Walk With Me

I was walking the other day and honestly, I was begging God to show me what Christmas is all about because I'm having a hard time seeing/feeling/hearing it. Just mere feet later I come upon this tree and a few feet later, another tree. Now maybe it's because I'm finally in a place where I'm so desperate and broken, and willing and open to actually listen to Him that I truly saw it, I don't know. This isn't the first winter I've seen a few trees decorated in these woods, but bless the person who decorates these few sparse trees every winter because this year it allowed me to finally see/feel/hear Christmas. There is nothing spectacular about this tree, it was in the middle of the woods and so calm and quiet. Yet in that moment everything about this tree said to celebrate. To celebrate that Jesus came to give me HOPE. Not that He'll answer every prayer and that everything will go may way. Because Lord knows the only Christmas wish I really ha

I’m mad. But I don’t know who or what to be mad at. I could be mad at Dad. For leaving me in this way. For not fighting harder, for leaving me when I’m in this season of needing him. I could be mad at my family but they didn’t ask for this either. I feel mad at myself. For not doing more, for not doing anything, for trying too hard. For feeling like a complete and utter mess. I want to be mad at God. For this painstaking way he is taking Dad from me. For making life feel just dang hard right now. For taking away all clarity, for leaving me standing in this season of loss. For this pain and broken heart I am feeling. I’m so mad, but I have no one to be mad at. I’m so mad but I have nothing to be mad at. I just can’t wrap my head around it anymore. Or maybe I’m just tired of trying to wrap my head around it and it’s a surrender that’s harder than the frantic trying to wrap my head around it. It’s a surrender that I need to do, but it’s a surrender that absolutely su

I realized I’ve been saying to Jon more and more frequently that I haven't been there for Dad. I think in my head I’ve been telling myself it’s because I’m not physically there to help with day-to-day care. But, it’s more than that. Sure, I'm physically not there but my heart’s not there either. What I mean is that deep down, who God made me to be instinctively knows what Dad needs more than anything but it is the one thing that I’ve been avoiding doing for him. To say that I feel like so many things have collided to make me feel like I’m having a midlife crisis in my 30’s is an understatement. And I write this with a joking tone in my head and yet it’s entirely true. So I’ve been searching, reading, crying, asking questions, praying, more crying – all of which aren’t bad things - but lately just realizing that I can’t really do anything but surrender and by goodness is that hard to do. And here’s why. Because I’m trying to play God. And I’m trying to play God to avoid…

I' ve been trying to continue to live my own life, to be a wife, to raise my kids, to do my jobs and yet I can’t deny that the past few months the looming cloud of “my Dad has dementia” has been this sneaky thief slowing taking more than just my Dad from me. These past couple of months have been hard. You know the whole stages of grief thing? When your 8 year old comes to you and says to you, “Mama you’re not happy” it’s a rude awakening to just how much I’ve been avoiding admitting to myself just how sad I am. My Dad will always be a drummer. I cannot think of my Dad without thinking of his sparkling, blue drum set. For several years through college and after, I played for church service often with my Dad preaching and sometimes playing the drums along with me. Deep down I had this awareness of how important those moments were and what it meant to me, but when you’re in college and starting a life of your own, you don’t necessarily hone in on that – at least I didn’t. He stop

I have seen the movie before, however the other night I experienced it in a completely new and unexpected light. I was hit hard and fast with the realization that Dory’s constant, frantic searching may be what it’s like for Dad in his mind. The questioning who you are, wondering your purpose, feeling as if you’ve lost all connections. Plain and simply forgetting everything! This time I had to leave the room. Because as much as my girls understand what’s going on and I’ve allowed them to see me cry and talk about grief, some days I want to protect them from the hurt. It is so damn hard to witness and hear how his mind and his physical body continue to change. What is even more difficult for me are these gaps of time where I am not physically present. So to see the changes since the last time I was with Dad is really hard. There are more and more times when I’m with him and I think, “this is not my Dad”. And it absolutely breaks my heart; I hate thinking this way. Because this