waiting for morning

She's right there- sitting next to me on my couch. She's laughing, and her smile reaches her eyes. She's so close, I can almost count her freckles. I reach my hand out to touch the soft, worn fabric of her blue and grey flannel shirt...

And she's gone.

I wake with a start. It's dark. She never knew this house.

No, no, no… She was right here. I could hear her. I could see her. I could smell her. She can't be gone all over again.

I jump from my bed. It's freezing- I left my window open. I close it and turn to my living room, hoping to find her on my couch...

...but it's empty.

The fog of the dream slips away and she goes with it, leaving that all too familiar empty, hollow ache within my chest.

I pull her soft, worn flannel from my closet. I clutch it tightly to my chest, breathing in her scent from the fabric. The aching grows.

I would give anything to have her here again, even in another dream. But I'm wide awake now, and I'm powerless against the wave of grief that comes crashing in around me. I thought I was past this.

Sleep isn't going to come easy.

So I pull out her old notes. I listen to her playlist. I look through her old pictures. I wear her flannel and sob into her sleeves.

I try and imagine that she's in Boone. I think of her excitement of the first snow that fell this week. Maybe she went out in it with Jesse. I wonder about her classes and what she'd tell me on the phone if she called me right now. There's so many things I wish I could talk to her about.

I almost check her Facebook, just to see if she's posted any pictures this semester. But I can't bare the reality that there would be none to find.

I take a deep breath. I pack all the memories back into their box. I bite my lip, swallow hard, and force the tears to stop.


Please morning, come quickly. I need the distraction of daybreak. 

long weekend in Sneads Ferry

I went to Sneads Ferry for a long weekend with the Thompsons. It's where Chris grew up. They've invited me maybe a dozen times over the years, but it was the first time I actually took them up on the offer.

It was fun- lots of firsts for me... sand bar, boat rides, clamming and jet skiing. I met tons of Thompsons that I had only heard of, and spent more time with the handful that I had met before. Everywhere we went, Chris gave me an ongoing tour. There was lots of sea food, lots of sun, lots of giggling kiddos calling me Auntie Grace and lots of time to talk, talk, talk.

I had a BLAST.

There's something intriguing about visiting people's hometowns- about seeing where they come from. It's like it makes the stories they've told so often, come to life. I liked the beach trips, boat rides and shared meals. But the stories- I loved the stories. Stories of when Chris and his 2 sisters were in school. Stories of the sibling arguments, family milestones and funny mistakes. And there were stories about their mom. Their mom who died nearly 20 years ago.

I've heard Chris talk about his mom for years. But hearing him talk about her now, nearly a year since I experienced sudden, unexpected death in my own family, is so different. It means more to me- I relate at a much deeper level than I did a year ago. Now, I know that you don't just share those stories with anyone- they kind of have to be earned. It was a privilege to walk through the house he grew up in, look at the pictures on the walls, and see his mom's belongings that still remain untouched- like physical proof that she was there, and she had an impact on the people who remained behind in the home she left so suddenly. I don't think I could've fully appreciated a tour like that until now.

One of Chris' sisters called me Paige a couple times. Surprisingly, it never bothered me. Not like when people at home accidentally call me Paige. It was kind of nice, actually... like they knew about her. Like she mattered to them, too.

One person asked me about my siblings. I said I had an older brother and sister. I never mentioned Paige. They didn't know. I didn't want the follow up, invasive questions. Not with a wiggly, ice cream covered 2 year old in my lap. Not at that moment. But later, I was surrounded my people who got it. Who could empathize. Who could help me figure out how on earth to answer that stupid question that is meant to be so simple.

I don't think they realized it at the time, but the entirety of the Thompson crew gave me hope. Chris could drive around his old hometown, point out landmarks, and talk easily about the things that have remained constant and the things that have changed over the years. Right now, there are still days that it feels like Thomasville suffocates me with the constant memories and reminders of where Paige should be. But one day, I'll be able to speak of this place fondly again.  

Even the youngest of the grandkids can look at pictures and point out Grandma Gail. They know the stories, and even occasionally added little details in when their parents left them out. My future kids can know Paige even if they will never meet her. 

Chris, Apryle and Laurie could talk endlessly about their mom without falling apart. They could talk about how they dealt with the pain of loss without reliving it in the present moment. They could laugh about her! One day, sharing Paige's story- sharing my story- won't hurt so deeply. 

A weekend in Sneads Ferry. Lots of water, sand, and fun. Lots of people who feel like family. And maybe just a little bit of healing, too.

It's not alright

people tell me that grieving is a process. that it cycles through, up and down, forward and backward, just a little healing at a time. people tell me that, wherever I am in that process, it's alright. whatever I feel or think at different stages, it's alright. but it's not.

it's not alright that it's been this long and I still don't feel stable enough to get a teaching position for the fall.

it's not alright that I still don't know how to answer people who ask me how I'm doing.

it's not alright that some of my favorite people right now are only my friends because she's dead.

it's not alright that I still have so many days that I'm mad at her for leaving and mad at God for taking her.

it's not alright that my limited creative abilities were only useful for designing her tombstone.

it's not alright that the main reason I'm excited about going to the coast is because it'll be far away from the constant reminders of her.

it's not alright that I have to avoid twitter when I know people are posting about their trip to Africa, because I can't handle the kind of meltdowns it causes when I look at their pictures.

it's not alright that I spent the week helping the Beavers move into a new house... in Thomasville... when I know they're aching to be 8,000 miles from here.

it's not alright that I had to sit in a room with 3 of my favorite kids on Sunday night and try and explain to them that there was no earthly reason for her to die... that she died when her body was perfectly healthy.

it's not alright that Ma cries while writing about her in papers for school, and I can't fix it.

it's not alright that the tattoo on my wrist is as close as she feel most days.

it's not alright that I still don't sleep well, because I'm awake thinking about her.

it's not alright that my heart still aches for her like this every. friggin. day. when nearly a year has passed.


it's not alright. All of this still feels like punishment.

Why grieving is hard.

"... you don't understand now..."

It's been an interesting week. Every once in awhile there are still days that knock me off my feet. But I'm learning to get back up. 

I've slowly been digging back into Scripture. It sort of feels like I'm falling in love with Jesus all over again. It's a slow process- one step at a time- but at least it's forward motion. It's a start.

Over and over this week, I've been led back to John 13- the story of Jesus washing the disciples' feet. I'm particularly drawn to the interaction between Jesus and Simon Peter. Peter is shocked that Jesus, his Rabbi, would ever stoop down to wash his feet. When he asks why, Jesus says,

"What I am doing you do not understand now, but afterward you will understand." 

There's so much promise in Jesus' response. It's crossed my mind so many times this week. It takes my breath away...

 "You don't understand now... but you will."

Most days, I can't wait to get on the "other side" of this. I want to be delivered of the grief. I want to bypass the hard stuff and skip to the part when life gets easy again. There's so much I don't understand. There are so many days that I feel like all I do is beg God for answers, crying out "Why? Where are you now?"

But my God's aim has always been to work all things for my good. And now, in the most difficult season I have ever faced, I will strive to believe that He is cleansing me- washing my feet- working for my good. 

And no. I don't understand it right now. But He has promised me that, one day? One day I will. 

Lessons From the Trenches

It's been 9 months. 9 months of both laughter and tears, good days and bad. It's been 9 months of learning some hard lessons.. because that's another thing that no one warns you about- grief is one crazy kind of learning experience.

Some things I've learned, wrestled, and struggled with the last 9 months...


1. Sometimes, you will have the right to be angry. But you will never have the right to be cruel.

When I get sad, I get angry. I don't control my tongue, and I lash out at people I love. I've said some horrible, hurtful things to people over the last 9 months. So learn it now- Don't let your anger harden your heart. Don't take it out on the people who love you most.

2. Grief feels like a very private thing, but it's impossible to avoid living it publicly.

This might not be true for everyone, but it's true for me. I feel like everywhere I go, people know who I am now. It's uncomfortable and frustrating. At times, it's made me bitter and unapproachable, because I just assume the worst of people. So I've had to learn to just answer people's questions- respectfully. Not everyone is just trying to pry into your life because they're nosy. Some people genuinely care.

3. It's okay not to be okay.

On bad days, I am constantly tempted to plaster a smile on my face and make everyone believe that everything is fine. I want people to believe I am strong enough to handle anything all on my own. I have to remind myself- Being sad won't make people hate you. Crying doesn't mean that you're weak.

4. Sometimes, you do just have to hold it together.

...like when you're driving 70mph down the interstate with a couple of someone else's children in the backseat. That's not the time to fall apart. Sometimes you have to practice some self-control and emotional regulation.

5. God is sovereign.

Even in the hard places.
Even when it doesn't feel like it.
Even when you don't want to believe it because He let this happen.
... and He'll still be waiting for you no matter how many times you try to run from His embrace.

I have to chant this to myself every single day. It's still a struggle to believe it every morning.

6. Broken worship is still worship.

It might be the most honest worship of all. Offer up the little that you think you have to give.

7. There will be times you don't have the words to pray.

 In those moments, just be still and trust that your High Priest is interceding on your behalf. But don't use it as an excuse to let your prayer life die completely.

8. Find a handful of people you can be transparent with.

Be honest. Talk to them when you're hurting. Don't push them away on the bad days... and there will be bad days.

9. Every good day is a victory. Celebrate it. 

Sometimes, life will be a day-to-day, uphill battle. Sometimes, you'll take entire weeks in stride. I have to fight to choose joy each day. There are a few bad days that blindside me and knock me off my feet. But most bad days are days I simply neglected to choose joy.


10. Grief will change you.

As much as my control freak self wishes this wasn't true, you can't lose someone who played a huge role in your life and then walk away unscathed. But how you let your grief change you in the long run- whether negatively or positively- in completely up to you.

And me? I want to walk away from this knowing and loving Christ even more deeply than I did before.

In the end, I know He's worth it.

Hindsight

                                                                                   

That's from July 21st.

That night... that's when we had our last fight.

It was late. I was packing. We both felt the tension, but we both refused to speak of it at the time. She was trying to help, but getting in the way.

I just wanted to be done... get my life packed away into those 4 crates... figure it out... lock it away so I wouldn't have to think about the coming Monday... the day I would stand in the airport and say goodbye to her for a year.

I don't remember anymore what finally made us crack. She screamed at me.. said I was heartless. I screamed back.. she was too emotional and needed to get over it- she was making things harder.

I made her cry.

She stormed out of the room, down the stairs, and slept in the living room that night. That's when she sent me those messages. The ones I read, but pretended to never see.

The ones I never responded to.


This week, those messages have consumed my thoughts. I can't shake it. I haven't been able to think of anything else. I still can't believe I didn't respond. Why the hell didn't I respond? What kind of sister does that?

I would give anything to go back to that night.. to go downstairs and talk to her.. to tell her I was sorry. I would give anything to go back and respond to her messages.

I never told her I would miss her. 
I never told her that I was dreading the goodbyes.
SHE depended on ME? That's so backwards.

Hindsight. If I had known then, what I know now...

I would have hugged her tight that night.
I would have made her sleep in our room.
I would have let her help me pack.
I would have told her I loved her.
I would have told her that she's irreplaceable.


"I know I'm not leaving you much to miss..."

Are you kidding me, Kid?
There's not a person in the world who can fill the hole you left in my life.

...and I'm sorry I didn't tell you that then.

I miss her... and that's okay

I miss the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled.

I miss her crooked smile and her one dimple.

I miss her freckles.

I miss waking her up late at night to watch movies and talk to me when I can't sleep.

I miss hearing her voice on the other end of the phone, on the verge of tears, praying for her friends who are searching but choosing everything but Jesus.

I miss the way she was never emotional, angry, or dramatic.. she was "just PASSIONATE!"

I miss driving to Alamance Crossing with her to buy sunglasses and stop for cheeseburgers, before driving home with the music up and windows down. 

I miss the way she would walk into our room, begging me to fix her makeup or straighten her hair because "all the things! they're not working right!" 

I miss the way she would move her hands like she was playing scales on her saxophone when she was feeling stressed or self-conscious.

I miss the way her face lit up when she walked into a room of children.

I miss comparing our arms to see who got tanner during the summer.

I miss going on get-aways with her.

I miss the way she sang way too loud in the car and always felt the need to harmonize.

I miss the way she would let me talk her into doing anything.

I miss the way Specter flipped out a little anytime she was around. 

I miss the way she couldn't lie or hide anything to save her life.

I miss arguing with her about whose turn it was to turn off the light at night.

I miss watching her edit pictures.

I miss the way her camera was always in her hand, around her neck, or in the chair next to her.

I miss laughing with her about nothing in particular until I'm crying and she's coughing like she smokes 3 packs a day.

I miss the way she flared her nostrils when she was mad.

I miss all of these things, and easily a million more. I just miss her. 

But you know what? Tonight... I can somehow miss her, and at the same time, smile while thinking about all the things I miss about her. I can laugh when I think of her harmonizing in the car, and completely butchering the tune. I can roll my eyes at all the memories of the ridiculous things she would say when she was upset. They make no more sense now than they did then! 

I don't want to avoid all of the things that make me think of her. But that doesn't mean I want to replace them or forget, either. 

I drove to Alamance Crossing alone on Saturday... and I missed her. But I was okay.

I took kids to "our park" this afternoon... and I wished she was there, too. But I was okay. 

I'm going out of town this weekend with my best friends. The last time we went somewhere, she and her best friend were there, too... and I know I'll think of them the entire time I'm gone. But I'll be okay. 

I know that there's a good chance that Sunday will roll around, it will somehow be 8 months since she died, it will knock the wind out of me all over again, and I'll be thrown back into square one. 

But today... today I have hope. And the hope I have today makes me hopeful that tomorrow will be okay, too. And maybe even the next day. 

And I have hope that maybe, just maybe, my God didn't abandon me in the middle of all of this, after all.

Dear Kid...

Dear Kid,
I'm not moving to Kenya. All my stuff is still there, though. It's weird to sleep in our room without you. I don't ever touch your stuff. You never liked when I organized for you.

Dear Kid,
I got a tattoo. Every time I look at my wrist, I think of you. Sometimes, I have to wear long sleeves to cover it up. It makes me sad some days to think that I got it because you're gone. I would rather have you than a tattoo.

Dear Kid,
Abigail learned how to crawl. She's getting into everything these days. And Olivia got yarn braids for the first time! She loves them. And she looks SO big.

Dear Kid,
I've been spending a lot of time with the Bowers family. I really love them. I understand now why you loved them so much. They miss you like crazy, you know. We talk about you a lot. Sonia tells me you're having a party with Jesus.

Dear Kid,
I got a new job. Here. I wish it was a teaching job...it's not. But it will pay the bills. And I'm looking at applying for a house to rent. It's got a picket fence. I wish you could come peek in the windows with me.

Dear Kid,
I'm sorry I didn't tell you how much I love you as often as I should have. I really do love you, ya know.

Dear Kid,
I'm all moved into my new house. It's really cute. Nanne came and spent the night last week. I wish you could've come, too.

Dear Kid,
I put this above my front door. It reminds me of all the times I was unsure of myself, and you always said, "Your name is Grace... just be amazing."

Dear Kid,
I stayed up all night looking at pictures you took. Pictures of people's kids. Pictures from App. Pictures of you and Mary. Pictures of you and me. I never liked taking pictures. Now I wish I had let you take a million more of us together. It's hard to think that we won't have anymore.

Dear Kid,
The new kids I watch are really funny. Sometimes, I pick up my phone to text you the funny things they say. But then I remember. And it takes my breath away all over again.

Dear Kid,
It's been 6 months. I think I've cried more in the last several weeks than I did even in the first weeks after everything happened. It's weird for me. You always joked I didn't have a heart. Well, I do. And it's shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Dear Kid,
I look at this picture of us everyday. It's not great of either of us, but I like it because we look more alike than normal. I close my eyes, willing myself to remember every single detail of that car ride together that I can. I'm so, so sorry I made you cry. I'm sorry I left you. I'm sorry I wasn't home to help with your funeral. I'm sorry I couldn't write anything for your celebration of life. I'm just sorry about everything.

Dear Kid,
It's almost your birthday. You're supposed to be 21. We're having an unbirthday party. We're all going to get presents.. but really we want your presence. We miss you.

hearing voices

It feels like I've been lying here forever. I turn over, reach to the left and pick up my phone. My eyes squint as I'm blinded by the screen.. 2:15am. I roll over. Fluff the pillow. Straighten the blankets. Move Knucklehead to the foot of the bed. Many nights, it's this same routine, over and over. 

A month ago, I believed that once the new year came,  I started my new job, moved into my new house, and I established a consistent schedule, that I would feel better... That I would finally be okay. Instead, the structure and routine only makes everything inside of me feel even more chaotic and scattered. 

Most days, I just want an escape from the chaos inside my own head. Thoughts come and go, shifting and changing.. never ending voices that confuse me and slowly tear me apart and reduce me to a sobbing, blubbering mess.. I can't remember anymore which ones were mine to begin with. I don't know which ones to believe. 

She died because God needed her to welcome the kids from Sandy Hook into heaven... She died because it would mean other people would hear about Christ... She died because she had a special job in heaven just waiting for her to complete it... She died because this world is broken and sinful... She died because she must have had some unknown medical problem... There are all kind of theories, but you may never know why she died...  She died because God is cruel... She died because God is trying to test you...

The last hours you spent with her, she was crying. You hurt her so deeply when you left. And for what?  You boarded a plane, she died, and now you're right back where you started.. but without her. She spent those hours crying for nothing.. because of you. 

Maybe you were never meant to move to Kenya at all. The Godly council? They probably just told you what you wanted to hear. The confirmation of Scripture? If you're only looking for one answer, just about everything could be interpreted as a confirmation. You must have been wrong about the whole thing. You must have disobeyed. God must have taken her to force you to turn around. You must have confused a coincidence for a "calling." 

Just let go, and let God... God is punishing you... God is sovereign... God has a plan, even if you don't understand it... God is just waiting for you to return to Him... You've failed to trust Him, so God doesn't want you... God can handle your anger... If you were really His, this wouldn't be such a struggle... If God really planned it this way, do you really want to claim Him as your own?

You're so weak. Just move on, already... You're allowed to be the one who falls apart sometimes... You shouldn't still be so unstable after 6 months... People don't understand... People can't understand if you don't tell them... People have already forgotten about her, and especially about you... Just smile- they don't have to know you're not okay today...  

I don't know who to listen to. 

new.

New house, new job, new routine...

...new normal.

Maybe none of the above were the kinds of "new" I was ever looking for, but I haven't been given much of a choice.

So it's time for a new blog header, too.

I'm not in Kenya. I won't be for a long time... maybe not ever.

It's just time to get over it and move on.

(untitled)

I hate nighttime. 

I hate being the only person still awake. 

I hate sleeping in the room we shared. 

I'm tired of counting time by Tuesdays.

I'm tired of dreading the 24th of every month.

I'm tired of time passing so slowly, yet simultaneously so quickly, that it takes my breath away.

I wish I was in Kenya.

I wish I was living the life I was supposed to have.

I wish I was teaching.

I feel like all of my friendships have changed.

I feel like I can't talk to the people I've always talked to.

I feel like I'm not allowed to be honest. 

I don't think I'll ever find "normal."

I don't think life will ever work without you. 

I don't think I know how to live life without you.

Lots of people have happy things happening in their lives.

Lots of people have reasons to praise God right now.

Lots of people are moving on. Forgetting.

I don't want to celebrate Christmas.

I don't want to have a birthday.

I don't want one more holiday without you here. 

I cry when our songs come on in the car.

I cry when I'm by myself for too long.

I cry when I try to go to Church.

I'm scared I'll never love Jesus the way I used to.

I'm scared I'll walk away from what I believed.

I'm scared that it won't even bother me when that happens. 

But more than anything..

I hate that you're gone.

I'm tired of missing you.

I wish you would come home. 

I feel like I'm drowning.

I don't think people even realize it. 

Lots of people are moving forward.

I don't want to move forward.

I cry when I just think about it. 

I'm scared that I'll forget, too. 

Please, just come home. 

...Please? 

The things they say

I'm sorry I haven't been around. I know you think I didn't hear you, but it's just that I didn't know how to respond. I didn't have the words to answer.. 

...the text messages:

"Today, I'm making a commitment to pray for your heart..."

I owe you more than I could ever possibly repay in this lifetime. 

"Been thinking about you, hope you're alright."

I'm not sure I know what 'alright' feels like anymore. 

"I think it's time we hang out again sometime soon."

It's been weeks.. maybe even a couple months.. since I've really seen you. You were just doing your job- I know that. You don't have to check in on me. 

"I don't want to be Debbie Downer..."

Well, you are. And I need something to be excited about right now. 

"Wah! I miss you."

I miss you, too. Greensboro isn't even that far, but sometimes it still feels like a million miles away. I'll try to stop being such a crummy friend. 

...the kids in my life who notice everything:

"Where Paige go?"

I wish I could've just told you she's at school. Instead, I said nothing because you're still so little and I can't bear the thought of your sassy little self not remembering her. 

"Grace! You really hurt my feelings! You can't leave my house without hugging me! What if you don't ever come back?"

I will never ever leave you again without hugging you tight. I'm so sorry that you already know what it feels like to miss someone so much, you're terrified of losing a chance to hold onto those you love. 

"You haven't been at my house in a long time! When are you coming over?"

Honestly, it's probably going to be awhile before I hang out for more than a few minutes. Being with your family is really hard right now- maybe because I didn't even know you before my world fell apart. I just don't know that my heart can take more than a half an hour with you without falling to pieces. 

"Gracie, how come you're smiling, but I can still see sad in your eyes?"

You're only 6, and already way more perceptive than many adults. My eyes have sad in them because every time I see you, I wish Paige was here to take you out for some special time with her that you never got. 

...the acquaintances I see around Thomasville:

"Why aren't you in Kenya?"

Because God thought it would be really fun to pull the rug out from under my feet and leave me with nothing "planned" to stand on.

"I'm sorry Paige died. I didn't really know her, but..."

Why are you talking to me? You didn't know her, and I don't know you. I don't want your condolences. 

"No, my friend told me how she died. Maybe you didn't hear... I mean, you were in Africa, right?"

She was MY sister. I'm 135% sure I know better than you.

"Why haven't you been at church? We've missed you being around!"

Rich Fork is sort of like torture right now, so I avoid it when possible... and I'm only one person. No one notices if I'm there or not. 

"I'm so sorry! Can I give you a hug?"

No. 

If I'm short tempered... I'm sorry. 

If I'm mean... I'm sorry.

If I don't respond... I'm sorry.

If I avoid you... I'm sorry. 

I don't know how to handle people right now. 

On grieving...

No one ever warned me about how far reaching grief can be- how it stretches out, makes itself at home, slowly seeping into every corner of your life until you're consumed with it. And then? Then there's nowhere to hide; nowhere to go to escape it.

It was there this morning when I opened my closet to pull out a sweater, and her clothing still filled all of the shelves that we used to share.

It was there on Saturday when I spent 4 hours helping put yarn braids and fresh beads in the hair of this sassy little girl, and realized that Paige never got to see her with even the "beans" in her hair.

Grief was there on Dad's birthday when he opened his new grandpa sweater- the one that would've eventually gotten stolen and taken to Boone, just like all of his others, because Paige liked to curl up in them when it was cold outside. But now she's not here to "borrow" them. 

It's there every time I drive past Rich Fork, wondering if I will ever be able to walk into the sanctuary on a Sunday morning ever again without sobbing. 

Grief is in the eyes of all the girls Paige mentored, the ones who saw her as an older sister. 

It's there every time I see her red car in the driveway, and my heart skips a beat for a split second. 

It's there every time I spend time with this sweet boy, and I'm blindsided with the thought that he will never remember her. 

But, then again, neither will she...

And she won't either...

It's there every time I get on Facebook and click over to her page, knowing that people are still writing and posting pictures, proving I'm not the only one struggling to move forward.

It's in the texts exchanged between friends late at night and in the earliest hours of the morning because neither of us can fall asleep.

Grief was there when I set the table for 6, and then quickly pulled the extra plate from the table, hoping no one else noticed. It was there when I realized "all of us" wasn't really "all of us" anymore.

Grief is in my faded Chucks, the old letters I saved, the movies we watched, the laughs we shared, and our songs on the radio.

And grief is here, even now, as I sit in the room we always shared, begging for sleep to take me.

But I already know.. grief will be there, too.

He is holy. I am not.

Most days, I'm stuck in the in-between, somewhere between my head and my heart, hanging in the balance.

I try to cling to the things I KNOW to be true of Him- that He is love. He is constant. He has a plan. But I'm finding it nearly impossible to align those Truths with my current reality- how can those things possibly coexist with the chaos, uncertainty, and betrayal I feel?

He is holy. I am not. 

I go through some days enraged that it feels like He's not here, that He doesn't care about this mess He's left me in. I stomp my feet, shake my fist at Him. I rant about the injustice of it all, daring Him to challenge me in my anger and my sadness.

I throw my temper tantrum until I am exhausted and empty. Finally, I wipe my eyes, ashamed of my outburst, ashamed of the thoughts that I dared to verbalize. I beg Him not to hold it against me. I plead for Him to see me as the distraught child that I am. I beg Him to comfort me as the Father I know He is.

He is holy. I am not. 

Every once in awhile, I eagerly seek Him. I open my Bible, flip to the passages that always brought me comfort. Familiar handwriting fills the margins, the thoughts and wisdom of a mentor who owned the  Bible before me. But it's not long before the words on the pages all blur together, hot tears spilling from my eyes and down my cheeks. His presence is suffocating. I snap the book shut, willing the tears to stop. I can't confront His presence without also confronting the condition of my heart. Instead, I do everything I can to run- to push Him away, to withdraw from His touch, to turn my back on Him.

He is holy. I am not. 

I don't want to accept His kind of love- His love is dangerous. His love allows pain if it means shaping His child. His love calls into question all of the "what ifs" and the "should have beens" that creep into my mind day after day. His love refuses to let me hide. I want love on my terms- the kind that feels good. The kind that is comfortable. The kind that brings only good things and laughter and warm fuzzy feelings. But that's not how His love works.

He loves wholly, because He is holy. And I am not.

Going through the motions

Smile at the strangers.
Shake their hands.
Don't cringe when they hug you.
Answer his questions:
"I'm okay...
They're hanging in there...
Yes, I ate...
I slept fine...
I'm busy this week but we'll hang out soon."
Always look them in the eyes.
Just don't leave any reason for them to doubt you.

I bet school is crazy right now. She probably has her first round of midterms coming up. I need to ask her about her schedule- I hope she's liking her social work classes. I wonder how marching band is going? She probably spends all her free time editing pictures and going to the Parkway. I'll just wait to call her until this weekend...

Try to show up on time.
Smile and ask about class.
Play with choo-choo trains and Yoda.
Go to the park.
Put the little boy down for his nap.
Wash dishes.
Read a book.
Play music to fill the silence.
Just pray his parents get home soon.

I hope she's one of the good RAs. I need to remember to ask her to send me a picture of her bulletin boards! I wonder what her room looks like. Did her unexpected roommate move out yet? I need to go spend a weekend with her. I'll have to wait until she's not so busy...


Drive to Greensboro.
Try to eat dinner.
Ask about their new nephews.
Talk about puppy training.
Laugh at their jokes.
Watch a movie.
Just avoid talking about anything serious.

I wonder if Mary has heard from her? Normally, I would've gotten a letter by now. That's okay- I'll write her one in the morning. I wonder if she accidentally packed my blue cardigan when she went back to school? I can't find it... 

Keep the closet doors closed.
Buy new bedding- nothing blue and brown.
Don't hang up old pictures.
Pack up everything from Kenya.
Keep your Bible on the nightstand- maybe you'll read it tomorrow.
Don't touch her side of the room.
Avoid the emotional triggers.
Just leave all of her things exactly where they are.

It's weird that we still haven't talked. I can't wait until the summer- it's going to be so much fun having her in Kenya with me. She'll love it. We'll have all the time in the world to catch up. 

Take a shower.
Listen to music.
Turn out the lights.
Will yourself to fall asleep.
Just don't dream about her tonight.

It's been awhile since she's called, but I bet she's working right now in Cone. But if she's not working, she's probably already asleep. It's really late. I'll just text her in the morning. She'll be angry if I wake her up just to talk. She'll come home for a weekend soon...

Give vague answers to her text messages.
Don't hold their kids for too long.
Leave as soon as possible.
Think of an excuse:
"Not tonight, I'm just really tired...
I don't feel well today...
I already have plans with someone else..."
Just don't let them feel you pushing away.

Maybe I can go see her for Halloween. Surely she'll be home for Thanksgiving. I can do this.  Just stay busy. God, I miss her.

Clench your fists.
Bite your lip.
Swallow the lump in your throat.

She's not coming home. 


Just don't fall apart.

Counting the cost... Again.

Exactly a week ago from right now, I was in Kenya. I was standing on a balcony, in the home of a family I had never even met. I was on the phone with my dad. He told me, "I have to tell you something terrible. Paige died this morning."


My world stopped.


Fast forward a week. I'm back in the U.S. The funeral is over. The extended family members have all left to go back to wherever they came from... And I'm left with the broken pieces.

When I wrote my last blog post, I was sitting in an airport terminal counting the cost. I questioned whether or not obedience to His call was worth what...was worth who... I was leaving behind. And today, I am angry.


My journal- July 25, 2012: "I moved forward with obedience trusting that You were going to protect my heart. I left everything for You. She was going to do great things, but You took her away. You took her before I could even say goodbye. You said You loved me. You said You were working for my good. Where is the good in this? Where is the compassion? I'm 8,000 miles away. My family needs me, and I'm not there. How am I supposed to trust You? How could You possibly put the pieces of my heart back together, when You're the one who tore it apart in the first place? If this is some kind of test, I don't care if I fail. This isn't what I signed up for."



Today, I still feel a lot of those same things.

I'm still angry.

I still don't understand why I had to be so far away.

I'm still struggling to understand why a loving God would take away The Kid under these circumstances.


But today, I also have a choice to make..

Am I going to continue to believe that I serve a sovereign God, or am I going to deny it when the storm hits?

Am I going to believe that He is here, or am I going to believe that He left me to walk this alone?

Am I going to believe that there was a purpose, though unseen, in all of this, or am I going to declare that He's a God who only seeks to punish and destroy?

Am I going to seek Him in the weeks to come, or am I going to turn my back?

Will I choose obedience again, regardless of the cost, or will I choose my will because it feels safer?


Today, it's hard to choose. I am blinded by anger, and numb from exhaustion. I want to wake up tomorrow and find out that all of this was just a really bad dream. I want to see my friends, and not hear that they're worried about me. I don't want to establish a new normal, because I don't want to live life without The Kid. I'm not sure I even know how.

Father, hold my heart. Remind me that Christ is still SO worth it. 

Counting the Cost

I'm sitting in my terminal.  In a matter of minutes, I will be boarding a plane headed toward the other side of the world.

I thought I was okay with this. 


But today? Today... this is hard. Today I'm wondering if I really made the right decision. And that thought hit me. The one I was positive would never cross my mind...

What if I just didn't get on the plane?

Because today, this is real. And today, I find myself counting the cost... Is it really worth it?

My best friends in the entire world are finishing up school/ starting grad school. They just moved into their new apartment, and I helped them put together furniture, and paint, and make it feel like home for them. But it just made me feel sad. And kind of jealous. What will they be doing over the next 2 years? What jokes will they form that I won't be a part of? Will they have get togethers over holidays- the same ones we have celebrated all together for the last 10 years? Are they going to find some new friend... someone that takes my place? Will we even be in touch 2 years from now? What if they're different- what if I'm different- when I come back to the States to visit? Will they ever visit me? Will they even care to hear about my stories and about my adventures? What if something happens to one of them while I'm away? How will I ever find friends that could ever even compare to how incredible they are?  

And what about my family? Saying goodbye today nearly killed me. I've never spent a holiday away from them. What milestones am I going to miss? Is Seth going to get some kind of promotion, and I won't be able to celebrate with him? Will Anne find someone else to watch movies and laugh at night with? And what about the Kid? Who's going to watch out for her and and argue with her about things that aren't even important? Who's going to make the pies at Thanksgiving, or come up with crazy clues and activities for an Easter egg hunt? Who's going to cook Pinterest recipes with Dad, and supply the witty banter at the dinner table? Who is going to practice fun craft techniques with Ma? I'm not even good at it, but at least I make her laugh. Will Knucklehead attach his little self to someone else? Will Christmas just be sad for everyone with the family not all together? Will any of them ever make it to Kenya- get to experience what made me love it in the first place? Will my heart ever feel whole again without them nearby to live and love with?

And what about friends and mentors who have become my family? What if foster children leave, and I can't go over and love on their family, and cry with them.. or what if new foster children come in- become a part of their family- and I never really know them? What about when other families are moving into new homes, setting up new lives, and moving on.. and I don't get to be a part of it anymore? Who's going to take my place at their dining room table, or laughing late into the night, or giggling with their little ones? Babies are going to grow up- and they're not going to know me. Kids will find new mentors- they'll find new young adults to spend time and go on fun outings with. I don't think there are people in Kenya who could ever come close to filling the roles they've played in my life.

What if living cross-culturally proves to be took much for me? What if it's all just completely overwhelming and I can't handle it? What if it's just so frustrating, so exhausting, that I hate it there- or worse- hate the people? What if I just want to be with people like "me?" What if I feel completely out of place.. unwelcome.. like I don't belong? Will Kenya ever really feel like home? What if they misjudge my intentions? What if I mess everything up? Will I just want to come back to the U.S?

“We have left everything to follow you!”

 “Truly I tell you,” Jesus replied, “no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for Me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age: homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields—along with persecutions—and in the age to come eternal life.

Mark 10:28-30

I am clinging to His Truth. He is bigger than my fears. He is holding the pieces of my broken heart. My God called me to Kenya, and He's not going to desert me now. 

Christ is so worth it. 

reality is setting in

15 days.

How is it even possible that I leave in 15 days?

Kenya has felt a lifetime away for so long. Now, all of a sudden, 15 days is all I have left in NC. It's scary. It's exciting. It's stressful, and overwhelming, and yet such a source of joy! Through it all, I'm praying that my eyes remain focused on the Lord, even in this time of huge transition.


I just got home from 2 weeks of training at the NICS headquarters in Mississippi. To say that I am still sorting through all the information I received is an understatement.. I'll never process it all, I'm sure! I got to meet the other incoming teachers who are heading to WNS, and also about 100 other believers who are being sent out all over the world. Many of them are first year teachers, as well. Good to know I'm not alone!

And so, I now gladly introduce to you.. the WNS staff (at least those of us who were stateside and in Mississippi).

Lori, me, Kennie, Lizzy, Gari, Emmy, Katie, Drew, Michelle and Hannah

As we prepare to head to Kenya, I ask that you would remember us in your prayers. Pray for the family and friends we are leaving behind. Pray for the new friendships that are being formed among us. Pray for our travels- we all meet up in London and fly to Nairobi together. Pray that we would strive for unity in all we do at West Nairobi, and pray that we would be patient and understanding of one another during the next several months as we figure out what it means to live, work and serve in Kenya.


I wish I could adequately express my thanks to all of you who have prayed and supported me throughout this journey! You are such a huge part of my story, and His plan!

Hark the sound of Tar Heel voices..

On Mother's Day weekend, I officially graduated from UNC! It feels good to officially be DONE! Four years have never felt so long. :)

Mom, Dad, the Kid and I stayed in Durham for the weekend. It was so much fun to take them to all of my most favorite places in Durham/ Chapel Hill!

We went and ate dinner on Friday night at Bull City Brewery. Seriously one of my FAVORITE places to eat! Everything is SO GOOD! Plus, they have fried pickles. I love fried pickles. :)

The Kid ran around Chapel Hill with me and my bff Christina to take pictures for us in our caps and gowns. We aren't very good at being serious. 

When we actually calmed down, the Kid managed to get some pretty good pictures! It was raining that day, so I wasn't sure if we would get any good shots. BUT WE DID!

We went back to Peabody Hall.. AHH, memories! This is where we took all of our education and methods classes. Basically, we lived in Peabody for 2 years. Two.. long.. years. We HAD to go back in our gap and gowns! And also practice our teacher hand writing on the boards of the biggest lecture classroom. :)

We made sure to stop at the Old Well, too. Had to get one last drink for good luck!

...and here's my tassle.

The School of Education ceremony was in the Dean Dome! Had to get a picture center court!

 Ritsa and Matt were a few of the student teacher supervisors (Matt was ours!). We sure loved them! They got to be our marshals.

Shaking hands with the Dean!

THEY GAVE US DIPLOMAS!

Jump Around! 

Matt and 3/4 of his student teachers. 

At the UNC ceremony... I'm that one down there... in the blue. 

And what do the newest alumni do after they have officially been declared graduates?

...jump in the fountain, of course!

It seems crazy that I'm already DONE with my undergraduate career. I loved (almost) every minute at Carolina. I loved the campus, I loved the traditions, I love the people who taught me, and I love the friends I made along the way. I can't imagine ever completing this chapter of my life at another university!

I'm a Tar Heel, for sure!