Goodbye to the Girls

Ok kind of weird to share about, but I’m weird so here goes 🤷🏻‍♀️

     My breast implants that I got back in 2000 have been recalled. Some personal health issues, the recall, avoiding a higher cancer risk and sparing my lower back helped me make the decision to explant.

       I am an anxious person, so worrying about the surgery is to be expected. What I didn’t expect is to feel like I’m mourning the loss of my breasts. Yes, I know it’s shallow. I chose to get these implants twenty years ago for cosmetic reasons. I was assured I’d always be able to get mammograms and no one ever mentioned them causing a rare cancer.

      I never felt particularly “womanly”.  I was a tomboy with a fairly athletic build and felt like a dude. Call me captain of the itty bitty titty committee. I was picked on, comments about  my figure, or lack there of, were made all the time.  Men, other women, even my grandmothers, all felt fine with letting me know I was not well endowed. Some were meant to hurt me, most weren’t meant maliciously but stung none the less. My flat chest was something I hated, hid and camouflaged. Victoria’s Secret was that I was always wrapped in several inches of wonder foam (I doubt it was really a secret).

      I decided to get “boob job”.  I did my due diligence, researched doctors. I wrote up a long list of questions to be answered. Made sure I could nurse babies if I got implants inserted under the muscle. I made sure my doctor was an accredited member of all the right boards. I researched his malpractice records and the reputation of the surgical center.

       After my surgery I was pleased with the results. I recovered quickly and loved  my new womanly shape. It was intoxicating to fill out a tank top. I felt so confident in a bikini finally.  I was a little shocked that life in general really didn’t change all that much. My internal feeling of happiness didn’t go up, and I really thought it would. I just knew if I could fix this one thing that I had fixated on for so long that everything would be different, except it wasn’t. The only thing that changed was my bra size and getting a little more attention from men that I could care less about. I felt like the 360cc’s of saline had insulated me from hurtful comments.

       Brad and I had been dating for over a year when I had my surgery. He was opposed to it at first, not a boob guy 🤣. He was worried I would change and leave him. I didn’t want to change my appearance for him or for anyone. I wanted to feel happy and confident. I was chasing the idea that a perfect body would make me happy.

      I’m extremely lucky that my surgery was an easy one. I went from a 34AA to a 34D in just a matter of hours. After college and marriage I really didn’t think of my chest as much. Life was busy, we were moving, learning to be married.

    When I got pregnant the only thing I worried about was being able to attempt to nurse. I didn’t have strong feelings one way or another about breast feeding, but I am lazy and didn’t want to be up at night fixing bottles. When we had Turner I am so glad I gave nursing a try. I breast fed both of our babies for 18 months. It was one of the best experiences of my life. Neither Turner or Tate has ever had an ounce of formula.  I think doing what works for you and your family is the most important thing. Nursing just worked for us.  I loved that bond I had with my babies. I loved our time together, quiet nights holding them. I cherished the early morning snuggles that belonged to just the two of us, but that much nursing definitely took a toll on my body. Having implants and adding nursing made me have comical proportions. Loose skin and stretch marks were such a small price to pay for so many happy moments. That connection made me happier than I had ever felt.

      Now 15 years later it’s not the perky breasts of the summer of 2000 I’m mourning. It’s the thought of having a lot of what I held my babies against taken away. My “girls” put in a lot of work. They fed two healthy babies for 3 solid years. They’ve held babies, teased my husband, they’ve been squeezed into party dresses, been pushed back up for the occasional date night, they’ve been cussed for making swimsuit shopping so difficult and been smack dab in the middle of every single hug that I have given for over half my life. It’s scary thinking of being left with nothing.

       I know it’s vain. I know I am not my bra size. I know happiness is not dependent on my figure. My happiness didn’t change when I got them, I suspect the same will be true when I loose them.  This surgery isn’t one I am looking forward to the physical results after. This time going under I’m hoping to have a healthier future. Lessen my chances of cancer and auto immune issues while saving my lower back as a bonus. Even though my head knows it’s silly, my ego is still fretting loudly.

      Having the first surgeon I met with tell me I won’t look like a woman anymore with out replacing the implants was hard. Fearing the scaring, worrying if my husband will still want me. It is all a lot of emotion to sit in. Brad has proven his love for me over and over. We have been through so much together, I doubt this will even make the top ten of our trials, but still I worry.

     I’m still a tomboy, my shape will just match my vibe soon. I will always love working out and I pray to keep my muscular arms as long as I can. I also pray I feel confident rocking dude arms when I don’t have the Jessica Rabbit ta-tas to offset them.

      It’s important how I go through this. I have a very athletic, beautiful daughter watching me. I want her to see me embrace my natural figure. I don’t want her to think her body is lacking in any way, because it’s not. She is so much more confident than I ever was, but I know she notices everything. I want Tate to see me love a body that will soon be a much more realistic example of her physical future. It is so important that I love myself, so I can model self acceptance for her.

        Having my son saved me. When I had a child I truly understood God’s love and sacrifice for me. Having a daughter forced me to love myself in many ways I never had. Tate watches what I eat. I had to get help and learn to cope with my disordered eating. Having Tate forced me to deal with my eating disorders. I couldn’t model those horrible behaviors to her. I had to learn to enjoy cookies, learn moderation. I had to become able to eat out, off plan and not weigh and measure every ounce of food I consumed. I had to make myself eat for enjoyment, not starve for punishment. Having Tate saved my life in the same way having Turner helped to save my soul.

      This is all the rambling of an over thinking mom who is worried about what I’ll see when I wake up from surgery. Can I love my new shape? How hard of an adjustment will it be to go from a 34DDD to a 34A?  Why does it matter? God don’t make junk. He does make paths for me to show me what I need to do. He helps me learn the lessons I need to be ready for the next season.

     I’m sharing this so I feel less alone. I’m sharing for the other women who go through this kind of self doubt and self criticism. I get lost in my worry and have always felt better once I let it out. So if you a little less of me, this is why. The plan is to go in during the first week of May. Prayers and good vibes are so appreciated. I found a great surgeon who specializes in safe removal of the implants and all affected tissues. I’ve prayed about it, I felt safe and comfortable with this surgeon. We’ve talked about it as a family and all agree it’s the right time. My Mom and Dad agree too and are the biggest support. After talking with Mama today I felt a  peace wash over me and knew this was the next right thing.

    Here’s to 2020 and all the small things it brings. Smaller me, smaller worry, less in between me and my family when I hug them, and smaller fears. 💜

I see you Mama

Mama, I see you. Weary from sleepless nights with a colicky baby. I see you hanging on by a thread from arguing with a hard headed toddler for the 4th hour in a row. I see your long stretch of loneliness when you feel trapped by nap time for years on end.

       I see you mama the first time that big kid comes home from school in tears because of a situation you have no control over and you feel helpless. I see you when you want to stop the earth from turning to keep your baby from being in pain.

     I see you feeling lost in your new identity as  “just a mom”.  I am with you  learning to love and accept the body that created the little miracle that is now making us  pull our hair out. I am with you when your 12 year old let’s you know that you are dumb, cringy, and out of touch.

      Just know those moments are passing, they all are. Then there the moments that go by so fast and you just want them to last a little longer. I see your heart grow Mama when that soon to be young man asks for advice. I feel your pride when he includes you. I feel the warm glow you feel when they flash you a smile. I love the big moments too, winning medals, defeating the home town rivals on the football field. Days like today are my all time favorite. A workout or when they share a song they love.

       The good times and moments make it so worth all the tears. It’s here Mama. All the hard days and long nights fade in your memory. Hold these moments. Take pics. Flood your feed, don’t worry about it being annoying. You’ll need these to pop up on your memories, I know I do. Today was a workout, simple as that. Some sweat and smiles with a young man that I’m getting to know as he gets to know himself. A smile, a fist bump and my heart is full. For one hour it was just my baby and me. He was mine again for just a moment.

     I see you Mama. Learning to let go. I’m here with you in the beautiful pain of them growing up too fast. My heart aches with yours as they head towards their future and we worry together about being left in the past.  I see you Mama, smiling with tears in your eyes because they don’t need you like they used to.  Keep as many of these moments tucked away as you can Mama, it goes so fast.

A Man Gave Me a Ring........ but it wasn’t my husband

A man gave me a ring for Valentine’s Day and it wasn’t my husband.

         I bawled like a baby at 6:15 this morning. My son walked into the kitchen, mumbled “Happy Valentine’s Day” hugged me quickly and pulled this beautiful ring out of his pocket. He handed it to me and walked out to go eat his breakfast.

      I have seen him working on this ring for a few months. Saw the metal shavings in the garage. Showed him where some obscure files were when he asked.  I figured it was for his girlfriend.

      This started out its life as a quarter. Worth less than a dollar, certainly no fortune. Time spent with a loving creator filing it down, shaping it and look....... It’s PRICELESS.

       I hugged Turner and told him how much this means to me. Then I went in my room and squalled like a baby, so overcome with gratitude. He’s a boy who growing into a man far faster than I’m comfortable with. He can be moody, withdrawn. The next day he is all smiles and talking to me.

    Neither of us have ever done this before.  I’ve never been the mom of a teenage young man. He’s never been a fifteen in a world that is always sending messages about who he should be. We are walking gently next to each other in this stage. I’m trying to give him freedom while letting him know I am here no matter what. He is trying to show me he’s responsible while still being a child.

        Parenthood is exquisite pain. The sharpest joy I have ever felt. So intense it stops my heart. It’s like walking outside when it’s -15°. It’s beautiful but takes your breath. The pain comes from knowing it’s just passing. Time is passing, relentlessly. I can’t hold on to any one stage no matter how much I want to.

      So far every season is my favorite. It’s the only promise that keeps me sane. Don’t loose your mind because they aren’t sweet little kindergarteners any more, look how much fun you can have with them now! The hugs and kisses are fewer but the conversations are more meaningful. The laughs aren’t from the physical comedy of toddler shenanigans. Now the laughs are from sharp wit and shared inside family jokes.

     Just like Turner worked on this quarter to transform it from mere pocket change into one of my most treasured pieces of jewelry, God is shaping me. My Creator knows the fears and joys of my heart. The fear of my kids growing up and not needing me. The joys of watching them both become self sufficient, good people.

         The rough patches in my path have just been my creator smoothing down my rough edges. He sees the sharp parts and knows how to turn them into treasures.

       Thank you Turner for this. It will forever be my most cherished Valentine. The ring is beautiful. Seeing generosity in your actions, how you have God in your heart, those are the real treasures in my life.

Crepe Myrtles and Crowns

  
     I worked for five and a half hours today in the front flowerbeds.  This is one of my most favorite things to do, even when the heat index is well above one hundred and ten degrees.  I have unknowingly passed this love on to Turner and Tate.  They used to "help" by handing me tools and picking up toys out of the yard.  Now my two stick of dynamite are old enough to really take on some of the work.  Turner has stolen mowing.  I haven't mowed once all summer.  Tate can use the electric weed eater like a champ.  This still leaves pulling weeds, pruning shrubs, planting and what not for me.  We make an absolutely unstoppable trio. 
     Today my TNT worked with me for a good three hours.  We've been gone for over two weeks and the yard was looking worse for wear.  As the temperature climbed I saw my babies starting to wilt.  We had had plenty of water breaks, but this is my passion not theirs.  Turner had started to become itchy, Tate had red cheeks, so I ordered them inside.  They put up a good argument but I told them I still love being outside and listening to my book, so I'd be inside in a little while.  I stayed outside soaking up the blessed sun, listening to a beautiful book, and tending the roses, hibiscus, and crepe myrtles that I love. 
    My children allow me the time I need to decompress.  They know how much I need to be outside, in the sun.  I'll never be thankful enough for receiving such a gift.  While I work out my stress I am all too aware that they watch my every move.  Tate is my little nurse.  She brought me water and paper towels to wipe my face every half hour or so.  Tate is my "new soul".  Where Turner is an old soul- calm, cautious, alert.  Tate is new- ready for adventure, wild, silly, and full of wonder.  Even with all Tate's energy she is very contemplative.
     After working and cleaning up I was driving her to her best friend's house for a sleepover and we talked about our day.  She asked if all the work was done, what else we needed to work on, and why I trimmed the Crepe Myrtles?  I told her what was left, what I wanted to work on tomorrow, and I slowed down to show her a yard with the kind of beautiful trees I wanted our little saplings to grow into.  We all know the house on the corner, it is easily the prettiest yard in our neighborhood.  Classically beautiful landscaping, well trimmed trees, and lush green grass.  I showed Tate how tall and beautiful the Crepe Myrtles in that yard were.  We talked about pruning, cutting away dead blooms, and why the trees can't just be left to grow on their own.  Just a few houses down we slowed to look are the same type of trees that hadn't been lovingly tended.  They still had beautiful blooms, they still provided some shade, but they just weren't as polished and beautiful as the trees in our favorite yard. 
     Stories make more sense to me than just plain facts and figures.  I always try to relate lessons to my kids in a story.  If they can learn to take lessons from their every day world, I think they will turn out as OK people.  So I told Tate that those Crepe Myrtles are just like people.  All trees have the potential to grow straight and tall, provide shade, and some can even have beautiful flowers for us to enjoy.  Likewise, all people can grow up to be good, God like, and better the people around them.  I asked her if she could tell what made the difference in how the trees grew?  How did one tree grow tall, elegant, and look like it was wearing a crown- while the same type of tree just a few blocks away grew bushy and gnarled?  My thoughtful sweet Tater said she knew it had something to do with pruning, but how do you prune a person?
    I asked if she had rules- yes. So the rules Papa and I give her take away things like sassy mouth- that is like cutting away a gnarled up branch. We talked about rules being like pruning.  How our rules take away the small undergrowth that keeps those trees from being tall and giving comforting shade.  She was connecting the analogy, so I stuck with it.  What is the fertilizer?  It's something all trees need to grow tall and strong.  God.  All people need God to continuing growing, loving, and blooming.  Tate gets it.  She said God is like our fertilizer, we grow when He is in our hearts.  Yes mam, we absolutely do. So with pruning to cut away the gnarled up unwanted branches, and fertilizer to grow a tree tall and strong- what else does a tree need? The sun.  So we talked about what The Son does for us? A tree can't live with out it's sun.  Nor can we live eternally without our Son. 
    I suppose Jesus could run and jump and be in anyone's heart without their parents helping put Him there, but I know that's why He is in mine.  My parents read Bible stories to me and my sister every night.  They lead Sunday school, they taught Vacation Bible school, they let me see their relationship with God and gave me a pattern to use for my own life.  I hope I am doing that with my TNT.  I love the t-shirt that says "I love Jesus, but I cuss a little".  It's what I am trying to impart to my kids.  No matter how hard we try, none of us will ever be perfect enough to get in to heaven on our own.  At some point in their lives my children  will have that feeling that they have messed up so fantastically that they can never be forgiven.  I need them to know that Our God is so powerful, He can forgive all of it.  If Jesus still brushes past me in my daily life, even though I cuss a little, sin a lot, and fail Him daily- then He can forgive anything my TNT may encounter. 
      From now on when we drive past the beautiful yard with its tall elegant crepe myrtles, I hope Tate thinks of today.  I hope she sees the rules we set for her as the pruning she will need.  I hope taking away her gnarled limbs and giving her the fertilizer needed sets her up to accept the Son who will give her eternal life.  I hope both my children grow tall, give shade and shelter to those who need a spot to rest, and they both wear a blossoming crown of beauty and the flowers of our Savior's love for all to see.  My fears get the best of me more often than not.  I fear failing as a mom, fear failing as a daughter, fear not being enough.  But on some days when my stories click in my children's minds- I know I'm not doing this alone.  The Son is shining to guide my way, my tangled branches were taken care of by parents who loved me enough to help cut away the bad that had plenty of potential to grow, and my God is always there to feed the seeds of good that were planted long ago. 
  

Skip Day

   My mornings with the kids are very routine.  Everything from the time they rise to the things I make for breakfast.  We all run quite smoothly on routine.  Our routine has developed over years and it grows and fluctuates as the kids get older.  I am very lucky, my sweet Tater and my Turner B. get themselves going with little prodding from me. 
     Part of our daily routine is our car ride prayer time.  Now, I'm not saying this is the most holy of motherly practices- its simply our routine.  Some mornings I don't feel like leading the prayer.  Some mornings actually pray "Dear Heavenly Father I pray for my kids to stop fighting so I don't have to tear their behinds up when the get home from school."  Not exactly my most shining moment, but motherhood is full of tarnish.  Thankfully most mornings all of our prayers aren't laced with threats, they are more based on guiding each of us through our day.  I am hoping that me talking to God out loud with my kids everyday will help them to always be comfortable doing the same.
     Last Friday our morning went off with out a hitch.  Kids were good, no fights erupted while they brushed their teeth.  We got in the Jeep on time, each said our morning prayer.  Just an all around good and average Friday morning for the TBC's.  We drop Tater off first.  She always hops up to kiss me and we say our I love you's.  Depending on the amount of sibling warfare that has taken place each morning my kids may or may not tell each other goodbye.  Some mornings they are still bickering as the door closes behind Tate.  Last Friday Turner mumbled an "I love you Tate" as she got out to bounce into school.  That simple little phrase mumbled under his breath made my heart swell. 
     Turner and I pulled out and headed to his school.  I mentioned to him that it was nice of him to tell Tater that he loved her.  He said "I just wanted to cheer her up, she's still sad about Saraphina".  Tate's  hamster had passed away the week before.  That tiny little act not only cheered up Tater, but it made it almost impossible for me to let Turner out of the car. 
      Turner and I had talked about maybe having a skip day, just he and I.  Last Friday seemed like the perfect day to spend time, just me and my Turner B.  Like bandits Turner and I pulled right past his school.  What did we do with this awesome day full of possible adventures?   I offered to go to the movies, go out to lunch, something fun.  Nope, he knew I had planned on cleaning out the garage.  So, the two of us spent a glorious day pulling everything out of the garage together,  we enjoyed the sunshine, we organized, and most importantly we talked.  Turner and a I have an ease that comes when its just the two of us.  We both enjoy working on things together, much the way I always enjoyed working on things with my Dad.  Busy hands make for easy conversations.  We worked all day.  We got filthy, laughed, rearranged, organized, and made the garage a big functional masterpiece. I pray that I always have this easy bond with my kids.  I pray that we always enjoy time spent working together and talking.  I have no idea if Turner will remember the day spent cleaning the garage out fondly.  I know that the day I spent working with my boy will go down as one of my all time favorite skip days. Letting him stay home with me may have been selfish- not for having his help - but for storing away a memory of he and I all day uninterrupted together.  I'll be selfish if that's the case.  I cant wait to steal Tater away. Maybe clean out closets, or wiping down baseboards would give me an entire day of conversations with the world's most beautiful girl.  I think we all need a skip day now and again, a break from our routines.  I love that I have such fun little people to steal away for the day, I can't wait for the next.

Shinning in the Dark

    Have you ever noticed how unappealing Christmas lights are in the day time? Tangles of wires, bulbs who's light can't be seen for the sun.  But, as sun sets those webs of wire and dim little bulbs transform.  They shine, they twinkle, and together they make the night beautiful and full of hope. 
    Life of late feels like those Christmas lights with a harsh unforgiving light shining on them.  I can see all the tangles and  I focus on all the ugly.   I haven't been able to see the light or feel its warmth.  I'm going through a divorce.  We are all going through a divorce.   I haven't felt much of the holiday spirit yet.  I am sad, worried, and exhausted.
      For my Turner B. and My Sweet Tater I'm trying to go about all our routines, all of our traditions as best I can.   For the past four years we have participated in RACK'd, which stands for Random Acts of Christmas Kindness.   I love it because it is ours- The kids get so into it, it helps focus them on something besides the "I wants" of the holiday and helps them think about the "I can give".  Every year we have had a family meeting in November and planned out each day - What verse will be included, who we will RACK, what supplies to gather.  Each day has been written on the calendar.  This year I just haven't been on top of it.  There was no meeting in November.  Our verses are not written out, our supplies are not gathered.  I've felt like my sadness is forcing me to just get by, not flourish.   The adjustments of new living arrangements, trying to comfort my children, trying to comfort myself- its taking all of my energy.  It feels dark.  I feel like I am letting my kids down. 
      Last weekend I was home alone.  Did you know how quiet a house can be when the the two people who hung the moon and the stars aren't in it?  I was crying, wallowing in my sadness when my phone rang and it was a fried inviting me to come eat dinner.  I said no, I just couldn't pull myself together.  She didn't take no for an answer.  After another phone call and threats to come physically pick me up I went and had a family meal, without my family.  Going places with out my kids feels wrong.  Like I just don't fit, half of me is missing.  My entire identity is that of Mom.  Last weekend I was welcomed with open arms to dinner, and I was with friends who turned into family.  They loved me through my tears and a small light pierced the dark.
    On December first, at seven at night I thought we wouldn't make our first day to RACK someone.  But, sitting in the front seat waiting to be delivered to wrestling practice was my Christmas miracle.  Turner and I were talking and he said lets put coins in a vending machine.  I actually had a dollar in quarters in my wallet, so we looked for a coke machine on the way to practice.  No luck.  We did see a news paper machine and decided to use it.  I wrote "Go tell it on the mountain, that Jesus Christ is born" on a scrap of paper.  We put the coins in the machine and prayed quickly that it would bless the right person.  It took a dark moment of doubting myself to see that beautiful  sparkling light given to me by my son. 
    December second came and it was a typical rushed morning, peeling out of the driveway trying to make it to schools on time.  My day was full of making orders, sorting through make up, and coffee with a friend.  I've been withdrawn.  I don't feel like myself so I haven't been as social with my friends.  But I had promised to meet for breakfast, so I made myself go.  I worry, a lot.  I run on caffeine and anxiety.  I am pretty good at smiling, but once I'm emotionally exhausted even that becomes hard.  Breakfast turned out to be wonderful.  All the worry I carry over people passing judgment just slipped away.  I sat with my girlfriend and we talked.  I needed that, even though I resisted going.  Worry shared is burden lifted.  My friend took some of my worry off my shoulders, and I saw another tiny shinning light in the dark. 
       After I had picked the kids up later that day we were in the afternoon swing, homework, snacks, signing papers.  I was hurrying to get Tate ready for gymnastics practice.  I was upstairs looking for a leotard for her and she yelled "We haven't RACK'd anyone, have we?" I answered no.  Truthfully, I was hoping to skip it.  I just didn't have it in me to come up with something in the middle of our crazy busy day.  Tate flew up the stairs and asked to hurry up and find her a hand lotion.  My Sweet Tater is full of energy, but along with her energy there is the deepest most caring heart.  I gave her one of the lotions out of my supply.  She ran out saying she was RACKing our mailman.  Just like that both my kids were out the door, chasing a mail truck.  They caught him and told him Merry Christmas, and to keep his hands from getting chapped.  I could feel the warmth of the glow of that light that came on to chase away the dark.
     God seems to answer the prayers we are too weary to pray.  He knows my heart.  He sent His Son to save my soul, and He sent my kids and my friends to save me too.  Every phone call, every text, every card and message- is a light. Together they chase away the darkness.  Even when I just can't talk anymore, having a friend who is willing to just sit beside me  lights another bulb.  In the brightest and happiest times of my life I wouldn't have been able to see the beauty of all of these lights.  Our lives need the dark times, at least mine does.  I needed to have the heartbreaking darkness to be able to see each tiny twinkling light.  To see each light that has been lit from my children, my parents, my sister, and every friend.  All of those lights are beautiful.  They are the hope and grace that I needed in this dark time.  God sends the Light, even when you aren't strong enough to ask for it.  This Christmas I will stand back and bask in the glow of all of the lights my Lord has sent to me.  Family, both new and old, friendships that carry me when I am weary, my kids- who refuse to let me fail.  My lights are beautiful, I am forever thankful for the dark that let me see just how bright all of my blessings are.
   
   

As snow gently fell

    God visits me in the strangest places. He's at school in the pick up line, when a child is kind to a classmate and holds open a door.  He shows Himself to me in the stranger who lets me merge into their lane and waves with happiness in traffic. God brushes past me in the faces of strangers who smile kindly as they walk by in the grocery store. I know it's Him. He makes sure I know He is there.  But oddly enough, today God came and sat next to me in church. 

     I listen in church. I want to learn and to understand. I take notes. I doodle on my bulletin. I hear about God. But I am not sure if I've ever felt Him beside me like I did today. 

    The message was about finding God's will for your life. I took notes. It all made sense and had so many references to scripture, such a beautifully written and thought out sermon. BUT, My God came and sat with me, held me, when our pastor started talking about how his children opened his heart to the world.  

      I've never shared my "testimony". I have always worried that all people see in me is my sin. My short comings. My failures. I've always loved God, but having my son was when I actually met Him. 

  I was "saved" and baptized right after my Pawpaw died. I was eleven. If heaven was real, and it is where my Pawpaw was, I needed my ticket. 

    I have always attended church, I know the hymns. I love how it feels to be in  a room of believers, but it took having my own son to actually feel what God suffered for me. 

      The most perfect day of my life was spent sitting on our love seat holding my new born son. Right next to the window, the beautiful snow covered landscape like something out of a movie.  Watching  snow fall, hearing the beautiful silence that a blanket of snow brings. I held Turner for hours that day. I saw God in his perfect little self. I saw what real, true love is. I held this perfect life in my hands and knew I would spend the rest of my life serving and protecting him. 

    God loves me more than I can ever understand. He loves me no matter how awful I am. No matter how arrogant, no matter how bad my temper, no matter how lazy I am when  I need to worship Him. It took holding my son to see and feel that kind of love. 

     Turner saved me in so many ways. He let me see the value in love. A friend shared a blog post with me about trying to love every single person in your life like they are a child. Treat them as if they are doing their very best, because they are. That advice along with the advice I got from a bible study --- pray to God like talking to your parent. Pray like a small child. Petition Him, talk to Him often. Keep a line of communication open. Set aside a time to listen. And bring Him EVERYTHING!  Don't keep small things from God. It's a learning process. It needs time and faith.

         I'm trying to remember all the times GOD came near me. 'if I could just touch the hem of His garment". 

     I hear His garments rustle. I feel the air they displace as He walks by. Having my children made me aware. He was always there, I just wasn't ready to listen. 

       I was truly saved the day the

snow  gently fell. When God used quiet and stillness to show me the beauty and peace He made for me. He came to sit by me today. I hope I didn't disappoint Him.  I hope He comes near again.  I hope His love for me is truly bigger than all my sin. I hope to hear his garments as He walks near again.