looking ahead.

january.

both the end of the christmas season and the start of a brand new year.  it always feels a little depressing to me, and invigorating at the same time.

this week, we've all dragged ourselves forward--a little reluctantly--into the post-christmas-vacation-life.  it's been a week of the dreaded alarm clock, whiny children (and parents), to do lists and me apologizing to my husband on a nightly basis for falling asleep during one of our netflix binges.  it's getting ridiculous.

but mama is tired.

at the start to every year, instead of thinking more about what i'd like to accomplish, i tend to reflect on what the last year has looked like.  treasuring all of the memories made...all of the different snapshots in time that i want to hold onto.

and this year, there were many.

snowstorms and gardens growing.  little hands covered with flour from helping mama bake.  picking roses from the flower beds and taking trips to the beach.  first soccer games and gymnastics classes.  watching their faces light up at disneyland and pool time amidst the palm trees.  catching starfish and chasing fireflies.  surprise road trips through snowy new england countrysides and finding golden tickets at town easter egg hunts.  baby girl's tap shoes and ballet skirts.  jumping in leaves and catching snowflakes on our tongues.  prayers to follow jesus whispered out of childlike faith.

it's been a great year.  one of the best, actually.

as i've reflected on this last year, it has been one of healing and restoration; where the lord has so graciously soothed my heart in so many ways.  he has brought light back into my life, after so many years of walking through darkness.  it's been a season in my life where he has sweetly reminded me that the god who has walked with my through the valleys and climbed the mountaintops by my side, will always be there... holding me, loving me, and graciously redeeming me no matter what.

the past eleven years of my life have brought such pain and darkness.  as i look back... from my dad's diagnosis of a fatal disease, to watching sickness rob me of my sweet dad, to his time in the hospital and eventually his passing... i see how these years of fear, uncertainty and pain have chipped away at my soul, my faith in the lord, and the very nature of who i am.  there have been so many happy times to be sure: marrying the love of my life, watching my babies grow and making a home for our family... some of the most joy-filled times of my life... mingled with some of the most sorrow-filled ones too.  and all along, the lord was faithfully loving me, whispering his promises of restoration and hope to my broken heart.

and this past year, i was ready to listen.

i was ready to let go of my fears, my questions, my wrestling with the "whys" and "what ifs" and exchange them all for freedom.  for love.  for the hope of what's to come.

and i'm so grateful.

the other morning i was standing at the kitchen sink, wrists deep in suds.  emmy played quietly and music kept me company while i accomplished my otherwise monotonous daily tasks.  the song "good good father" began (chris tomlin), and suddenly emmy was at my side, begging me to pick her up.  "dance with me, mama!"  as i gathered her into my arms, and we swayed nose to nose, my heart was overwhelmed with thankfulness and tears spilled down my cheeks as i listened to these words:

"oh i've heard a thousand stories

of what they think you're like

but i've heard the tender whispers of love

in the dead of night

and you tell me that you're pleased

and that i'm never alone

oh and i've seen many searching 

for answers far and wide

but i know we're all searching 

for answers only you provide

cause you know just what we need

before we say a word

you're a good, good father

it's who you are, it's who you are, it's who you are

and i'm loved by you

it's who i am, it's who i am, it's who i am

you are perfect in all of your ways

you are perfect in all of your ways

you are perfect in all of your ways

to us.

you're a good, good father."

as we start a new year, i'm so thankful for a god who heals the broken hearted.  who turns our ashes into beauty.  i'm thankful that although i don't know where the road will lead me in two thousand sixteen, i know the one who will be holding my heart every step of the way.  

and i'm so thankful for that hope as i look ahead in joyful expectation of what's to come.

home.

{photo source: chris olmstead photography}

ever since i was in college, hearing the song "i'll be home for christmas" just lit me up inside.  being a young twenty something, i had spent many years living away, which for this homebody-family-loving-new-england-hearted girl, was--in and of itself--a miracle.  wherever i was, the days leading up to christmas always meant one thing.  soon, i would be on an airplane, headed to one place..the place i loved: home.

i can still remember the excitement i felt as i peered out the small airplane windows and first caught sight of the sleepy maine villages, blanketed in snow.  my stomach would be swirling with anticipation of seeing my family, eating my mom's cooking again and sleeping in my own bed.  familiarity.  comfort.  home.

upon landing, it felt like a million years as the passengers ahead of me slowly gathered their belongings and trickled down the aisle and into the airport.  i would whisk my bags as quickly as i could and scramble off the plane.  and always, the first face i saw stood high above the rest of the crowd waiting for their loved ones.  sparkling eyes and that familiar grin that i knew all of my life; my dad.  he would always break from the crowd to make sure he was the first to get to hug me.  and he would hold on and squeeze me until i could hardly breathe.  and that was when i first felt my shoulders relax and any stress melt away, in my dad's strong, hearty embrace.  home.

the first thing i would always do--always--the minute we got home was run upstairs and into my parents closet.  on the right hand side, my dad's side, i'd reach up on the top shelf and grab his oversized nike sweatshirt.  it was navy blue with a giant orange swoosh.  and wearing it just made me feel cozy.  and safe.  and at home.

my mom made the same treats every year: date filled cookies and powdered-sugar-dusted tea cakes.  red and white swirled candy cane cookies and jars of cheese spread.  my grandmother's peanut butter balls would be kept in the garage where they'd stay out of reach and nice and cold until christmas eve when my dad would finally let us all dig into them.  you, know: tradition.  the same decorations would be out every christmas; my mom's gold and red tree, white candles glowing in every window and her caroler dolls lining the mantle.  i would stop a minute and take it all in.  it had been this way since my childhood.  i loved it.  and my heart felt anchored.  home.

every christmas eve-eve, my sister and i would spend the night at my grammy and grampy's.  we would get in our pajamas and bundle up in blankets, giggling with excitement, as we drove around in their car looking at lights and counting all the christmas trees we saw.  we'd eventually coax them into getting us blizzards (which let's face it, it didn't take much coaxing), and we'd listen to their old christmas favorites crooned over the radio; mostly sung by perry como, as i remember.  even after we were married, we continued the tradition, even if it wasn't spending the night.  and even if we ended up doing the driving once they got too up in their years to see well at night.  that little christmas light tour in our pajamas with our grandparents meant christmas was just around the corner.  and i was home.

christmas eve, the family all gathered at our house before church.  we'd laugh and take pictures and eat lots of food.  when it came time, we all bundled up in coats over our christmas eve attire and head to church to sing amidst candlelight.  i can still hear my dad's deep bass voice, booming above the crowd. after church, we'd drive up dudley street, a little winding road that followed the river and was dotted with big old houses.  every year on christmas eve, they'd line the street with white luminaries and it was one of the prettiest sights i'd ever seen.  we'd come home and take several trips up and down the stairs, bringing all of the gifts down to put under the tree.  my dad would usually get out all of the gifts he'd bought for my mother and ask me and my sister to help him wrap because he was so terrible at it.  we'd complain and ask him why he didn't have us do it earlier, but we'd always do it for him because his wrapping really was terrible.  then we'd sit in our pajamas and drink christmas drink (ginger ale mixed with cranberry juice) and eat some snacks and enjoy being together.  christmas would come the next day with stockings and grandparents and exchanging gifts.  we'd each take turns watching everyone open their gift, and my sister would sit under the tree and hand them all out.  my aunt, uncle and cousins would come later and we'd gather around pots of fondue and play games.  eat more food, drink more christmas drink.  it was cozy and felt magical.  family.  traditions.  home.

i can't help but get a bit teary eyed now, reflecting upon these memories.  now, when i hear the song "i'll be home for christmas", instead of lighting up, my insides kind of ache all the way down to my toes.  for me, there is no "coming home" the way that there used to be.  without my dad, so much of that familiarity is gone.  it's been four years and it still hits me during the holidays... that "home" feeling, that familiarity, that coziness just isn't the same.

there are new traditions and moments of joy for sure.  perhaps some of that would be different anyway, because now i'm grown up.  i'm married, and i have kids of my own.  still, i can't help but think that i can never go back.  i can never go back to my mom's and dad's home, and feel that filled up feeling again.  and some days that is very, very hard.  it causes me to reflect on that safe, secure, settled feeling of "home", and that someday, i will have that again... in the most fulfilled, ultimate way, just as god intended.  i will leave this earth and there will be no more tears, no more crying, no more pain.  no more longing for home.

but until then, we'll continue on... making most of the moments we have... even if they ache, even if they're tearful.  and i'll spend however many years the lord allows me to have, making a place for my two little girls to look forward to coming back to, just as i did.  i want them to feel that same sense of warmth and security when someday they are grown and gone.  i want them to know that there will always be a place for them where they are loved, where they are safe and secure.  and tonight, on christmas eve-eve, nick and i will bundle them up in pajamas and blankets, and we'll take the christmas light tour and listen to old christmas music, maybe even some perry como.  we'll drink christmas drink and we'll head to church tomorrow night to sing amidst candlelight.

and i'll wear that oversized navy blue sweatshirt of my dad's with that bright orange swoosh.  and i'll feel wrapped up in memories of him that make me feel cozy and happy and right at home.

and we will make our own traditions too.  texas ones.  and sugar cookie decorating ones.  and ones shared with family and friends.  and, until we are truly home... may we make the most of our days.  may we love, make memories, find joy and experience peace...not just this season, but throughout the whole year.

"may the god of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope, by the power of the holy spirit." romans 15:13

merry christmas, dad.  miss you so terribly, but i know you're home.  

love you with all my heart,

meg

my grammy.

it was a late summer day, and as the sun was sinking low in the august sky, i heard the familiar close of my grandparents screen door as i sat on their front porch drinking ginger ale.  "i think i'll go for my walk", my grandmother announced.  i was seventeen and still loved my grandparents company.  i'd sit for hours with them on their front porch, on their old wicker furniture, peeling with chipped white paint.      we'd play cards or watch the cars go by... and even up until getting married in my late twenties, i'd spend the night at their house, keeping long standing traditions alive.  my grandmother walked several times a day, and since i so enjoyed her company--and dusk on a summer day was always one of my favorite times--i jumped at the chance to join her.  as we walked her well worn path along the streets that knew her footsteps well, we chatted and drank in the peace of the sun melting into the horizon and the summery smell of freshly cut grass.  i remember her saying what i had heard her say countless times as i was growing up, a smile in her voice: "i just love walking... it is my time with the Lord". She told me how she would pray as she walked, how she met different people on the streets she traveled several times a day, and shared with me how she longed for heaven.  That always left an impression on me.  As a teenager and young adult, I couldn't imagine wanting to give up life here on earth and yearning with such a deep desire for a place I knew so little about.  But I could see in her eyes, and hear in her voice, such an unwavering conviction that she had lived a good life, and was ready for the good Lord to take her to the home that He was preparing.  And it is this resolve--this steadfast faith--that marks the life of my grandmother and continues to bless my heart as I reflect on a lifetime of memories, and just what her legacy has meant to me.

on sunday morning, my grammy got to finally see that heavenly home that she had so desperately longed for, as jesus took her from us and brought her into his presence.  it had been a week of rapidly declining health that came as somewhat of a shock to us.  as difficult as it was to watch her go, we spent some sweet time with her and were able to say goodbye, which i am so very thankful for.  the day before she passed away, i spent some time sitting by her bed.  i watched as she slept peacefully, her chest rising and falling and wondering when it might not.  i cried and prayed and remembered, and thanked god for all of my memories.  something in my spirit knew that this might be the last time i had with her, so i treasured the peace and silent moments as i sat by her side.

i remembered all of the sleepovers--from the time i was a little girl, to my days as a single seminary student--and the mornings that i woke up to the smell of popovers baking in the oven and coffee brewing in the kitchen.  i remembered the sight of her kneeling on the floor between me and my sister's twin beds, praying over us before she turned out the light.  i remembered being snuggled up in blankets in front of the television as she waited on my sister and i, bringing us ginger ale and crackers and cheese, and knowing that as much as i loved being spoiled by her, she loved spoiling even more.  i remembered the smell of bacon frying out on the front porch, as she stood over her electric pan in her housecoat.  i remembered playing records on their record player in the living room as we danced, and the sound of her laughter.  i remembered sitting up at her old fashioned typewriter, my feet barely touching the floor as i clacked on the keys and made up stories and poems, just like she used to write.  i remembered my sister and i getting to pick teacups from her collection to have our coffee in after sunday dinner...and she'd always let us top it off with a scoop of ice cream.  i remembered her famous parker house rolls, and christmas light drives, and staying up late just the two of us, playing cards or watching dick van dyke.  i remembered the sight of her and my grampy faithfully sitting in the crowd at every basketball game, every school concert, every production i was involved in.  i remembered in these last years, how much comfort i found in visiting her... she didn't always know who i was, or could remember my name, but she could remember every word to every beloved and treasured hymn, and we would sit and sing them together, as tears streamed down my cheeks.

that day as i sat in the quiet, remembering, my grandmother flinched in her sleep and i grabbed her hand.  her eyes fluttered as she started to wake and i began to talk to her.  she struggled to say anything back, but as i said "grammy, i love you," she mustered all of her strength to get the words to come out clearly, "i love you too".  i squeezed her hand and said, "grammy, you're getting ready to go home, aren't you, to be with jesus?" she looked into my eyes and said "i can't turn around."  "it's okay," i said, "you don't have to.  i just want you to know that having you as my grandmother was one of my life's greatest blessings."  she fell back to sleep, then, and i stayed a while longer, holding her hand.  that ended up being the last words i ever spoke to my grammy, and for that i am so grateful.

my grammy has left behind an incredible legacy, but if you would have asked her, she didn't consider herself to be anyone special.  she was a humble servant, someone who was consistently giving and thinking of others.  i remember her taking me with her on one of her visits to a local nursing home, and being so impacted by watching how she quietly and faithfully served.  she baked meals, delivered homemade treats, mailed care packages and continually put the needs of others before her own.  even in her last years, anyone that spent even a few moments with my grandmother knew about her faith in jesus, and how her love for him transformed the way she lived and interacted with people.

one thing that will forever impact me about my grandmother was that no matter how pain she endured, or how much she lost in this life, even when her mind and memory failed, she always remembered scripture, and the words of hymns that she loved so dearly.  countless times over the past few years, my grandmother has sung the hymn "god will take care of you".  i have no recollection of her singing this as i was growing up, but after my father died four years ago, my grandmother started singing this song. it was almost her way of finding comfort in the fact that she had lost her only child, and then a few years later, her husband.  i loved hearing her sing these words, and they always encouraged my heart:

"be not dismayed wate'er betide,

God will take care of you;

beneath his wings of love abide,

God will take care of you.

God will take care of you,

through every day, o'er all the way;

he will take care of you,

God will take care of you.

through days of toil when heart doth fail,

God will take care of you; 

when dangers fierce your path assail,

God will take care of you.

all you may need he will provide,

God will take care of you;

nothing you ask will be denied,

God will take care of you.

No matter what may be the test, 

God will take care of you;

lean, weary one, upon his breast,

God will take care of you.

God will take care of you,

through every day, o'er all the way;

he will take care of you,

God will take care of you."

while my heart is sad, i also rejoice.  my grandmother is finally home, the home that she so desperately longed for.  and while i grieve, i have a lifetime of memories to gather around me for comfort, and a faith that was instilled in me due to my grandmother's legacy.  

grammy, i will never forget the sound of your laugh, or listening to you pray, or those walks where i would hear you yearning for heaven... or your sweet voice singing of god's faithfulness even until your last breath.  i don't know where our family would be if it weren't for your vigorous, unshakeable faith in the one who holds us in His hands.  your faith has forever changed me and the course of my life, and i only hope to be to my girls and my future grandchildren what you have been to us.  i love you with all my heart, and i can only imagine how you were greeted by jesus saying to you "well done, my good and faithful servant."  see you soon, grammy.  i can't wait.

imperfect.

{source}

i feel as though i've had writer's block for the last several months.

this blog has been such a wonderful place for me.  a blank page to document who i am and (hopefully) how i'm growing.  a little corner of the world that is mine.  where i can freeze time just where it is each day i pause to write.  where i can journal my little family and bottle up my girl's childhood.  share a recipe or two, and some decorating projects in our home.  a collection of my most favorite things.

i've always expressed myself best through writing.  when i was little, i constantly had notebooks going all over the house; their pages filled with stories scribbled from my ever vivid imagination.  in fourth grade my teacher told me i should be an author when i grew up.  i told her if i ever was, i would dedicate my first book to her.  in my adult years, writing has been my best outlet; a way of helping me grow and process.  it's been through penned pages of my endless source of journals, and now through the clatter of computer keys, that i have felt closest to the lord.  i've poured out my heart, written out my prayers, journaled my deepest fears and greatest joys.  i've recounted beautiful and tragic moments of my life, and i've found a way to share my story.  it's nothing special; but it's the journey god's given me, and i've always felt that by sharing it, god just may use my words to tell someone else "i've been there".

sure, god uses our seasons of plenty to encourage and bless others... but i believe it's through the authentic and raw exposing of our struggles that our stories breathe life into those around us.  we all need to know we are not alone.  we don't have it all together.  and that we can be beautiful, worthy, and enough in the grace of jesus... even in all the imperfection.

i've always been a perfectionist.  to the core.  in my work, my home, my appearance... it's a draining thing, really.  i don't recommend it to anyone.  truth be told, motherhood has kind of wrecked me; but in a very good and humbling way.  i spend way more days in yoga pants than i do in nice clothes.  and it's a good day if i get to run a chi through my bangs, forget about washing and blowdrying my hair.  my house--well--let's just say my kids are slowly destroying everything, my couches are dotted with water stains from leaky sippy cups and don't even get me started on trying to organize their craft supply... or any of their toys, for that matter.  and wanting everyone to think i'm a top notch mom?  well, i'm humbled continuously because of my girls amazing abilities to throw the most epic tantrums of all time.  other moms relate?  yeah.  why i care about what the staring strangers in public places think about my mothering ability is beyond me, but i still struggle with that one.  i told you.  motherhood is a complete perfectionism wrecker.  for that, i am thankful (most of the time).

somewhere in my teenaged years, i got the message that there was a pedestal i was on, and i needed to do everything i could to stay there.  i began decades of a works based relationship with jesus, where i was the good girl, made all the "right" decisions on the big stuff... went to a christian college, got my masters degree from a world renowned seminary and fell in love with a wonderful man and did everything the "right" way.  after i graduated from seminary, i started a full time ministry job as a counselor at a church in dallas and me and that wonderful man started talking about marriage and making sure that was the next step that god wanted us to take.  i got myself so wound up trying to make sure my life choices were pleasing to god, that because of that and other reasons i ended up ridden with anxiety.  like, major anxiety.

one morning, i sat on my bed with the bible open in my lap praying for god to show me something in his word that would calm my striving heart.  immediately, he directed me to ephesians chapter 3... one of my favorite verses was always ephesians 3:20 "now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine according to his power that is at work within us..." but this time god was whispering to me to read the earlier verses...a prayer the apostle paul had written to the ephesians:

"i pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his spirit in your inner being, so that christ may dwell in your hearts through faith.  and i pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power together with all the lord's holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of christ; and to know this love that surpasses knowledge--that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of god."

ephesians 3:16-19

that morning, god's unconditional love brought me to my knees.  my perfectionism (also read: pride) had completely broken me.  for the past several years since, i've been on a journey of admitting my flaws, accepting my shortcomings and allowing god to love me regardless of my "performance".  

this november will mark three years since i lost my dad and encountered one of the toughest spiritual battles of my life.  so much of what i always knew about god, and had experienced in my intimate walk with him was broken in the traumatic way i lost my dad.  i'm not always sure about how to get that same relationship back... or if i ever will.  and that girl who wants to do everything right and perfect has been resurfacing a lot over the past few years.  accepting the fact that i can struggle, that i can be angry with god, that i can allow myself to grieve and be broken has been a very hard thing for me.  give thanks and praise god for being the one who gives and takes away?  absolutely.  but i have to daily tell myself that it's okay to not have that attitude all the time.  it's impossible, actually.  and that's where jesus comes in.  he is there to fill in the cracked places in my soul.  to hold me when i'm hurting.  to love me when i'm angry.  to gently whisper his promises to me when i want to hold onto everything in my life and not trust him with anything for fear of another loss.  

as our women's pastor at church so gently reminded me as i sat across from her sobbing a couple of months ago: there is nothing i can do that would make god love me any more or any less.  i can come just as i am; broken and hurt and scared... and trust him to do what he does best.  LOVE.

i'm not at all where i wish i was in my healing process, or where i want to be in my walk with god.  it's still difficult at times for me to open my bible.  my mind often races too much to pray as fervently and consistently as i used to.  and i think i could still cry almost every sunday at church during worship.   but god's word tells me that my brokenness is beautiful to him.  it's better than any striving, than any prideful perfectionism, and i'm learning to find the beauty in that myself.

"my deepest awareness of myself is that i am deeply loved by jesus christ and i have done nothing to earn it or deserve it."

-brennan manning

it's okay.

her brown curls frame her pink cheeks, eyelashes splayed in slumber.  the weight of her body rests on my chest, and i hear the creak of the rocking chair that has held me and both of my babies in these quiet moments.  they say not to move a sleeping baby, but i pay no attention to that rule.  because i love to hold my girls while they're sleeping.  stealing any chance to hold them still against my heart, kiss their cheeks and brush their foreheads gently.  it's the perfect ending to days that are filled with sweeping up crumbs, kissing hurt fingers and bumped knees.  yelling out reminders of rules and breaking up sister squabbles.  it all melts into the silent peace that is rocking my sleeping child and memorizing their features, their breaths...this moment.

i lay her back down in her crib, heart full, and her eyes flutter for a moment and then open to gaze into mine.  thumb in mouth, she softly moves her other fingers in a wave to me, as she turns and drifts back to sleep.  sweetest thing ever.  that little wave.

i tiptoe out of her room and slide into my bed under a pile of covers and thank Jesus for moments like these.  moments that make a week full of tears and frustration worth it.  moments that remind me this is a season of such a mix of emotions.

and it's okay.

the stomach bug swept through our house last week and i was the only one left standing.  by the time nick was sick, i was feeling pretty sorry for myself.  the one lost in endless laundry, multiple bed changes, catching throw up in any possible way i could to keep it from getting on pajamas, blankies or dolls.  by sunday morning i couldn't stop the endless flow of tears from pouring out.

pure exhaustion seeping out everywhere.  grief that cripples me at times.  it's been two and a half years and i still miss my dad so much it's hard for me to catch my breath sometimes.  it's an agonizing pain that feels as though i will crush under the weight of it.  the hurt is inexplicable--even to myself--but i try to get the words out so i'm not bottling them up inside.  in between sips of coffee and shoulders heaving, i manage a few sentences to my patient husband, listening gently.

my sweet girls crawl up in my lap.  arms looped around my neck.  big, brown eyes looking up at my tear filled ones.  "mama, why are you sad?" and "ok, mum-mum?" with looks of genuine concern.  and it breaks my heart.

it breaks my heart because i feel guilty.  guilty that i'm crying because of a week of caring for the ones i love most.  guilty that i have seasons of such pain and brokenness from missing my dad that i may be lacking something as their mom.  fear that i don't always have enough to give to them.  worry that it won't get easier.  complete and utter sadness that my sweet girls have missed out on so much without their bampy, who was just itching to make so many memories with them.  the list goes on and on and on...

i'm realizing how much i try to do on my own.  how often i don't rely on the One whose strength and power is of endless supply.  and just how much i need Him and all He has for me... as a wife, a mama, a daughter, a sister, a friend...

i'm also realizing how much god uses my girls to bless my heart.  he reminds me that he works in their lives in spite of their flawed and imperfect mama; that their well being does not rest entirely on my shoulders.  that he can use my broken, tear filled moments.  and just when i feel as though i'm falling short of pouring into my babies, i hear her voice--tiny and sweet--singing those precious words; words that bring such a sense of calm to my guilt-ridden mama heart: "oh how i yuv jesus!  oh how i yuv jesus because he first yuved meee!"  my almost two year old, singing out from her crib. 

god working in my children, in spite of their tired, broken, selfish, completely imperfect mama.

this season of life is hard.  there are moments every day where i feel like i am failing.  where my house is a mess, laundry is never caught up and my kids watch way more television than i want them to watch in a day.  but i'm learning: it's okay.  that's the beauty of my Jesus: He gives what i cannot give and supplies for my children in ways far greater than i ever could in my limited humanity.  He is the one that never changes and is my rock in the times where i feel as though i am sinking.

"my hope is built on nothing less
thank Jesus' blood and righteousness
i dare not trust the sweetest frame,
but wholly trust in Jesus' name

when darkness seems to hide his face

i rest in his unchanging grace

in every high and stormy gale

my anchor holds within the veil.

Christ alone, cornerstone
weak made strong in the Savior's love
through the storm, He is Lord, Lord of all"

days of gratitude: {1} my faith in jesus.

{source}

november has crept in, quiet and unassuming.  it was the other day when i heard someone say "i can't believe it's november already!" that i drew in a breath and thought "okay, lord.  here we go."  as the days pass by, i become more teary eyed and heavy-hearted.  ask anyone who has lost someone; grief is the most reliable "calendar" of all.  even when i'm unaware, my heart tells me what month it is.  i think back.  back to the hardest, most painful days i've ever lived.  i try to keep the memories at bay, but every once and a while...especially around this time of the year... they come flooding back.  i feel them again with such intensity, as if i were reliving it all.

a blessing and a curse of losing my dad in november is that every year upon the anniversary of his death, the world around me is focused on gratitude.  sometimes that makes me angry, if i'm being real honest.  i'll never forget thanksgiving almost two years ago, driving home from boston just hours after saying goodbye to my dad.  on a day our country was focused on giving thanks, i couldn't stop tears from flowing.  i was broken and hurting.  wounds so deep and raw and bleeding from saying goodbye to one of the people i loved most in the whole world.

but i suppose that much of life comes with a choice.  and due to my personal journey in gratitude over the past few years, god had been teaching me much--and continues to--on focusing my mind and attitude on a spirit of gratefulness.  and so in some ways, i'm glad that this dreadful time of grief happens for me in a month where our world is focused on giving thanks.  because no matter what month, what time of year we experience loss or devastation or pain, we still have an opportunity for gratitude.  regardless of our circumstances.

i'm not saying that gratitude is the magic wand to make all of our hurt disappear.  i'm not saying it takes away the pain of loss or that it makes everything okay.  it doesn't.  but it is a balm that can soothe our hurting souls.  it's a shift in our perspective, to be grateful.  it turns what we have into enough.  and that's where i feel blessed that november--the anniversary of my dad's going home to be with jesus--helps me fix my eyes on what i have in this life, while remembering and honoring the person i lost.

so this month on my blog, i will be recording my blessings.  i know this will not only help my heart as this month goes by, but it will honor my dad.  because he would've wanted me to celebrate, to live fully and to treasure what god has given me.

"the lord gave and the lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the lord."

(job 1:21)

today, i am thankful for my faith in jesus.  when i look back on the past two years and what he has brought me through, i am amazed at his strength and grace.  he promises us that when we are weak, he will be strong and i have found that to be so true.  in ways i've never known or experienced before.  when i think about why i continue to believe in god, the answer is so simple.  i didn't stop believing in god because he chose not to heal my dad... rather, i believe in him with greater conviction because he is the only way i've made it through such a painful time in my life.  he has not only carried me, but he's continually showed me more of who he is.  he's my rock, my anchor, my Father... and he never changes. to one who has lost, to the one whose life has been forever changed... that is true comfort.  he is the rock upon which my sinking feet can stand.  he is the one who holds my weary heart in his everlasting hands.

and for this, and only because of this, my heart can truly be thankful.  this month, and every month.  for it is through my faith in jesus that all other blessings flow.

eternally grateful, forever secured in the arms of my savior.

"he lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet upon a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.  he put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our god.  many will see and fear the lord and put their trust in him."

(psalm 40:2-3)

beginning again.

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fall has always been my favorite.  ever since i was a little girl.

i have these memories of playing outside until it was dark, bundled up for the crisp, fall air.  my name called from the backdoor told me it was time for supper, and the warmth of our house would melt away the chilled pink in my cheeks and nose.  i'd watch the leaves swirl about, pick painted pumpkins with my sister and stare at the arches of golden and scarlet trees lining the roadsides.

yes, fall has always been my favorite.

until two years ago, when i lost my dad.  seasons have a way of reminding us of times past.  the smells, the feel of the air.  they trigger our senses to remember.  and suddenly, crisp air and warm jackets, pumpkin lattes and leaves ablaze reminded me of unbearable pain.  of heart shattering loss.  of watching my father lay in a hospital bed for weeks, and eventually leave us forever.

my faith has surely sustained me through the past almost-two-years.  my dad was always my rock, but jesus has been lovingly showing me that he is truly the one who can hold me up.  it's amazing how two years can feel like one giant bad dream.  and yet, i find myself remembering often that it's reality, this life without my dad.  and even though the days and years march on, i remind myself that it's still okay to cry.

because i do.

i cry for the girls birthdays we celebrate without their bampy, for the empty seat at family gatherings, for the absence of my dad's hugs and his jovial laughter.  i cry for him missing nick's football games or when bella asks me who my daddy is.  i cry for not being able to hug him, talk to him, or tell him one last time just how much i love him, and just how blessed i was to be his daughter.

as much as the fall season triggers my grief and causes my tears to bubble to the surface, i am determined to enjoy it again.  why?  because i am not without hope.  death is not the end.  and i forever hear my father's words reminding us that he lived a good, full life... he didn't want us to be sad, but to celebrate his life and fully live ours. 

for me, grief has been a complicated journey of allowing myself to hurt and feel the immense pain of losing my father... and yet, not only carrying out my dad's wishes but fully recognizing and claiming the promises of my heavenly father as well.  and there's a whole lot of living to do, celebrations to be had, blessings to count and a big ole legacy to live out (thanks, dad).

may fall forever symbolize life anew... beginning again... and the hope of something greater, just around the corner.

fall; i'm determined to like you again.

see you soon, grampy.

on monday, august 5, 2013 my grampy went to be with jesus.

his health had been poor over the past few months and it was incredibly hard to watch him change and for the grandfather i had always known to be taken away from me.  while i am sad, i am just so thankful that he is whole and healthy again and his suffering here on earth is over.

during one of my visits a few months back, he wouldn't let go of my hand.  it was precious.

you see, my sister and i have always been so very close to our grandparents.  i would still come to their house to stay overnight well in to my college years.  one of our many traditions was that every year on december 23, gret and i would get in our pj's and drive around with grammy and grampy looking at lights.  we would spend the night and wake up to my grammy's homemade popovers for breakfast.  even after we were both married, we all piled into my parent's honda pilot and continued the tradition, bringing our husbands along :)  we were blessed with such a special relationship with them, for which i am so grateful.  gret and i both wrote pieces to be read at grampy's funeral today.  this was what i wrote:

a lobster feed on the beach of our old family cottage

i have been so blessed with the best grandparents.  

i say grandparents because it's hard to imagine grampy apart from grammy.  they were always together; each other's best friend, constant companion and sometimes continual pest as is the case with people who are blessed to be married as long as they were.  it's impossible for me to think of my childhood without thinking of my grandparents.  we did everything together; family vacations, holiday celebrations, and almost ever single sunday after church we had lunch... our family and theirs.  since my dad was an only child, being their only granddaugthers was a definite perk for gretchen and me.  some say we were spoiled; i wouldn't disagree with that.  but i honestly look at our relationship with my grandparents as one of my life's greatest blessings.  so much of who i am is grounded in their legacy, time spent at their house and countless hours of playing games, talking and eating meals around their table.  nick&i are so honored and blessed to have the privilege of raising our girls in my grandparents old house; it carries so many sweet memories for me and was such a place of comfort, warmth and love.

at my wedding

i remember being little and saying to my parents "grampy is just SO LOVEABLE!" i think it's pretty remarkable that my young mind was able to pick up on that characteristic of my grandfather at such an early age.  that's exactly what he was; loveable.  i don't know of any person that didn't like my grampy.  he was warm and kind and so thoughtful of others.  even in his last months when he was in the hospital or healthcare facility, whenever i went to visit him he was very concerned that i was comfortable and had a place to sit.  that's just who he was.  it warms my heart to think of it.  he was also incredibly generous.  there were many times i would be leaving to head back to college, or fly back to dallas when i remember standing at the airport and he'd discreetly hand me a twenty dollar bill to use to get something to eat.  he also loved children.  i had so much fun taking bella and emmy to go visit my grandparents when they lived at sunbury village.  we looked forward to those special visits and i can still see his face light up when he saw the girls and i at the door.  when i think back to how i saw my grandfather growing up, the biggest thing was that i always knew he loved me.  he was such an important part of my life because he wouldn't have had it any other way.  he was a permanent fixture at every single one of my basketball games or school concerts.  many of my childhood friends grew up coming to my grandparents house with me; everyone knew them and loved them.  i can still feel the warmth of walking up my grandparents walkway on sundays after church, being greeted at the door by my grampy's hugs and the smells of my grandmother cooking a family meal.  he was so much a part of the love and warmth of my childhood, and who i am today.

the first time he met bella

i could fill hundreds of pages with special memories of my grampy.  i also could write a few funny stories about him as well.  he was always making us laugh with his quirky sense of humor and sayings.  everything was as (blank) as a goose; as cold as a goose, as full as a goose, as noisy as a goose... and grammy would always laugh the way she did when he would say something funny without meaning to be.  and gretchen and i had certain things we'd always beg him to do; drive us down the old standpipe hill was one of them, we thought it was a roller coaster ride and he made it so fun.  we also would always ask him to say this old phrase he used in the coast guard that we thought was hilarious: eespidillyoatendoatboboskawatendot.  i still don't know what it means, but i always would laugh and laugh whenever we'd get him to say it.  he also did a mean hula dance that would make us giggle until our bellies hurt.  he was good-spirited, and never treated us like we were annoyances... he loved making us laugh and enjoyed having fun.  

out to eat with nick&i at one of their fav restaurants

i have one vision of my grandfather that i hope i never forget because it makes me laugh every time i think of it: i never wanted my grandparents to come to the airport whenever i had to go back to ohio or dallas.  it just made me too sad to say goodbye to them, so i always wished they wouldn't come, but of course they did; every single time.  even if my flight was at 5 am; they'd be there.  one day, my dad and i had gotten to the airport early.  they had changed my gate from upstairs to downstairs but the screens hadn't been updated so when my grandparents arrived, they stepped onto the escalator and began to go upstairs.  my dad called to them to let them know the gate had been changed.  i think my grandmother just continued to ride the escalator up, and then came down the stairs however my grandfather turned around and started walking down as fast as he could... realizing it was a losing battle and he was only about four or five steps up from the bottom, he thought for a minute before completely jumping off the escalator  and landing in a heap on the floor at the bottom.  dad and i went running but couldn't contain our laughter.  having the great sense of humor he did, grampy was already laughing at himself by the time we could help him up off the floor.  that's another thing i always loved about him; he loved to laugh, even at his own expense.

my grandfather was very private about his faith.  grammy is the opposite; we'd always find her reading her bible or her daily bread and praying for us before bed, but grampy was much more quiet.  i remember one day when i was in high school finding a bible that was underlined through and through.  i just assumed it was my grandmother's because of her outspoken relationship with jesus, but found out that it was actually my grampy's.  i have thought of that so much over the last few years, and how comforting that was to me to know that he might not have talked about his beliefs or his relationship with the lord much, but it was definitely there.  in the last few months we had several talks with grampy about heaven and being ready to see his savior.  he never liked talking about it because he was never one to acknowledge the fact that he was aging and was eventually going to leave this earth.  but something changed two years ago when he lost his only child, my dad.  to say he had a hard time grieving the loss of my dad would be an understatement.  it crushed his heart and his soul, and something about his vigor for living until he was 100 was a bit deflated.  days before he died he was able to tell a hospice worker that he was ready to see his son again.  the thought of them reuniting in the presence of jesus brings tears to my eyes.  broken is made whole, old is made new... i don't know what our family would've done the past year and a halfwithout the promise of heaven.  

christmas eve 2010

thank you, grampy for being the best grandfather i could've ever asked for.  thank you for passing on your love of people, generous spirit and kind heart.  i am so thankful for so many years of precious memories and for such a special relationship with you and grammy.  you always loved me well, you always made me laugh and with you i always felt at home.  i loved our conversations about what life was like when you were growing up, stories about living at the lucerne inn in the winters and what it was like trying to woo grammy, who would later become your bride.  i am so thankful for you, and feel so incredibly blessed to have been your granddaughter.  while i will miss our visits and watching you with my girls, my heart feels so full knowing that you are with dad again, your only child whom you loved so much.  we'll all be there soon together again; in the blink of an eye.  and even though grammy was a great cook, i think our sunday dinners around a huge banquet table in heaven will be even better.

so happy thinking about the reunion of my grampy with my dad, his only child

i love you so much, grampy.  thank you for everything.  see you soon.