from an article originally posted April 29, 2014...

There is a temptation to want to bow out of life when new hard comes. I have often mentioned the pull of the dark room and the constant screen to shut out reality. Each day having littles, responsibility, friends who know me—well, it makes me move. When I found my new lump, I frankly wanted to avoid it. I wanted to pretend it wasn’t there.

But these faces, these little faces are such motivation to look for the graces, to find the joy, to embrace what is next. Yesterday I found myself jealous of people who have normal, just normal living. I found myself wondering how I would be living if I didn’t have this beast to fight. I saw a mama driving by with her car full of children, her hair beautifully highlighted, and moving through each moment without thoughts of her last moments. I felt screamingly jealous of her. I know there is hard in her story, but in my imaginings she didn’t, and I was horribly jealous of her.

But today, this day, I’m here. Today, today, I get to find life. Today, I get to seek living in grace and faithfulness. Hard news keeps coming, but I suppose there is a grace in getting to face it, walk through it. I started feeling a bit suffocated yesterday so I snuggled my littles and read a new book then we moved to our art table and quietly worked together. I didn’t have many words to share, but I fought the pull of the fetal position in my bed. I moved us from books, to art, to cooking and in that there was grace. Moving, just moving felt like grace.

After dinner, I came and quietly sat in my room and wrote a letter of desperation to someone I feel understands. Her response was breathtaking. Words full of grace, not minimizing the hard in my day, and asking me to trust Jesus in it all. She asked me to look at the object of my jealousy differently. She painted a beautiful picture of grace in the midst of battle and struggle—her own pain meeting mine and seeking Jesus together in it. To begin to see the grace in the brokenness, and to trust each moment, even if my strength feels far off.

Today, this day, I will move through each moment seeking what I feel is not mine. I have a child home with a concussion, and a friend coming to bless me with a massage. Grace. I have responsibility that will keep me moving, and I know there is even joy to find in this place. Groceries, bath time, laundry love, chores—they all meet me and keep me moving. The liar fear is not welcome in my day, though I know it will try and make many appearances. Today I’m looking for grace.

Tomorrow as I gain a new scar, I know Jesus is already there. He has met the new doctor that will be doing the procedure. Jesus will meet me in that place, and in the terrible place of waiting for results. I struggle so much to see Jesus in that fog, but I know he is there.

So I’m moving. Moving through today; are you? I’m believing what is not seen, and I’m fighting to understand the hard story being the very best story for my heart. Yesterday, some of you beautifully shared unbelievable hard, and I felt so blessed by your vulnerability. I feel as though we are a tattered tribe of faith seekers in the midst of pain. We are bruised, scarred, hurting, but ever raising our face to trust the goodness in the plan. We are receiving, ever receiving, and trusting in our weak state. These trials will not be lost. I’m so thankful you have joined me on this journey.