7 years

The spring that we started talking changed everything. You were happy being single. I was happy where I was. You were looking at buying land, starting a house. You didn't want to get married till you were at least 28. Then, you met me.

Suddenly, your entire world changed. Instead of buying land, you bought a ring. You started envisioning a future with me; kids, a house of our own, hound dogs. I became your new dream, and you became mine. 

    We met in December 2015. It was a brief encounter that left an impact on both of us. We couldn't get up the nerve to approach one another, but we never stopped thinking about each other. Unbeknownst to the other, we each began praying for one another. Then, in May 2016, God worked to bring us together. One Sunday changed it all. We spent the summer getting to know one another and officially began dating that August. We fell in love quickly. By October, you had a ring. We intended to wait another year before marriage, but you couldn't wait any longer. A surprise proposal in February, led to a beautiful September wedding. Two years later, we started our family.

   Even though neither of us would change a thing about our timeline, I know how much you sacrificed to make things happen when they did. Over the years, I've watched how you've given up your dream time and time again, in favor of our family. Every time you've found land you liked, something more important has come up, that required you to pass yet again. Then just last year, i watched as you once again changed your plans for the better of our family; settling on a lot in town rather than acreage in the country. I watched in awe, as you pushed yourself to the breaking point for an entire year, to build us a house. When it was finished, you were so proud of your accomplishment: that you'd finally gotten a roof of your own, over your family's head. You didn't care that it wasn't the one you originally wanted. You were just thankful to have taken a step in that direction. You are the epitome of what a Godly husband and father should be. 

  Throughout our 7 years of marriage, we've learned a lot; about each other and about marriage. We've grown as individuals and as a couple. We've reached new levels trust and understanding of one another. We learned to rely on and support each other in new ways - in harder ways. But most of all, we've learned to love deeper, love better, and love through anything. I can honestly say marriage has changed us for the better. I don't know where we'd be without the other. I thank God for the gift of marriage and the life that we get to live together. 

August

   I call you August, because that's when I found out about you. I call you by a name, because to me, you were a person deserving of a name.

   You may have only existed for a brief amount of time, but your memory is forever etched within my heart. You have changed the way I love; taught me what it means to love someone you never got to meet. 

   One year ago this week, I came to know of your existence. Your growth had only just started, but you were already making yourself known. You were safe. You were loved. Even for that brief period of time. But then, you were gone. Stolen away too soon: before the nerves had settled, before the shock had worn off. Before I even had a chance to tell your brothers about you. For 4 blissful weeks I had carried you. A beautiful secret that only God and I knew about. 

  On this, the one year mark, you are ever on my mind. I feel your loss every day; the vacancy in my heart never wanes. The heartbreak may have healed, but the hurt is ever present. I still wonder about you; imagining myself holding you. I try to imagine what our family would be like if you were here; what you would look like. Who you would be. How I wish I could've met you and held you. To tell you how loved you were. Instead, I carry you in my heart forever, my precious little one. 

  

   However brief  your existence was, doesn't change the hurt. A mother's love is instantaneous and lasting.  I will always love you; always remember you. My August. My 3rd baby. 

Birthday reflections

 Here's to 30 years around the sun.

  Being out of my 20's feels weird. On paper, the age says I should feel old, but inside, I still feel young. This birthday was a big one. I'm officially out of my, "young adult years" and am simply an adult. It makes one reflect on their life. I hear so many adults talk about their regrets from their 20's, or the way they wasted their youth. I always thought I'd feel the same when i reached my 30's. But the crazy thing is, I don't. When I reflect on my teens and 20's, I have no regrets. I feel like a used my time wisely, and made the most of those years.

  I graduated high school a year early and went straight into the mission field. Spent the next year fundraising and traveling back and forth to Africa. At 19, I settled down in the US and started working 3 jobs to keep me busy and pay the bills. I spent the next 2 years, working 40hrs a week and getting plugged into our church. I served in every area I could, to ensure good stewardship of my single years. We moved to Idaho when I was 21, (where I met Dan soon after) and I immediately got a full time job. Dan and I started dating at 22 and got married at 23. I quit my job and got pregnant at 24. At 25 I became a stay at home mom. At 27, we added Everett to the family; and of course, at 29, we built a house together. Throughout it all, I kept busy as a SAHM, tending our home and family. We were even able to go on 4 good family vacations in that time, building core memories together.

  All in all, I'd say that was a good decade. I feel very blessed to have been able to make such good use of those years, and feel I have a lot to show for it. A whole lot of love and laughter, and stored up memories; besides the handsome husband and precious boys I've been gifted. I'm thankful that God chose to answer my childhood prayers, but did it His way. His way truly is the best. Now, here's to my 30's and making the most of them. 

   April 21st, 2024. A date I've tried valiantly to forget, that my heart won't allow me to.

  In a perfect world, I'd be 39 weeks pregnant right now: preparing for birth, eager to meet my baby. But it's a broken world; and instead, I find myself with an empty womb and a hurting heart. What should've been a week of joyful anticipation, is instead a week of mourning my child, and reflecting on the, "should've haves."  I want to honor my baby, but I don't know how. I have nothing to commemorate them, except the hurt inside and an ornament in a storage bin. The day that should've been their due date, will go unnoticed and forgotten by everyone...  but me. I will remember. I have to remember. The memory of what should've been their day is all I have left.

  Baby August was almost the best surprise of our lives. An unexpected- but most welcome, gift. Now, he/she will live on in my memory, the hurt keeping them close. While I grieve the could haves and the missed memories, I'll forever be thankful to have the knowledge that they existed. I'll cherish their memory, and cling to the hope that one day, I'll hold them in my arms before the Savior.

The walls that sing

  If these walls could talk, this house would tell you the story of how God intervened to get us into this home. It would whisper the intimate details of our first night as a married couple; how an awkward pair of newlyweds dined on cheese and crackers, while watching Ironman. It would reflect on the moment a scared couple rejoiced in the news of their first pregnancy, and of all the newfound joys and firsts that followed. These walls have seen the tears and prayers of a scared father, as he paced the halls two days into his wife's labor; fearing for her life and the life of his unborn son. They'd tell of that baby's first breath, of his hesitant first steps down this hall; of his excitement over being a big brother and his growth from infant to big kid.

  These walls have seen that toddler become a big brother as the new baby took his first breath amidst fears and breathing troubles. They have been terrorized by the rowdy antics of these two brothers. The floors bear the evidence of bike races and car race tracks; each dent and ding telling a story, holding a memory. The gawdy pink bathroom bore witness to our heartache, as the floor held my weeping body after our first loss. The bedroom walls listened to my sobs in the middle of the night, while the rest of the house slept. The living room that held the family tree each Christmas, now observes my healing. 

  And now as we enter this new season, this sweet home bears witness to the hopes and dreams that are coming true; the excitement of two boys as they watch their new family home coming together. The exhaustion and stress of their father as he fights to give his family the home he's always wanted for them. And the long days of the mother as she tackles family life and moving prep. Yes, if these walls could talk, they would sing of all the memories they hold within themselves. This house became a home the day we became a family, and as that family grew, so did the love within these walls. If these walls could talk, they'd tell the story of that love: the story of our family, of our beginning.