2016: the healing rushed in

I've heard of people saying they pray and meditate on a word for each upcoming year. I've always liked the thought of it, but honestly, I sort of stink at sticking with things.

It's a big reason I've never make New Year's resolutions. I don't want to feel like a failure when February rolls around and I've already forgotten what I resolved to do.

Anyway, a few days before the new year, I had some alone time in the car. I had the radio going and I was reflecting on 2016 and everything that came with it. Really everything that went with the last 4 years and how it all seemed to heap into a pile and 2016 was my year to deal with it. All of it.

Yes, Paige was part of that. But there was more. More I'm not ready to share, and may not ever be. It's  been 4 years of taking hits emotionally, financially and spiritually and it all seemed to culminate at the end of 2016.

Finally, I made some peace with it. I stood myself up in front of a large crowd of people, opened myself up in some vulnerable and scary places and the unexpected happened. The wounds didn't grow deaper.

Instead, the healing rushed in.

I cannot say exactly how or why, but as the words spilled from my lips, deep wounds in my heart began to heal.

When I left that retreat, one that was suppose to be for work and to grow my business, I felt physically lighter. My outlook on life felt different and I had decided to embrace the joy of my life, rather than continually preparing myself for the next shoe to drop.

Vulnerability is not weakness.

Vulnerability is emotional risk, uncertainty and emotional risk. 

It is to allow ourselves to be seen. To be honest.

Vulnerability is the most accurate measure of courage.

- Brene Brown, "The Power of Vulnerability"

And as I drove home from Costco just a few days before New Year's the word I heard God speak to me was so clear and my jaw dropped.

2016 was the year of Healing.

I remember after Paige died I kept getting angry and then in a weird way, I anticipated the person I would be in the future, once I came out the other side. Wiser. Stronger. More faithful.

I cannot say with assurance that I am there yet, but I'm certainly making strides. I look at who I was before, compared to who I am now and instead of seeing a huge ravine between those two persons, I see more similarities than before.

For the longest time, I wondered if I'd ever get back to begin a better version of her, or if I'd be this angry, bitter, cynical person forever.

So, here's to you 2016. You taught me so much and forced me to reconcile with myself and God.

In 2016:
January brought Evelyn turning 2 years old and me realizing that life is moving at a much faster pace than I enjoy so I'd better embrace this chaos or risk forgetting the very best parts.

February took me to Orlando for a Leadership event for my company. I'd been struggling with the idea of making money while helping people and the ethics behind that. I took away my favorite leadership phrase that solidfied my desire to do this business and quit apologizing for being successful.

"We rise by lifting others."

March:
Abigail turned 4 and we discovered her love for anteaters.

Spring baseball began and I learned to love the art of juggling 4 kids playing on 4 different ball teams.

Ella turned 6 and slowly Luke and I began to see that when Ella is in a funk, alone time with Mom or Dad snaps her right out of it. She also started Tball and we realized that maybe we hadn't noticed how awesome she was as baseball.

Our beloved 13.5 year old Golden Retreiver, Brinkley, died. It rattled us all and we still miss her every, single day. We swore off getting a dog for at least a year, maybe 2.

April:
We got a dog. A puppy to be exact.

Belle, the golden-doodle, 10 weeks old.

Ashlee discovered that when you tell the waiter at a restuarant you want the largest fish they have, you need to be very, very specific.

"Mom! It has eyes! What if it's pregnant!?!"

May: 

Olivia played in her first, and last, piano recital and decided she'd rather take horseback riding lessons instead of play piano. 

Lucas and Ashlee turned 10, both got an iPod and the world of navigating several children, screens and internet filters became very REAL. We got a Disney Circle. It helped.

Extreme chaos

June:

Aaron turned 8. During his birthday-day adventure, he almost got eaten by a tiger.

We spent a lot of time at the lake and I watched our kids' relationships develop in a new way. Now that I wasn't caring for a newborn 24/7, I could really soak in and see how our kids were growing together.

Because I have a sister, I always have a friend.

July:
We celebrated 'Merica.

I traveled back to my hometown to do a training for my team there. Going "home" is always a bit of a challenge emotionally. I didn't even realize at the time how healing this trip would be. Amid adversity and struggle, closer relationships with family emerged and, again, brought healing.

August:

This was a big month. Our oldest entered her last year of pre-teen. TWELVE. To celebrate the occasion, she and I took an extended weekend trip to the beach, her choice, and dove into some issue on purity, dating and everything in between. What a healing trip for both of us. We cried a lot, laughed more than I thought possible. We left feeling very divided and came home stronger and with more openness than I had even hoped for.

We also started a new Homeschooling co-op and remembered why we love homeschooling.

Elizabeth entered into her first horsehow and took home several ribbons. August was sort of big for us.

Elizabeth and Phantom

September:
We celebrated Luke making another trip around the sun.

Then, he and I left the kids for a solid week and flew across the country to attend my company's convention. It was nerve-racking leaving all our babies at home. But the theme of the convention was healing. Surprised?

Some of our amazing team of life changers.

I'm not. Even still, I wasn't putting all the pieces together yet. Healing wasn't even a word I recognized was reoccuring at this point. I guess you could say I'm a little hard headed. Or dense.

Reunited and it feels so good

October:
We celebrated 8 years of Olivia and thanked God again for the miracle that is her.

November:

The month it all sort of came crashing down. Chaos consumed us.

Ashlee performed in her first live theatre production, "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory."

Our kitchen had a water issue in September and insurance finally resolved it all in mid-November. We had to move out of our house for 3 weeks while multiple repairs were done. It was intense, but yet, so peaceful.

I can't explain how peace founds its way into those weeks of chaos, but they did. Actually, I think I can explain it.

I healed, so my family healed. When I chose to allow the wounds to be vulnerable, God allowed healing to take place, which put me back in a place to be emotionally available to my family once again.

So, we lived at the lake for a while. And Evelyn caught her first fish and we made some incredible memories in the midst of all that chaos. We moved out of our house the Sunday before Thanksgiving and didn't get back in until mid-December.

We just sort of rested in the middle of the whirlwind around us.

December:

We moved back into our house, Luke's mom came for Christmas.

We prepared our hearts for the birth of our Savior.

It was a precious and beautiful Christmas season, even though all my hopes of a beautiful Advent calendar didn't happen because all of our house was packed up and moved out. We slowly unpacked boxes, we still are actually, and threw our house on the market to sell. Yes, all a week before Christmas.

And here we are. Sitting in 2017, and somehow, with the healing of 2016, there was something more I needed. I began to ask God what my word would be for 2017. What would it bring?

More clearly than I have heard Him in a very, very long time, the word "Promise" rushed into my heart.

Followed by the following words, "When I think, 'My foot slips,' your steadfast love will help me."

I came home and looked up the scripture with those words and here is what I found.

If the LORD had not been my help,

  my soul would soon have lived in the land of silence.

 When I thought, “My foot slips,”

  your steadfast love, O LORD, held me up.

Psalm 94:17-18

What a perfect bridge of scripture to go from Healing to Promise. Here's to a year of Promise and the thankfulness that comes from a year of Healing.

Happy New Year, friends.

The joy-bringers

These days as a Mom to littles and middles, they're hard. I'm balancing toddler butt wipes and pre-teen hormones. It's hard to not feel bogged down with the day to day and miss the joy in the trenches.

Often, I have to force myself to pause and remember that these people, they are not actually trying to make my life difficult. They are just, you know, living life. All 8 of them, being children.

Children who, if I really stop and look at them are joy-bringers.

Like today, Abigail found a fly. It had recently been swatted by yours truly and she insisted it was her "very best fray-und" and tossing it into the trash would be a pre-mature burial because "Wook Mom! He's awive and he's needing me!"

Homegirl loves flies. She squeals with delight when she sees them flying through our house. "LOOK MOM! THERE GOES MY FRIEND!"

Ew.

Anyway, recently-swatted-fly was her new love. She picked it up (gag) held it as it crawled all over her hand and she carried it everywhere for the next hour as it limped/crawled/died in her hands.

Abigail, pictured here with the world's smalled baby frog.
She found him in some pile of who-knows-what at the ballpark.
She was so thrilled with her new "pet."

I forced myself not to vomit, and instead just sat and watched her enjoy this fly. It was the most hysterical interaction. She was stroking its wings and petting its back and telling it about how she was happy he would "fly around the house later when she went to bed."

Gag. Cringe. Ew.

I controlled my knee-jerk reaction to insist she throw it away and take a head-to-toe bath in sanitizing bleach water, and allowed joy to come into the moment.

Stress was whirling around me. Dinner needed to be made, I needed to get changed and ready to walk out the door the second Luke got home, but I stopped and soaked in her joy.

Abigail, my joy-bringer, she didn't disappoint.

An hour later, I grabbed my camera bag and headed for the door.

Ashlee, who was currently laying shoe-less and filthy across my bed said, "Can I go with you?"

It would have been so much easier to say no. So much less stress and waiting for the shoes to be found, and it would have given me some alone time before and after my photoshoot. Again, I fought the knee-jerk reaction and said, "Of course! Grab some shoes."

She was thrilled! She held my hand every chance she got and I soaked her in. I put my phone away and listened to her talk about what she got for her birthday last week and how she wished double-digits meants she could sit in the front seat and how she really, really, really loves babies. And puppies. But mostly babies.

She helped me wrangle a toddler and baby and our photo session was a success. We celebrated with Panera and giggles. She brought the joy, I just participated and soaked it in.

Listen, I'm not saying that every day is flowers and unicorns and rainbows. I know the days are hard. When potty-training goes awry, or when a whole container of sugar gets spilled on the floor of your freshly mopped kitchen, or maybe when instead of calmly asking for help, there are MOUTAINS OF TEARS because an earring slipped down the drain and THE WHOLE PRE-TEEN WORLD IS OVER.

Life with these people who count on you for so much is stressful. It's messy and chaotic and loud and exhausting.

But they are joy-bringers. And if you can resist the knee-jerk long enough to remember that moments of joy are sprinkled through your day and our job is just to soak them in during the tornado of madness, it makes the harder days easier.

So catch a fly, or let them run that errand with you, or sit and listen to them tell you about how many Ninja Turtles they think might be able to fit into the bathtub. Push pause on the crazy and for 5 minutes enjoy your joy-bringers tomorrow. 

Because 5 minutes after that, you may have to pinch their tiny heads off to just make it until bedtime.

Here I sit

We were holding hands as we drove. It was date night, which is always the best night.

"You should write again," he said.

I looked at him, then turned to look out the window again. Uncertainty flooded my mind.

"I know you miss it. And, it helps you process everything in your head," he urged.

I do miss it. It does help me process.

So much has happened over the last nearly 4 years. So much pain, so much wrestling, so many thoughts, so much LIFE.

We rode in silence a while, both consumed by our thoughts.

"Just start with once a week?" His words cut the silence and I rolled them over in my mind.

Who would even read these words anymore? Is anyone still around?

I've considered those questions so many times since that date night a few months ago.

My journey back to the Lord has been grueling, and honestly it's not complete.

But, I sat in the still of our house one morning, my Bible open to Exodus and I thought (prayed?) over this blog.

Really, God. Who would even read it anyway? It's washed up, a has been blog. Everyone is gone.

It's not for them.

The first real words I've heard from the Lord in a very, very long time. So much of a whisper that I'm still considering if I heard them at all. But, it's true. This space was never for anyone else, really. I mean, my arrogance enjoyed writing for an audience, but at the end of the day I wrote here because it was a place for me to post about our family, my children, our life, our journey.

So, I've updated my header, and slowly, I'll update the rest. For now, the cursor blinking, my mind equally swarming with ideas and more terrified to share them than I've ever been before.

Here I sit. I hope the words come out.

My help comes from the Lord

I've been traveling a lot this fall, working the ground up on a new, home based business. It's been exhausting yet incredible connecting with family I've not seen in 15 years, having morning coffee with long, lost friends and seeing people I care about live the lives they've been called to live across the country from me.

One thing that kept being brought up time and time and time again was this blog. This space on the internet where I pour my heart out and people come to read. This place that now feels so vulnerable and raw, like wound that just cannot heal.

Truly, I'd given up on this place. My heart has been trampled on, bruised and beaten down over the last 3 years and I wasn't sure that there was much left to offer. Not to God, not to my own family and certainly not to blank pages. So I walked away. My heart longs to write but I'm timid at the thought of putting myself out there again. The irony is, that while I love the writing, and I enjoy you all reading, it's incredibly uncomfortable for me when people openly acknowledge this place and what I've written. I can't say why. So, I had resolved that I would let this space go and I asked Luke if he'd have the entries printed and bound into a book for me.

And then I sat in this church two weekends ago, with a dear friend at my side, and I felt the Lord speak to me like He used to, back when I was in tune with His word and could hear His heart beat clearly.

I fought tears as I actually worshipped like I have not been able in a long, long time. I sang this song many, many times before our world seemed to fall apart with death and our dreams slipped away. (That short term trip never happened, either.)

I have struggled so much with God. Called Him a liar, spewed words and venom and hatred his way. And yet, as these familiar chords began, my ears heard these words again, for the first time.

My foes are many, they rise against me

But I will hold my ground

I will not fear the war, I will not fear the storm

My help is on the way, my help is on the way

Where have you been? Have you been on the way for all this time?

Oh, my God, He will not delay

My refuge and strength always

I will not fear, His promise is true

My God will come through always, always

Troubles surround me, chaos abounding

My soul will rest in You

I will not fear the war, I will not fear the storm

My help is on the way, my help is on the way

And then...

I lift my eyes up, my help comes from the Lord

I lift my eyes up, my help comes from the Lord

I lift my eyes up, my help comes from the Lord

I lift my eyes up, my help comes from the Lord

From You Lord, from You Lord

There it has been this entire time. Just lift up your eyes, Jessica. See me. Here. I never left.

Luke can attest, I am AMAZING at the cold shoulder. When I'm upset with someone, I try my best to pretend to be fine, but I wear the hurt and anger all over me. We never fight for long because it's clear when I'm upset. I avoid eye contact with every fiber of my being, because I know my eyes will give me away.

I looked up the verse this song referenced. Psalm 121:1-4 says,

I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
My help comes from the LORD,
who made heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot be moved;
he who keeps you will not slumber.
Behold, he who keeps Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.

I love blueletterbible.org because I can look up the root words and read the original scriptures and see not only the actual word used in the original language, but where it is used again in scripture.

As I looked up Psalm 121, the words life, eye, foot and moved jumped out at me.

Lift:

1. to lift, lift up
2. to bear, carry, support, sustain, endure
3. to take, take away, carry off, forgive

Moved (Slip):

1. to totter, shake, slip
   1. (Qal) to totter, shake, slip
   2. (Niphal) to be shaken, be moved, be overthrown
   3. (Hiphil) to dislodge, let fall, drop
   4. (Hithpael) to be greatly shaken

He will not allow me to be carried off or taken away. He will not allow me to be overthrown or greatly shaken.

I lift my eyes up, He has sustained me.

He did not allow my foot to be moved. I have not been overthrown. I have been shaken, but I was not dislodged.

My help comes from the Lord.

They are worth it, and I am able because He is faithful

5 years ago, I anticipated, that by this point in our lives we'd be on the brink of returning from a 4 year term in Kenya. Our lives would be revolving around taking the gospel to the nations, building relationships with nationals, living among the people and serving them with open arms and glad hearts so that they experience Jesus in me.

Back then, I would have never imagined our life would look like it does today. After all, we were chasing hard after God, He was guiding us to this foreign land. It was bound to transpire just as my perfect, little brain could propose it to be.

And then, loss.

Grief.

Disappointments.

Financial setbacks.

Broken family relationships.

Pain.

Wrestling.

I have doubted my God on every level. I've begged to walk away, tried even. I've searched the scriptures for evidence that this God I devoted myself to is on a power trip and decided to wreck my life just for fun.

I've watched my children grow, as a shell of their mother attempts to shepherd them toward a God that she's uncertain of herself. I've cussed Him out, shut Him out, turned and refused to talk or listen. I've been at a place where I wondered if I was seriously delusional and if I dreamed up this whole missions thing because it was trendy, sounded fun and looked like it made us a better version of ourselves.

In every aspect of our lives over the last 3 years we've been broken. I've spilled tears over the simplest of things and shook my fist at God from the darkest parts of my heart. I've turned bitter, angry and spiteful.

Who needs God anyway? I mean, really. What kind of a God loads your whole family onto a rug called obedience then jerks the damn thing right out from under you? Not any God I want to follow, that's for sure.

The arrogance in my heart and the trust I had in my "strong faith" disappeared. In an instant, the person I thought I was and the things I thought I believed seem to lay before me on the ground like the contents of a beautifully potted orchid that had been thrown from the 10th floor window.

I couldn't read blogs, attend missions events, listen to songs or fake my way through a missions Sunday at church. I would get up and leave, telling God to screw himself as I walked out the door and down the hall.

Was this some kind of a sick joke? Who does that?

I've asked, desperately, what we should do now and the only thing I have gotten in return is silence. No whispers of His voice, no profound truths from scripture, no words from the teaching of the men and women that had so clearly been instruments of His words anymore.

The anger continued to well and finally pour out. I've been angry at everyone and everything for a very long time.

Anger does crazy things to you. It makes you blind, deaf and cold. I would interact with my children and I could see myself, almost in the 3rd person, reacting in ways that I would not typically react. It was surreal and almost as if I was living a life that I was simply watching, not a participant.

Finally, after a long silence with the Lord, I begged Him to reveal to me why we are in this place when it's not at all where my heart desires. I got no profound answers. I didn't see a hand writing on the wall or hear the voice of God audibly.

Instead, a dirty faced, chubby cheeked almost 15 month old toddler came toward me with her half drunk saunter. She grinned and juicy animal crackers dripped from her chin as she struggled her way into my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck.

A clingy 3 year old rounded the corner and squealed with the delight at the sight of me. I delight her every time I she sees me.

A fresh, new 5 year old crawls into bed with me on the morning of her birthday. Soft, blond, wild curls cover my face as she nuzzles her head under my chin. "You smell nice Momma. I think my nose is better when I'm five," she giggles.

Two six year olds sit poised with pencils in hand and scribble out shaky letters. One of them reads every word his eyes see and he beams with joy, the other beams with pride over words of praise and affirmation.

An eight year old boy finds a love for baseball. He carries his glove with him everywhere he goes and he wears his Daddy's number from college on his back. He's the scrawniest player on the team but he hustles and works hard and he's determined to prove himself.

Eight and ten year old sisters find a love for horses and cultivate a friendship unlike anything I've ever seen. They giggle and talk about horses and boys and how to decorate their room until long past their bed time.

When the anger subsides, this is what I see. I see the nations. I see my life revolving around these people who desperately need the gospel. I see me serving them with open arms and a glad heart so that they experience Jesus in me.

I see the one job my arrogant self assumed was not good enough now being the most important, the most challenging, the most necessary.

I see the nations before me. I see them in dirty socks left on the kitchen counter, unending loads of laundry and middle of the night nursing sessions. I see them in gentle corrections, hugs after a hard consequence and love despite their flaws. I see them in endless snacks and cup refills, in spills and messes, in cherrios crushed under my shoe.

I see the stage being set for world changers who grew up sitting right around my very own dinner table.

I see that in order for me to live within the full glory of God's desire for my life, and in turn to create these people who will no doubt love others beyond themselves, it begins by serving my children joyfully and with a heart devoted only to their very best.

I have spent much time wondering why the pain of the last few years has been heaped upon our family. I've wondered why the anger and resentment has been rooted deep inside my heart, seemingly planted there by the One who is suppose to take away doubt, fear, shame and bitterness. I wondered why He set us up for failure, for grief, for brokenness.

And then I looked up and I was overcome by exactly what I was suppose to see all along. They are it. We were not set up for brokenness. We were set up for this. This perfectly chaotic, unkept, totally filled-to-the-brim life. The scales tip whichever way I give them weight. I can choose anger and grief or joy and grace.

As the anger is slowly being washed away, joy is filtering through. Joy in the lives of these 8 people that are forever connected to me so deeply that there is no grief, no disappointment, no financial loss, no brokenness nor pain that could ever sever me from them.

They are my mission. And finally I can say with fullness that if they are my sole purpose in this life, it is enough. They are enough. Just as they are, just as I am, just as He has always been, I will fully pour myself into them, not reserving even one drop for what could have been or what I could hope will one day be.

I will share with them the good news of a Savior who never quits on them, even when they try with their whole self to give up on Him.

With love, I will serve them with joy and gladness, just as I would have the most honored guest at our Kenyan dinner table. Because they are worth it, and I am able because He is faithful, forever.

When the struggling ceases

I scoop her up off the floor, plop down into my favorite nursing chair, raise my shirt and offer her some milk. She latches, but as she does she extends her arm until her pudgy, dimpled, dainty elbow reaches a locked position.

This is how we nurse. We've nursed this way all 12.5 months of her life. I cradle her, smooth her hair, gaze at her eyelashes and smile. She looks at the ceiling then rolls her eyes as far as possible to see what is behind her, without unlatching.

She tolerates me. With my other babies there were tender nursing moments. Times when they would nurse, grin while milk streamed from the corners of their mouthes, unlatch and offer me a huge grin, only to spray milk all over the both of us.

But Evelyn is not that baby. She loves me, and wants me sometimes, but mostly I'm a source of nourishment for her. It's her Daddy who is her ultimate soother. She adores him more than any of our other children have at this young age. Normally it's Mommy and Mommy alone while they're breastfeeding. But not her.

She drinks until she's had her fill, then she unlatches with a smack, rolls away from me, requesting with her whole body to be released from my arms. She's done with me and I've come to terms with the fact that I am the one who is fond of the nursing, not her. I've finally realized it's not personal. She grins and me and smiles when we play together. She giggles at my over-exaggerated laughs. But if the choice is me or Daddy, Daddy wins every time.

Evelyn, 9.5 months, tolerating my affection.

Tonight, as the house was still, and I rocked her while she nursed, He washed Himself over me in a way that used to be familiar and regular.

"This is us," he whispered. "You use me solely for life-sustaining nourishment right now. There is no intimacy between us. You wait until you cannot wait any longer, have your fill of me, then you make it clear you're ready to have your space."

I recoiled in the truth that He showed me.

I've been angry. Hurt. I've felt neglected and robbed. I've wanted to walk away, and I probably would have, for not the consistent and fervent prayers of my husband and dearest friends. And now, I'm in a place where I'm no longer wanting or struggling to break free from this faith that has gripped me so tightly. I'm fine with it. It's here, it's who I am. It's a part of me.

I wait until I can wait no more, fling myself before the cross, fill myself with just enough to get me through the next trial, the next thing and then I'm done with him for a while.

In the simile that is my nursing relationship, I am Evelyn and He is me.

He longs for the intimacy that should exist, the affection and the joy upon my face as we embrace and delight in one another. And oh how He has never stopped delighting in me. He makes that clear when I draw near. He loves me as much as He ever has, increasingly as the days pass. As my love grows for my almost-walking babe, does His love for me.

My embraces with him have been distant. My (not as cute as Evelyn's) pudgy, dimpled elbows lock into place when He comes near because keeping Him at arms length is just easier. At arms length it can't hurt as much. At arms length I cannot hear His whispers clearly. At arms length, my perception is that if He should forget me again, then I can catch myself before I fall.

But the truth is, I was never forgotten. As much as my heart, and my enemy, wants be to believe the lie that I have been cast aside, He could not forget me. I know this is true because I could not forget my precious, independent, ever looking-for-a-distraction-while nursing, baby girl.

"Can a woman forget her nursing child,
that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Even these may forget,
yet I will not forget you.

Isaiah 49:15
Oh this love He has for me is relentless. He is showing me, as I pursue all but Him, that He is here. Offering the nourishment and sustenance I need for life, a rich life, right in his very arms. He hasn't quit offering it, though I have pushed it away, kept it at arms length and, sometimes, refused it all together even though it was exactly what I needed at that very moment.

This Jesus of mine, He cares for me. He keeps me in his tender grasp, and even lowers me gently as I thrash to get on my own two feet. How could I ever believe He would forsake me?

My girl, she's rewriting my knowledge as a mother, expanding on it day by day. Eight kids into this gig and He's still using these tiny (and not-so-tiny) people to show me that He sees me as I see them. Full of life, hope, love, joy and rich in mercy. This love He has that I am so thankful never ceases. Just like my love for the most independent 12 month old I've ever met. He takes me, defiance and all, embraces me, welcomes me back time and time and time again until one day, the arms relax, the eyes lift and meet his and a smile creeps across my face. And joy is found when the struggling ceases.

A rare, tender, arm-not-locked moment.
Perhaps my most favorite photo of all time.

(Photo credit: Light of Mine Photography)

My Acceptance Speech, the final draft

I would like to thank you all for coming today. Honestly, I'd say that I'm shocked and in awe that you'd come all this way to award me with such a title, but I'm not surprised.

I mean, it's not every day that you happen upon a woman like me. The things you say about me are, indeed, true. I am so deserving of this title that when the awards committee called me, I laughed a little and then wondered what had taken so long.

Yes, it would be me who had to tell her 2 year old, again, not to lick the toilet. Ever. Even if you think it's chocolate.

It would also be me who allowed her almost 9 month old baby to play with an electrical adapter. It was unplugged. But you know, the principle of the matter is that I would have never let my first born baby play with cords of that nature. But alas, I just looked at her content self and continued texting my BFF.

I have earned this award on so many levels, but the thing that is the clincher for me, I think, is my attention to detail sarcasm. When my pre-teen stormed out of the room in an emotional rage it may or may not have been me who mumbled under my breath, "If you'd have stayed 8 years old like I told you this wouldn't be an issue." I may have also told her she is, in fact, bossy and to stop acting surprised when people assign her that title.

I am also going to confess that I earned this title fully when I went to turn on the sound machine in my 4 year old's room and, upon discovering her used pull up laying on her dresser, pinched it by the edge, carried it across the house and slung it in her general direction. I believe that life is best learned in a state of surprise, so I also felt it necessary to call her name as the urine laden disposable underpants were hurling at her head.

Think fast and stop peeing the bed. It's like my catch phrase. And by catch phrase I mean, seriously, catch!

You also should know that this isn't an award I will take flippantly. Oh no. I will wear this title as a crown upon my head and, in honor of it, I will continue to tell my children who are STARRRRRVVVIIIIINGGGGG and asking every food related question in their vocabulary at 5:45pm as I am frantically finishing up dinner that our meal will consist of "food and food with a side of food." Delicious sounding, isn't it? I know it's important to encourage proper nutrition and because of that when they ask what kind of food, I will reply with a bright, warm smile, "the kind you eat."

Modeling behaviors you wish to see in your children is oh-so-very important and I take this title you have given me so seriously, that I will always endeavor to show my children that YELLING AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS FROM 24 INCHES FROM MY FACE IS ALWAYS A DELIGHT EVEN IF YOU'RE TELLING ME THAT YOU'VE FINISHED ALL YOUR SCHOOL WORK AND CLEANED YOUR ROOM AND NOW YOU'D LIKE TO HELP ME WASH ALL THE DISHES AND FOLD THE CLOTHES.

Hard work ethic and ear buds have helped me push through those training sessions.

I know that many of you wonder how I juggle it all, especially the baby and the 2 year old. Naturally, the 2 year old is eager for my attention and I try so very hard to show her that she is just as special and loved as her baby sister, even though the baby needs my attention more frequently for nursing sessions.

Of course, since this seemed to be a battle ground, I offered for my darling two year old to have a taste of Mommy's milk and told her that she too, when she was younger, drank my milk. She seemed eager at the idea and so I gently unlatched the baby as my elated 2 year old leaned in. I prepared myself that it might not end well since the 2 year old now has a mouth full of teeth and hasn't suckled in a very long time. As she neared me I squeezed once, quite firmly, and 2 steady streams of milk shot forth. One landed directly into her mouth and the other into her eye.

As she shrieked and thrashed on the floor I excused myself to empty my bladder in a more suitable place than the glider rocker in the nursery.

Since I believe that every moment has potential to be a teachable one, I also reminded her that there's no use crying over spilled, or mis-directed milk.

So you see, it is with grace and meekness and a quiet, humble spirit that I accept this awarded title that the committee has chosen me for this year. I've never been one to boast in an award in such a way and I hope my acceptance speech has demonstrated exactly why I feel that I am 110% the obvious candidate for the title of

Okayest Mom of the Year.

If you would like to schedule a mentoring session, please be sure to stop by my house. Our door bell is broken, but please do not hesitate to send in the panty-clad toddler, who is in the driveway, eating an uncooked, frozen pizza, in to look for me.

Thank you all. Have a wonderful evening.

Through smoke

She had tied the drawstring of her robe tight around her waist. Her linen pants hung loosely around her legs and were stuffed into the tops of her laced up boots of peace. Her cloak hung heavily on her shoulders, which was ironic since the armor that protected her vital organs felt remarkably light.

Picture her with me.

Truth sat low on her hips while righteousness covered her chest. Protected by her faithful shield, salvation upon her head, on the defensive with the glimmer of her sword, spirit. She was ready. She had trained, prepared and knew the battle would be intense. In fact, there had been many small battles leading up to this day.

She looked to her left and he stood there with her. Adorned with a matching uniform, he stood just a pace in front of her, prepared to take the worst of the blows, knowing that it was not only his calling but his duty as her protector, provider, prophet and priest. Yes, they would fight together but he was set over her. Not because she was inferior but because the goodness of the One who prepared this battle knew what He was doing.

A smile crept across her lips as she looked back out onto the hills in front of them. Battle is never easy, but after you've prepared for weeks and months and years when it's time to go, you can't help but be a bit eager.

Together, nearly in unison, they step into the war zone, knowing that it could last longer than they both have the energy or resolve to endure. However, they aren't relying on their own strength alone and they know this full and well. Emerging from the sky are cherubim, clothed in no armor at all but brandishing weapons that annihilate the enemy in one, swift stroke.

Rushing forward, metal clinks, blows are landed and they find little successes. Suddenly, the ground shakes, the sky grows dark. Smoke engulfs the battlefield. Disoriented and confused, they become separated in sight. She can hear him but the smoke burns her eyes with such pain that she must choose to close them for fear of losing her sight forever more.

She hears wailing and crying and listens intently to try to discern from which direction it coming, only to realize that it is from her own lips. Her heart is afraid and her voice betrays her by telling every enemy within earshot.

Trembling, she sinks to her knees and opens her eyes, desperately scanning the horizon. The smoke is so thick she cannot possibly see beyond her own arm,  much less into the distance. The stench of burning trash and excrement lingers in her nostrils.

"Help! Where are you? Help me, please."

The roar of battle has ceased but the smoke remains. She can no longer hear him or the One who gives the orders.

"This is it?" she thinks. "This is not the battle for which I trained. No! This wasn't in the plan at all. How did this happen? No! This cannot be it." Her heart pounds in her chest and fear overwhelms her.

The silence is now deafening.

She crawls across the field on her hands and knees hoping to find someone, anyone, who might give a clue as to what has happened. There are no signs of battle, no wayward shields or swords. No members of the enemy camp laying slain on the ground. Nothing but the smoke even suggests there's been a battle.

This. This ground shaking madness, this was not what she had prepared for at all. She hopes staying close to the ground will provide reprieve from the smoke but it is as thick and pungent down low as it is up high.

She crawls across rocks and sticks and through mud but no where does she find remnant or clues to anyone else on this field with her. Finally, FINALLY, she finds a small wall of stone. She believes she remembers this one. It's old, and frail, but she's seen it before. The familiarity of it relieves her, though she knows it will be of little use since once before it was crumbled. Resting her back upon it, she tries to find her bearings.

The enemy. He must be responsible for this. He has to be. He is sneaky and vicious and cares not who he kills. Surely he is on the other side of this short wall, prowling, waiting for her to expose herself so he can finish her off.

Then she realizes that she's not safe. No where is safe. Though the smoke is thick still in most places, it's beginning to rise. He will see her, someone will see her vulnerable, and finish what the enemy has started. With fervor and with trembling hands she grabs the stones around her and begins rebuilding the wall. Higher, higher, stronger, taller it grows. It curves around beside her and yet she continues. Creating her own little provision, she gathers the uneven, worn, battered stones that had previously been ripped down and she rebuilds what was once deemed unnecessary.

Once she has it far reaching enough around her she stops and tucks herself into its sanctuary. Now, behind the wall she built from the ruins, she is safe.  The enemy can't find her and once the smoke clears she can emerge on her own terms, sword drawn, and fight her way back to where she once was.

She waits. It is taking a long time for the smoke to rise. Shouldn't it have risen by now? Where did it come from anyway? This is not what she had trained for. She waits, she thinks, she tries to pray, but in vain.

And then it washes over her. He knew. The One, he knew. He knew this would be the battle all along. "How could you know and not prepare me?!," she cries. He knew and yet he did nothing to stop it, nothing to help her to know what to do in this scenario. She'd rehearsed and prepared for just about anything else but this. What is she to do now?

The One she trusted to train her, the One she trusted her life to, he knew. And somehow, somewhere amid all the preparations, he failed to train her for this. He knew, and he failed. Therefore she would fail, too. And he knew she would fail.

Her jaw set with anger and determination, she looks down at the armor upon her body. It is beaten and broken and flawed now. How is that possible? What battle has she fought? She doesn't remember any enemy blows because before she could really fight, her world was rocked. How can she be so heavily beaten up, for she was merely trying to survive.

So, are you gonna have any more?

We've been asked at least a thousand times if we wanted a big family from the beginning. In short, the answer to that is no.

For the most part, Luke and I both grew up as only children. When we were doing premarriage counseling, we only skimmed the surface of talking about the size of the family we would have. Maybe 3, I think, was the number we settled on.

But here's the problem. We went from 1 baby to 3 babies in just 2 pregnancies spaced apart by only 22 months. From double coverage to zone coverage. We never played man-to-man coverage. And the biggest problem of all?

Hello, my name is Jessica and I am addicted to newborns.

I just love everything about them. From their too-big skin, to the tiny noises they make to the way they stick their tiny little butts out when they stretch. And the head smell? Intoxicating. I read recently that there was a scientific study that confirmed that there really is a chemical reaction that occurs in women when they smell the head of a newborn. What person on earth didn't already know this was happening?

But you know what else I love? All of it. 

I love the 6 month old who belly laughs at the ridiculousness of her 8 year old sister. Because, y'all, this right here makes me want to have 8 more. I can't even handle that laugh.

The two year old with the butt cheek hanging out of her panties? I love that. The way she calls EVERY.SINGLE.BUG. a "pink bug!" (stink bug). The way she seems to grow during just one nap time and wakes up speaking in fuller sentences than she did just a couple hours ago, makes my head spin and my heart swell.

The 4 year old who is old enough to understand how to make a joke and is usually the first to laugh at their own hilarity. The 6 year old who begins to read overnight and the almost 10 year old who has her own style. I mean, those boots. That skirt. I couldn't pull that off, ever. I mean, hello, SIDE PONYTAIL.

I love it. All of it. This gig of motherhood and watching these people grow is, by far, the best thing I've ever been allowed to experience. I just knew Ella would be our last biological baby. And then, well, Abigail happened.

I just knew Abigail would be the last birth, nursing experience and toddler that would come from my womb. And, you know, EVELYN.

I'm so glad we didn't stop having babies at our predetermined number of 3. I can't imagine all the life, laughter and joy we'd have missed out on.* Yes, it's hard. It's hard a lot lately. Luke and I haven't had a date in WAY TOO LONG. Every night, I fall into bed for a couple hours before I begin the up and down that is my nighttime. I'm exhausted and tired and I would love to have a couple of hours to myself every day just to sit in silence. I think about a few years from now if we don't have any more babies and all the ways our lives would seemingly be easier. But I know that easy is a lie that Moms buy all the time. No matter how many kids you have your life as a mom is never easy.

Is Evelyn our last baby? Who knows. We've always kept the option of adoption open. I don't plan on being pregnant again. Ever. Ever.

But I've said that before. And each of those time I really meant it.

And if I watch that video of Evelyn belly laughing enough, I'll toss that idea right out the window. Or maybe not. Maybe we will stick to it and not birth anymore babies and adopt a few kids who need a large, crazy family and live out our days.

So to answer the question of all of you nosey people who ask me while standing in the grocery store people want to know, I'm sure:

Are you going to have any more babies?

Short answer. Probably not. But who knows. Because all of this, this life. It's hard. But then my almost 6 month old belly laughs and my ovaries kick into high gear and I question every oath I took during her pregnancy that I would never, ever, ever again do this. And I maybe send my husband a text about wanting a homebirth next time. So, you know, there's THAT.

I'm off to watch that video of my baby belly laughing while simultaneously taking whiffs of hot trash in our garbage dumpster so I can remember what morning sickness feels like.

-----

* By no means do I think that having 3 kids or less means you're missing out or that everyone should have a big, crazy, colony of kids. I'm just saying that for us, stopping at 3 wouldn't have been right.

Side Braid: Fail

When we were in college, Luke dated an athlete. She was a college volleyball player who spent around 4 hours in the gym on any given day. When she wasn't in the gym she was usually wearing workout clothes. And even if she wasn't wearing work out clothes, she was probably wearing jeans and a tshirt because she grew up in the country and she liked to go barefoot. And fancy clothes and bare feet don't exactly go well together in public.

Rumor has it that at their wedding she took off her shoes and went barefoot at their reception. At the country club. Classy.

Point being, I've never been a trendy person. Fashion was always something I sort of noticed but never really practiced myself. Partly because being fashionable seems to me to take a lot of work. And let's face it, my daily life is enough work. Amen.

I have a small box of jewelry but it literally never crosses my mind to wear any of it. I have a pair of earrings that I've been wearing basically non-stop for the last 3 years. I put them in one night for date night and they were so comfortable I just forgot to take them out. 3 years later. Yes. It's true.

But aside from those and my wedding rings, it is a rarity that I wear jewelry.

Sort of like my showering schedule. Rare-i-ty.

I have long, curly-ish hair. Which means, if I'd rather not look like I rolled directly out of bed and into the car, I have 2 hair options. Wash, condition it LOTS, and load it down with mousse and gel and prayer.

Or wear it pulled up in a ball of mess on my head just like I did in college for all of my days.

In the summer in the south it's up a lot. Because: HUMIDITY.

Like I said, I notice trends and styles for the most part. Mostly because I have an almost 10 year old and she keeps me informed. So yesterday was not shower day hair washing day and I knew this. So on Monday night I found myself in front of the mirror attempting a super cute side ponytail braid.

In my head I aspired to something like this:

(Just a side note: as I searched images to put on this post of "side ponytail braid curly hair" I basically saw all the ones I thought were messy, yet attainable, were on famous people. Which means, they are probably anything but easy and attainable.)

At any rate, I braided my hair, turned to my husband and said, "What do you think? Do you like it?"

He looked at me, and since our relationship is built on trust and honesty and love he said, "You look like a homeschool mom." And he may have mumbled something about a denim jumper.

I rolled my eyes, because, you know I am a homeschool mom.

So the next morning I got up and thought I'd try this side braid again, sans Homeschool Dad. But, I lack confidence in anything trendy because I know that I'm trying and likely failing. Because, isn't the point of being trendy is not trying to look trendy and like you tried too hard?

Yes, yes it is.

So, I braided my hair and promptly sent a picture to Amanda and asked her what she thought. Here's that pic.

It is also basically impossible for me to take a selfie. I just can't. At least not one with any normalcy or a shred of seriousness.

Amanda gave her vote of approval (several times), told me homeschool moms wear buns and denim (BOOYAH Homeschool Dad!) and so off I went with all 8 kids for a day of chaos errands. It occurred to me after I was 20 minutes down the road that I forgot my back up hair tie around my wrist. It's sort of my security blanket because if hair tie A breaks or if I decide to ditch freshly washed and prayed over hair, I always have one on my wrist and I know that I can throw the hair up and call it a day.

I panicked. Then I breathed through it and remembered that I'm trendy. And I've delivered 6 babies out of my lady parts so I'm tough. Plus, I'm recently fashionable.

It's FINE.

We went to the orthodontist and then, for good behavior had a brunch of Chickfila. All was sailing smoothly until it was time to exit Chickfila. Aaron called a kid on the playground fat, Abigail is a regressing potty trainer and Evelyn was sleepy. It was the perfect storm.

We loaded into our 15 passenger van, (that doesn't scream trendy but more so HOMESCHOOLERS), which I had parked by the door, in a spot that was sandwiched between the building and the drive thru line. When I parked there I thought to myself, "Self. This is a bad idea. Large vehicles and ridiculous drive through lines don't mix." But then I thought about my exit strategy and how wrangling all those kids across a busy parking lot would make me stroke out and I pulled that beast into that compact car spot and told myself we'd leave before the lunch crowd came.

We did not.

I went to leave, I shifted into reverse, took my foot off the brake and we love tapped our bumper against a sweet, little old lady's 2014 Altima. The beast was fine. The Altima was not.

After police were called, Abigail peed in her car seat, I HAD TO PEE, it was hotter than anywhere else on the planet.

We FINALLY made it home. Abigail pooped her pants. It was naptime. We needed to leave in 2 hours for ballet.

Basically, it was a totally normal day other than the literal fender bender. I got Abigail bathed and in the bed and looked in the mirror.

Let's just say, there's a reason why I'm not trendy.

We went to ballet. Then baseball practice. And Luke came home to his wife looking basically like that college athlete he married plus 50 pounds.

And I learned a lesson. Stay with what you know. And don't forget the backup hair tie. Ever.

Easter nostalgia

Some Moms do the Christmas Eve photo in front of the Christmas tree with all the kids in their Christmas pajamas. I'm not one of those Moms. In fact, despite that I really enjoy taking photos, it's rare that ask my own children to sit and take a photo all together. And getting myself in the picture is even more rare.

For whatever reason, Easter is the one time a year I hand off the camera and force beg coerce bribe my kids (and husband) into taking a yearly family photo. It rarely ends well (and by well, I mean that we are all perfectly posed and I've not issued threats or made unreasonable promises), but it always makes me laugh. At least, afterwards. Many years afterwards.

It also appears to be the one thing that Lucas hates most on the earth. Olivia, on the other hand, has always rocked the Easter photo. I'm guessing it's her favorite holiday, ever. Besides her birthday and Christmas and whatever holiday is exactly next.

Easter 2010 can be found here on my blog. It's hilarious. But for comparisons purposes, here's a quick picture.

That would be itty bitty Ella on my lap next to Olivia. Goodness

Easter 2011 was apparently not blogged about and this is probably why:

The best one we got that year features our dog's back. Again, LUCAS. He's probably mad because he's wearing the exact same sweater vest that he wore the previous year. Fashion is clearly his thing. Or not. Seeing as how he's worn the same pair of jorts for the last week.

Easter 2012 things seemed to go a big more smoothly.

That's teeny, tiny Abigail on my lap.

You know, except for Lucas. At least Olivia is rocking it out. And Aaron. Clearly they were being bribed with excessive amounts of candy. Momma had a newborn. Momma was tired.

Easter 2013 apparently did not exist because I have no photographic documentation of it. Not even looking back through all the pics from my phone. So weird.

Which brings us to this year. Easter 2014. I knew I wanted a pic of all of us. My parents, my two grandmas and all the kids. Please note Lucas' over sarcastic smile because it took several photos of him not doing pointy, happy fingers at the camera, or throwing up some sort of gang symbol or staring off into the yard in the opposite direction.

23 photos later, grandparent photo: check. I mean, one kid out of 8 isn't looking but LOOK AT ABIGAIL. The cute. I can't even handle it.

And then, I politely asked Abigail to remove herself from my Mom's lap and sit with me for a nice family photo. She also loved that idea. Or not.

Okay, Abs, please just stop before you upset your baby sister.

Well, at least Lucas is happy for once.

I hope your Easter was a scream.

Hold fast

Those were the words she said the Lord revealed to her as she prayed over what to share with us for the weekend. Hold fast.

And tonight, almost 3 years later, that weekend and those words were the ones that came immediately to mind when a dear friend told me to keep holding on.

It’s been a hard 2 years. Death, loss, grief, dreams that have seemed to dissipate, financial stress, adding a baby to our already crazy house, moving, it’s been an exhausting 2 years. Emotionally, physically, spiritually, mentally it has consumed me in all of those areas. There are days where there is very little left of the old me at all.

But I clung to the side of the mountain. The mountain that seemed to shake beneath me as the world I knew came crumbling down. Yes, over the loss of a girl but also the loss of our dreams. The loss of what we envisioned for our family and for our children. But I clung, though not well at times, because I knew of nothing else to do. My fingernails were bloody and hurting. My feet ever feeling for a ledge to find my footing. Somehow, over time, a ledge appeared. I’m not sure if it was provided for me or if my constant slipping made a rut so that a ledge had been formed. But I found one, either way. I gathered myself, decided it was time to begin climbing again, and I looked up just in time to see the mountain above me begin to crumble again.

Deceit. Deceit that has shaken me to my core. By people I’ve trusted, admired and held in high esteem my entire life. The breath of the enemy is hot on my neck and I cling, once again to the side of the cliff.

And tonight as I sat and shared with a dear friend the depths of the pain, she told me, “just hold on.”

“You shall fear the Lord your God. You shall serve him and hold fast to him and by his name you shall swear.” Deuteronomy 10:20 [emphasis mine]

Oh, I’ll swear all right. Don’t you worry.

Random dropping of swear words because, it just feels good dammit. Check. Check. Checkity, effing check.

“I almost fell off, you know?” I told her. “I was so close.”

“I know. But you didn’t. You held on. Just keep holding on." HOLD ON.

Beth Moore said that same thing to an arena full of women, eager to hear her speak. Some of the girls from my Bible study attended with me and that was her message, the one she said God gave her to speak over our specific group 3 years ago. Hold fast.

I’ll be honest. At the time it didn’t mean a lot to me, I mean, other than the obvious.

Heh. Sure. I can hold fast. Hold fast for what?

But on the drive home tonight it was those words that came screaming back into my brain. HOLD FAST JESSICA. Just hold fast. Help is on the way.

Help? What help? What’s taking so freaking long, anyway?

That weekend with Beth Moore I underlined another ‘hold fast’ in my Bible.

“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.” Hebrews 10:23 [emphasis mine]

Oh, I sure hope he who promised proves to be faithful. I sure hope so.

Those verses, that weekend.

Another friend helped me remember the date of that event. July 23-24, 2011. Exactly one year prior, to the day, that Paige died. I don’t believe in coincidences.

I’m weary. I’m afraid. I’m uncertain. But, with all that I have left, I hold fast.


—————

Side note: For those of you who know me in real life, this is a vulnerable place for me to be, out here on my blog. But after several people encouraged me to just write, I’m putting it out there. NOT because I desire to have you tell me how much you’re praying for me (though, thanks) or because I want to have a stop-and-chat in the hall at church on Sunday (please, just, no).

But, because there is no possible way that I’m the only one. There’s no way that I’m the only person going through this season. Someone else is clinging, with all they have. And you, dear one, are not alone. Let’s hold fast together, shall we? We don’t have to talk about it. We don’t have to hug or make it weird. Let’s just hold on together. Because, I’m certain, even though I’m scared as hell and I’m certainly confused beyond what I can understand, I’m certain that help really is on the way. It has to be. Hold fast with me, okay?