Just okay

"How are you?"

The words roll off their tongues as we casually pass in the hallways at church.

I think they stare at me a little longer than they used to. Maybe it's just my imagination. We've always gotten stares.

"I'm okay," I answer.

At least at this very second.

Why do we ask people that in passing? When we ask, do we really even care what their answer is? Or are we just trying to be polite?

I think it's just a miserable effort at polite. Because if we really wanted the answer to "How are you?" we'd stop, pull up a chair, lean in real close, look them in the eye and say, "How are you? All of you? Really?"

I'm guilty of it too, though. I've passed people in the hall at church or in the store or even asked my friends, "How are you?" and yet, I either already know the answer or truly, I don't want to know.

Luke said he's done asking people how they are unless he really has time to stop and listen.

I agree.

Sundays are hard. Maybe it's because I half expect her to come bouncing into the worship service with her shoes missing from her feet and her skirt swishing around her and a hat positioned squarely on her head. It's like somewhere, in my mind, this has all been a dream, a funeral I've planned in my head and it's not reality.

You know the ones. The funerals you plan when you can't get ahold of your husband or child or best friend and you're certain that they're dead somewhere so you just begin planning their funeral in your head?

Maybe that's just me.

But that's not the case this time, is it? No, there really was a funeral. She really is dead. (As Aaron likes to remind me. Daily. And every day I force myself to acknowledge him politely instead of sending him back to bed until he's 15.)

Elizabeth is writing a story about her.

Ashlee talks about her and laughs at her silliness.

Lucas randomly bursts into tears.

Aaron reminds me often that "Paige is dead."

Olivia sees silent tears streaming down my cheeks and asks me if Paige is "still at Jesus."

Luke is hurting, trying to find refuge in the things that don't seem to spark yet another memory of her. And folks, let me tell you, it's hard for our family to find things that don't involve memories of her. Nearly every song, nearly every place we've been to, someone's laugh in the distance, it all can lead back to a memory of her.

And most of the time, those memories come out of the no where, like a surprise to me. It takes my breath away and I want to drop to my knees and cry out with wailing sobs just like I did a month and 2 days ago on the floor of my kitchen. But usually, I'm in a crowd or sitting in church or just reading aloud to my children. So instead of wailing I pause, breathe, fight the burn of tears in my throat and eyes and try to move on.

And I hate every second of it. I hate that students are moving back to college and she's not. I hate that Grace is still here instead of in Kenya. I hate that something hilarious happens and I know how hard she'd laugh and so I reach for the phone only to remember that she'll never get my text.

I'm mad her BFF Mary has to walk the rest of her college years alone, without her.

I'm broken for her mother who has to figure out what life looks like with one of your children buried, in a box, in the ground.

It hit me the other day that, statistically, Luke and I will have to bury a child. My paternal grandmother had 4 children. She's buried 2 of them. My maternal grandmother had 4 children. She's buried 2 as well.

By sheer statistics, chances are that Luke and I will outlive one or more of our kids. That throws me not only into a state of fear but into deeper mourning, if that's even possible.

And yet somehow, amid all this emotion and confusion and pain and sadness, life must go on.

I must (and want to) still school our children and try to clean our house and keep up with the laundry and watch too many episodes of 24 late at night with my husband.

(Near) six month olds still have diapers that I need (and want) to change.

Two year olds must still be disciplined and tickled until blonde curls cover her pudgy cheeks.

Six year old girls still need late nights at the store with their Mommas, just to act silly and spend $3.00 trying to get a stupid stuffed animal from the rip-off game that is the claw machine.

Four year olds still need to have a play-by-play of our day as soon as his tiny feet hit the floor.

Eight year olds still need to sleep with Mom and Dad some nights just because she's a cuddle bug and I know her heart will be full the next day.

Six year old boys still need hugs and kisses from their Momma and a reminder that one day we'll be able to talk about her without crying.

Three year olds still need to dance during breakfast and sometimes, with their Momma.

Life goes on even though I wish, so desperately, it would take an extended pause and allow me to just sit in this moment, miss her, and my children not grow up by one more day.

But reality is that, for most of the world, their days have not been measured in days/memories/life before July 24th and a new life after July 24th.

I feel like I need to justify to people that our family is still pretty rocked by the death of a 20 year old girl. But the truth is, she wasn't just any 20 year old girl.

She is our Paigey.

The one that taught us that God is always big enough, there's always time to sing the Beaver song just one more time, Peanut M&Ms are best when shared with people you love the most, spontaneous dancing is always allowed, it's okay if you look like an idiot - the memories later will be worth it, God will never fail you - even if you feel like a failure yourself, being yourself is more important that being who others want you to be, discipling someone is painful, tedious, a lot of work but always fun and being discipled is crucial.

And so much more that I could never put into meager words.

We're still broken. We still miss her. I still fight back tears every, single day and especially on Sunday as I walk through the halls of the place where I first saw her face.

It's doubtful I'll be able to enter the youth area for a very long time. Standing in the worship center is more than my heart can bear.

So when you ask "How are you?" and I answer, "I'm okay." Know that at that very moment, I'm just okay.

Not better.

Not worse.

Probably forcing a smile and wishing I'd taken the route outside instead of through the church. Or wishing I was at Kmart.

I prefer Kmart over church because at Kmart, no one knows about her.

And typically, Sundays are the hardest days of the week.

So before someone asks me one more time how I am, let me cut them off at the pass and answer them.

I'm okay.

No more. No less. Just okay.

What happens when Mom is away?

( This is Luke and all spelling and grammar errors are not to be made fun of, and all pictures were taken on an iPod)

So Jess got away for the weekend.  She went up to the mountains with 3 other wonderful friends and sisters in Christ (and Abigail - I am not good enough to keep all seven for 3 days).

Many ask how we do it.  I will be the first to tell you we do not do it on our own.  We have loving Meme's, Maw's, and Nana's who desire to watch the kids often.  Great people around us who offer to bring us dinner on Friday night.  A great and very dependable friend to watch the kids while I go to work.  An amazing brother in Christ, who understands what I am going through, and I can be honest with and tell him I need time alone over the weekend to be with God.

So I didn't like leaving my kids with someone else Friday morning.  While I went to work.  While I am grateful to have a wonderful person to take care of them, the thought hit me of how thankful I am I get to leave every day and know they will be in the care of their Mom.  It really made me appreciate the heart of my wife and the ways in which we have structured our lives so that she can be the one to take care of them.

All we were doing is going to lunch at Burger King.  By the end of it, Elizabeth was crying and so was I.  She remembered sitting in the same corner booth with Paige and Mary.  She is every where.  Then Elizabeth started to ask questions of how I found out.  Who told me?  How did I react?  Where was Mommy?  

Ella and I have been going punch for punch, many times she wins and I make Jess take care of her.  She must have told me a dozen times, "Daddy I lub ew".  Oh give me more!!

You may ask "What happens when Mom is away?".  Here is a small glimpse.

Dinner in front of the TV.....

Watermelon in the bathtub.  I will spare you the pictures of that one.  <No I was not in the bathtub with them>

My six year old son waking me up the the morning to tell me "You have to come see this!"  I quickly follow him into the bathroom to find his morning deposit.  Again, I will spare you the picture <yes I took one, that's what Dad does when Mom is away remember>

Stat Wars anyone....

Daddy I hep (help) uw (you)....

Time at the library (read.... tried to go to splash park, but it was closed.  So then decided to play on the playground.  Aaron has to take a deuce, just after the community center closes.  We drive to Krispy Kreme to take care of his deposit.  I buy some coffee because I feel guilty for using their bathroom.  We have an hour to burn before Lucas is going to a birthday party)

Dinner at Mexico, as Aaron calls it.....

Anyone up for a little face painting......

To top it all off two hours of Nerf guns.  I think I pulled a hammy.........

We couldn't do it again, we tried.........

Maybe this should have been two different post.  The more I think about it, it all comes down to time.  How do we spend it?  When people choose to spend time with us, we feel the love they poor out on us and they become like family, and yes there are memories of them all over the place.  What precious time we had and how it was so well spent.  Yes these past few days had times of stress, but I will choose to remember the tears, kisses, tender words, and hits by nerf bullets.

Abigail at 5 months

Oh how time flies.

Even in the midst of sorrow, God gives me so much to be joyful about. Our sweet Abigail Mercy is five months old.

Surely someone has a magic elixir that can slow down time, right? No? Humf.

Here's Abigail at 1 month, 3 months and 4 months (I missed the 2 month mark, remember?)

At five months old Abigail is just the most pleasant, joyful baby.


Her bright eyes captivate me and her fuzzy head has hints of red hair. She is perfectly fine with her older siblings doting all over her, being in her face and making the most screeching noises imaginable. In fact, I think she kind of likes the attention because she usually looks at them with her big indigo colored eyes and laughs. Or makes a funny face.


She's beginning to like her lovey that we so originally named "Quack Quack." Quack Quack goes with us everywhere and Abigail enjoys her (him?) so much.


Of course, I'm not sure if her affections are genuine or driven out of her need to chew on something, anything, as she cuts her second tooth.

Yep, this girl already has 1.5 teeth coming in. She's pretty proud, I think. When Quack Quack isn't around, her fingers work just fine as a chew toy.


I was sure that she'd be an average sized baby, hovering in the 50th percentiles. Instead, she surprised me and was in the 80th percentiles, just like her sister Ella. She's already in 6 - 9 month clothes and size 3 diapers. I just love her sweet little leg rolls.


And her drool? It's nearly as sweet as honey fresh from the comb. Nearly.


She's sleeping okay at night, usually waking up 2 times and she still likes to be swaddled. She can roll from her tummy to her back and her back to her tummy.

This past week she perfected the art of sucking her toes.

She's tried bananas, but didn't really care much for them. She still loves to ride in the Moby wrap and now will actually tolerate (and sometimes even fall asleep!) in her car seat.

She's just simply a wonderful, joyful, happy baby and I'm so thankful for the treasure that she is to our family.

Happy 5 months sweet Abigail!


Want a comparison? Here's Ella at 5 months! Boy they look more alike than I thought.

Desires of my heart

I'm in that place where it feels like God has turned His back on you. That place where the mercy, love and faithfulness of God that scripture speaks of so often feel like they are an ocean away from me.

Paige's death has a lot to do with that but there are other things going on in my life that are leaving me asking God many questions about where His mercy, love and faithfulness have gone. That old phrase "When it rains, it pours!" seems to be pretty accurate lately.

I was hoping for us to do so much this summer, considering it was suppose to be our last summer in the United States for four years. I wanted to go to the zoo a lot, spend days playing at the new playgrounds in our town, take trips to see friends and family and mostly, just spend it with our family and friends nearby, savoring our relationships with them and storing up all the memories we could.

Instead, it's been a summer plagued with grief, chaos and uncertainty.

Friends have tragically lost babies while other friends are struggling with God's goodness in the face of uncertainty with their own unborn children.

Friends are watching foster children they've loved on, prayed fervently for, and wished to adopt, return to birth parents. The unfairness of it stings as they pack up toys and clothing and say goodbye for what will likely be the last time.

Our outgoing support needs went up. Again. Yes, it's for a valid reason like language school. But support raising seems like such a steep mountain to climb.

Our house was riddled with fleas for over a week. So much so that we had to move into my grandmother's small condo immediately following our trip to Arkansas. We'd been out of town for 11 days and came home to a home we couldn't even step foot in. What kind of things am I suppose to learn from that?

I feel like I'm a pretty flexible person. I feel like I roll with the punches easily.

But I'm tired of punches.

I've pleaded with God over trivial maters and He's responded with a resounding "NO" and I stand and watch, with anger welling up inside of me.

Yesterday, it all washed over me like an unexpected wave, knocking me off of my feet. The tears flowed freely and the hurt came consistently.

There have been times in my life that I've been on the mountain top with God. I've been so near to Him that I could nearly feel His powerful breath warming my shoulders, embracing me with His glory.

Clearly, where I am now, is the valley scripture speaks of.

What does one do in the valley? How does one look at the mountain's steep slopes towering around her and realize that the only way out is to climb? Where does that energy come from?

Where does the desire to even climb come from?

I've been pondering these verses over the last two and a half weeks, especially the last few days.

Trust in the LORD, and do good;

dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness.

Delight yourself in the LORD,

and he will give you the desires of your heart.

Commit your way to the LORD;

trust in him, and he will act.

  (Psalm 37:3-5 ESV)

I'm going to be real honest here.

I'm not seeing any of the desires of my heart being met.

And I was a freakin' delightful mess for the Lord, trying my best to do some obedient good for His name's sake. I was trusting him fully, MOVING MY FAMILY TO AFRICA and believing that He would act on my behalf.

Until about two weeks ago. So someone tell me how this verse makes any sense in light of everything going on in my life over the last month?

Yet somewhere amid what appears to be towering disappointments, handed out by God himself, I'm reminded of this:

We met Paige when she was 15 years old. Seven months later, she turned 16. The youngest of four children, she had watched each of her older siblings turn 16 and eventually gain the most prized possession a 16 year old can have: a car all their own.

However, due to circumstances beyond anyone's control, cars flat out dying, sisters and brothers whose jobs and schooling required them to have family pooled resources, Paige's 16th, 17th and 18th years came and went without her having her very own vehicle.

She spent two years at college without a car too. While she never complained (too much) about it, I knew that it was a deep desire of her heart to have her very own car.

At the beginning of July Paige went with our family on a road trip across Tennessee and into part of Mississippi and Arkansas. Our goal was to see friends and family - some of who we anticipated it being our last time before we head to Kenya in January.

But God had other plans.

The last night before we headed back, we stayed with some amazing friends that we've been blessed to know for over 15 years. They're incredibly generous with us each time we visit (moving a herd of Beavers into your home for 2 - 3 days at a time gets you the generous award any day) and always go out of their way to make sure we are comfortable and well fed.

Their generosity doesn't end with us though. Micah and Luke, who have been best friends since middle school, went out one morning. As they came back in, Luke saw Mandy's car from high school sitting there and knowing that it was an extra one he casually asked Micah, "What are you going to do with that car?"

Micah, in turn said, "Well, we've been praying about giving it away to someone." Off handedly, and truly joking, Luke said, "Paige doesn't have a car."

It was decided that night that Micah and Mandy would give Paige their old car.

She was just a tad excited.

The next morning the title was signed over and Paige was the happiest girl on the planet.

I snapped photos of her as she climbed into her own car for the very first time. After all, every girl needs pictures of herself in her very first car, right?

I made her drive that car the entire 700+ miles home. She offered a few times to let me drive and I declined, knowing that this is what her heart had desired for so long.

So as I ponder my own heart and how very few of my desires seem to be being met right now, I remember this one thing my sweet friend Emily said to me,

"God knew she wouldn't need that car but in His generosity, He gave it to her anyway. How incredible is that?"

The Lord gave her this tiny, inconsequential, completely trivial, totally fleshly desire of her heart.

18 days later she died.

As tears spill out of my eyes and run down my cheeks, I hope I can cling to this truth: God provides us with the desires of our hearts each and every time that those desires glorify Him.

I miss my friend

I notice Ella has her underwear on sideways as she trots away from me, her blond curls bouncing as she takes "Wee-ya" (Olivia) a sippy of milk, her own sippy clutched tightly in her other hand. One side of her hiney is totally exposed and her plump booty cheek is so pinchable.

And then it hits me, she'll never remember Paige. Ever. She's too young.

The waves of grief wash over me again.

Paige loved our children so much. I don't know why. I can't explain it to other people, but she loved our kids BIG.

I hate using past tense verbs to describe her.

I hate that at least once a day I feel the urge to call her and see how she's doing and then I remember, she's the reason none of us are okay.


Does that even make sense? I feel the need to call her to see how she's dealing with all of this and then it occurs to me that she's not dealing with all of this.

It's crazy how much I miss her already. Under normal circumstances, I'd go a week without physically seeing her. I guess knowing I'll never see her face again, while on this earth, makes it hurt more quickly.

She was suppose to come visit us next summer in Africa and be our intern. She was suppose to take Ashlee out for special-time. She was suppose to be here today to celebrate Elizabeth's 8th birthday with us.

Instead, she's gone.

And what are we suppose to do now? My heart is so broken.

I want to call off going to Africa and to cling to a "normal life." I want to buy a house, establish our family in a good neighborhood and disciple our children, weaving Paige's memory through our days so we never forget.

I want to push forward toward Africa with fervency because I know obedience to God's calling was so important to Paige and we can honor her in that way. Besides, God hasn't changed His calling our lives.

I want to disciple another youth, watch them grow in the Lord and blossom into the person God created them to be.

I want to be sure we never get that close to another youth again because the hurt of this loss is too much to bear again.

My heart flips in my chest and tears sting my eyes.

Will our children remember her? Will I forget her?

I want her to be sitting on our couch, sharing a bag of peanut M&Ms with me as we talk about her upcoming semester at school, the funny things our kids said this week and theology that neither of us fully understand.

But that would be selfish. It would be selfish for God to answer that prayer because it would take her away from the feet of her Savior, out of the courts of the Most High, away from worshipping the One she devoted herself to daily.

I'm angry.

I'm sad.

I'm broken.

I'm worried.

She was in my day to day. I'd think of her and send her a quick text telling her so because I knew how much words of affirmation meant to her.

We'd planned to visit her at school this semester so that the kids could see all the snow.

If my flesh can ever stop grieving her loss, I know my heart would rejoice in the joy that I know she's experiencing. But my flesh is hurting.

Hurting for my own loss, for the loss of my children, for the loss of her family - her sisters, her brother, her dad, her mother. I'm hurting for the loss of her BFF. I wonder how I'd survive the loss of my own daughter, sister or BFF.

I yearn for a day when happiness prevails but I'm dreading the day I wake up and she's not the first thing on my mind.

I don't expect people to understand how a 30-something mother of 7 children grieves the loss of a 20 year old college student so much. To the world our relationship had to look crazy. But our hearts were knit together inexplicably.

She was more than a mentee, she was my friend. She challenged me, encouraged me and continued to point me to the Father. She was family while no official title could describe how she was related to us.

I miss my friend.