Capture

It's been ninety-five days.

Ninety-six sunrises and ninety-five sunsets since my Mama stepped into eternity with Jesus.

Ninety-two days have come and gone since we returned her body to the dust from which it once came.

Not a single day has passed where thoughts of her are absent.

At the beginning, so soon after her passing, the days were long. And a month in, the days seemed longer somehow. Weeks later, they also seemed darker.

But in the midst of those dark, long days: Grace.

God's perfect grace has carried me day after day, moment by moment. His perfect grace lead me to a place of wholeness again. A place of peace and surrender and deep knowing that this - this plan that included the loss of her life - was the better way. It was always the better way and there could have been no plan to compete. This way may have shrouded me in dark days, but this way lead her to eternal light.

A truth of life that none of us want to think about but know we will one day reckon with is the truth of loss. The truth that the physical beings we know to be our families and friends will one day become eternal. The truth that at some point, all we will have left are the remnants of the lives they built: Walls, doors, windows, and a roof. Pictures that speak a hundred words. Memories, both precious and bitter. Music that represents their essence. Movies they loved, books they read. Certain scents.

It may seem like a long list. But compared to having them here? Impossibly short.

Our lives go on after a loss. We feel the void their presence once filled, but life goes on.  Moments come and we wish they were here. Memories flood in that we wish could be changed. Others that we wish we could freeze and live in, just for a moment.

For me, a single photo by my bed serves as reminder of who my Mama was. It was taken on my sixteenth birthday and still sits in the original frame it was placed in ten years ago. The photo was snapped in our front yard. We both smile, the mother and daughter who share such similar features. The mother and daughter who started out the inseparable pair only to one day become strangers; the daughter filled with bitterness. The mother who loved in spite of the daughter's anger-masked-anxiety, who loved with no conditions. The mother-daughter duo who eventually landed in new territory: a place of few words but great forgiveness and surrender. A place trembling with God's redemption. A place where life came full circle: the daughter who was once dressed by the mother now did the dressing.

We look at this picture, Camden and I. Each morning she points to it, excited to hold it in her chubby little hands. She traces her fingers over the three-dimensional roses, taps on my face and then her Mimi's. We talk of her. I share stories. Sometimes I don't speak at all. Sometimes, her Daddy says Camden comes from a long line of strong women.

I can only hope that to be true of my life as it is true of my Mom's.

But while I wait, in what I hope are many, many years before my legacy is left, I live each day. I love my daughter, my husband. I try to memorize the twinkle in Camden's eyes, the way her belly rounds and the infectious and joyful sound of her laugh. I try to remember the way her little body feels in my arms. I watch as light pure fills their being when they lay eyes on each other every afternoon - Camden and her Daddy. I hear the deep, strong voice that prays over our meals, thanking God for breath in our lungs. I witness the strong hands, following the command of a selfless heart, that clean the kitchen after I've cooked dinner, no matter how messy the condition. I listen each night as he reads a story of Camden's choosing and then sings a song. I feel his warmth as he hugs my body close every single night before we drift off to sleep.

My life is good. My life is full. My life is joy.

I live. I live in that goodness, fullness, and joy from God every day. And I look at our picture, my Mama and I. A moment captured.

Loving can hurt

Loving can hurt sometimes

But it's the only thing that I know

When it gets hard

You know it can get hard sometimes

It is the only thing that makes us feel alive

We keep this love in a photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Where our eyes are never closing

Hearts are never broken

Times forever frozen still

So you can keep me

Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans

Holdin' me closer 'til our eyes meet

You won't ever be alone

Wait for me to come home

Loving can heal

Loving can mend your soul

And it's the only thing that I know, know

I swear it will get easier

Remember that with every piece of ya

And it's the only thing we take with us when we die

We keep this love in this photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Where our eyes are never closing

Our hearts were never broken

Times forever frozen still

So you can keep me

Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans

Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet

You won't ever be alone

And if you hurt me

That's OK baby, only words bleed

Inside these pages you just hold me

And I won't ever let you go

Wait for me to come home

Wait for me to come home

Wait for me to come home

Wait for me to come home

Oh you can fit me

Inside the necklace you got when you were 16

Next to your heartbeat where I should be

Keep it deep within your soul

And if you hurt me

Well, that's OK baby, only words bleed

Inside these pages you just hold me

And I won't ever let you go

Wait for me to come home

-Ed Sheeran, Photograph

Truth in a Tantrum

We've officially entered Toddler-hood. We don't technically have a little one toddling about yet - Camden Virginia is taking her time on the walking front. But where steps lack, the large scale of her many emotions makes up for it!

She is a vivacious gal, I'm telling you. She will laugh as loudly as us and get so excited that her whole face will scrunch up and you can't see her eyeballs. She loves big and shows it through cuddling, hugging, and baby kisses. She'll make you feel like your heart might burst. She says "Hey!" to anyone and everyone, loves to eat just about anything we offer, and is the most magnificently ticklish tot!

She's also a gal that knows what she wants. She's smart as a whip and frequently uses the words "no" "yes" and "bite", sometimes followed by a sudden burst of emotion if your actions don't quickly follow her requests. (I use request mildly. They are really more of a demand.) She is quick to let you know when something isn't meeting her standards by crying out. And sometimes, she's crying over seemingly nothing at all.

Recently, we learned how exciting a cardboard box can be, so we put a playhouse together using a large leftover box from the moving company. As far as playhouses go, it's top notch. For reals. This sucker is complete with a swinging door - with a handle - and two windows. She can stand up inside of it. I have plans to cover the door with wrapping paper just to make it a little bit more fabulous! But I digress.

Sometimes, she crawls in and the door won't quite shut. I don't know why the laws of physics can't bend for the sake of a sixteen-month-old, but alas, a door just won't shut when there is a baby booty in front of it. None of that matters - it pisses her off every time. (I can see Mama rolling her eyes and saying "Piss piss piss!" in her disgruntled tone. She hated when we said that word!!) Truly though, it really does PISS Camden off. A full on YELL and/or cry of frustration follows every time this happens. I have no idea where she gets this from... (Insert sheepish shrug from me here.)

All this leads me to a story. Earlier today, I put Camden down in her crib for a nap, and left the room to her talking and happily squealing. I came downstairs, turned on the monitor, and watched as her energy lessened and her little eyelids became heavier. Soon, she was out!

Forty minutes later however, she is standing against the railing of her crib, screaming. And loudly. She usually sleeps for AT LEAST 1.5 hours, but usually it is more like 2.5 hours. I watched for a few minutes to see if it would pass, wondering if she might lay back down. Nope! So ten minutes later, we are downstairs with a clean diaper and dressed for the day, Mommy attempting to put Camden's hair up, all coupled with a Camden tantrum. And not just typical crying. I'm talking full-on crocodile tears and how-the-heck-can-you-hit-that-volume, baby-doesn't-want-to-be-touched kind of crying.

It's kind of one of those days that you look in the mirror and what's staring back at you is a Mombie. Have you heard of that word? It's a Zombie-Mom. A Mama of the half-dead variety. You know the one - greasy hair in a "messy" bun (And by messy I mean there are maybe three strands left in the bun and the rest is falling out and knotted), not a stitch of makeup on, with a wide-eyed, borderline I-might-go-crazy look in her eye. The look that says, "If one more thing goes wrong, I might just curl up in a ball and stay there."

So what did I do? I took a video of my kid completely losing it. Mainly because I'm a loving Mom who wants to capture every precious and special moment of her little one's childhood. But also maybe because I didn't know what else to do, so I pulled out my phone just to capture the craziness of the moment. And then, I sat my girl in her highchair, gave her a cookie as I heated up her lunch, and watched the video.

Ironically, Camden wanted to watch, too. So we sat at the table and watched the video of her losing her mind over nothing (or everything, depending on whose POV we are talking about). She stared at the video at first with a wide-eyed, mouth-agape expression, and then started to laugh. So I capitalized on the video magic and  we watched old footage of newborn baby Camden sleeping, baby Camden spitting up, Camden wiggling, Camden crying in the bathtub, and all the other wonders that come with the life of a newborn.

We made it all the way to the folder of videos taken during her eighth week of life, when I found the sweetest memory of my Camden cooing softly as I sang to her.

When I made this video, I had been practicing a worship song of healing that my sister and I planned to sing over Mama. We were praying boldly that God would heal Mama on Earth, that He would restore her to a place better than she'd been in years. I reached out to you, my readers, whomever you may be, that you would join with us in praying. We believed He would heal her, and in that faith, sang over her one evening in December 2014, claiming boldly what we believed God would do. And then on November 5, 2015, we listened to the words of that same song as it was played during her funeral service.

Sometimes, God's plans don't align with ours. And that can be a hard and bitter pill to swallow.

So naturally, life has been hard lately. Between being in a new country without the comfort of my family and friends and grieving the loss of my Mom, I've found some days to just to be too much. The air is too thick, the weight too heavy, the sky too dark. Sounds are too loud, touch too invasive. Hopelessness has slowly creeped in to the crevices of my soul like a black sludge, poisoning me with every space it fills.

As we watched the video, I began to cry. First, it was just a few tears making their way down my cheeks. But soon, I was weeping. Weeping from a place of deep hurt. From a place of anger. From a place of missing my Mama. But also, weeping from the knowing that God did answer our prayer, and He performed a miracle through Mama's physical death better than we could have ever seen in her life on Earth. Weeping because God is so good. As as I wept, my soul opened, letting out the hurt and pain.

I felt the slightest hint of something within. Where the darkness has been residing, light is moving in. The deep hurt feels slightly more shallow. The air feels thinner, the burden not quite as heavy. Outside, the sun shines, making this one of the few days of clear skies in months.

No, God's plans don't always align with ours. Often, His plans are accompanied with pain. The type of pain that might leave us questioning a lot about life and wondering where to go next, how to continue taking steps forward. But just as true as the pain that can come with His direction, so also is His presence. Moreover, living in His presence does not mean living without pain. No; in our deepest hurt, His presence is the sweetest.

Right now, my life is filled with hurt. I'm struggling, plain and simple. But if I know anything to be true, I know that this is a season that will pass. I can look back to my past and recall the seasons of deep hurt and depression, but also recall that God delivered me out of each one. Each day I will have to fight for my joy, and some days I won't be able to lift my sword very high. Some days I will trip and fall. But then those days will become fewer, and as they become fewer, good days will come. And before I know it, I'll realize I'm dancing again.

Psalm 30 verses 11-12 say, "You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent. Lord my God, I will praise you forever."

Sometimes, the purpose of pain is so that we can learn to praise.

Thank you, Jesus, for bringing me truth in the form of my toddler's temper tantrum. Thank you for promising to love me when I don't know how to love myself. Thank you for the day that you will deliver me from this season. And Jesus, thank you for my pain. Thank you for the work You continue to do in my life.

We praise You.