Ask first.

I’m turning 34 tomorrow and I’m really glad about it. The kids at school the last couple of weeks have guessed me to be 20 and that’s so nice because who doesn’t want to look younger, but at 20, I was a striving, self-loathing perfectionist who just wanted to find a husband, so I’m not at all interested in going back there. They also guessed that I had not yet graduated college (bless them!) and that’s nice too, except that in college I was aimless - wandering into a major I had no idea what to do with while dating and messing up and trying to date again and messing up more and complaining that no one liked me while not giving the good ones a chance and chasing after the bad ones who were not emotionally available. So, no, thank you. That was exhausting. When I told the kids I was actually going to be 34 they said, “You can’t be 34! My MOM is 34!” It’s true, little 7th grader. I’m old enough to be your mother.

But I’m glad to be turning 34. I feel like I’ve fought for 34. I’ve earned 34. When I turned 30 I rounded a corner in my life that really changed a lot for me. Like Iris says in my favorite holiday movie, “I think what I’ve [found] is something slightly resembling gumption.” Indeed. When I turned 31, I started dating Aaron and when I turned 32, we got engaged. I turned 33 with a new last name, in a new city, practically on a new planet (mentally and emotionally). I worked and worked and worked on the house we’ve made into a home. I carried a baby until God said it was time and then grieved for months over the loss. When I was 33 I came home with a kitten that honestly pulled me out of sadness.

So I’m turning 34 now and I feel good about where I’m at in the world and in my body and my heart. I hope that’s something you can say at every birthday. There were many birthdays I couldn’t say it. There was one that I woke up in the morning and stood in the mirror and cried - I think I was 28. But that was before I found my gumption to say yes to some things and no to others. So I hope you can say you’re glad with where you’re at in your body and in your heart and if that’s not true, that you are working on becoming that person you’d be happy to be. Even if everything else is out of your control in your life, you are always in control of the kind of person you want to be - if you want to walk in integrity, honesty, whole-heartedness, love. A question posed in my Bible study recently was, “Who are you becoming before God?” and that stuck out to me because I realized I never considered it before – not when I was 20, not in college, not until about five years ago. I felt like an entity that the world acted on and around with no power of my own to create or form it – only to react as it came at me. This is all very untrue and the minute I realized I had some agency in it all is the moment I started working on the person I wanted to be and inviting God into the process. He was already there anyway, but at least I started to acknowledge him.

Last year I wrote a list of things I learned over the last 33 years. I still think all of them are true – I’ll stand by all of them this year too. But when I think about the last year and when I think about the year ahead, the lesson I want to remember the most was taught by a five year old on an airplane.

Aaron and I flew to Arizona in September. I’ve told you this before but I’m a nervous flyer. Some people can fall asleep on a plane in an instant but I’m pretty much wired to 220 from the moment I step on the plane to the moment I walk off, taking in all my surroundings, observing people, their demeanor, the flight attendants, the pilots - whether they seem competent (as if I could ever judge that. Ha!). So Aaron and I take our seats on this flight to Phoenix and as we’re settling in, I notice that behind me is an older couple and across from me is a man with a child on either side of him. The boy across the aisle from me was probably only four or five, but he sat back in his seat with his seatbelt on, visibly excited, and trying to look across Aaron and I to see out the window. His little flip-flopped feet shot straight out from the end of the seat and occasionally kicked back and forth, but he never made a sound, just content to be with his dad and wait for takeoff.

Shortly after our departure, I noticed that the older gentleman behind me was reaching forward to offer the little boy some candy. A wrinkled hand held out three wrapped candies – among them the little butterscotch ones that are like a rite of passage into the world of being a grandpa or something – but he held them out to the little boy, nudging him on the arm so that he would notice. The little boy turned to look at the man, and then looked down at the candy, his ears perking up a bit like an excited pup. He turned to his dad to ask if he could have it, but his dad wasn’t paying attention. “Dad,” he said, and then turned back to see if the candy was still being offered. The boy didn’t reach for it. He didn’t take it. He just looked at it again. When he saw that it was still there, he turned back to his dad with urgency, in case the man was about to withdraw his offer. “Dad,” he whispered again, this time tapping his dad on the arm. His dad finally turned to look at him and the boy pointed to the offered candy. Looking back at the man holding out the candy, the father smiled and nodded his head with approval. It was only then that the boy reached out and chose a piece of candy and gave another to his sister, unwrapping it with delight.

I turned to Aaron to try to tell him the story, but I started tearing up. Is there something about your thirties that makes you cry at everything? No? Just me? Cool. So I’m trying to relay what just happened because I thought it was so sweet. Doesn’t everyone just want their dad’s approval? Dad, can I have this? Dad, is this okay with you? Dad, will this make you proud of me? I think it’s early in our lives that we learn to want this kind of approval – partly because it’s disciplined into us for our safety, but also because it’s wired in us. We’re relational, we want connection, we desire affirmation and approval.

What does this have to do with turning 34? This year I want to approach my decisions the way this little boy approached the offered candy. He asked his dad first. What if we approached our life decisions by asking God first? Before we make a move, before we take a step, before we make a decision, I want to run it by God. “Hey, dad, can I have this? Should I do this? Would this make you proud of me?” I think that’s what it means to have a relationship with him. I think that’s what it means to come to him - to ask what he thinks and then seek out the answer in his Word. So often in my 20s I was asking, asking, asking, but not waiting for an answer – not listening for an answer by searching it out in the Bible. I just asked in vain, listening to my own voice, and then going my own way. “Can I have this? No? Too bad, doing it anyway because I don’t see any other options.

More than anything I’ve learned lately, it’s that I don’t want to take a single step, take anything offered, move toward anything in my path unless I have first tapped God on the arm and asked if it was okay. “Is it okay if I do this? Is it okay if I say this? Is this from you?” I don’t want to move unless he gives his approval. We should want to please the heart of the father with our words, with our actions, with our lives and not move toward it, whatever it is, until he says it’s okay.

And if he doesn’t say okay, I want to learn to accept it and move on. If I don’t get the nod to go ahead, I don’t want to reach out. So often I think I know better, planned better, have better ideas. I think my feelings are more important than what he thinks. But if he doesn’t approve, I don’t want it. I’ve done enough my own way in life to know it leads nowhere good. As Lauren Daigle sings on her new album, “I’ve searched the world to find my heart is Yours.” I really have. I feel that lyric in my soul. So even when it doesn’t feel good, even when I don’t agree, if it’s not what he has for me, I don’t want it anymore.

Thirty-three was a big learning and growing and changing year for me. It was high highs and really low lows. But one thing that remained steady was the faithfulness of God to walk with me in it all. He is faithful and trustworthy and his plans for us are good. If he promises goodness, then why would I not want what he wants for me? Why would I not seek that out first?  

I want to turn my heart in that direction – away from selfishness and self-centered decisions, away from going my own way and making choices that might feel good in the moment but don’t lead to lasting joy. I want to turn to God first and let him direct my steps – in what I say and do, where I go, how I shine his light into the world around me. Like it says in Proverbs, “She opens her mouth in wisdom and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.” That’s what I want for my 34th year. Wisdom and kindness. I want to know the heart of God more. I want my awe and my wonder to be aimed up at him. I want my eyes to be bright with hope and wisdom to shine out of my face, a reflection of him who gives it out to those who ask. But there it is again, it’s in the asking. It’s tapping God on the arm and saying, “Is this okay?” And accepting his answer. The good news is, I think the heart of our father is like the heart of that father on the airplane. He wants to say yes to good gifts.

Walking into 34 tomorrow, I feel confident in the faithfulness of God to answer me when I ask. I just have to remember to ask first.


Learning to be interrupted.

About a month ago now, Aaron and I came home with a kitten. A friend posted on Facebook that three kittens were found and they all needed a home. I saw the picture and immediately tagged Aaron and worked out a time that I could go meet them. Ever since we moved here, Aaron and I have gone over to the Humane Society to see the kittens and play with them but none of them ever seemed like ours – like I couldn’t picture them at our house. But these! They were so sweet and had the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen on a cat. They were estimated to be about four weeks old at the time but they had been checked out by a vet and were okay to go to new homes. I grew up with a cat and have always wanted one, but Aaron didn’t and still wishes some days that our cat would behave more like a dog, but because he loves me and maybe partly because we had a very hard summer, we came home with the cutest little white fluffy nugget.

If you follow me on Instagram, you’ve seen plenty of little Darla Cunningham. She’s a diva queen who refuses to eat dry food and even though we don’t let her sit on the desk, carefully climbs up there while we’re gone and is always sitting directly in the middle of the desk to spite us when we come home. Such sass. I love it.  

Since Darla Dee came to live with us when she was so little, I always felt bad leaving her at home for extended periods of time. She was on her own to navigate our house at five weeks old and I felt so sad for her every time I left the house. I didn’t want her to get too hot or feel sad or cry when I was gone so I made sure she had her food and water and litterbox and toys and I’d turn on the fan and the air conditioner and left her a blanket she liked. Aaron had to remind me that had she not been rescued, she was probably destined to live in the Costco parking lot with the rest of the stray cats on this island, so she would definitely be fine alone for a few hours. It’s true. I always remind her that she has a real rags-to-riches story! Ha! But before you give up on me, this isn’t a post about Darla. I mean, I would write one because most of my days are spent playing with her, but the point is not the cat.

I left Darla one day to go pick up a couple of things at the mall, thinking I’d be gone about an hour at most. I had my route planned out: park at Target, run over to Abercrombie to pick up my order, then swing back through Target and get home to Queen D.

But, I arrived at Abercombie and they couldn’t find my order. Turns out it was shipped to Abercrombie Kids for I-don’t-know-what reason but that was in a different part of the mall. If you’ve ever been to Ala Moana Shopping Center, you know it’s not small. In fact, it’s the largest open-air mall in the WORLD! So I scurried out of Abercrombie and hit the mall map, because I had no idea where the kid’s store was, and then headed off to where I thought it was only to get there and still be lost. This was already taking longer than I planned. Eek! So, I looked at another mall map, finally found it, picked up my order and was on to Target.

I headed back across the mall and was nearly in Target when I saw in my peripheral this very tiny, elderly Asian woman leaning on her walker and waving at me. And when I say tiny, I mean she probably came up to my shoulders. I looked over in her direction and smiled and waved back at her even though I didn’t know her. I had one of those moments where you think, “Are you waving at me? Is there someone you know behind me? Okay, hi, this is weird.” But in the same second I realized she wasn’t waving at me, she was flagging me down.

So I stopped and turned to her and said ‘Hello’ and ‘Can I help you?’ and it was instantly clear to me that English was not her first language. I took French in high school, I taught myself some Spanish in college, but Asian languages are not part of my skill set. So I’m standing there, this very white, tall, blonde woman with this very short, probably about 85 year old, Asian woman and we were trying to communicate with each other.

“Are you lost?” I asked.

“Tick tock,” is what it sounded like she said, staring up at me earnestly and a bit pleading.

“What?” I asked. ‘What did I get myself into here?’ I thought. ‘I can’t even understand her.

“Tank top,” was the next thing I could kind of decipher. I didn’t want to say “What?” again because there’s only a certain number of times you can say that before you have to try something else. ‘Tank top,’ I thought. ‘Okay, she’s looking for a store.

“Do you want to look on the map and show me what you’re trying to find?” and I gestured toward the mall map nearby trying to think of a store where she might buy this desired tank top.

She shook her head and started making a motion like she was getting a vaccine in her arm.  

“Are you looking for… a doctor? This… this is the mall,” I said as my face turned into what probably looked like one giant question mark.  

“Taxi, tick tock,” she said while still motioning to her arm.

My bewilderment only grew and I stood there like, Dear Jesus, help me help this woman. What do I say? I can’t just walk away now!

Several years ago, I heard a sermon at church that was actually given by Aaron’s brother, Ben. (This was before Aaron and I were even friends! I know! So weird!) He taught on the story of Jesus and Jairus found in Mark 5. Jairus asked Jesus to come heal his daughter who was dying. They were on their way there when Jesus felt someone touch his cloak. He stopped and asked, “Who touched me?” even though he already knew. Jesus is like that – always giving us the invitation to come to him. He knew who touched him, but he asked the crowd anyway. A woman came forward. She had been bleeding for years and years and was considered unclean but heard that Jesus could heal her. Jesus knelt down to her, met with her, took time to be with her, healed her. Meanwhile, it took long enough that Jairus’s daughter died. If it were not for this woman interrupting Jesus, Jairus’s daughter could have been saved and yet Jesus stopped – was interrupted – for someone else. Jesus went on with Jairus and ended up bringing his daughter back to life because he’s Jesus and can do anything. Jairus was probably very frustrated by the interruption, but what happened instead was that God’s glory was revealed all the more. Nothing will not stop his plans from going forward or from his grace being freely given to all.

What I walked away with from that sermon – what I’ve hung on to ever since – was, “Are you willing to be interrupted?” We make our plans and go about our days and get lost in planning for the future without realizing what’s happening in front of us, right now, today. Oftentimes we forget to look up and see what God has for us in the present – ways in which he invites us into the stories of others to offer them grace, love, shalom. I wanted to get home to my cat and I know that might seem trivial to you, but trying to figure out what this woman wanted was not on my list of afternoon plans. But it was right in the thick of this moment where I felt the Spirit speak to me, “Can I interrupt you here? Right now?”

BUT DARLA. Just kidding. I had a mental moment of surrender. Okay. Yes.

Standing in front of my new Asian friend in the heat of the day at our outdoor mall when it was clear she was meant to be at a doctor’s office, I thought, Golly, what do I do? Then I took out my phone.

“Can you spell what you’re looking for and I’ll type it out here?”

“Jang,” she said. So I typed it in, J-A-N-G. She shook her head no. “Jang” she said again. I’ve subbed in enough schools here and seen enough last names to know that I was probably misunderstanding the pronunciation and my spelling wasn’t even close. I made another guess. J-I-A-N-G, I typed in. She shook her head. “Dok-tor Jang,” she said it slower, probably thinking she was talking to a moron. I scrolled through Google search results trying to see if anything would ring a bell for her but instead she fumbled around in her pockets for her wallet. She pulled out a business card. (PRAISE YOU, JESUS!) It read, Dr. JUNG. Of course.

“So you have an appointment here? This is a different building,” I reasoned.

“Taxi drop me off,” she pieced together.

“Okay, do you want me to call you a taxi?” I don’t know why I even offered it. I’ve never called a taxi service in my life. Is it like hailing a cab in New York City? That I’ve done, but I don’t think they just circle the mall parking lot waiting to be waved over.

She looked around, most certainly trying to figure out what to do, then started shuffling her walker out of the sun. She was tired. She wanted to sit down. She moved at a snail’s pace, but I ushered her over to a bench.

“Are you late for your appointment? Do you want to call your doctor?” I asked.

She retrieved her flip phone and handed it to me, gesturing that I should dial the numbers from the business card. When it started ringing, I gave it back to her. A voice on the other end answered and she started speaking fluently and beautifully in an Asian language with no stumbling or errors. We just spent the last half hour clunking through some semblance of a conversation and here she was probably relieved to communicate clearly and with ease. But then she held out the phone to me.  

“Hello?” I said.

“Who am I speaking with?” he asked.

“Hi, um, this is… my name is Lyndi. I don’t even know this woman, I’m just trying to help her.”

Everything in his voice rang with relief. He was so thankful. “Where are you?”

“We’re near Target. I guess she got dropped off here. Where is your office?”

He gave me some markers I didn’t know. Genki Sushi. Bank of Hawaii. Shoe store. “Okay, we’ll find it,” I said, though I was still doubtful. We hung up.

“I’m going to take you to your appointment,” I told her. “Is that okay?” I mean, we are strangers who just met at the mall. Do you trust me to load you up in my car and take you somewhere? I wondered.

She nodded okay. Said thank you. I explained to her that I would go get my car and come back around to where she was, but I actually believed that when I got back she would not be there or she would have found some other help - someone who could actually speak to her. When I got back around to where I had left her, she wasn’t there. I ran up the stairs and back down them. Was she a ghost? Am I hallucinating? I had been having headaches lately. But then she appeared from the elevator.

She was so fragile I was worried I might break her while I tried to give her a boost up into the front seat of our Escape. I wrapped my arm around her and helped her into my car, getting real close with a woman I didn’t know and will probably never see again. But she was in and I closed the door, folded up her walker and put it in the back. She didn’t put her seatbelt on but I figured, Hey, this is an adult woman who makes her own decisions. Wrong. I went over a speed bump at a pretty normal clip but when you’re 85 and you don’t have your seatbelt on, you about fall out of your seat. ‘Oh my word, I’m going to break this lady’s bones and I’m just trying to help her!’ I threw an arm across her chest to hold her back. ‘What am I even doing?’ I laughed to myself.

I had Google maps try to get me to this doctor’s office but if you know anything about Hawaii you know that nothing is simple, the roads don’t make sense, and there’s nowhere to park. I drove past the building a couple of times, navigated some inconvenient ‘one way’ signs and she probably thought I was kidnapping her, but we eventually found it. I parked my car in a ‘no parking’ zone and put my flashers on. She was not okay with this. As I helped her down out of my car and set up her walker and helped her into the building, she kept looking back at the car, knowing I was in error.

“The car is fine,” I reassured her. They really don’t mess around here with towing but at this point, I really didn’t care. “Does this building look familiar?”

She smiled and nodded her head. I breathed relief and we headed for the elevator. I held the door open with my arm and made sure she got inside. I remembered the room number from the business card and pushed ‘3’.

“You come?” she asked me.

“No, I’m not going to come. You know where to go now, right?”

“Yes. Sank you. Sank you,” she grabbed my arm and squeezed it and looked into my eyes with the sweetest smile in her own.

I walked back to my car. Almost an hour later I was back where I started, running into Target to get the things I needed.

I don’t understand the story. In fact I have a lot of questions. Who put her in the taxi to begin with? Where’s her family? Where does she live? Why was she dropped off at the mall? I don’t know why she flagged me down. I don’t even know her name. But there’s a verse in Hebrews that says,

Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it. 

I don’t know about you, but that’s exciting to me. Angels?! Hello! Aaron and I listened to the audio version of Everybody Always by Bob Goff as we drove around Arizona last week. If there’s anyone I want to be more like, it’s Bob - always giving away love and joy and speaking life to everyone he meets. He told one story about how he auditioned for the role of Peter in Peter Pan when he was in elementary school and instead of getting the main role, he was cast as “Tree Number 4”. Obviously not a notable role - not the hero or the victim - but a part to play nonetheless. He went on to say that in this story of life, we’re really just “Tree 4”. God is the hero of the story and he has it all worked out. But he’s given us a role to play too and we get to decide if we want to participate and do our part to love and serve and be there for the short time we’re needed. I feel like that’s exactly what I was doing for my Asian friend. I don’t know anything else about her story but I know I played my part in her life that day because I was willing to be interrupted.

Sometimes we get so caught up in ourselves we forget our role. We’re trying to be the point and make everything about us. But I don’t want to be so worried about my own schedule that I miss the opportunities God puts right in front of me. We’re supposed to give ourselves away for the help and care and consideration of others. Philippians says, “Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind regard one another as more important than yourselves;” How different our world would be if we each took care to do this every day in our own lives. It’s what I’m learning lately – to look for ways I can help others, show up for them, serve them, love them where they’re at in even the smallest ways - even just as Tree 4 in their lives as they pass by. God will use anything to remind us of what’s truly important. My reminder was my Asian friend looking for her doctor’s office and I’m thankful for the unexpected ways God shows up in our lives if only we’re looking.

One of my favorite songs right now has the lyrics, “Fix my heart to yours / Ready for the unexpected / Ready for what you will do next” Amen. Let’s be ready for the unexpected. Allow the interruptions. We have no idea what God is doing in our stories and in the stories of others when we encounter them, but I’m looking forward to talking to him about it one day.

Oh, and if you’re wondering, Darla was just fine when I got home - sitting real pretty in the middle of the desk.

Peace, be still.

I have always wanted to be a mom. When people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, my most honest answer was, “I don’t know... a mom?” And I always answered it like a question - asking for validation that it was okay. Can I just be a mom? Is that good enough? Do I have to choose some other kind of profession? Okay, I guess I can go to college, but I really want to be a mom.

I played with dolls until long after it was appropriate. I mean, a lot of my peers were “going out” with someone, testing the dating waters, but I was still playing with dolls, not trying to kiss boys. I always hoped my parents would have another baby or adopt a baby or just invite someone with a baby to come over so I could hold it. Finally, I started babysitting when I was in 6th grade with six-week-old twins. I don’t know what sixth grader I would hand my children over to at this point, but I guess I had a trustworthy face. Ha! The point is, I grew up holding babies, they were just always someone else's. 


So, when Aaron and I found out I was pregnant earlier this summer, I felt like my baby dreams were coming true. I thanked God for this little baby from the very moment I knew about it and while I was a little anxious, this precious secret Aaron and I held between the two of us was filled with more joy than we knew how to handle. Like nearly every girl I know, I pulled out the list of names that I've been adding to and editing since seventh grade. I imagined a baby room and moving back to Nebraska and all the ways our lives would change. I read the entire packet of baby development and labor and delivery information our doctor's office gave us in one afternoon and I checked our baby app almost hourly to see exactly what baby looked like. I felt like maybe no career ever sounded all that interesting to me because God was finally revealing my true calling in motherhood. I journaled to the Lord, "Thank you for the opportunity to harbor this tiny soul, this immense creation, alive by your breath, created by your beautiful idea." Delighted by this little love would be a ridiculous understatement of my feelings.


Summer was a complete blur for me - consumed with thinking about, praying about and planning for our baby. So the devastation was swift and deep when it seemed it would all be taken away. I couldn't think of anything else to do, so I pulled a pillow off our bed and laid down on my back on our bedroom floor. I put my phone next to my ear and blasted music so the songs were louder than my cries. I stared up at the black blades of our ceiling fan whirring above me as my lower body cramped and ached with increasing intensity. Tears rushed steady from the corners of my eyes, down the sides of my face, and I cried out to God in long, heaving wails that only sounded like grief. Mourning. Death. I cried out loud, “Okay, okay, okay." I kept repeating it, as if willing myself to accept what was happening. "Okay, I know this is what you have for me now but I don’t understand it, God. I don’t get it. I don’t want this. I don’t want this.” I was afraid of what was coming in the next couple of hours and days. But the music in my ear sang a competing story,

I'm not gonna be afraid
'Cause these waves are only waves
I'm not gonna be afraid
I'm not gonna be afraid
I'm not gonna fear the storm
You are greater than it's roar
I'm not gonna fear the storm
I'm not gonna fear at all

Peace, be still
Say the word and I will
Set my feet upon the sea
Till I'm dancing in the deep
Oh, peace, be still
You are here, so it is well
Even when my eyes can't see
I will trust the voice that speaks

Peace, be still. And I was. I laid completely still on the bedroom floor until Aaron got home and we were able to go to the doctor and confirm what I already knew.

Aaron and I lost our baby on July 19, just one day before we were to go home to Nebraska and tell our families about our sweet, exciting news. Instead, we packed our suitcases through tears and grief and while the sadness was immense, the nearness of God was evident at every turn. I felt him in the sweetness of the doctor who talked us gently through what to expect and her willingness to work with our airline to change my flight. As we waited to do my lab work, I felt him near when the receptionist came out with a whole box of tissue. She offered it to Aaron and I with a quiet and sincere, "I'm sorry," and in that moment I wanted to hug her for her kindness. Home from the doctor’s office, we sat on the couch and left the front door open, watching from the living room as the sun set in front of us and turned to brilliant colors of pink and gold behind dark clouds and somehow it felt like being held. Behind the darkness, there was a promise to behold. We were not alone. We were not left unnoticed. I felt God speaking to me, “Peace, be still. I have this. I’m here. I know. I see your broken heart. I will carry your tired body. I am here. I know.”


In the days and moments since the loss of our baby, I have had to battle hard for the truth in my heart rather than lies. I’ve had to stop myself from thinking I did something to cause it, that it’s “not fair” everyone else seems to get pregnant and stay that way, that God is somehow punishing us. I’ve had to stop myself from spiraling into the “what ifs” – what if I can never stay pregnant? What if this happens again? What if there’s something wrong with me? What if? The other side of that same coin is the “not enoughs.” Maybe I didn’t pray enough, wasn’t thankful enough, didn’t trust enough, wasn’t healthy enough, didn't rest enough. I know all of these are untrue - it is my brain trying to make sense of grief. 

Several months ago I watched this video from Rich and Dawnchere Wilkerson regarding their struggle with infertility. It’s a beautiful story of patience, trust, and faith and she talks specifically about how they were trusting the story God had for them. When we look at someone else and think, "It's not fair they have _____," we're ultimately saying their story is better than ours. Their story is the one we want instead. While an eight year struggle is not what the Wilkersons would have chosen, they trusted God was writing a story specifically for them. When I posted it on Facebook, I had no idea how much I would need their faith to bolster my own just a few months later.

As I laid on the floor of my bedroom that day, I felt the truth of Dawnchere’s words. I desperately wanted the story God was writing for Aaron and I – the one he has faithfully worked out over the last couple of years for us. I cried, “I want the story you have for me, God. I just don’t want this to be part of it. Please, don’t let this be part of it. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to feel this heartbreak. I don’t want this, God.”

But, losing the baby is part of our story now. Feeling the grief of loss in all its waves and lulls is part of our story. I know this is true for many, many couples. It is so common, this specific kind of grief. My sister endured it just seven months before I did and I suddenly felt a new sense of compassion for her and her husband. As it is with anything in life, it's impossible to know what it’s like until you experience it for yourself, and even then it is different for each person. I heard one time that the trials of life tie us compassionately to earth. This could not be more true for our current season. Aaron and I talked the very next day about how this experience is growing our compassion for others who have suffered loss through miscarriage or, really, loss of a child in any way at all. 

While this all happened just a month ago, it feels both longer and shorter than that. I remember laying on the floor like it was five minutes ago, but sometimes it feels like I have lived a new span of eternity since then. But when my heart starts to sink into sadness, it is the Lord who gently reminds me that he is near. I started reading through the Psalms early this summer and while I was home in Nebraska, I happened to be on Psalm 107.

Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,
And he brought them out of their distresses.
He caused the storm to be still,
So that the waves of the sea were hushed.

Psalm 107: 27-29

This Psalm was written hundreds of years before Jesus walked the earth, but it was Jesus who fulfilled it and said to the sea in Mark 4, “Peace. Be still.” And the storm ceased. The waves were hushed. So it’s Jesus who is still reminding me in these days and weeks to be still. He has been faithful to remind me that he has not left me, forgotten me, been punishing me, nor is he letting me suffer alone. He has granted a supernatural peace, just as he promises in his Word. He has given me the gift of a caring, patient, kind husband who has walked with me in the same heartbreak. And for a few brief weeks he gave us the blessing of abundant joy in the gift of our baby, for which we feel extremely grateful.

I stayed in Nebraska a little longer than Aaron because I wanted extra time with my family and friends - extra time with the people who could help me heal, who would remind me of the truth, who would hold me up in prayer when I could not do it myself. For several weeks Aaron and I kept the news of our baby a secret, planning to go home and surprise everyone. Instead, God planned this trip at specifically the right time that we would be surrounded by love in the midst of our hurt. What graciousness from a loving Father. What depth of love he has for us. What lovingkindness in his plans for our lives. 

That song of peace goes on to say, 

Let faith rise up
Oh, heart, believe
Let faith rise up in me

So, that's the aim of my heart in this season of recovery and rest and waiting. Let faith rise up, even in uncertainty. In fear. In doubt. In pain. In joy. In blessing. In what feels like the weight of 1,000 curses. Let faith rise up. And like Hosea cries, "Let us press on to know the Lord." (Hosea 6:3) Let us press on. To seek you. To know you. To love you more. You are certain. Sure. Steadfast. Marvelous and holy. A treasure, rich and rare. 

While this has surely been traumatic, I don't believe this dream will always be answered with a no from God. For some reason, he is allowing this to be part of our story and though we wouldn't choose it, I know he is in it, so I can say, It is well. God had plans for our baby from the start - he knew the days he had ordained for our little one (Psalm 139:16). And sweet baby, God is using you for my good and for your dad’s good, too. And someday when Jesus comes back to renew all things, the sad truth of never getting to meet you will come untrue and that will be a really good day. Until then we will miss the joy of knowing you and press on to know the Lord who sustains us and speaks peace over us.

One year in Hawaii.

One year ago, Aaron and I boarded an airplane headed for a new life together. Just five days into marriage, with two suitcases and four moving boxes, we flew across the ocean to Hawaii. I have written about the move before - about how it was hard and new and vulnerable and lonely. Aaron and I will both tell you that the first four months were long - probably because he always had to wonder if he would come home from work to find me crying on the bed (eeek!). I flew back to Nebraska at the beginning of December, but from August to December, he endured a lot of my tears and sadness. There were certainly good things too - we had visitors and took a trip to Maui. There were date nights and dinners with friends and lots of trips to the beach.

I am well aware that most people are less dramatic about moving than I have been. I sometimes wish I were one of those people - I wish I could be you - but I’m just not. I want to be - I want to have zero cares about moving to any corner of the world at any given time and not care about who I get to see everyday and who I don’t. But I can’t do it. I need my people. That’s just how I’m wired and it was confirmed for me this year. Thankfully, by the mercy of the Lord and the patience of my husband, the whole of this year, from January til now, has been much better for me and for us than the first four months. 

For the entirety of our year in Hawaii, Aaron and I have been working on the house we’re renting. You may have seen this on my Instagram stories from time to time. Well, it started out very, very bad. I walked into it the first day and felt despair, mostly because it wasn’t in a livable state with tools and dust and dirt littering the entire house. I could get past the green and brown, but it was the fact that we didn't own a couch or a bed or have a place to sit that wasn't covered in sawdust that really did me in. The second day we were in Hawaii, we spent nine hours pulling weeds and working on the landscaping, pulling out overgrown plants and grasses that were knee high in the backyard. We left tired, with sunburned backs and dirt under our fingernails. 


The house was tented shortly before we moved to Hawaii, meaning a big tent covered the entire house and blasted all the termites that were living in its boards. The kitchen was already renovated by the time we moved in and the bathroom was mostly redone. But over the last twelve months we have painted every wall, inside and outside, painted all the trim, replaced air conditioners, built out a new closet so that our washer and dryer could be inside instead of under the house, repaired (and repaired and repaired) wood eaten away by termites. I have cleaned up endless dust piles and termite poop piles. We’ve caulked windows and doors and nearly the entire outside of the house. Admittedly Aaron has done a lot of the hardest work, like hanging new doors for every room, building out a new window in the kitchen, rewiring lights and AC and cutting out a new closet. I’ve been up on scaffolding and crawled under the house and if The Greatest Showman soundtrack was a record, I would have worn through it by now.

Sometimes the work seemed endless - and by sometimes, I mean a lot of times. But what I’ve realized recently - what God gave me a word about the other day - was that perhaps it’s not about the house. Maybe this year wasn’t about renovating a house, but instead building a foundation - creating a solid platform for what’s to come. Maybe each time we were replacing wood and walking the aisles of Lowe’s and City Mill, and building up rotted boards, we were actually building the walls of our marriage just like the walls of this house. We have worked hard and through it our relationship has grown and changed and become more sturdy. We have argued and cried and sweat and celebrated and built something from the ground up. We have endured change and joy and loss and walked each other through a lot of feelings in the midst of making this house a home.

So I think our marriage has taken shape much the same way this house has taken shape, little by little, with work from both of us. I feel like I could quote a rap song here like, “started from the bottom and now we here.” Certainly we have so much more to learn and experience. We are only one year into this thing. There will be more joy and more heartbreak and more laughing and growing, but we’ve built something so far that I’m pretty proud of. We have made decisions together (and then changed our minds ten times), problem solved together and encouraged and loved each other through all of it. 

Aaron went home to Hawaii earlier this week, while I stayed back in Nebraska, but he told me that when he walked up to our house he looked at it and thought, “This actually looks pretty nice.” And it does! It’s really cute and we are both proud of the work we've done. But it’s like anything in life - all the good things take time and effort and sticking with it. So I’m proud of myself for pushing through the hard of moving to get to the good and proud of us for working to build a foundation of something really beautiful. 

I’ve been reading in the Old Testament lately and an often repeated phrase is, “So that you will know that I am the Lord.” Or, “Then you will know that I am the Lord your God.” There is description of some hard thing in life - some difficult circumstance for the Israelites - some devastation that the Lord is allowing but it’s so that they will know that he is the Lord. That’s the point of this whole thing - all of life is to point back to the one who gave us life in the first place. That’s the purpose. So if moving and enduring the hard things is to bring me back to a place of knowing that I’m not in control  and I’m not in charge and I can’t do this on my own, well then mission accomplished. I have relied on the Lord to get me through to the next minute sometimes. And his grace and his mercy was sufficient for each moment, and then each hour and each day. He wants our dependency on him and that has grown infinitely this year, so I can label it all good. I can put a banner over it that says, “This was good for us. For me. For our marriage.” I can look at how far the house has come and know that our marriage has come along in the same way - little by little, growing into something wonderful. It has certainly been hard, but it has also been very, very good.

We're not done with the house and we're not moving back to Nebraska quite yet. There's more work to be done when I go back next week. But I'm thankful for where we've been and where we are now. Thankful for this year of growing and building and becoming. 

So, happy one year, Hawaii life. You’ve been so many things. And 1122C holds all of it in her now more sturdy frame.