Celebrating Life

Sometimes the best of intentions get lost. Like when I went from updating my blog daily to every other day. Then once a week. Then twice a month. And finally not at all.

I won't offer excuses. Life happens to everyone. So does death.

I have come to the conclusion that life should be celebrated even if it's only for a short period of time. That was why when I found out I was expecting our second child, I didn't wait very long to tell people. I was excited, and I wanted to share our wonderful news.

(As a side note, I am a huge procrastinator when it comes to online announcements and it didn't get announce online until I was around 12 weeks.)

I miscarried at 13 weeks.

That was one of the hardest weeks of my life.

I will never get to hold that baby. I never quite understood missing someone you never knew until now. It had never happened to me before. I knew both of my parents, all of my grandparents, and most of my great-grandparents.

I've experienced loss before, but I've never known what it was to grieve a loss that is just potential.

We named the baby Nadia. Personally, I would encourage anyone that has a miscarriage to name the baby. It's hard enough not having the usual funeral and grave.

I'm learning all over again how sweet the people in my life can be. Each offers comfort in their own way, and somehow it translates in a way that my heart understands--from the friend praying earnestly for me because she's been there, to the one that bluntly stated that she did not understand because she's never been there. They both care, and it shows.

I said that life should be celebrated, and for a few short weeks, Nadia's life was celebrated before it was cut off. Before any of us got the chance to meet her. I'm glad that I didn't wait to tell about her. We got that much longer to celebrate a little life.

I appreciate every one that has prayed, called, texted, messaged... God has worked even through this heartbreaking time, and I believe that He is not through using this to work His purpose.

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My Socks Don't Match!

How much time do you spend on laundry? Probably more than you would like. How much time do you spend matching socks? If all of your socks are the same, maybe not much. But if you have many different patterned socks the task can become time consuming.

I've recently decided to stop wasting so much time worrying about things like matching socks. Sure, it may be a little awkward, but life is too short to waste time worrying about something making you feel uncomfortable.

Sometimes three little words can make you uncomfortable: "I love you."

Do you remember the first time you said it to a boyfriend or girlfriend? Do you remember how terrified you were? It's because the words hold a lot more meaning than their mere eight letters would suggest.

Some families say it more often than others. Just like some families are more touchy-feely, or "huggy" than others. The thing is, life is too short to pass up the opportunity to say "I love you," to someone you really care about, whether by word or deed. Even if it's awkward.

Several years ago I felt impressed to go and visit my Aunt Wanda in the hospital. I was living in Little Rock at the time, and Oklahoma City was a simple weekend trip. While I did stay with my grandparents, the purpose of the visit really was my aunt. I enjoyed spending that time with her, even though it was a bit odd to go for the express purpose of seeing her. I was so glad later that I did it. It was the last time I saw her before she died.

The last time I saw my grandfather he was outside talking with some of the family. I felt too awkward to interrupt and say goodbye, so I just waved. We left on our trip back home, and I never saw him again. I wish now that I had overridden my feelings of discomfort and given him one last hug and said "I love you." But I can't change it now.

It makes me so glad that the night that Daddy passed that I got to say "I love you," one last time. I'm glad for the opportunities that I had and didn't pass up during his illness--to sing for him, sit with him, pray for him. I don't have regrets for anything I did, even if it made me uncomfortable at the time.

I try to be more mindful now to say "I love you." I never know when my last opportunity will be, and I don't want to neglect it. Feeling awkward over it is such a waste, and the regret really isn't worth it.

So if you catch me wearing mismatching socks, no, I haven't reached a new level of harried housewife. I'm just choosing to focus my energies on things of slightly more significance in the big scheme of things. Which would you regret more? Missing your last opportunity to say "I love you," or wearing mismatching socks?

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The Choice of Love

Sometimes the English language is wonderful for supplying us with a myriad of words with similar meanings, but different nuances. Then it does something stupid. Like the word "love."

We "love" our spouse, family, friends, and bacon. That just seems wrong somehow, using the same word when we mean something completely different. If you love your spouse the same way you love bacon, I'm going to recommend counseling. The Greeks had at least four different words for different kinds of love. We use one four letter word that seems to have lost a lot of meaning these days. 

We speak of being in love and loving someone as if it is the same thing. It's not. "In love" is something that happens to you, sometimes in spite of your best efforts. "Love" is a choice you make when the feel-good fuzzy feelings have gone away and the person you were "in love" with does something incredibly stupid. Love is an action verb, and it is time society woke up to that fact.

I've read that being "in love" lasts about three years, maximum. This partially explains why the divorce rate is as high as it is. Personally, I place a lot of blame on Hollywood for giving society unrealistic expectations of what love is. They are good at portraying "in love," but they rarely even attempt portraying real love.

Don't get me wrong. Being in love is real, and it's natural. It's wonderful while it lasts. It just doesn't last indefinitely, and it's unrealistic to expect it to do so. That's why I said love is an action verb. It's not passive. It's work. Hard work. Whether it's worth it or not is up to you.

The week before my wedding, I was getting the oil changed in my car. I was talking to the shop owner, and my impending marriage came up. He told me that he'd been married 20+ years, and that marriage was hard. I kept waiting for him to follow up with the statement that it was still wonderful, that it was worth it…something. He finally just walked away. Either he had the weirdest sense of humor that I have ever encountered, or one of the saddest marriages. 

In the past year, I've always remembered that encounter when love got a little hard. I hope to always remember that. Leaving that anticipated statement unsaid drives home the point that it's up to me. Each time, I have to answer the question: Is it worth it? Yes. Yes, it is. 

This is as much a reminder for myself as for anyone else. I know I'm young. I know I'm inexperienced, but I want to succeed. I want my marriage to last because it has a solid foundation on God and love, not because I believe divorce is wrong. I want my love to grow stronger with each time I choose love even when it's not the easy route. By God's grace, it will.