Half Marathon, Wholly Proud

Way back in April of this past year, my good friend called me up with a brilliant idea.

"Hey!  It's been a while since we did any running.  What do you think about signing up for the KC 1/2 with me this year?"

Running.  Argh.  On one hand, it had been almost ten years since I ran the LA Marathon, five years since our last KC Half Marathon together, and I was definitely feeling the tug that it was time to get moving again.  On the other hand, I was tired and depressed, steadily losing energy and gaining weight.  The motivation to run was seriously lacking.  But I told myself there is nothing like spending $40 to sign up for one of the largest runs in your city to light a fire under you, right?  I had until October to get it together.  Sounded like a plan to me.

It took a couple of months and enlisting a few more friends to train with me, but in June I finally got moving.  And in the beginning, it seemed like it was helping.  I was running short distances slowly, but my strength and speed were gradually increasing.  Surely the scale would start moving the direction I wanted as well, right?  Nope.  I was disappointed, but I knew I needed to keep moving.  The race was coming, and I was falling farther and farther behind  my friend in training.

Over time, my running buddies became unavailable.  One was pregnant and needed to take some time off.  The other went back to work and our schedules no longer lined up to make running together possible.  The friend I signed up with invited me to train with her, but by now her pace was so far above mine that I knew I would be holding her back.  So I just continued plodding along.  Somehow it began to feel like I was getting slower instead of faster.  I told myself the jogging stroller was slowing me down.  I told myself that if I ran a little each day my knees would stop hurting.  I told myself that I still had time before the race.

Then time ran out.  As the day grew nearer, I ran slower, and my distances were shorter.  Between June and October, I had actually gained nearly 10 pounds.  I didn't bother to even go out and run the last two weeks before the race.  I was so frustrated.  Why couldn't I get my body back on track?  Why didn't I bounce back into running this time?  Why was I even doing this to myself?

I started to dread the day of the race.  I was so disappointed that I didn't even want to go.  How far would I be able to run?  Maybe three miles?  The race was 13.1 total, and walking the last 10 alone with aching joints didn't sound like much fun to me.  The day before the race, I remembered that I had another friend in the area who was signed up, and who would probably be participating at a pace closer to my own.  Late that afternoon I sent her a hopeful text, and she agreed to meet up.  She was excited to have company; I was excited to have a manageable pace laid out.

The night before the race I was scrambling.  Even though I had known about this race since April and it was now October, I really wasn't prepared.  Nerves continued when I rose early race morning, but adrenaline and excitement were kicking in as well.  I met my fast-running friend (the one that had originally convinced me to sign up) to carpool before dawn and we searched for parking as start time drew near.  We checked in, used port-a-potties, and said our goodbyes. I found my similarly-paced friend and went over the plan of attack for our run/walk pace.  As we merged into the crowd of thousands of runners lined up near landmark Crown Center in downtown Kansas City, I began to feel a sort of peace.  While I wouldn't run the pace that many would that day, while I wouldn't even meet my own goal of just running the entire distance, I would be doing more than most at 7 am on a Saturday.  I was there, I was following through on my commitment, even though I wanted to back out.

During my training, I was so focused on the fact that I was not where I wanted to be that I ended most runs feeling discouraged.  While I felt good on the runs themselves, and immediately after, when I looked at my totals for the week I would get angry that I wasn't able to do more and I would want to quit.  On race day, once I made peace with the pace I could handle and accepted that this was my level of ability for now, I ended up really enjoying myself. It was fun.  My running buddy and I even goofed around for the cameras when we noticed them.

We were out there, pushing ourselves, doing our best, and we were having a really good time. It was an absolutely gorgeous day and some of the views of the city skyline and fall foliage were breathtaking.  I wish I could have taken pictures along the route.  I was surrounded by thousands of people of different levels of ability, all pounding the pavement for different reasons.  I was one of them.  I had earned a place on the road that day as well.

The experience of this race, continuing to find a way even though it wasn't what I hoped for, has caused me to examine my heart.  As happens so often, what felt like a failure has turned out to be an incredible lesson.  I find that I am frequently so disappointed that I am not meeting my own "standard"--as a mom, as a wife, as a friend, as a follower of Jesus--that I want to just back out.  I beat myself up over the areas where I feel as though I'm failing.  I think someone else can do it better, and I think I need to do it better.  I keep trying, but it doesn't look the way I want it to or the results aren't what I expect and so I become frustrated and discouraged.  I waste a lot of time and energy thinking about what I "should" do or where I need to improve.

I wonder, what would my daily life be like if I made peace with the fact that I am working at the pace that I can handle right now?  What if I could step back and appreciate the fact that I am showing up?  What if I could value the fact that, just like my run training, even when it is hard and I am not where I want to be, I still keep going?  I have been reconsidering the Serenity Prayer as of late.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference.

Perhaps if I accept that I am working at the pace I can handle right now, I could allow myself to see more of the breathtaking scenery.  I could enjoy the laughter of my daughter as I change her diaper without being frustrated that she won't hold still and it's taking too long.  I could listen to my boys exchanging giggles in their bunk at night without becoming exasperated that they haven't gone to sleep yet so I can get a break.  Perhaps I could give myself a little credit that this motherhood gig is 24/7 and while I may not do it perfectly, I still keep going.  It may be that I would also find that there are some little things I can change, and have the courage and strength to step up to the plate where I need to if I am not so busy beating myself down about the things I cannot change.  Perhaps I would look up and see that I am surrounded by thousands of others who are working at the pace they can handle, all with different goals, all with different motivation, all worthy of my admiration and respect and my acknowledgement that I have earned my place among them. I might have a greater appreciation for the amazing friends on this journey who are helping to push me forward and holding onto hope for me when I feel like giving up.

Perhaps, I may even experience a moment like I did at the finish line of my half marathon.  In the moment, it felt good to cross the finish line, but once it was over I still felt regret over not having gone faster or run harder or trained better.  However, when I saw the photo a few days later, I literally gasped.  "Look!" I said to my husband.  "Look at my face!  I look so PROUD OF MYSELF!"

I want to be the kind of person who is able to be proud when I have earned it, thankful to those who helped make it possible, and to keep working harder when I need to.  Accepting the things I cannot change and changing the things I can, and knowing that in it all, God is working in me.  He is changing me through every moment and every experience, even when--especially when--it doesn't look the way I thought it would.  My job is to accept His direction, be willing to work hard and keep going, and know that I can be proud of the work he is doing and the person He is creating me to be.

Loves, friends.  Be proud today.

Fall is for Fighters

There is something absolutely breathtaking to me about Fall foliage.  I am literally in awe when I drive down a colorful, tree-lined street in our neighborhood.  Speeding down the highway with an entire bluff displaying a multitude of rust, gold, copper, bronze and scarlet colors beside me can change my entire outlook on the day.  I recently drove the opposite of the direction I needed to go in order to take a winding road past a little lake in a rather sketchy part of town.  I just knew the color would be beautiful there, and I needed to see it.  I drink in this incredible landscape and I ask myself why I am so affected.  What is it about this season that changes my entire mood, shifts my perspective, lifts my spirits?

 I do have some pretty sweet Fall memories.  When I think about it, some of my favorites are from my college days, when I lived in Southern California.  Fall doesn't really exist in SoCal.  There may be a few deciduous trees that send up a flare of color for a day or so, but there is definitely not a shift in temperature or a noticeable change of seasons.  While I was in college, I made my own Fall.  I told my friends about all of the fun things one could do in this season at home--admiring trees, drinking homemade cocoa, eating caramel apples, carving pumpkins--and then we did it.  We searched out those few colored leaves, we put on the air conditioner if necessary, or we sat outside after dark until there was a chill in our bones, and we sipped that hot cider and cocoa as if October really did feel like October.

The more I thought about it, though, I really began to feel like there was a significance about the changing colors of this shifting season that really speaks to my spirit.  My joy in this time goes beyond the creature comforts that fill the lengthening days.  My heart was so refreshed when my husband sent me home for a quick Autumn visit one homesick October while I was still in college.  The smell in the air, the crisp feel of the wind, and the view of those trees--as well as some good hugs from my crazy family--really helped me feel renewed.

While driving to work and thinking this over, I had the realization that when the leaves on the trees change, they are actually dying.  They aren't receiving the life-giving nourishment they have had for the last several months that colors them in lime, celery and emerald greens.  The best I can remember from elementary science is that photosynthesis isn't happening anymore.  The trees are conserving that energy and bracing themselves for the coming winter.  But those leaves... Those leaves are not about to go quietly into the cold, dark night.

I love that the leaves aren't letting go without a fight.  While I feel a little guilty for celebrating their demise, I also feel strengthened by this revelation.  I want to believe that when I feel as though nothing is working right, I am not being nourished, and my life seems less vibrant, that even when I can't see it something beautiful is happening.  I may be falling apart, I may have to let go of a summer dream and brace myself for winter, but as I struggle through those challenges, maybe somehow it is producing a beauty, a grace, a vibrant color that others might be to able admire.  I know from experience that seasons of struggle and death often produce something more lovely.  I plan to link to some of those stories from my own life here.

The thing is, I am definitely one of those people who won't go down without a fight.  Sometimes, I wish I was more flexible.  I wish change wasn't so difficult for me.  I wish I didn't struggle so much with things that seem to come easily for others.  I wish I didn't fight so much to be right, only to find out so often that I am actually wrong!  Sometimes, I think it is hard to be a fighter.  But if I am going to live my life as a person who doesn't go down without a fight, I just want to make sure that fight is colorful and flashy and bright, like the dying Autumn leaves. Sometimes, the world needs a fighter.

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I most definitely failed the 31 for 21 Challenge!  I guess there's always next year!  In addition to posts about seasons that are hard but produce good things, I also need to catch up with posts about my recent half-marathon, the Step Up for Down Syndrome Walk, and Halloween!  Guess I'd better get typing...

Finding my voice...

So, here's the thing.  I am pretty sure that I have a story to tell.  I believe it's a story that needs to be told, a story that others can identify with, a story of healing and hope and restoration.  It is a story that is continually being written and rewritten; one where the very early chapters still thicken the plot as it unfolds today.  I also believe that I am capable of telling my story.  I think everyone has been given a way of communicating their story and thereby leaving their impression on the world--in paint or sculpture, in intimate relationship or corporate leadership, in financial generosity or time spent, in music or movement or verse.  The best way I know to tell my story is through the written word.  

The challenge I am facing is that I read all of these amazing authors telling some pretty cool stories.  As I do, I find myself wondering why on earth anyone would care to read my story when there are so many incredible people out there sharing theirs so well.  I seriously stalk the amazing blogs of Kelle Hampton and Glennon Melton.  I get lost in great articles I stumble on via Facebook like this one a friend shared tonight.  I cannot wait for new books from authors I admire like Shauna Niequist or Donald Miller who are weaving stories of redemption with threads that make you yearn to experience it, and who are telling about Jesus in ways that make you want to get to know him.

For as long as I can remember, I have been plagued with self-doubt.  The voice in my head has always warned me that failure looms just around the bend from trying something new.  Seeds planted very early in my life have grown into strongly rooted, barbed and twisty vines around my heart.  These vines bear fruit like fear and uncertainty, and they are a haven for the belief that as long as someone else is better than me, I am not worth listening to.

What I love most about the writers I listed above, though, is that they speak in their own unique voice, and their voice tells a personal story in a way that is riveting and compelling.  I could say that they are better writers than I may ever hope to be.  And yet...  They cannot tell my story.  They do not have my voice.  

For me, this is both the challenge of writing a blog and the motivation to keep going.  I must find my voice.  This sort of writing and sharing gives me the opportunity to try expressing little parts of my life and my heart in different ways.  This is the chance to find the balance and the rhythm of my own expression.  I want to find a way to be honest and raw and real about how very hard life can be and how much I struggle.  At the same time, I want to continue to bring myself and others back to the truth that in the midst of all that seems like chaos, God is bigger, and He is telling a better story than the one I am walking out on this earth.

I don't really know what that means just yet.  I can't decide just where this blog should focus.  Do I write about special needs and seek to raise awareness to the awesomeness having someone with an extra chromosome in your life can bring?  Do I chronicle motherhood, the joys of Tasty Tuesday and the trials of Mount Laundry?  Do I try to unpack spiritual truths in a devotional way, sharing what God reveals to my heart from His word or through relationships with others?  Or is this a way to put words to the story of a little girl, who has grown into a woman that is given beauty for ashes?  I feel like I need a focus, but for the moment, I really don't know.  I would love to hear your feedback if there is a topic that leaves you wanting to know more.

Thanks for joining with me on this journey to find my voice.  I pray that you will find a way to tell your amazing story in your own voice as well.

Loves.

Oh, and photos of my cuties.  Because, hello...  They're cute!

Another year older...

This past weekend it was my birthday.  I turned 33.  I was inordinately spoiled by my husband and good friends who made it possible to go just outside of town for the perfect Fall getaway.  We stayed at a lovely Bed and Breakfast that had 80 acres of amazing foliage to admire.  Much of it was visible from our room's balcony, where we sat and ate a delicious meal together in the sunset Friday evening.  It was completely excessive to celebrate a thirty-third birthday with an overnight trip.  Completely excessive, and totally necessary.  

View from our room... Fall is amazing.

Dinner--YUMMY!

The past couple of years have been...challenging...for me.  I have found it difficult to rejoice in a variety of problems and trials, as Paul suggests we do in Romans 5.  I have found it incredibly easy, however, to complain about them.  And in all of this complaining and whining about trivial matters of day-to-day life, I have forgotten to be thankful for the miracles I have been given.  This weekend was a wonderful reminder of one of those miracles--my amazing husband and pretty-gosh-darn-happy marriage.

Oh yeah, ladies...  This one's all mine!

It is easy to let the pressures of our crazy schedule (we work opposite shifts) get in the way of good communication and loving exchanges.  We are often short with one another.  We get frustrated about little things.  We could do a better job of establishing routines and structures that would anchor us through the regular storms of life--being over-committed,  running late, unexpected bills, getting sick--all of the little things that make up day-to-day married life.  We both work very hard and often parent independently, and it's too easy to take each other for granted.  In spite of all that, we are incredibly blessed in knowing that we both really love each other.

I honestly count my loving husband as one of the most amazing blessings in my life, and a good friend recently reminded me that in all actuality, my marriage is really a miracle.  Someday I hope to write about all of the chaos that makes me having a surviving and thriving marriage so miraculous, but for now I'll list the highlights.  My parents divorced when I was four.  My father soon remarried, and divorced again when I was twelve.  My father remarried a third time, and his current wife wants absolutely nothing to do with me.  My mother also remarried when I was young, and her husband is not a kind man, to put it mildly.  My childhood was full of abuse and neglect, and yet it was full of grace and redemption as well.  I have been married for twelve years, and in that time my husband has shown me a love I never believed I deserved.  He has loved me in a way that is Christ-like and devoted, and he has protected me in a way my own parents never did.  We are together against all odds, living out a marriage that has either lasted longer or been much more healthy than any of my parents' many unions.  My marriage isn't perfect, but it is a miracle.

View as we began our drive home...

I am so grateful for our little overnight trip to reconnect.  It was short, but it was full of laughter, of love, of time with no one but each other for just a little while.  I was refreshed by the incredible scenery, the luxury of someone else taking care of me, and the opportunity to talk with one another.  We must find a way to integrate this kind of connecting into our daily lives.  

Taking time...

This year, 33, I want to take control of my own thoughts.  I want to bring my focus back to the many miracles and blessings I have in my life, instead of focusing so much on what I want but do not have.  Although the challenges loom large in front of me and threaten to overwhelm me at times, the truth is that the blessings outweigh and outshine the challenges.  I need only to remember where to put my focus and my hope.


"Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God's glory.  We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance.  And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our hope of salvation.  And this hope will not lead to disappointment." Romans 5:2-5a (NLT)

Love wins...  And it is a miracle every single time it happens.

Toddler Season

I am failing the 31 for 21 challenge.  But I am hopeful that I am not failing awareness this month.  I continue to be delighted by the shift in seasons, including the changing foliage.  It is truly amazing the amount of color we are getting this year, considering how hot and dry our summer was.  I am relishing in the cool evenings that call for another cup of warm coffee and chilly mornings that require extra snuggles under the blanket while the heater kicks in.  I still love that the mid-afternoon sunshine has us throwing off our jackets and soaking in the warm rays.  As temperature fluctuates back and forth at this time of year, it is sometimes hard to know what season we are in.  Wintry mornings, late spring afternoons, fall evenings...  This back and forth process is the season changing and I suppose life is like that as well.  Some days I wonder if I am changing, growing, moving forward in the way I would like.  I am ready for a new season of joy and gladness, of contentment in the present.  I do not always feel as though I am embracing the now, but the fact that I am evaluating my ever-moving thermometer is a sign that my season is changing, too.

Some days I worry about therapy plans and differences, and then Brynnlie Grace reminds me that she is so much more like every other kid than she is different from them.  Today, we had playgroup at our house, and she got in to trouble with her toddler playmates, trying to make a quick escape.  She hung around her Momma's knees like a baby bird, looking for a snack, just like her friends did.  Later on, she unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper, as any toddler will do the moment someone leaves that darn bathroom door unlatched!  Oh, the Toddler Season!  About as unpredictable as a Midwestern Fall, and nearly as fun.

Hope you are enjoying the changing seasons outside, and that, if you need one, God is bringing a changing season to your heart as well.

Loves...

Not Quite Yet

Little Bear

 I have lost count of how many times I have gasped and sat up on the edge of my seat, thinking that Baby Girl was just...this...close...to taking that first step.  I watch her for a few moments, reaching my hands out to her, encouraging her.  She stands, barely an inch from the couch, blinking at the unfamiliar feeling of supporting all her weight on her own two feet.  She stretches her arms away from her body, fingers fully extended, legs beginning to wobble with effort.  She rocks on her heels and toes, reaching, grasping, thinking...  You can almost see her willing her own foot to rise from the ground.  Seconds later I fall back into my chair and shrug, not quite yet, as she plops down into her "little bear" position and saunters away.

While I am not discouraged that she hasn't taken that first step alone yet, I do sometimes feel disheartened after a difficult occupational or physical therapy session.  There are days when she refuses to put her feet on the ground, when she hangs the weight of her body from my arms or the arms of her therapists, and pulls her toes up toward her chest, as far from the floor as she can get them.  She insists with loud cries of protest, not that she cannot walk, but that she will not.  I do not worry about her physical ability to walk, I worry about her emotional willingness to do so.  She does not like for her body to be manipulated, and I fear that her extreme aversion to accepting help will begin to impede her forward progress.  My adorable little bear is stuck right now; when she stands and stretches her body forward it is as though her feet are glued to the floor. It seems as though her feet cannot receive the message that her brain is sending.  If only she would let us lift that foot for her, put her body through the motions, help her brain to imprint the message in the movements of her body.  Once the connections are made, I believe there will be no stopping her.

In those moments when I catch her trying on her own, I can see on her face that she wants to take a step.  I can tell by her eyes that she will take a step.  I get a glimpse of her resolve, and I reach my hands out toward her, coaxing her, calling her, yearning for her to make that move.  She stares at me, and then her glance wavers, and she sits with a plop and a look that says, not quite yet.

Tonight, I am aware that I am not unlike my Baby Girl.  Emotionally, I have been stuck in a tough spot for a while, shrouded in doubt and darkness and depression.  I know the steps that will lead me out, I know who I need to call on and in whom to place my trust.  So I struggle onto my feet and I reach my arms out toward the One who can rescue me.  I tell my brain to make my heart believe the truth instead of lies, I will myself to keep moving forward.  As I stretch a little further, I falter, I wobble, and I plop back down in my muddy pit.  Not quite yet.  I know that it is time to move forward, and yet I am afraid to let go of what has anchored me in this season of my life.  I am ashamed to admit that my anchor has been wallowing in misery and self-pity and anger.  I have lost track of what, exactly, I am really angry about.  But I have let so many dark thoughts and so much bitterness slowly seep into my veins, that I am afraid if I let go of all the anger I am holding onto, I will fall flat on my face.  I will be weak.  I will be broken.  My anger seems to hold me up, I think it is a wall I have built to keep me strong.  Instead it is a weight that holds me down, and presses me further into the mud.

Looking on in anticipation as my Baby Girl stands, thinking about how she may need more help to take those first steps, I began to feel an awareness of how much I need to allow myself to receive help as well.  I believe that my Father God is watching me, wanting so much to help me, take the weight of my anger from me so that I can escape this pit and allow him to change my heart.   Even though I wobble and falter, He is delighted just to know that I want to take that first step.  He is on the edge of his seat, stretching toward me and wanting me to reach for Him, and He promises He will not let me fall.  He is not disappointed that I haven't taken that step yet; He is overjoyed that I am willing to try.

That I will keep trying, that I will allow myself to be rescued, that I will ask Him to lift me, and that I will walk out every step of Psalm 40 with His help...  This is my prayer tonight.

¹ I waited patiently for the Lord to help me,
    and he turned to me and heard my cry.
² He lifted me out of the pit of despair,
    out of the mud and the mire.
He set my feet on solid ground
    and steadied me as I walked along.
³ He has given me a new song to sing,
    a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see what he has done and be amazed.
    They will put their trust in the Lord.

⁴ Oh, the joys of those who trust the Lord,
    who have no confidence in the proud
    or in those who worship idols.
⁵ O Lord my God, you have performed many wonders for us.
    Your plans for us are too numerous to list.
    You have no equal.
If I tried to recite all your wonderful deeds,
    I would never come to the end of them.

⁶ You take no delight in sacrifices or offerings.
    Now that you have made me listen, I finally understand—
    you don’t require burnt offerings or sin offerings.
⁷ Then I said, “Look, I have come.
    As is written about me in the Scriptures:
⁸ I take joy in doing your will, my God,
    for your instructions are written on my heart.”

⁹ I have told all your people about your justice.
    I have not been afraid to speak out,
    as you, O Lord, well know.
¹⁰ I have not kept the good news of your justice hidden in my heart;
    I have talked about your faithfulness and saving power.
I have told everyone in the great assembly
    of your unfailing love and faithfulness.

¹¹ Lord, don’t hold back your tender mercies from me.
    Let your unfailing love and faithfulness always protect me.
¹² For troubles surround me—
    too many to count!
My sins pile up so high
    I can’t see my way out.
They outnumber the hairs on my head.
    I have lost all courage.

¹³ Please, Lord, rescue me!
    Come quickly, Lord, and help me.
¹⁴ May those who try to destroy me
    be humiliated and put to shame.
May those who take delight in my trouble
    be turned back in disgrace.
¹⁵ Let them be horrified by their shame,
    for they said, “Aha! We’ve got him now!”

Not quite yet...

¹⁶ But may all who search for you
    be filled with joy and gladness in you.
May those who love your salvation
    repeatedly shout, “The Lord is great!”
¹⁷ As for me, since I am poor and needy,
    let the Lord keep me in his thoughts.
You are my helper and my savior.
    O my God, do not delay.

Psalm 40, New Living Translation

First Downs for Down Syndrome and a Moment of Awareness

Today our local Down Syndrome Guild hosted an amazing event that we were happy to attend.  Members of the offensive line of my favorite football team (no fair-weather fans here!) signed autographs, held babies, and smiled for the camera over and over again at a local KFC.  Football is definitely another of my many favorite things about Fall.  It was all part of First Downs for Down Syndrome, a non-profit organization that teams with members of the Kansas City Chiefs Offensive Line to raise money for Down syndrome organizations, raise awareness of Down syndrome, and create positive images of those with Down syndrome.  So this meet and greet photo op was kind of the perfect lunch-date for Day 2 of the 31 for 21 challenge, right?

This event was crammed right into the middle of a very busy day for me.  Those times--when babies are squawking in high chairs and preschoolers are bouncing in booths, when I have to go back to the counter twice to order food because my brain doesn't work well enough to figure out how much I need for myself and two kids--those are the moments where I find it difficult to maintain an awareness of the watchful and vigilant type.  I am glad I took pictures and have the opportunity tonight to reflect a little bit more on our outing.

I enjoyed seeing other babies, toddlers, big kids and even an adult or two with Down syndrome having fun, eating lunch and getting autographs.  They were all pretty excited to meet the players, who towered over almost anyone else in the restaurant.  Some of the younger gentlemen found the cheerleaders to be the most appealing.  (I need to get some of those pom-poms!)  Although Asher wanted to be sure to tell the "girls" he liked their dresses before we left, his favorite was definitely the KC Wolf, our beloved mascot, who I've heard is an all-around pretty great guy.  (Note that Brynnlie was not convinced.)

In the midst of all this fun and chaos today, I had an opportunity to spread awareness of the knowledge type.  I wish I could say I had seized the moment, but I did not.  So I will share it here on my blog and hope that I am bold enough, aware enough, and sensitive enough, to share it in person the next time I have the chance.  A sweet woman came into KFC looking for some lunch, having absolutely no idea the hullabaloo she was entering!  As she stepped up to the counter, she glanced around her bewildered and asked, "What are they doing here?"  I was nearby, and so I replied that it was an event with First Downs for Down Syndrome.  "Oh, Downs!  OK.  That's great.  I was a teacher for years, and I always loved those little Downs kids."  It's funny how much different that sounds to me now than it did a year ago.  

When this sweet woman says she loved those little Downs kids, I am sure she means it in the most positive way.  But my Momma ear now hears her refer to my baby as one of "those" kids, and no Momma really wants her baby labeled into a broad category that is ultimately made up of so many very different individuals.  Brynnlie Grace is not a "Downs kid," she is a kid who just happens to have Down syndrome, among many other unique and special traits. If you would like to build your awareness by learning more about the importance of People First Language, and the correct spelling and punctuation of Down syndrome, please click here.  This knowledge has definitely made me more aware of the labels we place on one another, and how limiting any label is for truly knowing a person.  We all possess so many different gifts and abilities, and it is the whole, not just one part, that makes us who we are as individuals.  For now, I will just say that I promise not to refer to your beautiful and unique child as one of "those" kids, if you promise to do the same for me, no matter how harmless the label we put upon them may seem.

Thanks to this amazing article I read today, I'm including this photo, although it is difficult for me to do so.

The Mom Stays in the Picture

Tomorrow I hope for a shorter post, or there's no way I'll make 31 for 21!  I'll be watchful, like this guy, and find time to be aware of something new.

Loves!

Welcome, October!

My one-and-only Pinterest creation!

October has always been my very favorite month of the year.  It is my birthday month, and I have always been just a little spoiled on my birthday!  It is also the time of the year in the Midwest when the stifling heat begins to give way to cooler breezes.  The humidity level finally drops, and the cicadas cease their deafening cries.  The relief from the heat has never been more welcome than this year, after a very hot summer of drought, with parched grass and cracking earth.  As the thermometer finally falls below 80 I feel as though the world is becoming a little more quiet; perhaps the noises are muffled by the leaves falling to the ground.  The back-to-school buzz has passed and we finally take a breath, reconnecting with our routines.  Twilight begins to darken just a moment earlier, calling us to make the most of gorgeous evenings while they last.

I could go on for hours about the goodness of Fall.  I delight in the flavors of pumpkin spice, caramel apple, and creamy cocoa.  I am in awe of the changing leaves, golden grasses, and sweeping landscapes that are evidence of an incredibly artistic Creator.  Tonight my heart was lifted by a quick walk with my littles--there was a cool breeze blowing, red and gold and orange leaves turning and peewee-football-practice-whistle-blowing in the park.  We followed up our little walk with the first caramel apples and cocoa of the season.  A perfect way to say, "Welcome, October!"

One year ago, I learned I had yet another reason to love October.  October is National Down Syndrome Awareness Month.  I was five years old when President Reagan signed a proclamation enacting that in 1984, yet my first knowledge that such a campaign existed was last year, when I was still learning all things new about my own Baby Girl with Down syndrome.  The common definition of awareness is having knowledge   Prior to last year, I had very little knowledge about Down syndrome, or that National Down Syndrome Awareness Month even existed.  I have learned many new things, and I would say in the last year that my knowledge has increased.  There is, however, also an older definition of awareness.  The more archaic definition of the word is simply vigilant; watchful.  I am intrigued by this concept.

This October, I want to be aware of Fall as it unfolds around me during a very busy month.  I want to breathe deeply the scents, taste the flavors and enjoy the coolness of this month of reprieve.  I want to be vigilant in exploring our world as it changes each day, watchful of the leaves as they subtly color and fade over time.  I also want to develop a better awareness of what Down syndrome means to me.  I want to engage in vigilant, watchful contemplation of my daughter, and explore my thoughts and feelings about her life and ours.  It is not always breezy walks at twilight and cozy cocoa sipping around our house.  I want to develop more appreciation for and awareness of those moments, but I also want to explore the deeper current of how I have been feeling since my precious girl was born.  I want to notice and learn more about other individuals and families with Down syndrome.  I want to do more than just see these incredible people, I want to become aware of them.  

I hope to record and share on my blog throughout this month of exploring and cultivating awareness, and I hope you will join me on this journey of celebration.  Cheers!  Here's to National Down Syndrome Awareness Month, to Fall, to caramel apples, and to hot cocoa mustaches!  May your October find you vigilant, watchful, aware...

After posting this, I learned that many people choose to blog throughout October as a way of raising awareness during this special month.  What a wonderful way for me to get my blog off the ground and to stick to my plan to be vigilant and watchful during National Down Syndrome Awareness Month.  I am joining the blogosphere in posting 31 times throughout October to raise awareness for our special friends with extra copies of chromosome 21.  31 for 21.  Thanks for sharing the journey with me.  To learn more, or to join the 31 for 21 challenge, visit Big Blueberry Eyes.

Grab This Button

Do all you do

One last bit of joy last night was a trip to McD's in our PJ's for 150-calorie ice cream cones.  I know, the fact that I am telling the world that I let my kids have ice cream from McDonald's is pretty much a sin in today's food-wise world.  I think I can live with that.  The whole family was united on a quick trip to borrow a car, and this pit-stop seemed like a great way to make it into a happier errand. On the way home, Kai went with me on a quick diaper run to Wal-Mart (did I mention our lives are chaos) and we had a great little talk when we pulled into the driveway. 

We've been talking with him a lot about doing his best work.  He brought up a little moment from school, and it led to a great discussion about why we do our best.  I was reminded of and able to share with him this verse from Colossians, "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men." (Col 3:23, NIV) We talked about how he does his best on his homework and his chores and with his siblings not for me or his dad or his teachers or himself, but for Jesus.  And we talked about how I mow the lawn and change diapers and go to work for the very same reason, for Jesus.  And in that moment, this Momma was humbled.  Here I thought I was having this chat with him in the car so that I could teach and instruct him, and all of the sudden, the Holy Spirit took that moment to teach and instruct and remind me of my purpose.  I needed that reminder.  To be floored by the reality that the minutes of my day are for a greater purpose, and they do not go unnoticed.

Sort of Tasty Wednesday

So, just when I said I'd be writing about our Tasty Tuesdays (OK, so maybe that was a month ago) I started working on Tuesday nights.  That kinda throws a wrench in the Family Night plans.  Last night, Wednesday, I opted to go ahead and try for a tasty meal with me and the kidlets, even though the hubs would be working late.

Overall, I'm going to call it a bang up success.  Kai officially said I knocked his socks off.  He said he was pretty sure I was the best cook in the world and that this was the best meal I had ever made.  Be still my beating heart!

I mean, come on?  Who isn't going to fall for this guy? And he'll compliment your cooking!

Never mind that there were tomatoes in the salad and the dude hates tomatoes.  Never mind that Asher only ate his dinner under the threat of going to bed early if he didn't muscle down some of that food.

He looks happy here, but he hasn't tasted anything yet.

Never mind that Brynnlie didn't get to eat the meal since she hasn't had any fish yet, and that she spent most of our meal time on the patio squawking loudly enough for the neighbors 5 houses down to think I must be completely neglecting the poor girl.

 Just keeping things real--this is a baby girl in desperate need of a bath!   Like the applesauce hair gel?

Never mind all of those things.  This was good food, on a glorious evening, and it was every ounce of Tasty Tuesday that a random Wednesday without the whole family there could possibly be.

 Summer preview on a plate, baby.

 I gotta say, Skinny Taste hasn't let me down yet.  Every single recipe I have tried from this site has been amazing, forget about the fact that it is all low-calorie and good for you.  And to top it off, her photos of the food will make mine look like exactly what it is--an unskilled snapshot taken by someone who doesn't necessarily have "the eye."  Don't let that stop you--definitely try the Cilantro Lime Tilapia Tacos  and the Southwestern Black Bean Salad as soon as you possibly can.  Delish!  

So there I was, spoon-feeding a baby, coercing a toddler to "just try another bite" and instructing a big-kid to go get his own second helping.  Between delivering bits of information to inquisitive boys, bits of nourishment to a hungry girl, and generally losing my mind, I was also gulping down my own little bites of deliciousness.  Taking in the warm air, the buzz of insects already making their presence known, the sounds of our busy little neighborhood.  That moment is exactly what I want out of life. I am where I am supposed to be.

I need to take these few minutes to pause and appreciate how much goodness there is in the midst of that chaos.  Otherwise, all I remember is the chaos.  "Taste and see..."  I've been too rushed, too hurried in my tasting.  I haven't stepped back and chosen to really see the joys the Lord has for me.  The joys are are many.  I am blessed.

Taste and See

"Taste and see that the LORD is good.  Oh the joys of those who trust in him."  Psalm 34:8

If I'm being perfectly honest, I have had the taste of bitterness in my mouth as of late.  I have doubted the goodness of God.  I have held him at arm's length in response to the fact that I have been feeling rather wounded.  Like a frightened animal, I have not wanted to let anyone--even my loving Creator--near my injuries.  The problem, of course, is that a wound left untreated will begin to fester, or become infected, and it will be difficult to heal.

And so in my resistance to allow God to come near and offer the comfort he promises, my bitterness has grown, and the bad taste in my mouth has been drowning out the incredible goodness around me.  

A few months ago our family began a new tradition.  Every week, we have "Tasty Tuesday," a family night where we share a thoughtfully prepared meal together.  For our family, it is the one night a week that we are certain to have all five of us gathered around the kitchen table.  I wish we could do this every day, but our current situation does not allow that.  So instead, we are making an intentional effort to make this one night a week extra special.  We plan a menu, we plan a meal together, we plan what verse to learn that week.  We take time to taste new foods, to taste of our love for one another, and to taste the goodness of God.

This has been such a simple, ordinary blessing to me.  During weeks where I have battled darkness and doubt and depression, the simple joy of my family around the table has been a healing salve.  Hearing my eight-year-old explain the meaning of a Bible verse has made the truth piercing and real and undeniable to my heart.  Our meals have not been extraordinary--milk has been spilled, vegetables have gone uneaten, and we have had our share of less-than-perfect interactions with one another.  But we're trying, we're living life together, we're feeling the goodness of God in our hearts over the weeks and months that pass by.

So I plan to share our Tasty Tuesdays with you. I want to keep a record of these sweet times together as a family, and to take note of what I'm learning that week.  I'll also be tracking what worked and what didn't when it comes to trying out new recipes.  So far, the food has been OK, but Kai's still waiting for the perfect meal to "knock his socks off!"  I'll definitely let you know when I finally get that review!

(I'm trying to figure out how to upload photos from my iPad and Evernote Food...)

I pray that you taste and see his goodness this week, friends.  May the richness of his love, the fullness of his mercies and the sweetness of his voice wash away the bitter herbs that life sometimes sends to you.