Rise and Swine

I hear her dancing in the wind...beckoning me to come outside...feel the rain upon my face...but do I dare? I've watched from the pane as she stood ablaze in autumns glory - slowly letting go of each brilliant hue. Watched while her limbs bent low through the long winter - burdened by the very thing that sustained. Watched while pops of green unfurled - life once again. I've surveyed from the window, but to go and meet her? The soil that she feeds upon cradles my child and I can't bring myself to go there. It's been a year since my baby opened her eyes and looked into the face of Jesus...while I held her tiny frame here on earth. Miriam Grace. She has a name. My name. The name I was given while in Israel - what my grandparents and family always called me. Miriam: Bitter, Sea of sorrow, Longed for or wished for child. Grace: God's favor. She was God's favor to me. Losing her has been bitter. My heart has been filled with sorrow and longing but...

As the earth drank I sat silently on the other side of the pane, wrapped in the stiff cotton some soul before had taken their last breath in. All the while praying for that little one I soon would meet. On a stormy July eve, the time had finally come. Stretching out my hands I grabbed hold of our tiny gift. Malakai. I knew his name long before he was ever conceived. Given at the perfect time - he's my angel. Our answered prayer. From that first moment, he had my heart. No one could love him more...no one but Jesus. I remember the first time my belly gripped hard. Ages ago. Paralyzing pain. Lying down I had no strength. Yet I fought against each contraction from this posture. Stiffening and forgetting to breathe. I've learned after all these babes what needs to be done. The nurse, puzzled when she came to check on me. "Why do you sit up like that? Would it not be easier to lay down?" She inquired. I smiled politely but I've learned. So I remained sitting upri...

When your baby is curled under the barren tree and your soul resembles that tree more than you would like to admit...too many needing...wanting...there's nothing left to give...It becomes easy to drown in the darkness. When it's Christmas Eve and the house is a mess, there's still shopping left to do, Christmas dinner to prepare, and Gingerbread Men to bake with that chubby little boy who's growing too fast. It's easy to buzz right through the days - through Christmas - and miss everything. But when I slow down I hear it: His love and blessings for me Bedtime tickles The way she pulls me close and smothers my face with tiny kisses Fairies on pj's... and all the small ways He answered my prayers and brought her close this season Glass birds Hugs from that tall one Knowing he is right behind me...always The clanging of dishes late in the night - even though he worked all day he's doing the dishes for me at midnight Truck rides and coffee runs...ho...

Fresh powder, leaks quiet from the heavens, dressing the barren branches white. Moon's light spills across snowflakes...each one unique. Pure. Perfect. Beautiful. But soon humanity will make its mark and all that will be left is a muddied mess to gaze upon. In a matter of days the hustle and bustle of the kitchen will commence. Each soul within these walls-unique; each one bringing to the table their own scrumptious creations, gifts, brokenness. Ironstone will line the planks while hungry men in collar shirts jump into chairs and wide-eyed little ones wait for pie. We'll gobble Jell-o with cheese, argue about the correct way to smother potatoes with gravy. Votes will be cast for the annual pie contest. Laughter will ring as bellies and hearts fill. At the close of the day we may play a game of Monopoly that will last until the wee hours. But the best part will be when each one sits in the middle of the circle and words of love, grace, and life ar...

He jumps from the wagon full of wonder and excitement. This is what he's come for. Tiny sneakers sink - slip in mud and my chunky toddler topples to the wet earth. He jumps up quick. His denim now a few shades darker. But I can see the eagerness burning through those cornflower blues. Hundreds line the hem of the field but they're not what he's seeking. Up a steep slippery slope he scales. I'm trailing behind thinking I should have guzzled another cup of coffee. His eyes searching the expansive field until finally he finds it. An orange sphere with a thin, long, rough handle. The call is out. Time to head back. Quickly! We trudge our way through the never ending rows of orange but his legs only go so fast. With two bursting bags in hand, I'm unable to carry him and of course he insists on carrying his treasure which makes us all that much slower. They're yelling. Waiting just for us. We're close when he trips into the sticker vines. Wiry thorns impaling...

This post is about when I lost Miriam but it's in honor of all the babies I have in Heaven. Alexandria Joy - February 1995 Jeremiah Michael - September 2012 Hope Isabella - October 2014 Miriam Grace - July 2016 The flowers they brought sit on the counter. Untouched. They're beautiful, and I'm grateful, but they're not for pleasure they're for the dead. To touch them somehow means to accept that she's...dead. For two days they sit. Finally, one by one the stems are arranged and into that corner of my darkness they bring the beauty I needed. I know tomorrow is the day - so I curl into the cushion as if it's a mothers embrace. Lap heaped with a mess of cream and I weave a blanket for our baby to be wrapped in. Buried in. With each stitch my heart is torn right through. The loss of dreams. Nights I'll never have to hold her close. No tickles. No laughter. No kisses or prayers or bedtime stories. No unruly hair to brush in the morning. No tea pa...

Overcast. The air hangs crisp. Leaves dance beyond the pane - still summer green yet they play peek-a-boo with a hint of caramel and crimson. Autumn is upon us ushering in plump pumpkins, spiced cider, scarves, boots, woolen blankets and those brilliantly colored leaves that will soon crunch under foot. It's my favorite time of year but in my corner of the world it doesn't last long. Before I blink, the trees will stretch forth their barren limbs as white blankets the earth, and I will hibernate as much as possible. Enjoying the peaceful white from my comfortably heated home - coffee in hand. Knowing this, I always do some fall cleaning. Just like spring cleaning opens it all to new and fresh I prepare for the confinement of the dreary months ahead. I wash the windows knowing they will soon be dirty again but I want to enjoy the glistening of a winter wonderland for as long as I can. Funny how distorted our view becomes when we're looking through layers of grime. It...

I shape dough - lay into pans and cover. She walks into the kitchen and peeks under the towel. She groans. Wheat. She likes white. I ring the dinner bell, slice a loaf, and ask her to look in the cellar for some jam. Walking into the kitchen she's beaming - jar in hand. It's peach! One of her favorites. It was in the back hidden behind a sea of Apple Butter. She lets me know we're running low on the good stuff. We sit down and she brings a spoon - no knife will do. And she piles the jam thick. Several times through the next few days I see her slice through wheat and smother with summer sweetness and I giggle. She reminds me of my grandpa. Thankful for my precious girl. Until then... Jessie

I journey down country roads, beholding field after field sprinkled in sunshine petals.  Cornstalks stand to attention in perfect rows.  We're still in the last days of summer but there's this waiting - waiting for a new season, a new breath.  Autumn is crouched around the corner; I can feel it. I wash the plates from dinner while that tall one dries and I listen to his plans for the future and they don't line up with what I want.  I'm proud of him but my heart worries.  Lights go out, beds turn down, and in the black I'm left with his suffocating words. No one told me when I became a mother the hardest part would be in the letting go. The dawn greets us.  We open books, devour their contents, and I look at these faces knowing my time with them will all to soon come to an end.  So we laugh and pile on the couch and read about an ordinary woman who really was an extraordinary women.  She went from one Jewish mother to the next pleading for th...

Last week, our family received an answer to prayer. Not the answer we had hoped for.  My pregnancy had some complications. Our baby... Miriam Grace... is in Heaven now...she was so wanted and loved already. Our hearts are broken. I don't usually understand God's plan. Many times I don't like His way of doing things... I would like to write the story differently. Yet in the end I know He's God...I'm not. I know He's good... even when it doesn't feel like it. And I know He loves me and hurts with me. This song played in my mind for days before that dreadful morning.  And when the time came those four words were once again all that could be said. Maybe it will help the heart of someone else today too. I was ask by someone "why the miscarriage was an answered prayer." Some of you may have the same question. I don't believe God is a genie in a bottle. I don't believe prayer means - I give him a list of what I want and demand h...

So excited to meet our new bundle and for the busy days ahead! Until then... Jessie

On a drizzling June morn, a few weeks before they brought that sixth blessing home, she inked it upon the wall.  Scrolled it out right there above where he would sleep.  Where they had all slept.  Well, at least the last four. Photo credit: Google And everyday when she would lay him to sleep or reach to awaken him she would see it and be reminded. Reminded that each one has been a special gift that is meant to be cherished and to cherish meant to keep focused on what really matters. Even when things don't turn out as expected.  Even when the darkness comes. After she miscarried baby Hope and he left their room at nineteen months of age she almost erased it...fearing no more babes would fill that cradle or her womb but God had other plans.  Five months later she was expecting Michaela.  But the pregnancy was complicated from the start and until that little girl screamed her first breath they didn't know if she would sleep in the cradle unde...

She strolled beneath the cherry blossoms. Marveled at their beauty and remembered... On a cool April eve, her arm stretched slow across the table to pull plastic off brownies.  When the words poured out "I like your tattoo.  Does it have a special meaning?"  That familiar lump formed in her throat. "Yes, it does...it's a long story...maybe I'll tell you about it someday." Someday. If she got up enough nerve to pull the plastic off herself. It was a cool April morn, ten years before, that marked the reason for the ink upon her wrist. A beautiful spring day filled with life and promise but she didn't...couldn't... see it.  She let the words escape that morning "I don't want to live...not even for five more minutes." Her heart had been broken countless times before but each time she would bend down...pick up the shattered pieces and put it back together.  It never was the same of course.  Pieces missing here and there but overal...

I scratched it out right there upon the slate - words to live by.  But somewhere between then and nightfall I had failed every word that was written. When your wound a bit tight, have a mess of kids, and plenty of furry creatures...it can be a recipe for disaster even on a good day. BUT... When the toilet is clogged...again. The coffee maker is broken. She's crying over math lessons. They're bickering over whose turn it is to sweep the floor. Kai is screaming as he watches the dog eat his favorite car. That sweet little bundle of ours is spewing from every open cavity. Dishes and laundry are piled high. Chickens have grazed the garden. The dog's footprints dust the hardwoods...10 seconds after I've scrubbed them. Oh, yeah, dinner.  Kinda forgot about that one - soup anyone? By evening I'm spent. Of course, this means nothing to the toddler who has a complete and utter meltdown as I'm trying to take off his clothes and put on his pajamas.  He w...

She flips through that old box pulling out the stained tattered piece of parchment.  The one her dearest friend had scribbled out instructions upon.  It's one of the few tangible things she has left.  Lying it on the granite before her, she pulls from the pantry.  She labors to grind the wheat.  Runs the water paying close attention to it's temperature.  Too cold - the loaves won't rise.  Too hot - she'll kill the yeast and the loaves won't rise.  Either way she'll have bread good for nothing but pig slop.  Carefully, she stirs.  Waits.  Eventually it comes: the turning out of cool dough.  Then the work begins as she kneads the mound into something pliable.  Her hands consumed with the sticky mess.  More waiting.  Finally, the shaping of loaves.  She places them in the cast iron and lowers them into the heat until they're golden, beautiful and ring hollow.  The process takes time but it's therapeutic to...

Fifteen years apart but they're still buddies! Until then... Jessie

He told her his plan and she laughed wild. He said he could do it with such conviction. He said he had been praying and knew this was the answer God had given him. "Please, just trust me." Who can argue with that, even if fear begins to strangle. She believed in him. So they took the little they had...all they had... and bought two fifty-three foot trailers full of insulation. That was the beginning... Years before they had made a deal. Not one she liked but the deal was done. They would have one more child. Try for a girl. That was it. They got a girl. Audrey. She cradled her close... her answer to prayer and he ran fast to make sure no more little ones ran about. As time scrolled on she knew it was a mistake. She prayed hard for years that God would change his heart. Finally, He did. Once that man became a Christian he knew it was a mistake too. So they looked into a reversal but the cost - astronomical. Soon adoption fell into their laps. Excited. They began to pre...

It was my Thirtieth birthday and my mom wanted to take me out for a night on the town.  After hours of shoe shopping we had worked up some hearty appetites.  So, with bags in hand we made our way to our favorite little Mexican restaurant.  We shared those belly laughs while enjoying every bite. Until...my mom poked at her tostada.  Out from under a ribbon of lettuce a nasty umber colored critter scurried frantically across the table straight towards me!  Immediately my mom began to gag and I shrieked shoving my chair back as if I were being attacked by the creature.  Stunned.  We both watched in horror as our server, void of any emotion, picked up my ice tea and smashed the varmint with the bottom of the glass.  Quietly we sat for a moment until the reality of what just happened washed over us.  Looking up I took one glance at our servers stoic face and erupted with laughter.  Seriously.  At that point what else is there to do....

He told her to hold out her hand. He said Happy Birthday, and placed it within her palm. There it sat. Her grandmother's wedding ring. She thought it had been lost forever...  When her grandmother had died her belongings were divided among the family.  And when the one who got the ring came over for a visit, she noticed it was missing from their finger.  Inquiring where it was, they let her know it had been pawned to pay the electric bill.  " It's really not worth that much."  They declared.  This wasn't something new.  They had done things like this many times before.  As the words poured out, her heart sank.  Disbelief.  That was all she felt.  Her grandpa had designed that ring.  It represented over fifty years of marriage. Yet, it was simply discarded to pay a bill less than a hundred dollars.  There were so many other things that could have been sold...but they chose the ring.  It didn't have value to them....

When it's the 10th anniversary of the worst day of your life.  The day that stole the breath right out of you...left you bleeding and questioning everything.  BUT you wake and it's NOT the first thought.  In fact, the memories don't visit for hours...It's a good day.  Filled with God's gifts! Blue skies and snow capped mountains Warm rays of sunshine poured upon my face His kiss goodbye Smoked Butterscotch Lattes Tumbleweeds prancing across country roads with as much grace as I usually display The dog didn't puke in the car today...we're making progress His excitement when the train blew its whistle Her beaming smile as she flew out the front door from dance Walking through the door to find that tall one came home early Tickling her chunky rolls and hearing her laugh and coo Her smiles as she "talks" to her daddy Watching her sleep Cornbread smothered in butter and honey made by this one Freckled face boy gro...