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“Wait, you don’t have children?”
It was an eye-opening moment for me as I stared up at the older woman I had met a few summers prior.

I was up at our front office, attempting to send and receive via the fax machine so I could ask a visiting doctor friend about my blood work–somewhat hoping that she could give me all the answers to my infertility by looking at some numbers on a chart. I probably speak a little too casually about not being able to have children (and in that moment, probably too loudly), because this woman came over and told me that if I ever needed to, I could get the scoop on being even older without children.

Wait, what?
You really don’t have children? 

Now that I think about my quick response, I can only imagine the knife digging deeper into her heart. I can only imagine the thousands of times she’s heard it, been asked about it, had people talk about it.

My incredulousness wasn’t because I thought something was wrong with her, however. In some way, I almost felt like she was a beacon of hope for me. A light in the darkness. A woman living out one of my fears, but doing it in a way encompassed with joy, kindness and gentleness. There was also guilt, as I realized I had just assumed that this woman and her husband had kids and grandkids…. because everyone does, right?

We stood in that front office talking for a bit.
No children.
Attempts at adoption, but it didn’t work out.
The Lord had other plans.
But that doesn’t stop the questions or the assumptions (as I just proved). As much as life can revolve around children, she assured me that it quickly turns into grandchildren: everyone is always talking about kids. And it still hurts, even if it’s just a bit.

I haven’t really known what to do with not being able to get pregnant.
I don’t care enough to really do something about it- like go to a specialist or spending more money on a billion different things. Some might call me foolish, but I just feel like if we’re meant to have kids, we will. If having children is in the plan, the Lord will bless us with them. I can’t read Scripture, claim I believe it and then not believe that for my life.

So right now we’re in a period of just living. Living life and, I pray, learning to live it in such a way where God is truly glorified. We’re not not trying, but I’ve stopped holding tightly to temperatures, timing, and being overly obsessed with fluids and random myths. I’ve started thinking more about what life might look like without children and if there could be true joy in that for me.

When this older couple left at the end of the summer there was an applause, a cheer, a recognition for them that brought tears to my eyes. They had deeply impacted our entire staff. They had lived a summer of service and sacrifice because of what Christ has done for them- and it showed in the response of everyone around them. In a room with almost 200 folks, people stood to acknowledge them and to thank them. My heart was deeply stirred.

Could I never have a child, yet live my life to impact lives for the Kingdom of Christ and have that be enough?  Could I do it with joy, humility and contentment?

I want my answer to that question to be a resounding yes. Honestly, I’m not 100% sure that I’m there- at least not all of the time. Because sometimes I still think about being older and I think about being lonely and I think about all the things I won’t experience without children being in my life.

But I do trust the Lord in this.
I trust that He, and He alone, creates life. I trust that He can make this barren woman fertile, if it’s what is best. I trust that He is good. I trust that He knows me better than myself.

And, if, at the end of my life, I can stand before a cloud of witnesses and know that above all else (children or not) that my life was lived to honor the King…I think that ought to be enough for this wretched heart of mine.

I’m so thankful that Jesus reminds me, over and over again, that this life is not about me nor does it ever go down the trail that I’m expecting. I’m so thankful that even the most heart-wrenching things can be redeemed. I’m so thankful that nothing is impossible.

I’m so thankful for a couple who can model this for me- even though I don’t know all the heartaches and struggles they’ve faced on their own journey. I see where the Lord has brought them, and I see what it can look like to abandon all of our own desires for the sake of something greater. I see it, and it is good.

Today, I’m thankful.

It’s been a while.
I think about writing a lot. I just don’t really ever sit down to do it.

Because writing means processing. It means taking time. It means being focused.

And lately I just feel like I’m all over.
Maybe I’m avoiding.
Maybe I’m busy.
Maybe I’m tired.
Maybe I’ve just run out of things to say.
Maybe I have what some might call ‘writers block’.

So instead I sit and stare. Fumbling back and forth between watching the gentle giants play and seeing what new recipe my newsfeed is going to show me that I’ll salivate over, but never actually make.  Meanwhile, the “Blogger” tab stays open, waiting patiently for the words to come.

Maybe today I’ll have something to write.
Maybe today I’ll stop working, thinking, trying to please, trying to win, trying to do all the things right… maybe today I’ll stop being lazy.

And as I watch my gentle giants, I watch the giant tufts of hair floating around them. How did I become one of these people? Our house is often filled with dust and hair (crimpy short whites and long wavy browns/blondes). Because we’re a hairy house. And our dogs live outside most of the day in red dirt. Basically we’re disgusting. I remember going over to dog owners’ houses and being grossed out by various things about dog ownership. And now I’m one of them. A disgusting dog owner with dog hair all over my fleeces and slobber stains all over my pants. And, the more disgusting part of all? I don’t even hate it.

However, this time of year is particularly gross. Gross because Great Pyrenees “blow” their coats as they shed their summer undercoats and grow a new, thicker one to prepare for winter. I brushed Zeus the other day and it looked like snow was covering our porch. It got even worse after we gave him a bath. Would you believe when I read online about coat blowing that a warm bath actually triggers more shedding? Better believe that our road trip to my in-laws house had us in a blizzard of white dog hair any time one of them moved. We were coughing, choking, and barely able to keep our eyes on the road. I tried eating watermelon but was unable to escape the white crimpies that quickly attached themselves to the succulent fruit.

And then today, when the thunder rolled, dear Zeus was up in arms. I went outside, in the Texas humidity, to be a kind mom and help rid his anxiety… and my gentle touch caused his hair to literally fall out. So I thought, I’ll brush him. I”ll brush it all out and he’ll have nothing left to shed. And so I brushed him. And I brushed him. And I brushed him. It was never-ending. The hair piled up around us. I grabbed what I could as it floated through the air, but I’m sure the neighbors at my in-laws are wondering why white hair is now in their food.

Would you believe that alllll that dog hair made me think about sin? They’re actually quite similar. Because sin comes off of us, whether we want it to or not (especially when it’s what’s inside of us). And oftentimes, when we go to purge ourselves of sin, we find ourselves overwhelmed with the amount of it that’s there. Sometimes there’s so much that we don’t know what to do with it and we’re choking on its very existence. How was there this much and I didn’t even know it? And sometimes it takes someone else pulling it out of us for us to realize how much is actually there. And, just like the dogs, us humans oftentimes aren’t even aware of it.

I collected a pile of dog hair today that ended up being the size of another small dog. And now I’m thinking about sin. I’m thinking about if there’s sin in my life that I’m neglecting and it’s causing me to schluff off more sin into the space of everyone around me that I’m oblivious to. It’s making me wonder what I need to do to dig in, grab the brush, and start grooming through the weeds that I’ve been avoiding for too long. It’s making me wonder what I’ll find, how much I’ll have to dig, and what to do with it when it all comes out. And what if it just keeps coming and coming and coming?

Because my heart is still dark.
But there’s nothing secret that will remain hidden.

So maybe it’s time to join my pups.
To stop avoiding.
To stop being too busy or too tired or too scared.
To get out the comb. And to brush, and brush, and brush. And allow the Lord to bring His refinement into a life that’s been avoiding it for too long. And to trust that His intentions for me are good. That He is constantly bringing me into something better, preparing me for what’s next, allowing me to be a greater reflection of Him, a greater image of who I was created to be.

I don’t entirely know what that looks like, but this is what happens sometimes when you just starting writing again (and you have two giant fluffs).

Take it or leave it.

We bought a house.

We can’t post a picture of our smiling mugs in front of our new house with a “SOLD” sign though.
We actually haven’t been in it yet, but we bought it. So there’s that.

It’s one of those big life things you usually do at some point after your married, as you dream about the future and the memories you might make in between those walls…

But, ours didn’t really go like that.
Let’s back up a month and some change. My husband has his birthday. I ask him the birthday questions. Question #2: “What’s one thing you want to accomplish in the next year of your life?”

I want to invest our money.
It wasn’t a new sentiment. It’s something we had been talking about since before we were married, but we hadn’t figured out the best way to do it. Little did I know how quickly this accomplishment would play out.

The following day, we placed a bid on a house in an online house auction in Missouri. It’s one of those things you let your husband do because it’s not actually going to turn into anything real. Although we hadn’t seen it, others (trusted others) had. It seemed like a good deal- you know, with all of my real estate knowledge that I don’t actually have. But, I went with it (my husband had done his research). Minutes later, through a few clicks of a button, we “won” a house that is 865 miles away.

Within a few hours I began to process through the entirety of everything that meant. A house. A house means mortgage. Utilities. Property tax. Refrigerators, washers and dryers. Things I’ve managed to escape for almost all of my adult life. A house means responsibility. And piles of paperwork I would sign my name to that I don’t actually understand. Naturally, I began to freak out. It’s one of those things you do and then suddenly the weight of it begins to sink in. My former debt-free life is now committed to paying off a 15-year loan. What were we thinking? Our dogs won’t even live that long.

We’ll probably never live in this house. But hopefully lots of other people will. My mom took us on a FaceTime tour of our new digs today… and I actually got pretty excited about it. We have a house. A cute, little house. A house that means a lot of things for us– but, above all, it’s this new journey my husband and I are on together. Now we can fight about mortgage payments and disagree about which brand of fridge to buy. Now we can be “real” adults with “real” life issues. I can hardly wait.

All joking aside, I’m looking forward to seeing what happens with this house. The people we’ll meet, the renters we’ll have. The things it may lead to. The ways it could impact our future. I’m excited about the things we’ll have to learn and what being a homeowner in a different state might entail. It’ll be something… that’s for sure!

So no, we ain’t pregnant (I know you’re wondering)- but we now own a house. And that’s pretty neat.

Let us know if you know anyone who wants to rent a house in Columbia, Missouri. Great school districts, great neighborhood (am I saying all the right things?).

I can’t even show you a picture of the front of the house because I don’t have one.
How’s that for crazy?

Here’s to new adventures in house ownership and landlord-ing!
Pray for us 🙂

It’s been a few months since I’ve written about pregnancy…

I’m sure some of you are just on the edge of your seat waiting for that exciting baby announcement. It’s not coming. Not soon, anyway.

There’s only so much I can write about it, but, in all honesty, I’ve stopped caring so much. Perhaps it’s the ramp up toward summer and the busyness of my life increasing, but I’m less concerned with having a baby. And, as time goes on, I think the apathy grows. Or I’m just at this point where I think, “Well, if it happens, it happens.”

I can’t decide if I’m attempting murder on the desire within me, or if the Lord is just actually giving me peace to be content with where I’m at. However, it feels pretty different from the times that I tried to pretend I was really okay with being single when I wasn’t (because, just when you are content with your singleness, that’s when Mr. Right comes along, right? *that’s not at all how it happened for me*).

I’m not trying to fool myself into thinking I’m okay without kids, I don’t think. My biggest hiccups and bouts of confusion only really arise when I picture myself old, gray-er, and wrinkly without any grandkids. Because, that’s not how it’s supposed to be.

You’d think by now I would have learned that life is never how it’s “supposed to be”, but I still keep expecting it to go a certain course. Marriage immediately following college didn’t happen- why would I assume that children would go as planned? Truthfully, there’s a part of me that did assume it would. My happy voice within assuring me: Since you had to wait so long to get married, surely having children will be a breeze!

Apparently I still have a lot to learn about patience, waiting, and the Lord’s timing.
There are some significant differences between waiting for Mr. Right to come along and waiting for my uterus to catch up to the plan, though.

this is NOT how I played with Barbies..

From the time I could play with Barbies, I knew I wanted a husband. It was a desire that I never, ever questioned and a desire that plagued me at times–because I could never shake it (even on the most hopeless of days). I never really cared much for babies and kids (or baby dolls) while growing up. I didn’t change a diaper until I was in my late twenties. Baby-sitting still horrifies me. I have a bad habit of trying to use sarcasm on 4-year-olds and am alarmed when they just don’t get it. I know they don’t stay little forever….. but….

I guess I’m saying that I never really believed that God’s plan for me was to be single my entire life. And while I would have managed, it didn’t seem to line up with who He is. And while I still think we might never have biological children, that’s not as alarming to me. I still think our futures will involve children in some capacity–and I’m pretty intrigued by what that’ll mean/look like.

Another huge difference to this waiting bout is that I’m not alone. The journey in singleness (as some of you can attest) is just what it sounds like: lonely. It’s easy to feel pathetic, desperate, and like the rest of the world is passing you by with new boyfriends and engagement parties. And while, yes, I can share some of those same thoughts with pregnancy announcements and baby pictures–I have this whole person who is journeying beside me down this same road. I’m not alone.
I’m not alone this time. And I only know that’s because the Lord is so, so good and gracious.

It’s really only been a little over year. This timeline pales in comparison to the 10+ years I felt like I waited to meet my husband. So… talk to me in 9 more years about fertility and I bet this blog post will look a little different.

All that to say…
Not pregnant.
Doing great (truly).
Continually learning that the Lord needs to shatter all my “supposed to” moments and remind me that it’s about Him, His timing and His plan.
And, being thankful that, right now, for whatever reason, I am honestly content right where I’m at.

I can’t believe it’s already May.

Too often time is a mysterious thing. 

I cringe a lot when I think about the past.

Did I really do that? Did I really say that?

I wish they were dreams (or nightmares), but… my past is always real. I used to think that if my house were ever burning down that one of the first things I’d grab would be my journals, but lately I’m wondering if I might purposely leave them behind.

If I read through them all today, I’d be reminded of the times that I stayed up way too late, waiting for the creaking door on AOL Instant Messenger to alert me that my freshman AND sophomore year crush had signed online (one guy that I just couldn’t seem to get over…). I always tried to let him initiate conversation, but after a few minutes of radio silence, I never had much self control. Or the [many] times that I allowed myself to enter into deep friendships with guys, always hoping that it might be something more. Always saying stupid things. Always getting my heart too involved. Or the time I sent money anonymously to a crush, hoping it would bless him (but probably also hoping he’d find out it was me and come running). Or the times I cried myself to sleep, feeling hopelessly single. Or the times that I sorta, basically told guys I wasn’t even dating that I liked them (or loved them?)…

Or just the fact that I probably wrote the same thing in my journal for almost a decade- I feel like today I might tell myself a lot of things. At least I’d want to, and I’d want myself to listen, to understand, to recognize that the here and now is never really as bad as it might seem.

Even if I rid myself of the journals, my past is still real. I’m still the girl who blogged about the despairs of single life in her late twenties and wrote a paper about the pains of it during my split second in seminary. I’m still the girl who dated the wrong guys for too long because it seemed better than being alone. The girl who was too forward and simultaneously too scared. The girl who confidently thought she knew what she wanted while also insecurely begged for validation and affirmation from the guys who ignorantly let her get close to them.

I’m not proud of my past.
I share the stories mostly in hopes that others might identify and there might be some reason or purpose to the madness. It’s really the reason I started the blog in the first place- admitting my craziness so that others might identify and know they’re not alone in the journey.

this is how I feel when I think about the past…

I’m not sure why, but lately I’ve been cringing about the past. And while I wish I could erase it, I have more of a desire to continue to remind any single ladies out there who are struggling with the singleness, the loneliness, the hopelessness (that too easily turns into craziness) that it shall pass. It gets better. It changes. You live and you learn. And, sometimes, you meet a guy who loves you despite all the craziness (I even cringe when I think about the beginnings of how my husband and I began..).

I do feel like the Lord extended grace to me throughout my twenties. While I made plenty of bad choices for myself, He never gave me the chance to make a choice that could negatively affect my entire future. He never let me say YES to the wrong guy (and, if we’re being honest, there’s a chance I might have). I feel pretty lucky, considering all the stupid things I did do.

It continually reminds me of the Lord’s faithfulness. And I wish I had seen it then. I wish I would have seen it exactly for what it was when I was in the midst of it. Instead I was angry, confused, and blaming Him for the existence of these intense desires without any hope of fulfilling them. But if I could have known… I probably would have tried to speed up the process.

I love how perfect His timing has been though.
I love how, in spite of all my crazy, I can look at the man next to me and thank the Lord for saving me from all of the other failed attempts in my life.

I don’t deserve any of this.
I’m a crazy lady, saved by grace AND, for no good reason, given the chance to be truly loved by a man on earth too.

How can it be?
I don’t know. I truly don’t get it.

Hang tight, single babes.
Spring was always the worst for me. Something about budding life and happy weather with summer on the horizon. It just always seemed like the perfect time to fall in love (but in reality, any time is great).

Don’t let your expectations, your dreams, your hopes, or your desires get crushed by the current story you’re in. Maybe the guy you’re into doesn’t like you back. Maybe you’re getting pretty weary of feeling like no one will ever look your way. Maybe you’re just in the cycle of getting your hopes up and constantly facing rejection. Maybe you just said something really stupid or bold to a cute guy (one time I boldly asked a crush via text: “So where do you see this going?” after only knowing him a few weeks).

We do dumb things.
We say dumb things.
We feel deeply… and sometimes it just hurts.
I get it. It’s okay. Okay to be sad, okay for it to suck, okay for it to feel hopeless.

I’m praying today that you can zoom out and trust the Lord with the unthinkable, the seemingly impossible. He’s got you. He’s got this.

My husband isn’t the fulfillment, but he points me to the One who is. And I hope you can get to that realization before I did.

I typically try to avoid merging business with personal, but, for those of you who work at a camp, it’s virtually impossible.

The two always collide at one point or another. We live where we work and we work where we live. My neighbors are my coworkers and my friends are my employees and my life is…camp. At the start of our marriage, my husband and I even shared an office for a few months. Oh, and I’m his boss (a fun fact he typically likes to share with people, and then they laugh at the typical husband/wife banter…and then he says, “no really, she’s actually my boss” and then I think they feel weird). It’s a funny world we live in. One that’s hard to explain unless you’ve actually done it.

In most ways, camp life is kind of all I know.

I never set out to be a camp director. All I had planned for myself, back in 2003, was to try to work at a camp that wasn’t in Missouri and wasn’t anywhere any of my brothers had ever been. As a freshman, I remember scrolling through the endless possibilities of summer camp options. I actually entertained the idea of working at a weight loss camp (a.k.a. Fat Camp). I think I thought being a counselor might help me also lose weight. These were the days before Google, and I’m pretty sure I landed on Camp Eagle through some unknown search engine after weeks of research.

Why not?
Why not apply to work at this camp that I’ve never heard of in the middle-of-nowhere Texas that does adventure-y things that I’ve never even wanted to try? Why not?  It met my only two requirements.
And so I applied. I applied to work at Camp Eagle and two other camps. Unfortunately for me, most camps were already done with hiring. Fortunately for me, Camp Eagle was not one of them.

It was mid-March when I got a phone call from a lady telling me that they had talked to my references and wanted me to come work for the summer. All summer. No interview, but a job offer. A three month long, in a land with no cell phone service or internet access job offer.

So, I went.
Why not?
What else was I going to do?

I wish I could accurately communicate to you all that summer meant for me and did for me…but I fear no words will do it justice. It was the summer I learned how not to wear make-up. It was the summer where I learned how to scrub showers with finesse. It was the summer where I learned that people liked me, just as I was. It was the summer where I made friends with people I would have never chosen to be friends with (lifelong friendships, at that). The summer where I got to be a part of a camper’s salvation story. The summer where I watched the Lord use even the most unlikely people to bring Himself glory. A summer where He used even me, in all of my imperfections, weaknesses, brokenness and shame. A summer of complete exhaustion, pouring out, giving of myself until I would recognize that it was never about what I could or couldn’t do.

It was a summer of changed lives.
A summer of investing in eternity.

It’s why I love camp.
It’s why I’m still here.
Not because I got “stuck”, but because it’s one of the most beautiful and humbling things to be a part of. God using us to transform lives. God using us, and gently reminding us, that it’s just not about us.

The Lord uses camp to change lives for eternity.
There’s something about the wilderness, the stars, the campfires, the crickets chirping, the songs that are sung, the s’mores that are eaten, the stories that are told…. the openness, the vulnerability, the honesty, the hope for something different. Something about all of that reminds us that there’s this greater life worth living.

I get to be a part of that. 
Every day.
Part of offering the reminder of second chances and this incredible mercy that’s new every morning.

I had no idea how much that summer 13 years ago would change me. I had no idea how much a second summer would continue the process or how much a third summer would challenge my pride and false identity. I had no idea how it would lead me down this journey of full-time camp ministry. To Him be the glory!  It’s messy and frustrating and crazy and consuming and constantly forcing me to look within while simultaneously causing me to get over myself.

The Lord knew what He was doing.

And so here’s where the personal turns business-y. We’re at a place in our organization where we need more staff than ever before. With a recent expansion of yet another campus, we’re on the hunt for college students to take a leap a faith and join us for the summer of a lifetime… a summer of investing in eternity.

I don’t actually know how many people read my blog or to what degree this post might accomplish anything, but, I wanted to see if you might be willing to help us. Might you consider doing the following:

• Apply to work here!! 
• Join me in praying that we might have more than enough summer staff for this upcoming summer. It’s been the cry of my heart these last few weeks. 
• Share this blog post – you never know who might be looking at your social media!
• Tell any college students you know about the opportunities that we have to serve out here- and then send them to: glorieta.org/apply
• Tell any high school students that they can come hang out with us, too! We have this sweet thing called Service Team that has everything to do with discipleship and servant leadership as they help us run camp by washing dishes. They can apply online, too: glorieta.org/apply
• We’re especially short on guys right now- urge any Christ-loving college-age men to consider the possibility of a summer out here! 

I couldn’t stop the tears from coming this time. 

“We’re calling about your results from your blood tests last week. The doctor would like you to come in to review your results in person. It’s nothing urgent or life-threatening. Nothing you should lose sleep over. But you probably should be warned that your uterus is shriveled and your eggs have all died…”

Okay, so that’s not exactly how the entire phone call went, but it was still a weird call to receive. I got it almost three weeks ago after finally going to the doctor for my annual (which is never actually annual) and to ask some questions about our current inability to conceive. Lots of blood came out of my arm that day.

First available appointment we could make was for today, January 4.
I hadn’t been overly concerned about it, but sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for her to arrive, I couldn’t help but ask my husband, “What’s the worst thing she could tell us today?”

There’s always a trillion possibilities flying through my head.
What we got?
A few minutes about my vitamin deficiencies (apparently I’m lacking D3 which you often get from the sun but they don’t encourage sun exposure so D3 is a probably a great market to be in..), my slightly elevated levels of testosterone (which has never been a surprise from this hairy one), and the probability of a mild form of PCOS (poly-cystic ovary syndrome)… but nothing that really makes pregnancy an impossibility. No crazy hormonal imbalance that causes my uterine lining to cease to exist and no irregular pap smear.

A referral to a fertility specialist, if we should choose to go at a future date. A recommendation for a pelvic ultrasound and mammogram (mostly because of my family history)- but nothing she really was worried about. A question or two about whether or not urinating immediately after intercourse actually matters when trying to get pregnant (it doesn’t), and the encouragement to try charting temperatures or using ovulation predictor kits (yeah yeah, I’m on it already…).

And there we have it, folks.
No real answers.

I don’t know what I expected.
Well- I know what I expected. I expected her to tell me my testosterone levels were still the raging levels of a 16-year-old boy (because I got told that once…by a doctor, I promise) and in all my reliable webmd research, high testosterone made pregnancy very unlikely. So, I expected a shot in the butt with estrogen or progesterone or whatever female things I’m lacking and for all to be well. Or something. Something more than nothing.

Now we just have more questions than answers.
When I should I schedule a pelvic ultrasound…? Should we go see a fertility specialist? That seems a little extreme… and expensive. We haven’t technically even been trying for a year yet (at the end of this month it’s been a year though so maybe it’s time…?).

So, at this point I have vitamin D3 and B12 sitting in my amazon shopping cart (gotta compare with other prices first, of course). I have a referral to a fertility specialist and for a pelvic ultrasound. And apparently PCOS, which is supposedly very common– and not even a “severe” case of it. As we walked out her office, my doctor said, “I don’t think you guys will have a problem. I have a good feeling about it.”

Thanks lady.

I sound more bitter than I am- I don’t mean to. I actually like my doctor a lot.
We had more of a profound conversation with her about the miracle of life. She told us that the more she gets to see pregnancy up close and see all the things that go wrong and all the things that have to go just right for someone to get pregnant and then to carry a pregnancy to full-term… she said she’s humbled by it all. That so often people don’t appreciate how miraculous it is.

I think I might have been one of those people once upon a time.
I think I thought that I’d get married and feared getting pregnant immediately because I just knew I’d be a fertile myrtle. I think the process has already shown me how delicate, precious and miraculous human life is. It’s shown me over and over and over again how out of control I am. It’s given me a freedom to just be. To let God to be God. To live life.

It’s a beautiful, cold day today. Snow is still all over the ground. I’m at 8,908 steps with a volleyball game still to play tonight. I’ve got an incredible husband. A sweet job that I still am trying to figure out and am humbled to be in on a daily basis. A gentle giant of a dog that I absolutely adore. A great community that I’m learning to love more and more. An ever-growing, God-loving family. But, more than alllll of that, I have the creator of all life who loves me. Who chose me. Who reminds me constantly that my worth can only be found in Him. One who calls me to remember the bigger picture and that His plan might just continue to be different from my own. One who reminds me that His plan is truly always better. I’ve seen it firsthand.

I can’t wait to see what all this life entails. Baby or no baby, there’s still an unknown adventure ahead. A good adventure.
I’ll continue to keep you posted, because I promised I would.

Thanks for praying.
Thanks for asking.
Thanks for loving us well, for sharing your own stories with us, and for reminding me how good our God is.

It’s hard to imagine waking up tomorrow and being responsible for anything.

It’s like a jack-in-the-box… it’s slowly winding up and I’m cringing, waiting in dreadful anticipation for that scary clown to pop up. It’s inevitable. It’s coming. I can’t stop it, no matter what.