Stumbling Towards Perfect

At this point in my life I realize that the things that stick (words, images, experiences, conversations) stick because God wants them to stick. That is, He'll be using those same words, images, experiences and conversations to grow me, teach me, and, more than likely, humble me, exactly when I need it. Usually, I begin writing with a vague understanding of what the lesson is about and figure it out in more detail as the words get typed on the page. But this? This I don't know why  this stuck. I just know it did. And I know I need to tell you about it. I was in Haiti last week, at the same orphanage we were at in March. There was a point in the middle of the week when I found myself sitting at a small table with one of the older boys from the orphanage, a translator, and the American Missionary, Amber. We had talked for a half hour or so and at the end of the conversation, Amber stood up and retrieved a beautifully decorated cupcake to give to the boy. (Cupcakes were on h...

Today, I went to a bookstore to buy my sponsor son a Bible since I'll be seeing him in a week. One week. It makes me scared, kind of. Like I don't want to ride in a car, or eat anything chokeworthy, or go out in public amidst the germs. I don't want to risk anything getting in the way of seeing him. Last time I went to Haiti I poured over the packing list making sure I had everything I needed or was recommended for travel. After being there I realize anything I bring with me is way too much. It's all very ridiculous to show up in a country so unbelievably poor with a $58 self purifying water bottle. Last time, I was worried about whether or not I would have enough gluten free food to exist on for an entire week. That thought alone makes me feel the most ashamed. Walking up and down grocery store aisles, making trips to Trader Joe's and Sendik's to make the best (read: most delicious) choices. I would need three meals per day, I had figured, plus snacks, and ...

  I've had a lot of people tell me how impressed they are with my strength. "If it were me," they say as their eyes dart quickly to the ground, scared for a split second that maybe the words might make it true, "I don't think I'd be as strong as you."   I'd hardly consider myself strong. I spent the 45 minutes of registration for our Avery Step You Take 5K holed up in an office praying and bawling my eyes out. Instead of preparing what I was going to say as a welcome, I sat and cried. I spent the whole next day in bed.   Monday was the all-school Olympics. Brody's first. I cried. Because his sister was supposed to be doing the Olympics, too. She should've been representing the 6th Graders. But she wasn't there.   Tonight was the 8th Grade Graduation. I cried. Because I won't ever get to see my daughter graduate.   I spend way too much time awake because I hate the thought of going to sleep. I eat tons of sugar and I...

When you are told that your loved one is no longer living, you are handed a giant piece of fabric. Huge. The first thing you do is wrap yourself tight in it. Around and around it goes, tucking in your arms and legs, tightening around your chest - but you barely notice, because you can't breathe anyway. It's like you're swaddled up, just like a newborn. Because, in a way, you're just like that again. So utterly dependent on those around you. You can't think. You can't process. You forget there is a need to eat. Months later you'll reflect back and wonder if you had ever gone to the bathroom because you simply do not recall ever going to the bathroom. Being birthed into grief. That's what it is. And you're wrapped tightly, with lots of arms around you, promising not to let you go. But just as newborns grow into life, so we must grow into grief. The fabric loosens, our arms strengthen, we become stronger and here is where we have a choice. We ...

 So, I've been doing this 100 Happy Days challenge, which - let's be honest, I've become a pro at searching out the good. I have to. Without it, well, I'd end up in that deep pit of soul-sucking darkness with no hope of ever getting out. Anyway, the challenge is simple. Find something that makes you happy, snap a picture, share it using the tag #100happydays. You can sift through the happy images of others or even create a photo book at the end of the challenge. Go to 100 Happy Days to find out more. I really want to tell you about Day 16: Ruthie's Flowers Blooming Bright ♥ #day16 #100happydays Shortly before Avery passed away, my dear friend Ginger's sweet, sweet mother, Ruthie , passed away. It was awful and hard and heartbreaking. Ginger is quiet. She keeps things inside. She's intensely private both in her incredible strength and in her understandable anguish. Like polar opposites, Ginger grieves alone in the dark of her room; I'm wai...

Jadrian got in a car accident.   She's fine, physically. Well, aside from a fractured skull. Not skull. Forehead? That area above her right eyebrow where she hit the window. (You can't tell without having seen the hospital scans.)   She wasn't driving.   She was sitting. Talking. Looking off to the side. Not even conscious that she was simply trusting that they'd make it through the intersection without an issue.   Except that someone ran a red light and before she knew what was happening she felt the car she was riding in swerve, get hit and spin them around through the intersection.   And she lost it.   She panicked. Screamed. Yelled. Cussed.   And the driver boyfriend tried to tell her he was okay. His leg was stuck, hurt, but he was okay. And he tried to calm her down, but he couldn't.   A witness ran to her door, confused at her deafening screams. Manic. Absolutely manic.   She told me ...

There's a down side to losing your child. Besides the obvious, obviously. But that's losing people you thought would be in your corner, holding you up. Or at least holding up a box of Kleenex while you tear through them. See, we get sucked into this idea that we know who has our back. And this really goes for any tragedy: child dying, spouse dying, debilitating illness diagnosis, divorce, job loss, losing every single piece of who you are and where you came from in a house fire. We think, naively, before the bad things actually happen, that we could write a list of who loves us the most and who would always be there for us through thick and thin and that list would actually be truth. But it isn't. Because sometimes it just isn't. And I've read over and over people filled with anger because they thought their mom or their cousin or their aunt or their brother, their best friend or whoever else was on their list, would've, could've, should've but...