God Loves Him More

A few months ago, right around the time Hank was due actually, Joe and I had to apply for assistance for Bert through the state. It was something that we were fairly certain we would not receive but that we had to apply for as the first step toward getting Bert some other things he needed. 

"Application" is a small word to use for what this really was: a 60-plus page binder that included information on our finances, Bert's medical history, his therapies, etc. It involved his pediatrician filling out several forms and writing letters, us collecting his various medical records and reports, and me collating everything into a binder and driving it to the correct office. It was one of those situations where we were warned that one tiny detail being off, such as me dating one of my signatures 6/10/21 and Joe dating his signature 6/11/21, would be enough to get rejected.

After a few weeks of filling out forms, driving forms to his pediatrician and then picking them up, and collecting necessary documentation, I finished putting everything into the binder, hole punching all the documents and creating a table of contents. Then there was only one thing left: the cover page to slip into the transparent binder cover. I put Bert's full name on it, and then I went to type in his case number, as instructed. As I sat there looking at that page, it made me sad to see Bert's life reduced to a multi-digit case number. So before I hit print, I did one more thing: I inserted a picture of Bert. 

It was not a perfect photo, not professional or even lit particularly well, but it showed that he is a human being, a little boy who is loved by a lot of people. Bert and I drove his binder to the office a couple of days before it was due and handed it off to the woman who met us there. When I got home, I emailed our caseworker to confirm it had been dropped off, and she said, "I got it. It had Robert's picture on it." Yes, it did. 

Any parent wants his or her child to be truly seen, but I think when your child has a disability and there's far more paperwork and assessments and meetings, you are a little extra scared that your precious baby will be reduced to less than a person. Indeed, it is easy to live in constant fear that Bert will be seen as just another patient, just another case number, just another disabled person in need of help. (In some especially scary cases, as just a burden on the state.) But as I was driving Bert to drop off that binder that day, I realized something: I love my child so much, but God loves him more. 

God loves him more. 

God loves him more, and God desires my son's good more than I do. Of course He does, He made Bert in His own image. 

So now every time I have to fight the hospital to allow both Bert's parents to accompany him to his MRI, when I have to fight the state of Georgia to provide Bert with the services he's entitled to, when I have to fight my own (crippling) fear for Bert's future, especially as he will soon age out of early intervention, I hear God's voice whisper to me: "You love him, but I love him more." 

A Pool Called Bethesda

When Bert was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy back in April, one of the biggest challenges we faced was finding supports in the community. This is a different post for a different day, but it really surprised us that a doctor could tell us our son has CP and we would not immediately be provided with a list of things to do or support groups to join or activities for disabled children. We had to do a lot of work to actively seek these things out, and, indeed, we hit a lot of brick walls when email addresses we were given for groups and activities would come back undeliverable and websites would be defunct. 

One group we learned about was called AngelFish Georgia, which is a swim instruction group for children with disabilities of all kinds. We learned through the website that the instructors are specially trained, and what we read all sounded very promising. I didn't see a summer schedule on the website, so I sent an email to the email address listed, inquiring about the schedule and if there might be a spot for Bert. 

The next morning I happened to be up very early; I can't even remember why. But I woke up to an email response from the director of AngelFish. It sounded almost too good to be true: the director was so welcoming and encouraging, the cost was very low, and the information the director provided was thorough. The director informed me that lessons were held at a pool located in a local park called Bethesda. For the first time since Bert's diagnosis I felt hopeful about a community we could become a part of, but I still felt a little apprehensive since, again, it sounded too good to be true. 

After reading the email, I opened my Bible, hoping to get my day started off right. I opened to the Gospel of John to begin reading where I had left off the day before. The scripture that morning was this:

After this, there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now there is in Jerusalem at the Sheep [Gate] a pool called in Hebrew Bethesda, with five porticoes. In these lay a large number of ill, blind, lame, and crippled. One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been ill for a long time, he said to him, "Do you want to be well?" The sick man answered him, "Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; while I am on my way, someone else gets down there before me." Jesus said to him, "Rise, take up your mat, and walk." Immediately the man became well, took up his mat, and walked.

- John 5:1-9 (New American Bible, Revised Edition read in the Blessed is She Bible) 

A pool called Bethesda ... a large number of ill, blind, lame, and crippled ... Jesus said to him, "Rise, take up your mat, and walk." 

I couldn't get through it without crying, just as I can't get through it without crying now. I just knew God had His hand in this, and it was yet another reminder that I might love my son more than anything, but God loves him more. 

The Birth of Hank

Sitting down to write Hank's birth story is a funny exercise because it couldn't be more different than Bert's, and we still can't believe it. 

If you remember Bert's birth story, parts one and two, or you were part of our lives during that time, you may remember that he arrived at 39 weeks after my water broke at Home Depot, and my labor was long and arduous. Bert's heart rate kept dropping throughout labor, and the only remedy was me lying on my side in a weird and uncomfortable position, not being allowed to move at all, not even to sit up for two minutes to put my contact lenses in. That labor was followed by Bert being born at a low body temperature, with jaundice and polycythemia, the last of which would cause him to go on to be hospitalized at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta for several days during his first week of life. His blood sugar kept crashing, and he failed three hearing tests in the hospital. In short, there was nothing about Bert's labor and delivery that wasn't terrifying and difficult. Of course, if you've been part of Bert's story since that time, you also know that he was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy in April, after having had a diagnosed global development delay since he was nine months old. 

After all of that, Joe and I were pretty terrified for Hank's labor and delivery (and life!), to put it mildly. 

We had an extra long time to be scared, as Hank wouldn't budge and had no intention to! My mom came down to stay with us and care for Bert right before I turned 39 weeks. We figured, well, Bert was born at 39 weeks and typically first children come later, right?

Wrong. 

And honestly, I should have known better. Bert constantly moved moved moved in my belly, and Hank barely ever did. I mean, he moved enough that I knew he was alive and safe, but mostly he was just always curled up. I had at least five ultrasounds for various medical reasons this pregnancy, and in every.single.one. Hank would not cooperate. In fact one ultrasound tech told me that Hank was "the most uncooperative baby" she had seen in a while. He was just always curled up and didn't want to be bothered. 

So he was not going to be bothered to come out either. 

I went to my weekly appointments, everything was fine, Hank and I were both healthy. 

So we all just kept on waiting. 

On Friday, June 18, when I was 40 weeks and 4 days, I saw my doctor, and she said she'd see me again Monday, when I'd be 41 weeks, and we'd reevaluate then. She said I could go all the way to 42 weeks if I wanted. I held steady over the weekend, and when I went in on Monday everything still looked good. Joe and I had discussed it over the weekend, and we decided to do an induction on Wednesday, checking into the hospital on Tuesday night. I do believe that letting babies come when they are ready is best, and there were a lot of factors that went into this decision (that involved no pressure from my practice), and I was super nervous about making the right decision. But the reality was that Hank had to come out sometime. And a major factor that went into our decision was that the wonderful Rachel was working Thursday and Friday, so if we had a baby Wednesday she'd be the person who cared for us both days during our stay. And knowing she would be there gave us so much peace. 

So we checked in Tuesday night at 8 p.m. (after a delish dinner of Chick-Fil-A!) The induction medication was given to me at 9:30 p.m. and the plan was to leave it in till 9:30 a.m. Joe and I both got some sleep, and I woke up around 7 a.m. I went to the bathroom and put my contacts in, then as I was lying back down in bed the contractions started. I watched the clock, and they were coming every three minutes. So the nurse took the medication out around 7:30 a.m., my water broke on its own, and I got my epidural shortly after. Joe and I played trivia (and he also said some crazy nonsense). The contractions spread out, so I got some Pitocin. (I also found out one of my favorite nurse midwives from my practice was on delivery that day, so I was pretty excited.) I was 9 cm dilated, but that's when things stalled out, and I kind of hung out in this limbo for awhile. Although Hank's heart rate dropped a couple times, it was not nearly the crazy crisis that Bert's situation was, and just some simple position changes helped him. Around 3:30 p.m. Joe and I were both listening to some music on our respective phones. I had been given a little extra medication from anesthesiology so I felt just fine. My nurse midwife came in and checked me ... still at 9. Then she told me that Hank was in a weird position; his face was facing sideways. Then she got my nurse (who was also awesome) and was like, "You know what? Let's just try a push on the next contraction, and we'll see what happens." She gave me a quick pushing tutorial, and we went for it on the next contraction. Quickly, both my midwife and the nurse were like -- "Yep, okay, stop. Get everyone in here. It's time." And Joe and I were like, "Okay?" So I basically had to hand Joe my phone and earbuds, and he put them and his own stuff aside and stood up and came over, and I kid you not, Hank was born a few minutes later after three rounds of pushes! My midwife was like, "Man, we could have done this in two if he weren't facing the wrong way!" So I basically went from I'm listening to music on my phone to look I'm holding a baby in about five minutes. There were a couple concerns about Hank's respiration rate (too high) and his blood sugar (too low) over the next several hours, but, again, nothing was nearly at the level that Bert's concerns were. His respiration rate lowered, his blood sugar regulated, he passed his hearing test on the first try, his bilirubin levels were fine. 

In short, nothing happened. No drama at all. 

Joe and I repeatedly looked at each other and said some version of, "This really happens? Like people go to the hospital, have an easy labor, deliver their babies with little trouble, and they're fine? Like, they just go home?" We are honestly still in shock about the whole thing. 

We left on Friday and just ... went home. When he saw his pediatrician on Monday, she said, "Hank is 100 percent healthy." Joe and I have never heard that from a doctor about one of our children before. 

So that's how Hank got here!

***

 

As I read what I wrote above, the immediate word I think of is "boring." I feel like the writing is sub-par, and the story is boring. I mean, it's exciting that Hank has arrived, but overall that story is not at all compelling. But I feel like, in reality, it really was, so I couldn't figure out what was wrong. 

And then something happened that made me realize why. 

A week after Hank came home from the hospital, I had to take him to the Saturday hours clinic at our pediatric practice because he had a little issue with his umbilical cord. (Okay, so maybe Hank did have one small health hiccup, but, and it has to be said, Bert had this same issue, but his resulted in a visit to the surgeon at the children's hospital and a chemical burn, and Hank's ended in his issue going away, so, once again, easy peasy.) I had to drive Hank there by myself because Joe had to be with Bert. I got in the car, hooked up my phone, and hit "play" on iTunes. A song came on, and I started tearing up. I couldn't figure out why, and then it hit me... 

The last time I had listened to music on my phone was minutes before I delivered Hank, so my phone automatically started playing the last song I had been listening to. That song was "The Fighter" by Gym Class Heroes. This was the last song I heard before Hank arrived, and hearing it took me right back. As I listened to it, I realized: the story of my labor and delivery of Hank is not really the story of how Hank got here. The story of Hank's arrival into the world is really about the choice we made to have him. 

The first week we took Bert to his adaptive swim class, I learned that his classmate who has Down Syndrome had a 5-month-old sister. I also learned about other families of children with Cerebral Palsy, Down Syndrome, and rare genetic conditions who also have children younger than the child with the disability. I told Joe I was so inspired by how these families chose to have more children even after their first child was diagnosed with a disability. It just gave me so much hope because the reason you chose to do that is hope. Then I was like, "Wait a minute. That's us. We did that too." Although Bert wasn't officially diagnosed with a disability until I was about seven months pregnant with Hank, we knew Bert had a developmental delay and required physical therapy months before we decided to try for another baby. 

As I listened to "The Fighter" while driving Hank to the doctor that day, I cried because I realized -- that's me. I am a fighter. And it's okay for me to be proud of myself for that. 

During the first trimester of my pregnancy with Hank, I spent tons of time on the phone with various people, fighting for Bert to receive in-person therapy instead of virtual. I would be lying on the couch while Bert took his afternoon nap, not napping myself, but making phone calls. Then I'd go throw up pasta while trying to take a shower because I couldn't make it out of the shower and to the toilet in time. During my pregnancy I took Bert to Atlanta (40 miles each way) to see his neurologist. One of those times Joe was out of town, so I drove him myself (at rush hour). Both of those times, I took Bert inside to his appointment by myself because the doctor was enforcing a one-parent-only rule due to COVID. At the second appointment, I was alone while I was told by the doctor that my child had Cerebral Palsy. Until Bert learned to walk in April, I carried him everywhere. I loaded him in the car and took him back out again. I lifted him into shopping carts, his bed, and the bathtub. I carried him up and down stairs. I carried him into doctor's appointments and physical therapy. I took care of him alone when Joe would go out of town for work. Every single OB appointment I had -- including ultrasounds -- I went to by myself because Joe was not allowed to go due to COVID rules. I took Bert to his MRIs, and before that, I fought to get the children's hospital to allow both Joe and me to accompany him (COVID again). I called several cord blood banks, trying to see if any of them would offer us free or lower-cost banking of Hank's cord blood because of Bert's CP. I filled out the paperwork needed for that. I sought out, obtained, and filled out over 60 pages of paperwork to apply to get Bert extra health care through the state, which required driving papers to his pediatrician to fill out (which I was doing after Hank's due date had already passed in order to meet a firm deadline). 

All pregnancies are hard. All parents work hard for their children. I believe both of those things. But when I think back to my pregnancy with Hank and all I had to do and go through, I think: that was HARD. And that was me. Me. I did that. I got up every day and did that. 

And THAT is the story of Hank. It's not really about his labor and delivery. It's that we ever chose to bring him here to begin with. 

Give 'em hell, turn their heads

Gonna live life till we're dead

Give me scars, give me pain

Then they'll say to me, say to me, say to me

There goes a fighter

There goes a fighter

Here comes a fighter 

That's what they'll say to me, say to me, say to me

This one's a fighter

Bert

Our son Robert David has been hearing since the hour he was born about all the things that are “wrong” with him: as a newborn, he had the wrong body temperature, the wrong blood sugar level, the wrong amount of bilirubin in his body, the wrong amount of red blood cells in his blood, and the wrong hearing. As he grew, he learned that he was behind in sitting, crawling, transitioning, clapping, standing, cruising, talking, and walking. 

What we know about Bert is that he excels in areas that are not measured at doctors’ offices or on growth charts. Bert is funny, silly, kind, friendly, loving, and personable. He can signal a touchdown, fake sneeze, blow a kiss, and point out his Pap Pap in a picture. Bert loves to dance, look out an open window, and play outside. 

Bert was recently diagnosed with spastic diplegia, which is a common form of Cerebral Palsy. CP is a physical disability that affects movement. This means that he has increased muscle tone in his legs, making his leg muscles stiff. Consequently, his movements may appear stiff or awkward. Cerebral Palsy is caused by a brain injury. As Bert’s physical therapist has said, his legs contain normal muscles that are receiving an abnormal message. Some children with CP have accompanying issues such as seizures, learning differences, and speech and language difficulties. We don’t yet know if Bert will experience any of those things. In most cases, CP is caused by a brain injury that occurs during pregnancy. We do not know what caused Bert’s CP, and it is likely we will never know. A wonderful thing is that CP is not degenerative, which means although his symptoms might manifest differently in the future, his brain cannot get worse. Another positive thing is that Bert’s neurologist has said that Bert is “bright and happy” and that he is “doing great.” 

Right now, Bert has no idea that he is different. All he knows is that he has “dinosaur shoes” (one foot in an SMO and one in an AFO) that will make him “strong like a dinosaur.” He knows that he and his best friend Asha both have stiff leg muscles and a hard time walking. He knows that he and his best friend Jane Austen move through the world in exactly the same way: with four limbs on the ground. (Although Bert is slowly learning to walk on his two legs!) 

While we don’t know what Cerebral Palsy means for Bert — every child who has CP presents in a different way, and it’s impossible for doctors to predict what life will be like for Bert 5, 10, 15 years from now — we know what it DOESN’T mean. It doesn’t mean that he will never go to Catholic school, play football, get married, or run in the backyard with his dogs. 

As Bert’s family and friends, here is what we need from you:

- Please do not speak about Bert’s future any differently. If you have always talked about Bert playing football for the Mountaineers, going skiing, or being an astronaut, please keep saying those things to him and about him. It’s not fair to limit the dreams of a child, especially one who is not yet two. There are lots of athletes, actors, and artists who have CP. 

- Please do not treat Bert any differently than you would if he didn’t have CP. Bert does not need extra toys or gifts, and he needs to learn manners and be lovingly disciplined. Treating him differently is not fair to him, to us, or, especially, to his not-yet-born baby brother. 

- If you have children or know children around Bert’s age, please start talking to them about children who aren’t the same as they are (if you haven’t already). Bert might not walk or run quite the same as his peers, and it would be great if he were surrounded by friends who didn’t care that he was different. There are a lot of great books for this — we’re still discovering them! —  but one we really like is called Giraffes Can’t Dance by Giles Andreae, which is about a giraffe who walks and dances differently than the other animals. We also like a book sent to Bert by his aunts Erin and Emma that is called The World Needs Who You Were Made to Be by Joanna Gaines.

- Don’t read everything on the internet. Many websites about CP are run by law firms that want to help parents sue their birth hospitals or doctors. If you want more information about Bert’s diagnosis, one good website is the Cerebral Palsy Foundation. 

Please pray for Bert. Of course, we’d love a healing miracle (we’re asking for the intercession of Blessed Fulton Sheen), but more importantly we just want Bert to have the best care and the best life. And pray for us, too. Not only do we need prayers to be the best parents we can be for Bert, but also, as you might imagine, it is a little bit scary to think of going back to the hospital to have another baby boy in a few short weeks. 

Thank you for being there for us, for asking about Bert, and for praying for us. Please don’t ever worry about saying the “right” thing — there really is no right thing. We just need you to truly listen and to care. We don’t need toxic positivity (“Everything will be okay! Don’t worry!”) or comparison statements (“You’re lucky it’s not worse!”). If you are a loved one who has a child or is expecting a child or is planning for a child, please don’t hide your child’s milestones from us. Your child sitting, walking, or talking doesn’t take anything from Bert, and we will celebrate your child’s accomplishments with you. 

We are blessed in so many ways: among many other things, we have wonderful family and friends, we have the knowledge and desire to care for Bert, we have the resources and support to help provide Bert with what he needs, we have wonderful doctors and therapists, Bert has a mother who is a teacher and knows other educators, and we have a close family member (Emma) who has a master’s degree in recreational therapy and knows exactly how to help Bert enjoy regular activities.

Our hope is that Bert’s life will be a testimony to — and a reminder of — the One who made lame men walk. 

We really appreciate all of you. Feel free to ask us any questions that you have.

Love,

Joe and Anna 

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord. 

- Job 1:21

I prayed for this child, and the Lord has given me what I asked of Him. 

Now I, in turn, give him to the Lord. For his whole life he will be given over to the Lord.

- 1 Samuel 1:27-28

It Came Just the Same

On Friday we found out that our diocese officially cancelled masses through April 19. While I think we all knew this was coming, I have to admit it was truly a gut punch to hear that we will not be assembling for Mass on Easter Sunday. EASTER SUNDAY. 

I am still trying to wrap my mind around this. Easter is the most holy of days in the church year. Easter Sunday is always so beautiful: looking around church at all the people who maybe haven't come in a while, all the people spending time with their families, all the bright and beautiful colors people are wearing after a long Lent and an even longer winter. Even if you don't go to church, I believe Easter is still -- like many holidays -- a time that you want to spend with your extended family, a happy occasion to look forward to. 

After hearing the news, I sat there for a few minutes, just stewing. Easter is cancelled? EASTER is CANCELLED?! I thought about how I won't be able to celebrate Bert's first Easter in the usual way. About how my sweet sister-in-law Alex won't get to join the Catholic church as she has long been planning. My previously upbeat attitude took a sharp turn downward, and I was just ready to throw in the towel. But all of a sudden, out of nowhere as I was mopping the floor, a line popped into my head:

It came just the same. 

You know this line too. Of course, it's from Dr. Seuss's classic book How the Grinch Stole Christmas. And while that story is about another holiday, the more I thought about it the more I realized that the lesson of that book can absolutely be applied to our situation now. More than "can be" -- MUST. 

Remember all the things the Grinch did to "steal" Christmas from the Whos? He thought if he took all their stockings and their toys and their food that Christmas just wouldn't arrive. He would stop them from joining together and singing praises. But remember how confused and surprised the Grinch was when he realized that nothing he did would ruin the Whos' Christmas? Dr. Seuss writes:

Every Who down in Whoville, the tall and the small,

Was singing without any presents at all!

He hadn't stopped Christmas from coming! It came!

Somehow or other, it came just the same!

My friends, will this Easter be weird, painfully weird? Oh yes, it will. But the thing is, even without the egg hunts and the Easter baskets and the picnics and, most importantly, church, Easter will come. Easter cannot be cancelled as I first thought. No amount of social distancing, of illness, of empty grocery stores can stop Easter from coming. Jesus will still be risen, a sign of hope in our hurting world. Like the Whos, we must not focus on what we are losing this Easter, but instead we must focus on what we still have, what we are gaining. 

The virus hadn't stopped Easter from coming! It came!

Somehow or other, it came just the same!

Springtime Bert with his bunny best friend, Benedict.

Spring

Bert woke up this morning at 7 a.m. as he usually does. Joe went in to pick him up and change him as I began to prepare to feed him. Although Bert wakes up happy, he usually starts crying pretty soon after when his brain catches up with his stomach and he realizes he's starving. As he does, Bert started crying as Joe was changing his diaper, and I heard Joe say, "Buddy, you don't have to cry. We've never let you down."

And I stopped in my tracks because ... Joe is a father reassuring his child that he doesn't have to cry because he's never let him down. And I immediately thought: this is exactly what God is saying to us right now, too.

I admit that I have been rather calm about all this, until yesterday when news began to come out that said that the virus may be more harmful to children than previously believed, specifically to babies and toddlers. Most of you know that my son was born with several health complications that landed him in the children's hospital for several days, and my mind immediately went to seeing my son suffer once again. I had to actively remind myself that God has taken care of my son before, and I have no reason to believe He won't this time, too: He's never let us down.

One of the strangest things about all of this is the lack of Mass. My grandfather, the oldest member of our family, is almost 90, and he has never seen this in his lifetime. As of yesterday evening, there are NO public masses anywhere in the United States. None. I said to Joe last night: did you ever think that here in the United States of America we wouldn't be able to go to Mass? It's so unthinkable that it's laughable. But here we are.

We were blessed this morning because our wonderful parish priest, Father Jack, said a Mass that was broadcast on Facebook Live. Joe, Bert, and I sat on our kitchen stools participating with Father Jack as we watched him on our laptop. Father Jack said something that really struck me. He said that God is using the situation we are in to give us a glimpse of what hell is like. Hell is total physical isolation from God and others; it's the ultimate social distancing. And don't we all hate this? As Father Jack also said, we are made for community and family and this is our time to look at all the things in our lives that we take for granted and begin to show our gratitude for them.

And it really made me think because according to Sister Lucia, one of the Fatima children, the final battle between God and Satan will be over marriage and the family. I think we could all agree that we are having marriage and family problems in the world right now. How else could God shift our focus back to our families and force us to really spend time with them than through a situation like this?

I realized this morning that it's Spring. SPRING. What a miracle. And here in Georgia it will be 77 degrees and sunny today. After we watched Mass this morning, Joe and I opened all our windows. We took the time to really clean our house -- not just the usual Thursday cleaning, but all the things we never make time for like scrubbing out our windowsills (those things are gross!) and really mopping our floor with Pledge and not just a quick wipe with the Swiffer. I put away our Snow Lodge candle and pulled out the spring-smelling Cactus Blossom candle I bought right before all this happened.

Are we scared? Yes. Well, I am. Joe, as always, is calm. But I look around my house and realize that Joe is home, we are healthy, our house is clean and smells fresh, and there is fresh air and sunshine pouring in the windows. Those are all blessings. We have to continue to find them where we can.

And remember: Buddy, you don't have to cry. I've never let you down.

Bert thought his legs looked especially toned and trim in this outfit, so he wanted to share a picture of himself with you!

Go Home and Love Your Family

You know when people are asked the question, "What do you want most?" and we all make fun of that cliche answer "World peace"? The truth is, I think all of us would absolutely like to see world peace, we just truly have no idea how to go about it. Or, perhaps, we have so many ideas that we can't agree on or implement one to see if it would work.

Well, years ago Mother Teresa (now Saint Teresa of Calcutta) told us all very simply what we needed to do to achieve world peace:

This quotation has been on my mind the past couple of days as we have all been trying our best to navigate the unprecedented situation we find ourselves in. Right now, we are all being forced, more or less, to be at home with our families. Only our families.

I would obviously never wish for this virus to happen. The amount of death, sickness, fear, selfishness, and other negative things that are happening is truly awful. Like many, I especially worry about our children, making sure they have enough food and worrying about the ones with questionable home lives. But the truth is, this is where we find ourselves and any amount of wishing we weren't or placing blame or whatever else isn't going to help anyone right now. I think what we're left to do right now is try to find any good we can in this situation. And here's what I've been thinking about that:

I think most of us would agree that Americans are very "busy" people. I think busy is sometimes worn as a badge of honor for people, like we feel if we are not busy busy busy then we're not doing what we're "supposed" to do. I can be very guilty of this also. When I first became a stay-at-home mother this school year, I found myself "justifying" my day to Joe when he got home from work (even though he didn't ask and didn't care): I would enumerate the list of ways I had contributed to our family that day -- laundry, cleaning, making dinner -- as though taking care of 1-month-old baby, or, heck, just simply being a person in this family, wasn't enough. I had to train myself to think differently, and I'm still working on it. I feel like most people I know are always running around: they don't have time to cook dinner or eat as a family, they don't have time to read or rest, they don't have time to do things just for fun. Do you know anyone like this? But think about what's going on now. We are literally being told -- almost ordered -- to just stay home. We can't go to work or school. We can't go to restaurants or bars. We can't go to the movies or the library (sob!). Kids can't go to afterschool activities or sports. Heck, we can't even walk in the park with our friends unless we stand six feet away from them. The only thing left for us to do is to stay at home. That's it. We have to stay at home with our immediate families.

Maybe we could see this aspect as a blessing? A way to promote world peace, as Mother Teresa said.

Again, I know that there are many people who have incredibly difficult home lives. There are also so many people -- many I know and love -- who are doctors, nurses, paramedics, law enforcement, and people who provide products to these industries and who do not have the luxury of deciding to stay at home. But for those of us who are able to stay at home maybe we could take this opportunity to slow down, reset, and rediscover our love of a simple life at home with our families?

Joe is having to work some right now. He is trying to do as much as he can from home and limit his out-of-home work to smaller places and spaces. But he has been here for breakfast these past few days, and it's been so nice. He usually only eats with us on Saturdays and Sundays, but this week Joe has been able to feed Bert his breakfast. It's been so wonderful for both of them. Joe has been here more often, which means instead of seeing Bert only from 7-8 a.m. and then again from 6-7 p.m. Joe gets to see him during a usual day doing his usual things that Joe hardly ever gets to see. I choose to see this as a blessing to our family.

I spent a couple of days being very upset (I mean actually crying upset) over the selfishness I was reading about online and seeing on the news: all of the hoarding of supplies and not leaving things for others. It was really getting me down, but then I realized that there was nothing I could do about it and that I needed to focus on better things. And when I looked around I realized that I was seeing people donate to food banks, the school cooks and bus drivers in my home county of Cabell, West Virginia, making sure that children have food to eat, people offer to do shopping for the elderly and others at-risk, people sharing their toilet paper and paper towels with others, people calling to check on each other to be sure everyone is okay. Personally, many of my friends have checked in with me to be sure we're all doing okay. Our local friends have called and texted to see if they can get anything for us at the store or add anything to their grocery pick ups for us. Guys, this is amazing. What a wonderful display of community.

I was also telling Joe last night that I have already become more grateful for the things I have previously taken for granted. One thing we're low on is paper towels, so Joe and I literally ask each other in a situation now, "Is this a good use of a paper towel?" I'll admit that I am a HUGE over-user of paper towels, and I am learning now not to be. I am also especially grateful for my Walmart grocery pick up I have been doing every Tuesday at 11 a.m. When I couldn't do it this week, it was hard for me. I miss my schedule and my nice pick up guy! (I'm worried about him and hope he's okay. We see him basically every week!) I am no longer taking for granted that if I want a dozen eggs I can just go to the store and get them. As a first-time stay-at-home mom who previously worked outside the home and was "busy" (see above!) and who now is home with a baby all day, I am definitely not going to take for granted the opportunities I have to get outside the house and see people, now that I can't. Most importantly, I will not be taking for granted going to church, now that that has also been taken from us. (Still cannot believe this. I talked to my grandmother yesterday. She is 86 and my grandfather is almost 90, and neither of them has ever known Mass to be cancelled.)

These are indeed tough times. There are so many unknowns. It's easy to let fear and panic take over, but I really don't think that will get us anywhere. I think we have to remember what Mother Teresa said and go home and love our families. We also have to find the best in ourselves and remember our responsibility to each other.

Joe and I do a nightly devotional, and it always starts with a verse. The following verse was last night's. I was simply floored when I saw it. It is not a verse I am familiar with, but I thought it was so pertinent to what is going on right now.

May God continue to bless you, your family, our nation, and our world. If there's anything I can do to help you, please let me know.

I am Like You I am Like You

I was re-reading my favorite poem last night, and it made me think of someone I love very much, and so I shared it with her.

But then I realized, I love you, too, and maybe you should read this also.

It's called "Come Closer" by Anis Mojgani, and you can read it here. I have also included a video below where the poet is reciting this poem himself.

Guys, I beg you ... listen to these words:

He made you and he was happy
You make the Lord happy

Did you hear that? Did you hear that?

It's all lovely. All of it.

May we all remember that everyone -- no matter how happy they look or seem on the outside, no matter how perfect their life looks to you or if you can't believe they'd have any reason in the world to feel bad -- is hurting. Something is hurting them. You would not believe the amount of people you encounter on a daily basis who are not sure they will be able to make it another day. Truly. We must speak life into each person we meet, always. Guys, we have to. We must. People are the only important things in life. Relationships. The rest of it, it doesn't matter. It just does not matter. Loving people is what matters. It's the only thing that matters.

Whatever is hurting you, please know

I too at times am filled with so much fear, so much fear, but like a hallway must find the strength to walk through it.
Walk through this with me.

I am like you 
I am like you

Walk through this with me
Walk through this with me



Dedicated to you. You know who you are. And I love you. So much.

Have Mercy On Me.

In the early afternoon on Sunday, I found out that my cousin died suddenly. It was quite a shock. Yesterday, Monday, around the same time of day, I found out that our former neighbor/friend who has been battling breast cancer for a while died. Both my cousin and my friend were young, not older than 40.

I received the text about our friend -- from her mother -- when Bert and I were driving to a store. When we arrived at the store I just sat in the parking lot in my car and cried. As I sat, listening to the rain pound down on my windshield and hearing the sounds of my son in the backseat, my first thought (after thinking of my friend's family, of course) was

God, have mercy on me, a sinner. 

As I sat there thinking of my friend, the only child of the mother she left behind and herself the mother of a 10-year-old daughter, I recalled the things I have complained about lately:

- The dogs shaking their fur on everything
- My bras not fitting (too big)
- My bras not fitting (too small)
- Having to get up early
- Bert whining
- My new cell phone won't fit on the wireless charger as easily as the old one

God, have mercy on me, a sinner. 

I mean really, right? Now, please don't misunderstand me. Something that really bothers me is when people respond to others' suffering or pain by saying things like "You're lucky it wasn't worse" or "There are people who have it worse than you do." Responding like this when someone is sharing his or her heart with you only shuts them down and shames them. In fact, I read an article about this very thing the other day, and I couldn't agree more. Suffering is not a contest of who has it worse. 

But guys, look at my list. I wasn't complaining about things that are of any consequence whatsoever. I am getting ACTUALLY PHYSICALLY AND MENTALLY IRRITATED because some of my nursing bras are now too large. (Oh, and I actually have ones that fit fine, I just have more that don't fit, so clearly a valid complaint.)

It seems that there has been so much sadness lately, specifically with untimely deaths. This type of tragedy has hit everyone from celebrities such as Kobe Bryant to a 50-something father at Fatima in West Virginia to my cousin and my friend. After each death, Joe and I would just look at each other and say, "You never know." And you don't. I think many people say this sort of thing after hearing about a tragedy, but I am ashamed to say that I think like that for about 30 minutes and then go back to failing to appreciate my husband, son, etc. because, you know, my bras don't fit and I have one more dirty pan than will fit in the dishwasher.

One very ironic thing in my behavior that I've noticed recently is that I will think back to a period of my life or an event that took place in the past and think, "I wish I would have enjoyed that more at the time" or "I wish I could go back there and experience that again." And I think these things WHILE FAILING TO ENJOY EXACTLY WHERE I AM. My son is over 6 months old now. He wears 9-12 month clothes, has two teeth, eats solid food, and is about to sit up on his own. We just packed away some of his things that have been staples since the beginning (like his Boppy Lounger), and it makes me so sad to see these things go because they have been such a big part of our lives. But do you think I loved looking at Bert on that dang thing every day? No I did not. A lot of the time I was probably just wishing he'd stop crying. Will I ever learn?

Today there are two mothers and two fathers who are grieving the loss of their children. There are two daughters and one son grieving the loss of their parents. If I allow myself to put myself in their places for longer than a moment, I will shut down entirely, as I cannot fathom how they must be feeling.

God, please give me the grace and wisdom that I need to appreciate my life: the big things and the little things, the wonderful things and the petty annoyances. Give me the gratitude I need to enjoy every moment and the understanding I need that it could be taken away at any moment. Open my eyes so that I see myself and others the way that you do. Bolster me with the perseverance to always say and do what is right. Bless my words so that they can be used to lift others up and not bring them pain, embarrassment, or stress. Allow me to feel that each day is a gift from you so that I may live life the way You intended: with joy and peace, loving You and loving all of Your children the way you do. 

"I can see Your heart
Eight billion different ways
Every precious one
A child You died to save
If You gave Your life to love them so will I"
- Hillsong UNITED

"I was held in Your arms
Carried for a thousand miles to show
Not for a moment did You forsake me"
- Meredith Andrews


May Chris's and Mona's souls, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. 

Our Neighbors

I was going to write an update today on the 2020 Reading Challenge (read my January book!), but something has come up, and I feel called to write about it on this blog.

Last year (my first in Georgia), Joe and I lived in a townhouse in Sandy Springs. There were several other townhouses in our community, but we never really go to know anyone except for one family that lived next door.

This family is a three-generation, all-female household that includes Mildred, the grandmother, who is 70; Mona, the daughter, who is a middle school teacher; and Chayce, who is 11, is in the 5th grade, and is a ballerina. Early on in our time living in Sandy Springs, Joe and I were taking Jane and Asha for a walk when Mildred introduced herself to us. In the course of our chat, we found out that Mona is (and has been for several years) suffering from breast cancer. We found out that Mildred, a retired schoolteacher, had come out of retirement, sold her home, and moved all of her things into storage to move in with her daughter and granddaughter to help take care of them since Mona could no longer work.

Over the course of the year we lived next to them, I believe we only saw Mona one time because she can so rarely go outside and is constantly ill. We saw Mildred fairly often, on our way in and out during the day, and also because Joe would occasionally work on Mildred's car. Joe actually saw and talked to her more often, due to working on her car and also my pregnancy which kept me in bed for several weeks last winter. When Joe had to tell Mildred we were moving, it was awful. She cried. Honestly, we cried too because, although we are SO HAPPY to be living where we are now, it's about 45 minutes from Mildred's family (without traffic), and they were awesome neighbors.

We keep in touch with Mildred and her family through texts, and we took Bert to visit them in early December so that they could meet him and Joe could work on Mildred's car. It was wonderful for me because I got to sit and visit with all three women, share Bert with them, and really get to talk to and get to know Mona for the first time. That day, I discovered that Mona had been a middle school teacher before she got ill. I also learned the BIGGEST NEWS EVER which is that Chayce was getting pointe shoes for the first time! (If you are a ballerina, or know a ballerina, you know what a big deal this is!) I was so touched when I saw that they were displaying Bert's birth announcement in their living room along with their family photos.

I'm not clear on all the details, but I know that Mona is about to have a surgery which will require an 8-10 day long hospital stay.

I say all this to say, Mildred's family could really benefit from some financial help. I know that the holidays are recently over, and many of us are recovering financially from buying gifts, travelling to see family, and donating to charities. I also know that there are so very many worthy causes that need our financial help and that so many of you reading this are constantly giving to charities, your church, and your neighbors in need. And may God bless you for it. I am going to post a link to a Go Fund Me page for Mildred and her family. I think what has touched me the most about their request is that they are only asking for exactly the amount they need so that Mildred can be with Mona in the hospital and take care of her at home for one week after: $1,520. Exactly. They are not asking for help with medical bills, groceries, rent, or anything of that nature. (Which I would totally understand if they were asking for those things. I lived where they live, and I know how the landlord is, which is terrible, so I know how much their rent must be.) I know this family, and I know how difficult it must be for Mildred to ask people for their money. She is such a hardworking person, and she continues to work hard to be the sole support for her family. It must be very difficult for her to admit she needs help, and I know she is doing all she can. One thing I try to tell other people -- and remind myself when I can -- is that we have the opportunity to bless other people when we ask for their help. If you allow someone to help you with something, it totally blesses their life because it makes them feel good that they can help you. Amazing. So if you need help, please ask!

If you are reading this, could you pray for this family? Guys, I'm going to just say it: we are scared about Mona. It doesn't look good. But we have faith and trust in God to do what He knows is best.

Go Fund Me link: https://www.gofundme.com/f/mvkg5h-medical?fbclid=IwAR1YSONQK-HYK4VaNwZ-BEL_3wD50lECuIU6C2NtIiWY1flabUmqzDdsZrA

*I just want to be clear that I'm not sharing personal details here that were not already publicly shared on the Go Fund Me page. The only non-public information I have shared is about our personal interactions with our neighbors. 

2020 Vision

I hope you all have had a great holiday season and are having a wonderful start to the new year. If I could categorize our holiday season, one word I would have to use is busy. Of course, many people have busy holiday seasons, but ours seemed particularly tough this year as we navigated two 8-hour car rides to West Virginia (Thanksgiving and Christmas) with both our infant and our two dogs. Complicating matters was that Joe was out of town at his company's annual national meeting the week before Christmas, so I was home alone with Bert for an extended period of time, trying to get us all ready to travel.

First Christmas as a family of three!

Truly, we have been completely out of routine since before Thanksgiving. As much as we've enjoyed seeing our families and friends and celebrating a beautiful holiday season, we are also so happy to be home in our house, getting back in to regular life and cozy-ing up for the winter.

2019 was an extremely challenging year for our family. Of course, it was the best year ever in regards to the birth of our son, but moving to a new state and starting a new job was really, really hard on me and took a toll on my physical, mental, and spiritual health. We also bought our first house, had our first baby, and dealt with our son's post-birth health complications. This time last year I spent every non-school hour in bed, dealing with the sickness that often comes with the first trimester of pregnancy. So, in a lot of ways last year, we were just trying our best to survive. For a while we lived in what Jennifer Fulwiler calls "bare minimum mode" where you basically do the bare minimum it takes to survive. While there are seasons of life where this is exactly the place you should be in, I also know that it's important to not live in bare minimum mode.

Our 9 of 2019.

Joe and I got home from traveling December 30, so we spent New Year's Eve and Day in our new home. I'm glad we did so because by the time New Year's Eve rolled around, we had unpacked from our trip and started some laundry and were beginning to get the pieces of our lives back together. We decided we were not making any New Year's Resolutions. We have never really done this, and we're okay with it because it's easy for a person like me to miss a day of journaling/exercising/not eating cookies or whatever and then feel like a COMPLETELY HORRIBLE PERSON for failing that day. So, no good. Instead, after we went to Mass and put Bert to bed, we ate some appetizers and had a couple of drinks and made some goals for our family. Some things we'd like to work to accomplish in 2020. What really helped was we used this printout that allowed us to organize our goals by category. We feel really good about the manageable and measurable goals we came up with. We tried to be as realistic as possible. For example, while we'd like to take a neighborhood walk with Bert every night, we know that there are nights Joe will get home late, or it will be raining, or we just won't feel like it. So instead, our goal is to take two family walks per week. If we do more, GREAT! But we feel confident we can accomplish two. One important thing we decided was to check in with each other once a month to evaluate how our goals are going. I think that this will really help us stay on track and feel good about where our family is.

Our simple and cozy New Year's Eve.

One exciting goal for ourselves this year is we have decided to try and take on the 52 Hike Challenge. Joe LOVES the outdoors, and I like the outdoors, and we want our son to love being outside, too. So we've decided to take a family hike once per week in a new location each week. We use the term "hike" loosely because we have a 5-month-old son who cannot sit up, let alone walk, so he has to be pushed in a stroller. When he's able to sit up on his own, Joe will carry him in this really cool backpack his sister gave us when Bert was born. We are adapting this goal to fit our family, and we are excited to do it! We took our first family hike today, and we are so happy we spent a couple hours outdoors exploring somewhere new. 

Our first family hike of the year at the Gwinnett Environmental Heritage Center. Bert clearly had a blast.

I also used Jennifer Fulwiler's "Word of the Year" generator to get our family word for the year: Dream. I am really excited about this word because I've been telling Joe a bunch over the last year that we need to have more dreams for our family: places we'd like to go and things we'd like to do and accomplish over the course of our lives. (Basically, right now all we have is retire and follow College GameDay around to every location for the entire season. Which is an awesome goal, but it's the only one we've got!) I feel like this word was perfectly assigned to us this year. 

Our family's word for the year.

Along with our family goals, an individual goal I have this year is to be less judgmental of people and work harder to understand where they are coming from and what their motivations are. 

We were in bare minimum mode for a lot of 2019, but we are not there anymore. We are working as a family and as individuals to grow and learn and take care of our physical, mental, and spiritual health  so we can be better spouses, parents, children, and friends.

There is always excitement in the new year, but, for me at least, there is always a little fear too. Fear of the unknown and of what "might" happen. But I pray to understand that things will always happen, and that God did not give us a spirit of fear but of power, love, and self-control.

I pray that you and your family will have a blessed, joyful, healthy, and magic 2020.

Month Four.

It is hard to believe that it is already December and Advent is upon us. It's equally hard for me to believe that tomorrow Bert will be four months old. It's a cliche, but it is for a reason, that time flies. The time between Bert's birth in early August and now seems like it has gone by in a blur, but it also seems like so much time has passed. I can't figure out when we switched from short sleeve onesies to survive the heat to long sleeve fleece sleepers and coats when we go outside. It's never one day, it seems, but a series of moments: first you exchange your shorts for sweatpants, then you put away your flats and pull on your boots, then you find a cardigan, then your winter coat. A series of shifts so light they almost don't seem perceivable until you open your eyes one morning and realize you've turned your heat on and it's cold when you get out of the shower.

We have settled into a routine here, in a manner of speaking. I'm still very much baby-led: Bert eats when he's hungry and sleeps when he's tired, and in between we read, play, stretch, sing, go to the library, get our groceries, and run errands. We are blessed that Bert is mostly a cheerful, easygoing little fella. How his life started seems to have left no permanent mark on him, or, if it has, I pray that the mark it left is remembering how his parents never left him and how many people love him.

For myself, I am doing all right and try and take things day by day. I have not experienced the sadness and hopelessness that can accompany post-partum depression, but I have realized these last couple of months that my post-partum symptom is anger. I am quick to get angry and quick to stay angry, and I have a short temper. I really hold on to offenses and am unable to forgive and forget. The worst part is I'm the kind of person who, when I get angry about one thing, easily slides into recalling all the reasons I am angry until I am just one big ball of uncontrollable anger. I don't think this is my traditional behavior, but I have absolutely recognized it in myself these past weeks. I am not proud of it. I wish it weren't so. I do my best to control it, but sometimes (frequently) I fail miserably. I know it is taking a toll on Joe, and I'm sure it's taking a toll on my other family members and friends and probably randoms in the community that come into contact with me, too. Sometimes when I think about it I feel overwhelming guilt and quickly begin to beat myself up. The guilt compounds the anger, and I'm right back to where I started. I wish I could say that I'll start counting my blessings and realizing how lucky I am in life and that would take the anger away, but I know that it might not. So instead I'm trying to do those things while also taking life on a moment-by-moment basis and giving myself space and permission to mess up.

I think that because I was fortunate to recover physically pretty quickly from Bert's birth that I really didn't and haven't given myself time to fully recover in other ways. I know Bert is four months old now, but on the other hand Bert is only four months old. And this also corresponds with the holiday season which brings its own stress. I know in America it seems we give mothers three months to get it together, but I promise you that it's not possible. At the end of three months, at least in our case over here, it seems I finally got into a semblance of a routine and caught up on life and just now am becoming able to tackle my own mental and emotional health and coming to terms with the fact that I had a baby. And I'm not teaching this year after all I went through to become a teacher. And all my friends and family live 500 miles away. And I've got laundry to do and a house to clean and groceries to buy and dinners to make. And am I a good mother and I'm still Joe's wife not just a mom and oh my gosh did we forget about the dogs because they're our family too and I'm pretty sure there's a Palmetto bug over there and how do I always forget to buy nail polish remover and holy crap Christmas cards.

Some of you may be reading this and rolling your eyes and internally chastising me for being a complainer. You may be thinking that so many people have it so much harder than I do, and man, you'd be so right. As I said before I do try to remember how fortunate I am, but sometimes I really come up short. So sometimes all I can do is share how I am honestly feeling and continue to pray for the grace and strength to do better.

Whatever you're struggling with this season, I'd be happy to pray for you. One thing I have learned for sure is that everyone (E V E R Y O N E) has something they're worried about, that is causing them stress, or that is exhausting them. Maybe your particular battle and mine are two different battles. Perhaps you're praying for the very thing that I have. Perhaps you don't even know why you're so tired or angry or upset. But remember: we all carry weight differently. Your burden might seem easy to carry to someone else, but you carry it differently. And that's okay.

Some beautiful photos of our family recently captured by the practically-perfect-in-every-way Maggie!

Three Years Later.

September 11 is of course an important day to remember in our nation. But it is also an important day in Joe and my life together because it was September 11, 2016 that we had our first date.

It was a Sunday, so I had gotten up and gone to church with my parents as usual. Later that day, I showered and got ready (wore a blue flowered dress and took a cardigan with me, naturally) and met Joe for lunch at 2 p.m. at Black Sheep Burrito in Huntington. (Old location for people who know what I'm talking about!) Joe was already there when I arrived, and we spent the next few hours sitting together talking, eating tacos, and drinking beer. We also went a for a really nice walk in Ritter Park.

The following year we commemorated our first date (although a couple days early since Joe lived in Georgia, and I still lived in West Virginia) by once again going to Black Sheep and sitting together talking, eating, and drinking beer.

Last year we were married, so for the first time we lived in the same place on September 11, so although we couldn't be at Black Sheep, the day once again found us sitting together talking, eating, and drinking our beer.

Yesterday as you know was September 11. This year was different, though. Although Joe and I were still sitting together and talking, it wasn't at Black Sheep or even at our house. 2 p.m. found us sitting side by side in a surgeon's office, our sweet Bert between us, listening to a doctor talk to us about another of Bert's health issues. In fact, the whole day went by yesterday without either of us acknowledging the anniversary of our first date.

Joe and I around the time of our first date.

On one hand, maybe that's a little bit sad. But on the other hand, isn't this what we're really all hoping for when we go on those first dates? Not to be in doctors' offices with our infants, of course, but I mean to even be sitting there together with a baby at all. Before we go on those first dates I think all -- or at least most -- of us are hoping that we will have finally found our person and that years down the road we may be too busy living our regular, everyday lives together to do more than smile for a moment when we arrive at the anniversary of that first hopeful date, if we even are able to take a moment to remember it at all.

Something else I thought about yesterday is how much life can change in such a short time. If you would have told me on my way to Black Sheep to meet Joe for that first date that we'd be sitting in the first home we bought together with our baby son just three short years later, I don't know if I would have believed you, but here we are. Three years ago I was Anna Lafferre, teaching at Fatima in Huntington, and living in my little apartment with Baby Snicks. Now, I am Anna Kraft, staying at home with my newborn son after teaching at Saint Jude for a year in Atlanta, living in my first home with my husband, son, and two dogs. Things really can change so very quickly.

Joe and I with newborn Bert, three years later. 

The beginning of a relationship is so exciting: getting to know someone, finding out how compatible you are, feeling that magic spark of something special. Those days are beautiful. But there is something magical, too, in the mundane day-to-dayness of life: paying your mortgage, buying the toothpaste, and talking about your worries and fears about a child. It was so fun at the beginning of our relationship when Joe would send me flowers or get me something he thought would help make my life easier. But I would trade all the flowers in the world for the Joe who changes Bert's diapers throughout the night, gets up and goes to work all day for our family, and changes his work schedule on a moment's notice to sit beside me at Bert's doctor appointment.

I once said to my friend Sarah about my friend Story that I felt like I owed Story so much for all she's done for me, but there was no way I could ever repay her. (Incidentally, Sarah, I owe you so much too for all you've done for me!) I made the comment that, "I mean, I keep showing up for Story's plays and things like that ..." And Sarah said those profound words that have continued to stick with me:

YOU KEEP SHOWING UP.

Amen, Sarah. Brilliant. That is how we show people we love them. Joe showed up to our first date fully engaged, never pulling out his phone or otherwise making me feel I wasn't worth his time. And I remember this, whether or not we were able to recall the anniversary of our first date this year. And Joe keeps showing up three years later. That's what real love is. Whether it's a romantic relationship or a friendship or a family relationship -- THAT'S WHAT REAL LOVE IS. You show up, and you keep showing up.

Surrender

I am having a really hard time lately.

I can't really go into more detail than that (and Joe and I are great), but there is something in my life right now that is causing me a lot of anguish.

Frustration.

Exhaustion.

Uncertainty.

Confusion.

And I don't know what to do about it. There seems to be little I can do about it right now.

Today was more of the same, and I'm always thinking I just won't make it.

But, boom boom boom -- just like that -- three emails from beloved former students. (EDIT: As of 10:28 p.m. it's now four. FOUR beloved former students.)

One when I got up. One when the school day had just ended. One this evening. (EDIT: And now, one right before bed. That's when I got up, after school, when I got home, and right before bed.)

Three emails that three precious souls took their precious time to write to me. They made my day and have given me the strength to live to fight another day.

And that got me thinking that over the past few months, God has come through for me in small ways every moment that I've needed something. What He has NOT done is delivered me from my situation, given me a way out, or explained anything to me. But He truly has given me little pieces -- just enough -- to keep me going. To keep me from falling apart.

He is giving me exactly what I need. No more, no less. He's not giving me a way out of my circumstances, but He is giving me the exact amount of grace I need in order to endure and get up and do it again tomorrow. He's giving me the exact amount (the EXACT amount) of drops of love I need to know that He is there and He hears me while also making sure that I am completely reliant on Him to keep going.

Is this what they call surrender? I think it might be. I might not be happy about what's going on. I certainly don't understand it. I absolutely can't figure out what the point is. But I do see that He sees it. And He is allowing it. So this must be His will. And I must surrender to it, content in the promise of His grace.

Fulton and Me.

Friends, I am so sorry it's been months since I've written. As we are all busy, I would never use that as an excuse. What I will say is that it has been a huge season of change for me. Joe and I are getting married in 39 days. I am packing up to start a new life in Georgia. I have officially given my current job notice that I will be leaving at the end of this school year, and I have accepted a new position at a Catholic school in Atlanta. I am learning to be a family with a small dog. I am packing, saying goodbye, and grieving my "old" life while I rejoice and make room for the "new."

Something so poignant happened today, and it's something so profound, so clearly a sign of God's love and mercy, that I had to stop what I was doing and write it out.

Five years ago, I wrote a post entitled "Where I've Been ... Or the Night Bishop Fulton Sheen Saved My Life." I didn't come out and say these exact words then, but with five years of perspective and distance, I can say them now. I almost killed myself that night. I desperately wanted to. I was in the darkest place of my life, a place I hope you never are, and a place I hope to never be again. As the title of that post said, Bishop Fulton Sheen saved my life. Literally. No one will ever be able to convince me that the God didn't work through Fulton Sheen that night to save my life.

Since that time, I've gone on to become a teacher, which is what, I believe, God always wanted for me to do for Him. I met Joe, the best man on earth, and we are getting married. I lost my beloved Baby Snicks, and he sent me Jane Austen to love. I still have days when I feel down, depressed, scared, and sad, but nothing like where I was that night in 2013. Through the mercy of God and Bishop Fulton Sheen's intercession, I am where I am today.

"Where I am ..." a funny turn of phrase considering what I'm about to tell you.

Joe and I confirmed that we have a lovely townhouse to rent in Georgia today, and, as I already said, I have accepted a job at a Catholic school in Atlanta. Specifically, where is this home and this school?

Fulton County.

Venerable Fulton Sheen, pray for us. 



(If you are suffering from a mental health issue, please ask someone for help. Please talk to me if you want to. I love you, and I know exactly what you're going through. Also, I want you to know that God doesn't love me any more than He loves you. I pray He will deliver you as He did me.)