Blessings in Disguise

I've been quiet. Far too distant. Retreating into my broken heart. Selfish. Healing. Broke. Alone.

We were so sure that our little firework was a keeper. We had committed to three IUIs and this would be our charm. I prayed earnestly and with excitement. But it again, was not His will.

And so I've been going through the motions every since.

Wake up. Work. Smile. Sleep - a lot. Repeat.

It wasn't too long ago that I was on the brink of where I now stand. When a happy song made me turn the channel. When I resented the successes of others. When I allowed my heart to go cold.

My husband, my rock with whom I lean on so heavily, also seems to be in a dark place.

Wake up. Work. No smile. Sleep - barely. Repeat.

With other stresses in our lives continuing to mound up to unsurpassable heights, there is a great divide between us - just waiting for the avalanche. One thing we do know, we are solid and refuse to crumble, even when you can feel the weight in the air breathed between us.

I still talk to God. I know he is with me now and has never left my side. I mostly don't know what to say, but he's worked on me so hard in the past year and I'm not about to let what's built of our relationship thus far slide. But honestly, I'm not allowing him to push me forward.

I only discovered Family Life Radio a few months ago and have found I can find the words to pray through music. Like a Hallmark card that says all the things you wished you could say. And like the isles of the card shop, I find myself pilfering through the racks to pull myself through a rollercoaster of emotions.

Some songs I put back. Some I keep. Some I think I'll remember. Most I forget. 

One such song is "Blessings" (by Laura Story). I heard it 4 days ago and it brought me to my knees. I only listen to the radio in my car and since I work from home, I'm not often driving. The mere fact that I was in my car this day is by God's grace after receiving a call from my husband that his brakes had seized on his way home from work, and could I come pick him up.

"...We pray for wisdom, your voice to hear. We cry in anger when we cannot feel you near. We doubt your goodness, we doubt your love. As if every promise from your word is not enough. And all the while, you hear each desperate plea. And long that we'd have faith to just believe..."

I've come to recognize that tugging on my heart, those waterworks. I literally pulled to the side of the road, got out of the car, and knelt down beside it - a short wretched cry and a thanks. Then got back in my car and picked up my husband in silence.

I had good intentions of looking up the song later. Of downloading it and of looking up the lyrics. But then I slept. Woke up. Worked. Repeat.

It wasn't until a day after that, someone had posted a message on Facebook about seeing the blessings in those events that appear to be against us or in punishment. And only then did it hit me - me of all people, whom has been scooped up by angels off the highway of near-death before - that what seems like just another expensive inconvenience might very well be another miracle. You see, we had known there was a rumbling in the front wheels for some time and my husband had gone to a mechanic for the bad news on a price quote to fix it just days before. Knowing we didn't have the money for immediate repairs and that he wouldn't stop driving the heap, God stopped him before he got on the highway where the damage may have cost us far more.

"...What if your blessings come through rain drops. What if your healing comes through tears. What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know you're near. What if trials of this life are your mercies in disguise..." 

Blessings.

A day later, I was surfing mindlessly on my Instagram feed when I saw a post that caught my eye from my own company, Nerium International. I clicked on the woman tagged and was led to her blog. A fellow Brand Partner, I watched her video story, closed my phone, put it down and walked away. Or so I thought.

A song began to play from my phone, now laying face-down on my counter. I listened without picking it up. It was this song. My song. It was 'Blessings'.

I was led there, in that small moment, to be reminded of God and of his blessings, working in mysterious ways through this kind soul. To bring me BACK to my knees, where he had been missing my own soul.

I felt compelled to email Jessica and thank her for her beautiful voice, her beautiful gift to my beautifully messy heart and her beautiful rendition of this song. Her reply was that she had also been praying - that God would "open some big doors with Nerium" through which to continue to "share His goodness and give Him the glory". She said that my email was the first sign of an answered prayer, that God was showing her that "this really is happening!"

Blessings. In disguise. Who are we to question. Ever.

Have a blessed day!

 

Bean

Bella (my 80 lb. German Shepherd) and I were playing lazily on the bed last Thursday night. She likes to talk (a lot), so it would be rude of me not to talk back. The conversation turned to me tugging at her poor teddy bear and telling her she needed a real baby to cuddle and protect.

"Belly-Bean need a Jelly-Bean?" I asked. That's one of my nicknames for her: Belly Bean or just Bean.

From then on, I couldn't get it out of my mind. While I miss my Nugget, I'm ready to try for Jelly Bean.

Finding Joy

 

“Consider it pure joy, my brother, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing.” James 1:2-4

Not being a morning person in the least, I prepared myself for an 8:00 a.m. doctor appointment by throwing on a hat and some lipgloss and driving to the office without much fanfare, feeling somewhat anxious of the unknown. I was suddenly struck with the notion that I was rushing the process, like my body and soul still needed to heal; but Father Time kept poking me...reminding me that my biological clock was about to expire.  It seemed the more I opened myself up to HOPE, the more doubt was creeping in.

Quick prayer.

I walked into the waiting room; it was small...no, intimate and warm. There was another patient already at the reception window and my positive momentum hesitated for a moment. When it was my turn, I hopped up from the chair I had strategically claimed and placed the magazine I was pretending to read on the table beside it. As I walked up to the counter, I secretly wished I had done something to my hair and put more effort into my selection of sweatpants.

Suck it up, slob.

And then it happened. I found joy. No really...I found JOY! She was smiling her always infectious and huge dimpled grin and her bright blue eyes looked at me in equal surprise. "Gina!", she exclaimed! My guard was let down and my fear simply disappeared. Joy, a friend from high school, had literally been placed in my journey.

God places angels among us everywhere.

When facing a hardship, no matter how big or how small, don't quit yourself. Keep your eye on the prize and stay the path in faith - for there, your JOY will be found!

Even if He does not...

I am today reminded of a Bible story about King Nebuchadnezzar. You might remember variations in the story of Shadrach, Meshack and Abednego in the fiery furnace.

Long story short, the king had erected a statue in his image and made his people bow to worship it in a public ceremony. Three men of God refused and were punished by being cast into a fiery furnace, emerging unscathed without even the smell of smoke.

Or was it the story of Daniel and the lion's den? I can't remember. Both were terrifying encounters to a kiddo and both are from the book of Daniel with similar endings. This one of a man of God thrown into a pit of lions for continuing to pray after being told by a King not to; again, coming out of the ordeal without even a scratch.

Christmas and a Baby

Like so many holidays for me, this one plowed through my life without much inspiration.  No reason to stay up late on Christmas Eve.  No reason to get up early on Christmas morn.  A day just like any other day marked by the entire town shutting down and my husband and I left alone.  This year it was just me while Todd was at work.

While I have tried to start my own traditions in my house of two, they are never met with much enthusiasm and die a slow death alongside the fireplace embers.  So every year, I put up the tree by myself, gulping down a bottle of wine sipping on a glass of wine to get me through it.  I play holiday music on my iPod so as not to disturb the football game going on in the next room - or better yet, this year, my other half just left the house to do something he found more exciting.  Each year, I go a little crazy with the tree decor.  It is, afterall, all mine.

We join my husband's family on Christmas day and for this I am thankful.  I enjoy SO much the laughter of their sibling rivalry displayed through our hours of board games, the older kids now joining us at the 'adult table', and the hugs and filled lap from the kiddos that are still young.

We have a small get-together at my mother's - more of an open house.  You never know if either of my step-brothers will join or not.  It could be a houseful.  More often than not it is just a few.  I think this must be heartbreaking for my parents.

So this year, as I ready for 'just another day', I looked out my window in time to see cars pulling into my neighbors house.  I have known them well, moreso, in the past than of recent days; a tight knit family who has been very lucky in love and light who seem to pull through anything that gets in their way together.  They have been met with some financial troubles to one of their own in just these past weeks. 

As I watched this part of the family get out of their vehicle, I noticed a flash of bright pink.  Not above being easily distracted by glittery things, I found myself stalking staring in anticipation!  As they became more visible, I realized it was a baby wrapped in the most gorgeous shade of preciousness I had seen all season.

This baby has come into their life in the past year as an immediate part of the family.  Loved and spoiled as if it were their own blood.  As I watched, I notice my eyesight get blurry.   Something deep down in my heart was speaking and I couldn't stop the tears.  I'm not sure what it was trying to say - a mixture of joy for the family, a yearning for that baby to be my own - for a reason to stay up late on Christmas Eve and get up early the next day, and reverence of what she represented...HOPE.

Hope and a REASON to celebrate.  Brand new eyes from which to view the world with an innocent little soul.  Little hands and little feet to discover a NEW path in life.  A helplessness and frailty that asks us to take the journey with her without even saying a word. 

As if as a sign from God himself, the gray sky opened up and sun surrounded us all.  Silent Night started playing on my stereo behind me as the one and only holiday song that never fails to make me weep (so much so that I typically and immediately change the channel!).  I let it sink in.  I stood there at my kitchen sink and cryed; tears washing away my darkened heart.

Isn't that what Christmas is all about?  Had I forgotted the most important baby of Christmas?  Had I failed to remember that it is CHRISTmas?

My mind wandered to another family needing a Christmas miracle...my own.  And how ironic and poignant that while my uncle still lie in a hospital, hanging on to every day of sweet life - that he does so to see his unborn grandson.  The circle of life will not end with either of them...but go on as an inspiration to both of them.  They are forever connected in HOPE.

So as I move forward with this last week of the holiday, I will not forget the HOPE and love and little Chrismas moments of wonder that surrounds each of us now and throughout the year.

Merry Christmas..again..to you all.

Awesome.

I used to be awesome.
...or so I thought.

Above average brains, quick in humor and wit; a perfectionist at heart and pretty overall fearless (or oblivious...whatever). 

Then I got bumped.  Again.

The first time was in high school - Powder Puff football.  NOTHING sugar and spice about those girls!  I got plowed. Hard! Full-on tackle by a chick three-times my size that knocked me off my feet; my head bouncing off the ground in whip-lash action.  I blacked-out and woke up with a swarm of people around me asking twenty questions.  The hospital sent me home that night with a killer headache and no chance for sleep, as my mother woke me up every thirty minutes to make sure I hadn't drifted off permanently.

The next (and  hopefully last) time was just this past year.  I realized tonight that I hadn't written about it - and now notice a huge gap in my posts; not altogether a suprise as, if you haven't noticed, I'm not the most disciplined blogger in the world.  I don't talk about this topic much and honestly, I don't remember quite a few details.  The effects; however, are a constant and haunting reminder.

My husband and I were in an auto accident this past March.

The weather was unusually cold and icy for that time of year.  We were driving on an interstate that, I later learned, had been shut down earlier that morning due to a rush hour pile-up.  I was playing solitaire on my Blackberry from the passenger seat with my feet propped up on the dashboard, taking on my usual stance as the co-pilot in the Explorer.  We had purchased the SUV after my last accident 7 years ago; a road rage incident that left me terrified to drive anything without a birds eye view of the road and a brush guard attached to ensure I could wipe out anything that ever got in my way again.  It was a solid and fairly custom piece of machinery.

It all happened in the blink of an eye.  We hit a patch of black ice.  My husband screamed for me to brace myself and reached out to hold me in my seat much like a mother's instinct to a child.  We spun out of control, slamming into a concrete barrier blocking us from plummeting over a bridge.  Airbags deployed.  I was catapulted out of my high-back bucket seat, through the cab and expelled out - not through the hatchback (that would be too easy!), but through the small tempered glass panel flanking either back side.

Seatbelts people.  Seatbelts.

Exit Window

I remember floating in the air inside the vehicle.  Slow motion.  I remember my head striking something hard.  The sound of metal and glass...and skull.  Then nothing. 

My mind wandered to the comforting smell of my late grandfather's aftershave, whom had passed away just a few years prior.  I felt the same protection and security I did when being held in his lap as a young child watching the evening news together. I remember drifting away, as I would drift off to sleep in his lap.

I woke up, suddenly and with jolted pain, just like I did on the high school football field nearly twenty years ago - a circle of people (angels really) asking me too many questions and telling me I would be OK.  I searched for, and managed to focus on my husband's shocked expression to assure him of the same.  "I am OK. I'll be fine."

To this day I can't imagine his panic after the accident, reaching over to check on me after his own spinning stopped only to find my seat empty. To find me laying in a massive pool of bright red blood, stark against the white of snow and ice beneath me. To find me stiff with one arm reaching to the heavens refusing to relax back down to my side - back down to Earth. It was months before he would not wake up in the middle of the night and reach over to my side of the bed, playing the scene over in his nightmares that jarred him awake to make sure I had not vanished. To make sure I was still by his side...forever.

I was rushed to KU Med Center and treated by their amazing head trauma unit staff.  My noggin was stapled back together and I was fitted with a boot and some crutches to help me walk on some banged up ankles.  That's it!

I later found out that I landed at the side of the road, out of the way of traffic...on the ONLY patch of soft snow within miles as if God has reached down from the heavens to catch me and lay me gently down on the pure white pillow.  A nurse, an EMT and a preacher had been following us on the highway and stopped to help.  They stayed with my shaken husband until I was moved to a private room.

What does this have to do with my self proclaimed awesomeness?

I sustained a severe concussion.  A traumatic brain injury (TBI). While most of my obvious symptoms have disappeared and the visible signs have healed, I am left...bumped...both inside and out.  I often feel sharp 'shoots' of electrical sensations across the back of my head, swelling and tightness is a common occurrence, as well as forgetfulness, unorganized thought, roadblocks in verbal communication both spoken and written and an overall feeling of disorientation or time loss/lapse.  

I am no longer awesome and it is more and more apparent in my current employment - where it's my JOB to BE awesome.  I made a mistake today.  The same kind that I often do these days.  The kind that is becoming harder and harder to ignore.  I find myself wondering sometimes, "What if somebody notices? What if they all realize I'm no longer smart? What if they are onto me?!?!"

I can only keep fighting this new 'disability' and work harder and harder to overcome.  And while I AM working harder and struggling...and making more mistakes...I will REJOICE and be GLAD IN IT.  

While I used to think that it was me that was awesome, the truth is, this whole year has been a reminder that GOD is awesome!  And no matter how far I think I have fallen off of my self-serving pedestal, my ego of awesomeness, He will reach down out of the heavens to catch me and gently lay me down into the pure white snow. I only have to reach up. 

Namely Coincidental

Good men must die, but death cannot kill their names.. ~Proverb

Following the recent passing of my Grandmother, Eva, I took a few days of berevement to take care of family...and most of all myself.  I had not taken any time off when my dad died, none after the auto accident and none to gather my wits after losing my job.  As selfish as that sounds, my year has just been heartbreakingly insane and has been rushing by way too fast - seemingly starting to spiral out of control and I just needed to gain back some healthy perspective; to regroup and refocus my energies.

I started to release some of the tension buried deep down to my bones with time spent floating aimlessly and repeatedly around the lazy river.  Starting the day numb and in a gray foggy daze, the fresh air and sunshine worked its magic as I began to again hear the laughter of children, feel the warmth from the hot sun wrap me up like a thick familiar beach towel, taste the saltiness of chlorine in the air and see the brilliant bright blues of sky and water all around; replacing the dark and dull blue of my mood. 

In keeping with the color theme, my husband suggested that we take in a bit more of summer with the boys in blue!  While I'm a sucker for baseball at The K, our budget barely puts us in GA.  I reluctantly agreed to splurge since I'm an even bigger sucker for fireworks and after letting go of so much lately, I thought ending things with a bang would be just the spark I needed to get things moving again. 

Bickering over which ticket line would get us in the stadium faster, we were interrupted by an "Excuse me!" from softly behind.  "Excuse me!", we heard again, growing slightly more urgent each time.  Realizing the voice was addressing us, we finally answered.  "Are you two needing tickets for the game?", a young blonde asked.  Not your typical scalper, I thought.  "I have two here in my purse that I'm not using you can have", she continued, "I'm not trying to sell anything!  The only catch is that you have to sit by us", she gestured to her equally young and cute blonde little friend.  She explained that her family owned season passes and that they were unable to join her that night. 

We took her up on her offer for the tickets and to escort us to our new and FREE seats!  We followed her past general admission...past all the yummy food courts...past the view level seats until finally we turned to walk down the stairs towards home plate - down, down some more and down even farther until an attendant stopped us before we could walk down even MORE.  I looked at our tickets (did I mention they were FREE..woohoo!) and picked my jaw up off the floor and contain my utter (and yes, BLUE COLLAR) excitement.  These seats rocked!

We got settled, offered to buy the girls their ballpark dinner and drinks as a small token of our thanks before heading back up all the million stairs to fetch the feast.  Failing to introduce ourselves sooner, I reached out my hand and asked them their names.  "Oh sorry!" the petite ticket-giver-outer squealed!  "So nice to meet you, Gina!  My name is Eva!". 

Not only did she not run away when I rushed back through the isle, tripping over my own two feet to give her a big hug; she genuinely hugged me tightly back.

The night was perfect, the company the best, the Royals won and the fireworks reignited my soul.  Thanks Grandma!

Happy Birthday, USA

I heard someone say just the other day, "There are only two people who will sacrifice their life for you; GOD and an American Soldier."   That gave me an amazing feeling of peace and blessings.  I hope the same to you!

From my front porch to yours:  Have a BLAST this 4th of July!

"Woven in Prayer" - Part One

My quaint old house faces a busy side street with a covered porch nestled within the long arms of a maple tree.  It's character weathered by time as it bravely looks out over the ever-changing world atop a secluded little hill.  My husband has plans to enclose a portion of the area to create a formal foyer inside.  But until then, MY plans are to create a quiet and welcoming spot to greet friends, watch birds and read the morning paper - anything that will fill the large, cold and cracked concrete vacancy. 

...and so begins my search for a wicker chair...

When I was a young girl, I often thought I had been born into the wrong era.  Even into my teen years, I collected things that would today be flea market treasures and surrounded myself with what they now call shabby chic decor.  My style had less to do with a lack of fashion or design sense, but more out of love for all things Victorian in look and feel.  Fine linens and floral china patterns, soft colors and airy ferns - even hair bound into a loose Gibson.  Thank goodness it was the 80's and those awful doily collars WERE in style!

...but I never got my wicker chair...

I had wanted one; high in back and painted white.  A place to throw a few pillows that I had stitched out of Granny's old hankies or curl up with a good book and a tattered quilt from the hope chest.  A symbol of solitude and protection to me - of a simpler time.  That is just what my front porch needed now!  In this age of blinding internet speed, I looked towards the first place I knew to hunt one down, Craigslist of course.  My initial search came up empty with sets that were too modern or too far away or too...something.  I just wasn't feeling it.  So I continued my day as usual, not giving the subject much more thought.  

I typically take a break at lunchtime to walk my dog and clear my head.  It is during this time that I focus not only on the task at hand, but on private meditation that may turn into informal prayer.  My talks with God have been more like requests lately when it comes to "the baby thing"; asking for an open mind into new opportunities, wide eyes to recognize one when it is right in front of me and for a prepared heart into the unknown - and for peace.  Such was my prayer that day. 

At the end of my work day, I felt rushed to get it all wrapped up so I could head out and catch my nephew's baseball game.  It was sunny and I had been missing the kiddos!  As I started to fly out the door I halted to run back and grab the cell phone I had forgotten still charging in the office; waving a "just a second!" hand at my impatient husband who was revving up the engine and waiting for me in the driveway.  I grabbed the phone and glanced at the computer left open on the desk.  The wicker chair flashed in my head.  "Oh, I'll just check once more", I thought.  

There...on the very top listing, just posted a few minutes before, was not ONE chair but TWO!  Painted an updated brown, adorned with tastefully simple cushions, at the right price and close-ish to home.  Like a cat on a mouse, I pounced; not only emailing but calling as well - afraid I would miss my chance to snag them if I didn't harass the poor sellers.  Never once did it cross my mind that it might be a scam or that I might need to be careful for weirdos - I wanted those chairs darnnit!  The next day, I was making arrangements to pick up MY 'new' wicker chairs.

The story ends there, right?  Not so fast.

My drive to claim the bounty was about 45 minutes - plenty of time for wandering thoughts and more talks to myself and to God.  I felt blessed to have healed from so much going on lately, that my elders that recently landed in the hospital were also on their way to recovery and that things at work were starting to stabilize again - and that my house was REALLY starting to feel like home.  The urge to nest was returning and I embraced it.

I arrived at the sellers' home.  It was warm and welcoming with a cute wreath on the door.  I rang the bell and was greeted by the woman-of-the-house, tall and slender with the auburn hair I have always envied.  I was graciously received inside where her husband led us all down to finalize the sale.  Conversation was easy and I didn't lift a finger as the goods were loaded and strapped up for me in the back of the truck.  I had enjoyed the process and was happy to have 'clicked' with this charming couple.  Off I went.

More time for my thoughts to meander as I drove back home.  I found myself recalling the details of the couple's newly finished basement and appreciating the decor - paying special attention to the landing at the foot of the stairs where children had been playing with a toy car track of some kind.  They had mentioned two children, young but not babies, a few years apart.  What an absolute charming family.  I silently wished them well.  

Once home, I couldn't wait to set up my front porch!  I had purchased a large outdoor rug to cover up the barren and damaged concrete slab.  I was afraid that the double package would be too large, but they fit perfectly, looking like they had always been there - like they belonged.  A side table and a potted flower later...and WHAM!...instant cozy completeness!  It felt like a peaceful little sanctuary.  

I had some work to complete, so headed back to my laptop.  Just then an email popped up from the mother whom had found a new home for her wicker chairs, checking to make sure I had made it back without blowing away.  I responded and couldn't resist including a quick snapshot of the new digs.  I finished up the loose ends that had taken me back to my office and closed it down for the weekend ahead; throughout which I told everybody who cared (and I'm sure some that didn't) about my little story and the nice little family I got to meet. 

When I returned to get a head start and clean out junk emails from my work email account on Sunday night, I saw that I had missed a few from the seller.  She had followed-up with a quick inquiry about my blog and "the baby thing", apologizing if she had crossed the line and adding that her interest was peaked not out of some weird nosiness, but from experience and wanted to offer any help if she could be of any resource to me.  You see, her children are adopted.

Little could I have ever conceived on my own that my childhood desire for a woven symbol of refuge would turn into a present-day obsession to fill a tangible void.  An indirect answer to prayers?  The start of something bigger to which I am being prepped?  Or just a far-fetched coincidence and an over-emotional heart and an over-imaginative brain.

I have a feeling this is not the end of The Wicker Chairs Story, do you?