Mama's Man Cub Turns 11

It's really hard to believe that our Charlie is eleven. 

In my eyes, he's still the chunky, blue-eyed baby that beamed with smiles when given any attention. The little man that adored snuggles and won the immediate affection from his big sister who quickly dressed him up, stuck him in baby doll strollers and became Mom's best helper. 

As he grew, so did his heart. Charlie has the biggest, most tender, compassionate, kind, servant-minded, thoughtful heart a mother could pray for. I've seen this on display many times before making me beam with pride. Opening the door for his Grandma, holding her hand to steady her feet, rubbing Nana's back to soothe her broken heart, protecting his Mama when needed and crying in the arms of his sister during the most traumatic moments of his little life. I've also seen his sportsmanship present on the court in earlier years making sure every player had a chance to touch the basketball during a game. Charlie's ability to be sensitive to others emotions is well beyond his years. 

As parents, yes, we have our moments of wondering what the little Man Cub was thinking, but with an overwhelming amount of love, we stand proud of who Charlie is and is becoming. 

 We have years to train our gentleman on how to close the kitchen cupboards, put his shoes in the bin and how to flip a sock right side out. Time to teach him how to properly put clean clothes away and pick up his room, so that, when the dreaded time comes for him to leave the nest he has life skills to impress his college friends or future bride to be. 

For now, we sit in awe of the responsibility God gave us to raise Charlie and thank God for every minute of laughter, snuggles, bedtime prayers and beaming smiles that bless this Mama's heart daily. 

Charlie, Mom and Dad are incredibly proud of you and love you. 

Happy eleventh Birthday!

{ Full of life. }

{ Surrounded by sisters. }

{ Best brother ever. }

A Day of Rescue

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you. Not yet."

These were the words my sister shared with me a month before she passed.
As we sat in Red Robin, laughing over the need for straws and beverage stabilization, her hands shook tempting the lemon drop to fall into her lap. Her body weakening; her spirit fiercely fighting. We decided to order multiple appetizers since we couldn't land on one dinner option leaving us with a table full of food and conversation for hours. I'm sure it looked ridiculous honestly. The disease had clearly taken a tole on her appearance and, for what I think was the first time outwardly, looked really sick. Regardless of how she felt, we were going to enjoy our time as sisters.
It was in these conversations where I remember asking if anything had changed and if she was ready. 

What I loved most about my sister was her ability to calm the weary supporter. The ability to relay a message of peace and firmly causing me to believe that only God can have control of her earthly timeline. I let her say her peace, but inside I knew things were changing. 

And here I sit, two years after my sweet sister gained her heavenly citizenship; grieved but not without joy, broken but whole, empty but have all that I need. 

There's not a day that goes by without a thought of my sister passing through a memory. A day that goes by without a longing to call and share the embarrassing moment or frustrating situation in parenting. I will always want more time, more hugs, more shaky dates with lemon drops and straws, but I realized in the process of my healing, that she needed a rescue more than I needed an earthly sister to stand by my side. 

God works all things for His glory, at the right time and with His purpose which points to His Kingdom and power. I believe it; I know it; I read the truth and rest in those promises. It's still hard. Heaven is more real now than has ever been before. Three grandparents and a sister in two years is far too much for one family to experience yet alone process with young ones. Death changes you. Grief rearranges your priorities and places a filter on life that is hard to understand when it's not personal and within reach of your sphere. Giving my grief words can be a challenge some days and when needed my tears speak for the lost communication. 

God heard my sisters request of her spirit growing faint to this earthly world and sent an army to rescue her from the physical suffering and torment the ravishing disease was doing to her body. What settles my deep longing to pull my sister from Heaven is knowing the impact still taking place through her story and how God, in His infinite wisdom, orchestrated her beautiful rescue. 

He heard her.

He saw her. 

He sheltered her. 

He defended her. 

He found her. 

I'm confident that my sisters words would not change if she could shout down from Heaven...

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you. Not yet."

Her message unwavering:
God is still good. 

Not every rescue looks the way we requested, planned or even want to experience. There is no goodbye willingly given to those you love. 

But, this I know... I needed a rescue as much as my sister received hers. 

God rescued me from intense grief, from a state of brokenness and loss that has turned to joy. 

God hears me, sees me, continues to shelter me and defend me. 

Today, I reflect on the moment my sisters hand slipped from mine and entered into the presence of God. 

Today, as a family, we remember the life that was lived with a contagious smile, laughter
and zest for adventure. 

I will raise my hands in worship, allow the tears to slip down my cheeks and embrace the army that has surrounded me here on earth separate from my sister. 

Happy Heavenly Birthday my sweet sister... You still haven't left me. 

Rocking Into My Tenth State Race

{ Reclaimed Ministry Small Group Training }

I love how God connects people. 

This past October I was in Alabama for a women's retreat where I met Christie and many others from My Springs Church in Mississippi. After spending a weekend together, I was intrigued by Christie's story and then invited to run with her at the New Orleans Rock and Roll 1/2 Marathon. 

 It was just a year ago that Christie and her husband Gabe woke up to the smell of smoke raging through their home. With nearly nothing on their backs and being eight months pregnant with their third child, Christie and her husband grabbed their older two kids and raced outside. The home, a family estate with generations of memories, devastated to the foundation. 

And yet, Christie still smiles. 

A hero in my book. 

This past weekend I was able to stand in their newly constructed home, be greeted with huge hugs, given the full home tour by sweet Annabelle, and was witness to God's faithfulness to this sweet family after processing an incredibly challenging year. 

My friends, from My Springs Church, introduced me to fried pickles, catfish, hushpuppies, chicken and okra. My grease lined stomach sadly missed out on the fried Oreos! But not to worry... after a little ministry work and Reclaimed Small Group Training, Christie and I drove to New Orleans to run that race she had so graciously invited me to. Due to a bum knee, Christie was only able to run the 10k, but that didn't bother me. I was happy to accomplish another state goal and cross another finish line to gain my tenth state towards my 50 by 50! And by far the most flat race only climbing a grand total of 23 feet. Refreshing after that last race...

It was after the race I continued my fried foods tour and experienced the deliciously powdered beignet. Amazing. Olive Garden's dessert has no leg to stand on over the real deal! Thanks to both Christie and her friend Lauren, I was able to see much of the landscape in the land of beads, jazz and parades before boarding my flight home to the land of snow, winds and school cancellations. 

Thank you to those that greeted me with such love and open arms in Collins, and to my running buddies that allowed me to cheer, encourage and maybe push them through the finish line. 

{ Christie & Lauren: hosts & running buddies. }

{ Celebrating the 10th state. }

{ Race is done..time for Cafe Beignet! }

Our Puppy Child

Oh goodness. 

"Have a dog," they say.

"They're so fun," I was told.

"They're so easy," said no puppy dog owner ever.

Millie is now three months old, still not potty trained and has the energy of a sugar-crazed toddler 

on caffeine pills. 

There are moments during the day that this 2.5lb black, curly haired child will race down the hallway, perform laps under and around my bed, come back sprinting crazy 8's under our couch and then set on repeat until she finds a toe or sock to viciously attack. 

I've spent money I hate to admit to on this four-legged adorable "non family member" to provide pens to play in, pads to pee on and bones to chew all in attempts to train our puppy child. 

I've lost sleep when she had shots, spent too much time concerned over her reaction and allowed her to kiss me when I absolutely hate dog kisses. 

I've even caught myself retrieving the baby talk when she's bundled up tight in my arms thinking she's some human child that deserves such attention. 

What is happening to me...

The joy Millie brings to our kids...priceless. Well, clearly not free but worth it. 

Addison has held her weight caring for her puppy and has done a great job training Millie. Although not perfect, she's improving. As for the real baby of the family, she has no pads to pee on but that training continues as well. There is no shortage of hands to hold, toys to toss or attention given to our puppy child. With her get-up taking over our living room it's hard not too. 

But, it's also hard to resist such a cute face. 

The puppy project continues...

{ Cute she may be. She pooped here right after. }