as long as she’s healthy

 

That’s all we want. It is the mantra of every parent-to-be. We don’t care whether it’s boy or girl, we just want him or her to be healthy.

Our entire vocabulary shifted when Rylie Joy turned 20-months. She was healthy, yes, but she was not typical. She was functional, yes, but she was not thriving. She was perfectly fine, but she wasn’t. Was she healthy?

My first concerns were school and independence and long-term capacity for speech and learning. Seven years into this journey, I find that my prayers have changed. I can do therapy drills and we can alter medications. We can drive to appointments and we can monitor food intake. There is actually so much that can be done to assist the health of our children.

What I cannot do is make another child love my child, and it is the ache of my heart for her to be safe outside the farm gates. Somewhere after the grief of diagnosis and the passion of therapy to increase quality of life, my priorities changed from wanting better test results to knowing her heart was safe.

As long as she is loved.

Please let her be known and be loved.

[This is not the end! I’m so blessed to be a guest over at Making Us Whole today. Please click over to read the rest of the story.]

intentional filters

Growing up? Always noise in my house. Not from people- there were only four of us, including my parents, and we weren’t a chatty family. But, there was a constant backdrop of music or the news or an old black and white film filling in empty spaces around teenage angst and hard-working parents. Music to wake us up on Saturday mornings, music in the garage, news during dinner. The radio and the tv were always on. Well into my college years, I could not fall asleep without the tv. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve watched (or heard) When Harry met Sally. There is still nothing better to me than a Saturday nap with college basketball in the background.

Now, I write on my computer. I lead an on-line support group for moms of special-needs kiddos. I fill out doctors’ forms on the computer and I email Curt to find out what he wants for dinner. I text my conscience in Texas and ask her when it’s appropriate to run away (never, without her) and I search Google for honey chicken recipes. I charge my Kindle and wait for new books to download while I forward photos of my kids (usually asleep in awkward positions) to my parents. I edit photos digitally and save them for a (someday) family album. I look up tomorrow’s weather and Ry’s class pictures from her last field trip… all on the computer. I reorganize my Netflix queue and make a grocery list… on the computer. I pay my bills and I update the family calendar… on the computer. I watch Cosby Show reruns and crime shows and English brilliance after the kid have gone to bed… “to relax.”

Hear me: I love my computer, my phone, my tv. I love the quiet noise that tethers me- on my own terms– to the world outside of this farm. But the quiet noise has become loud and bossy of late. It grew from comfortable background static to aggressive intermission music where you can’t really hear the person next to you.  I was nodding and keeping up with the conversation, but barely. The soundtrack had taken over the story.

And I was a wreck.

[Psssst! Come read the rest over HERE.]

Gramma K

Today I’m over at MC’s Thousand Story Kitchen with a short story and recipe from my grandmother.  Join me?

my grandmother, Beatrice (Betty) with her cousin, Joe on his Indian

perfection

Y’all know this girl doesn’t get out much. Y’all know my kids are nuts and we are in the weeds of toddler-hood here, which leaves no chance for cute clothes, clean floors, or quiet lunch dates.

What it does leave time for is perspective… and writing. Sometimes, the two of those things go together and I am able to form a  coherent sentence… paragraph, even.  Sometimes, my wires get crossed and I wind up speechless. It’s an awkward stage of life, I’m not going to lie.

God is good.

All the time.

A few diapers and one pregnancy ago, I was encouraged by a beautiful friend to write more.  She asked if I’d consider popping in with a post here and there… my first adventure in writing for people who didn’t necessarily know me. Risky. It’s been an incredible exercise for me… a way to stretch parts of my brain that have been put on hold due to Motherhood. ‘Heartland‘ is just 5 of us, now, writing and talking and learning.

My very own ‘team.’

I may get my varsity letter after all.

Today is my day to write.

It starts like this:

He waited as our pastor introduced him… a young man, standing to the side of the stage. He wore a sharp, blue-checked button-down and khakis. Nice shoes. Cool glasses. He was headed off to lead missions in the public schools of Chicago, to follow the Great Commission, to begin a new life away from the church in which he’d been raised.  He was young and handsome and, apparently, well-known.

As he began to climb the stairs and walk to center stage, it was obvious that there was more to his story. He limped. He limped as if he’d limped his whole life. Standing still, of course, you couldn’t tell.  But as soon as he moved, well, there was a flaw. An obvious, mean-kids-on-the-playground kind of flaw.

I closed my eyes,

and my heart sank.

… continued HERE.

giving thanks

Happy Thanksgiving, Friends.

I am so very grateful, indeed, for this neighborhood we’ve created here.  Thanks for all your comments, encouragement, tears, and cheering this past year! You’re good people.

Today, I’m over at baaaaa.com writing about another kind of thanks…

here’s a sneak peak:

Whoever offers thanksgiving as his sacrifice honors me; and to him who goes the right way I will show the salvation of God. • Psalm 50:23

It could possibly go down as the worst play-date/let’s-maybe-be-friends kind of afternoon ever. We had met by chance the week before, on a golden afternoon at the lake. We discovered we lived near each other, and with the best of intentions we planned a few hours with all of our children out at the farm.  But within an hour of combining moms and families, it was clear we were having an off day. It was a terrible fit. Perhaps, we thought, perhaps another day.

… and the rest is HERE.

See you Monday! Safe travels!

We love you here at TexasNorth.

 

veterans

(my grandfather, with the puppy, in front of his B17)

in honor of Veteran’s Day, a re-post of an essay I wrote back on the 4th of July for baaaaa.com

To you, you who have served and are serving… I am forever in your debt.  You have molded my family for generations with your examples of discipline and love of country… of freedom.  Thank you.

•

Happy Birthday, America! You have been free from Great Britain’s reign for 236 years following a glorious statement in the American Revolution and some well-known poetry in the Declaration of Independence.

I’m a child of the military, you know, so I understand what it is to find your identity so deeply entangled in a mess of politics and policy, war and religion. My life has been governed, both directly and indirectly, by two forms of authority: the United States Military (thanks to a father who willingly served for 20 years) and the Bible (thanks to a family who instilled the discipline of religion at a young age).

Today is a good day to put pen to paper—as Mister Jefferson and friends did so many years ago—and reflect on some basic truths of life that the military and the Word have taught me.

[Excerpts from A Manual of Military Training, by James A. Moss. Published in 1917.]

[Scripture quoted from the Holy Bible, translations noted.]

1. Never exercise immediately after a meal; digestion is more important at this time than extraneous exercise (page 155). This rule has always served me well. Indeed, there is a season and time for every purpose under heaven(Ecclesiastes 3:1, NKJV). While Solomon neglected to mention digestion in his examples, I am sure it was implied.

2. Remember, that if by harsh or unfair treatment you destroy a man’s self-respect, you at the same time destroy his usefulness (page 180). Choose your tactics wisely. It’s always better to build a man up than tear him down. A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones (Proverbs 17:22, ESV). Dry bones are never very much help with chores or friendship.

3. Do not attempt complicated maneuvers (page 101). It’s best to leave the tricky stuff up to the Man in charge. You may very well play a part in the action, but step back until called. For everyone’s sake. The Lord will fight for you, and you shall hold your peace (Exodus 14:14, NKJV). Hold your peace. Amen.

4. In any situation, to try to escape the issue by running is the worst and most dangerous course the infantry can adopt (page 108). My instinct to flee in tough times is strong. Fear has always driven mankind to run. But Paul is right. If all else fails, staple your boots to the floor. Help will be along shortly. Stand firm and hold to traditions you were taught! (Paul in 2 Thessalonians 2:15, ESV)

And, to echo mothers everywhere:

5. Courtesy…is indispensable to discipline; respect to superiors will not be confined to obedience on duty, but will be extended on all occasions (page 424). I was never treated with more respect and kindness as a child than when I walked the halls of the barracks. ‘Ma’am’ and ‘Lady’ were automatic… and it made me stand taller. Even at 7 years old. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you (Ephesians 4:32, ESV). It is remarkable, the difference a kind word makes.

You were born of war, America. Of the desire to be free, both inwardly and outwardly. These books … they are not so very different. Training soldiers of freedom; training soldiers of Truth. And while we are so careful to separate our God and our Country these days, today I will celebrate you both. For One has given the other, and we are blessed.

Happy Birthday, my fair country. It’s your day. You wear your colors well.

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee,

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea.

– from America the Beautiful by Katharine Lee Bates

God and Country

Today, I’m over at baaaaa.com with a special 4th of July post.  Join me?  Here’s a little teaser:

Happy Birthday, America!  You have been free from Great Britain’s reign for 236 years following a glorious statement in the American Revolution and some well-known poetry in the Declaration of Independence.

I’m a child of the military, you know, so I understand what it is to find your identity so deeply entangled in a mess of politics and policy, war and religion.  My life has been governed, both directly and indirectly, by two forms of authority: the United States Military (thanks to a father who willingly served for 20 years) and the Bible (thanks to a family who instilled the discipline of religion at a young age).

Today is a good day to put pen to paper… as Mister Jefferson and friends did so many years ago… and reflect on some basic truths life with the military and the Word have taught me.

[Excerpts from A Manual of Military Training, by James A. Moss.  Published in 1917.]

[Scripture quoted from the Holy Bible, translations noted.]

1. Never exercise immediately after a meal; digestion is more important at this time than extraneous exercise (page 155).  This rule has always served me well.  Indeed, there is a season and time for every purpose under heaven (Ecclesiastes 3:1, NKJV). While Solomon neglected to mention digestion in his examples, I am sure it was implied.

And the rest, of course, is over HERE.

Happy Birthday, America!

We love you here at TexasNorth!

this is how we met

You remember the story about my first kiss?  Surely.  SHIRLEY, you do.  I’m laughing and crying into my keyboard as I type this.  Dear Lord, what an awkward time for me.

Leigh, beautiful blog-friend Leigh, has been doing a series called This Is How We Met.  It has been such a blast reading other folks’ stories about chance or not-so-chance first encounters with their significant other.  Today it’s my turn!  Head over there and catch up.  Start with mine, of course… because you and I are family.  FAMLEE.  And then read the rest of them.  And then come back and tell me how You met Yours.

I’ll get you started:

Curt and I met, like most couples in the Free World, at a women’s retreat.  A large, overnight ministry women’s retreat.

That is absolutely true. That February 2002 weekend was the Young Life Women’s retreat near San Diego, and I was the host… which is a fancy way of saying I collected the money and made sure everyone had towels. Kevin and Curt came down to volunteer and help me get some side-work done in-between me racing to find toilet paper for the front bathrooms. Women’s Retreats are serious about their toilet paper and paper towels. Men’s Retreats, not so much.

So, I was busy and single and 25.  Of course, I was meeting quality men left and right… youth ministry and YoungLife in particular are GREAT for that, but they all came on Friday and left on Sunday.  I lived on a virtual island of awesome… solitude.

…and the rest is right HERE.

More of our story can be found in the Our Story posts.

•

Thursday, the timeline series continues with junior high and high school.  I figure I might as well just put all my embarrassment out there in one single week and get it over with.

the basement

I’ll explain why I’m hiding in the basement in just a second. Let me paint you a picture, first, so we’re all on the same page.

It’s 3pm.  I’m wearing a baseball tee and jeans, but you can’t tell because a 3-month old is strapped to my chest and chocolate covers my jeans from the birthday cake (Happy 2, Gus!) someone (not me) got into this morning.  My shirt, for once, is remarkably clean.  The infant is sleeping after an afternoon of horrific belly bubbles, so we’re not moving her even though I don’t plan on carrying her to sleep for the rest of her life.  There’s a 5 year-old running around here, too.  She’s carrying a garden bucket (inside) and a shovel (inside) while wearing a purple tutu.

Can you see us?  Great.

We’re down here because there are toys and the tv and 200 square-feet of carpeting in an otherwise wood floor house.  Wood flooring is echo-y, particularly when there is some kind of animal, bird, or dragon trapped in the wood stove pipe like today.  It is clawing and flapping and screeching for dear life to GET. OUT. Now, this would be loud for anyone drawing breath but for my 5-year old daughter, it’s excruciating.  She is falling apart with empathy and fear.  We need to leave.  It’s pouring rain outside, the birthday boy is still napping, AND the infant is attached to me… so leaving isn’t an option.

We are, like I said, in the basement.

•

Read the rest of the story over at baaaaa.com today, Folks.  I promise, it’s worth the click.

out of the blue

Shortly after I took a blog break in August, I received an email from an online friend and illustrator, Catherine, asking if I’d be interested in regularly contributing to a collective of writing at Baaaaa.com.

Catherine is easily one of the most encouraging people I’ve ever met, and I often feel like her blog posts are Divinely written directly at for me.  Her request came at a time when I needed desperately to be a part of something bigger… like, perhaps Someone was watching out for me and my heart.  I’m so thrilled to be a small part of her idea.

Here’s my first contribution, and below is my second (post-pregnancy-induced, obviously):

•

Dear God,

Father.

Hey.

I’ll try to keep this short. (Who am I kidding?)

I know we’re both busy.

Thanks so much for the baby girl this December. Abby June is a simple and pure joy. Her brother and sister are adapting well and certainly seem to love the new addition. Thanks for that, too. Lovely planning on Your part. Really. Nice work.

I do seem to be having some trouble in the parenting department. My children are so incredibly beautiful… but high-maintenance. Gracious. Mostly, I’m struggling with the repetition of it all. I feel like we cover the same ground every day. Sometimes, multiple times a day. Hour?

Questions, all the time. And the same questions, all the time. What is it with that? Daddy to work? Yes. Daddy home for dinner? Yes. Cookie for breakfast? No. Not yesterday, not today, not tomorrow. Dog outside? Yes. Me outside? No. It’s 14°. Cookie for breakfast?

[sigh]

I have to remind them, every day, they need socks to be warm. That we don’t kick/bite/hit family members. (We’re working on the rest of humanity, too… we just need to conquer local first.) That I can’t reach the back of the van when I’m driving. That we don’t lick things off the floor, especially when strangers can see us.

Every day. The same lessons every day. Different clothing, maybe, but the same lessons.

Frankly, I’m a little exhausted. I’d like to teach something once, say something once. I’d like to get good eye contact, a smile, and a ‘thanks for changing my life for the better, now I’ll go play by myself for 30 minutes so you can work on dinner alone’ skip-to-my-lou-and-they’re-off. That’s what I’d like.

Is this making any sense? What do You suggest? Time-out for the biting and licking? Clearer, simpler words for the explanations? Writing a handbook that can be referred to over time and in my absence?

When, exactly, does the repetition end and the learning take root?

And, have You ever felt this way?

Please advise.

Thanks so much.

Love and sincerity,

Katie

•

Every day, Friends, our beautiful God could write a letter like this… about me.  About you.  About me, again.  By all grace and mercy, He doesn’t.

Besides, to whom would He send it?

1 Corinthians 13:11 • When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things.  – New American Standard Version