Simple, Purposeful Living in Our Home (Part 3)

Our house isn’t fancy. Honestly, it’s nothing to blog about. I laughed out loud when three lifestyle and home bloggers wanted me to join them in this series. I love our house. I think it’s pretty. But it’s definitely not going to be one you would find in a magazine.

But our home. It’s different. We’ve spent the last several years learning about home. Making our house a home, learning what it means to be home, and the people we would find there. I think it’s true for most Mamas, but the older I grow, the more home means to me.

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A Word to the Hurting on Mother's Day

A Word to the Hurting on Mother's Day

For many years, Mother’s Day for me, was a day I grieved.

Several years ago, my mom was an addict, and alcohol was her drug. She was in my life, but she wasn’t able to really be my mom. The relationship that we had shared all my life had been broken by addiction. And every Mother’s Day I always wondered if it would be her last.

During that time, we had also been trying to get pregnant. I wanted a baby more than anything. I wanted squishy cheeks, chunky thighs, and a little voice to call me “Mommy.” And it just wasn’t happening. My body had failed me, month after agonizing month. We tried every natural/holistic route you can imagine. We tried to “not try.”  We tried rounds of infertility medicine. We changed our diets. We charted temperatures and I knew my calendar like the back of my hand. We even tried several rounds of infertility treatments. And they all ended in the bottom of the trash can with one lonely pink line on a pregnancy test each month.

I wanted more than anything to be a mom.

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A Story of Hope

A Story of Hope

I have never shared this story.

I’ve rarely spoken this story out loud, much less written it down for everyone to read. Mostly because it was so painful, but also because some things need time to grow.

I can write about adoption and the pain of infertility. I can be vulnerable about my waiting on healing. All of those things are pieces of my story. Beautiful pieces. Pieces that have caused me to press into Father, to know Him more intimately. But there is so much more to my story. And one day, I really think all of it will be shared. But for now, someone out there somewhere, needs to read these words and see a story like this one laced in hope.

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