Soul Space

Moraine Beach, Highland Park - May 2016

I am obsessed with Lake Michigan.  When I say obsessed, I mean that I absolutely love it, it is my happy place, it is where I find joy and peace and God all at the same time.  It is probably the first place I ever swam, as my mom and I enjoyed many afternoons on Montrose beach while I was still an only child.  When my brother and sister came along, we spent entire days at Rosewood beach in Highland Park.  We built sand castles, jumped in waves, searched tirelessly for beach glass, and ate sandy peanut butter and jelly while the sun burnt our shoulders.  My husband and I bought our fixer-upper in Wilmette for many reasons, but in all honesty I can say that a top priority was our proximity to the lake.  I had to be close to my soul space.

I am not a fair-weather Lake Michigan fan.  I run with my dog through the snow and slush of January to stand on the icy shores and contemplate the contrast between its foreboding presence of winter to its warm and welcome beckoning of July.  I see God's majesty in that juxtaposition.  I swim just as happily in the icy, still waters of June as I do in the warm wavy ones of August.  I have stripped and jumped in after a hot run in May when the water temperature feels like it will make your heart stop, and walked along the shores on a cold Thanksgiving morning with my husband; what better place to contemplate gratitude than in a place of absolute beauty in nature?

On the shores of Lake Michigan, I've sat in beach chairs for hours with my mom and sister or girlfriends and discussed life, and love, and laughed.  I've read books and magazines, viewed countless fireworks displays, drank glasses of wine and vodka cocktails from water bottles, and maybe even danced a little.

I've stood and gazed at the waters and prayed.  I've prayed for the loves in my life, for myself, for hope, peace, healing, understanding, for babies and for miraculous healing from drug addiction for my beautiful brother who broke my heart by succumbing to its power and leaving me.

Another summer is here and for the first time this week, I went alone with my chair, my lunch, my books, and my SPF 30 and 50 as I am getting very serious about protecting my 35-year-old skin, a little too little and a little too late.

A very dear girlfriend lent a book to me that I can only describe as a collection of a woman's musings of her heart and soul.  Each chapter is a new thought based on an experience she has had.  As she and I have so much in common, even though she is a stranger, I am connected to her and the words that she artfully shares.  As I started a chapter titled "What Could Have Been" I knew I was going to be moved.  The chapter spoke about the due date of a miscarried baby, and a woman who cried a little bit at every wedding she attended as her sister had died and the dancing reminded her that she would never celebrate with her best friend again.

This author and I, we connect.  

Tears literally poured out from under my sunglasses.  As an avid reader, I can say with absolute certainty that no book has made me cry since I was 11 years old and read Where the Red Fern Grows (about the little boy and his hunting dogs who die saving his life).  Today, I cried again because of the words an author so eloquently compiled.  I was touched, validated, connected, and so very thankful to my girlfriend for sharing this book with me all at one time.

I pulled myself together, stood from my beach chair, and walked down to the water to compose myself and feel the cool waters soothe my hot feet and emotional soul.  A sweet little toddler crossed my path.  He was wearing a Superman t-shirt, had bright blond hair, blue eyes, and was irresistibly chubby.  It cut to my heart as he looked so much like my beautiful and Heaven-sent little brother did as a baby, and also because I so want to be a mom to a son.  Part of me is so drawn to having a son as I desperately wish for my family to have the presence of a young child who reminds us of my brother, and also because I know the bond between a mother and son is indescribable. The desire is multi-faceted.

I could have looked at today's time at the lake with sadness.  I could have wished for the past when Matt was still with us, or longed for a future when I am there with my own children, particularly a little boy who looked like my path-crossing toddler.  I didn't feel that way today.  I felt peaceful in knowing that today, this is where God wants me to be.  Every day that goes by is another day of learning to live with the loss of one of the most important people in my life, and every day that passes is another day closer to a time when I will become a mother.

I've learned a lot in these last few months about myself, about time, about God's plan, and about the heartbreak that comes for wishing for something that isn't meant to be.

If God agrees with the desires of my heart, it will happen.  If it is not in His plan, I cannot force it. 

I could not force Matt to get better, because God knew that he was safer in Heaven than he was with me.  I'm pretty damn sure God wants me to be a mom as I'm confident I would be really good at it, if not slightly overbearing due to my years of wishing and praying for as child so fervently.  I do however, have to be patient and cannot force the process.  I have to see how He wants that desire to take shape.

I read a quote the other day on (my favorite) Pinterest.  It said:

You have to find that place that brings out the human in you. The soul in you.  The love in you........

I am in that place now.  Physically and superficially, my lake brings out the soul, human, and love in me.  Emotionally and with depth, life's experiences brought me to that place...

The truth about grief, a broken heart, about pain is that you never "get over" the experience.  It changes you fundamentally and you live with it as a part of who you are, as a part of your soul, what makes you human, and what inspires you to continue to love.

Once again, my time at the lake was well spent.  Lake Michigan, a lovingly shared book, and a toddler stranger affirmed that right where I am is where I am meant to be, my human place, my soul space, my place of love.

A Little Bit of Miracle

Miracle: (noun) a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency.

In "googling" the word miracle, this is the definition I found.  I agree with the given descriptor, but it is missing a disclaimer: 

*Miracles do not always end the way we had hoped for... 

Throughout my journey to become pregnant, I have prayed fervently and tirelessly for a miracle.  On March 2,  I was granted that miracle.  On April 1, I lost it.  

A positive pregnancy test was a miracle in itself for me.  What happened between the dates of February 22 and April 1 were what I believe to be a true miracle.  Unfortunately, my miracle wasn't permanent.

February 22: First HCG blood test after embryo transfer, positive result

February 24 (my birthday): Second HCG blood test, levels dropped, nurses informed us it was not a viable pregnancy, stopped all medication, began grieving process

March 2: follow up HCG blood test, HCG numbers inexplicably rose, nurses told me this was not a good phenomenon and to not get my hopes up, worried there was something seriously wrong with my body

March 4: follow up HCG blood test resulted in numbers appropriately doubled, gestational sac detected on the ultrasound, nurses and doctors shocked and in disbelief 

*felt we were witnessing our miracle, Jer brought home flowers and a balloon, I tried to breathe through shock  

March 5-March 14: numbers rise and gestational sac continues to grow, concerns over not enough growth regularly voiced by doctor and nurses, fear sets in, multiple appointments, countless hours of worry and prayer

On March 15th, Jeremiah and I walked into the doctor's office for another HCG blood test and ultrasound.  We knew this was a pivotal day, that if the sac had not produced a yolk or fetal pole, the pregnancy was not going to continue.  In the ultrasound room, Jeremiah had to hold me up as I was so nervous I fell while getting undressed for my exam.  He held my hand while the doctor and nurse peered intently at the ultrasound machine.  I watched their faces for any sign of hope.  I knew by their furrowed brows and murmuring that they were not seeing what they were looking for.  

My doctor walked away from the machine.

"It's empty.  Shit," I heard him say.

You know your doctor is on your team when he swears at your undesirable results.  

My heart sunk, my blood froze, I went numb.  I was in shock yet again.  The weeks behind me had been filled with highs and lows, shock and disbelief, joy, hope, and fear.  It was over.  The D&C had to be scheduled.  

In an effort to not ruin our upcoming vacation, we scheduled the procedure for the week after we came home.  Because of this decision, I had to stay on my shots and medication so that I did not miscarry while away from my doctor's care.  As I look back on it now, there was a part of me that still held onto hope that growth would occur while we were on our vacation and the miracle would continue.  It was unrealistic, but my understanding is that is the magic of miracles.  

On the day of my pre-operative blood work and ultrasound, I went by myself.  I sat on the exam table and waited for what felt like hours to see the doctor.  When he came in, he was done in two minutes.  He saw my collapsed gestational sac right away.  It was a flat blob.  My beautiful little miracle, my hope, my baby, was a flat black blob inside of my belly.  It hadn't grown.  It wasn't safe inside of me, it wasn't the miracle I had wanted it to be.  

Three days later, on April 1, I had my D&C.  I cried from the minute we got to the hospital, until eight hours later when they brought me ginger ale and cookies.  At one point, a nurse asked me if she should get a chaplain to pray with me, as I was in such a state.  Nothing could have stopped the tears that day.  

It is now several days past the D&C.  I was able to stop taking the medication that was keeping me pregnant, making me feel pregnant.  My butt is healing from where I was putting injections for 9 weeks.  My breasts stopped aching, I'm no longer nauseous, I can keep my eyes open long enough to finish a TV show in the evening, and I don't feel short tempered and annoyed at everything I encounter, not excluding my sweet golden retriever.  

When I think of a way to weave a thread of hope, an iota of strength, a lesson of faith through this experience, I can only come up with these words:

I still believe that miracles happen every day.  I also still believe in happy endings.  I know that even the smallest of miracles, in whatever shape or form they are given to us, are God's reminder that He is leading us to our happy ending. 

Sometimes I think my heart can't take any more loss.  In these last three years, I have lost more than I ever imagined I could endure.  I've had my heart broken more than I thought possible.  Sometimes, it is so broken that it physically aches in my chest.  In spite of these losses and heartbreak, I refuse to lose myself.

The core of my being has always held onto faith, hope, and love.  Having that make up in my soul means that I believe in miracles, I believe in happy endings.  I believe in the power of prayer.

Maybe God is allowing for another element to be added to my core: bad ass.  

Bad ass girls don't give up on miracles and happy endings.  We keep praying.  
    
*When I was praying for my pregnancy, I promised God that I would tell others about the miracle He gave us.  I promised that I would use this experience to share hope.  Lord...it is shared.

**Please pray for me, because the pain is excruciating, because I believe that God will hear your prayer, because I want to become a mom more than anything, because it is time for me to call in the troops...

Words to an Addict

In the dark and early hours of this morning, I awoke suddenly and with a gasp of breath.  I knew I had experienced something special, and in the dreamlike and foggy state of the first seconds of consciousness I could not remember what it was.

It quickly came to me and my mind raced to recall each and every detail.  It was so powerful and intense that I wanted to experience it again.  If only I could fall asleep and continue the moment, I would have.

Two years and two months since my brother's death, he will occasionally appear to me in a dream.  It is so rare, and so powerful, that it often sets me back in my grief.  Seeing his blue eyes and hearing his voice so vividly remind me of what is missing from my life; my little brother, my friend.

In the dream, Matt had never died.  He had faked his death and was still with us.  I lost my temper, pounded on his chest, and called him a bad person repeatedly.  He wasn't fazed by my anger and laughed and teased me until I calmed down.  This was a technique that he had always been so skilled at...one that probably made his girlfriends even crazier than it made his sisters.  He charmed his way out of catastrophe, countless times.

Matt could not charm his way out of the catastrophe of heroin, because he was an addict.  It was the one dangerous, crazy, mind-altering act that he could not twinkle his blue eyes at, joke into friendship, wrap in his arms and love, or grip in his hands and fix.

He didn't fake his death, and he isn't still with us.  The dream was just a dream.

In other dreams that I have had of Matt, there has been symbolism, metaphors, and sometimes even a little inspiration from my baby brother.  I desperately searched for some meaning in this particular dream, something that he or God wanted to tell me.  I simply could not come up with anything.  Instead, my mind began to focus on the meaning, severity, and pull of addiction.

I know what it feels like to come home from a long night of parent-teacher conferences and pour a glass of red wine.  I understand the way the alcohol almost instantly calms shaken nerves and slows a racing mind.  I know how it feels to do a kickboxing class, punch a little too hard, and wake up the next morning knowing that the pain of the pulled muscle will take my breath away.  I am thankful for the way a Vicodin will ease that intensity and allow me to breathe through the initial trauma.  I've been put under anesthesia several times for my fertility procedures.  I know how one little needle being inserted into my hand can put me to sleep instantly so that I do not feel the physical pain of the procedure, despite the emotional pain it causes me.

I understand the desire to be numb, or high, or happy, or to simply be put to sleep.  It is depressingly honest to say that losing rational thought sometimes sounds beautiful.  That is also my limited understanding of the power of addiction.

I understand the peace that comes from a mind numbed by a substance when one is in the midst of pain.  However, I also have seen the fear that comes from a loss of control, the surrender to something that will take a 27-year-old man from his family and friends.  There is no peace in that.

There is no peace in a mind so altered that it has lost control.  I understand, but I am angry.

And then I walked away from this post for several days...

...and went to the Daley Center in Chicago for jury duty.  There, a homeless woman sat with her coffee cups, shopping cart, lottery tickets, and her sun worn face looked around expectantly for a friend as she quietly mumbled to herself.  She was so clearly intoxicated on that cold Wednesday morning...

...and had tea with my friend Nancy who confided in me about her stepson and his struggle with addiction to alcohol, his homelessness, and the destruction that he is bringing on his family...

...and finally, I sat at my favorite bar on a Thursday night with Jeremiah and we split a burger and quesadillas.  I had my glass of red wine by the fire with the last sets of white twinkle lights still out and shining happily from a corner Christmas tree.  The red wine instantly calmed my shaken nerves and slowed my racing mind...

...and I told Jeremiah about the blog post that I had started about addiction on the previous Sunday that I could not finish.  We talked about the homeless woman at the Daley Center, and my friend's stepson.  We talked about how seeing the young lawyers at jury duty had been difficult for me as I felt the devastation that Matt was not with them, practicing law, loving his chosen profession that he had wanted so badly and worked so hard to earn.  We talked about how addiction had ruined all of his hopes and dreams.

Jeremiah reminded me of the story of the Pharisees.  Over my glass of red wine and his beer, he retold the story of the men who wanted to condemn.  Jesus wrote in the dirt and then told the men standing there whoever was without sin to cast the first stone.  The oldest men walked away first as they knew that they had committed the most sins.  The middle aged men stepped away next, and the youngest last.

Nobody knows what Jesus wrote in the sand when he told the men to throw stones.  What we do know is that no one was so flawless that they were able to cast the first stone.

John 8:7 says:

When they kept questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, "Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw the stone at her."  

We all have sin.  Whether we shot heroin, lied, cheated, intentionally hurt, or doubted it is all dark to God.  The greatest gift of all that He gave us is His forgiveness, but also the ability to forgive others.

The sin in our lives, it can break the hearts of those around us.  Matt's addiction broke my heart, over and over.  He didn't do it on purpose, but it hurt me every day that he was sick.  Addiction will do that to the people who surround the addict; it will break their hearts.  

I let go of the anger and replace it with understanding.  Understanding brings peace.  

We are a a work in progress, constantly needing to redeem ourselves, smooth our flaws, and ask for forgiveness.  We have to hold love at a higher esteem than anger, as withholding forgiveness can be as toxic as an addiction to heroin.

Heroin was toxic and powerful, but LOVE is stronger.  My love for Matt remains and the power of the drug died when Matt met Jesus in Heaven.

I will meet him there as well.  We will have forgiveness, a warm hug, and I will see long lost twinkling blue eyes.  In Heaven, there will be no need for a glass of red wine to calm my shaken nerves or slow my racing mind.

Heartbreak Creates Beautiful Stories

I had a thought the other day, "What if the life I am leading was being written into a novel?"

It would be a novel filled with twists and turns, highs and lows, heart break and joy.  If I think of my life in that context, the current pain is put into perspective.  I am an avid reader, and I know that the tone of novels, especially the magnificently written, can change instantly.

How lucky would we be to wake up on our 87th birthday and be handed a book that was the story of our lives?   It would be thick, leather, and have our names engraved in gold on the front.  How moving, powerful, heart-wrenching, inspiring and encouraging would each of our stories be?  If our lives were turned into novels at the end of our time here, who would read them and how would they be affected by the literature?

It is possible that we would be the only individuals to turn the pages with fervor and excitement, remembering each step that we took and reminiscing on the lives that we led.  Even if that were the case, I would gladly accept the gift.  A beautifully written novel moves my soul.

One my most favorite books is Gone With the Wind.  As a little girl, I snuggled under homemade afghans in my grandparent's basement and watched the entire movie with my grandmother during a weekend sleepover.  I was entranced.  I loved the dresses, the accents, the drama, and of course, the kissing.  As an adult, I knew that if I adored the movie, the book would be far superior.  It did not disappoint.

Scarlett O'Hara's life begins in a blessed way.  She knows no pain, and cannot fathom a world outside of the plantation of Tara.  It does not take long for her world to be turned upside down.  As the story continues, you experience the life of this woman with her.  She encounters, grief, love, betrayal, poverty, opulence, and incredible loss.  Sometimes she handles it with grace, but most times she does not.  The story ends with heartbreak as the love of her life walks off into the misty fog as he can no longer endure her fickle heart.

The part of Scarlett that draws me to her is that in this crisis, she wipes her tears, her eyes begin to sparkle, and she convinces herself that, "After all, tomorrow is another day."  She vows to move forward with hope in spite of intense pain.  I love that about her.

There is something about intense heartbreak that makes you want to turn the page, to see what is next, to keep reading the story.  There is something about emotional pain that makes me say to myself, "After all, tomorrow is another day."  I want to know what is in store for me.  What is on my next page, or chapter of life.  This crisis has to spur me on, as I can't stay frozen in this heartbreaking moment.

My heart has broken this past year more than I have thought was possible.  Sometimes I feel the actual breaking in my chest.  My sleep is filled with nightmares, my stomach feels as if someone is gripping it, tears flow easily when they once were hard to conjure up.  I miss my little brother, I have been knocked down countless times in our fertility struggle, and I have hopes and dreams that I have only seen fulfilled in my mind.

However, God is the author of my story and He does not make mistakes.

If I live through heartbreak, I know that my heart is still beating.

There is a song that my students sang at their 5th grade graduation last year.  It is slightly cheesy, and overplayed, but I tend to like songs like that.  There is a set of lyrics in the beginning that encourage me to keep the sparkle in my eyes, despite the tears.

"Hope that you fall in love, and it hurts so bad  
The only way you can know is give it all you have  
And I hope that you don't suffer but take the pain  
Hope when the moment comes, you'll say...I did it all"  

I love those lyrics because the writer is wishing heartbreak on the listener.  Heartbreak changes us in a way we cannot fathom until we experience it.  It makes our story a "page turner".  It keeps our life interesting and beautiful and overwhelming and magnificent.

Heartbreak puts our stories on the bestseller list.

Listen to "I Lived"

Louie's Karaoke

This past Friday, I packed my overnight bag for our final out-of-town wedding of the summer.  When I realized that my rehearsal dinner outfit, high heels, three curling irons, make-up bag, and various other items that made it look like I was going away for longer than a weekend and further than Ann Arbor didn't fit in my favorite weekend bag, I dug through my closet to find something to supplement my inadequate luggage.  I pulled out a beige, canvas messenger bag that I used to haul books back and forth to class in grad school.

The significance of this messenger bag lies only in the fact that I have not used it in years.  In it, I placed my hot pink running shoes, gold clutch purse, and two journals that I am currently filling with all of my most "important" thoughts and ideas.

I drove the 4.5 hours to Ann Arbor by myself last Friday, as Jeremiah had left a day before so that he would be able to join the other groomsmen on the golf course early that morning.  I listened to my favorite Pandora stations, sang to myself, talked on the phone, and only stopped once to pee.  By the time I reached our hotel and checked into our room, I knew that a run would be the only cure for the cramps in my legs and back from driving all day.

I rummaged through the contents of the messenger bag, so that I could retrieve my hot pink runners from the bottom.  Instead of finding only the items I had added back home, my fingers brushed across a slip of paper at the bottom of the bag.

The paper was a reservation slip used to reserve a spot to sing a song at Louie's Karaoke Bar in Chicago on North Avenue.  It was written on in Matt's handwriting and said "Matt C and the sistas".

I felt myself gasp, and my hand covered my mouth.  I sat down on the floor and held the crinkled piece of paper to my heart.  I desperately wracked my brain for a memory of a time that I was there with my brother and sister, planning on singing a karaoke song together, but I couldn't recall the evening.

How many years ago was this night?  Why did I have my messenger bag with me?  Did we ever get the chance to sing, or did we lose our nerve?  What song was Matt planning on singing with us?  I wish I could remember these details, but they are lost with Matt.  He would remember.

The thing about Louie's Karaoke, is that it does not hold the type of memories that are easily forgotten.  I have been there dozens of times and vividly remember each of them.  I celebrated one of my best friend's bachelorette parties there.  My dad and I sat and had a beer together at Louie's after my first week of teaching.  Louie's bar serves popcorn all night long, the bartenders are surprisingly good at rapping, and people dance to imperfect voices singing songs that are meaningful enough to take a risk and hold a microphone.

I've sang songs from our college days with my best girlfriends, taken shots to celebrate birthdays, shared happy hour beers, and danced until my feet ached.

The fact that I cannot remember this evening at Louie's with my brother and sister, and the knowledge that Matt is probably the only one who would be able to fill this hole in my memory reminds me of one important truth:

Heaven holds secrets that we might not have answers to here on Earth.  

Some of those secrets are small moments of time, missing from the scrapbooks in our minds.  Some of those secrets are momentous, answers about our fate, knowledge that we need not have.

Matt knows if he was going to sing "To Be With You" or "Man in the Mirror" with his two adoring sisters.  He knows when my broken heart will heal.  He knows if and when God will grace us with the desires of our hearts.  He knows that it is all a part of a perfect plan, with perfect timing.

Sine I've lost my brother, I have spent many hours going through his pictures on Facebook, looking at the belongings in his room, and searching through mementos I have kept.  I have googled his name.  I have reached out to people who he loved and communicated with his friends.  All of these things I have done with the hope that I would come across something that would make me feel close to him again, as close to him as if he were standing next to me, teasing me, laughing with me, shaking me by the shoulders the way he always did when he was trying to get me out of my own head.

I've wanted to feel as close to him as I felt when we were dancing together in bars, talking long-distance over the phone, texting to check on one another, watching movies in the family room, hanging out on the back porch, or laughing together as a family over dinner.

In truth, there is no item that I will come across that will ever make feel as close to my brother as his physical presence once did.  I may continue to find small reminders of him, treasures of our time together, glimpses into his world as the years go by.  These items will be snippets of inspiration, leading me to a more heavenly perspective...just as this little slip of paper did last Friday.

This week, a lost memory of a time at a karaoke bar gives me hope that there are answers waiting for me in Heaven.  Answers are waiting for me in Heaven, and so is my happy, healthy, handsome little brother.

When I go back to Louie's, I know that it will be worth remembering with all of my heart...

Listen to "To Be With You"

Listen to "Man in the Mirror"

Unsettled

This afternoon, I sat in the teacher's lounge and worked with my teammates for three hours on end-of-the-year tasks.  We planned our literacy block for the next school year, organized reading assessments, assigned points to a math test, and even had a little time to chat about the lives that we lead outside the walls of school.  The end of the year brings about a type of busyness that is fueled solely on fumes; the fumes of hope and anticipation of the upcoming summer.

Despite our productivity today, I had the underlying feeling of being "unsettled" while working through my to-do list.  My colleague agreed.  We discussed how perfectly the word "unsettled" described our state of mind.

It's hard to pinpoint exactly where this emotion came from amidst chatting friends, stacks of paper, coffee cups, chocolate, and a to-do list.  We can blame it on the stress, that one particular student about to push us over the edge, an argument with a colleague, or the fact that our tasks are never truly finished.  Or, we can accept that feeling for what it truly is.

I believe that the feeling of being unsettled comes from having an overwhelming amount of life events and factors that we cannot control.  

I am certain that is where our discontentment came from today as we tackled curriculum, problem solved, dealt with student issues, and attempted to tread hard enough to keep our heads above the mounting end-of-the-year tasks.

I also know that we are each, as always, bringing our own set of uncontrollable issues with us to work each day.  However, we have 20 plus children waiting for us, wanting to be entertained, nurtured and taught.  We put on our cute, but functional teacher outfits, drink our Venti coffees, smile, and pretend for the hours that we are in front of our class that we have everything under control.  As a teacher, we do have control.  It is in our daily lives where we desperately reach for the ability to manage life as we would a math lesson.

The biggest control issue that I have in my life right now is the fact that I cannot control or create the happiness and joy that I so desperately wish for my family.  I can't control when and if I become pregnant, I cannot take away my parent's pain over losing their son, I can't manage my sister's life for her, I cannot stop the waves of grief that still hit us full force on a daily basis.  These are simply out of my control.

There is such a multitude of issues that we wish to control and cannot.  Will we find the perfect house, or when will construction be finished?  Will the newest treatment the doctors recommend work?  Will my spouse and I ever find a common ground?  When will that perfect job be offered?  Will my friend/co-worker/family member ever see the pain that they are causing me and apologize?  Could I PLEASE just get some sleep?  These are daily issues that we battle, pray for, and hope to find resolution, yet that end result can never come fast enough.

Maybe instead of wrestling with trying to find answers, control, and soothe our unsettled hearts, we need to sit back and enjoy life for the unfolding story that it is.  I know firsthand that anything I believed with certainty would be, or thought that I had absolute reign over the outcome has happened much differently than I believed it would.

A year ago next weekend, we lost our first and strongest pregnancy.  I was ready to jump back into treatments immediately.  We did for awhile, but then I needed a break.  If you had told me 12 months ago that I would still not be pregnant a year later, I would have lost my mind.  However, that has not been something I have been able to fix, remedy, make better, or to control.

If you had told me 12 months ago, that we were going to move out of our house, tear the roof off, add a second story and move back in, I also would have lost my mind.  But as I sit my sun room to write, and look around at all that we have accomplished, I know that if we had been pregnant this addition that was my husband's dream would have been almost impossible.

I was so unsettled about my brother's addiction, for so many months.  I wanted to lock him in our house, control his every move, and manage his life to keep him safe.  God had other plans, and knew that Matt's safest place was with him in Heaven.  There was nothing I could do to control my brother's addiction.

The moral of the story is that when we feel most unsettled, that might be when God is doing his biggest and greatest works in our lives.  His answers are not always what we wish them to be, or do they come in the time that we want.

What will He do next?  What does our future hold?  We wouldn't be able to handle the knowledge of impending pain, so it is better if we do not.  Surprises are better unspoiled, so let's anticipate the gift of life and all that it offers us.  Let's find a solace in relinquishing control.  We can hand that burden over, it's not in our hands, the responsibility is not ours.   

Instead of allowing ourselves to feel unsettled, we can try to view our lack of control with gratitude and expectant hearts.  

Keep On Dreaming

Late last fall, after a year long hiatus, I was able to listen to music again without relating each song to a memory with my brother or a lyric to my grief.  I downloaded Pandora onto my new iPhone, and fell in love again with the artists and songs that filled my ears.  Over the last few months of construction on my house, as I've painted every square inch of our new rooms, I've felt inspired and touched again by music.  Dave, Van Morrison, David Gray, Norah Jones, Ron Pope, Coldplay, and more country artists than I care to admit have sang to me as Pistachio Cream, Mystic Blue, and Slate Gray were rolled onto the walls of my new home and many of my favorite hoodies.

One country song in particular has popped up several times over the last few weeks.  Eli Young Band's "Even If It Breaks Your Heart" has played more times than most on my favorite station.

Some dreams stay with you forever,

Drag you around but bring you back to where you were.  

Some dreams keep on gettin' better,

Gotta keep believin' if you wanna know for sure.

In that powerful, yet unexpected way that a song can grip you, this one has held me.  

As children, we dream of what we will become when we "grow up".  We dream of falling in love, becoming heroes, joining the ranks of the famous and powerful, or simply being happy.  When we are young and innocent, we can't fathom that a dream will break our hearts.  

I certainly had dreams that came true, and also have some that have not yet come to fruition.  Some are realistic, some are more far fetched.  I dreamed of becoming a teacher, and I am able to type this in the quiet of classroom 211 while my 5th graders are in music class.  I also dreamed that I would become a mom.  I haven't yet opened my eyes to this as a reality.  

This next month will be my last opportunity to try to conceive with one of my own eggs.  It will be our eighth, and doctor recommended, final attempt.  If this time does not work, I will have to alter my dream of motherhood.  It can still come true, but in a way that my seven-year old self did not imagine as I lovingly rocked my baby dolls to sleep and tucked them into doll-sized cribs.  I am at peace with this because I know that in some way, somehow, I will become a mother.  

In dreaming these past few years of becoming a mother, my heart has been broken.  But just as Eli Young Band's song encourages, I couldn't let the dream go.  Even though it breaks my heart, I believe in it.  

As I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes each night, or my mind wanders while grading papers, or my heart yearns while listening to music, I know that each dream I have, even those that break my heart, are worthy of keeping.  God put those dreams on my heart for a reason.  It would be foolish to let them go.  

At 34, I have my life ahead of me.  Maybe losing my 27-year old brother caused me to believe that I have less years than are truly there.  As I heal, I am realizing that most of us will live to our 28th, 37th, 59th, and 80th years...maybe more.  If I want to become a writer, I have time.  If my sister wants to be an orchestral musician, she has years to continue auditioning.  Matt wanted to become a lawyer, and he believed in it until the day he left us.  

I want to be a mom, and I won't let it go.  My quiet dreams, the ones I keep to myself, I have decades to work to bring them to reality.  If it hurts, they were that important.

Pray about it.  

Write about it.  

Daydream about it.  

Love and cherish it.  

Let it bring you happiness, hoping for it.  

Never let it go.   Even if it breaks your heart.  

If a dream breaks your heart, it's because it meant enough to have that effect on you.  It was, and is worth it. 

   

Listen to: "Even If It Breaks Your Heart"