Content

Whew. We made it through Christmas. Through mounds of wrapping paper and too many receipts and unspeakable joy and extended family awkwardness and epiphanies and resolutions and a New Year's party and 1,000 other things. It was a good holiday season. It was a tough holiday season.

On December 10th we celebrated 9 years of marriage. 9. Yes, it feels like it's been that long. To be honest, life before marriage seems so blurry. We were just kids, almost 21 when we took that leap. But here we are, still standing.

We celebrated Christmas multiple times. We come from big families (a big, BLENDED family in my case. How many siblings do I have now? I've lost count. Seriously). There was tension, because this is the first Christmas without a certain loved one and everyone is grieving differently. Yes, I excused myself from the crowd of relatives to go cry in my mom's bedroom. More than once. And it was okay. There were spats and words said and tears and you know, I guess it's all so normal. We are not special. Siblings squabble and disagree and it's okay. The world still spins. And maybe I am baring my soul a little too much right now, but I just feel like it needs to be said. Families are not perfect. The ones that look like they are, aren't. I guess it's okay not to pretend.

However, Christmas morning with my boys, now THAT was perfect. It was. Nothing makes me happier than seeing my kids happy. I mean it. It brought me such joy to watch them open presents and jump up and down with happiness. It's what I imagine Heaven will feel like. My little family means a lot to me.

And now a new year is here and I'd like to jump on the train and say I vow to eat less sugar or remember to exercise every day, but I know I won't. So I simply choose one word. One word to guide me in my actions and my thoughts this year. For 2015 I choose to be content, right where I am. To stop wishing for younger looking skin or a nicer car or more babies. Because the truth is I have everything I need, and if I start playing the comparison game I will never come out on top. There will always be someone with more kids, better skin, a nicer home, and a fatter bank account. I am choosing to focus on what I have, not what you have. It's a daily exercise, but I think it's worthwhile. 

I'm nervous about this year. I turn 30, my oldest starts kindergarten, my baby won't be a baby for much longer. I can attempt to make time stand still, or I can resolve to embrace the changes. To stop pretending that I had any control to begin with.

Happy New Year, friends. 

Christmas Stamps

I took the boys to the post office. We went to buy Christmas stamps. The budget was oh so tight, I shouldn't have been spending another dime, let alone ten bucks on some silly stamps. But I really wanted to send out Christmas cards, and had a determined attitude.
I was feeling sorry for myself. My kids were whining because the line was long and one of my kids let out a big fart and I was a little embarrassed as everyone turned to stare.
Then I saw him. An old man in a wheelchair with a severely disfigured face. Most of his nose was missing. Was he a burn victim? A disabled veteran? I don't know. What I know is I was praying hard for my way too honest four year old to not say anything. But he did.
"Mommy, why is that man's nose so weird?"....came out of his little mouth. I was embarrassed. Wanted to hide. But the man scooted his wheelchair over and smiled. Told us he was sick and the doctor took his nose. That he was lonely most days but today was a good day because he was seeing us and we were cool. Started talking to us about Christmas and Logan's stuffed animal and just everything. Then the man looked right at me.
"Momma, sometime, you should take yourself out for a cup of coffee. Leave the kids with Dad. You could use a break, I can tell by looking at you. It's going to be alright. Just go get some coffee."
Here was a man with what looked like little to be grateful for, speaking encouragement into my life. He didn't know my name. Didn't know that it's a struggle to buy ten dollars worth of stamps right now. He just knew that maybe I needed a little encouragement. I cried a little bit. Told him I would pray for him to have a good Christmas. Told him about our church.
When the boys and I got to the car, I had a good talk with Logan. Told him that it's probably not nice to talk so openly about people's flaws, but that we are all flawed and we can help that man by praying for him to feel loved and to know that Jesus loves him.
I don't know the man's name. Don't know his story. But I know that he is treasured and that he matters. I'm grateful for that ten dollar lesson.

You made it through

Dear one,
You made it through your first Thanksgiving without her. Without him. Your loved one that passed. Maybe Thanksgiving was a welcomed distraction from the sadness, the heartache. Or maybe it was so hard. Being around so many happy people, people trying to carry on normal conversations with you. Maybe it took every ounce of energy to fake those smiles, to pretend that the grief was not constantly on your shoulder. Maybe the food had no taste in your mouth, maybe you couldn't wait to get back home where everything was at least familiar and you didn't have to pretend.

But you did it. You showed up and you smiled and you hugged and you put nice clothes on and you did it.

And that's amazing.

Maybe you're heart was racing and maybe you had to stop at a park and get some fresh air and just pray for God to give your heart peace.
Yeah, maybe that was you.
And that's amazing too.

Holidays are hard.
It's okay to feel joy.
It's okay to also feel sad and confused and lonely and overwhelmed and guilty for smiling because your loved one is gone.
It's okay.

Hug often. Surround yourself with those that love you. Those that will make you a hot cup of tea and just love you.
And give yourself permission from here on out to avoid situations where people like to stir up strife. It's okay to say no to those events. Guard your heart, dear one.
Christmas is coming. You are going to do just fine. It will be hard. You will be sad. But there is joy to be found, I promise you that much. Take in the lights. The smells. The sounds. Allow yourself to remember. Even if it's been years since your last Christmas together, it's okay to remember.

Don't call it a party

Our little man turned one. I have no idea how it went so fast. I blinked and now he's a toddler. Cue the violins.

For Logan's first birthday, I went all out. I invited everyone I knew, stayed up into the wee hours of the night planning elaborate party games and making homemade decor. First kid syndrome. 

I didn't have it in me to do that this year. Between everything that went on in October, and my constant struggle to get some sleep, I just had no energy for a party. 

Instead, I made little man a fun birthday dinner on his actual birthday, and the following Saturday I had two of his little buddies from the nursery (and their families) out to the playground. That's it. No pinatas. No elaborate guest list. None of that hoopla. Just a couple of babies hanging out eating some gluten free cupcakes. 

It was quite possibly the best first birthday ever. I was able to really pay attention to everyone. Levi wasn't overwhelmed, because there wasn't a crowd. Just a few little buddies. 

I may keep birthdays this way from now on. 

  Happy to be ONE!

Gluten free cupcakes. Kind of gross, but he loved them!

We love mustaches.

Big brother is growing up!

All smiles

The fabulous Kennedy family. 

The dads. All smiling! I love it!

A picture with GG. 

Beautiful friends, Jen and Christina. 

Happy birthday, sweet Levi! We love you so much!

A prayer for the overwhelmed mom

Thank you, Father, for loving me right where I am. Just as I am. 90 something pounds of anxiousness, stress, uncertainty. You love me even though I fail day after day. Even though I'm not a good cook, I can't keep a spotless home, my car keeps breaking, and I say bad words. Even though the future scares the living daylights out of me. 
You love me. 
And you say I am enough. 
Right where I am. 
You don't compare me to others. 
Because my story is different. 
It was always meant to be different. 

You knew all along every painful event of 2014, way before I was on this earth.
You've counted every tear, you've understood prayers I couldn't put into words.
You've heard my heart.

You know it all.
And you love me.
I am enough.
Right now.
Not when I get it all together.
Not when our checking account looks better.
Not when I can finally cook fancy meals.
NOW.
I am so grateful for the now. 
It seems like everyone else has it all figured out.
I don't.
I'm grateful for a savior who does.

Guest Star Tuesday

I read this today and it changed my whole outlook. Be encouraged by her words today!

Like an elephant on the chest

I don't know how to write this, but I know I need to.
Two weeks and a couple of days ago, my dad died in his sleep.
We didn't know he had cancer. He didn't know.
I was walking around the lake with my husband, my kids and my in-laws when I got the call from my brother. My knees buckled and I let myself fall to the ground.
Dad was gone. I sobbed. Right in the middle of a crowded park. People asked if I was okay. I didn't even notice them.
Dad was handsome. Dad was brilliant.
Dad was an alcoholic for most of my life.
Dad and I hadn't seen each other in nearly six years.
Dad knew I loved him. I loved him so much, in fact, that it ate me up inside to see him in such sorrow. About four years ago, I told him that I loved him too much to see him in such a dark place. I begged him, BEGGED him to get help, but I told him I couldn't save him, HE had to make the choice.
He found a church.
He walked in to a men's group and poured out his heart. Told them he was ready to change. That he couldn't do it on his own.
My dad went from someone who hated church to someone that spoke openly, enthusiastically about a risen Jesus.
My dad spent his last couple of years on this earth feeding the homeless. Volunteering at a women's shelter. Mowing elderly people's lawns.
My dad was a changed man.
My heart breaks for what could have been. I wish we could have hugged and I wish I could have told him how proud I was of him. But as my pastor told me last week, we have all of eternity to make things right.
My heart is so heavy, sometimes I have to remind myself to breathe. As C.S. Lewis said, "No one ever told me grief felt so like fear."
 I went down and spoke to the men's group that changed his life. I thanked them. We cried together. I felt peace for a little bit. I gave a bunch of hugs to some men I had never met. I felt gratitude. They were the hands and feet of Jesus to him when no one else could be.
I don't think this kind of loss is something to get over. I think we just learn how to carry it.
I'm sad we didn't get to make things right. I'm sad he never got to meet my kids.
But one day, we'll have eternity.
Until then I just have to remember to smile at everyone, because I may be the only light they see that day.