This is the story of a beginning. A beginning again. Beginning again in the middle. Beginning again after the shatter. A beginning that could only have been directed by the hand of God at every turn.

A year ago today I was on a plane headed to meet a Green Beret for the first time. My friends said I couldn’t use his name until I met him so he was affectionately referred to as, “the Green Beret.” 💚

But I have to go back further for this beginning. Back to the dark. Back into the deepest loneliness I’ve ever felt - widowhood is a place of brutal pruning. And isolation. A place which afforded me no one who saw me or understood the darkness I was in. A place that was raw, and burdened with others’ expectations. Made heavier with the uniqueness of carrying my children’s grief and pain because of the loss of their dad. I looked everywhere for help, asked everyone I could think of…and there was nothing for me in this season. Which resulted in even more isolation, save the love of my parents, kids, and a handful of friends willing to go into the dark with me.

So I begged God for a friend. And He answered almost immediately with this man. He was a friend who immediately understood - because he was standing in the dark in his pain, too. He was a friend who wasn’t scared by my pain. He was a friend who needed no explanation. He saw me. And he knew me.

We immediately saw God’s gift in our friendship and thanked Him. And then…it grew. From a beginning to a whispered hope. And from hope to a reality, blessed by God, as He drew out of our pain the unexplainable gift of being able to love and be loved again.

A year ago today we met - after months of a beginning that started in friendship. And God took our fragile hearts and even more fragile first steps and grew us into a depth of love that only He could have prepared. We stand in awe of the gift. And more grateful than words can say. It took courage, heart, hope and an extraordinary amount of faith to walk forward in spite of mountains and obstacles - and here we are. Through the parted sea. Deeply in love. With God. With our story. And with each other. ❤️ Beginning again.

Happy anniversary, soldier. ❤️ ...

This moment.

I think of life in moments.

As a young mom, I struggled with that moment of intensity with young children. I know. Not very gram-worthy to admit, but there it is. Gritty reality. Those moments were hard and I felt overwhelmed and as if I wasn’t good enough. Misunderstood by many, I trudged forward and found a way.

As a mom in grief and living with the loss of my husband while still raising children I felt shattered, empty, and without a rudder. Don’t throw that “God will never give you more than you can handle” mythology at me; He most certainly does. I’ve lived it. He’s there - walking beside, sometimes (often) carrying. But we’re walking on water. Across an ocean. And it is scary. And it is WAAAAAY more than I can handle on my own. He taught me that.

Both moments I have to confess I clawed my way forward. And before you think that’s a testimony of strength - it is not. It’s a confession of groping. It’s a story of grace, but one of gulping grace like air after being dunked and held under water so long your lungs are on fire. It is only now - in this moment - just starting to feel like a story of resting in His promise.

This moment.

This moment is full of hope. And love. ❤️ And breathing. I am breathing again. There is still pain in many forms. The pain of taking risks, of being misunderstood, turned away; the painful parts of being rebuilt in God’s hands are all still there. This season is no less intense than any other season. And I confess, I’d probably have to characterize this moment, too, by groping more than resting in His plan. >>insert your mental image of me flailing about while trying to tread water<< But. To breathe deeply. To feel hopeful. To be still and know. I had to take crazy risks to get here. And through this parted sea, God keeps reaching for me - “come and see.”

Keep me in this moment.

#findingslow #slowisnoteasy #throughthefire #keepmeinthemoment #widowlife #rebuilding #momlife ...

File this one under, “Things I never thought I could do,” and “Starting Over at the Middle.” The move to Missouri. ❤️ ...

My best friend asked me last night if I had reinvented myself?

No.

But God has; He is making me new. This fire He sent has made me new. It burnt off the edges of self I was clinging to, and the visions of a future that can never be, while leaving in place a deep love and trust in God - a trust that grew every time He reached into my life miraculously to pull me forward or keep me from drowning.

And He worked from the inside out, surprising me at every turn. “You think you want this?” He would say. “In my love for you and my perfect wisdom, I gift you *this*.” And I would resist. And argue. And hide. And then He would invite me to bend gently around His plan. “Come to me,” He would say. And finally. Slowly. I walked. And then He said, “I know the plans I have for you. Keep stretching.” So I took risks - small at first, and then bigger. Until finally, He said, “Through the fire. Through the parted sea.” And I said, “Yes. Come what may. I trust.”

The rebuild is painful. It’s incomplete. And it is full of risk and pain and vulnerability and joy and happiness and shelter.

What it is missing is quicksand.

If you stretch you will avoid the quicksand that intense grief or intense suffering can bring. I’ve seen the quicksand. I’ve even been stuck in it for a while. If you’re there in the quicksand - listen for His voice and reach for His hand when He stretches toward you. “For I know the plans I have for you,” He will tell you. “I am in the business of parting seas - walk. Walk forward. Walk through the intense suffering in your life. I will part it. You will still feel it. I’m going to stretch you and ask you to take risks. Get up and walk. And I will show you the plans I have for you - plans to give you hope and a future.”

And through that fire - the rebuild happens.

#therebuild #suffering #lifeafterloss #Godpartsthesea #throughthefire #survive #survivingloss #survivethenthrive #rebuilding #joyinthepain ...

Starting over.

I’m learning that nothing gets to be the same after loss. Nothing. And that includes homeschooling. I’m not sure why I have to keep relearning that lesson, but I do.

Nothing runs on the same tracks. Nothing moves the same. The chemistry of everything is different. And there is only one where there used to be a team of two. I’m learning and building new muscles and changing into a new person - in all things.

Becoming new means first acknowledging that nothing gets to be the same. And I sometimes have to remind myself of that reality multiple times a day - especially when I’m homeschooling and trying to plan or execute like I used to. It doesn’t work anymore. Even though I built a body of experience that can act as a rudder - a lot has to change.

So I line up the constants - the variables that don’t change. Like the need for ME to continue to see with the eyes of a child; to be open to wonder as a child is. And from there…He helps me see how to make all things new. Even lesson plans. And expectations.

Starting over with eyes open to wonder.

#homeschooling #lessonplanning #wisdombeginsinwonder #homeeducation #startingover #homeschool #homeschoolplanning #grief #griefchangesyou #griefchangeseverything #lifeafterloss #soloparenting #soloparent #soloparentingishard ...

Lauren’s Confirmation last weekend was at the @guadalupeshrine in La Crosse, WI. And my kids showed up. In every way. This family shows up for Sacraments. All 5 were there in spite of sickness, travel, and snow. And for brief moments, God held time and allowed me to see His goodness that runs like an unwavering thread through our lives.

I wanted this to be a pilgrimage for our family in addition to Lauren’s confirmation, but like all pilgrimages, there are gifts that feel like thorns and I started to feel panicky and lost. A friend encouraged me to let go my tight grip, and as soon as I did, everything began to unfold. I lifted my eyes to the hills and my help came.

I pleaded with Our Lady of Guadalupe when Lauren’s dad was in the hospital. And now, I was 13 hours from home with the fruit of my suffering. I was there to say thank you and to ask for more grace. And there was the Blessed Virgin, inviting us up that hill blanketed in the quietest snow.

Lauren was Confirmed in the beautiful, rich traditional rite of Confirmation by @cardinalraymondburke and our family is grateful for God’s goodness, Cardinal Burke’s faithfulness, and the hospitality of @guadalupeshrine and though I keenly felt the absence of Lauren’s dad, I know God allowed him to behold this, one of the fruits of his suffering in his child’s life. ❤️ ...

I don’t know what I’m doing. 🤪 But there’s nothing wrong with test driving, right? If you wanna see it all 🫣🫣🫣 check my #hobonichi highlight. 🙂🤪 ...

Living with grief looks a lot like normal to most people. We function, sometimes at a very high level. We feel joy. We laugh. We keep up…or we try. Usually because there are children who desperately need the stretch into routine and normalcy. We’re exhausted. There is no one walking through the door before dinner to fill us up or take over for the evening or share a glass of wine with. There are no date nights to share goals or dreams or hopes or a vision of the future. All of that died. That, too, is mourned and let go.

More vulnerable than we have ever been, we begin to open ourselves - to life, to an unknown future, to the hope of mercy in the morning.

It’s not a feeling or an intuition. It’s an active choice. A choice to embrace God’s unknown plan when you stand stripped of every shelter save His promise to make all things new.

Thanking God - His mercies are new every morning. ...