My Joyful Mysteries, and A Revolution of Real

Years and years ago I saw that a family who had five children would collect the number five. They’d have framed pictures and cut outs of the number Five. Pictures of Five things. It was kind of brilliant, long before Pinterest was credited for every craft ever made. 

Until I lost a child. 

Because when you ask me, I will tell you I have four children. Because I do. I have four children…living. But I have given birth to five. I have carried five. I have loved five. But you only get to see four…

——————————————————————-

Four years. 

Since that moment. Since that instant. Since lives were shifted and cracked open, and raw, by the loss of a Husband. A Father. A Son. A Brother. A Cousin. A Coworker. A Friend. 

Four years of living, with a huge gap in a department. New people there…who never knew what that smile meant. New families hired, who have no concept of what it was like. New people in charge, and some forgetting how important it is to “take care” of each other.

Four years of living, with news in papers, and interview requests. Four years of vulturous writers looking for the next best story, a way to twist a tragedy. Four years of good press. Four years building a scholarship and a ride, and so many other ways to honor a name that will be remembered. 

As good. As kind. As a Hero. 

Who was married to my Kindred Kristie…

Four years of living, and redefining life as a widow. Four million ways people have said the worst cruelest things, sometimes unintentionally. Four years she has had to relive the worst hell over and over, by words and insensitivity. Four years of having to wake up every morning…without him right there.

Four years of learning to love, and trust. Of losing friends, who couldn’t stay through the darkness and those who only wanted the misery. Four years of choosing to not be bitter, to lose it when it counts, and finding people who will always stand in the fire with you, and rejoice when you find your laughter.

Four years of relearning on how to just live,  breathe. To work out so hard that for an hour you kill the grief and sweat it out in angry spurts only to have it wash over you again as you shower. Four years of holidays, and special days, and Monday’s. Father’s Day, and Daddy -Daughter Dances…all keep the grief on the surface. And Fridays. Friday, where it all began. 

Four years of raising a girl, with his face and a beautiful teenager, and having to reinvent family. To make new memories in a house already filled with them. Four years of relearning about life and love, and grief and being renewed all while still being totally broken. 

Four years of being a kid, with a famous last name. But who just wants her Dad. And another kid who knows what it’s like to lose your other Dad, and knows that grief, that loss too too soon. Four years of growing and hearing things like “you look like your Dad,” and “Your Daddy would be so proud…” But all you want is him. 

Four years of wanting to shout…

“And No, it will never go away.”

“I will never get over it.”

“I’m sorry, that my real isn’t relevant to you!” 

“I’m sorry that you feel uncomfortable by my grief.” 

Four years.

Four years. 

If someone asked me four words to describe my friend Kristie I would say this…

Faithful. Resilient. Strong. Real. 

Kristie has kept her faith in God, in humanity- and in the good of people four years after her husband was killed in the line of duty. 

Kristie is resilient because she has kept Chris right there…in conversation, in good acts, in work he believed in. She has shown people that life will never be the same, but you can keep living. You can find joy in the smallest things. You can still love deeply. 

Kristie is strong- because she shows up. She loves passionately. She is a damn good mother. She is a damn good friend. And she knows that bitterness will only rot your soul, so she feeds her soul. And shares that strength and hope…and grief with strength. 

Kristie is Real. Which is the Highest compliment I can pay anyone. She has been real…the last four years. 

I can never do enough, or pay enough of a tribute to Chris, except to say every good thing you’ve heard…is true. He scattered goodness. 

I can never give justice or put into words the grief that all of us have felt, and will continue to feel every April 22…But I will try, every year. 

Because that’s what you do for Family. And Chris was family. That Badge bonds us all together. 

And I thank God every single damn day for my Kristie. When I see her, I hug her fiercely. And I fight for her because I have seen her joyful and completely broken in a heartbeat by the words and actions of others. I also have seen her laugh so hard that we have cried. There are six of us that are so bonded no one can get our jokes, or our relevancy, but we carry each other. Today we wear plaid together…for our girl. 

Chris,I know you are so proud of your girls. They are the truest most beautiful girls…they’ve taught us so much- these four years. They’ve carried you with them every day for…

Four years.

I have five children. Everyone thinks my third child was a boy, but she was a girl.

I never saw her laugh.

But I gave birth to her. And I held her. 

She had dark hair. And long eyelashes.Like her younger brother. 

I love her and she is always with me. She would be 10. 

But she’s right here. With me. She’s a part of us. I carry her with me everyday. 

But you only see Four. 

Anyone want a used boot? 

Worn for almost four weeks for an ankle fracture. 

Worn by a 5’4 kid who was trying to dunk a basketball, and came down on his heels. 

But was with his best friend. Who is also 13. But is 6’3. 

A trampoline may have been involved.

His Mother may have almost taken a chain saw to the trampoline.

His Dad may have caught her…and stopped the awesomeness.

Him getting hurt wasn’t awesome. 

It was the first time he got hurt that he didn’t cry. 

Which kinda broke my heart a little bit.

Anybody need a boot? 

It’s been worn on the beach, and camping. 

It’s been used with crutches.

And without. 

It’s traveled through the Oregon Caves.

It’s been used raking a baseball diamond. 

He never cheated. And wore it every day. 

Anybody need a used boot? 

A boot that missed out on six baseball games, but showed up to every one. 

That stood on the sideline and cheered. 

But never got to play. 

Anybody need a used boot? 

It’s had a lot of wear already. 

And I’m sure was ran in, when I wasn’t looking. 

It’s been worn by a boy who is changing everyday. 

Who walks the halls different than the boy who walked in the doors the first day this year.

Who lost a friend this year. Who he thought was his best friend. 

Who found out who his true friends are. 

Who learned that there is a reason why gossip hurts. When you’re the subject.

Who is changing, and I can’t stop time.

Who feels things, that I can’t make better.

Today he’ll play baseball.

Today he went to school. 

Tomorrow will be a new day and different day. 

One thing I know…
Middle School Sucks- just as much as it did when I was there.

Even for boys.

But there are good people who make it easier.

Growing up hurts. 

And sometimes I wish there was a boot I could put over his heart to protect him. 

He’s still my little boy. 

He’ll always be my son. 

But he’s gonna get hurt.

And will have to learn to heal…

And won’t need me as much,

But will still need me a lot. 

Each day I have to let go a little more, and each day I ask God to protect him a little tighter. 

I think this watching my kids grow up is fracturing my heart…

Anybody want a boot?  

*Pony and Zebra not included with free boot- but adds a little something extra to the picture…according to a little girl. 

“Mommy can we just stop this morning to snuggle and love? And tell stories about you when you were little?” 

Happy Monday. 

I woke up this morning and he was next to me. 

We had just gotten home last night, and were getting ready for bed when the call out came. 

He got home around 7? I think?…he’s still sleeping. 

He didn’t complain. He just answered the phone and five minutes later he left. And almost immediately I held my breath a bit. Just like always. 

I woke up this morning to four cereal bowls in the sink with milk still in them. The kids were watching “The Sandlot” again. The volume was low. I made coffee. I was so tired. I don’t sleep well when he’s gone. 

The kids stayed quiet. After 13 years- they know the drill. 

I sat in the empty kitchen and replanned our day….church tonight now. Guess I won’t get a work out in this am. I drank my coffee and thought. 

He was up all night. I don’t even know what happened, except that they called. And he did his job. As the rest of us slept. 

I used to clean the house when he got call outs just in case they showed up if something went wrong. 

He gets so many now, that I just figure they’ll deal with it- my house, our life. 

I used to think a lot of things. 

Before I was a parent. 

As I was a new parent. 

Before we were married. 

After we were married. 

Before I was a stay at home parent. 

Before I was a parent that worked part time.

And now once I kind of woke up and began to do the larger than life task of catching up on laundry…

Because it’s always there. 

Piles and piles, and no matter how hard I try, it’s still there. 

I used to have so many ideas. Opinions. Judgements. 

And now I just know…that no matter how much I think I know, real will shatter my logic. 

Logically, as the kids get older things should get easier. But it’s not. It’s a different hard and  much more complicated than deciphering a diaper rash. Because sometimes they come to you, and their real isn’t monsters under the bed. But real stuff. 

I used to think I was getting this parenting thing down…and then another stage set in. Another inch was grown, another battle to face. 

I miss the days when I could keep them home and hold them to me and feel their baby fine hair and know at that moment I could always keep them safe. 

I could always protect their hearts. 

But it’s not that simple. 

I used to judge couples that fell apart, and lives that were irrevocably cracked by addiction- until I began to see that the Realness of life sometimes tips over our glass plans. Until addiction stole someone I loved. 

I used to think that my husband would always wake up next to me, until my kindred’s husband didn’t come home. And so I will never take for granted the sounded of him breathing. The click of the key in the door. 

I have a lot of strong big opinions about a lot of things that matter to me…but I’m not an expert on any of them anymore really. 

I just know I will fight for my families safety, and their happiness. I will stick up for my real, so when you wake up, and get ready for church…and my husband has just laid down- you were safe. 

Because no matter how many times you fold it, you move it, laundry still exists. 

Kids grow. They change. And sometimes even when you’ve done everything you can…life gets real. 

We all have laundry. 

I used to take mine for granted. Curse it. But now I realize that all those ideas I had Before I had my life cannot define the realness of my own piles of dirty and clean laundry. 

Some weeks there will be more. 

And other weeks I won’t ever see the end in sight. 

Sometimes I miss the naivety of the before. I knew how I’d live. How I’d parent. How I’d love…but at the time I never really knew how much I would need God. How many times I would cry to Him over the big stains that have changed the course of our lives. 

The holes left behind. 

Last night as he left, our teenager came and laid down next to me. 

Neither of us could sleep. 

The realness of call outs- and life- as we waded deep into a conversation that was hard to have, that left piles of worry at my feet. 

I lay awake long after he fell asleep. 

And prayed. For our safety. For our Family. 

And for all the laundry I have no idea of how to fold. 

I left it there. And stared at my child, and missed my husband and prayed.

And eventually drifted off.

And woke up, and he was back, safe. 

I was very tired, and even less of an expert, even at laundry. 

But I don’t take it for granted. None of it. 

I’ll let God sort, and I’ll fold. 

And exhale. 

Aging is hard. Period. 

Soon I will tell you about our weekend, celebrating with our Italian Relatives, and celebrating the Amazing life of my husbands Great Uncle Tony. A World War II Vet, a Father, and all together amazing man. 

Soon I will tell you about our trip to the Oregon Caves, another place to etch off our Experience Oregon bucket list we’ve made as a family. 

Soon I will tell you how my husband just walked right in, and loved his cousins. Some of their lives are so incredibly different…but  the love is still there. I am so thankful to have married someone who values family as much as I do. 

Soon I will tell you about how everyone commented on how Italian Curly looks. How Daniel worked the room with every adult- and knew most by name. How my teenager is growing and is so exhausted and may be feeling more like a teenager. It took Grace no time to make a friend with her fourth cousin Elliot, and show every single relative her fancy earrings she got from her Grandma Joan. 

Soon I will tell you all of these things…

But today I will just saying Aging is hard.

In the past three months we have visited Granni four times. In that time she has fallen twice, broken her neck, and been hospitalized for pneumonia, and to a rehab place for her neck. My Mother in Law Joan has been incredible through it all, supporting her Mom. 

Granni has started calling the boys, One- Two- and Three, and calls Grace “Shoobie Doobie Doobie Doo.” 

Two weeks ago when we saw her, my husband fed her bite by bite, and today she was eating in the lunchroom with her seatmates. 

We were so proud of her. 

Each time we see her is a gift. She tells me each time how much she prays. 

But it is also a reminder that aging is freaking hard. It’s not easy to watch, and even harder to go through…

She is incredibly resilient.  But also is very very tired…and today a little cantankerous. Because as we helped her up from lunch she told us and everyone around sitting at lunch that if her Doctor didn’t take off her neck brace this week…

“I’m gonna cut off his balls.”

She’s almost 98. 

I looked at my boys who looked absolutely shocked.

I looked at the little old ladies sitting there…and saw nothing…they can’t hear anyway. 

And my husband…well, he had never looked more proud. 

When you’re almost 98, that’s as real as it gets. 

…If you’re gonna age…be real. 

We helped her back to her room and I saw something else, her “Shoobie Doobie Doobie Do” swung her legs on Granni’s walker. 

She’s got that quintessence in her. She’s got Granni’s Magic.  That piss and vinegar! That fight. That faith. That Love and Fire. 

…I love it. 

Absolutely. Completely. Love Real. 

(joyfulmysteries note: Okay total disclaimer about the writer today! I was so jealous of her in high school- she was smart, popular, and athletic. She was also very funny and had amazing long hair. We lost touch like I did with many over the years but in the past months have reconnected…and let me say she is amazing. She has said yes to God beyond the comfortable and continues to strive to do his real. Thank you Josie for your words and your real today! You are so loved, and I admire you so much.) 

Lately I’ve had many days where I’ve written half or almost a full post and I can’t post it. 

I feel this incredibly urge to write it, but know deep down I am not supposed to post it…yet. 

Also lately, I’ve had many moments of feelings of what my daughter calls the scary creepy crawly’s. The feels of absolutely anxiety mixed with terror that settles deep in the pit of my stomach. Things I’m reading, the views people are taking, and the division’s WE are creating are terrifying. 

It’s real. It’s poignant. 

But I’m not ready to post that real yet. 

 I’ve also had amazing feelings of burning, and desire for what is the real call of someone of Faith. Not just saying it, believing and living this…and the fear is real, but the grace and hope that places fire in those who are living and breathing examples of ALL in. 

All in, even when I am so inadequate in so many ways. 

I received a text from a friend today asking me to remind her of that…where she’s supposed to be. 

Being ALL in. 

I may write this blog, but I read your emails, I get your texts, I hear your real almost everyday and I know…this is burning in you too. 

And that means sometimes hearing the Truth about ourselves is going to suck, and speaking the truth is going to be even harder. 

But I feel deep down under my skin, into the depths of my heart that we need it. We need to be ready for the truth…and somedays that means walking away from toxic relationships, looking at ourselves and opening our eyes.

And being all in. 

This is when we start to get past the shallow and starting seeing. 

That doesn’t mean we have to take on everyone’s else’s stuff, or take on the weight of the world…That’s God job. But we need to open our eyes. We need to be aware. And we need to guard ourselves with prayer. 

We need to pray…gather in prayer…and pray. 

Stop right now…and pray. 

And I don’t know why you’re praying. I don’t know what your real is…but we all need more of that. 

We need to unify in prayer. 

We all need more Him. And less us.

We all need God. 

Yesterday I watched my daughter stand on the sidewalk. Her entire life is right there…she Is little and her life is always a reminder to me of what living each day fully and completely means. 

I pray she always knows what a gift her life is…and that she always needs God. When she looks at her future that she turns to Him, in prayer- in moments of fear and moments of joy…I pray no matter where her life takes her – that is she is ALL in for Him.

That is my prayer for all my kids. For all of you…

This is When we Begin. 

    “Surprise Me.” -Bob Hope(his last words) 

 Today may be my favorite Wednesday yet…I cannot even began to tell you how amazing your real is…how different…how you. 

Thank you for offering a small glimpse of your Wednesday unfiltered. I am so grateful to have you in this Revolution with me. 

Every week you bless me. You surprise me. 

“My real is to keep it real!”  

  “My real is coffee. It’s ok to hug and love your coffee when no one is watching.” 

“The best gifts are the simple ones! Stopped to see a friend today to hug and tell her I loved her. BIG surprise was that she brought me this rosary back from Jerusalem. Wow! Thank you Lord for speaking to me and for ears to listen to your call!” 

“Avoiding Taxes.” 

 “No sleep all night. Late for dentist appointment. Boss is blowing up my email on a case I need to follow up on. Oh, and a federal audit I need to prepare for…”

“Tired but thankful.” 

 “I’m so tired, down, and have a lot on my mind.” 

 “I feel totally unqualified to do the things I have to get done today. Also there are no clean spoons in my house.” 

 “Crying. All. The. Time. (The kids…not me, but Lord knows I feel like it) 

“Frizzy hair, and a six year old who thinks she runs the house. Rough Morning.” 

“Trying to be productive.(aka: stay awake, work my business, get off my butt, the dishes, laundry, and dirty bathroom await.) while I help this sweet little man feel better. 

“This is what my house and brain look like. Guaranteed. All the time.” 

“Painting…where to start…so much to do…being a landlord. Hope that Dutch Bros. helps.” 

“I am the mom of a boyscout which means I’m spending the day getting high on water proofing spray fumes.”  

“Getting lots of stuff done for once, but it’s taking Cheetos and Diet Coke to get me through.”  

 I am tired. But I am good. 

Your stories make me feel less awkward about hugging my coffee, less exposed on my hard days, hopeful about all the ways I’m not adding up -but are what makes me who I am. 

We all have good.

We all have bad. 

We all have beautiful and hard.

But Real is special. It’s us. Unfiltered. 

That is a gift. 

Because I have known great love, and great sorrow. I have lived through grief and know what hope feels like…

I am praying with all of you today…in Hope. 

It is an absolute gift. God continually surprises me. 

Hope Never Disappoints. -Romans 5:5 

*today’s post is dedicated to my Great Uncle Daniel Francis Driscoll…whose life was celebrated today in Montana. Thank you for your smile, your kindness, and so many memories of 4th of July. See you in Heaven. I’m so thankful my son Daniel Francis shares your name. 

“If you judge people, you have no time to love them.” -blessed Mother Teresa

Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a nun? 

Completely devoting my entire life to Jesus and Prayer. 

 I felt in a convent I would be completely safe. Safe from my anxiety and worry that had plagued me for so many years. 

In high school I went a little boy crazy because I knew where I thought my life was heading. I fell in love twice…once with a boy who would break my heart over and over again and called me his “best friend” and once with the nicest boy I had ever known. 

We broke up coincidently because I was catholic and he wanted to be a pastor and well…in my heart I knew he deserved better. 

I had it narrowed down to two order’s if I chose one…

Sisters of Providence and Carmelites. 

Hardly anyone knew what I had spent years praying about, and was drawn to. I don’t even know that my parents really knew.

But my Uncle Pat, who lost his battle to cancer  a few years ago, would always talk to me about when I finally became a nun. And I would laugh…

And then I met a boy. 

With curly hair, and a spam shirt. In baggy cords. Who wanted to be a priest. 

And I saw another future. 

Another life for me. 

I could serve Jesus with him. 

I could pray daily and live a life of prayer with him. 

He would keep me safe. 

I knew that moment I saw him standing there, when I hadn’t even heard the sound of his voice, that I could marry him.

But this isn’t about our love story…it’s about this little life we are building for God. Which is its own love story.

So we need to go back…20 years.

This boy went and served with the Missionary of Charity Sisters at an Aids Hospice in Denver. 

And I flew there to visit. And volunteer. 

I’m sure I’ve wrote about this. And I’m sure I’ve written that this was a turning point in my life. 

And his. 

The Nuns were amazing. 

They were small, and wore habits. They got up had mass, served and spent the rest of the day in silent prayer before serving again. 

They serve “the poorest of the poor.” In this case it was people dying of aids. But it extended far beyond that. 

There were no labels…there was no levels of who they opened their arms to. Who was more deserving. Who was most holy. 

They served the dying. They loved them. They showed them Christ. 

The level of their service was beyond anything I had ever seen. I began to read stories about their founder Mother Teresa, and fell In love with the works of a small hunched over nun who served the dying in India.

Everyday. Without ceasing. 

Prayer, service, and love. 

I longed to meet her. But in many ways I did. I met her through Sister Jovita, and Sister Michael. I had never considered a vocation with the Sisters of Charity because they weren’t anxious to comfort the dying.They Weren’t   safe, they just loved until it hurt.  And did it with great joy. That was their mission. 

Mother Teresa passed away the Fall after I spent time at the Aids hospice. Her death was overshadowed by the recent death of Princess Diana, who had also spent time volunteering with the Missionaries of Charity. And loved her. 

And then life happened…

I spent a year in ministry, then college and ministry on the side, then marriage, then kids, and more life. 

And in researching my own darkness, I found Mother  Teresa lived through her own darkness too. 

So I’ve been reading more and more about Her, and her great mission in such small ways. 

She captivated people not by great speeches or big gestures…but by love. Just love. 

She served her Jesus. In the poor, in the dying, in the lonely. 

I sat at a dinner table with her sisters where there were two drug addicts, a former prostitute, and others all with HIV who would die of Aids. We shared a meal, and the sisters ate after everyone else was served. We prayed together. 

 No one was more worthy of God’s love. We were all Gods children. 

And that. Is what has struck me recently. 

As I prepare to speak in a couple weeks at a retreat about a worthy life- I’ve reflected A LOT on my own life.

And Dyp and I have been talking a lot about this subject.

I will be honest. I have spent much of the past few years being swept into what I’ve surrounded myself with…what I felt was important.  

To provide well.

To have more. 

 To do big vacations. 

 To have what my friends have. 

To look good. 

I’ve compared myself too often. And tried to keep up too much. 

But. But. That has never been what I’ve been called to…

I have been called to devote myself to God. 

To serve him, in my life and through my children. 

I have been called to pray. Pray for others. Pray with others. 

But I will never truly be able to love greatly if I always feel safe. 

This real. This love is stepping beyond the safe, and actually reaching beyond. 

I need to be willing to truly Love. Others. Love outside the box. In the most real ways.

We are, together, working as a family on what that means. But we feel the pull. It’s there.

A worthy life, is so much more than what I have been telling myself what matters…for too long. And it doesn’t have to be big, or dramatic. 

It starts right here. With me. 

I will keep my eyes on Him…and begin. 

And it’s no surprise that I had had a low week. And that the sadness settled. Because big was happening. Because being open isn’t comfortable and it is redefining what I thought I needed, and reminding me what is truly important. 

What I wanted. 

What I want. Is…

To love Jesus. To devote my life to prayer. 

And to…Love. 

I don’t decide who God loves, or define who He loves.  Or how He loves. God does. 

So I’ll let God be God…and I’ll just be a small part of his love story. 

And just love. 

“Beloved, do not be surprised that a trial by fire is occurring among you, as ifsomething strange   were happening to you, but rejoice to the extent that you share in the sufferings of Christ, so that when his glory is revealed you may also rejoice exultantly. -1 peter4: 12 -13 

*these pictures are not mine but used from two books about Mother Teresa that I own. 

No baseball game today. 

No practice today. 

I didn’t work out. Yet.

I didn’t finish laundry. Yet.

I spent two hours doing a necessary but stupid errand. 

I took a nap. And a half. 

I snuggled with Daniel. 

I don’t really want to write today. 

Because I feel my words are soggy and wishy washy. 

I feel like wearing sweats. 

And being a little sad. 

I just want to text my friend Dana. Who will quote 80’s music to me and agrees Lionel Ritchie was all stalkerish in “Hello.” 

And maybe I’ll go for a walk in the rain. 

It’s okay to have days where you just only do things half way. 

Tomorrow will be better. I just know it. 

Somedays are just rained out. 

And the only solution is sweats, a good cry in the shower, and a diet dr pepper…

And the grace of a God who allows me to just be half way there…oh oh.