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 stayed in bed on Christmas morning.  Like, for a long time stayed in bed; silent tears falling into my pillow.  Like maybe if I stayed there and avoided the presents and the kitchen to be cleaned, breakfast to be made that maybe, JUST MAYBE, I could hold on to my last Christmas with my dad a little longer.  That MAYBE THAT would be the one that would stay ingrained in my memories… but each silent tear left a little more salt on my face burning a little deeper the pain of my first Christmas without my Dad… EVER.

We sat in church on Saturday night…. The whole time (through a sermon about anxiety!!) I kept thinking “the last time I was here; my dad was here too…”  But he wasn’t.  I stood there singing such praises to my God, the one who really has him (and me too, I guess), and the bottomless pain feeling so profoundly deep was covered by this multitude of peace.  My dad- singing divine praises with the heavenly hosts at the celebration of the coming of our King…and I just sat there with that…and the silent tears.

After the service, a very loved and sweet, sweet friend so brutally but ever so gracefully warned me, “tomorrow morning is going to be hard…”  I followed that conversation with others asking how I was doing; “Is that your dad’s ring”  (because I’m wearing it like a new appendage taking his eternal love with me wherever I go…) And they were sweet conversations.  Ones that I was actually enjoying.  I’ve been avoiding everyone.  LITERALLY everyone.  I’ll be honest that I’ve seen names on my phone and very guiltlessly ignored such kindness and concern because I just don’t want to face the discussions that “it’s going to be okay” and “I’m praying for you” and “I hear you.”  I’m held in such special places by so many people.  Something that just like my dad, I’m humbled and moved even sitting here thinking about…

So on Christmas morning, as I laid in my salty puddle, scrolling through my phone (because what else am I going to do on the hundredth hour of my grief, I looked through my ignorance to your love.

I laid BEHOLDING the strength that so many are giving me to rise.  And by rise, I mean literally rise.  Rising to a kitchen that my husband already cleaned, to a letter that though wasn’t from my dad, was still on the tree, to a family who has embraced me in my little land of messy and plenty knolls of illness, and lastly but most importantly, a mom who needs me as much as I need her.

And so I replayed some of these precious moments from the days before in this season of healing, beholding the goodness that’s bringing me through this…

my super sweet husband loving on my goddaughter.  btw- mistletoeing makes every.thing. better!

and puppy snuggles…

and card games with these kiddies that are patching the little infertile tears in my heart.

p.s. rice crispy treats make everything a little sweeter.

and just so you know, Mama M.E. is still smiling…

and even laughing…

Christmas mornings feel better when you hear the laughs of children…

and just a little word to the WISE (wait for the pun…) I have a husband who chose to have his wisdom teeth (there it is) removed two days before Christmas therefore enjoying a puréed cinnamon roll… don’t let the men do that.  Just… DON’T. 

I’m BEHOLDING Christmas eve’s that still have wine, and football, and little boys fighting over iPads.

and especially beholding Christmas Eve’s where all actually does happen to be calm and bright.

We’re making it.  In feeble attempts to “do” Christmas, we’re making it.

We had dinner with a dear friend a couple of weeks ago… It was the first time since my dad was *really sick* that we’d done anything “out” with friends.  It almost felt foreign, but as I’ve sat in self-guilt over friendships that have drifted over the last year(s) in the aftermath of taking care of my dad, I reveled in the resuscitation of these dinners that have (for almost ten years) brought me so much joy.  Because in some of my grief, through the tears that have me utter words like “I just want my daddy..” I’ve also yelled to Trey, beckoning for time so that we can “friend” with our friends again.  I’m so glad he heard me, love you Baby.

So we “friended.”  We talked about future, and of course the past 3 months, and inevitably the current now.  As I talked… and talked a lot… I found myself saying how mad I was at my dad (because clearly it was up to him) to die in the thick of my favorite time of year.  Maybe that’s why I have this need to play jazzy BB King music that’s got so much mood in those trumpets that I’ll never be able to hear them again without thinking of my dad and how grinchy I feel despite “making it” … It’s like, “BRING ON THE CHRISTMAS, JESUS.  FILL THE ROOM WITH SPIRIT.. but just so you know, I’m still mad.  And um, yeah, I plan to be moody until this feels right.”  and then He whispers something back to me (through you all) that it might never be right, but at least it will be easier… so// BB KING and DUKE ELLINGTON and LOUIE PRIMA it will be, Michael Bublé will have to wait.  And so will Celine, and yes even… Mariah.  [ps can you sense my mood through capitalization?  If not, read that last part again.]

I blare this stuff.  BLARE IT.  Because, I’m making it.  Literally making.  We’ve hung those classy garland things that take up way to much room down in storage.  We even taught Jackson and Brayden a PG version of mistletoe-ing.  There’s a tree that’s decorated in our living room, and I think there’s even presents underneath it all thanks to my aunts who do everything in their power to help mom and I “make-it.”  So we are.

In this venture of “making it,” I’ve been organizing.  I like to think of organizing as part of my “phoneix” days, where I’m given hope as I restore my mental health and sanity.  When I say garland takes up too much room in storage; you have no idea.  Last year, that probably wouldn’t have been such a bad thing.  This year, I can’t take it.  So.  Our basement is in complete organization-seeking shambles.  Disarray I tell you.  But as if I wasn’t mad enough at the situation of timing, I found this.

I’m in this classical phase, heaving through photography.  Like– what does that even mean?  SO.MUCH.BLACK.AND.WHITE.  If you ask my clients, that’s probably always been me.  Maybe I’m just noticing the timelessness more.

Case.

And.

Point.

I’m thinking this photo was taken in the 1930’s.  1930’s!  My dad sitting on my grandfather’s lap in front of that Christmas tree with tackie garland (which by the way probably DIDN’T take up much room in storage and ps did they even have storage back then??) …resting in the arms of his father…

I also found this picture.  1. OLAN MILLS.  2. holy mullet.  3. that freakishly ugly doll that is part of the backdrop.  and 4. me; leaning into my daddy.  And while this photo isn’t my tried and true, highly preferred, classical black and white, it’s timeless.

I know not everyone does or didn’t have a great relationship with their dads… I didn’t always either… But there was time and I did.  And what perfect imagery, of a daddy’s purpose–my dad’s purpose.

Some of my last conversation with my dad included words like, “You made so many of my dreams come true…” to which he responded, “Well honey, that’s what Daddy’s do for their little girls.” God, I miss him so much.

So I’m leaning on his spirit.  His Christmas Spirit because he had so much of it to give.  And I’m relying on these timeless reminders that are helping us “make” Christmas just like we’ve done Christmas in years past.  We’re decking the halls with photos like these and beholding more timelessness:

Like the end of Christmas where Papa B has on his slippers and little boys are playing with new toys.

Beholding the letter on the tree– he wrote me one every year.  PS I LOVE how my dad never gave into the commercialized Christ-mas.  Unfortunately, I have a tendency to fall short.  Let that be a lesson.  Parents- write your kids letters this year.  They’ll be cherished long after you are gone.  I’m writing a letter to our unborn child(ren) this year.  Damn you infertility.

Beholding my super sexy husband and the way standing next to him makes me feel safe and comforted.

Beholding the ways I leaned into my dad long into adulthood so that I could continue to do it– even when he’s gone.

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.

PART ONE:

I had an anxiety attack last night.  It wasn’t a big one like in years past, but it wasn’t a teensy, tiny one that I could get through without bringing out the good old lorazepam either.  That was the first time in a while too.  Shoot.

Sometimes, it just creeps up like that.  Here I am going through life doing a-okay: posting pictures of our new home, smiling happily and in love with my rock-star husband, and honestly going a little crazy over my near perfect moving binder complete with inventory spreadsheets of every box that’s now blocking simple walkways in our home.  Pretty irrevocable if you asked me.  In fact, I’m pretty sure that as little as 72 hours ago, I said something like this to Trey:

“Okay, don’t hold me to this….” (adding that in because… well… the reason for this post…)

“I actually kind of like moving.  It gives me this really awesome opportunity to purge and organize like crazy.  It’s giving me a vision for our new home that will surely NEED a feature in REAL SIMPLE when I’m through with it…”

Trey: <chokes on dinner> (because surely I must be kidding)

“But don’t hold me to it.”

My back hurts and I’m sick of the boxes that are taking up room in my home that’s reverting back into a plain old house with every photo that’s packed and every stray sock that’s thrown in the garbage.  And I legit cried over the wife I was last year when I was packing Trey’s coat and a receipt fell out.  I was reminded of date nights with him that didn’t have us at home with take-out watching Netflix.  I could almost put money on it that I was showered, did my make-up, AND EVEN blow-dried my hair… perhaps even gone for a run earlier too.  The point: we were intentional.

This damn life is like Mount Kilimanjaro right now- packing all day, every day, from the moment Trey leaves, right on into when he gets home (which for the record is at least ten hours).  And can I please just boycott my house and this home?!  And can we talk about my last post, is it ironic, Jesus, or just the cruel devil reminding me that this is all worth something?!

In between my angered, suffocated chest and the chase of breaths that I just couldn’t seem to catch, my thoughts flew by like a wildfire that no matter how hard I tried, couldn’t be extinguished.  My husband held me tightly like he does, as we waited for the ashes to dissipate into the aftermath…

The kitchen.  The dishes.  The unfolded laundry.  The mess.   The messes.  THOSE BOXES!!

My parents house….

the contractor…

the cleaners…

the listing price… Dad…  Infertility…  The… …. … … …….{lorazepam}

But seriously- how would YOU function??

Among the tears, I remember saying something like, “Can I just die until tomorrow…” and I drifted into a deep “worry-free” sleep.  But everyday is a new day….and that was my last lorazepam, so here I woke:

The crock-pot that he couldn’t even put in the damn refrigerator.  The reminder that his laundered shirts are still at the dry cleaner.  And this morning: he. ate. my. cereal.  AND only left a swallow of milk for me…..

Those tiny sparks that are floating off of the ashes are about to catch my breath.

The sane part of me is walking around with a fire extinguisher and a phone with Trey’s number on speed dial, telling him asking him politely to take some time off of work to stay home and help me finish.  The crazy in me is screaming “SHOULDN’T THAT COME FROM HIM ANY WAY?!?!” but wait, isn’t this supposed to be my job?  

The struggle is real: is there a job description for SAHW, or would this all fall under “other duties as assigned” any way?

—

Marriage 101: COMMUNICATE.  clearly we must have been sleeping through the section that covered “moving do’s and don’ts”.

Interpersonal Relations 101: ASK FOR HELP.  clearly I have a case of OCD and do not trust others with my insane inventory spreadsheet moving system (to be future-featured in REAL SIMPLE).  

Acceptance 501: YOU HAVE ANXIETY.  JUST BREATHE.

PART TWO:

My husband and I are moving.  It’s not an easy task; packing up our first home as the subtle prompts are speaking to our emotional and nostalgic hearts reminding us that this was the place we truly became an “us.”

There’s a crib in the guest room that we really not only thought but trusted we’d be using here and a wedding dress that’s hanging in a spare closet.  It’s the home where I learned to become a wife: to submit to my husband out of love; to cherish him for all the ways that he is loving me.  When I’m having my moments; the ways that he holds me when I can’t breathe, the way he works to provide a home that I can proudly keep (mostly), he’s a good, good, man. 

Our house goes on the market in 7 days and while I’ve figured out this moving thing pretty dang well, it is my 18th time after all, I still need help.

We’ve hired contractors for things that I already know how to do, but we’re running out of time (#theregoesmypride).  There’s a giant POD that will be in our driveway in 48 hours, and then we’ll say goodbye to our possessions for at least 3 months (#firstworldproblems).  There are boxes that are waiting to be packed full of more junk.  And then I need to neatly organize each box for our friends who will be helping us load the pod (because nobody likes helping with an unorganized move).  I could easily say “something’s gotta go,” but it’s not exactly how I work.  My husband knows that so instead decides to clench the moment with:

“We’re in the home stretch, Sweetie…”

IT’S A DOUBLE HEADER!!!!  There’s another house that’s waiting to go through the same process and we only have three weeks to do it!

I want to quit.  I just want to boycott my house and home right now.  St. Thomas really was a lovely place to visit…. to continue with my procrastination, as soon as I am finished writing this, I’m going to start looking at tickets for me, myself, and I.  I’ll book my returning flight for May 26.

BUT REMEMBER, WE’RE BLESSED.  I’m an anxious mess, but we’re blessed.  My husband has agreed to take tomorrow and Friday… AND Monday off of work to help me in the “home stretch.”  #blessed.

He’ll hold me and encourage me like he always does, and we’ll get it done.  He’ll buy more milk on his way home so that I can continue packing without disruptions.  He may even pick up his own dry-cleaning so that I can focus on the small home repairs that I hate paying someone else to do.  #blessed

He’ll come home and remind me of the smiles that were taking place outside of the walls of our current home while we stood in the wall-less rooms of our future home. #blessed

He’ll remind me of the many, MANY friends and family we’ll host here… starting with my niecey-Kate and brother, Jeff.

and I’ll be distracted thinking about my brother climbing the beams of our home…

and of my Trey trying to keep up with them…

I’ll stop to take in the special moments with my parents.

We’ll remind each other of these moments in the future…and cherish every moment both easy and hard.

He’ll remind me of the laughter that breaks past the anxiety.

and then, he’ll stand next to me holding that silver lamp while I write it into my very special moving binder before placing it in the box with random pens, and leftover pocket change (that of course were also inventoried.)

He’ll shake his head with a murmured “yes, dear” when I cry “uncle” …and then I’ll drop into a tireless rest with him by my side, waking to my own voice of yearning: “wake up, kick ass, repeat.”

ps. moving is hard.

pps. life is harder.

ppps. marriage with him isn’t.

Beholding isn’t always cake but maybe just, like, a small piece of pie…and whipped cream.

It means I must not have offended you when I spoke my mind concerning the oversupply of new years posts about change and refocus and new “things” and “stuff.”

It means you’re back to see what a year all about “me” is really going to look like..

It means that HOPEFULLY I’m not a selfish person and you just want to make sure.

…or something.  (if you have no idea what I’m talking about start here.)

So here it goes: 3 Reasons I NEEDED to choose ME!

1. 2016: It is what you I make of it.

I was stunned at the amount of posts and letters I read identifying 2016 as CRAP.  Pure diarrhea crap.  Like the really stinky, burn your nose kind.  please excuse the detail if you have a weak stomach.  My apologies.

Grief is a real thing and it’s not just experienced when someone dies or when we go through trauma.  Hence “Good Grief” when something bad happens.  The 5 stages are a real thing: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.  The skinny on me is that I struggle with these on a daily basis.  I haven’t addressed it much here and I know that needs to change.  I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder and I refuse to take meds because I convince myself that I can handle life without them (that and the last time I took meds it ended really poorly–another story for another day).  Ask my husband he may disagree and say I need them from time to time, but he is also my biggest supporter, soooo… yeah.  BTW– this decision is not one I would ever encourage for everyone or just anyone.  

Ask me about denial– “How are you?” asks a friend on Sunday morning.  “I’m fine!” “We’re great!” “Doing well.” Oh!  And ask me about how I’ve turned from an extrovert into an introvert.

Ask me about anger–no wait.  Ask my husband because my anxiety manifests in anger aka no. patience. for. anyone.

Ask me about bargining– “If only I’d done _____ differently!!”

Ask me about depression and how my anxiety will throw me into bed for days because I just give-up life until I can conquer something to be proud of.

Ask me about acceptance.  OH WAIT!  That’s what this post is about.

2016 had me walking away from school counseling.. you know, that degree that cost me tens of thousands of dollars that I don’t regret one bit, but will probably not use anytime in the near future.  It had me revamping my photography business.  Entrepreneuring with Dr. Rodan and Dr. Fields. Seeking fertility treatments.  Taking care of my parents who take turns going in and out of the hospital.  Supporting my husband and his family as we grieved the deaths of Aunt Carol and Papa.   All things that I won’t lie, came with EXTREME anxiety, but things I wouldn’t trade for anything because God was and IS moving!

And that’s when I discovered that 2016 is what you make of it because for each crap-filled day I laid in bed, I can now go back and pinpoint at least one joy that accompanied the bad, the awful, the stinky.

Moving forward, everything stems from this one decision: 2017 will be what I/(ME) make of it!

I can’t claim to know or understand what God is doing in the moment, but this I know, “at the right time, He will lift me up,” (1 Peter 5:6).  Always has, always will.

2. Transformation

Isaiah 41 (from the Message translation) is one of my favorite chapters in the Bible.  Why?  Because I think it’s a brilliant metaphor of rising from the ashes aka a bout of anxiety when it strikes depression like a 16 pound bowling ball.

Things like “Sit down and rest.  Recover your strength” or “Gather around me, say what’s on your heart!”

Parts like “Who did this?  Who made this happen?  Who always gets things started?  I did.  GOD.  I am the first on the scene.  I am also the last to leave.”

“I’ve picked you, I haven’t dropped you.”

“I, God, want to reassure you.”

“I’m transforming you.”

“But I’m there to be found.“

My beef with #oneword is this: Though chosen, to view life through the lens of one word, is limiting.  And I APPLAUD my friends who are able to do it.  Just like 2017 will be a choice to be what I make of it, it’s a choice to BEHOLD (see what I did there) the “beauty,” “peace,” “joy,” “simplicity” in every.single.thing when maybe the moment isn’t right for it yet.  MAYBE God hasn’t started the transforming yet.  MAYBE God isn’t leaving yet.

And I think that when we label our year ourselves, we’ve done a great disservice to the transformation God is doing inside of us now!

FYI I’m talking to myself there… and FYI I know this won’t apply to everyone, but this is about ME.

I feel like in that great disservice,  we’ve I’ve also made it more about me and less about HIM!  There’s something in scripture about that too…

This is the assigned moment for Him to move into the center, while I slip off to the sidelines. (John 3:30, The Message)

Without question, I believe that it’s in the sidelines where we experience the good, the bad, and everything inbetween, that His greatest work is done.  It’s our job to watch these “problems” that 2016 threw at us and that 2017 is bound to chuck our way too, and turn them into opportunities (for the transformation).

3. Dream big

Our AMAZING Worship Director Bryan preached last Sunday… his sermon served as inspiration for this post, but also as a call to rise to 2017 bigger and better than I might have otherwise.  Through what he spoke, I was also reminded of a term that a college professor used that I’ve never forgotten.

Don’t be a FAT Christian.

Don’t go to church on Sundays to be fed the Word and then spend the week not exercising it.  We’ve got to take what we learn “in there” and live it “out there;” but do it with the intent that God has bigger plans that will be revealed in their own time.  Believe it.  And here’s where I caution you:

Don’t limit the work He is doing based on current circumstances.

school counseling.  Bigger plan.

photography.  Better plan.

children.  In His time.

Go bigger.  Go better.  Expect bigger.  Expect better.

Me.

Here’s one example: We had a beautiful wedding documentary to go along with our wedding video.  The closing words had “me” talking about a home with a big open porch and land that we could look out at as we watched our family grow and play… God transformed a lot quicker than we ever thought and here’s where we were on the sidelines of 2016: I’d like you to meet our newest roommates beginning in May.

that’s my dad and mom… standing on our 2.5 acre lot in Fredericksburg where we are building our dream home complete with an in-law suite.

We have an opportunity to take care of my parents in their golden years, to spend time with my dad hearing his hundreds of stories about his days in Korea and his experiences installing power lines throughout Montana.  We have this opportunity to have my mom help us with the grandchildren she is dreaming up and praying up for us!  We have this opportunity to love on them like they have us.

But we I wouldn’t have EVER seen the circumstances of 2016 as “gifts” to bring “me”/us to this triumphant time where God is allowing ME to recover my strength.

 and I know that in this we have a bajillion things in store for us… packing up our home, packing up their home, Dad’s continued cancer treatment, Mom’s unexpected and sporadic health crisis, our infertility, leaving our church community, leaving Trey’s family, selling both homes…so. much. in. store. …but the me in “us” is dreaming so big because of how God is using this time, the here and the now to transform me during every trial- the good trials and the hard trials.

Behold: 2017.  A year about ME.

It’s an exciting time for us this week… we break ground on Tuesday!!  Check out this video (and watch as I almost eat dirt) explaining what will happen on Tuesday.

And an anger rises as I realize (once again) that God is so much bigger than us, as I try to understand why and how his “greatness” is so incomprehensible, when really all this human in me just keeps crying out, “but God, my God, it’s not freakin’ fair.”

And life’s just not fair: the failures that create walls, the memories that are still so fresh that instead they become regrets. And it’s not fair because the happy moments that go in memory books didn’t include her smile and her tears of joy.  And it’s not fair because the fight isn’t easy, clinging to the Miracle.  And the hope is hard because there’s guilt when you can’t find it.  And so instead we sit here and say that we’re going to keep trusting…. Because through the brokenness, God will turn bitterness into something sweet like freshly baked autumn bread just like He always does.  And because through the brokenness there’s light at the end of the tunnel for you, and for you, and for me, and for all of us.. And because through the brokenness we wake up stronger, newer people ready to fight for what we all know we want and deserve.  And because the Spirit that lingers has lingered for an eternity into our numbered days, holding us; so we rise up on His wings even still with our anger and questions and mistrusts, holding on to one thing, Him…. Maybe two, each other.

And so God, my God, I thank you. For brokenness, and anger, and guilt, and hope, and Your Son and His grace, and my peoples that are your peoples.  You make it beautiful…

Which is why you should start with this:

so just an fyi- that’s NOT actually Josh Garrels, but a cover of his song Pilot Me. But I chose to share that because there is such joy hearing these peaceful words out of the hearts and mouths of children… oh and just soak in their giggles, and just hear the joy… well hopefully hear the joy.. because I am.

Oh my friends, it’s been so hard to find the joy lately.  I’m overwhelmed, and angry, and frustrated, and sometimes sad.  And the peace and joy have been missing… and I can’t remember when I last felt it.  So the rage..it got bad…think brokenness…. (and peeps, I’m serious–I had a pretty raging moment…actually because my mom is reading this I have to be honest and say, I’ve had pretty raging momentSSSSSS over the last few weeks)…. Earlier this week I sent out a mass text message to my other moms just asking for their prayers because the absence of peace was working something terrible in me… and that’s not me.

So I started praying Josh’s words:

I will arise and follow you over
Savior please, pilot me

Over the waves and through every sorrow
Savior please, pilot me

When I have no more strength left to follow
Fall on my knees, pilot me

May your sun rise and lead me on
Over the sea’s, savior pilot me

and as I was, His Spirit started to seep through the cloudy sight my tears had left behind…and I just saw so much of His graces… His truths that I know, but somehow forget to acknowledge.  And so I kept on with this prayer, that He would be enough.

And I’ve found that through the constant battle that was building brokenness, He’s brought this joyous restoration through my friends and my aunts, my sister, and especially my mom.  I love this quote by Beth Moore “WE are catalysts of joy for one another…”

I hate that I’d become so wrapped up in life outside of them that I’d lost love for Him, and that through it my trust and passion were just a lukewarm faith that could barely find the strength to reach for His arms that have always held me with intimate love…. but my catalysts fought for me…

And I stopped and realized that if I can take the good days from him, there is no reason why I should’t reJOYce in the bad days too (ps yes I know that you don’t spell rejoice with a Y).  I stopped praying for joy–left that up to them.  And I started praying for peace.  Because my life was unbearable without peace–and waiting on Him for joy was just heart wrenching.  It came… it came quickly.

I was reminded that Jesus left us with peace– I was just forgetting to take it with me in the discord, the prompting for forgiveness, the plea for more grace, the patience for His provision, the fight for more perseverance….and in all that, I finally realized, I. can’t. do. this. alone.

And that’s exactly why He’s provided for me, knowing my needs and giving me immeasurably more than I could ever imagine– and it’ll keep coming even better than I could ever imagine.  Before I ask, He’s giving.  Because to Him, my life is more than the overwhelming schedule of grad school, and the selfish dissatisfaction with a room that barely holds all of my shoes, and the rudeness in me that comes out when I have to talk to my parents when I wake up in the morning and come home from school.  But He freely gives to needs I’ve yet to identify.

So in the waiting, I forced myself to find the tiniest bit of joy–because the waiting is what fulfills His glory in His will being worked and done.  That’s when He becomes more than enough– if I could just open my eyes to see that fullness.

And He doesn’t change my circumstances to make them bearable.  He meets me there, beckoning me through doubt just so I can see a glimpse of His glory.  So I asked myself in between the countless questions of why and self doubt–how much am I really trusting in His will?  How okay am I with His will even knowing that in the end it will bring Him glory?  He’s working for my good and in it, there will be glory, and even power, revealed.  So I kept praying for peace; I kept praying for contentment as I am looking at the end that is so near in sight (20 days)…and this whole thing of perseverance keeps coming up.  Day after day–perseverance (for my good) to the victory.

Revelation: “It is possible to be in intimate gatherings with Christ, hear His teaching, and see His power before our very eyes–and still be lost.”

But I’m not lost anymore– not angry, not weary…  He provides, and gave so freely to me through the beauty of perseverance, through a mind that is fighting so hard to stay focused on Him….

I had two choices when I got home from class yesterday, to get into bed at 2:30 to try and get some rest and rejuvenation before sitting down to write yet another paper…. or to try and find rest and solace in the company of one who truly cares for me.  He helped me choose the latter.  And it was perfect.  Many things in life are rarely perfect– but this: it. was. perfect.  Because He provided me with every ounce of what I needed.  I walked this path that my feet know so familiarly.  And I spoke such freeing words as I was sharpened by insight and love.  Believe it or not, I was quiet for moments as I stared into His sunlight that beamed through the green leafs that were moved through His breath, a breeze…

I’m reminded that all is His… we are His.  So my feet moved while my heart stilled–and there came Peace.  And friends don’t get me wrong, Peace didn’t just show up in the moments that were filled with laughter, and honesty, and humility.  Peace is reigning.  And this was so everything I needed… and had absolutely no idea that I did.

I talked to one of my friends last night, and she could even sense it in my voice.  And that’s just dandy…you should know, I type that with a smile that I haven’t smiled in months: where joy is back, where rage is gone, where hope is grounded…where perseverance is still walking me into victory.

—

Last night after the most amazing day of His goodness through his goodness, I prayed the best prayer I have in a verrrrryyyy lonnnggg, long time.  And the Spirit moved my words through the pages as my heart wrote something my hand had forgotten amidst the joyless drought.  “You are enough.” and this time I meant it.  Hah! Oh! and I even prayed this, “Lord, just let me rest here for awhile…”

so I will.

ps. here is the real Josh Garrels song in case you’re interested

Today at church a treasured friend and church momma whom I haven’t seen in too long asked me how I was doing.  It was habit to say, “I’m so good! …things are just so great right now…” and it was weird.  I answered as I hugged her, and I felt this guilt… like, here she is embracing me, caring for me, taking time to ask how I’m doing…. and why can’t I tell her that I’m struggling… and at what point could I……..or would I?

This beautiful woman touched my heart when I needed it most– she helped me through so much bitterness that I held, and she inspired my time in the Word more than anyone else has… ready??? in YEARS.  And I couldn’t tell her that I’m strugglin’…

So let me tell you ALLLL instead.  I miss my joy that used to be so grounded in my heart.  I miss the God that shows up in the little things… like the wind that breezes on my face right now giving my legs goosebumps.  He’s there, right?  And, I miss feeling Him as my feet hit the pavement in steps that used to stride a special kind of run that carried me into a path only He knows… that brought joy, enough joy.

And I miss the joy that comes through prayer and presence and glory and humility.  How did I get here?  To this place where my trust in Him became conditional upon how much I see of my plan in His.  And I feel guilty again.. because it’s stealing my joy.  My “trust” in Him, stealing my joy?  That’s not of Him.  And still I crave more.  I’m selfish…and I want more of Him in my plan.

Yet, as I’m here with Him, it’s not enough.  I crave more of this worship, more of these intimate moments that show me a glory I never imagined.  I crave more of me in His grip.  I crave more of Him and the way I feel knowing HE CHOOSES TO LOVE ME…. that it would be enough– Contentment, where are you?  Bring me that joy….

And so as the enemy swoops in trying his hardest to steal my joy found in the 10,001 reasons I love You… I turn to You.  I turn to You reaching for Your traces that still bring me hope even when my plan isn’t His.  (okay, I feel really stupid writing that….duh…)

I read this during my Bible time yesterday, and I cried.

Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be.
Remind me that my days are numbered—
how fleeting my life is.
You have made my life no longer than the width of my hand.
My entire lifetime is just a moment to you;
at best, each of us is but a breath. (Psalm 39:4-5)

I feel so small, so insignificant.  I cried and my tears dropped onto the tissue thin pages as I made this selfish plea: if life is so short, why must I wait– don’t make me wait.  Where is my joy, people?!?  because I look and still see the traces of it in my smile… and I look and feel it as I sit in the company of His children talking about His richness and sovereignty, His answers to prayers in magnificent and tangible ways (for them…) ..and I look and find it in the warmth of His springtime sun.  But… I just can’t seem to fathom why that’s not enough (for me…).  We are nothing but His breath… and we are everything because of His breath.  and it’s not enough for me…  I don’t think that’s struggling, I think it’s selfishness…I want my joy back.

I have tasted of a love so wide
That it stops all my time
I have tasted of a love so deep
That it blows my mind

—

Marisa told me once that I go from “extreme highs to extreme lows.”  Those words still repeat themselves… especially in times like these.  But who are we as His children to never wrestle?  Who can we be as His children– to be humbled in a moment of despair as we make a choice to no longer do “this” on our own, but to offer ourselves on our knees to a God who beckons us and our selfishness and our tears and our discontentment with His ways amongst our own plans and desires in a moment of our own sweet surrender?

Here’s what I’ve learned: How sad my life will be waiting for a joy in these short and number days I’ve been gifted….isn’t it enough?  isn’t that contentment?

So I pray this prayer in advance through my selfish strugglin’: Lord, forgive me for picking back up what I’ve already laid at Your feet. (ps. that’s not a “nic original”).  Now may I wait upon Your Joy…

and this, may I wrestle with this (!!) until I embrace the joy in the victory You bring me as Your ways become a satisfied truth in my life, may it be enough Truth, contentment.

When I call, give me answers. God, take my side!
Once, in a tight place, you gave me room;
Now I’m in trouble again: grace me! hear me!

..

Look at this: look
Who got picked by God!
He listens the split second I call to him.

..

Complain if you must, but don’t lash out.
Keep your mouth shut, and let your heart do the talking.
Build your case before God and wait for his verdict.

 

Why is everyone hungry for more? “More, more,” they say.
“More, more.”
I have God’s more-than-enough,
More joy in one ordinary day…

 

Let the light of Your face shine on us.
Fill my heart with joy…

 

(excerpts from Psalms 4)

I will draw near.  I will have more joy.  I will have better contentment.  It will be enough.  Please hold on to me…

Farther along we’ll know all about it
Farther along we’ll understand why
Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine
We’ll understand this, all by and by (Josh Garrels, you rock!)

My memories of you grow more faint by the minute, more distant by the hour, like a remoteness that sometimes is unbearable as I watch life unfold without you in it.  You were my age when you were killed blown up.  In my darkest days, I imagine my life has “blown up” and I’m reminded that it’s hardly the case, for me it goes on, because of you, it has to go on….  You taught me reality without being here.  Some of the highest values, you taught me: life, love, humility…things I’ve never forgotten, things that have changed me for the better.  And here we are… ten years later.

—

the thirteen year old me..

No one approves of you.  And what are you doing taking my sister-cousin with you?  Who are you?  What do you want?  Why are you here?  and why are you trying so hard?

 

But oh how I want to like you.  Because you are kind.  and you love her.  You love her like a love from a movie.  and you make us laugh.  **and writing this is so much harder**

 

and I’ve lost this battle to keep my sister-cousin ours because you were made for her.  you were made for us…

 

so young and fearless… life hadn’t hit us yet, had it?

You took me to Malibu (that go-karting place).  Remember that?  That’s when you taught me who my true friends are; I was telling you about that one girl… and that was the first big-brother-cousin-in-law advice you gave… there was so much more afterwards too.  You taught me how to be a true friend to others too.  Somewhere, I still hear you questioning why I was saying what I was about others.  Somewhere, I can still hear you challenging me the way most brothers do.  And somewhere, I can still feel you holding me as I cried because my feelings were hurt.  Because that was you….with something right behind that would make us laugh; not just any laugh either, the gut kind of laugh that would have our stomachs hurting…but barely can I still hear your laugh.  because it’s been ten years.

So I focus on the other things.  The things that wipe these tears that fall with each letter typed… the time you met my first boyfriend.  And you said he was “a cool guy.”  He was… but not as cool as you.  Because my sister-cousins boyfriend was the coolest.  And though I haven’t always hit the nail on the head, one thing has always remained.  and that’s the way I need to be loved.  Because you were made for her.  and you lived it out, then, even now.  And Buddy for you to know you were made for her, oh that I would know I’m made for someone too.  That he might have been made for me too; to love me the way you loved her.  To be the next closest thing to the coolest.  To be the one that challenges me, holds me, humors me, laughs me, loves my parents the way you loved my aunt…to love me the way you loved her…

and there’ve been a few.  Buddy, there have been. a. few.  Ones you would have told me to get the hell away from.  Others that you would have mourned over with me.  and a couple that you would have welcomed into this family with opened arms.  But you couldn’t because you’re gone.  And I’m still angry you’re gone.  even ten years later.

But here’s something where the time has diminished the anger.  Our last conversation.  and even now, it’s too hard to write, but it’s time…ten years later.  It grew me up more than I ever thought it could.  ten years later.  I always said you yelled at me because it was too late to be calling.  But Buddy, you didn’t yell.  You were perturbed.  And at 27, when someone calls me too late, I’m perturbed too.  10 o’clock is too late for us old fogies.  but some how today I can chuckle at that.  But I didn’t then.  and my feelings were hurt.  But mom made me “talk” to you three weeks later.  she “made” me hear your voice that one last time.  but I didn’t speak.  I chose not to speak.  and I’ve regretted that moment ever since.  You told me how much you loved me, how proud you were of me… and I didn’t say it back.  I could have said anything, but I didn’t, except “good-bye.”  Because I was mad… and petty.  and young.

Over and over and over again, I replay that conversation.  Every time I see your picture.  every time I see hear your name.  Every time I feel you in the warm embraces of your parents… And I think what else could I have said.  Today, if you were here and we could talk about anything, what would I say?  But I can’t, I just can’t… but Buddy, I just really wish I could have said thank you.  Because you’ve been our everything.  even now.  ten years later.  And you already knew I loved you.  You already knew I was proud of you too… ten years later though, the sting isn’t any less intense.  and I’m sorry.

I’m wiping tears because I know you knew that.  But I didn’t say it then, when it mattered.  I see your pictures, and my heart grows weary.  Too soon am I reminded that you’re not ours anymore, you’re His and I’m jealous.  You’re His and though we’re assured He is a lot better than us… you’ve missed so much.  and I hate that.  I freakin’ hate it.

I hate that you weren’t here for my first real heartbreak to assure me life would continue, and that love would come bigger and better.  I hate that you weren’t here to help me add “friend” to the big-brother-cousin-in-law status.. I hate that you weren’t here for my college graduation to scream my name as I walked across the stage.  I hate that you weren’t here for my first legal drink.  My first grown-up job.  My tonsillectomy.  My car getting a flat tire.  And I really hate that you weren’t here for my quarter-life crisis.  No.  I really just hate that you’re not here for my life.  I really hate that.  so.  freakin’. much.

But someone else was.  Ten years later.  And in his independence, I see traces of you in the way he makes us laugh, the way he holds us when we’re weary, and ultimately, the way he loves her too.  the way he loves their children.  and I’m learning still, from him too.  and I really love him a lot too.  It’s hard not to… my sister-cousin, she’s won.  again.

—

In these 10 years, I think I’ve found more understanding of the term “not moving on, but going on” because it’s really all we can do.  And with that though, we have an awakened sight that we never would have known without you having been ours.  Instead, we’ve moved with you…We go through this life noticing the smaller things that you would have appreciated: the little ugly critters that run across the side walk, inconvenience that’s still part of God’s timing, the honestly, surprised faces on Christmas morning….but we appreciate them more, like a second chance, and we have no choice but to go on because that’s what you would have done, and that’s what you would have wanted.  And as we do, we keep this one thing in mind- everything is a bigger gift because of you.  This day is a bigger gift because of you.  And her girls are a bigger gift because you’re in her and she’s in them.  and him; their life is lovely and chaotic and everything as it should be– a greater gift, because of you.

but we miss you.  oh, Bud, we miss you so much.  The days are longer this time of year when they should be shorter…and the pain of your absence pauses us as it did that day, January 27, ten years ago.  For the first time in ten years, I read this page in my journal… the most appropriate way to close…

February 10, 2004: I sat in-between mom and dad in the limo, and seeing those silent tears fall down her face.  My sister is a widow.  She’s 25 and a widow…God hold her and bless her and fulfill your promise of a prosperous future (Jer. 29:11) even now, when it’s the farthest thing from our imaginations.

 

….hearing those gun shots, that stung.  That stung deep into our souls as we stared into the distance realizing that where we would now find you would be among the white tombstones, so many white tombstones.  So, we held hands as if we were holding each other’s hearts…as if it were you holding our hearts–

and ten year’s later, you’re still holding our hearts… our love is forever yours.