The One With a Weekend Thought on Motherhood

I love my mom, a lot. She's really an amazing lady. She is generous, kind, funny, hardworking, and a lot of other things that I hope I picked up a little bit of from her (she's also slightly OCD and a clean freak--which, unfortunately and MUCH to her dismay, I did not inherit at all.) But mostly, she loves me. A lot. Not in a "my child can do no wrong" sort of way (my mom is also very honest!) but in a, "you're mine, so never forget how special you are" kind of way. When I was growing up, it was just me and her for the most part, and I never felt like I was missing out (luckily, I did get to see my dad on weekends, so I still had the father figure. Not saying he was absent. Just that the majority of my life growing up was the 2 of us.) My mom worked a full time job--I have no idea what hours she worked. The reason for this is that I have absolutely no recollection of her ever being gone. I cannot recall a single soccer game, tee-ball game, softball game, gymnastics practice, school concert, school field trip, or any other significant event that she wasn't there for. I don't remember ever remember going to bed being tucked in by anyone besides my mom. I remember playing Barbies on the floor (actually playing together. Not me playing and her watching.) I remember sitting in the sandbox together. I remember playing with my dollhouse, singing our Steve Green bible verse songs, dancing to Wee Wing videos, having popcorn with Full House, back when it was a new and exciting show. I remember a home cooked meal nearly every night, and I remember having fish, hamsters, and kittens all during my growing up years. I'm sure there were things she had to miss; I know there were lots of friends and family who pitched in and made my life a wonderful thing. I know that I always had the same clothes all my friends did (and that I was proud my mom knew how to find the same clothes at yard sales instead of department stores!) and I never missed an after school event, summer camp, or youth group trip no matter what the cost was. I didn't notice then that my mom never bought herself new clothes. I probably didn't pay attention to all the things I had, and all the things she did without--probably because she has never brought attention to them. She has never grumbled about the sacrifice it was to put me through an expensive private school because she wanted me to have the best education possible. She's never once reminded me, or even mentioned a single time, the hard times she must have had as a single mother. Rather, she has told me every single day for my entire existence, how loved I am.

My mom told me once that one of the trademarks of people who are truly happy is that every truly happy person knows that they are someone's favorite. The morning of my wedding, she told me I should be the happiest person in the world, because all my life I had been her favorite, and now I was someone else's as well. And how right she is. I never even thought I'd understand how much my mom loves me. But the closer I get to meeting this sweet baby boy thats growing inside me, the more it inspires me to love this child with everything I have.

This week when I was on vacation, I thought I might have a lot of those "this is the last time I'll get to do ::fill in the blank:: before Sam comes!" since it was most likely my last trip without a baby in tow for awhile. Instead, I found myself anxiously awaiting his arrival so I can show him the world. A seagull walked up to my chair and I thought "Wow, Sam would LOVE if a bird came this close to him!" We walked the boardwalk and I thought "Look at that boy playing the arcade games! In a few years, I will get to play them with Sam!" When I was wiggling my toes in the sand I thought, "I wonder what Sam will think of the sand? I guess he will eat it..." Everything I experience now I want to share with him, and I get more excited by the day to meet him and love him in person.

I thought the other day "Man, I should try to think of SOMETHING besides pregnancy to write about on my blog or facebook" but then I realized--for 24 years, my mom has been my mom. I wonder how many times she's been referred to as "Ashley's Mom" instead of by her name. And it makes me smile to think that now, I am "Sam's Mom." My husband is "Sam's Dad." We are beginning a whole new phase of life, and I am thrilled to have been loved so well so that I can pass that onto my son.

And maybe somewhere along the way I'll pick up a little of the cleaning skills, too :)

(For more Weekend Thoughts, check out Life at the Circus)

The One With Another Weekend Thought: Heaven

I definitely am overdue for an update post. Our ultrasound story is pretty fun (like, for real--Sam is NOT a cooperative child. He actually made our tech crack up laughing several times because of his complete stubborness. She wished us luck with the rest of his life at the end, haha. Also, he's not just stubborn, he's a complete weirdo. Which makes me, another complete weirdo, love him all the more) so I'll have to share it. There's been all sorts of other excitement--the guy who backed into my car and caused $1200 worth of damage to the back of it (mom & baby were fine. and insurance is covering the whole thing); 23 of my peers and superiors coming in to have a huge meeting and "observation" at my store (one of my least favorite days EVER) and now, this weekend, all of a sudden a HUGE thing popped up--the possibility of buying a house. Like, in the next few weeks. Gah. Too long of a story to type now....since what I actually want to do is a weekend thought for the day. I had planned to do it every week, and I have been remiss :) But here goes.

I hope it's fine if my weekend thought is also a shameless plug for one of my most favorite people in the entire world--Steven Curtis Chapman. My mom and I had the cassette tape of "For the Sake of the Call" and "Heaven in the Real World" was one of my very first CDs. I grew up LOVING him. I feel as though his music has done nothing but improve over the years, and his recent albums to me have been inspiring, encouraging, and convicting. He has a faith that is amazing. I think this was most clearly seen in the days and months following the tragedy in his family, and I remember reading interview after interview and speculations from his friends, family, and the music world in general wondering if he'd ever perform and write again.

I had the distinct privilege of seeing him perform a year after that--the absolute best concert experience of my entire life. And now, the man people questioned if he'd ever write again, has released a new single--Heaven is the Face. And I LOVE this song. I think that obviously, the idea of losing a child has become so much more real to me since actually having lost a child through miscarriage, and now as I think every second of the day how much I love Sam. The pain that he has come through astounds me. His new album, releasing November 3, is very appropriately titled "Beauty Will Rise." I love that, because beauty truly has risen from among the ashes of his pain. You should learn about Maria's Big House of Hope, the orphanage opened in Maria's name...just one of the many amazing things that has come out of his tragedy.

But I've been so struck by the lyrics of his newest song. I find that heaven is an incredibly difficult concept to grasp. It is our greatest hope as Christians--eternal fellowship and worship; perfected bodies; perfected earth...but really, what is it? I don't know. I have no idea what it will be like.

Some of the lyrics of his new songs are as follows: Heaven is the face of a little girl/With dark brown eyes that disappear when she smiles/Heaven is the place where she calls my name/Says "Daddy, please come play with me for awhile"/And God, I know, it's all of this and so much more/But God, this is all I'm aching for/God, you know, I can't see beyond the door/So right now, Heaven is a sweet maple syrup kiss/And a thousand other little things I miss with her gone/But in my minds eye, I can see a place/Where your glory fills all the empty space/And the cancer is gone/Every mouth is fed/And there's no one left in the orphan's bed/Every lonely heart finds their one true love/And there's no more goodbye/No more not enough/And there's no more enemy/And God, I know it's so much more than I can dream/It's far beyond anything that I can conceive/So God, you know, I'm trusting you until I see/Heaven in the face of my little girl.

I think this song is so beautiful. And so honest. He KNOWS that heaven is a thousand things. But right now, he cares that heaven is the place where he sees his little girl again. And so yeah, Heaven is the demise of cancer and sickness....and a sweet, messy, syrupy kiss from the daughter he hasn't seen in a year and a half and never got to say goodbye to. Loss gives heaven an entirely new meaning.

So for me--heaven is a blond headed boy named Brandon who will probably want to play some sort of practical joke on me as soon as I see him, and who probably hasn't stopped laughing since he got there. It's a tall boy named Dave who I'm sure is dressed in orange pants and will probably ask me first thing if I watched the movie he gave me that's in all subtitles even though I kept telling him I hate that. (And no, Dave...I still haven't watched it. And I still don't think Edward Scissorhands is a good movie....) It's my grandmother, being able to jump and walk and go crabbing again. And it's a little baby that I don't even know was a boy or a girl--with a personality and a face and a body and who I will finally get to know.

So. What is heaven for you?

(For more Weekend Thoughts, head over to Life At the Circus)

The One With the Thankfulness

So, I'm attempting to join the Weekly Thought linkup over at Crystal's blog every week. And I'm sorta in a funk today. So I'm not sure if my thought will be....well, thoughtful, but I guess we'll find out :)

I'm pretty much a mess. I am worried, angry, scared, tired, impatient, and every other emotion in the book. There were a lot of details I left out of my summary of our ultrasound appointment, and overall I'm becoming increasingly convinced that our tech not only was rude and gave up on us far too easily, she also neglected other important aspects of her job.

However, the MOST unhelpful thing I've heard in this situation is "You should have demanded another tech!!" or "I would have spoken with a manager!!! I wouldn't have walked out!" Um, thanks. When YOU have an ultrasound and your tech scares the crap of you and makes you think YOUR baby is dying, feel free to handle the situation "properly." Are they right? Absolutely. I have already placed a call to the manager of the lab we went to, and will be addressing the issues. No one wishes more than me that we had realized how wrong things were before we left. And no one wishes more than me that this would all be resolved before waiting 2 more weeks. But for real--I didn't know. I've never had a mid-pregnancy ultrasound. I knew things didn't feel right, but I didn't realize enough to speak to someone. Next time I will. People can stop telling me now.

Being convinced of our tech's mishandling of the situation is rather encouraging, in some ways, as it leads us to believe everything with the baby IS normal, and she simply did a poor job. The "what if" still feels very real, though. And I truly believe THAT is where all my emotion is coming from. I'm not trying to be overdramatic. I do realize that the chances are very good that my baby is healthy and normal and that in 22 weeks, I will get to meet Nugget and we will have a happy life.

But I'm not gonna lie--I'm tired. I'm tired of not having a happy, fun, exciting pregnancy like so many people I know. And I get angry about it. Yesterday, I finally put voice to my feelings and cried, "I just want ONE freaking part of this pregnancy to feel normal!" And I realized that my problem is different than the one I'm saying it is. I'm very worried for Nugget. It's a big part of my funk. But it's also that I'm a little bitter about the way this has gone, and that I can't fix it.

I peed on a stick, and cried. I was scared for the next few weeks. Like, I went to the bathroom every ten minutes. And I sat on the toilet a little longer, waiting for the miscarriage to start. When I actually DID start spotting, I completely melted, and spent 4 days certain we were going to lose our baby. I got excited, but always it was dampened by fear. I didn't just get normal pregnant sick, I got pregnant sick from hell. When everyone told me I'd feel "better than ever" once I hit 14 weeks, here I sit at 18 weeks, still occasionally puking, still exhausted, still not sleeping. When we got our first ultrasound picture at 6 weeks, we sat in the car and cried because we were still so scared of spreading the news. And now, what should have been one of, if not the MOST, exciting moment of our pregnancy (excluding the actual birth!) was ruined. And I'm tired of it. I want to pee on a stick and run around and tell everyone and be happy and excited, I want to feel great and amazing, and I want to be looking of pictures of my little gender-known Nugget and dreaming of the future.

And now I realize...that's not ok. This situation isn't mine to control. And I am commanded to be thankful. I am not commanded to be thankful because everything went like I planned, or like I wanted. I am not commanded to be thankful because God did things my way instead of his way. I am not commanded to be thankful because of my circumstances; I am simply required to be thankful for ALL THINGS. And tonight, I have much to be thankful for. For now, I have a Nugget kicking around inside of me, and each little movement is a reminder that for now, my baby thrives. I have a husband who has been amazing through this entire situation; has handled meltdowns; helped me through this; been my constant support and laughter; made me smile; and loved our little baby as much as I do. I have an amazing family, friends, coworkers...I am so amazingly blessed. And tonight, I am thinking on these things. Not the things that could have been, or would have been, or things that I want to be different. I am simply thankful for what is. And I am thankful that I have been chosen to carry this life. Every moment.

The One With My Weekend Thought

Pregnancy is so weird. Sometimes I'm like "Man. I never talk about ANYTHING besides Nugget!!" And then I realize it's because so few of my thoughts are Nugget-less. It's the most all-consuming experience of my life. I thought I was bad the weeks before my wedding, but it was nothing compared to this. Especially the past 2 weeks, as we've had our appointment made and are counting down the days to our ultrasound. As I've said before, I think pregnancy-after-miscarriage comes with its own set of rules and its own pile of fears. I kept thinking I'd hit milestones that would make it better, and while getting out the first trimester was huge, I'm finding myself anxious as the ultrasound approaches. And I have wondered much exactly what I am to pray for during this time. Out of fear, I want to ONLY pray that my baby is healthy. I want to pray that I get to meet Nugget, and hold Nugget, and play with Nugget, and take Nugget to kindergarten, and watch Nugget graduate and get married and live a long happy life. The very strongest desire of my heart is to really get to know this little baby I have come to love tremendously in the past 4 months. However, I am fully aware that this is not MY baby. This is God's baby, and as I have already learned, I have no control over this child. This is sometimes a frustrating thought to me--I'm avoiding all the foods I'm supposed to; I'm taking care of my body the way I'm supposed to...I've got all the bases covered. I wish that came with the assurance that as long as I do what I'm supposed to do, my baby will be fine. But it doesn't. And I can do everything I can, knowing that in the end, I will humbly accept the sovereignty of a God who sees the future, controls the universe, and loves my baby more than I will ever be able to.

I feel like what I need to do is absolutely pray my desires to God. But I also need to daily rededicate my child to his care, and relinquish the control I pretend I have but really don't. While I was thinking through all this stuff, I found a song that basically says what I feel like pregnancy (and, while I don't know from experience, I imagine parenting in general will be like.) It's called Prayers for This Child by Sara Groves, and I love it.

"I do not know how I am to pray for this child,

As his mother I don't want my baby denied,

But in the waiting, in the waiting,

I learned to hold on to the heart of God.

Every instinct in me wants to shield him from pain,

Take the arrows of misery, heartache, and shame,

But in the sorrow, in the sorrow,

I learned to hold on to the heart of God.

I only have 2 eyes--be all seeing

I only have 2 hands--be everywhere

I do not know enough--be all knowing

I give this baby up to your care

I do not know how I am to pray for this child

I want to guard him from everything wicked and wild,

But in the trial, in the trial,

I learned to hold on to the heart of God."

Such a wonderfully neat thought. This lack of control, this fear of never knowing this child, this desire to protect my baby and the knowledge that it's not my job...these are the very things teaching me to hold on to the heart of God. So I will hold tightly, knowing that he cares for me and Nugget more than I could ever dream of. And I will pray for this sweet baby, both the desires of my heart as well as for my heart to prepared to walk whatever journey we will face.

Our appointment is on Thursday morning, and I can't wait to hopefully share all the fun details and the gender of our little Nugget! If you think of it, prayers are greatly appreciated! Thanks :)

The One With the Baby I Miss

I'm back from an AMAZING vacation. I was perfect. A delightful combination of time with friends, and time with hubby, plus a little beach and a little city. Loved it. Sometime soon, I shall give some fun details, maybe even pictures, of the wonderfulness we had in Florida. But for today, I'm a bit pensive. I've been thinking lots about our first little baby.

I dunno, it's weird. Sometimes when I am counting Nugget's weeks and excitedly telling everyone how big he is, or what new milestones he's learning (last week, Nugget got facial expressions and begins to pee. Nice, Nugget.) But sometimes I can't help skipping ahead to see how big Baby Ward would be now; what I'd be experiencing. For some reason in my mind, Baby Ward is ALWAYS a boy. And I wonder what color hair he would have had, and if he would have been tall or short. I kind of thought that once I got pregnant again, these thoughts would subside, because now I can wonder all those same questions about a baby it looks as though I likely WILL meet. But the two are very, very separate in my mind. Getting pregnant again HAS made it much, much easier and I am so blessed to have been given this gift so soon. But...the pain of the miscarriage is still there. More than I would have expected, sometimes. It's very weird to think there was a little person that Geoff and I made, and we (on this side of eternity) will never know anything about.

One cool thing, though, was pointed out to me a few months ago by one of my blog readers (Thanks, Meredith :)) and has provided me with much encouragement. Nugget is a child created only because of the miscarriage. If we had Baby Ward, then this little person that I can't wait to meet would never exist. And I'm so excited to see this little personality come alive; to see if he will have my frizzy hair or Geoff's freckles...and all the while knowing this little one we get to meet would never have been possible without the pain we experienced first. Sometimes it's very difficult for me to look at this pregnancy with the same excitement that I know other first time pregnancy mom's are having. I still get super nervous, even though things are going great. In a few weeks at our sonogram, I already know I'm going to be freaking out. And yeah, there's no point in worrying. It doesn't change anything. Plus, things are (statistically speaking) most likely going to go wonderfully. And we definitely trust God with this baby, as we did with our first. There are just still days when it hurts, and days when I am still sad. Sometimes I wonder if I'm being overdramatic--plenty of people have miscarriages...plenty of people have had several! But then I come back to the fact that the world is broken, and that it's ok to be sad about brokenness, and death and pain. As long as there is hope...which there is, in abundance. It's just a strange journey to travel.

Anyways, I'm off to enjoy my last 2 days of vacation. Happy Saturday :)

The One With the Quote from the Pop Song

I don't tend to have great taste in music. Basically, if it's popular and on the radio, I've heard it. That's about where it ends. I also have a deep appreciation for teen girl pop stars. The first one was Hilary Duff...it has progressed into the likes of Kelly Clarkson and Taylor Swift. One pop star, however, drives me NUTS: Miley Cyrus. Like for real, this girl is like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. So the fact that she sings a song I LOOOVVVVEEE is sort of throwing me off a bit. I wish someone, anyone else had recorded it so that I could hear it without listening to her "singing." But in any case...I love "The Climb."

When I was in college, I HATED being in school. At first I was homesick, then got dumped and was heartbroken, then I remembered how much I hate classes and homework. All around, not the greatest years of my life. During this time, my dear friend Joy said something I have never forgotten. You can live your life as a series of "Point A to Point B situations"...or, you can slow down and enjoy the journey to wherever you are headed. Not that we should have goals, and dreams, and be working toward those...but if life is nothing more than a series of countdowns, are we really living? This convicted me so much, because it's something I do on SUCH a regular basis. Sometimes it's little ways--"Only 6 more hours of work. Only 4 more hours of work. Only ten more minutes of work." Sometimes it's a little bigger--"Only 2 1/2 more weeks til our summer break!" And sometimes it's even bigger--"Only 29 more weeks til we meet this baby!" I'm a huge fan of countdowns. Love 'em. But sometimes, I think I'm too caught up in the countdowns to enjoy the moments.

I was thinking about this today after our doctors appointment where we heard Nugget's heartbeat for the first time. I was realizing how very REAL it is that there is a little person that I helped make growing inside me. And I still don't like being pregnant, even though I'm starting to feel a little better. But I want to cherish it. I don't want to waste the next 29 weeks counting down and missing the time NOW that I have with this baby. I have already learned that in pregnancy and in life, there are no guarantees. Most pregnancies at this stage go on to full term, healthy babies. But this is NOT something that I can count on. I have no assurance of the number of days I have to enjoy the little heart beating away inside of me. Cuz....

There's always gonna be another mountain/I'm always gonna wanna make it move/Always gonna be an uphill battle/And sometimes I'm gonna have to lose/It ain't about how fast I get there/It ain't about what's waitin' on the other side/It's the climb

So here's to a healthy baby, and a climb that's worth savoring. Gonna be a crazy adventure.

The One With The Weirdness

I have no idea if any of my thoughts and feelings thus far this pregnancy are normal or not. I'm sure at least some of them are. But in any case, here's our journey through the past month or so.

After my miscarriage, we knew we wanted to get pregnant again quickly. Timing, finances, everything aside, losing the baby made us parents, and wanting to continue that. I went for my followup appointment and my doctor said because everything was progressing so well physically, we could begin "trying" again as soon as we wanted. I knew the cycle after a miscarriage could be iffy, so I didn't get my hopes up for being pregnant right away...well. I tried not to get my hopes up. Then, toward the end of April, I began to feel a little...weird. I kept thinking it was signs of pregnancy and at one point was SURE I was pregnant. Then, a few days later, nothing. So, I prepared myself to just focus on the coming months. Then, Saturday night, April 25, I took a pregnancy test. Not gonna lie, I'd already taken one 2 days prior which was negative, and Geoff and I had discussed not taking anymore. Plus, I knew I'd still be early and that night was the worst time to take the test. However, about 2 minutes later.....there was a faint 2nd line. I immediately ran and showed Geoff, and because it was so faint, we both pretty much just went to bed not really processing it. Sunday morning, though, brought more lines and more confirmation--I'm Pregnant. And that's where things got weird.

There was no ecstatic jumping up and down; no celebratory dinners. Were we thrilled? Yes. We prayed and prayed for another pregnancy; this was something we desperately wanted. However, we were very unprepared for the fear that we faced. I literally went through the enst 2 weeks certain I was going to lose it. I was able to hope a little, but mostly just was waiting for it to happen. Geoff was much the same. All our conversations were "So...if we actually do get to have this one..." Never once did we allow ourselves to believe that we could meet this one. I don't think this is because we didn't have faith or trust or whatever, I simply think it's because we were scared to face the pain again.

Nearly 4 weeks later, I am still very scared. Luckily, we've seen our baby, we know the heart is beating, my hormone levels are great--all signs, so far, are pointing toward a healthy pregnancy. I'm still finding it hard to really embrace the joy of this time, but I'm trying to start a little bit each day. 

Thanks to everyone who has prayed for us--please, if you think of it, pray for us, and Nugget, and for the strength to face whatever comes our way. This is a wonderful time for us...and I plan on beginning to enjoy it more.

The One With Dying

I've lost a pretty fair number of people that I love in my life--more than most people my age. This isn't something I'm a particularly huge fan of; however, it is a huge part of who I am today. I thought I had a pretty good grip on my thoughts of death and dying, but this week I am experiencing something new--actually being part of the process. See, the people closest to me that I've lost, I wasn't really there. I dealt with the aftermath more than the dying. With my friend Dave it was a little bit of a process, since it was a roller coaster ride as we waited to see what would happen--but it all happened hours away from me. I never got to see him, or say goodbye, or anything. Brandon died super suddenly...grandparents I guess I was a little more aware of things going on, but I was younger and thus not as much a part of what was happening.

My grandmother (mom's mom) is very, very sick. She is dying. And she knows. I went to see her tonight, and we know it may be one of the last times we get to see her and actually have 2 way communication. She knows her time is limited, and she's scared. She also can still tell little jokes, open her eyes a bit, and knows who we all are. We don't know how long this will last, but it's very sad to watch. And it made me think--sometimes, I think death, especially in elderly people, seems...natural. I mean, everyone dies. You get old, body stops working, end of story. It's sad, and painful, and all that stuff....but man. It's so NOT natural. It's so opposite of the way God intended life to happen. And it's SUCH a picture of how incredibly broken world is. Doesn't matter if you're an unborn child, a 20 year old boy, a 29 year old man, a 64 year old woman, or a 92 year old man...death is awful.

Also, it got me thinking. I've wondered before about a few things. Would I want tubes and machines to help keep me alive? No. Definitely not. When it's time to go, it's time to go. I am not interested in artificially prolonging that. But more than that, I wondered...would I want the chance to say goodbye? Would I want this in between time, when I know I'm dying, but not dead? I know many people would. But I don't. I don't want to know I'm going, don't want to sit while people cry around me, don't even want to say goodbye. I'd rather live my life knowing I don't NEED to say goodbye because things have already been said. And I sort of wonder how well I do that. In some ways, I think I do. I'm pretty confident that if I die tomorrow, my husband will know beyond the shadow of a doubt that he is my hero, my strength, my joy, my best friend, and the love of my life. I am sure that Trip and Joy know that they are some of the most influential and important people in my life and without their friendship I do not know where I'd be. But in other ways, I wonder. Does my mom know how much I admire and respect her? Do my little sisters know how much I love them? Do my co-workers know how much they make me look forward to coming into my job? Does my sis-in-law Kristen know that every single time we talk, I'm grinning because of how happy she always is? Do Tim, Bethany, Kat, Jill, Holly, Becky, and Brian know how closely I hold them to my heart?

Sometimes, I'm not sure. But I know that at the end of my life, if I could choose just ONE thing to have people say about me, it would be this: She loved well. That's what I want. Looks like I've got some living, and loving to do!

(Also, people should say that I'm funny. Good thing my gravestone can say whatever I want. It could even say, "Ross Geller, Good at Marriage.")

The One With the Reflection

A few years ago, I went through a tough time, spiritually and emotionally. After a series of losses, culminating in a tragedy that struck me quite hard, I sort of detatched myself emotionally from life, and from the people in it. I was under the opinion that as long as people couldn't get to me, they couldn't hurt me. Loss, death, pain, betrayal--none of them hold any power if you aren't invested in someone. This plan, however, is severely flawed, since life without investing in people is really not...living. And your heart might be safe, but it's also cold, and empty, and leaves you feeling sort of hollow. It's safe, but miserable. This time in my life is when I read my favorite C.S. Lewis quote of all time:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

I can say with great confidence that my heart, though it has been wrung and broken at times, has been penetrated with beauty, love, life, joy, happiness, laughter, and thousands of moments that have been nothing less than glimpses into a life of eternal communion with One who will never hurt my heart. But sometimes I wonder what I missed in those times when my heart was indeed locked in my casket of selfishness. I know the people I hurt, I know the relationships I needed to mend, and the restoration that needed to happen. But how many moments of laughter did I miss? How many beautiful days? How many people did I miss the chance to love? And how many of those chances will I never get back?

I'm thinking through this tonight as I am allowing my heart to once again be wrung. And I am preparing for it to be broken again. But I refuse to lock my heart up again. I refuse to choose the easy path of fear and control. I will be vulnerable. And I will love with reckless abandon, for however long I am given the chance.