This Abode

Beautiful and New.

2017-02-08T12:55:00.000-07:00

I’ve been emotionally processing a lot lately. For me, the weightier the processing. I redid one bathroom already and am most of the way done with another. It’s not avoiding; it’s refreshing, seeing something old, broken and weary made new. It breathes life into me.

It was only $8, a large framed piece of artwork, ready for me to remake into something new.

I immediately began to work on sanding the deep red paint off the frame in hopes to stain it a dark walnut to match our new wood shelves. Sanding isn’t the most glamorous or exciting job: stripping off the layer after layer of old paint, cleaning up the messy particles, washing away the residue of painted wood dust.

I didn’t want to do this work. I wanted to get to the finished product, ready to see this made new. So I tried to take a shortcut and didn’t bother to get all the paint off. I convinced myself it would give it a “rustic” look. Of course it didn’t work. The red still showed through and where the paint was, the stain didn’t soak in and left a tacky mess.

But I saw just enough of the real wood beneath that took the stain, and it was beautiful and new.

The next day I went back to work, this time determined to not leave any paint behind. It took awhile (and many hand cramps), but the result was beautiful. In the end, not a bit of the red paint was left, and when I applied the stain it soaked into the wood grain and made it shine.

A newly painted piece of art went in the frame, and this new art piece looks nothing like its former $8 self.

It’s no coincidence that God used this piece as a reminder of the work he’s doing in my life.

He’s sanding away old paint, smoothing out old wounds and stripping away layer after layer after layer of lies and pain that have been long covered up with fresh coats of paint that I hoped would make the old layers forgotten. He’s removing every little piece of the old so the new can shine through and be new, wholly new.

I’d like to rush through. Haven’t we been at this long enough? This part here is especially stubborn and painful — can we just skip over that? He gently reminds me not to quit. It will be worth it. It will be beautiful and new.

You are loved.

2017-01-05T20:45:00.003-07:00

“Lord, who am I?”

This question I’ve asked God repeatedly over this last season. He always seems to answer the same.

“You are loved. You are loved by me. All of you. Just you.”

But, honestly, I keep asking because I find myself waiting for more, as if that answer wasn’t quite enough. I guess I have been searching for a more workable title - a title that defines what I do.

But he continues to whisper his love - He’s not defining me by my works or even my possibilities, by my success or my failures, by my strengths or my weaknesses, but He’s defining me by Him.

By his love, and whispering that His love doesn’t depend on me. Not even a little bit.

And what he is speaking to my heart, maybe he wants to speak it to yours as well:

“Who are you? You, you are loved to the fullest extent not by what you have done or haven’t done but just you. All of you. That is who you are - you are loved. Rest in this.

You have lived your life convinced otherwise. The voices of unlove have been loud in your heart and in your ear. Listen to my voice - you are loved. You. Are. Loved. Dearly, loved.

I know you don’t believe it yet, I know it doesn’t seem like enough but I will keep saying it. Over and over and over as long as it takes because my love doesn’t quit. My love doesn’t rely on you.

Who are you? You are loved. Live out of that love.”

#7

2016-12-21T09:01:00.000-07:00

I’ve struggled with how to remember. How to grapple with joy missed and memories that flood with pain and fear. But I want to remember life that was, even when I feel like I missed it.

For months after the December that turned life upside down, I felt defeated, scared, and struggled to wrap my mind around what happened and who God is in all of this.

I decided I wanted to do something to remember. I wanted to set an Ebenezer that marked that God wasn’t done, that He’s not finished with my story. I wanted it to be something that scared me, that pushed me, that was bigger than me and that challenged me to believe that I was stronger than I believed.

This summer I set my sights on climbing a mountain. And as I prepared, the process of plodding uphill has been therapeutic to my heart. Many deep talks with God have happened on that trail. Many hard questions asked through tears and labored breath. That trail in particular has been a bit of a sacred space for me, a place of wrestling, a place of remembering, a place to uncover who I am, a place of great refreshment.

I haven’t made it to the top yet.

But today, a year from surgery, I’m going to the top. This time in a train, next time by foot. It seems only fitting on a day that marks a year of what feels like climbing a mountain, with aching bones but beautiful views, that I take a trip to the top and remember.

Remember the struggle of 2016. The year that brought great ache and great beauty.

The worst year and the best year.

Remember the depth of the pain that started a year ago that was the catalyst to deep searching and uncovering of deep pain that had been locked away for far too long.

Remember the beauty that God is uncovering in my heart and how far He’s brought me.

Remember our #7.

For Heavy Hearts this Christmas

2016-12-12T09:23:00.003-07:00

I’ve heard them called “Griefbursts”: moments where grief seems to hit you when you least expect it, just as intense as ever. When we began decorating for Christmas, it hit me like a punch in the gut. Literally took the breath out of me. I went to the kitchen table, leaned over, and willed myself to take a deep breath and fight back tears hard because I just didn’t want to deal right now. It was so unexpected--the sadness and pain, the fear that I felt last year--and it hit me all at once. Christmas festivities seem to carry a heavy weight this year.

As Christmas festivities unfold this year, there is a constant reminder of last year's events. A reminder of new life, lost life, questioning, fear, pain. I actually remember very little of last Christmas. Being four days post-surgery, I slept a lot and I cried a little, but mostly I just went through in fog.

I can’t say I’m looking forward to Christmas this year.

But Christmas?

Christ has come, silence broken, hope anew, light in great darkness, God with us.

God with you. God with me. God near. Yes, the weary world rejoices. My heavy, weary heart this Christmas, it still rejoices.

This is Christmas when the tree is put away and the Christmas lights are off, this is Christmas even when the cold January winter sets in and the hum drums of February drag on, this Christmas still burns bright. This Christmas doesn’t get put away with the ornaments or thrown away with the wrapping paper. This Christmas makes weary legs continue to take the next step and will lungs to take deep breaths.

Move Through

2016-11-30T12:46:00.001-07:00

A few weeks ago we went to a wildlife refuge. The herd of bison we saw were beautiful and strong. There was one right next to the road we were on. We sat and watched it for quite a while.

If I had to describe a bison in one word, it would be intentional.

I was reminded of my friend Nina telling me how when bison see a storm approaching, they turn and run into it. This way, they lessen their time exposed to the storm.

I’m not a bison, but perhaps I’m learning to be more like one. I’ve spent my life side-stepping storms, living on the outer edge, still feeling the pain of the storm but pretending like it’s not there.

I’d like to stick my head in the sand and say I’m fine, but if I’ve learned anything this year it’s to walk through, not around. To face pain head on and not make excuses for my emotions. Then healing can start to happen.

Move through,

Not around.

Enter in knowing this darkness may be very, very dark,

But it will not consume.

In fact, it will break way to a light greater than you can imagine.

Move through.

Walk towards daybreak

Trusting that it’s there even if you don’t see it.

Come out of hiding.

Stop skirting around the pain,

It does you no good to side step it.

When you do it’s only pain.

Pain masked with fear, anger, hate, addiction, depression, bitterness.

Step in.

Press in.

Keep walking.

Choose to feel even if the hurt feels like it might break you.

There is great freedom that awaits you.

Walk into the storm.

Stop settling for a life lived in a foggy masquerade.

Face it head on,

This is where the healing begins.

Yes you’re in the midst of it,

But you don’t walk alone.

He’s not on the other side waiting for you to find your way.

Even in the darkness He walks beside you.

I love you that much.

2016-11-21T08:35:00.002-07:00

“You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:6-8

I read these verses and began to journal. God showed his love for us with the great cost of sacrificing his son. But I had questions.

“Do you think I’m worth it?,” I wrote. “Sure, as a collective whole, I can sneak in — but what if it’s just me? Am I worth it?”

I felt a quietness in my spirit, and the words poured out onto the page as I wrote. It was no doubt God speaking to my heart that day. A word for my heart, and maybe a word for yours.

"Don’t you see? Don’t you see how I love? How I love just you? How I know you and love you there? Yes, yes, just for you. And I will always be the same — yes, just for you. I love you that much.

"My love is always and was always and you need do nothing. You still don't understand: you will mess up, you will act out of fear and anger and selfishness, and I, I am not disappointed. My message to you is the same: I love you - always, always.”

And as I journaled and these words swept over me, I feared forgetting. “I want to remember this. To live out of this. But I’m afraid I won’t remember, that I won’t believe it. It seems too good to be true. I mean, is this really true? Because I know me and I know my thoughts and I am fearful and lazy and selfish and so much more.”

And His response caught me off guard. “Keep asking. My answer doesn’t change, and I will speak it again and again if you’re willing to listen, until you believe it and even after. You are loved by me with the love you’ve dreamed of since you were little.

"And those who have been in your life, those who have whispered lies, those who have yelled them - that’s not me. I’m cheering for you - I’m on your side, always, in every step.”

Beauty in Brokenness

2016-10-10T21:48:00.000-06:00

I stared out the window. That bush had snow on it six months ago, a month later it was soaked in rain, then flower buds, and now it had purple flowers ready to fall off in the chilled autumn winds.

I wasn’t planning on this lasting so long. I had it all figured out, you see. I had finally admitted I needed a little guidance to see through the weeds of grief. So I swallowed my pride, made an appointment, and set out to seek guidance on how to grieve. The plan was simple: admit the issue, go to a couple sessions, correct course, pat myself on the back and move on.

I’m so thankful my nice, neat, controlled plan didn’t pan out, because there was so much more under the surface, things I pretended didn’t exist, pretended didn’t hurt anymore, guilt and shame and lies all buried deep. Brokenness I was too afraid to admit.

Staring out the window now, the air was thick. Time seemed to slow. I focused on the bush, this bush that I've seen through more seasons than I had planned, and tears ran down my cheeks. This time, I didn’t stop them.

Silence.

Just silence and space to not rush this pain. No need to have the right answers, or be ok, or entertain pat answers, but space to sit in the silence and brokenness. There was margin to grieve, and to experience the comfort of silence in the broken spaces and edges of life.

I sat in the quiet, in the slowing of time and the brokenness. There was no question to me that God was near that afternoon. The sacred, silent space of brokenness. And God was near. So near.

Just like this thing called brave, I had this pictured oh so differently, what beauty in brokenness would look like. It’s thrown around so often, beauty, as if to sweep brokenness under a rug or to make it more palatable. I’m guilty of this. I’ve preached it and believed it. I thought beauty in brokenness would mean that brokenness would be less broken.

I thought that beauty in brokenness, beauty in mess, beauty in the broken places and pieces meant that it would hurt less. That a broad brush would paint over brokenness with beautiful swaths of color and cover the pain to where it wouldn’t be seen as clearly and as ugly as it is. I thought if this broken was to be beautiful, that my story would look less broken and feel less broken. Certainly, it wouldn’t be this painful.

But I was wrong. It still looks broken, and it still feels broken.

But there is beauty here.

There is beauty in truth, always, even if that truth reveals brokenness you’ve always tried to hide.

Beauty here in truth. No more pretending, but beauty in a soul laid bare and saying this is who I really am and testifying that I am far more broken than I have ever dared to admit, even to myself.

Beauty here in brokenness, because God is near, not covering brokenness and pretending it doesn’t exist but God near to the brokenhearted. God near in my anger and my pain. God near in my confusion and not understanding. God near in hard questions that still have no answers. Beauty in broken. Beauty revealed in God near to the brokenhearted.

There is no doubt there was beauty there in that sacred space of sitting in that chair and staring at that purple bush that I’ve stared at far longer than I was planning. I feel so grateful that I was wrong. That beauty can be here in broken. That I don’t have to pretend like everything is okay for this broken to be beautiful. That God, in the sacred silence of brokenness, draws near to the brokenhearted.

Me: A Compendium Review

2016-10-10T09:28:00.001-06:00

This kid-friendly journal surpassed my expectations. Sure, when I requested Me: A Compendium, I was excited about it but this book is not only fun, imaginative and spurs creativity it's a book that invites you to pick it up and flip through it. Hardcover, thick pages, colorful delightful images that leave you begging to create on their pages. This is not your average kids journal that will sit around and collect dust after the initial excitement wears off, this is something that once filled out can become a treasured keepsake.

We decide to take a different approach to filling this out and let the whole family in on the fun of filling it out. The journal prompts were easy enough that I could even guide our youngest son through a page but still engaging and imaginative enough for our 10-year-old (and mom and dad) to want to join in the fun. The colorful pages vary from writing prompt to drawing a face about how you feel about certain things like pirates or pickles, to drawing your favorite ice cream toppings.

Wee Society hit it out of the park with this imaginative compendium.

I received this book from Blogging for Books in exchange for an honest review.

The Changing of Seasons

2016-10-02T16:19:00.001-06:00

The changing aspen leaves are stunning this year. We woke up early, ate breakfast on the way and headed to the mountains to see them. We drove, we hiked, we stopped and photographed, we oohed and ahhed. GH exclaimed over and over, “Look mom, autumn! I just love autumn. Lots and lots and lots and lots of autumn.” The vibrant colors made the mountains look like a patchwork quilt, and I was struck by a couple thoughts.

These pockets of colorful aspens stood brightly in between the still dark green conifers. However, just a few weeks ago we drove this road and gazed at these same mountains, and we had no idea those aspens were nestled in among the prominent spruce and firs. From a distance, you couldn’t see them in between the others. Now, though, they shined. At just their right time, they shined. Their story, their voice, displayed when the season was just right.

Secondly, this changing beauty that so many were flocking to the mountains to see, it was the leaves last hoorah. The leaves, they are dying. The trees are coming into a new season. What a beautiful and grand way to let go of one season and say hello to a new one.

My tendency is to hold on to the familiar, to the comfortable, to the nice green leaves. I fear letting go. I fear stepping into a new season because it's unknown, uncomfortable and it means letting go of something to which I’ve grown accustomed. Sometimes that letting go isn’t even something that was good. Sometimes it’s hard to let go of pain, hard simply because that’s what I’ve known for a season or several seasons. Sometimes it’s letting go of something I’ve poured into and have grown. Either way, letting go can be hard and met with trepidation.

I choose the comfortable, ordinary green leaves hidden among the others over the uncomfortable, but perhaps there is a beauty that can happen in the changing and the making way for new growth.

Certainly, not every changing of seasons is so grand and beautiful as the leaves were this year. Some seem less beautiful and are more painful in the moment. Some summers seeping into autumn bring more vibrant colors than others, but the seasons still change and the leaves still need to fall for new growth to occur.

I hope that in just the right seasons I will let go of what feels safe and that my story will be seen even if it means letting go and changing.

This is my lesson and one that I’ve been learning this year: the changing of seasons, while uncomfortable and new, can be beautiful and vibrant--even in the letting go--because it’s the right time. It’s time for those comfortable green leaves to change and fall so new growth can bud. May I not hold on too long and may the colors be as vibrant as this year's fall leaves.

Remaking

2016-09-16T07:00:00.001-06:00

I find myself at a spot of questioning. Wrestling. This season has been difficult. So difficult that some days I'm not sure if it's good and some days I feel solidified that yes indeed this is the right path. Others remind me of this as well, that this journey may be hard but it's worth it and so I keep pressing forward. Present day circumstances not included, thing have been well but this journey I’m on digs deep into boxes I’ve locked up tight and put away never wanting to unearth again.

This journey has delved deep into my core, into my beliefs about myself and about my God.

It has rattled me, challenged me and made me ask far more questions than I feel like I have answers. But for the first time I’m asking questions. I can’t say that I’m not afraid of the answers because I am, but this time it’s not stopping me from asking. I’m trying to trust that God is big enough for my questions and patient enough for my constant questioning.

I feel like this should be an exciting time a time of celebration. Because I do feel like this is a remaking, but maybe first it’s an unmaking. A digging up and throwing out of lies and this while certainly it should be celebrated is exhausting and emotional and feels overwhelming. While these lies are being exposed, these are long held belief and for so long I've known them and they've felt safe, while even if it’s not the best, it seems hard to let go. Letting go of the lies gives view to the truth and the truth exposes my brokenness.

Sometimes the truth is more painful than the lie.

But maybe in the truth, even if it’s more painful at first? Forever? I don't know. Maybe only in the truth there is opportunity for healing, for growth, for remaking.

Sometimes when I draw I just don’t get it right, proportions or off or an unsightly mark is impossible to cover up. But I hate starting over. I hate going backwards. I hate U-turns.

So instead of starting it over I just keep going and attempt to turn a blind eye to what I know is wrong. I try to cover it up with more shading or I adjust proportions as best I can to make it comfortable. I finish it. Then I spend the next several days hating it. It’s not right and I know it. I try to convince myself it’s not as bad as it seems, I show it to others asking what they think and how it compares to my other work. I try to make this okay because starting over just seems like a lot of work.

Eventually though, I do start over, often grudgingly. This time I’m more careful in the proportions, I slow down, I take careful consideration in where the light comes from and where the shadows will form, I research, I study a true picture of what I’m drawing to see how to apply it to my piece.

Ultimately, I’m much happier with the second piece. It’s more true, more accurate to what it really is.

For a drawing the unmaking and remaking seems a bit insignificant.

Unmaking things I’ve tried to make ok for decades sometimes feel like the bottom drops out from under me. Beginning to realize something you believed for so long isn’t really true, it feels a bit like falling into nothing. When all my defenses are gone, all the excuses and reasonings begin to come up empty for holding on to something, the only option is to let go of something I’m realizing has never been true and discovering what really is true.

But the truth brings with it light and that light exposes all the pain, all the brokenness. It shed light on the pain I’ve tried so hard to keep hidden, to not admit, to not feel, to make comfortable.

So while right now truth brings light to pain, I’m trying to remind myself: new growth needs light.

This Thing Called Brave.

2016-09-07T21:29:00.001-06:00

“To say that was brave is an understatement.”

The words were directed at me and all I could think of is that this is not what I thought brave would feel like.

The picture I had painted of brave is standing tall in the midst of a battle, staring down adversity, speaking truth confidently, willingly and joyfully stepping into an impending storm.

None of which I was feeling. I can’t stop my chin from trembling or the tears from falling. And instead of standing strong I feel like curling up and hiding. There is zero speaking confidently, zero stepping firmly into difficulty. It’s more like crawling and forcing myself to keep going, but really I’m not sure I want to and really I feel more like quitting than standing tall. But I’m being called out as brave and all I feel is weak. And scared. And broken

So really I wanted to disagree with the assessment that I’m brave. Because this, this feels anything but brave. This doesn’t feel valiant and put together, this is trembling and brokenness. Me, brave? No, not me and certainly not now.

But I don’t say anything. I don’t disagree…out loud anyway. Because truthfully, I hope that just maybe it’s true. That maybe I am brave and maybe I’ve been wrong about brave all along. And so I let it sink in, try it on for size.

No, no I still don’t feel brave but then I remember Gideon. I’ve been asking God to call out in me who He sees me as, who I really am as I work on dispelling the lies I’ve always believed about myself. Because when I begin to strip away the lies I’ve believed about myself for so long, truthfully I’m left with not having a clue at who I really am. And I feel a lot like Gideon hiding in these walls believing things I’ve long been told or have told myself.

So maybe God is challenging my view of brave and maybe He’s calling me out as such. Maybe I’m braver than I have ever believed. I’m just not sure yet.

On Love and Marriage

2016-08-22T09:41:00.000-06:00

12 years. This year seemed different. There was little fanfare outwardly, we had zero plans. I gave him a water filter for camping, he gave me a drawing journal and a cupcake (he knows my heart). We decided to head to a state park and ended up driving an extra hour for a Sunday drive through the mountains and exploring new sites. We were unprepared to be gone all day, the kids got tired of driving, I got hangry (need I say more?). We adventured, dipped our feet in the water, climbed rocks, relaxed by a river, admired beauty.

Yesterday seemed to show clearly that we have changed greatly in 12 years, but in the last year we have changed even more. We are a bit battle scarred perhaps but more real as we walk through life.

I was at a counseling session recently and we were talking about love and marriage. My counselor asked, “Why does Dave love you?” I sat for a few and couldn’t think of a single thing…I was a bit reluctant with what I felt was a depressing answer. I shook my head, “I have no idea.” He looked at me and said, “That’s the best answer you could give me.” I was a bit taken a back by his response. Then he explained, if Dave loved me for this reason or that reason or because I do this or that, then his love is conditional.

We are zero experts at this, friends. We’ve certainly learned heaps in the last 12 years but we came into marriage naive kids walking headlong into marriage. Thankful to have excellent premarital counseling but we had no idea what awaited us. Most of all God has been gracious with us as we stumble through, He has forgiven us much and helps us forgive, He has loved us unconditionally and helps us to learn to love as he does. We thought we had it all figured out, sure marriage would be hard but we could do it. When got married and it felt like the bottom dropped out on us. We fought, hard and long. We didn’t forgive easily. We had little, if any, productive communication. I had anger issues. I had deep wounds I thought marriage would heal. The list could go on and on.

A few months into our marriage we attended a Bible study for young married couples. We sat in a large circle of 30+ young marrieds, everyone who spoke up (and there were many) said they never fought. Dave and I looked at each other and hung our heads. We weren't sure what what was wrong with us. Was our marriage doomed? It felt pretty horrible, needless to say we never went back to that Bible study. We didn’t know what we were doing but we just kept taking the next step. They weren’t always steps towards each other, there has been a lot of course correction along the way.

We’ve been to counseling, together and individually, not just once but through different seasons over the years. And don’t think we are saints for asking for help because often it took bottom to get us there. We’ve seen so many marriages of sweet friends fall apart and that made us want to hold on tighter because we know we are not immune. We’ve walked through much heartache and walked through much joy. And it’s changed us. It’s changed us as individuals and has shaped our marriage. There have been seasons where those changes weren’t for the better. We are scarcely the same people were were 12 years ago.

Miss A has been asking a lot about love and marriage lately, she still thinks it’s gross (phew!), but she’s beginning to wonder what it’s all about. “How will I know when I’m in love?” “How will I know when I meet the person I’m going to marry?” We’ve done our best (read fumbled through) explaining without platitudes and helping to paint a picture that love isn’t all feelings and is work even when you want to quit.

But maybe this is really the advice I want to pass along : learn love without condition. Choose to love when that person isn’t their best self and you aren’t your best self. Choose to stay when you want to throw in the towel. Choose to fight for each other. Choose to ask for help when you want to run the other way. Choose to love when what you love about that person is hard to see. And even when you don't get it right, choose to try again and again and again.

Punderdome Review

2016-08-14T14:07:00.001-06:00

We often enjoy a game night with friends. I had hopes that Punderdome the card game would be a fun one to play during game night.

Based on the live game show Punderdome 3000! created by father daughter duo Jo and Fred Firestone, this game is definitely for the pun lovers, but maybe not so much for those who enjoy laughing (with an eye roll) at a good pun every know and then.

Played in two rounds, round one a question is asked and everyone throws out their best pun-filled answer to the given question, the second round is to write your own pun.

This is where the game, in my opinion gets especially tricky, and maybe too tricky. Given two unrelated words players write their own pun connecting the two words. For us, this is where the fun stopped. How does one think of a random pun in 60 seconds? Or maybe I'm just not that pun-ny.

We did enjoy the first round, trying to come up with answers to the puns. We actually discovered Miss A has quite a talent for puns, she answered quickly with an answer that fit the question over and over again. While there is an answer on the card, the point is to answer with a pun quicker than your competitors not necessarily to match the answer on the card, so it leaves a lot of room for creativity.

Unfortunately Punderdome was not the fun game night play I had hoped, however we did discover a secret talent in the family.

I received this book from Blogging for Books in exchange for an honest review.

When Beauty is Hard to See...

2016-08-05T12:05:00.000-06:00

There is something about looking through the camera lens that makes beauty that may otherwise be hard to see come alive and beg to be captured.

There is a slowing down that happens when looking through this lens. And when slowing happens there is ability to see differently. To see and savor and give thanks.

Beauty has been hard to see lately. So I dusted off my camera and challenged myself to see the beauty that I know exists around me but has been clouded by much.

Colorado Springs Food Truck Guide

2016-08-04T10:45:00.001-06:00

Make sure to check out my latest post one the Colorado Springs Moms Blog :

Colorado Springs Food Truck Guide. It was a delicious one to write.

SafeSplash

2016-08-03T11:55:00.002-06:00

Having been raised in the Midwest, I grew up around water from a very young age. I was on the swim team for several years and loved the water. Naturally I thought I would be able to easily teach our kids how to swim and they would be fish just like I was growing up. Wrong. I tried and failed and tried and failed.

Enter SafeSplash Swim School.

We were generously given an opportunity to try out SafeSplash for a month of lessons. I immediately jumped at the opportunity.

We signed up each of our big kids (they are 10, 8 and 8). None of them could swim independently and all had varying degrees of uncomfortability in the water. I wasn’t sure what 4 lessons would do for their swimming skill mastery, but I figured it certainly wouldn’t hurt.

First of all, let me tell you about the SafeSplash registration process. It was fairly simple: sign up with basic info online and then they call you to set up a location, time and appropriate class for your kids. Easy enough. I got all three signed up in back to back classes at a location near us in less than 10 minutes. No stress...I like it!

When we arrived for our first lesson, we were shown where everything was and how classes worked. I was super impressed by the cleanliness and cheerfulness of the building but also impressed by how well SafeSplash was run and organized.

They have at most 1:4 instructor to swimmer ratio and I love that this promotes safety but also individual attentions to the kids. There is also a life guard on duty in the swim area as well as a deck manager who calls the kids by name into the pool area to get them to the correct instructor for their lesson.

The smoothness of how classes were run definitely helped me as a parent feel comfortable and created a safe swimming environment. At our location there was a wall of windows the length of the pool with bench seating so parents could sit outside of the pool area and watch their kids swim. Oh and I have kids that get SUPER cold (ahem and a bit grouchy) in cold water, there were zero complaints about the water and I was told excitedly by Miss A, "It's not hot, it's not cold, it's warm!"

The instructors have been so encouraging to our kids and have definitely put them at ease. After the 3rd lesson our oldest went from being able to float on his back with some assistance to swimming independently across the pool. The picture above is him at the 2nd lesson, I was so amazed at his quick progress at the 3rd lesson I didn't even get a picture! Everyone progresses differently, of course, but all three kids have made big strides in water comfortability and skills in the water. Each level has certain skills that need to be accomplished before they can move onto the next level — not just swimming skills but also water safety.

Once a month they have a Splash-N-Tell at the end of class. Five minutes before the end of class they call the parents in for the instructors to give feedback on the child's progress and let the kids show their parents a new skill. The kids love telling us what they learned, but especially enjoyed Splash-N-Tell time where they could show us what they've learned.

We were so impressed by SafeSplash we signed them up for more lessons. SafeSplash has several location throughout the country and in Mexico you can sign up. If you're local to Colorado Springs, the location we attend gives a free trial lesson and if you're a military family they currently offer a 25% discount.

We received a month of lessons from SafeSplash in exchange for an honest review.

To the Brave

2016-06-29T10:31:00.003-06:00

For the brave ones who aren't afraid to be themselves : thank you.

Thank you for being you.

Thank you for speaking your mind even if you step on toes.

Thank you for sharing tough subjects that can be polarizing but doing so respectfully.

Thank you for putting words to how you feel and not being ashamed to do so.

Thank you for showing me that life doesn’t need to fit a mold.

You, being you, gives me the courage to start being me.

You remind me my feelings are mine and an my feelings valid.

You remind me that what I have to say matters, even if others don’t agree.

You remind me that struggle is okay and that each of us has our own story.

You remind me my story is mine to tell, mine to cherish and while every piece may not be pretty it can be knit together into something beautiful.

Wonderland

2016-06-23T13:51:00.003-06:00

By now you have certainly heard about the trending new hobby of coloring. Many benefits have been cited for taking a few minutes to sit and color, relaxation, mindfulness, increased focus and decreased stress.

I must admit I was a bit skeptical at first. But I was surprised when I found I really do enjoy creating in these more intricate coloring books geared towards adults.

When I had the opportunity review a new coloring book on the market, of course I jumped at the chance.

Wonderland by Amily Shen is a coloring book inspired by Alice's Adventures. From the Mad Hatter's Tea Party to the Queen of Hearts and who can forget the White Rabbit. There is much adventure to be had in this whimsical coloring book.

The pages are full of unique details as you follow Alice's story. What truly sets this coloring book apart form the crowd is Shen's unique art style coupled with the story and puzzles you find intertwined through the coloring pages.

If you're love Alice and her Adventures this coloring book is perfect for you.

I received this book from Blogging for Books in exchange for an honest review.

Insta Life

2016-06-22T14:15:00.002-06:00

Red Rock Relish :: this stuff is amazing. Seriously.

Cookies::They may look good but they weren't. Please give me your best (no fail!) cookie recipe!

A new drawing in the works :: Should be in the shop later this week!

The mountains are calling :: Pike's Peak Art Print

Miss A and I visiting Josh and John's Scoop Bus for the first time.

Let the training begin :: #pikespeakorbust

Big changes coming for Everyday Summit :: Stay Tuned!

Are you on Instagram? Come join in the fun!

Grace upon Grace

2016-06-11T14:04:00.000-06:00

Yesterday we hiked.

Uphill.

It was therapeutic.

I was frustrated and took it out on the mountain as we turtled our way two miles up.

I was discouraged at how out of shape I am.

Angry because of why I'm so out of shape.

Dave gently reminded me that 6 months ago I almost died.

Oh yeah.

Minor details.

I hadn't filled him in on my goal yet.

Too afraid.

I told him I knew what I wanted to do.

But on the uphill I couldn't bring myself to tell him.

In fact sometimes it's hard to even talk about all of this as a person and not just an event.

It's easier to say "All that happened in December."

Instead of "Losing Oliver."

So on the uphill I told him I knew what I wanted to do to remember Oliver.

Except I didn't say his name,

because yesterday I just couldn't.

I just alluded to the event.

And he knew exactly what my heart was trying to say.

I told him I knew what I wanted but didn't tell him what its was.

Instead I just trudged along this rocky trail,

embarrassed at the huffing and puffing each step was bringing.

But I kept going.

Step by step.

Grace upon grace.

This gift of a day,

even in my frustration

and anger

and sadness

and embarrassment.

And each step was grace.

Even if I can't see this grace,

even if I don't feel the joy in it.

I know it's there.

And that's enough.

It has to be enough.

Because this muck I'm walking through is thick,

and dark

and uphill.

Just knowing that each step is grace

and that grace doesn't rely on me

or how I feel about it,

that is enough.

Do you hear that?

It doesn't rely on me.

Or you.

Or if we see joy in it or if we grumble the whole way.

It's grace.

We reach our destination on a rocky overlook

and we enjoy the breeze

the relief from the pounding sun and steep uphill climb.

Then we turn and head back down the way we came.

And I run.

I run.

I don't run...ever...

unless I'm chasing something

or something is chasing me.

And I'm not sure what I'm chasing

or what is chasing me.

But

I felt strong

and tall

and free.

And each step was grace.

Then I told him.

My goal.

How I want to remember our boy we never had the chance to meet.

I want to do something hard.

I want to conquer something too big for me to accomplish alone.

I want to do something that scares the wits out of me.

Something I can fear even as I go but still put one step in front of the other.

I want to climb this mountain.

I want to live in each step, whether it's anger or joy, I want to take each step.

Step by step.

Grace upon grace.

A New Thing

2016-05-11T16:27:00.002-06:00

Sunday mornings are sleep-in mornings at our house, meaning Dave takes our oh-so-early riser downstairs when he wakes to give me extra shut eye. Generally my body won’t let me sleep in too long, so before anyone else wakes up, I sneak downstairs with them and squeeze in between them. While GH plays iPad and snuggles with Duckie, Dave and I talk. This time without interruption has become a favorite part of our week.

This morning we talked about our story over the last few years. The hard. While the last three years have been filled with so much good, it’s been filled with incredibly unexpected hard.

There have been moments of stepping out in faith, and some of these moments turned completely upside down from how we thought the “plan” would unfold. There were moments that make us ask why. New parts of our story that are sad and uncomfortable and difficult to see how God worked.

Moments like losing Oliver in December. We realized this spring that with the urgency and shock of those few days and in the whirlwind of events, we had delayed processing this loss. Only over the last few weeks we have we finally begun to healthily work through the grief.

On this particular quiet Sunday morning, we found ourselves looking back at earlier parts of our journey. Parts of our journey when we could clearly see how God called us in faith and the result was much different. Parts that weren’t necessarily easy, but were easier to understand and see how God had so evidently worked. It’s so easy to look back and desire that ease, the clear picture of God at work.

Later, I was reminded of one of my favorite verses:

Forget the former things;

do not dwell on the past.

See, I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the wilderness

and streams in the wasteland.

Isaiah 43:18-19

Reading more context on these verses, God tells his people, "What I’m going to do in the future is even greater than the good I’ve done in the past." The amazing works God had done in the past will be forgotten because of the unprecedented things God is doing right now.

What a reminder for us! To stop looking back at the things God has done and hoping for that outcome. Those were good. Those are a beautiful part of our story. But even now, when it’s hard to see and emotions are thick and heavy, he is still working. It’s springing up before us. I don’t want to look back and grab for what God did in the past, I want to see what He’s doing now, even if it involves so much hard and sad. Even while I can’t see it today, I believe He is doing something new. A new growth that is working hard to press its way up from the soil. May I not miss it.

Book Review : Simply Calligraphy

2016-05-02T16:52:00.001-06:00

One of my goals for this year was to improve my hand lettering. I think hand lettering is a beautiful art form but admitedly one I'm not very strong in. When given the opportunity to read Simply Calligraphy by Judy Detrick I was excited to learn some skills to improve my hand lettering.

Simply Calligraphy is an aptly suited title for this book and Judy does an excellent job at making calligraphy not only approachable but doable. While indeed it will take much practice mastering this art I was thrilled with the simple steps in this book to immediately see results in my lettering. A short and to the point book it's perfect for anyone wanting to get started in calligraphy.

I received this book from Blogging for Books in exchange for an honest review.

Blanket Statements

2016-03-29T07:00:00.000-06:00

Some days it hits me...I'm supposed to be pregnant right now. I should be feeling flutters in my rounding belly, Dave and I should be giggling that we just got rid of all our newborn things, caught up in the excitement of buying new wee baby clothes. My sweet friend and I should be walking through pregnancy together and swapping food craving stories.

I'm not at all ungrateful for life right now. I'm thankful to be alive. After all surgery held, this truth has not been lost on me. I'm thankful for my people that God so generously placed in my life who I get to love on and journey along side. I'm truly thankful for so much.

But this blanket. This blasted blanket.

The one I love and the one I want to pretend doesn't exist.

This blanket that was a tangible feeling of comfort and warmth in a season of grief. The newly warmed one I was so thankful that they sent me home from the hospital with in the wee hours of a cold December night.

This blanket that has brought me so much comfort is the one that constantly reminds me every time I see it that I brought this blanket home without a baby wrapped in it.

This blanket that was wrapped around me for weeks as my body temperature struggled to regulate after surgery did not come home to swaddle a baby.

Why is this so hard? Why do some days I forget and some days I still grieve?

When someone asks how I am...I don't know what to respond. I respond with a blanket statement that while true, is not complete. A blanket statement that says I'm thankful and I'm physically feeling better.

But underneath, my blanket statement is that some days are still hard and some days I'm just sad. A statement that says I want you to ask about my journey and be ok with my hurt. I want you to ask what we named him and what I will miss about not having met him. I want you to ask about how God showed up in the hard and how even weeks prior to all of this unfolding he was preparing my heart.

So this blanket I hold tenderly and I want to tear it to pieces. This blanket of thanks and of a grief I never wanted to claim as mine. This story I'm learning to embrace as my own in all it's unexpected turns. This is not what I planned but the Author of my story is the giver of good, good things and this story of mine is mine and I'm determined to celebrate it in all of it's messiness.

Easter

2016-03-27T10:20:00.001-06:00

A reminder for myself today.

I went to bed last night with a nagging feeling of failure. We didn't have Easter baskets, or an egg hunt, we didn't make any resurrection cookies or even go to an Easter service. I had a humble breakfast planned and a dinner for the evening. But it didn't seem very Easter-esque. It was easy to be consumed with not feeling like I'm measuring up.

Worried that we don't have any fun or meaningful Easter traditions and that because of it our kids may miss the message of Easter this year because of this. How short sighted I can be sometimes.

Then I read this reminder last night:

Too often we seek a perfect Easter experience. This Sunday, in whatever you do, may you seek a perfect Savior. #SeekAndYouShallFind
Posted by Brandon Hatmaker on Saturday, March 26, 2016

Yes, it's not about the perfect Easter or even the semi-perfect Easter. It's about the perfect Savior. So today I pray my kids see a glimpse of the perfect Savior. That when the day ends that they will be more pointed towards him.

Happy Easter, friends.

And It Was Beautiful.

2016-03-14T07:26:00.000-06:00

This book was not my first introduction to Kara and her story, but this journey was different. As I read And It Was Beautiful, I felt like I was reading short snippets from Kara's journal. Snippets that were real, raw, honest and vulnerable, bringing with it celebration of life to the full and seeing grace in the midst of hard.

With each new chapter, something new is tugged on my heart. A conviction, a heartstrings, a "yes I feel that way too". Like sitting down for coffee with an old friend, Kara shares the reality of not just walking with cancer but journeying in life. How to do it well, how to love life and celebrate even when it's hard, how to remember the faithfulness of God in simple moments.

This book contains so much I can learn from, but this book is not a lecture but a learning from an honest heart.

What perhaps I love most about Kara as I get a window glimpse of her life in this hard is that she didn't quit. Despite the ups and the downs she kept pursuing the Father, she kept searching for grace in the midst of hard, she continued to celebrate life in this long good-bye.

"How do you live well when the living your living isn't the living you expected?" This may be the biggest lesson I learned from Kara's story. Wrestling with this question and reading how that looked for Kara, I am challenged to embrace this life in front of me to the full. That process of embracing this life I didn't expect, the unexpected good and the unexpected grief, it seldom seems comfortable and often seems messy but always worth celebrating.

Oh how I have learned from her journey.

"The big moments matter, and they do await you, but the brilliant part of your story is awaiting you on the boring mundane days sitting beside a fire on a rainy day."

I received this book for free in exchange for an honest review.