Recent Developments

There are so many things to write down before I forget them. Here are the latest goings-on at our house:

F is a walker! And a champion, at that! Doug says she looks like a zombie with her arms outstretched, stiff little legs beneath her. I agree.

She is a snuggler! A girl after Momma's own heart! My lap is permanently occupied with a squirmy, sticky baby girl, usually carrying oversized books in her arms for me to read to her. Her favorite book is "Goodnight: A Bedtime Touch and Feel Story." She likes the page with the furry puppy dog on it.

She LOVES Daddy. A story to illustrate the cuteness of it: Our morning routine is fairly consistent. Doug gets up with F around 6:30, feeds her, and gets in the shower while I watch her play on the bathroom floor. F loves that because Daddy sings songs while he takes a shower. Shortly after that, F and I go downstairs and have breakfast while Daddy gets ready for the day. One morning our routine got thrown off and we came straight downstairs to play instead of playing in the bathroom. F kept pointing upstairs and yelling "Daaa-deeee!" It was really adorable.

Necklaces. F loves them. She lights up with glee when I put one of my long, dangly necklaces on her. I think she feels like a big girl.

No. F gets it. She may not understand that what I'm saying is, "No, don't hit Aspen in the face," but she understands that something she has done is displeasing. The world of toddler discipline, I can already tell, is going to be a hard and emotional place to navigate.

Lastly, F can show you where your nose/her nose is. : - ) (Even in that emoticon, she could probably point it out. :P)

Okay, that's all I've got for now. I'm sure there's plenty more. Tomorrow is her party. Must get moving.

Happy Saturday!

First Birthday.

It has been a year. Well, nearly a year.

What is there to say?

Too much. Too much about too much, and about too little.

It has been a year of heartache. It has been a year of strain. It has been a year of triumph. Of misery. Of conquering deeply rooted sin. Of watching His glory unfold.

Of taking baby steps, making huge strides, and learning to self soothe-- for all of us. It has been a year of floundering. Of mastering midnight feedings. Of learning the truth about myself and my spouse. Of loving each other in spite and because of it. Of smiling for the first time. Of starting anew.

This has been the best, most difficult, and most amazing year of my life.

My darling Fay, happiest of birthdays to you. You are my motivation to live with integrity. I love you fiercely and completely, my sweet thing.

The Action Bible, Written by Doug and Illustrated by Sergio Cariello

Hey, world. You know all those things that make me so awesome? Yeah, well, put those out of your head for a minute and focus on this. My HUSBAND wrote this. And guess what? The Action Bible is the #4 best-seller in Christian children's literature in the nation.

That's right.

My husband is awesome. That makes me awesome by association. You know what that means? You, too, are just a little bit more awesome...

:)

I used to fancy myself quite articulate, but lately-- over the last 11 months or so -- I've found myself at a loss for words. I now use emoticons to express the deep, intangible feelings that render me a sappy mute. I just figured you all might like to know why my blog title is the timeless smiley face, rather than some actual statement...

Anyway, I truly do feel baffled at how the things I'm experiencing internally can't seem to manifest meaningfully into words.

I try to write about the way F's early morning smile, drowsy and crooked and stolen from her father, ties me in knots.

I try to capture the way her ceaseless enthusiasm for the Belly Button episode of Veggie Tales fills me to near explosion.

I work so hard to put it in words, how I fall to pieces when she leans in so carefully and places a coveted kiss on her daddy's cheek.

And I can't. It wrecks me, and I just can't do it. I'm a failure in this way. There is a gap between what I feel and what I'm capable of saying.

There are angels who have spent centuries practicing the lost languages of love and sorrow, of hope and despair, of loss and gain; I am only confident that they can roughly translate that which I cannot find the words to say.

All I am certain of is this: Sweet F, you animate these archaic words. You make them fresh as any living thing. You are luminescent, and I was unaware of darkness.

Poesy...

*A repost in honor of Annabelle's upcoming 5-month birthday. You are a gentlewoman and a scholar, Annabelle. 

This is a poem I wrote for some dear friends who recently had a darling baby girl named Annabelle Aria. They are quite musical, which lent itself nicely to a poem. I hope you enjoy.

An April Morning

Beyond the woods where the Wood Nymphs play

Through the valleys where the Shadowlings lay

Over the hollow where the Hollyfolk stay

Bells can be heard a-tinkling away.

The Willow-waifs waltz in the melodious air

The Flutterbys flit with fanciful flair

And the Winklebees wave their wisteria hair

As they ready themselves for this festive affair.

The voyage begins with giddy delight

Dancing and singing by Candlebug light

Mayflower Maidens and Silverwing Sprites

All follow the music far into the night.

When sunlight spills over the Cloverwood Falls

And ushers them through the Heavenly Walls

The chorus resounding leaves each one enthralled

As they open the doors to the Great Music Hall.

Jubilant fanfare raises their wings!

Curlycues curtsey and Sugarbirds sing

Slipperfeet dance on violin strings

And all lend a voice when the final note rings.

The merry assembly issues a sigh

When a radiant presence captures their eyes

Standing before them in dazzling light,

The Composer, the Maestro, the Conductor of Life!

Their praises combine in a boisterous refrain,

“This music you’ve written, Father, give us its name!”

He pauses to answer, and His loving eyes swell

“This aria, children, is My Sweet Annabelle.”

11 months.

I am a literature-a-holic.

I like to read shampoo bottles in the shower. I take pamphlets from the doctor's office that I don't really need. (That's how I learned how to Quit Smoking for Good! Not to mention the ABCs of Hepatitis.)

I read all the information about my prescriptions before I take them. I am so totally a Jehovah's Witness' target audience, since I will read the newsletter thoroughly before I throw it away.

So, it comes as no surprise that over the last 11 months, I have read almost every piece of information available about my baby's development. I am an expert in all things Baby F.

Still, nothing could have prepared me for this.

an exclusively F-bean related post

a mash-up quickie post, and then back to F.

lately she has been jabbering into her toy phone rather sophisticatedly, like she's on a very important call and can't be disturbed. sometimes she'll pass me the phone and if i don't talk into it she gets really disgruntled, so i say things like, "hello, big bird. meet me at the half-pipe and bring the jelly beans if you know what's good for you."

this morning she rather enjoyed putting toys on top of my head and watching them fall off.

she likes to cruise along the furniture. she crawls up the stairs as i stand behind her, arms outstretched in case she falls. she doesn't realize why i'm there; she's just proud of her accomplishments.

she points. she claps during songs. she waves neither hello nor goodbye, but rather for no particular reason at all. she feeds herself. she smiles sheepishly when i sign "no!" as she reaches for the dirty mop, or tries to grab Starbucks the wiener dog by the ears. she flaps her arms when daddy comes in the room, like the very sight of him could make her take exuberant flight.

and she is 10 months next tuesday. where is my little baby going in such a hurry? i'm excited and a little sad to see her grow. one day she won't need me to stand behind her anymore. one day she will take her first steps, and she won't come crawling into my arms anymore. this-- all of this-- is only for a short while. i'm honored to be here, F.

these are some of the proudest moments of her life--

and mine.

Living in the Shadow...

I know you wouldn't think it to look at me now, sitting in my fashionable men's boxers with my perfectly tousled bed-head, sipping on peppermint coffee, but I was once a geek. And not the kind of geek who is actually kind of cool, in an offbeat I-Carry-A-Messenger-Bag kind of way. I mean, I was a bona-fide geek.

Bad hair. Big glasses. Head-gear. Way too much knowledge of Deep Space 9.

Oh, and the tendency towards wearing styles five years outdated didn't help.

See what I mean? Geek.

Say what you will about my geek-ery. I can take it. What I lacked in high school popularity I have more than made up for in internet stalk-ability. Even though I was nowhere near the top of the social ladder back at ol' SCHS, I held my own. I was neither thoroughly detested or thoroughly fantasized-about. I was funny. Bratty. A know-it-all. A geek. And I also had another title to my credit: Best Friend To The Cute Girl.

That's right. In the world of cliche high school movies, I was always the sidekick. If life were an episode of Scooby Doo, I'd be Velma. Unequivocally. And while Daphne was all the rage with high school boys, college provided me with ample nerd-loving Velma worshippers to boost my ego. No need for pity here.

I can cite countless friendships that have taken on this dynamic.

Take my longtime "old bean", Amy Wirsig, for example. Her blonde hair, pouty lips, and knack for remaining 100 pounds even despite eating Doritos and fries everyday for lunch left me stunned and boys heartbroken. Throw in the fact that the girl is annoyingly humble, and that's a shadow just big enough to leave me barely noticeable in grades 9 and 10. But it didn't really matter much to me. I was happy to have a friend who understood-- nay, encouraged-- my wit and snark. To date, Amy lives all the way across the world in Laos, and I miss her (and her shadow) dearly.

Flash forward a few years to my first day at a new job. I had spent all morning getting ready for the day, wearing pumps so high you could measure my aspirations by them. It was my first "real" post-college job, and I was thrilled at the prospect of my own cubicle. And don't get me started on the free coffee in the cafeteria... I could have died a happy woman when it was announced I needed to get my picture taken for my VERY OWN employee badge! It was like getting a new lunchbox at the start of the school year. And then enter Whitney, a short-haired, speed-walking tornado of a pipsqueak who took one look at me and said to her friend, "Who is that girl? Her shoes are sas-sy."

That was the start of something big. Who would have thought someone with no more than five feet of height to her credit could cast such a long shadow? Funny as heck. Smart as a whip. Terrific at anything she does. She's currently carving out her life in the Big Apple, where starlets like her belong. It's probably for the best that she's not around anymore. I don't think this one-horse town knew what to do with the two of us...

And those are only two examples. I have an endless supply of friends who have started their own non-profits raising funds for African kids to go to school (actually, I only have one of those). Or the friend who sings like a diva, but devotes her life to Young Life kids. Or the gorgeous friend who could be modeling but instead spent three months on a leper colony in India. Or the friend who excels at everything she lays a finger on, whether it's playing the piano or crunching numbers. Let's not forget the friend whose deadpan humor (and ability to discard a dead pet) heals a hurting heart. How about the friend whose endless list of talents gets overlooked because of her extreme generosity.

I could go on.

How do I keep attracting these friends? What do they see in me? Maybe it's the geek in me rearing her ugly, lazy-eyed, unibrowed head, but I don't get it. The only thing I can attribute this phenomenon to is the fact that I'm totally committed to going the extra mile. If you think my Indian accent is funny, wait until I bust it out in a department meeting-- in front of my Indian boss.

What can I say? I'm a shadow-dweller. A very happy, very vocal, very thankful, very gorgeous shadow-dweller. No self-esteem issues here. Just appreciation for my good friends with their long shadows, and for finally having my head-gear off.

:)

Wrongful Death Suit...

Thank goodness for CNN. If it weren't for them, I'd never know that "Family Remembers Farrah Fawcett" or that there are "New Ways to Double Phone Battery Life." (Real stories, folks...)

Today's little informational nugget reads, "MJ's Dad Files Wrongful Death Suit." And while normally very little on CNN gives me pause, this article does.

I'll cut to the chase: Wrongful death suit? Really? You REALLY want to file a wrongful death suit regarding someone who abused narcotics on a daily basis? Michael Jackson was addicted to sleeping pills AND uppers. Sure, his doctor shouldn't have prescribed them. But filing a wrongful death suit is kind of a slap in the face to the King of Pop himself. I mean, the guy willfully took those risks. As any four-year-old knows, when you choose X, you choose the foreseeable consequences of X.

I'm fascinated by the Western attitude that death is something outrageous. We're surprised every. single. time. someone passes away. It's not like anybody in recent history has escaped that fate. (A shout-out to my good buddy Elijah the prophet, who passed Go and collected $100!) It seems like one out of every three commercials is about some product meant to turn back the clock. We're told we need to fight the battle on everything from wrinkles and osteoarthritis to breast cancer. And I totally get it. Death is not normal. We weren't originally meant for decay and sin. Death is a foreign concept to heavenly beings, which is what God intended for us to be all along. So, of course we're all a little jarred when somebody we love (or just read about in the paper all the time) kicks the bucket. But pretending like we can somehow "cure" death or prevent aging is a ludicrous way of handling the reality that one day, we're all doing to be six feet under. Pushing daisies. Doing the dead man's float. And so on, and so forth.

And this is a real issue in need of discussing because death anxiety runs rampant in our society. Everybody's trying to squeeze the last possible second out of life, not because they're living out their intended purposes but because they're afraid of what comes next. Living in fear is no way to live, people.

The solution to the problem of dying isn't pretending like it's not going to happen. The solution to the problem of dying is finding new life in Christ. It's recognizing that this is only the beginning. I'm not saying that the death of a loved one isn't saddening. I'm saying we've got to stop acting surprised that it happens, and that starts with acknowledging that we're not meant for this life. There's something better on the other side.

You wanna avoid a wrongful death? Try dying the right way. (Ohhh, snap.)

:)

Spiritual Leadership.

I was sipping my peppermint coffee (ah, the joys) and watching CNN when a segment called, "Ted Haggard: I'm a changed man" came on. Now, there's nothing I like more with my morning brew than a good bit of scandal. But usually that void is filled with Twilight spoilers and other PG gossip. As I watched the segment, my spirit writhed about in discomfort. This isn't the flippant fluff I'm used to watching. This is personal. This hits close to home.

As a lifelong resident of Colorado Springs, New Life Church has played a prominent part in my community and at least a peripheral part in my life. I have attended New Life services off and on, and regularly attended the Mill during my college days. Even if the whole mega church scene made me uncomfortable, I respected what New Life did in the community. (And I STILL respect what New Life does in the community, for the record.)

When the whole Ted Haggard scandal exploded, it really did rock this city-- and not in the good, hair metal, 80s kinda way. Even those of us who side-eyed New Life culture still felt wounded by the charade and hypocrisy Haggard engaged in, and we empathized with our brothers and sisters who were deeply rooted at New Life.

I worked for a Christian nonprofit at the time, and many of my friends and coworkers had attended New Life for ages. We openly prayed for the church community and for Ted's family. A cloak of sorrow fell across my company, and the Colorado Springs community at large.

So now, to hear that Ted is coming back to minister... I just don't know how I feel about that.

It's likely to be a contentious topic. This man was the spiritual father to countless people in this town, and probably across the nation. When he left the city, he gave us all space to heal. But for him to not only start another church, but to start it in the very city he wounded... I don't know. It upsets me, but I'm willing to believe that's a wrong attitude.

I suppose the root of my tension stems from this question: Should a man who fell so far into sin be leading anyone? And hear this before you jump down my throat: Of COURSE all pastors sin. Pastors are people. I get it. I understand that completely. But when the sinning has become a lifestyle-- one that Haggard went out of his way to cover up with MORE sin-- when the sinning has become ingrained in a man's personality, should he really be in a position of authority? And even if he has been healed by the Lord, does that mean he's fit to pastor another congregation? 1 Timothy 3:2 says, "Therefore an overseer must be above reproach, the husband of one wife, sober-minded, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable, able to teach..." So, is it wrong of me to think he's unfit to lead when he has a history of violating so many of these things?

Perhaps that question has value, and perhaps it doesn't. Maybe I'm emphasizing the wrong thing here. What matters in MY life is whose leadership I follow. So I ask myself: Would I be willing to follow Ted Haggard at this point in time? My flesh says no, but maybe I'm in the wrong. I'm still parsing it out. The idea of subjecting myself to his teachings is nothing short of ludicrous.

So, here I sit, nursing a now cold cup of coffee. I'm thinking about the impact this will have on Colorado Springs. I'm thinking about how the church ought to respond to this development. My thoughts and feelings are still evolving, and I'm not dogmatic about anything. It'll be interesting to see how this plays out...

Home.

Four years ago if you had told me that Doug Mauss and I would fall in love, get married and have a baby, I would have laughed in your face all the way down the aisle. I'd always admired Doug. I thought he was funny, whip smart, unique, and full of integrity. So what in the world would he ever see in me? Doug is button-up dress shirts and I'm a hand-me-down Pride soccer tee. Doug is a cappella and ultimate frisbee. I'm amateur belly dancing and... NOT a cappella...

I don't think any of our friends saw this coming. Our age difference alone was enough to keep us from even dreaming we'd be a match. But here we are, against the odds, joined together in the eyes of God. Our shared mailbox and mingled laundry are proof of our integration, as is our precious daughter, Fay.

I know Doug. I KNOW him, like I know how long to microwave the water for my tea, how many minutes my curling iron takes to heat up, where to find the light switch in the dark. I know him intuitively. And yet there are always surprises, like learning that he can do a dead-on impression of Dolores O'Riordan singing, "Zombie," or the fact that he was technically in the military for three months. Those are the things that keep me fascinated by my husband.

And even though we're an odd couple in some ways, we are so obviously perfect for each other in many more. Who else could weather my bouts of petulance with such patience? And who else but me could call him out on his pride with confidence? What other man would stroke my hair for hours until he was sure I was asleep? And what other woman would fold his shirts according to his meticulous preferences?

I guess what I'm getting at here is that somehow, God has taken the daily struggles and victories and used them for His glory. By unraveling and refining the fibers of our individual beings, He has knit us together. We are so united that sometimes we each forget how alike we've become, how connected we are. Our shared wry humor, penchant for trivia, and mutual distaste for tomatoes occasionally get lost in the daily grind. But those similarities-- our philosophies and woundings, our joys and sorrows-- are what keep us holding on, fighting for the purpose of marriage.

Somehow, miraculously, God has given us solace and refuge in one another.

This week we embark on another adventure. We are closing on our first home. Goodbye, transient apartment living. Hello, backyards and swing sets, front porches swings and mortgage payments.

We're ready for it, I think. It's funny, I kind of thought as the day drew nearer I would feel like we were going home. I don't feel that way, though. I suppose that makes sense, if you think about it.

Thanks, Doug Mauss, for being my home.

Deaf...

I have never seen anything as moving as this. This little boy was born deaf. Thanks to cochlear implants, he is now able to hear. This is the video of him hearing his mother's voice for the first time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZDD7Ohs5tAk&feature=player_embedded

The Hard Things.

The hard things are on my mind. And the easy things. But mostly, what they both say about my character. That's what I'm thinking about this morning.

Having Fable around is sort of like having a barometer of my sin with me everywhere I go. I'm more keenly aware of my foul moods in light of her sunny disposition. I'm even more aware of how frequently I fail in my pursuit of the Ideal Melanie.

The Melanie who is never terse or rude with her husband. The Melanie who is lit up from the inside with Christ's glory. The Melanie who is clean and pure in all her thoughts. There's nothing lazy or self-seeking or spoiled in that Melanie.

And that brings me to the hard things. The hard things are the good things. The easy things are the bad things. It's so trite I can hardly stand it.

Why is it so hard to be a changed woman, especially in light of what Christ has done for me? I find that I am never changed. Is that a reflection of my salvation?

Maybe I've been doing this Christianity thing all wrong. If my progress as a person is any indication, I would venture to make that remark.

These are just some thoughts for the road. We've got stuff to do, my little barometer and I.

Until we meet again,

M.

Glamour.

One of the things I love about my husband is that even when he's wearing a baseball cap and a White Sox tee, exuding the essence of manliness, he's not afraid to pop in "How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days" and watch it with me. I love a man who's secure in his sexuality...

And actually, it's thanks to him that this particular post exists. As I watched Andie Anderson dazzle her way across the screen with perfectly tousled hair and boyish charm, I started thinking about glamour-- or the lack thereof-- in the realm of parenting.

What I wouldn't give up for a banana yellow dress and legs up to here, an elegant champagne flute in hand. If only I could twist my hair in a simple bun at the nape of my neck and look like the fairy godmother of fashion had dumped her magic bag of goodies on my doorstep. Heck, I'd take Andie Anderson's leftovers-- I'm not picky!

At this phase in my life, there's hardly a need to get dressed in the mornings (though I ALWAYS do) (most of the time). Moisturizer and short hair are my best friends. Every so often I pull on my favorite pair of jeans and a cute t-shirt, even if I know my only audience will be Fable (and considering the fact that she normally dons a Pooh-bear shirt and diaper, I think I'm good...)

Yet another thing I love about my husband is his love of giving compliments. He feels really blessed when I put a little effort into looking nice by the time he gets home. So, there's a little incentive for me to dust off the curling iron and break out the lip gloss.

But still, I'd love the excuse to buy cute shoes and put on perfume. I'd love to only wear one outfit a day without fear of getting pureed bananas on myself.

I suppose it's a season I should try to savor, though, am I right? I'm in no mood for complaining. I'm just musing, and perhaps reminiscing-- that's all.

Anyway, there's a nook just under Doug's arm shaped an awful lot like me. I'm wearing my favorite pajama pants (an old pair of Doug's), a Cubs t-shirt, and I'm slightly sunburned. It has been a good day.

So away I go to do some savoring.

Happy Saturday, all.

PS: In the course of writing this, HTLAGITD has ended. Doug has moved on to a movie called "The Hogfather." I love that manly man.

Postpartum Blessing.

A typical morning in the Mauss house looks a lot like this...

Coffee cups mingle with empty baby bottles, littering the computer desk and counters. Renegade toys wait for just the right moment to roll beneath your feet-- a surprise attack! Occupying the spot where my kitchen table once stood is a too-bright exersaucer promised to make my baby smarter and stronger while buying me an extra five minutes in the shower.

Yes, a lot has changed here in the last seven months. Would it be too cliche of me to make the leap from the external changes to the internal ones?

It's true. It's understatedly true. We are different people today than we were seven months ago. Our neighbors likely haven't noticed the change, but there may as well have been an earthquake in this very apartment. We have been shaken-- fundamentally altered-- by a person who, until recently, didn't even know she had feet.

In reflecting on this last year, I'm forced to confront some ugliness in myself. I'm airing it here as part of the healing process, and because as a Christian, I'm compelled to authenticity.

It's no secret to my close friends and family that Fable's birth was hard on me. It sent me to an emotionally desolate place. It was as though my nerves were exposed and every infant cry sent shock waves through my body. My broken body was taken captive by my broken mind, leaving me riddled with insomnia and panic.

It was a dark time.

Many a doctor asserted that I had postpartum depression, and at the time I attempted to embrace the diagnosis. To a degree, I think maybe they had it right. But instead of finding solace in the diagnosis, I felt unsettled. Therapists attempted to assuage my angst by painting me as the victim of hormones and biology. But there was something wrong. I knew the torment I was feeling wasn't simply because my body's chemicals were out of whack.

And as strange as it is to say this out loud, I knew that this feeling of anguish wasn't BAD. It wasn't something to numb away with prescription meds, although for a time I tried. God's voice grew clearer and clearer by the day, until it was a roar I couldn't drown out: This wasn't an affliction, it was God's way of offering redemption.

For the first time in my life, I was forced to stare my own selfishness in the face. Every "trial" I had ever faced in the past suddenly looked so trivial. And what had I really learned from them, except how to cloak my sins in denial?

Suddenly looking back over the years showed events in a different light; moments of "selflessness" I would have once counted towards victory revealed hidden motivations, pride and self-seeking. The acts of kindness I bestowed upon others had often been watered down with laziness or half-heartedness. Through it all, my convenience came first and reputation came second. On my particularly "godly" days, perhaps His glory factored in somewhere.

And God, I think, had bigger plans for me. He was tired of my self-centeredness, my self-pity. He was tired of my myopic narcissism. Did I have postpartum depression? Probably.

And it probably saved my spiritual life.

In the form of an infant came God's offer of true restoration-- not the glossy faux-finish I had plastered on my soul years ago. It was during those sleepless nights when my body and mind were enslaved by insomnia that I came crawling back to the Christ I hadn't realized I had left.

While my infant cried out to me, I cried out to my God. When my child needed my comfort, I needed the Father's. When she required nourishment, I begged for the living water.

I vividly recall laying in bed, Bible open next to me, staring through the ceiling and praying, "Father, have I become so accustomed to the ways of this world-- to its comforts and daily pleasures-- that I have crippled myself spiritually? Have I become the unthinkable-- a woman so bent on her own satisfaction that I have no ability to mother?" It was a hard question to ask, and the answer was harder to receive.

I was unfit in so many ways.

Soak in that for a moment.

I had become so steeped in my OWN desires, so accustomed to immediate gratification, that I was unfit to mother.

And God knew this from the dawn of creation, but He gave me the blessing of a beautiful baby anyway.

I am convinced now that I look back on it that God knew exactly how hard that season would be for me. He knew the tormented, chaotic state my soul would enter into and He brought it about anyway. Why? Because God is more concerned with our callings and less concerned with our comfort*. And Lord, do I thank Him for that.

It all seems so distant now, but yet so clear and fresh. The last seven months have been the hardest of my life. I have never been challenged so much to give of myself. Where once my soul was a barren land, now there is a storehouse of patience and generosity that I daily draw from. God deposits into it all the things I need to be a suitable wife and mother. He has altered me, as I said before. Because He loved me enough to hurt me, I am now capable of loving my darling child.

Yes, externally, our home is a wreck. Toys strewn about. Dishes waiting to be washed and put away only to be dirtied again. Bed sheets tousled liked contained waves. Hearts broken and remodeled, refurbished by a carpenter who works relentlessly at our restoration. Our home is a wreck, and more beautiful and vibrant than ever before.

Certainly, a lot has changed around this place...