Creations!

This post is indulgent, really. There is no need to read further because I will only be displaying (rather proudly, that is) my somewhat recent handiwork. How fun it is to create stuff!!!

First off: The Ava Pillows

I wanted to give a very memorable Mother's Day gift to my dear mothers. Wade thought of making pillows, and I thought of making those pillows out of Ava's clothes. We used two preemie onesies, one small flannel swaddling blanket and one burp cloth.

I love to make things, but am sadly deficient in skills. Thus, I broke two sewing needles, jammed the poor sewing machine countless times, and broke my resolution to avoid bad words more times than I care to remember.

Happily, the result was very worth the frustration. I cant help but smile everytime I see one, or see a picture of one. I put one of Ava's headbands around the pillow with a hairbow attached, just to top it off. I love that they are about her same size, and the sweetness and simplicity of them also remind me of her.

One of these days I am going to make one for myself.

And then, The Grandma Clock

I am going to be giving away a lot of these clocks for presents. (So don't be surprised when you get one! Just be sure to tell me the colors of the room you want it for!) I love that they are customizable for any decor, and for any person. (I also love the fact that these clocks are less than $5 at Wal-mart.) All we did was get scrapbook paper, then cut and layer until satisfied. Easy-peasy.

The Beginnings of a Book

This is the beginning of my book. Since I am not a professional writer by any stretch of the imagination, I need your help. Please let me know what you think of it.

Lessons of Grace

PREFACE:

I never wanted to write a book. That was never my intention. But here I am, sharing the lessons of grace that I learned from my own Gracie girl with others. I have wondered why I feel so driven to share this story when I cannot shake the feeling of my own inadequacy in writing. It is because I have met death.

I saw the change that came over her body as death took my child from me, even as I rocked her in my arms. I felt the coldness of her body after death claimed her. I walked the snow covered path leading to her grave on the day that we laid her body in the cold, hard ground. I saw this; I felt this; I lived this. But this is only half of the story. What I have not yet mentioned is that while I mourned deeply for my cherished baby girl, I did not despair. Not because I am stoic, and not because I am brave. I felt no despair because there was, and still remains, no cause for it.

"Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help
thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness." -Isaiah 41:10

I met death, and yet I hope. I hope because I felt that strengthening Isaiah speaks of. I felt that help. I felt it through my family, friends, neighbors, but most powerfully from that God who spoke those words. I know of Jesus Christ’s reality, and I know that He is aware of our deepest struggles. When I reflect back on my story, tears come to my eyes. Tears come as I realize that I, a 24-year-old woman who burns everything she bakes, loves the outdoors and sports, and sometimes forgets how to do basic algebra, walked through the hospital doors exiting to the parking garage, leaving the cold body of my tiny baby inside of it. I walked through those doors with floods of tears in my eyes, but just as much hope. I knew that my baby was safe, and that she was escorted by special spirits to the other side of the veil. I knew that she was no longer in pain. And I knew that I would see her again.

If God was with me through one of the most emotionally painful experiences I can imagine, then I cannot doubt that He is with me as I struggle with my own imperfections, my relationships, my finances and other aspects of daily living. That is why I write this book. I write it because I know that I am not the anomaly. I am not the exception. I am not one of God’s favorites, feeling His grace, mercy and strength as others are forced to manage on their own. God is no respecter of persons, and thus He is at my side and at yours, aiding and supporting each of us as we traverse this life.

So though it is often difficult for me to find the right words to convey my sometimes tangential thoughts and feelings, I continue to write. I struggle to balance the palpable emotional drama of this story with the non-tangible yet powerful truths. I keep typing, deleting, and typing again, hoping that readers can understand that in my moment of greatest pain and loss, I was able to feel greatest love from my God.

Therapy of Running

I have fallen in love with running again. Most days, anyway. I think it appeals to me so much because it parallels LIFE, or at least mine.


It is such a physical reminder to me that my best is the only thing that counts, and that comparing to other people usually leaves me discouraged, ashamed, or prideful. (Most times it is a combination of all three.)

For example, it seems as though it often happens that I get halfway through your workout and think, "Well, maybe I will just give myself a break today", not because I really need one, but because I don't want to have to try anymore. Just then, some super-lean Machine decked out in Eddie Bauer gear and a bright pink Ipod gets on the treadmill right next to me and proceeds to run twice as fast as me with seemingly NO effort. What the heck?

I am left to choose: I either could play the victim card as fast as I could, step off the treadmill trying to hide my scuffed tennis shoes with my head down, making no eye contact, and mumbling something about feeling sick

OR,

I could run at the pace I need, finish my race, and then smile nicely as I pick up the brand new Ipod that the Machine just dropped. On the way out, I feel great as I try really hard to not envy the Machine's perfectly sculpted buns of steel.


Running is one of the few activities without an element of distraction. When I ride a bike or walk, I can do all sorts of things to distract yourself from the pain and discomfort. I can read, watch TV, talk to a friend, etc. Running is too intense...if you do it well, I concentrate on my movements, on my breathing (and on not dropping off the back of the treadmill). I love that opportunity to focus; that forced chance to feel the pain, the momentum, the effort, and the exhilaration of doing something hard, and in doing it as well as I can.

I love that running is all about the journey. Running is not about the destination. If it was, most people would choose a destination on the other side of the block. The process of the journey is where joy resides. What a great physical demonstration of life! If one cant find the joy in the little steps which cumulatively form a great journey, then the journey is all for naught.



So even though my buns are closer to being aluminum foil than steel, I am a believer in the therapy of running. Critics claim it to be a rather radical and extreme form of therapy. Some even claim to prefer the controversial shock therapy. But supporters claim that nine mile runs in the rain can be as rejuvenating as seeing your husband scrub the toilet. What do you think? Tie on those shoes, get out the gym pass, and jump on a treadmill. Feel free to talk about your childhood, crazy parents, lost love, etc as you run. Oh, and by the way, if that is you in the Eddie Bauer tank, you dropped your Ipod.