because Mother's Day can be hard :: a repost

Sometimes, in the midst of this new normal, I forget what it was like. Who I was then.

That time when emotions were always bubbling right at the surface, as if they could spill over at any given moment. And they often did. The days when an unmet desire left me aching and in tears. The years when the unknown was a hard, bitter pill to swallow. Those nights when my tired and broken heart whispered prayers to my Father in the dark.

Prayers for a child.

For me, and for many of you, I'm sure, tiny scars of that time remain on my heart - but the pain of it is long, long gone. Those scars occasionally twinge as a memory surfaces and, in a good way, they don't let me forget. I'm thankful for those little reminders because I don't want to forget.

God, too, wants me to remember. Always.

In that time of loneliness and hurt and unknown, He was there. He held on when I wrestled Him and pulled away. He replaced my fear with His precious promises to love me and do what He knew was best.

God reminded me this was all for His glory.

And he forgave the jealousy and doubt and anger....the list could go on and on.

He seasoned me and waited until His time and then he gave me a son. He choose me to be Josiah's mom. Our beautiful boy was meant to be ours.

Had things been different, had I been the one deciding the plans of my life, I now wouldn't be holding him. That thought alone brings tears to my eyes.

I'm so thankful to be the mama to this amazing two-year-old. I pick up stray socks and calm fears and read books before naptime. I giggle with him and kiss his cheeks and buckle him into his car seat.

Motherhood is my new imperfect, but wonderful normal but it doesn't take much to bring me back to the chapter of life before this. I've chatted before about the power of the quiet moments - tucking him in at bedtime or when we're rocking or sitting together on the back patio - that I find myself overwhelmed with gratefulness as I remember the girl I was, not too long ago. The one who felt sad and alone. The one whose arms were empty. The girl I wrote a letter to.

What I wouldn't do to give her a hug. To sit with her, hold her hand and share what I know and feel now.

In the past 3 years, I have received countless e-mails that contained questions about adoption or infertility or requests for prayer {these notes, too, serve as littler reminders to not forget}. A few of these gals are friends or acquaintances, but most were strangers met through this blog. Strangers before, but now sisters.

So many of these ladies expressed the loneliness that comes with waiting for a child.

Loneliness is the pits, I know. But when you can vent and share and even find joy in the hardships, you learn quickly that you aren't so alone after all. I can't give my former self a hug or a hand, but I can offer one to you sisters. I can write out my story and share struggles and where I find peace. I can say that I get it. Because I do.

So yes, sometimes I forget because I'm now in this season of motherhood. But I find myself thankful for the continuous stream of reminders.

A few months ago, I was running errands and heard the song below while pulling into a parking space. I listened and cried tears -partly because of the journey, but mostly because of the truth of the words.

God cares. He gives and withholds. And He knows best.

He heals.

He loves. Oh how He loves....

If you find yourself waiting, please know that you're not alone....that you are not forgotten.

I pray that you would embrace the moments and gift of each day and not let them pass by without joy and praise. I failed at this a lot. Life in a "waiting room" can be so difficult, but it is not broken or unblessed.....but rather filled with purpose and hope.

Mother's Day is in just a few days. And Mother's Day can be hard. For many women, the day will weigh heavy and you'll want it to pass quickly. I know because I felt the same way. But even if you won't receive flowers or hand prints on a card or a hug from a child, you are still loved and celebrated.

I hope that you feel peace in the journey.

And I truly hope that you are blessed with your heart's desire.



**originally posted on May 6, 2011**

the evidence of his love

The beautiful spring came; and when nature resumes her loveliness, the human soul is apt to revive also. 

—Harriet Ann Jacobs

Just last week, with May knocking at the door, every tree on our street was bare and pathetic. I wondered out loud when the leaves would pop and spring everything to life again. 

And, oh my, they have! Just like that. Green buds are bursting and fighting their way through. Blooms of pink and white and purple have me gasping on their beauty. Tulips scattered wildly in front yards and bushes standing ablaze in long rows leave me in awe of God's goodness. 

I mean, really. He rocks this Springtime thing. He makes all things new right before our eyes and invites us to pull up our patio chairs for a front row seat. All of this magnificence is evidence of His love. Not a day passes without a sunrise because of Him. 

To celebrate His awesomeness, we leave dinner dishes heaped in the sink and head to the park where we play and chase and laugh until bedtime is inevitable. I tilt my face to the sun and feel it's warmth on my cheeks. Josiah digs for worms and runs barefoot in the grass. I collect handfuls of forsythia for our kitchen counter from the side of the country road around the corner - and feel like a rebel. The tiny boxwood bushes we plant in the yard have me clapping my dirt caked hands with glee. Because boxwoods are a dream come true! I'm a simple girl with simple dreams and I like it that way.  

Ah, it's good. This. All of this. I'm so thankful. 

What has you smiling this Spring?

monday morning chat

Our days have been breezing along, leaving me wondering yet again where time has gone. I feel it's only appropriate to type out a few thoughts and happenings. This post's purpose it to get some of that out of my cluttered mind and onto the page....

Starting with my thyroid. Perhaps you remember back in March when I shared that my night-owl-ness had been kicked to the curb for my need for sleep? I was pathetically tired. I felt off. And then my neck began to tighten and swell one afternoon in the produce section of Meijer. Has that ever happened to you? No? Well, here's a tip. If it does, please don't feel like you have to tough it out. It's not going to just go away on it's own. Even if you wait, say, 4 days. Needless to say I finally went into the doctor and it's been confirmed that my thyroid is all wiggety whack. Which did not come as a huge surprise to me since this is a condition I've inherited from my mama, gran, and great-grandma. Good news, though! A tiny peach pill each morning is helping to get everything back on track. 

I have a new celebrity crush. It started with a borderline cheesy but definitely wonderful made for TV movie. Remember Sunday had me at Rory Gilmore. She is so lovely! But then who was the cutie-pie actor playing her love interest? Thanks to the internets, I now know. Zachary Levi. A delightful mix of Jim Halpert and Crosby Braverman, he's all charm and quirk and smarts. Y'all, he is Flynn Rider. He loves Jesus. This quote from Relevant Magazine sealed the deal for me ::

"My job on my set, I believe, is to first just love people and gain that trust with people where they know that I really do love them and care about their well-being, so that when they are running into problems, they will hopefully, at some point, come to me and ask me, 'What is your peace all about? What is your comfort all about? Where do you get your love? Where do you get your talents?' And I can turn to them and say without blinking, 'Jesus Christ.'"

Bam. 

Dear Zach. I may be late to the party, but I'm a fan.

Speaking of television. We are perhaps the last people to have discovered the happiness that is Duck Dynasty. It all began one night when my throat was swelled up and I couldn't sleep. I giggled and snorted my way through a pair of episodes while my boys snored on. You could say all three of us are hooked considering we've watched 40+ installments in a ridiculously short amount of time. We're crazy like that. 

Last night Josh and I had a rare night out! We scarfed down burgers and fries at a little joint on a local college campus. Between bites we asked each other questions like how old do these young-ins thinks we are? Do they think we're old? *Are* we old? Meanwhile Josh is wearing a suit and my bangs are doing a poor job of covering my forehead wrinkles. Then we got into our swanky mini van, laughed hysterically at ourselves and drove off to the theater  The highlight of the evening was seeing Wicked the musical! Friends from church treated us and I loved every single bit of it. We saw it in Chicago 7 years ago but watching it again was just as dreamy and entertaining. 

Spring! She has made her entrance and she looks mighty fine today. I gasped and clapped when I looked at the weather report for the coming week. Sun! Warmth! I'm giddy. Who isn't?!

How about some Easter photos?!!! Why not. 

Confession. I started writing this post at breakfast and then life happened and now we're closing in on five in the pm. It's been a good day. The sun is shining. Laundry is spinning. This song is playing. The lawn mower is humming. Dinner is simmering.

Let's make it a happy week, dears! 

why we celebrate on April 23

Today marks four years since we received our referral call. 

Four years!! How did that happen??? 

Four years since we got the first glimpse of our five-month-old boy dressed in stars on his red throne. He was every kind of perfect and wonderful. Grasping that picture tight, we stared at that brown face and into those almond eyes and we fell in love hard and fast. My mama heart met it's match in the baby boy born across an ocean. 

Thankfully oceans are meant to be crossed. 

There is no denying that adoption is full of loss and struggles and grief. But thankfully God brings healing in waves and love wins. It does. Our boy is proof of that. Josiah YeJoon is a joy, a light, a gift. 

We are so thankful for and smitten with our mighty little wonder. 

He's a keeper. 

broken

Palm branches sit on our table all week, humble offerings laid down for the King who rode on a donkey. Just five days later they are withering and pathetic. I reach to throw them away, but decide to leave them there. 

Those brittle palms remind me that I am unquestionably, scarily broken, too. My heart and my flesh are dead in sin. 

We are all in the same condition. But. 

Today our broken world meets it's Savior. 

The God Man who walked and breathed and lived. Perfectly. Today he hangs on the tree and endures the wrath of His own Father, in my place. In our place. In His death, Jesus breathes life into us. Because of Love. 

It's all too much to take in. This Sacrifice, this Love overwhelms me. I offer up the only things I can lay down. 

A repentant heart. A whisper of thanks. A song of praise. 

A message of Hope to the broken. 

By His wounds, we are healed. 

*Lent calendar from Naptime Diaries. 

*Joining in today with Carina at Lovely Little Whimsy. As well as linking with Lisa-Jo's Five-Minute Friday for five little minutes of unedited, uninterrupted writing. 

just call me aretha

I have a bit of an obsession. 

Wreaths. 

I will go so far to say that a room without a wreath is like a day without a sunrise. Chips without salsa. Sundays without Downton.

Clearly, I mean business. 

When a room feels off, I add a wreath. It's what I do. Call me Aretha. :) My witty Preacher Man hubs does. When the wreath-making-mood strikes, Aretha doesn't fight it. She respects the hankering and gets to work. Heh. 

Turning a blind eye to the laundry pile and crumbs on the kitchen floor, I fire up the glue gun and create the afternoon away. I hum and sing hymns while I work. Or country music songs. It's inevitable that my fingers get burned or poked and I'm well known for ripping the whole dang wreath apart because it doesn't look right. 

But give a girl a discarded drop cloth and she'll cut and pin until there's a frayed beauty hanging on her kitchen door. Hymnal pages glued to a straw form can sing again. Cheesy novels beg to be ripped up and shaped into cones. Green sprays are unruly and hard to tame, but make for a wildly wonderful wreath on the coat closet. 

Am I the only one with a wreath fetish? What has kept your hands and minds busy this long winter? 

Don't let your doors go naked, friends. 

xoxo

Aretha