I have two friends I want to tell you about today: Janna and Joanna.  Janna has been my friend since her birth (I’m 2 months older). Joanna doesn’t know that I’m alive and resides on a little farm outside of Waco, Texas, but assuming she actually knew of my existence and lived in North Dakota, I just know we’d be pals.

Both of my friends are freakishly talented.

My friend Janna hasn’t met a sport that she can’t excel at, can whip up a mouth-watering meal at a moment’s notice, can advise you on what over-the-counter-medication you should purchase when it feels like your head is about to explode (she’s a smarty pants pharmacist), and she can bring the house down when she belts out Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’.

My friend Joanna introduced the world to the word shiplap, has won over millions of fans with her farmhouse designs, has two best-selling cookbooks under her belt, grows chicken, goats, puppies, herbs, and little humans on her farm, and has turned young kiddos into horticulturists with her children’s book, We Are the Gardeners.

Both of these women are sooo gifted, that it sometimes makes we wonder if God was feeling a little uninspired the day he created me.  I have gifts, of course: I can string words together and am tall enough to scrape off the sticky things my son finds to shoot up to the ceiling of our home.  But I don’t have the type of skills that mesmerize a crowd, or have you whispering to your bestie, “Wow, I wish I could do that!” I’m um…a pretty normal person.

Maybe you can relate?

It’s easy to see the local talent show, the highlight reels on social media, or your multi-talented friend and feel a little less than.  It’s hard not to covet the talents and skills your neighbor may have.  But there is a verse in the Bible that testifies that, indeed, God was not lacking inspiration the day he created me…and you. 

For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.  (Psalms 139:13-14)

You are an incredible creation made by the God of the universe!  I may need Jimmy Don to etch those verses on a metal sign, as I tend to forget that when I see the Jannas and Joannas of the world.  Let’s remember those verses as we scroll through our social media feeds and hang up those creative, adorable Christmas cards that show up in our mailboxes this time of year. 

And as for my friends, Janna and Joanna?  Well, I’ll never have the level of expertise that they do, but that’s OK.  They don’t have the level of expertise that I have.  (I doubt they can scrape things off their ceilings without standing on a chair.) We can still be friends.  I will cheer them on in 2020 and I know that they’ll be cheering me on in 2020.  That is of course, assuming Joanna knew that I existed. 😊

Merry Christmas, friends!

-Sally

I took this picture 6 years ago.

It’s a picture of 3-month-old Luke. He’s smiling with his eyes and is about to say something sly and clever to me. And that belly. He’s resting a chubby arm on that belly as if he’d just put away a small stack of chocolate chip waffles.  (My boy loves him some waffles.)

When you see this picture, you most likely see a happy baby. 

When I see this picture, I see a happy baby, too.  And then…I see the mistake I made. 

You see the seat belt?  You know where this is going, right?  Well, I’ll tell you what’s all too painfully obvious here: I forgot to fasten Luke’s seat belt that day.  I was so smitten by my handsome little man, that I stopped to take a picture of him and I forgot what I was doing.  That seat belt never got fasten that morning.  I realized my mistake two minutes later when we got to daycare. 

Obviously, I’m grateful it was a safe ride to daycare.  (And “Yay!” for blink-or-you’ll-miss-them small towns where nothing is more than two minutes away!)  I was horrified by my mistake, though, and when I got to work, I immediately sought out a friend and confessed my crime.  My friend, bless her soul, told me about a similar story — about a mistake that she had made with her young son that, thankfully, had no harmful consequences, but had left her shaken, too. 

This thing called motherhood?  It’s absolutely the best gig in this world!  But it comes at a cost.  It’s cost me my pride, my perfectionism, and on some days…my sanity.

I’ve made a lot of mistakes since I’ve become a mom.  A. LOT.  Some of my favorites:

• On more than one occasion, a co-worker has pointed out that the shirt I was wearing was inside out.
• I recently showed up (and waited 20 minutes) for a dental appointment that existed only on my calendar.   
• I got Luke’s age wrong when I made an entry on his growth chart.  (Note that this growth chart is on a wall in our house, and written in permanent marker. But in my defense, he hadn’t been “5” for an entire month yet when I made that erroneous entry.)

Motherhood is messy, frustrating, exhausting work. And we Moms are imperfect people. But here’s a piece of scripture that gives me hope. I’m considering writing it on my wall in permanent marker, too:

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.  (Galations 6:9 NIV)

Let’s not give up, Moms (and Dads)! Those long days? Those long summertime days when heat, humidity, and patience are all maxed out? It’s all good work.

And in the meantime…I can loan you a permanent marker if you need to write that verse on your wall, too.

Fear can make us do incredible things. And when I say incredible, I don’t mean awe-inspiring, miraculous feats that make our friends and family proud. I mean incredible as in unbelievable things that make our friends and family shake their heads in disbelief and make ourselves feel small, incapable, and not enough.

This past year hasn’t been my favorite year. It started out well: my son and I were on the cover of a magazine, for goodness sake! I started the year on fire! But then life happened, as we say. Fierce, crushing, bad things happened. I talked to God about these things. We had words. Well me, mostly. I gave Him a few seconds to get a word in edgewise, but all I heard was silence.

The really bad things in life stay with me. I carry them with me where ever I go. (And sometimes I pull a Taylor Swift and write about them. Be thankful I can’t carry a tune, folks!) The bad things in life shape and mold me like no amount of veggies and cardio can do. Well, that is, assuming I tried those things. The bad things in life change my perspective in a negative way and suck hope out of every situation I’m in. And this was exactly the mindset I had when I went in for a mammogram last week.

Now being 41, this was my second rodeo in the mammography section of the clinic. And I’ll confess, I was scared. The upcoming, uncomfortable procedure didn’t elevate my blood pressure. It was the upcoming results that did.

I had no physical reason to worry about the results. No physical reason at all.  But my brain didn’t get that message. Instead, I just kept thinking, “They’re going to find something. This is going to be the cherry on top of this crappy year.” I mean really, what else would you say to yourself when you have a mammogram at the end of a really hard year?

The procedure started out fine – it was uncomfortable and unpleasant, just as I knew to expect. Toward the end of the procedure, I told the technician, “I, um, don’t feel very good.” I wished a fan was blowing directly on me because I needed air…bad. And after that, my memory is a little fuzzy.

Is it possible to faint and still stand upright? Because I think that’s what happened. As I mentioned, I was having a MAMMOGRAM done…so um, well…a sensitive part of my body was still trapped in medical equipment. And my arm was holding on to the side of the machine, as I had been instructed. So I couldn’t fall back and faint.  My weight was leaning into the machine.

But suddenly the technician was right by my side, and helping me down to the ground. (She apparently freed the body part that was trapped in said medical equipment.) Two other technicians were now in the room. They covered me up, and lifted my head off the floor so I could drink some orange juice. The technician asked me if I get light headed when I get blood drawn. In between gulps of OJ, I said yes. 

“Next time you come in for a mammogram, you need to say that,” the technician said.

OK. Noted. 

And now I’ll move into the public service announcement portion of this blog post and tell ladies that if you get light headed when you give blood samples, you should tell your X-ray technician that right away when you go get a mammogram. Right away. Lead with that information, ladies. They’ll let you sit during the procedure! And if you do happen to pass out, they tell me it’s normal and happens all the time. (This has to be the truth…right??) And hey, you’ll get a cool, refreshing can of OJ totally free!

Mammograms are uncomfortable and slightly painful. But that’s not what made me hit the floor. It was the fear. When you tell yourself, “They’re going to find something. This is going to be the cherry on top of this crappy year,” you will no doubt have a memorable mammogram experience like I did. The fear will eat at your body and shut it down, just like mine did.

Fear does incredible things to our bodies…and to our lives. It stops us from sending in that college application, taking that job, going on that trip, saying “yes” to that opportunity, or chasing that dream, you know, the dream that everyone else laughed at.

God apparently knew we’d have trouble with this fear thing. Over and over again in the Bible, God tells us to not be afraid. For example, in Joshua 1:9 God says, “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go.”

Let’s remember these words as we head into 2019. I may need them tattooed somewhere.  (But, um, I’m not a fan of uncomfortable procedures. Or fainting.) Be brave. Don’t listen to the fear. I’m excited to see what will happen, and who we will be. Let’s do incredible things! And by that I mean, awe-inspiring, miraculous feats that make our friends and family proud. Not the kind where you pass out.

Happy New Year, my friends!

-Sally

PS: The mammogram was normal. 😊

Luke and I had an interesting summer. And when I say interesting, I mean nothing went as planned.  Nothing.  We “made lots of memories” as people say now days, but when I look back at the photos on my phone, I don’t giggle and think “Aww, what a fun summer!”  The pictures—and my memories—from this summer are still a little sensitive, tender, and raw. But I keep reminding myself: this is life. It’s the chapters of your life that suck the life out of you that are where you learn the most.

On June 27, while on a playdate with his best buddies, Luke fell off of his friend’s little John Deere gator and hit his head on the concrete driveway. He immediately cried, of course, but he seemed OK. I knew he might have a concussion, so I asked “What’s 2 + 2?” and “What’s 5 + 5?” and my little soon-to-be Kindergartner gave me the answers I wanted to hear.  I knew his brain was working fine.

But later I learned that he fractured his skull. And behind that ugly, jagged fracture was an important vein – and it looked like it had a clot.

We spent 5 days in the hospital while his trauma team (2 words a mom never wants to speak) tried to determine if what they saw on the scans was a clot or simply a shadow from the fracture. And during those 5 days, I learned 2 hard truths.

1. It’s not easy to be still

While we were in the hospital, for some reason the verse “Be still, and know that I am God,” (Psalms 46:10) ran through my mind. It’s incredibly hard to be still when you’re waiting to get some good news from doctors. I think it would have been easier to walk on water.  Those men and women clad in white coats hold such power!

I was praying for big miracles (I dream big.)  I wanted Luke’s head to be completely healed, and I wanted it now.  (I don’t ask for much, do I?)  The skull fracture was something I wasn’t prepared for. It was a situation I couldn’t control, and a problem I couldn’t do anything to fix.  All I could do was be still…and pray.  And that’s when I realized…

2. I’m such a liar

I learned the Lord’s Prayer long, long ago.  The fourth line of that prayer is, “Thy will be done.”  I’ve said that line thousands of times. (And sung it too…it’s a powerful song by Hillary Scott.)  During some of the quiet moments at the hospital, the gravity of that line hit me, and I realized that when I prayed that line, I never really meant it.

God’s will isn’t mine.

I like things done my way.  I like happy endings.  Those troublesome moments of life where you must grow, stretch, and mature?  Yeah, I don’t like ’em.  They’re never in my plans.  But sometimes they’re in God’s.

My family went through tragedy 35 years ago.  (You read my book, right? 😊)  I felt like we had paid our dues.  I felt like we should get a pass on this one.  I wanted my Get Out Of Jail Free card.  So I was praying hard during our hospital stay, and trying to barter with God.  You know how that works right?  “Hey God, if you do this, I’ll do this.”  Those negotiations always ended as you might have guessed, with no change in Luke’s condition.

But towards the end of those 5 days in the hospital, something in me changed.  I have no idea what, but I actually started to pray that God’s will would actually be done…and that He’d give me the strength to deal with it, no matter what the outcome was.

I guess there’s something to being still, after all.

Now on to Kindergarten

On Luke’s 5^th day in the hospital, he had another MRI.  We were praying for good news so we could go home.  We didn’t get the good news I was hoping for: the doctors still couldn’t tell if what they saw on the latest scan was a clot or not.  The neurologist wanted Luke to stay in the hospital, but the nurse practitioner on Luke’s trauma team (those 2 words again!) talked the neurologist into letting us go home. So on July 2, I brought Luke home with the instructions that he must stay well-hydrated and he must not run or jump. (We really tried on that last part, but um, he’s a 5-year-old boy!)

We went back to the hospital on July 5 and Luke had another CT scan.  At this point, we finally got some good news. Luke did have a blood clot – but it was smaller now, and it looked like the blood was moving faster.  So things were moving in the right direction!

On July 26, Luke had another MRI. Luke’s neurologist said his vein had reconstituted (my new favorite word) itself, so we no longer need to see her.  (Dr. Yang, you’re awesome, but I never want to see you again! No offense, of course.)  She said Luke can go to Kindergarten as planned, but he won’t be able to participate in recess or gym class until the end of September.

So Kindergarten, here comes Luke!

And I’m sure on his first Show-And-Tell day, Luke will tell everyone all about how he fell and cracked his head open.

(Photo credit: Expressions by Ashton Photography)

It’s November 22 today. The day before Thanksgiving. If you’re sitting at work today, you’re watching the clock and wondering how early you can leave without having to log PTO. If you’re standing in line at the grocery store, I’m sorry. I’ve been there, too. I have faith we’ll plan better next year.

News outlets will keep you up-to-date on weather conditions as some of you head out over the hills and through the woods. They’ll follow-up that report with projections about Black Friday and Cyber Monday, and provide tips for getting the best holiday deals.

After running down those top stories, in the “On this day in history” segment, they’ll tell you that today marks the anniversary of JFK’s assassination. The report will touch on the grassy knoll, the magic bullet, and the Zapruder film. A live shot of Dealey Plaza will most likely be shown.

There are lots of headlines today. But just one is running through my mind:

It would have been Melissa’s 42^nd birthday today.

It’s been nearly 35 years since her death, and yet every November 22, I still wonder, Why? As in: Why didn’t we get the miracle?

On this side of Heaven, I know I’ll never be able to answer that question. Bad things happen to good people. Good people like you and me. Good people like my sister.

But here’s the thing: I know that God uses all things for good. All things. Even all the No Good Very Bad Things. In Romans 8:28 it says, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” That’s the headline I need running through my mind today.

No experience is ever wasted. That heartbreaking thing you don’t talk about? Maybe one day you’ll write a book about it. That redhead you said goodbye to nearly 35 years ago? She’ll never be far from your mind.

But maybe one day…you’ll tell your redheaded son about her.

Hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

Sally

Last week, when I realized my book was on Amazon and other book-selling sites, I had a moment of panic. I thought, “Oh no…what have I done? People are going to read this thing now.”

I’m wired to worry and over-analyze everything.  It’s exhausting.

But, my friends, you’ve been awesome! You ordered the book, shared the link on social media, and have sent me really supportive comments. It means a lot to me, so I just want to say, THANK YOU!

I wrote the book five or six years ago. (I’m not sure when exactly, but it was before Luke came along…you know, back when I had spare time.) Now that the book has released, it’s bringing up lots a family memories. Here’s one circa 1981. I’m sure you’ll never guess which one is me!  hee hee

Hoping you have a joy-filled weekend!

Sally

Testing 1, 2, 3.  Testing 1, 2, 3.  Is this thing on?

Hi there!  Welcome to our site!

My good friend Ali and I have decided to go on a crazy adventure. We’re publishing children’s books! Our first book is called Letters to Heaven and is based on my childhood.

Death and cancer are hard subjects to explain to kids. Our hope is that this book will help parents start the conversation. We also hope that this book helps kids learn how to cope in the aftermath, and see the hope that is always there.

I’m  currently in the process of writing book #2. It’s about the miracle of adoption, a subject that’s also close to my heart.

Thanks for reading!

Sally