Dreams and Cuban Sandwiches

I am away this week at a teaching and technology conference. In a word, it has been refreshing. It has been so nice to step outside of my classroom and get some fresh ideas, network with other educators who are out there getting the job done, and see some cool, geeky new tech for the classroom at the same time. As I was sitting in a very crowded convention hall, munching on a Cuban sandwich (the convention is in Miami, so obviously I had to have a Cuban even though I am convinced that Tampa makes them better--but I digress), I had a second to reflect. I was eating my lunch and I decided to take the longer route to my next class. This particular convention center has a beautiful second story walk way of all glass panels, giving you a really nice view of the town of South Beach. As I walked, I was reflecting on where my life had taken me since my very first teaching conference way back in 2010! A lot has changed and so many of those "big dreams" I had for my professional career have happened now. I am finally able to teach the subject that made me want to become a teacher in the first place--American History! I am finally getting my Master's degree, when I have been thinking of doing it and "someday-ing" about it but never actually getting up the courage to start. Now, I have 2/10 courses out of the way and starting the third on Monday. I have wanted for years to be an AP reader...my invitation to attend the reading came in my email yesterday! I know the prospect of grading AP essays for five straight days doesn't sound like something any normal human would want to do, but I cannot imagine any way to help me be a better teacher to my own AP kids than to experience a reading first hand! But it did not all happen without hard work, without sacrifice, without mistakes and pitfalls and long nights of prepping and thinking and DREAMING! It is not just "mine" either. My husband has sacrificed so much to help me accomplish my dreams. He has put himself last so I could be successful. He has supported me, graded papers with me, substituted for me, cheered me on, and been my rock through it all. Even more, that dream of being a mom came true in the last ten years. So many dreams, so many wishes, so many hopes... So, first year teacher, or teacher who is "starting over again" at a new school--hang in there! It will not ALWAYS be late nights and feeling like you are only staying ONE day ahead (heck, maybe only one HOUR ahead) of your students. It will not always feel like you have no social life and no time to recharge. You will not ALWAYS have to teach that one class you don't really have a passion for. Keep on dreaming. Dreaming is not silly or impractical or a waste of time. Dreams are essential. Dreams motivate us to keep on keeping on. Now, why eating a Cuban with a thousand teachers I didn't know evoked those kinds of thoughts---your guess is as good as mine. However, Miami will be a special memory for me because I gained a little perspective, reflected on just how BLESSED these last ten years have been, and smiled about how I can't wait to see what the next ten years will be.

Faith in a car seat, pipes, and a mailbox

If you have been in church any amount of time, you have heard a missionary or a pastor speak about how the cupboards were bare and they were not sure where the next meal was coming from. Then, one day, someone left a bag of groceries on the porch or a mysterious check showed up in the mail box. I had heard all those stories. I had read biographies of the giants like George Muller who sat the kids in his orphanage down to a meal, when there was no meal to serve, and they prayed and thanked God IN ANTICIPATION of the meal they knew HE would provide. I remember hearing that story and others like it and thinking...”wow, I would love to see God work a miracle like that in my life.” However, I remember thinking, “But, I really don’t want to sit down to dinner and not know where dinner was coming from.” Fast forward to this past August when I walked into our bedroom, shaking and crying, with yet another positive pregnancy test while Ryan slept with our six month old miracle in our bed. I cried. I questioned how on earth we were going to do this. My body had just had a baby...and I had to do it again? Our bills from Leah were still being paid off. I remember thinking there was just no way. But somehow, God has sustained this little life (and me). I sit here, with my feet up because my ankles kind of look like I have softballs attached to them (but I’m a 35 week pregnant high school teacher so my feet don’t really take a lot of breaks), marveling how far God has brought me and little “no-name.” Then, our OB told us the cost of this new baby and we nearly fainted. Then, somehow, we found room on a credit card or two (sorry Dave Ramsey...it had to be done) and paid that bill off. Next, our insurance at work changed and we discovered we would owe even more for this baby (not including whatever the hospital decides to charge us once she makes her appearance). Once again...I panicked. Where would this money come from? How would we pay such a big amount? But once again, God provided. It was creative (and may have involved Uncle Sam and president Trump’s new child tax credit) but it got paid. However, somewhere along the 32nd week mark, it dawned on me that this baby needs to be able to ride in our car...so we started pricing car seats and a stroller since Leah is JUST starting to walk well and I cannot imagine trying to wrangle a five year old, a one year old and an infant in and out of stores with just a cart. The sticker shock got to me. No quality items were inexpensive and the list of things we needed kept growing. So, we picked something we wanted to planned to get those items when we could. But God planned differently. A far away, but much beloved, friend sent me a text out of the blue one night to inform me she had purchased and shipped my double stroller for the girls. I cried and thanked her. Then, my amazing co-workers told me they were throwing me a diaper shower (which was another big stress...two kids in diapers...yikes). They didn’t just shower me with diapers and wipes...they bought our very costly new car seat. I cried. I was overwhelmed. Every need met...some of them before I even asked God for them. Then, last weekend, our whole plumbing system (minus the kitchen sink, oddly enough) totally backed up and stopped working. Now, for a very large pregnant woman...a working bathroom is pretty much a non-negotiable. It was not a livable situation and every “expert” we consulted said, “This will not be a small or inexpensive job...get ready.” And I cried. How would we do it? Once again...I asked God to resolve it. But if I am honest, I didn’t really expect Him to do it. I mean...it is a sewer system. Could the all-Powerful, All-Creating ONE really intervene in that instance? So, my amazing family came to our rescue. My Father-in-law came and snaked and did gross jobs that no one would ever want to volunteer to do. My dad used some of his hotel credits to put us up in hotels (which Joel loved because it was an adventure to travel from hotel to hotel all weekend long). We got a plumber out to the house and what was projected to be a VERY big job came out to be one very expensive wipe that had been flushed when it shouldn’t have been (my money is on my smallest “helper”). Now, we would still have to pay this guy...but at least it woulnd’t be thousands. However, God still provided. Loving people sneaked little monetary gifts into the mail, into my hand, wherever they could. I was humbled. It was the exact amount the plumber quoted us. I couldn’t believe it. All those years of hearing the stories of faith...it was happening to me. I could hear the lyrics from one of my old favorites in my head “Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him! How I’ve proved him o’re and o’re.” I used to sing it and feel like a huge hypocrite because I hadn’t proved Him. I hadn’t found myself at the end of my own rope beggin Him to step in and provide as only He can. Now I had seen it. Not just one time, but dozens in the past few months. We joke all the time about the fact that this little baby has no name. We have tossed out hundreds of them. None of them fit. None of them hit us as the “perfect name.” I can tell you one thing though...her middle name will very likely be Faith. From the moment we knew she existed, this whole roller coaster ride has been about faith. Am I going to trust the God who formed her to provide for her and for us? It makes me think of a verse in I Samuel where Samuel takes a stone and names it Ebenezer (don’t worry..we aren’t going to call this baby Ebenezer...we like her a lot). At the end of the verse, after he sets the stone up as a memorial of all God has done he says, “Hitherto hath the Lord helped us.” I feel like, every time I get out that double stroller I will be reminded that so far, the Lord has helped us. Every time I buckle a baby in the new car seat, I will remember that He has helped us. Every time I use these WORKING and functional bathrooms or wash a load of clothes...there it is again...that Ebenezer of God’s goodnesss and providence. I hope I never forget this time. This time when I foolishly doubted His providence and care and He was there to remind me. He didn’t just remind me once or twice...but over and over again. Faith...faith in a car seat, a stroller, a baked up sewer pipe. FAITH.

May 3rd

Tomorrow is May 3rd...Hannah’s day. Even though the actual event was six years ago now, the emotions are still as raw and as fresh as though it were yesterday. It’s a hard day to get through. I have to work and live as though nothing ever happened. My students won’t know. My coworkers won’t know. Our family as a whole sets aside mother’s day weekend every year to mark her short life and celebrste the short time we had her with us. A wise man once said that God can’t bless a man richly until He has hurt him deeply. Hannah leaving us was a deep hurt. It still hurts. Sometimes there are still dark days. However, I have been blessed richly. My beautiful son. If Hannah had not been taken, it’s doubtful he would be with us. He is so special, so happy, and brings us such joy. He didn’t and couldn’t replace Hannah but he was like a sweet balm on a deep wound. Then came Leah who was like the cherry on top of a sweet surprise. So tomorrow when I feel like being sad, I will get up early and make bottles for Leah and pack a sandwich (which is do most days for Joel) in a Spider-Man lunchbox. I will love my babies here...while I remember my baby “over there”. I will teach other people’s “babies” and attempt to mask my grief because that’s what I am called to do. I think Hannah would be proud of her mom in that moment. I will pray for my 1 in 4 Facebook group that BECAUSE of Hannah exists. I will reach out to those moms who have just recently walked through that dark valley of baby losses and love them and pray for them because of Hannah. Hannah’s life was short but oh so purposeful. So if you see me tomorrow and I am not fully myself...I’m ok. It’s ok. I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I don’t feel Bad for myself and I don’t need you to pity me or even hug me (I really don’t like hugs anyway). I’m not sad because I don’t know where she is or that she will never feel pain or suffering. I’m sad because we miss her and we loved her. But tomorrow I will muster the strength that comes from knowing the one who made Hannah and who, for HIS purposes and His plans, took her home. Happy heaven birthday, Hannah! We miss you

Baby Girl

Nothing about LJ was planned. I remember distinctly waking up the morning that I discovered I was pregnant and deciding it was stupid to "waste" a pregnancy test (and WHY are those tests so expensive anyhow?). But, I felt so lousy I decided it was worth the waste. After all, the result would for sure be negative since Joel was a living miracle...I doubted lighting could strike twice. When the test was the furthest thing from negative I started to shake a little. Ryan was out of town on a very important business trip and I knew I couldn't tell him because it could throw him off his game. So, I kept my secret for a whole day. The entire time I didn't dare get my hopes up. I mean, after all, we had been pregnant so many times and only one of them got to come live with us...so why get too excited? After I knew Ryan was done with meetings and business "stuff", I called him. I can't speak to how he felt, but if he felt like I did, it was something like total and utter shock, with a lot of joy sprinkled in for good measure. Then, we found out LJ would be a girl. The emotions overwhelmed me. We had wanted a girl for so long. We had our girl, but she never came home with us. I felt joy, terror, guilt, elation...a swirl of emotions that I could not really label them all. My baby showers came and went and with each frilly dress, my dread grew. What if I have to pack all these frilly pink things up like last time and give them away to someone who was not dealing with grief so intense it felt like you were buried under ten tons of rocks? But every appointment, she was healthy, she was strong, she was perfect in every way. Then, induction day came. I remember being induced with Hannah. I remember the sadness of knowing she would only be "with us" for a few more hours. I remember being induced with Joel and experiencing true labor for the first time. I remembered the joy beyond my wildest dreams when I heard him cry out. So, when the meds did their work and labor started with LJ, I knew from a physical stand point what I would be up against...but I did not plan on the emotions. After a VERY quick 10 minutes of active "pushing" (with a few moments of sheer terror when my midwife announced that LJ's cord was wrapped around her neck), she was here. I remember that little head of VERY dark hair being placed on my chest and I remember feeling the sting of hot tears, ugly cry style, coursing down my face. She was beautiful. She was alive. She was healthy. SHE was here. Many people have asked if Leah has "helped" with my grief or if I feel like we are a "complete" family now. It's a really hard feeling to describe. I know Hannah is in heaven, and though separated from us by death, she is still "one of us." However, the only thing I can say to describe having LJ with us now is that she brought a sense of healing. While it still hurts sometimes to talk about Hannah, while occasionally I have down days, LJ has helped to heal that deep, deep pain in my heart. I love that she has a personality all her own. I love that she has stretched my capabilities as a mother. I don't really love the sleep-deprivation side of it, but I do love those late night snuggles when I am alone in the living room, just LJ and I, and I can sing my old hymns to her without anyone hearing how badly I sing. I love how much Joel loves her and how there is no kind of love quite like that of siblings. I love that Joel, the most social kid you will ever meet, now will have a playmate. We are tired at our house. We have been stretched in every way. We are sleep deprived, we have piles of medical bills from bringing home a new baby...in the middle of a raging flu season. However, we are also thankful. We are grateful. We are blessed. I am trying not to miss the moments. She will be like all other second-born children. She has a baby book...but it has only a little bit written in it so far (with her brother I wrote down the date and time of his first sneeze...you get the picture). However, my mental camera roll is full. I will never forget when Ryan held his little girl for the first time. I cannot erase the image of Joel sauntering into the delivery room, bursting with pride, to meet her for the first time. The way Joel beamed at her when she came to meet his friends at school is forever stamped on my heart. The way our children's pastor cried (and in turn made me cry....post partum hormones are mean that way) when he met her for the first time still makes me cry a little. When she gave her daddy her first little gummy smile....I hope I never forget how that looked. Not only can I still smell it, but I still smile every time I think of that first really catastrophic diaper...let's just say I laughed and laughed and then threw the outfit in a bleach bath. The look on her face while I giggled at her dilemma was priceless. Her middle name had to be Joy. How else could we describe her. She is our Joy.

Just Holding On...AND letting go

It all started in April. In April we listed our home of 8 years. My whole family came down from Tallahassee and we painted every wall and ceiling in my house. We replaced flooring, cleared out the backyard, changed light bulbs, staged the house, and landscaped. Within two weeks of listing, we had an offer. Naturally, because we have the best luck in the world, we got the world's most finicky buyers. So, then we had to begin the second round of "fixing, spending, repairing" to meet the buyers newest demands. Sooner than I was ready, however, we were signing final papers and driving away for the last time from the only place that our son had known as "home." I remembered so many things about that house. It was that house that had been supernaturally provided when we needed it most. It was that house that tested us in every single way with repairs, fun plumbing "events" that I cannot elaborate on for fear of laughing so hard and making my husband look over at me like I have lost my mind (none of those events were funny at the time), some remodeling, and tearing out a pool by ourselves (and nearly killing each other in the process). It was that house that Joel first came home to, took his first steps, talked, laughed, and rode a bike. Nevertheless, opportunity was calling. Ryan's job was on the brink of a big, big change and we knew owning a home would not be part of the immediate future. So, we dried our tears and settled into our VERY TEMPORARY (we were sure of that) one bedroom apartment. Ryan geared up for the biggest interview of his life. We were sure this was it. This was what we had been waiting for for such a long time. We took some of the profits from the sale of the house and paid off every single debt we could think of. It felt so good to have no credit card debt. It took quite a bit of the profits, but we felt unburdened and free (and a little more broke). Ryan flew up for the interview and Joel and I waited at home with baited breath, praying all the way along. Meanwhile, the morning of Ryan's interview, I felt super sick. It wasn't just nerves either. Having been pregnant now six times, I knew exactly what the "feeling" was. I took a test and literally said, out loud, right there...."You have GOT to be kidding me." And then I laughed. Only the Withee Crew would sign a one year lease and five days later discover they are pregnant. I couldn't tell Ryan....this was the BIG interview. I couldn't distract him. I would have to sit on this news for a whole day till his interview was over. So, we waited. I called Ryan when I felt his interview was over and let him in on the news. We were happy...scared to death...but happy. We have been through this so many times, it takes time for the real joy to take over because the fear of loss is always right there at the back of our minds. Then, life got interesting. Not only did Ryan get a "no" on his big interview (which was devastating to all of us) but he got a "no" at his current job at the time, only four days later. It was a really rough couple of days. It was really hard to watch the man you love so very much feel so low. However, God was at work, even in the rough stuff. He had a new job all lined up within a week of all this difficulty. Ryan was so thankful and was excited once again and ready to go. He has always been more resilient than me. His new job is in Palm Harbor (for my far away readers, that is a good 45 minute drive from our little apartment). Meanwhile, we get the news that this new baby is a girl and a whole bunch of new emotions came rushing in. We had gender cupcakes made because we never did a gender reveal any of the other pregnancies, including Joel, so we decided to go for it this time. When Joel bit into that cupcake and it was pink...it was the strangest combination of joy and fear all at once. I had a dear friend who was the only person (outside of my family) brave enough to broach the question no one wanted to ask. "How are you doing emotionally knowing it is a girl. Does it remind you a lot of Hannah?" It meant so much for her to validate what I was feeling. How on earth was I going to register for girl gifts again? How was I going to get through a girl baby shower? How was I going to get ready for this baby when I had already done it once before? I was honest with her and with myself finally. "It's been hard", was about all I could say. Every ultrasound is part thrill of joy and part agony. It is for that reason that her middle name for sure will be Joy. She has been a complete surprise, a complete joy, a complete unexpected blessing in a time of intense emotional upheaval. She is that good and perfect gift that comes from the Father. As this pregnancy progressed, we realized that we really might be bringing home a fourth person to this 800 square feet of crazy apartment. Additionally, we never wanted Ryan to be far from his work (since he is the one who could be "called into work" and I have more set hours). So, even though we vowed never to own a home again, we set to work to buy a home....AGAIN. We looked at houses all over the county, dragging our poor realtor all over the place at all hours of the day. We saw nice houses and money pits, we saw cute backyards and jungles. We saw horrifying color schemes, stinky house smells, and scary neighborhoods. We saw "the perfect" house more than once. We put offer after offer out there only to be "scooped" by a better offer. We were starting to wonder it the right place was out there. Then, finally, we found the right place, for the right price, in the right location. We put an offer out there again...and finally someone chose us (over four other offers, I might add...which gave us a little peace that maybe this was the place God intended for us). Now comes the wait. In typical "Amy" style, the wait has me terrified. The fear overcomes me. How are we going to get together a down payment so fast? What if the seller changes their mind? What if we don't close on time? What if I have to go on bed rest with this baby like I did with Joel? How am I going to move and set up house-keeping while I am 8 months pregnant? How are we going to get all the stuff we need for this baby (we gave away every single baby thing we owned when we downsized to this apartment). But, I have to remember...in all the years we have been married, we have never done without and gone hungry. In fact, in all the years of being alive, I have never been in such a serious situation that I couldn't see how God was working it out in my family. We have had some "lean times", but we have never been homeless or hungry. Today, Ryan was driving home from work and coming off of Highway 19 (which is a harrowing experience any day of the week in my opinion anyways) and could not avoid some road debris. It ripped up the bottom of his car. So, I got the text: "I am having a problem with my car and am sitting at Perkins waiting for a tow truck. Can you come get me?" So, I drove to Perkins to find him. The tow hadn't arrived by the time I got there, so I took a seat across from him in a booth and had a mammoth muffin (I had my glucose test this morning, so hopefully I passed or that muffin was probably a bad choice). I shared with him my fears, especially now that we will have a very large car repair to pay for while also saving for the down payment on this new home. Suddenly, we found ourselves reliving some of the "tougher" things we had been through. Ryan reminded me of the summer after we had been married for a year when our landlord decided to sell his condo and we could either buy it for WAY more than we had or move. So, we had to chose to move. The down side is we had no place to move to. A coworker of mine was going "home" for the summer and let us live in his little RV (less than 400 square feet). So, we did. We spent two months in that tiny space (and caught H1N1 flu at the same time). BUT, we had a place to live, and summer jobs, and made it work. I should say, God made it work. We laughed till we cried remembering when we had the plumbing debacle of 2012 and Ryan found himself in our front yard, waist deep in unmentionable horror, replacing old plumbing pipe with a saint of a church member who came to save the day. We cried remembering how Ryan took a small hatchet and "dismantled" the above ground pool and had me help haul it out, piece by piece, to the front yard (I KNOW the neighbors thought we were getting divorced for sure...there was lots of "elevated stress levels" that night). We survived all that...maybe, just maybe, we can survive all this crazy we now find ourselves in. The waitress took pity on us and brought over a slice of pumpkin pie to go (on the house, probably because we looked so pitiful) and the tow truck came at long last. We went back to school, drove home, and collapsed on the couches in exhaustion. Even now, as I sit and write this and baby girl kicks and wiggles and moves non-stop (all the while the heartburn is wrecking my throat and stomach forever), I am reminded that I just don't know what surprises are around the next corner. I know WHO knows, and HE has never left me alone in my worry and fear. In fact, He invites me to give that over to Him. I am not sure why I love to hold onto it the way I do. I am not saying tomorrow I will be carefree and worry-free...but I am going to try. He knows what's coming next, and that is good because I could never have written this chapter of our story. I don't know if anyone would believe it if I wrote it all down. Well, you tell me...You've been reading it, can you believe it? No? Me either...but this is our life. It is crazy, wild, scary, amazing, exhilarating, never-boring life.

I Just Wanted To Rant....

I have been working really hard the last few weeks. I took a work related trip and so the prep to be gone from my classroom for 3 straight days about killed me, then I drove to Tallahassee to pick up my son, then drove home, then worked for a full week and ended this week being sick. So, needless to say, I have been so busy, I have hardly had time to think about my next meal, let alone to think about anything else. However, today, I finally got my little guy to go to bed early and I got my lesson plans for THIS coming week logged and emailed and my thoughts would not stop swirling. I am not a big "ranter and raver" but here are my top "things I rave about in my head but not out loud to anyone else ever." BATHING SUITS So today, in between morning church and evening church, J and I attempted to tackle the monumental task of hunting down a bathing suit for myself (or as J calls it..."baby's suit"). The last time I actually purchased a bathing suit for myself, it was two years ago and I was 5 dress sizes larger than I currently am. So, unless I wanted to start with a suit on and after diving in, find myself suddenly not wearing one....I needed to get one, and soon. What I discovered was the following: if you feel like going to the pool or beach in NOTHING at all, this is the year for you. The "bathing suits" I saw in the store were the same size as J's little Thomas the Train underwear! They came in all kinds of cute colors and prints (what little of them there were) but those are not for me, let me tell you. If you feel like you should cover yourself in some way, you are going to pay an arm and a leg for your swim suit and it will only come in two colors, black or neon pink. Additionally, the only swim suits in your size will look like 52, 000 people have already tried it on and found it wanting. Needless to say, I still have no swim suit. If you see a woman swimming in leggings and a t-shirt, that will be me. DIET PLANS I lost weight this year. I started the school year at my heaviest weight in my entire life. After a really unpleasant doctor's visit and not really being totally sure how to fix it, my hubby and I signed up for Weight Watchers. I was not totally sold on the idea, but I had watched it work for my mom so I decided it couldn't hurt. Do you want to know what I learned? I didn't have to "sell" Weight Watchers to ANYONE else! I didn't get kicked out of Weight Watchers or have to pay $25.00 more per month if 5 people didn't join and give my name as their "encourager." I joined for me! I joined for my husband and for our son and I joined so I could feel good shopping for clothes again. I joined so we could have more kids. I joined so I wouldn't cringe when the yearbook came out this year. You know what happened? People ASKED me how I was doing it! The lady in Anne Taylor Loft decided to join because I came out of the dressing room BEAMING because I was holding a pair of pants in a size that I had only ever seen with a 1 in front of the other number! You know what I pack to go on a trip? Clothes and that is all. I don't have to pack a blender, five pounds a shake mix, dehydrated fruits, or prepackaged meals (and those may work for you, but let me tell you it is freeing to sit down at any restaurant and find SOMETHING you can eat. Heck, I am going to Disney World next week and I am already thinking about one special "splurge" I plan on getting. I can do that...really, I can). I have discovered that my new "life" is just that, LIFE...it isn't a gimmick or a slogan or a pyramid scheme...it is me learning that food is not an enemy or a friend, it is just fuel. That makes me happy. It makes me even happier that I don't have to worry about who else joins...it it just WW and me and I love that. The creeps at the Library So, I stopped at the public library on my way home from work the other day. I have been on a quest for a book I can read to "relax." Being that I am a teacher, I am constantly reading works on history and biography to stay on top of exciting information to supplement my regular curriculum for my students (got to move "beyond" the textbook, ya know?). Anyhow, I sometimes like to kick back for 15 minutes or so, just to get my mind off work and ready to sleep, by reading some regular fiction. So, I stopped at the library to meet that need. There I am, wondering the shelves of the fiction section (which, may I remind everyone, contains ALL kinds of literature). So, from behind the shelf I am browsing comes this voice. "Oh, I see that romance book you are holding over there." I stop. How close is this guy looking because from my eyeline I see a mystery book about a guy in India. There is an elephant, a magnifying glass and a guy in a turban....not exactly Fabio here, am I right? I try to give one of those laughs that says, "Ok, thanks for trying to talk to me but you are odd and I just want to pick out a book, thanks." But he goes on about something else, still oblivious to the very obvious clues I am dropping like, I don't know, my walking up and down the shelves much more quickly, not making eye contact, the usual things someone does when running from the serial killer in the library. I blink and keep shopping for a book and then say, hoping he will leave, "Just looking for a book to keep me engaged." He leaps on that, "How can you forget you are married?" Oh brother! Finally, I look right at him, point a finger to my forehead and say, "keep my MIND engaged." I scurried off to the next shelf where OTHER people were and he thankfully found someone else to bother. Someday, in my perfect world, I am going to make a library where people always return their books on time, never creep on people in the aisles and never leave food stains on the best chapters of the books. There will be a policeman on duty at all times and the librarians will all be trained in the art of karate. Will you support my library fund someday? I guess that is all for tonight. I am sure I will think of more. Until then I will be shopping for swimsuits and buying books from regular bookstores, at least until I get my library idea up and running. If you know any librarians willing to learn karate or maybe are already skilled in that area, please give them my contact information. Until next time, XOXO, AMY

But If Not....

It is only three little words... But if not. You are the best readers in the world so I know you already know the story and the meaning behind those words. Three men, uncompromising men, faced with bending to a tyrant's psychopathic ego and a direct violation of their faith or certain painful, agonizing death. They chose to stand for what they knew was right and face the death. The source of the courage to stand--the unflinching belief that God would deliver them out of the king's hand, far from his fire-flamed wrath. BUT IF NOT...if for some reason the answer was no, if for some reason God allowed them to perish...still they would not bend. 2017 is still fresh. It is a mere 3 days old. Already, though, it has been a struggle. We have prayed. We have struggled. We have agonized. We have "what if'ed". Unforeseen troubles and tragedies and emergencies have filtered in quicker than we can respond. Still, the answers do not come. The answers are not a yes or a no....they are silence. In that silence, in that restlessness...I have to choose. I must choose, in the waiting, in the doubts that quickly swoop in during the quiet moments--I have to choose to trust in the same God...the God of the "but if not." I am not saying it is easy. There have been requests on my "list" since I placed my trust in Christ. Still, I wait. Not getting a "no"...but not getting a "yes". Sometimes, I feel the anxiousness begin to close in. Suffocating restlessness. In it all, I have to trust. The same God who chose to save a wicked wretch like me (I don't say that in jest...sometimes I marvel that He would even save me...ME...the unworthiest of them all) is the same God who delivered those Hebrew men so long ago. What is so hard for our 21st century minds to remember is that they did not know the end of the story. When they stood there, sweat probably beading on their brow (I mean, come on people, that room HAD to be hotter than Florida in August), they did not KNOW they would be delivered. They were trusting with all they had, WHILE AT THE SAME TIME, being "ok" with the alternative. We see the end of the story...but in their time, in their actual moment, they had no clue what the end would be. "But if not" just leaps off the page at me tonight. What if those things we have been praying for get a "no"? Am I ok with that? Am I willing to bend and say, "If it will bring YOU glory, I will do it, even though it is painful, even though it is really, really hard." There are a lot of things I am "waiting on." Some are personal, just known only to me and God. Some are family goals and dreams and things we have talked about and hoped for since we started dating. I couldn't begin to post about all the things we hope for...there is not enough storage space on my computer to type a document that big. God knows them all. The same God who delivered those men knows the recesses of my heart, the last of my dreams and hopes. He cares. I know He cares. He knows about those little pink outfits stored in my hope chest. He knows they have been there since 2012 and He knows how long they will sit there without someone to use them. He has watched each time I have given away little pink outfits to someone who really needs them and how it has been so hard to do that. He knows how many little pink outfits are left in that chest and how many we started with. He knows how hard we work to make a life for ourselves in the physical sense. He knows the hours upon hours my amazing husband works to provide for us. He knows the deepest dream of our family as a whole. He cares about it. He may make us wait. He may tell us "no" or "no, not right now." Even then, even in the "but not"...I will choose to trust. I will choose to wait. I choose joy in the waiting. Thanks for reading XOXO--Amy

Please Don't End

I am sitting here in the glow of my Christmas tree, I am thinking back on the many many many memories this particular Christmas has given us. I found myself thinking--almost hourly--since the day after Thanksgiving, "Please slow down. This is going so fast and I want to remember it all." There has never been a more joy filled Christmas than this one. Each day carried new joy, especially as I watched my three year old enjoy the delights of the advent house, Christmas advent calendar, the searching shepherd, walks to see Christmas lights, buying presents for family and friends and watching Christmas movies. I wish it didn't have to end. I wish I had taken even more time to savor the season and take even more pictures than I did. It wasn't about how many present he got (he got way too many)....each one (whether it came from the dollar tree or the Disney store) was treasured and cheered about by my darling little man. Watching him experience Christmas from December 1st to today was all the gift I ever needed or wanted. Thank you Lord for the gift of joy. Thank you that because of the gift of Your Son, we can fully experience joy! Merry Christmas, dear readers!!! Soak of the joy of the season

Joining the Ranks

Today I was on my lunch break (Monday and Tuesday are the two days I actually get lunch alone...every other day usually has a commitment). So, after I had heated my lunch and got back to my desk, I opened my phone for a minute to catch up on the news of the day while I ate. The old adage, "No news is good news" was really true today. I stumbled across the page of an old school friend from long, long ago. I had recently started following her again to get a flavor for what was happening "back home." Unfortunately, "back home" suffers from the same tumults and tempests as "right here." Today, I read a testimony of an old friend, another mom who lost her child. Having written about that myself, I knew exactly why she was writing it. She needed to write it, she HAD to write it. Those words she wrote through her absolute gut-wrenching, heart-rending pain HAD to come out. We all needed to hear them and she needed to say them. It pierced me to my core to read it. The pain and agony I felt nearly four full years ago, came back with such an intensity that I wondered how I would teach my last two classes of the day. I found myself in that place all over again...fresh and raw as though it had just happened. Why is grief like that? Why can't it come, do what it needs to, and leave forever! I hate that at the most random of times, it comes back. Then, with grief comes the guilt. "Amy, why are YOU thinking about YOUR pain. Your friend is the one suffering right now. You are so selfish. When will you get over yourself? When will you get over THIS?" Then, not only do you feel that dark cloud of grief settle in, but now you feel guilty in combination with it--adding another layer of misery. I wondered how my friend was sleeping at night? I wondered how many times she had cried today when she thought no one was watching? I wondered if anyone was helping her with the funeral so she didn't have to visit that place of death for a moment longer than she had to? I wished, more than anything, that the peace she described having in her Facebook post would get her through the most painful days ahead and that in those days ahead she would not doubt that God was still good. I know a lot of people think that I should not still grieve over the loss of my children. After all, I have Joel now. He is healthy and strong and adorable and loving. Still, in the back of my mind, I remember them....all of them. Sure, several of my babies never got names and I never met them face to face. The grief of those losses is painful, but it is a very brief visitor. The grief for Hannah Grace, however, comes and settles in and is hard to shake. I met Hannah...I held her. I am still angry at myself for not holding her longer. It was such a strange thing because I knew she was already in Heaven, so maybe that's why I felt like I needed to let the nurses take her away. The days after, however, when my arms ached to hold her....I cried and hated myself for not holding her more, memorizing her face, committing her to my heart. I knew after reading that Facebook post, this mom had not reached that point yet. I also knew, that moment was coming for her at some point. Maybe not today or tomorrow...but sometime. I ached anew for her. So, today, as I cried over another mom joining the ranks of loss and grief, I wished in my heart of hearts I could be there to help... To wash those dishes that had probably piled up since the loss, like someone did for me. I wanted to make sure someone was taking care of the condolence meals and organizing the funeral needs, like someone helped us to do. But, I know she is loved and has people around her that are helping her, caring for her, and praying for her, like someone did for me. You have to wonder, as I do...what is the purpose to these little lives? Why did we get to have Hannah for those few short months only to give her right back to God? I don't know. If I had a nickel for every time I wrote a post about her and why she lived and died and how I still don't know why, I would probably be a very rich person. I can say one thing, her short life taught me a lot about what is actually important and what isn't. Her life also taught me to be thankful. I just had another day with my son. In fact, as I write, I can watch from my vantage point on the couch as his little self sleeps in his room. I am thankful because he got to turn three. I am thankful because he can identify numbers 1-5 by sight, tell you all the colors (except brown, for some reason) and knows his ABC's. He is a living, breathing miracle that I would have taken for granted if it wasn't for Hannah. Sometimes, we have to drive by the place where her grave is. Even now, four years after the fact (this coming May), I cry. It is so crazy. I know she (her actual person) is not there. But, I guess the human side of you overcomes the logical, "I know where she actually is" side. Not sure this post helps you at all, and the friend of long ago that is now dealing with this pain in a new, fresh way...she won't ever read this...we aren't that close any more and I doubt my experience is exactly what she is dealing with. But this post helped me. That little dark cloud of grief trailed me all day and I couldn't shake it. I needed to write this. I needed to put this on paper. I don't know if anyone will care or even read past the first paragraph--"Oh here goes Amy again with another sad post. I am over this."---close web page, walk away. That's ok. I didn't write it for anyone except me and the new member of this group. I wrote it for us. This is my way of dealing with grief. I hope she finds hers. Until then, I am going to pray her through it...just like someone did for me.

Because it is fleeting

When Thanksgiving ended, I decided that THIS year, I was going to make the moments of Christmas count. I am sure every parent says this every single Christmas, but I knew that this year (Joel is three) would be special. He really is "getting" Christmas...the excitement, the purpose of it, of course, the thrill of presents. He also takes so much joy in seeing his own Christmas tree brightly beaming with colorful lights and ornaments haphazardly placed (and then replaced) all over it. So, this year I decided to say "no" to extras so I could have time to treasure Christmas before it whipped past me in a frenzy of work, parties, events, mandatory and obligatory attendance, and so on. Here is where we are December 1st---Tree was up and we started the advent house and the advent calendar my mom made for him. By December 2nd, he knew what both of those things were and looked forward to doing both every day. December 2nd--We put up the Star of Christmas on the advent calendar and opened a "chokate" from the advent house. December 3rd--Busy, busy day today. We woke up early and Joel went to his first Weight Watchers meeting with Mommy and Daddy. He was a hit of the gathering, to say the least. We then took Ryan to work and saw one of Joel's favorite people (Mr. John) and met up with Santa Cow. This year, Joel has been mentioning Santa. This was a real concern of ours...how to handle Santa. I didn't want him to be that kid who shattered the illusion for other kids, but we had always committed to just skip Santa (I know, cue the hate mail) and focus on Jesus and family and the reason of Christmas. So, the main question Joel has been asking lately is "Mommy, is Santa 'weal' (real) or 'be-tend' (pretend)". So in spite of Santa being "be-tend", Joel was very, very excited to meet Santa Cow. After that, we raced home to prepare for our good friends to come into town for a party the next day. We had a very full day. Today we got a special new mini train engine in the advent house and were (at first) a little disappointed that is wasn't candy. December 4th---Birthday party for our sweet friend, Levi. We partied and opened presents and ate cupcakes (well, one of us did...the grown ups didn't really share in the purple and red frosting festivities). It was really a great time together. December 5th--Back to school....but only for a few more days and then the blissful break full of PJ's all day, Christmas movies at night, and lots of Christmas memories. We added a few trees to the advent calendar on the wall and discovered another little mini train engine hiding in the advent house. Side note: I bought the advent house after Christmas last year. I bought it because my mom had something kind of like it as I grew up. Every day there would be something in there. It might say, "play a game as a family", "go look at Christmas lights together", "make Christmas cookies", or "pick your favorite Christmas movie to watch." Sometimes, mom would slip a quarter or dollar in there for us. Some days it might have a chocolate kiss or maybe even a little trinket or toy. As a kid, it helped Christmas and the excitement last a little longer. It helped us find time to spend together. I knew, if God ever allowed us to raise a child of our own...the advent house was a must. I think I love doing it even more than he does. Until next time, XOXOXO AMY P.S. There is no real guarantee that I will find the time or energy to sit down and record all the "magic" of Christmas this year, but that is one thing I will have after the tree is boxed and in the attic once more---the memory. So, if I don't sit down and write again till New Years...well, its because I was so busy making memories, I didn't have time to record them.

So You Could Have a Life

We had just finished a nice dinner at our favorite local "let's-grab-a-quick-dinner-before-church" restaurant on a normal, rushed Wednesday night. Joel was still munching his last few pancakes and Ryan and I were discussing the affairs of the day. The election results were fresh and there was a tangible sense of who had voted for whom in the restaurant. Some were discussing (rather loudly) how so and so was going to "turn everything right again" while others were just trying to escape the "noise" of this last election by having a peaceful, quiet dinner. When the last scrap of pancakes had been eaten, we got up to pay the bill and at the same moment, the elderly gentleman at the table ahead of us also rose to pay his bill. On his head was proudly perched his veterans hat, the emblem of the 4th Infantry division stitched in gold lettering across the top. Ryan stopped Joel and said, "Do you know what we say to someone who wears a hat like that?" "No," said Joel, eager to get his hands on the after dinner cookie that this little eatery provides to its tiniest patrons. "We always tell them, 'Thank you for your service'," Ryan replied. "Oh, 'Tank' you for your service." said my little munchkin boy. The older gentleman stood a little closer to my baby and said, "I did it so you could have a good life." I don't know how, but the older man had with those few words and his simple kindness of listening to my little boy chatter about going to Disney soon and that he was three years old, brought tears to my eyes. This man, whoever he was, gets what it is about. He was part of that "greatest generation." He was part of the group that didn't need a "safe place" to voice their opinions and didn't need a trophy for "trying hard." No, on those dark days, he and the rest of his detachment looked the enemy square in the face and did what needed to be done. They did it so we could have a life. They did it so we could go to church freely, speak our minds (albeit sometimes we do speak it rather ignorantly...but we can save that for another post), raise families, and enjoy countless other freedoms. I can imagine that some of them did not see eye to eye with the political beliefs of their Commander in Chief at the time and I am sure some of them "didn't vote for him" (especially since they couldn't vote at 18 till we were WELL into Vietnam--but I digress), but they got dressed, wrote those "if I don't come home" letters, and geared up for the longest day of their life. I googled the 4th Infantry Division, just because I wanted to know, and found some of their engagements. Not knowing exactly which war our dinner companion had been in (judging from his "age" I was thinking he was a WWII guy or perhaps Korea), I googled that division, hoping to narrow down where he had been or what he had done for us. Google informed me that the 4th had seen action in WWI and lost 2,611 men, WWII (including being involved in the Normandy landing) and lost 4,000 men in action, and Vietnam, losing 2,500 men in action. All I can assume is that whatever war he was in, he had tasted the bitterness of the death of a combat buddy. He had faced the agony of pulling the trigger and doing what needed to get done. This was the real deal. This was not a sunshine soldier or the summer patriot...he had done the hard things. I think as a history teacher, perhaps I am more prone to nostalgia or sentimentality on days like veterans day because I know the stories. I know the stories of those guys who hit the beaches at Normandy. So many of them were just boys in reality. Sure they were 18, sure they had completed "training"--but they had never seen carnage like they were about to see. I wept right along with Kurt Klein as he liberated the camp at Ravensbrook in the biography All But My Life. I felt the desperation of Louis Zamperini as he endured the horrors of POW life. I think of my own grandfathers on days like this. I think of my Grandpa Sherm. My grandpa could tell a good story. As a younger girl, I did not love history the way I do now. I did that subject just to get through it. Then, one year, I had the best teacher I have ever had and I discovered that here in the pages of my history book was an endless source of "great stories"--and I could get into that. It was at that time that I realized my own grandparents were a treasure trove of untold stories. So, I remember listening to my grandpa talk...but he never talked about the war (he was a WWII vet). ONE TIME, just once, I got him to tell me what he did in the war. He told me only enough to peak my interest and then he moved on. I can only imagine it was hard for him. But now as a teacher, on the bulletin board in my classroom, is a treasured photo of my grandfather in those days. I keep it there to remind my why I have to keep teaching. It reminds me that no matter what the current trends in education, no matter the changes to the text, I owe it to those vets, to brave men (and women) like my grandparents to tell their story. History is not just about the collective...it is about those individuals (and I would argue that the individuals ARE the story). Without those individual men who jumped into the water to storm the beaches of Normandy, who parachuted behind enemy lines, who trudged through the swamps and marshes in Vietnam--I wouldn't have the beautiful classroom I have today with a Bible happily opened on my desk and an American flag displayed above my white board. I don't know what kind of legacy my generation (according to google I am part of the millennials---not sure how I feel about that--but that is perhaps fodder for another post that I have tried to write five times now but the right words aren't coming out) is leaving behind us, but I am pretty confident we aren't doing anything close to what the "greatest generation" did. Until we "get over" ourselves and start thinking a little more sacrificially, we won't do anything of note either. We can keep sitting around, obsessing about someone's latest status update on Facebook and lament the "state of the nation" or we can attempt to make something of this life we have been given and that someone fought to preserve. I don't think those guys in WWII envisioned a generation of people who struggle to have an intelligent conversation in person but can eviscerate one another over social media without even batting an eye. One thing I can tell you that I plan to do and you should too--the next time you see one of those veterans walking around--stop and thank them. I can promise you, they won't be annoyed that you stopped them. In fact, they will probably be shocked that you stopped them...but do it anyway. Dust off that old history book on the shelf and put yourself back there with the 4th Infantry Division--it might just change your perspective. Thank a veteran today--America is still here, in part because of what they have sacrificed.

Oh Thou That Changest Not

It is fall in Florida. As "fall" goes that does not mean much. It is no longer 80 degrees all day and occasionally you can wear a light jacket...but other than that, it is identical to any other season in Florida. I was driving down the road, sipping a "fall" flavored latte and listening to a new CD I had bought a few weeks ago. The song, "Abide with Me" came on and I took the time to actually listen to the lyrics of the song. If you ever went to church in your life, you probably heard the song, but maybe my church never sang the second verse...but boy it struck me in this season of life. Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day; Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away; Change and decay in all around I see— O Thou who changest not, abide with me That idea..."Thou who changest not" made me want to cry and gave me so much comfort! Lots of things in my life are in a constant state of flux. I took on the weight watchers lifestyle in July and so my whole lifestyle has taken a drastic overhaul. I don't look like I used to (and that is a good thing) and a normal day of eating and functioning has altered. My little boy has changed. Gone are the little snuggles and cuddles. He is constantly running, laughing, getting into mischief that I never could have imagined (he used an entire bottle of lotion up the other day on his legs...he came out of my room and said, "Wook, I have lotion."). I find myself looking at Facebook and realize how much people around me have changed. The opinions and viewpoints of a lot of people I thought saw things the same way I did suddenly don't anymore. It is tempting to say, "Man, everything is changing and I don't love it." However, as the song reminded me...there is ONE who never changes. God never, ever changes. HIS WORD never ever changes. While the world around me appears to change its mind by the minute and hour, I have a reliable, unchanging God. In the middle of the chaos, the uncertainty--there is that one sure anchor for the soul.

Do not grow weary

Dear Faithful Laborer, This morning, my son was walking toward his classroom and he spotted you. On a busy Monday morning, you stopped, you smiled, you showed him love. You didn't have to stop, but you did! He is not one of your "charges" Monday through Friday from 7 am till 5 pm, but you still stopped. Why did you stop and wave to him and make his whole day? Because you heard him say, "Mommy, das my Puggas lady." Translation: Mom, that is the lady who greets me with a big smile EVERY. SINGLE. WEDNESDAY night at Puggles at Church! Thank you, Puggles Lady (yes, I know your name but I think Joel's name for you means so much more) for pouring into my little pint sized church-goer. He has yet to learn all the big doctrines that you and I hold so dear, but because of your efforts every week, he is starting to learn little lessons about the BIG God who loves him dearly. It was in your class that he learned that God made the moon. Doubtless he will not remember the impact you left on his life...but his mom will never, ever forget. Thank you, faithful nursery worker. Every Sunday, morning and evening, you give up your time and energy to be locked in a room with 10 two year olds (more than half of them are boys). You don't complain. In fact, you love on them, feed them too many cookies (because how can you say no to those cute faces), take them outside to play, and cuddle them when they are tired and sad. All the while, their moms and dads are in the service, child-free and able to listen and soak in every amazing word from the pulpit. They get refueled for the week while you pour yourself out for them. You are a blessing and you are never told enough how much we thank the Lord for you. I know there are Sundays where every kid poops, sometimes twice, the room feels too small, three kids have wiped their noses on your pants, and you just think you cannot do it any more. Keep on doing it!!! You are serving an absolutely vital role and each mom and dad can go into service knowing their little munchkin is going to be loved. Thank you, patient Sunday School teacher and children's church worker. Every Sunday you do your best to lasso those two year old boys and attempt to teach a lesson to them in the two-three minute window that a toddler attention span warrants you. Somehow, you have managed to teach them "Jesus loves me" and the nativity story and who knows what else (because often the story gets some toddler re-writes when we ask him what he learned at Church). At the end of the day, if he is already learning that Jesus loves him...well, does it get any better than knowing that? At two years old? All the while, you take time to help us reinforce manners and potty training, and manage to clean up the "accidents" when they don't make it in time. Thank you, faithful PK2 teachers. Goodness, some days you actually spend more hours pouring into my child's awake hours than I do. You are not only teaching A,B,C's and 1,2,3's, but life lessons, Bible truths, and manners. You have taught him his first "before we eat" prayer, most of his toddler songs like Old MacDonald (although his version almost always includes Old MacDonald's farm having a dolphin...but hey, we live in Florida...it fits), and even some science and art. He is always so proud to show us his art and we are still laughing at his performance at the Christmas program (and blushing over his unplanned dance recital at Grandparents Day). We are thankful for you, for being there while we aren't and knowing we can trust you with our precious treasure. Dear workers, whatever ministry God has placed you in, do NOT grow weary. All those diapers you change, noses you wipe, boo-boos you kiss, and tears you dry...they matter! The children you serve may forget you, but the impact you make on their parents does not go away. You are so important to us and we love you. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the energy and effort you put into caring for them. God sees your sacrifice and labor of love...and this mommy is seeing it too! Until next time Amy

A Beautiful Mess

The first thing I hear in the morning is, "Mommy, I get up". Since he has not mastered the fine art of crawling out of his crib yet, he still cannot get himself up in the morning (and I am in no rush for him to figure that out). We scamper into the living room for a quick episode of Daniel Tiger (but only the episode where he goes to the potty or where he tastes veggies because little man knows what he likes and does not like). Yesterday, he was willing to eat the yogurt that comes in the little monkey cup, but today he won't be willing to eat that, it will have to be the yogurt that comes in the pouch. We get dressed and go to the car. He asks for his favorite songs on the radio, which I deny because my only chance to hear anything going on in the world is on the radio going to work (because I cannot stand the talk show host on the radio on my way HOME from work). He fusses at me for 1.5 seconds and then begins the battery of daily questions. "Mommy, I go shoot (school)?". Yes, baby, we are going to school. "Mommy, I see friends?" Yes, baby, we see friends. "Mommy, I see (and then we name each friend)?" Yes, baby, you will see (and I name all the friends). We talk about the "bus shoot" (school bus) as it passes our car window. He talks about his beloved teachers (who's names he still cannot say right so he calls by his own specially created (and totally adorable) nicknames). He asks for a bite of my breakfast (which is, somehow, always more interesting to him than his own). This little ritual is how he got introduced to coffee cake, coffee (black or with cream, he drinks it both ways), cutie oranges, granola bars, and cold cut sandwiches (I know, I have wonderful breakfast eating habits--- come on, people, the title of the post of "beautiful mess"-- you had to see this real world confession coming). I go through my day teaching about World War I during first hour, Cold War during second hour, Sectionalism and Antebellum period third hour. By fourth hour I get a little break and I have time to run my errands around campus and I usually have time to see him on his little playground with all the friends we so dutifully named on our way to school. I can see him running and screaming and jumping and being 10000% boy while he plays (bless his teacher... she deserves a metal). I hurry back to my room to cover my study hall, lunch duty and a final government class before my day ends. After all the students have been taught, my room cleaned (because there is always, always, always 500 little shreds of paper on my carpets by the end of the day), and some grading done, I get to pick him up. Most days, he is busy doing his favorite thing, playing outside, when I come for pick up. I love getting to be the one to pick up because I get the biggest smile from that little man and a screaming "Hi mommy!!" when he sees me. I usually brush the wood chips from his hair (he likes to throw them up in the air in true LeBron James style and for which he also tends to have to sit in the "Finking chair" as he calls it (timeout chair/thinking chair). One day after we got home, I found woodchips IN his pull-up--not sure what he was saving them for... but there they were. Then we are home and the nighttime race begins. In a frenzy of activity (dinner, bath, pajamas, and bed) the evening hours slip by far too quickly. Soon, the house is quiet and I have a moment to reflect. Our life is busy, there is a lot of rushing around on any given day. However, our life is beautiful. I am not talking about our physical life. The house needs painting, the lawn needs trimming, the car is dirty and my bedroom is still the terrible purple color it was when it moved in (6 years ago). The important parts of our life are beautiful. We love each other and we have the most wonderful son anyone could ask for. He is high energy with a splash of naughty... but he is a token of the goodness of God in our lives and to me, that makes him one of the most beautiful children I have even seen. Sure, he has a penchant for mischief (in one week alone he colored on my bedroom door, poured juice on the floor on purpose, and filled Buzz Lightyear's helmet with yogurt which I then had to clean out with q-tips because Buzz is a treasured friend) but he also can be incredibly sweet and loving. However you look at it, our life has a lot of color and a lot of flavor. When I look at it, though, all I can see is something beautiful... and messy. It's just our beautiful mess. Until next time --Amy

Unless I had seen

I find that from time to time, I get stuck on an idea or a concept and I just keep thinking on it, pondering over it and generally chewing on it until I have it all figured out. For the last couple of weeks now, I have been stuck on the goodness of God. In the world we live in, there sometimes isn't a lot of "good" to talk about. Scroll through Facebook sometime and really look at the posts objectively. Yes, there are the "we just got engaged" posts and the cute pregnancy announcements; but more often it is posts pleading for prayer because of loss or a really serious medical prognosis and you just want to close Facebook down and never open that door again. On the other hand, every so often, there is a little glimmer, a little ray in the dark clouds and you remember, HE is good. When all the THINGS in life seems grim...HE is good. Sometimes I think people miss just HOW good He really is. Hang with me here. We get saved and we start to really dig into faith. Then, wham, out of the blue, life gets hard. Not just a little bit... it gets soul crushing, agonizingly, depressingly hard. We run to the Bible, we look for that promise of hope. What do we find, though. We find that God never said, "Just trust in me and all of your problems will vanish and nothing will ever be hard and nothing bad will ever happen to you." If you have found that verse, let me know. Here is what I have seen. Jesus told his followers, "In this world ye shall have tribulation; BUT be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.". Furthermore, we are told that Paul had a "thorn in the flesh"... something that gave him (I am sure) pain and trouble. He asked God to take it away, but God didn't... because HIS grace is sufficient. Now is when the skeptics say, "well, that doesn't sound very good to me". Dear reader, let me say to you that it IS good. Without that thorn, Paul even said, the tendency to be puffed up in ourselves would be incredible. Here is where it gets so good. The writer in Psalms said "I had fainted, UNLESS I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart." I can't tell you how many times in my own personal walk where I have come close to "fainting". Another trial, another hurt, another hard time... and yet, there is that verse staring me in the face and I think about the goodness of God. I can't escape it. It is all around me. I wake up in the morning and my eyelids flutter open and I can see the comfortable four walls of my bedroom all around me... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. A little voice from the other room starts to yell (each time little louder until I respond)" Mommy, I get up".... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I roll over in my bed and there is the one person out of the 7 billion that was made for me... the goodness of the Lord. I walk past the memory box we made for our precious babies already in heaven and I rejoice that I have the hope of a resurrection... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I walk past my fridge and see the faces of the children of friends that I prayed for, begged the Lord to give to those friends, and there those little cherub faces smile back at me... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I see the save the date cards for former students ready to get married, who are choosing to live for God and love God... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Ok, Amy, that's all well and good, but what about me today? I have suffered loss, tragedy, family struggles, financial woes. I don't feel that goodness. Friend, I totally understand how that feels. I have been there. Some days I am still there. Grief and trials and disappointments don't just go away. Grief, particularly, kind of moves in and never really moves out. It becomes less noticeable, but it is always there. But, grief, no matter how overwhelming, can't erase the goodness of God. Goodness is part of who He is. Even in those times where your heart feels ripped in two, He is still good. He does not promise that all things are good...some things in life, thanks to the curse of sin, will never be good things. BUT HE WORKS ALL THINGS TOGETHER FOR GOOD. That promise... it just gets sweeter the more I read it and think about it. I used to think, before I really knew Jesus as my own Savior, that that particular verse (Rm. 8:28) meant that "for them who love God" things somehow would be easier or less painful or good all the time. Now, I see it. Those things that aren't good in and of themselves like grief and tragedy, they work to make us more conformed to the image of Jesus. More than anything, they cause us to see how good He really is. I don't know what difficulty lies in front of you tonight, my dear reader (all 23 of you), but I do know this. The Word promises that in the Last Times, things will get harder and more difficult. Friends may fail you, even desert you. Being a true follower will probably even involve sacrifice, maybe even persecution. Cling to the truth, in those times, that He is good and His mercy endureth forever. And cheer up, my friend. As much as it may depress you to watch the news and the grim conditions we may see in our own nation and around the rest of the world, God is still on the throne and still looking to save souls. Even in the midst of the evil that we see all around, the goodness of the Lord is there on display. I see His goodness in the truths my son is learning (already) in AWANA and school about God. When he sings, "Jesus loves me..." Well I pretty much turn to mush. Jesus died for that little boy and I cannot wait for him to understand that truth. I see His goodness in the students who got saved this school year and are wanting to learn more. I see His goodness in the couples who are choosing to follow Jesus even if that means saying goodbye to the comfy American life for a third world village. He is good... always, only good. Look for the evidence of His goodness this week.

You have Memories

So this year I decided to download the app on Facebook that notifies you every day about something that happened in years past in your Facebook life on that day in your "history." (I am sure at this point, my personal computer geek, aka my dad, will call me and tell me that somehow this is a way for hackers to track me...oh well, they won't get much out of me anyway). This app is a two-edged sword. On the one hand, the year 2012 is getting increasingly harder and harder to read. There have been a few times already that Ryan has texted me and said, "Don't look at today's memories" and I know to just let that day's memories pass me by. For example, January 2012 was when we started really letting people know that baby Hannah was on her way. Every day, I open my "you have memories" notification box thinking to myself, "How painful is today going to be." BUT, even as that date of May 3rd looms closer and closer, I can't bear to uninstall the app because even in that pain, there is a reminder that it was in that year that I grappled with some truths that I now know beyond all doubt. I learned in that year that it was in that valley of the shadow that I would understand so much more about God and His character and unchanging goodness, even in a world with pain and suffering in it. He remains faithful, good, ONLY good, and ever gracious. Even in the moments where I really wasn't sure how I would be able to push aside the pain and "get through" another day, acting like everything was ok when it really wasn't, somehow, we made it through. Sure there are scars and sure there is still some raw emotion there from time to time, but we walked through that valley and stand on the other side of it now. It was through that loss that my eyes were opened to the fact that I had never really placed my faith in HIS finished work and relying on the prayer I prayed or "doing" the salvation moment correctly. Had we never had that moment in time that left us forever changed, I might have remained forever lost. However, after scrolling through the 2012 posts, there, in 2013 and 2014 are posts about our miracle. Either happy doctor reports that all is well and he is going to be born (we actually broke the news to the world at large over the long MLK weekend...so those good memories are coming) or a smiling baby face eating baby food for the first time, or rolling over, or eating peas or just being the perfectly adorable baby that he is. I am reminded again that joy does come in the morning and weeping only lasts for the night. Now, for us, our "night of weeping" was more like two long years, waiting for our miracle, but joy did come. Joy didn't only come and hang out for a day or two, it made itself a permanent member of the family. Each post from the last two years (with a few complaints about home repairs or traffic in Florida) are bursting with joy. Even my college years posts are preserved on Facebook. Even those, believe it or not, have been interesting to encounter. I either find myself a little embarrassed that I thought people would actually care about what I ate in the dining hall that day or I find myself smiling over posts like "Hey Linny, I accidentally took your printer cable to my house, but I will return it after break. See ya soon." Or I see posts with private jokes (that I actually have long forgotten the real meaning of, because, after all, college was some *cough cough I am old* years ago now) that make me smile, not because I remember the meaning but because of the friendships they represent. There are posts from after I was married but my friends were still seniors, where we set up "dinner at Amy's place (because I had the TV and the cable that they didn't have) tradition." In those college memories I can walk the dorms again, stay up all night to study (don't actually miss that), eat junk food, shop for trinkets, and eat the Chick-fil-A college special for $3.09. While the app has served to make me smile, laugh, remember and reflect, it has also made me thankful. I have been blessed. I have a wonderful life. I have a husband that I have known, in good times and out-and-out bad times, for nearly 10 years. I have a beautiful little boy who delights and, at times, challenges me and all I know about mothering. I have babies I have yet to meet and some I have held, only for a few moments, but who are awaiting my arrival (soon, I hope) in our forever home. There are friendships, preserved for all time on the walls of that app (yes, for all the world to see). The good, the bad, the joys, the sorrows...they are all there. I click "See your memories for today" and suddenly I am 20 year old Amy once again, making college friends, taking too many classes at once, and dating my first real and only love. With a quick click of the mouse (or in my case, tap on the i-phone), I am in my first teaching job and complaining about four new preps while my chili simmers in the crock pot (oh the days when I was first married and I had a crock pot dinner ready almost every day...I am imagining my hubby misses those days too....ha ha). One more swipe and there is a picture of an oh so tiny baby Joel wearing his "My first Thanksgiving" bib and grinning like he still does with eyes twinkling that hints at a pinch of naughty and pounds of sweetness. More than anything, I am grateful that the app does not have (not like it could anyway) a "see your memories of tomorrow" feature. I know that must be why the Lord told us "Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself." Imagine if 2012 Amy knew what May of 2012 held for us. I do not know how she would have carried that burden. Even this Amy, the 2016 version, couldn't carry that weight. I was listening to our Awana director speaking tonight in our club at church to our 3rd-5th grade girls. She was telling a student-aged version of Corrie ten Boom's story (which if you have not read the book on her life...you MUST...go get it tomorrow!!). Tonight's segment was about Corrie's early years as a child and that her greatest struggle was being afraid...for her, it seemed, mostly of death or tragedy befalling her family. Near the end of the story, Corrie's father used a train ride as a teachable moment. "Corrie," he said, "When we ride the train somewhere, when do I give you the ticket to hold?" Corrie's answer was that is was right before the ticket taker on the train would ask for it. That's how it is in life also. God does not heap upon us ALL that life has for us to cope with or enjoy or manage all at once...we could not take it. He gives us the ticket RIGHT when we need it. Oh the truth in that story. Now, ask 2012 Amy if she even wanted to be on train we were on and I am not sure what answer she would give you...but, when it came time to live that day in May in 2012, somehow, we had the ticket and we made it through. Dearest readers (all 23 of you), I do not know what 2016 is going to bring your way or mine. 2016, even though is is a mere 15 days old, has already held joys and tragedy for all of us, I am confident of that. I know there are still those dear friends (and I do pray for you, please know that) who are still awaiting your own miracle baby. Take heart...perhaps 2016 is your miracle baby year! There are others who have no idea which job path to take next, how you are going to pay for college, or how you will ever get your toddler potty trained! Maybe this is the year that will be made plain to you. Wherever you find yourself in this year, remember, we don't need to worry about tomorrow, the ONE who feeds the sparrows and clothes the lilies in the field...HE can manage this year and make it into something beautiful in HIS time. Trust Him to hold the ticket until HE is ready for you to take it. He is a good, good Father. It is Who He is...He is ALWAYS ONLY GOOD. Until next time, AMY

Tree Tops

Thanksgiving break this year came quicker than I was expecting. I am sure there are a couple reasons for the whirlwind feeling that accompanied Thanksgiving this year, but that's a story for another post. Before Thanksgiving could begin, my fellow teachers and I had professional development prior to everyone scurrying away to wherever their holiday plans would be taking them. This year, rather than sit and listen to seminars, our leadership team chose for us to do team building. I have loved all the team building events that we have done before (bowling, laser tag) but this year I was scared to death when our administrator announced we would be doing a tree/ropes course (as in, you are up in the trees, hanging by ropes and completing obstacles). For most, this sounds like a fun day outside, but for me (the girl who has to have her husband get the Christmas tree out of the attic because I CANNOT stand to climb that ladder without my legs turning to mush) it was a terrifying thought. Well, we arrived at the tree course and at first glance, it didn't look too bad (I discovered later that I was looking at the training course when I made my "not too bad" assessment). Well, they strapped us into harnesses and led us to a "training video." In the video, they explained some of what we would be doing and I thought to myself, "There is no way." However, I pulled up my harness, so to speak, and tried out the training course. The training course was probably no more than 8 feet off the ground, yet as I tested out my "skills", I already found myself weak in the knees. This was going to take all my mental fortitude to complete. Once we completed the safety course, the little training girl told me and two others, "Ok, off you go to course 1." We obediently headed towards the first level and looked around us. There seemed to be no one watching us or telling us what to do. Out of desperation, I nominated another person to brave the course before I started my climb. There was no way I was going to be first. I watched her till her had reached the first platform (which was probably only about 15-20 feet off the ground). I grabbed the carabiners off my harness and clipped onto the ladder...there was no going back now. Climb, climb, clip, clip...all the way to the top. "Ok", I told myself, "We are up the ladder and that wasn't so bad." That's when I saw my first obstacle, a suspension bridge of plank boards. It was as though someone had tape recorded my worst nightmares and then created a course to match. SLOWLY, I edged my way onto the planks. "Ok, not so bad", I told myself. By this time, the rest of our little group that had completed basic training (about 10 of my coworkers) had reached the ladder and were making their way into the course. One by one I completed the various parts of the course and finally, I reached the end of course one. However, in order to complete course one and get to solid ground, I had to ride a zip line and then go down another ladder. When I got to the zip line "jump off point", I opened by memory banks and tried to remember all the steps of clipping into the zip line. When, finally, I felt I had it totally right (and after tugging on my harness and the carabiners about 1,000 times to make sure they would REALLY hold me) I pushed off the platform and went sailing along---yelling "Oh, I hate this....Oh this is bad" (I can only imagine how funny that must have looked). When I got to the end of course one and back on the ground, it was time to move to level 2 (there were 5 levels to tackle that day). This was when the "guide" who was helping us found me. "You are going to do course 2 today, Amy!" I wanted to say, "I don't think I can." But I only managed a small grunt. Everyone else had survived level one so I figured I may as well keep going. So, once again, I found a way NOT to be first up the ladder. This course was twice as challenging as the first was. I remember at one point looking down at my guide and asking, "Have these harnesses been tested for weight limits?" He laughed at me and made some kind of joke (which I did not find funny as I was clinging to the ropes with all my strength). It was at this point that the guide became an invaluable source of knowledge. We came to a rope bridge that was made up of a bridge that was twisted up kind of like a strand of DNA. The guide would stand below and yell directions as to how to cross the obstacle. Without those tips, I would have been a goner for sure. Sure enough, when I followed his advice, I was able to cross with speed (which I was happy about). I never looked behind me, but from the giggles and screams and occasional "Ah, I can't do this"...I knew which obstacles my coworkers had arrived at. We reached the mid-point of course 2 with a big barrel that we had to find a way to climb through (in mid-air). I had visions in my body of getting stuck in there, Winnie-the-Pooh-style, but somehow I got in and out of that thing. Much to my surprise, I was able to complete level two, with the help of my guide and my coworkers cheering me on. I was feeling pretty amazed that level two was behind me. Then, I looked at level three and started to wonder if I could finish. But, by this point, I was determined. I climbed the ladder to the top of level three. Phew...this one was higher for sure. I was feeling pretty confident until I got to these swinging ropes of death...it was at that point, I knew, I had reached the end of my time on the ropes course. I yelled for a guide to come save me, and my time was finished. Since I had tapped out on level three, and there were five levels, I meandered my way to the "observation area" to watch everyone else who did not chicken out finish the course. It was a beautiful day and I got to watch some pretty funny stunts up there in the trees. It also gave me time to think. Below are my "take-aways" from my day on the ropes 1. No one can walk the ropes for you and no one can put the harness on for you. Its a lot like life. I HAD to put on the harness--coworkers, pastors, parents, friends--they cannot do it for you. Faith is something YOU have to choose to put on (no one can choose for you...you have to accept the free gift) There are no works involved...the harness does the work...just like faith. You put your full faith in Christ, nothing in yourself. Once I had the harness on, it was off to the ropes. I found that the obstacles I found challenging, others found easy. The ones I thought were "fun" (there really were some that were fun), others found scary or hard. So it is in life. I walk ropes others have walked before and find them to be much harder than I imagined they could be. 2. This life is harder alone. While I was up there, I probably would have quit much quicker had I not had friends in front of me yelling back words of wisdom on how to cross a certain bridge or avoid a painful mistake on the ropes. I also moved with speed because I knew there were people behind me and I did not want to be a hindrance to their progress either. I know for sure there are people that God has allowed into my life so those pivotal moments when I need someone to yell that encouragement to me. I also have people watching me...that's a weighty responsibility. 3. We are not left to do life without a "guide". When I was tackling one particular bridge (it was made of logs, suspended by ropes but not connected to each other...so in other words, it was like crossing a set of swings on a playground...everything was swinging while you tried to cross it) the guide was yelling a very specific direction. "Put one put in the middle of one log and keep it there while you swing the other leg to the next log and then repeat that process." When I listened to him, I had a relatively easy time crossing. Boy, when I quit listening (mostly out of sheer panic), it was really hard. Believers have a guide...the WORD! How many times do I rush out of the house without consulting it. A ropes course in the middle of a forest is nothing compared to this life. I had really keen ears to listen to my guide on the tree course...but how many times do I ignore my guide in my LIFE course? By the time I was home (and taking Tylenol for my aching muscles), I found myself feeling so very thankful for that experience. Not only had we avoided sitting inside all day in a meeting, but I had conquered major fears and had a lot of fun. I had gotten to know coworkers in a whole new way and I had learned some new lessons about myself. Now, I don't think you will see me making this into a weekend hobby, but I can say I will be back to try it again...someday.

I am the one in four

I have never been much good at math. I cried my way through algebra in high school and had a tutor for geometry. It's never been my strong suit. But some numbers in my life are unforgettable, even if the math does not add up. One in four...I have been the one in four 3 out of 4 times. I am not sure how that math works out but none the less, those are my numbers. 

       October is infant and pregnancy loss awareness month. I have four children but people only see one. I know all four of them in my heart but I only know one by sight...my miracle and my rainbow baby, Joel! The reason why this month matters in my mind is because it is high time we moms are allowed to talk openly about these babies that went from us to heaven with no layover here on earth. It's too hard to keep those conversations inside and only think of those babies when no one else is around, cry when no one is looking, or comfort a new mom that joined this unfortunate club when no one will know what we are saying. 

        Joel is what people call a rainbow baby. I have never really called him that. The rainbow was God's promise that He would never again destroy the whole earth by flood. God didn't promise that nothing hard would ever happen to Noah again. BUT I have to think that whenever Noah saw that rainbow, he knew God would keep His word and that He could be trusted. When I look at Joel, I don't tell myself "well, we will never experience that kind of pain again because now we have our rainbow." Wrong! In fact, we miscarried almost a year after Joel. When I look at Joel, I can't help but smile and think of the deep, dark valley that God walked us through and once we reached the other side, we were not immune from grief but rather ready to face it and more ready to embrace joy. We have daily joys with Joel that I think is multiplied by four due to all we have lost. We take four times the pictures, read four times the bed time stories, watch four times the Winnie the Pooh, and steal four times the kisses.

       I don't know why a statistic like one in four has to exist except the curse of sin. Until I felt that pain of pregnancy and miscarriage and stillbirth, I didn't really understand grief fully (and I am not saying I have it under control by any means...I STILL have hard days). The first days after a loss, grief was literally like an elephant sitting on my chest. I felt like I could not breathe. I could hardly say my babies names let alone hold a conversation about them without a breakdown. As time progresses, it becomes more like an unpleasant guest that rings the doorbell just when you are your most relaxed. It never strikes when you think it will. It comes and goes and comes and goes.  Sometimes I can utter their names or talk about them with little to no emotion and other times my voice quakes a little. I sometimes feel regret, even today, that sweet baby number one and baby number four never got names because they left us so early (8 weeks and 7 weeks) but Hannah did. Grief is like that, isn't it?? Sometimes I wonder, once they arrived Home, if Jesus didn't welcome them and they instantly knew their name (the name He chose). I can only imagine that any name Jesus chose for them had to be infinitely more perfect than what I would have chosen had God seen fit to let them stay with us.

        Why do I tell you this? Why should you care? Because we walk among you. If we are one in four, then chances are you know a woman who is grieving during this month. She maybe told NO ONE else but her husband and they struggle along, alone, afraid that people will not understand why they grieve.  I am not implying that this should be your first question when making a new friend. I am just pleading for us to exercise kindness and patience with those who mourn.

       As for me and my house and the story that is our life, God has written these chapters for us and He has figured out the statistics on our family. The most wonderful part...He knows the final numbers. We have prayed for an increase but only He knows how and when that will happen. He has placed new burdens on our heart, especially as it relates to adoption. So for now, the little earthly family

Of three is simply that...three. In the heavenly family photo album...we are six (and perhaps even more). I cannot wait to see that picture as a whole one day!

Guilt and Graham Crackers

I have been back in the classroom for two whole weeks now with students, three weeks in total. So, needless to say, I am up to my eyeballs in papers to grade, lesson plans to write, resources to create and several other tasks to tackle. Additionally, I still have a house to keep, meals to cook, dishes to wash (more than normal because my dishwasher decided to give up and die), and laundry to manage. On Thursday night, little man had a very rough night. He went down for his usual bedtime and I thought all was well. After only about 30 minutes, he was up and crying. In frustration, I went into his room and tried my normal method, telling him all was well, kissing him, and leaving him to sleep. But, tonight, none of that was working. So, with a heavy sigh, I picked him up. I took him to his old glider chair and I held him, rocked him, and kissed his little head. With each rock of the chair, my mind raced. Rock rock...I have a stack of essays to grade before tomorrow. Rock rock..those dishes won't wash themselves. Rock rock...no one has any clean underwear in this house. Then, as I rocked, it struck me again. Someday, and soon, I won't be able to hold this little man in my arms any more because he will be big and he won't want to be rocked. Someday soon I will want those moments and I won't be able to have them back. There will be lots of time when he is 5 or 15 or in college for me to keep a spotless home, free of graham cracker crumbs in every corner of the couch, kitchen, and car seats. There will be time, when he is grown and has a home and family of his own, for me to never have piles of laundry or soggy training pants soaking in the bathtub for washing. These days are exhausting and exhilarating. There are times when I feel like I don't exactly know how I made it through my day, but somehow I did. I know it won't always be like this. I also have those moments where I feel guilty for NOT doing more...more training, more teaching, more loving of my little man. Those days when I pick him up at school and discover he threw a toy at his friend or tried to push his teacher I wonder, am I doing this right? But then, I am reminded...all I can do is my best. That's all I can do. The Word reminds me that I must "train up a child in the way he should go." So, right now, what that looks like is reading him at least one verse before he goes to bed each night. Helping him commit one verse to memory each month. Teaching him to have "kind hands" with his friends at school, to say sorry when we wrong someone, and to be obedient to our daddy, mommy, and teachers. Right now, it means I clean up at least five "puddles" per night as we potty train with real underwear at home (because I may have to take out a second mortgage if I have to keep buying pull-ups). So, for right now...we will balance it all. Balancing guilt and graham crackers...and I am ok with that. :) XOXO-- AMY