Joy

We were fortunate enough to get to travel up to Georgia, South Carolina, and North Carolina last week to experience an actual fall, complete with multi-colored leaves, cooler temperatures, and unique fall-themed activities. We stayed with Ben's grandmother, who was kind enough to open up her home to us for four days. She's really fun and such a trooper to host our wild little bunch!

I'll confess something. The main reason I wanted to go up North was to find God. I haven't been sure of much lately, but I always feel closer to God when I'm in his beautiful creation. Not that Florida isn't beautiful in it's own way, but after living here thirty years, I'm used to it.
So I wanted the mountains, I wanted the beauty. I wanted to be reminded that God makes beautiful things.

When I was a little girl, I'd go stay with my Gran in Franklin, North Carolina, just a few miles away from where we just were. When things were bad at home, Gran was my safe harbor. I spent so many summers up there with her, experiencing all of this beauty and realizing that there must be a God, because places this beautiful couldn't be an accident.

My heart got to heal a little on this trip. I saw fall, I lived and breathed fall, and I was reminded of God's magnitude. Sometimes it's healing just to stand on a giant mountain and feel small. What a perspective changer. I was able to experience joy, something I have been praying for fervently ever since we stopped trying to grow our family. I have been so incredibly sad. But this trip made me feel excited about something. It made me realize that we can do this again. And two kids is easier to travel with than a whole van full. We can go places, we can experience new things, the four of us. And that's something to be excited about in it's own way. I've been in a mourning period for a while now, mourning my hopes and dreams that must change. But being back in my favorite place reminded me that just like God's word promises, joy indeed comes with the morning. I'm going to keep praying for this joy.

I still don't exactly know what the future holds for us. I don't know if we'll keep homeschooling next year or if I should go back to work or what God wants from me. But I pray I'll experience his joy on the road to figuring it all out.

A new season

My heart is healing. Some days are still hard, but all in all, I'm doing better.

I feel like we're entering into a new season of life. Away from the baby stage, and into full fledged childhood. Logan is 5 1/2, and Levi will be 2 (!!!!) in just a few short weeks.  He's been asking to use the potty, and while this is great, it makes me a little sad. Once the baby stuff is gone, it's gone.

We've decided that enough is enough with this trying for another baby madness.
At a certain point I realized that my spiritual health, my view of a loving God, my outlook at the world, was all being severely tarnished each time I miscarried. It took away my joy, my hope. It feels really bizarre not to hope anymore. And yet, it feels right. I still pray, because I don't know how not to pray. I still love Jesus, as confused as I am. I am thankful for passages of scripture that highlight others struggling with their creator. Job is a personal favorite right now.

I know I am like a lot of other Christians, struggling to make sense of why God allows what he allows. I was so terrified to admit my doubts to other Christians for so long, afraid they'd label me a heathen or tell me to stop talking. Instead, when I've shared my concerns and questions, what I've gotten is a "me too" 99% of the time.

So in this new season, this season of trying to find God and trying to feel joy and trying to make sense of my pain, I'm focusing on just a handful of things.

My kids. My miracles. These two little people that drive me to exhaustion every single day. I love them more than life. They remind me that good still exists. That God is real. Because He made them. And they came from me. Which, according to doctors, is a really big deal in my case.

My best friend. My husband. Ten years this December. He's been playing the role of listener for the most part, not offering generic advice but listening as I voice my confusion, my uncertainty. He's been a rock to me during this tough season.

My church. A whole bunch of people that love God but that aren't afraid to admit that they have their own doubts. Their own hurts. Their own set of hard questions. They sent me these flowers the week of the last miscarriage. They've been praying for us for years, ever since this journey started long ago. They've given me hugs and notes and shoulders to cry on.

So my prayer is different now. I no longer pray to grow our family. I pray instead for a new dream. A new passion. I have no idea what that will be. I have no expectations. But as we enter into this new, beautiful fall season, I'm deciding that it's time for me to embrace it. Whatever it may be.