My Joyful Mysteries, and A Revolution of Real

Today I was in the middle of a text message conversation with a good friend…about babies.

Both of us love babies. I mean love love babies.

Both of us love being Moms.

Both of us don’t feel done…and yet, by circumstance – life – the fact that sometimes when you really want to be pregnant it doesn’t happen. And now I’ve opened the discussion on adoption, which is not a definite – which may not happen. I still feel like there is more…I’m waiting to know what’s next.

Me and my Friend. We don’t feel done yet. Maybe it’s because we both know what it’s like to lose a baby. To grieve a baby. To love someone so completely that you will never get to see put a tooth under their pillow, or soothe them in a rocking chair.

A couple years ago I had a positive pregnancy test. I texted my friend Jill a picture, who saw it and we marveled.  But when I went to the doctor the next day to get a blood test I wasn’t after all. It was a fluke.  The ache in my heart, for children who already have names stayed for weeks…and I wasn’t even pregnant.

Today we texted and wondered why? Why do we still feel this need?  So often I hear these words. “Oh we’re done.” “You want another? You have four!” “How could you love one more?”

Seriously…how could I not?! I know the gift of more. I know the gift of siblings.

I have never judged anyone at stopping at two. Or of deciding that they are done.

But I am judged. Openly.  Years ago a neighbor actually confronted me about why we’d think to keep having kids. It was a very “Eugene” argument.  And all I could say was the truth. Children are a gift. All children deserve to be loved and wanted.   My kids aren’t perfect, but they are good.  They are miracles.

I don’t feel done.

Instead of looking at this as something that is heart wrenching and never knowing if I  could be a part of the miracle of welcoming another child into our home, as ours…I am grateful. Because I am open. I am open to possibility.

Does that mean we’ll have more? I don’t know. And today, I’m okay with that.  Am I happy with what I have? Yes. Having a big family is one of the most rewarding things in the world. I’m sure it’s a scientific fact.

And Parenting? It is the hardest, most humbling thing I’ve ever done.  I barely survived puberty when I went through it, and now I’m raising someone going through it.  And it’s crazy hard.  But it would be harder if I didn’t trust that God is control, and is going to help lead us, in how to lead them. To love them.

Until God reveals another step in our path, I will be grateful for the ache of wanting more.  Of what He wants for me. And I think what he wants now is for me to trust. To be open to possiblity, to change.   I am grateful for my children and every stage that is so rocky and full of highs and lows.  I wanted average kids, but nothing about them has been less than extraordinary.  They have exceeded every dream and my heart breaks watching them grow, and grows watching them break and mold and become who they are.

So are we done yet?

Nope. Because I refuse to limit God.  So far, the results have been pretty remarkable.  And if nothing else, I will watch your babies for free.  I have a little experience…

It was a Friday.

I was watching my son twist on his head at break dance when I got the call.

“Leave now. I need you here.”

The way he said it scared me.

I drove towards his voice…not knowing.

And then…I saw his face, I knew.

248. Friend. Gone. Taken. Stolen.

Gone… doing his job.  It happened so fast.

The world kept moving so fast, our “family” all stopped moving..

Everyone can tell you what they were doing that day.  What was happening.  It was three years ago, and yet it was yesterday. The sky was blue, and our world stopped.

When I met Chris Killcullen, he wasn’t how I pictured him.  My husband had him on a pedestal as one of the baddest coolest officers he’d ever met, and then I met him.  And he was so warm. So friendly. So approachable. And I said to him, he wasn’t what I pictured, and he said, “Really? I’m better looking than you expected aren’t I?”  As we talked and laughed he told me how much he respected my Dyp and what a good man he was.  Somehow in all the things that people have said to me over the years, that moment is frozen in my mind.  I remember those words.

I have every text Kristie has sent me.

Every funny quote.

I sent her 80’s videos every Friday for a year.

I have saved every heart wrenching one liner she has written that has defined the past three years.

She and I have never had to have explanations.

There are really good days. And really bad days.

Grief is not linear.

We can go weeks without talking and then send each other 30 messages in an hour.

She is strong and broken, and everything that inspires me to love beyond measure.

She has taught me about healing, and showing up.

And she is my kindred.  So dear and close, and real.

I. love. real.

I. love. her.

April 22, Changed our entire community.

Even after as issues and scandals, and other heartaches have ensued, we are closer than we’ve ever been. Even when people have tried to write it, twist us, take away the bond we have they can’t.  Chris was stolen but he left a legacy of giving always.  Never taking life or a moment for granted. Enjoying every day.  Things will never be the same.  They can never be the same.  But God is good, and heals. And while it still will ache and heals us differently, we will remember to live. Every day.

Thank you to the Officers who work with and protect our city every day.  Thank you to those who fight the good fight with my Dyp. Thank you to all those dispatchers, records, forensics, and every one else who watches out and is the back bone of the Dept and such a support to my Hero.  You all are Men and Women of Integrity, and I love you.

Thank you to all my sisters who get it. Who don’t  sleep, and hold my hand through this journey.

Thank you Dyp.  For being my hero.

Thank you to Kristie.  In the past month in your own grief you have given me more love and support than I could have ever asked for.  Thank you for being my kindred. I would walk through fire for you. And I will always say something inappropriate and pray for you(if that can fit in the same sentence.) I love you. So much.

And Thank you to Chris…a man of honor and integrity.  You are missed every day. You are loved by so many. Thank you for being my husband’s friend.

I’ve probably shared this fun fact before but my sister Erin calls me “the Truth.”  I’m usually the first to confront an issue. The first to try to solve something. I say things sometimes without thinking, but are true 95% of the time. I am very good at articulating my feelings, and am honest about how dramatic/crazy I can be.   I am open. I don’t hide my faith, or hide the fact that I am overprotective of the people I love.

I don’t know if I’m the truth, but I believe in Truths that stand the test of time.  And I believe in No Secrets.

It’s funny how my sister calls me The Truth when I spent years being an incredibly dishonest person.  I was paralyzed by an event that led me to lie upon lie, weaving them into a web of lies to conceal secrets that threatened to eat me alive.  I hated myself those years, and looked for attention in the wrong ways.  Hello Shame. I know you well. Hello Regret. Nice to see you again.  Hello Guilt. There you are.

But by the grace of God.  By the grace of healing. By the grace of every counselor, youth minister, teacher, person who believed in me until I could believe in myself and heal.  And the lies or a hurt or an event didn’t have to define me, and I knew that I could never ever allow secrets to ever rule my life.

It’s funny because people like to tell me Secrets.  And even though secrets don’t rule my life, I am a vault. If you tell me something, I don’t say anything.  I lock it away and I keep it safe. I’m not a gossip.  But people tell me stuff. And I tell them the truth as I know it and as I see it.  My Dad said recently he’s scared of me because I always tell him the truth even when he doesn’t want to hear it.  I don’t think I’m scary, but  the truth can be.

There are moments in my life where the truth hurt and cut so deeply, that I wanted to cover my ears and curl up so I didn’t have to hear it…

“My Mom said we can’t be friends anymore.”

“I love you, but I just want to be with her.” 

“Wow did you see Kristin? She’s really put it on.”

“I’m sorry…I can’t find her heartbeat.”

“There was nothing else we could do.”

“I don’t want to get better.”

And yet I can’t hide away from it, because these truths changed the course of my life. And sometimes the Truth helps us to see how strong we are. Or how broken we can be.

My kids aren’t allowed to keep secrets. Why? Because secrets steal.  They hide things that need to be seen. We keep surprises, but secrets are off limits. I’ve had two very important reminders of that this past year, when parents of my children’s friends came to me with very important reminders of why No Secrets are a must in our family.

So no more secrets…

The Truth:  This past year and a half has been so hard. You could ask every member of my family and they would say the same thing. Some weeks I just throw myself into volunteering, or parenting, or work, or I run so hard I can’t breathe or think, or feel, or cry.  Things have shaken us to the core, on multiple surfaces, and I’ve found myself sometimes wishing my faith wasn’t comforting me. I wish I could be more angry, so I could dive into the dark waters where the truth isn’t staring me right in the face. But I’m tired of Secrets. I’m tired of pretending that things aren’t hard. I’m tired of  my heart aching watching someone I love so completely openly choose something that will kill them. That it’s hard watching a parent lose absolutely everything and having no justice. And then to watch someone I love so much fight so hard, defying so many odds and still not having answers…

The Truth: I thought things would be better.   And I’ve come to the realization that sometimes you just have to be honest with people and tell them what’s going on rather then slapping this fake pinterest inspired persona that I’m more together, that I’m not crazy, when it’s really that “I can’t run with you today because I’m afraid I will cry so hard when I see you, that I will scare all the children in strollers.”

The Truth: I’m finding that no matter how hard I pray, things don’t always go the way I’m praying.  While my faith has never been stronger, my heart hurts, and I want to tell you “Things will get better.  God is bigger.” But the words stay with the lump in my throat because I don’t know if things will get better, and while God is big…I don’t know what his plan is.  All I know is he is Love.

The Truth… all I can do now is beg for every person who reads this to turn away from the dark water and look the truth right in the face.  Face it. And turn to the people around you, and tell them YOU LOVE Them. Cling to Love.  Don’t wait to forgive, or to tell them. Don’t hold back affection and love.  If you love someone tell them you will fight for them, you will never give up.  Don’t keep secrets. Don’t pretend.  Be real and present.  And don’t ever be afraid of healing.  Don’t ever be afraid of the grace of God. He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  He is the original love song.  He brings light to the dark and while we may never get over it, with Him we can live.

Hello the Way. I see you.

Hello the Truth. You define me.

Hello Life. Let’s do this…Let’s Love. And live.

I love listening to Grace sing Adele.  She is so soulful, and in tune as she sway’s back in forth to the music. She sounds amazing, and I often pity the fool who ever messes with her someday or breaks her heart. When you’ve got that much soul at 5, you are going to be something else…

Yesterday I was driving with my son Jonah and his friend to an event at their middle school.  When we were at the stop light there were three girls there waiting to cross. Jonah said, “They go to our school.” When I looked at them I didn’t notice their faces, but how incredibly tight and short their shorts were barely covering their backsides.  It made me so sad.  And please don’t say that’s the style, so were fanny packs…and really?!

In the past year one of my biggest soap boxes has been body image in regards to our girls and boys.  But I also have, as I now raise someone who is growing older, and has started the transition from boy to man…have someone who notices and is aware of how girls are dressing. Aware of how “sexiness” is promoted.  It is so screwed up. It’s not like this is new, James Bond, had ladies oozing with sexiness. But the age of those becoming and acting “sexy” is getting younger and younger.

Some of it is deathly serious…

Human trafficking is sky rocketing.  It is a huge issue and one of the biggest “hot spots” is in Portland Oregon.  It’s not so far away. Children having their entire world stolen to become a sex slave.

Pornography is still a huge issue. Pornography ruins lives.  And is an addiction.

And then some of it is all around us desensitizing us.

I am doing my best to teach my sons to not objectify women, but society and every other outside influence are not helping.  Why in the hell are we still keeping “Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition” out on our coffee tables? What does that say to my son? What does that say to my daughter?  I thought we were past the age of women pushing their boobs together on cars, mouth slightly open, and then I see an ad in the grocery store, while my son and I buy notebook paper.  I wanted to crawl in the magazine and give her a blanket, or drive her to the beach. I want to tell her she’s beautiful and she doesn’t need to push her boobs together to prove that.

What do I say?  Because it’s ok to think someone is attractive. We were created by God to do just that.  But the level of objectifying and “hotness” has messed up the true, real, meaning of what sexiness is.  If we promote and act that way, what we are we teaching our sons, or our daughters.  I want Grace to be a little girl.  She should have that right. It’s the reason she can’t wear two piece swim suits, and I will always monitor the length of her skirts and shorts, not because I think she wants to be sexy but because of how skewed and sick others are – because she deserves to feel pretty because of who she is, not how she looks.

My husband and I are madly in love. And while I don’t think of myself as sexy, he is the only person I need that gratification from.  I am committed to only him. Not social media, not the world.  And he loves me and finds me most attractive, in my tattered sweatshirt, first thing in the morning as I peel the five year old’s foot off my face. He loves me when I am surrounded by chaos at the dinner table, and we lock eyes and know we are perfect for each other.  Sexiness is so much more then outside surface stuff. It’s disheartening when I see people, promoting “sexy” and raising children…because they are watching. Your children are watching you. They see everything, and once you bring them into the world…it is about them.

Most nights I walk back into my boys room long after they are asleep and I look at their changing faces, and wonder how I will ever survive sharing them someday.  Every night I pray for their future girlfriends, or spouses if they get married.  And I pray that these girls know how beautiful they are for the right reasons.  That they aren’t being duped by magazines, and reality TV. That their innocence is protected.  And I pray for my boys, for their innocence and that they find and love, and honor and respect women.

And I watch Grace, so small and beautiful.  I watch her face round and cherub like. Her self esteem is beautiful and precious. And I pray that she never looks to others to ensure that, that she finds being beautiful is so much more then what she wears and that she is protected from all the outside voices that say it should be shorter, perkier, and she should be prettier.  I pray for her innocence, and that she becomes a nun. (smile) I will pray for her spouse someday…

I heard recently Modesty is sexy.  Word. They. Are. More. Aware. Then. You. Think.

(*for 8 years DYP worked nights and I slept every night he was at work on the couch until he got home. This picture was taken 7 years ago, when Daniel was 3.  I still wear this sweatshirt every night to sleep.)

“The joy of the Lord is strength.” Nehemiah 8:10

Kristin White is perfect.  In fact she is so perfect that she can’t find her keys, forgot to brush her hair, and was called Momzilla twice by her children today.  Oh, wait, did it say perfect? It was supposed to say Kristin White is far from perfect.  But she loves Jesus.  She loves God so much that she blogs about him, reads his word daily, and talks to him throughout the day…sometimes in her whining voice.

She has spent the last eight years talking to groups weekly about their health, and is passionate about being real with a sense of humor and the journey to being a Woman of God.  The joy of the Lord is strength is her motto as she shares with others as they walk the same path following the same flawless God.

Married to the dreamiest guy she knows for the past 13 years they have three boys, and one girl.  Kristin loves mascara, Diet Dr. Pepper, “Dowton Abbey” and “Friends” reruns, Carol Burnett,  Star Wars, 80’s Big Hair bands, and hasn’t went to the bathroom by herself in 12 years. Want to know more? Well first of all enough of the third person –  I want to speak at your Women’s or Family Retreat and share with you the amazing love of God even when you are flawed and feel unworthy…especially when you are flawed and unworthy. It won’t be perfect.  I may forget what I’m saying mid sentence.  But I will be real and I will pray with you.   And I think in this world of filters, and social media, and pressure to have it all and be it all, being authentic and real is very underrated.

So if you’re interested let me know…

Today I ran to “Not Afraid” by Eminem. It was an angry run.  The kind of run I love to hate, where all I wanted to do was run after something that is so cruel and mean and make it disappear.  It is in those angry moments I feel all the wrath of my anger mixed in with my utter gratefulness to worship a God who heals hearts, heals souls.  Heals. Big.  Heals. Small.  Heals.

This is going to be a short post, but please know that the words, emotions, are Big. Bigger then I want them to be, but if one person can read this, can change something that could save someone else’s life I will say it.  Because it is that important.

This week is National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. We live in a world full of glossy pictures in magazines promoting beautiful “perfect” people.  Our children take pictures of themselves on instagram, putting filters to the best light.   Naked toned singers on wrecking balls has become normal, and  we get excited about a fashion show during prime time for underwear.  Women who are spray tanned, and tiny, by any regards.  We promote cleanses and diets where you can lose weight fast.  We take clean eating to an extreme, and judge people who go to McDonald’s.   We use the words “Fat”  and even joke about it,  and “What’s your excuse” as we post our work outs online, and our version of hot becomes more tainted with each filter, and each magazine we buy into. Even a show about extreme weight loss had the winner so incredibly unhealthy looking, it made my skin crawl.  But what do we promote: Push harder. Be More Beautiful… on the surface.  “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”  and more bullshit that we say and believe because we have bought into this lie of perfection. BUT it’s not real.  And it only feeds the beast. The beast feeds off of shame and isolation. The beast steals lives, with every push from society to embrace a body image of perfection we feed what is the number one cause of death from mental illness. People are dying for “a lie.”

We live in a society of people hiding behind their computers, ripping and bullying people a part.  We have become our own paparazzi and have set the standard so high that no one can reach it. Even I’ve bought into it, in my own way, placing my own self worth on how I look at times– because take all the filters off I am real.  Flawed and still worthy of God’s Love.

But I’m not afraid either…  I love someone who has an eating disorder.  And I am not afraid to say that unless we fight back, unless we stop promoting these types of “perfection” they will never win this battle.  Being Healthy is a mind, body, and spirit thing, and this is a fight.  This is the fight of their life.  But I will never stop believing in Recovery. I will never stop hoping for healing.  I will never back down from speaking the truth and breaking the cycle of shame and deceit that this disease promotes.  I will never stop praying.

What’s my excuse?   I’m not afraid.  I love my kids.

Love your sons.  Love your daughters. Love yourself.  Be Aware…God heals big. God heals small.

“Now, God be praised, that to believing souls gives light in darkness, comfort in despair.” -William Shakespeare

Dear Lovely,

I wish I knew the right thing to say…  The murky dark has brought shadows across your face and you begin to fade before my eyes. You wear the darkness, as shoulders hunch over and I see you struggle to take steps towards freedom.  Steps toward the light.  You tiptoe around it because the dark feels safe, because you know it.  Because it owns you.  Your fists clench tightly around the darkness that never warms you. And I watch you and call to you. Because I love you.  It isolates you. It will kill you. It hides you from all that gives light.  It is a Hell I can’t seem to break through too, but I hope.  I pray and see you step toward me.  And I believe.

Dear Beautiful,

I remember holding our babies together.  Both of us so tired as they nursed and we watched them, watching us.  Our own little world.  You were practical and part hippy.  I was emotional and deliriously funny.  And then darkness and postpartum tore you away from all of us.  You stopped returning calls.  You stopped nursing next to me.  The night we almost lost you, you drove straight into the night with no plans to ever come back.  I will never forget staring at the phone all night, waiting.  And then hearing you were still with us. As I look at your face, all these years later, the memories still fresh as you step out of the pool towards me, water glistening from your hair.  You are alive.  You stepped out.  You found hope.  You found light.

Dear Joyful One,

I try to find the right things to say, knowing they are all wrong. The darkness tells you it’s God that made this happen. That God doesn’t love you enough.  And no matter what I say it will not fill the deep trenches of overwhelming sadness that fill your heart. You are so broken and all is overcast. And I long to hear your laugh, but you don’t answer your phone.  So I wait and I pray.  And I love you.  And I believe that though it will always hurt, you will heal. You will find life again. I believe for both of us.

Dear Strong One,

The dark has not left, but you have been such a pillar of strength through what would break any person. I look to you, and I feel such a mixture of hope and fear of the unknown of what we still don’t understand. Days pass and you still find hope in little things, and we believe with you.  I know you don’t see yourself as strong, but your love, is so amazing.  Your love for your loved ones is super-powered, and it gives me hope in my own vows and in my own fears of darkness. You have taught me to Believe God.

Dear Bravest,

Seeing your email and knowing what you are about to encounter, brought tears to my eyes and hurt my heart.  News that no woman wants to hear, to see, to realize, and then living through it.  Not knowing what is on the other side.  Not knowing if the darkness will take away your hope. So here I stand in front of the door with you.  All of us do, bringing you little pieces of light, believing with you, hoping with you.  We are praying. We are here.

Dear Little One,

Someday you will look back and realize that mean people, one in particular who has brought you so much darkness is a bully. And bullies lose eventually.  And you are special and beautiful, and just like my  own little one you will be stronger and happier, and you will find strength you never knew you had. I am praying and am so hopeful for your future.

Dear Friend,

I know how you feel. I know you feel helpless and wish you could solve all the problems for all the people you love. I know you feel shallow because you are self-conscious about how you look, because you aren’t pretty enough, and your pants don’t fit right, and your jaw hurts from the stress.  You feel like everyone else has it together, and is more organized. You feel anxious. You wonder if your husband wishes you were more attractive.  You feel like there is so much dark, you can’t remember the days when there was pure light. You spend your night wondering how you could have done better, and blaming yourself for what you should have done.   Your circle has become smaller, and you don’t know who you can trust all the time. The negative ones keep getting more negative.  I know how you feel, because I stand right next to you, as we look at our reflections in the mirror. And even though it’s pitch black outside there is one flickering light.  Hope.  Hope in faith that was there in other dark days.  Days where you watched your Dad mouth he loved you from the ICU…Days when all you wanted was your Mom…Days when your husband’s friend’s life was taken and your kindred’s life was stolen…because you saw the strength of people willing to carry those out of the dark.  Those people are real, and they are led by one amazing God.  So often when I have stumbled, nothing more miraculous than God has lifted me and carried me through, and that flicker becomes a flame so bright that I know I will be okay. We will be okay. Maybe not today.  Or tomorrow. But I hope for that.  I believe in Light worth stepping into. I believe.

God be Praised.

I always knew I loved my Dad… memories of  my Dad letting my younger sister take a nap on his chest as he didn’t watch the soap “General Hospital” after getting home from the bakery, the smell of flour and sugar mixed with the smell of cigarettes he didn’t smoke, and his deep voice calling me “Peaches.”  How he and I both would turn up the song “Sarah” and sing it to each other.  The small bunny  that says Happy on it, that he gave me after he and my Mom divorced, still one of my most favorite things.  My Dad is a fighter, and just keeps battling.  He has given me a spirit of never ever giving up, even when you’ve lost it all, you still live.  I never knew how much I loved my Dad until I almost lost him when I was 15 for his quintuple bypass surgery, and in the next 20 years as we have dealt with every health and life scare he has had together…I never knew how resilient someone could be.

I always knew I loved my Mom…sitting on her lap as she let me press on her mole above her nose, snuggling me in her arms.  The way she always knew just what to make me for breakfast, and make birthday’s special. How she always laughed at my crazy dances and songs and would play the piano for me. And while she won’t admit that she wouldn’t walk into a game with me when I was wearing bright green bell bottoms in high school with red spiked hair, she did let me sit by her.  I never knew how much I loved my Mom until she saw me with my first child, as she watched me in labor, as she loved me so completely when I finally understood what it felt like to be stripped of all myself in order to become a Mother. I watched her suffer with great love watching me suffer and I knew I could do it…there is no greater connection.

I always knew I loved my Bonus Dad “Papa John.”  We get each others jokes, he always made sure I felt special by writing me notes in my lunch – once even writing one and putting it in my sandwich – which I ate and never got to read the note.  He was always honoring to my Mom, loving her so completely – and in turn loved us. I’ve never doubted that.  He stayed up with me all night when I had the stomach flu and has always  dropped everything when I’ve asked for prayer. And he’s even forgiven me for telling him I was there when he had his surgery to remove his tumor, it was a moment of evil brilliance – even though I was there a day late but was there the whole time in a “spiritual sense”.   But I never knew how much I loved him until our house burned down when we’d only been married 4 months. He drove down to help us move our things into a friend’s place, and held me in the middle of the house, with the furniture ruined, everything covered in black and held me as I cried until I had no more tears.  He held me because I am his daughter.

I always knew I loved my siblings, which is why I was annoying and tattled on them, because I loved them so much.  Which is why they are the first people who really knew me, who I fought with, who I learned to forgive.  But I never knew how much I loved my sister Missy until she watched “Baby Boom” with me over and over again on the worst week of my life and was my rock because she’d been there too.  I never knew how much I loved my Brother Jer until we talked on the phone every night for 6 months as he went through a time of great darkness.  I never knew how I much I loved my sister Erin until I saw her deliver my god-daughter Maya, a scared high school senior she showed more courage in that night then I have ever shown in my whole life.   I never how much I loved my sister Hannah until we sat in the room after Papa John’s surgery and took turns singing to him her sweet voice singing Spanish, mine singing hymns.  I never knew how much I loved my sister Kaitlin until I saw everything ripped from under her and saw the raw strength she still doesn’t realize she has, but she will someday, I just know it. I never knew how much I loved my siblings until I saw the strength each of them provided during frailty.

I always knew I loved my husband. From the moment I met him, I knew he’d be mine.  Even when he told me he was going to be a priest.  I knew it, because no one else by God has been designed so perfectly for me.  And neither of us are perfect. We are actually Incredibly different.  But I love him.  I never knew how much I loved him until I had to fight for us.  When our house burned down and we didn’t have a place to go.  When we didn’t get paid after 9/11 and we had a baby and house to support and no income.  When he went through the academy.  When he was in the FTO phase.  When we had babies and he worked nights.  When he had a lousy Sargeant, and when he lost friends.  When we lost her.  And he loved me at my worst and had to fight for us.  When I’ve struggled with anxiety.  When I had postpartum.  When I slept on the couch every night until he came home when he worked nights. When my self-esteem was low or I was broken.  When we lost her.  I never knew how much I loved him, until he helped me dry my C Section incision after Grace. Or when he walked across Portugal and Spain and prayed for me the whole time, because that’s true love.

I always  knew I loved my kids. From the moment I knew they were there, growing, I loved them completely.  I have loved every stage of their lives, even the difficult ones, because they are the most rewarding thing I’ve been a part of.  They are the best thing I’ve ever done.  And they aren’t perfect either.  But they are still better than I anything I ever dreamed.

I always knew I loved Jonah, but I never knew how much I loved him until his first day of school, his blue eyes so wide and scared. I thought I was going to rip my heart out it ached so much, and each year it hasn’t gotten easier to let go. He is such a good kid. I love my  Jonah.

I always knew I loved Daniel, but I never knew how much until he jumped off the pew at church during Holy Thursday screaming and punching Buzz Lightyear in the face  “You wanna piece of meat?”  Because in order to not die of embarrassment, you’ve gotta really love a kid. He is so mine.  I love my Daniel.

Sigh…this next one is really hard…last week I had to drive to a house that is on the same street as the house we were in the process of buying when we lost her – I was shocked that I started to weep.  All these years later – grief is still so unpredictable. I still feel guilty  for losing  Mary, even though they said there was nothing we could have done. A friend going through the same heart wrenching loss right now and I talked about our anger – it was so red and hot it radiated from me.  But it wasn’t just anger at God, it was so much guilt.  because I always knew I loved her. And I still couldn’t save her.  I love her so much.  And I hate that I don’t have her.  I never knew I was pro-life, truly pro-life until I lost a child.  You can give me any political speech or any circumstance but this isn’t a political post.  I saw my daughter. She was not even 20 weeks and had fingernails. I held her.  No one should have to go through that.  Because no matter what the circumstances you never get over it.  Ever. There is a gaping hole in my life that can never be filled.  The only thing I have now is a box, a grave site, and these words.  I love my Mary Therese, and I can’t wait to meet her someday.

I always knew I loved Micah. But I never knew how much until he had a growth removed a few years ago, he had always been my golden child, never cried, so happy,  so easy, and I thought maybe we wouldn’t get to keep him.  He is pure sugar, our curly…I love my Micah.

I always knew I loved Grace.  From the minute she was lifted out of me, she has been trying to climb back in.  She really truly believes she is part of my body.  And she is.  I never knew how much I loved her until she was diagnosed with a kidney condition at 7 months old after a horrendous kidney infection and excruciating tests, I saw something that has challenged and inspires me everyday – she has fierce super powers. She really will move mountains, I love my Grace Mary.

I always knew I loved God. I was told from a young age that God is Love.  I was shown that God is Love. I never dreaded church, but I did fall away at times. Because I was looking for love in all the things that God doesn’t represent.  But I kept coming back…because there is no greater Love then the Love of God.   I’ve doubted it, with every heart ache, with every trial I have questioned Gods love for me…but I’ve come back. Because in those moments of complete hopelessness, moments of despair, Love has never failed. It has hurt at times, but it’s never failed…

In 1st Corinthians 13 it says…”Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

“Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

I never knew I loved God until I saw Him work in the people I love.   I learned in my own raw most frail moments, what love can do.  Love can change you.  Faith can transform you,  even when you feel your weakest, even when you don’t know how you can survive another day…because real love only works for good.  Real love brings you safety even when you have lost everything…because it can’t fail. Even when it’s gone, or seems lost, you still have that love.

I always knew I loved, but I never knew…

*photo credit of our family by kdimoffphotography.

Things you should never ever say…Ever.

“Oh! Are you expecting a baby?”

Followed up by…

“You’re not pregnant? Oh well I guess because you’ve had four kids you must just carry a little bit up front.”

Because no matter how you think it sounds in your head, it is a million billion times worse to the person that is hearing you.  And this is why…

You don’t know if that person has been spending the past couple of years wishing they could have a baby. Or that maybe it hurts their heart because they wish they were pregnant, even though they have a lot of kids. You don’t know that they already have names picked out, just in case.  You don’t know that that person’s daughter might have asked God for a sister and cries during bedtimes prayers because she still doesn’t have one.  You don’t know that this person is trying to accept God’s will for her family, even though she might wish it was bigger.

Or…you don’t know that maybe you aren’t the first person who has asked that question in the past month.  Except last time it was a nine year old kid. You don’t know that maybe the person you are saying that to has had a very stressful year, including a hip injury and is working really hard at being in shape. You don’t know that that person may be much harder on herself then you could ever imagine.  That this person has to work really hard at finding the balance to be healthy, but not negative about weight or food around her kids.

Or…maybe this person had just lost a baby.  That happened to be a few years ago…and…was…horrible.

Or…you may not realize you sound like a jerk. Because you do.

What I wish I could have said… the truth is…I have had a few kids. I have the bags under my eyes to prove it. And sometimes it makes me sad I’m not pregnant, because I love being a Mom and I’d love to have more. But that hasn’t happened, and I’m okay with that most days. My body is different.  I still don’t even have feeling along where my incision was from my C Section with Grace.  But I have been working really hard at getting into better shape after what has been one of the most stressful years of my life where I put on a few pounds and couldn’t work out like I like.  And it’s not easy.  And I’m disappointed that I have invested so much sadness into something that is superficial. Because no matter how many times I tell myself myself worth has nothing to do with my weight, society feeds us something different.  I am proud of the fact that I was able to carry my babies in my womb, that they stretched my insides out and I got to experience that. And while I can never wear a bikini thanks to the fact that I have the stomach that resembles tiger stripes/stretch marks…I would do it again.  Even if that meant I’d have to go through the heart ache again.  Even if that meant I’d have to deal with the loss again.  If you really want to comment on my appearance let me show you my stretch marks.  Or lets talk about my boobs.  They aren’t perky, and after kids they never went away…  They were working boobs for years but now they are just in the way. When a baby cries in a grocery store I still cover my chest in case I start to lactate.  If you want to get really crazy maybe we could talk about the fact that I can’t laugh without peeing my pants a little. Or jump on a trampoline without peeing a lot. Maybe next time I will say these things.  Or maybe I’ll just punch someone in their perky boob.

We never really know what someone is going through or how what we say can affect them…so maybe just not say it.

You never really know “the little up front”  you mention, hurts more then a little.

So…no I’m not pregnant, I’m a Mom.