It Hits Unexpectedly

First of all, I am in no way comparing my grief to the grief of those who have lost a child that they held in their arms. Although I think we can relate to each other in some way, it really is two different kinds of grief.

Having had 8 miscarriages, I have learned that grief can sometimes overcome a person at some of the most unexpected times, like in the middle of Target when you are Christmas shopping, or when a certain song comes on the radio, or at a nice restaurant on date night, or when your three year old is crying with a tummy ache and you feel helpless at making him feel better, or standing in the rain at the gas pump, or even lying in bed next to your husband, who is grieving in his own way (and others often forget).

It's a feeling that runs deep in your bones. It become part of who you are. Yes, things get better over time, but you never forget the one who left you. You never stop thinking about what could have been- what was supposed to be.

Others make pregnancy and birth announcements, and while you have joy for those families, your heart breaks once again as the memories come flooding back like a raging river. The grief never completely leaves, and it's hard, but I have also learned that God takes care of His own. Although we sometimes feel alone, He never leaves us, even when we don't know how to pray. 

Thank You

"Thank You" just doesn't seem to be enough.

Those two little words seem so little compared to all the prayers that have gone 

up for us, the sweet cards and notes that were sent, 

the food that was prepared, and the hugs that were given

in our time of grief...again.

If I tried to list everyone who has encouraged us in the last week,

and even in the last couple of years,

I would surely leave someone's name off, 

but please know that your kindness has not gone unnoticed.

We appreciate everything.

The prayers are felt, 

and we ask that you continue them.

Sometimes, it's hard for me to pray, 

so your prayers are what help me make it through. 

 

Tonight, a good friend asked me how I was doing,

and I told her I was doing okay, that I am tough.

She sweetly reminded me that I don't have to be tough all the time.

I guess I forget that sometimes, 

but I have learned that God truly doesn't give us more in this life

than we can handle.

Sometimes I think he has just a little more faith in me

than I have in myself.

Together

This photo was taken moments after we said "I Do", 

which was incredibly almost eight-and-a-half years ago.

Our wedding wasn't over the top, but it was nice enough, and we both had a good time. 

We were just happy to finally be together. 

We had bought a house, and we were excited to start our new life as husband and wife.

Our life together hasn't always been easy. 

We've had a lot of rough times and a lot of heartache, 

but the good definitely outweighs the bad.

I couldn't imagine spending my life with anyone else.

This man is my rock.

He has seen me at my best, and he has seen me at my worst, 

and he has stayed beside me.

That alone speaks volumes. 

Most of the time,

it doesn't really matter what we do,

as long as we can be together.

That's why, when I found this a few months back,

I had to get it.

It hangs over our bed as a reminder of the promise we made to each

other before God, friends, and family. 

 

Linking up with...

 

Ordinary

I'm just an ordinary girl from an ordinary family. I married an ordinary man, we bought an ordinary house, we both have ordinary jobs, we have an ordinary son, and we live an ordinary life.

You get the picture.

However ordinary my life may be, God wants my life to be extraordinary, and if I lean on Him, there is no reason that it can't be.

You see, He has given me gifts and talents, and He expects me to use them for His glory. Do I always do this? The simple answer is no, and when I stop and think about it, I am ashamed. Sometimes I have a bad attitude and I complain about things rather than soaking in all the blessings that He has bestowed upon me.

I really need to just stop and reflect more on the wonderful things in my life, and I know if I do this, that I will realized all those ordinary things, they won't seem so ordinary anymore.

Linking up with 

Lisa-Jo Baker at:

She

She is a beautiful, brave, and strong woman. She works hard, she loves her husband and kids, and she thinks her grandsons hung the moon.

She sacrifices her own dreams and wishes over and over again to make sure the ones she loves are getting what they need.

She's stubborn and opinionated sometimes and is known for telling it like it is, whether others like it or not, but she will do anything for anyone. She's got a big heart

She and I didn't see eye to eye about fifteen years ago, because I, too, am a little stubborn, but now she is like my best friend. She's one of my biggest cheerleaders.

She selflessly keeps my son while I work and refuses to let me pay her for it, even though I know her part time job on the weekends doesn't bring in a lot of money.

She laughs with me, cries with me, and teaches me.

She prays for me.

She is a blessing in my life, and I am so thankful for her. 

I am becoming more and more like her everyday. Fifteen years ago I would have denied it and even been offended by it, but today I am proud to call her my mother.

Looking Back on 9/11

My sister and I (ages 18 and 20 at the time), had the privilege of visiting New York City for a couple of days approximately five weeks before the tragedy of September 11, 2001. She had just graduated high school a few weeks before, and I was about to enter my junior year of college.

The music person that she is, it had been her dream for a long time to visit a Broadway show. This didn't interest either of my parents in the least, but because it was something she really wanted, they paid for half of her expenses as a graduation gift. As the older sister, and the only one of the family who had ever been on a plane at that time, as well as the only one who was remotely interested, I was elected to join her on the trip. (No one had to twist my arm on that one, though!)

It was a pretty big adventure for two young ladies from the country to board a plane, plan out our own trip without anyone's help, and navigate the big city on our own, but we did it, and we had a fabulous time in the two-and-a-half days we were there.

We saw Phantom of the Opera live on the Broadway stage, rode the ferry out to the Statue of Liberty, risked our lives twice by riding in a NYC taxi to and from the airport, visited an authentic NYC coffee shop and the Hard Rock Cafe, walked around a small portion of Central Park and Times Square, toured Radio City Music Hall, 5th Avenue (including Tiffany's!), and St. Patrick's Cathedral, and we even saw the famous "naked cowboy" on the street corner. We opted to ride the red double-decker bus to China Town, the Empire State Building, Wall Street, and of course the Twin Towers, because those were some of the main things we wanted to see, even though we didn't have the time or money to actually tour them.

It was the trip of a lifetime, and so, when I came out of history class just a few weeks later and heard all the buzz on campus as I made my way to the post office for my shift, it all became so surreal.

I think I grew up a lot that day. I remember praying like I had never prayed before. I remember attending a candlelight memorial service on the drill field that night- so many emotions swimming around me. Because we were a military college, we knew it meant that a lot of our young men and women would probably be leaving in the coming weeks.  I remember thanking God that my sister and I weren't there when all these events unfolded. I remember praying for the families of those who lost loved ones, as well as those who were brave enough to risk their lives to save the lives of others.

It's a day I will never forget, just as many across our nation will never forget, and that is why today, even though it has been 12 years, I wore my red, white, and blue proudly. God Bless America!

Five Minute Friday: Red

Our bedroom sports a red tray ceiling. There's a story behind it all.

Brent and I were getting married and we finally found the house that we wanted to make a home. It was in good condition, but we wanted to do some minor renovations to make it our own. Thankfully, my parents offered to help us out. Because of their work schedules, they could sometimes work during the day at the house, so we gave them the extra keys. Honestly, I don't know how we would have gotten it all done in time without their help.

One day upon arriving at the house after work, my mom greeted me at the door saying, "If you don't like it, we will repaint it." I had no idea what she was talking about, but after living with her for 24 years, I knew she had something up her sleeve.  She led me down the hallway to our future master bedroom where my Daddy was painting the ceiling red.

I LOVED IT!

I couldn't believe it.

It's not something I would have thought of on my own, and Brent certainly didn't understand why anyone would want a red ceiling at first,  but over 8 years later, I am so glad my Mama stepped out on a limb and went for it. They say red is the color of passion. Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't, but I love my red ceiling, and red comforter, and red sheets....