I'll meet you there

This morning started out kind of rough.  An early alarm for my hard-working husband {good preparation for the reality of the first day of school next week, I suppose}.  The unfortunate continuation of a headache I was hoping to stave off with a good night's sleep {but instead woke up with blinding pain and the urge to take a melon baller to my eyeball and right side of my brain}.  The remnants of first trimester nausea {probably exacerbated by headache}.  Joy.

But the hardest part wasn't even something that was out of my control.  The hardest part was my response {or lack thereof} to my darling just-about-kindergartener when she requested help choosing her outfit for the day.  Don't get me wrong.  I know that my opinions matter zero, and that in fact, me 'helping' her is really me just holding up a wide variety of items for her to see and touch and nuzzle and smell so she can make a well-educated decision on what matches her feelings at that particular moment.  {Because, letsbehonest.  She's going to change a half dozen times today.  Minimum.}

As she sat on the floor 'W' style {despite my multiple requests to change positions}, the fashion experience began.  As tradition has shown me, the best way to approach this is to create a little fashion 'capsule'--three top options {striped, strawberry, and mermaid} and three bottom {mint, neon yellow, blue & purple stripe}--that can work with one another {but only if you're 5, the third child, and your mother has really given up caring so long as you leave the house clothed}.  This technique not only gives her practice in making choices, it often yields results in a reasonable amount of time.

Until it doesn't.

Sparing the details, let's just say mama lost her cool.  Inaudible whining, claims that her underwear wasn't 'fresh' enough {ahem...mom forgot to use 'smell goods' in the dryer}, and a determined obsession with the word 'no' put me into a tailspin.  My tone was not nice.  It was not calm, understanding, or even remotely polite.  Instead, I slipped her jammies off her body, wrapped her up tight into a pre-determined 'soft blankey', and left her to cry on the couch while I got showered and dressed for the day.

Somewhere in the middle of wash rinse repeat, I found myself in the middle of hosting a one-mam pity party featuring a heavy dose of self-loathing and complaining.  And that's when God interrupted me.

Stopped me right in the tracks of my tears and gave me perspective.

This morning I was presented with a capsule of things to deal with and choose from.  I dealt with the various physical ailments that were affecting me but when I stopped to think about it, I really hadn't released the power they held over me.  I had three top options--early wake up, an awful headache, a bout of nausea.  And my three bottom options--my kids, my patience, my faith.  All three top options were bothersome; a pain {literally}, and had the power to affect my entire day.  I couldn't see how any of them would be able to coordinate well with my three bottom options; so I gave up trying.  I whined and complained and essentially said that what I was given to deal with today wasn't fresh enough for my liking.

But God didn't care.  

Wait.  That sounds harsh.  

He does care--more than we can even envision--which is why, when life hands you a crappy capsule of options, He's there.  Guiding, nudging, teaching.  We're not promised to have a life filled with ease and comfort {I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble. But take heart!  I have overcome the world. ~John16:33}.  

What we are promised, however, is that in the midst of our strife, our trials, pain, discouragement...He is there.  Our comfort and peace is found in knowing He understands us; hears our cries; loves us.  No matter how big or small our troubles may seem, His Word brings peace and calm, wrapping us in a big hug that lets us know it will all be okay in the end; that we will find our way out from the dark.

Sigh.

I'm really, really glad He didn't leave me crying on the couch; but sought me out, crying in the shower.  

I quickly found a comfortable outfit {and yes, it is fresh} and made my way back to the little mound of sensory-struggling blankey and curls that was gripping the remote control with brute force.  She wanted no parts of her mama, no parts of choosing an outfit, no parts of anything aside from Hotel Transylvania 2.  

So I just sat alongside.  And I leaned in, squeezed her not-so-little-anymore bare foot that peeked out from the pre-approved soft blanket.And I watched her. Soon, I watched her grip on the remote loosen, saw the blanket shift as her form turned toward me, and soon had gorgeous chocolate brown, inquisitive, innocent eyes starting back at my recently dried ones.

A smile.  

Silent, innocent, sweet.  Grace.  

And before I knew it; He met us there.  

I'm really, really glad I didn't leave her there {for too long} crying on the couch, but sought her out sniffling on the ottoman {she definitely was not going to stay where her mama had put her}.

And I'm really, really glad that she found a comfy, approved, fresh outfit for the hour or two she'll wear it.  

And that my headache has subsided.

Bless.

life from a dead fish

One look around any given store and you can surmise that summer is winding down and the new school year is resting upon the horizon; taunting us with it's alarm buzzing, homework folders, needing to know the day of the week, and earlier bedtimes {bless}.  There are mixed blessing in the season of change that is rapidly approaching.

So rather than attempt to dissect the random, large collection of shopping bags scattered about on the floor of my living room; I made the executive mom decision to pack up and hit the beach with some friends yesterday.  

I'd like to say I've become somewhat of a beach day-tripper, level: expert over the past couple summers.  From getting the entire crew up, ready, and out the door in under 30 minutes, to our minimalist approach to beachy accouterments, to making sure that we don't bring half of the coastline back with us in our freshly vacuumed mom-mobile {thank you, hubby, for keeping Frosty clean!}.  Yesterday was really no different; and with 6 capable kiddos between my sweet friend and me; we moms were set up and in relax mode in record time.  

I don't know that there's one iota of my soul that doesn't cross into that magical space between heaven and earth when I smell the salty air, hear the surf, and observe the sheer magnificent beauty and rhythm of waves as they find own way to kiss the coastline.  It's like sitting right alongside God himself and with an affirmative nod of the head, mirroring his reaction to His creation.

It is GOOD.

And oh, is it ever.  

The ebb and flow of the waves mimicked the way in which my friend and I interacted with the kids all day.  They flowed in for sunscreen, snacks, and silly stories; and ebbed back out for all of their sand-and-salt activity.  A perfect balance of parenting and friending that filled our souls.

At one particular 'flow'; our bookends; my youngest and my friend's oldest; came dashing up the beach with their floats and the excited squeals that could only mean they've come across some kid-version of treasure.  

And there it was.  Just over a foot long, shining in the sunlight, unmoving.  A sand trout, according to my dear friend with far greater fishing experience than I {granted: my experience?  does shopping for goldfish at Pet Smart count?}. 

Our girls were pretty thrilled to have found this gem from the deep; and as it lay there in the float, we all noticed it's gills straining ever so slightly, gasping for air.  Or, I guess it would be gasping for water?  I know.  I won't be adding 'angler' to my resume any time in the near future ever.  

When it became obvious that the fish might still have a fighting chance, they dashed to the water in heoric form and, for the next nearly 20 minutes, my friend's sweet oldest daughter tried guiding that fish, holding it while she swam it along in the water, devoting all of her attention to giving that fish a second chance at life in the Gulf of Mexico. 

Alas.  It became evident {more quickly to us moms than that precious preteen, but bless her heart for her efforts} that the 'treasure' discovered along the calm of the waves was in fact not going to make it.  Sadly, the sand trout was returned to the surf, destined to make some salty scavengers very happy.

On the ride home, my ever-inquisitive, bleeding heart youngest daughter pelted me with questions about that fish.  Why and how and where and when and what until I finally promised her ice cream if she would let me drive in peace.  {In related news: I'm running for mom of the year}

But as the peace that quickly ensued after my frozen dairy promise took hold in my heart, I found my thoughts turning back to that stinkin' fish.  Back to the time and tender effort that my friend's daughter dedicated to trying to get it to swim.  I thought about that point when she realized it was a lost cause, and that there was nothing left to do but to return the fish to the place from whence it came and move forward.  

What a hard decision.  That point when you are smacked with reality, gut-wrenching and heart-breaking, scary and uncertain; that place of 'what now' that alters how you're going to move forward.  

For our girls, it was in the form of a fish.  A scaly representation of God's work that was transitioning into a new season of purpose: food.  

Not long ago, that 'what now' place in our marriage came after months and months of endless fights, tears, anxiety, heartbreak, and broken trust that had spun into a tornado that honed in on the very sanctity of our marriage, our family, and the home we had made from the house we were {still--and forever will be} paying mortgage on.

When the sand trout showed up in our marriage, the reverberations were heavy, hard, and HUGE.  The pain was real, the mass of feelings warped realities and rattled every component of what we clung to.  There it lie, shining brightly and aggressively in the sunlight {and the darkness--it never went away}, unmoving.  There were gasps for air, subtle movement of gills that beckoned for answers and comfort and help and prayers.  Oh, the prayers.  

Over the course of the days and weeks and months; prayers held on to us, swam us along in the water.  They guided and protected and righted and healed, albeit in the most rogue, God-like of ways.  The day-to-day; it felt eternal.  Some days the supports were prevalent; but many days felt a lot like floating along, belly-up, at the mercy of the under toe.  

Alas.  It became evident that this marriage, this foundation and family and life we had once known, was in fact not going to make it.  We'd reached that point where we were faced with returning our dead fish to the place from whence it came and move forward.

And so we did.  {kind of}.  We spoke the words {at several different points}.  We let the reality set in as best it could and began to try and craft some sort of semblance for what we would need/do/say in order to take those next steps.  The fear gripped, the tears fell, the truth stung.  We'd failed.  Moreso, *I* had failed.  I took a creation, a gift from God, and rather than foster it and grow it and build it; I stamped upon it.  And then I tried like hell to glue it all back together again, to sit down beside the Creator, and tell Him it was good.

But oh, it wasn't good.  

See, what I now realize in that time of swimming along in the water is that while yes, the prayers of many were what strengthened us 'just enough' to keep moving through the surf; the reality was that instead of misleading ourselves into thinking we had a chance, the reality is we needed to take our dead fish and give it back.  Not because we were giving up; but because we know that ultimately, in the giving back, we would be giving life to something else.  Something more.  Something better.  Something stronger.  In the giving back, we would be taking our control out of the marriage and giving it to the One who is the more. the better, the stronger.  

Giving the control to Him; truly laying face down in the war room and staining the floor with mascara as I lay it all at the cross was like taking that fish and tossing it into the uncertainty of the seas.  The under toe had all the power, the body of the fish limp and unresistant to whatever forces were upon it.  When the moment of impact came; when the body of what was our marriage hit the proverbial water, God had all the power {umm...fun fact: He actually had the power all along *wink, wink*}, the body and spirit limp and unresistant to whatever forces were upon it.  That place.  That lowest, hit-the-ground, punch in the gut, energy-sucking moment where you just can't even.  

That's the place where He steps in and does his most miraculous work.  Where He takes the body that is dead and breathes new life so that it can be a living, breathing representation of God's work that transitioning into a new season of purpose: a marriage of more, better, stronger. 

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. “For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return there but water the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it. ~Isaiah 55:8-11  

Who knows, maybe that little sand trout has changed my tune toward dabbling in the sport of fishing.  So long as Randy is there to bait the hook, that is...

xo

Welcome {back}

Hello there.  It's been quite a while since I've sat in front of a screen such as this, grabbed a pin to prick my heart, and let my words bleed through my fingertips.  And it feels so *good*.  My sweet sister in law likened my blog-sence to being all caught up on your DVR and having no new episodes in the queue.  As someone who has stayed up wa-ay too late catching 'just one more' episode of Don Draper and Frank Underwood on Netflix curled up next to my hubby, I can relate.

It's kind of humbling to hear that someone besides your mom misses your words.  My words.  Because, really, my words aren't all that special.  I just happen to put them out there...and LOTS of them...for people to read or to hear.  Which opens up the door for people to judge.  Oh, and that can be scary.  Vulnerability is quite a nasty beast, isn't it?  But, some good news though.  Brene Brown writes that vulnerability is not weakness; that it's the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change {emphasis added by me}.

And that's what this whole journey is about.  Change.  The past two years of life have been right up there hovering alongside some pretty negative words.  The lows have far outweighed the highs; and the battles have been ugly and hurtful and have had life-changing impacts.  But still we stand.  But still, I rise.  And yes.  I borrowed that line from Katy Perry's song/Olympics theme song.  Because, really.  If listening to that and watching those well placed images in the video doesn't give you all the feels, I'm not sure what will.  But I digress.

I rise.

There's a new season of life brewing here in hot and humid and melty Houston, Texas.  Literally.  Just yesterday, courtesy of a well-loved Melissa & Doug chalkboard, a few props, and a gaggle of quasi-cooperative children; I doused on a healthy amount of bug repellent {because, zika}, and filed everyone outside to make an announcement.

in honor of back to school month, Gavin and Brynn thought it best to school Raegan on how to be a big sister!

Surprise!  Baby Conley 4 making his/her arrival {no, we aren't finding out the gender} in February 2017!  Surprise, indeed.  After what seemed like a really typical, basic checkup on my 35th birthday, my doctor knocked on the door as I was gathering my things to head back out into the heat.  A knock that literally knocked me back down to a seated position while I stared incredulously at two little lines that were more like two giant exclamation points nestled somewhere amidst a slew of little obscenities and sweat tears and plaster-faced smiles.  Intersperse the excited congratulatory tones of the entire office staff and dazed stars encircling my head as I cautiously stepped one foot in front of the other to have my blood drawn and I could relate totally to what Wile E. Coyote felt when those ACME anvils fell on his head from impossible heights after his efforts to capture the Roadrunner went awry.

See, this wasn't part of any of those lovely little 'plans' we have secured up inside of our hearts and minds when we begin stepping through our journey of life.  I mean, you'd think we would all get a true hang of this whole 'God's plan > my plan' thing after the first half dozen or so curve balls whiz past our home plate.  We find ourselves either swinging for the fences and missing completely, or standing frozen.  Wide-eyed and amazed by the way in which we were blind-sided.

But no.  We humans, we like to think we've got a pretty decent grip on things.  Or at least a grip on how we think things should be; even if for the temporary, things aren't quite *there*.  We like to hand God our agenda, our vision board, our hopes and wishes; and, with enough 'good behavior', our Holy Roulette wheel will land right on 27 red--the *exact* place where we laid all of our chips!  Hallelujah, right?

Oh, ye of little faith.

God doesn't give one iota of that adorable little agenda is!  We all know this...but yet we still try.

Did my agenda include a pregnancy shortly after accepting a position to teach part time at a preschool?  Did it include a pregnancy after signing on and investing a significant amount of money to begin working as a clothing stylist for cabi?  Did it include a pregnancy after having 5 challenging *amazing* years of discovering and learning and adjusting and parenting a kiddo like Raegan--our WONDERFUL blessing who is strong and stubborn and independent and confident {the likes of which make raising her occasionally endlessly exhausting?

And, perhaps the scariest, most vulnerable one of all...did my agenda for God include pregnancy news just four days after the heartbreaking realization that my marriage was headed for divorce?

Oh, God.  Your funny ways.  Your glorious plans.  Your generous and abundant blessings.  Sometimes more often than not, Your ways seem to be the very cause of us standing at home plate, dazed and confused by the curve ball.  We swing and miss, we stare quizzically, we feel duped and surprised.  Every.single.time.

So this surprise is no different.  The anvil fell and the stars settled and just like Wile E. Coyote, I'm ready for the next adventure.  And I hope you'll come along with me us.  Because I love the way vulnerability works.  How it begets vulnerability; how it makes others realize it's completely okay--safe and welcome in fact--to share our ish.  To look at each other with eyes that say, "me, too", instead of eyes that judge and disgrace and segregate.

That's what I want for growing FOURward.  I want it to be about growing my family, but also building my marriage, and growing my faith.  I want it to be about stories that stir, that enlighten, encourage, inspire, break down those walls that fear has built; and make it okay to be broken.  Because in order to be a glow stick, you've first got to break.

growing FOURward is a journey through a wiser, more seasoned, better focused, more transparent, less burdened time in our lives.  We have spent a decade plus living in the flotsam of love.  But now, we've hit currents that changed our course, fire coral that has pierced our hearts, riptides that have tumbled us hard and fast into the surf, tidal waves that have drained and then flooded, and shark attacks that have disfigured.  And yet here we are.  Our sailboat is righted, albeit a bit worse for wear; but we're all accounted for, we're adjusting our sails, and setting out for sea with an extra life preserver on board.

Both Matthew and Mark give accounts of Jesus calming the seas during a terrible and furious storm.  The Lord himself, amidst the disarray and chaos of this frightening squall, was sleeping.  Sleeping!  Oh to have the calm of heart such as this!  And when awoken by His nervous, panicked disciples, the Lord simply got up and rebuked the wind and said to the waves, "Quiet!  Be still!". AND THEY LISTENED.  {Matthew 8:23-27, Mark 4:35-41}  Oh, sweet heaven, if only child-rearing were so simplistic.

It's no coincidence that one of the Psalms I have displayed in our living room is 46:10.  Be still and know that I am God.  While 'still' is a commonly used word in the household of our sensory sweetie; it is also one that is incredibly difficult to witness.  So maybe that's the goal.  To not just be a 'witness' noun; a person who sees an event, but to actually 'witness' verb; give or serve as evidence of, testify to.  I want to exemplify still and know.

And with that, I welcome you {and me}.  For me, and some of my readers, it's a welcome back.  But this welcome is a different one.  It's a welcome into a world of what Brene Brown described as a beautiful byproduct of vulnerability.  Change.  It's a welcome into a place where we can all feel that amazing transformation when we choose to be still and know; but not without action.  It's a step into vulnerability.  It's the bravery to wake the sleeping Lord {because, lesbehonest, he isn't sleeping!}, to express our fear, to allow Him to calm us and to allow Him to grow us.  {or grow new people.  *wink*}

Welcome. {back}