To My Sweet Eveyn,

Today is your 7th Birthday. As I write this, I am sitting in the place where I feel closest to you - with your brother and sisters. Elijah, who at the tender age of 20 months old, cared for and comforted his mom more than he may ever know when you didn't get to come home with us. Ella, the gracious gift of hope that God gave us a mere three months after he took you home. And Emerson, who is still eagerly learning and asking about her big sister Eveyn that "gets to be with God." They are all so uniquely their own, and they each have a special connection to you in their hearts and minds.

Elijah, just like in all of life, is very matter-of-fact with you. He can't remember a time when you were not a very real part of his life. He had to spend so many hours of his little life caring for me, and checking on me, I was concerned that it would ruin him. I feared that my grief would stain him. I now know this isn't true. I am convinced that Elijah is the caring, kind soul that he is because of his relationship with you, and his love for you.

Ella is the most carefree, dreamy spirit. When she talks about you, it is with joy, affection and care. She thinks it is the most wonderful thing in the world that you are with God, Jesus and the pure peace of heaven. She always says that you are the third person she is going to go find and hug when she gets to heaven. First God, then Jesus, and then her big sister. Ella has always been connected to you and genuinely happy when she thinks of you.

Little Emerson wants to know more about you. She is the most distant from you, but she is so intrigued by your life. She talks about you often and asks questions about when you were in my tummy. She has told me a few different times that she wished you could come back for your birthday or to be in my tummy again so she can see you. She so desires to know her big sister more.

I echo her sentiments. Oh how I wish I could see you now. Not as I saw you last, but where you are now. I make no claims to know what heaven is like. I wonder all the time what your heavenly body is like. How beautiful you must be.
I don't know if we will be reunited, as Ella talks about. And Elijah, Ella and I agree - how can we possibly have no tears in heaven if we don't get to see you again? There are many great theological minds that will tell me what it is like, but I don't know that I need to have all of those mysteries figured out. I have searched and questioned God long, deep and hard over the last seven years, and I know one thing for sure. You are in the full presence of God with joy and praise. For a mother there is no stronger desire than to comfort my children. You are in the ultimate hands of comfort, and that gives this mother's heart peace.

But my dear Eveyn, even with peace in my heart, I miss you terribly. The words, "I miss you," don't quite do it justice, but they are the best ones I can find. You are loved, you are missed, and I am thankful to call you my daughter. Happy Birthday. I love you sweet girl.

Five Senses of Hope

On a perfectly beautiful spring day last week, my wind chimes started singing. They make music every single day, but on this day it signaled something different. The time of year I love the most, the days of spring that I cherish. It's fascinating how God does that. How he turns our ashes into something beautiful.

I have always loved Spring in Texas, and especially April, the month that really signals change. April, the month that pushes the short Texas winters away for another eight months, that ushers in thunderstorms, and calls the bluebonnets up out of their rest, is what I always look forward to each year. Seven years ago I was enjoying the fruits of another lovely April while also anticipating the birth of another kind - the birth of our first daughter. But my coveted springtime became a very dark winter when our daughter Eveyn passed away later that month.

After that, I thought springtime would be the time of year that I always dreaded, but the opposite has come true. It is the time of year that I feel closest to her. The warmth of the air, the shine of the sun, and the sound of my wind chimes gently swaying all take me directly back to that April seven years ago.

When we first came home from the hospital without Eveyn, the weather was beautifully springtime all week. I spent many hours laying on my couch in a quiet living room, in between discussions about funeral plans, staring at the beautiful simplicity of the sunshine out my window and listening to the soothing music of my wind chime. It was such an amazing contrast I was experiencing in my heart. While there was so much darkness within me, there was the constant bright, hopefulness of spring all around me. This was a saving grace to me. It gave me hope, it gave me a promise of tomorrow. (At least in those first shocking days, anyway. Grief is a very long, complicated process that many times feels very hopeless). But he gives us reminders that even during all of the bad, difficult things, there is still so much good. Beautiful glimpses of eternity, right here in this often times mucky world. Hope.

God gave me so many gifts of the senses in that first week that I carry with me to this day. From the moment I held Eveyn for the first time and smelled her freshly-birthed skin, God was building those memories into my heart. As strange as it sounds to others, God understands and smiles with me when I smell freshly laid mulch in the spring. He knew what was happening when the little girl across the street was born exactly one month after Eveyn, and I would get to watch her play and grow each year. He knew what memory was being laid when I first felt the warm breeze and bright sun as I stepped out of the hospital. And he knew how that first time I heard my wind chime in my quiet home would be a blessing to me the rest of my life. He knows my senses and how I'm blessed by them. He created them in joy.

We all connect so much of life, memories, and love to the senses that God has given us. What a gracious, kind and generous gift to give us. We not only get to remember with our minds, but we have the joy of tasting, smelling, feeling, seeing and hearing our memories as well.

It's what allows me to feel close to her still. Without these sensing memories I have of Eveyn, she would feel so much more distant with each year. But God has allowed me not only to simply remember her, but to keep her very close to me. What a blessing. And a hope.

Dirty Feet

Washing the feet of my children was surprisingly moving and profound. I did not expect the emotional reaction that I had.

Maundy Thursday is a long celebrated holy day in the church. It commemorates the last sharing of a meal together between Jesus and his disciples. It is the night before he is put to death, the night that he is betrayed by two of those same disciples that shared the meal with him. It is the night that Jesus takes the posture of a servant and with unfathomable love, stoops down to each of these men and washes their feet - even the ones who would betray him. He washes them in order to show them how much he truly loves them, and also to show them how to truly love others.

This story of washing feet doesn't really resonate quite the same until you have washed and been washed yourself. I never really understood the true depth of the message of love and service until I allowed myself to live out the story this Thursday.

I've been to church services before where there have been foot washings. But it has always been something that I have watched others do in front of the church. Never have I been an active participant in the story. It is profound.

My little family of five went to one chair in the back of the church set up with a couple of bowls, a pitcher of water and some towels. Many other people were there, doing the same thing with family members, friends, or perfect strangers at different chairs throughout the room. But when I was there at our chair with my family, it became an intimate moment between us. My little Emerson was the first to enthusiastically hop up on the chair, excited to see what it was like to have cold water poured onto her little feet. As I knelt down in front of her, and saw her wiggling toes through the running water, I was struck with my deep, unashamed love for this little soul. How much I truly love her - each of my children. In a way that could never be expressed in my words, but was so profoundly expressed as I carefully wiped and dried her cold little feet.

I looked up and saw her sweet, smiling face. But I could also see a twinge of embarrassment and even confusion. She was happy, she was satisfied with what I just did, but she also didn't fully understand it. There is a depth to my heart that she can't fully see or understand. And she won't really know how deep my love is until she is a mother herself. And I realized, maybe for the first time, that this is how Jesus loves me. He loves me, all of us, with such a profound depth, that I really don't understand. As Jesus knelt next to his disciples to wash their dirty feet, they were uncomfortable, embarrassed, confused. They didn't understand the depth of his love for them. They didn't fully get it. And neither do we. We know Jesus loves us, cares for us, petitions the Father for us, even died for us. But we still don't really know the absolute depth and fierceness of his love for us. And maybe we never will, until we see the completion of the story in eternity, and see him face to face.

We continued with washing feet as a family. I washed Ella's and Gavin's. Gavin washed mine and Elijah's. I spend each and every day serving the blessings that God has given me. It's what I do. I am a mom and a wife. It is my responsibility to take care of these people that I have been given. Some days it feels more like a chore than a joy. But when I washed their feet, just the simple act of getting on the floor, below them and in a physical posture of servanthood, the chore became a joy. It is this way when we serve in the way that Jesus exampled. Whether we are serving our own children, close friends, complete strangers, and even those that are put in our life that we would never pick on our own, we are called to humbly serve with abandon by taking the posture of Jesus. Jesus takes JOY in loving and serving us, and he allows us that same deep joy when being a servant to others.

“As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you."

New Life

I have had a dead tree in my back yard for several months, with no intention of pulling it up and trashing it. This tree happens to be the Japanese Maple that was given to us as just a little sapling when Eveyn died six years ago. When I realized it was not blooming this past spring, I was heartbroken. Gavin got on the phone with several tree experts to get opinions, and they all agreed there was no saving my poor little tree. As a last ditch effort, we had a guy actually come out and look at it to make sure. The guy understandably had no idea the significance of my tree, or the level of emotion that he was unfairly walking in to. Once he said the words, "that thing is firewood. I'll rip it up and get rid of it for you," and I started to cry and felt like I could punch him, I knew that it would absolutely not be pulled up until I had a plan for it. So, I've had a dead, abandoned and sad-looking tree just sitting and waiting for me to do something with it. Waiting for it's new life. Along comes Ann Voskamp and my little Eveyn tree has a new life. I knew that something would come to me to let me keep this sweet tree and reminder of our thankfulness for Eveyn's life.

The kids and I set out this morning with a saw to finally cut down the branches. It is still rather big to have in the house, and I need a much better vase or container to put them in, but it works for now. We cut out the paper leaves, read the verses on each one, and talked about our thankfulness for so many things. We are abundantly blessed.

Even though it's still just a grouping of bare branches, I can't tell you how much life it now has with these lovely leaves of thankfulness on them. I am truly thankful for this new life for my little tree.

I will also use my tree for a Jesse Tree for Christmas, and an Easter tree in the spring.

Dinner Conversation

My kids love the Dinner Question Game. It's not really a game, but a box of questions that I bought before I ever had kids. We've hardly ever used it until this year, but it has become a family favorite.

Gavin is a conversation starter, in case you didn't know. When the places are finally set, food is on plates, when the trio of noise has pulled up to the table, and a hungry prayer of thanks is said, dad is always eager for the conversations to begin. It started tonight with Eli miserably complaining about the homemade mac and cheese and green beans that were in front of him, because apparently the boxed variety is much tastier. He chose not to eat it. Fine by me - as long as his ravenous belly doesn't wake him up at 6:00 a.m. ready to be filled. Gavin, ever the encourager and optimist, instead of engaging Eli in a discussion about his distaste for this lovely meal, used it as a conversation starter.

"It's ok if you don't like it right now. Can you think of something that you used to dislike eating that you really enjoy now that you're older?" It worked. He immediately got out of his "I don't want to eat this" grumpiness and enthusiastically started listing foods while munching on his green beans (something that used to literally make him gag).

As we usually do with these conversations, we go around the table and take turns getting each person's opinion so that no little person or little voice is left out or talked over. However, when we got to Ella, she was bored with this topic of food likes/dislikes and instead went and picked up the question box. No matter how simple or boring the question is from the box, Ella gets excited about it. I think there is a bit of mystery to it for her that makes her enjoy it so much. Or it may just be the fact that it comes from a cute little box instead of her dad who asks her questions all the time.

Question #1: If your house was on fire and you could only take one thing with you, what would it be?

Well, this question totally threw them off. "What? My house is on fire? One thing?" Their answers reveal so much about their little minds, personalities and development at each age.
Emmie: "Flowers. And my Tangled flip flops." Makes perfect sense.

Ella: "I would just take a hose so that I could spray it on the fire." Clever. But if you can't take the hose, you have to take something that is important to you, that belongs to you. "OH! Then I would take my lovable Simba!" What if you couldn't get Simba because he's already out? What favorite item would you take? (I have no idea why we kept asking her for different answers when she clearly has already given us two very good answers).

Before Ella could try to answer, Emmie broke into tears since she had concluded from our interrogation of Ella that Simba was going to be left in the fire. I thought she didn't even like him! Apparently her attitude toward him has all been a sham, and she cares very deeply for him. I am touched. And we assured her that we would never leave Simba in a house fire.

Eli's analytical mind was tortured by this question. "Only ONE thing? I DON'T KNOW!" So Eli passes. Next question.

Question #2: If you could spend a day with a famous person, who would it be and what would you do?

Emmie: "Nana! We would sit and pet Bluebell all the time." Done! Check that one off your list! What an accomplishment in your little life.

Ella: "Pop! We would go to the fair or the circus all day!" Again - Check! Move on to the next big dream in life. (Am I being too sarcastic with their sweet little minds?)

Eli: Said with such certainty and enthusiasm. "Roger Federer. We would play tennis all day."

A little peek into my sweet kids' minds. I love the way they work.

Thankfulness

Either race car driving or pod racer driving. Either way, they were racing.


Today I am thankful for the creative genius in the heads of my kids. We spend a whole lot of time outside of the house running errands, playing tennis, seeing various family members, going to church, friends' houses, etc., etc., etc. But, as a homeschool family, we also spend a good amount of time at home doing chores, reading, writing and being "bored" with down-time.

I love the "I'm bored" state that the kids get to. It's in this state of boredom where their true creativity and thoughtfulness comes shining through. It only takes about five minutes of realizing they have "nothing to do" before they realize this actually isn't true. The melancholy voices and glum faces are quickly faced with a mom demanding a list of things they are thankful for. There is an amazing transformation that occurs with this practice. Their selfish boredom gives way to thankful creativity, which in turn makes this mom very thankful!

Lost Time

Yes, here I am again...3 years later. Amazing. I am writing again with both enthusiasm and apprehension. Enthusiasm because I am motivated to start recording the happenings of our little family again - if only for myself to be able to have my favorite memories recorded. Apprehension because I am very critical of myself on many different levels, and to once again put myself out here feels kind of like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff. I realize most of the time my entries here consist of tales from the lives of my little people, however I have been consistently prompted and lead to write about some of my more personal journeys in life.

I have told myself over and over that I don't need to put that stuff out there on my blog, but I don't really think that's true. What I have discovered that I need most (and I really do mean "I". This is a personal journey, which everyone does differently) is to share these things, these issues, struggles with others.

It's difficult for me to describe the amount of anxiety and panic I feel when I encounter someone who I feel could benefit from and be ministered to by my own experiences and trials. I want to share openly so very badly, but I just can't. My heart starts pounding, my head gets light and dizzy, my stomach starts turning and I get about one step away from passing out. It's crazy!

But here's the deal - I'm convinced it's gotten worse each month, each year that I keep it all to myself. I cannot change the fact that certain struggles and trials have been brought into my life. Some of them make some sort of sense, some of them I have no clue what the point of them are. But one thing I can't deny is that God has allowed them to be there. I believe strongly that the trials in our lives have two general purposes - 1) for ourselves to learn, grow and change, and 2) for someone else to learn, grow, and change from our experiences.

I have been half-way allowing the first part of this to take place from my experiences. I am half-heartedly trying to learn, grow and change from my struggles because there's a part of me that is fighting the fact that they are in my life in the first place. And the second part, the part about letting others learn, grow and change from my experiences, I'm not doing at all because I'm keeping it all to myself. And I think this is where the anxiety really comes into play. If I am completely open and honest with others about where I'm coming from, what I've struggled with in life, then I have to fully admit and accept that it's a real, present part of my life. Ouch!

I have recently been distantly introduced to a family that lost their almost full-term baby girl a few weeks ago. My heart breaks for them. When I first learned about it, I cried for them and their loss, and had an instant desire to make contact with them. And then immediately following that, I cried for myself and my absolute panic when I think about talking to this other grieving mother. An instant wave of emotion and grief came over me as if Eveyn had just died. How could I possibly be a voice of experience, comfort or wisdom if I'm in this emotional, panicked state? And how could I not reach out to this hurting woman simply because I couldn't pull myself together emotionally?

It was an epiphany moment. And a very scary moment. I have known for a while now that I have never processed through my grief over losing Eveyn. I'm emotionally stuck just a few weeks past her death. I have been half-heartedly trying to move beyond this point, because again, if I really start moving forward in this, I have to really accept that it's there. Yes, that one stings.

So, here's what I have decided. This blog is one where I want to and NEED to record my memories with my funny kids and dear husband (which I have apparently missed the last three years of!). But it also needs to be a place for me to process through bigger issues and allows me to get them out in the open. My thought, and my hope is that as I write them out here, it will not only be therapeutic for me, but also a first step in sharing them with others. And then, just maybe, I won't feel like I'm having a heart attack when I need to actually talk to someone in person.