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A Gift- Both The Man and the {JORD} Watch

A Gift- Both The Man and the {JORD} Watch

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These boys have my whole heart. Forever.

When I watch them together, I can’t help but be so thankful I get to call them mine. They are both so strong but gentle. And love me something fierce.

I can’t help but want this little one, to grow up and be just like his daddy.

Every child in the world deserves a daddy like this man.

Truly, he’s a gift.

He plays rough and tough, he’s got a mean golf swing, and he’s the champ in our house at hide and seek. He protects us and provides for us and is so tender when we need him. And let me tell you, when he leaves for work we sit on the stone outside and there are always tears as we wave goodbye. But as soon as that door opens when he gets home, four little feet quickly find their way to him. And they always scream, “Daddy! Hold you!” And he picks them both up. Every time.

 

Like A Little Child

Like A Little Child

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I’ve come to realize that my children have been the greatest teachers in my life.

My degrees are in education, so it is only natural for me to teach my three year old to sort her gummy bears by color before she eats them. Or to offer the correct way to hold a paint brush. When we walk up steps we count them. I hold up bath toys and my children will try to guess the color first. And let’s just talk about teaching them manners and obedience for a second. It’s never ending. Right? I feel like I am teaching all day. Whether through my words or actions, my children are learning from me.

But I’m learning from them too.

Micah’s Diagnosis. A Year Later.

Micah’s Diagnosis. A Year Later.

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We waited three and a half hours to see the Neuro Surgeon that day.

We sat in those hard chairs with a fussy ten month old and took turns walking him around the waiting room. We watched our favorite Peds Surgery nurse take back patients one by one, all the while, waiting on the Neuro nurse to call Micah’s name. We kept looking at our watches, because we had a benefit to attend that night and perfectly scheduled grandparents to keep Selah for that appointment and then the benefit. The minutes turned into hours and we knew we weren’t making it.

Finally. They called our name.

Micah had been having trouble stabilizing his blood sugar so our pediatrician wanted to take a peek at this pituitary gland on a MRI, just to rule it out. We totally weren’t concerned at all about this MRI. But he called me a few days later and asked me if I was sitting down and if Brandon was home. I remember telling him Brandon was upstairs getting ready to go into work (he works night shift), and I told him I couldn’t sit down I was cooking supper. (Mom’s don’t sit down at 5 pm.)

In Due Time

In Due Time

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We were on our way to one of Micah’s doctor appointments.

It was one of those mornings where I pushed the kids out of the door with a zip lock bag full of cereal and shoved a water bottle in my purse. Mostly for me, maybe for them. Coffee wasn’t an option on this particular morning, because I couldn’t spare the three minutes it takes for my Keurig to heat up. I could see my breath and felt a total #momfail because in the race to the car, I had forgotten coats. I threw them (the kids) in their carseats, we buckled in record speed, and were off.

I took a few minutes to get my whits about me, trying to remember exactly what doctor we were going to, and where he was located. We have eight different specialists on Micah’s care team. I flipped the radio on, took a deep breath, and reached for the water bottle…quietly.

Earlier that morning, I had felt a cramp, and hoped it wasn’t what I thought it was. Adoption has made me a mama. The stories of how my children came home to me are nothing short of miracles. I love them more than life itself. They are our greatest blessings and it’s truly and honor for them to call me mama. But I’ve been waiting on the Father to answer this one prayer, of healing. For years. I know His heart for me is healing and wholeness. So I keep pressing into Him. Asking, contending, resting, and believing for complete healing. I’m like the lady in the New Testament, crawling through the crowds, believing with every fiber of my being that if I just graze up against His garment, He will heal. Because that’s Who He is. It’s what He does. I felt that ache extra weighty on this particular morning.

An Honest Convo: Tiny Church, Big Love

An Honest Convo: Tiny Church, Big Love

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Can I be honest with you for just a few seconds?

In this blogging world, I have NO idea what I’m doing. I probably broke lots of rules just by telling you that. There are so many voices screaming about what I should write, when I should write, how I should write. And honestly, it’s just noise to me, annoying noise. There is enough of it in your life too, I’m sure. So the last thing I want to be for you is noise.

Now, I don’t want to go all hippie or anything and totally throw everything out the window. (Which by the way, I’m a wanna be hippie, kinda). There is knowledge and stats about this stuff that’s been proven. But here’s the thing…this whole thing for me, is about you. Everything I click away on the other side of this screen is for you. I think to myself, how will this serve you?

My speaking schedule has started to really pick up. And although sometimes I feel a lot like Moses stammering around, it’s the message that resonates, that keeps me saying yes. Just this past weekend, my sister and I drove up to a tiny, little (I realize those words are synonyms, but if you heard me talking, that’s what I would say. I’m breaking all kind of writing rules over here.) Baptist church fully expecting to be met with stiff handshakes and a stuffy atmosphere, as we have in the past. What we experienced was far from that.

We walked into the fellowship hall and were met with warm hugs and “I’m so glad to see ya’s.” I stuck out my hand a few times for a “Nice to meet you,” and it was met with, “We don’t shake hands around here, we hug.” Even though we had only just met, it felt as if we were all old friends. We belonged. Everyone belonged. I watched these women love each other and stood in awe of the spirit of hospitality that was among them. I couldn’t even tell who were the visitors or the regulars because they all were mingling, talking to one another, complementing one another. The air was warm, the room was one big blanket and we were all cozying up in love. I’ve spoken to enough women to know there was something special about this place and what was among them. I also realized somewhere along the way, I have been hurt by the church. And being among their love in that tiny, little building brought that to the surface. I was able to confess my bitterness and repent of the preconceived judgements I can sometimes make. Kindness does that you know? It’s kindness that leads us to repentance.

The Year of Spring

The Year of Spring

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It’s the middle of winter.

The mornings are cold, really cold, and it takes as much bravery to run across the tile in the bathroom floor as it does getting out of bed. My hands cup hot coffee several times a day and I feel it’s warmth run all the way down to my toes. Our coats stay laid across the top of the chair in the living room for easy access, so I can grab them as we head out the door. A different hue of grey is the sky I see most days when I glance out my window as I wash dishes. We can peek straight through the line of bare trees and overlook the brown pasture in our backyard. The days are short and darkness falls way before I’m ready to let go of the light.