My Joyful Mysteries, and A Revolution of Real

my favorite tree is the magnolia tree. It blooms once a year and when it does it brings me so much happiness and hope. Beauty exists after winter, and blooms bright. I even love the petals that line the streets from the magnolia blossoms. Small light petals signifying spring, new life. 

If you are just now reading this, let me tell you a little about this project. About a year ago, or two, I began to become more and more disheartened by the filters and airbrushed lives we show to each other. It started with social media, and I began to see it feed into other parts of life. The more filtered we were, the more fake we became. But there was another side of it, we could also become bold and hide behind a computer and begin to bully. There was always some sort of conflict, and discussion turned ugly. Instead of respect we started becoming more and more divisive. 

And I began to compare myself to all the more patient, crafty, fitter Mothers. I’d read this “what’s your excuse” campaigns of Mothers who did more, looked better, and had it together in ways I couldn’t. We stopped celebrating the journey of motherhood together, and began to divide with shame and judgment. 

I compared myself to the sexier wives, the police wives who didn’t cry when their husband got called out on a holiday. The wives who were a better spouse, who loved better, and could cook magical healthy filling food. 

I wasn’t holy enough. 

I couldn’t afford all organic food. I couldn’t fit into my favorite jeans. I couldn’t get to the gym everyday. I cry almost every month that I can’t have another baby. And some months I breathe a sigh of relief because I’m so freaking overwhelmed. I rarely check my voice mails. I hate wearing a bra. And I don’t have an excuse. 

 I wanted Real. 

I craved the real. Swimming in laundry. Singing  loudly to Taylor Swift in the car, because that was the only down time I had all day. I craved other women who loved God, but were flawed, who cried and laughed, and lived for days in sweats.

I was so sick of the friend wars. The mommy wars. The political debates. The religious divisions. 

I’m not saying I don’t acknowledge those things, I do…but the negativity paired along with the sugary sweet…this is who I am, but angled and filtered got old…

And I craved the real. 

Because I was living something real. 

And it  wasn’t beautiful. 

I was living in a place of complete darkness. 

I felt God had abandoned me. I was emptied of all hope. I was giving my all, and losing someone I loved. I was grieving the loss of a beloved family member, I was worried for my family who grieved even more deeply. I was worried about my Parents.  I was getting up every day and getting dressed, and just trying to get…through…it. The day. Life. 

And I would read and see these lives, these lives that couldn’t possibly be that rounded and smooth. 

I would get up…and move through the day…and pray that someday I would feel joy again. And I would wonder why my life was so dark. My real was that I thought about dying. A lot.  

Fast forward(making the most scary call of my life and getting help) 

Diagnosis…

PTSD. 

Followed by months of work. Healing. Medicine. Prayer. Light. Life….happened. Because I stopped faking health and started working for it. 

I fought back. Against the darkness. Against the comparisons. Against the guilt.

And I started telling people…I need you. I need prayer. I need help. I need friendship. And it was scary. Those words. 

Most people stepped up. And some walked away. 

I had some major transformations. And some revelations. 

 So, I started this revolution. Your pain can be real. And so can your healing. You can find hope here in your realness. 

And your real is enough. 

This past week some of the sadness settled again…Deep down. And I couldn’t seem to shake it. It terrified me. Because I don’t want to go back to that place. To last year. 

Part of being real is admitting that getting better has weeks where I’m not better. But I’m still working so hard at it. 

I’m working hard at seeing the real joy in life, and how incredibly important fighting for my healthy is. 

My family is affected by my sadness. Deeply. This week I became very aware, and I know that they deserve my joy and Me present.

So this week…my real is asking you to wherever you are at, find your real and notice the ways your actions, your present is affecting those around you…and be there, and try. 

Find that one spot of hope and joy…and bloom. 

And if you’re filtering it, and hiding your real- be real and ask for help. It’s hard, and uncomfortable, but it’s brave. 

I have had some good cries this week. But I’ve also had some great moments of joy, and I cling to them. And I have vowed to work and strive everyday to scatter my love over my children. They are a constant reminder to me that God is faithful. 

I do not know how my husband loves me so much but he does…I don’t deserve him. But my real is enough for him. And that brings hope.

Today I stopped under a Magnolia tree and looked closely. It is my favorite tree. I said a prayer and left the sadness scattered on the side of the road with the petals. They are still real, and just as beautiful, but the blooms that cling and hold on…they are such an amazing reminder of the beauty of perseverance. 

Never underestimate the blooms that hang tight. 

God is good. And life is precious, a gift I will cling to. 

In my real. Even in my weeks of sadness. 

God is good. Life is beautiful. I will hold on. 

And my prayers for you…hold on. Hold tight.  

Jonah started a few weeks ago but today was opening day for the other two boys. 

I had, have a blog of my real written about today but I just couldn’t hit publish…yet. Somedays are like that, and today I got to see two of my boys faces light up on the field.

Baseball is magical. 

We are a baseball family. 

We look forward to the season. All year. 

Even a few days ago, Jonah’s team was being beat pretty bad and the parents on the other team started cheering for our boys. My second baseman is still injured so he sat in the dugout but I could see the boys resolve slowly start to deteriorate, and then the parents did too…

But there’s me, I’m still yelling and saying “you’re still in this Irish!” (Ps we SO weren’t) but I kept rallying to the parents “this is what they make movies about!” 

And maybe that’s why we love it so much. 

I love grass stained pants, no matter how many times I wash them- I love what they stand for. A game played hard. I love how unpredictable the game can be, and I love that my boys have fallen in love with it to. 

Because seriously if they played basketball and I had to sit inside a gym I may lose it.(props to you basketball families, love the game, just not every weekend).

Someday they may quit. Someday they may decide its not for them- but I will relish the time and magic we have right now! 

I love Jonah’s team, and his coach. I love the families I huddle with in the cold and how much we laugh. I love listening the team tease each other, as their voices crack and change and they are transforming into men, but are still just boy enough. 

I love seeing Daniel, who hit a double today, and try to steal third, and while he got out…he showed the risky side I absolutely love about him. He gives his all, even today, catching briefly with an banged up thumb. And mostly I love seeing him cheer for his teammates. 

And Micah…I love watching him catch and run, and hit out there with his curls coming up over his cap. But the thing that I held tight to was him looking for me and saying “Hi Mommy” on first base, and waving to me from the outfield. 

And our Grace…makes friends at every game, and never ever complains. And maybe someday will come out of retirement and play a sport again…though I know she’s lettered in twirling. 

Baseball is a game of highs and lows, mental and emotional… today…was a low day for me, but watching my kids today, play- even when it wasn’t perfect, showed me that when you’re in the game- be ALL in, cheer for each other, and always look to the person that loves you. No matter how you play. 

They believe. In you. They know. You. 

Baseball. The greatest game ever.

My kids. The greatest thing I’ve ever been a part of. 

For them…I’m ALL in. 

 *  

*Daniel hitting his double taken by my friend Luke. 

“When you’re a kid every day is real. Because that’s how life is. I want to be an MLB Catcher someday. I want to play for the Pittsburgh Pirates. Because they were the first team that had three Indian baseball players.” 

Curly age 8.  

I have never really enjoyed surprises. 

As I’ve gotten older I’ve gotten better, and I think I’m more used to life offering ample amounts of surprises…

Good and Bad.

I don’t like Horror Films. Don’t answer the freaking door…

I love finding old love letters from Dyp and the kids. 

I don’t like Mysteries. It was Colonel Mustard in the drawing room with the candlestick. 

I love old photos, and surprise coffee dates with friends. 

I don’t love finding Unflushed surprises, and dirty wet clothes smelly and tucked under a bed. 

But today I got a sweet little surprise. 

I started working with them in first grade. 

They call me Mamacita. 

I’ve been able to teach them PE as a volunteer.

And choreographed and helped with some of their Fiesta Dances.

Some of them call me Snow White. 

I’ve chaperoned Field Trips.

One brought me a flowers years ago when he knew I’d had a hard day teaching them. 

Two of them challenged me to a dance off last year.

One actually followed through with it. 

I still think I won. 

Most of them still hug me when they see me. 

A few of them call me Mom…

Only one of them is biologically mine. 

And I love them. 

Each and everyone of them. 

Now they are in Fifth Grade. 

Next year they are off to Middle School. 

They are changing and growing. 

Some are becoming awkward and lanky. 

A couple roll their eyes at things I say. 

But most still laugh. 

Today I came to dance with them, and work with them. 

They didn’t know…

I was a little down.

A little body conscious.

A lot tired. 

Having a Bad hair day. 

My list mostly unchecked.

All my flaws on the surface…to me. 

And then I saw them…

They hugged me, and they called me Mamacita.

Like always.

And they surprised me. 

They made me a shirt…

Their names, their words, brought sweetness and light into my heart.

They had no idea how much it meant. 

How much it means. 

How much I will always cherish it. 

How much I will always love them…

It was the best little surprise- from the best fifth graders in the world.  

Today took a turn…things went a little different…and we’re all doing a little time. 

I have an irrational fear of going to jail. Of getting mugshots. So today our selfies brought on a different angle after  my good friend sent me a hilarious picture of her “fake mugshot…” And there went our Wednesday. 

No filters. The cuffs are off. And we are not perfect. But we have fun. 

And I may have taken some creative liberties with these…

Crime: impersonating “blue steel” a little too well. 

Crime: not being “Relevant” enough. 

Crime: uncontrollable laughter, that turns into falling on the floor laughter, which turns into its been four hours and she’s still laughing…

Crime: quick wit, quicker thoughts, and some crazy inventive cussing, and always willing to Shake it Off. 

Crime: she has a broken yes. And yes, she’s always up for it. And yes, we take advantage of that. 

Crime: stuck in the 80’s wannabe Saint who says shit a lot, laughing when people use the word “duty,” and wearing yoga pants inside out and backwards and not noticing it. 

Happy Wednesday…you may think it’s a crime but your imperfections are why I love you…no Filters. Just you. 

Today I had coffee with one of my dearest friends Koya.

The kind of friend who our conversations can’t ever be surface stuff. We go right into the deep. There is no pretense of small talk. We talk about real. 

The hard stuff. The good stuff. 

Maybe it’s because we ran together for years. 

Maybe it’s because she has seen me at my absolutely undone-ness, the kind of authentic self that comes from being completely empty when your body is pushed to the limit and your mind is its most fluid.

We’ve run hundred of miles next to each other, and she knows me probably better than most people will ever know me. 

When you’re undone things happen. 

You speak the truth. 

And it’s raw. 

I swear that’s why when she and I see each other- we don’t miss a beat, we lay it all out. 

Right there. 

We don’t hold back. 

I’m not afraid she’ll withhold love from me, even if she disagrees with me. 

She knows I know her heart. 

She knows my heart. 

We love Jesus. 

We share our faith. 

And our faith and what God is doing is absolutely crazy right now. For both of us. 

As we were talking, her words hit me right deep in the center of my heart. Her truth echoed all the thoughts I’ve been thinking. The words I hear when I am praying. 

And it’s not comfortable.

It’s overwhelming. And scary. 

And it’s God. It is all God.

And it was more confirmation. 

My husband called to ask me how I was,  and I couldn’t even put into words the heaviness of what is unfolding…

So I ask you…what is real for you today? 

What is God calling you to? 

This feeling, this heavy, is far from comfortable, but this yearning and burning in my heart is the beginning of something so much bigger than me. 

I’m so mad that I have wasted so much of my time stressing because I don’t know what I’m supposed to do as a grown up. Should I work full time? Should I still work part time? Am I Mom enough? When really it’s right here! 

Write the truth. 

Live the truth. 

Be ALL in. 

Instead of watching a revolution- start one. Stop faking life, but live a Real Authentic purposed one…you in? All in? 

I’m so scared. But so excited. I’m in Jesus. 

All in. 

My Mom said I had to blog this. And she’s my Mom so I will share…this is my real. 

Proud Parenting Moment 100,000,000

My 6 year old was talking to a friends son and one of them brought up a small picture Grace has of Justin Beiber who she has always called Baby O. And until recently loved…

So my beautiful little daughter said to my friends son…”he used to be a good guy but now he’s  just a son of a bitch. Do you know what that is? Because I’d kind of like to know.”

I could tell you she was actually saying “son of a beach…”which was a bad joke her teenage brother told us the week before at the coast and she saw the laughter he got from his Dad and brothers. 

I could tell you that her punishment was long(which it was) and she apologized(which she did).  

But it is what it is. My daughter…

Still doesn’t know the meaning of what she said, but last night I did say an out loud apology to Baby O’s mom because I’m sure she’s a wonderful person. And I also prayed for Mr. Justin Beiber…turn it around dude. For the children. 

The children with potty mouths. And a side of sass. Who wears her Moms sunglasses and boots.

Who swears to figure out what words mean…

Sincerely, 

One Mom. 

Who gets it right sometimes. But clearly not all the time. 

Easter. 

We build up to it…we sacrifice and fast. 40 Days in the desert. We weep and mourn at the foot of the cross. 

We thirst. 

He thirsts. And then it is finished. 

And the world is changed forever by His sacrifice.

Three days later.

The sun rises. 

Then the Boulder is rolled away, and the tomb is left empty. 

The Son rises. 

Resurrection. Life. 

Glory! Alleluia! We are Alleluia people! 

This morning as I sat in the quiet of my house I thought about this time last year. This day last year.

A year ago, today, a celebration in heaven arose as my brother in law Robert left us, and entered into eternity. 

A year later…I still can’t believe he is not here. 

Because he should be. We. Miss. Him. 

I sat in the silence this morning and I thought about that Easter morning when Mary Magdalene saw him the first time, her Jesus. And realized it was Him. 

The shock- the absolute awe- the possible fear- and excitement all rolled into Alleluia. 

My God…he is Alive! 

It was so hard for me as my mind bounced back and forth between the joy of what today means and what today symbolizes in so many ways for our family. 

I have been blessed with some of the most amazing friends, whose walk has included, being widows too early. They have talked often to me about getting through “the firsts”. But from knowing and loving them, the seconds and thirds aren’t easier. Just a different sort of hard. And some days the grief is absolutely piercing. It still comes and goes. And it’s there. 

You get through the day, but life is never the same. 

There is a huge big hole that blows grief and love in and out of your heart. It pumps through your veins and that loss is always a part of you. It doesn’t define you…but it’s there. 

The heart heals, but the hole doesn’t go away. 

And then I think about the disciples, and the women, who knelt at the cross. Or maybe hid in the shadows. The persecution of anyone who would love this Jesus, is often overlooked as we focus on the passion. But it was there.

And then he was risen. 

And we know it is good. 

But I can’t even begin to comprehend the whirling of emotions radiating from his people. Would they need to go into hiding? Would He stay long?  All while the elation of the Alleluia came and pumped through their veins. 

He’s Alive. He’s Alive! 

He was there. 

On the road to Emmaus…they didn’t even recognize him until he broke bread. 

Thomas placed his hands in the holes of his side and his palms…”My Lord, and My God.”  

My joy in my Lord is great today. My joy in my faith in a God, who has allowed me to be broken and brought me to a wholeness I never even imagined possible. 

My Lord. And My God.

And my sorrow is great today. Sadness that things will never be the same again. There is a hole in our hearts and our family. The best of us has been gone a year. But he is always a part of things. I see the beautiful love Susan carries everywhere with her, his compassion that he passed on that Mikaela gives to everyone, and the quiet strength of Casey who more and more reminds me of his Dad. Through the holes left they are also filled with faith. They believe and know God. And my heart hurts for them everyday. 

But their strength together speaks volumes. 

And grief stays. And comes and goes when it wants. The hole remains.

So this morning in the quiet I sat. 

And I prayed. And I thought. 

What I know…God is good. So good. 

God redeems and heals, and he is our Alleluia. He is worthy of our praise, because he came and died and rose for US!!! There will always be cause for the greatest most earth shaking celebration as the light streams into the empty tomb…He is Alive!!! Our God LIVES! 

What I also know…last year there was great rejoicing in heaven when the kindest most good hearted person I’ve ever known entered heaven. I can only imagine the rejoicing as his sister ran to him and his other family, friends, and Grandpa Casey welcomed him into eternity. I know that there was such great rejoicing as my daughter ran to him- because I know she was so happy to meet him. So happy. 

I know that our Jesus must’ve been so happy to hold him in his arms, and tell him “you fought so hard, you suffered, and you lived a beautiful life. My good and faithful servant.”

I know this in my heart…in the silence…in my prayers. I know this. 

My Jesus Lives. 

He’s Alive. 

We are here. And we serve and pray, and live with holes. The holes don’t go away but someday we will all be whole again. 

Someday the grief will be filled with rejoicing. 

My God lives.

I know Him. He’s Alive. 

And our Alleluia lets us know that someday we can be whole…

Someday we can see Him, hold him, and Rejoice.

Someday I can hold those I love in heaven…someday our family will be whole again. Someday I’ll see my daughter run to me. 

Someday I will be held by my Savior. 

For Eternity. 

I am so thankful for that promise, and that hope I hold today…in what We believe. In what We know. 

Happy Easter. Much love to you…holes and all. 

“On a personal level, which is where it all starts, Peter is a grand and honest statement about how we all come to God. The pattern is a great surprise, and for many a great shock and even a disappointment. We clearly come to God not by doing it right but ironically by doing it wrong.” – Richard Rohr 

Today a very good friend came to visit. Their family is getting ready to make a life-transforming change(I’ll tell you about it sometime).

We’ve been friends for twenty some years, and she and my husband have been friends their entire lives. 

She is godmother to one of my boys, I’m godmother to her daughter- and when we are together it is total chaos. Kids running in and out. Someone always cries. And usually it’s not one of us. 

But sometimes it is. 

She told me today she can’t keep up with my blog. I told her I can barely keep up with it. Being called to write everyday has been a huge task. Mentally and Spiritually. 

I pray everyday as I start to write. Somedays it seems so clear…others are really hard. Because it’s not all flowers and pretty. Parts of life are ugly and ragged. Words don’t always flow freely, sometimes they drain me emotionally and I’m exhausted.

Because it’s real. Because I can’t fake them.

I pray everyday that one person will read, and find a bit of hope in their life. That the smallest word will inspire them to transform even one little piece of their day. And sometimes I pray I’m just not annoying. Because i worry that my words will sound like my voice sounds to me on a voicemail, too high- too squeaky. 

Today I saw a friend at the store during my last minute “Of course I’m prepared for Easter” shopping trip. We small talked about life, jobs, God, and when we hugged goodbye she said in my ear “I hope you know what you are doing is so important. So needed.” She could have been talking about anything. From my volunteering. To my job. But the way she said it brought me hope. 

Just those little words…said so Much. 

Because if there is anything ANYTHING I want to give through this revolution of real is to take the angles off, and the pretense of what we should be doing…and allow us to see what we are actually called to. 

No filters. No sugar coating. But allowing ourselves the beauty of our real. 

You see, even in my imperfections- the days my writings and real have typos and too much of me and too little of Him- I am being transformed. 

Instead of getting mad at myself for eating too much bread with my son, who bought a loaf of French bread to share with us, and saying something shaming to myself like “No more excuses Kristin” I think, okay I enjoyed a meal with my son and I am working hard on not being a victim to my size. I exercise because I want to be strong. Not because I want others to notice. 

Instead of focusing on the list of all the things that I’m not doing right- the way dust settles, the weeds that grow in my yard, I think of the ways I am doing things right- I am taking care of my kids- I am filling my house with love. 

Instead of being jealous of friendships that have dwindled and ways I am not a better friend, I think of the friends I have that God has given me that inspire and love me so unconditionally. I trust them, really trust them. They don’t judge me, and they loved me through the darkness. 

Instead of feeling lonely I remember…I have a family. Who loves me. Even when we are a part. We are always in this together.  Always. I married into a family who are some of the most loving gracious people. 

Instead of looking at the things I don’t have I look to the blessings I do. I love a Man who loves Me, through good and bad. Who sees me in every season and still tells me He loves me. Who prays with me when I wake up scared. 

I am being transformed because this morning I looked in the mirror- and saw my stretch marks and my body and saw just that. A body. A body that has carried and held, and is strong. But it’s just a body, it’s imperfect, but it’s not ugly. 

And I realized, My soul is what is being transformed. 

My soul is what I am working on.

Writing my real is bearing the good and bad, the beauty and ugly of a very imperfect life. But my soul is sold on the amazing grace of God. 

All of us can find a lesson when we stop trying so hard to sell ourselves and seek superficial approval…but let the real speak for itself. 

The real speaks…

Into our hearts.

Into our lives.

And God transforms our souls. 

Be transformed. 

From Noon onward, until darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon…

“Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” 

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” 

“Let us see if Elijah comes to save him.”

But…

He cried out in a loud voice, and gave up his spirit. 

The veil of the sanctuary was torn in two from top to bottom.

The earth quaked.

Rocks split in two.

Matthew 27: 45-51