I have experienced often over the last few years people wanting to know exactly what I do.

Saying “I am a spiritual director”, causes a lot of confusion, perplexed looks, and thoughts stirring…watching and waiting to see if they will ask clarifying questions usually happens.

Over the last few years, I have had the immense privilege of sitting with people as they process past, present, and future events in their lives.  Past events full of pain or questions so often get stuffed down in the moment and then we rarely take the time to unpack things.  Current events that challenge our internal and external lives, we can run to coping mechanisms to numb the pain…how is your jammed-packed schedule…have you ever asked “Do I busy myself to avoid what is going on inside of me?”.  Future events, and wondering what will happen, bring enough anxiety to paralyze us when we don’t wait to reflect that God is the author and perfecter of our faith, of our stories.

I once had a teacher say that spiritual direction is “watching the one I love, love another”.

I couldn’t hold that statement when I first heard it.

My own story, my own pain, my misplaced feelings of worth, my worry that I would always be overlooked, they challenged this simple statement, “Watching the one I love, love another”.

Would God run out of love by the time He got to me?

But then God through His kindness began to invite me to face my trauma.  To let Him gently grab the boxes on the shelves of my soul and bring them to the ground so we could open them…

How did He do that?

He gave me a spiritual director to help me unpack the past, present and future parts of my story.

Then He began to send me people who needed a spiritual director, people who had walked similar paths that I did and needed someone who could empathize, listen & more importantly look for where God was/is/will be in their stories.

He began to heal me and He showed me how He was in their stories, just like He has been and will continue to be in mine, fulfilling His promise “Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord will personally go ahead of you. He will be with you; he will neither fail you nor abandon you” – Deuteronomy 31:8

Maybe you are like me, maybe it is hard to understand experiencing love by watching someone you love, love another, maybe you have asked, will there be enough love left over for me?…

I realized the other day that I was going to have to make sure a tradition took place this year, a tradition that I haven’t had to prepare, plan and implement over the 15 years of being a mom.

Egg dying

Every year my momma has bought, boiled, cooled, and brought everything known to man to decorate Easter eggs for my babies. Working in the ministry field, often Holy Week is a busy one, which means that the days leading up to Easter are packed with making sure people have moments to reflect on the greatest example of Love being displayed.

This year my momma is in Oregon, visiting her Ocho, my Squish, my niece.  She is busy taking her on many adventures.  She spent Palm Sunday with her, they have explored the zoo, eaten their way through Portland, and more importantly will be dying eggs together.

And you know what?

My heart is overflowing.

Why?

Because my Squish is getting to experience extravagant love from her Naani. She is finding out what it is like to hear my mom giggle when little fingers drop eggs in the bowl too quick and crack the shell. She is going to laugh when Squish debates trying the dyed water or when she spills it. She will bring out the worst candy known to mankind, peeps, and let Squish eat them until she is full.

I am thankful I have been able to experience the one I love, loving others.  As I sit and listen to stories that leave me with tears of sadness and healing.  As I get to ask questions, given to me by the Spirit of God alive in me, that lead them to the gentle awareness that God’s fingerprints are all over their stories.  As I ask and get to pray and hold them up to the God that gave up everything for them and me.  I am experiencing the love of the Father.

Tomorrow we will be celebrating the resurrection of our Savior.

“I was once lost, but now I am found

I was blind, but now I see”

I am sitting here amazed that I have gotten to know what healing feels like, and looks like and yes still am waiting to experience it in other areas of my life.

But guess what?

As I get to watch the one I love, love another, my hope is renewed.  My heart is made glad.

Just like I get to smile and laugh at each picture and video my mom is sending me of her and Squish, I can’t wait to experience that Love tomorrow and the days to come. 

I keep hearing God whisper “Do you want to get well?”

Do you want to experience healing?  Do you want God to resurrect areas in your life that you thought was dead?  Do you need emotional, relational, physical, and spiritual healing?

Are you going to Jehovah Rapha, The God Who Heals?

Tomorrow we will celebrate the Savior that defeated death and the grave and in return gives abundant life to all who call on Him, “But everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved” – Acts 2:21

Do you want to get well?

Do you want to know what extravagant love is like?

Do you want to know what it is like to get JOY watching God love others?

Run to the throne room tomorrow

“So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most” – Hebrews 4:16

Don’t worry Mom…Richard is on his way to Walmart to get the egg dye…

We love and miss you, fill up Squish’s love cup in the ways you have done time and time again with the Harney 5 pack. Thanks for being a tangible example of God’s love for His children

Need a place to go tomorrow? Join us

376 Old Homestead Rd  or watch LIVE on stacalaska.net

9:30 – family pics and brunch

10:30 – service

12:30 – egg hunt

I will leave you with our family pics that our church does every year! One of my must do traditions ❤️

Sunday is coming!!!

I was 13 years old, sitting in my room on the floor listening to music.  You know the type of music that came on a bright shiny disc that you had to be SO careful to not scratch.  I will never forget the fear that became so real I couldn’t deny it.

“you will never be a mother”

“you will be barren just like Sarah in the Bible”

The music playing in the background suddenly disappeared.

All I could think about were those words. 

Never.

Barren.

What I didn’t know was that I was going to learn one of the greatest spiritual weapons that day.

I partnered with fear, but instead of letting that became my primary emotion, I chose to do something I had read countless times in the Bible.

““Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you” – Matthew 7:7

That day I entered into a covenant with God.  13 year old me had loved the story of Hannah in the Bible, she was barren.  She was grieving.  She had a sister wife that taunted her about her empty womb…oh yeah…the Bible is full of messy people.  But what Hannah did inspired me.  She took her empty womb and entrusted it to the God of abundance.  Hannah made a covenant with God.

And she made this vow: “O Lord of Heaven’s Armies, if you will look upon my sorrow and answer my prayer and give me a son, then I will give him back to you. He will be yours for his entire lifetime – 1 Samuel 1:11

I will give him back to you?!?

I prayed that prayer at 13 not fully knowing what that might look like.

2 years later I would receive a scary diagnosis and would be told that conceiving children would be a challenging journey and there would be questions on if it would be something I would ever be able to do.

I gave that information openly to my fiancé many years later and we decided to see what would happen when the time came.

October 2007, I was living daily in fear.  Fear was my constant companion.  I was shocked that I was growing life inside of me.  I never questioned the gift and the fragility of growing life.  I had seen and experienced loss.  I couldn’t find joy.  So many what ifs haunted me.

William Cayden Harney was nestled safely in my womb, rolling, kicking, making me sick daily and gave me cravings for Tositinos pizzas, banana cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory (which was conveniently on the way home from work for Richard each day).

I was laying on the couch reading a book alone, Richard was playing frisbee golf with friends.  It was a quiet lazy fall day in sunny Arizona.

Out of NO WHERE comes a loud fatherly voice…

“Sarah…you made a covenant with me”

“you have a little soul growing inside of you”

“I heard your cry and answered”

“are you going to honor your covenant with me?”

W. Cayden – you are my everlasting covenant with God. You are the proof to me that no one should ever question if God listens. I was a scared 13 year old girl. I was faced with the enemy of our hearts trying to take away the inheritance that God wanted to give to me.

15 years I have been your momma.

I have experienced Ma, Mama, Mommy, Mom, Bruh

I have failed, parented in anger, created too strict of rules, slacked in some areas, cried, laughed, put you in time out, just to put me in time out.  I have watched you decide at a young age, showing the real age of your old soul, and go after things that no one your age would.

Training and running your 1^st ½ marathon with you at the age of 9 will forever be a cherished season with you. Early morning runs, no music, just you and me and the cadence of our stride. You cried at our 11 mile run, Herring Cove to A&P, the distance seemed unachievable to you. Yet truth be told, you carried us the whole way. Why? Because you weren’t running to prove anything, you were running for your sister Ez.

Naashkaa – your Native name, which means “Keeper of the fort”. 

Cayden. It’s who you are.

You are the protector.  The guardian.  You have a 30,000 foot view of life at all times.  You don’t focus on the small or momentary things, everything is bigger, you can see the ripple effects.  You have wisdom to see what is coming and knowledge and strength to do what is right to keep everyone else safe.

Your leadership gifts were identified in you before you hit school. You could get the neighborhood boys in line and they were all older than you.

You were your 1^st grade teacher’s assistant, when you got your work done early, she trusted you to teach your peers.

You were selected time and time again for your competitive soccer team to be the team captain.

You ran trap lines with Joel. Went duck hunting as a little boy with Ken, only to be told that Ken never takes kids, but you proved yourself. You carried and baby wore your countless little sisters and constantly told me to take breaks when life with 5 kids was TOO much for me.

You went on fishing trips with grandpa Dan and proved yet again that you could work harder than any deckhand.

Covid, you memorized the Gettyburg Address so you could get more screen time.

Remember the girl you protected on the plane from the creep?

Mothers day…I have never known one without a hot breakfast in bed because of you and if you are in the car, I NEVER fill up my own gas tank.

William Cayden Harney – things are challenging right now…right?  You have 3 years left to live at home and be a “child”.  Yet we all know you are a man in so many ways.  It’s hard to figure out how to help you grow into the man God wants you to be.  Its hard not making mistakes still after 15 years of being your mom.  It’s hard learning to let you go and make choices that I don’t always like.

But when things get too big for my human heart to handle.  I am gently reminded that you my one and only son are my greatest gift.  When you drew your first breath, when I heard your cry, when you were rushed to the NICU, when I finally held you 2 hours later…I knew that God heard a longing in my heart that I didn’t even know.

I get to honor my end of the deal with God.  I will continue to give you back to Him.  Trusting that you too have heard His voice.  In fact you shared with me times that He spoke to you. 

You are mine, but I am so thankful you are God’s too!

William Cayden Harney – Happy 15^th Bday

13 years old…

You are officially a teenager, even though the last 6 or so months have felt like you already entered into the trying years of navigating the parent/teen years. I ran into someone with grown kids now and told them, these years are hard! I was completely off thinking the years of nursing, sleep and potty training years, entering into school, constant manners modeling and life lessons would seem like they do now. Now that I am figuring out the hormone changes, social media, new friend groups, rollercoaster rides of watching you practice some independence and coming to grips that you are growing up into a woman.

I remember when Mrs Heidi, what you still call her to this day even though you know she loves you to the moon and back and you feel the absolute same about her. Mrs Heidi challenged me to pray fierce prayers about your future. To take each limitation, struggle, prognosis the doctors gave and challenge them with heavenly inspired dreams. She told me to not let those become your story, that I could talk to God about each one of them.

And that is just what I did and continue to do each time I feel the tug between being the mom of a kid with a fatal disease and yet a mom of a teenage girl in the world that wants to eat women alive.

There are things others will never understand about the journey, the twist in the novel God is writing about you. You held your head up so much that the daily struggles, the daily balance of cystic fibrosis and trying to be a normal kid. Plus, you have a mom that bears that same mentality as a mom of a warrior and a mom to a beautiful normal young woman.

One of the things I have loved watching this last year is watching you take responsibility for a lot of the load you carry with your daily health regimen. The years your Dr assured me would come are here. Where you are realizing all the fights you and I had over your regimens are valid and I wasn’t being an awful mom. You started realizing after your big jr high basketball tournament that came with a raging lung infection, that mom had been training you to be your advocate when I was no longer in all your chapters in your story.

Your treatments became your responsibility, the questions at the dr office were answered solely by you. When I went to remind you to do something or take something, I would be faced with the fact you were steps ahead of me.

One thing that has been such an encouragement to my heart is learning how your relationship with God is constantly changing and going into deep waters of the soul. Your discernment to know how God is leading you has taken me by surprise. You’re deep knowing that we can pray and God hears. Your mature vulnerability to admit when parts of God’s will doesn’t make sense, because the path is harder than you want it to be at the time. Your commentary when you have tried to back something up by using a bible story to prove your point.

Ez, sometimes I just get lost staring at you and your beauty.

Yes, your face is adorable. Your cheeks have the perfect tint of blush when yet another person tells you how much they love your freckles. Your perfectly manicured nails and eye lashes give you an edge I am not quite ready for.

But Ez, your soul is so much more beautiful, its actual illuminescent.

Do you know what luminescent means?

Luminescent – emitting light not caused by heat or a GLOWING or SHINING 

That is the word God gave me and as I sit here and reflect on that, I couldn’t agree more

There is a shining or glowing that people experience when they are in your presence.

I think ones of the things you are learning is how to hold that light. So often I have heard, with great power, comes great responsibility. There have been moments over the last year that you have learned that. As we are learning to let go and let you make decisions, you have learned that how you hold that light impacts you and the life you want.

I pray that this year ahead is a year where you get to do all the things that you heart dreams of doing, while still keeping your feet on the ground, heading towards big dreams that we can only dream with God. I pray that you continue to let the other Mommas in your life, impart their words of wisdom, love, discipline and reality and fun in your life. Super cool Stephanie, Mama Liz, Sharli & Michelle, their love for you is real deep sis.

I pray that the beauty your soul longs to be is the type of beauty that is found in being a daughter of the one true King.  

I pray that you continue to let the whispers of the Holy Spirit be the voice you long to hear.

I pray that have a year ahead of more new friendships, more new ground discovered, more memories with your bestie Ally, more silly tik toks about moms being mocked, more talks late at night when I least expect them, more moments of discipline that humble me when I realize I am seeing parts of me in you, more movie nights cuddled up on the couch, watching you snuggle bean.

Ezrah May, here’s to 13.  No longer baby girl, but now, young lady!

Mama loves you

Kyrene Grace

11 years old. Full of fire and honey. The perfect mixture of precision and chaos. The balance between quiet and loud. A taste of witty and chilliness. You dance between compliant and stubbornness like a tango.

It’s interesting how spending the weekend watching your older siblings compete in their tournaments would actually make me realize how different you are from them.

You don’t ever really make it known that you need/want us there on the sidelines. You don’t seem to have time to worry about whether or not you have the largest fan group. When I see you competing, in elements that you excel at, I totally know where your head is.

You champ aren’t competing with others, you Kyre are always competing with yourself. 

When you have finished playing your heart out on the field, you don’t look for praise, instead, our conversations are focused on the areas that you tell me you need to work on.

I have gotten to know you more as the older sibling to the babies since our mornings no longer consist of Cayden and Ezzy being around. Their high school and middle school schedules take them out of the house right when everyone else is waking.

There are mornings that I don’t have to think of a single thing to do because you have spent it getting your sisters ready or looking for areas to help ease the housework on me. Then there are mornings that I can’t get you to budge on one single request.

It’s been in the moments you realize I am completely overwhelmed and you have compassion on me that you are in the kitchen blasting music and singing along in perfect pitch. In fact, there have been moments that I have been surprised at the vibrato in your voice, something that many singers wish they had.

Listening to you pound out songs on your uke makes me smile and chuckle.

And then there is your artistry…

You were given an amazing opportunity to make a drum for a cultural studies program in school. You shared with me many times the excitement you had while working on it. One day out of the blue you told me there would be a presentation of the completed drums and of course, it fell on such a busy day of work for me. I told you that I prob wouldn’t be able to make it since you gave me less than 5 hours to clear my schedule.

What I found were two laser-focused eyes, searching the crowd for me.  This was a big moment.  You had put all your effort into the drum and then drew and painted it yourself.

When we locked eyes I realized something.

My presence is a need, actually, it’s a life source. Even if you don’t allow yourself to be vulnerable in that need.

So often you don’t advocate for yourself. You don’t ask for much. And when you finally have enough in you to say “I need…” it doesn’t come out gently. It comes out loud. It comes out emotional. It comes out big.

I am learning that when you hint towards a need, I really need to act on it and not wait for you to repeat yourself like boo will.

I left on a week-long work trip and as I was sitting alone in a hotel room, trying to find ways to adjust to not being interrupted non-stop by harneys, I recalled the last time I traveled a week away from you all.

You were 18 mos old. It was heartbreaking for you. You couldn’t understand why the person you loved more than anyone, including Naani, was gone. You were stuck with your dad, someone you tolerated.

When I returned from the week-long trip, you didn’t let go of me. I remember you were always touching me. You didn’t like it if I left the room.

The separation was too much for your tiny soul.

Now you are grown, you show us more times than not that you are tired of waiting on 6 Harneys to reach a consensus.  You learned to make your own PB&J when you were 4.  You built towers to get to things on the counters.  You planned and invited your friends to your bday party this year, all by yourself.

Kyre Grace.

I pray that you always know how uniquely made you are. I will always tell the story that you came when we least expected it. I will remind you that you were brought home from the hospital in the snow, something we promised to your siblings only to realize that was a risky promise to make.

You study people. You have better hearing than you let others know. You are always paying attention to others around you. Deciding whether to tuck away or to risk it and be in the mix.

Your gentle nature calls all creatures of the animal kingdom to your side.

Your reserved posture makes others wonder where they stand with you.

Your empathy calls those who have had their trust broken to know it can be rebuilt.

Your gift of healing has been seen as you have prayed for many and they have been healed.

You are 11 years old.  You are entering into the tween years and longing to be just like your middle school sister.  Yet there are parts of your childhood still clinging on.

I pray that this year you continue to know God as your Savior and more than anything, know without a shadow of a doubt that you don’t have to earn His love and grace, you don’t have to yell to get attention, and that you are more than enough.

Happy birthday Gracie Poo, we love you, and can’t imagine our lives without you

Today snuck up on me

I was walking the dog, feeling the fall breeze hit my face that made my eyes water a little, when I realized something.

Ezrah May, today is a really big day!

We have been anxious for almost a year when we knew you were leaving behind your safe little bubble at your Elementary School. For 8 years you were around the same faces, countless people took trainings so they could administer your medications at school. Teachers became backup health aides and chose to be another advocate for you, sending sick kids home and increasing hand hygiene in their classes. Students would volunteer discreetly to move away from you in the classroom when they knew they weren’t feeling well. The office ladies got so many phone calls from your momma telling them you would be late to school because the burden of therapies had gotten the best of you that day.

And here you are, entering into the Middle School world. No longer will you have just one teacher and one class to adapt to your various needs that Cystic Fibrosis can bring. Now you will be spending your time around kids that don’t know anything about your fatal disease. Now you have a TON of educators and staff that had to sit in an hour-long meeting with me to discuss what it means for you to be in middle school.

My heart began to race as all this hit me this morning. The not faint memory of holding you in my arms with the dark early morning sky, listening to the machines beep, trying to not move you because I didn’t want to have to ask yet another nurse to come and help me with all your hoses and wires. It was just you, me, and the Comforter. The cries of a mother, the fervent prayers that life would be abundant for you even with the scary words Cystic Fibrosis. I would look you over from head to toe. I would study the curl of your hair, your little tiny fingernails, your soft little tummy covered with a massive incision from your life-saving surgery. I didn’t want to miss a single detail of your precious life.

It was there that I began to understand what it meant that you were not mine.  You were and are God’s child.

It was there that God began to invite me into the beautiful, scary, heart-wrenching and faith-building dance of being your momma.

“you will stand over her grave”….words that echoed in the silence, no amount of loud machines could drown it out.

Please let me see her first steps…

Please let her go to school one day…

Please let her play soccer, the sport that brought her parents together…

Please let her grow strong and big…

Please let her have friends that won’t be scared of Cystic Fibrosis…

Please, God, please breathe abundant life in her…

During my walk this morning God gave me the memory of you the night before your first day of preschool.  I was a freaking mess.  I don’t know how your dad and siblings survived me that week, really. 

You had insisted on wearing new boots that you had gotten for school before school started.  They ended up getting covered in mud because you couldn’t wait to wear them.  So, there was your dad washing your boots for you the night before school so you would have shiny new shoes again.

Sweet girl, do you know what you did last night?

You came to me at 9:30 pm with soaking wet white shoes and asked how you could dry them in time for school today because you had refused to wait and save them for the first day of school and got them dirty…even though I told you.

That memory flooded my vision as I passed your old elementary school and then I heard a little whisper.

“Sarah, its because she grabs hold of life and doesn’t take it for granted, she is fearfully and wonderfully made”

Ezrah May, no truer words have ever been spoken over you. God gave you the tenacity you would need to embrace each day like it’s the last one. Often, I worry about your inability to wait or reign it in sometimes. You want to feel it all, taste it all, breathe it all in. You don’t want to be told what something is like, you want to know it for yourself.

To my miracle girl, I am smiling and tearing up at the same time, seeing how God has been faithful. How He met a scared 25 yr old momma on the Giraffe wing at Seattle Children’s and heard her cries for you.

I am proud of you and you know what, I am still proud of you even if you make mistakes today, if you stubbornly don’t take your pills today because you are embarrassed and don’t want to explain what you are doing at lunchtime.  I am proud of you even if you shrink back and fight tears when you realize you are going to miss school because you have a nasty lung infection down the road this year.  I am proud of you for the choices you are going to have to make this year as you figure out having a new support system, and how to handle the large amounts of new germs and bugs.

You know why? 

Because you are grabbing hold of today and not worrying about tomorrow. You have been fearfully and wonderfully made. You are so loved by God. And baby girl, God has some big plans for you. I know there are some hard parts, waking up at 5:30 am so you can have your treatments done in time for a new early school start is hard, but you have got this. God has blessed you with abundant life…it’s a pretty good life isn’t it Ez?

Love you sweet girl, wow, love you sweet young woman

Dear Bean,

Today you are 6 years old! 

I was just telling someone that your baby years seem so far away and I strain at times to fully remember all the details. You were put into a family that lives and breathes chaos. You had multiple sets of hands and arms that wanted to hold you even before you were born. Do you know that Kyre use to read stories to you when you were in my tummy? I remember wondering if you would walk on time because there was always someone that wanted to carry you.

Recently you told me that you didn’t want to have anymore babies in our house, after having your cousin Squish for a visit. When I asked why, you told me “because I want to be the baby”. You stood on the side lines and watched everyone want Squish, you included, but you decided that was a throne you did not want to leave for the Harney family.

There is something so soft and sweet about your eyes. I love it when we are in a room full of people and I scan it and find that you have been looking at me, waiting for me to find your eyes. Your face scrunches a little and you give me a smile that tells me that I have your whole heart. In fact, everyone in the family knows that I am your favorite and you don’t hesitate to tell your siblings that you are mine.

The doctors tell us that you are just going to be the tiny one. The growth charts were never something you aspired to beat Cayden on, your baby chub never reached Boo’s status, Ky may have weighed less than you at birth, but you have remained so small.

We laugh when people ask how old you are after you spill adult words out of your mouth.

You are a pint size boss that we all know.

I love hearing your thoughts, because you don’t wait to filter them out.  In fact, I think you are just like your daddy in that way.  You say exactly what you are thinking and don’t worry about what it might do to the listeners.

When you were told by Boo that you couldn’t have a boyfriend, because you are too young, your response was “You can’t keep love from me!”.  When your dad insisted that wearing heels to church in the rain would be a bad idea, you told him “not even the rain can stop me from wearing heels”.  When I told you to pack a swimsuit for a summer day with Naani, after days and days of beach time, you fought back and said “It’s my choice if I want to get wet and I don’t want too!”.  When your dad was in a conversation with me during a rushed church morning and not paying attention to you, you stomped your foot and said “Ricardo, I’m talking to you!”

You never lack knowing your desires.  You tell us what you want, how you want it and when you want it.  I wish that I was that bold to say exactly what I want, how much I could spare myself from frustrations when I expect others to just read my mind.

Even though the baby years seem to be slipping from my memories, I am so thankful that you are still showing us that you are just a little kid. You still need help tying your shoes, you need me to brush your teeth every night, you need us to cut your food for you and you need us to hold you when you get hurt.

Dear Veil Eden, I treasure the laughter that you ensue when you run your mouth. I love how you find the joy in every situation. I love that you don’t demand to be known in all your settings, but instead gently earn the trust of people’s attention. I love that whenever there is music playing I find you dancing, but baby girl I love watching you dance when there is no music, because I know you are listening to the music in your heart. I love how your tiny body still fits in my arms. I love your bravery and how you taught yourself to swim in May while visiting family in Arizona. I love that even though your big brother has turned into an unfriendly teenager, you still wield your powers and can make him do anything for you. I love that your sisters still fight over who gets your love the most.

To my sweet caboose, I am so thankful God gave you to us. Just thinking of you right now, I have a smile on my face and this urge to come and find you so that you will wrap your arms around me and say “there is my sweet sweet mama”.

Happy birthday Veil Eden, Bean, Veil-z, sweet thang!

Christmas, my hands-down favorite season is when God decided to give you to me. I woke with so much joy and I remember giggling at the 6 am sudden alert that labor was starting. The pumpkin cheesecake, the smell of turkey that filled our tiny little home would never be eaten that Christmas day. There were presents under the tree for your brother, still unopened as we headed to the hospital, unable to wait it out at home any longer.

I remember being so calm, you were a foretold dream coming true.  God let us know you were coming months before we saw the 2 little pink lines. 

Preparation happened.

Our hearts were ready to make room for you even though we had just celebrated your brother’s 1^st birthday.  There was no question in our hearts.

When you came out, in your broken little body, the urgency in the room was so thick. There was a holding of breaths and you were watched so closely as the brainstorming began. Thankfully I was in the post-birthing haze, and my fragile heart didn’t see the worry and concern that your daddy began to see.

Standing in the NICU at Seattle Children’s the next night at 12 am was surreal. Mountains were moved to allow your tiny family to be standing near your crib, complete, as we heard the daunting news. Yet, I still can’t deny….

Preparation happened.

I wasn’t a foreigner to the inpatient setting. In fact, I had worked at an inpatient Neuro Rehab Institute with brain trauma and spinal cord injury. I worked with patients and their families as they began to digest their forever changed storylines. My job was all about helping them learn how to adapt to not let the state of their bodies impact what they could and could not do. Again…

Preparation happened.

The day came, the day that Dr. Jacob walked in the room, calm with compassion in his eyes. I was alone. Your daddy was with your brother at the sibling playroom. I was wearing a grey shirt and black jeggings. The words, Cystic Fibrosis, left his mouth and I felt my knees give way. The ability to form words disappeared as the thoughts fled to dark corners in my soul. “Sarah, remember all that God has done for Ezzy” and with a little nod to his head, Dr. Jacob walked out the room. The same Dr. that came and held your mom and dad’s hands and prayed over you, just a few minutes before your life-saving surgery. Isn’t that so God?

Preparation happened.

Do parents ever recover from being told “you will stand over your daughter’s grave and there is nothing you can do about it”?

No, no, they don’t.

However, they do wake up one day and don’t think about the clock ticking away, but instead get caught up in the miracle of life, that every day is not promised.

Today Ezrah May, Ez, Ezzy, you are 12 years old. This is the last year before teenage years hit. I remember holding you in the middle of the night as the monitors beeped to your heartbeat and the wires covered your tiny little body. It was in those moments, as the world slept and I was wide awake afraid to miss one moment with you, that God told me “she is mine”. He encouraged me to pray over you, to be brave enough to ask Him to give you abundant life. So that is what I did, I rocked you to sleep and sang songs of victory over you. Begging and pleading for the chance to watch you take your first steps, to go to preschool, to get your ears pierced, score your first goal, lose teeth, and have your first crush. Guess what?!? I have seen ALL those moments.

Preparation happened.

When God began to let me truly see the fire he built inside of you and I thought that I might lose my mind.  He sent a kind soul our way to walk us through hard conversations as a family and became a safe place for you to say big things.  When you began to wrestle with the mortality of your disease and you admitted your fear of death, of being separated by your family, our Children’s Leader was right there to sit with you on the steps of Orton Ranch, while all the other kids played without a worry in the world.  When you faced the loss of your dog and realized that fear was your companion and grief was heavy, you sat on the steps in our church and poured out your soul to our Pastor, and asked questions that you had been carrying.  God didn’t let you deal with those big things alone.  Why?

Preparation happened.

I can’t believe that you are 12 years old. You are saying goodbye to the childish years and are entering into the years of womanhood. I now know what it feels like to have my mascara disappear or my shoes are worn without being asked or clothing finds its way into your closet. You linger at the adult table and no longer can handle the kids’ table. You have developed your own relationship with some of my closest friends and I have been reminded countless times I am not alone in raising you, there are other mommas who feel honored to hold your confidence. You love to write and tell stories, which can get you in trouble at times, but I can see that long-ago God revealed what was behind the veil to you. You don’t just see the surface, there is always more. More of the story to write. There is so much more to write Ez, why?

Preparation is happening.

Happy birthday Ezrah May. I have watched you grow and mature so much this last year. You are my constant help in running the house. You fill in on nights mom and dad have to work late and get dinner in the oven for us. You make sure the babies are tucked in and teeth brushed on nights we steal away for a last-minute date. You have learned how to process big things without massive outbursts and now articulate the inner workings of your soul that remind me of what a deep soul you are. With this birthday I am realizing that the things that were scary and unknown for me have become the very things that I have witnessed God work in mighty ways.

I don’t know what tomorrow brings us or you. I don’t know what the team of specialists will say at your appointments in January. I don’t know if the flu season will give us a scare. I don’t know if you will grow up to be an illustrator like you dream of doing. But this I know.

You are God’s cherished child. His plans for you are greater than any I could dream up. You were fearfully and wonderfully made. I get the best seat in the house to your story, front row, cheering you on each step of the way. Day by day, learning to trust the very God that breathed life into your lungs on December 26, 2009. Can’t wait to keep watching you reach milestone after milestone, why?

Preparation is happening.

Kyrene Grace Harney

How are you a decade old? I have been thinking about your scrunched-up little face and you walking around with your piglet from Disneyland as a barely 2 yr old.

You were so quiet. You just wanted me, close by you at all times. I remember having to peel you off me to go to Naani and daddy.

I remember when I would look in your eyes there was always more behind what everyone saw. The wheels are always turning, you are fully aware of your surroundings and can interject an opinion to something when we all think that you are not paying attention.

I have become more aware of your desire to be heard, but only when you have a parent during a random one on one time. I can’t believe how many words you can fit in one breath. I realized it when I came home from quarantining from Covid…the silence that I had come to know in isolation was inundated by all the things you had been thinking in your 2 days of quarantine. When I would come to check on you in the hotel with Daddy while you were both isolated, I saw the crazed look in your father’s eyes…relief that there was another adult to listen to you.

Often, I don’t find you running the conversations in groups, you don’t have a lot of opinions, you listen, watch and process and usually don’t share unless you are asked.   I need to get better at that since the louder siblings tend to run the show in decision making time.

I was so blessed to experience a dream coming true on our recent Hawaiian vacation with you. Your love of horses since your early years has not waned. Look at the pure joy on your face, I almost tear up every time I look at this picture.

In fact, you have plans on being a horseback riding tour guide one day. When we presented you and your siblings with any special event in Hawaii, you picked horseback riding. I was so excited to experience this with you. It had been 20 yrs since I had ridden a horse. You were beaming on the drive there, anxiously holding your hands together, looking out the window for a glimpse of your dreamed destination.

When it came time to meet your horse for the day, I about gasped. He was the largest in the group, but they promised the gentlest one. I saw the hesitation come for a brief moment, your eyes widen as you stood on the step, holding your breath and then bravely climbing on top.

When you turned to look at me and our eyes met…that was when I decided that moment will forever be seared in my mind.

You took control of your horse and let him know you were not afraid…I wish I had your bravery. I fought my own set of fears as I realized I was at the complete mercy of an animal and no longer in control. You were so relaxed throughout the entire trail and beach ride. You led the pack and had a smile that never erased in the 2.5 hours.

I was so amazed with your confidence and ease. This massive horse named Leonard did not intimidate this tiny 9 yr old. Instead, he helped me see you in a new light my girl.

Kyrene Grace, I love your quiet confidence. You have excelled in so many things, but people have never said that you walk around like you know it. Sure, you joke with trusted people, but you encourage your team, you carry them, you don’t know that you are the best on the field. Your ability to read living creatures amazes me. I know when I am being read…sometimes I will tuck away so you don’t have to peer into my soul when I am needing a moment to figure myself out.

Animals run to you and yes sometimes run away when their love cups are overflowing and you still want to pour into them. When we had the sudden loss of Candy, your little heart was the one we were most concerned about. Not only do you feel deeply, but you love God’s creatures more than most people do. There is no living thing that you don’t care for…really, I remember having to explain to you that our chickens did not want or need hugs from you or talk you out of thinking you could have a sleepover in their coup with them.

On our last day in Hawaii God again invited me to look at you and your growing grace.

We visited a new beach while we all prepared ourselves for re-entry back to the real world. While the surfers caught some waves, you Kyre gathered the stray dogs on the beach. They tucked their heads under your hands, they wagged their tails…they knew there was no fear to be had with you, instead just love

That’s you Kyre, you love the lost, you are patient to the kids at school that need extra grace. You never leave a kid out, you are an includer…in fact it is upsetting to you when someone is left out

Your gentleness is becoming more apparent to me. The softness of your heart at times can be a little much for your “suck it up buttercup” momma…but then why else would God have given you to me Gracie? Because my hard heart that formed after Ezzy and her diagnosis, needed a quiet gentle soul to chip it away.

When we walked back to the house, heads kind of dropped as we all prepared to say goodbye to paradise, you came running to us to show us the baby geicko that you not only saw but was able to catch. Even your brother asked how you not only saw it but caught it. Awesome, not only do you have robot ears, but laser vision…

I am so thankful that God is faithful to bring us Grace, especially when we don’t deserve it.

I am so thankful that God entrusted your soul to us, quiet yet loud at times, competitor yet patient teammate, serious yet goofy at just the right moments and gentle yet stronger than you realize.

Kyrene Grace Harney, you are 10 yrs old today

Can’t wait to show you your surprise after school today

Love you Gracie