in the trenches.

These days, it feels like we are in the trenches.

Take this morning, for instance. One kid woke up wailing at 5 a.m., which in turn woke the other kid up. We still had one WHOLE, precious hour before we all had to get up for work and school, so we plopped the kids down into bed with us, their warm milks in tow. Sweet and cozy, right? Wrong.

There was plenty of room on the bed, yet each kid decided to sleep right on top of us. Upside down. Elbows in my ribs. Feet kicking my face. Any mention of making them change positions was met with sheer horror. Then they got into each other’s personal space, and it was all over. Anarchy. Terror in the streets. Or should I say, terror in the sheets.

Realizing our shot at getting some sleep was pretty much dead, we got up to get ready. I won’t go into detail about what ensued, just imagine the torturous harmony of two kids screaming on the couch for no reason. They even had fruit squeezers in hand and Super Why on the TV. If all I had to do in life was eat and watch TV believe me, I wouldn’t be crying. But there they were – meltdown city. Not sharing, not listening, following us around with arms outstretched while we scrambled to get them and ourselves ready.

At one point I sat on the bed listening to the chaos in the next room, feeling the weight, not just of this morning, but of every meal time, every nap time, every play time gone wrong. Feeling the weight of it all.

It felt a lot like failure.

It’s a fact. We are in a season of dealing with tantrums and stubbornness and strong wills. And I wonder which traits are just phases and which ones they’ll carry through life.  I wonder about Caleb’s attention span and why we sometimes have to tell him something 20 different times before it sticks. I wonder why Kenzie can be impatient and dramatic sometimes. At times, it can be a very un-pretty picture - one that I feel I need to clean up, fix, instragram –before presenting to the world. Because it’s one thing to sit on your bed, in the privacy of your own home, and feel like a failure. It’s quite another thing to be in the middle of a restaurant or at a friend’s house and be exposed - to feel that THEY are thinking that you and your kids are failing.

And then I saw this – a post by Anna. Three years ago, this lady - a witty, talented, honest, NORMAL, God-fearing wife and mother – let her kids go outside and play in the rain after school, and one of them never came back. Her 12 year-old son, Jack, fell into a flooded creek and was swept away. She writes about Jack on her blog and about the every day tension of living purposefully in this world while longing to be in another one. The one where death and pain and grief don’t exist. The one where her boy is.

Losing your child. I can’t imagine, and yet through her writing, I am able to – sort of.

In this particular post she answers this question: “What do you wish you had known as a parent?” 

Her response made my stomach drop. Literally. Floored me. She said this:

“Hmm. I wish I had understood that while I was trying to make Jack's life "easier" by having him conform to other people's standards, I was most likely just letting my own insecurities and pride keep me from enjoying Jack exactly as God made him.

Truthfully, I was probably just trying to make things easier on ME not him. I knew he was a thoughtful, incredible kid, but I sometimes wished he were more rough and tumble, less sensitive, less shy, and more happy go lucky.

This doesn't mean I regret any of our heart to hearts, even the ones with tears, or the way I helped equip him to learn how to make friends, handle his emotions, and cope with challenges, but I just wish I had realized, far earlier than I did, that God did not give me Jack so I could fix him or change him. He gave me Jack to love and to fight for.”

She would’ve ENJOYED her son as God made him, and not made him CONFORM to other’s standards. She would realize that God gave him to her to LOVE AND FIGHT for, not to change and fix. Of all the things she wished she’d known, it was this.

Yes. She made me understand.

The world tells us that our worth is in our accomplishments, appearances and possessions. That there is a standard that we all need to run towards. I don’t want my kids to buy into that for a second. That they have to conform. Or perform. They don't. They just need to be exactly who God created them to be.

And I can model this to them, by not striving to reach that worldly standard for myself OR for them. By being okay with the muck and the mess of everyday life. By showing them grace knowing that I need grace, too (EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY!) By not caring if and when people are judging. By not projecting my insecurities and pride onto them. By being comfortable in my own skin – just as God made me.

So today the prayer of my heart is to teach and correct and discipline lovingly.

Just as God does for me.

To tell them no matter their strengths or weaknesses, I will love them always.

Just as God tells me.

To give them grace, knowing they aren’t perfect, and they don’t have to be.

Just as God gives me.

To show them that there’s nothing they need to do to earn our love and there’s nothing they could ever do to lose it. Not. One. Thing.

Just as God shows me.

cha-cha-cha-changes.

I wrote the below post weeks ago. Since then, a lot has happened. Good and exciting things. But in the interest of never forgetting .... 


I have three enemies and their names are change, risk and disappointment. I usually run far, far away from them. Recently; however, I’ve found myself in situations where I am running toward them – and I’m running alongside them with the three people I love and want to protect most in the world.

Needless to say it’s been overwhelming.

The CHANGE of moving has been harder than I expected - and I expected it to be hard. Our last day at our house hurt my heart in ways I couldn’t imagine. I was annoyed that it hurt so much, especially since it was such a GOOD thing, such a BLESSING that we sold our home. It was something that I – even more than Luke – wanted, yet still, walking through those empty rooms, posing for a last family picture on the front porch and closing the door on the home that would always be a part of us … but that was no longer ours … Ouch.

The RISK of putting all our eggs in one basket – the basket that is the beautiful house on 37th Street. The house that we are doing a lot of crazy things for. Like renting an apartment for four months. Like competing with other buyers. Like taking a chance on a short sale that might not even go through. This wave of change may have been an easier ride if I hadn’t had to deal with the risk.

And then there’s DISAPPOINTMENT. It rears its ugly head now and then. Lurks around corners, laughs at me, says WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! It shows up in the form of competing offers or unknown timelines or the tricky fine print. And it threatens to break my heart.

Yes, this past week I’ve been the girl who almost said no to the one last picture on the front porch because it was just too hard. I’ve been the girl who judged her new neighbors within five minutes of seeing them (and hearing them). I’ve been the girl who had to get things out of boxes and organized right away to provide “stability” for the kids, but who was sometimes so overwhelmed that she couldn’t multi-task or even “task” for most of the time. I’ve been the girl who drove by the dream house about five times in the past four days, parked outside of the driveway and prayed. (Disclaimer: the home isn’t occupied, so there was little chance of anyone calling the police. However, I wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors were also joining me in prayer … “Dear God, please don’t let this nutcase who keeps driving by here be our new neighbor.” Don’t worry – should we get the house I will work hard to earn their favor).

In a few months, I am going to reread this post and we will either be residents at said dream house, or we’ll be somewhere else entirely. I will remember that this little move got off to a rocky start, but I will also remember – no matter what the outcome - the good, because there is PLENTY of good. Here’s some so far:

1. We have a sparkly, blue pool that Caleb jumps into with reckless abandon while Kenzie splashes around in her ballerina swimsuit.

2. I have a pantry, aka, a place to put food and appliances where I can actually see them and know what I have. It’s pure genius and I don’t know how I ever survived without.

3. I’m learning that I can be judgey and close-minded. That might not sound like a good thing, but now that I clearly see those parts of my heart I can ask God for new parts. :)

4. Caleb and Kenzie don’t even care that we moved. I was expecting to have some heart wrenching story about how Caleb just couldn’t say goodbye to the old place and how Kenzie won’t sleep in her new room. But I don’t. They like the new place! And that makes me more happy than anything.

5. I don’t have to take care of a yard. Yards exist solely to embarrass me.

6. We have CABLE. Pretend this is #1 instead of #6 because that’s where it is in my heart. Food Network and I have been reunited after a few, long years of being culinarily uninspired. Yes, we still eat frozen pizzas and fish sticks, but at least I’m inspired. And I am better able Keep up with the Kardashians. It’s all I've wanted in life.

7. We have a balcony overlooking the playground and pool. It has been my go to spot during the chaos to sit, reflect, relax and people watch. I love it.

8. I may have walked to the Leasing Office one day, and then not been able to find my way back. They tricked me by having two pools (and the pool was my landmark), when I thought there was only one. I was confused and bewildered, but it did afford me the opportunity to explore the different buildings and be thankful that we found such nice apartments.

9. I’ve met cute little neighborhood kids, who want to tell me ALL about their lives. And I love hearing it.

10. I usually don’t allow myself to get my hopes up if I don’t know the outcome. We’ve had some highs and lows in this whole short sale offer on the house. I’ve TRIED to have low expectations and not to get my hopes up, but (AHHHH, this is dangerous to say) … I really believe in our fight for this house. I really believe we CAN get this house. And I really believe we WILL. This hope in my heart is refreshing. I've wanted to hide it, stomp on it, erase it, but God has kept it fresh, steady and alive. I feel like He's telling me to be open to the risk because I know at the end of the day, we will be okay. We tried, and if God doesn’t want us at that house, He will close the door on it. He won’t let it happen. But He CAN and WILL give it to us if it’s really meant to be for us. My HOPE is in HIM. It's not always in every situation, but at least in this one – it's been powerfully present. And that has felt good.