Dedication

This morning we attended the church service of the dedication of our granddaughter.

I got myself up, through a small workout, showered, squeezed into some non-fitting clothes (swearing for the trillionth time to get back into shape), got in the car, drove to a neighboring town and walked in to an in-person church service.

In-person church is hard for me. And I realize some (most?) don't understand this... actually if I'm honest I can't even tell you why this is my reality.  But, it's hard, and it really has been much of my life.

As a child I think a lot of my uncomfort perhaps came from a very basic need to show up well dressed and looking all in order - and I struggled wearing that fake front... perhaps struggled isn't the best word, but I just didn't understand this societal request of me.

While I'm not always very good at it, I think in my very core I was born into a desire of authentic living.  Sure I hide and cover up and even lie my way through things for the sake of looking good on the outside just like we all do, but the blood in my veins does seem to always want to run real, pulse authentically, and it's only so long that I can hide away and continue to pretend.

(Also on a super odd side note, my brother flew in from South Carolina this weekend and I found myself sitting in church next to him and my parents, the original Oldenkamp party of four... I could not tell you the last time we were all sitting together in church - probably all the way back in the day of our childhood...)

As I have mentioned in earlier posts, I firmly believe in God and His mercy and my deliverance, but I also question so many things and find God's sense of humor most days not all that funny.  Do I doubt Him, no.  Do I try fight against His wishes, sometimes. Although the older I get the less I try to resist.  I hear that little voice, feel that little nudge and just sigh and think, "For realz God?!? You can't possible want me to think / say / do that..." but I also close my eyes and in fact know yes, He does want me to do exactly that.

I watch our church sermons online very regularly, read the Bible verses regularly that go with the current sermon series, but I don't often actually arrive in-person in the pew for worship.  It's hard.  It's just hard.

But I did today.  Our granddaughter was getting dedicated, and we all showed up.  I don't know how many rows of pews we all filled, but we showed up with our love and our commitment to God and our family.

I sang a little bit during worship, but not much.  It's kind of hard some day to sing all the praise and goodness when the things in life are a bit too heavy.  Yes, I realize that is exactly the purpose FOR the worship and singing... and sometimes I get there, and sometimes I don't.

And then three tiny baby girls were brought to the front of church.  They were held in the arms of their amazing and loving parents.  They were prayed over, they were read scripture over, they were given gifts and blessed with oils.

I watched young parents pray over and cry over their little miracles, so grateful for the answered prayers in their arms.  So ready to live and love and raise these beautiful children in the ways of the Lord, surrounded by family and friends.

And, as always, there was this little prick in my heart. The prick of pain, of loss, of uncomfortable, of grief, and perhaps even some jealousy.  We didn't get to hold our little baby girl up in front of church.  We didn't get to pray over her and have her life dedicated to the Lord.  We didn't even get to take her home from the hospital.

We got to attend her funeral service.

As I watched them move from the first little babe to the second... I couldn't help but think about how God, for whatever reason, decided heaven needed Faith more than we did.  Heaven needed Faith before we did.  She was chosen to have immediate dedication, not just to the Lord, but with the Lord.  We didn't give a promise to the Lord to raise her well, we gave her directly to the Lord before He even allowed us to have her.

And He didn't give us a say in that decision. And I found myself very torn this morning as I thought about that.  Why doesn't it feel better knowing she was chosen for greater things than the pain and suffering of this earth.  Why doesn't it hurt less knowing she's pain free and sin free in heaven since her very first breath.  Statements that should have given me comfort and joy... and yet just gave me tears... deep guttural tears that I had to fight back with all I had in me to not allow the ugly crying to overtake me during this moment that wasn't even about me.

It was about our granddaughter. The little sister to our other granddaughter.  The daughter of our son and his beautiful and amazing wife.  The little blessings God gave them, and us, after giving my hubs and I a different "blessing" reality.

They moved from the second little baby to our granddaughter. And the ugly tears I fought of my own grief and sorrow and loss and anger and confusion and jealosy and bitterness suddenly was also engulfed in these overwhelming feelings of great pride and joy and gratefulness.  A next generation was standing up there - holding their other children, praying over and dedicating their own children to the Lord, the same great God that twenty-eight years earlier we had prayed over and dedicated them to.  We had promised God to raise them well, with the help of so many others, and there they were... standing up there as strong amazing believing adults who are now carrying on this great and mighty thing to the next generation.

I have no idea how one is to wrap their mind around the reality of all those feelings and thoughts all within mere moments and minutes of each other, but like so many other things... that is how it goes.  This incredible juxtaposition of thoughts, feelings, hope, despair, disappointment and utter pride and overwhelm. 

Do I fear God taking my precious children or grand babies before me, you bet I do.  It's a simmering fear that is always just below the surface.  Did I fear God would take my grand babies to Heaven before He let us have them here on earth, you have no idea the fear I mired through and the prayers I laid at His feet over and over and over again... And... He gave them life and breath here on earth.  He left them be born alive and begin their journeys on the earth, and I give praise and glory for that.  I am so incredibly grateful, beyond words.

And yet... as proven today, even in all the ways I try to praise God in all things, there are those little pricks of pain and grief right amid the songs of joy and rejoicing that somehow get all tangled up in the moment and make the heart hurt and the soul ache for that which did not happen.  No, it did happen.  The ache is from that which did not happen as we had planned and hoped for, and for the journey we are left to continue on, on this narrow little road God has laid out for our lives.

I cannot fathom the reasons why some babies are here and some are quickly taken to heaven.  And it's obviously not my place to understand while still earthside, so I need to stop trying to figure it out. I need to simply continue to trust this journey and continue to show up for everyone as I best can.  Some days that's easy and some days that's hard. Some days I can show up in-person, and some days I can't.  But know either way, I'm fighting my way through it all with as much honesty and authenticity as I can possibly allow myself to live within.

Previous blog post { Love Baby Devotional  } HERE

Loved Baby Devotional

A few weeks ago I went to a local 5K color run for infancy and child loss awareness.

They had a table of resources, and I stopped and looked at a few things.  I'm not a new grieving mom anymore, I'm double digits in to this thing ... this journey. What would I possible need off a resource table...

But there was a small child's board book about loss, and a devotional that I reached down to touch.  I took them both home with me.  I put the children's book on the shelf next to the board books we were given as the announcement we were going to become a grandpa and grandma - which was interestingly enough in the exact same place as where we told my parents about Faith.  At the end of the kitchen counter peninsula.

I haven't thought about that before this moment.  One was told quietly with dread and sadness, one was told boldly with smiles and laughter.

I also took home a devotional.  Loved Baby, 31 Devotions Helping You Grieve and Cherish Your Child After Pregnancy Loss but Sarah Philpott, PhD.  It's pink with little flowers on the cover.  It has a little built in pink bookmark ribbon. I quietly set it on top of my Bible that had been sitting open on the kitchen table when I got home that day.

It's been several hot minutes (months/years) since I have regularly done any kind of devotions (or working out, or sleeping, or eating healthy). I do the weekly Bible readings faithfully that go with the church sermon series, but that is about all I've been doing. 

Actually - I have a dear friend that for over a year now messages me every day with scripture, devotion and prayer for me and my family.  I am beyond honored and blessed by this, and most days if I'm honest I'm left feeling so guilty, because I know I am just not at any place emotionally, spiritually or physically that I have enough within me to give in that manner to someone else. And yes, that is exactly why she does it.  Because she knows I cannot, and she loves me.

The next morning after the 5K I pulled out the kitchen table chair and I read the sermon series verse of the day in 1 Kings, and then I picked up the devotional.  I opened the devotional.  I read the introduction.  I took some deep breaths. And I read Day 1: You Are Becoming A New Creation.

I have been repeating this almost every morning since then.  Granted I am leaving my open Bible and this devotional out on the middle of the kitchen table all the time right now - which also means, we are not eating at our kitchen table.  Although if I'm honest, we stopped - or at least I stopped battling meal time a long time ago.

Mealtime is hard for everyone I am sure. I grew up in a home with every meal at the kitchen table, and every Sunday meal with the extended family at grandma's kitchen tables. We did eat at our kitchen table for years. And one day I just couldn't do it any more.  The actual making of the meals on a timely manner when you're working full time, keeping the table clean on a daily basis, meal planning, buying the groceries... but most of all, I couldn't do the mealtime meltdowns and mayhem any more.  I won't go into all the details, but at our table there is one of the fastest least picky eaters I have ever known, and one of the slowest and most picky eaters I have ever known, with control issues (not eating certain foods when made by certain people).  And the mix of those dynamics, are exhausting, especially for the mediator and maker of all the food.

The time at our table was not filled with laughter and stories of our days. It was stressful and full of anxiety and disagreements.

So I fed one in front of the tv in the basement, one in front of the tv in the living room, and I ate by myself alone at the counter.  And usually it was also three separate meals for each of us.  On occasion right now if it's just Brian and I home for supper, we will sit together at the table, although we aren't great at waiting for each other to actual eat together at the same time at the same place.

All that aside, one day I realized I was also not reading my Bible regularly and not doing devotions, and I started getting out my Bible and just leaving it out and open, and trying to read it almost every day.

As I have continued on with this Loved Baby child loss themed devotional, I find myself reading and reflecting and knowing that most of the book is written towards someone who is fresh in their loss and grief journeys... And I'm beginning to understand that while I am ten years, double digits in to my grief journey, it has taken me this long to actually reach a point where I am ready to do something like this. 

There are still unopened gifts that came home from the hospital with us on the day she didn't get to come home from there with us. I think they were little gifts to open on the hard days.  I'm assuming maybe a little lotion or a little candle or a little something along that line.  I have still never opened one of those gifts.  They are still individually wrapped and together in a purple gift bag with study handles in the very back of my bathroom closet. 

I am also at the same time reading through 1 and 2 Kings which encompasses its own amount of death and grief and loss and murders and death of mothers and children and so many others. I try and envision what living in that time and place must have been like, but I just absolutely can't imagine (although is it perhaps really all that different than the times we are currently living in?)

As I've continue to spend more time in silence and reading and intentional reflection with this daily devotional, I know much of the last few years I've been trying to keep myself closed off from the pain and loss of Faith, simply a survival mechanism I wasn't even fully aware of, while desperately struggling and trudging along through our current reality.  And now, while I'm not fully back to that fresh level of grief and despair, I do find myself thinking about her more again, I've been reaching out a tiny bit more to some of the other loss mom friends I have that I haven't been very connected to recently, and I have even dialed in to a loss moms support call or two recently.  

I am still drowning and lost in my current journey, but I am also feeling a small pulse within trying to remind me to not forget about Faith, not to forget about myself - who I really am, what I really believe in (which I honestly have absolutely no idea who and what I really even am anymore)... And my eyes have reopened and refocused just enough to realize how far away from everything I have allowed myself to be right now. Closed off, guarded, shielded, on a survival automation that has left me basically unrecognizable to myself.

It took me over seventeen years to get to this place, so I know I cannot reverse and recover anything with any speed, but perhaps someday there is a chance that I will be able to find a glimmer of hope again.

** {Previous blog post here: October Infant and Child loss Awareness    }

October Infant and Child Loss Awareness Month

Well, I wasn't sure I was even going to be able to log back into this account it's been so long.  And yet, here we are.  It's been a long time.  A very long time.  Much has happened, much has not been documented or shared.

I may go back and try fill in a few of the larger things, but then again, I might not.

I am currently in a season of utter deep, dark, drowning in the trenches of some really really hard life stuff right now.  All my life I haven't shared much about that journey in our life, mostly because it isn't entirely all my story to share.  Granted, Faith also isn't only my story to share, but... she is not here to someday read, someday compare, someday accuse of oversharing... Although the deeper and longer this other journey is going, the more and more I am feeling that at some point there will come a point where I do need to share at least some things - mostly because I know I cannot be the only one, we cannot be the only family in this similar place.  And while I do know I am not alone, I do also know this is one hell of a hard and lonely ride right now.

But for now, this blog is still about Faith.  About our Journey to Faith.  The life and loss of our infant daughter now over ten years ago.  Double digits. Wow, where does that time go?  Who would she have been? What would her personality have been? What friends would she have? What loves would she have? What favorite foods would she want? What would her favorite color have been?

Several weeks ago my beautiful daughter-in-law messaged me a link to a local Infant and Childless Awareness 5k Color Run.  She asked if I would be interested in doing it with her and the girls. 

**{Girls}** Insert quick side note, in July we welcomed our second granddaughter into our lives.  And there is so much to tell about her and her life, that I do promise to come back to a share a few of those stories with you all.

She took care of signing us all up, she took care of getting Faith's name added to the back of the t-shirts, she took care of reminding me about the event and she pulled into the event parking lot about two minutes after I had arrived and we put on our shirts and put in our miles together, and I knew it was one of those moments in time when you just know you are not fully mentally or physically prepared for it before you arrive, and yet also know it is going to be something special.

I was out running early one morning and got attached by a dog in early July and was injured and haven't really been able to run much since.  I have done some walking and some elliptical miles, but overall I have been sidelined from running and working out.  Some I'm sure is just an excuse I'm using with the dog bites and hematomas, some I'm sure is also just an excuse that I am just currently spread too thin to allow time for working on anything for myself, beyond getting through each day.

As we stood in the parking lot of the event, we were surrounded by individuals and families all holding infant and childloss close to their hearts and minds.  There were strollers and kiddos and puppers and runners and walkers and color stations and wind. So very much wind.

I laid in bed that morning, not wanting to get up. Not wanting to face people, interact with people. I didn't want to have to push myself and sweat and feel just how out of shape I have gotten, how much weight I have gained. And as I got up and drove in silence alone in my car, I also realized I was probably trying to just continue to leave that door into my heart shut. 

The pain in my heart is so great these days, that it has just kind of closed Faith's door for a while.  I don't have enough available inside me to deal with it all at the same time.  So without actually even knowing it, she closed her door and slipped into a quiet corner, still holding my hand, but also holding her pain and loss for me.

As I drove and thought about this, part of me was so sad that I had allowed this to happen, letting her silently just slip into the shadows during this current season, and part of me was so grateful as well. As I thought of her and all the things... all the what ifs... all the memories... I just knew that holding both of these journeys side by side in both of my hands at the same time would have been too much.  Too much.  So for a while I've had to let her go, as I've grabbed on even tighter with both hands as I am being drug along in this current season.

Physically she is not here on this earth with us.  I don't understand why that is our reality, and most days I'm able to say (and believe) the words that God has a purpose for all this. For her, for us, through her loss.

I know there has been gains through our loss.  Friendships, chances to share our story, bring awareness, stand in the silence with others knowing a small inkling of their pain from their loss... And I realized yesterday that I am also failing miserable in that whole portion of my life right now.  No, I know I'm not failing it - but I am not available to fully (or even partially) invest in the infant and child loss awareness as I have in the past.  And I'm sorry for that.

I'm sorry I have gone silent and have slowly disappeared over the last few years.  And I have to be completely honest, it's going to be that way for a while longer. The light is not yet visible at the end of this tunnel I am currently so lost in.

The devil is busy at work telling his lies of failure and not good enough's, and I know it is not just me he's preying on.  The entire world right now is hurting and also feeling lost and broken.  We are all battling big hard things that we think we are the only ones.  But I have to also trust that we aren't the only ones. 

I'm reminded of our sermon from 1 Kings today about Elijah, exhausted and tired and ready for the Lord to take him. He thought he was the only one left, completely alone, not enough, ready to die... and in fact... God was assembling a crew of seven thousand other believers waiting to join forces with him...

Elijah wasn't alone, and neither are we. Elijah was enough, and so are we.  Even when we feel most alone and most not enough.

PREVOUS BLOG POST HERE { HOBBY LOBBY TEARS }

NEXT BLOG POST HERE { LOVED BABY DEVOTIONAL}

Hobby Lobby Tears

Last night I entered, in person, through the doors of a Hobby Lobby store about an hour from where I live.

I try never ever go there in person to shop.  Not because I don’t like the store… I actually LOVE the store. Oh, the happiness that store stocks on it’s shelves is second to none!

I needed to purchase a gift card, a gift for someone I love. That was the only item I NEEDED.

It’s at this point I need to quickly back up and interject a recent little pact I made with myself on behalf of my current spending, and the amount of bills sitting in their envelopes that are due and sitting on the desk beside me.

In years prior I used to pick something at the beginning of the year that I would not purchase for that entire year. One year it was books. One year it was jewelry. One year it was clothes. One year was no in person or online registrations to any running races. I could be gifted these items, but I myself could not purchase them for myself. And I actually always carried through each year.

This year I had not put down any spending restrictions (and it shows, LOL). 2023 was a financially hard year for us. Income tax nearly killed us due to some unexpected American economy / production issues (in specifically, within the car industry) – and would then prove to be a ridiculously hard medical year for us. Braces for the teenager, the hubby had a heart attack, staph infection, and a few other unexpected health issues. Medication costs, lack of coverage, lack of availability, AND the amount of personal time and effort also nearly did us in in 2023. New furnace, air conditioner, water heater… along with issues with the dishwasher, dryer, garbage disposal, and probably something else I can’t even remember also helped us finish out the year even more in the red. Do I need to continue? No. Ok thanks.

I know we are NOT alone in these struggles of all of this ridiculousness called “adulting.”

We plowed into 2024 with high hopes of somehow leaving the dramas of 2023 behind us in the dust. But that wasn’t exactly the case. It never is, right?

We did decide to go forward with an anniversary trip we had planned. It was a significant expense. But 20 years of marriage together is also significant, right? We are not guaranteed tomorrow, we are not guaranteed tomorrow together – so we booked and took the trip.

And it was beyond amazing. Beyond. No words, and all the words.
Take the trip – eat the cake – buy the shoes. Well… ok maybe don’t buy the shoes. ;-)

No seriously, I recently sat myself down and had a long conversation with myself. We discussed our love for “things” -for pretty things that make us feel pretty, for fun things that make us feel fun, for collectable things that make us feel full and complete…. Ect, again I won’t go on because we all know this draw to spend and have. We all have the inner drama between justification of the spend vs the output of the happiness received.

Even though at the very same time I also fight against the “having” and “getting” and tell myself I don’t actually need anything and have no reason to be spending in the way that I am and do.

So at the end of that conversation, myself and I came to terms and set some spending boundaries from now through the end of the year. What small sacrifices am I able to instill in my life right now when it comes to money? All money not spent, is to be considered saved, and to be put towards the bills pouring in (which some is from our own choosing and some not).

From now through the end of the year I cannot purchase for myself any: new books, new clothes / shoes / jewelry or new mugs. No new scrapbooking supplies, no new craft paper. No spending money on coffee. No drive through coffee and no store bought coffee (until everything in my house right now is completely gone). No spending on anything unnecessary and not of actual “need.” (Yippie – that means I’m still allowed to purchase toilet paper and tooth paste and laundry detergent ~LOL)

I told a few people my pact with myself – to help hold myself accountable and to just show I’m at least attempting to do “something” forward movement.

And… enter Hobby Lobby. Literally.

I was alone. I slowly touched and looked at a million beautiful things that I loved and adored and wished I could take home with me. Stacks of the most beautiful papers (which were also all 40% off this week) Faith plaques and stones and angel wing décor. Pale pink room decorations that I would have loved to redecorate the spare room with in honor and memory of Faith. And a few perfect perfect coffee mugs that would have held and served up the most delicious coffee in. I was taking photos and sending them to my friend. The one I told to hold me accountable to my said spending restrictions.

I finally picked up the little gift card from the bottom of my empty cart and checked out. My heart was heavy. I was sad, I’m not going to lie.

I walked out the door and was met with an amazing sky filled with clouds and a sunset painted only from Heaven’s finest angels. And I cried for a little while as I sat in my car in the parking lot.

My new car. A beautiful expensive new to me car that was given to me by my husband as a surprise Christmas gift (which would end up finally becoming a different new car (but one that actually “worked”) birthday gift 3.5 months later.) Which is a very long, painful story which I am currently not going to share. Perhaps someday. Maybe not. It’s quite a story actually – invite me to coffee sometime and I’ll tell you the whole thing ;-). Oh wait – I can’t buy myself coffee right now, so maybe just invite me to meet you in the park or something where nothing is required to be purchased, and I’ll share the full tale ;-)

Did I NEED a new car? Kind of, maybe, but not “really really”. Did I DESERVE a new car? My mind will tell me hells to the no I don’t deserve anything this nice. Do I LIKE the new car? I’d be lying if I said I don’t. Heated seats, heated steering wheel, back up camera, listening to my phone through the car speakers, third row seating, not worrying about it breaking down if I drive out of town… I’m human – these are amazing luxuries I lived without before, but really would NOT want to go backwards and give them up now that I’ve experienced them.

I drove home in my new to me car with my gift card, listening to a pod cast on… happiness.

I will wrap the gift card up and I honestly can’t wait to gift it to the person who will get to walk through those same doors and get to pick a few of their favorite fun things from there to get to take home to their house. I will tell them they have to send me selfies with what they get. And that WILL bring me great joy – more legit joy than any of the beautiful things I touched and longed for as I walked myself through the store last night.

Part of my brain knows this. And part of my brain is loudly hollering its denial.

I don’t need anything. I’m human and I want lots of things. I have envy and greed and great selfishness.

My parking lot tears were from being mentally and physically exhausted after a long day of working and driving and standing in lines at the plasma center. They were from allowing myself to feel sorry for myself. They were from my frustration at myself for allowing my expenses and debt to become a bit of a burden to bear right now.

As I said earlier – some of it is our own doing, some of it isn’t. My mind is busy telling myself I need to compare to everyone around me – I need to want all the things – I need to not wait or deny myself things I should have or could have or need to have right now.

While at the same time my mind is also telling me that I don’t deserve to have a nice car, I don’t deserve to take a nice vacation with my hubby, or vacations with my family… It’s telling me I already have too much and I need to get rid of half (if not more) of all the “crap” already in my house and in my position. 

This year my word of the year is Happy. What is happy? What defines happy? What is keeping me from happy? What does society define as happy? What do I personally inside define as happy? What if I already am AT peak happy, but think I’m not and I’m left endlessly trying to do and achieve more to reach a level of happy that might not even exist?

Yeah – an intentional deep dive into all things “happy” is on my agenda for myself this year, and I’m well into that journey. Which is a whole different blog post for another day…

But I am sure I am not the only one wrestling with want and need and desire and dreams and the complexity of wisely using and spending of our talents and resources. And so I share tonight of my own struggles and my own tears, not for pity or to be all woe is me, but to just extend a hand, a hug, a sliver of understanding and love in a really complex world of hard realities right now.

Adulting is hard. Really really hard. I don't like it right now. At all. Or at least one side of my brain is telling me I don't like it and it's not bringing me any happiness. But I'm starting to secretly wonder if it's not all (or surely as much as it's telling me) actually as "horribly unhappy" as my mind is feeding me to believe.

Carry on sweet beautiful warriors. One day at a time. One hour at a time. And no, nothing in life and love and death make sense right now, none of it, and you are not alone in your war of crazy and complicated reasoning within.

Previous blog post { Palm Sunday  } Here

Next blog post {October Infant and Childloss Awareness} HERE

Palm Sunday

Palm Sunday is hard. It’s always hard.

Nine years ago Faith was stillborn on Palm Sunday weekend. We would watch church from home, all of us sitting on our couch, numb, while watching the children waving the palm branches and singing Hosannah on the Highest, and then hearing the announcement about us… about Faith… No one knew I had even been pregnant.

Their first announcement of her life was of her loss… of her already being in the arms of Jesus.

As the years continued, Easter has always been hard. The season of Lent basically the season of her life as we knew her. Her first birth day was the following years Easter Sunday. The continued passing of the years and the waving of palm branches always a squeeze on my heart as I remember her, remember the horrible details of this entire journey.

And I am always pricked by the reality that there is one less child up there waving her palm branch and singing.

Yes, selfishly I want her here on earth with us. And yet… And yet, I am also always struck with the thought – and what if she had lived and wasn’t healthy? I am already so tired and so weary living THIS current life, however would we have continued through life caring for a sick child as well? I’m also always stuck with the thought that why would anyone wish a life on earth vs a life in heaven? The pain, the sickness, the corruption, the endless difficulties… Why would we not actually be rejoicing that she didn’t have to suffer through any of this – why are we not just beyond grateful when she opened her eyes she was already in the arms of Jesus, pain free, disease and sickness free.

Disease and sickness free – something she never once knew. She bore the burden and fate of Trisomy 18 from the very moment her first cell divided into her very existence. Sin in its most horrible state as it struck to the very marrow of the most innocent.

And yet, despite that reality – I will fully admit I still selfishly wish her in my own arms.

Today as I stood in church there were tears on my cheeks as I watched all the children and their palm branches. I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to still be hiding in the dark in my bed. And I couldn’t sing the words to all the songs praising God in all His greatness and goodness. He is. I know He is. But some days are just hard to put physical words to that when what is in my heart and soul is anything but praising His goodness.  I just could not open my mouth and sing of His goodness.

In my non-singing this morning, I was struck with a thought ~
I am not the only one who lost a child this week.

Two thousand years ago God also watched and witnessed the journey of losing His son, losing His child this very same week. He watched the pain and the suffering, and I’m sure His heart also broke wide open in the pain and sorrow we feel and experience here on earth upon our losses.

It was His plan all along. He gave His son to die. He created His son to die. To die for me… for you… for each and every one of us. And I really stopped and sat with that for a while. I’ve not thought of GOD’s grief much before. He was a father who watched His son suffer and die. He was a father who hurt and grieved just like we do. He knows the pain. He is also a loss papa.

I admit I think often of my funeral. Maybe not so much about my death, those details aren’t of concern or on my thought radar really. But the funeral itself, the happening, the event… that’s common conversation with me – both in my head and with my family and friends.

I have a notebook. It’s in my underwear drawer. It has all my funeral details in it. It’s a continual work in progress. I’m always adding little notes to it. The clothes, the coffin, the verses, the songs, the flowers, the colors, the earrings, the fingernails, the food, the drink, the coffee mugs, the little bits about my obit…

I’m not planning it in any morbid way. I’m not “planning” planning it. (I’m not suicidal or anything of that sort.) But I am ready. I am ready for Heaven. I want my celebration of life to be easy for those closest to me, and I want it to be a genuine and real celebration of my life.

As I sit here writing, I realize I have so much more I want to write, to share… There is so very much in my life that I have not documented, have not shared, have not blogged as I would have liked over the last years.

I am deep in my season of hard. Deeper yet in my season of busy. It’s been a rough go lately. Not that all things are negative and horrible… but we’ve been trudging through some pretty significant things that I’ve not taken the time to share about. My running, my health and wellness, Brian’s health and wellness, the teenager, the grandbabe, my cake business, my word of the year, trips and vacations we’ve taken, our current car saga, thoughts and stories of hurts and joys and triumphs and frustrations and celebrations...

Through all these things I’ve had to let my love for blogging and sharing currently just not be a part of this current season of busy. Someday perhaps it will be different. Someday perhaps I’ll have time to write my book, update my blog, share my life and loves and wisdom through my love of words. But that is not this season.

So I will pop on now and again out of the blue with an update or two for now, probably Faith specific. And today the world is a little harder, and a little heavier, so I will take the time to say a few words as we continue to walk forward into another Faith week this week. Another Easter season. Another Palm Sunday. Another birth day to be celebrated without her here with us in our house, at our table, in our lives.

Our sermon today naturally talked of palm branches. And that they signify the recognition of hope and future. That Jesus is coming. That whatever is holding us down right now, He will lift us up from… Lift me up from, lift you up from.... When the tears fall from our eyes, may we welcome Him into our hearts.

When I walked out of church, I found my heart still aching, my soul still dreading trudging through this week, the tang of my bitterness still lingering within me… but for the first time in nine years, I also walked out feeling slightly different about my thoughts on palm branches and Palm Sunday.

And... perhaps I need to add a little note in the notebook to incorporate a few palm branches here and there at my funeral.

Previous Blog Post { Back To Basics } HERE

Back to Basics

After another long hiatus of silence from me, here I am jumping on to leave a few words and thoughts, and I never quite know where to even start. So much has happened, so much to tell and explain and share between then and now… but for now I guess we skip the majority of the “then” and touch on a little of the “now.”

I’d love to promise I will come back and fill in all the missing stories and moments, but as much as I love writing and long to actually be a writer and write, I’m just too busy right now. Well, I’ve always been too busy, and I know I will always continue to be too busy to be a "real" writer (you know, how I'm always going to be too slow to be a "real" runner)… so you will just continue to get a few random ramblings here and there from me, and that’s all I’ve got to give. 

Even though I would love it to be more.

So, this morning marks day number three in a row that I got myself out of bed to workout. And for years and years and years – I went never ever missing three days in a row of working out.

And yet, here I am. I’m in the heavy shadows of turning fifty, and I’ve found myself in a year of just not caring, not trying, giving up perhaps.

I’ve gained the weight and lost the muscle. I’ve let go of my endurance and let all goals float off into the wind, and perimenopause didn't even knock, she just walked on in and took a seat - and has never left.

I recently had my phone crash and I lost everything on it. All the photos, all the videos, all the apps. Some I was able to restore, most of it all just gone. Starting back over. Reset to factory settings. I lost my runkeeper app, and with that I lost over 13,000 workout entries, which equaled I don’t even know how many miles logged. I gave my son my garmin watch at the beginning of his cross country season this fall. He reset it and started over with his current running journey coursing through it. All of my miles and stats gone.

The same day my phone crashed, my computer also crashed (not related oddly enough) and they had to wipe my entire computer and set it all back to original settings, all data lost. It’s been a bit of a slow painful journey trying to just get back up and working again on my phone and computer. Passwords, work, files, documents, apps… all needing to be reinstalled, resaved, reset up.

Back to the basics.

Recently I also found myself transitioning from working from home for the last three and a half years – to having to work back in the office. Oh and I also transitioned to working a second job again full time as I reopened and launched my full time cake and cupcake side gig business (we need the money, it's just as simple as that). OH and I also changed jobs at my full time job within the last month - and all the stress in which that entails while transitioning back to the office. I’m still working at the same company, but a different job. I am now actually back to working at my very original first full time job in my career as a graphic artist – as a junior designer. I worked in that position for fourteen years, and would unexpectedly not return to work after we adopted our son. His care needs were more than we had expected and childcare ended up needing to be done by me, at home. I transitioned from full time working mom to full time work from home mom with a teenager and an infant and growing a tiny little cake decorating side gig into a full time career, at least for a few years.

Ten years (minus two days) later I would find myself back at full time office work back at the same company. I stepped into an art admin roll after someone retired. Five years later, another wonderful friend and employee retired, and I decided to apply and try return to my original full time artist / designer position.

During all of this transition of back to office and applying for a new job, I also found myself on the other end of a phone call from a distraught husband I needed to pick up on some random gravel road outside of town and rush him to the emergency room where I sat on a hard metal chair watching all the doctors and nurses clamor and poke and administer textbook heart attack procedures on my forty-two year old husband.

As I sat there I was asked if he had his power of attorney paperwork in place, because it wasn’t in their computer. Power of attorney? For my husband? No. No, that had never been discussed or thought about. We are both busy doing all of that exact paperwork things for both of our parents right now, this was supposed to be a call about my dad first – not my husband. Not now, not yet.

Long story short – we’re about a month out from all of that now… He is home and we are grateful all testing came back showing no heart damage. He is back to work, he is eating many more salads, and you know what – we still haven’t had that conversation or done anything about that power of attorney stuff for us yet…

Although, I did finally fill out and turn in all the paperwork to try get a passport. I said I would never get one, mostly because I wanted the excuse to never have to travel somewhere where God would use me and wreck me entirely (this is the honest to God truth). My hubby may have also gone to the travel agent and booked a resort trip for us in Mexico over my birthday and our twentieth anniversary this upcoming March.

Funny story, I got the mail earlier this week – and in it was a letter that my passport application had been rejected. I will leave the rest of this story for another blog post ;-)

I’m working a new job, we’re battling surviving day to day with an angry, hard to love teenager (whom, by the way, we love to the ends of the world and back which is just a hard hard journey for us right now), that is just finishing a long field marching band and cross country season, my hubby is working on stepping forward with his health journey, we have a beautiful granddaughter and my oldest son and his amazing wife – and I've found myself too busy to see them for weeks, which I realized as I stepped into the emergency room waiting room and seeing them for the first time after probably six weeks. My heart aches that I can’t be a better grandma in this season for them, but I praise the Lord daily that they are currently so so blessed with health and happiness and are just getting to love living their lives loving the Lord and others so well right now.

And in all of this… I walked away from my health journey.  Maybe I ran away, maybe I let it slip away.  However it happened... I am very much currently ..."away"....

I entered January 2022 absolutely exhausted, burned out, done. I was done chasing the miles and the steps and the calories and the macros… I knew I needed to dial back, but didn’t know how. I spent all of 2022 trying to just do less and figure out how to be more (or “enough”) in that “less.” I battled how to do less and not be “less than.” I’m still battling that, and I’m sure I probably always will be.

I entered 2023 training with a RunDisney Princess Weekend event registration, and plane tickets and vacation plans made to check off the biggest bucket list wish off my goals and dreams. Before I crossed the final finish line of that event, I had already registered for one more attempt to cross off yet another bucket list event, the elusive Deadwood SD Half Marathon. The race I had registered for in 2019 (couldn't get off work) and 2020 (covid canceled) and 2021 (oldest got married that weekend) and 2022 (my first grandbaby was born that weekend) – so I had yet to actually run this race.

In an epic adventure with a bestie I actually finally crossed that finish line in June 2023, and I walked away and never ran again.

Ok, that’s maybe a tiny bit exaggerated, but not by much.

I was (am) registered for nothing. I had (have) nothing to train for. I was (am) exhausted mentally, physically, spiritually…. And I rested. I spent the entire summer resting. I didn’t get up early. I didn’t work out. I didn’t really do anything, except rest in this unending state of survival.

My mind tells my I'm lazy. I'm weak. I'm not enough. I'm not worthy.  I try not listen, as I eat the chips and desserts and hit the snooze over and over and over again.

Suddenly it’s another October. The weight is back on. The demons in my head have almost stopped fighting with the other side telling me to get up, show up, shape up…

Why? Why care? Why try? Why eat the vegetables? Why drink the water? Why lift the weights and run the miles? Just be done with it all. Eat the cake, drink the alcohol and just stop caring.

And yet… deep down, I do care. And that little voice holding my “why” in its hand, is still on occasion whispering to me my health is important, and that I do actually still care.

Three days ago my alarm went off and I actually got myself out of bed and went down and struggled through a few slow ridiculously hard miles. It was worse than I remember it was when I started all those years and years ago.

I told myself (for the millionth time) it was another day one. Another starting over. But where do you even start at this point? So, I told myself – I was simply going to just work at getting back to the basics.

A little bit of intentional movement every day. Meditation every day. And back to the very basic of intermittent fasting every day. 16:8 / 7pm-11am. That’s all I can offer to allow myself to start with.

I haven't downloaded any of the tracking apps again (maybe in time I will, I don't know). Do I post sweaty selfies again on social media?  Does anyone care?  Do I actually care if anyone does or doesn't care? I don't know.  I honestly don't know anything right now.

Forget about the half marathons and full marathons I’ve trained for and run. Forget about the weight I have lost. Forget about the run streaks and nutrition logged every single days for years and years and years.

It’s all gone from my phone. It’s all gone, period. Time to turn back around and just take the next best step forward. Slow. Hard. Awkward. Sad. Frustrating. Just simply back to the basics.  Again.

Yesterday my alarm went off, and I got up again. I put on the running gear and I drug myself through some sunrise miles. I can’t even remember the last time I’d done that.

This morning, day three… my alarm went off. I didn’t get up. I went back to sleep. But then I DID get up and I DID get in a few miles and I woke up the grumpy teenager and said we were going to in person church (I faithfully watch church every week, it's just so much easier to watch from home then actually walk in and worship in person).

And we DID arrive, and we DID walk in two minutes late (because of teenager negotiations to get him in the car) and my dad who works at the church was so excited to see us arrive, which made my heart hurt a little – and he told us there was still room by mom in their normal back pew.

We walked in slightly late, while all of the little children were singing their hearts out up front (and in the thirteen steps from the back door to the middle back pew my heart squeezed tight knowing our little Faith was not up there singing with all the kiddos that should have been her classmates) and I sat down right next to my mom. In the same church, and same back row of the same church I attended all through my childhood.  The church I have recently returned back to (two years ago) after attending (and working at) another church in town regularly for most of my adult life.

Oh the things we run from... and the things we return home to...

A little later, my dad snuck in on the end and I found myself sitting between my parents, just like my childhood, only it was my teenage son beside me instead of my teenage brother.

Talk about back to basics.

I listened to my parents sing, my mom handed out mentos candies after the sermon started. I opened the Bible. I sang the Doxology.

It’s as back to the basics as I can get right now. It’s all I can try for, hope for. Another day one. Another start to hopefully another season of health journey for me.

Will I get up when the alarm goes off tomorrow? I don’t know.

I don’t know how to even start over – how to place healthy boundaries between myself and my expectations of myself. How to figure out the inner balance between perfection and self love and acceptance.

I’m not good at this. I should be, after having to start over again and again and again so many times in this damn life of mine. I want to say I’ve failed again, but I haven’t failed.

I’ve lived. And I've loved.  And I’m one who does all of that with all of my heart. I’m an all in or all out person.

And now... I just need to work on how to get back to being all in after being all out for so long.

Previous Blog Post { Narry a Real Runner }.  HERE

Nary A Real Runner

So. I have officially crossed off two of my top bucket list items in the past few months; Doing a live RunDisney marathon weekend, and the Deadwood SD Mickelson Trail Marathon weekend.

I can’t decide if it’s a good feeling, or more of an odd feeling, to be on this side of them after so long working towards them. At the moment, while my legs are still incredibly sore (my legs are "blown" is the term I always use when they feel this way) and I’m still dragging my tired body along behind me as I attempt to recover and reenter the land of “living” again, I would strongly say it’s an odd feeling.

Slightly good and gratifying, while slightly sad and maybe even a bit … scary.

So what is next?
You know… I actually don’t know. And I guess that is both a little scary and a whole lot freeing.

I do have other things on my bucket list other than running. Witnessing the Northern Lights in person, going to a hot air balloon night showing, photographing eagles in the wild, and writing a book are still on there. I suppose I could start looking into those a little closer now. I don’t know.

Oh, and I know I still owe my oldest a trip to the top of the St Louis Arch, because I was too scared to do it with him that one time we stopped there when he was little and I was a single parent. Ugh, my gut still aches just thinking about that one. Sorry kiddo. So so sorry.

I do feel I need to circle back just a minute to finish processing this latest “accomplishment” – which is something I admit I have a bit of a hard time saying, or giving myself the due credit for… since the initial intent was far from the final outcome. Five years. Five years ago I first registered for this race in Deadwood, SD. On paper, it looked to be the perfect race. Early summer, downhill course, beautiful scenery. (*side note to add now that my feet have run it in person and not just my eyes running it on paper - do not be deceived... this is not a cake walk race by any means... and it is not all downhill, no matter what that elevation map shows.)

(Ok back to five years ago...) Surely I could train hard core all winter and spring and blow a sub 2 PR (aka: I could run the whole race in under two hours time, which would be a new personal record for my best time.). Because, for whatever reason, in my mind if I could achieve a sub 2 – then maybe I could actually consider myself a "real runner."

I didn’t get to run this race five years ago. Or 4 – or 3 – or 2 – or 1 year ago either for that matter (although I was registered for them all...) Five years ago I did get a 2:02 finish at a race in Minnesota in mid June, and that is the best this body would ever be able to give me. So close, but… nary a “real runner” … (so says the demons in my head).

I think what was the most difficult for me with this race… that I knew going in, that the final outcome would be nowhere close to what I had originally hoped/planned for when I had initially registered. I’m older, more tired, ankle and back injuries, covid, anxiety, weight gain (I won’t continue – you get the point…)

At the very first stop we made as we traveled there, I found a mug that said "You are enough." Enough. Just as I already am. I bought that mug as this trip's theme mug... It was just perfect.

I went. I ran. I walked. I finished. I gave it all I had. It was very far from a sub 2. But after five years, it’s officially done and crossed off the list. So there is that.  And that is probably one of the main reasons I didn't tell anyone I was going to do this race weekend. I already knew I was going to disappoint myself (well, disappoint that annoying self inside me that nags on me continuously for perfection), surely I didn't want anyone else to know about it. And I was too scared to hype it up, to yet again have something come up to keep me from even starting it.

It left me with only the pressure of performance within myself, which I also knew, was thee only pressure there was. No one else could care less how I did, and I was more than fully aware of that.  Me against myself ... that thing that makes me both the best me and the worst me, all at the same time.

But, the best thing happened on that trip – which would have never happened any of the five years prior – I got to be there and watch my friend cross the start AND finish lines to both her first 5K and first half marathon! Too amazing and fun for words. Honestly. So proud of her grit and determination and love for all things.  I loved getting to do this adventure with her! I loved getting to climb onto all the school busses with her and stand at the start lines with her. And I loved watching her enter the finishers chute and crossing those finish lines... priceless.

No, this WASN’T the same race in any aspect as it would have been five years ago. Different stages of life, different paces, different goals, different people along, different outlook, different runners registered … and yet – the same race. The same path, the same miles, the same start and finish lines.

I will never have a sub 2 half, but I will always have the memory of her firsts. And the second, I’m sure will forever be far more filling for my soul than the first ever would have been.

And yes, I know... "real runners" aren't classified by the times and paces, they are classified by the blood and grit and determination that move us forward, one foot in front of the other, over and over - until you reach the finish line.  (I'm totally stealing my friends quote here!)

And in full honesty, I am pretty sure this was my last in person half marathon I will do.  I have been cycling through race registrations and race training now for a lot of years.  Today, right now, is the first time I have not been registered to run something... to have to train for something hard that I would do within the next twelve weeks.

I've done that on purpose, so I wouldn't (couldn't?) stop pushing myself and making myself continue forward.  When I crossed the finish at runDisney - I was already registered for the Deadwood Half, so I knew I wasn't done, I knew it would be a small week off to recover, and then I would need to get back at it.  Back to the early morning and the long miles.  The weight lifting and the perfection slave driver inside me drilling me over and over on what I should be doing, what I needed to be doing, what I was supposed to be doing...

But this time I went in knowing it would probably be my last.  When I crossed the line this time, there was nothing "next" waiting for me to have to train for.  I don't have a "next" right now.  Except walking, for some reason walking just sounds so amazing to me, so I think I'm just going to rest and walk and wait and see what my "next" is going to end up being.

Don't worry - I'm sure I'll keep you posted!

Previous blog post { Too Tired To Hate Myself Anymore } HERE