The Adventure

This post has been something that I've been pondering the approach of for quite some time now. It is in no way my intention to come across as judgmental or bitter. Each person has a path laid before them that is intrinsically different from those around them. Our journey is unique because the world needs unique journeys. This is a tribute to the adventure of young love and young families and those who could have waited... but didn't. 

I met my husband when I was 20 years old. We dated for 14 months before he proposed. In all honesty, I knew he was the one I would choose to spend forever with a mere three months into our courtship. I was BEGGING for the engagement to happen. I could not WAIT to change my name. Even our 8 month engagement felt like an eternity. We were ready. But through this time of impatience, one common theme resounded from 90% of the world: don't rush to get married. And then upon marriage: don't rush to start a family. 

I was told not to rush into marriage... to take time to travel. Take time to see the world. Take time to live out my dreams. I was told not to worry when we couldn't conceive. To enjoy the infertile time. To use it as a time to travel. Take time to see the world. Live out our dreams. But this advice, as well intentioned as it was given, felt like a clouded judgement on what marriage and family is to me. 

I once saw a post that a friend wrote about how they feel bad for people who just want to "settle" in life. That they were getting out of here and headed to the west coast to live their dreams. That they were in their early 20s and had so much life to live. 

So to those who told me that marriage and a family would extinguish the fire within, I say:

Our lives are not much different. 

We are both awake at two in the morning taking care of our friends who cannot take care of themselves. We both dry tears and fall into bed exhausted from the late night that turned into this 2am hunger-fest. 

We both find beauty in the world. Yours is found in wanderlust. In seeing the sunset sweep across the sky at the Taj Mahal or in exploring the depths of the ocean. Mine is found in watching the sunset sweep across ten tiny toes or in exploring the depths of the water at bath time.

We are both chasing our dreams. Yours to be a CEO and save your money to buy the home of your dreams. Mine to chase around a little crawler and cook dinner for my family in our well-priced starter.

We both had to work for what we wanted. You hustle on the daily for your dreams and independence. I hustle on the daily to get places on time now that I'm never alone with a baby on one hip. 

We are both searching for inner peace. I cannot pack up to do this on a yoga retreat or leave for a week long trip to California. No, I do this at nap time when I have 20 minutes to eat and say a quick prayer. 

We are both on an adventure. Yours is more breathtaking, I am sure. But damn, you haven't lived until you have seen a baby breathe their first breath or smile for the first time or find their voice. 

You see, friends, we aren't that much different. 

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I promise to never tell these travelers and wanderers and adventurers that MY adventure is better, because it's not, it's just DIFFERENT. I am living the life that I dreamed.. And the wait was HARD, though short. You see, friends, when we tell people to travel before they get married and to chase their dreams before children we are taking away the opportunity for marriage and family to BE the adventure. We can travel with a spouse and we can dream of children. Those are beautiful things to desire. 

And if, in the end, all I have is my humble home and hand-me-down clothes and trips to the park, I will have lived more life in that simplicity than I could have ever dreamed of living. And if, in the end, you have seen the world and found inner peace and traveled your own road to Heaven, you will have lived your best life, too.

Support the journey others are traveling. We are not that different in the end. 

A Letter to My Firstborn

My Dearest Baby,

The first night we brought you home from the hospital, we went to lay you down to sleep and you made gasping noises. Three of them. Loud, gasping-for-air, can't-breathe noises. And then you fell into a peaceful sleep. Just like every cough and sneeze and nose run, I talked to your doctor about what I had witnessed. He told me that if you weren't turning blue, you were fine. Just like every cough and sneeze and nose run... it was normal.

But you see, sweet love, these things weren't normal to me. Every cough was a terrible cold and every gasp-for-air bedtime breath was a sure sign that you were dying. I was terrified. 

The first time you didn't poop for a span of 5 days, you cried. And I cried too. I've never wanted anything more in my life than for you to finally pass a bowel and even as I type this right now I'm laughing because of how excited dad and I were when you had the biggest blowout to date. As we wiped poop off of your back and the changing table and the ceiling (jokes), you returned to our happy, adorable baby. And a huge weight lifted off of my chest.

As the months went on, I became less terrified and more concerned when little things were off with you. Like when you suddenly started screaming during baths. I never wanted to bathe you again because God-forbid anything I should do would break your soul. It felt like, in giving you a bath, I was hurting you in some way. I was concerned that the water was too hot or that you might think that I wasn't listening and didn't care when you cried. Every time it was bath night, my chest tightened in anticipation. As I set you in the tub, I winced, sure of what was to come. It turns out you just wanted to sit up in the tub instead of lay in it. *Destroying your soul for life: avoided*

There was one night at Grandma and Grandpa's farm when you didn't feel well and couldn't sleep. We woke up at 2am and daddy was feeding you a bottle while I pumped. This time there was definitely something wrong. You had a 99.7 fever.... but nothing can happen unless it's 101.4. You cried. I cried. Daddy sat there trying to console his two girls. But seriously, my heart felt like it was bring ripped out of my chest not being able to help you.

Yesterday I tried to let you "cry it out" at naptime. I set a timer on my phone and I sat on the floor outside of your room and watched every painful second pass by. You cried... HARD. And I sat there staring at that phone with tears in my eyes and milk all over my shirt because even my body knows when you need me. I thought about helping you find your independence and how in the long run you'll sleep better. Thank God the timer hit "0" because by the time I convinced myself you didn't need to be independent and that sleep was overrated, it was time to take you into my arms and snuggle you until you realized I hadn't left you alone for long.

Every first sound, the time you discovered your hands, the first day you sat up... all of these milestones lift my heart straight to Heaven, really they do. There was nothing more magical than the first time you intentionally smiled at me. Your first giggle... I can't describe it. We tried to capture it on video, and I'm so glad we did, because every time you don't nap or I feel like a bad mommy for letting you cry it out, I look back on those things and my heart explodes for you. I see a glimpse of who you will be. My heart swells with pride because the miracle of your life... my body was a vessel for that. 

Sometimes I look at you and my womb physically aches in the spot where you made your home. I can feel where you once were. It doesn't happen often, it's just in those tender moments when you open your eyes just enough to see me and smile before you fall asleep in my arms. Sometimes I feel as though our souls are connected as intimately as our bodies once were. 

In your mere five months of life I feel like I've lived the best and hardest of mine. Sacrifice has taken on a new meaning, because it's not intentional anymore, it's engrained in my heart. I just do it. My body aches to help you, to care for you. I have to be intentional about pulling myself FROM you, from the sacrifice, to fill my bucket. But it goes against every instinct I have now to give MORE to you. 

I write this now because I know in a few years (God-willing) there will be some brothers and sisters surrounding you, and I don't know if I'll ever feel quite like this again. I don't know what of the magic will be lost. But I do know this... No time in my life will ever feel as special as carrying YOUR life inside me. And nothing will ever be as magical as YOUR entrance into the world. You've changed me. 

I am eternally grateful for your little life. And I love you.

Love,

Mommy 

Our Path to Pregnancy

Long before I knew my vocation as wife, I knew my vocation as mother. Throughout my college years, the sacrifice and joy of motherhood tugged at my heartstrings and I challenged myself to uncover where I was called to serve out this calling. I spent time praying for direction- was I being led to the religious life to serve as a spiritual mother, or was I bound to be a wife and have my own physical children? For the longest time I was terrified of either prospect. My heart ached to experience the thrill of life within me, and I knew that a call to religious life meant that I would never encounter such a thing. However, when I thought of marriage, I could never see the face of a soul whom I could trust or love enough to bind my heart to for the remainder of my time here on earth. When I closed my eyes and dreamt of the future, I saw babies. But I never saw a father. Until Ben.

Ben came into my life like a summer rainstorm-- he used his life as a vessel for Christ's love and faithfulness, and he quenched a thirst inside me that I didn't know I had. Because of him, because of God's love shining through him, I grew strong and took deeper root in my own faith. Faith in God. Faith in myself. Faith in mankind. Faith in him. He was the face that I could never picture in my vision of motherhood. He was the father. More importantly, however, I finally felt peace knowing that I was called to be his wife. He would be my partner, my husband, my equal and my leader at the same time. I took on this childish wonderment at everything around me. The day we were married, nothing could have shaken my joy. Not a single thing. Because, finally, I was living out my vocation as wife and well on my way to motherhood.

We settled into married life easily and developed a routine of daily sacrifices that we were both honored to do for one another. We knew that our next step was starting a family... something we were both longing for and couldn't wait to experience. However, we were hit with the harsh reality of infertility right off the bat. As months passed with negative pregnancy tests, a PCOS diagnosis, pokes and prods and labs and tears, there was only a small fraction of hope still in my heart. Ben, the perpetual optimist, would pray me through each tearful doctor's visit and ensure me that we were always taking steps forward. That someday, he just knew, God would bless us with a baby of our own. As we approached a full year of infertility, the talk of adoption began to fill our home. We began to pray about next steps. Where do you want us, Lord? What should we do with this pain? Is it time to place our hope in another path?

And then one morning I woke up at 6:30 feeling called to take the last pregnancy test we had in our home. I laid and prayed for a while, wanting to be SURE that God was asking me to do this. Go on, a voice whispered. Go ahead and take it. Three long minutes later, I saw the faintest plus sign imaginable show up on the screen. I snuck into the bedroom to wake Ben up to have him take a look. A few hours later I called our doctor's office to let them know what I saw. They had done blood work on me two days before and already had an idea that they would be getting a call from me. I spent the day crying tears of joy, relief, gratitude. Tears for the tough year we had been through, tears for the beautiful journey ahead.

Our year of infertility felt like a lifetime, and these last 33 weeks of pregnancy have passed in the blink of an eye. I have been through weekly tests getting my blood drawn, nausea, back pain, weight gain (duh), sleep loss, and so many hormonal, teary outbursts. And all of it is worth it.

You know, they tell you when you are pregnant that everything is going to swell up. Your ankles, your feet, your face, your hands. But what they don't tell you is how much your heart also follows suit. My heart's capacity for love has reached a bound that I never dreamed possible. It feels similar to reliving my wedding vows over and over again each time she kicks, rolls, hiccups, or sticks her little feet into my side. My heart explodes through my eyes as tears on a daily basis because I simply cannot contain the joy and fear and hope that this child has brought into my life by her simple existence. She is the promise God made to me when I first dreamed of my vocation. The promise that I had lost hope in, and He chose to restore my faith in Him first through the storm of infertility and now through her tiny life. No one ever tells you about how your heart shatters in the best way possible when you are carrying another human inside you. They tell you about the sacrifices you will make, but they never tell you how those sacrifices will mold you into a better person. How they will shift your entire view of the world and give you a sense of purpose that you never knew you had.

For those friends of mine who are living in the pain of infertility, for those who may never experience physical motherhood, I will never stop praying for you. I hope that you never lose trust in His plan, and I hope you know that I will never forget the heartache you are experiencing. I am here for you. I am with you and for you.

For those friends of mine who are mothers and mommy's-to-be, I also will pray for you. I will pray that God gives you the grace to cherish every moment of this beautiful vocation. Pregnancy is HARD. You sacrifice your entire body and entire self for this little human, and I know how draining that can be. But promise me that you will never forget that we are not entitled to motherhood. This is truly a miracle.

I cannot wait to see Ben become the father to our little girl that I always dreamed of for my children. He already exceeds every expectation that I ever had for a husband, and I know that fatherhood will suit him well. As we approach two years of marriage I cannot believe the amount of hardships he has carried us through, and the amount of joy he has sustained. He has constantly and patiently nudged me back to Christ.

My heart swells with love of you, sweet baby girl. Thank you for transforming my body, my faith, and my life.

Make Me Brave Like Jesus

I woke up at 6:00 on my day off full of hope and anticipation. Today was the day all couples struggling with infertility know too well: twelve days post-ovulation and time for a pregnancy test. Over the last few months we stopped this routine of planned tests and tracking cycles. Up until this point my cycle had been so terribly off that there was really no reason to take tests anymore. But not this month. No, this month was surely the month. The elements were all in place for us: the weight loss, a regular cycle for the first time in over a year, the right pills prescribed by my Catholic doctor, the novenas prayed, the saints interceding---- yes, this was definitely the month.

By 6:03 I was back in bed with silent tears streaming down my face. I thought this was the month. 

The past 10 months have been the happiest, healthiest, and most challenging part of my life. Marriage is the most beautiful gift and we have been blessed beyond measure. Ben and I truly enjoy each other's company. We love every aspect of marriage and have molded our two lives into one extremely well (in my opinion). However, from the very beginning, we were challenged to lay down our hopes and dreams for a family and follow God's design for our life. To say that it has humbled us would be an understatement. I always think back on a homily I heard many years ago about how when a sheep wanders from its flock the shepherd will leave the rest of the flock to find it. When the two meet, the shepherd breaks the legs of the sheep and then carries it home. This helps the lost sheep to learn total dependency on the shepherd, knowing that the shepherd will provide everything that it needs. It's a pretty beautiful analogy for when we experience pain and are learning total dependency on God --- except for when you're the one being broken. And that is what it feels like: broken. I feel like my body is broken. My prayers are broken. My mind is broken. My spirit is broken. When I enjoy the moment and don't allow myself to feel the pain of infertility I feel like I am denying myself healing. When I focus on the pain and allow myself to heal I feel that I am denying myself the joy of the moment.

I met up with two friends a few months ago to talk about the pain. I had become great at hiding it unless I was in Ben's company. It was time to allow others into the sadness. That conversation helped me to focus on the present moment in my married life with Ben and to realize that infertility is such a small portion of who I am and my life as a whole. I walked away with a newfound fervor for life. I knew that getting pregnant was not dependent on me, it was dependent on His will for me. However, something was said that night that I could not relate to: sometimes in our pain we can become angry with God. I have never had the inclination to be mad at Christ. Maybe in my angsty teenage years it happened a time or two, but I have always known that being mad at God would never solve anything. He is the one who heals, the one who loves, the one who cares. I was glad that I had that knowledge.

Until 6:35 this morning.

I curled up next to Ben and bawled like a baby. He held me and assured me that he felt the pain too. This is the millionth time we have done this: realization of infertility sinks in, Ben holds me and asks me to vocalize my pain, we pray together, and then we get up and move on with our life. This time was different though. This time I felt different. I felt anger. I felt frustration. I felt betrayed. I felt all of these things and they were directed at Christ.

A priest once told me that in his experience as a pastor, infertility feels like the loss of a child. He said that I needed to take time to grieve. While I have never lost a child and think that the pain of losing one far surpasses what I am feeling right now in my year of infertility, I can relate to the feeling of loss. It is not the loss of a physical being-- it is the loss of my dreams. It is the loss of trust in God's love for me because He knows my heart so well, He knows that what I am willing is good, He knows that this cross is one that I feels so heavy I cannot bear it alone, and yet He is still allowing me to undergo this pain. It is the loss of confidence in my body because no matter how hard I try, I'm just going to have these cysts that will wreak havoc on my health. It is the loss of hope in the anticipation of a child. This year has shown me the reality that I may never conceive a baby.

Thus brings me to 8:08 as I sit here writing this all out. Ben has made a pot of coffee, soon we will sit down together for breakfast, and our life will go on. Today I am reflecting on the idea of embracing your cross and what that means in the life of those who suffer. Maybe it means that we embrace EVERYTHING that our crosses offer: joy, redemption, sadness, pain. Maybe embracing my cross right now is taking all of the anger and devastation that I am feeling and just holding it while God wraps His arms around it all. Maybe it is experiencing emotions as they come so that they don't rule my life on "pregnancy test day." Or maybe it is simply gazing upon the road to Calvary and asking God to make me as brave as Jesus was the day He carried His cross.

8:15 and I am going to crawl back into bed with my Simon. Another day of infertility, another day to learn to love in a different way.

The First Four Months

The end of 2015 and the beginning of 2016 has been a complete whirlwind. I got married, finished student teaching, started a three and a half month subbing position in fourth grade, and have applied for numerous jobs for next school year. I've realized that being a first year teacher and a first year wife is the most challenging thing I have done. I have had many days of feeling like a failure (sitting on the floor in tears and all), but have had more days of sheer joy than moments of exhausted sadness. Honestly, I've wanted to write this post for a while: a total compilation of what I have learned thus far as a new wife. Here's an update on the newest Beckman:

No matter how terrible the meal, Ben will try anything to make me happy.

I had to throw this in here for those who haven't heard of my marital cooking excursions. A couple of months ago I decided I wanted to learn to bake from scratch. My first endeavor: pancakes. Shouldn't have been too difficult, right?

I had this terrible habit of looking at the ingredients but not looking at how to put them together. I would throw them all into a bowl, mix, and bake. Well, this recipe called for a stick of butter. I wondered why a recipe that only made ten pancakes would need an entire stick of butter, but continued mixing everything together despite my concerns. When I began to cook my pancakes I heard them sizzle.... They were frying in the pan. I went back to read the recipe instructions to find that the butter was to GREASE THE PAN.

.......... "Here you go Ben.... I made these for you."

God help me.

You are not entitled to a baby.

I nannied a sweet little girl named Kate when I was in college. Her mother talked to me one day after work and said that one thing she realized in her marriage is that we aren't entitled to a baby... We don't just get to have them when we want. I don't think that I ever really conceptualized that remark before marriage. Every time we see family and friends it is guaranteed that we will hear at least once a range of questions from, "When are you thinking about having kids?" (Have you met me? ALWAYS, that's when.) or "Are you expecting yet?" (I promise I'll tell you when we are).

This strange time when I've only been married for four months and have been unable to conceive is a limbo stage of some sorts. It feels like society has deemed it unacceptable for me to be sad that we aren't pregnant because we need to "give it some time and enjoy being married." I LOVE being married to Ben. I think it's the most special time of our lives right now being able to give to others because we don't have children we must pour that energy into. However, the deepest desire of my heart is to make another Ben Beckman, to show our children the love of Christ and to build up our domestic church. And dammit... It hurts my heart every month when we realize it just hasn't happened yet.

I've learned that I HAVE to let go of my plans, my passions, the very desire of my heart (even as good and pure as that desire may be) to let God work in my life. Ben and I are not entitled to a child. We don't know if we will get pregnant. And I think that Christ is using that as a means to bring us closer to Him.

Teaching is my job, not my life.

This has been a harsh realization. As a first year teacher I could literally spend every waking minute at school. Whether it be meetings, grading, planning lessons, or studying the curriculum I have put in multiple 11-hour days trying to get organized and do my best for my kiddos. Thank God for my team leader who, after a long day at work and what was supposed to be a long evening of planning, came into my classroom and said, "Go home, Sierra. It's all going to be here tomorrow." Suddenly it hit me: Teaching is the vocation God has called me to as a PROFESSION. Being a wife is the vocation God has called me to in my LIFE. They are not one in the same... Ben has to come first. Finding that balance has been terribly difficult, but I'm so glad I've realized it this early on in our marriage.


Receiving is my primary purpose.

Ben and I attended a weekly series on spousal prayer this lent and it was truly life-changing. It taught me so much about my role as a wife. Ben spends his days in total service to me: He does dishes and laundry and fixes the washer and makes the bed. He makes me coffee and rubs my feet and when the air conditioning knob fell off of my car he replaced it. I have tried my best, I really have. Ben has eaten burnt, dry, over-salted, over-buttered, garlic-y messes for four months. I do my best to help with the up-keep of our home on the weekends, but I get sucked into school work and he ends up cleaning. To be honest, he is so much better at this marriage thing than I am. And you know what he prays about when we're about to go to sleep? "Please help me love Sierra better tomorrow." Seriously? His sacrificial nature was enough to break me one evening (or multiple evenings... whatever). I sat down and cried and told him that I suck at being a wife and he sacrifices so much for me that I feel entirely inadequate.

And then we attended the series at church. The talks walked us through the role of man and woman, man as the giver and woman as the receiver, and how that mimics the love of God for His Son. "In our very body makeup we can see that it is man who gives and woman who receives." It was a wake up call for me to stop pitying myself and to accept Ben's gift of himself to me on a daily basis. Receiving his love is a truly humbling experience, but one that is rewarding both for Ben as giver and for me as the receiver. Learning to accept his love is actually helping me love him better. Such a neat concept.

Ben cannot be my everything.

As much as I love my sweet Ben, I know that there are some things he just cannot fix. My therapist told me once that your spouse can only fill you up at most 40%, so I need to find where the other 60% will come from. Oh boy was that true. I have learned to trust Ben with my whole heart because he points me in the direction of the One who CAN be my all.

He also encourages me to nourish my friendships. He takes the time to be with my family. He reminds me to take time for myself and to enjoy my own company. All EXTREMELY important things that I'm fortunate to be forming habits around now. 

Let it happen. 

I cannot wait to keep learning from Ben. I love what God is revealing to me through him. Marriage has been the most incredible experience and I am so thankful for its grace every single day.  We're in the transition process of deciding where to live, applying for jobs, and letting go of everything we ever wanted and letting God take control. What a crazy ride and an amazing life.

Calling All Married People

What important lessons did YOU learn in your first year of marriage? I have heard some incredible stories that have changed me, and I would love to hear from YOU. Thank you and may God bless you for being an example of love in my own marriage.
 

Evangelization (without Words)

e·van·ge·lize

  [ih-van-juh-lahyz]  Show IPA

verb (used with object), e·van·ge·lized, e·van·ge·liz·ing.

1.

to preach the gospel to.

2.

to convert to Christianity.

verb (used without object), e·van·ge·lized, e·van·ge·liz·ing.

3.

to preach the gospel; act as an evangelist.                                   

Above is the dictionary definition of the word "evangelize." True evangelization, intentional relationships, and authentic love have been on my mind lately. Actually, they have been on both my mind and heart since coming home from Vermont this past August. 

You see, when I had my "re-version" back to the Catholic faith I was all about the bare-handed, "Have you met my friend Jesus?" life. I was fearless in talking about Him with any and every person who crossed my path. At the time, I saw absolutely nothing wrong with this. I mean, according to the dictionary, to evangelize is to preach the gospel and to convert to Christianity. Best done in words, right? 

I would argue that my view of evangelizing others was wrong. I would also argue that the Apostles converted more people to Christianity through relationships than through a blatant, stand on a pedestal-and-preach attitude. Jesus had a message for the world. A message of Truth. It was a love story from Heaven. But He CARED for people before He spoke. He showed them Heaven before He talked about it.

Think about the story of the loaves and fish. Jesus didn't look at the crowd, see their hunger, then think to Himself, "They're sinners. I need to save them before I fulfill their bodily wants and needs." Rather, He told the Apostles to gather food. He multiplied the food, and He let them eat. Through this action He gained the trust of the crowd. People began to see that He wasn't there to condemn them, He was there to LOVE them through His actions. He waited to speak until He knew of their mutual trust in each other.

I have a feeling that in the above story Jesus was not sitting around waiting to make His next move in evangelizing these people while they ate. From the very depths of His being He cared about them. He wanted to KNOW them. He wanted them to know Him. In modern day terminology, we would call this caring-in-action "love" and this getting-to-know-each-other "friendship." He was a friend.  

Our society is thirsting for authenticity. We crave quality time. We long to be invested in, cared about. I think that Christians have the right mind-set in wanting to share Jesus with people, but I also think our approach needs some tweaking. Let me use my family as an example:

I adore my family more than anything. They are amazing people who are natural givers. We have a lot of fun, and we LOVE. But we are a wounded, broken family. When I found myself falling in love with Jesus, I recognized the broken parts of myself and realized that He was the only one who could heal shattered humanity. When I asked for Him to mend my wounds, He slowly and painfully answered my request. Suddenly, I knew what real LOVE was. I knew what real JOY was. And I craved for my family to know Jesus in the way I had come to know Him.

However, the more I longed for them to know His love, the more I recognized their wounds. I became frustrated with their sin and brokenness and was saddened that they might never have a personal encounter with Christ. I talked about Him all the time. I was the "Jesus freak" of my family. And suddenly, I couldn't take it. I could not understand why they wouldn't pray with me, go to Church with me, try and follow the Commandments with me. 

And then I went to Vermont, where being on fire for Jesus is a SCARY thing. Where most people genuinely do not want to hear about "my friend Jesus Christ." Suddenly, I realized what I was doing wrong:

In all my talk ABOUT Jesus, I never knew how to BE Jesus for others.

What a concept, right? Being Jesus. I had spent so much time thinking about bringing Jesus to my family, my actions were quite the contrary. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE to talk about Jesus. When you love someone, you want to share with others what makes that person so beautiful. However, not everyone wants to hear it. ESPECIALLY if they have had a negative life experience that turned their hearts away from Him. It's the plain truth. From Christian to Christian-- YES. Talk about Him. But from my experience with luke-warm Christians and agnostics, preaching the Gospel in words really hinders your ability to authentically love someone. 

It is not our job to confront people about their sins. Jesus never looked at Mary Magdalene as a prostitute in need of saving.  He looked at her as a beautiful woman in need of a friend. We are all sinners in need of friends who look past our sins because they love us. 

 I guarantee that everyone reading this blog came to know about a real relationship with Jesus because of another person who took the time to invest in them. Someone who just wanted to be their friend. Talking about Heaven came later, after they saw His love in action in another human. 

We have to start BEING Jesus in all that we do. We have to stop having friendships with hidden intentions, even if the hidden intention is evangelization. Get your new friends to Heaven by your prayers for them. And then just LOVE them. Get to know them. Teach them how to live their talents in the most perfect and humble way possible (aka... Holiness). Through your intentional and authentic care for their needs, you will BE Jesus for them. There is no way they won't see something different in you, because there is. His name is Jesus. 

Cancer Sucks (but Heaven Replenishes)

"CANCER SUCKS." We see it on t-shirts, posters, flyers, bracelets. To tell you the truth, cancer (and its potential outcome) really does suck. It sucks the joy out of living a peaceful life. It sucks the sleep out of nights spent worrying. It sucks the energy out of family members finding a way to be 'strong.' It sucks the daily routine from achy chemotherapy patients. It sucks the assurance of having a father, mother, sister, brother, grandma, grandpa, or child in your life forever right out of your control. It just... sucks.

Two weeks ago I received a morning call from my mother telling me that my grandma has breast cancer. Cancer sucked the logic out of me and I immediately took this as a death sentence. I'm not joking. Within hours I had decided I needed to start mental and emotional preparation for losing this beautiful woman who has been everything to me for 21 years. I didn't sleep that night. Cancer sucked the sleep from me.

The next morning I called my grandma. Sweet, sweet Helen. I asked what she was up to that morning. Her response? "Oh, just baking a pie for the neighbors! Earl gives grandpa tomato juice and I make Earl pies." HOLY SELFLESS WOMAN. I melted in a pool of my own selfishness. After asking how she was holding up, I could hear her smile on the other end of the phone line. "It is what it is, and it's going to be what it's going to be. We just have to pray. It will be what it will be."

There is something different about an attitude like hers. I realized upon speaking with her that I should not try to pray the cancer away. My grandma has this total and complete trust that whatever God's will is for our lives, we simply need to pray for acceptance and strength. It WILL happen regardless.

I think we tend to forget that if we believe in Jesus, we believe in the Resurrection. We were created for Heaven, not earth. My grandma has lived a holy, long life. She is going to fight this disease, but she is not going to force her will. Only HIS will... Because "it will be what it will be." Her positivity and trust in God's plans are truly inspirational. She gets it. She understands purpose and pain and Heaven. And she finds hope and solace in that knowledge.

Point in case...Cancer sucks. Suffering is hard. Pain feels unbearable at times. But Heaven replenishes. The knowledge that we were created for so much more than this life brings forth a fountain of hope. There IS purpose in suffering. There WILL be a day that things will be okay. They will be more than okay, actually. Things will be PERFECT. Although my little eyes struggle to see it, I know that my grandma is right when she says that all we can do is pray.

And face suffering with acceptance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IExdrZGQVeI