Well, Hello There Stranger

It feels surreal to be here again. Writing again. On this blog again. It's literally been years since I wrote something, but I have been realizing lately that I need to venture back here - even if it's painful and tedious and not pleasant at all.

Maybe on another day, in another post, I will attempt to describe what has been my new normal for the last year and a half. But I won't today. Today I just need to talk about something that has been weighing on my heart heavily for years and something that I have been deeply mourning the past two weeks.

If you've known me for any length of time, you know that I love being a Mama. Yes, there are hours and days and seasons that are insanely difficult and I tell Andrew that I don't know if I can do it again the next day, but at my core, I absolutely love it. I love my two boys, I love being a stay-at-home Mama, I love homeschooling, I love sweet cuddles and  I love the sound of their voices when they say "I love you Mama" along with bedtime hugs.

If you've been around me a bit longer, and have sat and heard me pour out my heart, you know that I have always dreamed of a big family. Not massive, but 3-5 kids and a minivan. Full dinner tables, and a cacophony of noise throughout a small house that's bursting with love and chaos and Jesus Loves Me.

Only a small handful of you know this next part though. You've seen the mourning and you've heard the quiver in my voice and you've seen mascara running down my cheeks. There is a part of me, a big part if I'm honest, that doesn't want to write this and share this. But despite wanting to pretend that I am fine, that I am content, and that I completely trust the Lord has what is best for me in mind, I know that I have to share. I don't know who, but for some reason I know that I am supposed to write this and share this for someone. (If that someone is you, oh please know that my heart breaks for you and that I am praying for you even as I type this out).

Receiving the Rheumatoid Arthritis diagnosis closed the door on one of the biggest hopes and dreams of my life - having another baby. 

No, this diagnosis in and of itself doesn't mean that. There are some medications that you can go on that have less risk for the baby, and a small percentage of women actually have a reduction in their RA symptoms during pregnancy. But that will not be me.

I've known it for awhile. Honestly, I've known it since I transitioned from a walker to a wheelchair during my pregnancy with Jamesy (if you don't know that story yet, you can read about it here). I just haven't wanted to actually say it aloud. When my midwives told me that I would be crazy to want another child because my PGP was so severe that there was a near guarantee of my next pregnancy being even worse than the one with Jamesy... I knew it. When Andrew looked at me time and time again with sadness in his eyes and told me he didn't think we should have another baby even though I begged him to pray about it and tried to convince him that it would be worth the excruciating pain I would more than likely go through... I knew it. When I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia... I knew it.

But when I was hit with this diagnosis? I had to finally admit it.

I had to admit that one of the things I want more than nearly anything else in the world will not be what I will be blessed with. Seeing that on the screen makes me want to throw up if I am honest. I don't want to look at it, because I don't want to acknowledge it. I want to continue to live in my little world where I am better and able to handle another pregnancy and we can welcome another baby (or two or three...) into our lives. But that's not what the Lord has for me. And I don't know why.

There are moments when I can forget this dream, and sometimes depending on the hour with the boys, it's quite easy (ha!). But whenever I see a little baby, whenever I look at my boys growing up so fast, whenever I congratulate another friend on their adorable Instagram announcement, it feels as though I'm underwater and cannot come up for a breath. I sit there and think - why God? Are you trying to rip everything from my hands? You've stripped me of my health, and my ability to play the piano, and my ability to grab my watercolors and just paint at will, and running with my boys, and being the wife I so badly want to be... and then this too? Why?

I don't know why. I may not ever know. Job never found out - his health was restored and he was blessed with more material possessions and other children, but he never found out the reason for his suffering. Never.

But... then tonight I read 2 Corinthians. Specifically 2 Corinthians 1:3-5 and I remembered sweet truth:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. 

It's not as though I haven't read this verse before. Nor is it that I have forgotten that my God is a God of comfort. Honestly, I have just refused to fight against the lies that are pounding me and saying that the Lord is not for me, that He has spurned my heart's desires, that He loves others more than me.

I know that this is walking in sin. My questioning of God's goodness and plan for my life is akin to telling Him that I know better, that I know what is right and wrong and good and bad more perfectly than He does. It's insanity to think this, because I know the truth. I know that He is a good Father who loves me, who saved and redeemed me, who has my good in mind and who does not allow any suffering to come to me without first allowing to to pass through His hands.

I am mourning. And yet, I feel as though the Lord is opening my eyes to really see this passage of scripture in a new way.

No, I don't know the unfathomable pain of losing a child. No, I cannot relate to years and years of infertility. No, I haven't walked through an adoption process that was so close to closing and then dissolved in the very last moment. But I do know the pain of wanting something so badly it hurts, and having the Lord say "no". I do know what it is like to mourn dreams and hopes and ideas of what life "should" look like and to know that this "season" of suffering isn't likely to be short. I do know what it feels like to have one thing, after another, after another feel like it has been stripped away. I know what it's like to feel alone and helpless and bereaved even in the face of countless blessings. And maybe that's the point.

Maybe that's why the Lord has said "no" to more children. If I can sob alongside another mourning soul who is afflicted and bring them even the tiniest bit of comfort - that will be the Lord working in this. If I can finally admit that we will not be able to have more children, even though my heart literally feels like it is breaking while typing it out - that will be the Lord working in this. And if I can continue to press on to know the heart of my Father and live in His will even when the lies of Him being a "capricious, unloving God" are hurled at my soul - that will be the Lord working in this.

No, I'm not "at peace" about having to give this desire up. I'm not "at peace" with knowing that my Mama's heart that longs for one more child will not be given the opportunity to hold that baby in my womb. I'm not. But I am finally willing to admit that. I am willing to ask the Lord to start the slow and painful process of removing that desire from my heart and replacing it with His desires for my life and family. I am willing to stop praying that the Lord would change Andrew's mind and actually agree to try for "just one more". I'm willing to share this and be honest with my pain and my lack of trust and faith. And honestly, that right there is the Lord working in this.

A Reason to Sing

     (Short update: It's actually slightly funny to see that the last post I wrote on this blog was the announcement of our family taking the steps to become licensed foster parents. How time changes things! In January we became licensed but right before the last inspection and paper signing in December... we found out that we were pregnant. Seriously, the Lord has the most incredibly crazy timing but I wouldn't have changed it for the world. We had two placements earlier this year - a 5 day old and a 7 month old. We loved both dearly, but no longer are fostering for this season... I'm thinking this post will explain more of why).

When the pieces seem too shattered

To gather off the floor

And all that seems to matter

Is that I don't feel You anymore...

I need a reason to sing

I need to know that You're still holding

The whole world in Your hands

I need a reason to sing

When I'm overcome by fear

And I hate everything I know

If this waiting lasts forever

I'm afraid I might let go...

'Cause I need a reason to sing

I need to know that You're still holding

The whole world in Your hands

I need a reason to sing...

     I have not had a pain-free, normal activity level day in over half a year. 

     That sounds crazy in writing, although it's absolutely true. I don't honestly remember what it feels like to spend an entire day with Owen playing and deciding to do things like going to the park across the street from our house. I don't remember going out on a date with Andrew without my walker and needing to "take it slow" and eventually returning to our house exhausted and going straight to bed. I don't really even remember what our "normal" life was like pre-last December. Things have been so upside down and chaotic, I haven't even really sat down and wrote down my thoughts in any other fashion other than prayers in my journal and desperate pleas for prayer through text message to close friends. I decided tonight that had to change. 

     While 1st trimester nausea and sickness were just starting to wind down, I began having pain in my pelvic area that I nervously noticed one day in particular walking through Costco. I had run in to grab last minute ingredients for the Titus family Christmas get together, and felt as though I was going to miscarry the precious baby in my womb. I felt as though the pain was radiating through my entire pelvic bone and I remember not enjoying the evening like I always do with the family because I kept panicking and watching for "signs" that my greatest fear was coming to pass. 

     With great thankfulness, James is now nearly 34 weeks and I was not indeed having a miscarriage that December evening. The pain continued though, and when I went in for my very first visit with my midwives on the 28th of December, I was already at the point where I asked for a referral for physical therapy or whatever they thought would help. (Those who know me well know that I very rarely will bring up pain that I have been experiencing on my own accord to my doctors... Andrew didn't have to prod me to bring it up that morning, I already knew it was bad). The words "Pelvic Girdle Pain" came into my vocabulary and I began weekly physical therapy with a pelvic area specialist the very first week in January.

     Fast forward to now. As the months have passed, my pain has sometimes slowly and sometimes quickly progressed. I cannot walk outside the house without the help of a walker, and many days I cannot even get that far. I've been issued a disabled parking permit by my doctors, and have used it gratefully every time I end up getting outside of the house. My various pelvic support bands are essential for any amount of walking and I've gotten to the point where if I reach the top of our stairs without one on, I immediately turn around and go back into the house to get it - it's just not worth it to move without it on, no matter how sick of it I am.

     I have been in bed more hours this half of a year than many years of my life combined. I thought that the three months I was near bed-ridden with mold toxicity in 2014 were terrible, but I could always close my eyes and lay down and find some sort of relief from the dizziness, some release of the faintness that clouded all the rest of the hours of my day. This time around, nothing has helped. If I lay down too long, my pelvis grows more and more tender and painful, and yet if I don't lay down enough during the day I quite literally collapse. What used to be uncomfortable is now horrific pain, and what used to be annoying is now the audible sound of grinding in areas of my pelvis that I know enough of the human body to know should never be a normal occurrence. Sleeping used to be the time of relief, but with every move, every readjustment I wake with mind-numbing pain and trips to the bathroom (which are even more now that I'm in the blessed third trimester) make me wonder if I can actually complete the following day.

     Regardless, life goes on each and every day. Owen needs to be cared for and nurtured. Dishes and clothes need to be washed. Dinner needs to be cooked, and life needs to go on. Unfortunately, nearly every single thing that I used to do and complain and grumble frequently about goes undone - falling onto my sweet husband's plate for the time between Owen finally getting to sleep (about 9pm) and when he personally collapses into bed (normally between 11:30-12am). The one routine that has remained somewhat in tact is homeschool - it's become what I look forward almost more than anything else with Owen. He adores it, and I can sit next to him and watch his eyes fill with joy and wonder as concepts begin to connect and paint gets splattered as he learns to mix colors. And reading. Oh, the sheer amount of books he and I have read together on the bed or the couch... those two things remain nearly "normal", like a sweet God-ordained relief from the hellish season I feel utterly trapped in.

...Will there be a victory?
Will You sing it over me now?
Your peace is the melody
Will You sing it over me now?...

     I broke down last night. Realizing that it's been over a half of a year in this pain feels overwhelming. Mind-numbing. Debilitating. The worst part is the fear that while I am only 7 weeks from my due date, most women who have this severe of PGP are not immediately well after delivery, averaging about 6 weeks of post-labor recovery until they are somewhat back to normal, and around 6-12 months. Sometimes, like last night and parts of today, I literally do not know if I can handle that. I am seeing my sweet family less and less as they have to do most of their activities without me. I am missing out on one of the sweetest seasons with Owen, and even more so, the last season of it being just him and me. I miss my husband, the most servant-hearted and tender man I have ever met in my life, because when he puts me to bed at night, it is as if his night has only begun. 

     So today, after driving to another PT appointment, I listened to this song ("Reason to Sing" by All Sons and Daughters) on repeat, holding back tears and realizing that I actually AM in this season that seems often like a never ending nightmare. I don't know when it will get better for sure, and I don't know what it looks like for me to be a mama and wife and daughter and friend when I don't do any of the things that used to define those categories to me. I feel many times like a burden and a waste, lazy and dramatic at best. I know these are lies, without question. But they are a daily fight to keep in their place as lies and not allow them to creep into what feels like truth. If I am honest, I am at a loss to think of how these next 7+ weeks will look like, but maybe I don't need to know. 

     Because... even through every single moment of pain and anxiety and what feels like my heart falling into some sort of darkness, I know the end of the story. I know that one day, some day, every tear will be wiped away. Every disease will be erased. Every pain, painful memory, and hurt will be healed in an instant. I used to fear reading the book of Revelation, thinking that it was too scary and weird and would give nightmares. But going through the book this past year in Bible Study Fellowship, the Lord encouraged me through the one book of the Bible I vowed I never would enjoy, and never find comfort in. At the perfect time, the Lord brought me through those chapters, and showed me that He may not heal me. Not in my timing at least. But I can rest securely knowing that one day, that beautiful one day, everything will be gone aside from joy in His glory and my praise and adoration of Him. That this really is a "light and momentary suffering" even when the hours feel like generations and the pain is nearly unbearable. 

     So, I'm not sure. Not sure how to process this, not sure how to communicate what has been on my heart and mind for months, and not sure how to stand in that last paragraph when all I want to do is wave a white flag of surrender and quit. But for now, for tonight, I get to share. I get to open up the wounds that have been festering, and not worry about trying to put on a cute outfit and makeup so that even when I can barely take steps with the walker I can appear to have it together, but actually just be here and real and honest. Because I've sat here before. Typing away on this very same laptop sobbing and crying out to the Lord because I don't understand. As I worried and was wracked with anxiety throughout Owen's pregnancy, as I nearly lost my life to Postpartum Depression, as my body was slowly shutting down due to mold toxicity, as I mourned yet another month of a negative pregnancy test... and yet, the Lord at each and every moment has been good. His will has been done, and I have not been let go of. I do not believe in the least "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger" but I do believe that in my weakness He is my strength. That His grace IS sufficient and that His power IS made perfect in my weakness. I may not "feel it" but I cling to that truth as the pain tells me to lay down and stop typing. And, Lord willing, I will continue to cling because He will continue for eternity to be worth it - even when I don't cling and find that it is He who is doing the holding. 

...'Cause I need a reason to sing
I need to know that You're still holding
The whole world in Your hands
And that is a reason to sing...

We Are Thrilled To Announce...

Yup. It's time to finally stop being afraid of the what if's and come clean - Andrew and I are in the process of becoming licensed foster parents!

There is still a long way to go, including, but not limited to: home visits, finishing the last couple sessions of our 24-hour caregiver training and TB tests. But, although some of our friends and family know about this huge and exciting and terrifying new step for our family, we wanted to announce it to all of you for a few reasons. 

First, and most importantly, we absolutely have to be covered in prayer. It already is an emotionally and physically exhausting process, and we fully expect it to continue to become more so as we progress closer to being licensed and when we get our first placement(s). Please, please pray for us whenever we cross your mind. Send us emails or texts or call us and encourage us, because quite frankly, there are moments when everything feels overwhelming, but there's never a moment when we are doubting that this is God's next step for our family. Support is critical and prayer is essential. For those of you already covering our family and this process in prayer, thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Secondly, we wanted to start to prepare you all, our friends and family. Yes, we understand that you are not going through this process, but there are going to be a lot of things that are the same when we become licensed, as well as some massive changes that have to take place especially concerning our transparency with details of our family life (namely the information regarding our foster children). We typically have been an extremely open family, and I am clearly not shy to broadcast our struggles, joys, and prayers aloud for all. With this new step though, there are going to be many things that we simply cannot share with you and many things that you all will just have to be ok with knowing little, if anything, about. 

I have been looking into ways to share this type of information with everyone, and found an amazing blog which freely offered a form letter for friends and family. What follows is portions of that blog (which the author gave permission to freely use and change at will) and some of my own heart and ramblings. Please, please take a moment to read through it. 

Beloved friends and family,

We know that our decision to foster will affect you as well, and we are so hoping and praying that this blog (also being sent out to family and friends via email and snail mail) will help to answer some of your questions and set us all up for success in this new season. 

I want to start off by saying that I apologize for this being so long, and sometimes a bit bossy in tone. If you know me even a small bit, you know that I am terribly afraid of hurting people through words, but I pray that this blog/email/letter is received by everyone in the way it is intended - I love you, Andrew loves you, and we just want to make sure our future kiddos feel loved as well. Please don't hesitate to ask me, or Andrew or both of us any questions whatsoever - we love talking about this stuff! And don't worry, you'll be bombarded with information and will totally not be left in the dark when we, Lord willing, get our first placement.

What to Expect

We know that the process of becoming fully licensed can take several months, but our prayer is that we will have our first placement before the end of this year. We are open to one (or possibly two if the Lord so should make that clear to both of us) children from birth to about 2 years old. Boy or girl. Any nationality, language, culture. We could get a call for a placement the day that we're licensed or it could be several weeks or months before we get a call. The child(ren) could be staying with us anywhere from a few days to several years.

Confidentiality

When we get a placement, we will share with you (not on social media though) the child(ren)'s names, ages, birthdates, personalities and other such details. However, the family history, reasons for placement, medical status and other specific aspects of the children's lives are strictly confidential and we will not be able to share these details with anyone, including our most intimate friends and relatives. Please do not take this personally, but we absolutely cannot share many details about the kids.

Pictures

Policy is quite strict with pictures of foster children, and before you post any pictures of our future foster children, please contact us to make sure they are ok and that we approve any pictures or tags or comments about said pictures before posting. I know this is going to be hard for some people, but please trust us, and know that we are trying our hardest to have their best interests in mind, as well as following the WACs that we signed off as consenting to follow. We will really need your cooperation in this one. 

Inclusion in Family and Gift Giving Policy

Other than those confidentiality issues I mentioned, we will treat these children as members of our family. We must insist that everyone respect this policy. The foster children will be treated equally to how our biological children (well, Owen so far... this is not an announcement of something else so don't read into that one...) and this is especially relevant when it comes to holidays, birthdays or other gift-giving occasions. We never expect gifts for any of our children. But, if you choose to give gifts, you'll need to plan to give equally to all of the kids who are in our care at that time.

What Do They Call Us?

Our foster children will have the option of calling us by our first names, or "mom and dad". We will invite them to address you all with the same terms as Owen uses.

What Do We Call Them?

No child wants to be known as "the foster kid". We will refer to any children in our care as our kids, our son, our daughter. We ask that you please be sensitive to this, and do not refer to a child or introduce them as a "foster child". Feel free to refer to them as you would with Owen (my grandchild, my niece, my nephew) or if that isn't comfortable for you, you can refer to them as our child (my brother's son, my friend's daughter, etc.).

With all that being said, we are incredibly thrilled to start walking this road. We feel so supported and loved already, and have had many tear-filled and joy-filled conversations with so many of you already. Thank you for loving us and our family as how God has it today, as well as in the future.

I'll be posting a blog in the coming days/weeks about why we decided to walk towards foster care, and what we believe the Lord has burdened our hearts with specifically. Please, again, don't hesitate to ask questions or contact us. We can't wait and want you to walk with us :)

Ostriches

I've been struggling with not being an ostrich. 

You know. The animal that buries it's head in the sand and knows it has seen something and yet does nothing? Actually, let's be honest, it does more than nothing - it actively looks away and takes the effort needed to try and ignore whatever was seen.

Yeah. That's been me.

The Lord has been drawing me out of this for a while now, but for years I have either just barely held my head above the sand before yanking it back down, or have told others (including myself) that my head is above ground while still being very much buried. 

William Wilberforce, an English abolitionist and lover of Jesus, once said "you may chose to look the other way, but you can never say again that you did not know". I heard this quote from a dear friend a few months back and I can't shake it. I want to, my inner ostrich wants to so badly, but I just can't. Wilberforce spent his life making sure that he did not ignore the suffering around him, even when he could have easily turned away. He spoke up for those who were being silenced and raised his voice against oppression and injustice even when those around him hated him all the more for it. 

I can't help but wonder - what is different between myself and Wilberforce? If I am to believe the Gospel, which I do, it means that both he and I have the same redemption bought on the cross of Christ, the same indwelling of the Holy Spirit and same Heavenly Father who knows the very hairs on our head. And yet, I sit here so willing to blog about injustices and pain and so unwilling to push aside the false sense of comfort and security to actually stand with the hurting, to fight for the broken, to love the unloved. 

I joined Noonday almost a year ago with the desire to do something about the injustices around the world, to fight alongside the mama who couldn't put food on her child's plate and to encourage the domestic violence surviver to continue her work even when it felt like it wasn't making any difference. I loved Noonday, and still do. But God called me away from it in January of this year and for some reason, didn't tell me exactly why.

I wish that I could write that now I know what that why is, but I cannot. I do know that He is asking me to actually wake up though. I've been living in such a dream-like Christianity for far too long. I've been comfortable with pain at a distance, hunger across the street, and sexual exploitation a click away. But, praise the Lord, He is slowly ripping the "ok-ness" from my naive heart. It's so easy to journal that out, but I know myself - without a public affirmation I am so much more likely to slip back into my normal life, my head hiding and my ear plugging way of living that I've grown so accustomed to. 

I read the short book Risk is Right by John Piper over the weekend. After reading more than half of the book Girls Like Us by Rachel Lloyd over the second half of last week, I was feeling cut open. I couldn't put it down, but at the same time was loosing hope page by page and line by line. I was forgetting so quickly that I serve the God of Justice, and the Lord of Redemption and Life. Andrew pointed this out to me, and I consumed the Piper book in one sitting, pouring over the words that were so providential and so needed. 

Piper reminded me through the short book that as a woman who loves Jesus, it's not about me staying comfy. In fact, my comfy Christian life is nothing but a waste. Risking comfort, "security" and even life itself for the sake of the Gospel and loving those around me with no limits is where I will meet the will of God. I don't mean to say that I am not saved here in my comfy Christianity, but that my sitting here is not what Jesus meant when he said "go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you" (Matthew 28:19-20). 

This question that was posed in the second half of the book hit me harder than I expected it to:

"And now what about you? Are you caught in the enchantment of security,

paralyzed from taking any risks for the cause of God? Or have you been 

freed by the power of the Holy Spirit from the mirage of Egyptian slavery

and comfort?... do you women ever say with Esther, 'For the sake of Christ,

I'll try it! and if I perish, I perish'?"

Can I be honest with you? That question scares me. It did Saturday night, and it does this afternoon. Scares me to think about the "what if's". The "how would's" and then the "and then's". But I do not believe for a second that the Lord is doing something in my heart merely to stop when I become afraid. In fact, I believe the exact opposite. I fully expect Him to change my heart until I see him face to face, and even if the change and molding is painful and uncomfortable, I know it will be for his glory and my good. 

Walk with me? Please, please read Girls Like Us. It's painful and sickening and one of the hardest books I have ever read. But it is so needed. Needed for my ostrich heart to be jolted from this near comatose state of living and be willing to throw my comfort down and say "if I perish I perish, but I have to walk forward". I don't know what the Lord will do through that book in each of your hearts and lives, and I know that not everyone will be called to change their lives radically or move to India to walk with women or girls rescued from the sex industry. But some of us/you might. I don't know that the Lord will spark in your heart a desire to foster children so that the stream of runaways and sweet children abused and cast aside by society are instead loved well and deeply and pimps have less of a chance to lure hurting girls into the life. But some of us/you might be called to that. 

Pray with me? That the Lord would completely break our hearts for what breaks his. That he would fill us anew with his love and passion and strength and that we would do whatever he asks of us. No matter the risk. No matter the cost. 

I can't live like this anymore. You?

Celebrating My 5th Anniversary of Freedom and My Glad Surrender

Five years ago today, at about this time, I tasted freedom.

Freedom from the words, the lies, the fears, the failed hopes, the cages, the abuse.

God spoke the most clearly He had ever to me two days earlier, in the shower at his house of all places, that I had to leave. That if I was to continue in that relationship I would be in defiant and blatant sin against the Savior who bled for me.

Don't get me wrong. I knew all along I was in sin. But that morning the Lord caused me to see Himself and my desires in an entirely new way. One that left no room for my preconceived notions of who He was and what sort of God He would be to a returning sinner such as myself.  

That day, the day of the shower, I swallowed too many pills and tried to end things and couldn't.

But two days later, five years ago today, I did.

Only by the grace of God.

As I drove home, I cannot put into words the sense of closeness to my Jesus that I felt. The closeness that had been there throughout the past five years, past decade even, but that had been veiled by sin, and idolatry, and my own desire to quench the Holy Spirit's consistent promptings to return to my first Love.

So, I'm celebrating that today. That freedom. That sweet closeness. That change of perception that caused me to long to follow my Jesus more than ever before.

But, in God's great loving-kindness, I am also celebrating a glad surrender. A surrender of desires too deep for words, and desires which told through blogs only become palpable and bite-sized. A desire that pulls at the very core of my heart though, and that if I don't share it now, I honestly feel I may burst.

I'm surrendering my desire to be pregnant.

Andrew and I have been trying to have another baby since July of last year. Seeing as we weren't expecting to have Owen when we did (see my post about why here) I assumed that God would work a miracle like He did the first time, and we'd be holding a sweet little babe in a little less than a year.

But that wasn't the Lord's plan.

Walking into BSF this fall, I hugged so many ladies who had seen me through what was one of the darkest years of my life (see this post for more of that story) and so many of them kept glancing down at my belly and asking "so... any news??" I smiled and shook my head but was convinced that by the end of that BSF year I would be glancing down at a swelling belly and crying tears of joy thinking of how good the Lord was to bless me with another baby.

But, again, that wasn't the Lord's plan.

As the months went by and I threw out negative pregnancy test after negative pregnancy test, my hopes started failing. I began to question why the Lord would be "holding out" on me. I began to fear that the gap in ages between Owen and a future sibling would be far too much and that every month I wasn't pregnant was a month more of painful waiting.

Two weeks ago, a dear gal in my group brought her sweet 4 day old baby to BSF. We started trying for another baby roughly the same time last year, and while I was honestly so happy for her and her family, I also felt crushed.

"Look what I'm not giving you"

"Sucks to be you, you want this but I'm not sure you're there"

"Just be happy for all the women you're looking at who are pregnant and stop being such an ungrateful woman"

"How can you think you're sad when you've already had one baby and so many other women desperately want even just one and can't"

I felt like all these and more were what the Lord was telling me. That He was showing my the "Promised Land" but not allowing me to enter. Walking through the Life of Moses this year in BSF I struggled again and again with how the Lord could be good and merciful in showing Moses the Promised Land at the end of his life without allowing him to enter it. I mean, I knew that God was good and merciful. But I didn't really believe it. It felt as though He was rubbing my non-pregnancy in my face just like He must have been doing with Moses on that mountain. It was so terrible that I nearly walked out of the room halfway through the teaching.

So why am I writing about a glad surrender?

Because of Jesus. Because the Lord is not who I falsely believed Him to be.

In the last week, I feel as though the Lord has literally opened my eyes to His character in a way I have never before experienced in my life. To the point that I can literally type out that I believe God is good, and that showing Moses the Promised Land was God's mercy on Moses and not wrath or anger or something akin to a bully.

And I can type that I do deeply trust that the Lord isn't withholding His best from me by the fact that I am not pregnant again this month. In fact, if this deep knowing of the Lord had to come from these months of pain, they were all worth it. If this deep knowing of the Lord means that I never have another chance to hold my belly and feel a sweet kick against my hand, then (deep breath) it is still worth it.

I felt compelled to type this all out because, frankly, I want to raise this up as an Ebenezer of sorts. A monument to the Lord in which all who pass by (or scroll through as the case may be) can say with certainty that this was none of my own doing, but entirely the Lord. That He is and was and forever will be good and merciful and faithful.

Do I desire to be pregnant? Yes. So much. But at the same time, instead of saying "Fine Lord! Do what you want to! I didn't really want another baby anyhow!", I find myself simply falling before His feet and placing the desire there and softly saying through tears "Thy will be done". I know He knows my desires more fully than I know them myself. I know He loves me. This glad surrender is so very different than almost any other surrender I've had in my life before.

I don't know what the Lord's will for my life, and for my body and for my family is. I really don't. But I feel like offering this desire up to Him is a freedom and a release from a bondage that I never knew I was held in until right now. He is so, so good. I don't know His will, but I know Him. And that's all I desire.

A New Look!

This is going to be a boring, and crazy-short update :) Basically just letting everyone know that I have changed the blog formatting a bit and plan to start updating you more frequently and sooner than later.

I have so missed posting pictures of my little buddy, talking about the crazy things that happen here at the Titus Household, and rambling on about justice, sex trafficking, Jesus, OCD, and the occasional amazing recipe I just have to share.

Look for a new blog post within the next week and get ready - I'm so excited to dust off the keyboard and start recounting graces and memories, dreams and fears alongside you!

Here... I'll leave you with some sneak peaks and adorable Owen pictures :)

Until next post,
Sola Dei Gloria

A bundled up and sick little Owen on a much needed outside adventure on the Burke Gilman Trail last month. 

Owen proudly showing off his circles and artwork!

Twinsies selfie taken for my sister in law the first day I actually felt normal after my appendectomy in January.

Answering the Questions

There have been a good number of, let's just say it - sudden, changes for me recently. It's been a hard but good season, and while I want to just say "peace out y'all" and log off, I know that would literally be running away from what is going on in my heart, so I figured that the only thing I really knew how to do would be to write about it.

This feels so good. 

It's been so long since I've sat down to this blog screen and started typing, started letting my thoughts and my fingers take me down the page and out of my heart and onto a screen and somehow that makes it feel more doable, more real. 

I was reading through my past blog posts the other day, and realized over the past year there has been some pretty massive change in my life. Last year at this time, we were excitedly living smack in the middle of the U-District, praying through what it would look like to actually be missionaries there, and praying for doors to open to moving to LA to help with a friend's church plant, or to India to live as missionaries. We wanted to be "all in" so we sold our only car and took the bus or walked everywhere, getting to know the homeless around the area and having dinner with them. (I say this not to boast, but to just give a picture of how different things have been). 

Then I got sick. Really sick. 

In short, my body couldn't handle the sheer amount of mold that I was being exposed to and went into shut down in some ways. We canceled our idea (which to be so honest was actually what we thought the Lord was calling us to do) to move to Birmingham, AL in August to be a part of The Church at Brook Hills, and begrudgingly bought a car. We hastily moved out of our beloved (but deteriorating) home we were renting, and found an incredibly awesome place to live about 10 minutes from where we were. I got better, and I started Noonday.

Oh, and during the course of that time, we left our church, the most brutally painful and utterly devastating thing that has ever happened to us in our short marriage (but that will be another post later...).

I felt totally alone. 

Being so sick that I couldn't even take care of Owen for nearly 4 months left me alone. I mean, I guess it happens when you can't make playdates or coffee dates or anything, the invites just sort of stop because they know you can't make it. But I ached for friends. Leaving our church was like ripping away literally everything and everyone we had built our lives around, and so I wanting community, wanted friendship so badly. 

I found it in Noonday. 

The second I logged onto the Noonday Ambassador Facebook group, I felt instantly welcomed, instantly a part of this incredible community made up of women around the country who loved social justice, hope, redemption, adoption, and Noonday. I got more "likes" on my posts than I ever dreamed possible, and I felt immediately free to be completely open and honest with any and all of them. I posted about my sinful lust for more sales so that I could be one of "those" top sellers that I wanted to be, but wasn't. I posted about my fear of flying to a conference I couldn't afford to attend, and probably wouldn't. I posted about insane grace from trunk shows hosted by friends that had $42 in sales, but that opened my eyes to how much I adored the women I was meeting and reconnecting with. 

I feel like I was on that page all the time. Probably because I was. My sweet husband started pointing this out to me, and I bristled and roared. I was a free woman, thank you. I am a working woman, and I can do what I need to do for my business, thank you. I became even more attached to my phone and laptop, even more so than I have been leading up to Noonday and while I listened to trainings about how to set aside time for Noonday so it wouldn't interfere with family I couldn't get it straight. 

Every minute of every day was work for me. I answered customers emails immediately, even on date night. I checked the sample sale page when I saw a notification buzz, even during dinner. I read posts and checked FAQs and randomly scrolled all the time. But I felt empowered. And known. And accepted. And worth something.

I could write a hundred more pages, but there's really no need. I could talk about how amazing it was to meet 300 women who I had only "seen" online before at conference less than two weeks ago. How I was overwhelmed with how many ladies came up to me and said: "you're Ashley Titus!! I wanted to meet you!!" and how I ran out of the dance party the last night sobbing and sat in a bathroom stall with mascara streaming down my face because I had flashbacks to high school and an anxiety attack when I wanted to dance but stood there in extreme fear without knowing what to do next. I could talk about how I came back to Seattle recharged and super excited for the upcoming Spring season and how I talked to my husband non stop about what samples I was going to invest in and why and which ladies I thought would be insanely awesome at hosting a trunk show and how I wanted to know my hostesses better so what I would be changing to love on them instead of "coach" them as I had in the past. 

But none of that really matters. What matters is that while Andrew and I were given Owen his bath on Wednesday night he turned to me and asked if I would take the next day as a fast of sorts and seek the Lord before buying samples and new displays. 

To say that I bristled would be an understatement. I full on freaked out.

I was harsh and mean and angry and pointedly asked him if he was telling me backhandedly that I should quit. Typical of Andrew (which, anyone who knows him will attest to), he calmly said no, and that he wanted me to do with Noonday and the Spring Line what he wanted me to do with every part of my life - seek the Lord. He reminded me that if I didn't purchase the bundle the moment it was posted, life would still go on and I yelled. I was so pissed that he would be telling me to calm down and pray. How dare he? 

Typing this sucks. I know my husband, and I know his heart for me. I know that above all else he wants me to walk with Jesus and submit everything to the Lord who loves me and wants good for me, even when it isn't the good I wanted, or wrote down in my planner. I know that Andrew knew me so well that he could see me sitting in the whirling of my mind and of samples and of launch shows and of Noonday conference "high" and wanted me to take it all to Jesus and have peace and clarity as I walked into the Spring season, so that I could work to His glory, and not burn out through my own strength. I know all this. 

But the Lord had to stop me and show me. And oh did He.

As Andrew and I talked about that topic once Owen was asleep, I began to run away from the thought that was becoming bigger and more pronounced in my mind - the thought "I'm not supposed to order a bundle. Because I'm not supposed to continue Noonday". I pushed it down without even speaking it aloud and argued back to myself that I would just order the samples and become better at time management and it would be ok, give me just one more season to make it work, I only have been doing this a few months, how would it be right to stop now? But as the conversation went on, the Lord was sweet in His conviction and clear in His words - stop. Stop.

So I uttered them aloud to the shock of my husband. "I'm not supposed to do Noonday anymore". We sat there and I started sobbing, and while he tried to convince me that I didn't need to make such a big decision that very moment, I can't tell you how specifically it felt as though the Lord was confirming that very idea. I really was supposed to quit. 

So I did, and I am. 

Even thought it sucks, I have such a peace about it, and know that without a shadow of a doubt, this is where the Lord is calling me. I'm not sure what lays ahead for me, but I do know that when I told Owen mama wouldn't be working anymore he smiled and said "now mama play me!!" and I smiled and said "yes" joyfully. I know I will meal plan more (ok, let's be honest, I'll actually meal plan) which I love doing surprisingly enough and haven't done in months. And I want to blog again. And just be open to wherever the Lord calls me, however that looks.

And the plugging from social media thing? I'm addicted. Plain and simple. If I told you I was addicted to alcohol you'd immediately advise me to stop drinking and going to bars, so that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to stop posting and looking at posts. Social media isn't bad. Just like working for Noonday isn't bad. In fact, they are both things that have a ton of good in and because of them. But for me, being on Facebook and Instagram is a sin. I've always known it, and I've pretended that I didn't because I am so scared of loosing out, of missing out, of being alone. But I want to trust the Lord that even when I feel alone, I won't be. That when I feel like I have to check my phone because I'm slightly bored or slightly anxious, or that's just when the pathways in my brain say I'm supposed to look at my phone, that I can actually not. 

I'm not sure when I'll plug back in. But honestly? I hope I either never do. Or at the very least, that when I do again I can do it for the right reasons, and not for numbing out, distracting myself, comparing myself, gossiping, coveting, or sinning. I know it's possible, but right now it's not where I am.

Anyhow, props for whoever is actually still reading this insanely long post :) I am excited to just BE and be present and hopefully not distracted enough that the still quiet voice of the Lord is loud enough to hear clearly. I'm scared but I'm excited. I'm wanting to walk closer with Jesus, what should I fear??

Why Whole30

So tomorrow marks the first day of Andrew and me doing the Whole30 challenge (along with a friend and her hubby).

I'm not sure what to think about it all. Part of me is so excited to just get started - this weekend has been the biggest splurge ever I think and I feel TERRIBLE. But the other part of me is kind of freaking out. Will I be able to actually do this? Am I going to be regretting this tomorrow afternoon? Friday morning?

But honestly, I think the biggest part of me knows this will be good for me physically and spiritually.

Why?

I use food in place of Jesus more than I'd like to admit.

I use food for comfort. For stress release. For abating anxiety. As an entitlement.

In short, its not healthy. And I am not healthy.

So why am I really doing this "crazy" thing for 30 days? Because I know that life is more than sugar and processed foods. More than calming my nerves with food and eating because I am bored. For those of you who know my story, I've struggled with food for most of my life - nearly starving myself into rehab twice and never fully accepting that I won't be the skinny little middle schooler I used to be.

I'm doing this because I want to learn what it means to eat because I'm hungry. I want to be healthy. I want to give up using deodorant (if you think I'm crazy look it up - body odor has a lot to do with our diet and I would love to get to a point where my body doesn't produce as much foul smelling "glow" because I'm not putting toxins in...) and crave healthy food not sugar, Mac and cheese or Life cereal.

So, as I start this next month of eating only meat, veggies, fruit and good fats, I would love encouragement. When you're dying to tempt me with some amazing cake or sandwich or granola bar, please instead encourage me. Encourage me to seek Jesus for my comfort and emotional stability, to see boredom as something to sit in rather than run from, and to use food to sustain me not please me.

I'll be doing my best to blog through these 30 days - either recipes Andrew and I have found and loved (or hated), what I'm learning about my relationship with food and other random things that someone detoxing from sugar, diary, carbs and processed foods will blurt out :)

Here goes!!

A Letter To My Son

Dear Owen,

I don't know if you will ever read this letter, or if it will make smallest bit of sense when you do. Either way, I just wanted to get my thoughts down and free them from their prison, from my heart where they have been for weeks now. Nine and a half weeks now, to be exact. 

First and foremost my sweet Owen, I love you. 

You were the baby that I had prayed for for years. I made some incredibly unwise decisions with my life and my body before I met your Dada and was not positive that I would be able to have any children at all. You are my miracle baby. From the moment I found out that I was pregnant with you, I loved you. From that blurry and tear-filled moment when you first laid in my arms on a cold December afternoon, I praised the Lord for you. There is absolutely nothing you can say or do or be that will change the depth of my love for you Owen. I will always, fully, completely, to the best of my fallen heart's ability, love you.

Right now you are playing with your friends at their house for the afternoon. I'm getting picture updates from Ms. Morgan, so I know that you are sleeping well, and I am quite positive you are enjoying hanging out with your little buddies. God is awesome like that, isn't he? He provides people like Ms. Morgan and the other friends and our families who have brought us meals and taken care of you during these last nine and a half weeks. They have served our little family of three tenderly and sacrificially, and shown us the love of God practically and in more ways than I think they even have realized. 

I miss you though Owen. 

I miss waking up and snuggling you before you go and eat your Cheerios for breakfast. I miss tucking you in for all of your naps, and being the one to go into your room and get you when you are up from those (sometimes incredibly short...) naps. I miss cleaning the house with you, you following me around each room excitedly as I use our vacuum and Swiffer. I miss you cupping my head in your wee little hands and making me look into your eyes when, in some incredibly intuitive way, you knew I was having an OCD attack and I needed to stop cleaning and just be with you. 

My buddy Owen, I miss your excitement as we walked to the park together. Your quick hands trying to grab every single DVD off of the shelves in the children's section of the library next door, and snuggling together with you in my Ergo while we walked to church, or Trader Joe's or to the bus stop. 

It's been too long since we have done any of those things my sweet son. Months in fact. My heart grows lonely and, sadly, more downcast with each day I am sitting here on the couch while you are playing with a grandma or a friend. I feel like I have lost out on so many little moments with you. 

If I'm honest with you Owen, I am scared that I am going to lose you. 

I'm terrified that you will love your grandmas more than me, because they do fun things with you and I just sit here. I'm afraid that you will think I don't want to be on my hands and knees chasing you around the house and playing peek-a-boo, that I am bored of you. 

Oh, my sweet Owen, I am not. Oh, my sweet, sweet baby, I am not.

I long to be able to spend the day with just you, like how we used to, but with a lot less of Mama cleaning the house frantically, and a lot more of laying on the grass in the park and giggling together. 

You see Owen, Mama's sick. I'm not sure with what, or why, or for how long, but I'm sick. Your Dada and I are trying to figure out why, with my doctors and lots of other people that the Lord has blessed with incredible knowledge about how our bodies should work, and what needs to be done if they aren't working properly. We are praying that we figure something out soon, but right now it seems as if it just has to be a "wait and see" time. During this time, I want you to know that I love you and I miss you. I know we've talked about it many times, but I'm pretty sure you don't know what I mean when I hold you close and explain the situation, and that's okay. I'm praying that Jesus would comfort you when I cannot, and that he will give you joy that surpasses anything that I could give you or do with you. 

Owen, I love you. 

It's not your fault if Mama starts crying randomly, or if I just sort of stare off into space thinking about things I pray you never need to worry about in your life. You didn't cause any of this, and nothing you do will make me feel worse or better. If I depended on you to make me feel better, it would crush you and let me down brutally all in one fell swoop. No, Mama just needs Jesus right now. Like she always does. I just need Jesus.

I do want to apologize to you though, Owen. I haven't been willing to tell Jesus that I need him as much as I really do lately. Mama has been trying to do this, and fix this, on her own. It doesn't work, in fact, it will never work that way. But your Mama is prideful and stubborn, and rebellious (so don't let me ever tell you I can't believe you did or said so and so, because I'm a sinner just like you) and resting in Jesus has never come easily to me. But somehow I know that he has me, and is leading me beside still waters and restoring my soul right now (Psalm 23:2,3). Yes, even in this pain and loneliness and missing you, and longing for a present that is different than the present I have now. Even now. 

So buddy, I know things just aren't the same as they used to be. And it's okay if that makes your heart sad, because it makes Mama's heart sad too. But please, oh my dear, please know that how Mama loves you right now has not lessened, it has only just changed how it's seen on the outside. I am not bored of being your Mama, nor will I ever be. I am not wanting to take a break or let someone else raise you. It's just that right now, Mama needs more help than she ever has before, and we get to let God help our family in some crazy awesome ways right now. 

I can't wait to hear about your fun day with your friends. I can't wait to meet you and your Dada at the door in a few hours and give you a big hug and a snuggle and then read you some books before kissing you goodnight. I love you, so, so much Owen. 

And Owen, one day, these tears that Mama's shedding, Jesus will wipe them all away. Sometimes you see Dada doing that - tenderly wiping my cheeks as tears stream down them, warm and salty, but one day I won't even cry again at all. It will be amazing. 

Heavenly, in fact. Absolutely perfect.

Love you always and forever, 

Your Mama

Be Still My Soul

I think I have been waiting to write another blog post until something changed. Either I was suddenly better, getting gradually better, or had a word to describe what has been my life these past two months (as of tomorrow). None of these three apply to me today, but I guess I need to keep writing about what's on my heart, no matter if it's the same thing over and over again.

I'm finding myself saying more often "I can't wait to get back to a normal life" or some rendition of that sentence. Sitting here this afternoon, I literally cannot even remember how a normal daily routine was for me before all of this. Did I really hang out with Owen the entire day by ourselves? Did we really just randomly walk to the park or the library or to get froyo on the Ave? The thought of doing any of these things is something like how I used to think of Christmas or a vacation; my heart skips a beat at how exciting it would be and I am eager to look at my calendar and see the day circled and to count down until said exciting event.

But what happens when there's no count down? What happens when the event, or in this case, the life you're longing for, may or may not happen next week, or in a month, or in a year? How do you couple the longing for what's possibly ahead with the reality of the right now without living completely in a fantasy world or giving into the pain and spiraling into hopelessness?

I'm not sure.

It's this weird tension that I think more often than not I try to ignore and barrel through. And I have been able to barrel through pretty much each time I've been faced with a tension like this, an 'in between' I guess you could call it, because I've found something else to rest my eyes upon.

Unfortunately, most of these things I've found are reactionary and pointless at best. During pregnancy I researched constantly, filling the 'in between' tension with statistics and cribs and recalls and Thomas the Tank Engine onsies. During the years I longed to be married, I filled the 'in between' time with elaborate fantasies of my Prince Charming and a constant comparison and evaluation of nearly every man I came in contact with.

Today I'm in a new 'in between' time. The time between life as I knew it and life as I long for it to be. It's a time of loneliness, of depression, of darkness, of excitement of the possibility of feeling better and then the crash of over exerting myself. It is also a time of snuggles on the couch with my sweet baby, of top-of-the-head kisses from my best friend as he wheels me around in a wheelchair, of having the time to actually watch a book-crazy 16 month-old giggle his way through a pile of books, and of seeing how people around us embody care and encouragement and hope through their sacrifices and generosity and love and prayers.

But even as all of these things describe this 'in between' time, I can't seem to articulate what's really going on in my heart. That longing, no, desperation for answers and for change. The letdown of doctors appointments that confirm nothing but lead to more questions. The fear of nothing changing and of missing out on my life, my marriage, my son. The fear of this not being an 'in between' time.

The idea that this is actually a new normal petrifies me. But then again, at least I would know something, right? It's the not knowing of the 'in between' time that rattles me the most.

In the hours that I have had these last two months to sit and think, I've tried to set my eyes on so many things to distract me. I've pinned a ridiculous amount of pins to boards I may never even look at again. I've checked Facebook far too much and too often and I've posted way too many pictures of random things (and some adorable ones of Owen...) to Instagram. But I've honestly been so scared to just sit. To acknowledge before myself and, more importantly, before Jesus that I am impatient and anxious and scared and frustrated.

I don't want this anymore though.

I want to actually say how this is affecting my heart. I want to not try to cover up my fear with pins about cross stitching necklaces. I want to honestly tell Jesus what he already knows; that I don't want to pick between blowing bubbles with Owen and a lunch out with my mother-in-law because I just want to be able to do both in one day. I want to say aloud that I don't want to have to explain my symptoms one more time to another specialist, because I want them to be gone already. I want to no longer overthink whether or not I am actually sick as much as I think I am, or Andrew thinks I am, or if I am just overreacting.

I want to set my eyes on something other than distractions. Something other than my fears. Something other than myself.

I want to set my eyes on Jesus.

This doesn't mean this 'in between' season gets perfect and I'm all better and totally upbeat and positive about being sick or not being sick or whatever. It just means that I resist the urge to always be put together, to cry when things hurt, and to be vulnerable enough to admit my fears and frustrations. Honestly, all I actually need to do is rest. Rest in Jesus and his already totally finished work on the cross. Rest in the fact hat he was perfect so I don't have to be. Rest in the fact that he is interceding for me right now as I type. That he is my strength when my emotional and physical strength is completely gone and that he understands even when the people I cancel plans on last minute don't.

I'm not sure how to end this post, nothing seems quite sufficient. I know I posted some of the lyrics to a hymn I've been repeating over and over in my mind and soul lately in the previous post, but it seems apropos to end by including them in their entirety.

Until next post,
Sola Dei Gloria

Be still, my soul: the Lord is on thy side.

Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.

Leave to thy God to order and provide;

In every change, He faithful will remain.

Be still, my soul: thy best, thy heavenly Friend

Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake

To guide the future, as He has the past.

Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;

All now mysterious shall be bright at last.

Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know

His voice Who ruled them while He dwelt below.

Be still, my soul: when dearest friends depart,

And all is darkened in the vale of tears,

Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,

Who comes to soothe thy sorrow and thy fears.

Be still, my soul: thy Jesus can repay

From His own fullness all He takes away.

Be still, my soul: the hour is hastening on

When we shall be forever with the Lord.

When disappointment, grief and fear are gone,

Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.

Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past

All safe and blessèd we shall meet at last.

I'm not the Ashley Graeber of Sunnydale.

I'm not. 

Lately, I've been comparing myself to that girl, and have been buying into the lie that because I was her I still am her. 

But, I'm not. 

In light of more tests coming back normal, and my OCD running completely wild within my mind and manifesting in more circular journaling and begs for reassurance, I have begun to assume I am no different than how I was in elementary school. 

For those of you who don't know me all that long, let me give you a quick window into why this is such a struggle for me...

When I was in elementary school, I was the teacher's pet (still kind of am, let's just face it), the over-achiever (yup, still me), the perfectionist (guilty), and the hypochondriac (enter my current battle). I literally went to the nurse's office so frequently, I was well known by the office staff, and when I entered 4th grade was told by my teacher that she had "heard of me" and when I had her again the following year she said that I would "owe her big bucks" for all of the times she let me go to the nurse's office. I was constantly feigning injury, sickness, dizziness, and blindness (no, seriously. I don't even want to know the small fortune I wracked up for my parents as they took me to eye doctor after eye doctor all the while I was faking being blind because I was jealous of a friend who had a wheelchair and crutches for a busted up knee. Once again, Mom and Dad, I am so sorry...). 

I still have no idea why I wanted all of that attention, why I wanted to be sick and get out of school so badly, but I did. No one ever believed me, and by the end of elementary school I was pretty much the laughing stock of my class - I was that girl. The drama queen, the one who always had to have something massive wrong and moan and ache. That was Ashley Graeber.

Back to today. My doctor talked to me and said that most of the tests I had done yesterday for several new things came back normal. As I hung up the phone, I immediately wanted to just sit and cry. Although I was partially excited that nothing massive was being detected, I felt more and more like I had to be making this up, it must all be in my head. 

So here I am right now. Desperately clinging to the truth that I am not Ashley Graeber who went to the Sunnydale Elementary School nurse's office several times a week. Praying again and again that God would give me the strength, both mentally and physically, to continue this road that he has me on for his glory and my ultimate good. Fighting against the desire to say eff this, and push myself past every single ounce of energy I have left, ignoring all pain and light headedness and go until I pass out and then have something to actually complain about. 

I want to say that I am so at peace with all of this, but I'm struggling right now. I want to say that I've been saturated in the Word, and that I have been sitting at the feet of my Savior, but I have been avoiding talking to the Lord, and have no idea why. I so badly want to end this post saying that I feel so much better, and that the more I push myself, the more I realize I can do so much more than I have been doing, but that's a lie. 

I am tired. I ache, literally, all over. I feel alone and like a freak and totally numb to the truth I want to cling to right now more than ever. 

But. Even as I write this, the words to one of my favorite hymns is coming to mind. Just because I'm singing it in my head doesn't mean that I am going to put on a happy face and fake it until I make it because with God all things are possible. Not even close. But it does mean that even in this valley and long and heavy season of my life, I totally believe that God is sovereign. That he loves me. That he died for me. And that whatever this season is, it is preparing me for an eternal weight of glory that is beyond any affliction and suffering I am presently walking through. Even if that suffering includes fear that I am faking this all and then having to stop typing because my fingers and wrists and forearms hurt so bad I can't continue... 

Because I'm not Ashley Graeber. I am Ashley Titus, daughter of God, totally made new and redeemed. 

Until next post,
Sola Dei Gloria