When Time Stands Still

If I close my eyes I can still smell the Mexican food Shelley Young was delivering in the kitchen. I can still feel the coldness in his purple toes. I can still see the devastation on the faces in the room. I can still hear the words, 'he's gone'. And those 2 words still send chills down my spine.

It's been 18 years since my dad went to be with Jesus. How has it possibly been that long? How can I still see his face so vibrantly in my dreams, hear his voice behind me in a church where he never sat, and feel him so close when it's been so long?

Some days I wake up and might actually make it through one day without thinking of him. When that happens, there is usually a surge of guilt once I realize it, but there is also a little bit of relief that I am able to live without him despite how desperately I wish I couldn't. Then some days I wake up and I instantly feel like I just got beat in the chest with a weighted club, and I wish more than anything I could just go back to sleep. How can that stay so real, so fresh, after 18 years? 

But when I close my eyes, I can also remember another time when my life stood still. I can hear my doctor at her office telling me, 'you're in labor, my dear, I'll meet you at the hospital!' I can still feel that poor, poor student nurse, who I ignorantly allowed, trying to give me an IV (I never knew all of those words could strong out of my mouth at once!) I can still smell the staleness of the hospital while I thought to myself, 'this smell is finally being redeemed'. I can still hear the nurse tell me, 'wait! You're at 10! Don't push I have to get the doctor!!!' And I can still see the most beautiful sight in the world, as Dr Russell lifted William up for me to see his face for the first time. 

I can't believe that was 6 years ago, and yet sometimes it feels like William has been a part of my life for longer than my dad hasn't. Time can play tricks on ya sometimes, and sometimes when we aren't even expecting it God can come in and turn your worst day into your best day. Half of my heart hates the concept of groundhog's day, while the other half is so thankful that I can relive my memories repeatedly.

Dad, I thank my God every time I think of you. I thank Him for showing our family what love looks like, for showing us what a dad can be. I thank Him for your leadership, your humor, and the hugs that felt bigger than this world.

And my bear, I thank my God without ceasing for the opportunity to be your mom. You amaze me with your heart, your love, and your unbelievable intelligence. I can't wait to see what God has planned to do with the gifts He has given you, and I am so very thankful you were born on February 2, 2010.

The day when time always seems to stand still.

Writing Prompts

I've missed blogging - a lot. It seems like when I first started I didn't even have to ponder what I'd write about. Prompts or topics just fell in my lap. But I seem to have hit a block - which may have a lot to do with all of the other stuff juggling around in my brain. So, in an effort to get back to my flow of writing, I'm going to somewhat follow a monthly writing challenge on a website I've been drooling over.

I'll throw a plug out there: it's foxy fix. I get nothing for telling you that, but I do love their beautiful products, even though I'm too cheap to buy one :) I found their January writing challenge toward the end of the month and they haven't posted February yet, so I'll just take January and make it a mere suggestion.

Prompt 1: Make a goal to achieve by the end of January February.

My goal is to post at least 12 times this month. (aim low, give yourself a self esteem boost)

Writing has always been a fun outlet for me. I want to find my way back to the time when I logged in daily to just write about whatever came to mind. My simple goal of writing 12 times this month seems a little silly, but I think that if I just make myself get started - even by following some sometimes-dumb prompts, maybe I'll eventually get my groove back. So - here we go. 12 posts in February, make it happen!

I'm At A Loss

It's not often that I think about and pray about a post while remaining without words. So, I'm just going to start writing. I have no idea where I'm going to end up, but I know if I wait too long to write I'll miss something.

So. Burkina Faso.

15 days ago I left for my first mission trip. I left my babies for the first time. I got the first stamp on my passport. And I thought I knew what I was signing up for. I was prepared for my heart to be broken and prepared for my reality to be shaken; I welcomed it. 

Yet, I had no idea what I was signing up for.

We arrived in Africa on Thursday and after a long journey we settled into our hotel late that evening. We didn't have any events that day other than to prepare ourselves for day 1 of our trip. We spent the first half of Friday at the regional office for compassion international, learning about the work being done in Burkina Faso and what more there is to do. It was a long lesson, but like the brown nosing student I always was, I enjoyed taking notes and learning the intricacies. I even had a taste of what the Lord had for me as I broke down when shown an image of a baby who was not much younger than Loretta yet looked like a newborn. He was starving, literally, and in desperate need of life saving care. Thankfully, compassion was able to provide that and we saw pictures of him a year later - looking happy, and healthy, much like my charles. It's hard to see that, have kids at the ages that I do, and not be broken up over it. The reality that I could have been that mom couldn't escape me. I could have been born under different circumstances. I could be desperately trying to simply keep my babies alive. I could have been born with less resources. But I wasn't, and I owe all the glory and gratitude to God for that. 

After our visit at the center we spent the afternoon at one of the projects in the country. We walked into their church building and I was taken back by the level of care in the upkeep and maintenance of their building. A building like that would be abandoned and abused here, and yet it was a treasured and loved shelter there. It was simple and beautiful, and walking into their project I could immediately feel and see a JOY like I've never known. Joy - unexplainable joy. There was a group of mothers of infants who did a song and dance routine for us, most of them wearing their babies on their backs. Again - it's hard to see that and not make comparisons. Here at home we are so caught up in what swing (and bouncer, and stroller, and play yard, and play mat...) our infants have. There? They have their moms' backs - and they're happy to be there. I literally never heard a single baby cry in the time we were there. 

We split into groups after their welcome ceremony to visit the homes of some of the young moms. My group went to the home of a woman who has a 3 month old son. Her husband travels around in search of clothes to mend, and she sells peanuts. At the end of our visit we asked if she needed prayer for anything. In my mind I expected a laundry list of prayer requests and needs. In my first-world brain I could see so many needs she must feel. Yet she had one prayer request. One. She prayed that she and her husband would be able to save up money to buy their house so they'd no longer be enslaved to rent. That's it. In our verbiage, she wanted financial freedom in the most simple and basic way. And her pride - she was SO proud to show us her home. She had taken immaculate care of her patio area, everything was cleaned up nicely and she was happy to share her home with us. I was prepared for meek living conditions; I was not prepared for joy in the lifestyle. It was humbling and eye opening.

Friday night after dinner we had small group discussions and we were in the middle of discussing the first question, 'why are you here?'. The timing of the question is so meaningful as we were literally answering the question as devastation was taking place a few miles down the road. We were outside near the pool and couldn't hear anything, but terrorists were attempting to leave their mark on Ouagadougou and stake claim of Burkina Faso. Instill fear. Cry out to their god. Fight against everything we were there to stand up for.

And just like that, the course of our trip changed. We thought we were there to go see the way in which these people live, love on them, and somehow serve them in their communities. But, in reality, God sent us there for much more dire reasons. God desired for His name to be praised louder than any other in that country at that time, because of the evil this world intended. 

We didn't all have instant realization of this mission, and some of us spent Saturday with a range of emotions. Some people on our group were sad, some scared, some confused, some defeated. I, for one, spent most of the day focused in anger. But, thankfully, we had an incredible church service that night where the presence of the Lord was undeniable. At that service we all refocused together on the right things, on the real work that needed to be done there.

We spent most of Sunday in prayer and meditation over what God has planned and what He was doing. And then, after a day full of that and some fellowship, I had the most incredible experience of the trip. Compassion had arranged for a surprise visit to our hotel by some of the teenagers in the program who are part of a music and dance group. They came to perform for us and their talents on the drums and dance floor were INSANE! So, so good. After their performance we all mingled some and I assumed the night was winding down, but then some of our team started drumming and their leader and team started teaching some of our group how to play. They ended up giving each guy his own rhythm and once it was all pieced together it sounded so cool! I was on the dance floor/stage area and one of their dancers came over to dance with me. What I'm going to try to explain here will sound dumb - maybe a little crazy - but I can't not share it, I only wish I had better words. As she was trying to show me the dance moves the craziest thing happened: everything around us faded, she somehow got me to dance in sync with her, and as we looked in each other's eyes it was like I could see her soul. I hesitate to even type that because it sounds SO crazy. SO odd. But it was so beautiful. It was like I was dancing with a friend I'd known my whole life, and when I danced with her I somehow managed to successfully (or somewhat so) dance. Like - I almost looked cool doing it. We danced for what felt like a second but also felt like hours at the same time, so I really have no idea how long it lasted, and I was unaware of anyone else around us. I apparently missed some killer dance moves by others in our group, but I think it was worth the trade off. I can't put to words the experience I had other than to say that we were truly in the presence of the spirit and to make a connection like that without words felt like a glimpse of what Heaven will be like.

Monday morning we had some kids from misc projects around the area come to our hotel and we were able to do some of the activities we had planned to take out to their communities. We painted nails, played sport-type games, did crafts, had a VBS style puppet show and sang and danced. The kids were a little shocked by the hotel and 35 American swarming them, but they seemed to make connections and attachments to individuals in the group and once we earned their trust they were excited to play with us. It was so fun to dote on the and give them a day full of fun experiences they, hopefully, never forget.

The most incredible part of the  interactions in each of the settings was that we were able to make real connections with very few words exchanged, if any. Some people from our church refer to this as a love exchange, but prior to experiencing it for myself I didn't know the depth of the phrase. I believe I do now, and yet I also think I'm maybe just starting to scratch the surface. Either way, there was a tremendous love exchange.

I know that back home, while we were gone, things seemed a little chaotic. I know there was a lot of worry and concern for our safety. It was almost embarrassing at times when I looked around at the incredible location God had for us - sure didn't feel like a missions trip, and never once did I feel unsafe or in danger. We had the cream of the crop, so to speak, while the media over here showed so many shots and videos of the devastation literally just down the road. I know it'd be easy to focus on all of that - but the real story is beyond that. 

Burkina Faso, like so many others, is a nation stricken with poverty like we can't even comprehend. But the people of Burkina Faso are hopeful for more, and the people in the compassion centers have such joy. After seeing it, I can't want anything else more. The Joy of the Lord is their strength, and I learned so much more from them than I could ever offer them in return. My heart broke over the fact that we THINK we have so much to give them, but the joy they have for us far surpasses anything we could bring to the table. It's a beautiful and humbling reality.

I love their country, I love their people, and I will keep praying that I can 

go back.

We ended up with a 24 hour layover in Brussels - which no one was quite dressed for - but we did do our best to take advantage and enjoy our last day together in style.

A Joyful but Hurting Heart

And we will dance on the streets that are golden

The glorious bride and the great Son of Man

From every tongue and tribe and nation

We'll join in the song of the Lamb

I started writing this the day before I left for Africa, but I wasn't quite ready to finish it so I assumed I'd finish when I got home. Then Africa happened, and for some reason the timing of when to post this never felt right, so I kept waiting. I woke up last night in tears from an awful dream in which I took my kids to see Aunt Joy. After I packed them all up in the car I went to hug her goodbye and she died in my arms. I dream so vividly, and it can be very beautiful but also very painful. It suddenly felt like the right time to finish this.

It is with joy that I can say that my Great Aunt Joy is dancing on the streets of heaven today with all of her brothers and sisters, with her mom and dad, with my dad and with so many others who have gone before her. It is with joy that I can say that she has met her creator and can be in His presence today. It is with joy that I can say she is no longer in pain in this earth, but she is with He who overcame this world.

It truly is with joy that I can say all of these things. That doesn't change the fact that I am hurting from the inside out as I write this. This morning I called to tell her I loved her before leaving the country, as I suspected it'd be the last time I'd be able to, but I was late.  she had already passed. I know that "one more time" is never enough, and it wouldn't make it hurt any less. I know that she knew I loved her, and I know that one more call wouldn't have sealed that love in her heart. I still wanted it though.

Moving to California when we did was such an orchestration for my relationship with Joy. Joy was special to me as a kid, though I didn't see her much, and she and I talked on a few occasions about how she wished I could come see her in San Mateo, California. It sounded so glamorous to me! I never thought I'd actually make it out there, but when we found out where we'd be moving I was so excited to call and tell her. We drove up to see her on our first weekend in California and Austin, William and I all instantly fell in love with our trips up to visit. The loving connection between young children and elderly people is so beautiful to see, and William loved his Aunt Joy. He always asked if we could take flowers to her, and seeing the smile on her face brought so much happiness to his.

Being away from our immediate family for almost a decade, having Joy nearby was so special to us. Austin and I talked often about how amazing it was that we were able to take the time to visit her often and that what looked like a sacrifice on our part to do something nice for her was actually just a blessing to us. Joy was a remarkable woman who lived such a rich life. Over the last 3 years I sat with her for hours listening to her stories of her past. Stories of my family, stories of our country, stories of her good times and some of her bad. Her memory was impeccable and the greatest gift she could give to me was the knowledge she had on our family history. 

I know we went to California for so many reasons. It'd be easy to say it's just where the army sent us, but that's not it at all. God had a lot of work to do and a lot of resources set up for that work right there waiting for us. His timing, as always, was perfect as we got to have the best of Joy's last 3.5 years. I hated leaving when I did, knowing her end was near and knowing if I had 6 more months I'd probably be able to comfort her a little more. But God had a reason for taking us away when he did too, and in that He spared me the pain of watching someone go from where she was to the end in such a short time.

The day after I got back from Africa William asked me, 'when can we go back to California and visit Aunt Joy?' My heart was full of happiness and pride in the fact that she was so tremendous to make such an impression on him, but broke into pieces as I watched his face crinkle up with tears when I told him she had gone to be with Jesus.

The entire time we lived there she repeatedly told me, 'I'm not ready yet, it's just not my time'. One month before she died we were on the phone and she told me she was ready. She had finally completed what she felt she was brought here to do, and she was ready to go be with her Heavenly Father. How beautiful a gift is that?

Forgive Like a Child

William may have taught me a lesson in forgiveness today, and I've got some pride to swallow later today as we owe him a pretty big apology.

Last month Austin and I were at target alone. Weird, that we'd ever have that opportunity, and weirder that when given the opportunity all we wanted to do was shop for surprises for the kids. Yep, we're those parents. We saw the cutest little batman sweat pants and sweatshirt, which we knew William would love. He was so excited Monday morning to wear his new gear to school.

His teacher emailed me and asked that I not send the cape back with the jacket because all of the boys wanted to play with it and it was distracting, so the next day William wore the jacket with no cape.

Then we never saw the jacket again.

We both reminded him every day that he needed to look, and I had gotten a note that the lost & found would be going to a donation center after the semester ended. I knew if he didn't find it in those 2 weeks it'd be gone, so I kept harping on him. His answer never changed, "I put it in my cubby but it's just gone". I've seen him "look" for objects before and claim they're missing, only to go in the room and see them right in front of my face. So, being told it was "just gone" just irritated me more and more. After the semester ended we told him it was probably just gone and we dropped it.

Well, today I was in his classroom and the kids were getting ready to go to PE so they were told to go get their jackets. I saw a little boy, who we will call J, get 2 jackets from his backpack.

I blurted out, "William! Is that your batman jacket?"

J: NO! This is MINE!

Ms McC: Wait wait, J. Is this REALLY yours?"

*J drops jacket and walks off.

Ms McC, whispering: We've had a problem with him taking things. I remember the first day William wore this, it went missing before recess. I was searching in all of the backpacks and then the jacket just appeared on the floor in the middle of the room and no one would claim responsibility. But we've had quite a problem with things from the cubby area going missing.

William reminded Ms McC that they used to keep J's cubby area on the opposite side of the room so that nothing went missing, and kindly said "maybe we can try that again?" I gave him a hug and said I was sorry about his jacket. He said, "Why? I got it back!" and skipped off.

To have forgiveness like that! He doesn't even care that the boy stole his jacket, he's just excited to have it back and is carrying on with his day. Meanwhile, I'm sitting at home, hours later, stewing over how frustrating it is that someone would just go into the cubby area and steal another person's jacket. A kindergarten student! Also, to think that upon bringing this jacket home his parents wouldn't reprimand him and make him return it. I can't imagine.

I feel like I owe William a big apology for the way I've reacted to this missing jacket, but I think the better plan is to silently let him teach me a little bit about forgiveness and moving on.

A breath of fresh air

When Austin came home from Iraq in 2005 I helped him unload his household goods into the house he and his buddy would be renting. When he left for Iraq we were not dating, but when he came home a year later I just knew we'd be getting married. A lot changed that year. We unloaded a big, heavy dresser - contents still in drawers - and lugged in into his room. He decided to go through the drawers, and in the top 'junk' drawer I found an envelope full of letters. The handwriting looked familiar, and the return address was 

21110 Carmel Valley Drive Katy, TX 

That, my friends, is where I grew up, and the stack of letters tucked into the envelope were letters I had mailed to him when we were 'dating' in junior high/high school. He had kept 7 year old letters from me in his junk drawer. He kept them and stored them away in 2004 not knowing I would be with him when he unloaded it upon return. I was blown away. In those 7 years he must have had a dozen girlfriends, and back in our day (after hiking up hill in the snow) we hand wrote letters to boyfriends/girlfriends. We made signs and pictures. I know he must have had similar letters from other girls, but none were safely kept for an unknown future. Gasp, sigh. 

I love the memory of finding those letters in that dresser, but I didn't necessarily love the dresser. It was a solid piece of furniture, much higher quality than any dresser I had ever owned, but it was out of date, out of style...and the hardware hurt my eyes. The dresser stuck with us though, and it made its way from Killeen to Aurora to Seaside. Once we found out we were moving and having another baby I asked Austin if we could please refashion the dresser for the baby and either upgrade or in any other way remove it from our room. There was slight hesitation - he'd had it his whole life! It's a nice dresser! Where would he put all his stuff??? (Because, you see, austin had 8 of the 9 drawers...the only drawer that was mine was the former junk drawer turned jewelry drawer) I promised him I'd find a place for all of his things if he'd please let me re do the dresser for the baby. He agreed, although I don't really think I gave him a choice. I just started telling people that's what was happening! What a patient man he is. After all, I was pregnant with his third child - what else was he to do?

We got to Killeen and devised a plan for Loretta's room. The final piece would be the dresser makeover. My thoughts: her room would be shabby chic rustic chic some sort of soft feminine chic without too much pink. Got it? Pictured in your head?

I had no idea how to execute.

We made a stripe pattern on one wall of her room which came out all wrong in my head. I wanted the purple to be the primary color, but the purple turned out too bold for my vision and now my plan of a purple dresser was just not going to work. I had artwork/wall decor that I couldn't seem to place, colors I didn't think were blending - what in the world was I thinking, trying to be a girl mom?? I was lost.

After a frantic and wordy message (wordy? Me?) to one of my top 5 favorite friends of my mom, who I'll claim as my friend too, I was back on track. 'Pull the mint from the wall to the drawers and paint the dresser white' she said. Mint? White? But I said purple? Did you read what I wrote? Ok. You're the expert! I'll go with it.

And expert she is. The dresser is so beautiful and I've gotten gushing reviews from my husband about how awesome of a mom I am to have seen the beauty in his old dresser for our baby girl. (Thanks misskim ;) ) I'm sure someone out there doesn't agree, but I think it's just about the most beautiful dresser I've ever seen. The best part: it completes the room and brings the look I was hoping for. I am ecstatic.

It's dumb to say that designing a room has given me confidence I needed in being a girl mom, but it has. Sure, I can do sports and race cars and avengers and Legos. But this room - I can do this too!

My angel Loretta - oh, how I love you.

Here is the before and after of the dresser...

And here is her FINALLY completed room, the best room in the house:

Her little reading corner could use some decorating help, but I needed the blanket which inspired the color theme in here somehow - and the bookshelf just proves we live here, we read here, we love here.

On a Quest for Me

There is so much out there about the struggle of transforming from an old you to a new you. Losing weight. Graduating from high school. Graduating from college. Becoming a mom. Transformations are hard! And while we (usually???) want what we are morphing into, that doesn't mean it comes without growing pains and some loss.

I recently talked with a friend about the choice of how many children to have and she talked about sticking with her one. Her one amazingly precious daughter! I shared with her that I've often thought I'd be a better mom had I stopped at one. Don't read that wrong: I DO NOT WISH I had stopped at one, but I do think I would do a better mom-job if I had one kid rather than three. 

When I had one kid his development was never overlooked. When I had one kid I knew what he ate for dinner last Tuesday and made sure we didn't have a repeat week of meals. When I had one kid he was read to every day. (Well, truth be told, he still is. It's the other 2 who may be suffering)

When I had one kid he had a mom who knew who she was. And while that may sound selfish, you're better at everything you do when you know who you are. I am a better mom when I know who I am.

The problem is, when I added baby # 2 (and then very quickly #3) I scrambled. I suddenly had 6 ears to clean out at bath time. I had 3 developmental levels to track. I had 3 precious balls of love to tuck in at night. Often, one falls asleep while the other 2 are being tended to. Or one has shoes with broken Velcro because he tore them just as we exited the shoe store to replace shoes for the other. Or one is still drinking the same amount of formula per bottle as she was 4 months ago because I don't have the energy or time or focus to stretch her appetite.

And I only have 3! I would say 'how do moms of 4, 5, 6 do it...' But I know how

- some days they just survive. You do what you can. You make it work.

Unfortunately, in all of that 'make it work' mentality you sometimes forget that your ears need cleaning. Your brain needs stimulating. Your interests need cultivating. And in that fleeting moment when you remember, you remind yourself you're too tired to think about it. But, I don't want to be lost in this season. I may not be the same person I was with no kids or with one, but I want to find who I am in all of this.

I want to blog. I want to exercise. I want to be a thoughtful friend. I want to be a lot of the things I used to be.

And so, this year I plan to find those things. I may not (read: will not) have a craft room that I get to play in every day. I may not have the amazing gym membership I did 5 years ago, or get the amazing workouts 6 days a week I was fortunate to have. I may not be able to be everything I wish I could be, but at least I can find where this new me fits amidst the shuffle and work. I'm on a quest to find me, and in the meantime I hope  to bring this little blog along for the ride! Should be fun!