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.

Maybe that's okay

It's been a weird week.
Sunday we learned that another pregnancy wasn't going to make it. Two days later, Ben hopped on a plane for Wisconsin. He never travels for work, yet this week, he's been gone. He comes home tomorrow.
We've spent this grieving period away from one another.
I don't know how I feel about it.
The kids have been a huge distraction, in the best way, because they have no idea what's going on and they simply don't let me sit alone for more than a few minutes at a time. We've made multiple Target runs and gone for walks and of course kept up with Logan's homeschooling.
But the distractions aren't 100% effective.
I'm still sad.
Still wondering what we do from here on out.
Still grieving the dream of growing this family.
Wondering, picturing what this means for us.
I've been reading about Job. I like him. I like how he isn't afraid to blame God, and I like how the bible says that even in his blaming God, he didn't sin.
I'm blaming God right now.
He could have saved this pregnancy, as well as the others.
He didn't and I don't know why.
But maybe I'm not supposed to know why.
Maybe I'll never know why.
And maybe that's okay.

Arrows

 
Psalm 127:3-5: Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb is a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one's youth. Happy is the man who has a quiver of them.

I've clung to the scripture above for quite some time. Probably since we started trying for our first child, 8 years ago. I always prayed for a quiver full of my own little arrows. I dreamed of a full house, of a handful of kiddos that could be siblings and best friends. I thought, thanks to the aforementioned verse, that the more kids I had, the more blessed I would be.

 Most of our quiver won't be held by us until we get to Heaven.

With this last loss, something changed in me. I realize now that our family is complete. Two is our quiver. Two is enough. Two is a hell of a lot more than some people get. It stings, it's definitely the loss of a dream. I mourn what could have been, and to be honest, yes, I am angry at God right now. Probably why I am okay with typing things like "hell of a lot" without obsessing over what my church friends will think. Because my heart hurts like hell. Miscarriage will wreck your marriage if you let it. We aren't going to let it. 

So we're done. We're grateful for our two. We're going to focus on our unit of four and not believe the lie that our family would be better, would have more love if only we could grow it. Because we can't grow it. God said no. And I am going to be okay with that. We really don't have another choice.
 

Raw

I know it was nothing I did wrong.
I know I ate exactly the right things, was proactive to the point of obsessiveness.
I did everything in my power to sustain this pregnancy.

The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.

I woke up this morning with horrible pain. A trip to the bathroom confirmed my fears. We were losing pregnancy number five.

I am broken, I am confused, I am wondering why some women that don't even like kids get to have a handful.
I am wondering why my body keeps doing this, when on paper, I am healthy.
I am wondering why women who complain about how much pregnancy sucks get to have healthy, happy babies when those of us that fight with every ounce of our bodies, those of us that take the progesterone and practically live at the doctor's office and don't go anywhere near caffeine or lunch meat or nitrates still lose our babies. Again and again and again.

I have no answers.
No scripture to quote this morning.
Nothing.

My heart hurts.

I like thirty

I've been thirty for six months now.
I'm really liking it and that surprises me.
I was kind of afraid that this age would instantly turn my hair gray, kill my remaining eggs and give me wrinkles. I am happy to report that my worries were a bit dramatic. I still look the same.

But I'm different. I'm different and I am so much happier. For the first time in my life, I am comfortable in my own skin. I'm okay with me. That might sound so cheesy, but I've battled anxiety and body dismorphia off and on my whole life, and this is big.

I'm finally okay with who I am in Christ, who I am as a woman. At thirty, I realize, finally, that I don't have to be liked by every single person. I don't have to be the thinnest, or the funniest, or any of that.

It was so exhausting trying to be the girl that was all those things.

The truth is, sometimes I eat things that would make my Whole30 friends cringe. And I am not a bad person for it. 
The truth is, sometimes I don't smile all day long. Sometimes the thought of having to smile one more time is crazy overwhelming.
The truth is, I have never been perfect and as I age, my body is subtly changing. I have varicose veins from birthing big babies. I have two stretch marks on my belly. I used to be afraid to wear shorts. In Florida.
Not anymore.
I'm finally happy. Comfortable. I'm realizing that THIS body, flawed as it may be, is mine for life. So I can be good to it.
Thirty to me means I can finally feel confident. My twenties were a giant roller coaster of fear and playing it safe. Thirty means I am finally realizing that God has BIG, good plans for me and I can get excited about them.

I finally feel free. 

Did we fail?

We remodeled our first home. Put in hours upon hours of work, used up our tax return and our weekends and a chunk of our life. We got things looking great, and we put our house up for sale. It was scary. I don't like the idea of strangers in my home, seeing where my family sleeps and eats and all of that. But I told myself countless times that it was worth it because Ben and I have been so homesick for Orlando, and this was our ticket to move back.

We'd sell our house, put some money in our savings, even get to take a cruise for our upcoming tenth anniversary with our earnings.

Contract number one fell through.

Contract number two fell through.

And this past Friday, contract number three fell through.

We're realizing that there's a reason we're here, in this sleepy little town with not much to do. There's a reason we live an hour away from so many of our favorite things and favorite people. I don't understand any of it.

On Thursday, as inspections were underway, I prayed this: Lord, you know our hearts and where they are. You know we don't want to be so far away from our hometown. We're lonely out here. Even so, we want what you want. If this isn't what you have for us, let it slip out of our hands.

It slipped out of our hands, guys.

Last night after a busy Sunday of church and errands, I sat in the garage with Ben. I was just...sad. Did we fail? Did he think that we had failed? Could we have done more?

No. We're out here for a reason. I don't know what it is. Neither does he. But we don't have to know. This year my word has been content. I vowed to be content with what the Lord had planned for us, even if it wasn't what I necessarily wanted. It looks as though he's giving me my chance, yet again, to be joyful right where I am at.

So no. We didn't fail. Not at all.