Since the calendar turned another page, there was a short season of time when our days slowed down. We created new rhythms again, as a family of four. We were settling into those cold, rainy days that winter blows in, and have been filled with so much excitement as we’ve watched the cold of winter be met with the warm, budding signs of spring.
We all have this deep longing for a magical kingdom far, far away. A castle. A princess. Maybe some mice friends. And a prince that comes to our rescue. We most definitely long for a fairy tale ending.
I grew up like most little girls I know, obsessed with Cinderella. So Brandon and I saved for over a year and took our little family to Disney. I was 100% more excited than my kids. Partly, because Micah started crying in the car after we passed Costco on our way there, because he said Mickey Mouse was at Costco. He had no concept for Disney World. And sweet Selah, she just wanted to see “all the princesses and ride the Disney World bus.” (Apparently she saw that on a commercial.)
Every year we ask Father for a word for the year.
We lean in, asking to hear only His whispers, what it is HE wants for us in the new year.
Last year our word was grow.
Most of the time, it’s easy for me to look at ugly and have eyes to see beyond, how beautiful it will one day be.
It’s easy for me to do this, because I know who Father is. I’m learning more and more of His heart. That it’s only in His character to do good and be good and give good. He turns bitter into sweet. He raises beauty up from the ashes. He redeems and rewrites and restores. When you know who He is, it’s easy to see past the ugly. Because when you walk in your true identity, a daughter knows her Papa will always rush in. He’ll come to the rescue. It’s just who He is, it’s what He does.
Her little baby face is slowly fading away, and she is my sweet and spunky three year old girl now. On the days she goes to school, there is an hour I get to only spend with her. And it’s my favorite part of those days. Micah is napping, oldest brother is at school, and I pick her up from preschool and get a whole hour alone with her. Preschool was a huge adjustment for her, especially as she bravely battles some sensory things.
There are parts of my story that I may never post to the interwebs for all of the world to read. There are moments in my history that have caused the scars I sometimes notice on my heart. Most of the time, I forget they’re there, but there are those days when I remember. When I remember how I got them, and how far Father has brought me.
I’ve always been the “pick yourself up by your bootstraps kind of girl,” mostly because I was forced to be. I would experience trauma and move forward without truly feeling the weight of the blow. Then before I knew it, a new trauma would occur. It was like an unending cycle. I just had to keep moving forward, it’s how I survived all those years.
Right after I married my husband, I came to the realization that everyone didn’t live that way. I was constantly waiting for the bottom to drop out and dazed from shock. I was safe and I started to grieve. It was hard, very hard. And painful, so painful. But I slowly started to heal and those open wounds began healing and eventually became scars.