It Is Well

It's been a whirlwind few weeks. I just logged in to my blog and was kind of floored that it's been so long since I've posted. But, in the meantime, we've had a couple of special things happen in our family. Both sets of parents came in to town and spent time with us last week. They were here to visit and celebrate Will's dedication to the Lord and Troy's ordination.

Troy has basically had all the paperwork to become ordained since forever but just never called together the council and had it officially done. A few Thursdays ago he defended his theological positions before a council of peers. It was a grueling three hours of discussing, clarifying, and arguing his positions. In the end, they unreservedly recommended him for ordination. Also, I felt dumb. Because the words my husband was using were SO above my intellect. I mean, it might be similar to when I'm talking about Broadway to him but, I really kinda doubt it.

On Sunday, we dedicated Will to the Lord and Troy's was officially ordained. It was a really special day for us. It was great to have our parents there to be a part of it.

Troy's parents left on Monday and mine left yesterday morning. Then, today, we had Will's post placement visit for our home study. I think things went well and we should be able to get a court date for sometime in December.

We have many concerns and so many people, places, and things that we are praying for. At this moment though, within the walls of our own home, it is well. Our family is full of hope and joy. And, when Will bursts out into a hearty baby laugh, we can't help but join in.

On the Eve of 2016

So we decided to let our children try to stay up until midnight on New Year's Eve.

I feel like I should stop there and let you write the story. Be sure to include a catchy exposition, some good rising action, an equally engaging climax, etc. and etc. I'll help you out with some story development. How long had we been playing Sorry when Matthew started to cry?

It was my bright idea. I was around Garrett's age (which would have made my brother around Matthew's age) when I first stayed up until midnight. My mom rented movies and I remember Milo & Otis, in particular. I also remember fighting to stay awake on the couch for what seemed like hours before it was finally time to bang a few pots and pans and call it a night.

In the afternoon, I headed out to obtain the necessary food items. Pizza, appetizers, ice cream, sparkling cider, chips and dip. And, because I'm not a complete lunatic, veggies. When I explained to the kids that we weren't really having dinner, exactly, but were, instead, piling our paper plates with calories and plopping down in front of the TV, they were excited (and maybe confused). It's not that we never watch television during dinnertime. It's just rare. And dinner usually doesn't include pizza, mozzarella sticks, chicken wings and chips and dip all on the same night. We almost never chase such a fat fest with ice cream sundaes.

I got a DVD of classic musicals in my stocking. See, Mrs. Claus--who actually does most of the work--saw it at Target and called Santa and said, "Mr. Claus, there's this DVD that I really would like and I'm here now, looking at it, and there's only one left and could it maybe come home with me and make an appearance on Christmas morning?" Santa was then like, "Yeah. Sure. Go for it." That there is the riveting story of how we found ourselves watching Annie Get Your Gun on New Year's Eve. I didn't know if my boys would enjoy it but WHO WAS I KIDDING? Wild west shows, horses, SHOOTING GUNS! Turns out, Annie Get Your Gun is basically their love language.

After that, we spent some time watching football while the boys spent some time speaking their love language to each other by acting out all the scenes in Annie Get Your Gun EXCEPT the love scenes because they are nine and six and kissing is gross. Although, to be fair, my nine year old seemed less disgusted all the sudden and my six year old, who is basically a tiny little Romeo with the ladies, slapped his hands over his eyes and gagged. So we've found ourselves in some sort of alternate universe where my ladies' man is grossed out by love and my older boy tells me he saw a pretty blonde at McDonald's. (Shhh. Do NOT tell him I broke his confidence by sharing that with the three of you.)

After that, we tried to play Sequence. Somehow, the stars aligned and Matthew and I won even though my teammate had little to no strategy for helping me. It took him a decade to decide which card to play and then he got all in a huff when we pointed out that he couldn't play a two of spades on a two of clubs. "Maybe we should stick to games like Sorry for awhile," I suggested.

But it was 10:30 and Matthew was already exhausted and Sorry didn't go quite as swimmingly as I'd imagined. You'd have thought that, with every bump back to start, we were actually removing one of his fingers with a butter knife. If I had a dollar for every time one of us stared the kid down and instructed, "IT'S JUST A GAME!" I'd have a lot of dollars.

When Sorry ended, I made them go upstairs and take a shower. Because, honestly, I was trying to buy some time. We were 45 minutes from the ball dropping and I didn't know if we'd be able to make it. That's when Garrett started to cry. He didn't need a shower. He was tired. Why was I inflicting this horrible punishment upon him? Thankfully, I shot him the Mom Look of Death and threatened bed and he rallied.

At 11:30 I took this picture and posted it to Instagram with the caption, "They're still going strong but oh boy is it ever meltdown city all up in this house. Thirty minutes. WE CAN DO THIS!! Go team!"

We turned on the TV and prepared to watch the ball drop. We popped open the non alcoholic bubbly, made a few toasts, and clinked glasses. Ninety seconds before midnight, I said, "A minute and a half boys!" And Garrett responded with, "And then we all kiss?" Apparently his knowledge of midnight on New Year's has been strictly gained through television. But if the shoe fits...

The clock struck midnight and there were five combinations of kisses shared. The boys refused to kiss each other because THAT, apparently, would certainly bring about the apocalypse. I banged a pot with a wooden spoon, Garrett slammed two pots together, neighbors let off fireworks, and the dog decided to freak out. (Great! We were doing so well with this one. I had high hopes she wouldn't shake like a leaf and hide in the bathtub like her predecessor. She wasn't nearly AS bad as Beck used to be so I'm holding on to a shred of optimism that we can view this as a mere setback, but she's been demonstrating signs of being afraid of the vacuum now too so I might be delusional.)

At 12:15 the children were sound asleep.

Happy New Year and all that jazz! (Wait, wrong musical.)

Isn't There Anyone Who Knows What Christmas Is All About?

The following is an article written by my husband for our church newsletter. It's important. It's what I want my boys to remember. It's why we try never to have a "rip and tear" fest. It's why we don't get up before the sun to jump into our stuff. It's why our Christmas Eve service at church is the most important part of our Christmas.

Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about? --Charlie Brown

Christmas.

Trees and lights and shopping mall Santas. Family gatherings, exchanged gifts, frosted cookies and holiday dinner. There are so many things we associate with Christmas. But what is Christmas really about?

If you're reading this article, I'm sure you already know. You understand that Christmas is the celebration of Christ's birth. It is the day when we specifically remember the incarnation. We pause to reflect on the great gift of God to us. Himself.

But when the fullness of the time had come, God sent forth His Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, that we might receive the adoption as sons. --Galatians 3:4-5

Jesus came to deliver us from sin and bondage. He humbled Himself so that we might be exalted. He suffered and died so that we might receive life. Christmas should remind us of God's love. It should reaffirm how far God was willing to go to save us.

And yet, we realize that this most important truth is often lost during this season. Even if we remember what Christmas is really about, the truth can be quickly addressed and set aside. Quick! Read the Bible story so we can descend into a gift unwrapping frenzy!

I've often heard Christians complain about financial hardship during the holidays. Money is just so tight. I don't know how we're going to have Christmas this year. I am sympathetic to the situation but the actual statement is incorrect. Our paper wrapped tokens and trinkets do not determine whether or not we have Christmas. Christmas is based upon the one gift--the GREATEST GIFT--given so long ago.

Before the tradition of giving gifts became mainstream, before stockings and St. Nicholas, before the Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer special was created out of Claymation, there was Christmas. There was Christmas because Christ had come.

I don't want you to feel guilty about participating in your own family gatherings and traditions. Enjoy some fudge and spend time with your family. But I do hope that the true meaning of the holiday isn't lost in the clutter. The Grinch could come and steal both our gifts and the roast beast and we would still be a people most blessed. We would be blessed because of the Love that God sent. It would be a day to rejoice and sing and celebrate. Because Jesus has come. God with Us! He has redeemed His people from their sins.

So, Merry Christmas.

Thank you, Jesus.

Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is both to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. --Luke 2:10-11

California Travels

I'm in California.

It was blazing hot.

Now I'm wearing a hoodie.

We were camping for seven days. Three days at a lake and four days at the beach.

This is why I haven't been blogging.

Because...

surfing and boogie boarding and fishing and celebrating my dad's birthday.

Now there are going to be things like...

Universal Studios and ghost towns!

So to recap, there is one good thing about year round school and its TRAVEL.

Whirlwind Wedding Weekend

My brother's wife's sister got married on Saturday. Holly and her new husband, Nate, asked Troy to officiate the wedding and they asked the boys to serve as ring security. Awhile back, I was making Garrett an appointment for a hair cut so that he'd look sharp on the big day. I explained to my stylist that he needed an appointment because he was going to be a ring bearer in a wedding. "Troy is marrying my sister-in-law's sister," I said. I glanced just in time to see her trying to hide her shocked eyes. 

I live in the right state, see. There really are people here who marry more than one wife. Why not a sister-in-law's sister? I quickly explained. "Wait. No. NO! Troy is going to perform the ceremony. He is going to marry my sister-in-law's sister TO HER FIANCE WHO IS NOT MY HUSBAND." 

We couldn't afford to fly and the wedding was in Temecula, CA so we loaded up our car on Thursday afternoon and drove to Mesquite. On Friday we finished the drive in to California about two hours before the rehearsal. Saturday was filled with wedding festivities and Sunday we hightailed it back to Utah so that the boys could be back at school this morning.

It was a whirlwind weekend.

My boys got to meet their cousin for the first time and they are both wildly smitten with her. As in, fight over who gets to feed her the bottle and howl, "I WANT HER FIRST! GARRETT HAD HER FIRST LAST TIME!" And, "SO, WHAT! I SAID IT FIRST!" And who wouldn't want her first? I mean...

Well, okay, so I'm only posting that one because it totally looks like she's doing the Friends alternate to cursing.

This little lady was the flower girl although she wasn't quite big enough to walk herself down the aisle just yet.

The flower girl's parents are my brother and sister-in-law...

My handsome husband cleans up pretty well. He also didn't call Holly a man at any point during the ceremony which is good because the same cannot be said for my poor sister-in-law. The officiant at their wedding tongue twisted his words and referred to her as a man not once but twice. It is now the standard by which all pastors are measured. "Did you call the bride a man?" "No." "Then you were a total SUCCESS!"

The boys took their job VERY seriously.

Nate and Holly were handsome and beautiful and adorable and all the things you should be on your wedding day.

Then we took more pictures and my boys made faces and said, "AGAIN?" and "ANOTHER ONE?" Except not in this picture. In this picture, Garrett desperately wanted a shot of him and his cousin all dressed up and then this older lady came up and shrieked that she just had to see the adorable baby (understandable) and she put her hand on Hannah even though I had my camera up and ready and she just left it there and wouldn't move it and Garrett got really mad about it but he's too polite to say anything so he just smiled like this instead...

Thankfully, I was able to snap this later.

We got pictures of my parents with their grandkids...

And pictures of the family together...

At the reception, Hannah had a massive poopy blow out all over my mother's dress. It was also, obviously, all over Hannah's dress. There was no way to casually exit the venue so we changed her right there, in a back corner, and then my mom and I scooted out so that she could change her dress (she'd had the foresight to bring a spare). The baby's dress had layers and layers of material and poop was smeared on what seemed like every single one. My mom changed her clothes while I rinsed and rubbed and wiped poop from every crevasse of that garment. We took pictures of the ordeal...

I feel like my brother owes me an ice cream sundae or something. But he owes my mom, maybe, the whole ice cream parlor because she was for real wearing his daughter's poop in multiple places. It was like a Lady Gaga outfit gone terribly wrong. But it was hilarious so it all worked out in the end.

Someone else took this picture and Hannah and I were in the background. It looks like my dress had a tag that was sticking out but it didn't. The color is not good and both baby and aunt look like we have a raging case of jaundice, but I really like it anyway.

When the boys agreed to be ring security for Holly and Nate, they sent them clothes along with badges and masks that made them official agents who would stop at nothing to protect the rings. For the reception, they got to wear the badges and the masks. It was hilarious and made it super fun for the kids.

It was a whirlwind trip to southern California and back but it was such a fantastic and gorgeous wedding. We had a blast and we wish Nate and Holly all the best.

Mission

Ultimately, after revisiting it with fervor for approximately two and half days in which I vacillated between being almost sure that we were going to become parents again in September to being positive that we're never going to have another child, we decided not to have our profile shown. It was an agonizing decision and my thoughts swayed--pendulum style--roughly 1.7 million times in 60 hours. I imagined pulling the crib mattress out from under my bed and hanging girly pictures on the wall in the playroom turned nursery turned library, turning it back into a nursery once again. Just as quickly I would spin my mind's wheels trying to figure out loan options and how we would begin to accomplish the getting of such a large amount of money so fast and I would feel restless and without peace or direction.

My brother's baby was overdue. I knew we had to decide before that baby was born. I knew my judgement would be even cloudier once she was here. (Turns out THAT was a good call.) Every time I prayed I felt more confused than before. There just wasn't a clear answer. In the absence of direction, does one move forward when a little life is on the line? Or does one close her eyes and say, "I will wait on you, Lord."

When we said no, we agreed that our time may never come. I know that sounds pessimistic and negative--defeatist, even. It isn't meant to. In February, we decided to move forward in anticipation of another adoption because, independently of each other, the Lord gave us her name very soon after we lost Kate. It's not a name we ever would have considered if God hadn't whispered it to both of us. He's never spoken any of our other children's names into our hearts. But that is a story for another time...perhaps. I won't share the name. I'm presently much too busy treasuring it in my own heart. Even then, though, holding her name on the tip of our tongues, we were never certain that He would bring us another child--much less that He would bring one we have the privilege of naming. We both trust that He told us. We just know that it could have been the dream He gave us to keep us moving. And so, we had to accept that there was an opportunity in front of us and another one might not come.

We decided to wait on the Lord.

For what is to come or what may not come.

It was not an easy choice. And, once made, I still wondered if we'd chosen wisely. One week later, through a strange set of circumstances, the Lord spoke clear and perfect confirmation to me. The details are not important. But the Lord works in utterly mysterious ways. He also began a convicting work in me.

While on earth, my job is to draw near to Him and make Him known to others. (For the record, I fail this mission every, single day.) I've been living in limbo since January. I suppose in some ways it's to be expected. The grief process has been real and encompassing and while I've tried to pick myself up and walk on in public, my husband can attest to the grittier side of things. (I'd be lost without him. He deserves some kind of medallion or a constellation in his honor for the way he has loved me in these past nine months. Truly, no one will ever know the way he has held this messy, grieving family together. But seriously. I should reward him with a belt buckle or something.) The back and forth between grieving and waiting has been exhausting. One minute it's excitement and longing. The next minute it's crying and pain.

The convicting work has been this. I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO DIE WAITING. Especially when no official promise was ever made. I'm supposed to draw near to Him and share Him and whatever He chooses to bless me with along the way is just a whole lot of icing on the cake. Don't get me wrong, we are still waiting with hope and eager anticipation for what He might have for us. I just don't want to waste my life wondering if the phone is going to ring.

Last night, Matthew woke up crying. He called out for me. He'd had a scary dream and wanted to stay with me on the couch. I pulled him onto me and he snuggled in. After he fell back into sleep, I thought about it. These two boys are (usually) a pretty intense delight. I don't know what earthly good I've done to deserve them. But I remember waiting for them and wondering if they'd ever live and breathe and grow up big enough to call me Mom.

I kissed his nose and ran my fingers over his back. Another one would be an amazing and welcomed addition. But the blessings He has bestowed upon me are more than enough.

Incomplete

I'm about to have a first grader and a third grader. I don't know how that happened. But, also, I'm supposed to have a three month old. And I really do use that word "supposed" loosely. My God knew that she'd never be here for her first trip to the pool or her first day at the beach. He knew she wouldn't celebrate a first birthday or get married. So I am not supposed to have a three month old, really. It just feels like I should.

When the boys dive into the pool, I wonder why I'm not splashing in the shallow end with my girl. When I tuck them in at night, I think about how she should be sleeping in the crib in the room next door. Her tiny feet should be kicking barefoot in the summer breeze. Because that's how I imagined it all.

I see babies and I think of her.

I see strollers and car seats and I think of her.

It is better. Summer has a way of making things better because the sun comes out and the weather turns hot and we distract ourselves with the vacation of it all. And time has a way of healing us. But though it be better, it is not complete.

We are amputated.

We choose joy. Sometimes we choose distraction and sometimes we choose tears but always we are trying to choose joy. Because whatever happens in this life, whatever comes our way, whatever challenges us or shifts us or changes us or terrifies us, it is all passing.

And, in a way, our discomfort now simply directs us to a deeper longing of the perfection that is to come. Our grief reminds us that one day our tears will be wiped away. We live. We leave. We come back. But we are not home yet. Home is where our Father is.

Home is where our daughter waits.

Falling in Love is the Easy Part...

Church leadership is a funny sort of business. You meet and fall in love with people. They move. Or you move. You meet and fall in love with more people. They move. Or you move. Pretty soon, you have an incredible database of friends that feel more like family. Older folks who feel like honorary grandparents, people who are more like aunts and uncles than just friends, sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews. The body of Christ really is like a big extended family. For better or worse.

Some will always be just friends or acquaintances or people you say hi to on Sunday morning. But some people cry together, laugh together, hug tight, anticipate life and overlap lives so often that it really, truly does feel like whatever happens to them will greatly impact your own life. Some people, you really just love a lot.

It is a blessing to love like that.

But when they hurt, we hurt. When they're anxious, we're anxious. When they need prayer we step in and say, "Lord, we will still be worshiping you tonight, even if this doesn't go the way we want it to. You will still be on the throne. But, please, Lord, can you answer this prayer the way we're all hoping?" And maybe we don't think about it as much as they do but we sure think about it an awful lot.

We are praying today for a family we love big. Maybe they don't even know how much we love them. But we do. So much so that we are going before the Lord constantly and begging, "Oh Lord, hear our prayer..."

Please pray with me. You might not know them but trust me, they are worth your time. One day they will move. Or we will move. But for now, we share this space, this town, this church building. I am honored to know them and to partner with them in ministry. They need our prayers.

"Lord, bless this family's sacrifice. Accept what they have done. Allow it to come to pass as we hope and desire that it will. Amen."

Choosing Joy

In church yesterday, the worship leader was talking about going through tough times. He rhetorically asked if anyone was experiencing difficulty. Garrett turned his head toward me and nodded slightly.

"We are," he said. I half smiled and winked as if to say, Yes. We are. "We have been through a lot," he continued. Then he finished gently, "It's like there's something wrong with our family and bad things just keep happening."

I fully acknowledge that things could be SO MUCH WORSE. We could live without our basic needs being met. We could have major health concerns. More of us could die! I know all this. But to an eight-year-old, losing a sister and the beloved dog he's had since birth seems pretty awful.

I ran my fingers through his hair. Our eyes met. I didn't speak but he knew.

We will praise if the bad things keep happening and we will praise if the good times come. We will acknowledge the infinite blessings we have and eagerly look forward to what the Lord has for our futures.

We will choose joy.

Paper Kate

I hadn't cried in a good long while.

My mom's best friend's daughter just had a baby. It's her first and I'm super excited for her to experience the joy of motherhood. But, see, I have clothes hanging in the closet of the playroom baby's room library that match clothes she has hanging in her baby's closet. Our moms bought our babies matching clothes. I desperately hope that one day I will have a daughter to dress in the clothes that were bought for Kate. You see, I just don't think Kate would mind. She's in the arms of my loving heavenly Father and I really feel that, like every female everywhere, she'd want the clothes to be enjoyed.

So on the day that my mom's best friend's daughter was in labor, I had to open that closet (which I really rarely do because it's filled to the brim with baby stuff in the hopes that one day it'll be used) and I happened to fix my eyes on the matching outfit. I want her to wear hers, of course. I'm just reminded that Kate will never wear hers.

So a couple days ago, I cried. It had been weeks since I'd shed a tear which is really a testimony to the grace of God and the power He has to heal if we let Him. Sometimes we like to be stuck in our grief. Sometimes it feels so wrong and unnatural to be happy that we allow ourselves to stay fixed on sadness. But I am convinced that our loved ones do not want us circling sorrow for the rest of our lives.

They want us to live.

Still, sometimes, the grief creeps up on me. When my boys stare longingly at babies in Walmart. Grief. When I think of the life she won't lead. Grief. When I see tiny baby clothes left unworn. Grief. I sat on my bed and allowed myself to feel the weight of sadness for several moments. My eight-year-old walked into the room, took one look at me and said, simply, "Kate?" Then he came, wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tight. I am convinced that, one day, he is going to love his wife just as tenderly. I simultaneously cannot wait for that day and could wait a lifetime for it.

Troy came in and pulled me close. I explained. "I just wish I could have one child that I did not have to cry buckets over." And I know that we will all cry over all of our children for one reason or another or a hundred. But just once, I would have loved to experience the joy of conception and birth and life without the pain of infertility and contested adoption and stillbirth.

Matthew wandered in and then wandered out. Later, he came up the stairs and handed me a gift he had made.

"It's a Paper Kate," he said.

"Now you have her. It's a doll. You can snuggle her."

It's stuffed with toilet paper. I plan to keep it forever and for always. I hugged him and told him I couldn't love anything more. This experience has not been fun. There are a million things I would rather do than go through this and, especially, watch my children go through this.

But it is making them tender. It is teaching them about life and love and Heaven and grace and mercy. It is, in painful ways, making them better.

Handsome Boys

This is what we looked like on Easter.

My boys are so handsome. 

When An Outfit Goes Missing

My mom has a cousin who lives in Reno. We try to see her and her husband whenever we're at the lake. They came up yesterday and met us at the beach. After a long afternoon soaking up the hot Sierra sun, playing in the lake, kayaking and talking, we headed back to the cabin we're renting for some dinner.

At this point, Linda headed into my parents bedroom to change. 

Fast forward a couple of hours. Tom and Linda had headed home and my mom's phone rang. My mom listened and then asked, "Is anyone missing a green shirt with cars and trucks on it, black shorts and green underwear?" She was met with blank stares. She explained that Linda had found the aforementioned apparel in her belongings. We assumed someone had stuck them in her bag at the beach but none of our guys (and it was men's clothing we were talking about) would fess up. We jumped to the logical conclusion that someone near us at the beach had inadvertently put their stuff in her bag. Because none of our guys had a green shirt with cars and trucks, black shorts or green underwear.

Fast forward another couple of hours. My brother, his wife, Troy and I were sitting on the couch. My mom was in another chair. Our boys were sound asleep upstairs. My dad was in his bedroom. He came out, looked at my mom, and straight up asked, "Have you seen my gray shirt and black shorts?"

Wait. What now?

Hang on a second while I tell you that my dad is a very intelligent, very aware, very logical guy. My mom said something along the lines of, "You mean the clothes Linda took home with her?"

"No, she took home a GREEN shirt. I'm missing a GRAY shirt," my dad says.

But, y'all, GREEN and GRAY sound a lot alike over a cell phone. "Did your shirt have cars on it?" my mom asked him.

"Well, yes..."

My mom then proceeded to ask him how he didn't figure out that these were his clothes to which he explained that he'd never had them at the beach. They were folded up on his bed the entire time. I remembered that Linda had changed in his bedroom and explained that she must have accidentally picked them up.

"How did you not know that you had black shorts and a shirt with cars?" my mom wanted to know. My dad stood, staring at her, with the most baffled of looks on his face.

"My shirt IS GRAY! NOT GREEN!"

By this point the four of us on the couch are dying of hysterics. Troy, who reserves his giggle-laugh for only the most hilarious of situations, was bent in half, giggling like a school girl. My dad had to call Linda to explain that they were, in fact, his clothes that she'd gone home with and he was only just then realizing it. As he talked to her, my brother laughed so hard he had a stream of tears rolling down his cheeks. I couldn't get enough air and my stomach muscles hurt so bad I thought I was going to throw up. My mom and Heather were laughing equally as hard. 

My dad handed the phone off to my mom and Linda was laughing just as hysterically as the rest of us. He continued to defend himself based on the fact that the color description hadn't been right.

In the end, after merciless teasing from the rest of us, my dad said, "It's not my fault your cousin stole my clothes."

He was, of course, kidding, but that comment sent us right back over the edge. None of us had laughed that hard in a VERY long time and, for years to come, we will be talking about the stolen GRAY shirt, black shorts and green underwear.

Happy Father's Day, Dad

I got married before digital cameras. Or, at least, before everyone owned a digital camera. We got our first one a year and a half later, before we went to Israel for the first time together. So, I totally had to get my wedding album out and snap pictures of the pictures using my cell phone.

 Just to say, "Happy Father's Day!" to the man who raised me, loves me, and walked me down the aisle.

I know. I'm 12*. Which would put my dad in his mid 30's because he was only 22 when I was born. Seriously. Only 22. And still, we never wanted for anything. Well, alright, I'm sure we wanted stuff, but we never needed anything we didn't have. My dad is, honest-to-goodness, the single most responsible person I know. Responsible with money. Responsible with career. Responsible with family. Responsible with life.

He also paid for my wedding which, to this day, is the most fun wedding I've ever been to. And, yes, it was mine so I'm biased. But I have not been to a better wedding. That includes the very fancy Ritz Carlton wedding I went to as a kid. And, okay, so if I went to your wedding, it was probably very nice and/or fun but my wedding had all the songs I wanted and all the food I wanted and the really good cake. My parents only had one daughter (unless there is a very deep, dark family secret they've never told me about. They told me for years that my childhood dogs went to live on a farm so it's not beyond the realm of possibility that I have a sister I don't know about.) so they had nothing to go on when they planned this wedding AND IT WAS STILL THE VERY BEST ONE IN ALL THE LAND.

During said wedding I sprung this hug on my husband.

My friend was married earlier in the summer and she'd hugged her dad on her way back down the aisle. It was perfect and inspiring and, just as my father-in-law introduced us I whispered to my husband, "I want to hug my dad." So no one was really prepared for it. Except, apparently, the photographer. 

My dad made my wedding pretty perfect. (Okay, in fairness, it was a lot of my mom's doing but he was willing to keep writing checks. And hanging the white covering up on the stage. And wrangling a band of men together to change the church from ceremony to reception hall.) He also made my life pretty perfect. He is everything a father should be and nothing that he shouldn't be.

I made my dad watch the movie Father of the Bride more times than any of us probably care to count. To this day it is probably my favorite movie of all time. There's a scene near the end of the film when Annie's future in-laws bring over a car--their wedding gift to the happy couple. George runs inside (prior to seeing the car) to get the gift he bought for his daughter and future son-in-law. Annie runs in to see if her dad has seen the car...

Annie: What's that?

George: It's nothing. It's just a gift I was thinking of giving you guys. You know, it's something you said you didn't have but you wanted.

Annie: Can I see it?

George: Yeah, you know, it's--It's not the big, big gift, of course.

Annie: It's a cappuccino maker!

George: Supposed to be a good one. That's what they said at the store. It's, uh, top of the line. Makes great foam.

Annie: I couldn't love anything more.

(She exits. George watches her go.)

George: My feelings exactly.

So I'm, like, the least sappy person I know. More of a realist than a romantic. Sarcastic. German. I don't typically buy my dad serious cards with little poems about how I'm a better person because of him. I mean, that's the honest truth but I'd rather buy a card that says something about how the thing that makes him a great dad is the fact that he has a great kid and that kid happens to be me. 

But the thing is, when it comes to my dad, I echo Annie's feelings about the cappuccino maker. Simply put, I couldn't love anything more.

* For the record, I was actually almost 22 at my wedding.

Happy Mother's Day

I sometimes have thoughts about my mother dropping dead.

A massive heart attack. Maybe a brain aneurysm. Perhaps she's diagnosed with one of the particularly icky kinds of cancer. The types that kill you in no time flat. These are relatively ridiculous thoughts because she's a healthy 56-year-old woman. She exercises more than I do. She eats well and I have no reason to suspect imminent death. Still, on occasion, I will suddenly think about what it would be like to answer the ringing phone only to hear the words on the other end of the phone that she's gone.

I don't even think I would understand the concept of putting one foot in front of the other, let alone have the capability of accomplishing the simple task of walking. I think breathing would feel the way it does when I'm nearing the end of a run--my lungs burning as though they are being stabbed by a red-hot pitch fork that was previously dipped in acid. Beyond the initial shock and pain, past the ugly grieving, would be the hours turning into days and, eventually, years without being able to pick up the phone and call her.

Because some kid did something funny.

Because I want to make sure I've got the ingredients right on a recipe.

Because I'm bored.

Because my right ovary is more than twice the size of the left one and WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN I AM PROBABLY DYING RIGHT QUICK. RIGHT?

Because I'd need her to say, "No, you're probably not dying."

Because someone hurt my feelings in ministry and DOESN'T THAT PERSON KNOW I AM DOING MY VERY BEST?

Because I need her to say, "Don't worry about it. You're doing your best. You're being a wife and a mom to little kids and working part time and leading ministry and that person needs to stop putting one more expectation on you."

Because I'll still lose sleep over it but at least I'll know that my mama's in my corner.

Because I spend a lot of time worrying about how I'm not something more. But the truth is, it was my mom who taught me--is teaching me--that it's okay to want my life's work to be about my children. It's okay to say that my career (or lack thereof) is not my legacy. My popularity is not my legacy. My children (and, more specifically, raising my children into godly men) are my legacy.

I have no earthly idea what I'd do without my mom. I would learn to put one foot in front of the other. I would, once again, resume normal breathing without pain. But someone would always, always be missing.

Thank you, Mom. Thank you for molding me, teaching me, loving me, accepting me, and being there for me. I am who I am today because of you. And while, on the outside, what I am may not look like much, I hope you're proud of your legacy.

Happy Mother's Day. I feel sorry for all the other kids because, clearly, I got the best.

Family

We lived in a small town when we first got married. It was the same town I'd grown up in, the same place my parents lived. His parents lived there too. His sister and her kids also called it home and, though my brother was attending school at UCSD, his permanent address was there, in that town. Every single one of my grandparents were within 40 minutes as well as all of my aunts, uncles, and six cousins.

My inlaws moved when Garrett was just a baby.

That started the ball rolling for us.

And when Garrett was sixteen months old, we packed up and moved to Utah. To this ministry. To this life.

It's been six and a half years.

Still, I fight the twinge of jealousy when I see extended families celebrating holidays together. Or hanging out after church on Sunday. Or moms and daughters getting coffee together.

I fight the twinge of jealousy when people--who have large amounts of family within ten minutes--say, "I don't have anyone to watch my kids." Because my parents and Troy's parents--and all our siblings, probably, would LEAP HIGH IN THE AIR WITH SHOUTS OF JUBILATION if they got the chance to watch my children.

We had Troy's parents here for a week. They left on Wednesday morning and my parents got here on Thursday. They stayed until today. Some people seemed to think it was crazy that we were going to have house guests for so long.

No. Not crazy.

Perfect.

We got to have our families here for TWO WEEKS. (My parents are coming back for two days after visiting Idaho for a bit so the fun isn't even over yet.) We GOT to have our families visiting us.

I always thought I'd be away from my family and, over time, the new normal would take over and I maybe wouldn't really miss them. That isn't true. My home is here. My life is here. My church family is here and my friends are here. Here is where we are.

But part of my heart will always and forever be there.

Canyon Exploration

So last night I got the wild idea that we needed to pack up and go for a hike this morning. We headed up into Millcreek Canyon, where I'd been only once before in my almost-six-and-a-half years of living here. We grabbed the boys, the dog, and some water and took off.

In the future, we are not telling Garrett when we're going to go exploring because he bounced off the walls as though it was Christmas and Disneyland all rolled into one. He's a regular Huckleberry Finn, that kid.

Whenever I drive into any of our nearby canyons, I'm reminded that, while I'll always be a California girl at heart, my backyard here in Utah is pretty magnificent.

I love that even my younger son is getting totally into exploring nature. He's also very in to trying to take "selfies" with my cell phone.

We walked. We climbed. We chased the dog around. We explored. I got cold feet because I have the circulation of an 85-year-old.

We asked Garrett to take a picture of just the two of us. A helpful passerby offered to do it and then yelled, "Get on in there," to our son. Matthew was 200 yards away and so he's missing from our family-shot-that-was-supposed-to-be-a-couple shot. Also, it looks like Troy is growing a tail. The secret's out. He's actually a small woodland creature. A racoon, perhaps?

When the very kind lady left, we took this one.

We had a great time, just hanging out together. This year has been crAzy unpredictable and we're enjoying every moment that we have together. There's just no telling what might happen to shake the entire course of a life. So we might as well make the very most of what we're given.

Would You Rather

We come up with "Would You Rathers" around here a lot. Tonight, Garrett said, "Daddy, would you rather have six hands on each arm or a scorpion tail?"

Troy replied, "A scorpion tail."

"Why?" Garrett asked.

Troy answered, "Because if I have to be a freak, I may as well be deadly."

Just a minute or two later, Matthew said, "Would you rather have a lion named Peter Pan or Matthew?" (Because he doesn't really have the hang of these questions yet.)

Troy said, "You, Buddy. I choose you."

"No. I think you get the lion either way. His question is whether you want to name your lion Peter Pan or Matthew," I explained.

"OH! Then Peter Pan. Otherwise things would be confusing."

Thankful

Happy Day After Thanksgiving. Yesterday I had a flu that nearly killed me dead. I caught this unhappy little bug from my son who, when he had it, insisted that he drape himself over me thus contaminating me with all of his germs. Oh motherhood!

Thankfully, our house guests left yesterday morning and made it home to their family in time to spend the holiday with them. We decided that we were not eating Thanksgiving food on account of the fact that I never got out of bed. Instead, I threw up for roughly ten hours, ran a fever, slept when I wasn't visiting the commode and felt like death was upon me.

I looked at Facebook a time or two. This was a stupid idea because, in the words of Junie B. Jones, first grader, wowie wow wow! (If you've never read those books, they are hilarious!) Did you know that everyone and her brother's wife's neighbor post pictures of food on Thanksgiving? Did you know that? This is a very bad thing when you are bound to your bed and bathroom with the plague of vomit. So thank you all. I'm fairly certain I tasted all of your food--only it was coming back up. I'm sure that is not the way you intended it.

I'm so thankful today that it is gone. I still feel like I got hit by a truck, but I'm definitely mending.

I'm also thankful for:

My incredible husband who took care of the boys all day, did a ton of laundry, cleaned the basement, washed the sheets on our bed when I told him they smelled too bad for me to get back in them, brought me Gatorade, and held down the fort. He's a good catch. And don't think I've forgotten.

My boys. They crept into my room last night to check on me. They missed me. It's good to feel wanted.

My family. I missed being with them yesterday. Not that I would have wanted to be with them while I was throwing up but I missed the idea of them being there.

My church family.

The roof over my head.

The food in my pantry and refrigerator.

The fact that we are blessed beyond all measure. We don't own a home. We don't have fancy cars. We don't eat at the nicest of restaurants. But we are privileged to call ourselves God's children. We are redeemed. We are His.

And there is nothing I am more thankful for than that.

To See What Jesus Saw

The Rock Star was three years old when he confessed his undying love for the Holy Land. Troy jaunted off on another tour of Israel and my little boy, my toddler and I stayed behind and talked to him on Skype. Garrett wanted to go--desperately.

He hasn't shut up about it since.

Troy leads tours. He's been a handful of times.

It happens like this. Troy gets to go for free. It's a working trip for him. On the trip I was on with him, back in 2005, not only did he coordinate the itinerary and travel plans--which takes months and much work, he also had to take care of different issues on the ground in Israel. He was the one who dealt with an elderly, wheelchair bound woman when she lost her plane ticket. He also deals with all the hotel issues that might arise, sudden changes in itinerary plans, etc. As such, his cost is built in to the trip.

He began planning another trip for this upcoming fall. Of course, the Rock Star began chipping at his father. "I want to go. Please please please?!?!" He even decided that he would sell candy bars door to door to help pay for his trip. It was his idea. We tried explaining that he would have to sell thousands of candy bars to afford such a trip. Still, he was determined. Off he went, knocking on door and explaining that he was earning money to go to Israel.

I told him there was no way we were going this year.

And I was serious.

Then, it just so happened, that this trip got enough people signed up to go that Troy was able to provide me with a free trip as well. Still, I told him I wasn't going. I didn't want to leave Garrett--who so desperately wanted to go--and Matthew. I didn't want to send Garrett halfway around the world without me. I'm still too attached to him to cut the metaphorical umbilical cord. Plus, with it being a working trip for Troy, I couldn't really send my first grader to Israel without me.

I told Troy that it just couldn't happen. Not unless we got a hefty amount of unexpected money.

Then he got a very nice bonus.

Then we got nearly 1500 dollars in the mail from a housing settlement we'd completely forgotten we'd even applied for.

We sat down and crunched the numbers.

With his free trip and my free trip and a third trip paid for by unexpected money, we needed to pay for one person's tour of Israel. It was still super expensive--especially because we'd just purchased a new to us vehicle--but it would never be cheaper.

I'd had other valid concerns. A tour of Israel is exhausting. I went when I was 23 and there were a few days when I was so tired I couldn't see straight--honestly. I mean, generally that was in the airport after hours of air travel but still. I can't imagine how tiring it would be for children.

Also, I can't imagine spending that kind of money for them to not even remember a trip. I doubt a four-year-old will have much memory of a trip he took before he even started kindergarten.

Still, I couldn't deny the sudden third trip's cost covered.

So we did it.

We booked four round trip tickets to Israel in October.

Garrett will be off track and will only miss two days of school. He'll experience eleven days on the ground where Jesus walked and ministered. We were able to save more money by booking airfare separate from the group (and arriving a day before everyone else). So if another elderly woman loses her plane ticket, my father-in-law will have to take care of it (both my mother and father-in-law are going on this trip as well). We'll fly to JFK and then on to Tel Aviv on Delta which saves us the domestic baggage fee cost because it's the same airline the whole way. Since we'll get in to Tel Aviv a day before everyone else on the tour, our kids can get over their jet lag.

Before we made our final decision--and while we were still very much praying about it--I took it to Facebook and asked what people thought. A few people expressed concern that Matthew was too little. I just simply couldn't leave him and take Garrett. Not only did that seem unfair, it also seemed like my heart would break a little without him for that long. Most of the people overwhelmingly said, "DO IT!"

Some wondered how, in the world, they would handle the travel without turning into raging horrors. The answer--they might. However, they've traveled A LOT in their young lives. We've driven all over the western United States. They've flown to numerous places including a red eye home from Hawaii. I'm actually not really concerned about the travel. Yes, this will be the longest they've ever traveled (18 hours to get there and 21 to get home), but I think we've prepared them as best as we can for that part.

Some questioned what they might eat since a Mediterranean diet is quite different from our own. Matthew will eat anything and everything we've ever tried with the one exception of avocado. I'm not worried about him. Garrett is certainly pickier than Matthew but not at all truly picky by our country's standards. We've always insisted that he eat what it put before him. We're good about only giving him tiny portions of the foods we know he doesn't like but I'm not worried about him either. I thoroughly enjoyed most of my meal experiences in Israel. The fruit and veggies there are beautiful and delicious and fresh. Breakfasts are typically a buffet of Greek yogurt, fresh fruits, hard boiled eggs, salad, etc. If nothing else, Garrett can stuff himself on these things and eat smaller portions if we find that his palate does not love things like falafel, lamb, and other middle eastern cuisine. Thankfully, almost all of our meals are included in the tour cost so we won't be forking over big money for either of our kids to push food around their plates.

As I said before, exhaustion and memory retention are my two biggest concerns. Thankfully, I've been there before so I can hang back at the hotel with them if they need a down day. I plan to take a great deal of video as well as numerous photos to help them retain memories of the trip. Currently, my thought is to have the boys help me scrapbook when we get back so that we can reinforce those experiences.

If they remember only a little, it should still be a life changing experience for them. When I went, at 23, it changed the way I experience my own faith. It gave actual images to places discussed throughout Scripture. I saw what Jesus saw. And that was incredible. If they can grasp, at four and seven, just a fraction of the impact Israel had--and continues to have--on me, their spiritual lives will be enriched. And that will be worth it to me.

A Week Is Never Enough

A week at the lake is never enough. 

There are never enough early mornings when Tahoe is smooth as glass.

We spent three nights in Zephyr Cove, on the southeast shore. I've been to the south side but never stayed there before. We went to Kiva Beach and to the Taylor Creek Stream Profile Chamber.

On Monday, we spent almost the entire day on the beach. It was glorious weather. Troy's sister and her family surprised us by coming up to the lake a day early. We saw our friends who live in Auburn, played hard at the beach, roasted hot dogs and marshmallows.

One week at Tahoe is not enough swimming, sleeping, and fetching for our golden retriever.

That night, with our friends still hanging out at our campsite, we saw a bear. Again. Two years ago, while we were camping in Tahoe City, the same friends came up to visit and there was a bear in our campsite. Apparently, our friends, bears, and Tahoe are becoming a biannual thing.

The sister who surprised us by showing up a day early came to our campsite. She had an extra kid with her who looked a lot like a different sister's daughter. Turns out, another sister and her family decided to surprise us too. They camped one night in our campground.

On Tuesday we packed up our camp and headed north to the cabin my inlaws had rented. We passed by Emerald Bay and Eagle Falls.

A week in Tahoe isn't enough time to adequately capture the beauty of the falls. But it is enough time to try.

We stopped at the Fire Sign Cafe and had breakfast--at noon--with the first sister who surprised us and her family.

We arrived at our rental on Tuesday afternoon. It was a great cabin, perfect for our group of TWENTY.

A week in Tahoe is simply not enough time for twenty people to enjoy all that the lake and its surrounding areas have to offer.

My two youngest nieces are joined at the hip. They're like twins, separated by one year and two weeks of life.

We went to Sand Harbor. 

A week in Tahoe isn't enough time for Garrett to jump off of all the rocks he wants to jump off of.

But it is enough time to try.

His father feels the same way.

We went rafting. There were four rafts for twenty people and somehow, at the beginning, all of my nephews and my oldest son ended up with my sister and brother-in-law. They couldn't hear anything over the sheer volume so we split them up at our first stop.

A week in Tahoe isn't long enough to get twenty people to look halfway decent in a group picture. But I think it's safe to say we came pretty darn close.

My dad found this hat on the Truckee River when I was super tiny. It's almost too small for Matthew's head but it made a final trek down river with my family. Now it's time to pass it on to smaller heads.

A week in Tahoe isn't long enough for Matthew to hang out with Uncle Wade as much as he wants to.

But it is enough time to take cute pictures.

It's not enough time for me to spend with this beautiful niece who's a drama girl after my own heart. She adores my youngest son and he adores her. I wanted to bring her home with me. My life would be so much easier.

It's not enough time to spend with this gorgeous niece. She couldn't come home with me either. She has to go back to college in a few weeks.

We took another great group shot. It's a good thing I was hiding behind everyone because I had on absolutely no make up, there were s'mores stuck in my teeth, and I'd just recently hopped out of the shower. 

A week in Tahoe isn't ever enough time to capture the beauty, the solitude, the endless possibilities.

 But I'll take what I can get.