A Purpose Found

This year there was no dread.  There was no clenching of my insides.  My mind wasn’t transported back to those dark, fearing moments.  My heart wasn’t wrenched in pain.  No, this year has simply been memory.  A memory of the worst day of my life that deserves its due recognition of just that.  Perhaps it’s just the passage of time.  Perhaps it’s the hard-earned efforts of a journey I was set upon that day eight years ago.  Or perhaps it’s purpose.

From the very beginning, it’s never been about that day, the what happened, as traumatic as that event was.  It has always been about her.  How we were to move forward as a family.  How we were to pick up the pieces of our shattered life and put something resembling a life back together.  How we were going to adapt our lives to her needs.  But in the past, this day has always been the stinging reminder that we had a before with her, a blissfully naïve life of endless possibilities, and then that terrible day when our world fell apart.  This year, the reminder is there but the hurt feels more like a scar across my heart rather than an open wound. 

Eight years.  Eight hard-earned years of life, of course, with moments of joy and happiness and all the goodness of life, but mostly a time of grief and learning to navigate a life I didn’t choose.  This past year, however, has been the greatest of my life.  For no particular reason I suppose.  Maybe because I’m settling into myself.  I’ve worked through so much pain and sadness and adversity and am finally reaping the benefits of clarity, perspective, gratitude and yes, purpose. 

Last week at church, I heard a sermon on greatness.  What defines it.  How you achieve it.  And he quoted something that settled into my soul like recognizing an old friend.  He said, “Impact requires sacrifice.  We want maximum impact with minimum sacrifice and we spend our lives negotiating between the two.” 

I’d be willing to declare I have endured maximum sacrifice, and well, my impact, Elena’s impact is yet to be determined.  But here’s what I do know.  She is my purpose.  Being her Mom, being her voice, sharing her story, and sharing mine is my purpose.  God created me for this time in my life.  He equipped me with what it takes to fulfill what I was put here to do, and that is to share.  Who listens doesn’t matter, but it’s me putting our heartbreak and our healing out there for people to make of it what they may.  They can take of it what they can and hopefully inspire people to keep pushing through this ride called life.  We all endure suffering, but it is what happens during and after the suffering what matters, what determines the impact your suffering will make. 

I’m only in my mid-thirties, my life’s purpose hasn’t exactly been at the forefront of my mind.  I was only 27 when Elena was injured.  I had barely begun my adult life.  Even so, I wouldn’t say that I’m the kind of personality that determinedly seeks one’s purpose in life.  But, over the past year the settling of my soul, the clearing of my heart and mind has left but one constant, the desire to share Elena’s story, my story and the encouragement that can only come from surviving the worst.

And so, year eight, I rest in this place.  A place of peace, of contentment, of goodness and of gratitude.  I’m reflective of what mire I have waded through, grateful to look into the beautiful, blue eyes of my precious daughter, privileged to care for her, to be her legs and arms, to be her voice, to share the miracle of what she lived through and who she is.  Finding my purpose in her is not only freedom from the chains of the past, but the greatest honor of my life. 

Happy Birthday Elena!

Friends, I know it's been awhile.  For me, it's been refreshing.  I haven't felt the obligation that the blog was beginning to feel for me.  What started as a sort of journal for me and a way to update those who were following Elena's recovery, began to feel like a chore.  My writing needs to be inspired and fortunately for me, I wasn't being compelled to write and share in the same ways that I once had.  That's good for me, because I feel like I can once again breathe.  I'm not gripped with emotion, battling my way through every day like I once was.  And friends, THAT'S GREAT NEWS!  For all of us, who have battled, are battling or will battle in the future...it ends.  And life gets sweet again. 

Life is sweet today because we celebrate yet another year with our best girl.  Today is Elena's 8th birthday.  She's big, you guys.  She's tall, skinny.  Her face has thinned from what once was a chubby-cheeked, baby-toothed smile.  Sweet little freckles now dot under her eyes and across the bridge of her nose.  Her little baby teeth have been replaced (and are still coming in!) with big, too-big-for-her-smile teeth.  Though she's growing, she's still just as sweet, just as funny, just as snuggly.  In spite of whatever pain exists at the knowledge that she will never grow and change like my boys do, a giant swell of love swoops up to envelope me when I think of cuddling her forever or my definite future of Disney songs on repeat always.  Our road with her is different.  Some days it's painful and other days a special gift I get to think upon. 

But today, she's 8.  She will be a second grader in just a few weeks, surrounded by her unfathomably inclusive and loving peers and teachers.  We will celebrate by bowling later this week, a new-found source of excitement for her.  Her therapies continue.  Her physical challenges continue.  But so does the joy she brings to our lives every day.  So do the lessons in patience, acceptance, love, kindness, problem-solving, resiliency and a million other things I've learned along the way.  Though these life lessons I've learned and pray my boys learn have been beneficial, she remains the gift.  She will always be the gift, the reminder of God's goodness and mercy and faithfulness.  Whatever I face in this life of mine will never compare to what she overcomes every single day.  Seeing her grin, hearing her laugh, watching her succeed is worth every tear that has been shed over the last eight years. 

My sweet little girl.  My Elena Catherine.  The one who taught my heart to beat.  You are so loved.  You are so valued.  You are the most precious gift.  Happy Birthday my darling.

Seven Year Storm

This road I've walked for the last seven years, many of you right along side me, has been a roller coaster of ups and downs, gratefulness and grief.  It's hard for me to go back and read some of my old posts, some of my old journal entries.  The ones where I remember clawing, scraping, searching for whatever shred of hope I could at the time, always wondering when it would end.  When would the grief, heartache, utter difficulty of processing this life would fade into the background and emerge into the sunlight, coming out of the wilderness?  I mean, I'm not sure if I'm there.  But maybe it feels that way?  Seven years of emotion-ing, comprehending, figuring, okay-ing feels like I've put in my time.  I can close the door on that, right?

The last few months, my mind and my heart have been rewarded with a time of ease, an overwhelming peace, really.  I've felt myself emerging from the fog of seven years of everything listed above.  And man, it feels so very, very good.  As my girlfriend put it yesterday, it is finally freaking well with my soul.  I haven't exactly nailed the "why?" yet.  Why all of a sudden life feels really good, settled, fulfilled now?  But to be honest, I don't care.  I've wrestled with the "why" for a very long time and some part of me always will.  And a big part of me knows "why" is the worst question ever, because there's never an answer or good enough answer, no matter how much searching goes on.  I'll accept this generous gift of peace and contentment with pleasure, no questions asked.  (For now.  Ha!) 

I feel an immense gratitude for this.  It's true.  When you've walked through seemingly never-ending valley that I have, the mountains are so, so sweet.  This mountaintop isn't even remarkable or exciting.  It just feels like peace.  I always pictured mountaintops to be when something amazing happens to you or everything is going right in your life.  I'm beginning to think it's not that dramatic.  Just a settled sense of satisfaction, perhaps.  Or maybe an opportunity when you aren't fighting something and your heart can process the goodness of your life, instead of the difficult circumstance.  Actually, I hope that mountaintop looks more like a mesa!  A nice flat surface at top that lasts a good, long while before the ground gives way again.  I know there are always rocks to navigate, either up over the top or to swerve around, but a peak nonetheless.

With Elena, there are always rocks in our path that look like heartaches, suffering, difficult decisions to be made, medical issues she faces.  A bumpy ride is a 100% guarantee.  For the most part, I accept that, though it still stings.  I am still learning and trying to understand how different our lives are from most, outside the obvious physical and emotional challenges of having a child (who is growing longer and bigger by the day!) with special needs.  It is woven into our every day lives and into every single decision we make.  There are a plethora of ways this both directly and indirectly affects our lives.  There are tangible, expected ways and there's emotional hurts and realizations you would never know.  It is a driving force in our lives, but we know that and (most days) we accept that. 

In other words, life ain't perfect.  Everyone knows that.  I just want to be certain I'm honest.  Despite whatever good, Instagram-able, rosy picture I paint, it's not perfect.  It may be those things, but I've still got probs!  Just fewer, less, "a bomb went off in the middle of my life" probs.  I hope this is a comfort to someone out there.  Like, hey girl....I just endured seven years of you name the problem it probably happened to me in some way, shape, or form....I get you.  I can relate.  It's really hard and really sad and really miserable.  Find the good in the storm, no matter how ridiculous or small.  Hang on and ride it out.  It ends.  It always does.  Even better, write it down for the world to see (or maybe just in a private journal!), and it will eventually give your pain a purpose.  For me, writing it got it out, marked my place, my battle and looking back, helped me see all the answered prayers that I didn't even remember praying.  I still try to recognize the answered prayers, no matter how small they may be, and use that to push me forward with gratitude and confidence that I am being heard and I'm not alone. 

The last couple days my heart was heavy with the reality that Elena has to endure so many challenges.  Specifically, how her little body fails her all the time, wondering how this feels and if she suffers.  Her muscles are tense and often immovable.  She is unable to really communicate with us other than basic expressions.  There's so much interaction she misses out on because of this and because her body struggles to perform the simplest of movements.  Relationships with peers, with us and with her brothers can be tough.  Yesterday, God cut away the sadness in my heart during Elena's weekly PT session.  Unprompted, both Calvin and Turner joined Elena for most of her session, practicing sitting, taking steps, doing her stretches and tummy time, all while cheering her on and demanding her PT to HELP HER! when she struggled with something.  To see them with her, beside her, helping her, cheering her gave me the glimpse my heart needed to see, the connection, even without the understanding.  What a win this was for my heart.  What an answered prayer it was, that I didn't remember praying. 

Practicing sitting

Tummy Time

The Present

Happy New Year, friends! 

In it's usual fashion, 2018 ended lightning fast.  A week into the new year and I'm still trying to unravel 2018 and settle my thoughts for the next.  Mostly, we ended on a high note.  December presented it's predictable busyness, but for whatever glorious reason, the holidays were (dare I say?) pretty darn enjoyable this year (save for a disastrous family "fun" trip to ride the Polar Express).  In years past, I've found myself upset with the difference between the amount of work put in versus the enjoyment received.  I beginning to think that season of post-baby hormones, the constant needs of three small children, and sheer exhaustion may have begun to change for me.  And I'm ok with that.

I recently read a Joanna Gaines quote that really resonated with me.  She said, "It's always been my nature to reflect on the past and linger there a while.  I find myself thinking about what I will miss and how life is just moving too fast."  Truth, girl.  She goes on to say, "I'm challenging myself in this new year to live for now.  The present.....not thinking about how the good ol' days have passed us by or how the best is yet to come.  But that right now, this very second, this is the gift.  These are the days.  These are the moments.  And I'm gonna breathe them all in.  If there's pain and sorrow, or happiness and hope, let it in and then let it out."

I mean this is how we should all live, right?  Easier said than done, I know.  However, I can't help but feel so strongly about this right now in this moment of my life.  In the past many years, each year has felt like a new chance for there to be more good in my year than bad.  To do loads of sorting of emotion, healing, moving forward, learning, struggling.  Our family has endured our fair share of heartache for many of these years, yet we have emerged together.  And for once it feels nice to not necessitate a deep period of reflection, sentiment and hope.  It feels good just to be. 

For many of you, I know you aren't looking at 2019 with as much optimism or maybe you're just in the thick of a place where all you want to is to look towards to future for hope, or even to the past for when life was better.  But, I've been in all those places.  Wishing things were the way they were, and hoping for better ahead.  Miserable places to be quite frankly.  So, I recognize when life hands you the great blessing of "enjoy the now" and you're actually able to do so. 

There's sure to be difficulty.  If there's anything I know, it's that.  Each day there is difficulty.  Most days there is some level of heartache.  But, I have resolved myself enough now to be able to see beyond that.  I let those things sting me for a moment, cry if necessary and carry-on.  I'm learning to fill my heart up with the giggles, the kisses, the sweetness of babes at 7, 4 and 2, the goodness that God has gifted us with, the difficulties that we DON'T face and let that override the momentary stings of grief or anger or frustration. 

I don't know what your hope is for 2019.  And I'm incredibly sorry if it's a bleak outlook, or a wishful longing back.  But know this, seasons change.  The hurts lessen.  The joys grow.  The resolve comes.  It may take a year or two (or seven) of forced optimism but it comes.  It's never perfect but it's a gift when you can look back with gratitude to the fire you walked through to arrive in the beauty and awe of the present. 

To 2019.