A Very Good [Bad] Year

I know it's February and we are waaaay past the standard new year posts, but I have this on my mind, and it's not a new years post per say, but rather a reflection of the past year and how perspective changes everything.   I was reflecting on the past year recently, prompted to do so after someone pointed out what a terrible year we had and oh, aren't we glad to start a new year? They didn't mean any harm, and none was taken, but it did make me stop and think. When I think of 2015, I remember most of it rather fondly. I think of the early months, January and February, and how it was the first winter ever that I didn't hate. My midwife told me I needed to get out and walk every day if at all possible, for my mental health if nothing else, and so I did. And I started to enjoy the crisp, cold, fresh air and the almost eerie silence of snow falling upon layers of snow, the only sound being my boots crunching with each step. Winter for the first time wasn't depressing. I remember March like it was yesterday, when God gifted us with our third baby girl, Isabella. I remember the sleepless nights yes, but mostly I remember that she was an extraordinarily snuggly newborn, who loved to nuzzle her whole face in the crook of my neck and fall asleep for hours just like that. I remember we had a surprisingly early spring, and we would go for walks in 70 degree weather in March and April, stopping at the park to let the girls play while I fed Izzie. I remember that it was my favorite Mother's Day yet, how I decided it's officially my favorite day of the year:) I remember taking both strollers, Brad pushing one and I pushing the other, running a 10K together as a family and how amazing that felt after years of no races. I remember exploring new parts of Helena, finding new trails and new places to roam on lazy summer days. And how we had a birthday party for Addison at the Gym Trix and how much fun she had, and Izzie being dedicated at Spring Meadow Lake, and packing a picnic for a last minute drive to the lake. I remember the girl's sweet Halloween costumes and taking them trick or treating for the first time and how much fun it was; sledding on Thanksgiving Day and cooking a big feast for just the 5 of us because Lily had had the stomach flu and we couldn't travel; and a lovely Christmas at my parents house, everyone together and happy and healthy (besides an awesome case of pinkeye virus that made the rounds) That's the 2015 I remember.   Maybe I choose to remember the good, and I think that's not such a bad thing, because really, when I really stop and think about the nitty gritty details of the past year, I shudder a bit. I was two miserable weeks late with Izzie, and the day before she was born, Addison was diagnosed with pneumonia and Lily with RSV. I was a sobbing mess before leaving for the hospital, so worried about my girls that I just wanted to be at home taking care of. Izzie got to come home, but we had to spend days isolated in the bedroom to protect her from all the sickness. I had a stubborn sinus infection for the first 8 weeks of Izzie's life and remember crying from the pain of it, and feeling like I wasn't going to survive the sleepless nights, sickness, and nursing difficulties. Everyone's health eventually improved, except for mine, which I spend the rest of the year struggling with. Pregnancy had taken a huge toll on my body. We moved out of our rental and in with our pastor while we tried to buy a house...multiple times things fell through and we moved from house to house 8 times. We finally bought a house and spent countless exhausting hours working on it, and when we were close to finished and finally feeling settled, the bombshell dropped that it was a meth house and we had to move, leaving most of our belongings and all of our effort behind. Having to explain to Addison that we were moving again, even though I had promised we were done. We've since moved three more times...in with friends, to a rental that sold, and now to a farmhouse we love. My health is just now starting to get under control, thanks to some dietary changes and the help of a naturopath, an amazing chiropractor, and physical therapy.   Do our brains subconsciously forget the bad details? Last year was HARD, and yet even though I wouldn't want to do it over again, I wouldn't trade it. I grew in ways I wouldn't have grown with out the hard times. I learned things about myself, about Brad, and about my kids. And I guess the main thing I realize looking back is that no matter how much bad there is, God, in his infinite grace and love for us, gives us good things, if we would just look. Sometimes it's pretty hard to see when we're right in the thick of things. I had some really, really low moments last summer. Moments of near despair and feeling like I was going to go crazy, but as I look back, I see the good; I see God's grace carrying me through. I think it comes down to being thankful for the small things and looking for beauty everywhere, and acknowledging the Maker of it all, and learning to lean into him and just keep on saying thank you.    

An Update and a Huge Thank You

Just wanted to give an update on the whole we bought a meth house situation... What a month it's been. We got official lab results back showing different levels throughout the house. The MT limit for a "safe" level is .01ppm or less. Our kitchen tested highest, at 7.7ppm (or 77 times what the state of MT deems safe for occupancy). Other parts tested lower, but only the garage and shed were negative for the presence of meth. The good news is that it doesn't appear to have been a lab. The numbers helped us to determine what we could and couldn't save of our belongings. Basically, all of the kid's stuff had to go, besides clothes and the bunk bed frame, which we will wash and test. We got rid of mattresses, pillows and bedding, shoes, toys, stuffed animals, books, and art/craft items. We cleaned our non-porous furniture and tested it, and were able to save everything hard. I'm estimating, but I believe we have had to part with about 2/3 of our belongings. You might wonder why I mention our material possessions before mentioning our selves...that's because we are fine:) The biggest blessing is that we realized the house was contaminated and left immediately, before any ill effects occurred.   Currently, we are renting a house that is on the market, which means it could sell at any time, but we are hopeful that we can stay a few months and get through the holidays and the legal things that will be taking place. It's an adorable little 1900 house right in our old neighborhood, which is strangely comforting for me.Icouldn't have asked for a lovelier place to stay through the storm. We have settled in and somehow, life almost feels normal. I know we are just in the calm of the storm. There will be work and more costs ahead, and everything is uncertain, but for now...for now, we have our own space, a space to call home. It's been hardest on Addison, and I've struggled watching her suffer with all the moving around and lack of routine, but she is doing good now, and loves having new toys and books:) I am trying to get back to 'normal' life and doing simple things like cooking from scratch and letting them help me bake, going for walks and playing in the leaves, dressing up for Halloween and going trick or treating, and reading lots and lots of books to them. I feel like we've been running them ragged and I'm happy to slow down for a bit; hoping life will stay slow at least through Christmas. (Wait...is life ever slow at Christmas??)  

  Now the part I really want to get to: the blessings. I honestly don't even know where to begin with this. Our church and community have stepped up in ways I never would have imagined. What started as the biggest nightmare has turned into one of the most tangible ways God has ever shown his love and care to me. Here are just a few of the ways people have helped... Sharing their home Bringing dinner/having us over for dinner Anonymous basket left on the porch with toys, books, kitchen stuff and flowers Family photo shoot (saving us money at Christmas!) Organizing fundraisers Lending/giving us furniture Offering RV's, apartments and houses for us to stay in Washing our contaminated clothing (we have 35 loads that each have to be washed 3x!) Taking me out for wine;) Bringing toys and books for my kids Helping us move Sending money and gift cards Babysitting while I take care of business Helping me go through and throw things away Helping me wash every single thing, big and small, that was salvageable (thanks Mom!) Helping us move Giving generously and refusing to let me pay for services/goods Praying for and with us The amount of support that has come through on Go Fund Me is just astounding. We are beyond words. We have been able to (or will be able to when we have time) replace most everything that was lost, as well as save the rest for potential legal fees, remediation fees, or just helping with the loss from the money we had already put into the house. People are praying and we can feel the prayers. We are thankful. What an understatement that is!   The future is uncertain...will the sellers buy the house back? Will we be stuck with the house and have to pay tons of money for remediation? We have no idea but we are confident that the Lord works all things for good to those who love him. Your continued prayers are appreciated! Please pray for us to make godly decisions through the legal process, and to remain thankful, praising him no matter what.  

 

Thank you thank you thank you! We are truly blessed and so thankful for you ALL.

 

Hard Days

I didn't blog much this past summer, but if you read any of my few posts, you know we moved out of our beloved little rental and were searching for a house to buy, while living with different friends and family who were on vacation, kindly trusting us with their homes while they were away. It was a long road and emotionally and mentally exhausting for this mama of three littles. There were days I handled well and with much grace, but if I'm honest, there were more than a few days I fell apart. I stopped trusting and did what I'm famous for doing when left to my own devices: freaked out.   Well summer has passed and we finally found the perfect house for our family. It met most, if not all of our criteria and it was the one we both had peace about, which was what we had waited for all summer. We had to wait patiently, but finally in mid-September, we signed the papers and became homeowners for the first time. We spent the past month ripping out carpet, installing flooring upstairs and having carpet put in downstairs, painting every last inch of the house, hanging my grandma's paintings and making the house a home. The playroom was my pride and joy of all the work we did...a dark and depressing, dingy room that had been a bar/party room to the previous renters was transformed with the help of my mom into a bright, cheerful arts and crafts room/school room/playroom. One part of the bar became my desk/office area, the rest was for the girls to do art projects and preschool. The rest of the room was strictly for play. They loved it! Here's the before and after:  

  We moved the girls downstairs to their new bedroom, and finally at seven months, Izzie moved into her nursery and out of our room.

   Brad tore out the hideous bushes that devoured the whole front of the house, I painted the door bright blue, and pumpkins and georgous fall Mums decorated the front porch. The girls had a fenced yard to play in and a sidewalk to practice riding bikes on. We met all the neighbors and everyone was so kind and wonderful in welcoming us to the neighborhood.  

  A project here and a project there...soooo much work and so many things to fix, but we were getting there, slowly but surely. I remember one night about a week ago, we sat down to watch a movie after a long day, and I sighed a huge sigh...a good sigh. I breathed a prayer to God, "Thank you! Thank you for getting me through the summer. Thank you for a house to call our own. Thank you that this trying season is coming to an end and life is getting back to normal." I felt a huge sense of relief.      

  There was only one major problem still. The smell. It was something in the basement we hadn't noticed when we walked through before buying. But once we moved in, we noticed an odd smell permeating one room in particular, spreading to other parts of the house to some extent. We shampooed the carpet, which did absolutely nothing. A few people said they thought it was cat urine, so we decided to get new carpet...surely that would get rid of the odor and new carpet would be nice to have anyway. Brad ripped it out and we thought the smell would be gone immediately. Nope, still there. He bought some special heavy duty bacterial enzyme to clean with down there, pretty much a guarantee to kill any and everything that could possibly be odor causing. The smell lingered. He painted Killz primer all over the walls and floors to seal out any smell. That didn't work. Nothing even took an edge off of the smell. The carpet guy came and laid carpet and we were hopeful. We figured we'd keep windows open in that room until winter, really air it out good, and put an ozone machine in there to help pull out the smell. For a few reasons though, I became suspicious that the smell might not be pet odor. I had read online while researching how to get urine smells out, that sometimes a house that has had meth in it can smell like cat pee. I worried about that, but then decided I was being paranoid. That was just too unlikely. But I simply couldn't shake the thought, and so we asked a friend from church to do a quick meth test for us, just to give us peace of mind. Of course we didn't expect the test to come back positive. Not at all. But it did.   We had to walk out of our new home last Tuesday. It was a hard, hard day. We went to a hotel for a couple of nights and my parents and brother came to help us with whatever they could (moral support!) And now we are staying at a friends. We were able to take some clothes from the house and wash them several times to ensure they are meth-free. Other than that, it's a waiting game. And for the first time in my whole life, I know what it is to completely, wholey trust God. I have nothing else but to trust in Him because there is nothing I can to to fix this situation. On Christ the solid rock I stand...all other ground is sinking sand. Truly.   To be continued...(as the rest unfolds)   

   

33

Last night I had a dream that Brad and I, along with a few friends of ours, were eating lunch and we were surrounded by teenagers. We were talking but no one could hear us; we could only hear each other. It seemed like we were invisible. Suddenly it dawned on me and I was devastated: We were middle aged and the young people didn't care a thing about us. We had entered into the age that I thought was old when I was a teenager: our mid-thirties. Horror of horrors!  

This is me, and I am Not middle age, thank you very much! 33 is the new 23, in case you hadn't heard. Now you have.

  Today I turned 33. I haven't actually been around any teenagers today, but I'm fairly sure they would still talk to me (although they might think I was old and a dork who knows nothing). I don't actually think I am middle-aged either, but it was a funny dream to have the night before awaking to a mid-thirties birthday. I look back to when I was 16 and remember thinking my youth pastor and his wife were so much older than me. They were in their very early 20's. Babies! Ah, perspective.   I'm sitting here reflecting on the past year...the past decade! The past year has included two of the hardest seasons of my life, hands down. And yet, it's been one of the richest years, full of growth and love and laughter. When I turned 32, I was a few months pregnant with Isabella, struggling to take care of two toddlers while wanting to puke my guts out. That was easy compared to what was coming. Most difficult season #1: The 9 weeks following Isabella's birth. Coming home only to stay isolated in the bedroom with the baby, while my big girls fought RSV and pneumonia without me. Dealing with three sinus infections one after another (or maybe the same one rearing it's hideous head over and over again). Sleepless nights to top off the illnesses, and I was a wreck, both physically and mentally. Every day, I thought I couldn't handle another day like the previous...and every day the Lord would carry me through another equally difficult one. Difficult season #2: We moved out of our rental 11 weeks ago, thinking we'd have a purchased home to move into fairly quickly. WRONG! We are still living out of suitcases in other people's homes. Don't get me wrong, I know we are blessed! To have such amazing church family taking us in and storing our stuff for this long is the single most poignant display I've personally ever seen of how Christ intended for his body of believers to act, to care for one another. To be the recipient merrily makes Brad and I hungry to do the same for others when opportunities arise in the future. It's just beautiful. That said, it's been H.A.R.D. I'll spare the details. The good news is, we should be moving into our new house in the next two weeks!!!!!!!   As I was reflecting on where I was a decade ago, my first reaction could be to shudder and crawl down the humiliating road of shame and guilt. But I don't. Instead, I praise God for carrying me when I turned on Him. I was recently telling some friends stories from way back then...stories of putting myself in situations where I could've been raped, killed in an accident, poisoned by the volume of alcohol I'd chug down every night. Pregnant, homeless. The list of possibilities are endless. And yet, here I am. By grace, here I am. I was thinking about the part of the poem "Footprints", and though I'm probably taking it out of context of what the poem means, I thought about my life and that poem. If I was looking at where there were two sets of footprints in the sand, it would be where I was walking with God, in my childhood and teenage years, and now. But somewhere in the middle, a decade ago, I would only see one set of footprints. Some people would say I turned my back on God and walked alone. But I say, I know, even though I tried to walk away, He was holding me, carrying me. He never lets go. He had a plan for me and loved me when I didn't care one bit. It's unimaginable. He knew there was a good man for me to marry. Three beautiful daughter's to be had. Friends to bless and be blessed by. Parents and siblings to rekindle relationships with. And many years of walking with Him, my Savior, my friend. When I'm fearful for tomorrow, I remember His faithfulness, and I know he has a plan and is holding me in His hand...walking with me on my good days and carrying me through my worst days.   Here's to 33! Praying I grow in faith and in the fruit of the Spirit this year. Thank you to my hubby and family and friends who have already made today a special day...and it's only early afternoon!:) (Guys, I looove birthdays...mine, yours, everyone's! I just love them.)   (Izzie happens to share her half birthday with me today! How in the world is my baby already half way to turning 1????? Pleeease slow down!)          

 

 

The Good

 I've heard people say bloggers and Instagram feeds portray a sugar-coated, fake life. They say people only post pictures of happy well-dressed kids, picturesque landscapes, clean houses in the background, and us moms, well we only appear in the pictures when we're having a good hair day and make up is on, and of course no yoga pants pictures! That (some) blogs are discouraging to the everyday, average, ordinary woman who is just trying to keep it together everyday; whose kids throw tantrums and whose sinks are full of dishes. They say, "Don't look at those blogs and compare yourself! Bloggers lie and paint a pretty picture of a falsely beautiful life!"   And I used to agree. Perfect blogs annoyed me, but I've changed my opinion and here's why. I personally try to be honest about the struggles I'm facing, BUT, this is a spot for creativity. For art, for expressing my feelings and opinions and convictions, and for sharing a bit of our lives with others. That said, it's up to each blogger which bits they want to share. Some share only pictures, others share struggles, and others share encouragement. Some preach, others tell stories. But we all share something in common...we love our little spaces, much more than any reader could. We put something of ourselves out there on the chopping block, vulnerable for people to judge or critique if they so choose. We are passionate about different things, but have chosen one similar thing: to write, to share. And that can be scary. Most of what I share via pictures might paint a picture of a pretty easy going life. You might think my kids are always happy, that we just sit around eating peaches under shade trees and lounging at the lake. That I cook three Pinterest meals per day and plate them the way a restaurant does. That the baby just coos and smiles at the camera and then plays happily, never crying or waking up five times in the middle of the night. That I'm never tired (from the baby that never wakes up) or grumpy or sick, but sit along side my well behaved children watching the birds and the butterflies. But let's stop and think here a minute.   Bloggers are everyday Janes. We struggle along with the hard things, and savor the good things. Savor the good things. Isn't that what humans do? Few people go around with their camera waiting to snap that perfect picture of the two-year-old kicking the wall, face covered in tears and snot, screaming for more ice in her water (What? I'm not talking about my kid...) I don't know too many people who take pictures of the laundry on the bed or the dishes piled up or the garden that needs tended to. Or pictures of them arguing with a spouse or of dinner that consists of box macaroni and cheese and a can of tuna. Those moments matter and certainly make up a part of life, and in fact make the sweet moments all the sweeter. We learn from the hard, but then we move on, changed, and remember the beautiful moments. However simple or however fancy...we are wired to love beauty. And pictures help preserve those precious moments that fade all too quickly with the busyness of passing days.   I want my blog to be a real, honest place, and I think it is. But I guess I'm just defending the bloggers out there who maybe post lots of beautiful pictures...more professional than mine with kids more well dressed than mine. With better looking hair than I will ever have in this life. Because it is their precious space that they have created. Because it's art, it's something they've created, and like me, they are choosing to hone in on the positive things. To create an online place of memories for safe keeping, a place to look back and reminisce on the good times, lest they start to forget. We have this. This story we keep of life we are living, stories and pictures we want our babies to look back at someday.   I hadn't planned on writing much on this post, just a few sentences, but I guess this was on my heart. I've read other blogs and for a moment thought, "Wow, what a faker!" But I realize now that we are just grabbing on to the good times. This is our way of savoring life a second longer...lingering in the blessings and choosing to remember the good things. And so with that, here are pictures from the good times we've had in the midst of a really, really hard summer:)  

 

 

 

 


       

 

Today's a New Day

Life right now: Our stuff is in a hundred boxes and trunks, stuffed in a friend's garage. We are currently staying at our pastor's house while they are on vacation for a few weeks. We each have a suitcase of clothes and shoes and toiletries. One for Brad, one for me, and one each for the 2 year old, the 4 year old, and the 4 month old. The baby has decided to be hungry at least twice every night, so I've been up around 2:30 and 5 and then up by 7:30, most days. The girls have either broke or spilled something every day that we've been here (Rhonda...if you happen to read this from Facebook, don't worry, we've either fixed or replaced things!;) ) And most days, we drag the girls to house showings and realtor meetings, loaded with snacks and lots of patients and grace...it's hard on them but they do well most days and we try to throw fun things in in between looking at houses. We've made offers on four homes. We backed out of one because the inspection was terrible, and the other three were not accepted...bigger and better offers were made.  

Why all the info? Well so that I can justify my erratic behavior of course! So that you won't judge me when I tell you I lost it at the girls yesterday, just flat yelled and stomped. Mean mom came to life for a few moments as I waved my arms and yelled and told them not to touch anything ever again, only their toys, and STOP spilling things for the love of God! Stop acting your age, is basically the wisdom I was trying to impart to my sweet but clumsy, accident prone, nonchalant girls. They really have no idea that they're doing anything wrong, they're just being themselves, and that comes with breakage and spillage and just 'hard-on-everythingage'.   Brad doesn't get stressed, and if he does, it comes out in anger, which he wisely and maturely takes out at the gym lifting heavy things or punching a heavy bag, after which he is just fine. When I get stressed, I wisely and maturely become a big wound up mess of anxiety and stress and tears and yelling and eventually Addison actually says, "Are you gonna freak out mom?" And Brad has to talk sense into me and I have to apologize to everyone and feel ridiculous and wonder why the crap I can't keep it together.   I talked to a woman at church earlier this month, when we were just starting this grand 'adventure' of moving out of our rental without a house of our own to go to, and I told her, "I know it's going to be hard, and I just pray that it's a growing experience, and that whatever God throws my way I handle with grace." Well then. Wasn't that lofty thinking? Yes, yes it was.   For some reason, I wake up bright and cheerful. Ok actually I wake up blurry eyed and completely exhausted and unable to see up from down or make sense of words spoken to me until I've sat alone with a cup or two of coffee. BUT, then I'm bright and cheerful, even in the event that we receive yet another call that another offer on another house was not accepted. I say to Brad, "Don't worry! We'll look some more today! It wasn't meant to be! The Lord has the perfect house for us, keep up the faith! Don't get discouraged honey!" And as we drive around from house to house, crabby kids and crying baby, I sweetly talk to Addison about being thankful and admonish her that whining is not productive, nor is it pleasant to be around. I tell the girls, the Bible says to 'be joyful always, to pray without ceasing, and to give thanks no matter what!' I pray silently over and over for God to help me keep my faith. To give me patience as we go through this process, as whole days seem to be spent driving and looking, driving and looking, and feeding the baby in the car intermittently. To be a good mom and wife...patient with the kids and respectful toward my husband. And I do an okay job during each day, but something keeps happening at night. This is where suddenly I'm spent. Mentally exhausted from trying so hard to keep it together, to stay positive, and to try and keep three little ones happy. Discouraged at all the no's we keep getting. Bummed that summer seems to be slipping away and we haven't walked Farmer's Market, gone hiking as a family, been to my parents in months, or grilled out. And just plain tired, in need of a good night's sleep.     As I typed the last paragraph, I saw it on the page. The words. Words that tell everything I'm doing wrong, and words that possibly crack the code for how to make life a little better, less stressful. The words "trying so hard." How human of me. How utterly and totally normal it is to try hard. And how utterly and totally wrong it is. How easily I sing the words in songs like "I Surrender All" and "I need thee, oh I need thee; Every hour I need thee...", but how quickly after the words spill out of my mouth do I go back to doing things myself, on my own? I read the greatest little book with the greatest friends recently, Christ in the Chaos. A book about moms and kids and freak outs and temper tantrums and hard hard days and trying hard and doing better...and about how it's not about trying hard and doing better. It's about constantly surrendering to Him and it's about grace and it's about letting go of the wheel and letting Him steer you through the chaos. It's about messing up over and over, but learning to quickly surrender over and over. And I clearly haven't put this into practice. Nor have I dealt with the past weeks with grace, like I told the woman I hoped to do.   But, today is a new day.  

         

Knox Family Update

Well so much for my attempts to keep up with blogging after Isabella was born. It's just not happening right now, much as I have wanted to write. The past month has. been. rough. Here's a little update on our family of five: Isabella weighs in at 10 pounds 6 ounces at 6 weeks, up over 3 pounds from when we left the hospital! This was significant for us, because she was diagnosed with a tongue tie when she was born, which was hindering her ability to nurse. We had the problem fixed with a procedure done at the ENT, and she is eating like a champ now, praise God! Another praise is that she has stayed relatively healthy (just a cold for a day or two) in the midst of everything that's been going around and around and around in our house. Which leads me to why it's been a rough month... Everyone keeps asking me if I've recovered (from childbirth) and if I'm adjusting to having three kids. My answer is that I recovered from birth within days, but have been fighting one ailment or another since before we even left the hospital. And no, I have not adjusted to having three kids; I haven't even had a chance to adjust! I haven't done any of the typical things that would make me feel adjusted...things like taking them to the park, running errands with all three of them, meal planning and actually cooking three meals a day, etc. I left the hospital with a cold that quickly turned into the sinus infection from satan. It. Was. Awful. To all of you who suffer from these on the regular, I'm sorry! Brad had one once not too long ago, and as much as I hate to admit it, I thought he was being dramatic. Now I know. They're the worst! Anyway, I brought newborn Isabella home to an RSV infected home, and then I had this sinus infection for two weeks solid, followed by one more week of a sinus headache that just wouldn't leave. Then Addison and Lily caught RSV again (apparently there are tons and tons of different strains, so you can catch it over and over again each season. Joy.) We all had a flu like thing for a couple of days, I have another cold, Lily got tested for RSV (results came back negative yesterday!), Addison is on antibiotics for an infection, and I refused antibiotics for Lily, since she's been on them several times recently. I'm hoping she can fight off whatever she has. And last but not least, we ended up spending 2 and a half hours at the hospital Friday when I took Addison in to have her leg looked at. She had been complaining it hurt for over a month, and I thought it was growing pains, until Friday morning she got out of bed and could barely walk, kept falling down, and her leg looked twisted and crooked. Her knee kept buckling, and I called the doctor asap, who got us right in and asked all the scary questions that totally freak a parent out (ruling out the worst case scenarios). By the end of the morning, she had been through the gamut of an intense evaluation, x-rays, and blood work, all of which came back negative, and so we are supposed to call orthopedics Monday morning for further investigation. Whew. That's a lot even to write! Add to that the normal stresses of having a newborn, and you might think this mama was falling apart. And I have, at times. I admit, I've had days here and there where I wallowed momentarily. Tears have been plentiful. I've found myself wishing I could feel 100% so that I could better take care of everyone. Wondering what we did to 'deserve' all this sickness for almost  2 solid months. But, a funny thing has happened. This past Thursday and Friday were two of the longest, hardest days: Thursday Brad worked from 7am until 8:30pm...Friday was the day I drug all three girls all over the hospital. And at the end of each of those days, I felt good going to bed. Good about the mom I was. Many a night, I go to bed thinking of how I snapped at them or how I should have done this or that better, with more patience, more grace, more gentleness. And those are usually the 'easy' days. Why in the world, on the long, difficult days was I able to be the mom I desperately want to be every day? The verse in James 1 comes to life:   Consider it pure joy...whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.   I realized that on the hard days, I leaned more heavily on the Lord, though I wasn't spending a long time in the Word or prayer, my prayers were breathed quickly throughout the day..."God please help", "Give me strength". I saw myself being forced to persevere...one foot in front of the other. Push through my own pain to take care of the littles. Keep it together to comfort Addison through a scary morning. Just. Keep. Going. And the harder the day got, the more my back hurt, the more exhausted and hungry and uncertain about diagnosis I was...the more the fruit of the Spirit were flowing out of me toward my children. I went to bed without regret those days.   Now, I'm not going to pray for trials to come my way. Maybe a more mature Christian would have the courage to pray that prayer. Not me. The very human part of me still desperately wants life to ease up a bit. For healing to come over all of us and health to be back in store. But I can look back over the past couple of months and see marked spiritual growth in myself, and for that I am truly thankful for. I'm also thankful for friends who I was able to text and call and humbly admit that I needed help and prayers, and for family who came to help (my mom helped me cook and freeze meat to last a couple of months!), friends who dropped by with a meal, a coffee, chocolate for 'a happy heart', and a friend who brought food and even loaded my dishwasher while she was over visiting. These friends have shown me the kind of friend I hope to be. And my husband, he's just the best, I'll leave it at that. The blessings have been more abundant than ever.   Here is a quote from the book I'm reading, Death by Living, by N.D. Wilson: When faced with unpleasantness (trouble) there are only two ultimate responses (with many variations). On the one hand, "The Lord gives, the Lord takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord." On the other, "Curse God and die." Variations on the latter can include whining, moping, self-pity, apathy, or rage. Variations of the former can include laughter, song, retellings, and an energetic attack of obstacles.   I have really thought about this lately. How often do I curse God without a second thought, as I mope or feel sorry for myself? (Not too often I hope, but never would be a lot better!) I truly want to go through each and every day, hard or easy, good or bad, and have each and every breath say Blessed be the name of the Lord. I want to laugh my way through hard things, and 'energetically attack the obstacles.'   Well, that's it for now. I'm skipping church, as the girls were too sick to go this morning. Brad's manning the house, taking care of the older ones while the baby sleeps. I figure I have ten more minutes before she's awake and hungry, so that's it for now! Here are a few pictures from the past couple of weeks when Brad's parents were here (and kudos to them...I think collectively they read at least eight thousand books over the week!), and Easter at my parents.   Have a fabulous week:)   

(Yes, those are Christmas gift bags for the egg hunt. Don't ask)