{Not As Strong As You Think You Are}

Supermom.

Strong.

Brave.

Capable.

Amazing.

All words people have so generously and kindly offered when they describe me and the way I have handled the past year {plus} navigating the health struggles of our sons Teddy and Will.


I welcomed the kind words, but inside my heart they didn't mesh with the way I truly felt. I didn't feel  all that super, or strong or brave. I felt like I was pushing through, grasping the bare essentials of sanity to make it through each day. I told myself I needed to own those words, to be those things...at least on the outside. I had to keep it together, for my kids, my husband...everyone else.




I needed to be ok. I needed to be strong.


And then I miscarried.


And it wasn't ok.


Any strength I thought I had was emptied out. The mask was off.

In those days after losing our baby, I felt a weakness unlike any I have before. There was absolutely nothing I could do to change what had happened, nothing I could have done to prevent it. A blow I never saw coming.


A reminder of how truly weak we are in our human frames, wearing masks of strength, power, capability.


We see weakness as a fault, a shortcoming and strength as a barrier against all the hurt the world throws at us. And then there are these moments, when your helplessness confronts you...and suddenly you're not as strong as you {or anyone else} thought you were.


And it's ok, to not be strong. Because, He is strong, His power made perfect in our weakness.


"But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." {2 Corinthians 12:9}


I will boast in my weakness, because when I am weak, then I am strong. Not exactly what the world around us says, but in this truth I am resting- I am clinging on to the things that are true, when right now nothing feels ok.


It is not me who is strong, but Christ in me.


Beauty in my mess.


Strength in my weakness.


Hope for the hopeless.

{The Child We Lost: Making Sense of Miscarriage}

A little over month ago I experienced a loss I hoped I would never have to navigate, the loss of our child, one we never got to meet face-to-face.

Miscarriage. A word I have used to describe a loss that is indescribable. A word that has defined the grief and numbness that has coursed through my heart and mind for the last month. How do I mourn a child I carried, but never held? How do I talk about someone I loved so deeply, but never spoke to? It's a loss unlike any I have experienced and at times I find myself so overwhelmed by the complexity and senselessness of it- why, why, why?


It just doesn't make sense. There are no answers. We are left, like so many who lose a loved one, blindly reaching through this darkness, wondering how to move forward, how to live with the not knowing. I think any time you lose someone, the shock and confusion and pain of it all can overwhelm and undertake you. But, then you look at photos, you have memories, you realize that, yes, they really did exist- you have something to grasp on to, even if it feels loose and distant. You have people to share that pain with, the heaviness of the loss, the memories. But, with pregnancy loss, you don't have any of that. Yes, my husband very much feels the depth of our loss, he aches and struggles and wrestles with the whys. But, it's just us. It's isolating and confusing and unbearable at times.


We've been so blessed to have a couple very close friends wrap their arms and prayers around us and family that has stepped in to lighten our burden as well. All of that has held us up and kept us pushing forward in hope. There are not words to describe our thankfulness for them.


A close friend asked me in the midst of my miscarriage, was I mad at God? I thought, that would make sense, but I never once felt that. In the senselessness of it all, I never once questioned or blamed God-and for me, I guess that was my comfort, my hope...that even in the greatness of this loss, my God was still good, still loving and still with me. It was the only thing that DID make sense.


As I wake up morning after morning, finding joy has never been more within my reach. The contrasting pain that aches deep reminds me with a glaring joy to seek out the goodness before me, to hope for and seek out the eternal, lasting things before anything else. To know that I have such a treasure waiting for me in heaven, that is a sweetness unlike any other. While it does't make sense in this life, I have the assurance of a God who is in complete and utter control, who makes sense of the senseless and brings beauty from the mess. One day death will be no more, one day our tears will be dried and we will be together, no more hurt, just the fullness of Love surrounding us. I can't think of anything more valuable and hope filled than that.


I share all of this, because I know miscarriage is a silent pain shared by so many women, and if my story can be healing to one woman out there than it was well worth it. He's with us, in our hurting and in our rejoicing. When nothing makes sense, he remains, solid and eternal and always good.


As I move through this grief, I plan to write and share more and hope that my story will speak to someone. We aren't alone in this senselessness, this water swelling up, the pain threatening to take us under-- we are held up, by each other, by a God who will never let us drown when we reach out to Him.

Much love,

Sarah

{The Gift Of Your Life}

My sweet son, on the day you were born I was certain of so many things. My 4th child, my 4th son, what new things could you bestow upon my veteran mother's heart?

I thought it would feel effortless, simple and that your babyhood would be my chance to masterfully present my aptitude for all things motherhood.

It's funny the ways we can find ourselves humbled. 

Precious Theodore, my gift. A gift I did not deserve or earn simply by all my doing, all my mothering that came before you. Oh, how my soul has been ravaged and spilled out this year, and how the deepest joy has filled so many of the rifts my pride tore open. 

Your first year has been something beautiful. It has written so many new declarations of love upon my heart.

You came into this world as a weak, hurting child. Your body was weak, small, hungry. You and I together, we found grace. I found that even in what I thought was my most capable role I was still so very fragile, very much in need, not able on my own.

My son, we are all so breakable, so weak, so in need of much more than we can toil though on our own. You have tasted the bitterness of that from your very first days, you have known pain, you have felt the ache...and you have tasted the goodness of a God who meets us in our hurt, our weakness, our need.

My prayer over your life is that you would find the most precious gift our human hearts can be offered, the depth of what our souls crave, the joy to which you have been called. Jesus. Yes, He is so deeply and perfectly good. 

Before I loved you, knew you, held you. He did. He is. He will. Always. 

I am so thankful for your life, the gift that it is.

You are loved.

Happy First Birthday, sweet Theodore Donald.

{Handing Over Perfection}

Today I will hand over my beautiful little boy to a surgeon.

I will stand back as they take him out of my view, out of the safety of my arms & let them patch the brokenness of his little body.

The last three months have been filled with a hurt, an ache for how my baby "should" be. I have wrestled with the imperfection of his tiny frame, trying to fix him, to will him into perfection with every ounce of me. How could there be anything wrong with my child that I could not fix?

How can there not be answers? How can I let this be? How can I fix this?

Everyone wants their child to have perfect health, to have a perfectly beautiful life filled with perfect experiences and perfect things. Why would anyone want anything less than the ideal for their child?

There are so many worse things that my child could be going through, much deeper waters with distant shores. I tell myself that so many times, but it doesn't ease the pain. It doesn't take away the yearning for how things should be.

And like a brick wall, I smack face to truth. I remember that I was never promised perfection. I was never promised a child whose body worked perfectly...in this life.

Someday, all things will be made right. Maybe it will be this side of heaven for Teddy, maybe it will not. I do not have the answers, but I do know that God has promised to make all things new. While we struggle with many forms of imperfection, disease, brokenness here, one day all the hurt will be taken away and beauty will rise from our ashes.

Although I wait for the day, yearn for the day when all things will be made right, the fact is I am still here in the muck wrestling with the why and struggling to release my little ideas of perfect.

My child's imperfection is out there in the open for people to see, but he really isn't so different from anyone else. Although his scars, his brokenness are on the outside, he is walking the same path of our shared human condition. We are all hobbling along, some of us hiding our imperfections deep inside, others, like Teddy, wear theirs on the outside where people can ask "what is wrong with your baby?"

Yes, it hurts. Yes, I hate it. But, YES, I have hope.

Is it a mistake that my baby was born this way? No. Although everything about him, about me, about us all is not going the way we planned, it doesn't make any of it a mistake. It doesn't make any of it fair or unfair or make any sense, because in our imperfection we are still fearfully & wonderfully made. We are on purpose.




"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
    your works are wonderful,
    I know that full well." - Psalm 139:14


So, today, I hand over perfection. I hand over my wonderfully made child. I hand over my ideals and my dreams and the way everything "should" be. I let it all rest on Him. I let peace and His promises wash over me and praise Him for the good things He is doing and will do. His works are wonderful, every last detail and "imperfection." May these imperfections bring Him glory with every ounce of us that hobbles or wobbles or shatters. He is more. He is perfect. And one day, we will be too.

{When God Gives You More Than You Can Handle}

You've probably heard the saying, "God will never give you more than you can handle" and it probably came at a time when you felt like your life was swallowing you up whole, when the odds were stacked up against you and deep inside you wondered how you would keep it all together.



Yeah, that is my life. It has been my life for the past 3 years.

Pregnancy & birth of twin boys when my first son was barely 2
Hundreds of miles away from any family
A husband working full time by day and tackling grad school by night.
3 boys 4 and under & one on the way
A very sick child, who was later diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder.
The birth of our 4th son (4 kids 4 & under)
A new career path & adjustment for my husband (many late nights alone)
Months of fear & worry over a baby who wouldn't grow
10 days in the hospital with my 6 month old
Trying to fit a 2nd medically complex child into our crazy life

A story and challenges unique to me, but really, who doesn't have a crap ton of overwhelming stuff going on in their lives?


Guys, I am here to tell you, I have more than I can handle. And it's okay if you do too. You don't have to be supermom/dad, the master of multi-tasking, the keeper of a perfect home, a ladder-climbing achiever at your job, a perfect Christian, flawless friend,  & world dominating machine.


It's ok. We are all pretty weak and scared on the inside, wondering if anyone else can tell.


I can't do it. I can not keep it together on my own. I've worked so hard the past 3 years to keep these exterior walls of strength up around the parts of me that were crumbling on the inside.

I'm embracing my weakness. Embracing the fact that I can't do it all & that it is ok to let other people know that too.


Because, yes, God absolutely gives more than we can handle- every single one of us, whether we want to admit that or not.


It's easy to let our brains fall in the the bottomless pit of distractions at our fingertips, to let our minds be pulled this way & that, to let us forget about the things that ache deep in our souls, to let ourseleves be deceived into thinking the Pinterest dream is just around the corner & that we can get to a place where everything is just right. We can fool our selves pretty easily into thinking every thing is ok, bandaging our wounds for another day, keeping it together for everyone else.


Well, I say, STOP IT!


There isn't a person on this Earth who has it all together, has perfection figured out, has everything under control. Let's all stop pretending & telling each other we don't have more than we can handle. Because we do.

Although this all sounds rather depressing, there is hope. We were never asked to do this on our own. In the midst of our tangled up mess, God calls us to Him, to lay our burdens down, to let them rest on the shoulders of the One who can handle it all.


His yoke is easy & His burden is light.


Thank you Jesus.


Thank you for seeing me in my little, wobbly exterior, holding it all together around my tender soul. Thank you for loving me and letting me crumble and struggle and find You patiently waiting for me to see I needed more of You.


God's strength is made perfect in weakness. He wants our truest selves, he wants our little ragamuffin hearts, our potty mouths & sin stained lives. Because the beauty of God never shines brighter than when it is contrasted and perfected in weakness.


There is so much beauty in the mess. So much hope in the struggle. So much truth under our deception. None of us is really so different from the next, none of us can do it on our own, so let's stop pretending.


Friends, I've got more than I can handle...but, I'm not handling it anymore. And you don't have to either.

{He Already Knows}

It has been months since I have sat down to write, so many things have begun and ended and snuck onto the pages of my days.

A few nights ago, I woke up to the grunting of a hungry baby. The house was quite, except for he and I quietly rocking in the well loved rocker. His long eye lashes fluttered and I prayed to never forget this moment just as it was. 

And then, so gently, as it always is- the feather light whisper of a call to write it all down again, persevere it for the day when my boys can understand and together we can taste and see the goodness that was always with us. 

These are bone weary days. Fear has crept into my home, my heart. Uncertainty and worry threaten my steps daily. As I seek to keep my eyes focused on what is true and lasting, I am comforted by this: 

He already knows.

One of our little men has been fighting a quite, faceless battle in his little body for almost a year- one we can not see or give a name.

We have been blessed beyond measure with doctors who care deeply, refuse to give up and astound me with the depth of their knowledge and skill. But, even they can not call it by name right now. 

At times, the fear, the overwhelming hopeless pricks of the unknown bring me to my knees in worry, the tears burn hot on my cheeks and remind me of how fragile our human bodies are in this broken world. 

And then again,so softly the words brush my thoughts in the loneliness of the wee morning:

He already knows.

When as faulty, broken, arms flailing humans we search desperate for an answer, there is One greater than us, than this darkness creeping in, who knows. He sees the places we have not yet ventured. He knows us, created us bit by bit, and nothing is lost to Him. 

He knows, He knows, He knows...

As I press on into this new day, there is renewed hope, there is comfort in knowing that as we wonder through these dark days He sees us, He knows us, He gave himself for us so that even when we walk through the valley we can fear no evil. We rest in the promise that when every thing feels broken, we are safe in His arms.

Though our bodies may fail us, we know there is more. There is nothing that can separate us from His Love, the eternal parts of us can never be taken. Fear can not find us there, sickness can not taint that part of us, we are more, we are His. 

We are known and always have been, intimately by the One who sees and know it all- and loves us still. 

{4 Years}

Tomorrow my sweet boy, the one who made me "Mama" turns 4 years old. How is that possible?! 

My heart aches to see my baby become so grown up, but at the same time brims with joy at the sweet young man he is becoming every day. 

I knew motherhood would shake my heart and soul up in so many ways, but I never expected the intensity and depth of it all. 

It has brought out every fault and weakness in me and amplified it, but has also shown me a strength and love I never knew I was capable of.

Oh, sweet Judah. I love you more than you will ever know, you are an extension of me and an entire new world I don't understand- you are beauty and hope and genuine unrefined life, a sweet reflection of all that really matters in this life. 

On the day you were born you brought not just a new title to my name, but a new life and a new meaning. My life was no longer about me, it was a daily giving of self, a sacrifice and a call to be more than comfortable. 

You are a gift, my greatest calling, my sweet son who I will always put before  myself. You are precious and treasured, you are worth fighting for and worth every  single dream and desire I have given up to be your Mama. You are loved. 

Happy Birthday, my sweet, joy seeking, strong son- May you seek The Lord with all your heart, serve the weak, love deeply and find joy in every season of your life. I love you.