on longing for peace.

"If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world." - c.s. lewis

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"He has made everything beautiful in his time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end." - ecclesiastes 3:11

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as my years on this earth increase,

my heart learns to lean in more, to love deeper. 

to go further in.

I watch as my sweet babes grow older--

the future creeps into the present, and just as quickly bleeds into the past. 

at times, the weight of brokenness in this life overwhelms me. 

I can almost feel the groaning of our imperfect earth--heavy with the blood of innocents, the pain of the alienated, the tears of the grieving. 

and in the quiet of the night, are moments I find myself aching--for the day of redemption, perfection.

for the revelation of the love that binds the broken into beauty. 

my heart whispers: come quickly, lord Jesus. 

and then, the sun rises. 

filling the dark with light, uncovering glimpses of beauty everywhere, waiting to be seen. 

new mercies to fill us for another day. 

and if we press into grace, we might just make it.

oh, God be with us.

10.14.14

dear c and n--

life is going to be hard sometimes.

you've already experienced it in different ways--sickness and hardship and exhaustion has encountered our little family more than we would have liked. and still, as the years grow that you live this life on earth, more hard times will come.

but there is hope. 
because just as there is sweet in the hard, there is hope in the hopeless.
and there is grace for it all.

what i want most in the world for you is that as you grow, you grow in your love for--and faith in--God. that your hearts would always be tender towards his word and his grace and his redeeming love.

if i leave nothing else behind as my legacy for you, i hope that it is this--that you love well, that you live fully, and that you cling to the one that ransomed you, through all the things that come your way.

your hearts are large and your souls are sweet. both of you have such a joy and love within that radiates out and affects those around you in great ways. let these be what drive you in your efforts as you grow, and as your pursue the one that loves you perfectly.

you are precious to me.
you are precious to your father.
and you even more precious to the God that was kind enough to give you both to us.

dear ones, cling to one who gives us grace and redeems our souls to glory.
never lose hope.

love,
mama.

thoughts from a darkened hospital room.

my flesh and my heart may fail, 

but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

- psalm 73:26

two nights ago, i wrote hope-filled words of a new, somewhat unfamiliar season of health and life for us. i felt so full of peace and encouraged at the thought of green pastures before us, ready and waiting to be explored--family outings, date nights, long conversations filled with shared hopes and dreams that might be realized sooner than later.

four hours later, i woke to the familiar and unwanted sound of my husband in pain.

it's funny how quickly you go back there. to breathing every detail of years of pain and sickness as if it were still your daily reality. as if you'd never left the side of the hospital bed two years ago.

and then the fear comes. because you know what comes of those groans too well.

as life has been getting easier around here, i've secretly been waiting for the other shoe to drop. as if i was sure that this life we've been given--that we've made together--is too sweet, too good, to not be riddled with pain and end in disaster.

this man that i have is the air i breathe. and if i'm honest with myself, sometimes i'm afraid he'll be taken away because i love him too much and because i know i don't deserve him.

and yet he is a living, tangible evidence of grace realized in front of my eyes on a daily basis. because a person like me, broken and sinful with bags of filth and pain and cold-hearted days shouldn't be loved, let alone cherished, by someone like him. someone who has shown me love sweeter than i knew existed. who has given me the children that make my heart ache in the best way.

with such an obvious reminder of the gospel working out in my life every day, i should be easily reminded of the larger truth of the love of God that has redeemed me and keeps me.

and yet, i've found myself living in a state of fear pretty often throughout the past year. fearing that these people i love most will be scooped up and taken from my arms in this life. i fear the unknown of the future and the inevitable pain and loss that will come eventually. because in this life, all things end.
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yesterday we sat in a darkened ER room and waited for consults, CT scans, tests and answers. the quiet was a welcome sound and i was aware and thankful of the blessing of medicine as i watched the chest of the man i love rise and fall in a peaceful rhythm.

and in that moment, i remembered that our God is faithful. and i could believe it with the fibers of myself. he is good, and he cares for this man of mine more than i can fathom, even with him having the devotion of my entire heart and soul.

and we can rest in the character of the one that does not change whether we are in the valleys or on the lush high grounds of our lives. this God that is faithful, and that is good.

we can persevere in the midst of pain because, as he has shown us time and time again, he will see us through.

there is something in the raw, helpless moments of the unknowns and the what ifs that can allow the presence of God to slip in and calm the anxious heart, in the middle of having to face the realization of our darkest fears.

how quickly i forget these moments when the storms pass. when the fullness of life crowds my view again and somehow i put my trust in the temporal and physical that breaks so easily and leaves me wanting over and over.

but those moments come again. those tastes of the goodness and sweetness and the glory of God are so constant as they slip in and out of our awareness. they are so real that when they are seen they cause this life and the troubles in it to seem dim.
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life seemed a little bit dim as i sat in the empty hospital room waiting for the bed to roll in holding my husband. as i thought of my babies safe in their beds and missed their smells and sounds and smiles, it was as if the spiritual and the physical found themselves at an intersect and i understood.

that when this life seems dim, it's at it's brightest. there is hope in the darkest crevices of fear of loss and pain in this life. because of the hope we have in christ and the promises of a faithful father to see us through this fleeting time here together and uphold us until we are with him in glory.

this life of ours is thin and dim.
this life of ours is sweet and precious.

last night i remembered that the more i hold this life in the perspective of eternity, the dimness replaces fear with gratitude and joy. and as i look forward, afraid of losing babies and losing cherished ones and pain and brokeness, i can look back on lost babies and lost cherished ones and pain and brokenness and see the grace of God sustaining us. and taste the sweetness of the surety of my faith realized in the darkest of times.

tonight as i sit in this darkened hospital room and think about the future and the uncertainty of it all i can remember. that it will be okay, and when the storms come, the grace will be there, too. and i can remember that this life of mine is thin and dim and sweet and precious.

and i want to savor every moment of it, before it slips away.

love.

thankful (it's never too late).

With Thanksgiving just recently passed, I've been pondering a lot on what it means to be thankful, and things that I'm thankful for. In doing this, I've realized how often I can fail to see how much there is to be thankful for, and have even been more conscious in looking for things as they arise.

And because of it, my heart is full.

While looking towards this (favorite) holiday season with much anticipation, I've found myself recalling our life last year--last year was riddled with ER visits and hospital stays.

It's times like this when I'm even more thankful for this little blog and the opportunity it's given me to chronicle our lives. This is from December thirteenth of last year:

so again, we wait. we wait until this works itself out, he gets better and we can go back home. it could be tomorrow, or a few days. with everything up in the air, again, life has been put on hold.

some good news is that we're back on the surgical floor, which means we are surrounded by nurses and NAs that know us well and greeted us as warmly as old friends would. in a way, it's a sort of homey being back here (please take "in a way" strongly for as you know, hospitals and homey are in no large way synonymous) and has been much easier of a transition knowing he is so well cared for, by people who know and care much for him.

although this is not what we had in mind for us right now, we are trusting that this is not in vain, that there is a purpose in this. and again, we have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of care, concern and encouragement by you all. knowing there are so many praying for us has been freshly humbling.

what a strange mix of hardship and joy it is to experience so many practical expressions of God's love for us through your calls, texts, scriptures, emails and visits. we are grateful beyond words, and feel utterly undeserving of this love from so many wonderful people.

it has made this ordeal not only bearable, but peaceful. and has made me newly aware of how richly blessed we are.

It seems so long ago that I wrote this. So far away from the reality that we find ourselves in now, and yet this was our life up until just a few months ago.

In reading this, it struck me--if we could be so thankful in such a season, how much more should we be in the present?

Somehow I still find myself lacking thankfulness sometimes. But today, my joy and contentment in this new chapter of our lives has only increased, as I think of all that we have. And that although it is by no means easy or perfect, it is so very full of hope and evident of God's grace.

God loves his children well. For them, there is always hope. And there is always grace.

And that alone is reason enough to be thankful.

love. 

5.18.12.

"i must learn to be content with being happier than i deserve." 

- jane austen, pride & prejudice

hoping to rest & embrace this truth this weekend. because this life is a gift. & much more than i deserve.

have a lovely weekend, friends.

love.

wedding weekend.

this past weekend, we attended two weddings.

fun, right?

we had big plans of a weekend-long date, full of time with just the two of us (c. spent the weekend with my family) enjoying the celebrations & pretending to be newlyweds. instead, it felt like several weeks of exhaustion finally caught up with us.

despite our sleepy dispositions, we had a pretty lovely time. it was a sweet time spent celebrating with old friends.

wedding no.1

my hot date. 

wedding no.2

she's lovely.

oh, i love this man.

and, in the midst of exhaustion, i saw even more how wonderful the man is that i get to spend my life with.

love.

how quickly things change.

i wrote this just a few months ago. it's the first poem i've written in over a year. oh, it felt good to write.

i don't want to be here. 

i don't want to be here, in room 7023.
this new room greets us with an odd familiarity.
the mirror image of our second home floods my vision,
while unwanted memories dig into my senses. 

i don't want to remember this pain that comes
in waves of moans and groans and seething breaths,
reflecting what's inside of him,
echoed in me. unending,
resonating, these recollections
stare me in the face. they are reality.
and each time i cringe. 

i can hardly stand these monotonous idle hours,
these ridiculous channels--
time passes here like a slow
dull creak on ancient floorboards
bereft of normal wanderings. 

even at this first encounter, i know it so well,
this mirror image. it remains a reminder of the pain, that
we have been here before. but,
we have been here before and left.
we may be here now, but we will leave. 

and my beloved will be alright.

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and how alright he is. praise God for his faithfulness.

love.