To My Child in Between

Whoa. 

You're 6. I feel like we're crossing over into to new territory. You haven't been the "baby" for awhile now. You are moving into big kid frontier. 

You amaze me when you say things like, "you've got a point there" when we're in one of our debates. Or "Mom! I've been around the sun 6 times now!"

You are creative and smart. You see patterns and symmetry that most people wouldn't pick up on. You could be an architect someday. You're fascinated by space, it's vastness and its beauty. Space crafts and rovers, meteorites and astronauts. Maybe NASA? Or maybe you'll be a super hero? You certainly have the energy for it! With your cape tucked away or your spidey suit right under your regular clothes, the way all good super heroes dress.

Though your rough and tumble, I see little hints of sensitivity when you still come up with arms wide open and say "hug?" Or you sneak into my bed in the middle of the night, you're careful not to wake me but in in the morning I smile when I find you there. When I was in the hospital, you weren't afraid of me with all my tubes and cords, you gently sat beside me and brought me presents you and daddy picked out in the gift shop. 

I love to see you take care of your baby brother "Buggers" as you still affectionately refer to him. (This is a derivative of "Joel bug" his nickname from birth because of how tiny he was). You teach him to share and try not to laugh when he gives you love taps. You help him up and down and show him that anything can be a toy with a little imagination. Then there's the sound effects and giggle fests. Only you can entertain him the way you do.

You adore your older sister and though since your independence has blossomed  you two have the occasional spat, I know the feeling is mutual. The two of are so very different in the best way possible. Still, you could play video games together for hours. You love it when she reads to you and perfects your costume for whatever role you might be playing in your imaginary adventure for the day. Heck, even tag is fun with her.

I'm so very proud of your place in our family. But sometimes, though you never say so, I know you get lost in the middle. While we're all laughing at the baby or fussing over how cute he is. While we are applauding your big sister's guitar playing or basketball skills. Sometimes I see it on your face or the way you say, "mom, I can't do it as good as Jayda does."

I want you to know today and everyday there are no favorites in this family. There is plenty of love to go around. Each of you are gifted and unique and I can't wait to see what kind of man you will be someday (take it slow though, would ya?)

 

I hope someday in the future you will  read this and it won't be a surprise to you. Maybe the art of blogging will be long lost but these words will still hold weight. I know you don't like mushy stuff but you mean the world to me. Birth order aside I love you all the most and nothing can or will ever change that.

Love, Mom

Scars

We all have them. 

I've acquired several new ones during my bout with sickness. 

We define them as a mark left by a healed wound...

When we catch a glimpse of our scars some are meaningless and we may not even be sure where or how we acquired them. But if the wound was deep enough, even though technically healing has occurred, sometimes scars still cause pain. I have little x's on my sides where tubes were inserted to drain the fluid out of my lungs; these x's cause searing pain on some days, it hurts to breathe during these episodes. I have scars on my neck and my arms, my chest and fingers. "Battle wounds" I've heard people call them. Some may fade over time but others will be permanent. Becoming accustomed to my scars and learning to see them in a different light will be part of my journey as I continue to heal both physically and inwardly.

However, our souls tend to heal much slower than our flesh.

Because the figurative scars, the ones that don't show up in the mirror, can often hurt just as bad, if not worse, than physical ones. Sometimes they are relentless, they linger, they cause inexpressible pain in the deepest parts of our beings. Some may be self inflicted, others we didn't ask for. We can try to numb or ignore these scars, hope they heal in time, but I'm not sure they always do heal. Some scars run so deep we may carry them with us indefinitely. Our memory flashes like scenes from a horror movie when we are alone or when they are triggered in certain ways. We pray for the hurt to stop and often the answer is: grace is sufficient.

We teach our children not to stare or ask questions to just keep walking when we encounter people who look a little different. I've had to deal with that in public and I'm bothered by the fact that I'm bothered. 

I don't think I'll ever look at people in wheelchairs the same. People with limitations. People with disfigured appearances. People with scars. 

Instead of quickly averting my eyes and pretending there's no pain in the world I'll ask myself, "What is thier story? What scars can't I see?" 

And maybe we should be asking that of all people. The rude people, the insensitive or impatient people. The prejudice ones, the addicted ones, the ones who are screaming for acceptance. The quiet ones who don't step on toes, the perfectionist, the ones who work to earn thier worth. 

"What scars are you suffering from?"

So where does that leave us? 

I don't pretend to have easy answers but I suppose it's a little like accepting outward scars. We learn to see them differently. We learn they don't define who we are and we learn to define beauty much differently. We trust in a God who makes all things beautiful in His time. The one who walked this earth and felt our pain and has the scars to prove it. 

I believe freedom can come despite our scars. It's hard not to be consumed by our outward appearance in this world and it's even harder to bear our soul scars. These days, I'm learning to check my heart more than I check the mirror.

Thanks for reading today,

Jenna

Here's to 10 years

Ten years ago on our wedding day...

I was nervous, excited, a little unsure about how we would make it all work, especially after the night before. I don't think I had slept or ate in the previous 48 hours. All the wedding preparations had us fighting over something petty. I have always said if I were to do it again, it would be just me and you and the officiate, maybe a few friends and family in some beautiful clearing out in the forest. It would be simple. 

Nonetheless it was a lovely ceremony and once I walked down the aisle and my dad lifted the veil, I looked deep into your blue eyes and knew: "we are going to be ok"

Still to this day, I think about our late night conversations. Sometimes we would drive around for hours just to be together and talk. Sometimes we would sit on the porch of my moms house. We mostly talked about our experiences with God. I had grown up in church and you were a few years into your surrender with God. We we were pretty different in our beliefs but mostly I remember grasping grace for the first time. I grappled with the idea that I could neither earn Gods love or lose it. Not only did you talk a lot about this love, you fleshed it out in the way you accepted me, the way you accepted my daughter. 

That's how I knew we would be ok. Now I was not naive. I was no stranger to dysfunctional relationships and we both came from divorced families. We regularly got on each other nerves before we were even a couple. I felt like I was standing on the precipice of a huge cliff, the view both terrifying and breathtaking at the same time. I knew if we jumped there was no turning back; but for once I was ok with that.

I knew that if we leaned into this grace and practiced it regularly with each other we would be ok. 

Fast forward ten years later:

I knew you would be an incredible father to our 3 crazy kids. 

I knew you work hard at what ever job you had whether or not it was your dream job. 

I knew you would be a servant and put my needs before your own. 

I also was sure we would fight and pout and have to  apologize for a thousand ugly words or attitudes. We would have plenty of opportunities to practice forgiveness. 

I knew we would face hard times not only relationally but financially, physically and spiritually.  

It didn't surprise me that  you would be the kind of husband who would spend every night sleeping in a waiting room for a month when I was in the ICU. Then spend another two months sleeping in the most ridiculously uncomfortable recliner next to my hospital bed. 

This last season of our life has been trying to say the least. However I have joy in the fact that we made it through in one piece and that God is continually healing us both together. 

Words can't express, though I did attempt it.

Here's to 10 years and 10 more and as much time as were allowed together. 

Love always,

Jenna