What Will Matter...

Whirlwind.  That's how I'd describe my last 5 months.  A freakin' crazy whirlwind.  It started when I was 8 months pregnant and I took one of our two dogs to the vet.  I will never forget sitting in the tiny vet room bawling my eyes out, trying to compose myself as they told me that Paco had cancer.  Aggressive Cancer.  My heart broke.  Not broke...shattered.  In that moment all of my excitement that I'd had about our current life situation fizzled out.

"It's just a dog" some may say.  He wasn't.  For all intensive purposes that dog was my best friend, child and constant companion.  With me every second I let him be.  At my side all day long.  That dog taught me how to love.  LOVE LIKE JESUS.  Unconditional  love.  There was never a moment he wasn't happy to see me...that he didn't want to snuggle...that he didn't make me feel like a better person.  And frankly, I don't care if you think I'm crazy, because it's true.  That dog made me better, happier and more confident.

A few weeks later, I was put on modified bed rest.  Blah.  I'd sit at home with the pups and be bored.  I was only supposed to do one outing a day and believe me I wasn't going to waste that outing doing the dishes! ;)  Paco had been responding well to the steroid treatment and my hopes were lifting.  This whole time I'd had this picture in my head...Our perfect little family.  Mom, Dad, Baby and two adorable Golden Retrievers.  Life was going to be great.  I let myself believe Paco was going to get better -- I hoped that the doctors were wrong.  I WANTED my perfect life.

Then one day Paco came to my side and started throwing up...and couldn't stop.  He looked at me with the saddest eyes..."Help me," they said.  But I couldn't...I couldn't help him.  Despite how bad I wanted to.  We tried everything, IV's...Drugs...but in the end, Paco lost the battle to cancer and I lost the best friend I'd ever had.  And it hurt.  GOD, DID IT HURT.

Pita and I would lay on the couch all day crying.  She would go and look for him and then lay on his bed when he wasn't there.  And I would go and lay next to her and cry.  And that was how we spent our days for quite some time...My one outing didn't matter anymore.  I was too sad.  The picture I'd had in my head of what my family would look like was destroyed.  I missed my big boy.  And Pita missed him too...and here we were stuck at home on bed rest.  BLAH.

Amidst all my weekly check ups and ultrasounds, it was suggested I be induced.  I was ecstatic.  I told my midwife I couldn't sit at home for one more second being depressed.  FOUR DAYS LATER...yes, I was in the hospital with them trying to induce me for four days...but four days and some stressful, scary moments later my wonderful, sweet June Isabella Bradley arrived.  She was perfect.

I'd been so scared.  Scared for labor.  Scared for the changes that were bound to incur.  Scared that I wouldn't be a good mom.  If I'm brutally honest, I felt like I had failed Paco, I couldn't save him.  And that rattled me to my core and made me question myself.

And now fast forward 3.5 months.  Today I look at this beautiful little girl and I can't help but smile.  I still miss Paco daily...and even cry many nights when we go to bed and he's not sitting there waiting for me.  But my life is good and it is full of love.  My house on the other hand is a disaster most days....My laundry room looks like the laundry monster came and vomited all over it, our recycling pile is filling our garage because we forget to take it out and my floors haven't been swept in 3 days.

So here's where I'm going with all of this.  What will matter....This thought has been on my heart and here's what I've learned...What will matter in the end is not that Paco lost a battle with cancer...what will matter is that he was so very loved.  I think he knew that.  And as I held his head and pet him and told him over and over again, "I LOVE YOU" as he took his last breath.  What matters is not that it was his last breath, but that he knew -- undoubtedly -- that he was loved.

And when it comes to my home and my family -- I'm learning it will not matter that my house is usually messy, sometimes dirty and always chaotic, What will matter is that my daughter is happy and knows she is loved...that Pita was played with and loved on today...and that my husband and I were intentional in our time together and connected at the end of the day.  These things are what will matter and they are what DO matter to me.

Why the Pride Festival is What Church Should Be Like...

I've been thinking a lot about what church -- "The Church" -- should be like...this might seem a simple, easy to answer question,  but to me, it's not.  Here's why.  It's far too easy to go negative with this subject...it's easier to say, "Church shouldn't be..." rather than "Church is..."

Many of us have felt burned, betrayed or hurt by The Church.  Some of us have felt unwelcome. And I know in my heart of hearts when that happens it is not church.  I believe that is not how God intended Church to be.

My friend, Nancy, and I went to the Pride Festival in Minneapolis yesterday.  We took our dogs and my baby.  It was the highlight of my weekend. We went from booth to booth chatting with different folks...we watched part of the big parade...one group that walked the parade came by and as they passed were singing a song about peace.  Here's what I love about my friend Nancy...as I was trying to hold back tears in my eyes...and shake off the goosebumps that had covered my skin; she turned to me and said, "I love this.  I'm going to cry."  Nancy is a good friend but even more so she is a good person, with a beautiful soul.  She created an opportunity for me to say, "Me too."

This experience triggered one big thought in my mind...THIS IS WHAT THE CHURCH SHOULD BE LIKE.  And as I sat in my own church last night (which, for the record, I really do like and do feel welcome at), my mind drifted and a mental note was created.  And here's that note:

5 REASONS WHY THE PRIDE FESTIVAL IS WHAT CHURCH SHOULD BE LIKE:


5.) I didn't feel judged once.  And I don't think anyone else did either.  Wear what you want.  Love who you want.  And be who you were born to be.  Simple enough idea...One I wish I felt every church embraced.  One I truly believe Jesus embraced fully, which is what makes me wonder why so many churches and Christians have deviated so far from it?  Jesus loved.  He embraced.  He challenged...but I don't think he ever judged.

4.) Everyone welcomed me. As we walked booth to booth....people were welcoming and inviting. They were excited about their group/place/club/etc. Most of the places aren't my style...I'm not nearly as hip as I pretend to be -- true story -- but it felt so WARM...yes warm...to be invited in.  To be welcomed.

3.) SMILES.  So many smiles.  It's sad, but I remember going to church growing up and walking in and seeing so few smiles.  Why is no one smiling?  It's supposed to be the most joyful place?  When did the joy stop happening?  But yesterday, there were only smiles...Minus the moment the band came by and my poor golden retriever nearly had a panic attack. ;)

2.) I felt at home.  I felt happy and I felt peaceful.  It took me a long time to get to this point with a church.  Sadly, I spent 25+ years of my life feeling anxiety-ridden when I entered church. Worrying that no one would ask me to sit with them...or that I wasn't dressed properly.  I'm so happy to say my church now is the opposite of that, I feel so peaceful and loved when I go there.  I wish everyone could feel that way.  I think everyone felt that way at Pride Fest, and that's something to be proud of.  (Did you like that play on words?)

1.) Hugs.  Everybody was hugging! Say what you will, but something deep within me tells me that Jesus was a hugger.  How could he not be?  I picture Jesus and Simon Peter getting out of the boat and splashing each other...then when the water fight was over, I big bro-hug.  I mean -- he's Jesus -- the epitome of love, you can't tell me he didn't hug people! I don't think there's near enough hugging at church...somewhere a social boundary went up and we began to keep our distance.  A little smirk and a nod...maybe a handshake...became enough.  I say...it's not enough...let's hug more, people!  The picture below has been circulating for awhile now...and I tear up every time I see it.  This apology.  This forgiveness.  This embrace.  This is Kingdom-Worthy stuff people.  THIS IS CHURCH.  AMEN.

[for more on this picture, check out this blog]

Not That Witty....

Here's what I can tell you...for some time now I've felt this tug...to share.   To share my thoughts, questions, hopes...to share.  One key thing has held me back....FEAR.  Fear of rejection, fear that my thoughts aren't profound enough, fear of failure.  Then it hit me...I determine what is a failure to me...and if the purpose of this blog is simply to share, then I really can't fail. 

You see, I have a lot of alone time -- well alone being me + baby + dog -- and as much as I love the two of them, we don't have the most riveting conversations.  But I have all these thoughts and questions bubbling all day long...and most of the time, they don't go beyond me.  Sometimes because I forget about them by the time I interact with any adults, sometimes because I don't want to sound stupid...well, pish posh...here are my thoughts...take them or leave them, read or don't read, agree or disagree...that's all fine, because truth be told, this blog isn't for you...it's for me.  And there's something that just feels right to me about putting my thoughts down on paper...albeit digital paper...I guess I like the idea that my children, or grandchildren, will be able to read my thoughts and know me from a time they might not remember.

How about that title?  Yep, "Not That Witty"...well, all the blog names I thought of were already taken or unavailable.  I tried to come up with something witty and clever...but it turns out I'm not that witty.  Then I checked and what do you know?  "Not That Witty" was available.  Bam.  Blog Title.