Hey, hi, hello.
It’s been a while, I know. As I always do after any time away, I’ve missed this space and connecting with you. But the closer baby day approaches, the more loosely I’m holding this practice. Life is shifting and I’m trying to be open-handed about what that means for my habits and routines. So for now, I intend to show up here when it makes sense, and give myself some grace when it doesn’t. I hope you’ll do the same.
There are three things that stand out about the month since we’ve last spoken. Three milestones of sorts – three moments that have marked this season in their own distinct ways.
The one-year anniversary of my sister’s sobriety,
The one-year anniversary of my marriage, and
An updated diagnosis (and tentative plan) for our baby.
At face value, these three things seem entirely unconnected. Big moments to be sure, but unrelated to each other in form and substance.
And yet, here they all are, marking our lives with indelible ink.
Here they all are, giving rise to perspective and prayer.
One.
My sister’s battle with addiction isn’t something I’ve ever written about publicly. There’s a tenderness to the topic that doesn’t warrant that kind of attention – so many intricacies to the road our family has walked that have been ours alone to know and to navigate together.
Still, with her permission, the anniversary of her first year of sobriety felt worthy of mention. Not only because of the deep gratitude and joy I feel over her having made such incredible strides towards healing. And not just because today, coincidentally, is her birthday. (Happy birthday, seester!!)
But because there is so much within this anniversary worthy of celebration. So many prayers answered, so many small steps she alone has taken in faith, so many things that made no sense to any of us at the time, but that now pave a clear, mercy-soaked path that led her to this day, to this renewed sense of self, to this inspiring person of strength I am wildly thankful to know.
Of course, that path has not ended. Her road, like all of ours in different ways, is one of daily struggle and surrender. Little victories, unseen battles, one day at a time, again and again.
But after so many years and so much pain endured, she reached a milestone she wasn’t sure she ever would – an entire year of choosing hope over despair. And man, what a beautiful thing.
Addiction isn’t something I pretend to understand.
And yet, it has made a home in my family.
It has sunk its claws into a person I love so deeply.
It steals from so many lives – greedily taking without remorse.
Recovery isn’t something I pretend to have endured.
And yet, here it is, awaiting celebration.
Here it is, giving new life to dry bones.
Here it is, making a way where we didn’t see one, giving a life back to its owner who deserves all it can offer and more.
Two.
Ryan and I celebrated one year of marriage in early May and it came and went with a sweet sense of normalcy I don’t think I expected.
Maybe it’s that pregnancy seems to overshadow most other things in life these days. Or maybe we’re just caught up right now in the busyness of work and settling into our house and trying to prep for the baby while having absolutely no idea what it means to “prep for a baby.”
Whatever the reason, our anniversary seemed to sneak up on us a bit.
We drank coffee in bed and got croissant from the bakery we love and had dinner at a place downtown topped off with espresso and dessert, our favorite nightcap.
But there was very little pomp about the whole thing. We didn’t exchange big gifts or start some grand tradition. We just toasted to the beautiful year behind us and the bigger one ahead. We thanked God for His grace in bringing us together. We went to bed by 9 because that’s about all the excitement I can handle at eight months pregnant.
Thinking about it now makes me weepy. If you’ve been around for some time, you’ll know that Ryan and I both experienced pretty painful divorces before we got together. Neither one of us knew if marriage would be in the cards for us again. Neither one of us expected to find it in a random run-in on a Tuesday at a coffee shop.
But by God’s grace and faithfulness, we did. And it’s going pretty damn well. So much so that our anniversary didn’t feel like some big mountain top summited, or milestone hit – it just felt easy, obvious in a way. As in, of course we made it a year. You’re my person. I would do this a million times over.
And there’s something just so generous in that kind of grace. That it could feel this easy. That the date nearly went unnoticed due to the sheer enjoyment of all the every-days it represents.
Divorce is malignant - the breaking of something holy, a fracturing of souls that was never part of God’s plan for His people.
And yet, it is not the end of the story.
It is not beyond the bounds of grace.
It is not some scarlet letter its victims must wear for the rest of their lives.
Redemption, in its many, multi-faceted forms, isn’t ours to demand or feel entitled to or manipulate into being.
And yet, it promised to us through Jesus.
And it plays out earth-side in ways we might never expect.
It is the kind and generous gift of God, doled out how and when and in the ways He sees most fit for His glory and our good.
Three.
Since I last updated you on our baby’s heart condition (LINK), we’ve been to ~ roughly ~ seven thousand doctor’s appointments and offered up countless prayers that as she grew her heart would heal in such a way that wouldn’t require surgery or any further treatment.
A few appointments ago, we learned that, as of now, that hasn’t happened.
Instead, they’ve learned more through additional scans and have now changed her diagnosis to something slightly different and a bit more complicated.
Surgery immediately after her birth went from a possibility to a probability, and our doctors have started to prepare us for what that will look like, how they will coordinate with one another upon her arrival, and what the hours and days to follow might entail.
This wasn’t the news we were hoping for. It wasn’t the birth story I pictured or the way I dreamed of starting our life together as a family of three. There are a million questions and unknowns and what-ifs and fears floating around us that seem to block out the sun a bit on harder days.
But we are not without hope.
We are thankful for our doctors and we pray for them by name. And we know that God loves this child infinitely more than we can even imagine. However hard that may be to believe when I already love her so stinkin much.
The Lord doesn’t always answer our prayers the way we want Him to.
And yet, He is present.
He is near to us in our fear and our wanting.
And He has proven, time and time again, that He is worthy to be trusted.
And so we try.
And so we do.
Life is messy. It’s painful and lovely and ridiculously hard and insufferably beautiful, somehow all at once, in glints and glimmers throughout all our days.
Some milestones are reached through miracles and strength of will. Others sneak by as simply as a long string of Tuesdays. Still others lurk ahead like a storm we aren’t sure we’ll survive – dark clouds rolling over the horizon, the calm beyond it not quite close enough to see.
And yet, not an ounce of it is accident.
And yet, every moment is gifted in grace.
And yet, we are held by the holy hands of a loving God who walks beside us, behind us, and before us each step of the way.
Thank you for the beautiful and delicate artwork you painted with your words!! Hugs, Elizabeth