A recent run has brought me to this place. As you have learned while joining me on our family blog, there are quite a few annual blogs. Birthdays and anniversaries seem to be things I am really motivated to document. I had accepted this year I might have to bypass my tradition and not write my thoughts or what I am learning. I think shame and frustration were the champions to whisper that defeat. But as I listened to one of my favorite podcasts, I knew that what I am experiencing is real and is maybe for you too, to somehow let you know you are not alone. 

11 yrs.

I won’t rehash our marriage. Go through pasts blogs and you will see I have been very candid about married life with Richard. Last year, when I shared the top 10 things I have learned in marriage, I cringed. My breath might have stalled as my loud beating heart took over after I hit the publish button. It was one of my most open, nothing held back blogs. Much to my surprise I had a lot feedback. Funny how the deepest, scariest things we share are the things that can draw authentic people in…

So 11 yrs. 

As I have pondered on this timeframe, 11 yrs of marriage, 17 years of being in each others’ lives. I keep hearing a title, one that I have recently embraced as my season, maybe as my life long banner: Broken for His glory.

I was sharing in my safe little bible study group recently something I had despised and quite frankly caused many fights, silent treatment and resentment was now gone. Wives, it was the dirty underwear left less then a foot or two from the laundry basket. Years and years went by. Didn’t he get it when I chewed him out? Did he think the dirty underwear fairy came every morning to gather them up and magically wash, fold and put them back in the closet? Of course not, because me, this fairness, justice seeking wife ensured he knew no such fairy existed. As I was working through frustrations with the Lord, it was placed on my heart why I find that dirty underwear not it it’s assigned place.  

He is typically in a rush, a rush to come help me with the kids or better yet serve his family. He isn’t going down Sarah’s list of tidiness. Relieving me so I can make dinner or letting me shower while he starts breakfast is where his mind is at. 

Why was I willing to waste so much energy on something that was the remnants of his desire and willingness to attend to my needs? 

It took 11 yrs to learn this.

We had an opportunity to talk to a young couple, still in the dating phase, but looking like they are headed into the direction of a big choice. I love those moments when we get to do things together. Sentences are finished, we are animated, we feed off each other. I often wonder what it would be like working with him…

As we shared key things to think about it brought up something I like to hide inside. 

We shared why we have higher moral standards when it comes to TV shows. Sounds so silly, archaic, maybe even cheesy. I have seen eye rolls, defense arguments have been delivered my way, I have been told my/our standards are too far. Yet as I shared with the young man why this was so important, I saw it clicked. You know what I said? I said it’s his job to cherish his partner, to honor her not just by his mouth, hands, deeds, but also his eyes, the very things that are the gateway to his soul.
I am so passionate because Richard had to work his way through a very guarded, walls built wife. 

11 yrs ago he took my baggage.

I have 4 little ladies. Trust me the weight of these gifts is too much for me at times. Yet I also see glimpses of Gods goodness and redemption in their little souls. I believe he knows I will fight to teach them, guide them, help them understand why they need to have high standards. Standards that won’t make them many friends at times, standards the world will laugh at, standards that set them apart.

Those standards were things I didn’t have the chance to live out in my adolescence. 

There is a young teenager that makes me think so much of me. I don’t know her whole story, honestly I don’t really even know her, yet I KNOW her. I know the emptiness, the constant searching to just be loved, the self preservation to take care of her needs and attain them anyway she can. Ultimately being on the search to finding true acceptance. 

When I see her, my past, it’s yuckiness, the baggage of my choices are piled high on that insanely expensive airport luggage cart. Each bag is labeled “fragile, contains explosives, cold, hot, damaged, keep this side up”, etc.

My choice to not keep a standard that demanded respect and better yet set boundaries for me to experience true love and acceptance meant Richard had to marry a woman with not just any baggage, but spiritual baggage that resulted in the choice I allowed my soul to be tethered with others in my past.

For 11 yrs, I have been slowly unpacking.

No surprise here, but I don’t adapt well or quickly to change. Richard has learned this very fast. Thankfully he sees the warning signals and backs away very slowly before damage is done that neither of us want to experience. He has waited, pursued and asked how to help me work through my stuff. In the end, we both learned the only person who could help me unpack my stuff is our Heavenly Father.

11 yrs later, healing is happening.

I don’t think there is any big “this is the only plan”. But I will tell you there is one factor in why healing is happening. 

GOD.

As I read his word more, as I hide it in my heart, as I meditate on it day and night(seriously I do), I find out who and who’s I am.

My Heavenly Father is healing the wounds that have left me an embittered, difficult, stubborn, and yes still a stand offish wife when the valleys seem too deep and too close together.

I don’t believe this healing couldn’t have happened had I not had Richard though. Faith for him comes easily. If God says he will do it, Richard believes it. He doesn’t spend days, months, every single second questioning God on every what ifs. So his faith in the things unseen, the things yet brought into his glory, he truly believes they exist and he will see their existence one day. Case in point, he believes he will have a wife that will no longer be trapped in bondage that Christ freed her from.

Even though something as minimal as seeing his lack of laundry etiquette not an insult but instead a byproduct of his heart that wants to care for me in ways I was not cared for or witnessed personally seems odd, it’s proof of healing for me.

Guys, HA, if you even read my lengthy, wordy blogs, you know that ones that seem to make your wives cry or say “hold on”. If you are reading this and have seen there is something that is holding your wife back, will you do me a favor? Will you bring her to the mighty healer. Will you seek him and ask him how to love her as the Lord helps her unpack her junk?

Ladies, if you have an elephant in the room, the thing that will send you running to the chocolate, wine, obsessive workout schedule, social media dependency, unlimited need of acceptance. Will you take a moment and ask yourself, how is this impacting my marriage? What baggage are you choosing to pack and lug behind you, sweat dripping off your face? Do you want to be free from it? 

11 yrs ago.

I said yes to a man who didn’t know God. I said yes to an idea of something I had no clue about. I said yes all while trying to hide and not deal with my stuff. Yet God in his promises that seem to never end, has helped me not be known by my baggage. Best of all he has given me a spouse that sees me as a masterpiece, something that was made just right for him, someone he wants to hold onto tightly and squeeze, yet releases me to the one who can repair those hurts. 

I have recently found myself finding little ways to show him my appreciation (be his helpmate) more importantly thank him for his patience. For not running the other way when it finally hit him how deeply messed up his wife was. 

His faith has helped him in marriage see his wife was broken for Gods glory to shine through in what seemed impossible. 

So a little incentive. Help her and she will help you. 

Happy anniversary to the other half of my soul.

Since her first day here on earth, Ya’el has consumed the space she is in, you know when she is in a room, its like she has a magnetic pull. Your negative energy is drawn to her positive. I should have realized then her soul would have a power to draw people in. At just a few hours old, she was bright eyed, eyes wide open and I remember just staring right back at her, into her dark eyes.

She was so alert and so aware of the new shapes, sounds, and smells that where taking place.

Flash forward to 3 yrs later and I have to admit that she is still living her life with abandon. She sings at the top of her lungs, neck muscles strained, diaphragm engaged. Songs seem to be one thing that calms her need to always go, always think, always explore. When she is strapped to her car seat, freedom stripped from her, you will hear countless songs. Yes, she sings songs that you might recognize, even with her 3 yr old vocabulary skills. But most of the time the songs you hear will come from the many different things her little brain has processed. 

Ya’el feeds off emotion, but not in the way her big sister Kyre does. Ya’el loves to observe, contemplate and reason why those emotions took place. She doesn’t need to take ownership of them and make everyone else aware of them, like Kyre does. What Yael does is ensure you know she sees and empathizes with you. She will stroke your hair after a hard day, hold your hand when tears seem to be beckoning your name, but she will jump and laugh if joy is something stirring up inside you too.

I have realized that when she carves a place inside your heart, it’s as if you need her to acknowledge your presence when she enters a room. It’s like when the guest of honor has finally shown up and you are praying deep inside that you will be pulled from the crowd and asked to sit in the place of honor next to them. I can’t explain it, but this is true about her. I watch it unfold everyday with her siblings and her few close people in her little world. She will stumble out of her room and daddy is first to say “morning boo bear” as he scoops her in his arms. 

Cayden will force Ezzy to share the couch to allow her to squeeze in and catch the morning cartoons.

Ezzy holds every ounce of patience she has in her body and only gives it to Ya’el throughout the day. 

Kyre will run her fingers through her hair and bow down to her eye level and say with the sweetest voice “Ya’el , do you want me to help you get dressed?”. 

For me, it’s when I walk in the door after my morning workout and say hi to the big kids and look for those two little eyes that seem to have no iris, just to be met with them. There is rarely a smile, instead it’s as if she takes a moment to read me, then after I say “morning Boo”, she looks at me with a corner smile and says “morning momma”

This last year, watching Boo fly through the terrible twos was somewhat ok. I have had milder 2 yr olds and I have had stronger 2 yr olds. She had to spend most of this last year being replaced as the baby and graduating to big sister. 

I was concerned her favorite spot in my arms that was diminishing quickly would leave an embittered toddler. This was the child that would smack my hand away when I began the weaning process after finding out about Veil and training for a half marathon. She would dig into my body and not relent. She knew what she wanted and even at 19 mos old was so firm and unwavering in it.

As she soon realized Veil was a permanent fixture in this family unit, she adapted like a champ.

It has been with relief and thankfulness to watch Boo want to be a big sister. I think that cord of empathy woven deep within her makeup finally had a purpose in her little life. Veil has been soothed countless times with a gentle head rub and Ya’el’s current song of the day.

Ya’el hasn’t lost her secrets that she likes to hold within her as she entices you with her smiling eyes. Playful a term we say a lot about her is an understatement for this kid.  

Richard has not only encouraged her trickster behavior but also welcomes it as a sign of love from his “favorite”. The kids all know they are loved equally and in moments of seeing Ya’el wrap her daddy tightly around her finger, they all pat her on her head and say “whatever you want favorite one”. Her favorite trick, the one I wish she would move on and find another is locking us in the pantry…she will sit in the kitchen while chaos is taking place and sounds can muffle her presence just enough to make her hidden and as soon as someone walks through that door, bam, we find ourselves at her mercy.

I am forever grateful for the people who have won affection from this terrific 3 yr old. It is a blessing to see the love she is given, because she loves so deeply. I have been told many many times by one of her favorites “can we just freeze her at this age?” I see the smiles that can’t be contained, the willingness to carry her around, push her on a swing, blow bubbles with her, or any other agenda she has created for the day.  

The world is a brighter place because of her and when I see her slow down and take something in, I have trained myself to stop immediately, sit beside her or down at her level and look around. Because if is something causes this ball of energy to be still, then it’s worth finding out what it is.

 Her dream of blowing bubbles and having lunch at the beach is on the agenda for her party when Kalli gets back.  But her annual birthday number pancake will have to do until we can celebrate another year with our Boo bear and friends and family. 

Ya’el Ariel Ruth, I thank the lord his plans for our family were bigger and crazier then we had hoped for. I don’t regret a single day putting my master degree on hold and have loved every single day of being your momma, even the day I told your dad all I wanted for Christmas was to never go grocery shopping with you again after the nightmare I experienced with your awful tantrum. 

You have won me over and over with your spunk and I feel honored you are mine. I want and look forward to learning how to love and give empathy to those around me, knowing for certain you are going to teach me.


Happy birthday my 3 yr old

When we first mentioned our plan to take the family camping I will tell you we were met with some eyebrow raises, eyes widened and words that articulated the looks on those faces very well. I did not go into this camp out naively. I was very aware that this was going to be quite the feat to accomplish, aside from CF being part of the equation. 

Ezzy didn’t miss a single treatment and I know she/we were covered in prayer. She had a freak situation happen a few days before that left us scared. Her lips turned blue and she couldn’t catch her breath. The only thing we can think is it was due to her missing her morning nebulizer treatment. We had forgotten to steralize her neb cups the night before (yes, it can happen, even though we have to do them all the time) and they were in the process of getting cleaned. She can’t miss her treatments, they keep her airways open. They are not negotiable.

 

But first I have to acknowledge something that I think most of you know, but I still need to say it. I want to believe down the road when these little humans I am raising are grown, they will look back at their life stories I have written and smile, cry, laugh, or feel something as their eyes meet these words. So I have to say, this camping trip was the dream of a little almost 9 year old, who after seeing what the obstacles were, he made a plan, worked incredibly hard, and most of all achieved it.

 

7.5 wks of early mornings, injuries, mental defeat, indoor track time and logging some crazy miles all over this island resulted in him carrying a campaign to raise funds for his sister. Each time we went to Timber and Marine to drop off funds, the young man would ask, “how far have you run this time?”. I love how people took the time to not only support him monetarily, but also with their words. If you didn’t say something to his face and said it to me or through facebook, I let him know every word of encouragement, praise and acknowledgement said on his behalf.

 

To the donors, thank you!

 

To Cayden, my one and only son…you know how I feel about you…every single run, you were wrapped in my arms, met with a kiss on your sweaty forehead and heard me tell you “son, you are amazing! You are like no body else! Wow, I am so proud of you! Can you believe you just did that?? That is crazy!!!!”

 

As we prepared for this little getaway, we started making lists of what we thought we needed and then in a moment of nerves I made a post on social media and asked everyone what we should pack.

 

I was really thankful I did this, because there were some no brainers on there, that in my stress of trying to pack everything but the kitchen sink, I realized I was overlooking small things, like uno cards, which provided hours of entertainment while Ezzy did her vest. I also felt I was given a pass on having to slave away cooking elaborate meals over the campfire…why? Because of stupid Pinterest. I am so glad a mom said to keep the meals simple. Those were the meals that my kids loved and enjoyed. Meals like oatmeal or tacos in a bag were a huge hit as we gathered around the fire.

It took 2.5 full hours to load up the car. Yeah.

 

I had warned the hubby we should start sooner, he informed me multiple times that I was overthinking things and it would take us no time. After my decision to not be the squeaky wheel I relented and closed my mouth. An hour into packing, shirt off, sweat rushing down his face I heard him say “this is a lot of stuff!!!” He quickly realized everything wouldn’t fit in one trip and we were so glad my mom decided to follow us out to the campsite last minute so we could fill her car too. You would be proud of me that I didn’t say “I told you so”

 

We set up camp, while finding out that the Harney family was declared the premiere meal of the weekend by the mosquitos and no-seeums in the area. The “no Deet” bug spray that was coating our bodies with sticky film, was just an appetizer for those stupid bugs before they reached their main course. Thank God my mom found our favorite bug spray at the local grocery store right before heading to the site. We were an oily oily mess the whole weekend, but at least not covered from head to toe in bites.  

 

Bringing the kids’ bikes was such a great idea and I loved catching glimpses of Ezzy’s and Cayden’s heads shining in the light between the trees as the whizzed by all the sites. The whole camp ground was full with other little people and if you stood still you could hear their muffled laughter with the crackling of the fire, the chirp of the birds and chatter of the squirrels.  Cayden even got to shoot his bb guns safely while kids played, something he loves to do.

 

We were so blessed that some friends decided to join us on our adventure, their daughter is one of Ezzy’s closest friend. They had gone out the day before like us to scope out the camp grounds. We both were able to grab the last few slots available. Once the kids figured out the little trail between our 2 sites, we let go, HA, mainly I let go, and let the kids roam to and fro between our sites.

 

One thing we quickly learned was we had grabbed wood from the wrong pile and had wet wood. After running through some solutions, it was decided Richard would drive to my cousins’ to get some dry wood. Within a few minutes of him leaving, my said cousin showed up at our site with a truck full of wood, because he just wanted to check on us novices. Thanks to my family we were supplied with plenty of wood for our camping trip.

 

As nighttime began to fall all our heads were topped with the headlamps Richard found in the $1 bin at Safeway.

Smores were happily eaten in mass quantities around the fire. Along with a rich desert my sweet friend and her hubby decided to bring us after their date. Needless to say all healthy clean eating went out the door this weekend and I indulged in lots of yummy things.

 

Even though it became apparent that our neighbors, a group of young 20 somethings had no regard for the family with little kids next to them, we managed to squeeze a few hours of sleep in. When I say few, I mean few. They didn’t quiet down until 3:30 am and we could hear every word spoken as if they were in the tent with us. Our little early risers woke with the thrushes’ morning song and daylight and we soon had movement at our camp ground at 4:30 am.  

 

Not enough coffee could cover the exhaustion that Richard and I were feeling.  

 

We were pleasantly surprised how quiet Ezzy’s generator is. When it was ran the night before all the camp sites were full of lots of sounds. When we used it in the morning it didn’t seem to bother those around us. I think the songs Ya’el was singing was louder then the generator.

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​My sweet friend who brought us desert the night before also came and met us in the morning to go and check out the minus tide with the kids. She blessed us with some candid photos of our time together. She even went back to our site and snapped some pics while we were away.

 

Coffee, tired parents and kids being fed energy from the freedom to explore made some pretty great pictures if you ask me.

I learned on this trip my friends’ husband is the piped pier of little ones and this picture says it all. 

The kids even found a bullhead submerged in the sand too.  Along with sea stars and plenty of shells. 

 

Quesadillas were scarfed by hungry bellies and we gathered our swim gear and walked to the beach. My little man was set on taking me out in the little boat I had found at our grocery store the day before and we chatted about all the things he loved doing and couldn’t wait to do for the rest of the trip. 

Honestly this is why so few pictures were taken. I found myself caught up in conversations with my friend and her husband and we had ample times to just sit and hear each others’ hearts. One mark of deep friendships is the ability to sit together in silence, no pressure to fill the spaces. That happened that day on the beach. It blessed my introvert heart in so many ways.

 

After crisping up our skin with the welcomed sun, we headed back to the campsite and found ourselves with more visitors! My cousin and her boyfriend brought a drone to play with and also extra arms to hold little girls. 

One of Ezzy’s favorite people came to visit us too and sat with her while she drew during one of her therapy sessions.

Cayden was able to go kayaking with another cousin who came by and he ended his time securing a place in Yael’s heart too.

 

Our kids went down without a fight and their tired little bodies found sleep quickly even thought we realized we were going to experience another night of little sleep thanks our neighbors. But we did see a pretty amazing sunset!

 

Richard and I were taught cribbage by our friends who joined us for the camp out, while our tired kids all slept. Richard took a few trips to check on the kids and did find himself running quickly over to our site to calm a frantic child that was trying to get out of the tent and couldn’t find the zipper.

 

Thankfully our kids slept a little better and Richard smartly brewed a pot of coffee immediately to ensure he wasn’t met with a grumpy momma again. We knew our time had come to an end and we needed to get tired worn out bodies back to civilization. We broke down camp in record time, probably driven with the incentive of a hot shower and our own beds for the night.

 

Before we could go, our children decided to have church (they even made invites and passed them out to all campers they could find).

I will admit, I really wanted to go home and was ready. I was done being the buffet for bugs, I was in desperate need of quiet time. I did not go to church with the best mindset or heart. But when these little children who lived out what us parents have been instilling in them, I soon found tears gracing my eyes.

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​We were led in worship and communion in a little sanctuary made of skunk cabbage and moss. Rays of sunlight peaked through the trees. Sounds from the neighboring site filled the forest sanctuary. They even had a section for the sound guys to sit in. Our communion elements were made up of white sandwhich bread and purple sports drink.

 

There at campsite #6/7 we partook in Christ’ sacrifice and gave thanks for the full filled weekend he provided us.

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​Needless to say, this crazy family is already dreaming and planning our next camping adventure and can’t wait to make more memories. Thank you for believing in Cayden. Thank you for supporting him. Thank you for the camp gear that was purchased for our family. Thank you for allowing this amazing time as a family to happen.

What you see: a clean shaven, well kept man
What I see: the laundry that had to be washed, dried, folded, hung and put away. The towels that have to stay stocked. The shave cream, deodorant and other essentials that need to be bought even if he doesn’t write them down on the walmart list. The belt that I find in random places and put in an assigned place to ensure he isn’t searching the house last minute before going to work. The coffee, fresh eggs and homemade bread that is always in our home so he can have his standard breakfast. The hot lunches everyday. Dinner ready shortly after he gets home. The late evening couch dates, the unending role of being his sounding board to the dreams he has and the voice of reason to the problems he faces. 

What you see: a polite, caring, focused little man

What I see: the unending life lesson talks that take place as we work through the issues that come from building friendships. The urgent hugs when the tears are forming, just to be put at bay as he clings to me. The manual labor, time outs, restrictions, and other forms of character building actions to face temperaments and words that should have never left his head and mouth. The incessant need to torment 2 sisters every single school morning leaving me with thoughts of far away places that don’t include them, just to be shown his compassion when they are hurt or scared. The promise to never give him false hope of what he can do in the world, but also the reassurance that he can and will be able to go after BIG things because of the inner drive the Lord gave him.

What you see: a healthy vibrant normal 7 yr old girl

What I see: the mirror of all my strengths and weaknesses. The fighter, the warrior, the “don’t tell me I can’t” spirit. The hard talks, the list of why’s that are given on a daily basis when challenged to not comply with her CF maintenance plan.  The meal planning to reach her insane amount of calories needed, the therpay schedule, meds ordered.  The tears that fly out, fits thrown, glares, words that break a mom’s heart when CF is too much. The courage and bravery when asked to do things most adults can’t handle on clinic days with her team of specialists. The smile out of the corner of her mouth, dark brown eyes locked on me as if to say “mom, breathe, I am ok”. The after school talks about her dreams of leading worship in church one day, the way I should sing songs or when they should be sung at church. The cries, alone in a hot shower, far away from her, after reading her prayer journal and facing the reality of how her 7 yr old heart is dealing with her fatal disease. 

What you see: freckled face, fearless, intense, bright light 5 yr old

What I see: the constant need to be affirmed and in close contact with me…ALL the TIME. The creak of the floor, the shower turning on, the realization I am alone in the bathroom sends her soaring to get one on one time. The need to know every boundary and dos and don’ts in life. “Mom, is this bad…mom I can’t do this right…mom, this is the right way, right?”. The talks of not squeezing her baby sister so hard that always leaves the baby in tears. The talking off the ledge when hysterics come when something doesn’t go her way. The reminder of who she is in Christ when she makes everyone want to be far away from her due to her level of intensity. The bloody nose that had to be cleaned up after her sister ticked her off. Her need to pray for people on the spot many times at the most awkward time, just to be reminded that if we don’t listen we could rip away the very thing God created her to do. The gentle reminders she is seen and will be cared for when she climbs the counters or cuts her nails to short because she got tired of waiting for her turn in the hierarchy of needs being put on her parents.

What you see: a infectious soon to be 3 yr old

What I see: the need to stop what I am doing and sit on the floor and hold her after making the baby cry for the 8th time before 9:30 am. The patience needed to wait for little miss “me do it” that delays all hopes of being on time anywhere. The reminder to watch my words unless I want them repeated in ways they are not meant to be. The battle of wills when trying to convince her it’s her idea to do something. The rubbing of my head or back when I have put myself in time out after nearly loosing my top with her and her stubborn spirit. The “I lubb you mommy” when I finally get a moment with just her and I.

What you see: a gentle quiet little baby

What I see: the midnight feeding, the 2:30 am feeding, the 5 am feeding. Eyes closed, rhythmic breathing as I hold her chubby little hand in mine. The burping, rocking and gentle movements that take place to get her back in her bed. The tears to be held NOW when her siblings need me, the dinner that needs to be made, the floors that need to be scrubbed, the laundry that needs to be folded. The refusal of solids when all I want is to be able to go 4-5 hrs without needing to be a open 24/7 diner. The cries that can’t be figured out, only to learn that momma’s arms, a quiet lullaby and my beating heart soothe whatever ailment she has. The postpartum body glaring back at me and beating up my confidence, but is met with the purest sigh of relief when each meal is prepared and made from that awesome post partuem body 

To all the momma’s living everyday in the trenches. I applaud you, I want to line up a whole group of women and have you run through a tunnel of cheers and high 5s from warriors, fighters, survivors, contenders, sisters, mothers, grandmas, aunts, who know and see you. I want you to be seen. I want you to be honored. I want you to know that all the things you do everyday, every night, over and over, matter. Don’t give up hope, don’t think other moms have it all together. They are probably crying over their coffee that was ruined with a dog toy too.

To my momma friends, I see YOU, you are NOT invisible.

What I would give to hug and cheer each of you on, but let’s get real, trying to get out and do something for ourselves and match another mom’s small window of “me time” is near impossible. So let’s dream of that magical day we can sit and look back on theese days and be thankful we survived and more importantly blessed to be called MOM, a title some pray and wish for but never will experience. 

So until then, I raise my cold cup of coffee that was hot at one point, to you

Happy Mother’s Day 

A quick trip down memory lane led me to a find a little picture that brought back so many feelings. Scared, anxious, nervous, ready, surreal, a sense of peace, all could be used to describe the woman that I saw. Although I have to be honest, the feeling that I don’t want to admit is insecurity. 
6 yrs of being a slave to the scale, the daily pursuit to fit into a mold that sucked the life out of me, all vanished when those two little pink lines showed up. I watched my body ballon with 70lbs. 70 lbs more then I could handle and had begun to live in shame at the new physique that cradled precious life.

An unrealistic hope that I would not have to go a day or minute past my due date soon was squashed. Even though I watched my body grow and grow and grow I had somehow lucked out with not a SINGLE stretch mark. That was until 40 wks and 1 day gestation…the next 4 days made up for the 40 wks and 70 lbs that hadn’t seen a stretch mark.

Maybe my early morning runs with my first born brought me to those sacred feelings a first time momma experiences. Cayden and I have been training for the upcoming local 1/2 marathon. He has a goal that he is wanting to achieve and it’s all centered around Ezzy. I remember the day he told me he wanted to run it. At first my reaction was, “well, let’s maybe just train for 1/2 of the 1/2”. Hearing the defeat in his voice after his mother foolishly voiced her unbelief in his ability made me back peddle fast. I turned around and looked him in the eyes and said “if you really want to do this, it’s going to take a lot of hard work and it won’t be easy, but if you want to do it, I will train you, because I believe in you”. He settled his body back into his seat, nodded his head and returned with the most firm “ok” I had heard his little 8 yr old self say. 

For the last few wks we have gotten up at 5:30 am. We set out our running clothes and make sure that we walk as if there are land mines all over, ensuring the grumpy non morning people don’t wake up to early. We whisper, something that only the 2 of us possess can manage to do, aside from the rest of the family and quickly stumble out the door to the fresh air. There is no need to give him space, let him take a certain amount of breaths before he can think or speak. No, my son is just like me. Rising early in the mornings is special. There is a restful yet excited spirit that wakes early in the mornings. Anticipation of the day looms in the air, but the weight of the morning light or lack there of in Alaska’s spring doesn’t hold us back. There have been some very serious talks in the first 20 minutes of our mornings.

Thanks to the current psychotic weather, snowmaggedon 2017, we have been relegated to start our training indoors. The 1/2 track has become the giant that we face and even though there have been grumbles about how many laps it takes to run a mile, 12.5 to be exact, we rise and set out to reach the goal he has set before him. 

A momma with her little man comes and walks the track in the mornings. The little guy is maybe 20 months and they walk together, he loves to play chicken with us, but it has never bothered me unlike the walkers who refuse to move to the side when we run by… this momma, she was me not too long ago, yet feels like forever ago. I she her messy bun hair, sweatshirt that hides the never ending postpartum body, the tired eyes, the heavy breaths when the little guy acts up, but most of all I see her survival spirit. Something every first time mom all of a sudden realizes was within her all along even though she didn’t know it until she had to use it.

Cayden rocked my world. His birth that refuted what doctors said may never happen should have been a sign to my perfectionist heart that the road ahead was not going to be black and white, stay in the lines, or clean. My entry into motherhood was messy, and that’s a nice way of putting it.

Poor Cayden had a momma that thought she was ready. Just to find out that trying to live and be a functioning member of society, while nursing a baby every 1.5 hours 24/7 was really hard. The scariest thing was realizing I really didn’t know myself, that I didn’t know how to be a mom, even though I had a stellar example my whole life.

That survival mode I see this mom at the gym have. I realized I am still in it…
I had no idea that when I brought my first born home, 4 other little souls would show up every other year.

Just when it felt like I had found my rhythm, created a schedule that allowed me to still be relevant and acknowledge his growing needs as the oldest, a new life would show up. 

“Hold on, I need to go nurse the baby, can you get a diaper, can you find a binky, hold your sister, read her a story, no I can’t come into your class and volunteer every week like so and so’s mom, sorry I forgot…” those phrases have uttered my mouth more times then I want to admit. Quite frankly if I had to sit and tally them now, I would spiral out of control that would be fueled with guilt.

Cayden has been the trial baby, in a sense. We have learned through failure and thank God some success with him. 

Even though he came into a family that was young and immature and not really ready to be parents, he came in loved more then anything. 

We didn’t have much and made a massive move in the first few months of his life. I would soon find out what post partuem depression was after living in the constant sunshine just to be surrounded by the constant doom and gloom of Ketchikan fall. There might have been a few days where his little head got a mini shower from the tears that fell as he slept on my chest. 2 yrs later he would again witness his mom unravel as we lived at Ronald McDonald’s house. 2 years later he would find out what it would be like to get pushed aside too many times as I cared for his little sisters, 2 yrs later…2 yrs later…

Cayden has seen the worst, the best, the hidden, the easy, the hard, the stuff that could possible send him to therapy one day…getting real here friends

What I hope he remembers the most is that I loved him first.

He was the first little baby to say mamma, the first soul to love me with abandon, the first little toes to witness walking for the first time, the first preschooler, the first sleepover, the first hunting partner. His list of being the first just keeps going.

Recently on a drive home from the gym he showed me just how fast he is growing up. He asked me something I was not ready to answer. “Mom, lungs are hard to get, right?” I had a brief second to gather myself, realizing the talk was entering waters I didn’t want to wade in. A simple yes was my response. No need to muddy the waters with dirt that didn’t need to be there. “Mom, is that why Ezzy will die, because she won’t be able to get lungs?”…

Breath held, eyes locked on the road, heart beating loudly…could he hear it?

“Son, that is why we work SO hard at doing her therapies, it’s why we are careful when she is sick or other people are sick, it’s why we do all those things, because we want to keep her lungs healthy”

A stop sign came up just in time, I looked over, knowing there were no cars behind me and saw my little man rapidly blinking away the tears that were forming in his eyes.

Death the realness of it is something our family has walked through the last 2 yrs. Loosing people unexpectedly has left a mark on all of us.

Since that drive, I have seen a new tenderness in him with Ezzy. He doesn’t throw a big fit anymore like he use towhen Ezzy has to move in temporarily due to a sick little sister’s cough.  Yes, I know that I post pictures of a sweet loving supportive family, but I don’t share the huge life lessen moments, the ones that are messy, the ones that take more of me on my knees with a Jesus then letting my carnal nature lose. Cayden is all boy, testosterone oozes from him and many times I tell him to go take a lap around the block because the girls and I have reached our quota of him. He is sarcastic just like his daddy, he is super smart and uses those things against his naive little sisters more then he should. I realize it is all normal stuff, but goodness he just does me in on an almost daily basis.

Yet, when I am choosing to look at him with Christ like eyes, I can see the little man that has the world at his feet. God put an insane determination within him. Case in point, do you know any other third grade boys who willingly get up early and run five miles on an indoor track (62.5 laps)? God also put strong desire to fight for justice, something that can drive me nuts when he wants to play Law and Order in our home. But if I see him through Christ’s eyes I see a man that will go after the hard things and do them because he is motivated out of genuine love and care. I will see a man who will fight for the weak, a man who will defend those who need strength on their side. I will see a man who is willing to listen to his discernment and ask the hard questions even if it means it’s something he doesn’t want to hear.

Today William Cayden Harney is 9 yrs old. He has spent 1/2 of his at home years with us. Something super hard to swallow, yet as I get to rise and spend the early mornings with him I find excitement in his future. I don’t know what the Lord has planned for him and even though every boy dreams of a career in the military I truly believe that if he wanted to be a Marine, Army Ranger, or Navy Seal, nothing will stop him.

Happy birthday Cayden, I loved you first and you will forever hold a very special place in my heart, my one and only son.

On this day 7 yrs ago, I was staring past the calm pediatrician, looking at the dark winter sky and trying to shake all the scary thoughts running in and out of my head. My husband’s eyes were swollen and red from the tears he had shed, alone in the hospital bathroom, waiting for me to wake up. I had a lot of blood loss and kept passing out. During that time, Ezrah May Harney was being watched by concerned eyes, the call for a life flight was made. Everyone, was holding their breaths, waiting for the pediatrician who had cared for 1,000s of ketchikan kids to come and prepare this little family for news they were not ready to hear. Our newborn baby girl was very sick, tubes were stuck down her throat, wires attached to her skin, her little body was cradled by an incubator and not my arms that felt naked without my baby I didn’t know. Sleep they told me, sleep. I couldn’t imagine leaving her in the nursery, my breasts were leaking, wanting to feed a baby that could no longer eat due to fear her bowels would rupture. A big blue machine was wheeled in and the nurse helped me express milk as tears fell from my face.

The ambulance driver just sat in silence as I wept on the 5 minute ferry ride to the airport. The cord that had kept Ezrah and I connected for 9 months had been cut. She felt miles away from me. I had only held her for an hour as she nursed from my breasts within the first few minutes of her taking her first breaths, her only feeding she would have for weeks from me. I walked my tired aching body up the little plane. Tugged at my jeans that were slipping down my body from no longer holding Ezrah safely in my tummy. No new mom packs for a life flight to another state and hospital. No new mom anticipates she will be flying in the clothes she went to the hospital in, so that specialists can try and save her baby girl. No new mom thinks to bring a pair of pants to wear that will fit her drastically changed body in less then 12 hrs…

Ezzys story, something that I can tell you like it was yesterday. The color of the sky the morning we flew out, the striped shirt I wore, the bag of plain lays potato chips that was offered to me by the life flight nurse, the encouragement to sleep by the pilot, the head of surgery meeting with us infront of a big screen showing us what the tests revealed, the prognosis of a year living in the hospital, waiting for her to recover, the bathroom floor that we held each other and wept while 21 mo old Cayden slept in a pack and play that his tired body was placed in at midnight after his parents finally got checked into Ronald McDonald’s house…

Even in all the grief, terror, mental walls being built, living in a state of denial, nothing prepared us for the day we would hear Ezrah had a fatal lung disease, a disease that would tell her parents they would witness the death of their child before most ever would.  

For 7 yrs I have watched and many times held my breath when Ezrah is in my presence. I have experienced it more now that I am watching her youngest sister grow and reach milestones, it is in those moments that I realize that I struggled with reality and the doom of her limited future. Long ago, it is as if I mentally buried her, yes, I did, to protect my heart from anguish, I told myself I would never recover from.

In all the chaos of her diagnosis, Richard entered the world of social media, still a very new thing 7 yrs ago. Facebook was barely used then, crazy right? It was still so new and people were still holding onto the dinosaur MySpace.

In his searching he met a young Tlinghit woman (a rarety in the native population), in her early 20s that was living with Cystic Fibrosis, two words that were becoming part of our daily language. I remember him coming home from work, telling me he had reached out and met this woman through a support group for families with cystic fibrosis (CF). I shut him out, I couldn’t handle hearing the scary, I didn’t want to know the pain, hardship, the things that broke her, broke her family all because of those two little letters. Seeing my pain, seeing the walls go upset again, Richard retreated and never mentioned his discussion again with this young CF woman…

Fast forward to the beginning of 2016.  

A CF research magazine arrived in the mail. I will admit, sometimes I read it front to back, other times, if I am in a rough spot with the disease that has shaped and sifted our family, I will file it away for when I am in a better place. The cover immediately caught my eyes, it was of a young woman running. The name, her story, as I read it, I realized it was the very woman who had received and responded to a scared dad, trying to find hope in the hopeless.I am a very aware person of personal boundaries. They matter to me, maybe because my boundaries have been set to protect my heart, I am so proactive in making sure I don’t break others.

I searched for the young woman, found her on FB and in an act of unusual courage reached out to her and asked to “friend” her. I thought I had to write up Ezzys story, tell her about us, because why on earth would she remember a conversation she had had almost 7 yrs ago? Nope…she remembered us, she remember our girl.

One thing that sets this fatal disease apart from others is the isolation that comes with it. CF patients can never be around each other, they can’t go to camps, events, sit and play at a playground together, be hospitalized together. It’s even a risk for family members to be around a person with CF, through research, they have found the deadly bugs that attack and scar the lungs can be carried on family members. Ezzy doesn’t get to sit in a room with other kids and talk and see someone just like her. She is ushered quickly to the side, given a pager and the staff at her CF clinic stagger and assign rooms so that interaction is nearly impossible…because isolation means protection.

It is insanely lonely as a mother raising a child with this deadly disease. There are no support groups for me to go to, no sitting over coffee with another momma, because Ezzy is the only child to have this disease on our small island of 13,000 ppl. I know the feelings I have as a caregiver and I can’t imagine the things that go through my tiny little fighter.

My mom recently blessed Richard and I, with an opportunity for us to travel with just Veil. He had a presentation he had to give for his job in another city and I was to tag along to rest, relax, enjoy the hotel life of no laundry to do, food to cook, or 4 other little children to consume my day. It sounded like heaven. I was ready to just disappear and get to know my little Veil Eden and have lots of quality time with her.  

All of a sudden, I turned to Richard on the ferry ride over to the airport and told him I wanted to reach out the woman who we had reconnected with. I asked him if it would be strange, he told me to do it. I sent the message, told her we would be in her home city within a few hours. I tried giving her an out, telling her I knew it was short notice, but if she had even just an hour we would love to meet her. I put my phone on flight mode and tried to tell myself that I didn’t cross her boundaries…

The last day of our little get away I found myself restlessly sitting in the car, outside the meet place. Wondering, praying that I would hold it together.

You see, this woman, beautiful, married, a new mother, sat across me, with such a gentle calm spirit that it brought forth every fear I have faced over and over again. She just ran her first marathon, yes you read that! She ran a marathon and had a lung infection leading up to her big day she had trained and but months and months of dedication to.  This CF warrior, now 30, the age expectancy that was dropped on us after we heard the two letters that would be Ezzys everyday, she is the very image of everything I have prayed for and in my darkest refused to hope for. 

Being raised with a faith, being shown that the bible has an answer for everything, I have tried my hardest to let go, to accept the fact that it says, none of us are promised tomorrow. That just because Ezzy has been given a prognosis, doesn’t mean it is necessarily true. 

But I am a planner, I need to prepare, I don’t handle it when things deviate from my route I picked.

I had to remind myself to not stare intensely as she spoke and shared her experiences with us. I tend to be an all in person, paying attention to everything. My senses go in overdrive. But I kept trying to suck those tears back in, I fought them, I kept telling myself “pull it together Sarah, she is here to share her story, not to see that you still can’t handle Ezzys.”

Just when I felt like an idiot for not being able to reign in all the things racing through my brain and the feelings that kept overflowing, she looked at us and acknowledged how crazy it must be to meet an adult with CF, one at her age. There, that moment was when I thanked the Lord for giving me courage to ask her to meet us.

We talked, asked questions, I even recall smiling as she recalled a time in her childhood that mimicked something in Ezzys. Soon the room that felt so stuffy, with all the weights I have been carrying for almost 7 yrs, felt lighter.

This woman said something so small, she probably doesn’t remember or hold much value over it, but it has been on my heart and completely changed my perspective of being Ezzys momma.

Her momma would say to her, when she would challenge her parents in the therapies or adhering to the relentless care plan CF demands, “it’s ok, there is always tomorrow”….

“It’s ok, there is always tomorrow”…

“Tomorrow”…

Dear Ezzy,
Baby girl, I am sorry that I have grieved your tomorrows. I am sorry that I have feared your tomorrows. I am sorry that have let tomorrow be a word that I dread. After this special meeting that happened with a young strong and brave woman, I pray you will look up to her when you are overwhelmed with the loneliness. I pray that I start looking forward to, with joy, your tomorrows. I learned in that meeting how much you need a momma that can pick you up, see past what the doctors say, and tell you that you are more then CF, that your life is meant to make the tomorrows worth waking for, not to dread. 
This young woman found a man, one that wasn’t afraid of her story, that wanted to be the meat of her story. They married, to top it off they have been given a priceless gift of being parents. Ezzy, what this woman showed me is that I need to keep dreaming of your tomorrows, to not hold you back from something just because CF says it can’t be done.
Ezzy girl, you are 7 yrs old today. 7 yrs old…how quickly these years have flown by. How much you have grown in strength and understanding. You recently woke up, started your therapies on your own, nebs and all, without being told. I have witnessed you come home from school on most days, grab your homework and start your therapies on your own. Your routine, vastly different from the rest of the family and your friends is not something that takes away your joy everyday like it use to. It’s as if, in the last few months, something changed within you, a maturity has arose and you fight not because you are told to, but because you choose to fight the battle. You in your 7 yrs of wisdom have decided you won’t let CF win, you won’t let it ruin your day, even if it means you are stuck to machines, stuck to the couch when everyone else is running around. 
 
I watched you march up to our pastor in a packed room of adults and kids, he bent down to hear your little voice. You shared what was on your heart and he responded.  You know what you want and life and don’t let fear hold you back.

Ezzy,there is something very special about you. You have no idea how much I hear people tell me they love watching you grow or better yet acknowledge them. 
Your black and white, matter of a fact personality has been stretched this school year. You have found a friend that makes you embrace the silly, a friend that loves to laugh, a friend that doesn’t see the world that same way. I witnessed at your school Christmas concert how much you need this friend. As I held my breath, heard my heart pound  while I watched you dance in a packed auditorium, no planned choregraphy, I let the tears come. I let them come, because I heard the lord say ” see Sarah, she is loved, I love her so much, I am giving her the people she needs, the people who want to make Ezzys today’s and tomorrow’s full of life. You and her are not alone on this journey” You danced your little heart out and for me, that was the best unexpected gift I have received from you and there have been many on this journey of being your momma.​ (Ezzy is the one in the black dress and updohairstyle)

​Sweet Ezzy, here’s to 7 yrs of watching you grow and turn lemons into lemonade, I can’t wait for all the tomorrows you want to chase. Your dream of being a worship leader just makes my heart pause.  I pray that you will learn to worship God in the ups and downs of your life, that your heart won’t be scarred but healed by the one you made you for a high calling. 

I pray that instead of holding you back in my fears, I will push you forward towards the tomorrows. Happy birthday my miracle girl

“Is your prince coming home momma?”
“Uh…what…”
“Is YOUR prince coming home?”
“Kyre…um…oh…do you mean daddy?”
“YES! Daddy”

Folks, I am a little sad that my next reaction was to immediately correct her and tell her he wasn’t my prince. I never lived in fairytale land, I am quite sure that my mom never worried that I would buy into the unrealistic Prince Charming dream. Black and white, coloring in not out of the lines, yes and no answers, that my friends is MY world.

In just a matter of seconds, my over analyzed mouth could crush the heart of a little 4 yr old’s world view. I remember sitting across from her at the table, taking that breath to speak and then feeling the weight on my chest and an immediate need to close my mouth.

If you have read past blogs, talked to me at a play date or a setting that would allow for us to share our life stories, you most likely have heard about Kyre’s story. You heard about the miracle that came from two scared wounded young parents still grieving the diagnosis of their second baby. Those two individuals laid aside all the dreams of a loud big family and decided to get on with life. Precautions, medicine, you name it, were taken. Somehow, wait, not somehow, I don’t want to belittle the awe of Kyre’s story, God took all the actions we did and threw them away. I can’t help but smile now as I think back to all the emotions that hit me the morning I found out she was growing inside of me.

Kyrene Grace Harney took her first breaths on November 12, 2011. It snowed shortly before we left the hospital with her, the first snowfall of the season. Again, another sign for those broken parents that God was in all the details. He knew we had promised the 2 and 4 yr old their new baby would arrive when it snowed. I remember looking out the windows on the gloomy day, packing up the bags with the whitest little baby I had grew and seeing the BIG flakes fall…

There is something about Kyre that I believe is hidden deep within her. You won’t get to see it or better yet experience it on a regular basis. There is a response her soul gives to the Lord, that will stop you when you experience it. It will bring me to my knees in the moments I am at my wits end with her big messy emotions. It can be uncomfortable, it can be humbling, it can be joyful…when you witness what God created her for, why he was so persistent to bring her into the world it can give you goosebumps.
I will hands down be the first to admit that I know I can be a one tasked brain type of person. When I focus on something, I give it my all, in 100%. It can unfortunately make me not very approachable. I am at the height of this when I am out doing errands with my kids. If I don’t focus on them and the job at hand I will forget something. I have 4 different people, with 4 different needs, questions, and distractions testing my ability to multitask.

One day while running errands with the kids, they threw a curve ball in and asked to go and get drinks from McDonald’s. It was a hot day, we had walked from our house to the grocery store, paid our electricity bill, when to the toy store and the Golden Arches caught their eyes. I detest McDonald’s, everything about them, except their sweet tea 1/2 cut. I said no, heard their mutiny and then backed down. It WAS hot, I WAS thirsty and even though dad’s work was just a 6 minute walk away with free water, I figured we could get a treat. While standing in line, I saw a person who I have known most of my life, joys of living on an island. You can’t go anywhere without knowing someone. Her life had changed, she was walking through some pretty big pain, it was safe to say that grief was her constant companion. As we exchanged pleasantries, I felt a little hand tap my arm and a little voice say “momma…momma”. Many of my mom friends would admit this can make the hairs on our necks stand, when those words are repeated over and over with a tap on the arm while trying to talk to another human being. I felt my blood boil, she wasn’t dying or bleeding, couldn’t she just wait. I looked down, giving her the look “this better be important”. Her little eyes, messy hair from the day spent outside, too many freckles on her checks to count from all the sunshine, all of that yielded my heart. I didn’t know what she wanted, but something made me give her my 100% focus. “Momma, can I hug her?” (gentle whisper). Kyre knew this woman needed some tenderness. I quickly nodded and soon saw my 4 yr old hug the hurting woman with every ounce of strength her little body could give. She hugged the woman like you would expect to see after two people who shared a deep connection were reunited after a long absence. But here is the clincher, she didn’t know this woman at all.

This is the perfect example of the deepest level of Kyrene Grace’s heart.
Even though our Gracie can love in a way that makes adults see how jaded they have become, like any Ying to a Yang, she does have another side to her…

We finished our parent teacher conferences with the older two, happy to hear our kids were being who we knew them to be, as we turned to walk down the stairs to Kyre’s conf I quickly asked my hubby “well are you ready?” We are very aware of the challenging parts of Kyre’s temperament. When we sat down with her teacher, we asked how she was doing. “Fine” was the response, but we knew that was not the whole story. We quickly said “don’t hold back, we can handle it, put it all out there”. Her teacher chuckled and said “well…”

Little Miss Gracie Poo, loves to be first…in EVERYTHING that she does. She runs to the lineup at the door just to secure her desired slot. She watches the teachers like a hawk at recess, as soon as she sees one of them head to the door, in no time, they will find her at the front of the line, even if she was the farthest away. Kyre runs everywhere she goes, she is the reason why her teachers have to use the term “walking feet”. To top it off my little firecracker has no problem expressing her dislike when they switch the order of the line, when the front becomes the caboose. Even though we heard the parts of her that still need work, we were assured that Kyre has been chosen to be the buddy for some of the younger ones in the class or the kids that need a patient play buddy. I will take hearing she is patient anyday and not get hung up on the fact that her competitive streak is more then her little 40 lb body can contain.

When I think about the world that Kyrene is living in, the world that she is growing up in, I am confident in her. I know most parents think their children are just stellar, but guys, I see and hear God tell me in my moments of frustration with her high intensity outbursts, “You need her, I need her, that is why I made her when you were doing everything to not have another baby”. He never fails to press on my heart that she is special, his desire and love for her outweighed the choice two grieving parents made, without ever asking his guidance in their decision.  Because of her life, it paved the way for Ya’el and Veil, two more souls this family needed for healing.

Her tears are met by her 2 yr old sister who wraps her in a tight hug, her screams of anguish that make her brother drop everything and come running, just to find out a spider is in the doorway gives a reason to laugh. Her imaginary world she creates, draws black and white Ezzy in and shows us she is a little girl that believes in princes, unicorns, and fairies. Her little made up songs will stop of fussy baby before the cries become frantic.
Kyre’s soul is the echo to a fragile heart. Her discernment I have learned to listen too. If she sees a hurting soul, she knows she no longer has to ask, she just goes and hugs them…yes…she has done it to a stranger. I had to delicately tell her that she can only do that if mommy is close by. I witnessed her call a bird to her finger during a walk around the lake. It was straight out of a Disney movie scene, she sang a little tune, bent down, stuck her finger out, and the freaking bird hopped straight to her, no fear being shown. It was insane to witness, but yet again I heard God say “you need her, I need her, this hurting world needs her”.
Kyrene Grace Harney, as I write this birthday blog, I just felt goosebumps again. The hurting world needs you, wow, do you know that? It needs your fire, it needs your deep love, it needs your eyes that see pain and instead of looking away you RUN straight toward it. You were planted in our Abba Father’s heart, before your soul formed inside my womb. My child, may God keep convicting my heart when I am overcome with your strength, may He show me that He gave you it so that you won’t crumble when adversity comes your way, instead you will rise up and keep pressing in. Gracie, I pray I won’t stand in your way when it is time to hug you and say goodbye as you venture away from our home and serve the hurting world. Gracie, shine bright, keep giving compassion to those who need it but can’t voice it, be first in line to help a person in need, run towards the hurting, most of all see and believe how treasured you are, our Heavenly Father made you to bring healing to this hurting land.
Happy birthday my favorite 5 yr old

For quite sometime I have been mulling over this blog. I was trying to come up with some catchy title, give you the “top 5 things” I have learned since having 5 kids or the “top 5 changes” I have experienced since the birth of Veil Eden. Each time I came up with the list, it would crumble. Either in the form of my brain unable to complete the last few points to make a solid 5 or better yet my personal life would be in shambles.

To say I entered into the postpartum period of life with Veil naively doesn’t quite scratch the surface. I had told myself “eh, this will be easy”. I had told myself, “God broke you quite a bit with the number 4, what more can you learn Sarah?”…that should have been my first indicator that I was getting ready for some shaking. Please don’t think I was being a brat about feeling like I had all my duckies in a row. I wasn’t taking those duckies and parading them for all to see and wanting accolades. I just felt like I had put the time in, emotionally, physically and mentally to handle the change of adding another soul. The ease of adding our 4th into the mix lead me to believe that bringing Veil into this managed chaos would not break me. I believed I was going to come out the other side unscathed because God had been breaking me and remaking me so intensely the last 8 years of parenting that I thought I was “done”…yeah…are you reading this thinking “how on earth could she think that?”

Richard recently approached me telling me of an opportunity to serve in the community in a political role. His dream to see me as a the future state representative is always playing in the back of his mind. He has already secured a campaign manager and the two of them are ready to pull the plug once I give them just a hint of my desire to finally run. As he was sitting across me, telling me all the role would entail, I felt it. That ground that I had been clinging to, picking myself up and dusting myself off, jumping like a cricket on it to avoid the massive cracks…it began to shake and my eyes and ears began to gloss over and close as he spoke to me. Once he finished, once I realized that he was staring at me in the silence, waiting for my response, I found my voice crack, the tears trying to squeeze up between my eyeballs and lids, my words spilled out. “Richard, I can’t” “I am barely making it day to day” “I reach this level (hand above my head) every single day” “I feel like a failure” “stop asking me to be what I can’t” “I can’t even handle the jobs I have now”…

Fighting the urge he faces constantly to fix me, he looked at me and said firmly, yet with compassion “ok, thank you for telling me”

The conversation had no follow up, there was no prelude to a big “ah ha” moment of finding some secret power tucked in a forgotten box, that would allow me to put my superwoman cape on. It started and ended with no expectation of more discussion in the future.

Folks, it was painful for me to say those words. To honestly list all the “I can’ts”. Even though he is the one I have grown up with the last 16 yrs and he has seen me at my highest and lowest. I still fought the urge to be so transparent to him, to finally say out loud what I heard shouting in my ears daily for the last month or so, “I am not enough”

I have had some short but powerful conversations with some ladies since I became a mother of 5. I think it’s common nature for us to always ask a new mom how she is, we ask if she is getting enough sleep, how she is adapting, maybe even we offer some help, either way, we always ask how she is, but rarely are in a place to hear and receive the truth, esp if the truth is “I am drowning”.

One mother told me she appreciated me, as she fought tears, sharing a recent “I am the worst mom ever” moment with me. She recalled a time I stood in front of our church body during my mini sermon between worship songs. I had shared a struggle with raising a strong willed child, I shared I was human and made mistakes, I shared how God was teaching me a critical lesson. I knew what moment she was talking about. I knew, because that Sunday was a hard Sunday for me. I fought, wrestled and asked God why he was asking me to stand in front of our church body and wave a big sign saying “I am not perfect!!!!”. Laugh please do, because as I just wrote that sentence I laughed.

I don’t think I struggle with being honest. I tend to run quickly into the deep conversations, I seek out souls that want to get to the bottom of things rather then live on the comfortable surface. But if I am honest right here and now, I don’t like being transparent or vulnerable with anyone unless I have figured out or come out the other side of the situation alive. I am great at sharing hard things, once I have analyzed it, wrapped it in a neat little box and filed it away for when I am ready to share a teaching moment with someone.

After the mom and I talked a little more, she thanked me, told me to keep sharing those moments because she said a massive weight was lifted from her that morning. The “perfect” mom, worship leader and woman she had measured herself too, no longer made her feel like she wasn’t “enough”.

When you see me Sunday mornings, freshly manicured, straightened hair, makeup, alert eyes, smiling, ready to serve the body of Christ. Please know I am just as broken as the next human being. I had to get up at 6 am in order to walk out the door at 8:15, to be ready for worship practice. I had to wake up before my kids and husband to ensure I would get ample time to make myself look the way I think I am suppose to look. I realize now that my need to look perfect, to hide my flaws that scream at me daily, sometimes minute by minute, has harmed others. Momma’s I am sorry!

When another mom asked me how I was (after I showed up flustered to an event), I in a moment of weakness answered her honestly, her quick response was like salve to a wound. You know what she said?!? “That is really relieving to hear”…”you struggling, makes me feel like it’s ok to struggle myself”…

Why do we do this? Why do we hide behind the masks that we think people want to see? In reality people need us to be honest, to admit from time to time we are struggling.

Most recently the “oh crap”, came knocking at my door. The dust had settled and I am still amazed it didn’t come sooner. I found myself spinning like a top. My heart was racing, it felt as though my vision was blurred as well. My heart was pounding so loud that I wanted to plug my ears. I couldn’t catch my breath and I was so worked up that not even a good cry could fix this.

The loads and loads of laundry were screaming at me, the pile of dirty dishes were taunting me, the remnants of getting kids and a hubby out the door for school and work were left for me to tackle in what seemed a doomed amount. I had someone waiting on me to go and have some fun and yet I was standing in my dinning room yelling at God. He says “call out to me, all who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest”. Yet there I was exhausted, tired, so tired that not even a dream situation of getting a nap could fix me. I was so tired that even my cells in my body were saying “we can’t regenerate, there is no fuel left”.

I found myself responding to him when he said “I am right here, I will help you”. With a snarky response “oh yeah, you are going to jump off that throne and start folding the laundry, clean my dirty base boards and sticky walls, you are going to sweep the dust bunnies off my stairs, you are going to come and clean the toys up…you’re going to…uh huh…”

It got silent, like really silent. I hear God speak, in many different ways. He can speak loudly, gently, he can whisper at times, he can speak through a song, through his word, through a friend, he can speak in many ways. What matters is, am I willing to listen.

After my grade A fit that I threw, I wish I could tell you that he came rushing in and fixed and answered all the aching I was facing.

But he didn’t

It wasn’t until the next day as I cleaned the kitchen I didn’t have any capacity to clean the day before that I heard him respond to me as I was crying inside. I was crying inside and saying “I am not enough Lord, I am not enough to be the mother you are asking me to be, I am not enough to be the wife Richard needs, I am not enough to lead your people into worship, I am not enough to be the friend others are needing”…”why Lord?”…

As I scraped the food goo off my black marble counters he spoke clear as day, just as a loving father does when their child is crying and needs love. You know what he said? “Sarah, I have you right where you need to be”
“You can’t be enough…

I have spent my teens, early adulthood and even more so now in my early 30s trying to reach, control and shape my environment and image that would reflect that I have it together and don’t need help. Accepting help would be a sign of weakness, a sign that I couldn’t handle things.

I have lived in fear that I would be discovered, that I someone would see the real me and choose that I was not worthy. Worthy is a word I struggle with more than anything.. I am not worthy of God’s grace, I am not worthy of my Ephesians 5 husband and I sure am not worthy to raise 5 little souls…

After hearing that simple answer, how I can’t be enough, how I am right where God wants me I have been trying to take my environment in. Trying to swallow the humility he is asking me to walk in honor with, attempting to drop the act and let my vulnerability define me instead of the list of things I am not meant to perfect on this earth.

I am tired, bone tired. My little man took a picture of me on the couch, I had fallen asleep holding Veil at 7:30. This was an odd site,my son knew this was a moment to capture. He told me “he just had too”. I was unable to keep my eyes open and I cringed when I saw what I really looked like. This is my reality of this hard season of motherhood. Still rocking a maternity shirt, left over pregnancy acne on my cheeks, double chin from the extra pregnancy pounds my body will hold onto for what will feel like forever. There was no fancy filter to edit this picture, this is me.
I many times debate on if it’s worth it to change my shirt after being spit up on because it will add to the laundry pile. I have sticky walls, crusty table, toothpaste covered bathroom sink, dishes on the counter, floors that could use a heavy scrub, piles of organized crap and I don’t foresee this season ending anytime soon. Little Veil Eden is 8 wks old and I am having to release my grip on my unrealistic expectations I have put on myself and face the reality that I am not enough.

Remember when I said God told me he had me right where I am suppose to be? The place where I am suppose to be is a place that sees I was never asked to be enough. He created me to need him, to rely on him, to place aside pride and be real. He is asking me to be real, to remove the mask and maybe somehow help someone else stop spinning out of control.

So if you ask me “how I am doing” this is your fair warning, I am going to get real with you and be honest and tell you “I am not enough, and that is ok, cause God has me right where he needs me”

Today is Veil Eden’s due date and yet I have been privileged to rock her in my arms for the last 2 weeks, breathing that newborn smell in and quite honestly having to tell myself it is real, she is really in my arms and not inside of my body…I have asked myself a couple times if I cherished the gift of pregnancy. In the moments that I am trying to keep my eyes open during a middle of the night feeding or when I quickly grab her from the swing because my soul longs to be reunited with the soul I grew inside of me for 38 wks. It seems like her pregnancy went at an unreal pace and yet I know the line of insanity I was walking the last few wks of her pregnancy feeling as though it was never going to end.Early in this pregnancy, before we knew what we were going to have, I found myself lying in bed one morning, sicker than anything, waiting for my family to wake, I was praying, laying my heavy heart at my Abba Father’s feet. I was grieving again. It wasn’t the pregnancy hormones, it was something I was facing and desperately wished my mentor was still here on this earth so we could figure out the necessary steps to get through it. I have heard charismatic evangelical Christians talk openly and sometimes flippantly about visions or dreams the Lord has given them and YES, have rolled my eyes at them. I am too black and white to handle that much gray people. But I also have to admit that I have in fact experienced the Lord speaking to me through a dream 2x in my life…the events that I was forewarned about in the dreams came to life and as I went through them I felt my spirit check itself as it experienced déjà vu.

That morning, as the warm tears streamed down my face onto my pillow, as my body tried to conceal the rocking of the bed to wake Richard, I found myself receiving a vision of something that I know was divinely delivered to my breaking heart.

The questions, the hurt that I was asking God to reveal himself in was met with the most peaceful image I have seen to this day.

I didn’t even question if it was true, instead the heaviness that was pressing my heart, feeling as though I couldn’t get up, was lifted as I accepted what the Lord told me.

After getting showered and dressed that morning I kept hearing the word “Veil”. What a strange word to hear, I know. Yet when I digested what I had seen that morning it began to make sense. I shared with Richard the name that was on my heart and told him it would be a great contender for a girl’s name. Deep inside as I said the name out loud I realized there was no chance that the life tenderly being knitted inside of me was a boy, even though my men desperately were wishing for a boy.

Some have asked why Veil Eden? As we have gotten out a few times in the community this last week we have ran into people who don’t attend our church and they have asked why or made comments like “wow, that is a strong or interesting name”. If you attend our church then you most likely heard my pastor explain the meaning behind her name. I had someone recently tell me that when he was sharing with the congregation her name, they had goosebumps and it was evident to them the big plans that God has for our sweet #5.

Veil comes from the Old Testament. In Exodus 34 where Moses veiled his face after being in the presence of the most high Lord almighty. He covered/veiled his face because he didn’t want them to see the glory fading as it did, but also because it kind of freaked the Israelites out when some of them saw his face shining. Moses was in the presence of the most high because he was talking with the Lord, learning a new law for God’s chosen people to follow, laws that would help them separate themselves from the rest, set them apart, and consecrate them to him. The laws were good, they were perfect, and they brought his people to communion with their maker when they followed them with sincere hearts. But as human’s do, they messed it up along the way. It became all about burnt offerings, sacrifices, things that could be done without reverence and no longer about hearts being purified.

Fast forward to years and years and years later and we have the Son of God on the earth, God incarnate, coming and telling mankind that he didn’t come to abolish the law but instead fulfill every detail (Matthew 5:17,18)

One of the most powerful, earth shattering images, event that shaped my heart of worship was when I finally understood the significance of the Veil being torn in the Holy of Holies (a place only a high priest could enter) when Christ was crucified (Matthew 27:51). I recall teaching on this topic in church a few years ago when I introduced the song “shekinah glory”. This event is how we are promised redemption, reconciliation and more importantly a new covenant that was given to us. No longer are we separated from God, no longer are we forever banished from the garden of Eden (Heaven), no longer does Man have to go to God for us, we can go to God FREELY and we now have the promise of entering our eternal rest because of Christ’s sacrifice. He is now our High Priest, he now advocates for us and made a way for us to be made right in God’s eyes.

Whew…did you know you were signing up for a mini sermon when you clicked on this link?!? Sorry, one of my giftings is teaching, if you attend church with me, you would be shaking your head right now, knowing I can’t help but do it each worship service I lead…

I feel like I would be doing a disservice to you all if I didn’t take a little time to explain why this little soul has been given the name she has.

Back to that vision I was given, I knew when it was confirmed it was a little girl growing inside of me that it would be what I painted on her belly cast. As I have done with all my other babies, thank you Jonny and Frances for encouraging me to start the tradition 8 yrs ago, I decided the vision would leave my mind and heart and find itself on the form that reminded me of this precious baby girl.

After finally feeling like I had the clarity and strength to paint the cast, I set up my art station and got to work last night on it. The hubby was busy dealing with Mr. bear and our hanging salmon in the smoke house and Veil Eden was wrapped up in her favorite purple blanket while I got lost in my thoughts.

All of a sudden I was smack dab in my bedroom, the night I received the call that my mentor had gained his inheritance and no longer was here on earth. I remember hearing the other person on the phone fight to get the words out in-between the heavy sobs of grief. I remember reaching out for the stacked tubs against the wall waiting for me to go through the next size of clothes baby Ya’el needed, I had caught myself, my knees had buckled and the ground beneath me felt as though it was fading. The colors, the soft carpet under my toes, the black night sky that caught my eyes fighting the tears…all that…it was as though I was going through it all over again.Ezzy, my little artist who is going to go places with her crazy talent analyzed my belly cast this morning. Her first question, “why is there a lion and a lamb laying by each other? Lions eat lambs”.“Because they are in the garden of Eden, Ez” (daddy). Her eyes scanned over to the other side of the tree and without missing a beat she said, “oh, and there is Ken”.

Yes baby girl, there is Ken.

Dear Ken,

It has been 1 year and 5 months since we last spoke. How quickly that time has passed it seems as I pair them against the fact that you haven’t been in my life and my family’s lives since then. If you were still here, that wouldn’t even be a possibility, being present, being involved in our day to day things was something that you ran into, something a lot of people get overwhelmed in.

Can I tell you that you rarely are a fading thought in my heart, because you loved my family and strove to be part of it, there are too many parts of my day that bring your lack of presence in the forefront. I still struggle when people talk about you, when your name is mentioned by a church go-er, when I see a picture of you on fb as people from time to time share their grief with the rest of us. You are not forgotten, instead your absence only drives me farther into God’s open arms as I see how the promise you are living out is my promise too.

So that taxidermy thing that you told me Richard would get tired of and I just had to “wait it out”, I would like to tell you that you were wrong my friend. Richard has now started his own business, has clients and find myself telling him, please don’t’ show me the early stages of projects, only when they are nicely tanned and no longer smell like death. The business, its real, he has a shop set up in our basement, business cards made and new clients calling his phone…it’s crazy…

My little man, the one that you told me caught the bug, well you were right this time. Cayden has decided to forgo sports this fall in hopes to run an efficient trap line and work on building his savings account. He loves God’s handiwork, he would live outside if I let him and most of all he is more Alaskan than most little boys his age. How I wish you could have sat across him as he explained to your son how to set and pull a halibut skate, all with telling him specifically where to go and set it.

Ezzy, well, she had a rough spring, it was touch and go. I know had you been here, you would have been praying over her, you would have arranged for pillars in our church to come and lay hands and anoint her with oil. You would have challenged me to keep the faith, to not get lost in the what ifs. You would have smiled through the corner of your mouth when she surprised us all and beat the odds when she avoided a hospitalization after having a lung exasperation.  

Kyrene, the one who’s fire put a smile on your face as we dealt with her nonstop outburst…she hasn’t changed. I know that you would find comfort in the fact we haven’t broken her spirit. We call her squirt from time to time, mainly because we don’t want her to lose a piece of who you saw her to be.

Ya’el, it makes me sad you don’t know her. She goes over and sits with your family in church, as if she knows they are her family too. She is fun, like really fun. She is like her daddy, but she is also so incredibly sweet. Her big brown eyes and chubby cheeks, they are her secret weapon. I know you would love her quick wit and how she feeds off of other people.

Veil Eden, her name, it’s in honor of you, honor of the God you are in the midst of. When I was at one of my weakest moments of doubting God’s faithfulness, he showed me you, he showed you in the garden, and he showed me that he had you right where you are supposed to be. Does it make it hurt less that I know where you are? I don’t know, it seems to change with each day and honestly the more I spend time in his word, seeing the weak spots of my Faith.

Ken, I look forward to sitting under that tree with you one day. Having you bring me to the King, worshipping in his throne room with you and all the other saints, meeting the babies I lost before I met them, knowing you have found them and have told them all about the family they have here on earth. My brother, you are missed and loved dearly by my family, may we find ways to carry on your legacy and not be ashamed of the Gospel that you so fiercely fought to share with everyone

You know how memories, they can change over time, little details might get mixed up, fade or worse disappear? I recently took the Baum test as a fun little exercise in my bible study group. One of the things revealed, no surprise to me is how important detail is and how the “past influences everyday life” for me. I knew very soon after delivering Veil Eden that I would again write out the events surrounding her birthday because I have cherished reading the blog I wrote in honor of Ya’el’s birthday and wish I had the forethought to do the same with my older kids. One other aspect of her birth that was incredibly important to me was the opportunity to have my dear friend come and photograph her birth. Even though this blog is really for me, my husband, and Veil I am excited to share her story with you. Why? Because it can’t be said that God didn’t have his hand on every step, no detail was left unattended and we are still left in amazement at how perfect everything went. Some of you may have seen the birth photos that my friend shared, but I want to share the photos that my heart recalls, I love seeing the photos she picked, because that was her view and wasn’t it pretty incredible?!? So here is mine…

August 19th, I was woken up with an intense contraction, I quickly went to the restroom, fully believing it was a fluke and attempted to go back to bed. 15 minutes later I found myself with another intense contraction and had to breathe my way through it. I recall debating on turning off my alarm for the gym, thinking it might be best to wait it out and see what my body was going to do. Being my typical self I went against that thought and found myself having 2 more contractions, 10-15 minutes apart. The alarm went off and I slowly climbed out of bed and dressed for the gym.

Upon arriving at the gym a frequent attendee talked to me and watched me climb on the treadmill, I saw her eyes analyze me and looking back realize that she might have noticed I was not my normal self. First of all, she never talks to me and this morning she did, asking me how I was doing. Within a few minutes I realized I couldn’t do my normal workout, I would have to forgo lifting weights and cut my treadmill workout short. I had $5 Friday to get to at Safeway and needed to stock up on some necessities if this labor thing was really going to happen. I ran into a friend at the store and we briefly chatted and she had some encouraging words for my heart and a desire to pray that my labor would continue on.

7:30 am: The hubby had breakfast going by the time I got home and after watching me try to eat my food, carry on a conversation that was interrupted by my focused breathing, he quickly realized that timing my “I’m ok, I am sure it’s just Braxton hicks” was at the top of his priority list. I sent him on his way, told him that I would call him if the contractions picked up and headed to the shower, knowing that I had timed and watched my body go from 10-15 mins apart to now 5 minutes apart. I turned on my worship music, quieted my anxious heart and mind and focused on breathing. I felt utterly spent and unable to do much of anything. I opened the front door and encouraged the kids to play in the warm sunshine while I labored on the couch. I think Cayden was aware something was going on, he sat close by me and tried to hold Ya’el in his arms, even though the only place she wanted to be was tucked into mine.

10:30 am: I knew it was time, there was no more holding off calling my husband and mom, I sent a quick text to my friend to get her camera gear ready and waited for Richard to show up. I no longer could sit comfortably and found the most comfortable place to be was at the foot of my bed, swaying as the contractions went from lasting 20 secs to 45 secs. Richard arrived a nervous ball of energy and we soon left 4 little kids, wide-eyed and emotional needy with my mom, sorry mom, they were not prepared for seeing me in pain.

I didn’t want to get my hopes up, I kept telling myself, “you are going to show up and they are going to say that you aren’t in labor”. I hesitantly walked into the OB ward and was met by a very dear friend who just so happened to be working her sporadic shift on this day. When my eyes met her, I heard a voice say “are you ready?”. I tucked that voice away and nervously awaited to see what the staff would decide.

After checking my dilation and effacement, my friend, the nurse, soon found my water had broken with her checking my body. We all laughed and I knew without a doubt that there would be a little baby within my arms in less than a day!Richard made a quick call to my friend to head into town and get ready to document the birth of our baby girl!

After having the most peaceful birth with Ya’el, I knew that I would be making the same choice to have an epidural with this labor and we told them to let the anesthesiologist know. Both Richard and I recall having to wait quite some time for the epidural with Ya’el, mainly because I had gone into labor during the night. In fact, it was then that we realized that we had never had a daytime birth. We soon found there is a benefit to day time births, the anesthesiologist is at the hospital, not having to be called in from their warm cozy bed, everyone is bright eyed and alert and services seem to happen at an accelerated pace. I received my epidural, found myself relax and tried to soak in everything happening. The one downside of an epidural is that it can slow down labor. My 3-4 min apart contractions went to 6 min apart and it was decided after a few hours that Pitocin would be the next step. I could honestly care less, after having Pitocin with the 3 oldest and knowing how horrible it is, I was relieved I would not “feel” the Pitocin this time.  During this time Richard, myself and our friend sat and chatted, I would weave in and out of the conversation with them as I still was aware of the contractions and focused on breathing and again tried to take all of the events in, filing them away for moments when I feel like I didn’t cherish the last time.The Pitocin did the trick and I soon saw the quiet little room I had shared with my hubby and friend, swarm with the hustle and bustle of other nurses, my doctor and the equipment they would need to deliver a baby.It got real, it got real fast. I saw the smiles on their faces, I looked over at my husband who was now on his feet rocking back and forth and remember his calm smile on his face. Even though he had snuck in some salecycle shopping…yes…he did…I knew that he was in Go time mode and would be there every step of the way.8 pm: I remember asking them if I could push, the fear of tearing, something I had done with 2 births was looming in my mind. I wanted to make sure we did this right. I was given the green light and could no longer fight the urge to respond to the waves of contractions my body was having.

One of the greatest gifts my OB gave us was the opportunity for Richard to help deliver our little girl. He had wanted to with Cayden and Ezzy, but we had traumatic births with them. Kyre he didn’t press the new locum doctor and Ya’el he had been told he could but it changed when she decided to come face up.

I know some women who have given strict orders to their partners to remain up by their head and to not look at what their body was doing. When Richard had voiced his desire to catch our very last baby, I told myself that I couldn’t deny him this right. He has always been a spectator, watching his wife grow life, giggle at the hiccups, bask in the movement and then do all the work to get them out breathing and safe in our arms, never being part of the action.

8:13 pm: Richard jumped right in, he was calm, and honestly, I can’t tell you that I remember the nurses or my doctor’s face during this time. I was breathing, I was pushing with everything I had, I was telling myself that the pain I felt would be over soon, I was focused on one thing, to get this little soul that grew inside of me for 38 wks out and see that she was going to be just fine. I needed all the secret worries of “what ifs” to be gone and disproved as I held her in my arms.

That little gift our doctor gave us has meant so much to me as I have looked over the pictures, as I have taken in that day. When Veil Eden took her first breath that was breathed into by her Heavenly Father, she was held in her earthly Father’s strong gentle hands. No one else existed in those quick seconds, it was just the 4 of us: Richard, Me, Veil, and God. There is something to be said about having the person who created life with you, to then be the person who hands over that life to you.

All the worries and concerns about me having gestational diabetes soon faded as she passed each sugar draw, lived on my chest, drinking all the milk her tummy could take from my body and I just held her close and kept thanking the Lord for this perfect gift.

You see, Richard and I have finally taken the measures to ensure that this would the last time we would find ourselves inside of the OB ward. We signed the paperwork many months ago, prayed, talked, prayed, talked some more, and prayed. Even though we love our children, we love the tender hard years of infancy and childhood, we also know that we want to be present for our older kids. We know that we need to start really investing in them as their years of being home are flying by. We know that this baby girl is it because the Holy Spirit pressed it on both our hearts at the same exact moment. 

 Did we tear up as we looked one more time in the room Veil took her first breaths as we walked out the doors to go home…yes…I would be doing a disservice to you all if I wasn’t honest. We aren’t leaving behind the baby years with a clouded view, we know that we have been living a dream that wasn’t promised to us due to our health issues, we know that we have been blessed over and over again when we thought we had said goodbye to more children.God knew, God knew when the doors kept getting slammed for Richard to have a vasectomy, had they opened, we wouldn’t have Kyrene, Ya’el or Veil. God knew that we needed these 3 bonus little ladies, we are reminded countless times of his faithfulness as we raise them.Veil Eden, in just a short week you have wrapped all our hearts tightly around you. A timer has to be set for holding you since everyone wants to hold you all day. Your forehead and cheeks are constantly met by your siblings and parents. Your little sounds and faces make Ezzy melt and tell you she is going to love you forever. 

 Your big brother holds you close, never wanting to let you go.Kyre sings you a song when you fuss during your diaper changes. Ya’el has claimed you as her baby. You sleep soundly in your daddy’s arms each night and will only tolerate the crib during the day if there are no arms to hold you. My prayer for you as we watch you grow is that we embrace all that you bring to our family. I have found myself asking God to keep me present, to put my phone down when nursing you, to just sit and study your tiny little hands wrapped around my finger or smile at the tiniest pinky toenail I have ever seen. May we raise you to know your Heavenly Father and always point you to him as you go through this life. We love you and are so blessed to close this chapter of our family with your sweet little soul.