My Joyful Mysteries, and A Revolution of Real

“I heard them say that this heat brings out the wild in the women(at the retirement home she lives at)…But I know the truth- they’re all just a bunch of old bats all the time.” 

98 years old. 
That’s a whole lot of life.   And she’s a whole lot of amazing. 

So thankful for her life. So thankful for the family I gained marrying my love. 
   
    
    
 

I asked you to share what song was stuck in your head…I want to apologize for not typing all of them up. My day has been busy, and I haven’t had enough time with my kids…so this post is what it is. 

 
“Uptown Funk you Up, Up town Funk you Up.” Alleluia.

  
“My God is Mighty to Save, He is Mighty to Save. Forever, Author of Salvation…” 

  
I’d like to say I have had an amazing song running through my head- one I actually enjoy, but instead I have had the freaking Hannah Montana theme song for the past three days in my head every morning. So to offset that nightmare today one of my members gave me this necklace…she was the moderator the national Bigfoot convention and knows I am a believer in Mr. Sasquatch. So my view was pretty awesome. 

Haters are gonna Hate…but someday I’ll be able to say “I told you so…so hard.” 

Happy Wednesday. God is good. 

Big Foot Lives. 

May you find a song you like. Anything is better than Hannah Montana’s… best of both worlds. I’m heading back to the best of mine- to giggling Monopoly Players. 

On Sunday, my love and I stood at the edges of our backyard and picked blueberries. We have four big beautiful blueberry bushes. We stood there in the comfortable silence of years of together, and just picked them. Mine actually went in the big bowl. He just ate everything he picked. 

“I’m so thankful you’re out here doing this…” He said. His voice trailed off, as all the things that we didn’t need to say out loud, were loud and clear and real in the silence.

I didn’t pick one blueberry last summer. 

Walking out there, standing under the sun was just too much. It’s funny because people will say now things like “I never knew it was that bad.” or “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Because it takes effort to tell people…also people don’t like being around someone like I was. It’s a helpless-hard-thankless-crazy feeling loving someone like that. 

I know that. That’s why I’m not good friends with a lot of people who were my friends before. I’m different now, and their lives didn’t have time to deal with mine. And sometimes they just didn’t understand. And that’s ok. We all are at different places. And spaces. But I’m better now. 

On Saturday- I woke up to social media gone wild. I just sighed and clicked off, and after I went for my run I saw FB suggested I become friends with someone. I am friends with three of this person’s sisters and have a million other mutual friends. This person didn’t add me. FB in all its knowledge thought we had something in common- and so because clearly a mother of four who has a pile of laundry the size of a sky scraper has time, I clicked on this persons page and scrolled down. Just your average political stuff, and then I saw it. An Article with a hateful title about Law enforcement. Instantly I felt sick. 

How could someone post this? It was so ugly. I am positive this person has never been on a ride along, or actually talked to a police officer on what they do. In fact I’d bet a $100 on it.  I saw red hot rage. I wanted to email one of the sisters-my close friend- and tell her, please tell your ignorant mean sister to get a life and some perspective. I wanted to ask for her number and throw all her virtues and pretty ideals over the fence with my real. But you see it’s her opinion…I’m not her friend, she can believe whatever she wants. In all honesty after that little article I would never choose to be in the same room as her.  

But fighting? With words, and I had thought of some pretty brilliant ones…it doesn’t really solve anything. She is obviously fed by the media, most likely CNN, and I’m fed by the truth. 

 And so instead I went to Christ…I went to church, and really listened. And then I went to confession. I wanted to write with a clear heart, not from a place of my own sinfulness…where I didn’t just say lots of swear words. It sat heavy in my heart all night- and I even wrote a post directed at Her. 

And then I deleted it. 

You see…my God loves Her. A lot. 

So I am choosing to pray for her. 

Because I’m different now. 

There are real things we should be investing our time in. Not pretend FB friends but real people. And not with arguments about God, and Government…because God loves ALL of us. If we want a cause why don’t we invest ALL this time in the real tragedies happening…the girls Isis has kidnapped and are torturing and feeding to dogs- the girls who are choosing suicide over imprisonment! That is a tragedy. Why don’t we start locally supporting efforts to eradicate child- trafficking? Support people in treatment? Why don’t we take on the church burning-hate mongering people?  

Why don’t we spend time Loving those around us, rather than hating our parents for judging us, hating our friends who believe differently, and actually work on bringing healing into people’s live rather than division? Because you know who wants division? Satan. And that real stuff that we should invest our time in…that’s where he’s winning. Google that shit, I can’t make it up. 

You see, God loves people that hurt my family.  And if I want to see Christ work in me, I better claim him and love because that is what he is calling me to. 

And it starts right here. It starts with blueberries. It starts with being brave enough to go into my backyard and see the beauty of a good God. It starts with venturing beyond my yard and loving people for who they are, not who I think they should be. And I’m still me, I don’t love everyone- I could give you a list of truly shitty people I know- but I pray for them. I pray that God loves them. I pray that they’ll be less awful. 

Every once in a while I’ll come in and find one blueberry that I picked that’s still pale with no color, it’s bitter and hard. It’s not ready yet. So some of you reading this will be all “OH my Gawdddd, she is SO wrong!” And that’s ok, because I don’t need your permission to be who God has called me to be. 

A year ago, I wasn’t living. I was slowly dying. And I had a lot of ideas about what life was.

But now…I have a lot more ideas about who God is- and HE is BIG, BIGGER than you or me, and he is worth living for. He is worth loving for. 

I will invest in Him only. 

And live from there. 

Because I was given the grace and healing to LIVE again. And that’s the truth. 

To God be the Glory. I picked blueberries. I am alive.  

A lot of words. A lot of Holy Spirit. Two Posts. 

One of my favorite and one of the most convicting scriptures for me is from Revelations 3: 15-16: 

“I know your deeds, that you are neither hot nor cold. I wish you were either one or the other. So because you are neither hot nor cold, but are lukewarm, I will spit you out.” 

The past few days the climate of differences in our nation has been all over the place, so you may be reading this thinking that’s where I am going, but I’m not. Instead I’m writing from the place I am today, versus the place I was last year on this date. Politics have no place here today, only the tremendous grace of a loving God. 

Today I saw my psychologist. Have I ever told you I see one? If not. I do. I fully and completely recommend therapy.  He is a wonderful person. We share faith, and I can say without any hesitation that he helped save my life. 

I am a very different person than talked to him on the phone that first day. I had sent out an SOS to our local “wives of what our husbands do” page asking for a referral, and less than a second later my friend Kara called me, and my kindred Kristie texted me. And they both said the same name. When I called I talked to his receptionist who Is also his bride of 40some years, and after a few seconds she put me on hold. He didn’t have any openings for a few weeks. And then he came on the phone. And we talked. And I told him my real. The real I had been carrying and hiding, and dying with. And he got me in the next day first thing. 

I am a very different person than he saw that first day. He has read back a lot of what I said over the past year, and I don’t remember a lot of it. But I remember the murky darkness. I remember the dark nights without grace. The transformation from the person I was the day I was diagnosed with PTSD, the person I was that folded broken in life, who did not see the light at the end of the tunnel because the tunnel wasn’t even visible…is incredible. 

Even before…even before last summer I had been fading for a long time. I had become completely lukewarm in life. In friendships- I was the first to cancel because the effort to be a good friend was so hard. In my family- because anxiety ate me up when I’d travel, I would shake the entire way anywhere terrified our car would break down, that people would notice the tense ways I couldn’t focus. The day to day I was a good mom, but it took everything I had during the day…and then I would cry myself to sleep or not sleep as I lay awake worrying that my sister would die in her sleep, that the boys would be bullied, that Grace would be hurt, and that’s husband would be killed at work. 

And I was lukewarm with my health. I was scared of doctors and dentists. I felt guilt when I worked out. Guilt when I was away from my kids. Guilt when I got a break. I felt guilty for any self care. I felt guilty saying no. 

I wasn’t hot and on fire for the Holy Spirit because I felt God had abandoned me. 

I wasn’t cold because I so desperately craved God but I didn’t trust him. 

I was lukewarm. 

But. Not. Anymore.

I get mad. Like really mad about things again. And I feel red hot feelings. I say things when things scare me, or hurt me. I don’t cancel at the last minute. I pray with people, I drop everything and show up. And when I can’t I say no(that’s a work in progress). I set boundaries- I put up a cold front and don’t feel the need to be friends with the guy who left my friend, or be friends with someone who has absolutely no respect for my family. I stick up for people. And I feel it all. And it’s not always good, but I have learned to breathe through the bad- to cry it all out, and feel glimpses of hope the next day. I’m not in the tunnel. I’m outside. If it’s dark- I can still see stars. If it’s cloudy I know they’re there. 

One month ago I went to see my psychologist because my kindred Kristie told me to- she gave me her appointment and said I needed to go. You see I was supposed to audition for an 80’s Tribute Band that night to sing back up. It was a real dream to go back to a first love. My entire life I had sang…I sang in productions, at functions, at weddings, at funerals, at my own wedding. Until last year. I had forgotten how to sing. I was all set to audition- I called the manager and talked to him. The lead singer and I had talked multiple times. But the night before I got scared. Really scared. 

I thought of all the reasons I wasn’t good enough. I hadn’t sang publicly for a while. We have four kids. My husband works A LOT. Who would want to hear me? I’m too Frumpy and Lumpy and Squishy. So I emailed the manager and sent my regrets. I emailed the lead singer too. I gave all my reasons. I texted my tribe. 

And then I cried. 

The next morning when my kindred texted me- I knew I needed to go. And when I was in my session I never mentioned the band but something BIG was brought to my attention. I had forgotten my wants mattered. In all my work I had forgotten it’s okay for me to have something for me. It’s okay to do things that don’t just revolve around my kids, or Dyp. And I remembered who I was…before. 

I was Fun. I was Spunky and Wild. And damn Funny. So I left my appt and on my windshield were some flowers and a note from the love of my life…that told me He believed in Me, and wanted me to audition! To go for it! And then I got an email from the manager who wouldn’t let me back out- who told me the reasons I should show up…and they were true. This from someone who had never met me. 

So I went. 

And I made it. 

I’m in a Band. 

And I get to sing 80’s music as homework. And  the lead singer and my voices are so completely complimentary that I pinch myself that I almost let myself be lukewarm and not go. 

Today I went and told my therapist that. Today I told him what I did. And he marveled at how far I’ve come. How different I am. He and I sat in silence. I cried(of course) and he just beamed and he said after a really really long time, 

“You found your voice again.” 

I found my voice again. 

I found my life again. 

So thank you, all of you who loved me through my Lukewarm. Thank you for hearing my voice. All of you, who prayed with and for me.  Thank you for helping save my life. I am overwhelmed with Gods grace- completely and totally. And no matter where life takes me I will Love More, and not Live Less. I am so grateful. 

Life at Full Amazing Speed. Full of Passion. Never Lukewarm. 

To God be the Glory. 

Today I wore shorts. I never ever wear shorts. 

In the last few month some of the “real” women I know have truly stepped up. And they are amazing. 

At first I just thought it was because they wanted to make me feel better in my realness. 

Because for years- we’ve been told by society, and by glossy pages that the humanness of us is something we don’t and can’t talk about. 

It’s why we have closets of clothes we don’t wear, and we put on the same black shirt over and over, with a pair of yoga pants- or capri’s. Or why we judge people that are different…or don’t want to know their stories- because you know, that might be “uncomfortable.” We are so freakin busy being judgemental to love the real human. 

The real. The real is the new cool. The real is coming back…I can feel it in my bones- and it makes my heart bounce. Because it’s the most beautiful thing to rejoice in our humanness and just be real. Not perfect. 

Brave. Nerve. Grit. Courage. Pluck. 

You are the women who swim with their kids with a scar across your back and stretch marks on their legs- and jump around. Because your hips don’t lie, and you’re still Jenny from the Block. 

Who finish coaching your girls softball game in 95 degree weather, and compare boob sweat through your shirt with mine.

Who text me that you want a thigh gap not because of beauty but because you are sick of your thighs chafing with running. 

Who text me when you’re pooping. And tell me you’re pooping. 

Because we are all human. 

And when we embrace our Humanness…we can celebrate the Real Stuff we Overcome. 

You are the women who choose sobriety, who recover from eating disorders, who give up a life of imprisonment to be mothers, counselors, livers. 

Who mourn your spouse, or your child, and still believe In God. You have to redefine an entire life you have built. In grief, you live- In love, you live. You keep getting dressed. 

You are the women he walked out on, and who fight for happiness. Who had to walk away. Who never stopped believing in the power of Love, because Huey Lewis was right…is a curious thing. But it’s beautiful too. 

Who are cancer survivors. Who live with invisible diseases everyday. Who fight. Fight to stay alive. Fight to keep life moving around them. Fight to still wear lipstick. 

You step up. Everyday. 

And you inspire me. 

Today I wore shorts. The first shorts I’ve worn in years. I wore them to a baseball game. I didn’t cover up. I wore them with my lightening bolt veins and my wobbly bits and my baseball tan lines…because of you…overcomers.

You are the brave real ones. You are brave on the real days. You are brave from the inside out. 

So Thank You. 

“Don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today.” Matthew 6:34 

(Joyful Mysteries Notes: every Friday is a guest post and every Friday God has decided the writer and the content. Every week I pray for whoever is writing for it, and most of the time it’s someone who has come to me and said “I wrote something…” The (anonymous) writer this week writes from a place of real and a place of grief. I have often said the most unfair thing in this world is a parent having to grieve their own child. This Real is a family grieving a baby- a sister grieving for her sister as she grieves her child, grieving  for her niece, and grieving the deep dark sadness…all while trying to grasp God- in this place. She mentions being Catholic and some prayers we use, and since many of our readers are not- the writer explains the view on babies as Saints- which they are, and also talks about the Rosary. The Rosary is a succession of prayers asking Mary the Mother of Jesus to pray for us. Everything She does points to God and we don’t worship her, we ask for her prayers. She held my Jesus in her womb, and I find great significance in that- as the writer grieves a child whose majority of life lived was in the womb. Mary also grieved her only son, our Jesus.  The fragility of life is as real as it gets, and while I know it was painful thing for our author to write- it was an important thing. I ask you to join me in prayer for this beautiful family who grieves baby Catherine…a child so loved on earth and so loved now in heaven. St. Catherine, pray for us.) 

“And everything in time and under heaven 

Finally falls asleep 

Wrapped in blankets white, all creation 

Shivers underneath 

And still I notice you 

When branches crack 

And in my breath on frosted glass 

Even now in death, You open doors for life to enter 

You are winter” -Nichole Noerdman 

My real for the moment is winter.

I stood in the shower today weeping. I asked God to comfort me and my family. I begged Him to bring good out of our sorrow. I sang some praise songs because it’s easy to praise Him when all is well but all the more necessary when all is devastation.

In the Catholic Church, we canonize children who are baptized and die before the age of consent. That’s to say we call them Saint with a capital S. We still hold trust in God’s mercy for even those children not baptized, but those who were offer a special kind of comfort to their families. The lost child isn’t gone nor is he/she just in our hearts. She/he is with God in heaven, praying with us.

St. Catherine lived on earth for all of 6 days before God called her to heaven. Those of us left behind are grieving her loss. She was my niece and my daughters’ only cousin. She represented a world of broken promises that make me bitter and angry because I don’t understand why she had to leave and I never truly will.  

That’s one of the mysteries of Christianity. We never fully understand but are still called to trust–to believe that God is there in the darkest moments and he is holding us as we weep.

When I found out Catherine was about to be born, I happened to be at a party with a priest. I pulled him aside and we prayed together, knowing the road ahead would be troubled.

When I found out Catherine wouldn’t make it, I’d just arrived at a baptism for my daughter’s friend. The same priest was there so he prayed with us again. Even in all this pain, God let his presence be known.

At the friend’s baptism we renewed our baptismal vows where we affirmed that we believed in life everlasting.

Days before Catherine died, my daughter sat up in bed and asked me stop singing so we could pray the rosary for Catherine and her parents. I’ve never truly prayed the rosary with my daughter before but she’s heard me recite the prayers. For some reason she understood how much Catherine and her parents needed her and she lay in bed and listened, joining in on the Our Father’s. Occasionally she asked me questions about God.

This precious memory is a gift I will always treasure. It remains a small light in the darkness.

I don’t know how to comfort grieving parents. I cannot imagine how they will survive their loss. I know only that I am there for them and God is holding them when I cannot. It’s a wonderful, amazing gift to know that they are not alone, that He is always with them.  

I remind myself that it is the same for me – God is here during this winter. I hug my children tightly, seeing them more-so for the amazing blessings that they are. How lucky I am to have them even when they cry and yell or drive me mad. I weep as I hug them because someone close just got robbed of that chance and it isn’t fair.

I pray for strength knowing God is there. I trust in Him. He will listen when I vent my anger. He will hold me as I cry. He will send people to comfort to me.

Along with St. Catherine, my family prays for God to comfort us in our grief. Despite all our pain, we will trust in Him.

He will help us survive this winter.

“And everything that’s new has bravely surfaced 

Teaching us to breathe 

What was frozen through is newly purposed 

Turning all things green 

So it is with You 

And how You make me new 

With every season’s change 

And so it will be 

As You are re-creating me 

Summer, autumn, winter, spring…”

Last night my good friend Lindsay sent me the link to a blog*. But I was tired. And feeling insignificant. And a little sad. So I didn’t open it…then today my best friend Amy sent me the same one. 
Okay God. I get it. 

So I read it. And it hit me right in the center of my heart. 

Well played Holy Spirit. Well played. 

I instantly began to cry, as I realized why God gives us good friends. And how important it is to place prayer and protection around my heart…

As a parent. Because I don’t always want to hear who did what, and why you’ve been wronged, and why you forgot to brush-your-teeth/flush-the-toilet/put-away-the-laundry/pick-up-the-room-you-turned-into-a-fort. Some days I don’t want to be patient. And somedays I feel really angry because of how much I hate complaining. I just want you to do things with a grateful heart- I want you to seem happy to run errands with me- because Lord knows I don’t want to run and do a lot of busy things…but we can both fake it just for one day. 

As a wife. Because I worry that you are going to be overwhelmed with the fact that the house looks so lived in, that I can’t seem to throw enough away, that I feel like I am never adding up to all the craftier-pinterest-life coordinated wives who have figured it all out. I won’t win any cooking, budgeting awards. I’m afraid you’ll outgrow me- as we watch other relationships unravel, because I know I’m the same but changed, just older…because the bags under my eyes are always there. 

As a woman. Because this last year I have struggled a lot with my body and with my health. I hate the fitness blogs and I’m so sick of seeing so many body selfies on social media. Because it only makes me feel bad. My perspective as someone who really really tries isn’t inspired. Instead I compare. I refuse to buy a pill, or restrict and cut out food, or get a surgery to change what God gave me. I’m not looking for a “like” on my body, I want love in my soul. But everyday this pressure comes and it is suffocating. 

And all of these aren’t from God. 

They are lies. Big fat liar liar pants on fire lies that steal and give us a temporary gratification of misery…that can turn into an all consuming misery. 

Comparisons. Negativity. Shaming. Andan ungratefulness that comes and rests upon our shoulders, seeps into our bones, and makes us cling to the lies that Satan whispers in our ears…

You are inadequete. 

You are failing. 

You are ugly. 

And I’ve believed them many times. 

I’ve bought into the lies.

I inhaled the lies, and exhaled the deep dark poison…it affected my life greatly. And still does. 

Because satan is a liar, and he IS behind the ugly and the dark thoughts. He capitalizes on our insecurities and we buy the bottle of “if only I was.” And we are never ever satisfied, or good enough, or better. 

But the only thing that is louder than the lies whispered is the Truth. The Truth that stands the test of time. The Truth in a God who believes in US, who sees and Loves us, and who created us for eternity. 

I keep asking my God…”why I keep coming back to this same place- this inadequacy-this shame, when I know HIM and what he is capable of?”And today He replied…”because you keep listening to the lies.” 

He spoke to me through the words of an article. 

And through those that I LOVE…

Through my Eight year old who told me that the veins on my legs look like lightening bolts…”Mom, you have the coolest legs!” 

Through my daughter, who smells my hair, who hugs me, and tells me every single morning first thing, “Oh my Beautiful Mommy…I love you so.” 

Through my husband who asked me on a date, after 19 years of kids and a mortgage, still wants to date me. 

And through friends…who text me at 11:11 every night to say they love me, who send articles, and pray. Who love on the good and overwhelming days. 

So Mr. Satan you can keep your glossy magazines, and your lies. You can take your body shaming and your life stealing. I have lightening bolts for veins, and You have no place in my blessed and graced life. 

Okay Jesus: the way, the truth, and the life…

I’m here. 

I’m listening.  

I’m yours. 

*Here’s the link to that awesome article:

http://www.foreverymom.com/this-is-what-happens-when-satan-steals-your-motherhood/#.VYt0R2pXljw.facebook

Question: How flexible are you when plans and life change?

Your answers:

“On the flexibility scale, I’m Gumby.  Besides, God makes the plan, we are just along for the ride.”  – Dana

“My sister is visiting from California and we only see each other once a year. Her daughter has a tummy bug so I’m at my house and she’s at our moms. I’m bummed but still trying to enjoy my vacation with my kids.  So I’d say I’m flexible and optimistic we’ll be back together tomorrow.” -Val.

“I’m a teacher.  I change my plan dozens of times each day.  Never hold tight to a plan because it will certainly change if you do! I am VERY flexible.” -Jamie

“Cork on the waves, Baby! I try to be as optimist as possible when it comes to change…I’m admit I’m not always that great about it, but I find that if I think about myself being more flexible and resilient, I usually am.” -Amy

“Depends on the situation.  As I get older it gets easier.  But I realize it often has to do with underlying expectations I have not openly communicated. When I keep those inside change can be very frustrating for me.” -Amanda

“Im working on it. I don’t think I’m too bad, my husband probably begs to differ.” -Meagan

“What is this “plans” thing you speak of?  No, seriously, I keep plans to a minimum BECAUSE they change so freaking much.  That makes me either flexible or irresponsible, depending on the situation.” -Amy B.

“I pick my battles. For the most part, I just go with the flow.” Alicia

“I try to be flexible. I joke that I don’t like change and am set in my ways(which is true) but I try to realize that a lot of things are out of my hands and getting made about the situation won’t change it.” -Abbie

“I’m not that great, but trying to be better, kids sort of test my flexibility daily.” -Nicole

My answer is a bit longer…

This week we were supposed to spend the week camping at Crater Lake.  I have been looking forward to getting away for months. And the middle of the night before we were set to leave, Grace woke up sick. We postponed a couple of days, even switched where we were going — and then Daniel got sick.  So we are home.  I was really looking forward to getting away,  A few people mentioned that we got a staycation out of it…but at home I am faced with the laundry and the upkeep of the house.  I am faced with the regular.  My husband is never truly off.  He got called in the morning we were supposed to leave.  I saw him working on some work papers today when I got home, because I went into work for a couple of hours.  If we are in town, he can get a call out.  That is our life.  I’m trying to be flexible but it’s hard when I’m being faced with the monotony of my everyday life.  Every day is busy, but sometimes I want different busy.  I want to enjoy my kids without worrying that my room is a mess and the dishwasher has to be unloaded.  And yes I know there are plenty of times to do that, but I am never caught up.  No matter how hard I try.  I think being a police wife I have built-in flexibility — I have shared most holidays with his job. Being a Mom I have to be flexible – runny noses, and bloody knees, and they are always hungry.  But today I got a little mad, because my entire life since I was a child was about me being flexible.  And I believe it’s made me love life right where I’m at, but it has also made me very aware that I am put on the back burner in many relationships…because I’ll “understand.” But sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I just want to know my voice, and my life counts.  That I’m worth the effort.    For a really long time I believed I wasn’t.  But now I do.  My needs, my wants. They are important.  Not in a superficial me Me ME way…but in a real tangible I matter.  Because life isn’t easy, even when I’m flexible.  This past weekend my sister visited and it made me realize how blessed people are to have family around.  I have friends that will help, but sometimes this crazy monotonous busy is lonely.  The more I thought about why I was feeling this way, the more I realized that I think I must be failing.  In the past months I have felt that my failures coincide in the places where I feel insignificant.

And that’s when I paused.

And I prayed.

This whole revolution of real is a constant curvy path, and it can be really bumpy. Because  life is really bumpy.  And my real isn’t always pretty. We aren’t debt free, and we aren’t sickness free.  We aren’t dust or weed free.  I’m not sin free, and I haven’t been on a date with my husband in a long long time.  As I type this, my kids are fighting…But I am not failing.   Because I’m willing to realize that part of being flexible is realizing that I can show people in every part of my life that they matter to me.  That they are worth my time. In every circumstance.  And I am grateful for that. I’m not that great at love all the time, but I will always love.

So back to my regular life.  With my little family who know I love them – I am up with them during the night with fevers, and I soothe them when they cry.  I lay down next to them after bad dreams and say prayers into their ears.  My real is a constant state of changing-growing-living and its blessed,  Even with the bumps, I am significant to this world.

Life happens.  And while I think I’m flexible, I still can’t touch my toes…but being bendy isn’t everything.

Love is.

We really love our Mikaela. 

And lip gloss.