Chasing A Dream

Since I was a little girl I've told stories. Before I could read, I would look at the pictures in a book and make up my own story. Throughout elementary, I wrote story after story. I entered a story contest or two and when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, my answer was most often "an author." I continued to give that answer through middle school and I'm not quite sure when my answer changed. I know my writing became less creative and more educational and informative - the very writing I loathed. At some point I probably blamed writing in school for sucking away my creativity like a vacuum. The truth was: I just quit writing for pleasure. 

I took a Creative Writing class in college that I loved and wrote a few other things but writing just wasn't the same for me. I also didn't read much. As a younger child, my nose was always in a book. I can guarantee you that there is a direct correlation between how much someone reads and their ability to write creatively. When I'm reading more, it charges my creative battery and I am able to write. 

For years, certain people have told me the same thing over and over again: WRITE THE BOOK. What book you ask? It doesn't matter. They've just wanted me to pursue this dream that has been buried inside me for most of my life. I've started many books; but somewhere along the way, I lose momentum. I'm no longer invested in the characters or the story line and so, many of my books sit unfinished. 

Except now...

I finished reading a fiction book by one of my favorite authors a few weeks ago and it was like a spark ignited inside me. The idea for a story was born inside. I started by writing down a few notes - the backstory of my main characters and their names. And then I just started writing. And I kept writing. And I kept writing. And now, only about three weeks in, I am halfway to a novel. HALFWAY, I said. You guys, this is insane! I have never been this far into writing a book before. And my head is still so full of ideas. I was worried I wouldn't have enough ideas to get the length I needed but I think now, I'm going to go well over. In order to have a manuscript that can be considered novel length by publishers, you have to have at least 50,000 words which is roughly 200 pages. I am on page 100, friends. PAGE. ONE. HUNDRED. And...OVER 30,000 WORDS!!

I can't even believe I've gotten this far. The feeling I get when I proclaim I will finish this time is unlike anything I've felt before. Excitement mixed with a little bit of fear. But I'm 30 years old (almost 31...shhhh), and it's about dang time I chase this dream I've had for so long. It's scary y'all. I won't lie. I know when I finish this thing and I'm ready to attempt the publishing, I  will be terrified to send it off. And I also know that it will likely take upwards of a thousand rejections before I get that one YES! 

My overall goal is to have the first draft completed before the end of my summer. Then I will spend the next several months carefully revising and editing each individual chapter by hand. I would love to have a finished manuscript by December. I'm praying I can stay the course and chase this dream until it becomes a reality. I don't want to give up this time. I want to show my kids that fulfilling their dreams is possible. But those dreams won't come without hard work and dedication. And they might make you downright uncomfortable at times.

What makes you come alive? What do you have buried deep in your heart that you've shared with others or maybe kept a secret? What's your passion? What have you been afraid to pursue because of possible failure or just simply fear? Find that dream. Then chase it down like a dog chasing bacon with legs. 

In the middle of Chapter 13...

But I'm Not...

It's been over two months now. I can say that the raw pain has dissipated. I no longer feel as if my heart has been ripped from my chest. I no longer desire to scream into a pillow each night. I no longer wake up hoping it was all a dream just to see the evidence that it wasn't. I've accepted that this is our reality. I don't like it. I wish for a different reality, but I accept it. I also know that I needed this season in my life. I wish it had a different outcome. But I know for my growth, for my refinement, for my faith...I had to go through this season.

Most of the time I'm okay. 

But I have more time to think and stew when I'm not working and if I don't keep myself busy, I will be stuck inside my own head and I promise you that there are times that is the last place I want to be. 

A couple weeks ago I sat in what would have been her room. I held the first outfit I bought her, the "Little Sister" jammies, and I sat on the floor and cried. 

A week or so ago, I sat at the kitchen table after eating my breakfast scrolling through Facebook when I came across a video a friend had posted of her daughter twirling around in a new dress. I lost it. It's things like that that toss me on my emotional roller coaster. I won't get to see Zivah twirl in a new dress. I won't get to see her wear pearls for the first time or try on high heels that are too big for her. I won't get to watch her step on her daddy's feet while he dances with her around the living room. These are the things I miss - the things I will never get to do. 

As I'm writing this, we're in Hartselle, Alabama visiting my mom and my grandparents in a place I love. However it is not lost on me that I should be six months pregnant right now and whining about carrying a child in this heat. But I'm not. I should be making summer memories with my only child for the last time because it would be his last summer as such. But I'm not. Memories are being made but not with the same intentions. I should be getting her nursery together, spending time on the little details. But I'm not. I should be organizing all the clothes I received into her closet by size. But I'm not. I  should be scheduling maternity pictures and planning for maternity leave. But I'm not.

Today, while mom and I were at Wal-Mart, I was walking through the baby section. Several baby girl outfits were on clearance and I stopped to look for my dear friend who is having a baby girl in August. I picked up an adorable outfit and brought mom through later to look. The emotion hit again and I broke down right there in the baby section of Wal-Mart. I'm supposed to be shopping for my little girl too. But I'm not. My mom held me and then guided me out. It still hurts. Not the same raw hurt it was in the beginning but more of a dull ache that flares up every now and then. You always feel it. Sometimes you just feel it stronger than others. 

I could stay angry at the outcome. But I'm not. I could wallow in my grief until it overwhelms every fiber of my being. But I'm not. I could be bitter toward those who get to have their healthy babies. But I'm not. I could shut out the people that mean anything to me because of pain. But I'm not. I could play the victim of grief instead of claiming victory in Jesus. But I'm not. 

I know Jesus has me. He has us. What I will do is live this life to the fullest. I will make my sweet Zivah proud of her mommy. Today, I will celebrate her daddy because he is the best one I know and has been my rock. Today and each day after that, I will choose joy. That, I will do...

Scripture I colored and something I remind myself of constantly. 

Sweet pillow a friend gifted me on Mother's Day.

P.S. Always feel free to share. Pregnancy loss is not something people talk about much. But I want to talk about it. If sharing might help someone else in their loss, please do so with my full permission, friends. 

Embracing the Season

Almost two weeks ago I was privileged to attend our church's first annual women's conference: GLOW. I went not knowing what to expect and came away fully impacted.

The speaker from the second day (Jenny Slenk) spoke about the seasons of life we go grow through and the disappointment that often comes with certain seasons. She talked about the idea that those disappointments come from our expectations not being met and how we need to shift our expectations we have of ourselves and others to expectations of God. We need to first raise our expectations of God (He doesn't fit in a neat little box y'all), we need to expect the unexpected next (oh how well I know this), and finally we need to do the unexpected for God (whatever that looks like in your season). 

We took a close look at Esther - one of my all time favorite women of the Bible. We examined her season as queen and the one that God would use to save the Jews in that time. One of the most poignant moments of Esther in my opinion is when Mordecai asks her, "Who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?" So in applying that to our own lives...what if God has placed you in your season for a certain purpose? As Jenny stated so eloquently, "What if your circumstance is so you can put God on display?"

Wow. Focus on that, will you? What if your circumstance is so you can put God on display? This resonated with me, friends. It resonated deep. Sometimes we are thrown into an unknown season with circumstances we did not expect and that we certainly do not like. The Bible never says we have to LIKE our circumstances. But we should step back and ask the Lord, "How do You want to use me in this season?" I can tell you all about learning to expect the unexpected and embrace the season I'm in. It's not always easy. It requires faith, trust, and a whole lot of prayer. But I am learning to embrace where He has me in this moment. 

Dictionary.com states the definition of embrace is "to take or receive gladly or eagerly; accept willingly." I can't say that I necessarily receive this season gladly but I think I can accept it willingly. I know that in entering a season of grief and learning to talk about the loss of our little girl that I am able (with God) to open the doors to others' grief and show them that it's okay to talk about it. In all honesty, I entered this season with closed fists and did not want to accept where the Lord had led us. But here I am with open hands and an open heart asking Abba what He has for us in this season with these circumstances. We can serve God in the places that are unknown to us because we can rest assured that He knows. He knows and He has it in His hands and is using it for a purpose greater than we can imagine. Expect God to do great and  mighty things in your season. 

Embrace it. Who knows if you are where you are so you can put God on display?

Love this graphic. It speaks to exactly what I am writing about. 

Four Weeks of Lessons

Four weeks. 

It's been four weeks since we said hello and goodbye to our little girl in the same breath.

It's been four weeks of questions. Four weeks of whys. Four weeks of trying to get up each morning and put on a smile.

Four weeks.

On the one hand I'm surprised it's already been four weeks. But on the other hand, I feel like it has been the longest four weeks of my life. I feel like I've run an emotional marathon...and I'm still running. 

I've learned some valuable lessons during this marathon though.

I've learned that talking about this, talking about her, helps. I don't understand why miscarriage and pregnancy and infant loss have been such taboo subjects. It needs to be talked about. People need to know that it happens. It's not rare. And you're not alone. If I've learned anything from this journey, it's that I'm not alone. There is a tribe of women that have walked this path before me and a tribe of them that will come after me. I don't know why. I may never know why Jesus needed our baby girl before we got a chance to know her. 

I've learned that when I stop and think of all the things I don't get to experience with her, it tears me apart. I don't get to watch her learn her first words or take her first steps. I don't get to paint her nails or learn to do her hair. I don't get to wear matching outfits with her or sing songs of praise with her. I don't get to go dress shopping for her first dance or celebrate her achievements. I hate it. It hurts. But then I have to switch gears and remind myself that she never has to feel pain. She will never experience a broken heart. She will never hear ugly words spewed at her or fear the unknown. She will never worry or be sad or be lonely. And when I remember these things, for a moment, it makes it a little better. 

I've learned not to sweat the small stuff. I've always tried to roll with the punches (sometimes better than others) but this has really taught me not to worry about the things I can't change. If it's something I can change, then I can try to do something about it. But if I can't, I just try to change my attitude. I'm not perfect in this area by any means, but I'm trying. With the Lord's help, I'm trying.

I've learned the value of our tribe. The people we surround ourselves with are of vital importance. Our tribe is a lot larger than I thought it was. My work tribe, my Jesus tribe, my family tribe...all important. I still am blown away by the people that loved on us and donated time or food or money or garden items. I feel so unworthy to have been surrounded by so much love but yet I know God placed them there so I could stand on the shoulders of the saints in His strength. 

I've learned to be more intentional. The people that supported us? They were intentional. I've wanted to be more intentional but always felt like I fell short. I suppose one has to be intentional about being intentional. I want to be more intentional with my spoken words (still a work in progress), more intentional with my time, more intentional with sharing how I feel about the people I love, more intentional about doing what I love, and more intentional about my time with Jesus. 

I've learned that grief is a process. There are stages. And you can be in one stage one day and another stage the next and then you can repeat stages over again...sometimes multiple times a day. The cycle of grief has slowed down from where it was 4 weeks ago, but it's still there, taking us back and forth periodically. I'm not sure that cycle ever truly ends. 

I've learned a lot. And tomorrow, I will learn how to celebrate Mother's Day as the mommy of an angel. And I will cry because Zivah is not here and I am. I will smile because my precious boy will tell me Happy Mother's Day and kiss my cheek and give me what he made at school and beg to eat the cake he decorated for me. I will cry again because my first Mother's Day as a mother of two was not supposed to look like this. I am supposed to be cuddling an 8 month old bouncing baby girl next Mother's Day...not missing her and longing for her tomorrow. 

For all moms: moms of angels, moms of one, moms of many, moms of none (yet)...Happy Mother's Day. May the peace that passes all understanding wash over all of us tomorrow. 

Zivah's lamb that we took to the hospital with us. Her TayTay (grandma) bought it for her.

The painting I bought for my husband's birthday. It depicts how he sees her and our Jesus.

Big brother standing in front of his little sister's memory garden. 

The After

It's been 15 days...

Our lives are now split into two parts.

Before and After. 

We now abide in the after. The after is full of questions and wondering. The after is full of tears at unannounced moments and finding joy where we can. The after is full of emotions that swing like a pendulum and minds that go crazy with the whys or what ifs. The after is different. We are different. 

There are weak moments. Moments when I want to kneel on the floor of the shower with tears streaming down my face and scream "Why?" at my Maker and hers. But asking why won't bring her back or make me miss this child I never got to know any less. Talk about a strange feeling. Missing a child you never held or kissed like you would miss a limb if it was suddenly cut off. This after I live in is a place where a piece of me is missing but that piece is whole and perfect dancing with her Savior. 

I know there is a purpose in this. We both do. We know we did not go through this pain to keep it to ourselves. I want to talk about it. I need to talk about it. I will talk about it. I won't apologize if it makes someone uncomfortable, because this is our story to share and in that sharing, we can heal...and maybe help bring healing to others. 

Healing...

Who would have guessed that my healing would come in the form of a garden and getting myself dirty to plant flowers - doing yard work that I would otherwise loathe. But Zivah's Garden, our garden to honor the memory of our baby girl, is just that - healing. Every time I look at it, sit in it, add something to it, or try to clean up the leaves, I feel the pieces of my heart being put back together. It is full of contributions from people that have loved on us incredibly the last 2 weeks - people that would have loved Zivah immensely. 

What also heals is finding the purpose in Zivah's short life inside me. I look for it. I crave it. Today, I received a sweet message from someone saying I was an inspiration and encouragement and that my faith during this time helped lead her back to where she needed to be. I cried as I read these words that I found almost hard to believe. How could my broken self be an inspiration to anyone? Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together...but I guess that's the point. I'm not holding me together. My Heavenly Father is. Just as He is holding our sweet Zivah in His arms, He is holding us together and giving us His strength to walk this journey. 

I wrote a poem last night that my husband said I should share. He's usually right so here it is. 

Sometimes...Always

Sometimes when I say I'm okay, I mean it
Sometimes when I say I'm good, it's true
But most of the time when you ask me
I tell a lie just to get through

Sometimes I make it without crying
Sometimes I give a genuine smile
But if you're asking me to be my old self
You'll probably be waiting a while

Sometimes I can joke and laugh
Sometimes I think of her and grin
But when I think of what I don't get to do
It can send me into a wild tailspin

Sometimes the grief takes a backseat
Sometimes it doesn't hold on
But then there are the times it chokes me
And tries to bury me until I'm gone

Sometimes I give in and let it
Sometimes I try to fight back
But then I remember my Father
That He has everything that I lack

Sometimes I feel at my weakest
Sometimes the darkness tries to drown
But He's always my light in the darkness
He's always my strength when I'm down

Always He knows my name
Always He holds my heart
No matter the valleys I walk through
He's held my hand from the start

First flower being planted

Beautiful hibiscus bloom

Zivah's Garden stone with Psalm 91:4 verse

Zivah's Garden sign

Full view - my happy place

With His Feathers

It's been a week.

A week since our world was wrecked.

A week since our lives were turned upside down.

A week since we went in for an ultrasound to see our precious baby girl and walked out with our hearts shattered and broken. 

It's been a week.

You hear about these things. You pray for those that go through them. You feel sympathy. But you never once think it could happen to you.

Until it does. 

December 29th, those 2 beautiful lines crossed on a pregnancy test and we were saying, "Ready or Not!"

March 15th, we were told we were going to have a sweet baby girl, our Zivah Noelle. We were overjoyed. So many prayers answered and dreams coming true. Having a girl was about more than just having one of each. It was about more than just future mani/pedi or shopping dates and about more than princess dresses and playing with makeup (all things I was looking forward to). It was about breaking chains. There is a long chain of strained father/daughter relationships in my family and I wanted to break that. I wanted to watch my little girl get her daddy wrapped around her fingers and watch as they broke the chains of lacking father/daughter bonds. 

April 11th, those dreams seemed to shatter before our eyes. I threw up in the parking lot with my husband holding my hair. We drove home in stunned silence, one of my hands extended to hold my son's hand in the back, his 7 year old mind wondering why his sister wasn't going to be with us, and the other one gripping my husband's. We drove home to a house containing clothes our girl will never wear, diapers she will never use, and sandals I will never get to put on her little feet. 

At 12:33am on April 14th, I delivered our little girl. After one dose of pain medication, I didn't need more. My sweet heavenly Father took my pain away long after the pain meds wore off. He also gave me the most precious vision I could have ever asked for. As I lay there, breathing through the pain and the drowsiness of the pain meds, I saw her. I saw our girl in a white flowing dress in an ever-reaching field of beautiful wildflowers with her hands wrapped in our Savior's as He twirled her around. She was laughing and smiling and it gave me so much peace...so much peace to get through the next several hours. 

When the grief grips me and the anxiety wraps around my chest like a vice (like it did yesterday as I collapsed on the kitchen floor in a sobbing heap), I am able to go to that place, see her, and breathe again. 

This pain is unlike any other. I can't describe it. Only those that have walked this dark valley can truly understand. But we have been held up through so many prayers and support and love. It is amazing the people that come to surround you when tragedy strikes. We are holding on tightly to each other and even tighter to the One who will continue to walk through this valley with us. He is here...in the midst of the madness. 

I don't know when the raw pain will dissipate for us. I don't know when the stages of grief we seem to cycle through daily will finally stop cycling. I don't know when "normal" will feel normal again, if ever. But I do know that our God is still good. I do know that my husband and I are even closer and this will make us stronger eventually. I do know that "He will cover [us] with His feathers and under His wings, [we] will find refuge." 

What She Took Away

I know. I know. It has been over a year since my last post. I'm not sure why I quit writing. Life? Lack of inspiration? Busyness? Whatever it was, I'm back. Hopefully more frequently than once a year. 

This blog has been forming in the recesses of my mind since Monday morning. We just endured a record breaking hurricane here in Florida - - - Irma. Right after Texas dealt with Harvey and people all over were figuring out ways to send aid, Florida started preparing for Irma, the largest and strongest storm ever recorded in the Atlantic. We saw what she did to the little islands and suddenly, all of Florida was in hurricane prep mode. It wasn't like hurricanes past where this storm was only going to affect a specified portion of Florida. Literally, the entire state was going to be affected simply due to Irma's massive size. I've been a Floridian my entire life - 30 years - and I have never been worried about a hurricane. We went through three of them my senior year of high school and not a single one of those made me nervous. But there was something about Irma...

Our school district let us off on Thursday and Friday so families could prepare and evacuate if they felt the need. I never felt the need to evacuate - just prepare as best as we could. We cleared the back patio, put sandbags down by our patio doors leading inside, covered our front windows with plywood, bought hurricane snacks and non perishable food, filled every container we could find with water, and hoped for the best. Our biggest concerns were the large oak trees on our property and praying if they decided to go down, they would go down in such a way that they wouldn't damage any property. Well, those prayers were answered. They stayed upright (although it's a high priority to top one off and bring one down in the near future). Gabe and I slept through the worst of the storm while my hubby stayed up until the wee hours praying over our home and others. 

Irma took away a lot. As we emerged from our home Monday morning around 7:30 to survey the damage, we were overcome with gratitude that our home had been spared. Others were not so lucky. A sweet family I know (I worked with the mom and taught their daughter last year) lost everything when their home flooded late Sunday night. Two homes in our neighborhood were damaged due to fallen trees. One neighbor had someone's mangled shed in their yard. Multiple fences were down. Most people were without power. As we drove around our surrounding area, we found more devastation. Trees on top of roofs or through roofs and on cars and in the road. Power lines strung across roads blocking people from exiting their neighborhoods, flooded streets, power poles snapped in half like tiny twigs. 

Irma didn't just take away people's material things - she took away a sense of comfort and normalcy and security for many. She took away in a matter of hours what people had worked for years to build. She took away life as we know it. For some, it was absolutely devastating; for others it was a minor inconvenience in comparison. Being without power is no picnic. We have been one of the lucky ones to be without power for less than 48 hours. Others are still without it and going on Day 6. Pray for them and pray for our linemen working 16 hour shifts to restore and rebuild. They are amazing. 

Yes, Irma took away a lot. But not everything she took away will be missed. You see, she also took away (at least for now) division - division by race, ethnicity, religion, economic status, etc. No one was asking what your belief system was or how much money you had in the bank or what nationality you were or who you voted for before pitching in to help. Neighbors helped neighbors. Communities helped communities. Black and white helped each other. Christian and non-Christian helped each other. Rich and poor helped each other. The media would have you believe that we are more divided than ever. But I can tell you from what I've seen of my community this last week, that is simply not true. That's another thing Irma took away - constant coverage of the "racial divide." Instead of hearing about white supremacist groups and the taking down of "offensive" statues and how awful our president is - the focus was on the swirling monster in the sea headed for Florida. And yes, afterwards the focus is on the devastation. But not for most. Most are focused on helping. I have seem more good in these last few days than I have in a very long time. We seem to appreciate each other a little more. She also took away excuses. So many times people use excuses to not help. Whether it's their schedule or family life or what have you, (and I'll confess I've been the excuse maker more often than not) people didn't use excuses. If they couldn't do physical labor, they offered to provide meals or open their homes to those without power. She took away pride - the dangerous kind of pride - and replaced it with humility. 

On Monday morning as the sound of Irma's howling and screaming winds gave way to the sound of generators and chain saws, the nervousness and fear she brought with her gave way to gratitude and a sense of unity. We all went through this together and so naturally, we all came together to help one another and "love thy neighbor." 

So yes, I'm certainly not a big fan of Irma. She did a lot of physical damage. She tore apart houses and flooded streets. She uprooted trees. She snapped power poles in two. But in a way I also have some appreciation for her since she also seemed to take with her the hatred and bitterness and divisiveness we'd all been hearing so much about recently. I hope it never comes back. I hope this sense of unity and belonging no matter who you are stays around. Let's continue helping and loving and being the hands and feet of Jesus. I mean, what do we have to lose?

Love to all,
Kayla