4, 6, 8, 13, 16, 32
I can remember myself as an 18 year old walking down the aisle, orange roses in hand, scorched by the Texas sun but focused only on the handsome man waiting for me. I was a fledgling baby adult, thinking I was grown- the hallmark of those who aren’t yet. I was marrying my best friend, he was joining the military, life was going to be perfect. We were going to have the white picket fence with 2 kids and 2 dogs. Our life would be a picture of stability, comfort, and well behaved children. My short sightedness makes me chuckle. I’ve always been a daydreamer, prone to idealism. I couldn’t…
From the Oceans to the Mountains
Every blog I’ve written in the last couple of years has started with a simple thought. Over a short (and sometimes not so short) amount of time, the idea rolled around in my brain until it was fleshed out and shared here in my blog. But for the past month, ideas haven’t had time to marinate or be thoughtfully considered, hence the lack of posting. My brain has been functioning in a hop-skip-jump pattern. It’s the effect of trying to process too many things at one time and ending up glitching like the little girl in Wreck-It-Ralph. The catalyst behind my glitch? We moved. From the beautiful beaches of the…
The Ones Who Came Before
I sat on the brown suede couch, body sunk deep in the well loved cushions. I needed a friend. Potty training was not going well. So much pee, so much poop, so much mess. He wasn’t getting it. I was exhausted and frustrated by the endless unproductive bathroom trips that resulted in a pee puddle on the floor 5 minutes later. I was also trying to juggle a 6 month old baby who wouldn’t sleep at night and somehow also keep up with the piles of smelly, urine soaked clothes. I was miserable and defeated. She gave me helpful advice, but most of all, she encouraged me. She rallied my…
So long, Baxter
12 years ago, we did something foolish, as 19 and 22 year olds are known to do. It is the faux pas of many a young military couple, and we fell into the same trap. We bought a brand new car with a massive loan, a 2007 Toyota Prius. We named him Baxter. My “responsible” 30-something self would counsel anyone at that age and in those shoes to just say no. It’s not a good idea to have a car payment that big, your husband is only an E4 and you don’t have a steady job, I would tell her. You still owe on your trade-in, that loan is too…
Good Friday
We threw our worst at you. Our pride, our envy our jealousy, our hatred. We took sins of the heart, turned them into action. Slapped, beaten humiliated, crucified. We did our best our worst. You didn’t fight back. You took it all. The sin of that moment, the sin of your people, The sin of people to come. My sin. My pride, my envy my jealousy, my hatred. You died. Our best (and our worst) is paltry. You were not defeated. You are victorious. Risen. Worthy.
Avengers & Easter
I just bought my tickets to Avengers Endgame. The end of an era. Starting with Iron Man in 2008, Marvel has released 21 movies, soon to be 22, and John and I have seen all but one in theaters. To include that time in 2014 we were asked to leave the theater because we tried to take a baby. We have been dedicated to these stories and characters for over a decade, and in just a couple weeks this iteration will come to an end. If you couldn’t tell, we are pretty big fans of superheroes around here. My favorites have been the characters with a strong moral compass, like…
A Letter to My First Born
Happy birthday to my first born. You made me a mommy, and six years ago I was privileged to meet you. When you took your first breaths your tiny arms flailed against the cold air; first sensations in this big world are overwhelming. I brought you to my chest, snuggled your soft skin to mine, and you settled into me. My world changed in that moment, and together we began our journey as mother and son. I marveled at the way that your tiny body had grown from a poppy seed to the perfect baby I held in my arms. Watching TV while you slept on my chest, I breathed…
Follow Your Dreams?
Peter was a fisherman. I don’t know much about fishing, because I refuse to touch a slimy, wiggling, gasping for air fish. From my limited understanding, it seems that his job was to catch the fish, sell the fish, and then catch more fish to sell, plus do all the mending and upkeep of nets and boats to continue fishing. Thanks to Google, I also know that fishermen tended to fish at night. So when Jesus meets Peter for the first time (Luke 5: 1-11), he’s found sitting on the shore mending his nets and probably trying to wrap things up before going home for some much needed rest. I…
When the time comes…
They don’t know me here. They know my husband, and perhaps know of us, maybe our reputation proceeds us— for good or bad, who knows. When I arrive, I am just a name. A handshake introduction, an awkward conversation; where are you from, what do you do? Simple questions that I can’t answer simply. There are simple facts to learn, Lauren, age thirty—*cough*, stay at home mom of four. They see the put together(ish) appearance that I aim for and that I am a special needs parent. Given time they will learn what that entails. We will eventually talk about my daughter, I’ll teach them the word hydranencephaly and try…
