Anniversary

This past Friday I celebrated 9 years of continuous sobriety. Which is pretty awesome if I do say so myself. A good friend & I both got sober the same year, so we like to compare notes on a regular basis about the phases we go through, and how crazy it is to be creeping up on a decade of living sober. Good stuff. I went to my home group on Wednesday night and got that shiny new coin above, which has been in my pocket since then. I like to carry my coin with me.

We spent the holiday weekend at the campground with family & friends & food. My girlfriend and I also decided to celebrate my anniversary by finding a local meeting, which proved to be an adventure. Lesson learned: always carry a current meeting list! The one I printed from last year sent us to a meeting that had since moved. We did manage to find one a half hour later at a club house though. It was a Living Sober meeting, open discussion format, so we got to hear from a variety of people. I got another coin which I'm saving for another friend who will celebrate 9 years in the fall.

At both meetings I shared my experience, strength and hope. The bottom line for me is that I sat down, shut up, and did what they told me to do. If a person wants to stay sober, they need to be willing, open & honest. They need to work the steps thoroughly and be willing to take suggestions. It is a humbling & at times painful process, but it is worth it. It's not easy to walk in and admit that you don't have the answers, and that what you've been doing has clearly not been working for you. But the Promises do materialize if we are willing to do the hard work.

The 12 Promises are from pps. 83-84 of the Big Book.

"If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half way through . . .

1. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness.
2. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.
3. We will comprehend the word serenity.
4. We will know peace.
5. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others.
6. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear.
7. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows.
8. Self-seeking will slip away.
9. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change.
10. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us.
11. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us.
12. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

Are these extravagant promises? We think not. They are being fullfilled among us - sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them."

Free, Really Free My Friend

As I said last week, I spent the National Day of Prayer offline. I had my bible study in the morning, where we prayed as a group for many people and things, such as government leaders, school teachers, and our families. I had a lengthy prayer list written down for the afternoon, after asking friends & family on Facebook to post their prayer requests for me. Then, in the evening, we had a 'concert of prayer' at church, which was really wonderful. We praised together, and prayed in small groups.

I felt excited and blessed to be able to spend my day this way. When I first decided to commit the entire day to prayer, I was intimidated. I wasn't sure how I could do it, if I would get bored and my mind would wander. I was surprised when this didn't happen. I kept thinking of more and more people to pray for, and my list grew as the day went on. And then at the concert, something truly amazing happened. God blessed me with something unexpected.

The past few months I have been struggling with the wreckage of my past. Most of the time I live my life in peace, having long ago dealt with the sins I committed in my past, particularly ones due mostly to my alcoholism. God has forgiven me, and I have changed my ways. I have made amends when and where I could, and most people have been very gracious to me in return. But at the beginning of March, when I attended the women's retreat with my church, I found myself suddenly very burdened and feeling very broken.

I've hinted at it here on the blog before, but never talked about it in detail. I've given my testimony many times at the pregnancy loss service at our old church, and in my bible study at our new church. But I have been more cautious about it here, for the simple reason that at some point someone from the Man's family may read this, and we have never told them. But God has done something amazing for me, and I need to testify to this.

When I was 20 and the Man was 22, I had an abortion. It was heartbreaking and horrible, and completely destroyed me in many ways. I knew it was wrong, and I didn't want to do it, but I felt trapped. I didn't understand that my alcoholism was driving this decision, but in hindsight, it clearly was. I was going to turn 21 that summer, and I could not only not fathom not being able to drink during a pregnancy, but for my 21st birthday? It was impossible. The Man and I both hid our emotions from each other, neither of us wanting me to do it, but saying nothing. I ached inside, wishing I could hide from the situation. I don't know that I can fully describe that feeling of desperation. I've heard someone describe the choice of abortion as akin to that of gnawing your foot off to escape a bear trap. It is very much like that.

I went to a city clinic with a friend, and went under sedation as the doctor aborted my 9 week old twin babies. I thought I would feel relieved when I woke up. I didn't. I felt empty. broken. ashamed. I cried a lot over the next few days, not comprehending what I had done or why I had done it. I hated myself.

Unable to cope, but unwilling to cross the line of drinking at work, I unconsciously turned to food. By the end of the year I had gained over 70 pounds. I worked in a day care and the pain of working with other people's children every day was too much for me. I eventually quit, but drifted for quite some time before I found work again. The Man and I had somehow stayed together, and got engaged that Christmas. We were married eighteen months later, and will celebrate our 13th wedding anniversary at the end of this month.

God has been gracious to me, time and again, in healing my heart. I gave my heart back to Jesus after the birth of our daughter, and have been doing my best to live for Christ ever since. It wasn't until that retreat weekend that I felt myself breaking down. It was the 15th anniversary of that horrible day, and my mind had been festering; brewing up a well of guilt and angst.

I keep journals for each of my children, including the twins. I have never let anyone else read them, not even the Man. But as we say in AA, we're only as sick as our secrets, and I want to share what I've written to them. Here are the last few entries in theirs:

March, 2010 (right before I went on the retreat)

Fifteen years is a really long time. The pain is less now, most of the time. God has been so gracious to me, allowing me to heal in many ways. I pray that this is true for your father as well. We didn't talk about you at all today. Maybe he forgot what day it is. I hope that he did. I feel guilty writing that. But, I know that it is better to forget you, and to not dwell forever on what could have been. To be at peace with what we did to you, with what we lost... we need to be able to let the memories and pain fade away. The passage of time has a way of softening the edges of grief.

If I see pictures of aborted babies, I look away now. I used to torture myself, looking at photo after photo, reminding myself of this horrible gruesome thing that I had done. I don't do that anymore. I can't. I need to forgive myself and let you go.

I'm not that scared 20 year old girl anymore. I'm not that irresponsible and selfish drunk anymore. I'm not that murderer anymore.

My sweet boys, I do miss you desperately. I can smile sometimes when I think of you now, because I know our reunion someday will be amazing. I know you are at peace, and I know that I must choose to be at peace too. I love you.

March 22, 2010

I went on the women's retreat a few weeks ago. It was a wonderful and emotional weekend. I was blessed to help guide a young woman on her journey to accept Jesus as her Savior. God's presence was just so powerful over those two days.

On Saturday evening we did a clay pot activity, which was designed to show you how willing you are to be broken by God in order to accomplish His purposes. It was very emotional for us all, and for me, just having come out of an 18 month depression, it was especially poignant. After that we took communion. It was by intinction so we could get in line as we wanted. When I was waiting in line I began to cry, thinking of you. As the line slowly moved forward, I began to come undone, and just sobbed. I stepped out of line, needing to calm myself and ask God to be with me.

I wanted to get back in line, but how could I take His communion? My unworthiness, my sinfulness just smothered me. I could hear MURDERER ring in my ears over and over. My heart felt shattered.

I finally calmed enough to get back in line, but when my turn came I stood there, unable to take the bread. The woman serving the bread was compassionate to me, putting her arm around me. The shame of my sin was too much. I didn't deserve to take His communion. Her comfort finally moved me, and I took the bread. I moved and stood before the woman holding the cup, a friend, and I just stood there and cried. She prayed and asked God to show me that I'm forgiven of my sins. I cried on her shoulder, my broken heart once again unwilling to accept the forgiveness that He has offered me all along. I could barely swallow the elements.

After, I went behind a pillar to gather myself. As I then made my way to my seat, a friend stopped me and hugged me. She knew about you, and I told her that it was the 15 year anniversary. She held me and prayed, thanking God for the 15 years that He has been doing a work in me. I can't say that I felt better afterwards. I am able to calm myself by putting you in a box, and convincing myself that I somehow have peace about you. But I'm only fooling myself after all.

May 6, 2010, National Day of Prayer

You have been on my mind daily since the retreat. I have told myself repeatedly that I have to let you go. How can I be of service to the Kingdom if I am tied down with this never-ending grief? I'm no fool, I know the devil taunts me about you, reminds me always of what I did to you. But I felt I deserved to suffer, no matter how sorry I was. I felt that I had to hold on to my shame & grief, because it's all I have left of you. And outside of that, I felt like I had no control over these emotions anyway. I can't help missing you. I can't help being heartbroken that you are not in my life. I can't pretend that I don't feel guilt for the choice I made. I can't help missing you desperately. I can't stop feeling guilty.

I can't. He can.

He can, and through Him, I can.

I can choose.... This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live. ~ Deut. 30:19

I didn't choose life 15 years ago. But I choose it now. Tonight at church, Pastor J. said that with the incredible price that Jesus paid for my freedom, it would be an insult to choose to live as a slave. I cannot be a slave to my past sin anymore. I have been forgiven, and I must choose to embrace that and LIVE that forgiveness.

Years ago, when my brothers & sisters in Christ laid hands on me, and His Spirit quickened within me, I felt the overwhelming power of evil and good at war within me. I felt that battle so keenly, as Jesus FOUGHT for me, and WON. I lay on the floor as limp as a dishrag, crying my eyes out, feeling every bit of my grief. I know that He healed me that day. It was my choice to go back against His will. I will disobey Him no longer.

We sang this song tonight...

One name under heaven

whereby we must be saved

Searched for a long time

Searched both night and day

then somebody showed us Jesus is the way. He's that...

One name under heaven

whereby we must be saved

Forgiven of my sin, baptized in the water

Filled with the Holy Ghost and

Washed in the blood of the Lamb. By that...

One name under heaven

whereby we must be saved

God's gonna move this place

God's gonna move this place

God's gonna turn this place upside down. By that...

One name under heaven

whereby we must be saved

Free, really free my friend

Free by the blood of the Lamb

Free by the blood of the Lamb. By that...

One name under heaven

Whereby we must be saved

(You can find this song here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DZzPDLcBznk)

I know this is true, and I know that I must choose daily to live in that truth, that He has set me free. As we sang, 'free, really free my friend', I was awestruck by His love and grace, that He would reach out to me yet again, and show me that I'm forgiven. I no longer want to be a slave. I am free from my past sins. I thought it was about emotions & feelings, but I've realized it's more about obedience and faith. Emotions & feelings are unreliable. If I choose to obey, and to accept His forgiveness, then I will be free indeed. I trust Him with my heart. All praise be to Him.

He whom the Son sets free is free indeed! ~ John 8:36

My Quest to Become Frodo

It still feels funky to type with my one gimpy finger, but I miss being able to talk about myself at length, so here goes. ;)

I was leaving the mall a few weeks ago, and was exiting through one of those big old glass doors, the kind with the metal rectangle handle. As I pushed through and then started to let go, I realized too late that my wedding rings had caught on the corner of said rectangle. The door, being one of those big old glass variety, YANKED shut behind me. The pain was unbelievable and I immediately felt myself cover with sweat, as I wondered if I was going to faint. I thought for sure I was going to see bone. I looked at my hand, only to see my ring finger bloody and swelling up pretty quickly. I staggered to the car, grabbed a tube of lotion and attempted to get my rings off before the swelling got any worse. Unfortunately - *those who are weak of stomach should skip this part* - my wedding band had dug into my finger at an angle, and any attempt to push the rings off would just lift up the huge flap of flesh. I'm not squeamish about blood and such, but I really thought I was going to faint or chuck at this point. I drove straight to my doctor's office, who couldn't get it off either, but who assured me that my pulse-ox in the finger was still good. I could still turn my rings with no trouble, as the swollen part was in front of where they normally rest. He gave me a slip for an x-ray, but I knew if I went to get that done, they would want to cut my rings off to get a clear shot at the bone. I wasn't willing to do that as long as my rings weren't interfering with blood flow, so I waited.

And waited. And waited just a bit more, until two weeks later I could finally, with the help of baby oil and much gritting of teeth, twist and pull my rings off. It hurt so bad that I nearly gave up a few times, but I just felt mentally taxed having them on there. Now that they're off, the wound is healing better. The swelling is going down, but very slowly, and the underside of my finger is numb all down one side. It's an odd tingly kind of numbness, and I'm thinking I'll be back at the doctor soon to see what he thinks.

In the meantime, I'm trying to be careful with it, since it aches if I do much with that hand. My engagement ring wasn't damaged, but as you can see above, my wedding band is a nice dented oval shape. I'm glad I held out though, and the ring is fixable. I know it's just a symbol of my marriage, but it means a lot to me to keep my original rings, so I'm happy. :)

Overheard

"Do you want your socks on?"

"No, I don't like cheese."

~~

"I want a sammich mommy."

"Ok, do you want peanut butter and jelly?"

"No, I don't like sharks."

(convos with the Tyrant, who shall soon be renamed the Sociopath and who does have good hearing, in case you were wondering)

"Why are you walking like that?" (me to the Tyrant)

"My butt is folded." (realized later that he meant he had a wedgie)

A Short Check In

Hello my lovelies, my apologies for being absent lately. I injured a finger pretty badly last week, and typing is painful. I wanted to just give a tiny hello & update, and promise to come back soon.

The Boy has been on medication for 2½ weeks. The first 2 weeks went incredibly well, and he was a completely different child - on task, compliant, not needing to be redirected etc. The last few days however, he has been constantly fatigued and frequently weepy, so back to the doctor we went. I know there is trial & error to the medicating process, but it's hard and I'm crabby about it.

I'll be offline tomorrow for the National Day of Prayer. I have Bible study in the morning, where we will be praying for personal needs, along with prayers for our nation and leaders. I'm excited about this, and can't wait to hear & see how God answers.

Homework with the Boy

I'm taking a break from working on homework with the Boy, and thought I'd blog to vent my complete exasperation. I'm sure this will be a work in progress through the evening...

The Boy was recently diagnosed with ADHD. When I say 'recently', it makes it sound like a new development. It is not. This diagnosis is the result of three years of of working with various people trying to reach the point of diagnosis and an IEP. This is a landmark for us, and although it doesn't feel good to know that your child has a neurobehavioral developmental disorder, it is gratifying to move forward in a difficult process. With diagnosis will come more concrete help for my son, which is heartening. He gets help in the Special Education room once a week now specifically for spelling, which is the only subject he does poorly in. He also still gets Occupational Therapy for his pencil grip. I don't know how much that helps; he really just hates to write anything. The psychologist has said that this is typical of an ADHD child, as their mind goes so quickly, and trying to write down their quick thoughts is just tedious to them.

So now we are finally at the point in the process where we investigate medication. I took him to see our family doctor and went over all the details. The Man took the Boy for bloodwork earlier this week, so they can check liver function. He will start on Concerta this weekend. I'm nervous about doing this, but doing homework with the Boy reaffirms the decision. Here's what it's like to do homework with my ADHD son...

6:30pm - Call him in from outside, tell him that it's time to start homework. (We do it every night after dinner, and he had just finished eating.) Ask him to get out his agenda book from his school bag.

6:35pm - Realize that he has disappeared.

6:45pm - The Boy reappears on his bike, having ridden down the street for a while. Restate that he needs to go in the house, get out his agenda book and start homework.

6:50pm - MAKE him sit at the counter and get out the agenda book for him, since he has spent the last five minutes wandering around the house and making excuses. Discover that he brought home another student's math packet instead of his own. This is common for him, bringing home someone else's papers. Read notes from teacher in his agenda book. Yesterday she wrote that The Boy "had another tough day. He would not work. He ended up spending a lot of time with the guidance counselor getting his work done. (He is all caught up now.)" The note is typical of Mondays & Tuesdays for him. Weekends get him out of routine. No note for today but there is work to be done that he refused to do in school.

6:50pm to 7:05pm - Sit with the Boy and prompt him to do math work. Prompt for every. single. problem. Read every number to him to refocus him on the work. Boy complains he is cold, since he is only wearing shorts and nothing else. Tell him he may go get pajamas on.

7:10pm - Call up stairs and prompt him to get the pajamas on. (He is in the bathroom.)

7:15pm - Call up stairs and prompt him to get the pajamas on. (He is playing with toys.)

7:20pm - Call up stairs and prompt him to get the pajamas on. (He is pestering the cat.) Prompt loudly and wait at bottom of stairs until he comes down with pajama shirt on and no bottoms.

7:25pm - Guide him back to kitchen counter and sit with him to continue math work. We are still on the first page, and he has 2 pages of math, one page of spelling, 2 pages of handwriting work he refused to do in school, and 1 spelling test that he did poorly on and must make corrections on. He is also supposed to read for 15 minutes for 100 Book Challenge, which we almost never get to. Prompt him as he drums his fingers and stares into space. Prompt one problem at a time. He is exceptional at math, but isn't interested in doing the work right now. He complains of hunger repeatedly. (He already had dinner.) One more math problem. He needs a glass of water. One more math problem. He complains again of hunger. I promise him something to eat after the page is done.

7:40pm - One page of math complete. I make him something to eat and set the timer for a ten minute break.

7:50pm - Guide the Boy back to the kitchen counter. He has just eaten a piece of sausage and is now digging into a box of cheese crackers. I let him have a few and then remove the box, since he is trying to set up the crackers in patterns on the laid down box. Prompt him to start the spelling page. He fidgets. Prompt him to start with his name on the page. Prompt three more times before he does this. He writes his name very lightly, which is his passive-aggressive way of showing me he doesn't want to do it, since it can barely be read.

7:55pm - Ask him to read me the directions for the page. He fidgets and turns his back to me while leaning on his elbow on the counter. I tell him he is being rude to me and ask him to sit up. He does. I ask him to read me the directions, and he repeats leaning on elbow. I repeat what I already said. He stares into space. I ask for the directions. He finally reads them to me. Prompt him to start the work. He complains of thirst. I say if he writes the first word, I will get him a drink. He does and I do. I leave the room for five minutes so I don't go insane.

8:05pm - I return to the kitchen and he is out of his seat, headed for the bathroom.

8:10pm - He returns to his seat without being asked, hallelujah! We start the spelling page together and he is more cooperative for a few minutes. He asks what we will do after his work is done and I agree to play the Wii with him if he finishes by 8:45pm. I leave him for a while to see if he will do any work on his own while I help the Tyrant in the bathroom.

8:20pm - The Boy wrote one word while on his own. I sit with him and prompt him for each word. He has to put 2 columns of 6 words each into alphabetical order. He says he hates this kind of work. I help him to put them in order by numbering them with him, and then he has to write the words himself.

8:25pm - He needs to use the bathroom again. He's on his 3rd glass of water so who knows at this point. Back at the counter a few minutes later and now his pencil is gone. I get him a new one. I take a Bakugan toy from him. Prompt him to finish the first list, of which he only has 2 done. My stomach gurgles and he laughs and launches into a story. I stop him, and tell him he can tell me the story when he completes the first list. He writes out the remaining 4 words in a minute, then tells me a story about how his stomach had gurgled at night and made his sister laugh. (This is also typical for him, always story-telling.)

8:35pm - I feel myself coming unglued. It has been two hours of prompting and reminding and working, and he is nowhere near done. I tell him to finish the second column of words and be done. We will not finish the work tonight. The Man is at work and I am on my own and need to get the 3 year old to bed and spend more than 3 minutes with the 10 year old. I go in another room and cry for a minute. *deep breath* God graciously calms my heart.

I know it's not his fault. It's not mine either. It is what it is. And most of the time I can deal. But there are days when I just cannot do one. more. thing. to try to MAKE him do his work. And I don't know who the last two hours was harder on, him or me. It isn't like this every single night, but this is very common for him, and variations of these behaviors are always present. This week has been especially bad, although we don't know why. A friend of mine tutors him once a week, and she said he was all over the place for her too. I don't know what makes one week like this for an ADHD child, and then the next is fine. I do know that nights like this serve to reassure me that medication IS the right next step for us. I have peace about the decision, in spite of my nervousness of the unknown. I know that God will take care of us in this, as He does in everything.

9:00pm - I put the Tyrant to bed and snuggle up with the Princess while the Boy plays the Wii for a bit before we do some devotions together. I decided that he deserved some R&R even if the work didn't get done. I think we both need some at this point. *smile*

9:30pm - The Princess reads Psalm 121 out loud for us and we pray together while the Boy fidgets in my arms. I send them up to bed, knowing that I will have to put him back into bed multiple times before he finally tires out. When I go up to quiet him at one point, he hugs my neck and won't let go. My heart is full of love for my wild and precious Boy. ♥

I know I know

It's been forever since I posted, I know. My schedule has been very inconvenient to my desire to write lately. And those pesky kids always want fed, THREE times a day, the nerve! I also just really haven't had anything profound to say, I'm just living life on life's terms, trying to fit in 30 hours of life in a 24 hour day. I'm also finally making progress on potty-training the Tyrant, and really, that just takes up your entire day. If you don't have kids, you won't believe me, but other parents will agree with me on this one.

Spring is here, so I'm mourning the loss of winter. I'm already missing the heavy sweaters and crisp snowy air. Sigh. I will content myself with the joy of sitting on the swing in the backyard for my prayer time, and watching my skin freckle.

God has been changing me in some neat ways the last few months. Years ago I heard Joyce Meyer say that "Wisdom is doing now, that which will satisfy me later." I have been reminding myself of this every time I choose to go to bed at a decent hour, or take daily time to pray and study the Bible, or get up early to exercise. None of these things come naturally to me, but God has been helping me to change into a person who does them.

In other news, the Princess is having a very busy week. On Monday night she sang in the chorus for the District Music Festival, something she had been preparing for for several months. She did a beautiful job, and we were so proud as we sat in the audience. On Thursday she will be at Reading Olympics, another honor that does us proud. Her soccer season (and the Boy's) also starts this week, and let's throw in a dermatology appointment and a trip to the orthodontist to get her bottom braces on, shall we? Poor kid, her calendar is starting to look like mine.

The Man and I have been at the new church for nearly 18 months, which is hard to believe already. I'm still dealing with emotions towards our old church, and working through them. I keep thinking that I need to let that go, but things fester for some reason. We'll be back there later this week for a funeral, and as much as I want to attend the service, I kind of dread drawing any attention to ourselves since we have been gone so long. People seemed somewhat supportive in the beginning, but these days if I post anything on Facebook talking about church events, or something I'm excited about, none of the folks from my old church respond. I find myself getting annoyed, can't they just be happy for us?

I can't control what other people think, and really, what they think is none of my business anyway. I know that, and on a certain level, I accept that. I wish it didn't bother me, or annoy me, to be more specific. I think that's why I find myself going around with things in my mind over and over, because I have resentments left over from our time there. I hear rumors of things going on there now, and I admit that I think, 'See? This is WHY we left!"

I know that's not fair. We stayed there for a long time when we had a choice to leave. I feel good about when we left, because we waited until God made it clear that it was time to move on. I don't need to have some chip on my shoulder about it, and I frequently am pushing said chip off, only to find it creeping up again later. Anger is one of my worst trigger emotions, and something I struggle with all the time. I know I need to let things go, if only for my own mental health.

Going to go out into the sunshine now, and enjoy the spring breeze...

God Bless the Broken Road

So I mentioned the other day that I have to wear a bridesmaid dress this July.

The Man and I are taking a course called The Truth Project, and if you haven't taken it yet and you're a Christian, I highly recommend it. I won't try to describe it - you need to just watch the trailer for it and you'll see why: Truth Project.

This week the topic was history, and Dr. Del Tackett spoke about the big picture. This is something I actually think about a lot, because it brings me comfort to know that when things go wrong in my life, God has an amazing way of using them in a greater story. I may not see most of that story until He shows me the home movies in Heaven, but sometimes I get glimpses that give me goose bumps.

When we lost Lily eight years ago one of the ways that God brought me comfort was that I really never questioned why it had happened to us. I went through all of the grief and sorrow, but I never asked God why He let it happen. I know that only the Holy Spirit can give you that kind of peace, because I honestly cannot say how I could never question Him about this. I just didn't. I knew that our loss brought the Man and I closer to each other, and closer to God. I knew that He would work beauty from our ashes. I couldn't begin to imagine how He would, but one step at a time, He did.

Follow along with me.... The miscarriage led me to look for a support group. I couldn't find one locally, so I looked online and found one. I met wonderful women who had also experienced loss, and many of us moved on from that group into another one for women who were trying to get pregnant again. When I got pregnant with the Boy, I moved on to another group for moms who were due in March of 2002. Some of the women from the loss group also came with me, and we shared the joy of being pregnant again. At the same time I found a group for Christian stay at home moms, and began forging relationships there as well. Many of the moms in that group were involved with MOPS, an organization that I had never heard of before. I looked and found a local MOPS group, and began attending their meetings. It was there that I met Kate, who is one of my most favorite people.

Kate and I began hanging out and getting to know each other pretty well. This led to me talking to her about our church situation and our unhappiness there. I said I just would really like to find a good Bible study, because I wasn't learning anything at our church. She promptly invited me to come to hers at BFC. I have been in that Thursday morning group ever since. Two years later, when the Man and I finally made the decision to leave our church, BFC was the first and only place we looked. We knew immediately that it was a great fit for us, and everything we had been looking for in a church.

This led to several other families from our old church hearing about BFC, checking it out, and also attending there steadily ever since. (Disclaimer: these families were already searching, and their decisions to leave our old church were for their own reasons. The Man and I had no influence over their decisions, we just said that this was where we were going and why we liked it.) This also led me to invite a couple who were struggling with some things. They were from our same old church. They had made some incredibly bad decisions, and their sins were coming back to bite them. (I can certainly relate to that.) I suggested that a fresh start could be helpful. They've been coming to BFC ever since. A few weeks ago, during a meeting with one of the pastors, they gave their lives to Jesus. In spite of their previous time in church, they really had never taken that step. They got engaged a few weeks ago, and the bride asked me to be one of her bridesmaids.

When Del Tackett said that we should look at the big picture, I couldn't help but think that my daughter Lily must be rejoicing in Heaven today, knowing that her death sent us down a broken road that ultimately led us to so many good things. God could see all of this ahead of time, and He knew how this story would play out. Maybe it's presumptuous of me to think this way, or maybe the writer in me likes to see things in the form of a grand storyline. I had never needed a reason why for Lily's death, but if I had to lose her for two people to find their way to Jesus, I can rejoice in the small part that I played.

Harper

I'm still loving our new pup. Mostly. She is still cute and docile and sweet, but I think I'm finally on to her game. She pretty much does what she wants, and I'm starting to think that she believes she is feline with the level of ignoring that's going on.

First thing in the morning when I call her to go out, she is all joy and ear-flapping, and trots right out there. By night time however, she's kind of like the Man after a long day of work: dragging around, creaky. I call her to go out, no response. I call her again, and I see maybe an eyeball flitter. I repeat my half of this dance endlessly, and she rotates between looking bored, and digging further into the couch. I then walk over to her, my voice growing ever higher pitched, as I attempt to convince her that going outside to pee in 14 degree weather is, in fact, a really super fun idea. She of course does not buy this, but does raise her head enough to indicate that petting would be acceptable now.

I then take her by the collar (gently, I swear) and attempt to lead her (read: drag) from the couch. This is where her Gandhi skills emerge, as she flops to her side in a passive aggressive stance. No amount of squeakyness on my part will prompt her to get up and walk to the door. I give up, pick the tiny thing up and go plop her out the door.

If that was painful to read, then take heart, because you got the easy part. This process being repeated every night is so stinking ex.as.per.ating. On another note, we've changed her name from Phoebe to Harper. I'm no longer worried about confusing her with this change, because she clearly could care less how we address her, so long as she doesn't have to move. And when it comes to cool pet names, I think Harper is the cat's pajamas of beagle names. (See what I did there?) My literary nerd euphoria was short-lived, however, when the Princess said, "Oh cool, Harper! Just like on Wizards of Waverly Place!" (Why yes, I did just die a little inside, thanks for asking.)

The Mighty Quilt

Remember forever ago when I said I had been working on a denim quilt since the dawn of time? Well it's done! It really is quite lovely, and the Man has said that the sheer weight of it pins him to the bed, causing him to sleep more soundly than he has in years.

That's also new paint & curtains in our bedroom, feel free to admire.