unwritten

I read about these people who were so overwhelmed, tired and frustrated that the writing of their blog was the only thing that saved them. They talk about screaming kids and piles of laundry and how blogging was the way they coped. I don’t understand these people. When my kid is screaming, the last thing I can think of doing is to sit and write anything. What I want is a drink. And a pillow. And for the love of all that’s holy…silence. How does the laundry get done in these houses where people blog to cope? Does the blog somehow magically spit out detergent? Have they found a way to type and sort socks at the same time? Seriously. I’m so confused.

I’ve said before that when I love, I do it with my whole heart. Recently, my whole heart has been tried and tested. When Tania had to bury her baby, I grieved with her regardless of how far away I live. When Janay had beautiful news, we laughed and praised God together. When Brandy was faced with the hardest trial of her life, I couldn’t blog our way to happiness. I flew her to DC and we sat on my sofa and stared at each other, both as sleeplessly exhausted as the other. When Brynna threw a fit in the middle of the restaurant this afternoon, I couldn’t type a solution. I had to sit in the midst of all those people staring at me like I was poisoning my kid simply because I asked her to eat chicken.

I don’t blog because it can somehow save me. I blog because I hope that somewhere in the middle of my craziness, you can see a part of you. I hope you can find something to laugh at (usually at my expense…I’m ok with that). I hope you can read a little something that makes you think, points you in the right direction or brings you to your knees. I’ll try to get better at not disappearing for periods of time. But know that when I have gone MIA, it’s not because I have nothing to say. It’s because if given the choice to sit and hold my friend while she cries or write about it, I’ll choose to be unpublished any day of the week.

Letter from Lilly

There are so many days that I think "I could handle this so much better if I just knew she understood. If Brynna could just verbalize that she knows the discipline is for her good, that she sees the sacrifices and feels loved and safe and secure." But as parents, we don't get that feedback. It's the one job that doesn't have an annual review or progress report. You don't get to hear what they are thinking. Tomorrow my friends have to face the thing every parent hopes against. They will bury their baby girl who was born Monday with Trisomy 18. Tania carried her to term, feeling her kick and squirm for all those months. She endured the back pain and sleepless nights, the nausea and leg cramps. But a few hours before delivery, Lilly Claire's little heart that formed with a hole in it stopped beating. Tania pushed through that pain so many of us know firsthand but her baby girl didn't cry and look up at her with big expectant eyes. 

As they lay her to rest tomorrow I just keep thinking that there's nothing I can do. I can't ease their pain although I want to with all my heart. I can't make it hurt less. But I can tell them the one thing that might make it a little easier. Maybe if they just knew what Lilly was thinking it'd give them a little smile in the midst of their tears. If she could tell them how she feels, I think it might sound something like this...

Mommy & Daddy,
Thank you. Thank you for loving me so much that you chose to be even more sad right now instead of ending a pregnancy you knew would be painful. Thank you for loving every part of me - even the incomplete parts - even when you knew I wouldn't be like other kids. Thank you for naming me and grieving for me. Thank you for telling my big brother about me. 

Mommy, most of all, thank you for carrying me under your heart. Your heart helped my heart beat and your breaths gave me breath. Thank you for singing to me and praying for me. (Thank you especially for eating good Mexican food!) Daddy, thank you for talking to me and letting me hear my brother's laugh. Thank you for holding me and telling me you love me even after I was gone. Thank you for not being afraid to let people see you cry.

You chose to hurt to let me grow. You chose to cry so I didn't have to. You chose to bear the pain and sadness of my loss and because of that everyone knows how much you love me. People can see that you love Jesus because you chose to love me. 

Thank you for showing the world what it means to be a parent - to love your baby more than yourself even when it hurts. Thank you for loving me enough to give me to Jesus even though you don't understand. Thank you. 

--Lilly Claire

Sometimes you need to hear it again...

I posted this a few weeks ago but someone I love dearly needs to hear it again. And that's how it works. So here's an excerpt. Click here for the original post. 

I recently learned of a church near Vegas who is known for a slogan. They have it painted on walls, signs and shirts. Not far from the strip, it's become their symbol of the open door the church should always have - no matter what you look like, feel, think or do.

It's ok not to be ok.

Toddlers are exhausting. Utterly, completely and totally exhausting. No, you don't want to go outside again. No, you would rather not push the swing for the trillionth time. No, you don't want to get out the paint supplies because you just cleaned the kitchen AGAIN. It's ok not to be ok.

You messed up. The mountain you have to climb to get back what you lost seems too much. It's ok not to be ok.

You are grieving the loss or pain of a loved one. It hurts. Your world looks different today than it did yesterday. You don't have to go on like it's business as usual because it's not. It's ok not to be ok.

You now have two kids (or three or more...). Two is different than one. You have to learn to change diapers with a toddler hanging from your back. You have to discipline one person while comforting another. Schedule is now a curse word because everyone is on a different one. It's ok not to be ok.

You are in over your head. You feel like you might be close to drowning. You are overwhelmed. It's ok not to be ok.

Do you hear me? It's ok. You are ok.

That does't mean it's ok to stay in the place you're in. If you need someone to help, it means it's ok to ask. If you are tired, it means it's ok to let the laundry pile up and eat take-out food while you take a nap. If you are hurting, it means it's not going to hurt forever. It's ok not to be ok.

And it's ok if people know you're not ok. It would make them a little more ok to help you. That's how God designed us - to need each other and to fill needs in each other. It's ok not to be ok. It doesn't mean you failed. It doesn't mean you are a burden. It doesn't mean you don't measure up. It's ok not to be ok.

Dates of Desperation

We celebrate a lot of things. Birthdays, anniversaries, first dates, first steps... We commemorate the times in life when we are happiest. On these occasions I am usually the first to order the cake. I sometimes even celebrate a good Tuesday with a cake. (What? Sometimes you just can't wait until the next big event. You just need cake.)

But what about the days that aren't so happy? What about the moment she was diagnosed with cancer? What about the day he left? We don't circle those dates on the calendar and plan to honor them. Most times we try to forget those days even when they sneak up on us.

I heard someone speak recently about the Jewish faith. Like no other group, Jews know the benefit of remembering. They celebrate not just the times when God delivered them, but also the times when they were most in need of His care. It got me to thinking. What if we recognized not just the days that make us smile but the ones that bring us to our knees?

Dates of Desperation are the times you needed God the most. And regardless of the outcome - whether he answered as you hoped or His plan looked different than you wanted - He was there. We miss so much if we only recognize the times we stood up straight. Dates of Desperation are the day you were flat on your face. And by remembering them, it reminds us how to depend on God. It teaches us not to take for granted the happy times or the ones in between. It gives us perspective.

So what are your Dates of Desperation? Whether it's a graveside tribute, a day of fasting or cake...honor those days. Because they remind you that you can't do it on your own.