two.

whoo!  it's been quiet over here.  the end of a long vacation, continuously un-packing as we move in, then a purposeful earlier bedtime {for me} have contributed to the silence.  now i feel bursting with things to write, without the ability to follow through on it all.  so, one step at a time.

first things first.

oh, little junebug has become a toddler.  she turned 2 while we were on our eternally-long-but-fun vacation, the official day of her birth was while ben and i were in NC.  i know what you're thinking,

poor 3rd child...her parents weren't even home on her birthday!

but there are some things out of our control, you know?  one of them being the day june was born happens to be a very popular day to get married, or so we're quickly finding out.  on her first birthday, we were traveling to california for andrea & shawn's wedding, on her second we were celebrating the love between carmella and jersen.
 

but, that doesn't mean we didn't party with this girl before we left!  we decorated, sang, and had cake with family, laughing as we watched her eyes light up and her entire body tremble in excitement when she opened the Ariel doll from her cousins, and the Tinkerbell bracelet and phone from us.  the girl is a sucker for a mermaid with flowing red hair, or any type of fairy.

on her actual birthday, we facetimed with our sweet little chunk, and i stared at her eyelashes, fuzzy hair, and chubby cheeks, wondering how there could have been a day in my life that i hadn't known her. 

she talks so well, carrying on conversations while using words like "interesting." she sings and dances, and can get easily grumpy and then just as easily brought out of it.  she loves to make us laugh but is also taking after caleb in the serious department, in the way she inspects things and views life.  i can tell she's going to be more grounded than leah, the two have become such good friends in the past couple of months and it will be interesting to see how the dynamics play out as they grow up. 

the evidence is continuing to mount that she's just like me--in more than just the looks department.  all signs point to her being an outgoing introvert, just like i am.  she's not shy at all, but doesn't love the spotlight of attention on her in a crowd.  when people first meet her, i tell them to pretend that she's not there and she'll warm right up.  it's funny to see a younger-version of myself in her this way, and i think she and i will always relate to each other in this place, more than i can my other two complete extrovert children.

she is still my shadow, wanting to do anything i do.  if i put on shoes, she needs to also.  sunglasses are the same.  she's also my snuggliest child, and my best sleeper.  every night she begs her dad to "rockaminute" with her before she goes to sleep.  he holds her and hums to her, and then she calmly goes to bed without a fight.  ben has always had the magic touch with her.

we absolutely love you, june.  
from the calm baby you were to the spunky toddler you are now, you add so much to our family.

we couldn't picture being us without you.

and now, for a june photo montage....because you know, third children deserve it.

"love's the finest thing around..."

right now, i'm sitting on a couch in topsail island, north carolina, listening to the waves of the ocean with james taylor singing on the speakers about this very place.  it's no wonder he wrote a song as a tribute--there really is something about this beautiful state, with layers of green so thick you can't find your way out of it.  and the beach here is healing, especially in the moonlight.

we planned this trip so many months ago--saving and working and over-working for more paid time off--that it feels a little surreal to actually be here.  i wonder when it's over if i'll have the same feeling i did as a kid when christmas day was coming to an end, or i was going on my last ride at disneyland, or tasting the final vanilla-y crunch of my ice cream cone before it vanished.

it's interesting, what my mind can do when it has quiet and freedom to think.  i've been so thoughtful these past two and a half days, traveling with only myself and ben.  this is the first time in over 8 years that we've spent more than one night together without our kids.  we miss them terribly of course, but i'm remembering again what it feels like to fall in love.  we're connecting on a level that is built with hours of conversation without interruption, sitting next to each other without a little human bursting into tears, devastated that one or the other of us didn't sit by them, laughing our heads off over something that no one else is a part of except for the two of us, dancing together in the middle of a crowd of strangers who are also dancing to celebrate love, not caring if anyone else is even glancing at our incredibly lame moves.

i'm realizing how deprived our relationship has been of emotional intimacy.

i looked at his hand intertwined with mine as we sat on the airplane side by side and wondered when i had last noticed them with intent, concentrating on what it felt like to live in the details of a moment with him again the way i did so long ago, when he was the only person inside my world.

there is warmth here, with him.  he is my home.

during a long drive toward one of our destinations this weekend, he asked me my perception of him--the good and the bad, saying he was open to hearing whatever i had to say, answering any question i wanted to ask.  i thought for a moment, focusing on what was beneath the outside shell of him, under the hard-working grad student, the dedicated husband and father and the many other roles he plays.

i knew, through all of these years together, and changes and trials, my perception of him is still the same.

"you are sunshine to me,"  i said, and apologized for the corniness of the statement.

he smiled, and i explained that he is what has kept my head above water during a time when i thought the dark and twisty of the world might take me under.  i wanted to surrender to it for a while, feeling it must be what i deserved.  he kept holding on, and i worked one day at a time until i could feel my worth from the inside-out while he patiently waited.  now it is his turn, and the last year and a half has taken its toll as one wave after another has threatened to pull him under.  i have learned from his example, following his lead to be a gentle, quiet and patient support as he works on his inside-out self worth.

we talked about how scary this feels--digging your way out of a hole you didn't even realize you were in until life wouldn't let you not look at it anymore, and how it could be so much easier to give up and succumb to the ugly that is desperate to pull you under.  we are recognizing that relationships can't truly reach the deepest level of trust and intimacy unless both people are willing to work on themselves individually, owning their issues and trying to extract their unhealthy pieces and then coming back together to rebuild a newer, better foundation.

as i told him how proud i am of him, of his ability to face the hard and painful issues of his childhood, i couldn't help but cry.  the words caught in my throat and the tears streamed down my cheeks.  he reached across the car and took my hand, and i repeated the words i have been saying to him for so long, only now i was feeling a new depth and sacredness in them.

"i love you."

tonight we walked hand-in-hand along the beach as the waves crashed over our bare feet, picking up seashells along the way, saying hello to strangers as we passed.  the sun was setting, and we knew we needed to walk to the small grocery store before it closed, so we started the way back toward our beach condo.  suddenly, i turned and kissed him.  it was a kiss reminiscent of our dating years, starting from my toes and working its way up, and the spontaneity of it took us both by surprise.  for me, it was my way of acknowledging a new level in our relationship.  he kissed me back and i again made a conscious memory of this moment, living in the details of it.

we have two more days here, and then it's back to durham for our flight out on tuesday.  i don't know if it's possible, but i'm going to do my best to prioritize time like this with him every year.  not just for a few hours at a movie or dinner, but a weekend where we can reconnect in ways we're unable to otherwise.

i had no idea how much we needed it until now.

There ain't no doubt in no ones mind 

that loves the finest thing around,

whisper something soft and kind.

And hey, babe, the sky's on fire, 

I'm dying, ain't I? I'm going to Carolina in my mind.

33.

as a kid, i loved my birthday.  the gifts, the parties, the cake, the ice cream...i remember not being able to sleep the night before, wondering what amazing-ness was held in store for the following morning.

somewhere along the way, i changed.  my birthday started causing internal anxiety as soon as the month of july began.  i didn't like being the center of attention, didn't want parties, a big cake, or loud mariachi bands singing with the restaurant crowd as i peeked sheepishly out from underneath the enormous birthday sombrero, my cheeks turning a brighter shade of red with each bold note.

i knew feeling this way kind of ruined the celebrating for those around me, and i get it--i really do, because i love celebrating birthdays of the people i'm close with.  so, i've been making a concerted effort to find the balance and have ended up with this:  low-key, spending time with people i love, doing something out of the ordinary of the "everyday," and not searching for the closest box to climb into anytime someone bursts into the happy birthday song.

last year, i did something different, reading about another's idea of the birthday kindness project and knowing immediately it was something i would love to do.  we came up with a list, splitting our random acts of kindness over 2 days, completing over 50 of them during the weekend.  i thought that what i would love most about doing this would be spending my birthday with the focus off of me, and shift it on to someone else.

instead, i realized that my perspective could change yet again.  i read each of the face book comments, blog comments, texts, listened to the voicemails...and as i neared the end of the two days of the birthday project, each new message made me cry.  my family and friends all working together to do kind things for others--regardless of what day it was--

at the end of the first day of my 32nd year, i was overwhelmed with the feeling of just how beautiful life really is.

that was an amazing way to celebrate living.

tomorrow is my 33rd birthday, and we're out of town so i didn't repeat the same project as last year, but i'm still going to do random acts of kindness for others.  it's the best way for me to lose myself--the insecurity and discomfort--altering my thoughts,  shifting my focus instead to appreciate the beauty of the details of the day,

so i can more fully celebrate this life i have been given.

woah.

why didn't someone try to stop me from moving in the middle of arizona summer, right before a 3 week long vacation?  no one thought to bring me to my senses?  give me a good smack across the face and shake of the shoulder to get me to snap out of it?  this was a move of choice, remember.  not a mold-induced, career-induced or school-induced move.  i take responsibility for it, most of the time.  the rest of the time i blame the lack of common sense on two things:

1)  the heatstroke--it always sinks in on or around june 17.  this year was no exception.

2)  the desperation for space.  and, oh!  the space here is so nice. 

the space is what allows me to somehow find a way to move around open boxes and half-emptied tubs of our belongings without constantly banging my shins and elbows.  a piece of me questioned the move in the name of space--am i just getting greedy?  whining about first world problems? or am i actually just desperate, and possibly extremely intelligent?  desperate to park our van in our garage instead of using it as storage because there is no other space for storage...desperate to fit an actual dresser in a child's room instead of the plastic bins inside of a closet that last about 5 months before frustrated little hands break them while trying to remove a set of pj's...desperate to have my 4 year old back with her in her own room for her apnea-induced awake periods routinely every night between 3am-5am... 

the extremely intelligent part comes from only increasing our rent around $100 a month for this space.

so, i'm going to stick with those two reasons.

but. 

this is a lot.  we're leaving bright and early in the morning for our 12 + hour drive up to utah, and once we are on the road i will release a huge sigh and try to forget about the fact that my eyes twitch over the naked windows without curtains hung.  yes, i said naked.  those windows look so vulnerable and stark to me and the inner non-professional decorator just wants to grab the drill and go to town!  but so many other things are tugging me that for the first time in all of our moves, i have not hung up pictures and rearranged books first.  i have unpacked the boring before anything else--kitchen utensils and underwear, sheets and towels.  that last sentence was so boring it made me yawn while typing it.  i need color!  beauty!  a room that makes me want to hum a song just by walking into it!

but,

it's okay.  i'm getting a little purposely over-the-top even though deep down, it is really how i feel about the order of setting up a home.  i can't help it.

so,  i will try to forget about those un-hung curtains.  i will try to forget that my skin has broken out so badly that i look in the mirror and try to recall a time when i didn't have pimples--has there been a time?  possibly not.

i will try to forget that when we arrive back home it will be august, and in a few days caleb will start school, and we need to prepare for leah's tonsillectomy and ben's likely impending job quittage so he can get this dissertation DONE.

right now, as i finish packing suitcases among unpacked boxes, i will focus on the sound of the ocean--the fake one, coming from the white noise machine next to my side of the bed.  i will close my eyes as i roll up clothing into tight balls and stuff one shoe here and the other other there, filling up travel-size shampoo bottles and wrapping up computer cords, and i will hear that sound and focus on the fact that in just a little over one week, the sound of those crashing waves will be

real.

the weekend in pictures.

so, allegiant airlines was actually on time for my first flight.  smooth sailing!  a nice change. 

i'll be flying out of provo tomorrow morning, and can't believe it's already over--how did the time go so quickly?  ben and i will be coming back next week, {long story} driving to utah with the kids and then he & i will fly out of utah to north carolina for another wedding of a lovely friend, while the kiddos stay with family.  we're planning on spending a few days at the beach to celebrate our 10th anniversary back in december.  can't wait! 

i spent a lot of time with my niece and nephews, i just adore those kids.  then lauren, brett & i went to my college roommate tara's wedding and boy oh boy, i shed a few tears.  tara and i have become really close in the past couple of years and she has worked so hard to find true happiness.  she is a beautiful person, and one i am absolutely blessed to call my friend. 

anyway--here's the weekend in grainy {some worse than others} phone pictures: 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

finding peace from the inside out.

“Pain is a pesky part of being human, I've learned it feels like a stab wound to the heart, something I wish we could all do without, in our lives here. Pain is a sudden hurt that can't be escaped. But then I have also learned that because of pain, I can feel the beauty, tenderness, and freedom of healing. Pain feels like a fast stab wound to the heart. But then healing feels like the wind against your face when you are spreading your wings and flying through the air! We may not have wings growing out of our backs, but healing is the closest thing that will give us that wind against our faces.” 

― C. JoyBell C.

today, for the first time in 6 years, my brother, sister and i had lunch with my mom.

i write many personal things on here, but this is one that i have grieved privately, and will continue to remain guarded when i write about it.  not because i'm embarrassed or ashamed or angry, because i feel none of those.  i have achieved a peace i never thought possible.  honestly, my quiet has been for several reasons; fear of damaging or hurting what fragile thread we still had between us, concern because there are delicate details of this story that are not mine to share, and also because i have continued to feel fiercely protective of all who have been involved in this painful, but miraculous process.  i love my mom--much more than i can even comprehend at times, and regardless of where she and i are in our relationship.  the protectiveness and quiet has also served a purpose, giving me room to heal inside of it, working through emotions within the walls of the bubble of silence and vagueness.

i have been stuck on the series i was writing, "swinging and bending," because this is where the story becomes tricky.  i want to write honestly, owning and expressing only my piece, but it's interwoven so thickly with hers that i haven't been able to figure out a way to extract only what is mine.  she used to read this blog, and regardless of whether she still does, i feel a need to continue down the journey of my healing and no one else's.  so, i stay stuck for the time being, but i can sense it coming--working its way out, untangling the details so my side becomes that.  just mine.

what i will say is this:  the title of this series was chosen because during the time i have worked through our rocky relationship, i felt these things happening inside of me.  the swinging pendulum began on one side, back when i was unaware i was the very definition of "codependence."  it was what had been created from a childhood bursting with the belief that love for me was only conditional.  once i saw myself as i had become, i was so terrified that i swung all the way over to the other side of codependence, shutting the doors of unhealthy relationships with a loud slam, without even glancing back.  i convinced myself i was choosing a better way, a higher path, a thicker skin.  but as the door slammed, my heart ached.

i was not built for absolutes--i think we try to convince ourselves we are, but i don't know if anyone is, really.

the pendulum had swung to the extreme opposite side, slammed with the intent to regain some sort of control, the control springing from fear, the fear creeping up from the depths of an inability to truly love myself, regardless of whether anyone else loved me.  even my own mother.

the rejection i faced was so brutal and painful that it knocked the breath from me, yet i was the one who had caused it.  i felt it in my chest--a confused chaos--and had to continually convince myself i was doing the right thing for the right reason.  i used words like "toxic" and "unsafe" as justifications of my swinging pendulum.

i look back and see now how i needed this shut door in order to separate myself and heal from the damage that had been done.  i also needed it in order to see my own unhealthy patterns, and change them.  i didn't have the ability or emotional maturity at the time to change while still inside of this dynamic, so the shut door provided the room for that growth.

but, now that i have changed and am healing, i see that the pendulum does not have to be swung in extremes.  instead of breaking under the weight of the pain someone else is carrying, i have learned how to bend, because i have found how to only carry my own.  i have found the ability to fill up my own cup, without the need for outside resources aside from God.  this is how my internal pendulum has found its balance to rest in the middle instead of drastically perched on one side or the other.

my belief is this:  there are not really "safe" and "unsafe" people in this world.  there is only our individual ability to take care of our own selves and spirits, regardless of where anyone else is at in life.  it takes work, humility, grieving, and a lot of painful stretching, but it can be done.

this is just a piece of what i have found as Truth:  love without fear, boundaries without breaking under another's pain or slamming doors to gain control, extending oneself to try again, forgiveness without grudges or resentment, and a peace that only comes from the inside out.

for me today, while sitting across a table and looking into the beautiful blue eyes of my mom, that peace presented itself within me again.

we made it.

we survived, we're getting settled, and i am {still} loving the floor plan of this home.  {it's the same one as the moldy house so we're all set up as far as curtains/trash cans/shower curtains go}  the bedrooms all upstairs, every kid in their own room, big master bedroom with enormous walk-in closet.  and bonus!  there's already grass in the backyard, AND it's mold-free.  so aside from the strange color they decided to paint the outside, it's a win, win, win.

of course, leah has informed us that they painted it this color just for her....and i won't let her believe any different.

we've had so much help the past couple of weeks, and i literally do not know how we could have pulled it off without the support of our friends here, babysitting, and packing, and loading up their trucks & cars to make this happen.  we're so grateful.

i'm on my way first thing in the morning to fly to utah for the weekend for a friend's wedding---boarding the ever-trusty Allegiant Airlines {sarcasm} to see what new adventures can ensue.  will the engine need to be manually started again?  how long will my flight be delayed?  i'm setting my expectations low so that if all goes well, i can start the weekend off on the right foot.

anyway, there's so much to write about--getting sentimental about the last home we lived in for 2 years, the results of leah's two sleep studies, what the next step is, and how i've learned yet again to trust my gut and fight for it--even if sometimes i look like an idiot initially.  or maybe not just initially.  :)

i'm hoping to have a little time to write this weekend, because the days at home have been so full of distractions and unpacking and trying to give my kids the attention they need.  i'll be busy but responsibility-free.

more to come!

an offering.

“Behind every flinch is a fear or an anxiety - sometimes rational, sometimes not. Without the fear, there is no flinch. But wiping out the fear isn't what's important - facing it is.” 

― Julien Smith, The Flinch

a few nights ago, i had a dream.

the fact that i can still remember it in detail is nothing short of miraculous.  i've been so sleep-deprived lately that the second my eyes hit the pillow i'm out and don't recall a thing that goes on between the hours of being still and when my eyes are forced awake by my children and daylight.  with this one, i could almost hear my subconscious whispering to me that there was an actual point of it, and i needed to focus and find its significance.

it was the same scene, over and over again.  i was walking down a dark street with two loved ones who continually changed throughout the dream, but each time i felt comforted by their presence.  we turned toward a small building, climbed a few stairs, and i unlocked the door.  i can still hear the keys jingling as i type.  inside was a small, dark foyer, with a short hallway that led to another door, obviously to another person's apartment.  to the left was a long staircase, leading up to where i knew the door to my apartment would be.

at first glance the dark foyer looked empty, but when i began to walk toward the stairs, i saw movement come out of the shadows of the small hallway on the right.  it was a grey wolf, lean with hunger, its shoulder blades protruding as it steadily walked toward me, yellow eyes glowing and never leaving my face, its mouth open in a snarl.

i was terrified.  and so, it seemed, were the two with me.  we ran screaming from the building, slamming the door behind us just as the wolf lunged for the doorknob.

suddenly i was transported back to the beginning on the street, walking again toward the apartment building.  this time i knew the wolf was there waiting for me.

each time i relived the scene in my dream, i would try something new.  i'd pick up a stick along the way before i reached for my keys to open the door, prepared for a fight.  or make a break for it and run for the stairs as fast as i could to escape the wolf.  the scene would play out to just before the wolf could catch and devour me, then it would immediately cut, and start over again.

each time, i was abandoned by the two people accompanying me, fleeing out the door to leave me to my own devices.  sometimes they were friends, sometimes they were family members, sometimes they were ben and another, sometimes they were my own children.  i changed roles; cowering to be protected, then wrapping my arms around to be the protector, then searching for an ally to team with me.   the emotions i felt with the scene vacillated depending upon who i was with, but there were two that remained constant, regardless of the changing details:

fear, and panic.

have you ever been able to watch other parts of your dream continue, even though you're not physically there, like you're watching a movie and you've just become a character in it?

as the dream went along, i could see myself and the two people with me enter the apartment building, then see them run screaming out of the front door, leaving me standing inside.  they would scream all the way down the front steps, stop, turn around, and silently wait.

without my character in the dream knowing, i realized they were part of a plan--a test, for me.  they walked through the door knowing the wolf was there waiting.  they also knew the wolf was actually someone in disguise.  in fact, it was someone i loved deeply.

i didn't know this, however, and became increasingly frustrated as time and again i found myself back out on the dark street, approaching what seemed to be my apparent doom with the wolf.  i couldn't find a way out of the puzzle and started to suspect, even while still in the dream, that there was a lesson i was supposed to be learning.  a way out of the repetitive.

after opening the door time and again, finally something clicked and i knew what i needed to do.

i walked up the stairs, this time with one of my nieces on one side and a nephew on the other.  my hand trembled as i turned the keys.  the door creaked as it opened, spilling a small patch of light from the street lamp outside onto the dark floor.  as i took a step inside, i told my niece and nephew they needed to leave, i needed to do this alone.  they silently turned and walked out the door.

i was so afraid that my breathing became shallow, my heart beating so loudly i could feel the pulse in my head.  i took another step toward the darkness where i knew the wolf was waiting for me, my legs shaking as i walked.  i could hear the sound of the its paws scraping lightly on the floor and the low growl from its chest as it approached.  two yellow eyes were only a foot away from me, staring.  i wanted to scream, run, or do something besides stand there, but i couldn't.  i was paralyzed in fear, knowing it was going to kill me.

the wolf opened its mouth again in a snarl, and leaned back into its hind legs as if it were preparing to spring.  i winced, but my feet did not budge.  instead, i slowly raised a trembling arm up toward its open mouth.  it was not done as a surrender, it was an offering.  i knew i was going to face pain like i had never experienced before, and as terrified as i was of it, i knew i needed to lean into it instead of run away or try to fight it.  i knew there was no other way.

the wolf looked at me one more time before focusing its gaze on my extended arm, widening its mouth and chomping down.  in the dream, i screamed.

as it bit me, the wolf's form suddenly changed.  the hair on its body disappeared, turning to peach colored flesh.  paws became hands and feet, legs and arms lengthened.  and a human face began to appear while still sinking its teeth into my arm.

i realized as i watched this transformation happen that i couldn't feel pain.  i gasped as i began to recognize who had been disguising themselves as the wolf.  the lights in the apartment foyer turned on, and all around me i heard applause and cheering.  i looked around and saw my loved ones there with me, smiling at me as they clapped.

once the wolf was completely gone, the person stood and embraced me, wrapping their arms tightly as they said softly in my ears, "you did it!  i knew you could.  i'm so proud of you."  i smiled and leaned into them, hugging them back.

i had passed the test.

then, i woke up.

cleansed.

there was a time in my life when, admittedly, i did not let myself think ahead to this day.  there was too much fear wrapped around it, and too much unknowing of what the future held in store for him.  it was a milestone like watching a first step being taken, and giving a kiss and a wave as i watched him march toward kindergarten, and seeing the gap in his smile after losing a first tooth, and all of those moments in between and after that i could not mentally or emotionally let myself believe would come to my fragile and sick baby, just in case they didn't.

but eight years later, just like those other milestones, this one came.  and we were surrounded with love, tears, and another glimpse of God demonstrating to us again just how special this boy is, because He was in the moments that made the day so beautiful.

God was there in the quiet silence and then swish of the water as it enveloped caleb's small body,  He was there in the hugs between a boy and his two parents as he dried off and dressed in his new suit and tie, and He was there in the confirmation blessing given by this boy's father, with words to bestow upon him a Gift, and to remind caleb again of his strength to not only overcome, but to be made a leader for good and holy purposes, if he chose it.  He was there in the song softly sung by caleb's little sister and grandma,  testifying of the piece of divinity that lies within him, the thread that can never be broken, because he is a Child of God.  He was there in the tears in caleb's grandpa's eyes and the promises spoken by the primary president and member of the bishopric.  He was there in the presence and hugs of loved ones who came from near and far to be there for this milestone.

 and God was there in another piece of this mother's healed heart.

these moments used to be stolen from me by fear, consumed with apprehension and what if's, but they no longer are.  as i watched my son reach the milestone of getting baptized, that fear was again replaced with intense gratitude and a love so remarkable that i felt as if i was being washed over with it from head to toe.


when caleb was cleansed, so again, was i.


it was a beautiful day.

 

soul-cracking.

this week has been a tough one, in many different ways.  and though there has been beauty and God and love so thick i could almost taste it intricately woven in between the tough, i can very easily say i am drained.  hopeful, but drained.

this morning i found myself two hours before church sitting on the floor of june's room, crying into a pillow to muffle the sobs that came from somewhere deep down in the depths.  it was a mixture of overwhelming exhaustion, frustration, and extreme sadness.   i didn't know how to button up the emotion so i could continue functioning through my sunday morning, and even if i had known how, it would have been taking steps backward from where i have learned to push through.  express, don't repress.  isn't that how the saying goes?

so i sat there letting the tears slide down my face, praying as i cried into the dark teal of the pillow and the white canvas of the ikea chair.  please carry me, i said silently.  i know things could be harder, but right now, this feels like too much.  

my kids were in my bedroom that i had left minutes before, but i heard june's mama!  mom?  mo-ooooommmm! coming closer.  ben intervened before she made it to the door i was closed behind.  mom's sleeping, i heard him say.  she'll wake up in a minute, okay?  i heard june's soft okay,  and knew that ben knew where i was and what i was doing.  he was explaining something that june could understand, so she would give me space and time to recover.

i did recover, finally releasing all of the tears and unleashing all of the frustration until i felt ready to face the world again.  a hot shower relaxed sore muscles, and i worked on getting ready for church with my family.  the rest of the day i have felt like i have been carried, and peace has come into my overwhelmed heart.

there is so much i want to write, but i have to hold back because it was not my pain that produced the tears, it was another's whose suffering has been so acute.  it feels mean just typing that, because i can't really go into details about this week, only to say a few random things.

this:  abuse, in all of its many forms, is so ugly.  when it happens to a child the ugly is magnified and compounded, put upon innocence that is too young to be able to comprehend and fully heal from the dark, twisted, and truly evil of the world.  sometimes just the knowledge of the burden that is placed upon abused children can overwhelm my spirit to the point that it feels so heavy it aches.

this:  i bear my testimony, again, about therapy.  finding a good therapist is a gift straight from God, one who can be the vessel to crack the thick, sometimes bullet-proof shell that has been built for years to protect from the ugly and twisted.  when the shell is cracked, it can feel like the soul and spirit are going to crack right along with it.  but i promise, it does get better.

this:  i am so grateful for those who are willing to be vulnerable, to share their pain with the world  unselfishly and without the need for validation, but in the way that others can learn from it, and not feel so alone.  i listened to a beautiful girl speak into a microphone today, doing just this.  vulnerability takes courage and true humility.  she touched my heart as she cried and spoke Truth to those who were open to hear it.

this:  we are officially insane, because we are moving again.  only one street over, in the exact same model as the house that had mold in it, only my fingers and asthmatic lungs are crossed that this one is as mold-free as it looks.  july 1st is our move-in date, so this little therapeutic internet space may be neglected more so than it already is.  or maybe it will be my outlet, saving me from drowning amid boxes and packing tape?

this:  caleb is getting baptized this coming saturday morning.  i'm hoping i can get my act together  in between packing to make it a special day, because it feels so special to both ben and i.  we love our first and only boy so much, with his sweet heart and strong spirit.

this:  ben is one of the most amazing men i have ever known.  and i am not saying this because i am his wife, because others feel this way who are not his wife.  he continues to astound me and i thank God i was somehow chosen to have the privilege of knowing intimately just how incredible he is, walking through life to watch his courage and unselfishness continue with all he is carrying.

this:  music heals me in the same way the written word does.  much more so than chocolate ever has.

this:  we are surrounded by good people.  i have not been feeling well this week, and had friends reach out to let me know they cared.  ben's uncle pat passed away yesterday, and we were stranded without a baby-sitter while i was in phoenix and ben was trying to be with his aunt and lend his support.  after some phone calls and texts, friends and ward members rallied around to help where we needed it.  our kids were happy and fed and sad for us to pick them up.  living away from family is so hard during times like this, unless you can find yourself living among others who are examples of selflessness and kindness.  we are so grateful.