Repost: Losing Their Childhood

Last week I was at a party and a friend introduced me. "This is Susan. She's married to Jamy and they have the most perfect family." I smiled and shook hands, but inwardly I had a million thoughts swirling in my head. It would have been awkward, but had I been honest in those moments, I would have corrected her. "Hi, I'm Susan. Actually our family has been through a lot - hell actually. Lovely to meet you!" The crazy thing is I think most of us have assumptions about others: the pristine lives we see on social media or sitting in a pew at church. And the reality is we could all probably introduce ourselves in a similar way: Hello, I'm Susan. I'm a hot mess most days. You?

I wrote this blog two years ago and thought I would share again. Sometimes you need to dispel the myth of perfection. Other times you need to let others know they're not alone. And as a parent, we all need encouragement that we're not ruining our kids; more importantly, that our job isn't to save them. Our family, specifically our marriage, has been through a hot mess. And it's had tremendous impact on our children; they've lost a lot. But today, even years after beginning to process this, I can honestly say that God has been faithful. Not just to Jamy and I, but to Isabelle and Jackson.

It's been awhile since I've shared a more personal post here. Much of it has to do with so many beautiful adoption stories to share of my adoptive families. And if I'm honest, some of it is because it's hard to put into words what's been happening in our family. And hard to put in such a public space. But I've learned these last few years that transparency has been freeing and healing for our family and for my heart. And if I boil it down, the real goal of this blog is to tell stories of God's goodness, for adoptive families and my own.

It's no secret our family has been through a lot. Just click on the marriage tab on the blog and you'll get a glimpse into our story. One of the hardest things about going through a crisis as a family is watching our kids lose some of their childhood. They've had to deal with hard things, lost some innocence, had to deal with loss, and experienced things no one would choose for their children. 

The conversations we've had to have with them are hard enough to have with adult or even teenage children. But having them in grade school has been challenging. We've begged God for wisdom, and received godly counsel. We've fumbled through hundreds of questions that make you catch your breath and say a quick prayer asking for divine insight and direction before answering. And shepherding little hearts when you have a broken heart yourself is hard and exhausting.

As a mother, if I'm honest, it's been heartbreaking. Jamy and I have recently been grieving the loss of some of our kid's childhood in the midst of all of this. It's easy to think we've failed as parents. That our sin and brokenness has ruined them for life.

But this is not the whole story. This hasn't been all that's included in loss.

My kids are learning and experiencing the gospel in real and personal ways. When we talk about God's redemptive power, we note ways he has redeemed our family. When we talk about how God is our refuge, we can list ways we've run to him and ways he's cared for us. When we talk about miracles, we can point to amazing events in our family.

Gathered around the dinner table, we can talk and laugh and remember all of the ways God has cared for us. Huddled over them tucked in their beds we can whisper the promises again that He's given us. Crying on the couch we can cry out to God together asking Him to continue to be near.

Just last weekend for Father's Day, Jamy sat the family down and acknowledged the reality that this side of Heaven, all celebrations are tinged with some sort of grief. We talked about our past year and he gave us all gifts; leather cords to remind us how strong our family can be together with God's help (A cord of three stands is not easily broken. Ecclesiastes 4:12). We've learned that a good father points to an even better one. That our parenting isn't amazing because of what we do, but directs them to their desperate need for a Savior.

We've been knit together as a family. Going though hard things together has bonded us in incredible ways. Our kids come to us with questions, knowing they can ask anything and we'll always have an honest (and age-appropriate) answer. We often talk about fears and faith. We talk through hard things. And they are learning that we are a team; always working together for the good of our family.

My prayer is that when they look back at this season in their young lives, they can pinpoint the space when their faith became their own, they experienced Jesus in a real and personal way, and they grew to understand the gospel more fully. And looking back over these last several years and thinking about what I really want for my children, I realize my deepest desires are actually being met. Both Isabelle and Jackson came to trust Jesus during this time. 

Would I have ever chosen this for my kids? Never. Was it God's plan for sin and brokenness to rock our family? I don't think so. But in his sovereignty, he has worked it all for our good and His glory, even for Isabelle and Jackson.

Maybe your story is a bit like ours. Your family has experienced some kind of loss and walked through things you would have never chosen if you could have written it yourself. When I think of the times of the deepest change in my life, when I learned to trust Jesus even more, it's aways during seasons of suffering and hardship. At the end of the day, I can rest in the truth that God has been sovereign over our suffering; even our kid's.

So my kids have lost some of their childhood. But they've gained a personal and deep knowledge of a God who loves them. A Rescuer who saves them. A Redeemer who restores them. A Heavenly Father who never leaves them. 

An Interview on Beauty in Brokenness

Recently I had the chance to be interviewed by Breanna, a client turned dear friend, for a new blog series, "Redefining Beauty." Here's the beginning of our chat and the link for the full interview...

BB: Tell me a little bit of your story.

SV: I had always envisioned our 10 year wedding anniversary as one big romantic celebration. When you’re a newlywed at 21, 10 years married sounds like such a huge accomplishment and so incredibly far away. I pictured us on some extravagant trip somewhere, all smiles and reminiscing about our last 10 years and dreaming of the years to come. But our ten year anniversary turned out incredibly different than I imagined. Instead of celebrating somewhere on a beach, I was alone, with two young children, and wondering if our marriage would make it to year eleven. I had been blindsided with the sin that had crept into my husband’s heart, our marriage, and our family.

Instead of the blissful ten year anniversary I had planned on, we started year 10 of our marriage separated.  I was a single mom, wondering if my husband would ever come home.  We were far from celebrating our marriage: we were fighting for it...

READ THE REST OF THE INTERVIEW HERE: Easy Like Sunday Morning

Fighting for Redemption

Sometimes I write blogs in my head or draft them out completely and never get around to posting them. I recently found this unpublished post and decided this one was worth it to come back to, even though it's dated. I wrote it over two years ago, right in the midst of our mess. I should say one of our messes. One of the spaces where I was desperately praying for my husband to believe the Gospel and wondering if our marriage would survive his unbelief. A season where I literally felt like I was fighting for our lives. 

I'm not sure why I never got around to hitting "publish" on this one. Maybe because it felt too vulnerable. Maybe because we were in the thick of it and it's hard to be that honest on top of all the other feelings when you feel so raw and tired. 

And I'm not sure why I'm hitting "publish" now on some of these brief thoughts I had awhile ago. Other than as a reminder to myself and those who might read it that fighting for redemption is always worth it, even if you don't know how it will work out in the end...

Disclaimer: I'm using these words to preach the gospel to myself today.

Our family is in a tough season. A hard space where all of the stuff you always talk about happening and preparing for "just in case" we're actually living. I’ve hesitated to share much of our family’s last year on the blog. But we're right in the thick of it: in the midst of heartache and healing.

There are unknowns and we're unsure of a lot of what the future holds for our family and our lives. In this constant state of uncertainty, it can lend to feelings of fear, loneliness, and even despair. But there are truths that are just as true today as they were last week, and last year, and hundreds of years ago. God's promises of faithfulness and loving kindness are some of the only things I cling to and that make sense in the midst of this kind of chaos.

Redemption is beautiful but long. We've been in this season for years. A dear friend recently described it as long-suffering and I feel every ounce of those words. Merriam-Webster defines long-suffering as "patiently enduring lasting offense or hardship." Admittedly the patient part of that doesn't resonate with me as much as the enduring hardship does. But knowing that God promises that our suffering is not meaningless changes everything. God's promises that "suffering produces endurance produces character, and character produces hope" (Romans 5:3-4). In this space I am banking that this kind of suffering is valuable and meaningful.

Redemption can also be lonely. I've found our family's healing has come in ripples. It starts with Jamy's heart, moves into our marriage, then our kids, and eventually out into our extended family, friendships, and church community. It's easy to get overwhelmed at all we have ahead of us. There are relationships to heal, forgiveness to ask for and to extend, and hard conversations to have. If I'm honest, I'm not sure some of those relationships are still there or will be fully restored. In the midst of waiting for the ripples, sometimes I feel stuck in the middle of where the pebble (or bomb) originally dropped feeling very alone. It's during these times I rest in the Psalms, especially where I read that God is close to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18) and a constant refuge and help (Psalm 46:1).

My prayer is that someday in the future,  I can look back and see redemption in this long and lonely space in our life.

But if not, he is still good.

In this time, he has been good and faithful, generous and gracious, kind and so, so near.  He has been enough for our family.

He has been enough for my husband.

He has been enough for my kids.

And he has been enough for me.

I'm learning redemption can look different than the way I would like it, or picture it. As agonizing as it can be, I want to trust Jesus for redemption and restoration, even if I won't see it fully this side of Heaven...

Two years after this original post, I can tell you that the Gospel transformed (and is transforming) our marriage. But reading my own words, I know that the real miracle isn't a transformed marriage. If you're reading this today and your future is unclear, know that your fight to hold on to Hope, to trust God's promises to you, and to believe the Gospel is always worth it. You might not know how this season will end, but we already know the end of the story.

God always wins.

He always gets glory.

And He never leaves or forsakes us in the midst of it.

I Prayed for Cancer

It was a selfish prayer. And an ignorant one.

But there was a time when I actually prayed I had breast cancer instead of going through hardship in our marriage. Maybe it was more a common thought that invaded my heart more than an actual prayer. But one that came up often.

It would be easier I thought. I could manage chemo and hospital stays. I could have something identifiable and easy to attack. It's easier to talk with kids about sick bodies than sick hearts. Mostly I thought it would be easier because people know what to do with cancer. Everyone knows someone who has wrestled through it: a friend or a family member. And you bake them casseroles and you take them to chemo and you watch their kids. Culture knows what to do with cancer. But culture doesn't know what to do with a broken marriage. Especially when the two people in the broken marriage don't want to give up. And the brokenness lasts awhile and the healing takes longer than everyone else has time for.

Please tell me I'm not the only one. That others like to try to pick and choose their suffering too. We tell ourselves THAT thing wouldn't be as bad, or as hard, or as painful. What would you rather? Infertility? Cancer? A broken marriage? A lost child? It's all crazy-making, isn't it? To pretend we could "handle" one form of suffering "better" or "easier." That we could bear up under the weight of THAT thing better than THIS thing.

Because the truth is we've all be touched by some kind of suffering. Suffering we never would have "picked" if we had some kind of choice in the matter. Brokenness we've walked through since we're walking in a broken world, wrecked by sin and the fall. And none of us had a chance to sign up for what we thought would be the easiest or could handle ahead of time.

It's easy to look around at other's lives, envious of their "lesser sufferings" or self-righteous that we're "doing so much better." But comparison can be deadly. It can create bitterness, anger, and resentment. It contends for contentment and joy in our hearts. 

Instead of pushing away from the pain we can lean into Jesus right in the midst of it. "I'm not a theologian or a scholar," Elizabeth Elliot once said, "but I am very aware of the fact that pain is necessary to all of us. In my own life, I think I can honestly say that out of the deepest pain has come the strongest conviction of the presence and the love of God." 

What if, in the midst of my suffering, I didn't ask for less of it, but more of God?

So, slowly, my prayer changed. Instead of asking for a different kind of suffering, or for the suffering to stop altogether, my prayers have dramatically shifted. Desperate for more of God right in the middle of things. Begging him to be near and enough. Focusing instead of changing my circumstances on the outside to changing me on the inside. Asking him to make me more like him in the midst of it all. 

I used to think God sent or allowed certain specific suffering to touch me because he needed to teach me a lesson. He was the "teacher" in the sky and I was the student on the ground. And the "lessons" would just keep coming until I finally passed the test. Although I think there can be seasons like that, I see God much differently now. More as a loving Father, heartbroken beside me as the suffering in the world impacts me and my family. Walking with me, holding me through it. 

I don't think I'll ever embrace or cherish the specific suffering I've walked through (or have yet to walk through). But I can cherish a sweet Savior who promises to walk with me. Who promises that he works all things for my good and His glory. And who promises that nothing ever happens outside of His sovereignty and care.

I don't have to pray for a different kind of suffering. I just have to pray for more of God in the midst of it.

Losing Their Childhood

It's been awhile since I've shared a more personal post here. Much of it has to do with so many beautiful adoption stories to share of my adoptive families. And if I'm honest, some of it is because it's hard to put into words what's been happening in our family. And hard to put in such a public space. But I've learned these last few years that transparency has been freeing and healing for our family and for my heart. And if I boil it down, the real goal of this blog is to tell stories of God's goodness, for adoptive families and my own.

It's no secret our family has been through a lot. Just click on the marriage tab on the blog and you'll get a glimpse into our story. One of the hardest things about going through a crisis as a family is watching our kids lose some of their childhood. They've had to deal with hard things, lost some innocence, had to deal with loss, and experienced things no one would choose for their children. 

The conversations we've had to have with them are hard enough to have with adult or even teenage children. But having them in grade school has been challenging. We've begged God for wisdom, and received godly counsel. We've fumbled through hundreds of questions that make you catch your breath and say a quick prayer asking for divine insight and direction before answering. And shepherding little hearts when you have a broken heart yourself is hard and exhausting.

As a mother, if I'm honest, it's been heartbreaking. Jamy and I have recently been grieving the loss of some of our kid's childhood in the midst of all of this. It's easy to think we've failed as parents. That our sin and brokenness has ruined them for life.

But this is not the whole story. This hasn't been all that's included in loss.

My kids are learning and experiencing the gospel in real and personal ways. When we talk about God's redemptive power, we note ways he has redeemed our family. When we talk about how God is our refuge, we can list ways we've run to him and ways he's cared for us. When we talk about miracles, we can point to amazing events in our family.

Gathered around the dinner table, we can talk and laugh and remember all of the ways God has cared for us. Huddled over them tucked in their beds we can whisper the promises again that He's given us. Crying on the couch we can cry out to God together asking Him to continue to be near.

Just last weekend for Father's Day, Jamy sat the family down and acknowledged the reality that this side of Heaven, all celebrations are tinged with some sort of grief. We talked about our past year and he gave us all gifts; leather cords to remind us how strong our family can be together with God's help (A cord of three stands is not easily broken. Ecclesiastes 4:12). We've learned that a good father points to an even better one. That our parenting isn't amazing because of what we do, but directs them to their desperate need for a Savior.

We've been knit together as a family. Going though hard things together has bonded us in incredible ways. Our kids come to us with questions, knowing they can ask anything and we'll always have an honest (and age-appropriate) answer. We often talk about fears and faith. We talk through hard things. And they are learning that we are a team; always working together for the good of our family.

My prayer is that when they look back at this season in their young lives, they can pinpoint the space when their faith became their own, they experienced Jesus in a real and personal way, and they grew to understand the gospel more fully. And looking back over these last several years and thinking about what I really want for my children, I realize my deepest desires are actually being met. Both Isabelle and Jackson came to trust Jesus during this time. 

Would I have ever chosen this for my kids? Never. Was it God's plan for sin and brokenness to rock our family? I don't think so. But in his sovereignty, he has worked it all for our good and His glory, even for Isabelle and Jackson.

Maybe your story is a bit like ours. Your family has experienced some kind of loss and walked through things you would have never chosen if you could have written it yourself. When I think of the times of the deepest change in my life, when I learned to trust Jesus even more, it's aways during seasons of suffering and hardship. At the end of the day, I can rest in the truth that God has been sovereign over our suffering; even our kid's.

So my kids have lost some of their childhood. But they've gained a personal and deep knowledge of a God who loves them. A Rescuer who saves them. A Redeemer who restores them. A Heavenly Father who never leaves them. 

Storm Brewing

We recently bought our first piece of real art. We chose it to hang on a wall in our breakfast nook. It's one of my favorite rooms in our new house; bright with sun slanting through the windows in the afternoon. The previous owners had a huge canvas of lemons hanging there. I don't know much about art but I did know I didn't want lemons or the cliche garden or beach or trees. When we finally found this piece all I needed to do was point it out to Jamy. We both knew it would hang in our home; in this exact spot. As we were hanging it, we laughed that it made us feel like real grown ups.

It was a perfect fit. I love the colors and the movement. I love how the sunlight in the room catches the brush strokes. And I fell in love with it even more when I found out the artist titled it "Storm Brewing." Yes; this piece belongs in this house.

Hanging things on the wall is just the beginning of us settling in. I can't tell you how good it's been for our hearts to make this space into our home after all these past few years have held. A move across the country away from all we've known into what was undoubtedly the hardest season of our lives. On the front end, we had no idea what we were moving into. (And of course isn't that always how most stories go?) When we left all we knew in Michigan, there truly was a storm brewing.

Within a span of two years, we would lose the job, church, and community we moved across the county for. And it turns out that was only the beginning of the storm. The real tempest hit when sin and betrayal and hurt entered our marriage and our family. For the next few years we swirled in a storm trying to gain our footing. We went through seperations, counseling, shepherding our kids hearts (and our own) through grief and loss. We fought for our marriage and our family. We stumbled as we trudged through the rain and the wind and what sometimes felt like typhoons. 

Storms rage and can rip through homes with destruction. They cause chaos and leave a mess. And sometimes the storms are redemptive and cleansing and bring new life. Our storm did both.

It seems fitting to have this huge reminder in hanging in a place of such prominence in our home. Every day, I get a glimpse of a canvas that prompts me to remember how God used a storm to save our family.

It turns out the storm that was brewing in our family was beautiful.

A Letter to My Husband on Father's Day

This weekend is a big one for our family. Not only are we celebrating the Daddy in our house, but we're also celebrating his homecoming one year ago. One year ago Jamy returned home to our family after being gone for seven months. One year ago we were celebrating answered prayers, changed hearts, and a family forever changed.

This year, it's been good for my heart to look back. To be reminded of the work that God has done and continues to do in our family, and celebrate God's continuous work of redemption. This was the letter I wrote to Jamy last year on Father's Day and is just as true today.

Jamy,

So much has happened in our family since celebrating your last father's day. You've left our family and come back home.

But the father who left his children 7 months ago, the father who left his children even long before that, is not the father who has returned this Father's Day weekend.

You have come back stronger.

You're learning that strength is found in humility and admitting your weaknesses. That true strength is admitting you have none on your own and resting on God's work in your life.

You have come back braver.  

You have a quiet confidence; not in yourself, but in finding your identity in whose you are.  

You have come back transformed.

God's miraculous and redemptive work in your life has utterly changed you.  

The man you have become, and are becoming, is one that I'm incredibly proud of. The work you've done, and allowed God to do through you in these past several months had been nothing short of redemptive. It has begun to change you and the very fabric of our family in amazing and beautiful ways.

So on a day I would imagine it might be hard to look back and see the faults, the failings, and the pain, it's good to look forward at the new life God has given you as a father.

A new picture of what Jesus would look like with skin on in our house.

A new legacy to give your children of following hard after Jesus.

And when you keep passionately pursuing him, 

I will be proud if Jackson becomes a man who looks like you 

and and if Isabelle marries a man like you 

and someday they become fathers like you...

I love you, Jamy.  Happy Father's Day.

S

Adoption Stress and Your Marriage

There's no doubt the adoption process can add stress to a marriage. The high emotions, the hard work, and the wait of the adoption process can easily take a toll on your relationship.

So how do you nurture your relationship with your spouse while on the adoption journey? 

Do things outside of adoption 

Admit it. Much of your time has been spent focusing entirely on prepping for the baby. You've spent hours filling out paperwork and meeting with a social worker. You've registered for baby items, painted the nursery, and put together the crib. You've talked through birth parents and openness and discipline strategies. But there's a need to put everything adoption aside and enjoy things that bring you joy outside of your plans to add to your family.

Extend grace to each other

Adoption is hard; it can be emotionally and spiritually exhausting. When you're drained it's easy to be short with each other. Not to mention that most couples experience different emotions at different times. Fear, anxiety, and stress can hit us differently. Extending grace and kindness during these times will be critical to your home during this time.

Take care of yourself and each other

Self care is critical when you're on the road to adoption. Make sure you're doing what you need to to take care of yourself and pour into your marriage. Take long baths, read a good book, take a long run. As a couple plan date nights, take on a new hobby together, and maybe even take a babymoon before your little one arrives.

Remember what's important

Even when you add a child to your family, you'll have to take care of yourself and your marriage. There's truth in the reality that you won't have anything to give your child if you aren't taking the time to pour into yourself individually and as a couple. And there's tremendous peace in finding contentment right where you're at. Completing the paperwork, waiting on a match, sleepless nights with a newborn, and on and on life goes. No doubt adoption isn't the first struggle you've faced in your marriage and likely won't be the last. Learning how to do hard things together, side by side, will not only get you through the adoption process, but life.

It's Friday

Easter this year holds some new meaning for us. This time last year, Jamy was still gone. Easter Sunday was literally the first day we had all been together as a family since before Thanksgiving the year before.

I remember sitting in that reality on Good Friday a year ago today. God had just begun moving in huge ways. But there was still tremendous work to do. Unsure of the future, weary of the journey, and ready for God to do a miracle. the reality of Good Friday resonated with me in a new way. I needed Sunday to come in the most desperate way. 

And if we're honest, we've all been in that space. When we need hope like we need air to breath. When we need God to step in and heal the brokenness. When we need God to literally bring dead things to life.

It's the best worst day. Good Friday promises that God sent a Savior to step into our brokenness to redeem and rescue us.

When hope is lost.

When you are defeated.

When death wins.

God promises Sunday's comin'.

Making KC Our Home

I realized this morning that we've been in Kansas City now for six years. (Admittedly south of KC in Belton for much of that and now in the Overland Park/Leawood area but we claim Kansas City as our own.) With both of us growing up in Michigan, you would think we would consider that home. We lived our childhoods there, spent summers on the lakes, met and fell in love, made ourselves a home and had babies there. Three decades of memories were made in that mitten shaped state.

But without question Kansas City feels like home.

Maybe it's because we love the city. We love all it has to offer our family: the surprisingly rich culture smack in the middle of the US, the good BBQ, and the kindness of midwesterners. We love our jobs. We love our church. And we love the people we do life with.

But really it's because God has done miracles in our family in this city.

When we moved here six years ago, we thought we were moving for a job opportunity for Jamy. We left the first home we had made our own, packed up everything, and left all we knew to embark on an adventure. But those first 18 months here were far from what we expected. Our home took almost 2 years to sell which meant that much time paying for two homes and coming out upside down when it was all said and done. And the job opportunity we thought was a perfect fit and worth moving across country for turned out to be a tremendous disappointment.

We were heartbroken. After 18 months of being in Kansas City in just one hour we had lost a job, our church, our income, and the only community we knew. 

But that was only the beginning of the loss. In the next several months our marriage also unraveled.

It looked like our adventure had failed and we needed to head back to Michigan. Little did we know our adventure was just beginning. Because our journey didn't start when we packed up the moving van and drove from Michigan to Missouri. We thought God was calling us to a new state. But he was really calling us into a complete transformation that had more to do with our hearts than our address.

And the journey we were really taking was much more than a thirteen hour drive southwest. Over the next few years, God did miracles in our marriage. We discovered a school for our kids that not only provides an amazing education but also an extended family. We found a community through our church that lives out the gospel in real and tangible ways. We developed friendships that are rich and push us to trust Jesus. I've been blessed with incredible jobs in adoption that have left me doing something I love and honored to be a part of something so meaningful.

For our family, I believe God needed us to leave everything familiar and comfortable in order to do what he needed to in our hearts. To learn about the truth of the gospel and what it really means to trust him. To learn about grace and forgiveness. To learn the freedom of transparency and honesty. To see God's redemption and restoration of our family.

So for us, our move to Kansas City has meant more than a new space to raise our family. 

Our move to Kansas City has meant changed hearts, redemption, and miracles. 

I'm sure our adventures aren't over. But for now KC will always be the place where Jesus changed everything for our family.

Paris of the Plains from Tim Lair on Vimeo.

Home

It was one year ago this past week that he left. Again. One year ago the kids and I watched as Jamy left our home and didn't come back for seven months.

There is so much that could be said to fill in the huge gaps of that statement. And I'm sure someday I'll share much more of the details. But for now it's enough to say that when sin creeps into a heart, it creeps into a marriage, and a family, and has devastating consequences. And we lived through that devastation for a long time.

It's hard to put words to what going through a separation that long meant for our family. Being a single mama, grieving with my kids the tremendous loss of a husband and daddy, and praying for my husband every day to remember his identity in Jesus.

The short version is that Jesus did a miracle in our family. Primarily he did a miracle in my husband's heart that changed the trajectory of our family.

One year ago I literally didn't know if Jamy would ever come home. I had to think through the very real possibility of what it would look like to be a family of three and the kind of home I could afford as a single mom. The reality of living in a run down apartment and figuring out how to do life without a husband and a daddy in our home.

And then, over months of heartbreak and hard work and Jesus changing hearts, Jamy came home. He came home over Father's Day weekend and since then God has been knitting our hearts together like never before. The amazing work that God has been doing didn't happen overnight and we're still in the process of healing and looking to him to be our hope. But Jamy has been fervently pursuing righteousness, our marriage, and our kids. He is a different man than the one that left our family a year ago. 

When he came home, we started to dream together again. God had been restoring our hearts and our family and our dreams as a couple.

We decided to buy a home. Almost six years ago when we moved to Kansas City, we left the first home we had purchased together. It turns out the timing couldn't have been worse. We left at the height of the economic downturn: our home took eighteen months to sell and we took an enormous loss. It had taken us years to get out from under the mess and now we thought that by Spring we would be in a space to finally buy again.

But in the quiet of one summer night, I admitted to Jamy that I didn't want to do one more holiday season in our rental home. In the past three years, Jamy has been gone for Thanksgiving and Christmas twice. This space held more hard memories then happy ones; more heartbreak than celebration. But looking at our bank account and our timeframe meant that we would do one more holiday in that same space and I prayed that God would redeem it. But I was dreading the fall, when the winter creeps in and always reminds me of my husband's cold heart and the devastation to our family.

And then God, in his extravagant grace to our family, opened up opportunities for it to be wise for us to begin looking at homes. When we started looking we had no idea how amazing his timing would be. We looked at nine homes. The ninth one we looked at we knew was meant to be ours. It was listed on a Monday morning and by that night our offer was accepted. In less than a month we had moved in.

And in God's crazy goodness, we moved in the same week last year that Jamy left. 

This year instead of watching my husband drive away, I'm watching him pull in the driveway and get tackled by the kids who are eager that Daddy is home from a day at work. This year, instead of sitting alone at night, I'm cuddling on the couch with him in front of the fire and talking about what God is doing in our hearts and lives. This year, instead of making dinner for three of us, the four of us are cooking in the kitchen and dancing to the radio.

So this space in much more than a new house for our family. This is the space where we will call home. This is the space that we will fill with new, beautiful memories. This is the space where we continue to heal and God will continue to redeem and restore. This is the space where we will celebrate miracles. Incredible miracles God has already done and many more I'm sure he has in store for us.

Only God could take a devastating anniversary for our family and turn in into an all-out celebration of his extravagant grace and kindness to our family.

Only God could make this house our home. For all four of us.

Running the Race

This past weekend was an especially hard one for me. Our family has been on a long, hard, messy, and beautiful road to healing for the past several years. If you're not familiar with our story yet, it's a good one.

And it turns out, it's a long one. We were recently told the healing journey takes at least two to five years. Next week marks a two year anniversary of sorts and that means we're not even to the mid-point yet. Of course, that's an average, but it's been helpful for me to have a grid for my heart.

Recently, the weariness has been heavy.

The journey has been long.

And exhaustion has set in.

This weekend it all hit. Hard.

So I went on a run. To clear my head. To get some time to myself. It was getting late and looked even later because of the time change the night before.

This time, there was no music or podcasts. I had a lot to talk to God about. But for most of the run, my mind was blank. And all I could think about was how physically hard my run was.

So instead of hashing it out with God, this was happening in my head:

It's getting dark - I'm getting scared...

How much longer do I need to run? 

I can't go on, I'm so tired! 

I just want to quit!

But each time I had one of these thoughts, scripture would immediately follow.

It's getting dark - I'm getting scared...

But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. (1 Peter 2:9)

How much longer do I need to run?

Do not throw away your confidence, which has a great reward. For you have need of endurance, so that when you have done the will of God you may receive what is promised. (Hebrews 10:35-36)

I can't go on, I'm so tired!

We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame. (Romans 5:3-5)  

I just want to quit!

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith. (Hebrews 12:1-2) 

And I realized, about halfway in, that I WAS hashing it out with God. My weariness. My exhaustion. He was using my run to whisper to my heart what I really needed.

He is calling me to endurance.

He has called me out of the darkness into a glorious light.

He is using this season to produce character and hope.

And my job in all of this: simply to look to Jesus.

So here I am. Preaching the gospel to myself again. Because my heart needs to hear it over and over and over.

I like the King James version of Hebrews when it says, "Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God." 

I just need to keep running. Jesus will finish it for me.

4,383 Days

4,383 days.

105,192 minutes.

5 cozy homes.

200,365 miles on the minivan we swore we'd never be driving.

10 jobs and 3 careers in social work and ministry.

2 amazing children.

2 dogs, 2 frogs, and lots of goldfish (may they rest in peace).

Hundreds of fights passionate discussions.

5 vacations in the US and 1 dreamed of vacation to Ireland.

4 car accidents and 1 broken neck.

2 years of really hard road.

12 years of marriage to Jamy.

This past weekend we celebrated a dozen years since we made our vows to each other. Just out of college, at the very beginning our adult lives, and having no idea what our future held. Naive. Ignorant. And crazy in love. Also crazy enough to think that love would be enough to hold us together when things got tough.

Now we know better. 4,383 days into our marriage, after going through unimaginable storms, we know that the great lie that "love will keep us together" isn't enough. After broken promises, broken dreams, and broken hearts, our greatest tries have only led to failure.

But God has been enough. God has been good and great and big enough to cover all of our brokenness.

We've learned that our hope isn't in our homes, our careers, or even our marriage. We've learned our true joy doesn't come from being the best spouse, the best parent, or the best in our field. We've learned that we're in desperate need of a Savior who can redeem and restore.

1 God.

2 broken sinners.

And 1 marriage for 12 years that I would commit to again in a heartbeat.

Here's to 23,182 more days with you, Babe.

For more of our story, click on the marriage tab. It's a good one...

Untweetable Updates

I'm starting to live life a little more publicly  Blogging and consulting will do that to you. This is to my introverted extended family's horror and my children's future chagrin.  

A common phrase around here is "That's not tweetable!" It's kind of like calling "base" when playing tag and claiming safety. Trust me, many things happen in our home that are untweetable but soooooo funny. (Those are called boundaries my friends. Although we all know from social media not everyone appreciates them in the same way...)

So there's this constant tension in our home. How do we share what's going on in a way that protects healthy boundaries and also share transparently what God is doing in our lives? And there's tension in my heart too. My pride gets in the way. My clients read this, I think. People who don't know our whole story will make judgments. They'll think I don't have it all together...    

The other day I read this:

I have told the glad news of deliverance in the great congregation;

behold, I have not restrained my lips, as you know, O Lord.

I have not hidden your deliverance within my heart;

I have spoken of your faithfulness and your salvation;

I have not concealed your steadfast love and

your faithfulness from the great congregation.

Psalm 40:9-10

And then God drops this one on me too:

We will not hide them from their children,

but tell to the coming generation

the glorious deeds of the Lord, and his might,

and all the wonders he has done.

He established a testimony...that the next generation might know them,

the children yet unborn, and arise to tell them to their children,

so that they should set their hope in God

and not forget the words of God,

but keep his commandments.

Psalm 78:4-8

Well shoot. I was planning on keeping the latest "stuff" happening in our lives under the healthy boundaries category and move on. But those who know me could tell things were off. When you press into Jesus for simple things like continuing to breathe and live and shower I guess it shows... And really, if we don't share our stuff, no one will appreciate the crazy miracles happening right now in our family. In our hearts. In our living room.  It's good stuff.

Yes, other professionals and clients read my blog. Sure, people will judge me. And of course I don't have it all together. But these words from the Psalms change my perspective on what's important. God's image always wins over mine. (At least, that's the truth I need to train my heart in.)

So here's an update from the past 5 weeks of our lives. Maybe someday I'll unpack it a little more. There are so many things to share about God moving and working. Changing hearts of stone to hearts of flesh. Continuing to rid us of ourselves and fill us up with more of Him.

But for now, here's the abridged version:

Jamy left again.  That was hard.

God came close.  That was good.

We both worked on stuff.  That was intense.

Jamy came home.  That was a miracle.

And now we have continued work to do.

As I look at this list, I realize how hugely abridged it really is. There are a ton of stories of God's goodness, rescue, and faithfulness. And I know I'll begin to tell them...someday...

When I started blogging only a few short months ago, my very first post was about why I'm actually doing this (blogging that is).  And my last statement was this:

Because I’m really doing it for me and my family. To preserve memories. To remember the things that are really important. To preach the gospel to myself and actually write it out so I can hear it not just in my head but in my heart. So I can track the grace-filled mess God is creating right now. In my life.  

So continuing to tell our story, sharing our junk, and living transparently is our feeble attempt at telling the glorious deeds of the Lord. We will speak of His deliverance and salvation. We won't constrain our lips.  

We will tell the congregation of his steadfast love and faithfulness. Because this is all that matters.