God Can Move...Lawnmowers?

A few weeks ago our lawnmower broke.

We have a large, sprawling yard that gets out of hand easily if we miss even one week of mowing in the Summer. To have our lawnmower deck rust through and crack in half was stressful (and expensive) circumstance.

This was also about the same time my PMDD symptoms had reached a fever pitch and rendered me incapable of doing anything but feeding the kids and laying in bed for days at time.

This was also around the time my mom offered to come up to offer me some relief and help me catch up on everything that had been let go around in our home but someone in her house caught Covid and she was placed in quarantine instead.

This was also around the time Behr chipped a tooth and the dentist told us he’s going to have to have surgery (at the hospital, completely under anesthesia) to resolve it.

This was also around the time we discovered—much too late—one (of two!) water leaks under our kitchen floor that will result in us having to gut half the kitchen to fix.

July was…not easy for our family.

And then Tuesday happened.

Everything hard in our life didn’t evaporated that day. A better way to put it would be to say one sharp corner of this thorny season of life was sanded down a bit.

How you ask? We found a lawnmower part on FB marketplace.

The exact part we needed at a 1/3 of the price and when no one in our area had it in stock.

So we packed up the kids and drove two hours+ round trip to pick up the part to squeeze in some extra time with Jonathan before he had to leave for work that night.

Tuesday wasn’t the day everything hard in our life melted away, but I did feel our load lighten a bit. Praise God.

I know in my head God sees us. I know His good for us is infinitely better than what our limited version of good might be. I know He is intimately involved in the details of our lives.

I just don’t always feel it.

But on Tuesday I did and I’m thankful.

God is good whether I feel like He is or not.

But it’s nice to feel it too.

The Weight of Us

Jonathan and I went on date today. The first we’ve had this year.

When nearly every outing since March 2020 has included two vibrant (and somehow always hungry) children, being alone together feels foreign.

There’s grief and hope for the future mingled together when I ponder this.

Who are we to each other after becoming parents, after nearly a decade of being husband and wife, after all we’ve been through in the private world of marriage?

We’re still trying to figure that out but I do know this: the more I do life with him the more I want to do life with him.

I’ve always felt completely safe to be who I am with Jonathan. There’s a one-ness that permeates the atmosphere around our relationship; it’s always been there but I feel it more these days. It can be euphoric, mysterious, exhausting and relieving all at once.

I wouldn’t want to give this much of myself to anyone but him. He feels the same.

Who else could bear the weight of our hearts—stitched, bruised and still beating—but one another?

August 1st, 2021

I slept in today.

As with most adult activities—even leisurely ones—it took a concentrated effort of communication and planning to make that happen.

Jonathan got up with the kids when they woke up at 7am. He left me hiding under our quilt and shushed the kids as they not-so-quietly shuffled out of our bedroom. Later he, silently brought me hot coffee in a thermos and placed on the floor on my side of the bed for me to drink when I woke up.

All of this was planned and talked about ahead of time. Don’t let anyone fool you, romance is made up of communication, follow-through and consistency.

I woke up at 9am and automatically flipped through my apps to check Instagram.

It wasn’t there.

Oh, that’s right. I deleted it off my phone last night.

I’ve done this multiple times over the years. Every time I put it off longer than I should. Every time I feel immediately lighter once it’s gone.

I just want to write like I used to. Back when I only bought college lined notebooks and wrote whatever my brain needed to bleed black onto the page. I don’t want to think about an audience or a marketing strategy or what business mentors have suggested I do. I’m too tired.

They tell you to take your passions and turn them into paying work but they forget to mention you risk mangling what you love into a machine you can’t turn off if you do that.

The machine got too loud this year, so I turned it off.

>>>>>

Billie Eilish released her sophomore album 2 days ago and I can’t stop listening to the track: ‘Getting Older’.

“Can't shake the feeling that I'm just bad at healing”

I got diagnosed with PMDD back in March. I’ve also lived through two rounds of post partum depression. Am I just bad at getting better?

Every month, I get drug through a gamut of symptoms including (but not limited to) severe fatigue, depression, insomnia and anxiety. It usually last around two week altogether. This month, I’m meeting with a doctor to discuss more specialized treatment.

“But next week, I hope I'm somewhere laughin'
For anybody asking, I promise I'll be fine”

>>>>>

It’s weird to write a new blog post and not promote it on Instagram. And it’s weird that that’s weird, ya know?

I don’t even know if anyone will ever read this but me.

I’m ok with that.

(and that counts for something in my book)