls than I ever thought you could.  Your rigid-scheduling is paying off! I was worried about you…with your anxiety, but you’re hitting motherhood out of the park.”  If you don’t hear something like that from your own mother, come hear it from mine.  Us new moms and maybe even seasoned moms, we need that!!

I heeded her words with each sway back and forth as my first-born daughter nestled her head where collarbone meets neck listening to her pitiful, needy, cries.  I looked over where I saw my second-born staring at me with those big lonely eyes…

Hannah- I’m fearful that you will think I’ve loved Elsie more in this season. 

Elsie- I’m fearful that I let you cry-it-out for too long so that I can hold your sister every bit as long as I hold you if not more. 

I’m fearful that I’m giving you girls complexes about who is the favorite.  Complexes about being too needy or too compliant; about what is “right.”

Behold friends: I’m self-loving the fact that I’m a mom with fears.  What kind of mother would I be without them.  I’m holding these fears anxious-lessly with dreams of the mother I’m becoming.  Where IS that anxiety that followed me like an ugly nagging shadow for so many years?  Not that I’m inviting her back or anything…

This time last year, we received the heart-breaking news that our first embryo transfer had failed.  I didn’t have an anxiety attack as we all expected, I guess that was God saving me… again. This year, I’m counting down the days until next year when we will start the embryo transfer process again…anxious-lessly. Currently, I’m self-discovering and self-loving the fact that this life is better than I deserve… 

I have a friend who struggles badly with anxiety- specifically fears of infertility or the complete opposite of infertility.  Girl- I said it to you privately, but I want to say it here too for everyone else that needs to hear it; there is not one part of me that would trade any of it—or even any of THIS because of the way God has beckoned me on my knees to know Him more, to love Him more, and to love ME a little more too.

Self-love is a beautiful thing that I never knew before these long days.  It’s become my friend, and my real source of sanity (though Baby Wise is still a close second).  It’s not about the spa day (though thanks, Trey.. I do want to redeem that ASAP).  It’s not the quiet hours coveted within those sleepy eyes and gentle snores.  It’s the small victories, the teeny blessings that say, “Mama- you’re doing an okay job.”

Behold friends: I’m self-loving the fact that I’m doing okay.

I’ve missed you and your ways that pull me deep into an obsessive state of habitual organization and compulsive exploration for all things new.

—

I thought long and hard of how I would start this first post of 2018.  Would it be a reflection of last year, or a mere collection of goals; you know, the imperative mission that some how falls through the cracks of heart, mind and soul as the year progresses through seasons of change both environmentally…. and emotionally….?

So I resolved to a simple “Dear January.”  You see, I wanted to acknowledge with every morsel that I could, this excitement that I have stirring at so much new to the normal of our lives.  With the months of grief behind me it’s so satisfying to return to the details I know that were so proudly founded by my dad: Organizer.  Planner.  Executor.

I’ve spent the last six days fastened to the novelty of a chance to use his hope and ambition that he so strongly instilled in me to move forward.  It’s what he would have wanted.

and so here we are (p.s. my mom is shrinking… pps. no she’s not… I grew three inches in 2017.  just kidding.)

I *almost* purposefully didn’t send out Christmas cards this year.  The thought of smiling in a family photo with out my dad just seemed wrong, lonely.  I delayed the annual investment in portraits because it felt uncomfortable and distressing to ask my mom to stand there… companionless.  But, the brilliant, Pinteresting, Proverbs 31-seeking wife made a commitment at the beginning of our marriage to take anniversary photos, every year.  Wellll…. Trey got a haircut from “not his usual lady” on anniversary number two and suddenly the delaying felt more acceptable…  Fast forward a month and we seemed a little more ready for this commitment kind of healing.

I often tell my clients that my most favorite part of my job (and also the meaning behind the name) is that I get to “behold” the love within each family.

We were not only ready for this kind of healing, we needed this healing.

This kind of healing, vital.

and so Dear January…

Thank you for the bountiful ways you are helping us through:

Emotional Healing

The hardest part in grieving my dad is doing it with my mom.  Some might think it’d be the easiest because we have each other, but it’s not.  I feel I have to stay strong for her and she feels she has to stay strong for me.  So in reality, we both fighting this internal battle alone.  In some ways, it’s harder to endure this with her than it was taking care of him.  I can’t fix it; he’s not coming back.

I spoke at my dad’s memorial service sharing these words, my mind and heart still circling the truth without any further musings:

My home doesn’t feel like home without my dad in it.  We live in this beautiful new house and gift from God but he’s missing.  It’s like a piece of me doesn’t know what home is anymore.  And for my mom, it’s like a she took her last breath with him on October 24.

There is this void that I could never in a million years explain to you, and you might not understand it unless you too have lost a parent.  I “lost” my dad.  I can’t find my hero.

Everyone tells me that it doesn’t get any easier; but it does get better with time; the sting a little less painful.  And they’re right; my awareness has changed as this hazy fog of grief continues to dissipate one day at a time.. sometimes one hour at a time.  I call that healing.

There’s this peace that comes in knowing he’s at peace.  Like I don’t have to keep searching for him because I know he’s okay.  His legacy is everywhere here– and this IS our home, because we can feel his love everywhere we turn.

And mom, I’ll never be able to comprehend the loss of a spouse… at least not in the next 60 years I pray, but we’re healing in these moments together of love and good cheer.

We kept saying through the journey of his care that we needed to take care of ourselves.  And we did, kind of.  But dear January, you’re giving us some very deliberate rehab.

Spiritual Healing

My dad died on a Tuesday night.  We were at church on Sunday morning.  We went to this quaint little church right down the road from us–one that my Dad called his (even though he never was well enough to attend) because he knew he wanted to…and so fittingly, we thought we better take/go with Mom so that we could find some sort of presence or word from the Lord in the immediate intensity of his death.  I’m so glad we felt called to go there with her and so thankful that I have a husband who cares to help her find her way.

Trey and I had been before but we miss our church home… like a lot; so much so that we’re going tomorrow, because, family and home.  But we’re here, and it’s January.  We need to build our community here now.

Mom has found her place.  And we need to find ours.  We’re beholding God’s peace in every place of worship we’ve encountered, but goodness why are we missing the feeling of home?

I won’t lie that I hated the idea of going to church after our first Sunday without my dad.  We were singing hymns and his harmonizing was missing.  The fog too heavy…too thick.

We got into it one Sunday morning… me yelling something like, “Did you ever stop to think that maybe it’s too painful for me to go right now?  Can I just be mad at God for a little while?!!”

Because clearly it’s God’s fault that my dad is dead and that we still haven’t found a church home and that my body is broken and that my mind is unhealthy… clearly.

We’ve tried so many churches…and can I just say that having worked at a church adds an entirely different perspective when church hunting?!?  But we’re beholding every message from Him as whispers to my heart as He helps us heal.

We even went to a “Next Steps” dinner of a church plant.. literally RIGHT up the road from our home.  Is a church plant something we’re ready to step into?  I have no idea.  Are we trusting in an effort for spiritual healing?  Absolutely.

But January, and opportunity knocking.

Physical Healing

Our hearts have been broken by each negative pregnancy test (and there have been a lot).  We have spent so much money on ovulation kits and infertility meds that I joke maybe we should have bought stock in all things fertility.  The toll that it has taken on us watching more and more of our friends announce their pregnancies is no joke.  It’s this constant fight between happiness and envy that leaves me speechless.  Literally.  I have friends I haven’t spoken to in months because I just don’t understand; guess I should add relational healing here too…

My body is broken.  And yes, the depression and lack of care for myself over the last year has had a huge impact.  Literally and quite physically, huge.  I don’t want to go into too much detail here, but Paleo and running, and it’s day 6 and 5 pounds down and many more miles to go– we’re starting to heal.

Trey says the hardest part of infertility is watching my longing.. Then I’m thrown right back into a “God, why” moment pleading to make him a daddy…. but he already is.

In our innermost longing for a child to love, God has been pointing us to adoption; through the churches we’ve visited and even the people we have met.  And so, I don’t know if 2018 is going to dissolve this longing in the fruition of our greatest hopes for our family, but some how the decision to move forward in this process is bringing us so much peace in our journey of healing.  And your response to my last post and this announcement was a HUGE part of this.  I didn’t know adoption announcements are as heavily acknowledged as pregnancy announcements– seriously.  The healing has already started!

Our family will grow– of this we are so sure!

And so, in case you had to figure it out, I’m doing that one word thing…again.

Last year, I chose “me” and that was good– because in so many ways, I felt like I came alive last year as the woman God intended for me to be, caring, compassionate, patient, strong (all traits that I never thought I possessed until so many told me otherwise after watching me with my dad.)  I needed that foundation for 2018, so here we go.

My word for 2018 is healing.  There is so much encompassing this word, and most definitely not contained in these three realms I’ve just listed… There’s so much room for growth.  So much to learn in the process.

We mocked this saying so much in grad school… “Trust the process”  But at the same time, I know how well it works.  So we’re going to… and in the midst, heal.

ps. I have found a beautiful friend who has gifted me so much more than I thought ever possible with these beautiful memories of our new now.. Thank you Kelly Dierberger, eternally, thank you.  Guys, I’m sure you’ll see more of her in the future (if you haven’t already– my dad’s last birthday and the BYP rebrand.)  She’s so gifted and so talented, I just can’t sing enough praises!!

I’ve missed hopping on here to share the many “beholdings” that were bringing joy before a storm that would steal every last ounce…

Beholding our move-in day and phases 2-7.

Beholding our family vacation to Hilton Head.

Beholding our family visiting.

Beholding my business’ growth.

Beholding my dad.

Beholding his death.

and it’s like suddenly I forgot what it’s like to behold.  Because, Jesus– I miss my dad.

There are still moments when I wake up at 3 am wondering if I heard him call me to help him back in to bed.  There are moments when I want to rush home to make him his peanut butter sandwich.  There are moments when I want to go back and relive every day of my teenage years to take in his wisdom and grace and love.  I want to behold his laugh.  I long to behold his voice and all it’s dignity.

and it all caught up to me… so I sit here.. working.. in a practical state of psychosis because oh yeah, November + December = a photographers most prosperous season.

3 years ago, right after meeting Trey, I was hospitalized after my anxiety won.  4 nights ago, it happened again; and as I laid in bed, I just cried out for my dad.  My God- does this pain and void ever stop?  Will it ever go away?

I struggled to breathe, I kept reliving the image of him taking his last breath.  The gasps, the silence.  The last feeling of my hand wrapped into his and my fingers wrapped around his pinkie.  And I couldn’t escape my head.  Hell, I couldn’t escape my heart.

And I can’t focus.

And my God, do I feel so broken without him.

I’m searching for peace– this whole “Peace on earth” theme circling our every space.  And I just can’t find it.  It’s patronizing.

The regret I have for not spending more time with him, it jolts the pain deeper into my side.

There’s so much we did right these last few months, but so much I didn’t in the years before that.  And the anxiety doesn’t let up.  In my effort of silence is his noise.  And it’s not all bad.

The laughter that I replay on my phone; his slow and steady voice.

—

I got a sympathy card (I got a lot of them actually– and if that was you, thank you).  But this one in particular, from a friend who I don’t talk to nearly enough or even in depth, she said something that I’ve revisited everyday since, “I lost both my parents in my thirties and it has largely shaped who I’ve become.”

I thought he already shaped me though.  And it’s like I don’t know who I am anymore without him here with me.  I don’t know my life without him.  The last “real” conversation I had with one of my brothers was the night he died when he assured me that I’ll get through “this” because I’m a Paullin.  Somewhere in that proud-bearing title, is strength.  Somewhere.  But I think I drew it from my dad… so there’s that.

And somewhere in that name is a sense of stoic.  And there I was twisting out of my skin in agony, beckoning for my daddy.  And the doctor said, “No more.”

and it’s time for me.

As I thumbed through the posts from what seem like forever ago– I laughed at my one word: ME.  I laughed at how in God’s “glorious” plan of calling my dad, the selfish me came back to “me.” And how now it all just seems so wrong.

Beholding, me.  A broken Paullin.  A “silent” Paullin.  Me.  And this process of reshaping ME.

And I suppose that’s why as I start this post, I’m already overwhelmed by the fact that I’m days late in finding my #oneword.  1- because at some point, setting new year resolutions changed to setting a New Year WORD (just one) and 2- because I’m nervous that anything I write will get lost in the 2017 WORD “movement” among all the other writers and bloggers that are claiming their own originality in said “movement” blog posts (p.s. to my blogger friends out there, please don’t take offense to that..)

But seriously, is there anyone else completely overwhelmed by the outpouring of the “Welcome 2017” posts in blogosphere world?!

It’s like somehow we’ve all forgotten that with each new year comes a freshness and newness that is begging to be utilized.  And for planners like me that go insanely disorganized come June, the regrouping that January offers isn’t just an opportunity, but a necessity–so why not join in and write about it.

The thing is, unfortunately what I’m finding in all of these “original” posts is one common theme: 2016 sucked.  It was awful because “my dog died,” and “I left my job,” and “my dad has cancer” and “we lost the computer” and “grief is hard.”  Goodness gracious people! …But don’t forget though that I am right there with you!

(…and p.s. as a counselor who struggles with anxiety and depression and often times lives in her own “woe is me world,” I do have to add that grief is important…in moderation.  Carry on.)

In the process here is what I’ve learned:

We all know that with each year that passes we go through the same heartaches, hardships, trials…and somehow those are what we are left with rather than the unseemingly lessons we’ve been taught through the tribulations.

That needs to change!  We jump to the next thing without embracing the current that will ultimately propel us to move-on.

What I’ve found is that One Word 2017 is supposed to make up for all “stuff” 2016 left behind and for the rejuvenation that 2017 is offering.  One new blogger friend stated this: “A Word-of-the-Year is a lens through which I can view my real life.”

Soooo….

Let me rephrase that in the way that I read and interpreted it: My life- is now summed up in one word?! For the WHOLE YEAR?!

NO.  EFFING.  WAY.  (I can say effing, right?! It’s culturally relevant.)

Maybe I’m just frustrated because of the pressure that One Word and New Year Resolution standards have me living up to.

I sit here reading so many of your beautiful and Spirit-filled words that bring inspiration and hope.  And they have me yearning for more, begging for more of Jesus and His infinite plan for us.  And like everyone else, I go back to 2016, and December, and how I was crying out MERCY!!  “Mercy” maybe that should be my word.  And shoot.  Here comes the anxiety!

—

I’m going to preface this next part:  Not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for my husband, his commitment, and his job that allow me to stay home and be the best wife I can be (all while folding his laundry and doing the dishes after the breakfast that I make him).  It’s seriously a privilege and one that I will never take lightly; especially considering that we don’t have any children yet.  I get to blog because of him, and I get to run my own business with passion and zeal because of him, and I get to partner with 2 of the world’s most renown doctors, because of him… and Him.  So yes, I’m filled with gratitude to be living my dreams in so many wonderful ways.  BUT it’s hard work.  MERCY.  Me.  Preface complete.

My cousin posted this video on facebook earlier this week:

I may not be a stay-at-home-mom yet, but I get it.  ..and I’m just a stay-at-home-WIFE

So are you ready for my word?  After all of that?!

Me.

…and you may read that and call ME the most selfish human being ever…but I’m not lying at all when I say that it’s needed.  I could join in with others who have claimed, “joy” and “hope” and “peace” and “trust” (because there are a lot of you..and that’s AWESOME, truly).  But for ME, I need to take the time and focus on this life in the here and the now among all that house-wife BUSY, to embrace the lessons learned through the last year and grow from them before jumping to the next.

Scripture is not off in the least:

So be content with who you are, and don’t put on airs.  God’s strong hand is on you; he’ll promote you at the right time.  Live carefree before God; he is most careful with you. (emphasis mine.  1 Peter 5:6-7, The Message)

Trey’s “anthem” verse and mission is this:

I can do all this through him who gives me strength. (Philippians 4:13, NIV)

Think he’ll share his mission with me?

This is the first part in a two part series about self-care.  Read Part Two Here!

Also- because self-care is so important, I’m doing a special R+F give-away to the first 2 people to comment on this post with helpful hints and tips of how you take care of yourself.  One way I do it is with a little pampering, free facial anyone?

—

I won Sonic. Like legit, earned it.  Best said by cousin Laura: “How do you recover from a half marathon? Wrap a foam cup of ice around your bum knee, order a master blast, tater-tots and cheese poppers from Sonic.”

My body is sore.  Last night, I slept for 13.1 hours, and I have blisters where no woman should have blisters.  My legs are tired.  My knee has this weird, obnoxious, clicking that is more apparent with each step I take today… (which really is only to go to the kitchen for more water, to the bathroom to dispose of said water, and to bed where I lay as I write to you…and for my professors as life just goes on.  But the best pain– my heart, as it is bursting through the seams at this beautiful life.  And tomorrow, I will register for the Richmond Marathon, 26.2 miles.  Because I. can. do. it.  for me, because of Him.

And I think we need to do more things for ourselves.  Not in a selfish or self gaining way, but in a way that really, TRULY allows us to love the temple the houses His Spirit.  The temple that houses His Spirit in ME, is happy.  Like really, REALLY happy.  Not as a tall, skinny, blonde, but as a short, “thick,” brunette (with blond-ish highlights), sausage fingers and a double chin, as this beautiful woman (His masterpiece) with a genuine smile that understands what it means to house Him.  I’m me, the best me I could be, the me He created and I’m more content with that than I’ve ever been.  Because without Him in me, these pains that keep me smiling on this snowy, spring morning, would mean nothing.

Friends, yesterday, I ran a half-marathon.  Like for real.  I. ran. 13.1. miles.  and wait for it– I beat my 2011 half marathon time by 40 minutes.  40 minutes.  

And the “too many to count” likes on Facebook only make me smile even bigger.  Like, even my cheeks are hurting… and I don’t mean just my glutes.. your support has my face hurting.. that’s why I say, my heart’s hurting too.  Because this Love is overwhelming me, I swear my heart, it just might burst.  Oh and it hurts so good, so damn good.

This smile, oh just look at it and tell me you see Him in me..because I feel him radiating in this big and crazy and immeasurable way, and I just want you to know!  I’m wanting to be so beautiful, just like Him…  so beautiful.

He’s moving inside of others to Love me… I’m telling you– I can’t, I just– THIS LOVE that I’m so undeserving of, grace so good, love so big…I have a King who is moving inside of me– lifting me to a higher place, putting a smile on this face.. And I smile because I couldn’t do it without Him giving me them:

and a sister that rubbed my back when I couldn’t sleep because of nerves.  a sister who stood in the hotel hallway to pray over me as mom held our hands… that was a special moment, us 3.  she lays on the beach with me and gives up a nap to hear my jabber as together we giggle about boys, cry over losses, smile over dreams… she’s been by my side for 27 years, and my smile is more real because of how He uses her in my life.

and these girls.  They make me laugh the kind of laugh that says I should have a six pack by now.   But instead there’s a content and beautiful curve there that allows realness to live beyond standards.  Conversations that we will all regret having with our mothers, but in the end, only brought us closer…and a new way to look at horses, elevators…and I guess walk in closets too.  And I smile, because they’re building their legacies into each one of us.  Together we learn how to be them.  And He lives on.  Here–through these smiles.

Because our mothers teach us a special kind of passion.  A way to love and be loved, Loved.  They are our biggest fans, the ones that cheer us on to keep us going whether we hit a wall and want to stop, or whether we are running a race that’s already been won…amidst a race that is being won.  They’re the best part of this life…

and she’s next.

—

The race was fast.  Not just because I broke my PR (personal record) by 40 minutes (that wasn’t it), but because I was reminded how fast (almost too fast) life can move.  This weekend that had me treasuring every second of togetherness, every gift of Love, it was coming to an end.  Him working in us, those small significant moments, they go by too fast when they’re moving us so big.  And I had no choice but to count each blessing right there in every stride–too many to count, so many not to; reminded that I’m alive in Him, moving because of Him (and never wanting to stop).

That’s the thing about running: your greatest runs are rarely measured by racing success.  They are moments in time when running allows you to see how wonderful your life is.

–Kara Goucher

and let me tell you, it’s something incredibly wonderful. Something incredibly real and precious.  Something beautiful.  just like me, His.

ps. someone stop me next time I try and wear a headpiece.  please.

This post is that post- the one that looks back on the year to count blessings, recall lessons, grieve troubles, smile triumphs… the truth is that this is my life.  And at the end of the day..sorry–YEAR, it was exciting enough.  better enough.  momentous enough.  and perfect too.  Because I had one goal, one word, INVESTMENT.  and I did it.  (and while there were only two posts, there were actually 365 days of commitment…actually a little less than that, but who’s really really counting?)

To be honest those days were long at times, blurs other times, but mine all the time–a choice all the time.  When I started the year off, I was choosing to invest in God the way that he’s invested in me.  If I look at my “one word” from that angle, I failed–and I failed miserably.  and we go back to that search for more excitement, something better, something more momentous, and something more perfect….like a search for something that I’m never going to find.  but that’s how beautiful his grace is and knowing that I’ve invested in Him “enough” to recognize it.   “Flat on my face” honest moment- I didn’t invest in Him (as much as I had hoped).  Maybe that’s the reason for the long delay… but again, “flat on my face” moment forced me to look back and see where the real investment was:

“Does God delight in me?”  Who was I kidding, of course He does.  I am His creation, His masterpiece.  New question: “What is it about me that God delights in?”

The investment was in me.  Truth is– the why’s don’t matter, not to Him.  To Him, really only one thing matters.  That He does.  To me though– I needed to delight in MYself–and know how to in order to really appreciate His delightment.

I got the best BEST text from my friend a few nights ago:

Here’s the deal.  Something good is coming to you either way.  And you’re prettier than you ever were.  And about to graduate from smart school.  Best of all— <edited out because it’s too funny and personal to share>– Boom.  You are winning.

Investing = Wins

More exciting?  I got into grad school.  delightment.

A little better?  I got shoes for Christmas.  delightment.

More momentous?  I have a smaller family.  or is it to soon to post that…sorry was that “mean?” or does it make me “a smart girl?”  That’s one of those “lessons” I’ll write more about later………. conclusion: God’s will unfolding–delightment.

A lot more perfect?  than this love… nice try.  DELIGHTMENT, I love you oh so well.

I may still have a year before graduating smart school.  BUT I invested in my education (by giving a whoollllllllleeee lot of money to GMU).  And I’m smarter.  and more compassionate.  more empathetic.  and hell, the most confident I’ve ever been because of it.

And I’ve invested in my heart.  Cutting out what doesn’t belong, and allowing what does.  That’s my favorite part.

And my legs.  The thighs are like what, what, what… (you sisqo fans will appreciate that).  But I invested.  the time– it was worth setting new PRs.

And my smile.  I just really love it more.  Because it showed up a lot this year.  A LOT.  Look at my life and you in it.

and my love.  I’ve added a lot of loves this year.  and it’s made my heart bigger.  SO BIG!  Investing in these relationships that have changed my life…”Oh, I love you oh so well– like a kid loves candy or fresh snow…I could swear I hear you singing to me…”  So thank YOU… and You.

thanks for being a part of this year.  The investment in me…. one word.  no, two.  in me.  three actually.

I did it.

Peace out 2013.  You’ve been so good to me…and God’s been better. I love you oh so well…

I can’t think of a time that I ever wanted to “settle down.”  I mean, EVER.  And if you ask some of my closest friends–they’d be most surprised to hear you say that maybe I do…  they’re the ones who claim I’ll date for years, be engaged for longer, and have kids…maybe never.  But something’s changed and I. DO. (not settle down, but live more.)

Maybe it’s the life I’m living, wearing my yoga pants as I look in the rear view mirror to see a car seat with a sleeping child looking so peaceful.  Maybe it’s the new sense of listening; the eyes in the back of my head.  OR maybe it’s the trusting tears that come running to me with open hands for me to snuggle the hurting hearts and beat the horrible pains so far gone.  I think what it really is, is me coming to terms with adult-dom in the wake of a quarter life crisis that was dragging me away from the reality of “growing up,” tearing me away from finding the real me, the masterpiece of me.

I don’t have my “real” job yet.  And yes, we all know I’m not married, yet.  side note: I have a church momma who told her parents if she wasn’t married by thirty, she was getting artificially inseminated.  PG13 note-that doesn’t sound nearly as fun as being “unartificially” inseminated.  But God provided for her and I love knowing He’s providing for me too.  ps. no, I am not pregnant.  

Last night I had a dream that I was single and pregnant.  Somewhere in-between the feelings of shame and the hovering of guilt and selfishness, somewhere, somewhere, there was joy.  Because I’ve now reached “mamawanna” status and “live-my-life-for-you-with-you” status.  And that, that will someday, be my “real” job.  And that, that is where I find the joy knowing it’s for you, with you…

It’s not centered around being patient for the joy.  It’s centered around being ready for that joy while I live this joy.

I plan my Tuesdays around pre-school and nap time.  I strap the car seats because I feel an extra sense of security when they’re extra secured.  I snuggle.  I love…  and we all know, I was made to love.

But something is still missing as I maneuver through this joy in the waiting//I was created to love- and so the inerrant Word of God teaches, it was good…and the human me questions actually, was it?  I’ve been meditating on this:

God said, “It’s not good for the Man to be alone; I’ll make him a helper, a companion.

I’m praying a bold prayer here, being open a bold open, and saying–It is not good for me to be alone.  not now.  not anymore.  Where is are you, my companion?  Let me be…..with you, my companion.

<sips coffee….>

<…takes another sip of coffee>

<fingers slow down…typing becomes minimal>

Since when have I not been honest?  Since when have I not been bold?  Since when have I not claimed to love independence?  Or since when have I not known the greatness of my own heart?

It’s time.

<sips coffee.  again.>

My boy fun.  So you want to know why we “really” didn’t work out?  Because God did not make him MY helper, MY companion, YOU.  You want to know how I knew?  Because he didn’t want to live my heart the way I wanted to use my heart, for him.  And there it is.

And here I am.  I don’t stop and ask the what if’s anymore.  I don’t wonder why anymore.  And I sure as hell don’t get angry anymore.  There is no anger in love.  No joy in anger.  But in joy, in love, there is peace.  Peace.  Because I know my helper, I know my companion–and you are still being prepared to live MY heart as I use my heart, for you.  That’s the thing, it’s NOT good for me to be alone when I’m this ready to be yours…God made me for you.  I was made to love–not for me, but for you.  So yes, I am ready to find and live the joy for you, ready to live it with you.  It’s time for you to be ready already!

—

I know myself today more than I EVER have.  I’ve found me.  So many posts over the last year have brought me to this exact moment when I “sip coffee,” when I stop and see that in this moment is the most perfect me there has ever been.  God could not prepare me or my heart any more for you than in this moment, where I wait for the joy I get to live because of you.

I look at myself…like this.

and I finally see the masterpiece that was created in His image, for you.

<stops and stars at pearl ring…and thinks, thinks long, hard, thoughts including how it’s time to take the ring in for a good cleaning and diamond shining…>

My dad gave me this.

and on the day he did, he prayed the most precious prayer that has ever been sung over my life.  I don’t think I’ve ever been able to trust in his words until today–as I sit here loving ME in the joy that comes in being ready for you.

I don’t like to toot my own horn…really.  I say that because if you’re Facebook friends with me, you know I just did.

Here I go anyway.  I’m a pretty spontaneously wonderful person.  Underneath the chubby cheeks is a gorgeous smile (that my parents paid for…thanks mom and dad), and the best part of it is that it is genuine.  and so am I.  I believe with all my heart that I was made to offer me–and all of me for you.  Genuine, little me with eyes that stare into precious souls with passion to see and know hearts as much as I’ve come to know my own.  And my life——-

I’m neat.  I have a friend who constantly tells me I’m neat.  We joke that someday we’ll get married and have neat kids…but what is neat?  I think it’s the part of me that is excited to share in this beautiful life.  To jump on a plane at a moments notice to celebrate life.  To plan a dinner for 30+ people to honor my parents’ lives (outside. at night. by fire.)  To recognize the relationships that are worth savoring and to be at peace with the ones that aren’t while most importantly, knowing the difference.  I am neat because of far more.

Last night I tucked my two little cousins into bed after a long day of soccer and “life.”  One asked me if we used to be monkeys.  Do you know how neat it was to be able to say “no.” ?! (and with confidence!)  It’s Pretty. Damn. Neat.  We talked about God and His creation.  How God breathed life into MAN.  And he got it.  I feel like you’ve reached a good benchmark in life and Christianity when you are able to discuss creationism with a four year old… SUCCESSFULLY.  I walked away thinking knowing, I can do this, I want to do this, I am so ready to do this and not for me, but for others, with you.

…because I’m neat.  and I know exactly how to love you, AND me.

and I do.  Sacrificially, I so do.

I don’t know when I’ll say the real, “I do.”  I kind of hate that.  In all honesty, I actually really hate that.  TINY SOAPBOX-And what I hate even more is having people say, “your time will come,” or “God is faithful, just be patient”  Like really, do you think I don’t already know that or I haven’t figured that out yet?!!

I look at this beautiful pearl ring that symbolizes purity even though Lord knows, I am far from pure.  I fail daily.. more like hourly.  But it’s something I strive for in the waiting–to be perfectly in tune with who God has created me to be.  Guess what, I’m finally there.  There are two diamonds holding the pearl.  ps. love that my Daddy was the first man to give me a diamond ring.  And these diamonds signify a promise of constancy.  And so I do.  I promise to be constant in this strive for purity, this strive to be the woman that God made me to be for you and for me and for ours.  All the neat of me–ready to hand over not to someone else, FOR someone else.

And then there is this: I don’t find it coincidental at all that as I take the needed break from this emotional and honest post that I stumble across a beautiful blog post about marriage not being for “me.”  (by 6 and counting friends none the less).  It’s not a reminder at all that this is for me…  It’s an affirmation that I’m finally getting it, I’m pretty sure I’ve finally got it.  Guess what, love, it’s your turn.

Perhaps each of us have moments in our lives when it feels like time slows down or the air becomes still and everything around us seems to draw in, marking that moment as one we will never forget.

My dad giving his response to my concerns was such a moment for me. With a knowing smile he said, “Seth, you’re being totally selfish. So I’m going to make this really simple: marriage isn’t for you. You don’t marry to make yourself happy, you marry to make someone else happy.

I haven’t reached these new status’ to try and find the happiness that awaits me…  No!  I’ve reached them because I finally found the real mission that lies behind the happiness…it’s not for me, it’s for others.

Do you have any idea (well, yeah I guess you momma’s know) how blessed it is knowing that only “you” can wipe the tears, hold the hands, kiss the foreheads…It’s not about us anymore, is it?  It never was.  And hey, what a sweet, sweet prayer of intimacy it is that we would be desired by our men as they seek to live their lives for US.  I’m so happy praying that prayer…so at peace being able to pray that prayer knowing it’s not for me but for him to see the me I love, the me that was created for him.  I am his beloved… God bless this.

I look at that picture of me up above–I stare at it long and hard in my moments of contemplation, the moments of truth and tender sincerities as I know just how ready I am…so ready I am.  It’s so hard not to draw out my imperfections…the sausage fingers that remind me of those many extra pounds…the eyes that are tired, the nose that is a little too pointy for my liking, and the lips that just want to be kissed a different kind of kiss.  And I realize, those thoughts aren’t my Father’s thoughts and so no longer can they be mine.  I truly am in love with who He has made me to be–this wild and precious life I’ve been given, FOR HIM.  See my smile, love every part of me, desire me, Love.  Hold my heart, sweet friend, it’s yours.  And see the beautiful me that was made for you.

You’re so beautiful, my darling,
so beautiful, and your dove eyes are veiled
By your hair as it flows and shimmers,
like a flock of goats in the distance
streaming down a hillside in the sunshine.
Your smile is generous and full—
expressive and strong and clean.
Your lips are jewel red,
your mouth elegant and inviting,
your veiled cheeks soft and radiant.
The smooth, lithe lines of your neck
command notice—all heads turn in awe and admiration!

The sweet, fragrant curves of your body,
the soft, spiced contours of your flesh
Invite me, and I come. I stay
until dawn breathes its light and night slips away.
You’re beautiful from head to toe, my dear love,
beautiful beyond compare, absolutely flawless.

You’ve captured my heart, dear friend.
    You looked at me, and I fell in love.
    One look my way and I was hopelessly in love!
How beautiful your love, dear, dear friend—
far more pleasing than a fine, rare wine,
your fragrance more exotic than select spices.
The kisses of your lips are honey, my love,
every syllable you speak a delicacy to savor.
Your clothes smell like the wild outdoors,
the ozone scent of high mountains.
Dear lover and friend, you’re a secret garden,
a private and pure fountain.
Body and soul, you are paradise

Song of Songs 4 (The Message)

Lost in the realness of my life now.  I met with a classmate yesterday for an “intake” interview to make an “assessment” about her current state..and mine.  Hah!  Friends, let me tell you about my current state.  The one that I fall in love with more and more each day..and somehow fall in hate with less and less.  I’m busy.  So I schedule sushi dates weeks in advance and last minute movie dates hours in advance, shoe shopping and snuggles with mom minutes in advance.  I schedule a paper between 11:30pm and 6am.  I schedule a run somewhere between sunrise and just after preschool drop off.  I schedule making my bed at 6:22 am.  I schedule hanging my clothes at 9:18am or 9:54 a.m. depending on the day.  And my nails, they’re getting painted in between these words and these thoughts because I have to multitask.  HAVE TO.  I schedule…I schedule… and I SCHEDULE.  My iCal is exploding blue.  But my life is exploding what it’s meant to.

So in meeting with Lindsay, my “presenting problem” was time management.  Ironic because it’s not much of a problem.  It’s just how I get lost in the moment with you–living as though today is the last and no, I don’t just mean that in the cliché form it may come across as.  I mean it in that, my life is too busy NOT to cherish each little moment with you.

YOU, this LIFE-this LOVE!

five mile runs around burke lake.  without them getting lost would take on a much different meaning.  yet with them, getting lost means handling the stresses joys of schedules, schedules, and more schedules.

and shoe shopping.  I think of the three pairs I bought this month, these are by far my favorite.   (The others are navy also, flats from Nine West…and since they were BOGO 50% off, I also got red ballet flats).

THE BATHROOM RENOVATION! click here to get the details and see the after pictures.. still not quite done, but somewhere between the running and shopping and traveling I managed to change that into this!

..while still finding time for this!  Marisa signed up for Amari to do the Marine Corp 1 mile fun run.  I bought her cute running clothes (of course) and the girl conquered.  Strength, Endurance, and most importantly, FAITH to run the race set before us.

 ps. it cracks me up looking at her right shoe… what kind of Auntie doesn’t fix that for her girl?!

My heart melts for this little man.  We get a little closer everyday, what between our dolphin kisses and eskimos and “targuts” runs before or after preschool.  In case you need a translation those would be Starbucks runs…yes, those are scheduled in too.

As was the Great Pumpkin 5k at Reston Towne Center with my two favorite running buddies.  Note: repeated Starbucks (forget gold member, I’m working my way up to platinum).  There’s something so therapeutic about the goofy…

and something so special and therapeutic about being with them.

And as good as it is this scheduling– you have no choice but to crash… after talking the Wendy’s drive thru guy into giving you 50+ chicken nuggets for free while barefoot because those hot cheetah print heels beat up your feet with all those mad dance moves to Daft Punk and Build Me Up Buttercup…

must mean it’s time to recharge.

and then get excited for the next adventure!

because New York City, here I come!

This is Maggie, Katie, and Molly.  I helped potty train them.  And now they’re 16, 17, and 18.  And God knows these are my girls!  Surprising Molly for her 18th birthday was by far one of the greatest surprises I’ve EVER been a part of.  Seriously.  THE GREATEST!  Gosh I love this spontaneous life I lead.

Remember that one time I met Mr. Producer Man (Alex) and flirted with him until the girls had to tell me he was gay?  oops.

Or the time that I complimented Natalie Morales’ shoes and so she took a picture with us… AND thought that I was 18 (and Molly)?  This life makes my cheeks hurt.  

And remember the time that Jill told me to make-out with boys because it’s fun?  Yes, friends, life is SO FUN!

Because she’s a part of it.  Teaching me what it’s like to be a woman, but instilling in me what it’s like to be His woman.

Hey Katie, remember when you were 3 and I was swinging you around and your elbow popped out of joint….yeah, not my best babysitting moment (remember how I was 12?)

those eyes may look tired, but they’re not closing yet.

Remember that part about winning $50 but only taking home a nickel?  I’m coming for you Atlantic City…

Dear A.C., We thought you needed to prepare for us and all our funness.  We were wrong. PS I continually think that God’s gift to me is my twenties when I get to look pretty with a drink in my hand and a high five in the other.

You ate us alive Atlantic City.

but all good fun must come to an end… momentarily at least.

I don’t know if I talk about Jenn enough but she is seriously one of the sweetest women I know… can I get an amen?  She has this gentle soul and this witty boldness that can send me into giggles and tears all at the same time.  and I just really really love her…and the fact that I got to watch her teach as part of an assignment of behavioral observation.  This is getting real friends, I’m going to be a school counselor… wow!

I want to be as peaceful as him.  When the moments get too rushed.  When I’m sleeping in naps and not talking in complete sentences.  When I’m overwhelmed, Lord just quiet my soul.

and then just let me be.

Yes!  Let me be.. with the one who makes me smile, who brings out goofy, and who houses MY COUCH!  Let me be with him, and the POPCORN, and the WINE, and the TV.  and let me breathe vicariously in an apartment that I can pseudo help decorate.

let me just love. let me just love in excitement…

with her.

and with him…

and with no make-up….

as we wait for THIS!

Let me love this girl who got me through high school.

Let me love the real example of family.

that travels halfway across the country to help hang twinkle lights…

they get the preciousness of life.  the moments we can never re-live.

they honor the legacy of life.

and giggle through the silliness of life.

They get it.  and they get us.  so much more than anyone could.

Family is friendship.  And grace.  And a love that sacrifices over and over again for…wait for it, others.

we dance.  and smile.

we stop to be together.

to laugh together.

to commune together.

and to twinkle a fabulous life together.

such a gift we have in one another.

Oh what a gift this is…this one wild and precious life I have.  I couldn’t love it more.

I said this in my Facebook status earlier this month:

It’s like Fall has swallowed up my life and spit out something spontaneously gorgeous and wonderful. #reallyhappygirl

really. happy (and somewhat tired). girl.

October, thank you.