Becca & the "Doll Hospital"

Let me start here. When I was two years old I was gifted a baby doll named, Becca. She had blue eyes that open and shut, a cloth mid section, plastic limbs, hair and pursed lips. She came in a pink dress with lace trimming and she was GLUED to me at all times. When I would stay with friends, Becca came. When I stayed at any grandparents house, Becca came. When I went to daycare, Becca came. When I was a flower girl in my aunt and uncles wedding, Becca came. When I started Kindergarten, Becca came with my name written across her backside. When I graduated high school my parents made sure that, Becca came. I had Becca for a very, very long time. 

When I was about 8 years old - my mom told me it was time to send Becca to the, "doll hospital." Her eyelashes were gone, her hair was one giant dread and our dog had chewed off two of her fingers. So my mom talked me into sending her to my Nonna & Nonno's house because they knew someone who fixed dolls.  I hesitantly sent her away not knowing how long she would be gone. A couple weeks later we were at my sister's birthday party. Nonna walks in and calls me over and I am presented with a clean/crisp Becca. I was shocked. I remember being semi embarrassed because I was tearful over a babydoll in front of some of my friends, but they knew how much this babydoll meant to me. They were just as excited to see this clean baby doll as I was. I mean she was a lil bit scary before this. This Becca was clean, no more matted hair, my name was removed off her backside and she had eyelashes. At 8 years old, I was a tiny bit  skeptical on how she got so clean, but I trusted that my parents and grandparents truly sent her to the hospital. I mean after all Nonna, told me all about her friend who did this and what all they did to get her fixed. So what was there not to believe. 

Fast forward 17 years and it is time for me to get married. I spent so much time trying to figure out what to gift my mom on my wedding day and I couldn't think of anything. One day I saw Becca in a box in my closet, just where I left her. I knew then that I would give my mama Becca. But, I wanted to send her to the, "doll hospital." She had matted hair, messed up eyes and the dress was long gone. I knew that I wouldn't be able to send her off to anyone who repairs and couldn't ask because the secret would be blown. So I took her to the spa I as working at and the girls there did the very best they could. I put her in the dress she wore when she served as a flower girl with me and I could not wait to see my mamas face when she opened her! But Amy (mama) threw me a fast one, like she does. She stood up and gave this lil speech about how she has held onto this since I was two years old. She talked about how growing up you didn't see me without holding this. Being very vague, I knew exactly what she talking about but my brain went into panic because I was unsure how she had Becca. I HAD Becca in my room. Then she walked out of the room and walked back in with brand new in the original box Rebecca doll. The $9.99 Toys R Us sticker still on the box. I took the Rebecca box, motioned for my friend, who was already on her way to get it and then placed MY Becca in my mom's arms. We both shouted, giggled and cried because how in the whole world did we both gift each other Becca. 

Becca hasn't been discussed much over the years. I mean she would come up in conversations about memories or when I am cleaning out Francos closet. I have the packaged (stranger)  Rebecca doll in the top of his closet and my mom has the OG Becca in her closet. She's never really brought up, I mean I have boys so we dont really talk about baby dolls around here. 

But today, I was at my Nonna and Nonno's house. I went down to help my parents start going thru some stuff. Endless hours of going thru things. When she passed I didn't take much, I took a blue dish towel that hung in her kitchen that reads - "Nonna's Kitchen." & I took a locket with a baby picture of me that we found in her closet . So going back down there, I was not sure what I wanted from her house. I know I want the macramé light that hangs in the dining room, she promised me that when I was 16. But really what could I take that would remind me of her. I couldn't take the ocean, or the boogie board, I couldn't take her old Buick town car or her cooking. I had a few things set aside -some batteries from Nonno's dresser and a clock for Miguel and a harmonica for Franco. Nothing from her closet was jumping out at me - but then I found her old Christmas sweater.  I did not think much of it. I mean I thought it would be cute to have but I went back and forth - I think I even asked my mom if I needed it and she said, "why not?"  So I put it in my pile. Later on, we got into Nonno's office and my gosh at the stuff, papers&pictures and papers&pictures. We put all of those things in the living room so we could go thru them on a rainy day. What seemed to be hour 76 of cleaning the office -  my dad stood on a ladder to get stuff off the top shelf of his desk. He opened a bag and giggled, he passed me the bag and said - "here, this is yours." 

Now before I go any further, I need to note some things. 

1. I had not shed a tear the entire time I was there. I promised myself I'd compartmentalize and process later. It was the only way we would get things done. 

2. I had seen a doll that was 87 years old a little bit before and it was a jump scare, sorry Nonna. 

3. I am a private crier, I hate crying in front of people. Even my husband. I will literally go in my shirt. 

Now, I will carry on. My dad hands me a white garbage bag with dust on top. I say, "nope, I am not opening another baby doll." He said, "just open it." I opened it and pulled out my original dirty, matted hair, no eyelashes, missing two fingers, name on her backside Becca doll and in that very second  - I sobbed. I mean no tears being held back, did not go in my shirt. I looked up to tears rolling down my mama face. My mama grinned and said, "well here is the doll hospital." For 25 years my Nonna and Nonno have had my Becca doll hidden. They never threw her away, they never gave her back to my parents, they never lost her. She sat safely at their house. Of course at 33 years old I was not upset that they all lied to me. I think in that very moment I felt a love that I will miss for ever. I felt my Nonna and Nonno in his office, in this raw moment. A few minutes later after our tears dried, my mom said - "let me call Memaw and see how many dolls she has in her closet." We called Memaw told her the story and she went to her closet, put us on FaceTime and showed us the dolls. She had three dirty, matted Becca dolls. 

My mom then looked at me and told me that when I was gifted this doll she and my granny called every Toys R Us in a 5 hour radius to see if they had them in stock. They went to one in Tallahassee and got all of their Becca dolls because they knew if I lost one it would be awful. So at 33 years old, I found out that there were 6 Becca dolls. I cried once again looking at the three dolls over FaceTime because again - I am a grown adult and still my grandparents were keeping such a pure and special thing safe for me and I did not even know it.

I felt like a little girl today. I felt such strong love today. I felt the love that I hope I am giving my boys.  

Oh and if you think its over, just wait. To top the Becca story off. My mama went in the living three hours later to straighten up the picture boxes before we left for the day. I am not kidding when I say there are at least 5,000 photos for us to go thru. I mean in the living room alone there were 6 giant tubs packed full. My mom decided to open one of the boxes, picked up a handful and guess what - in the pile of the pictures she randomly selected - pictures from when Nonna brought me Becca from the ,"doll hospital." And just guess what she was wearing, her Christmas sweater that I'd put in my box a few hours ago. 

I literally was shocked. I just kept saying, "how in the world." 

My mama said: Your Nonna knew how much Becca meant to you and she wanted to be a part of this today. 

So today on July 18, my Nonna visited me. 

                                     

                                                     

                                          

My Nonna

 Nonna - 

I could tell you one million stories of my Nonna. I know that when I am old and grey that I will be sharing stories of my Nonna with my grandkids. I will hear them say, "we know --- and Nonna said --- " I have been trying to gather the words to describe this season of life but all I can do is be flooded with memories. I wake up in the night and play another one and another one then I fall asleep with tears streaming down my face. I find myself heartbroken and hopeful in the same breath, I find myself ready for her to find peace and rest but then find myself wanting her to be healed and live until I am old and grey. My Nonna lost the love of her life in July of last year, since then it has been a rapid decline. Nonno knew something was coming, he moved them to my parents house a couple months before he passed. He knew that Nonna was slipping, her memory going quicker than we thought. She was his main caretaker for years and years. She waited on him around the clock and she never once complained, oh well let me take that back - the only time she complained was when she wanted him to get up and move because, "all he does is sit, sit, sit - I need to see movement," she would say in her thick Italian accent. 

Nonno knew that when he passed Nonna needed to be somewhere safe and so he moved them here. And Nonna has been here since, she's gone to visit her home in Florida a couple times but she can't stay alone. She is unable but you tell that woman she can't do something and she's going to show you. The other day she stood up walked towards the back door, looked at my dad and said - "bye Chris I am going to be with my Neapolitan people, you can follow me with this if I must have it." Pointing to her oxygen tank like it was a carry on. My dad giggled looked at my mom, shook his head and simply said, "mom, come sit back down please they are too far away, we can see them later." Im telling you she is stubborn. She was walking down the busiest street in our town four weeks ago, we would tell her to come inside and she would yell at us - "I grew up in Italy walking everywhere, I am a city minded woman, I am just fine." We couldn't say anything back - so my parents would sit on the porch and watch her to make sure she was safe. We have been calling this Nonna - Nonna 2.0 because this Nonna is keeping us all on our toes. Alzheimer's is a terrible, terrible disease and I wouldn't wish it on a soul. 

Now before we get into the Nonna memories that I have been playing in my head for days now, let me tell you that our time with Nonna is coming to an end. We do not know her timeline, we know that hospice has been called in. We know that she is sadly filling with fluid - Nonna loves to tell the story about how Yahweh healed her form cancer when I was a baby, I was just born and the doctor removed her kidney and she came to meet me. When she tells this story its made to sound like the came to my birth 2 hours post op, but it was a few weeks. Needless to say, she has once kidney and there has never been an issue until recently. She has always and will always be the healthiest person I know. She recently got pneumonia and it took off quickly. I do not want this to become a medical post because the medical things are making my head spin, but what you need to know is that one minute she is fine and the next she is touching heaven. The other night she laid in bed - saluted Nonno and told him that she would see him soon. The next night she was speaking only in Italian and speaking to her father. She is ready in every sense, but then she's not. She sees us and sees the kids and then she begs to stay, I hear her praying for her body to be healed. It's been the most difficult two weeks of my life, I can say that with certainty. It feels like I am walking in a cloud - not sure what to expect or how to expect it. So now that I have given you all of those boring nasty medical/sad facts let's get to the good part, the part that Nonna wants to hear.

When I was a little girl my parents would take me to Nonna and Nonno's house to stay for a week or so in the summer time. They lived 20 minutes from the ocean and she cooked homemade meals. My parents were sending me to the best summer camp a girl could ask for. When I was there I had 3 cousins from Georgia who would come and stay too - and let me go ahead and tell you this, by the end of summer we could make a bed better than the Hilton, we could set the table for the Queen and we could wash dishes better than the dishwasher ever dreamed. 

On beach days we would all wake up early excited for the beach- duh. I was 7, which makes the others 13, 13 and 12 . We would wake up, MAKE OUR BEDS, eat our bowl of Cheerios and then get on our swimsuits. We would then clean the kitchen, pack our sandwiches, pack our water in the big red thermos and then we would apply sunscreen knowing good and well that our hopes were too high we would be reapplying sunscreen again before we left for the beach. If there is one thing to know about this beautiful Italian woman it is that she is going to take at least two hours to get ready even if it was just for the beach day. We would be ready, packed, reapplying sunscreen for the second time and then we would draw straws on who was going to ask her if she was ready. We were only drawing straws because we knew the answer, we would quote it walking down the hallway to her bedroom - "I am coming, I am coming, I am coming, I have to brush my hair and then I am done." Knowing she in fact was not coming yet. Finally when she was dressed, she would run thru the living room - tell our oldest cousin to go crank the Buick and blast the AC. Then without hesitation she would rush us to the car as if we had not just applied sunscreen three time waiting on her. We would get in the car, oldest in the front and the other three in the back seat, she would crank up Carman - Do I Do and we were on our way. 

As an adult I physically cannot imagine taking 4 kids to the beach by myself, but she did it. She grew up on the ocean in Naples Italy - "street, rocks, ocean." it's what we have been told our entire life. The ocean was her friend, the ocean was her second home - so taking four kids was nothing. I vividly remember looking in the rearview mirror on beach days and seeing her talking, in between songs you could hear her praying in the spirit, that's how she did it - how she did beach days with four kids. 

We would get to Dunes of Panama, park in our spot, put our lunch box and red thermos under the pavilion by the pool and we would head down to the ocean. Now, this was not a chill ocean time - this was full on swim camp and boogie board camp. I proudly tell people that I learned how to swim in the ocean, my Nonna taught me. We would be in the ocean for hours, HOURS. There was no time for sunbathing or sandcastles - this woman meant we were swimming in the ocean and we never, ever wanted to get out when it was time to go. We always ended our beach days at the pool, we would go up to the pavilion we had reserved hours before - sit down and eat our cold turkey and cheese sandwiches on sourdough bread, we would pass the family bag of Doritos and the red thermos of ice cold water - then she would cut an apple for us to each have a couple slices. I can still taste the water from the red thermos. After an hour in the pool we would get back in the Buick, the leather seats burning our first layer of skin off - Nonna would crank the car and blast Carman, I would look in her rearview mirror and I would see her praying in the spirit again. 

We would get home, all take our showers, cook a full dinner, sit around the perfectly made table, we would hold hands, Nonno would ask the blessing - say, "buon appetite," lean over and kiss Nonna and then we would all share stories about our beach day. After dinner we would all clean the kitchen - one putting away leftovers, one cleaning off the table, one washing and one drying. Then we would all sit in the living room have a bowl of rocky road ice cream and watch I Love Lucy while Nonna rolled her hair. 

I am telling you - The best summer camp a girl could dream of.

These stories of Nonna could last forever - when I was a little girl I would get scared in the night. I would sneak into her bedroom, go over to her side of the bed and tell her I was scared. If Miguel does this now, I scoot over and let him get in the bed with us, but not Nonna - she would get out of bed walk me down the hallway and in to the living room, she would turn on the lamp look me in the eyes and say, "there is nothing but ministering angels in this house," then she would walk me around the entire house saying the same sentence over and over, asking me to say the same thing. Telling me that there as nothing to fear. She would then walk me to my bedroom, we would say the prayers again and she would rub my hand until I fell asleep. 

When I would get up in the night thirsty - she would walk me to the kitchen, turn on the light above the sink fix me a glass of water and say shhhh as she ran her hand from the top of my head to the tip of my toes as if the water was traveling inside my body. She would take my glass, kiss my head and say - "okay body you are not thirsty anymore." She would walk me to my bedroom, we would say the prayers again and she would rub my hand until I fell asleep. 

Nonna and Nonno had an old radio/stereo in the living room - when we were getting ready for the beach or cooking dinner she would play 98.5 and this was back in the day when Savage Garden was a thing. Well you remember that old song 'I wanna stand with you on a mountain. I wanna bathe with you in the sea. - you know what I am talking about. Now imagine this, an Italian woman with a thick thick accent singing this song and making up a dance with me, her 8 year old granddaughter. We did the dance so many times one summer that it's a core memory for the both of us, I know for a fact that on a good day we could still preform and sing it. 

I am telling you endless memories and I haven't even touched the ones of her praying over us and calling us because she felt the holy spirit telling her to call. And calling at the exact moment we needed. Knowing that I could walk in her house (I did this once bc I was in town documenting a birth, I was there until 1am) I called her when I was on my way to her house to sleep and we both giggled while we made turkey and cheese sandwiches at 1:30 in the morning. 

My Nonna isn't doing good. 

I am not doing good. 

We are not doing good. 

-

But let me tell you what we know. 

We know that when its time she is going to beam to heaven 

We know that she is going to meet her Yahweh face to face

We know that we will miss her laugh and her thick Italian accent forever 

We know that every Christmas we will make cartellate and I will hear her say - Callie you were 2 years old and we couldn't find you and you snuck into the dining room to steal a cartellate

We know that every memory made with her is so delicate and precious

We know that this season of not knowing when but soon is coming to an end 

We know that she loves her children, her grandchildren and her great grandchildren so very much

& for those who know Nonna know this one - We KNOW that if it wasn't for her, none of us would be here.

The One Where Miguel Gets Rid of His Paci

While we were at Disney World recently my mama told me something I will hold onto the rest of my life- she said, 'Miguel does not know what he is missing, you do. He is loving every single second of this and not listing the things he is not getting to do.' This topic was hot off the press as I was drying my tears on Main Street because my birthday boy fell asleep seconds before the parade approached the spot we had been melting in for 35 minutes. I remember feeling so defeated too many time this trip because I, like my mother, live for the big moments. A friend told me once that I love to create moments, it is true. I really, really do - but since becoming a mama I have allowed that to almost rob me of the authentic moments. 

I knew on Miguel's birthday we would be giving Mickey Mouse his paci, it was something we have talked about for months - 'Miguel who are you giving your paci to? - Icky Mouse he would say with excitement. Then the time came, we were at Disney on his birthday to celebrate him turning three years old, him becoming a big brother and truthfully any reason to go - we find it. Anyways, we walked into the place on Main Street to meet the mouse. Miguel had his paci in a little gift baggie. He held it the entire 45 minutes that we waited to hand it off. I explained to a cast member what we were going to do - he seemed to understand and said that would be fine (because I would be leaving with the paci, obviously) I just needed the mouse to take it from my three year old who was passing it off willingly. We got inside, Miguels eyes lit up - He was seeing the mouse, his bestie, MICKEY MOUSE. He took the bag and tried four times to hand it to him and the mouse shook his hands - I looked at the cast member confused and upset, but I grabbed the bag shoved it in my pocket and said, "Mickey says thank you, he will get it soon." I smiled with tears in my eyes for the picture and then guess what - we were too close to the mouse and he pushed us away, looked at us and motioned for us to scoot over. The cast member who stood by the new photo box, did not use his words in communicating a single thing other than 1...2....3.... say cheese. Homie, I will NOT be cheesing at this point. I am upset that this moment I dreamt of was taken because nobody paid attention. I walked out, my husband asked my son what he did and with the biggest smile he said, "I gave my paci to Ickey Mouse like a big boy." He did not know any of the awkward things that had just transpired, but boy did I. I took myself over to the wall of ears and ugly cried, my 24 week pregnant self ugly cried in front of the wall of Mickey Mouse ears because we just, 'gave his paci,' to the rudest mouse I'd ever met in my whole life. Y'all I literally messaged customer service on the app - "WHERE DO I COMPLAIN ABOUT A MEETING WITH THE MOUSE?" was the topic. I laugh about it now, but boy did I have to make some jokes to get through that one. 

That night we had reservations at Chef Mickey and I refused to get in trouble by a mouse or any of his pals - so I was anxious about standing up to take pictures/interact with the characters. We found out that we could in fact interact with the characters and it was the best thing! My baby boy got to meet all of his pals. He loves Goofy and watching him admire him was the greatest moment. 

That's the thing. Chef Mickey was something we booked a week before we got there. It was not something that I had time to butcher with my expectations. It was something that I did not play over and over in my head or worry about getting the perfect picture to remember the moment. It just happened and those are the memories I will carry forever. Obviously, the rude mouse will be something I never forget, but the nice Mickey an hour later will be the bittersweet prefect ending to my baby boy's third birthday. He even got a birthday cake and Donald Duck helped sing Happy Birthday, then Miguel and his cousin Addie went face first in the cake because why not?! 

--- 

I didn't get a pictures of him eating a cupcake in front of the castle.

I didn't get a the perfect paci pass off. 

I didn't get the ideal weather. 

I didn't get to show him the fireworks at Epcot.

I didn't get to take him to Animal Kingdom.

I didn't get him a balloon because he told me he didn't want one.

I didn't get to take him to watch Frozen.

but

We did get to take him to Disney World. 

We did give his paci to Mickey Mouse.

We did get to see Tinker Bell fly.

We did ride Buzz Lightyear 5 times.

We did ride Goofy Train (Mickey and Minnies Runaway Railroad) 5 times.

We did get him any toy he asked for (Birthday Disney Giftcards)

We did have dinner with Mickey and his pals.

We did ride the monorail.

He did get to ride his first roller coaster with his daddy.

We did get him a StormTrooper mask.

He did get to ride Little Mermaid with his Mamey.

He did sing, "In Summer," WITH OLAF.

So many fun things. At the end of the day we asked Miguel what his favorite part of the day was and it was one of the things listed above. Then Alejandro and myself would ask each other and it was also something listed above. That's the thing - none of those moments were planned, all authentic moments that I never could have planned. 

I love Disney World for this reason, I always have and I always will. Those magical moments happen when we least expect them. So CalPal, needs to loosen up and stop trying to force moments. 

Busyness is not my calling

It's really funny that I hate running in real life, but in my mind I am a runner. If things get complicated, I become a track star in my mind. Trying to take the next flight out. I want to run away and start over. It is funny how my brain has created this pattern. 

When I became a Christian as an adult, I was 19 years old. I was in Uganda and I knew that I felt the Holy Spirit. I knew then that my life was about to do a 180 and it did.  I ended an awful relationship I was in for far too long, I started going to church, I changed my music to mainly just Bethel. I prayed more. I tried to teach myself how to have quiet time. I started serving at the church because that is what all the other Christians were doing. I knew that I had found my purpose, it was to serve. I felt like I was called to ministry in some way, so at 19 years old being a fresh -  I mean fresh Christian, I already signed myself up to be in full time ministry. I started overcommitting to the church I was a part of - I taught preschool every Sunday. I took pictures during the worship nights. These things were not and are not wrong, but somewhere along the way -

 I replaced my works with my relationship. 

I knew that I was passionate about Jesus because I surrounded myself with people who were passionate about Jesus. I knew that I was joyful because the people I was around were joyful. But the kicker - I was using others peoples walk with the lord to determine mine. 

I knew a few things about myself at the time. 

1. Africa was not just a continent, it was my entire heartbeat

2. I did not want a job that did not lead me in the direction of ministry.

3. I loved being busy. Coffee dates, church meetings, outreach, preschool. 

4. I never really silenced my mind. 

So I was 19/20 running on the fumes of my communities relationship with the lord and I was trying to find my groove as a Christian. I was reborn, this was all supposed to come easy. I was supposed to wake up every single day with a purpose. I was supposed to walk boldly in my calling. I was great at quite time in the mornings when I got up at 11, I would go sit under the tree in the field and read my bible and write. I would top it off with Bob Goffs book Love Does. It was the perfect thing for me, but my day would go on - I would go get coffee, go hang out with friends here and there, start planning fundraisers for my upcoming missions trip and then I would start getting anxious about, "what I was supposed to do with my life." So I would keep busy to try to avoid that question. Mind you, I was a licensed massage therapist, who talked about going back to college for a teaching degree - but instead I was literally frozen because I didn't want to make the wrong move. So I was a freeloader at my parents house for far too long.

I wish that I had a dollar for every time I have gone through this season. Someone told me once that our brains actually create memory lines- so any habit we have it is so hard to break because we are fighting the line our brain created. So for 10 years I have been reliving the same pattern over and over, not every day, not every month - but at least once a year for a couple weeks I do this:

I look back at my life and try to define when I was the happiest.

Mission Trips

Tour

Food Truck 

I then contemplate if either of those things brought me true joy or if I liked it because I felt busy. 

I then go through 25 different jobs that could maybe fulfill me in some way.

Then I list out every single thing I am passionate about 

Then I sit, I stew and I wonder - wow, so what in the actual hell am I supposed to do. So I sit more, I don't do anything, I become lazy and then I chat with a few friends and finally get out of my funk. But not until I make some major quick change. 

So tomorrow, I start massaging again. It will be good. It will give me purpose. It will give me income. It will get me out of the house. It will help me break that brain pattern. 

What you need to know is that the other day a friend who is basically another version of me, we are truly soul sisters. one in the same. I have never met another human who is so much like me that its kind of wild to see. She told me that we (the type of person we are) tend to find our identity in the closest thing that feels like Jesus, but it is not Jesus. Meaning I, Callie, have put all of my passions into Africa, tour, fundraising, church ministry - but I have skimped out on my relationship with Jesus, like my true one on one relationship. Because somewhere along the way, I was thrown into serving. My husband and I both were. So we are currently rebuilding. We met on the mission field, we have served our entire marriage. And we just were never taught to sit and be poured into. 

Heavy, this one is heavy - but its necessary. In order for me to move past my past, which is truly a crap show - then I have to put this down. I have to realize that yes, the lord used me in the season of Africa, tour, all the things - but. I wasn't allowing myself to truly be filled by him. I was being filled by moments, by other peoples passion about the lord. It is a tough wake up call, but necessary. Because I am trying to redefine myself. Trying to tell myself that the mess that my last church caused is not because of the Jesus, it is because people ran the church. And people are messy. I am trying to remind myself that I do not need to have my hands in 5,000 things to feel like I am living out my purpose. Because just being a good christian, a good wife, a good mom, a good worker is more than enough. 

I gotta stop romanticizing busyness as my calling. 

come meet your baby boy

 I have found myself telling our adoption story so many times recently. I am not sure if its because this is around the time that we matched with first expectant mom, two years ago. Maybe its because I got a fun new job as an adoption consultant. I am honestly not sure, but there is a part every single time I tell our story that I cannot help but get goosebumps and teary eyed - and I have told this story at least 15 times. 

As many of you know our first adoption was a disrupted match. It was a goose chase for a few days. I remember being confused and broke, lost and hurt. But I still felt a sense of hope for some reason. I knew that we were not done. We knew our adoption had truly failed on a Thursday and on the following Monday we got a text about a baby boy who was born at 3:01PM - he was Hispanic, a stork drop and birth mom was ready to look at profile books. I can tell this story over and over - then I get to this part. 

On Tuesday morning Lisa, our case worker, called and asked if I was near Alejandro. She had a different voice than I had heard before. I wasn't sure what it meant exactly and I was still pretty numb to the chaos that unfolded a couple days before, but remember - I said I had hope. So with the ounce of hope that I had and a smidge of wanting it to happen. I heard, 

'Come meet your baby boy.'

a small cloud was lifted. We were ready to go, but couldn't leave that day due to flights. The next morning we got to the hospital and I remember being so nervous. Like the most nervous I had ever been in my entire life. I walked through the door in the NICU and immediately it was as if time was frozen and not a single second of heartbreak mattered anymore. We knew in that moment that we walked through every second of the mess to get to Miguel. I knew that I would need to process things, I knew that would come with time. But in this moment meeting our baby boy was so bittersweet and that was something to focus on. 

Over the next couple of days, Lisa was very good about reminding me that I would still mourn the loss of baby girl. I did not know that this would happen or how this would look because honestly I felt fine. But then, one night while doing skin to skin with Miggy I remember silently weeping. Alejandro was resting on the couch and woke up to see me crying over our new baby and then I realized what happened. I was processing. I was mourning, but joyful. I was in shock but excited. I as hurt, but healing. Miguel was not a bandaid - I will forever say this. This was a process I walked through for weeks following. I was never mourning what we did not have. I was mourning the fact that this child was being placed in state custody and there was nothing I could do. I was mourning the hurt caused by an expectant mom who was so lost that she created a trail of lie and deceit. I was just mourning. 

But as I say so often, we would walk through it again because we know the outcome. 

I still think about that baby girl, we named her Marlo. I still pray for her often. 

But I would never change where we are now as a family. I trusted that God had us and I knew that our story was not over. God truly had to break me to build me up. I had to loosen my grip fully before I could be an adoptive mom because that title while a beautiful one, can be a tough one. Guys, I do not wake up every morning thinking about the fact that Miguel is my adopted son. I wake up thinking about how he is my son. However, when I see the picture we have framed in his room - the one of us and his birth mama I am reminded that we, 'share,' Miguel. She gave him life. She birthed him. She chose life for him. She chose adoption for her child and she chose us to parent her child. 

don't sweat the little stuff

 This post has been a long time coming. I quit writing awhile back because I couldn't find the time, honestly. I still wrote things in my head everyday and would sometimes write on social media platforms, but would never allow myself time to write on here. This blog has been with me since 2013, maybe. If you looked back you would find all of my secrets. I mean not really, but you would be able to tell what I was going through in each season. I tried looking back awhile ago and laughed and cried, then laughed some more. Just because the blogs I wrote then were really meaningful then, but they are still punching me in the gut now. 

A couple months ago while listening to a podcast, I heard someone say - 

 you are never as passionate as you are at the age of 22.

And nothing has ever made more sense. I have spent most of my late 20s chasing after that feeling, chasing after the girl who was on fire for things. So passionate that she was a force to be reckoned with. I have spent so much time trying to win her back. I mean she truly was fearless. She went to Africa every summer without hesitation, got baptized in the Nile river without thinking about the parasites. She traveled around the States staying in strangers homes. She truly was fearless. 

Now she is 28, a wife and a mother. She is me if you haven't picked up on that yet. & I find myself more scared now than ever before. I wonder where the fear came from, but the only thing I can trace it back to was moving to Uganda. I cannot wrap my mind around why it happened or why I am the way I am now. Its really not a fun place to be, to be scared of the craziest things. 

I can create a wild scenario in 2 mins flat. I can fall asleep on demand, its a defense mechanism I created to handle the fear.I cannot get in an elevator without my palms sweating. 

This list could go on and on. If you met me you wouldn't know I was scared of so many things - until I started making jokes about how I fall asleep on demand when I am scared or make dumb jokes to laugh off the fear while stepping into an elevator. When I am nervous I talk louder, according or my husband. Or I am scanning the area like Maggie from FBI, waiting to catch someone. 

However, I do not want to be this anymore. I do not want to live in fear. I want to feel like I did at 22, granted I know that won't really come back fully because -who are we kidding - I was single, with no bills and lived by the saying. 'why not.' But I promised myself that this year I would do something every week that scares me a little bit because that is how I get rid of this beast on my back. I do not mean skydiving. I simply mean riding in an elevator alone. Driving down the interstate in a thunderstorm. Normal everyday things that make me a tiny bit nervous. 

I think the wildest thing about all of this and that I know hard things are worth it. I know that I do things and then look back and I am shocked that I did it. I seem to be able to do the big things for some reason. I can adopt a child, I can move states, I can walk through a disrupted match. I can go months into national pandemic without a single anxious thought (I did this and I am still not sure how. Maybe it was Tiger King or TikTok, but y'all. I never panicked about Covid - I mean duh I have since, but the first panic about it was last month.) I can do all of this because I knew that Jesus was with me. Like I knew I was not walking alone. 

But man, the tiny things. I always sweat the tiny things. 

and as my dad always says, 'don't sweat the little stuff.'

So here is to my year of not sweating the little stuff. 

calling

I had a friend once who obsessed over the phase, "God's calling on my life. " I obsessed about it so much during our friendship and two years after that it made me a very anxious person. I was so scared to step outside of what God was calling me to do, that I literally didn't do anything. I just sat, literally sat on my comfort couch, this is what one of my dear friends called it. I remember the day I got rid of my comfort couch, it held too many negative memories. I sat her by the street with a note that read, "she was a good couch."  Someone picked her up within 10 mins. I cried a little bit because me getting rid of that couch was much more than just getting rid of some old, torn couch. This was monumental in my life. This meant that I had to do something. I could no longer stay on my couch watching New Girl and wishing for a better life or a better calling. I had to figure out who I was for myself.

I don't remember the exact timeline of everything. But I started back to college again, one thing you must know is that I am terrible student when it comes to college things. I dropped out fast than John Mayer dumped his girlfriends. I was in school and my parents were hosting the children's choir from Uganda. I knew it was going to be such a special time because I knew the Ugandan culture. It was a blast. It changed my life. I joined their tour. I said, "yes." I did this by myself. I did this alone. This, "yes" was the very first time that I said yes to something without asking a friend or a boyfriend. Mainly a boyfriend. I did it. The first night I cried myself to sleep because I was sleeping in a blow up mattress, in a baby nursery in a strangers home. Honestly, who wouldn't cry - but for real, I had to adjust to my, "yes." This was my first step to trying to figure out my calling. Sure, I was scared. I was scared of what people would say when they found out that I dropped out of school to join a children's choir. But, I got over that shortly after. When you have 18 kids saying, "Auntie" all day, you forget about a lot of things quickly.

Fast forward three weeks and we are in Spartanburg, South Carolina. I hated South Carolina, it was entirely too hot. It was humid and it was just hot. The kids loved the church, I loved the church. This is where I heard about a guy moving his family to Uganda. I remember exactly where I was standing when I found out. (Not knowing that this house, the exact room I was in would be my room for a season a year later.) I remember something clicking inside me. I remember thinking that I could go with them, but I didn't know them. I met them all the next day, the entire Benjamin House team. I heard about a guy who was giving up his US visa status to move and I thought that was a huge commitment. I battled with that for awhile because I knew that these people knew their calling and I still did not. I had no clue.

Weeks past and for some odd reason I kept thinking about moving to Uganda with these people I had just met. I kept freaking out about the idea, but the idea would keep coming back. I would ask Jho, one of the Ugandan chaperones, "What do you see me doing with my life? What do you think my calling is?" I would ask him literally all the time. He would bring up some scripture and tell me to get a grip, I would figure it out. It was all out of love of course.

Fast Forward a month later and I am in Knoxville, Tennessee. I took the van to a book store (it was my tour thing) and on the way back I put the windows down, I processed and I felt free in that exact moment. I remember it like it was yesterday. All of the things that defined me previously, bad relationships, "my calling," religion, all of that did not matter anymore. I was free, I was free to make a decision. I was free to try and figure out what my calling truly was. You'd think that it would have been written in the clouds, it wasn't. But, I knew that I was free to make a decision.

The next city we visited, I told a friend that I was moving to Uganda with the Benjamin House team. I felt it in my bones that I as supposed to. I called my mother, she picked up the phone crying and said, "I know what you're about to tell me and I think its wonderful, but I need a little time to process." I HAD NOT EVEN TOLD HER ABOUT BENJAMIN HOUSE. The Lord told my mama before I even could. Talk about wild?!

Tour ended. I moved to Uganda. I felt at peace, but I knew deep, deep down that it wasn't forever. It wasn't. I moved home 5 months later and left dear friends behind. I had to move home for my mental health. I wasn't scared to move home. I wasn't really scared of failure. I was still just so scared that I would never find my calling. I loved being in Uganda, I loved the children in the slum, I loved teaching the mamas English with my roommate. I loved my sweet Ugandan roommate. But I knew I did not belong there in that season.

I moved home and said I would go back to school to teach English, this was my, "new calling." I think I started the semester and it ended quickly. I finished the semester but knew that wasn't what I truly wanted to do. I missed my friend in Uganda, the one who gave up his US visa to move. I missed him deeply. I called him one day out of the blue. I had not talked to him in 3 months, every emotion came rushing to me, something clicked. I knew I loved him. I told him the week later and we were married shortly after. He moved home because the Lord allowed him to be approved for a 10 year visitors visa.

We got married. I was working as a massage therapist (I have been one since 2011, I go back to it sometimes.) I knew it wasn't my calling, but I loved my clients. I loved my co-workers and I loved my bosses. Alejandro was working at FedEx. He loves the race of the day, seeing how fast he could get done. We were getting use to being married. We loved each other so well, we still do. We were focused on being a husband and wife.


Then we started a taco truck. I love the taco truck, Alejandro knows that this is part of his calling. He knows that this will be with us as long as the Lord allows. I love the people we serve, I love the places we set up, I love the food.

Then we met our baby boy. On May 13th, we got word that a baby boy was born. On May 14th, we found out that we were chosen to be his parents. I thought there would be a magical moment where everything clicks, there wasn't. I was pretty numb because of everything that had happened 3 days before with the failed match.

However, when I met our baby boy.

It clicked.

I felt part of my calling. I felt the feeling I felt when I said, "I do." to Alejandro. I felt the feeling I felt when I said my first yes to join tour. I felt the feeling I felt when I said yes to moving to Uganda. I felt the feeling I felt when we started our food truck. Thats the thing about, "my calling" - I don't think its supposed to be this one thing for the rest of my life. I think it's simple. We are called to love God and love people. I'd like to think I do those thing pretty well. Sure, I don't know what the next 5 years hold. I don't know what the year 2020 holds, but I know this - I am called


I am called to love the Lord with my whole heart.
I am called to be a wife.
I am called to be a mother.
I am called to love others.
I am called to run a taco truck behind the scenes.
I am called to treat every human equal.
I am called to tell our story.
I am called to things bigger than myself.
I am called to trust.
I am called to not fear.

I am called to be patient.
I am called to say, yes sometimes and no others.
I am called to be a daughter.
I am called to be a sister.


]

Finding Balance

I have been talking about becoming more of a minimalist for quiet sometime now. I think I finally took the plunge. I have one box of journals from over the years, a few dvds that I can't seem to get rid of and a ton of Christmas decorations, but other than that I have things that I use. I have not gone through my craft closet yet. That will come soon enough.

I hate throwing stuff out, I hate it. When I get rid go things its a battle of who I was when I threw the thing in the dump and who I was when I bought the thing years ago. There is never an in-between. Paperwork and cards are HARD. I just put most of my old cards on the burn pile, its not that I dont love them and the sentiment that came with them. Its just simply that I dont read them, I have no reason to. I've read them multiple times. I know who sent them and I know that they love us. Currently, my heart is racing as if I have some attachment to the cards. Like I did something wrong. This is not a right feeling. When I go to Heaven, those cards will not be traveling with me. That is a sentence I have said to myself over and over.

In this new season, I am trying to find BALANCE. In everything, yes, I still spend entirely too much time scrolling my phone and not enough time reading. I bake things before I clean my living room and I lay down to take naps before I do the dishes. I am working toward things. I am trying to find more natural things to put on my body, but have not made the same decision about what I put in my body. I still eat fried foods and sugars, but I am trying natural deodorants. Its a baby step process.


My life looks differently than I imagined years ago. You know that question, "where do you see yourself in 5 years?" It is funny to look back on that now. I never would have imagined being here. EVER. But I am and I do not mind it. I am learning how to say, "no" to somethings and be honest in everything. I am trying to remind myself that things go away, material things go away. I am also trying to remember that friendship change, its just how life works.

_____

This is a different season, I am trying to be kind to people, strangers, friends, and family. Like seriously be kind. I have a friend that calls me out when I fake smile. Its necessary because I do that too often. I am currently trying to teach my mom to not be sorry for her opinion. Sweet Amy, she will share her opinion, knowing that it doesn't line up with yours and then finish the statement with, "I am sorry, thats just my opinion." That is important, don't be sorry for it. Be graceful with your opinion, but not sorry.  I don't want to tell people things I don't mean, I use to be the worst about it.

_____________
things I live by.

say what you mean.
clean out your house/car/barn/garage. you will feel better.
love the Lord.
don't bash other peoples beliefs.
don't bash how people parent.
don't judge people.
be kind to people.
don't be sorry for your opinion.
don't be scared to say no.
don't be scared to say yes.
don't hold onto things.
don't be worried about what people think.
bake things.
make things.
light candles.
don't have fake friends.
don't hold grudges.
a new notebook is one of the best feelings.
if someone is copying things you did/do, good. let it be a challenge or compliment.
don't go to bed mad, you will only have nightmares.
support small businesses.
dont fake smile.

_______________

I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. -Maya Angelou

I'm a Child of God, Yes I am

We have another blog that we are supposed to use for adoption updates, well not supposed to I mean we just said that we would use that one. But this one feels like home to me, this one is one that I started when I was in a completely different season of life - a season where this chapter seemed so far away, but now I am here and going back to read old post makes me giggle because I can hear God so much in my own words, I can hear Him in the periods behind sentences, telling me to, ' be calm.' He did have me and He does have me. I think that is something that I heard over and over this weekend.

We had a worship night with our church and another local church Sunday night and WOW, God showed up and showed out. I told Alejandro the other day that one song that resonates so deeply with me right now, is -'Who You Say I Am' but Hillsong. Amber, who is on our worship team at church and pregnant with twins sings it from the bottom of her heart and I feel it in my bones. I cried when she sang it a couple weeks ago and told Alejandro that I wanted it to be written on a sign for a babies room -  "In my fathers house theres a place for me, I'm a child of God, yes I am." Over the weekend it played twice and both times, I knew it was for me. I knew it was the Lord telling me to, 'just trust Him.'  The first time was Saturday morning at 7:30am. We serve at the Harbor on Saturday mornings, we wanted to cook pancakes on the food truck - we got home at midnight from Foster Fest and decided that the grill wouldn't work for the pancakes so we got up at 5am to cook 240 pancakes on griddles and the stovetop. It was fun to see us work as zombies in the kitchen while one of our pups was licking up the things we dropped on the floor and the other one was still asleep (a girl after my own heart.)  I was discouraged when we got to the Harbor because I thought there would be more volunteers and I was just so tired, I got over it quickly when I saw who was there and how willing and ready they were to serve. We all started Harbor orientation for the day and they played our babies song. I knew then that I was where I was supposed to be. Then Sunday night rolled around and we did the worship night, I have never been so pumped for Heaven. Amber sang this song and it all happened again - its an overwhelming joy feeling - you know the one that makes you giggle while you have tears streaming down your face. 

Many of you know we are adopting, we are working hard to fundraise and we have been overwhelmed by the support we have been given. We started a food truck to help us fundraise - a food truck is so much fun and so tiring all in the same breath. We have done multiple events and every time we are set up, I hear at least one person say, "I saw that you guys are doing this for your adoption so we came out just to support you guys." 

Right now we are in the part in the process that I have read about on blogs and been told about - we are antsy, a little bit. I think about our baby multiple times a day. I think that the long nights prepping and early mornings rising for food truck days are preparing us for a baby. I have dreams about our baby. I pray for our baby's birth mother. We talk about what we will name our baby. We talk about what they will look like. We talk about what their room will look like. We are trying to decide what step to take - we know that a consult would be good, but we know it adds more money to the cost. We know an agency would be good. but some don't work with parents who aren't both US citizens and some won't work with couples unless they deal with infertility. 

Our dream with adoption is to stand in the gap for a mama who cannot afford to take care of her baby. A mama who is willing to put her heart aside and understand that her baby needs a home life outside of the cycle. We are applying fro grants, we are researching consultants and agencies daily. 

We are thankful. We are antsy. We are ready. We are praying. We are fundraising. We are researching. We are excited. We are nervous. We are thankful, again.


Heres an old blog post for 2014:
https://alifethatisnolongermine.blogspot.com/2014/07/adoption.html

Cal & Al

I’ve always heard that you know when you meet the person you will marry. That’s not always true. When I met Al, I knew something was there but I was unsure what. I felt upset when I heard that there was someone else he was interested in, but I quickly got over it because I knew that I didn’t like him. I knew he had a heart for missions and that’s what I found attractive in anyone. However, I did not like him I knew that. I went on about my life, I needed the season to heal to find myself and I did just those things. Two months after meeting Al, I got offered a position to move to Uganda to help build schools with the ministry he worked with (a dream that burned in my heart since 2009.) I took it. I knew that was where God took me, I knew that’s why I was on tour. I went back and forth with lots of questions - but deep down I knew. We would all move in 2016. It wasn’t until that month that I got his number. He text the group saying, “praying for you guys.” I think it was about three months later before we had our first conversation privately. He told me to try watching Parks, I did and most of our talks were about that. I appreciated his friendship, it was something I needed in the season of getting ready to move. I would often say, “you better not catch feelings because I am not that girl.” And I so wasn’t, I was in such a good season of being single that the idea of being in a relationship made me panic. I knew that I had to be single to actually do this giant move. In the fall of 2015, Alejandro came to Dothan to visit. We watched Parks, went to the fair and he met my best friends. Once I thought he liked me and I went to my house for 10 mins and left him in my parents - I DID NOT WANT TO LIKE HIM. He came back again in January to be my date to my sisters wedding, he taught me how to waltz. I thought I could like him, but then someone in my family asked me if we were dating and I ran away - to the bathroom for 10 mins. This happened a few more times, and every single time I would run away. I was better at that. 

In March 2016 we moved to Uganda. My entire family drove me to South Carolina a couple days before and Alejandro was there to greet us and to help me finish packing. He was there. I called him my best friend to everyone I knew because he was that. We moved to Uganda and transition was hard, it was so hard. Alejandro would come to my room and say, “hey, come outside.” He’d say, “hey, let’s walk to the store.” He would take me to get ice cream on really, really bad days. He was there. Two months into living in Uganda, we hit a wall. Our friendship hit its first giant fight. It wasn’t small. It was big. We didn’t talk for a couple days and we shared a bathroom, so imagine the awkwardness. I knew he was still my friend, we both just needed time. We eventually got over it, but walls were built up. He was still there. We watched Parks on rainy days, went to the alum together every Saturday, he taught me Spanish words everyday, he made me laugh when he knew I missed home. My phone got ripped from my hands and I called Alejandro scream crying from someone else’s phone. He slept on my floor that night and gave me his iPhone to take with me to Italy to visit my family. Time went on, Uganda got harder for me and I called it on my 6th month. My anxiety had surpassed the friendship I had with Alejandro, I had 100% pushed myself away from everything. He tried to take me places and I’d just tell him no. I moved home. 

If you know me you know that I say, “I love you,” to everyone. I said to Alejandro shortly after our friendship started and never got a response. When he dropped me off at the airport to fly back home, we hugged and wept seriously, wept. He looked at me and said, “I guess I love you.” I cried for 2 hours. My youngest sister was with me, she held my hand and kept quiet. I got home and cut off all communication. I knew I needed to, at least I thought I did. It had been two months and I got a text saying, “you’re not overcommitting to things to stay busy, are you?” For my birthday he sent me Parks memes and we’d catch up every now and then. He still understood me. 

Months passed and Alejandro and I would only text once a week, maybe. In September there was a banquet in SC for the ministrywe worked for, I decided to go and take my friend with me. We got there early to help set up. Tony, Alejandro’s best friend was there and he wanted to call him. So he called him, I picked up the phone and heard his voice and my heart quit beating. I said, “hello” he said, “hey playa,” and everything I ever knew about him changed. We caught up and at the banquet I saw all of his friends, his family and after the banquet was over I got in the car with Jordan and said,” I’m in love with Alejandro.” Her response, “about time for you to admit it.”

I called Alejandro and said, “I need to tell you something and it not ruin our friendship.” He promised it wouldn’t. I said, “I’m pretty sure I have feelings for you and that I have for awhile.” He laughed and said, “well, me too.”  We talked for the entire 6 hour car ride home. I got home and realized what I had done and wanted to run away, but I didn’t. 

October came around and my friends were going to Uganda and wanted me to join. I surprised Alejandro. There was a lot of awkwardness to push through. We asked each other if we could hold hands like on day 3, we laughed when it happened. He asked me to be my girlfriend in Gulu, a place I’d waited since 2009 to see in person. He kissed me, but first asked if it was okay. It was a lot of awkward moments, but we laugh at them now. When I got on the plane, he kissed me and we both cried. We FaceTimed often. I was unsure when I’d see him again. He got approved to come home in December, but left before Christmas. ‘Blue Christmas,’ was on repeat. We told each other we loved each other in December, Parks was on in the background. I knew if he didn’t say it then I would. He said it, we both giggled and said - “this is crazy.”

We knew we wanted to get married. We just didn’t know when or what that even looked liked.  We talked about fall 2017, but he came home in February to surprise me. 

We walked through so much to get married. So much. Long distance is hard, but when that person is there everyday that seems a little harder at times. We pushed through, we had great premarital counselors and we fought to get communication on the same page. We got married in May and nothing had ever felt more right. 

On May 20th we will be married for a year. They say the first year is hard, it is. I’m not going to lie. We walked through a very hard season. We pushed through and we fight daily for our marriage. Learning to live with someone sounds so fun at the beginning, until you realize that the kitchen cabinets are empty because he keeps Tupperware in his car and I keep all the cups. He wakes up at 7am and I wake up at 9:30. He’s ready for bed at 10 and I’m not ready until 12. But we’ve learned those things, we know each other and how to handle certain things. Marriage is fun. I seriously married my best friend and I’m so thankful for that. I can be myself. Recently I looked at him and said, “I never thought I’d be this comfortable with someone.” 

It’s the best. 

catch up.

change is hard.
it always has been and i am convinced that it always will be.

over the next couple of months, LOTS is going to change. LOTS.
some of my very best friends will be moving.
I will be moving into a house.
I will be making a very grown up decision.
I will be making more grown up decisions.
And more grown up decisions.
(very vague, but for good reason.)

I am not writing how I usually do - that because I've lost touch with writing. I still write stories about the people I meet and then they never make it to the computer. I always forget them or don't share them with people and then they disappear.

I still love meeting people.
let me clarify, I do not enjoy meeting people - it makes me nervous and clammy, but once that is gone I love it. I love knowing that they are just as nervous as I am most times.

I hate small talk, but love when conversations get deep really quick.
its one of my favorite things.

I quit school, again. not that its some huge deal. I just was unsure of what I was going after and I put it on the back burner for awhile - I will continue to let the thoughts simmer for a bit. but I refuse to beat myself up for not getting a 4 year degree in something that I am not 100% sure if I truly want to do.

I am a full time employee and I really enjoy it.
some days massaging is hard - its draining for my hands, my forearms and sometimes my brain.
I am convinced that I will be the pickle jar opener in my house someday.

for the first time, ever, I take pride in my job. I want clients to come back to see me and  I want to help them - whether that be just to relax or if they have an actual issue that they need worked.

one of my favorite clients is a very harsh older lady. harsh. the first time I met her it took all of my not to stop in the middle of the massage because of her views on politics. she went on and on and on for the entire hour and said things that I wholeheartedly disagree with and I kept my mouth shut. when the massage was over, I laughed while I washed my hands, because I realized that I loved her. she was harsh because she was herself, not caring what others thought. and I realized then that the world needed more people like her. people who have class, but are still not afraid to tell you their opinions not in a rude or disrespectful way. I want true and honest people. people who have different opinions than me, but respect me enough as a human to listen to my opinion as well.


this blog is a small catch up -
its nothing that is a life lesson or a story about someone who changed my life.
*I have tons of those from my clients. hopefully they will make it to the blog soon.*

here is to these next two weeks where I know I will cry my eyeballs out for multiple reasons.
1. moving my best friends.
2. seeing the Lumineers
3. did I mention moving my best friends?
4. teaching my heart that change is a good thing.

take a hike 2016 - 2017 here is to you

I don't have one specific pictures to describe this year, I've looked and I've tried to find the perfect one - but I am realizing that that does not exist. This year was a different kind of year, I did not care for it too much. I failed a lot and as most of you know I am not scared of failure - to an extent, but I do get nervous when I have to publicly announce my failure. I should be writing this post from my room in Uganda, but I am not. I am writing it from my couch, while Bon Iver plays on the record player and I wear my trusty robe because the party hasn't started yet.

I typically spend days like today daily quiet, I reflect on things and cry at some point. Today was different though, I woke up to a great conversation with my boy in Uganda, I rushed to build something for an event and then I came home to watch football. I haven't cried.. yet. I am not sure if I will. I did laugh a lot while I told funny stories I have had since starting back to work, I laughed and had the room laughing as I acted out the stories in person - I like to think I am funnier in person, my facial expressions and body language seem to sell the story.

I learned a bunch this year, I say that often. I say that too often, we learn things everyday if we allow ourselves. However, I did learn a lot though - I learned what a true friend is. I learn how to accept life going differently than planned. I learned how to say I am sorry. I learned how to forgive, in some senses. I learned how to laugh more. I learned how to curve my anxiety the best I can. I learned how to love and truly love. I learned how to say bye. I learned how to let someone love me. I learned how to be myself in every place - (I said "Roll Tide," in the front lobby of the spa the other day because I was exhausted and my other client was there early - I typically say Roll Tide, when I have nothing else to say. I said this in a crowded room and got blank stares and giggles because they had no clue what to think) I learned how to meet new people. I learned how to be okay with being okay. I learned how to truly feel and embrace my emotions. I learned how to be more vulnerable. I learned how to try new things and be honest when I do not like them. I learned how to live in another country. I learned how to accept not staying. I learned how to say no, when I wanted to scream yes. I learned a tiny-tiny bit more patience. I learned some Spanish words. I learned how to eat ice cream when crap hits the fan. I learned how to accept deadlines and how to avoid them. I learned how to teach. I learned how to learn. I learned how to commit. I learned that I need to commit more.


I do not know what 2017 holds.
I do know that right now I have a good job because I finally quit running from an opportunity that was right in front of me. I do know that I have someone special who has been there for me and with me for awhile now, awhile. I do know that I have a solid family who stands beside me in every adventure I embark on. I do know that I have a cat, who is a bed hog. I do know that my dog is probably pregnant, so I guess that mean 2017 will make me a grandma to pups. I do know that I am thankful for this year, even though it was really high highs and really low lows. I do know that I want to write more. I do know that this seamster will be tough. I do know that I finished a math class that took me 5 semester because I never committed to the idea of finishing my education. I do know that I am going to enjoy tonight with my family and my FaceTime date with my mexican later. I do know that I am going to enjoy every single second thrown my way and not wish them away because yesterday my sister got married, but really it was a year ago. I do know that music is good and coffee is the best thing created. I do know that Jesus loves me and chooses me. I do know that he is with me and fighting battles that I cannot even see.

I am loved.
I am learning.
I am here.


Here is to you, 2017.
Grandpups, ready to meet you.