Dreams, Determination, Defiance...

I've been praying for the past year that I would start to dream again, like I used to...I've had a lot of physical/medication changes over the past 2 years that have really impacted my levels of fatigue and how I sleep, so there's been physical barriers that have affected me, spiritually, and I've really missed the impactful dreams I used to have on a regular basis...I prayed again on Sunday, that God would break through and stir everything up again. I think that over the past week, some dust is being shaken and some ash is breaking down...

I've had some struggles lately in the area of relationships; I have felt, for lack of a better word, trampled, and like I am struggling for validation from people (which is DISASTROUS, for so many unhealthy reasons). I've said it repeatedly to myself, that as I turn 40 in November, that I am taking a stand and refusing to feel this way any longer. I have felt like the pending "doom" of turning 40 is more of a rebirth for myself, mentally and spiritually, but for every step I take, 5 more knock me down. I am not giving up, and I am determined to stand my ground, especially in regards to my career and the dreams for my life that I know God gave me. I am so tired of hearing, "God has a plan, He is going to use you," and seeing nothing...and feeling nothing...and also of not putting the legwork in to build my spiritual life. I've struggled with self-discipline my entire life, and now, as a fat and broke adult(!), I have to end this. I can't live like this anymore, and I need to get it right. I'm sick of myself and of the stupid excuses. God made me stronger than this. It's time for me to walk in it...but I've been saying that for over a year.
Big dreams, bad execution?
When it's just me, just my face, just this body staring at me in the mirror, there are so many voices I hear...so many ways of saying "you're not worth it, Cass." I've always been fond of words, but they cut my throat when I see myself.
Who needs enemies when no one hates you as much as you do?
(Actually, that's not true--I can think of at least one person that hates me way more than I do, LOL--for this week, at least) :)
And as much as I dislike certain things about myself, (physical, personality, etc), I do struggle with a sense of entitlement in particular areas. I think my sense of reward is disproportionate to my actual investment, if that makes sense, and I really see that manifest in financial areas. I always have, and as I've grown, I noticed that when I have felt safe, loved, etc., I don't spend anything. It's when I am under stress or feeling ignored that I find myself in trouble. I try to fill gaps that I should be looking to Jesus to fill. It's gotten me into more trouble--oooh, girl! He has to be my All; He has to be my Everything, and I have to stop self-validating or looking to others to pat my ego as a temporary patch on what is missing, spiritually.

I write more, when I feel challenged, torn, broken, defiant, stretched, and bluntly, when I feel like throwing up my middle finger to the world and doing whatever the heck I want. I'm being super, super honest here, but it's the truth, and sometimes, it's not pretty. Sometimes, I say and do ugly things, particularly when I'm in the breaking process, which is where I am, right now.

There's a line in a *Nicki Minaj song that says, "I give zero f***s and I got zero chill in me." I get it. I mean, I GET IT. I am sick and tired as hell of caring what people think, because all it gets me is frustration and emptiness. People walk away. They burn bridges, and there's nothing left, even when you've poured your heart and your prayers and your time into them. They light the match and they walk off, and it's just you. It's just me, looking at myself, thinking, "You're a fool. Why did you bother?"
Why did I bother?
Because Jesus says to bother.
That sucks.

He says to be a friend to the friendless...to pour in your time and your heart and your prayers. He says to be the open door, the shoulder to cry on. He says to be the listening ear, even when you're irritated or offended (He says, "don't be offended). He says to make the investment, even when you know it's not going to come into fruition. He says to love.
He knows you're going to get hurt. He knows I'm hurt. He knows I've thrown up that middle finger and told the world to eff off. He knows I'm angry. He knew this would happen; he knew where I would fail, he knew where friendships would fail, and He knows I'm in the middle of a tantrum (ch-ching!). He knows.

He knows I have to go through this breaking process. He knows a relationship has been required of me, and I see His hand working. I see my mistakes, and I see the patterns. I see they need to be broken, and that I feel like a raw, disgusting scrambled egg inside.

Every place we are in life, every relationship we have, everything we do, weaves into this tapestry that we cannot see...I like to think about Harry Potter, and the room in Sirius Black's house, where there's an enormous family tree. As people defy the family, his mother burns their faces out on the tapestry, leaving a huge, burnt hole. I'd kinda like to burn a few faces out, LOL, but that's not my point. My point is that our tapestry is full of milestone moments, forks in the road, and when we look back, we will see how they are huge turning points. Those forks in the road can be very, very dark, but are so beautiful, in retrospect. We can try to burn those milestones out, but there will always be a mark, and we will always, despite our best efforts, have those memories of deciding moments.  We decide our behaviors, we decide our response, and we walk out the field we've sown.
I want to choose the behaviors and the responses that show a tapestry of fruitful fields, not a tapestry of burnt holes and fallow ground. 
It's not easy, and sometimes, I suck so unbelievably hard at it. I can be such a punk, and frankly, it's no secret that I can be a total b***h. I'm pretty sure part of my tapestry looks like Death Valley.

But...
I am POSITIVE that part of my tapestry is beautiful. I have seen the hand of God work in my life so powerfully, so undeniably, that I know and I believe in Him. I believe His Holy Spirit works in crazy, incomprehensible ways. I know He's working even now, whether it's in a healing way, a restorative way, a breaking way, whatever; I know He's working, trying to rehab or reconstruct me in the middle of this process. I am positive that He can make even the ugliest parts of my tapestry absolutely beautiful in His way...

Jesus lays out some pretty crappy, difficult stuff for His children to do. Forgive? Disciple? Befriend? Share? Help? Who wants to do any of that, man? Who wants to stop on the side of the road and help someone who blew a tire? Who thinks it's funnier to drive by and yell expletives at them out the window (and maybe video tape it and upload it to YouTube to go viral)? Who wants to forgive someone who slapped their face or threw a slushie at them? Who wants to open up their building to house the displaced, with reckless abandonment to anyone who may be trying to come in for nefarious reasons? Who wants to befriend the obnoxious, nerdy kid who sits by themselves in the lunch room?
Who wants to share their Ben & Jerry's Phish Food ice cream (not this girl. Don't touch my ice cream.)?

Who'd rather go on about their lives, living for themselves, without any eye on eternity or making an impact?

Jesus makes life difficult. It's true. Yes, He's awesome. His Love is amazing. He's so real, and He's so present...but it doesn't always feel that way, and sometimes, He feels distant and we feel alone. We feel the chill of this earth and the lack of heart. We have to push through what we feel, and what we know, to draw closer to Him and to do what He asks.

No one has ever felt lonelier or more abandoned than Jesus.

NO one has ever loved harder than Jesus.

No one has ever been expected to do more, with less of a payoff: "Hey, Jesus, go to earth! Die on a Cross in a horrible, brutal, awful way, okay? Those people are going to hate You, to totally reject You, and maybe 10-20% are ever going to love You---and only 5% of those people are not going to totally suck at following Your commands--but go ahead, drop down to earth, and suffer, 'K?" WHAT IN THE WORLD?!?

Jesus Loves Us.
He loves me, and He would have done it all for just me...fat, narcissistic, petty ME.  He's the Thread that keeps my messed-up, ashy tapestry from falling apart. He's what makes my life beautiful...even right now, even during my gross, raw, scrambled egg, broken hot mess phase.

I want to flip off the world. I want to tell everyone I run into--strangers, friends, family--to leave me the hell alone, and let me drown in my debt and my misery. That's pure, selfish garbage. That's humanity.

Life is spiritual.

Humanity is cold and solid. Spirituality is fluid, breathable, warm, and embracing. Humanity says to "shut down, reject." Spirituality says to "reach out, to pray, to love." Humanity is armored. Spirituality is open.

Jesus sent His Holy Spirit to comfort us, to keep us from embracing humanity and telling the world to eff off. He sent His Spirit to keep our hearts open and soft, prone to injury (because He is our armor), and reliant on Him to show love.

I will show love, even when it's difficult, because He says I have to.
I will feel loved, even when no one shows it to me, because He says He loves me. I believe Him.
I will make the investment, over and over again, into people, regardless of what happens, because he makes the investment into me, over and over again...

And I will rely on Him,
In so many, many ways,
To make my hot mess of life into something beautiful...
I will trust in what I don't see...
I will break, but I will not be broken...
And He will restore my soul....












*I do not make it a habit, of listening to or of endorsing Nicki Minaj, LOL.  I just happened to catch that line and thought it was perfect. :) 

fLIPsIDE

"i'm
not
that
innocent."

maybe i'm more forgiving of myself
than i am of you...
but maybe not.

maybe i'm just
reactive
or
maybe I'm just
not able to keep the
lid
oN
Or
MaybE I am A
"meaN girl"
sometimes.

or
maybe it's just
armor

or
maybe I've had
eNough.

Or
maybe i was trying
to get Past
to Ignore
to Stay Solid
Even though what you
Did was
fluid and unstable.

sometimes i am unstable, too
(sometimes?)
(is anyone stable?)

maybe instability,
bilaterally,
is Grounds for
depReciatiOn.

you don't knoW what i've hiddeN.
you don't knoW the secrets.
yOu don't see the Misery or the tEars
or the frustratioN or the patience

and i didn't see it, either
i'm guessing it goes Both waYs
but nEither of us had enough respect
for the other to have the CONVERSATION
to figure it out.

so you cut ofF thE abcess
and i cut off the Limb
and we lImp away
swearing its better
but both infeCted
affected
decrepIt.

i don't believe in ghosts
And only  God can raise the
dead
i'm nOt brokeN
or torn
over this sEverage
i'm fine
i'm angry
words written
words said
never in person
keyboard commandos
no respect

no regrets.

there are better ways to handle
disagreeances and scandal
but PETTY is as petty does
and i don't feel like wearing gloves
so there you have it, and there you are
cuts can freely heal to scars
and lessons learned are lessons earned
it only takes once; i remember what burns
so i'd set it afire and walk away
but the ashes you left are all that remain
and that's fine--"i wish you the best"
may your "heavy heart" heal
From the wounds i've inflicted--i thought things were reAl
face-to-face conversations aren't done by faKe friends
so it's a service to us both that
this
relationship
Ends

Good Riddance and Goodbyes

There is a spot on the carpet,
And if I look at it long enough,
Or pinch myself hard enough,
Or dig my toes into the carpet deep enough,
Maybe I can stop the
Overwhelming wave that is about to....
Never mind. 

I should know by now.

Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me--
Can't you see you've already done enough?
You should know by now.

Make excuses--that's fine.
Whatever you have to do, to feel better.
I knew I would somehow wind up on
The Other End of Your
Incinerating
Mouth.

I can't cry anymore.

I try to tell you it hurts,
But you only protect yourself.
I try to tell you I'm sorry,
But you only say, "we're even."
Was anyone keeping score,
Or is it just one more thing for me to
Lose?

I gave up looking for worth from your words a long time ago.
"Hurting people hurt other people;"
Truth is not an excuse,
But it can be anticipatory,
So I can't say I didn't expect it,
And thank you for predictability.

Zoloft-Wellbutrin-Lexapro
OH, NO
Better check my meds, because
GOD KNOWS I must be INCAPABLE
Of ACTUALLY FEELING
Or hurting
Or being angry
Or....

I can't be medicated into the
Coma of
Plastering a smile and
Acting
Like you're okay
Or I'm okay
Or THIS is okay.
I
AM
NOT
OKAY.

And I won't take a pill
That makes me not feel
Even when these feelings
Hurt.
"Pain lets us know we are still alive,"
And
I
Am
Still
Breathing.
Even when I question whether or not
It
Matters.

Does it?

Who knows?

I'm just an "educated idiot,"
A "mean girl," at best
God forbid, I let anyone
Know that the stress
Of life,
Of failure,
Of love or of loss
Can be overwhelming
Can come at a cost
That's higher than what
My psyche can pay;
God forbid, I mention
Or ruin YOUR day
I'm sorry, are you listening?
I've been kicked while I'm down.
Oh, I've annoyed you?
Have I ruffled your crown?
By all means, I will leave;
I've no time for this.
Just don't bother me when it's your turn;
Consider yourself dismissed.
I don't need your cynicism
Or to feel like a pest,
When I'm already struggling
And feel like a mess,
So goodbye, see you later
Go ahead, move along.
I'll be here, staring at
This spot
On the carpet....

Don't touch me.

Lexapro Lock & Gratitude

I haven’t written anything in what seems like forever.

I think I’m okay with that.

Every now and then, I think a writer needs to refuel, rebalance, and refocus…I think I’m in that phase, and I’m not sure how long it will last. I’m enjoying reading other’s projects, finding new books to dive into, and focusing on the day-to-day of life.

Does that mean I am wasting my so-called “talent?”

I hope not.

In order for me to write and to write well, I have to feel connected. Sometimes, that’s hard for me to do; in fact, the last time I wrote something was back in February, and then in March, I was put on Lexapro due to increased anxiety (this is in addition to a low dose of Wellbutrin). I think I have felt slightly disconnected ever since (although I can appreciate the overall calm I’ve felt since then). Although I’m on the lowest possible dose of the Lexapro, I’ve gained a BUNCH of weight, and am really having difficulties in areas of self-control. In the course of the last 6 months, I’ve gained 20 pounds. 20 pounds, on an already-fluffy frame. I’d lost close to 50, and now I’ve gained 20 of it back. I’d like to wallow in self-pity, but what good would that do? I need to get this weight off; it’s the only way for me to NOT be a diabetic, it’s the best thing for my heart, and it’s the way I feel the best about myself….but it’s hard to get motivated when you feel disconnected.

So, do I stop the meds and deal with the stress? Or do I take the meds and just relegate myself to being fat and calm and somewhat disconnected? What is it worth, to feel so completely, and to risk the imbalance of doing so? And what are the consequences?

I know that it’s probably not “normal” to publicly and candidly discuss medications. It’s been no secret that I’ve been on a pretty solid routine of meds for the past 11 years. Life experiences have side effects, as do various medications and surgeries, and there are emotional and neurological consequences that have to be considered. It’s easy for someone to look at me and say, “Can’t you just get over it?” I get it. And I also know that as Christians, it’s really easy for someone to look at me and say, “Well, we’ll just pray for you to get where you don’t have to take those meds anymore.” And sure, if God wants to do that, I know it’s possible…but I’ve also seen Christians stop their meds based on someone’s prayer, and wind up in a padded cell (or worse). So, I personally think it’s better to be honest about these things, and to take some of the stigma off of it.

Sometimes, we just need medicine.

Sometimes, we just need to be okay with that.

My biggest struggle right now is with worship. It is so, so hard for me to truly plug in right now, and to tap into that part of my heart where I feel I can totally let go and get face-to-face with Jesus. I feel like the Lexapro is somehow fencing me off from not just my true emotions, but from my true heart—does that make sense?  My creative process is affected as well, which is NOT normal for me. I’ve thought about trying natural options, but the side effects usually counter other meds I’m on, so I have to consider that as well.

So, that’s what’s been going on. Life has been good; my son is amazing. He definitely keeps us on our toes, which is pretty typical for a 4-year old. I actually think the Lexapro has been great for our marriage, LOL, because I am certainly a lot less-stressed about dirty dishes, for SURE! J We have been tackling home improvement issues (which means we have FINALLY been hiring wonderful, amazing friends who are far more skilled than us, to tackle plumbing & drywall issues). We are both working our tails off in our respective offices, and getting ready to put Jericho in pre-school in the fall. So, life is “normal.” And maybe that’s also part of my “dry spell”—I am so used to episodes of chaos that I’m not sure how to handle a calm.

So now I’m going to just shut up and praise God for a lull, because I certainly think we need it.  I’m going to praise God for “normal.” I’m grateful.

And I’m grateful for medicines that balance hormones, regulate hearts and blood sugars, replace missing organs, and that help prolong and sustain life. I’m grateful that I have opportunities and health care and excellent specialists, and all of that other stuff.

And maybe focusing on that—on all of the things that I’m grateful for—I can break through the fog and find my reconnect. Maybe that’s how I plug back in, and restart the creative process.  Maybe gratitude breaks the Lexapro lock…

Because I definitely know that God is greater. I may not feel Him to the extent that I have, but I know that He’s there, and I know He is far from cut off.

Heaven...Just a Glimpse...

We are often told to imagine what Heaven would be like, and I think I'm guilty of missing the mark. I have always imagined the esthetics of it: lights, sounds, colors, music, instruments...the endless worship...

Usually, it's the thought of "endless worship" that both fascinates and terrifies me.
How do we DO that?!? Like, does it ever get boring?

Think about why we get bored...because we are distracted and burdened by life, because we are over-entertained, and because we have lost the ability as a society to be focused and contemplative.  We get bored because we live this life.

There is no boredom in Heaven.

So, I'm on the worship team at church, and my mind was blowing up, because as weird as it sounds,  when I am in that setting of communal worship, I see colors in my head. It's basically worship-induced synesthesia,  and it sounds NUTS, but I swear, it's the truth. I see worship in colors. I wish I could paint what roars through my head, because it's amazing, and today, it was intense. I felt like my entire being was about to explode,  but I know "it's only a shadow" of what's to come. My brain cannot wrap around that level of intensity, and neither can my body.
Worship ebbs and flows, and during an ebb, our pastor said, "Imagine what it's like, when you're not tied down to things,  like a calendar."

My heart kinda blew up (& trust me, I know how that feels, for real).

Imagine worship that is not tied down to a time frame.  It's not tied down to a Day of the Week. It's not tied down to a bladder or feet that hurt, or hands that can't play anymore. It's not tied down to a brain that doesn't focus, or musical abilities that never came (I can't play the darn piano. It's aggravating).

It's not tied down to a budget or bills or schedules or CALENDARS or parenting failures or any of the things that tie us down to this distracting, anchoring world.
We will have "no strings to hold us down."
No strings.
No limits.
No boundaries.
No deadlines.
No budgets.
No time.
No chains...we are so used to the chains of this world that we don't even realize, until we look at eternity, just how heavy and limiting they are.

No chains.
True, absolute, incomprehensible freedom....

What would we ever want to do then,  then to worship the One Who gives us that freedom, for eternity?!?

I can't imagine my life without the restrictions of physical responsibility....without bills or boundaries,  without calendars and 24-hour time blocks. Just the thought, just a glimpse of a life without these chains?
My heart...

Jesus loves us so much that He gives us an eternity of perfect freedom, with Him...
There's NOTHING "boring" about that.

The Christmas Post...

My Christmas cards went out this week, and although I still have some to pass out at church, most of them included this little blurb...okay, it's lengthy, but I usually am. Here is the Annual Christmas "Letter" from The Cooley Family:

I genuinely love Christmas cards. I love the fact that someone invested the time into writing to my family, into making us part of their family, with something as simple as a card. There’s such beauty in the written word, isn’t there? I love knowing what’s going on in your corner of the world, beyond Facebook and Instagram!  It’s crazy when I think of how social media has impacted how our world “communicates,” and the lost art of using more than 140 characters…

Christmas cards are probably so exciting to me because my parents are retired postal workers. In fact, every time I walk into a post office, the smell of paper and ink makes me smile. Taking my son to the post office to drop off packages is so fun to me; I think I was just about his age when my mom started working for the postal service, and I have so many fond memories of her office. It’s sweet to see his little face when the packages disappear into the “magic box,” and when we walk past the LLVs (mail trucks—“PawPaw drove that!”).  My earliest memories in life were from when I was around 2-3, so as Jericho approaches 4, I wonder what things we do that will leave those indelible impressions in his little brain?

I never realized how much parenthood effects the littlest moments. He repeats things (often to my chagrin); he remembers things (“Mommy, you like shopping!”); he replicates things that we didn’t know he noticed; and basically, he grows up and makes these memories from his unique perspective of how we live. There’s a lot of pressure to not mess up this amazing tiny human being with our own faults…and there is an increased reliance on the grace of God to undo the bad and to emphasize the good, in how we raise our son.

Watching Jericho transition from 3-to-almost-4, has been wild. I don’t think anything could have prepared us for experiencing this stage of parenthood. He’s such a PERSON! He’s opinionated, hilarious, expressive, messy, loving, ornery; he’s the magnification of so many wonderful things that I see in David and even in myself. And, he’s likewise the magnification of so many ornery things I see in David….(see what I did there?  Bahahahahaha!)…Okay, AND in myself. My son is every bit as stubborn as his father and as persistent as his mother…and maybe a little more.

I hope that the memories we make for him are as wonderful to him as they are to us…

Major changes for David and I are….Well, NOTHING, and for those of you that know me, THAT’S AWESOME. In January, my cancer cells decided to do this gnarly cloaking-thing, and be non-reactive to the traditional body scan they do for thyroid cancer, so I had to do THAT test, and then the PET scan, which cost a small fortune. The results showed the cells were still there, but had decreased, so in July they decided to start with an ultrasound. That test showed no activity, and we’ll repeat that at the end of this month.  It looks like, for the first time since 2012, I’m about to escape 2016 surgery-free, which is AMAZING.

I continue to be employed by the University of Missouri-St. Louis College of Optometry, as the Credentialing and Compliance Specialist. My position expanded last year to include more responsibilities in coordinating the Mobile Eye Van services to underserved public schools in our community, and I have to say that’s my favorite part of my job. It’s amazing, how many children go through school and are told that they’re learning-disabled, when they’ve never had an eye exam! I also had the opportunity to do some guest-editing for a friend’s series of children’s books, which is a dream come true (look for I Can Color a Prayer by Sarah Hanks on Amazon. There are 3 books in the series, & a 4^th on the way).

David is employed by Met-Life as a Dispatch Specialist and really likes what he does in coordinating services. He has opportunities with this company that he is excited to take advantage of, and I’m excited to see him pursue new adventures. He purchased a new-to-him truck this year, and he really loves it; I’m sure our family loves the fact that we no longer have to borrow a truck every other month or so. J

And as for Jericho, well, every day is a new adventure for him. He is excelling at academic things, but struggles a bit with his fine motor skills, so we have goals to work toward. Earlier this month, he went on his biggest adventure of all when we went on a family vacation on the Carnival Fantasy. He would LOVE to tell you all about his experiences on the “party boat” and how he met Santa on his trip! Or, he can tell you aaaalllllll about the “chicken nugget fries” that he ate EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.  Sigh.

Anyways, after 6 years of not taking a vacation (and no, medical leave does NOT count as a vacation!), we decided that if the price was right, we would take a much-needed break. We explored as a family, and made some amazing memories.

I think that’s really what it’s all about—the memories. Facebook and Instagram puts a lot of pressure on society to present these images of a life that’s altered, filtered, and condensed into something palatable, but that’s not what our memories are made of. Our memories are made of the messes, not of the finished product…the paint on the floor, not the canvas on the wall. There is a tendency to be stand-offish, and not to get involved in the mess of intimacy with each other.

I love the mess (just look at my house). I love to know that my husband and my son, and our extended families, are all parts of actively creating memories with each other. Sure, there are a lot of funny pictures, but behind those pictures is a nucleus of people who ferociously love one another, and who are grounded on the amazing foundation of Jesus, Who gives us memories to celebrate, and Hope for a future with Him. He makes the messes into a perfect tapestry of testimony, and I can’t wait to see the Ultimate Finished Picture.

I’m sure that when Mary and Joseph went on their mess of a journey to Bethlehem, they were not prepared for what the Ultimate Finished Picture would look like. Every time I reflect on Mary’s trip as a young, heavily pregnant mother who had to give birth in a disgusting stable, I cannot help but think of the mess of it all, and what she must have been thinking. I wish the Bible gave more insight into her personality, because I’d like to think she was a normal human being. She was highly favored by God, and devoted to His Will…but she was a human being, about to give birth and making a really uncomfortable journey on a DONKEY that ended IN A BARN. That’s messy.

But it was God’s Will.

He makes messes into amazing things.

I am a mess. We all are—in spite of our lives on social media, we’re all a hot mess that only Jesus can untangle. I like being part of your mess, and I like knowing about your mess. I love watching how God makes our messes into amazing things together.  

This Christmas, let’s thank Jesus for the memories and the mess. Let’s thank Him for the Hope for our Future. Let’s thank Him for the journey, blisters and all.

Let’s thank Him for the messy birth in a messy stable, and for the messy Cross…

Let’s thank Him for the Holy Resurrection…for the fact that in Heaven, because of His messy Sacrifice, there are No More Messes…

I am grateful for Christmas…I am grateful for our lives, for our memories, and for the opportunity to celebrate one more Christmas together.

Merry, Messy Christmas to You and to Your Family, from my Hot Mess of a Family. J We love you!!!

Birthdays and Blogs and the Joys of Naked Cowboys...

I just realized that I haven't posted since May. That's a really, really long time, but it's been a busy summer...
A friend of mine recently noted that I process things through Facebook posts. That's actually not true; Facebook statuses are a mini-alert message of what's going on in my world, but I wouldn't call it "processing." I'd call it "Miniature Lunatic Rants and Anecdotes."

Blogging is how I process. Writing in long-term is how I process. And when things get too difficult to sort out, writing is my method of dumping the paint all over the floor, and using the mess to paint a mural on the wall. This time of the year, there is so much to process that I don't even know where to begin.

So here I am. 

I’m only writing because this time of the year beckons it…this time of the year demands that I sit down and process the feelings that are lingering in the back of my head, those feelings that I’ve temporarily been trying to suppress with Chinese food and bad TV…But they won’t be silenced, and I really don’t want them to. You deserve the processing that is the biggest part of the remembrance.

I’m not overwhelmed in sadness, although it’s there. It rears its head when it’s least convenient, like right before a meeting with strangers that may ultimately determine the course of my employment. It rears its head when I’m trying to process delicate data that requires focus that I just don’t have; it rears its head when I tell my boss why I have to leave without notice…when I stammer out that “I’m suddenly not feeling well” and by her quick response, I realize that I must look like it’s true. These incidents are far from common, but this week has been hard….just like it is every year leading up to your birthday.

The weight of the memories is too much. I know exactly where I was, what I was doing, who I was with. I remember the feelings leading up to your birth, and the incredible, incredible joy…the photos my husband took are beautiful and painful and everything I could ever ask, and I’m so, so grateful in retrospect that he peppered my days and your days with the flash of the camera…Back then, I thought it was too much, but now? Now I’d give anything for one more shot….but would I?

As your little brother gets older, the reality of your story gets even more convoluted, even more difficult to balance out in my brain. I know without a shadow of a doubt that if you would not have died, he would have never been born. I know it, and therein lies both the confusion and the gratitude…I can’t figure any of this out, and I’m no closer now, 10 years later, than I was when you were here.

From time to time, the guilt strikes, along with the fear and the intense, soul-gripping anxiety that is medically untreatable. It is always a conscious effort to stop the derailed-train of emotions and get it back on track with prayer and focus. I know from the very bottom of my heart that your birth and death were part of God’s plan—that’s not saying that part of the plan didn’t suck and I don’t understand it—but it is freeing to know that faith that fills in the gaps when we can’t figure something out. I don’t understand why He decided you would be born only to die so quickly after. I’m still angry; I’m still devastated, and though those feelings are tempered with time, they’re still there, and I am comfortable saying that they always will be. Jesus knows how I feel; why would I try to hide it or act like I’m at peace with it? No parent is ever at peace with the death of their child—never. It’s the most unnatural event in the human experience, and it’s not the way life is designed.

Your birth (which nearly killed me—then again, so did your brother’s birth, so you kids are even) made my heart explode (literally) with happiness that I never thought I’d experience again…but I did!!!  I DID, and it’s because the joy of your birth infected my soul to pursue another chance at motherhood.  The joy of your birth confirmed what I’ve known since I was 3 years old: I am meant to be a mother. I was meant to be YOUR mother; I am meant to be your brother’s mother, and that is all I have ever wanted to be, second only to being a wife. You and your brother are my deepest heart’s desire, and for the longest time, I was so unfulfilled and empty…I held you, my soul was complete and my role in life had purpose…and then you were gone, and so was everything in me that had just been made whole…

Hannah, the emptiness in my life….
I can remember exactly how my days and nights felt in the days—weeks—months---years after your passing.
It’s so hard to juxtapose the fullness we say we have in Christ with the emptiness of the aching womb…

Having your brother didn’t “fix” me. He’s not a “band-aid” baby; he’s a Rainbow Baby, through-and-through.  He’s my Promise, my Answered Prayer, my tangible reminder that Jesus loves me, that God heard me and your father. I’ve never been more grateful for a human being than I am for you, your father, and your brother. The three of you make my heart so whole, so light…The reality of the Family Picture, of the incomplete nucleus of us, is heavy and confusing but also full of gratitude and realized hope…

Hannah, I can’t celebrate your birthday without mourning your death…without mourning the unanswered questions, the unrealized dreams. You were here, but then you were gone, and it still hurts. It still hurts…what else can I say? Christian rhetoric be damned; yes, I know you’re in Heaven, blah, blah, blah. I’m still your mother, you’re still a part of me, and we will always be connected in some inexplicable way. I will always wonder who you would have been…what you would be like. I look at nieces and other families and try not to think about dates of birth that come across patients’ paperwork…I look at forms that detail disabilities and think of the split-second where we thought you’d survive, but would be critically handicapped and think of how we would have stopped time to care for you…I pass the section of clothing for your age group in the store and still, to this day, think of the glitter we would have in our home. I saw a toddler dressed as a flamingo at a Fall Festival last week and my heart stopped…

And then I looked at your brother dressed in his cowboy-finest, and it started again. There is little time to process the things that threaten to overwhelm me when I’m chasing a pseudo-nudist/cowboy.

You led us to him…the love we have for you led us to him, and he is everything we could have ever dreamed, even on the hard days. I don’t know how or when we will tell him about you; you’re certainly no secret, but as he gets older, he will start to understand that those pictures on the wall are not all him…he will have questions, and I am praying even now for the words to answer. The answers we give now will set the stage for the deeper questions he has later on…for the times when the enemy comes to steal, kill, and destroy his self-esteem, for the times when he hears the whispers and the lies that say he is not unique, that he is not special, that he is “second,” or that he is a “replacement.” That day will come…I know it, because in my own way, I’ve been there. I hope that by the time we have that conversation, that he reads the words I’ve written to both him and to you that share the deepest love in my heart…that he understands the love I have for him, and how utterly unique and special it is. I hope he gets even the tiniest inkling in his heart of how grateful we are for his smile in our lives…of how blessed we are, of how great the reward is for the hard-fought Battle of Jericho. He is such a tremendous gift…I hope he understands, and grasps that there is no pressure in being who and what he is; there is only love and appreciation for him, and for the great, mysterious grace of God.

10 years is a long, long time; it seems like yesterday. Your birth was a traumatic experience; I didn’t realize how awful it was until I had your brother, which was peaceful and planned, and so exciting. In retrospect, I actually feel somewhat violated by my birthing experience and by a doctor who seemed more concerned about how “perfect” his incisions were, rather than the long-standing damage done to my body by symptoms that pointed in every direction to cardiac complications. I’m not angry with him; I’m frustrated with an industry that has made the most human experience of giving birth into a highly-marketable commodity that is a minefield of lies. Giving birth is difficult, natural, raw, and messy, yet we’re taught to expect a stylized suite in luxury accommodations that look lovely but fail when we look at statistics. Since your birth and death, the façade of American healthcare has been shattered in my life, and now I know: 1 in 4 pregnancies in our country end in loss. 25%--we don’t even rank in the top 10 countries with the lowest infant mortality rates (http://www.mapsofworld.com/world-top-ten/countries-with-lowest-infant-mortality.html)

Our nation is failing our children.

We’re facing an election over the next few weeks, and there’s a candidate who thinks you--you, my perfect, 34-week angel—do not matter. She thinks that babies like you are trash. I can’t even look at her face on the television. She even thinks your brother, at 36 weeks, is trash. I don’t understand this kind of disregard for humanity. That is a woman who has never known what you and I have known, what you and your brother have known. She has never known the love of a mother, not even for her own child. She doesn’t value life, and she doesn’t even know what it is. She couldn’t; she is blinded by deception. I feel so sorry for her; a life without love just isn’t a life at all. Maybe I’m being terribly judgmental, but how could anyone—anyone—look at your sweet face and not be in love?

I am sad for our nation and for the place we are now….for a nation that feels that we are an accidental collision of cells without purpose, and are therefore worthy of nothing but destruction.

You, you beautiful girl, were created by God. So was I. I know your brother was, and so was your Daddy. God cares for us; He loves us, and He sacrificed His own Son—I can’t imagine—so that we could all be reunited someday. This is my hope, this is why and how I breathe; this isn’t rhetoric or myths. This is Truth. Jesus is real; I know you know that better than anyone.

I don’t know what your life is like in Heaven, or if you remember me…I don’t know how you pass the days, or what you will look like when we meet again. I know I have my own beliefs of what happens to babies that die before they’re capable of making decisions, and I feel those beliefs were whispered into my heart by the Holy Spirit when I needed them most. I believe we will have our chance together, and I do not believe that has to make sense to anyone else.

I believe in reunion and restoration.
I believe the Word of God is true, even when I do not understand it.
I believe in the Hope He gives, and I rest my life on it, even when my life is not easy.

Hannah, I miss you. I miss the way you felt, all snuggled up on my chest…the way you smelled like Cheerios…the sounds you made, the way your fuzzy hair stuck out…your beautiful eyes and your gorgeous fingers and tiny toes that were shaped just like mine…I miss the way you looked at me, and I miss holding you in my arms most of all…I still feel you, even now, and I remember…I will not forget, and neither will anyone in our family.

I hope that if for some reason, you can sense me where you are, that you still feel the love I have for you and that it has never faded. I hope that you know you are thought of every day, and that I am so incredibly grateful for you.  I am grateful for the fight you put in me, for the faith you put into your father, and for the days we are living right now…I am so grateful for the life we have, for Jericho, for our family…you made me never give up. You showed me and your father what we are capable of going through, and what we have in each other, and every year that goes by, that gets stronger.

Most of all, I am grateful for Jesus, Who walked us through the darkest days, Who has grace for our anger and for our confusion, and Who truly does trade beauty for ashes. I am grateful that in death there is life, and that nothing is for nothing.

Hannah Elizabeth Gayle Cooley…I am grateful for every second I spent with you, so for your birthday, I am going to set my face and celebrate our time together. I never want any emotion other than gratitude to cloud your memory or my celebration of the gift of you.

I love you…
And I always will.
Happy 10^th Birthday, Beautiful Girl…