One Year Later

"Great is Thy faithfulness,” O God my Father,
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not
As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.


{one year ago, yesterday}.
The machine moved out.
i slowly sat up, orientating myself.
i blinked at the white walls around me.

the technician came in.
so, tell me about your symptoms.
i cocked my head. my brow furrowed.  
{the technician doesn't usually ask these things, does she?}

she sensed my confusion.

i just want to make sure the radiologist has the full picture.

i listed of the symptoms.
tingling, extreme weakness, burning.

she scribbled on her clipboard.

i walked out.
that technician's questions?
my first inkling that this was not a rule-everything-out MRI,
but a we-found-something MRI.


{one year ago today}.

 i stood in the shower.
my husband got ready at the sink.

the rosemary mint shampoo lathered.
i was thinking, why don't you go with me to the appointment today?
just in case?

he replied,
shaving the foam off.

the suds went down the drain.  
i stood there,
with the briefest feeling that the MRI follow up 
would be so much more than a follow up.


   we walked in the house after the appointment.
my father in law was chasing the kids around,
quite literally.
i hugged them.
we ate supper.

my father in law sensed the appointment was not as expected.
i went through the motions of chewing my food.
it seemed the world went on around me,
while i sat and watched through a window.
shock. i think it's called shock.
at the end of the dinner,
the kids went off playing.
matt began the explanation.

we were a bit surprised by the MRI report.

we discussed.
we stared.
we sat in unbelief.

i sat at the table while my father in law did dishes.
i was beyond functioning.

i remember thanking him,
and thinking i should get up and help, but unable to.
he told me he loved me. and to stay seated.

i sat at the kitchen table all evening.
the MRI report laid next to me on our red floral tablecloth.

the words stared back me.

multiple sclerosis cannot be excluded.


{one year ago, tomorrow}.

  we met my father in law for lunch at Chikfila.
we were on our way to the neurologist's office.

the kids played. the salad i ordered sat staring at me.
my father in law asked if i just wasn't hungry?
i shook my head. 
i just can't eat.  
the first time in my life,
i was so nervous i was going to throw up.

running to the bathroom in that fast food place,
i prayed.

we need answers, Lord.
help the neurologist.
we need answers, Lord.
we need you, Lord, oh how we need you.



my left hand fingers tingle slightly as i hit these keys.
my toes are numb today, 
 a reminder of how real this was one year ago.

but i run around with grace abigail on safari expeditions.
we tumble on the couch together.
when our 6-year-old gets home from school,
i will be eager to hear the words "tag, you're it" from his mouth.
and as we pause so he can take his socks off to be faster on our hardwood floor,
deep inside my heart,
i will be oh so thankful 
that one year later,
i am playing tag.
chasing zebras.
 ballerina dancing.

with no limping. no cane. no walker.

{one year later}.

my heart sings His faithfulness.
though i may be glad the initial shock and awe of a MS diagnosis is over,
my new found depth of understanding of who God is?

i wouldn't change that for anything.

one year later.

Great is Thy faithfulness!
great is thy faithfulness!

  Morning by morning new mercies I see;

one year later.

All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—

one year later.

    Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!


Missing the Little Years

recently i've seen a lot of those sweet, tear-jerker-cartoon
 sayings posted on pinterest and facebook,
all about motherhood.

you know the ones -
 they say stuff like:

be thankful for the laundry,
you'll miss it whens it's gone.
these sweet days and grubby handprints will vanish all too soon.
the mess and crying and tantrums will be over,
and you'll find your house sadly quiet.

it's lateish and i'm tired.


i don't believe the sayings.


if you've read my blog for anytime or know me,
i hope that you get that i'm really a  
mainly positive, cherish-every-minute kinda mom.
i hope that you get that i'm pretty laid back,
and we paint and run and dart gun and jump of the couch and over the ottoman 
and i'm really {mostly} okay with it all.

 but still,
i don't believe all the cutesy sayings,
and i kinda feel like they're out to make moms out there feel guilty.

because really?
my laundry room,
with 2 piles of wet towels in front of the washer, 
kid clothes currently in the washer that i just did a quick wash on again because they had sat in there way too long,
and a load of sheets in the dryer that i just hit fluff on?

i won't miss them.

the 45 minutes that i just did dishes?

won't miss it.

the crumbs that i just cleaned up off the floor for the 284th time today?

i will be happy when the floors stay clean. truly, deeply happy.
crumbs make me crazy.

      but you know? after months of seeing these cartoons,
and thinking and dwelling and thinking on them all
i've decided it's the backstory that those cartoons are really talking about.

that backstory?
that is what i WILL miss.

you see,
the wet towels in front of the laundry are from the kids playing with spoons and bowls and tupperware and water and vinegar and baking soda and eyedroppers making {formulas}
 my sweet-6-year-old was making a "rock" collection out of the baking soda reactions.

that? them sitting and playing at the kitchen island
 and hearing their chatter while i prep supper?

i'll miss.

the reason i had to fluff the wrinkled sheets?
we stayed outside on a suprisingly warm winter day,
and the kids shoveled and scooped and dug in the melting ice and snow, 
and they piled it and pushed it around in the stroller.
my sweet three-year-old became insistant on pulling the wagon through the ice,
and even strapped in her bear that rode along.

that? the laughing outside and running from my 6-year-old
 as he tries to shove snow down my coat?

i'll miss.

the crumbs on the floor are from the bread and potato soup we had for dinner, where both kids preceded to eat just the inside of the dinner rolls, not the crust.  grant thought it looked like a cave, and grace ended up shoving all the crust in her mouth all-at-once.

that? the sweet dinner time, sharing what we're thankful for from the day? hearing my 6-year-old pray a pray for his dad's back that was hurting?

i'll miss.

i promise i won't miss the actual towels and crumbs and toys and paper and hats and gloves strewn on the floor.  i promise i won't miss the actual crying-through-a-store and takes-18-minutes-to-get-into-the-car-to-go-anywhere process.

i won't miss the nitty-gritty-stuff of this raising kids business.

but, the backstory behind the nitty-gritty?

i'll miss it
always and forever,  
        i'll miss it.