Sharing the news

Love and pregnancy and riding on a camel can not be hid.
-Arabic Proverb

There was little I was excited about in the first 24 hours after I learned I was pregnant. Actually, I could find two things to muster excitement for. First, since we were not even teenagers my best friend and I had always talked about some day being pregnant at the same time. She was six months along in her pregnancy, so if I was going to have a surprise I was thankful from the first few minutes that it was at the same time as my friend. We had let go of that dream a few years ago for multiple reasons, so we both saw the timing of our pregnancies as a gift from God.

The other thing I could get excited for was telling people. I had thought about different ways to share the news for years... if I ever did get pregnant. Now it was here and I wanted to have fun with it. I woke my best friend up and she quickly decided it was the best wake up call ever. Johnie's brother almost choked, we think. (Those who know us well had pretty much given up any hope that we would ever birth children.)

We told my mom we wanted her to make the announcement to the church family. She said no for about five seconds, then cried about being offered such an honor and enthusiastically agreed. I sort of thought she would just shout out something like, "I'm going to be a Memaw!" Or, "Johnie and Amy are having a baby!" With a jubilance (I may have made that word up) only she can achieve.

But all on her own accord she wanted to be ornery too. She thought about telling everyone that there was a new special someone in her life, leading them to think of a romantic relationship. But she settled on another idea that I think was even better.

Circled up to pray my mom was given the floor for her announcement: "I just wanted to let everyone know I'm getting a new car (Karr)!"

Everyone clapped politely, albeit confused. My mom already had a nearly new car and isn't usually one to get caught up in material things.

"A new little baby car (Karr)." People were still clapping and some didn't really hear her. Those who did thought she was talking about a compact car.

A couple seconds of awkward silence. Finally Johnie said, "Do you want to give any more details?"

"Well, I'll get it probably around...." She looked to me. "In November," I said. I thought everyone might catch on then. But there was still confusion.

Finally she brought her arms up like she was rocking a baby. "A new little baby car (Karr)." And people started to get it.

Unfortunately I have managed to miss all the group pregnancy announcements among our church friends to date. I always end up being out of town, or sick, or with some conflicting appointment on the one burrito night I didn't make that year. They probably react similarly to anyone who shares baby news. Or maybe we were just the least likely couple to ever make such an announcement. (One friend said, "you just know some things aren't a possibility so you don't even consider them," when talking about why it took everyone a bit to solve my mom's riddle.)

I was overwhelmed. There were squeals of joy and hugs and laughter. I looked around and people were high fiving and hugging. Some had their hands over their mouths. Others were crying. I was thankful that my mom and Johnie were there to absorb some of the attention, but I was shaking and feeling all tingly.

Maybe it was too much too soon for me to handle, but my heart was reassured to see all the joy on everyone's faces about the life inside of me. As I told them as they asked how I was handling it and apologized if they were being obnoxiously excited, I just felt so thankful to see others feeling about this baby the way I wish I could feel. And in those fear-filled moments, I always found reassurance in a community who already loved and cared for my little one.

Two little lines

A grand adventure is about to begin.
-Winnie the Pooh

Within hours of learning I was pregnant I felt compelled to write. I decided quickly to journal. The decision to blog came more slowly. I feel like there are more than enough motherhood/pregnancy blogs already, and they all do a much better job than I could ever do. But what would it hurt to share my experiences too? It's already been proven people don't have to read what I write. So here goes...

Upfront you should know I did not want this to happen. My husband and I were scared away from having children almost eight years ago when I thought I might be pregnant and later learned that I wasn't. We never really recovered from the shock of sudden responsibility we felt as we waited for a negative pregnancy test.

Ironically, it was that experience that sealed the deal for me quitting hormonal birth control. I had health complications with the three different types I tried (migraines, moodiness, weight gain, etc), but the fear that it could potentially harm my unborn child (unwarranted or not) was enough for me to stop it for good.

Within a few months we settled on natural family planning. I read several books. I still remember reading a warning that if we weren't going to be serious about NFP, then we shouldn't claim to practice it. The author lamented that NFP had such a low success rate because so many people did it incorrectly or took chances they weren't supposed to take. Also, most NFP "failures" happen in the first year.

I took the responsibility seriously and was diligent that first year. I followed every single rule. Measured and charted every indicator every day. To be fair to NFP we have not strictly followed the rules since then. It's just that some of the fertility indicators are tedious to measure, and if you track everything month after month you begin to learn about your body. (For example, my temperature swings happen later than for most women. I stopped taking my daily temperature years ago because it just wasn't as reliable an indicator for me as other things.)

 And there have been a handful of times when I have been wrong. I thought the indicators were or were not there only to learn after it was too late that I had misread my signals. That's not what happened this time. We had very good reasons to believe my fertile window had opened AND closed. And no other indication to the contrary. Still, in the hours following the positive pregnancy test I felt like a failure. How could I have let this happen?

I have always been paranoid about a surprise pregnancy and have taken dozens of pregnancy tests over the years. It has been a common refrain for me to link some symptom or issue with possible pregnancy. This particular time it was back pain.

My mom had back pain with both her pregnancies very early. When my back began hurting, I thought I might be experiencing the same thing. I lay in bed at 3 am the day of my missed period and whispered to my husband, "I just can't stop worrying about if I'm pregnant."

Eight years is a long time to be patient. Having heard it all before he replied simply, "Amy, you're not pregnant." And he rolled over and went to sleep. I nursed some hurt feelings and planned to talk to him the next evening about being more respectful to my concerns.

The next day I took the test. For the first time in my life the first little pink line began to appear. I blinked my eyes several times. It was still there. Two lines? Two lines! TWO lines?!?!?! "Dear God, no. Please no. I'm not ready. It's not time," I prayed.

I took a picture. Both lines showed up in the picture. I held it up to the light. They were still there. My heart started beating out of my chest and my breathing sped up. My skin flushed. Was I going to faint?

I talked myself through until my heart rate and breathing slowed. "It's okay. It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay. Everything will be alright."

My next thought was having to tell people. It was close to April Fool's Day. Every previous time I thought I might be pregnant around March, I always thought an April 1st announcement would be fun. So that might work out. I began thinking of how I would tell my friends. They would probably ask me how I am feeling. I actually thought I was handling it pretty well. I mean, I hadn't cried or anything. I panicked at first, but that was just for a few seconds really. How was I feeling?

I looked at myself in the mirror and said to myself, "I'm terrified." All composure was lost as I melted into sobs. I could hear my husband in the next room in a conference call meeting. On his first day of work at his new job. I couldn't really tell him until after his work day was finished. And I didn't want him to hear me, rush out and learn about our pregnancy with me a blubbering heap.

I tried to pull myself together and took several deep breaths. How do teenagers do this? How in the world do single moms handle this? I am old and married and middle class and love kids and I feel completely unprepared and unqualified. Downright unable. (Every mom in the world gained even more respect from me that day.)

Johnie had an hour before he was finished with work. How would I tell him? I really didn't want him to learn about his first child through heaving sobs. I thought about friends who had bought onesies or dad-to-be items and given them to their husbands. I didn't really have time for that. "Oh, hey... we're pregnant" seemed lackluster. What could I do?

I settled on telling him I got him a surprise for his first day at his new job. That was about the best I could come up with. I willed myself to hold it together, but his meeting ran long. And in the minutes between when he was supposed to get off work and when he did get off work I lost it again. And pulled it together again.

He didn't act like he suspected anything when he saw my face. "So, I got you a surprise for your first day of work."

"Oh, really? You didn't have to do that. What is it?"

This is harder than I thought it would be. I swallowed and could only whisper, "I'm pregnant."

His eyes got wide. "Really?!?"

I shrugged. "That's what the test said."

A tiny smile tugged his lips upward. But only for a few seconds. Serious, he asked, "how are you feeling?"

"How are you feeling?"

We were hugging. I couldn't see his face. What is he going to say? What is he going to do? How is he going to react? What is this going to mean for us? The seconds ticked slowly by. Was he waiting on me to answer first? I wanted him to answer first.

Finally he spoke. "I'm just really worried about how you are feeling."

"I'm scared."

We began discussing how and when to tell people. My best friend had always made me one of the first people she told (after her husband) about her pregnancies. Johnie agreed we should do the same for her. So she was our first call. We tried to call my mom but she wasn't available. We called Johnie's parents and siblings and grandparents.

We would be seeing our church family the following night. We live in a very tight knit open community. We strive to share life like a real, authentic family. This was rocking my world. I couldn't see my friends and not tell them. If it was even possible, it would have felt dishonest. But the thought of Johnie announcing our pregnancy and then everyone looking at me was overwhelming. I never like a lot of eyes on me and especially in a situation like this. I told him I just couldn't handle it.

He suggested I stay home and he announce it without me. That'd be a great way to have everyone at my house -- sick with worry -- in less than ten minutes. We agreed to call the friends we would see the next evening before we were to be with them. That way things might be settled down a little before I actually had to have anyone looking at me.

That was until we talked to my mom. She was ecstatic. Beyond ecstatic. She kept thanking the Lord over and over again. And she told us this was the best moment of her life so far. My husband tried to clarify -- with both of her children also on the phone -- and she said that her own births were the most amazing moments of her life when they happened. Emphatically, this was the best yet, she said, and that it would only get better when the baby arrived.

I knew my mom would be excited. But I had no idea her reaction would be so over the top. It actually helped me feel a lot better. I mean, everyone we told had sweet reactions. But my mom's response was priceless. I was already feeling a little guilty that my initial reaction was void of happiness and Johnie's lacked much enthusiasm. At least this baby had others who responded in such pure joy.

She also had plans with close friends in the coming days and was unsure how she could not tell them. Johnie received an email that night from a dear friend and we almost had to call him and his wife to tell them the news because Johnie didn't know how he could hide such a huge life event. (That friend later said he knew by Johnie's short reply that something was up.)

So, Johnie and I decided that night that mom should be the one to make the announcement to our church family. We weren't sure how she would do it, but we did know it would be great. And almost certainly better than any way Johnie or I could manage to tell anyone in the next 24 hours.

In true mom fashion, she didn't disappoint. Neither did our friends.

Home buying redux. Or, what not to do when buying a house.

We couldn't have planned it any better.
-Mandie



For most of my marriage with Johnie I dreamed of owning a home in Kentucky. Before we even had actual plans to move I asked my grandfather to wait on carving our Wichita address into a piece of wood he saved for me from a tree we had planted together. Because I wanted my permanent address to be in my home state.

Years later, I finally know what that address is but I never could have imagined just how long and curvy the road home would be.

Even before we officially sold the home we loved in Kansas we were already looking for Kentucky houses. The first couple of years it was mostly casual internet searches and random open house viewings. We weren't even sure what city we wanted to settle in and visited houses from Frankfort to London and many places in between.

I felt burned by our real estate experience in Kansas and made a list of must-haves for the house and the process.

We began working with a (fabulous) realtor in the spring of 2013 (Jonnie Jean Young). By that time we had decided we wanted to settle in London -- someday -- close to our friends and church family. We found a house we were excited about but we were unable to swing the down payment necessary for a loan on a home that wouldn't be our primary residence for a few years.

The home search was suspended until the following winter. We had a diagnosis for my health issues and it was becoming clear to me that I couldn't keep up with my job and my personal life. We made the decision for me to stop working and, with nothing holding us to Frankfort, to move. By this time a couple of our friends were also home shopping in London. As we learned quickly, each of us had talked to our spouses about how we would love to be neighbors. So, we decided to house shop together.

We considered homes listed in the same neighborhoods. We considered house/lot options to build side-by-side. We looked at land to build a duplex. We looked at properties that included a primary residence and rental home on-site. We looked at large single family homes to remodel to fit our needs. Nothing quite worked.

With no solid prospects, Johnie and I, along with some other dear friends, secured a large rental home in London and continued the search. (In case you haven't already deduced this, Johnie and I don't do housing in the same way as most American families.)

In late July our friends called us about a house they were extremely interested in. It was in the same subdivision as several of our other friends. Actually, some of our friends had been interested in buying it several months prior before they learned it didn't qualify for financing at that time. It had been a foreclosure and by this point had been purchased by an investor.

Before: Bedroom

I had walked around the outside of this house a year or so previously. It was old and dirty and small. And kind of creepy. From what I had learned from our friends who had been interested in it before, it didn't have a lot of the things on my list. Johnie had asked me to look at it with him several times. I always said no.

But none of us were really interested in living in the house. It sat on an acre and a half of land and we were thinking we could fix it up as a rental and then build our two-family duplex at the back of the lot.

Our friends went under contract on the house in August. We began our house-building plans and my friend coaxed me through the front door by telling me it wasn't as bad inside as she had thought it would be.

By the time I actually looked at the house the outside had been cleaned up considerably from when I had just walked around the yard. And the inside had been aired out a little and some of the walls had been fixed.

Before: Dining Room

I stepped through the front door and it reminded me of our rental house in Frankfort. Which isn't a good thing. I didn't like that house. But I had to agree with my friend. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

The weeks ticked by. The end date to our lease crept closer. Home building plans got more complicated and expensive-feeling to me.

I have always wanted a master bath. I'd have one in the house we built. We would have a two-car garage. We were going to have everything on our list. And, someday, even an in-ground pool.
But, as we dreamed of all the nice things we would have in the house we were going to build, I began feeling uncomfortable with the price of those things. And I began feeling uncomfortable with my own greed and selfishness.

Before: Living Room

It sure would be a lot cheaper and less complicated just to live in the foreclosure house. We had lived in the Frankfort house for two years and this one was bigger than that -- with major remodeling potential. But still not wanting to actually live in that house, I decided not to talk about my thoughts with anyone.

The closing ended up getting delayed because of a clerical error with the deed. We were all assured that it was a matter of when -- not if -- it would be cleared up. It was right around this same time I posed the question to Johnie: "What if we just lived in the foreclosure house and didn't build?"

We talked with our friends and, later, with the investor, and a new plan was hatched. As we waited for the deed issue to be resolved, we subdivided the land into two portions. We would get the half with the house, our friends would get the other half to build. And because we wanted to move out of our rental house when our other friends would be moving out, the investor agreed to let Johnie and me determine, coordinate and oversee the work on the foreclosure house so it would be ready when we needed it.

Before: Kitchen

We thought that meant he would be paying for things and the cost would (basically) be rolled into our loan amount at closing. What it actually meant was he would let us work on and pay for renovations on the house before we closed.

So, yes, like stupid people, Johnie and I began working on a vacant foreclosed house we didn't own. By this time, I was starting to feel a little nervous. Because this was for sale by owner, we weren't using our beloved realtor. And because we were initially more interested in the land than in the house, we never had an inspection.

Before: Bathroom

We entered this work phase as we had entered the previous ones: Prayerfully. We knew we were taking a gamble and were risking any money we spent on the house, but we decided it was worth the risk. If it worked out in the end, it would be more than worth it.

We started slow with the work. That means we mostly just spent our time. We spent several days cleaning the house. And we spent a while deciding just what projects we would tackle before we moved in, paring them down considerably since the expenses were all coming out of our own pockets.

This might be a good time to mention that new plan we hatched was a verbal one. (Hence the initial misunderstanding about who would pay for what.) The actual contract wasn't revised from the original one. We were waiting for a full loan approval for Johnie and me since it had been so long since our first one when we began the process. And we needed the deed issue to be resolved.

After: Bedroom

Anything we would do to the house at this point would start costing more serious money. I wanted to paint all the rooms which would be several hundred dollars alone. I was at war with myself. If I spent the money and did the work and we didn't get the house, I would kick myself for being so stupid. But if I didn't go ahead and paint now when the house was empty and I had the time to do it, I would kick myself at closing for not doing that work when I had the chance.

I quizzed all my friends on whether or not to paint. One advised that I should sit with each decision... how would I feel about either decision years from now? And that helped me. If I didn't paint and we didn't get the house, it was inconsequential. If I didn't paint and we did get the house, I'd have a lot of added work and stress when we moved (something I try to avoid these days). If I painted and we got the house, then it would be really helpful and I could tell everyone how crazy we were to paint the house before it was even ours. And if I painted and we didn't get the house, I could tell everyone how crazy we were to paint a vacant house we didn't even own. I love a good story. And Johnie and I do crazy things like that. That's just who we are. We aren't really very normal. Decision made.

After: Dining Room

Toward the end of January, the painting was well underway. The contractor we had spoken with several weeks prior finally had time to do our projects. We scheduled to meet him at the house one Tuesday afternoon, the same day our housemates would be moving on to continue their missionary work.

Hiring the contractor meant some really serious money (or what I consider serious money). My nervousness only increased. We were going to be out of our rental house at the end of February and had a verbal agreement that we could move into the foreclosure house before closing, but still no actual revised contract.

I couldn't sleep that Monday night and spent quite a while talking with God about all my house worries. Everything felt so shaky, like it could crumble at any moment. So many times throughout the process I just wanted to throw my hands up, walk away from the foreclosure house and the dream of having friends as neighbors, contact our realtor and find a decent house like regular people. This was one of those times. I remember telling God that night, "we're going to be committed to paying this contractor tomorrow, and we don't even have a contract yet." In tears I fell asleep, resigned to continue on this unstable ground.

After: Living Room

The next morning we said an emotional goodbye to our friends, and as we were watching them pull out of the driveway Johnie's phone rang. It was our loan broker telling us all the loan and contract paperwork were ready to sign. The deed issue had been resolved a few days earlier. A couple hours before we met our contractor, we had the paper contract my heart had been hoping for.

Progress on the house went into high gear. We began going over to do projects on nights and weekends, or sometimes even while the contractor was there. One Saturday a friend came over and turned on the water for us and I held my breath and then thanked the Lord when all the pipes worked, minus a very minor, easily fixable drain leak at the bathtub.

And then, in early February, with the contractor finished and the paint almost complete, the appraiser came. Through the months of working on the house, I had fallen in love with it. It was good and solid. There were no roof leaks. The basement stayed dry. The hardwood floors were absolutely beautiful. I had the best dishwasher I've ever owned installed in the kitchen, as well as a stunning red sink with its own little story. The contractor added a gorgeous built-in to replace a non-functional window in the dining room. After all the work we did on the house, we uncovered no major issues.

After: Kitchen

I cleaned and prayed before the appraiser was set to arrive. I wanted to do everything I could to help the process. All along I had trusted the Lord that if we weren't supposed to get this house, then we would just get another one. But now I actually wanted this house.

The appraiser made me nervous. An appraiser caused a snafu when we bought our first home. We had already spent all our extra money fixing up this house, we didn't have anything to compensate for a low appraisal. By the time the appraiser arrived at the house, I was in tears from nervousness and sneaked out the back as he entered the front. Thankfully, Johnie was there and able to act like a sane person for the both of us. I told the Lord that if we weren't going to get this house, I wished He would have let us know before that day.

Before we even knew the results of the appraisal, Johnie received a job offer. It was work even more in line with what he loves than what he was already doing. And after a week of negotiations, we felt like it was doable for us. But, we learned, the new job would put us $250 above the annual income cap on the loan program we were using. If we didn't close before the job switch, we would need to switch loan programs, wait at least 30 days for a new income history and bring more money to the table.

After: Bathroom

As we were considering the job, the appraisal came in and was what we needed it to be. We still didn't have a firm closing date, but a good possibility that we could close in time for the new job not to affect things.

With fear of losing the house and fear of not being able to meet the (exciting) challenges at the new job pretty much the only things in our reasons to say no column, we decided not to let fear make our decision and Johnie accepted the new position. We continued on with our plans to move.

The rental house we were leaving was more than 3000 square feet. We needed to be out of it by February 28th, a Saturday. I had realized several weeks earlier that I could not move completely out of and then clean such a big house in one day. And we were already busy on Saturday the 21st. I'm sure my friends would have bailed me out and spent their whole Saturday getting everything wrapped up for me, but we decided to move all of our big things on Monday the 23rd. I planned to move all of our smaller things slowly, one car load at a time, the week before. It would cut down on boxes and packing and unpacking.

Except for that's the week we got the historic snowfall, followed by the historic cold.

We stayed snowed in our driveway until our landlord dug us out. And our friends got out and worked on our house for us those days. We had accumulated a list of projects that were to be fixed that week: New sink hoses to allow for running water in the kitchen, a new cord for the stove, the bathtub drain repair. We also learned in those final days before the move that what we thought was the thermostat wasn't. We didn't have one for the air conditioning. Only for the heat. (Thankfully, we didn't need it right away.) And also, the mailbox we thought was ours actually belonged to the neighbors.

48 hours before the move, the easy drain issue turned out to be way more complicated, we still needed to hook up the stove, and I couldn't even park in the driveway of that house because of all the snow. We weren't even sure if we'd be able to move into the house on Monday because of the snow. But we pressed on.

On Sunday, friends came over to clear the driveway and work on the drain.

Set to move the next morning, but still unsure how it would all unfold, I made another trip to Lowe's in tears Sunday evening. Still no working stove, still no way to take a shower.

"This is just how things like this go," my mom told me. She had agreed to stay the week with me to help me move. (Thank God she did.) "It's like when you read a book. We're at the part where everything is messed up. But in the end it all works out and everyone is happy."

"I didn't want to write a book, mom, I just wanted a story."

Thanks to several of our friends, the actual move went great. And, amazingly, the house felt like home almost instantly.

We still didn't have a working bathtub/shower, but we planned to travel back and forth from the rental house to finish packing and cleaning anyway. We would just take our showers there.
Our loan broker told us we could probably close on the house by the end of the week. And I had already started discussing our celebration -- for when we did close -- with our friends. We would all get to be at the closing table together. Us for the house, them for the land. I wanted to do remakes of all the crazy pictures from the first closing in Kansas. And then we were going to plant a tree or set a stone or start digging a footer -- something -- to signify this day. And then we were going to eat a delicious dinner together.

Throughout the week, my mom, my brother, my friends and I worked to get all the final items moved to the new house and get the old house cleaned out. Johnie was working faithfully each night after work to fix the bathtub drain. I was confident he would get it soon. My health was not doing great and I was needing to rest more than I preferred, but I was much healthier than I could have been and I had a lot of people helping. I felt hopeful.

On Thursday the bathtub drain still wasn't fixed. I was afraid I was going to have to take our friends up on their offer to shower at their house. And our broker called to tell us the final underwriter didn't approve our loan because of a fallen downspout noticed in one of the pictures. Any hopes of closing this week were dashed. If everything went smoothly with the repair and reappraisal, we could possibly expedite the closing to Monday, our broker said.

Johnie was pretty disappointed. His official two week notice went into effect on Monday. If the lending company required a third employment verification and if Human Resources disclosed his notice, we would be starting all over with a new loan program.

But Johnie fixed the downspout that afternoon, the appraiser sent in his paperwork, and we continued to work on getting settled into the new house and moved out of the old house. We had done everything we could do.

Friday morning I talked to my friend who was buying the land with us. I told her we may close on Monday, and that I was feeling okay at that moment. Some other friends had volunteered to get things wrapped up at the old house that day and Johnie had fixed the tub drain. I could take a shower at my new house! I got out of bed with a plan for the day and felt like I could actually accomplish it. My mom and I worked on some projects at the new house with plans to clean at the old house with friends after lunch.

But the broker called as we were eating lunch to tell us the paperwork had been approved and we could close that afternoon. If we (four, for the house and land) and the investor could get there. Johnie was ecstatic. I was nauseous. I had not planned to take a break from scrubbing floors to go close on a house. And the old house had to be cleaned because we were giving it back to the landlord the next day.

On top of that, neither of our friends were available at the same time.

I cried. I cried hard. So many things had not gone how I had imagined they would go with this whole process, and now my dream of a fun closing and celebration with our friends was also being shattered. I knew I was being a baby but it took me a few minutes to pull it together. The important thing was that we would all finally own this house and land we had worked and waited for.
We worked it out so we would filter in throughout the afternoon as we were available to each sign our portion of the documents.

I left the old house, not even completely sure if the investor would make it to sign his portion of the documents, and went to the new house to meet Johnie and change out of work clothes before heading to the title company.

I thought we would just sign our stuff and leave, but Johnie said he'd stay and wait for the investor to arrive. Our broker told us as soon as the investor signed, the house would definitely be ours. As we were waiting, I noticed I forgot to change my jeans and had brown stains on my knees from cleaning earlier. (Just another thing to add to the train wreck, I thought.)

The investor was late. And I was not feeling very good about what seemed like rushing through paperwork at the last minute on a Friday evening. This was a big deal for me and Johnie. I wasn't sure everyone else at the table understood just how invested we were in this house.

We tried to portray what we felt like by the time
 we made it to closing. This actually doesn't do it justice.

By the time all of the paperwork was wrapped up it was well into the evening. Though it wasn't said explicitly, we got the impression that the paperwork wouldn't actually be reviewed by the loan company until Monday morning. I left hoping we wouldn't get a bad news call the following week.

My friend met us back at our house when we finished up the closing. We hugged and cried and she saw the house -- with our stuff in it -- for the first time.

"We couldn't have planned it any better," she said. "Obviously, we didn't plan this."

What we did plan was that celebration we had wanted. And I told everyone, "legally, everything is done. But it won't be official until we celebrate."

Monday came and went with no bad news. And as the days passed, I began to finally settle into owning a home once more. I had dreamed for so many years about this, I had to keep reminding myself it was real each morning. It took us a while to switch from renting mentality (should we ask the landlord?) to owning mentality (we can do whatever we want with this wall!). But I am thankful to finally feel like I am putting down roots in a place I love surrounded by people I love.

A year with the lupus.

A chronic illness diagnosis is not a death sentence. It is a junction in your journey through life that takes you on a different direction than you desire or anticipated. There's no doubt that your chronic illness has wounded you. But a wounded warrior gets up, in spite of the wounds, and moves forward again, and again, and again.

-Richard Cheu, Living well with chronic illness: A practical and spiritual guide


It was one year ago when I was told I have lupus. It hasn't been the easiest. In fact, I am just starting to accept that I might actually have lupus, like lifelong lupus. Some days. Some days, I still can't help but think this is just a phase I'm going through. That I'll look back on this as those years I was really sick and we thought it was lupus. I have trouble imagining that I may feel this way for decades.

There are days when I feel so defeated. When I think my sickness stole my future. When I think of all I've given up, all that has been taken away. When I feel so crummy and don't even have anything to show for it.

But then there are days like October 4th. When I have the strength and the freedom to say yes to hiking with friends. And when those friends actually mean rock climbing when they say hiking.



See that mountain. I climbed it. Without any special equipment.

That's not as stupid as it sounds. Well, maybe it is. (But we didn't start at the bottom... If that makes it better.)

I've been on a hike coordinated by this friend before. It didn't involve clinging for my life to a rock several hundred feet above the actual ground. It's just that on this occasion I didn't figure out he expected us to scale a rockface until I was already on my way up. (Sometimes I'm slow and naive, you know.)

We stopped for lunch on the first (and easiest) ledge and my brain started putting some little details together: (1) The hike we were on was a loop. We weren't going to backtrack. (2) I saw no way off the ledge but to backtrack.

Already, I had been informed the hardest part of the hike was over. So I asked, "Jeff, you said we make a loop, so where do we go from here?"

"Up."

I looked up but didn't see the top and wasn't going to lean out to try. There were a few more ledges between the top and where I was, and each time I was told: (1) This one is the hardest in whatever way. (2) It is easier to go up than down.

We passed people along the way who had reached their own summit. And our group ended up splitting into two. Some chose the harder way back down.

I stood on the last ledge before the top and didn't know if I could make it. But I didn't know when I'd get another chance to try. Foothold, then handhold. One after the other. Inch by inch I ascended. Or more specifically, crawled. And prayed. And at one point screamed for help. (That really got a response!)

And I made it to the top and I felt so accomplished. I felt even more accomplished when I looked back later in the hike to see what I had actually climbed. I never would have believed I was capable of that. If I would have known how big that mountain was before I started, I never would have even tried.

As I told my husband on the way home that night, I have felt defeated so many times this year that victories like that become even more meaningful.

And there was so much about climbing that mountain that metaphorically mirrors my own journey with sickness. I never would have thought I could handle it. I never would have thought I could be sick and mostly joyful. Grateful. Hopeful. By the grace of God, I have.

Within hours I started feeling the effects of the day's conquest. Ibuprofen, extra herbs, a soak in epsom salts and essential oils, a heating pad and at the beginning of those three days with painfully sore muscles I could only feel angry and frustrated.

I'm too young to feel this bad.

The old Amy could have recovered from that in less than a day. Ironically, the old Amy is a few years younger than the new Amy and is in much better health. I compare myself to her sometimes.

But the old Amy lived life with more fear. The old Amy took fewer chances. I knew the old Amy pretty well and I'm putting my money (well, you know, if I was actually earning money these days) on she wouldn't have even tried.

And long before the pain eased, the anger melted.

I am weaker now. But in ways I am getting stronger.

And how many people in the world never even get the chance to try something like that for fun? And how many people couldn't even do it at all even if they did try?

I am blessed. With health and strength and much larger margins to rest than most people. (And so much more.)

A few days after the climb I was reading a list I made shortly after my diagnosis of important things I wanted to hang on to. On it: Continue to hike the mountains of my home.

And so far -- thankfully -- I still am able to do that and almost everything else on the list.

I don't know what the next years hold for me, but I am so grateful for the blessings of this one. And I know whatever I may face ahead, I will make it triumphantly (praise the Lord!) to the top in the end.

There's a peace I've come to know
though my heart and flesh may fail.
There's an anchor for my soul.
I can say, "It is well."

-Chris Tomlin, I will rise

30/30 Bucket List: Go to Europe

We are ready to go.

-Viktor and Kristen Rozsa


The night I met Kristen she was wearing a strange hat.  She was trying to be a toadstool.  Her daughter, Emily, was dressed as a garden gnome.  It was a costume party at a mutual friend's home.

The next time I saw her she was wearing another strange hat.  She was trying to be a salt shaker.  This time Emily was a princess and new little baby Gabi was a pink fuzzy bug.  That was also the night I met her husband, Viktor, who was posing as a pepper shaker.  It was a year later at a costume party at a mutual friend's home.

By the time we would arrive at the annual Halloween party the following year, she and Viktor dressed as baristas with three (add newborn Lillian) of the cutest little frappuccinos ever, we would greet one another with warm hugs. As friends. And I would have seen her throughout the year -- dressed in normal clothing -- more times than we had kept track of.

It was a few months after that second party, after we had attended a dance recital for our friends' daughter with the Rozsa's and helped our friends move with the Rozsa's and celebrated a new page -- a new building -- for our church family with the Rozsa's, that Johnie and I sat on our couch to discuss what we felt like God was leading us to do in the upcoming year.

We do this every so often and it isn't unusual for us to have different goals and visions and dreams.  When we agreed in unison, even in the details, that we both were compelled to "support Viktor and Kristen" we knew that was one thing we would do right away.

Viktor and Kristen were (and are) preparing to become long-term missionaries in Hungary with One Mission Society.  Viktor grew up in Hungary and it was at an OMS English Camp there when he came to know Christ.  A few years later, he would travel to the U.S. to complete a theological education in hopes of returning back to Hungary with OMS to reach youth for Christ in the same way he had been saved.

It was in the U.S. that he would meet and marry Kristen, an Indiana girl with a heart for missions.  And together they decided to devote this season of their life to reaching Hungary for Christ.

I could write a whole series of blog posts on the work they have done and the sacrifices they have made in their efforts to get to Hungary.  And I'm sure I don't know close to all of it.  (But they would be embarrassed, and possibly even upset with me, and that would take a long time to write anyway.)

I will say: Their passion, their willingness to serve and their unique experiences and gifts make them stand out in a spectacular way.  Very, very rarely do we meet missionaries with the education, the fire and the deep-rooted knowledge of the culture to send to foreign fields.  That was obvious to us right away and is obvious to anyone who spends time with them.

But we have been blessed to get to know the Rozsas not just as missionaries, but as people.  As friends.  In the last year and a half, they have celebrated with us and mourned with us and stood beside us in the nitty gritty of everyday life.

And so when I pulled out the slip of paper from the bucket filled up at my party that said "go to Europe" everyone thought they knew the culprit: The Rozsas. 

They had already invited us to visit them in Hungary.  More than once.  And Johnie and I have always been open and eager for that possibility.  In fact, Viktor and Kristen hope to make it to Hungary before my next birthday and it isn't out of the realm of possibility that Johnie and I might visit them there.  In the next twelve months.

But they weren't responsible for this particular challenge.  Another party guest, who wasn't very familiar with the Rozsa's mission dreams, wrote that one down.  And he even apologized later when he realized I only had a year to complete such an expensive challenge.  He thought it was a true "before you die" bucket list.

Holding that slip of paper, I felt a twinge of resignation that I wouldn't be able to complete my bucket list this year. But I also had a bit, a tiny glimmer, of hope.  Hope that God would actually pull something off so grand as to send my friends to Hungary as missionaries and allow me to visit them there all in just a year's time. (Though Viktor and Kristen have been working toward this goal for several years.)

Because here's the deal: I've already decided that if I go to Europe in my thirtieth year it will be to visit the Rozsas.  But here's the even bigger deal: Whether or not I go to Europe ever doesn't really matter.  What really matters is getting people like Viktor and Kristen, full of heart and talent, there as quick as we can.  So they can join the exciting kingdom work already happening.

And as sad as it makes me to think of this family I have grown to love and depend on moving so far away for several years, it makes me even sadder to think of them not getting to live out this dream -- this calling -- they have given everything for.  It makes me even sadder to think of never knowing what positive difference they could make in Hungary.

Reading "go to Europe" instantly had an automatic, silent, "to visit Viktor and Kristen" attached to it for me.  And in the days following it was like "help send Viktor and Kristen" was added to my list as an extra challenge.  And so that is why this is the first challenge I am tackling. 

Not many people read this blog, but if each of you took the time to help with this goal it could make a huge difference.  And that is what I am asking of you.  Do what you can:

• Pray. This isn't the cop-out option.  It's the most important.  Pledge to pray for Viktor and Kristen, and Emily and Gabi and Lillian.  That they will remain strong and courageous.  That they will share the good news boldly when they get to Hungary.  That they will be given the resources they need to get to Hungary.  Pray for them daily.  Pray for their peace in uncertain times.  Pray for the hundreds and thousands of miles they travel each month to be safe and fruitful and as enjoyable as traveling from home to home and church to church with three little ones can be.  And pray for their encouragement and steadfastness and clarity to do what God has called them to.  Because as every missionary (and every human) would tell you, it doesn't always go like you thought it would.  Viktor and Kristen thought they would already be in Hungary.  And they still aren't sure they will get there as quickly as their revised plan would take them, an uncertainty that makes coordinating a move around the world even more difficult.
• Get to know them. Visit their blog, their missions page, their facebook page.  Follow them on twitter.  Call them or email them.  Invite them to your home or to your church to share their story.  You'll understand what I've said about them if you do.  And -- bonus -- if you live close enough and play your cards right, you might even get some of the best homemade pizza you've ever put in your mouth. Or Hungarian goulash. Or chocolate eclair. Or... I digress.
• Connect and share.  Tell others about Viktor and Kristen.  Your church family, your friends, your relatives, your co-workers and classmates.  They may be able to help or they may know someone who can.  
• Donate. If you are able, please consider donating to their mission (click here).  It takes money to get to Hungary and live there. This is impossible to accomplish without the funds necessary.  Every "little bit" is actually quite significant in helping them reach their goal. You can make a one-time donation, or a monthly pledge.  And your pledge can start now, or you can pledge to begin your support once they arrive in Hungary for their term. Small monthly pledges add up.  

On their blog, Viktor and Kristen said simply, "We are ready to go." And their life speaks those words louder than they could even shout.  They just need the resources.  Will you help?

30/30 Bucket List

Challenge accepted.
-Barney Stinson

You know that awkward feeling when you're at your birthday party and you see people huddled over some note cards in a corner? Some are giggling. You try not to look directly at them, but you have a sinking suspicion something is up?

Me too.

As I would learn later that evening -- after I worked up the courage to peek in the corner -- my family and friends were creating a bucket list for me. Thirty challenges to complete (and photograph) in my thirtieth year.

I am not sure they realize just how seriously I take these kinds of things. (As evidenced by one card which said simply, "spacewalk." And I do plan to do that, by the way.  This year.) Basically, I had been handed what would become thirty dares to complete over the course of a year.  And the thing about a dare is you have to do it. It's a dare. So you have to. No matter what.

It was with a nervous stomach that I reached my hand in the bucket to pull out the first card. "Dangle your toes in the ocean." Forget dare... excuse to go to the beach!  Because now I have to. This year.

And I have to say my friends were mostly very nice (digging 1,000 pounds of sweet potatoes aside). I got a lot of vacation, evenings out and expensive gift challenges. In retrospect, they were almost too nice. I felt like if I completed every challenge they issued, I'd arrive at 31 a lazy, sunburned glutton.

But still, it is a challenge. A dare. It cannot be ignored. So if I must go on multiple vacations, I will. (I hope.)

And even though spacewalk wasn't the only one that seemed impossible to tackle in 365 days, I have decided to go for it. And for humanity's sake, to fill in the blank spaces remaining in the bucket list with things that might be a bit more impactful than spending thousands of dollars on treats for myself.

Honestly, I don't know if I'll be able to complete the bucket list. But I do hope I have fun (which accomplishes one challenge all by itself!) and make some kind of positive difference trying.

Stay tuned!

Quitting and Moving

Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end.  Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.  Delicious ambiguity.
-Gilda Radner

Three years ago I was desperately homesick and an opportunity opened up for Johnie and me to move back to Kentucky.  It would mean leaving his family, leaving our Kansas friends and Johnie leaving a comfortable, fulfilling, rewarding, enjoyable job.

Thinking about the sacrifice involved made me physically ill.  I was afraid it would be a decision we would end up regretting. 

But Johnie assured me he had weighed the options and was confident we should move despite those we would be leaving, despite the career and financial risks involved.

I wasn't certain we made the right decision until I was blessed with the privilege of living close to my grandfather in his final days.  I had two years of memories we couldn't have made from Kansas.  And I had sweet, sweet final moments that were so much easier because we lived nearby. 

I know a lot of people have gone through a lot more than I have, but it has been a hard year.  Struggling with sickness for months and months before getting any meaningful relief.  Then learning that sickness is not something to tackle or beat, but to manage and adjust to.  Then saying goodbye to the man who had always provided shelter through life's storms. 

I'm still adjusting but I'm already changed.

I have trouble accepting the lupus diagnosis.  (To put it mildly.)  I would prefer to pretend that it doesn't actually exist.  But it won't be ignored.

A few years ago, I gave no thought to the repercussions of my lifestyle on my body.  I did work that I loved and spent time with people I loved.  My days were filled with productivity and laughter and diversions -- morning to night.  I would push through illness, push through tiredness, push through whatever.

But lupus isn't something that can be pushed through.  I tried.  It limits my body, my mind and my time in inescapable ways.

Though it has chained me down, it has also freed me.  While waiting in bed to feel better, life's priorities come more clearly into focus.  Time and energy are worth more.  A good day is more meaningful.  After weeks and weeks of feeling sick, waking up one blessed random Wednesday morning and feeling like my "old self" again is a gift. 

I do not believe I can accurately convey the joy I feel on those days when my health is fully restored.  I feel like running and jumping.  (I refrain from doing either.)  I have never done a cartwheel or a backflip in my life, but the way I feel must be the way one feels seconds before leaping and tumbling in the air.  Those who have suffered from prolonged illness without any relief could probably imagine how wonderful it would feel to be completely healthy again.

But if it is a random Wednesday, I am scheduled to go to work.  And I've already used up all my time off for being sick (and taking a couple trips).  And I feel like I have missed my chance to hike, to savor every delicious bite of food, to be fully present, fully myself with family and friends.  Sometimes the good days come on the weekend.  Sometimes they don't.

And when those days are at a premium, it is hard to spend them in a lackluster way.   

I love my job.  I can't explain that either.  It doesn't even make sense to me, so I can't make it make sense to other people.  I just love it.  It is rewarding to me on many different levels.  I am one of the few people in the world who loves speech writing above any other vocation and who also has the blessing to write speeches in exchange for money. 

In a better world, I would have enough energy to be the wife, the daughter, the sister, the aunt, the friend, the person I want to be and the writer I want to be at work.  Maybe in another time or in another way I will be able to someday.  I hope that is the case.  But for now, I feel like I must choose.  I feel like on most days I only have a shot at one.

And I have learned well that people, loved ones, relationships are more important than any job could ever be.  I do not want to choose, but if I must I choose quality time with my husband, my family, my friends.  It is a stupid career move, but I have decided to do it anyway.  I have also learned well that stupid career moves sometimes turn out wonderfully.

I am blessed to have the option of leaving a job with no other one lined up.  And Johnie and I are also blessed to have the flexibility to move even closer to friends and family I hope to spend many good days with. 

And so...

With a bundle of emotions, I am quitting my job at the end of this month and we are moving to London, KY, where I plan to sleep more and play more.  And maybe someday write professionally again.

We'll see what the future holds.

On feeling accepted

So... what was your high school superlative?
-Grad school friend

We were sitting around a table at a restaurant just off campus.  Somehow the conversation turned to high school superlatives.  One friend had been voted Most Likely to Succeed, another Most Popular.  I laughed at jokes and stayed quiet until they asked me and I couldn't think of anything but the truth.  The gig was up.  They would know I'm a loser.


I wasn't voted anything.
Shocked faces.  And one friend said, "Not even class clown?"  I appreciated the sentiment, but no.


I never really had very many friends in school.  I never had to use more than three fingers to count them all, actually.  Everyone else was either mostly indifferent toward me or showed an open disdain.  They made fun of my glasses and made fun of my asthma and made fun of my clothes and made fun of my grades.  To the point that I didn't want to go to school anymore.  To the point that sometimes I didn't even want to live anymore.  To the point that I appreciated the people who just ignored me and I tried to stay ignored by as many people as I could as much as possible.  Things like high school superlatives were just another reminder that I was not in.


I thought the problem was me.  That I was unlikeable.  A loser.  It was a truth I accepted.  Until my sophomore year of college, when I made it to a departmental assembly early, signed in and retreated to a corner.  And a popular and beautiful classmate came over and began chatting.  Genuinely chatting.  My eyes darted around the room and I figured maybe I was better than no one to talk to.  But as the room filled up, and her friends filled out a circle that included me, she -- and the others -- were still acting friendly toward me.  Genuinely engaging me in conversation.  Genuinely including me.  And that was the beginning.  It was in the Department of Communication at Eastern Kentucky University that I felt accepted by my peers for the first time in my life.


I never let them in on the secret that I was an imposter -- that an uncool kid had infiltrated their fraternity and sorority and athletic ranks.


In grad school, I was afraid my loser status would be more obvious.  But for all their smarts, my classmates never picked up on it.  Until that fateful day when I had to confess: My school days had been completely different than theirs.  But they liked me anyway.  It was like a whole new world -- people knowing I'm not cool -- never had been even close -- and being friends with me anyway!


Out of school, I approached each new group of people with that same timidity I had as a child.  Expecting rejection, being surprised by acceptance.  Work friends, church friends.  I even scored an extremely hot husband, against all odds.


I didn't realize until well into my adulthood that I wasn't a loser.  I was just bullied by a few misguided classmates.  The problem wasn't me, it was them.  And while I still carry around some scars from those days, I'm getting more and more comfortable -- less shocked and surprised -- by the blessing of acceptance among friends.


Since moving back to Kentucky God has bonded me with a precious and beautiful group of women who have transcended friendship into sisterhood.  Last summer half of us were pregnant and those without a baby bump got an aunt-to-be shirt as a consolation prize.  Well, everyone but me.  Mine said, "I'm the cool aunt."  And it wasn't even a cruel joke.  If the eight-year-old Amy who sat crying at her birthday party because no one showed up could have only known this would happen.  That she'd have more friends and relationships than she felt like she could maintain.  That those friends would bestow on her such a coveted adjective.  That she really wasn't a loser after all.  I think it would have made those hard years easier.


And so, to all the other girls out there who sit alone and cry alone -- who don't have the right clothes or the right looks or the right social status.  To the girls (and boys) who have been made to believe you are not good enough: I can tell you that they're wrong about you.  You actually are the cool kid yourself.  And someday you'll feel loved and you'll feel accepted and you'll even have the t-shirt to prove it.

Thankfulness Project: Wrap Up

Can you see the holiness in those things you take for granted -- a paved road or a washing machine?  If you concentrate on finding what is good in every situation, you will discover that your life will suddenly be filled with gratitude, a feeling that nurtures the soul.
-Rabbi Harold Kushner


In the last ten days, as I've wondered what I would write about being thankful for if I could get any kind of internet connection or signal from my phone, or as I've taken care of my mom as she was sick, or as I've laid in bed sick myself, my mind has been flooded with possibilities. 

I am not trying to sugar coat things or put on a brave face.  I'm being honest.  There was only one day when being thankful didn't come natural or easy.  I don't remember which day that was.  But as I lay in bed exhausted I thought, "I don't even know what I would write about.  I don't even feel thankful."  I had to think for several minutes to come up with something.  That day feeling thankful was a chore.  And what I came up with was those things we are always thankful for. Platitudes.  Like God and His promises.  That was about all the thankfulness I could muster that day.

I said before that I wouldn't have taken this project on if I would have known everything that would happen this month.  Not because it was hard to feel thankful, but because it was hard to find the time and clear-headedness to write about it in the midst of it all.

But in these final ten days of November, I've felt especially thankful and at peace that my grandparents are back together again. 

You should know my grandparents raised me.  My grandmother cared for me straight from the hospital where I was born until I was 16 and she went into the hospital herself unable to care for me or others any longer.  She taught me and raised me up.  She gave me advice that I follow still today.  She believed in me and pushed me and guided me and corrected me and loved me like no one else.

Losing her is still the hardest thing I have ever been through.

And since the day she died there has been a void in my life.  She passed away 13 years ago, on November 27th.  I have been able to adjust to minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years without her.  But never Thanksgiving.  She left and it became a restless holiday for me.

I loved and cherished my grandfather.  I was sad to lose him.  I miss him.  I started missing him before he even actually breathed his last breath.  I started missing him the day he couldn't talk back to me when I called him on the phone.  And I thought that losing him would feel like losing my grandmother all over again.

But it didn't.  It felt like they were finally back together again.  It felt peaceful.  It felt like a wrong in the world had been righted.  And while I couldn't sit at the feet of these precious grandparents I loved, I knew they were together.  As they should be.  I knew that when I would see them again, it would be both of them together.  As it should be.  And more than anything, I was more thankful than I can express for them to finally be with one another again.  The world knocked off kilter by her death was balanced out again.

And for the first time since I've been without granny, Thanksgiving didn't feel horrible.  I imagined their Thanksgiving reunion in paradise and I was thankful to be able to enjoy the day and enjoy the time.  I was thankful to just relax and not feel like everything was all wrong and there was nothing I could do to fix it.

In these last days of November, I've felt thankful for my mom and for my husband.  For my brother.  For family and for friends.  For sweet, sweet memories.  For grace and mercy.  For the Lord's provision.  I've been thankful for rest and relaxation.  For comfortable beds and comfortable chairs and comfortable clothes.  For medicine.  For understanding, sympathetic co-workers.  For food and for medicine.  For Coca-Cola.  For turkey.  For words and books and writing.  For snow and for rain and for sunshine.  For transportation and phones and texts.  For access to technology and no access to technology.  For air to breathe.  For cabins and vacations and seclusion.  For hot tubs.  For prayer.  For a break from responsibility and people who understand that I had to let the ball drop and will come back sometime later to pick it up again.  I'm thankful they're holding it for me until I feel ready.

I feel exposed and vulnerable without my grandfather.  I feel lost without his advice and guidance.  I've never spent more time in my life with anyone than I spent with him.  I could write a whole post about everything that frustrated me about him, but I could write even more about how smart and resourceful he was.  How he worked for my 29 years fixing all the broken things in my life.  I'm thankful for him and all that he was in my life.  And I'm thankful to know that he is finally getting to rest now. 

I'm thankful for his influence, and my granny's.  I'm thankful they gave me the strength to live life without them.  And I'm thankful for all the blessings from them and from the Lord.  I am thankful.  More thankful than words or blogs or actions. 

My mom said we should thank the Lord 800 million times.  I told her I probably wouldn't be able to do that.  She said I should ask for help then because she wasn't sure even that would be enough.  So as I feel thankful -- as we feel thankful -- I hope you can join us too.  And thanks.

Thankfulness Project: Day 16

Why does no one speak of the cultural advantages of the country?
-Gene Logsdon

Today I'm thankful fer my raisin'. 

I grew up in a small town.  An hour from a Wal-Mart and years from modern society.  Where tree-covered mountains provide the backdrop to a simple life. 

Where you could call the doctor at home if you needed to and pay him with a pie the next time you were in town.  Where you could meet the vet on the side of the road to treat your pup.  Where the fan belt you need for your car will be left outside the parts store since you can't make it by before closing.  You'll settle the bill next week.

Where neighbors still share eggs and sugar and burdens and birthday presents.  They take 'love thy neighbor' to its literal extreme.

I've seen that especially in this time with my grandfather.  A steady stream of neighbors, family, friends who drop in with food and hugs and questions about what else we need.

I grew up in a place far from perfect, but it was there I received a firm foundation.  It was there that I learned about community and relationships and treating people well. 

I've moved from there and left behind much of what filled my life as a child.  I've seen big cities and little ones from one coast to the other.  No, it wasn't perfect and wouldn't be in the running for many 'best ever' awards.  But it was good for me.  And I'm thankful -- and proud -- to be from the foothills.

Thankfulness Project: Day 8

But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on their journeys.  And therefore, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!
-Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

After a fun dinner with dear friends we piled into vans and drove downtown to be greeted by crisp air and caroling.  As I walked the street bundled up and listened to the excitement that comes with child-like wonder, I just felt blessed. 

I breathed in the moment.

I am thankful for the holiday season.  I am thankful to live in a city that kicks it off with a four day festival.  I am thankful to stroll streets filled with history and modern society while listening to songs about Jesus.  I am thankful to have an awesome family and amazing friends and the time to spend with them during this season. 

It is officially the Christmas season here in Frankfort, and I'm thankful.