Soul Mates

If we are lucky, in our lifetime we will develop relationships with people who we think of as our soul mates.

Soul mate. noun. A person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner.

A few people come to mind when I think of my soul mates; girlfriends, a very special man in my life, and my siblings.  Some might argue that each of us is only allotted one soul mate on this earth.  I would vehemently disagree.

I have girlfriends who know me better than I know myself.   They are like the first sips of red wine, when everything starts to feel calm and clear at the same time.  My sister makes me feel safe.  She is like a warm blanket and a cup of coffee.  My husband, he is my soul mate as we are counterparts....he balances me in ways that I never knew I needed before I met him.

My brother and I were soul mates because our most endearing traits made us love one another, and our worst traits we found funny.  He was like my favorite episode of Friends, played over and over.

When you are "ideally suited to another" you share memories that are vivid and beautiful years after they have happened, you have laughed harder than you thought you ever could, you crave time with that person, you are energized once you have it, and when it is gone you feel like you can't live without it.

To me, "ideally suited to another" means that you complement one another.

When that piece is gone, you are missing a part that made you a better version of yourself.  You knew something beautiful, pure, good, and perfect.  Once you've had that, it is hard to go on without.

Sometimes, Matt would squint his eyes, tilt his head and say to me, "What is it sis?  What's goin' on up there?  Just say it."  He called me out on thoughts I was having before they were fully put together in my mind.  I'd say the thought and he'd disagree, or we'd laugh, or we'd debate whatever I said. Towards the end of my time with him, he knew I was going to question him in his addiction.  He'd tell me I was crazy, to calm down, and that he was fine.  He promised he was OK.

Because I knew him so well, because we were soul mates, I knew he wasn't.

These last few weeks I've wanted to talk to him so badly it has hurt.  I've had thoughts, ideas, stories...life to share with him.  Different soul mates fill different corners of your soul.  The corner that he filled has felt immensely vacant lately.  I've needed his opinion, his jokes, his love of love, his positive spin on every single trial more than ever.

Even though that corner is vacant now, I am left better because it was once filled.  I wouldn't give that back to be relieved of the pain of losing him.  

Soul mates make us funnier, smarter, more beautiful...happier.  They enhance our lives in a way that keep us from ever feeling alone.

These people, these soul mates that God puts in our lives are a gift.  Whether it is a gift that lasts only for 27 short but sweet years, or one whose presence lasts a lifetime, they are pure joy.   They make us better.

I think it's important to remember our most perfect and truest soul mate is God.  He knows our hearts, minds, desires, needs, and pain better than any other.

"Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends." -John 15:13

God is so great of a soul mate to us, knew us so well, was aware of the fall we would take, that he took it all for us.  He is our perfect soul mate.

He gave me my Matt, my sister, my beautiful friends, and my husband in my life to comfort, love, lift up, inspire, and complement my soul until I am with him in Heaven.

I will hold my husband close and dearly, he will know how much I appreciate him.  I will savor every sip of wine that accompanies sweet words exchanged with my girlfriends.  My sister and I will curl up under blankets on Saturday mornings, drink coffee, and laugh over the events of the night before.  I will recall every dance with Matt, every time he made me laugh, all of our joy with the knowledge that God gave me my brother, and all of my precious soul mates, to accompany me through this life until I am home again with Him.

One of my best dance partners...my brother, Matt.  

363 Days

Dear Matt,
In two days, it will be one year that we have been without you.  It is devastating to think back and reflect on this past year.  I wish that I could say that I have grown so much, I'm peaceful, I know that God's plan had a purpose and I am OK with that, or that beauty has come from our grief.  Today, my heart is still broken.

When you left for rehab, I wrote you emails, knowing that you couldn't see them.  I titled them "Day 1 Without You" and so on.  The reality is that today is "Day 363 Without You" and we are not driving to Michigan to to pick you up from a crappy run-down rehab facility where you were only gone for six weeks.  You won't be waiting for us in your checkered shirt with a bandana tied around your head and your suitcase packed.  You are staying in Heaven and someday it will be "Day 3, 567 Without You".

I'm not mad at you, but I am mad.  I'm mad that there are sisters who love their brothers less and they get to keep them.  Why couldn't Colleen and I keep you?  We adored you.  Every moment that the three of us, and then Jer too, had...we had so much love.  We laughed so hard.

Sometimes, there are moments where I can see you so clearly with me.  A month ago we were at the race track.  I don't think you and I ever went together, but there were tons of young guys there your age.  I found myself standing in the middle of the crowd, staring off into the mass of people, wishing that I would see you walking towards me.  I could see you with your hat backwards, your big toothy smile, your huge hands with a rubber band always on your wrist, your flip flops, I could hear your loud voice.  Any minute you were going to walk out of the bathroom and up to counter to place your bet on the next race.  But then I remembered.  

Two weeks ago we were at a wedding.  The bride's brothers were on the limo with us.  One of them was about your height, cute, funny, playing the DJ, making jokes...I couldn't look at him.  It hurt too much knowing that she had her brother and I didn't have mine.

Is there ever going to be a wedding that I go to that I don't flash back to you on the dance floor at mine?  Will I always feel a pain when I see a young, handsome kid your age?  I sure wish you didn't look like a white LeBron, because every time his damn commercial comes on I feel like crying.  Basketball hurts.  Rap is painful.  Taco Bell's make me want to pull over and see if you're there.

Here's the craziest thing of all; I'm starting to see you in Mom, Dad, and Colleen.  When Dad is being thoughtful and smart, I see you.  When Mom is being cute and funny and entertaining, I see you.  When Colleen is talking about some weird show or joke that I don't get, I see you.  Being around Jer and your friends, you are there in each of them.  Maybe God is giving me glimpses of you so that I don't miss you so much.  But it actually makes me miss you more.

Matt, I love you so much.  I miss you.  I'd give anything to hug you one more time, to tell you how sorry I am that I fought with you over your addiction.  I was always proud of you, even in the middle of the crap.  I'd give anything to smack you across the face for scaring us so badly.  I'd give anything to hear you laugh, or to have you here with us at the dinner table.

The last time we talked, I told you that I loved you so much, to a fault.  I told you to never scare me again.  You promised you wouldn't.  But you did Matt.  You left, but you promised you were clean, and healthy, and you would never leave.  You broke my heart.  You broke mom's more.  I'm not mad at you, I promise.  I'm just so, so sad.

I know you didn't leave me for good.  I know I will see you in Heaven.  That seems so far away. Please visit me in my dreams.  Please tell God to cover us with His peace.  Please also ask God to send me and Jer a baby, maybe two.  I mean, you're right there...

Please just know how much I love you and miss you.  Please know.

I love you,
Jules

A Heavenly Perspective



When I was in college, I studied in another country for a semester.  It was exciting, enlightening, educational, scary, fascinating, and oh-so-much-fun.  I grew tremendously, being away from the comfort zone of my close family and friends, and had experiences I will never forget.  However, no matter how much fun I was having that semester, I was always a little bit homesick.  I knew that as wonderful as my study abroad experience was, home would always be better. 

That time in my life is the perfect analogy for my newfound perspective on our life here on Earth, and our eventual entrance into Heaven. 

In perfect honesty, I have to say that the thought of going to Heaven used to scare me.  As someone who fully believes in Heaven, that is hard to admit.  The idea of leaving the comfort, security, and people of my life was frightening.  Heaven seemed mystical, far away, and foreign.

Losing my little brother and two pregnancies has completely changed that perspective.    This last year, I have started to think of Heaven as more of an actual place than just a promise from Jesus.  We will go there.  Matt is there.  The two little lives that God started inside of me are there.  They are waiting for me. 

More importantly, I have started to view my life with a heavenly perspective.  This is where the true lesson has been learned, and the biggest change has taken place inside of me. 

When I do get to Heaven, so many things will make sense.  I will have answers to questions. 

Why did we lose Matt?

Why is it such a struggle for Jer and I to become parents? 

Why did my two pregnancies not result in healthy babies?

Why do innocent children die?  Why is there drug addiction?  Why is there war?  Why can't we cure cancer? 

Why is there so much pain in this world?

We are not meant to know the answers to these questions.  What we do know is this:

This life is not perfect.  God does not promise that it will be perfect.  He does promise that we will have eternal happiness when we meet him in Heaven. 

Until that day, we will have glimpses of Heaven and the hope of eternal joy.  Knowing that helps me through my day. 

Do I miss Matt?  I miss him so much that some days, it physically hurts.  Am I afraid that I will never become a mother?  Yes, it is a constant worry.  Did that traffic jam suck?  It was the worst.  Is it terrible to argue with my husband?  I HATE those kinds of days.   BUT, that is how this life is...ups and downs, highs and lows, pain and happiness, tears and laughter...until we are taken home to be with God (and Matt, and my babies, and my grandma and grandpa, and my Uncle Tommy, and every other precious and special loved one who is missed desperately by all of us). 

Heaven is not only a place that I would like to go, but it is hope and a promise of joy that guides me through the pain. 

Twelve years ago, when I came home from my semester abroad, I could hardly wait to see my family.  I was nervous and excited and anxious all at the same time.  I had missed them so much and wanted nothing more than to be together again. 

When I finally walked through the big doors after customs at O'Hare, the first person I saw was Matt.  I still remember he was wearing a white logo t-shirt, a navy blue baseball hat backwards, and he was holding a yellow rose for me. 

When he saw me he yelled, "Jules!"  Then he laughed, smiled his huge smile, and yelled my name again.  I can still hear his voice.  He hugged me hard, and I remember how loved I felt. 

I know that is exactly how he will greet me in Heaven.  He will call my name, laugh because he is so glad I'm finally there, and hug me so tight.  All of the time that we missed here together on Earth won't matter, because we will be together again.  Those years will seem like they were merely seconds.

We will all be there together again, someday. 

This life is wonderful, exciting, exhilarating, painful, heartbreaking, an adventure, and filled with so much beauty.  However, just as I knew that home would always be better than my adventures in another country, I now know that Heaven will always be better than our best day on Earth.

 







Under His Wing

Last Wednesday, I packed my bag and headed off to one of my favorite summertime places; the pool.  Since I am a teacher, and do not have children, I have the luxury of being able to spend a few hours there on a weekday afternoon.  As I have said in a previous post, I do not take these moments for granted.  I know that I am lucky.  I feel like I need this disclaimer.

To anyone who doesn't know me, that day I looked like a carefree and fancy free type of girl; savoring a good book, getting in a little exercise, and soaking up the August rays.

However, as I pulled my arms through the water, and kicked my feet, visions and flashbacks interrupted the silence of my underwater peace.  Ten months later, these upsetting moments from my life are still fighting to have a prominent place in my mind.  This happens to me often, at the most inopportune times.  I find myself fighting back traumatizing memories when I am trying to sleep, reading a book, driving, running, even in the middle of teaching a lesson I found myself having to suppress memories so that I could focus on a math problem.  I've been told that this is the trauma, the PTSD of losing my little brother in such a frightening way, and it could even be a little bit of the fear from my fertility struggles.

One moment that haunts me the most is Matt's memorial service.  There is something about my entire family, minus a key member, so exposed and vulnerable to every person we have ever known that is very hard for me.  I flash back to singing a beautiful praise song, sobbing, as my dad and Jeremiah wrapped their arms around my mom, sister, and I and we held each other.  I recall leaving the service and glancing up to see Matt's best friends in the front row to our left, one of them holding his basketball jersey.  They all looked so grown-up, older versions of their carefree and childhood selves, yet so broken in that moment.  While I could not look around that day, I remember noticing dear family friends, who lost their own brother and son sitting right behind us.  It felt like they were literally holding us up.  I cannot shake the visions from this day.

I often flash back to the Sunday morning when my father rang our doorbell, under that false pretense that he wanted to join us for church.  He waited so patiently for me to finish my breakfast, as he knew I would need it to sustain me through the day.  I remember so vividly, his reaching across English muffins and orange juice to take my hand, and tell me that my younger brother had gone to be with the Lord.

I flash back to every moment that scared me in my last months with Matt.  I envision things that I did not see, but that I know happened.

I try to block out the long, holiday weekend when I knew that the early days of pregnancy were not supposed to feel the way that I was feeling.  I knew something was wrong, and there was no one to help me, no answers to give, as only hours would bring us the HCG numbers, and peace that I so desired.  I was so scared that weekend, while the rest of the world was grilling hamburgers, drinking beers in their backyard, and excitedly anticipating the upcoming summer months.

All of these moments from my life, these visions, these memories that are so unhealthy will fade with time, and in their place, will be flashbacks of beauty.  It takes mental energy to get to those places right now, but I also know eventually they will begin to come more naturally.

When my mind goes to the dark place, I work to fill it with moments of beauty.  I think of Matt's sparkling blue eyes, or his big arms wrapping me in a warm hug.  I hear him calling me "sis".  I think of how his face lit up when he was really laughing.  I picture him out in the driveway shooting free throws.  I remember him sleeping on the family room floor, in front of the TV, with his dogs curled up next to him.  I try to fill my heart with hope, for the baby that Jeremiah and I will someday hold and love.

Here is the truth about trauma...or PTSD, or grief, or pain, or sadness...

It is real, and it hurts, but we are not meant to live in fear.

Trauma can shape us, but we cannot let it define us.  

These last ten months will make me a stronger version of my former self.  I will NOT forever be a girl who is traumatized, or grieving.  I refuse.

Matt would be furious.

God would be hurt.

Psalm 91:4 says, "He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart."  

When all else fails, and the pain and trauma are too much for me to bear, I will turn to these words.  I know them to be true, because the only way that my family has endured each day since October 18th, is by resting under the protection and comfort of God's wing.

Trauma can make you want to crawl under a blanket and never come out.  It can cause you to eat too much, or drink in excess, or experience insomnia.  Trauma causes some people to experience physical aches and pains, or to not be able to eat at all.  Something I have experienced in trauma is extreme indecisiveness; I question everything I once knew, all of my actions, my words, my self, even day-to-day activities and choices.  I am unsure of the basics of life, because my foundation has been rocked.

This I am NOT unsure of; God gave me a family that was so beautiful, and so full of love that the memories of joy will NEVER fade.  Those visions, flashbacks, and memories will remain forever strong.  The good ones will stick.

This I am NOT unsure of; Matt wants me to keep moving forward with my life, never forgetting him, but also not forsaking joy.

This I am NOT unsure of; I will continue to rest under God's wing, when I need refuge from the trauma, and until the fear has passed.

Colleen, Jer, me, and Matt...one year ago this week-

our last family vacation, and while it was not perfect, we were together, and there were moments of beauty and joy.  

  

Writers and Healers

This past weekend, I was blessed to be able to leave normal life for a few days, hop on a plane, and attend a conference in North Carolina.  It was called She Speaks 2014, and was for Christian women writers and speakers.  I went to learn more about the writing world, and how I fit into that space.  I left informed and taught but even more so, inspired and refreshed in a way that I did not imagine could happen.

The night before I left, I made sure that I had my favorite blog posts printed out, my newest children's story edited and finalized, and my suitcase packed with my most "conference appropriate" outfits.  For the first time this summer, I felt myself truly distracted from my worries and sadness.

The morning I left, I swam laps in our public pool.  As the sun beams cut through the water, and the rhythm of the swimming strokes and breathing lulled me into my daydreams, I fantasized about all that I could be blessed with on this trip.  What if I met a publisher who loved my story?  Would someone teach me how to become more technologically talented so that I could better join the blogging world?  How empowered would I be by joining these 800 women who all love my most-favorite hobby?

What I did not expect to happen, occurred within the first hour on Friday morning, as soon as I sat down at a table, introduced myself to the women around me, and the worship music began.  The lights dimmed, we all stood, and the worship leader led us through new to me, but beautiful songs.

I looked to my left, and saw a woman wiping tears from her eyes.  In front of me, a girl was dabbing at her cheeks with tissues.  All around me, women were singing the words with their whole heart and soul, as the music soothed and inspired everyone.  But it was the tears...the tears of the unmet friends by my side that stirred the feelings of healing in my soul.

For the first time this summer, I did not feel alone.  I know that there is pain in this world, and that everyone is experiencing it in some form.  They might be healed, in the recovery process, or just entering a season of hurt.  The truth is I wasn't believing that this summer.  I felt alone in my grief, isolated in my infertility, and for lack of a better word...different.

This is not reality.  Reality is that life brings us struggles, all of us have trials.  I met a woman who was abused for 12 years of marriage, and left her husband with her boys to stay in a shelter.  I met a lady who almost died giving birth, and the trauma of that time changed her forever.  I spoke with a woman who lost two babies, then spent 49 weeks of her life on bed rest, alone and scared for her unborn children.  I met a woman who lost her father in a car accident that she was in, and then later endured another accident that burned 40 percent of her body.  I met a LOT of women who had struggled with infertility, and almost every speaker shared struggles with depression, anxiety, or issues with food.  Every single lady at this conference had a story to tell.

I shared my story, but only in little snippets when people asked me about my blog.

"Well, it's really just been a way for me to heal through writing, as I struggle with infertility and losing my little brother," I said over and over and over this past weekend.

I definitely didn't hold back, but I spent a lot of time listening to the stories of others, and gaining wisdom and strength from all of the beautiful women.

However, at dinner on the last evening, I was truly broken down.  Since I was by myself, I found a table and asked if I could join the women sitting there.  We were all alone at the conference.  We chit-chatted, and made get-to-know-you conversation.  Then, the woman next to me mentioned that she had adopted her son because of infertility.  The woman across the table joined in with the exact same story.  I shared that I was currently in the fertility struggle.  The second woman spoke some type of beautiful, encouraging words of love to me.  My eyes started to well up.  Another girl across from me tuned into the conversation, a beautiful girl with red hair and red lipstick.  She had the kindest, most compassionate look on her face.

"Is that you struggling with fertility?" she asked me.  "Is your body healing?  Do you have a diagnosis?  God will bring new life, just take care of yourself...heal," she said.  "Where are you in the process?"

"I...I....we are are getting ready for our second attempt at IVF," I said.  Then it all spilled out.

"And I lost a pregnancy in May.  And my brother died in October....to addiction."

"Oh Lord," the woman across the table said.

The beautiful red-haired girl jumped out of her chair.  She came straight to me, wrapped her arms around me, and rocked me back and forth while praying for me.  The whole table sat and prayed with her.

Honestly, it was beautiful.  I cried hard.  Then I healed a little bit more.

How were all of these women at my table able to show me such compassion and grace?  They had all been through some sort of struggle themselves, the types of challenges that teach us compassion and grace, that make us want to reach out, support, and love those around us.  By the grace of God, I sat down at a table full of women who all had a heart for those struggling with fertility, because they had endured it or could connect to it in some way.  They were all on the other side, but better for it, and God redeemed their struggle by putting them in my life, to comfort and love me.

This is what will happen if we share our struggles and are real with one another;

The pain and hurt will be redeemed as we use it to encourage and love those who are in need. 

Did I leave this past weekend encouraged and inspired as a writer?  Absolutely.  However, what I did not expect was to leave the weekend encouraged and inspired as a woman.  God did some major work on my soul over those three days, and he used the stories and love of real women to do the counseling for Him.

The Summertime Blues

 

Try telling a teacher that the summer will be hard, and you will receive anything from hysterical laughter, to an eye roll and a flip sounding "Yeah right."  As teachers, we covet our summers from September to May, and we cherish them from June to August.

My summer months are typically filled with days at the beach, tennis, meeting with friends, reading great books, shopping, trying new recipes, working on my house and garden, and generally doing things that the rest of society wishes they were able to do on a random Tuesday afternoon.  Summers are a blessing that I do not take for granted.

This year, I've been participating in all of my favorite summer activities, but under a dark cloud.  It is ironic, really.  As the bright summer sun calls me to be cheerful and full of joy, so many of my days have been spent wishing for a thunderstorm or a drop in temperatures to match my mood.  It's almost like the beautiful summer days are mocking me.  Grief fit much better in the dark, cold, and brutal days of winter.

This summer is another season that my Matt is not here with me.  He's not swimming at my parents' pool, meeting me for fireworks, hosting barbecues at his apartment, organizing groups to go to concerts, making us see all of the big summer movies, or coming to sleep on our couch, order pizza, and take over our living room.  He's just not here.  Another season of him gone is another round of experiences and traditions to have without him.

In my thoughts, losing my brother continues to feel like a perfect combination of "OH HELL NO THAT DID NOT HAPPEN," to "I miss him so much I don't think I'll ever feel whole again."

Furthermore, this summer was supposed to be "Pregnant Summer".  That is not God's plan for us.  After losing our pregnancy in May, I have learned that it can take several weeks, even months for my body to heal, and be ready to start again.  The timing seems unfair based on how much energy and flexibility it takes to be a woman doing IVF.  Wouldn't it make sense for me to be able to do treatment in the middle of my summer vacation?  Instead, we will be waiting until the middle of August.

In my thoughts, going through this fertility journey continues to feel like the perfect combination of "WHY GOD? THIS IS NOT FAIR, CUT ME A BREAK, MY FAMILY NEEDS SOME JOY," and in a much more calm and peaceful tone, "Jesus, I know that you have a plan for my life, and it is perfect, and please help me to trust you."

I never thought that I would wish to rush through summer, to get to Labor Day, the cooler September weather, leaves changing, students, grading tests, and lesson planning.  However, I found myself wishing that I could rush through summer so that my broken heart over losing Matt would heal further, and that Jer and I could move forward in our fertility journey.

In my pain of waiting for life to feel like my  life again, I come back to this verse;


"Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me." Psalm 23:4

In these gorgeous summer months, I am in the valley, the darkest valley of my 33 years of life. I believe that God wants me in this valley for a little while.  Why?  

I am becoming deeper and more compassionate.

I am learning that I cannot control my life.  

I am healing.

Me and God are getting super close.  We've gotten in some fights, but we're working through it.

I know that He wants me here this summer.  He wants me to learn and grow, to heal and accept that this life here on Earth is not perfect.  It is not my timing, it is His.  It is not my way, it is His.  I think we have to go through pain, the trials and tribulations...the stuff that just feels awful to truly appreciate the beauty and joy that are also here.  I do believe that joy is still here, even if it is only in small and unexpected moments.  

Last night, Jer and I took the dog to the beach for a twilight swim.  The water was freezing, even for a girl who grew up swimming in Lake Michigan.  I stood in the lake up to my knees, holding up my dress, and feeling my legs grow numb.  I so wanted to experience the freeing and beautiful sensation of swimming in the open and quiet lake.  I knew that it would be painfully cold, but I also knew that Matt would have dove in and savored the moment.  That's how he was.  

I threw my cover-up on the beach and dove in.  It took my breath away.  I actually felt my heart start to race as the water covered me and I lost my breath.  Something inside of me last night told me that I had to fully experience this moment and keep swimming.

I dove under again, and began to swim out past the rocks, where the water was deep and dark.  My arms warmed up, and my breathing became normal.  The water began to feel refreshing and invigorating instead of painful.  I flipped on my back and looked up.  The clouds and sun fought to dominate the summer sky, creating that beautiful picture of rays cutting through the fluffy masses to look like beams coming from Heaven.  I felt Matt with me at that moment, as I so often do when I am at the lake.  Matt was with me in the beauty of the swim that was inspired by him.

Even in the valley, there can be joy.  Jesus is teaching me to slow down, look around, and find happiness in the midst of my pain.  He is teaching me to stop rushing through my life, trying to get to the next "better" moment, the fall instead of the summer, the time of being parents instead of just us, a time when I can see Matt again, a time that won't hurt so badly.  He is teaching me constant joy.   

Joy can be a twilight swim with a golden retriever and a husband.  A little joy can be a slight reprieve from the "summertime blues".

Gilson Beach, Wilmette

This Thing Called Hope

I've been thinking about the word "hope" a lot lately.  It seems to be popping up in dialogue, reading material, music, and my own thoughts these past few months more than ever before.  Maybe this word has always been a common in our language, or maybe I am looking for it.  Regardless, I hear it all the time.  It keeps me moving forward.

This past weekend, I had several instances that gave me newfound insight as to what having hope truly means.

To me, hope is the ability to continue to move forward with joy, or with the knowledge that there will be joy, despite current pain and fear and the unknown. 

Jer and I were at a beautiful wedding this weekend, however the groom's father had recently died.  In light of the recent death in my own family, I found myself carefully watching the groom's mother.  I felt the pain that she must have felt, not having her husband with her for such a beautiful occasion.  There were times that she had tears.  However, she also danced, laughed, talked to friends and family, and smiled often.  How did she move forward on that day without her life partner?  She must have hope that pain will lessen, and joy will return.

This Sunday, being Father's Day, was emotional for my dad.  He is no longer the father of three.  He is a father of two girls.  We sang praise songs in church, opened presents, played a great game of tennis, grilled out, and toasted the future.  My dad is grieving, but he could rejoice in being a father because he has hope of recovering from the trauma of losing a son.

Jeremiah and I went out on Friday to celebrate his new job.  He knew for many, many months that his previous position was no longer a good fit for him.  He woke up every day, went to work, smiled and made jokes with guys in the office, and faithfully looked for something better.  It was often very discouraging for him, and frustrating.  He had hope and faith that God would open the right door for him at the right time.  He did, and Jer is so excited and ready for this change in his career.

Things are changing in my family.  I see us moving forward in many ways.  I see prayers being answered and looking towards the future.  If I let myself, that can feel very painful to do without Matt.  It can also feel very scary.  For the first time in my life, I have such a multitude of unknowns that they outweigh anything that is certain.  I don't even really recognize my life anymore.

This is where my hope comes in.  True, circumstances are far different than I ever imagined them to be.  Also true is that I have no idea what will happen in the coming days, weeks, months...etc.  Yet, when I open my eyes each morning, along with anxiousness, fear, and sadness, I also feel a little excitement.  How is it possible to look forward to an unknown, or to feel joy and excitement for the future intermixed with hurt?  Hope.

I still have not yet lost the ability to know that it will get better, this is God's plan for my life, and that joy and healing will come.  Interspersed with the devastation and grief of death, the fear of infertility, and the anxiousness of the unknown is that little word hope, the warmth of the summer, a starry night, a cardinal on my bird feeder, the sound of laughter, a slow dance at a wedding, a crowded pool, the hot tennis court, a quiet Monday morning with a cup of coffee....the little things in life that remind us that there is joy and happiness despite pain, and that also encourage us to keep hope..even if sometimes it is only a little tiny glimmer, barely lighting the darkness.

 Our first family picture without Matt.  God is moving us forward.