One year ago today, I held my less-than-3-weeks-old nephew on his first Thanksgiving. We took our first of many Aunt Kiki/Wild selfies. I remember feeling so thankful for his sweet little self, and a twinge of sadness and fragile hope as I wondered if or when I would ever hold my own baby, and then a whole lot of guilt for even daring to feel sad at all.
11 months ago today, it was Christmas Eve. After a 58 day cycle, I found out with certainty I was not pregnant. It was my nephew's first Christmas, and I danced around family member's questions about when we were going to have our own baby. I'm sure I gave very vague answers, like "someday", or "not yet", but the truth is that I was surrounded by joy when my heart was breaking. I gave those vague answers while mostly avoiding eye contact and hoping my voice wouldn't betray me. I sat there, just like the month before, struggling with the mixture of gratitude and sadness and hope and guilt.
8 months and 3 days ago, I sat with my very kind OB/GYN, and he told me what I feared but deep down already knew- that my body was broken. He is so kind and used euphemisms and medical terms, but that's what I heard: "you're broken". And so began a lot of driving back and forth to the doctor's office and a lot blood work to confirm the brokenness and an attempt to fix my body and a lot of guilt that somehow this was my fault and a lot of tears and yet a little hope, because if we could get to the bottom of the brokenness, we could maybe get to a place of healing.
6 months ago today, I took my fragile hope and bought a "best dad ever" coffee mug, wondering if I'd ever get to give it to the world's cutest husband. I took yet another pregnancy test. And he drank Sprite out of that mug that very night. While I had prayed for a baby many times before, that day, my prayers changed from "a baby" to "this baby."
5 months and 2 weeks ago, we had our first ultrasound, and I prayed, prayed, prayed we'd see a heartbeat. We did. We've seen it several times since, and heard it even more.
3 months and 3 days ago, we found out our baby is a girl. We didn't believe the ultrasound tech and got a second opinion a few hours before our gender reveal party 5 days later 😂 (she was right- #sorryJoyce). We named her that day and have fallen more in love with being a "girl mom" and "girl dad" every day since then. I am so into all things our girl, and you can see the love on her daddy's face when he talks to her. *swoon*
Just under a month ago, we took maternity pictures. Pictures that I didn't know if we would ever get to take. We are a month away from Christmas Eve, and if she comes a day late or anytime before, less than 2 months away from our little lady's arrival.
There's a lot of life that's been lived and still to be lived between these mile markers. It's been an incredibly hard year and an incredibly joyful one. I have cried more tears than I probably have in the previous 5 years combined, and I've experienced a lot of joy and love and hope, too. At every single turn, God has been absolutely faithful, and I know He will continue to be.
If where I was last year is your reality this season- skirting questions, nursing wounds, walking with gratitude and sadness side by side, I pray you will not give guilt one second of your time. Gratitude and praise is a choice we can make, and we can make that choice independent of our feelings. Sadness is an emotion- emotions come, and they are real, and they are not wrong. Feel them without feeling guilty for having emotions- it's part of being human. Don't use the excuse of being busy to stuff them. Take the time to get real with your emotions and give them to the only One who can give you beauty for ashes and dancing for mourning and laughter for weeping. It is okay to be sad for what was and has gone, or what will be and is not yet, or what you hope for and are wondering if or when. Also, budget your emotions. I know that sounds strange, but if there is a particularly painful or sensitive event (or even season!) for you right now or coming up, give yourself grace in other areas. (Example: Hello, my name is Kayla, and I totally skipped a baby shower the week of Mother's Day this year. I knew I needed to save my energy and emotions for the weekend. So let that take some weight off your shoulds- you're not the only one.)
The enemy prowls like a lion, looking for someone to devour (1 Peter 5:8). If you don't take your stuff to the Healer, the enemy will pounce on it. The enemy comes to steal, kill, and destroy (John 10:10), and he hates everything good, so he will take your sadness and try to choke out your hope. If you sit in it long enough, he'll take the opportunity to sow seeds of bitterness. He loves fear and anxiety- they are his favorites to use with me, along with guilt for feeling the way I do. I am so serious, y'all- I've seen it in my own life. Try to handle it on your own (whatever "it" is for you), without taking it to Jesus, and the result will not be good.
I've been there and sometimes I'm still there- battling perfectionism and people-pleasing disguised as "service" and anxiety and guilt over anything and everything. I take the weight of the world on my shoulders, when the reality is that Jesus never asked me to. I feel so responsible to save the world, when Jesus has already acted to save. I want so badly to handle my junk and get it right and handle everybody else's junk and make it right, when Jesus is simply asking me to abide in Him and trust Him make it right. I forget in my haste to do His work that I'm not God's employee- He adopted me and He calls me His kid (Ephesians 1:5, 1 John 3:1). (Side note: just typing that, I get tears in my eyes. He doesn't need me, but He wants me. What a good God.)
He has planned good things for me to do (Ephesians 2:10), but that doesn't mean every good thing. Maybe the problem isn't that I can't do everything and get it all right by myself- it's in my sin when I act as if it all depends on me, when I was made to be totally dependent on Him. And so I'm learning to take it to Him, as often as necessary. When I catch myself trying to "fix" or "handle" or earn His love or taking on the weight of the world, I take it to Jesus. I tell Him that He's the only One who can handle it, I ask His forgiveness for not trusting Him and working like it all depends on me, and I ask Him to help my unbelief, to help me do the things He has for me without inserting myself into things that aren't for me to do, to help me see things and people as He does. It's hard and I can be a slow learner, but I continue to find He is patient and kind.
A year ago today, I was shakily holding onto hope and learning to trust Him. Today, I'm still learning to trust Him, but my hope is an anchor (Hebrews 6:19), and I can hold tight to it, because He who promised is faithful (Hebrews 10:23).
Let your hope and confidence be in who He is, and who He is is faithful.
Friday, November 24, 2017
Sunday, October 15, 2017
Selah Marie
Our precious girl,
First things first: you should know that you're an answer to prayer. I asked God for a baby over and over, many people who love us and some who barely know us asked God for a baby on our behalf, and He gave us you. From the moment I found out about you, I have been incredibly aware of the fact that I'm physically carrying an answer to prayer. That's you, Selah Marie.
One would think that, since you didn't come to us right away, your name would've been long planned. Not exactly. Selah, you almost weren't Selah. We absolutely love your name, but we hesitated because it rhymes with your mama's name. Well, I hesitated- your daddy knew who you are. Selah, your name comes from scripture, and we see it most often in the Psalms. Psalms is a book of songs in the Bible, one of my favorite places to park my mind, and in many of these psalms, we see your name: Selah. There is a lot of thought about what Selah actually means- it's thought to be a musical direction. When we see Selah in the Psalms, it is believed to tell us a couple of things: to pause and reflect on what was just said, and to praise.
Dear one, you came to us after a pause. I really thought that, when your daddy and I were ready for a baby, it would just happen! But that's not our story. We waited for you. And while we were waiting, sometimes it felt like life was moving forward for everyone but me, like someone had pressed "pause" on my life.
Selah, it's because of you that I learned to praise our God in the pause, to give praise and gratitude when I didn't really feel like it. It's because of you that I was reminded and learned in a new way that I don't worship or praise because things are going the way I think they should or because I feel like it, but because of Who He is, and He is worthy. It's because of you that I learned to pause and ponder Him- His Word, His character, His goodness. It's because of you that I learned to trust- really trust, in a whole new way- in the goodness and faithfulness of Jesus, whatever that turned out to look like in my life. Even if He never gave me what I so desperately wanted, He is good, faithful, and worthy of my trust. Our Father lovingly used you before He ever sent you to us to teach me that everything I view as a pause is an opportunity to praise. Every single time I say your name, I pause and praise.
On the day we confirmed that you're a girl, we were tossing around middle names, and Marie just stuck. Your daddy said, "I think that's it," so I had to google to check meaning. And when I did, I almost cried. One of the "alternate meanings" (I have no idea who decided it's an alternate...) of Marie is "wished-for child". Oh my girl- were you ever. I hope you always know how much you're wanted. By us, yes, but also by the God who made you.
Marie is a derivative of Mary, the name of the mother of Jesus and several other women we know in scripture who followed Him closely. Do you know when Jesus performed his first miracle? It was at the request of his mother, Mary. When others were consumed with getting things done, who sat at His feet, choosing what was better? Another woman named Mary. Who looked for Him at the empty tomb, and then ran and told others He is alive, just as He said? Another Mary.
Selah Marie, my hope and prayer for you is that you come to know Jesus as your Savior and that you're a Mary kinda girl. That you're not afraid to ask Jesus for a miracle, that you ask in faith and watch Him work. That you take the time to sit at His feet every day of your precious life, knowing that He is better than anything. That you seek Him and make Him known.
Selah Marie, it's because of you that I'm becoming a more Mary kinda girl. I'm learning to ask Him for miracles, expecting and believing that He would come through. I'm learning to be still, to pour out my heart and my tears at His feet. I'm learning that no matter what it is that I want or need, Jesus is better and Jesus is more. I've gotten to know Him better and make Him known more in the season of waiting for you and now in the season of preparing for your arrival.
Selah, I hope you do these things: pause and praise, ask for miracles, watch Him work, sit at His feet, seek Him and make Him known. My sweet girl, I hope you do, not because I want you to be "good", but because I want you to know and experience His best for your life. Because Jesus- He is the very best person to know. I hope your daddy and I and our family and friends give you and teach you good things in this life. More than anything, I pray we give you Jesus. Because Jesus- He's better than anything else we could ever hope to give you.
This Jesus life can be tough, my girl. There will be times when you can't see what He's doing and times you just don't understand. Trust His heart when you can't see His hand. Love of God and love of the people He has made: this is what matters. Don't get caught up in everything else.
I'm so thankful for you, and as crazy as it may sound, I'm so thankful that we waited for you. The Lord has grown a new compassion in me for women who are hurting that wouldn't exist otherwise. I have no doubt that we would have adored you, no matter when or how you came to us, but I truly believe that waiting for you has given me a different kind of appreciation for the treasure and gift that you are. Jesus knew that. He wasn't withholding goodness from me, Selah- He was giving me you.
As you grow, from the time you were smaller than a strawberry, I've been praying for you. That your feet would be beautiful feet that bring the good news. That your legs would develop perfectly and run the race He calls you to, not looking side to side at what other people are doing, but walking in the paths He has for you. That your heart would be soft towards Him, that it would beat "Jesus, Jesus" with every heartbeat. That your lungs would breathe in His grace and out His praise. That your ears would be quick to listen, that you would be both a hearer and a doer. That your eyes would see His goodness, and that you would see yourself and others as He does. That your arms would be strong, lifting others up to Him and lifted in praise of Him. That your hands would be open to His plans, that they would be about the work He has for you, again, not worrying about the assignments He has for others. That your mind would be sound and sharp. That you would not discount the things and tasks that seem small. That He would form you perfectly for your good and His glory.
I love you so much, and I haven't even met you yet. Hearing your heartbeat, watching your heartbeat and seeing you wiggle and wave on the ultrasound screen, watching my belly get bigger, feeling you move- I still can't believe you're mine. More than mine, you are His. It's my hope and prayer you always remember that.
First things first: you should know that you're an answer to prayer. I asked God for a baby over and over, many people who love us and some who barely know us asked God for a baby on our behalf, and He gave us you. From the moment I found out about you, I have been incredibly aware of the fact that I'm physically carrying an answer to prayer. That's you, Selah Marie.
One would think that, since you didn't come to us right away, your name would've been long planned. Not exactly. Selah, you almost weren't Selah. We absolutely love your name, but we hesitated because it rhymes with your mama's name. Well, I hesitated- your daddy knew who you are. Selah, your name comes from scripture, and we see it most often in the Psalms. Psalms is a book of songs in the Bible, one of my favorite places to park my mind, and in many of these psalms, we see your name: Selah. There is a lot of thought about what Selah actually means- it's thought to be a musical direction. When we see Selah in the Psalms, it is believed to tell us a couple of things: to pause and reflect on what was just said, and to praise.
Dear one, you came to us after a pause. I really thought that, when your daddy and I were ready for a baby, it would just happen! But that's not our story. We waited for you. And while we were waiting, sometimes it felt like life was moving forward for everyone but me, like someone had pressed "pause" on my life.
Selah, it's because of you that I learned to praise our God in the pause, to give praise and gratitude when I didn't really feel like it. It's because of you that I was reminded and learned in a new way that I don't worship or praise because things are going the way I think they should or because I feel like it, but because of Who He is, and He is worthy. It's because of you that I learned to pause and ponder Him- His Word, His character, His goodness. It's because of you that I learned to trust- really trust, in a whole new way- in the goodness and faithfulness of Jesus, whatever that turned out to look like in my life. Even if He never gave me what I so desperately wanted, He is good, faithful, and worthy of my trust. Our Father lovingly used you before He ever sent you to us to teach me that everything I view as a pause is an opportunity to praise. Every single time I say your name, I pause and praise.
On the day we confirmed that you're a girl, we were tossing around middle names, and Marie just stuck. Your daddy said, "I think that's it," so I had to google to check meaning. And when I did, I almost cried. One of the "alternate meanings" (I have no idea who decided it's an alternate...) of Marie is "wished-for child". Oh my girl- were you ever. I hope you always know how much you're wanted. By us, yes, but also by the God who made you.
Marie is a derivative of Mary, the name of the mother of Jesus and several other women we know in scripture who followed Him closely. Do you know when Jesus performed his first miracle? It was at the request of his mother, Mary. When others were consumed with getting things done, who sat at His feet, choosing what was better? Another woman named Mary. Who looked for Him at the empty tomb, and then ran and told others He is alive, just as He said? Another Mary.
Selah Marie, my hope and prayer for you is that you come to know Jesus as your Savior and that you're a Mary kinda girl. That you're not afraid to ask Jesus for a miracle, that you ask in faith and watch Him work. That you take the time to sit at His feet every day of your precious life, knowing that He is better than anything. That you seek Him and make Him known.
Selah Marie, it's because of you that I'm becoming a more Mary kinda girl. I'm learning to ask Him for miracles, expecting and believing that He would come through. I'm learning to be still, to pour out my heart and my tears at His feet. I'm learning that no matter what it is that I want or need, Jesus is better and Jesus is more. I've gotten to know Him better and make Him known more in the season of waiting for you and now in the season of preparing for your arrival.
Selah, I hope you do these things: pause and praise, ask for miracles, watch Him work, sit at His feet, seek Him and make Him known. My sweet girl, I hope you do, not because I want you to be "good", but because I want you to know and experience His best for your life. Because Jesus- He is the very best person to know. I hope your daddy and I and our family and friends give you and teach you good things in this life. More than anything, I pray we give you Jesus. Because Jesus- He's better than anything else we could ever hope to give you.
This Jesus life can be tough, my girl. There will be times when you can't see what He's doing and times you just don't understand. Trust His heart when you can't see His hand. Love of God and love of the people He has made: this is what matters. Don't get caught up in everything else.
I'm so thankful for you, and as crazy as it may sound, I'm so thankful that we waited for you. The Lord has grown a new compassion in me for women who are hurting that wouldn't exist otherwise. I have no doubt that we would have adored you, no matter when or how you came to us, but I truly believe that waiting for you has given me a different kind of appreciation for the treasure and gift that you are. Jesus knew that. He wasn't withholding goodness from me, Selah- He was giving me you.
As you grow, from the time you were smaller than a strawberry, I've been praying for you. That your feet would be beautiful feet that bring the good news. That your legs would develop perfectly and run the race He calls you to, not looking side to side at what other people are doing, but walking in the paths He has for you. That your heart would be soft towards Him, that it would beat "Jesus, Jesus" with every heartbeat. That your lungs would breathe in His grace and out His praise. That your ears would be quick to listen, that you would be both a hearer and a doer. That your eyes would see His goodness, and that you would see yourself and others as He does. That your arms would be strong, lifting others up to Him and lifted in praise of Him. That your hands would be open to His plans, that they would be about the work He has for you, again, not worrying about the assignments He has for others. That your mind would be sound and sharp. That you would not discount the things and tasks that seem small. That He would form you perfectly for your good and His glory.
I love you so much, and I haven't even met you yet. Hearing your heartbeat, watching your heartbeat and seeing you wiggle and wave on the ultrasound screen, watching my belly get bigger, feeling you move- I still can't believe you're mine. More than mine, you are His. It's my hope and prayer you always remember that.
Love,
Mama
Wednesday, August 23, 2017
the day I found out I was pregnant
It was a Wednesday. I had jury duty and had been dismissed.
I did not want to take a test. I really, truly didn't. It didn't matter that I was on 8 days of being sick and 3 days of being late. It was the end of the school year and I chalked my sickness up to being exhausted. I had been later before and really didn't know if my heart could take the disappointment again. I had had blood work done a week or so prior, so I knew I had ovulated (which was a pleasant change) and there was hope. It almost made it harder- both my hope and my heart were fragile.
"Do It Again" by Elevation Worship had become my theme song in the past few months, but still I cried about it all morning, playing "Even If" by MercyMe over and over. I texted two friends who have been there and asked them to pray for me- that I would remember the goodness of God no matter what any test said.
I pulled myself (somewhat) together and went to Petsmart to buy dog food, listening to my two themes the whole way there. As soon as I parked, there was his name. On a bumper sticker on a truck parked in the space in front of me. Everett.
If you've read about the day I found out I wasn't pregnant (if you haven't, go back and read this before going on), you know that my husband and I named our future son Everett long before babies were on our radar. I took a picture with my phone to remind me of this God-wink as I went through- what I was sure was going to be- a rough afternoon.
I bought food for the pups and went to Target. I bought the test- a small box with 2 because I didn't want to think about how much money I had spent on negative tests and I was sure these would be 2 of the same. I perused the aisles (because, hello, Target), and there it was. A big coffee mug that says "best. dad. ever." I slipped it into my basket and silently wondered if I would ever get to give it to my sweet husband.
I checked out at Target, minimizing impulse buys, and came home. The tests stayed in the bag on the kitchen counter. I started some laundry and sat down on the couch to do something mindless. Nothing was striking me on Netflix so I turned to Candy Crush (go ahead and judge- whatever, man). I don't link Candy Crush (my one game that I like, okay?!) to my social media, so I just play anonymously. When you play anonymously and get your scores at the end of the level, it puts you on a "rankings board" with other, made up people. I finished a level and it put me on this made up ranking board with made up people. And there was his name again- Everett.
At this point, I decided I had to take a test. It was afternoon and I knew a negative would give me perhaps more false hope, but I couldn't sit there and do nothing. I had to know- the unknown was worse than any negative, this I knew very well. I reminded myself that I had seen many negative tests before and I was still standing- I could do this. So I gathered up what little courage I could find, grabbed the Target bag, and set off to take the test.
Then I cried. Yes, more crying. Yes, without having taken a test yet.
I cried and I prayed, "God, no matter what this test says, even if You never give me children, You're still good and You're enough. Show me and remind me You're enough."
Before I took it, I told myself I would not even look at it until the 3 minute wait was over. No peeking. I took the test, popped on the cap, laid it flat on the bathroom counter, and went to walk away. As I was walking away, I saw a pink line on the left side of the window I had never seen before. I reminded myself it had been a while- I wasn't remembering correctly; I had seen one lonely line many times.
I walked out of the bathroom, turned on my heel, and walked right back in.
And there it was.
The moment I had thought about and prayed for and cried over and dreamed of.
After not even a minute, two pink lines.
And for the first time all day, I didn't cry.
All I could say was, "Thank You."
I have seen the name Everett many times in the almost year since what has come to be known as the day I found out I wasn't pregnant. I see it always in unexpected places at unexpected times, and I take it as the Lord reminding me, "I AM El Roi, the God who sees, and I don't miss a moment." Whether He sends us a son or all daughters, I will always see the name Everett and be reminded that my God sees and knows me; He sees and knows my children before He ever sends them to us (Jeremiah 1:5).
He made a way when there was no way, and I absolutely believe I'll see Him do it again.
"He gives the barren woman a home, making her the joyous mother of children.
Praise the LORD!" Psalm 113:9
I did not want to take a test. I really, truly didn't. It didn't matter that I was on 8 days of being sick and 3 days of being late. It was the end of the school year and I chalked my sickness up to being exhausted. I had been later before and really didn't know if my heart could take the disappointment again. I had had blood work done a week or so prior, so I knew I had ovulated (which was a pleasant change) and there was hope. It almost made it harder- both my hope and my heart were fragile.
"Do It Again" by Elevation Worship had become my theme song in the past few months, but still I cried about it all morning, playing "Even If" by MercyMe over and over. I texted two friends who have been there and asked them to pray for me- that I would remember the goodness of God no matter what any test said.
I pulled myself (somewhat) together and went to Petsmart to buy dog food, listening to my two themes the whole way there. As soon as I parked, there was his name. On a bumper sticker on a truck parked in the space in front of me. Everett.
If you've read about the day I found out I wasn't pregnant (if you haven't, go back and read this before going on), you know that my husband and I named our future son Everett long before babies were on our radar. I took a picture with my phone to remind me of this God-wink as I went through- what I was sure was going to be- a rough afternoon.
I bought food for the pups and went to Target. I bought the test- a small box with 2 because I didn't want to think about how much money I had spent on negative tests and I was sure these would be 2 of the same. I perused the aisles (because, hello, Target), and there it was. A big coffee mug that says "best. dad. ever." I slipped it into my basket and silently wondered if I would ever get to give it to my sweet husband.
I checked out at Target, minimizing impulse buys, and came home. The tests stayed in the bag on the kitchen counter. I started some laundry and sat down on the couch to do something mindless. Nothing was striking me on Netflix so I turned to Candy Crush (go ahead and judge- whatever, man). I don't link Candy Crush (my one game that I like, okay?!) to my social media, so I just play anonymously. When you play anonymously and get your scores at the end of the level, it puts you on a "rankings board" with other, made up people. I finished a level and it put me on this made up ranking board with made up people. And there was his name again- Everett.
At this point, I decided I had to take a test. It was afternoon and I knew a negative would give me perhaps more false hope, but I couldn't sit there and do nothing. I had to know- the unknown was worse than any negative, this I knew very well. I reminded myself that I had seen many negative tests before and I was still standing- I could do this. So I gathered up what little courage I could find, grabbed the Target bag, and set off to take the test.
Then I cried. Yes, more crying. Yes, without having taken a test yet.
I cried and I prayed, "God, no matter what this test says, even if You never give me children, You're still good and You're enough. Show me and remind me You're enough."
Before I took it, I told myself I would not even look at it until the 3 minute wait was over. No peeking. I took the test, popped on the cap, laid it flat on the bathroom counter, and went to walk away. As I was walking away, I saw a pink line on the left side of the window I had never seen before. I reminded myself it had been a while- I wasn't remembering correctly; I had seen one lonely line many times.
I walked out of the bathroom, turned on my heel, and walked right back in.
And there it was.
The moment I had thought about and prayed for and cried over and dreamed of.
After not even a minute, two pink lines.
And for the first time all day, I didn't cry.
All I could say was, "Thank You."
I have seen the name Everett many times in the almost year since what has come to be known as the day I found out I wasn't pregnant. I see it always in unexpected places at unexpected times, and I take it as the Lord reminding me, "I AM El Roi, the God who sees, and I don't miss a moment." Whether He sends us a son or all daughters, I will always see the name Everett and be reminded that my God sees and knows me; He sees and knows my children before He ever sends them to us (Jeremiah 1:5).
He made a way when there was no way, and I absolutely believe I'll see Him do it again.
"He gives the barren woman a home, making her the joyous mother of children.
Praise the LORD!" Psalm 113:9
Sunday, February 12, 2017
the day I found out I wasn't pregnant
Writer's note: You're about to get a glimpse into a struggle in this heart of mine. Like most humans, I've asked God "why?" and every single time, the answer has been "for My glory and your good." Can't argue with that.
I have written so much in the past 6ish months but am just now to the point of sharing (some of) what I've written. I wanted to wait until I had a tidy ending, a joyful resolution, before sharing. I really did. We need people who have been where we are waiting at the metaphorical finish line, cheering us on, sure. I wanted to be that person. We also need people with us in the grit, the hard, the uncertainty, the middle. Right now, that's who I've been asked to be.
I'm not entirely ready, to be honest, but when the Lord tells you it's time- well, sister, you better push "publish". This is me, in the middle of the story, the hard, the grit, not knowing exactly how all of this will turn out. This is me attempting to walk well in the struggle, knowing it's for His glory and my good.
Also: this is a long one- you may want a snack before you get started. 😉
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It was a Tuesday. I was so hopeful. We had only recently said the word "baby" without "someday" attached and kicking it way down the road. So many women around me have gotten pregnant without even trying, some while trying to prevent it. Maybe that's why I thought it would happen quickly for us, too.
It was a Tuesday morning when I found out I was not pregnant. I didn't expect to be so...sad. Wanting a baby was a relatively new thing at Casa Cook, so in some ways, I felt like I didn't have much of a right to be upset. But I was. And I had a full day of 6th graders to teach. They had no idea that their teacher's heart had just been broken right before they came to class.
Like I said, I didn't expect to be so sad. Maybe a little disappointed, sure. But I was honestly, deeply sad. I cannot recall ever feeling that type of sorrow. This was a different kind of hurt.
I put on a brave face and taught two blocks of math and one of science, I went to a meeting, I had bus duty. I coached through a practice and decided to go to Starbucks before heading home. When you're sad and you've been trying to cut back on caffeine for a baby you just found out you're not having, a pumpkin spice frappucino sounds excellent. So I drove (totally out of the way) to Starbucks. And I sobbed the whole way there to God.
"God, You know how much I want this baby.
Father, You're giving babies to people who don't even want them.
God, You know we love You and will raise this baby to love You.
Jesus, do You even see me down here?
I know this world is a messed up place and there's a lot of people needing a lot of things from You right now, Lord, but do You see this?
Do You see me?
My sister is due in 4 weeks. 4 weeks, God.
One of my very best friends is having twins, Jesus.
Every picture I see on social media is a newborn or a nursery or an announcement or maternity pictures or a gender reveal or a baby shower or an honest company diaper ad.
How am I supposed to do this, God?
God, for real- how am I supposed to do this?"
The weekend before, I wrote a letter to our future son, who we hope to name Everett. We've had his name picked out since before we were married. I wrote that letter believing that he (or his sister) was absolutely in my tummy and I just hadn't found out yet. I was wrong. And I was crushed.
I talked to (at?) God the entire way to get my frappucino. I asked all those questions, and then I went from sad to mad and asked a few more. I kept noticing all of these out of state license plates, but I carried on with my drive and my rambling.
When I got off the exit, trying to pull myself together so I didn't look like a total lunatic to the frappucino people, there it was. I got stopped at a red light, right behind yet another car from out of state. And there was his name. The dealership they bought their car from? Everett.
I actually said out loud, "Really, God?! Really?!"
And then in my heart, "You know that's who I wanted to be in my belly. And he's not. And there You go, putting the name we want to give a baby right in front of my face."
Y'all, it made me mad. It felt like a kick when I was down, salt in a really fresh wound.
And so, through tears (by now I had my frappucino and could get back to crying in the privacy of my car), y'all, I straight up said to God, and I quote, "How am I supposed to teach my babies that You are faithful when You aren't faithful to me in this?"
Immediately, I remembered the words I had typed in a letter to my future child the day before.
"Sometimes this Jesus life takes you through places and things you never would've dreamed, for better or for what seems like worse...
Though His plans may not look like yours, you can trust that they are the very best...
Because Jesus- He's the only thing we can be completely sure of in this life. He always gets it right.
He is perfectly faithful...Run to Him, not away from Him, when things get hard..."
God identifies Himself (to Moses) as "I AM Who I AM" in Exodus 3:14.
"I AM Who I AM" translates to "I will be to you all that I AM."
This was my opportunity to let I AM be to me all that He IS.
And even though I was still crying, I managed to squeak out, "thank You." It started small at first. Then with each little thing, my voice got stronger. And so did my gratitude.
"Thank You that You see me. Thank You that You hear me.
Thank You that when You gave me words for my future child, they were words for me, Your child, too.
Thank You that You know my babies' names before You even send them to us.
Thank You for keeping us safe.
Thank You that Your plans are best.
Thank You that You have a plan.
Thank You that You are good.
Thank You that You are good to me.
You have been good to me, Jesus.
You are being good to me right now, even though this doesn't feel good.
You are faithful.
You have been faithful.
You will be faithful.
To me.
To my babies.
Thank You that You're faithful.
Thank You that I'm going through this so I can empathize with women who have felt this same sorrow.
Help me not be angry.
Help me know it's okay to be sad right now.
Help me to not stay sad.
Help me trust Your goodness.
Help me trust Your heart is for me."
Seeing my future baby's name, right there in front of my face, made me mad at the time. It felt like a cruel joke. But that same night, I could see through my tears that my children are known and loved by the Father before they're even being formed in the womb. (Jeremiah 1:5)
That sticker hurt in the moment, but now I can see it as God saying, "I see you. I love you. I know your heart and your dreams. Your littles are Mine. I know their names and I have good plans for them. I love your littles more than you do. Trust Me with them."
If you are going through the heartbreak of wanting to be a momma and it's just. not. happening.: I have now been there. And it is a heartache like no other. It made me dread the next month before it even came. It made me sob until my eyes were swollen. It is the most lonely kind of hurt. I'm so deeply sorry. I really am. If you're local, I'd love to hug you and get you a frappucino and talk to Jesus on the behalf of you and your future littles. It is hard, this I now know. And I'm sorry. But you're loved. And you are not alone. Hear that, dear one: in your loneliest struggle, you are not alone.
Future Momma, it's okay to be sad. Hear that so clearly: it's okay to be sad.
It's okay to feel that pit in your stomach and lump in your throat when you get that pink and blue gender reveal invitation.
It's okay to feel mixed up when you feel intense joy for your friend's announcement muddled with your own wondering if or when it will ever be your turn.
It's okay to wonder how on earth you're supposed to go to (and smile through, what?) yet another baby shower.
It's okay to cry as soon as you make it to your car.
It's okay.
It's okay to want to scream at the next person who says "you're next!" or "when are y'all gonna have a baby?"
And also the next person who makes some comment about your "commitment to your career" being the reason you "obviously don't want kids" and/or "won't have kids for a long time."
(See also: "do y'all not want kids?", "can y'all not have kids?", "are y'all not ready for kids?", or even the opposite, "you're young- you don't need to worry about babies right now.")
Yes, these are all real things that real people have said to my real face. Every last one.
I am so serious. I wish I were not.
(note: no, I didn't actually yell at these people. But I really did want to. #thefruitoftheSpiritisselfcontrol)
Also- and I feel like it's so important that you know this, Future Momma- it's okay to bring your (mixed up, super huge...ok, just me?) thoughts and feelings and questions to God. He can handle every single one. Nothing you think or feel or ask is going to take Him by surprise or knock Him off the throne.
Bring them all and lay them down- no need for you to carry it all around, because He cares about you (1 Peter 5:7).
Bring them all and- for the love, no matter how you feel- please, don't stop talking to Him. I promise you: you can come to Him angry because the goodness of God will meet you there. You may come to Him angry, but because He's a good, good Father, He will hold you until you've calmed down. He'll give you the strength you need. You may come sad and broken, but He won't let you leave like that. He will be to you all that He IS. Let Him be to you all that He is.
He is making everything beautiful in His time. He is a God of redemption. Jesus loves to heal and rescue and restore, and He is so, so good at it. I'm praying for you, Momma. I'm believing that He is going to redeem your story and make it such a beautiful reflection of His love and grace. I'm believing He's doing the same thing with mine.
I have written so much in the past 6ish months but am just now to the point of sharing (some of) what I've written. I wanted to wait until I had a tidy ending, a joyful resolution, before sharing. I really did. We need people who have been where we are waiting at the metaphorical finish line, cheering us on, sure. I wanted to be that person. We also need people with us in the grit, the hard, the uncertainty, the middle. Right now, that's who I've been asked to be.
I'm not entirely ready, to be honest, but when the Lord tells you it's time- well, sister, you better push "publish". This is me, in the middle of the story, the hard, the grit, not knowing exactly how all of this will turn out. This is me attempting to walk well in the struggle, knowing it's for His glory and my good.
Also: this is a long one- you may want a snack before you get started. 😉
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It was a Tuesday. I was so hopeful. We had only recently said the word "baby" without "someday" attached and kicking it way down the road. So many women around me have gotten pregnant without even trying, some while trying to prevent it. Maybe that's why I thought it would happen quickly for us, too.
It was a Tuesday morning when I found out I was not pregnant. I didn't expect to be so...sad. Wanting a baby was a relatively new thing at Casa Cook, so in some ways, I felt like I didn't have much of a right to be upset. But I was. And I had a full day of 6th graders to teach. They had no idea that their teacher's heart had just been broken right before they came to class.
Like I said, I didn't expect to be so sad. Maybe a little disappointed, sure. But I was honestly, deeply sad. I cannot recall ever feeling that type of sorrow. This was a different kind of hurt.
I put on a brave face and taught two blocks of math and one of science, I went to a meeting, I had bus duty. I coached through a practice and decided to go to Starbucks before heading home. When you're sad and you've been trying to cut back on caffeine for a baby you just found out you're not having, a pumpkin spice frappucino sounds excellent. So I drove (totally out of the way) to Starbucks. And I sobbed the whole way there to God.
"God, You know how much I want this baby.
Father, You're giving babies to people who don't even want them.
God, You know we love You and will raise this baby to love You.
Jesus, do You even see me down here?
I know this world is a messed up place and there's a lot of people needing a lot of things from You right now, Lord, but do You see this?
Do You see me?
My sister is due in 4 weeks. 4 weeks, God.
One of my very best friends is having twins, Jesus.
Every picture I see on social media is a newborn or a nursery or an announcement or maternity pictures or a gender reveal or a baby shower or an honest company diaper ad.
How am I supposed to do this, God?
God, for real- how am I supposed to do this?"
The weekend before, I wrote a letter to our future son, who we hope to name Everett. We've had his name picked out since before we were married. I wrote that letter believing that he (or his sister) was absolutely in my tummy and I just hadn't found out yet. I was wrong. And I was crushed.
I talked to (at?) God the entire way to get my frappucino. I asked all those questions, and then I went from sad to mad and asked a few more. I kept noticing all of these out of state license plates, but I carried on with my drive and my rambling.
When I got off the exit, trying to pull myself together so I didn't look like a total lunatic to the frappucino people, there it was. I got stopped at a red light, right behind yet another car from out of state. And there was his name. The dealership they bought their car from? Everett.
I actually said out loud, "Really, God?! Really?!"
And then in my heart, "You know that's who I wanted to be in my belly. And he's not. And there You go, putting the name we want to give a baby right in front of my face."
Y'all, it made me mad. It felt like a kick when I was down, salt in a really fresh wound.
And so, through tears (by now I had my frappucino and could get back to crying in the privacy of my car), y'all, I straight up said to God, and I quote, "How am I supposed to teach my babies that You are faithful when You aren't faithful to me in this?"
Immediately, I remembered the words I had typed in a letter to my future child the day before.
"Sometimes this Jesus life takes you through places and things you never would've dreamed, for better or for what seems like worse...
Though His plans may not look like yours, you can trust that they are the very best...
Because Jesus- He's the only thing we can be completely sure of in this life. He always gets it right.
He is perfectly faithful...Run to Him, not away from Him, when things get hard..."
God identifies Himself (to Moses) as "I AM Who I AM" in Exodus 3:14.
"I AM Who I AM" translates to "I will be to you all that I AM."
This was my opportunity to let I AM be to me all that He IS.
And even though I was still crying, I managed to squeak out, "thank You." It started small at first. Then with each little thing, my voice got stronger. And so did my gratitude.
"Thank You that You see me. Thank You that You hear me.
Thank You that when You gave me words for my future child, they were words for me, Your child, too.
Thank You that You know my babies' names before You even send them to us.
Thank You for keeping us safe.
Thank You that Your plans are best.
Thank You that You have a plan.
Thank You that You are good.
Thank You that You are good to me.
You have been good to me, Jesus.
You are being good to me right now, even though this doesn't feel good.
You are faithful.
You have been faithful.
You will be faithful.
To me.
To my babies.
Thank You that You're faithful.
Thank You that I'm going through this so I can empathize with women who have felt this same sorrow.
Help me not be angry.
Help me know it's okay to be sad right now.
Help me to not stay sad.
Help me trust Your goodness.
Help me trust Your heart is for me."
Seeing my future baby's name, right there in front of my face, made me mad at the time. It felt like a cruel joke. But that same night, I could see through my tears that my children are known and loved by the Father before they're even being formed in the womb. (Jeremiah 1:5)
That sticker hurt in the moment, but now I can see it as God saying, "I see you. I love you. I know your heart and your dreams. Your littles are Mine. I know their names and I have good plans for them. I love your littles more than you do. Trust Me with them."
If you are going through the heartbreak of wanting to be a momma and it's just. not. happening.: I have now been there. And it is a heartache like no other. It made me dread the next month before it even came. It made me sob until my eyes were swollen. It is the most lonely kind of hurt. I'm so deeply sorry. I really am. If you're local, I'd love to hug you and get you a frappucino and talk to Jesus on the behalf of you and your future littles. It is hard, this I now know. And I'm sorry. But you're loved. And you are not alone. Hear that, dear one: in your loneliest struggle, you are not alone.
Future Momma, it's okay to be sad. Hear that so clearly: it's okay to be sad.
It's okay to feel that pit in your stomach and lump in your throat when you get that pink and blue gender reveal invitation.
It's okay to feel mixed up when you feel intense joy for your friend's announcement muddled with your own wondering if or when it will ever be your turn.
It's okay to wonder how on earth you're supposed to go to (and smile through, what?) yet another baby shower.
It's okay to cry as soon as you make it to your car.
It's okay.
It's okay to want to scream at the next person who says "you're next!" or "when are y'all gonna have a baby?"
And also the next person who makes some comment about your "commitment to your career" being the reason you "obviously don't want kids" and/or "won't have kids for a long time."
(See also: "do y'all not want kids?", "can y'all not have kids?", "are y'all not ready for kids?", or even the opposite, "you're young- you don't need to worry about babies right now.")
Yes, these are all real things that real people have said to my real face. Every last one.
I am so serious. I wish I were not.
(note: no, I didn't actually yell at these people. But I really did want to. #thefruitoftheSpiritisselfcontrol)
Also- and I feel like it's so important that you know this, Future Momma- it's okay to bring your (mixed up, super huge...ok, just me?) thoughts and feelings and questions to God. He can handle every single one. Nothing you think or feel or ask is going to take Him by surprise or knock Him off the throne.
Bring them all and lay them down- no need for you to carry it all around, because He cares about you (1 Peter 5:7).
Bring them all and- for the love, no matter how you feel- please, don't stop talking to Him. I promise you: you can come to Him angry because the goodness of God will meet you there. You may come to Him angry, but because He's a good, good Father, He will hold you until you've calmed down. He'll give you the strength you need. You may come sad and broken, but He won't let you leave like that. He will be to you all that He IS. Let Him be to you all that He is.
He is making everything beautiful in His time. He is a God of redemption. Jesus loves to heal and rescue and restore, and He is so, so good at it. I'm praying for you, Momma. I'm believing that He is going to redeem your story and make it such a beautiful reflection of His love and grace. I'm believing He's doing the same thing with mine.
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
The Real Enemy (spoiler: it's not whichever human or establishment you just thought of)
I originally wrote this post as a guest blogger for Create In Us Ministries in May of 2016. If you're reading my blog for the first time, welcome. Stay a while. I don't write often but I write from the heart, always. I also write like I talk so if you don't know me in real life, bless your heart- hang in there. You're loved. If you get nothing else from anything I write, get that: you're loved.
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I'm a middle school teacher, so it should come as no surprise to you that I love middle school things. The Biebs, Pretty Little Liars- they're my jam. (I can feel you judging- really it's fine. I've accepted that I'm a nerd.) Also on my list of middle school madness: The Hunger Games series.
If you're not familiar with The Hunger Games series, I'll give you time to google a synopsis. (Go for it. I'll be here all night ;-) ). In the second book and film, Catching Fire, there's a point towards the end where Katniss (our heroine) has been separated from her love interest, Peeta, and it seems that her allies have turned against her. This is a fight to the death, so the situation is fairly dire. She hears Finnick, one of her allies (maybe?) shouting her name, and she gets a clear shot of him through some brush. Katniss is an excellent archer; she has her bow pulled and her arrow ready to take flight. Just then, she and Finnick make eye contact, and he says ever so clearly, "Katniss, remember who the real enemy is."
It was around Christmas time and I sat crying in the front seat of my husband's car because the holidays can be difficult for me as a 20-something, recovering pleaser, who is still newly married. How in the world were we going to be in 38374 places at once? And we can sing all that "all I want for Christmas is you", a la Mariah Carey, but what we were really singing in our hearts was "all I want for Christmas is you and for you to go along with all of my family's traditions because I want those for Christmas too". And while we sat in silence waiting (hoping?) for the other to be the first to offer compromise, I heard that precious whisper in my heart, not from a fictional character, but from the Lover of my soul: "Remember who the real enemy is." Hint: his name is not Garrett Cook. Nor families who wanted us to be in 38374 places at once. Or anyone else I've met in the flesh.
See, "our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places." (Ephesians 6:12) In the words of Priscilla Shirer in her book Fervent (stop reading this blog and go read her stuff immediately), "The real enemy isn't your husband. Or your teenager. Or your brother's wife. Or your mother-in-law. Or the weather. Or your sweet tooth. Or whatever powder keg of frustration really gets under your skin and sets you off before you can think straight."
We have an enemy, and he's real, and he's strong. But Jesus is stronger. When we belong to Him, the enemy has lost us for all eternity, but that gives him all the more reason to mess with our here and now.
In the interest of being transparent, my heart has been bruised this week. And for the first time in quite a while, I've found myself having to really fight for a soft heart. To deliberately choose to show up and choose grace for myself and others. To choose love over anger. To consciously decide to remember who the real enemy is. Jesus is the only one Who is perfectly faithful, and He is asking me to make these choices.
And so I do. I make these choices sometimes through tears, which Jesus lovingly collects (Psalm 56:8). I make these choices because when Jesus asks me to do something, I trust that His purpose is good and His heart is for me. He loves me and He proves that love over and over; obedience is how I show I love Him back.
This week, when conflict erupts in big ways or small ways, when things get janky (janky: a middle school term for busted and jacked up) and have to be made right, when you've been hurt or you're the one who has done the hurting (we've all been on both sides, by the way)- remember who the real enemy is. And if he's working this hard, what amazing things is he trying to keep us from? I can't wait to find out.
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I'm a middle school teacher, so it should come as no surprise to you that I love middle school things. The Biebs, Pretty Little Liars- they're my jam. (I can feel you judging- really it's fine. I've accepted that I'm a nerd.) Also on my list of middle school madness: The Hunger Games series.
If you're not familiar with The Hunger Games series, I'll give you time to google a synopsis. (Go for it. I'll be here all night ;-) ). In the second book and film, Catching Fire, there's a point towards the end where Katniss (our heroine) has been separated from her love interest, Peeta, and it seems that her allies have turned against her. This is a fight to the death, so the situation is fairly dire. She hears Finnick, one of her allies (maybe?) shouting her name, and she gets a clear shot of him through some brush. Katniss is an excellent archer; she has her bow pulled and her arrow ready to take flight. Just then, she and Finnick make eye contact, and he says ever so clearly, "Katniss, remember who the real enemy is."
It was around Christmas time and I sat crying in the front seat of my husband's car because the holidays can be difficult for me as a 20-something, recovering pleaser, who is still newly married. How in the world were we going to be in 38374 places at once? And we can sing all that "all I want for Christmas is you", a la Mariah Carey, but what we were really singing in our hearts was "all I want for Christmas is you and for you to go along with all of my family's traditions because I want those for Christmas too". And while we sat in silence waiting (hoping?) for the other to be the first to offer compromise, I heard that precious whisper in my heart, not from a fictional character, but from the Lover of my soul: "Remember who the real enemy is." Hint: his name is not Garrett Cook. Nor families who wanted us to be in 38374 places at once. Or anyone else I've met in the flesh.
See, "our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places." (Ephesians 6:12) In the words of Priscilla Shirer in her book Fervent (stop reading this blog and go read her stuff immediately), "The real enemy isn't your husband. Or your teenager. Or your brother's wife. Or your mother-in-law. Or the weather. Or your sweet tooth. Or whatever powder keg of frustration really gets under your skin and sets you off before you can think straight."
We have an enemy, and he's real, and he's strong. But Jesus is stronger. When we belong to Him, the enemy has lost us for all eternity, but that gives him all the more reason to mess with our here and now.
In the interest of being transparent, my heart has been bruised this week. And for the first time in quite a while, I've found myself having to really fight for a soft heart. To deliberately choose to show up and choose grace for myself and others. To choose love over anger. To consciously decide to remember who the real enemy is. Jesus is the only one Who is perfectly faithful, and He is asking me to make these choices.
And so I do. I make these choices sometimes through tears, which Jesus lovingly collects (Psalm 56:8). I make these choices because when Jesus asks me to do something, I trust that His purpose is good and His heart is for me. He loves me and He proves that love over and over; obedience is how I show I love Him back.
This week, when conflict erupts in big ways or small ways, when things get janky (janky: a middle school term for busted and jacked up) and have to be made right, when you've been hurt or you're the one who has done the hurting (we've all been on both sides, by the way)- remember who the real enemy is. And if he's working this hard, what amazing things is he trying to keep us from? I can't wait to find out.
Sunday, October 18, 2015
a letter to my husband on our first anniversary
Dear Mr. Cook,
One year ago today, we experienced one of the most beautiful days the Lord created, and I experienced what could be described as the calmest day of my life. I know, I know- this anxious heart, calm? Crazy calm. One might describe it as weird. Others would describe it as peace that passes understanding.
As our grandparents and moms walked down the aisle to Nichole Nordeman's "I Am", I was reminded of Who God is. I worshipped as my brother played "Divine Romance", as our dearest friends walked down the aisle to stand beside us. And while some of our favorite people in the world sat in one sanctuary, while you waited for me at the end of the aisle, we all paused. And we listened. To the first two verses of Crowder sing "How He Loves". 240ish of our favorite people in the world listened to a description of how our Jesus loves them, how beautiful He is, and how great His affections are for us.
I can only imagine that those were the longest two verses and first chorus of your life.
As I made it to the end of the aisle, after our Declaration of Intent, as we walked up the stairs to the alter, your whisper of "that's a lot of ruffles..." still makes me laugh. Two precious women read scripture that I will always treasure. From Ruth, "Where you go, I'll go. Where you stay, I'll stay..." From James, "Every good and perfect gift is from above..." From Colossians, "clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience..." From Romans, "honor one another above yourselves".
Can I just tell you that I love that we wrote our vows? I love it. I also loved that you told me to "slow down, Tonto" as I rushed the last line :). "Faithfully, constantly, prayerfully"...that's how I strive to love you daily. We built our unity cross, took communion (featuring purple vitamin water instead of grape juice), sealed it with a kiss. Just like that, we were married.
One year ago today, we experienced one of the most beautiful days the Lord created, and I experienced what could be described as the calmest day of my life. I know, I know- this anxious heart, calm? Crazy calm. One might describe it as weird. Others would describe it as peace that passes understanding.
I spent most of my crazy-calm day with some amazing friends. We snacked, we talked, we laughed, we got our hair did and played with make-up. You know your girl- I love me some snacks, I love time with my people, I love girly things, so it was fabulous. We got dressed, took some pictures, and waited for 5:30. We were actually ready super early. I know you find this hard to believe, but many can confirm. Ask my dad- he'll tell you.
As our grandparents and moms walked down the aisle to Nichole Nordeman's "I Am", I was reminded of Who God is. I worshipped as my brother played "Divine Romance", as our dearest friends walked down the aisle to stand beside us. And while some of our favorite people in the world sat in one sanctuary, while you waited for me at the end of the aisle, we all paused. And we listened. To the first two verses of Crowder sing "How He Loves". 240ish of our favorite people in the world listened to a description of how our Jesus loves them, how beautiful He is, and how great His affections are for us.
I can only imagine that those were the longest two verses and first chorus of your life.
As I made it to the end of the aisle, after our Declaration of Intent, as we walked up the stairs to the alter, your whisper of "that's a lot of ruffles..." still makes me laugh. Two precious women read scripture that I will always treasure. From Ruth, "Where you go, I'll go. Where you stay, I'll stay..." From James, "Every good and perfect gift is from above..." From Colossians, "clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience..." From Romans, "honor one another above yourselves".
Can I just tell you that I love that we wrote our vows? I love it. I also loved that you told me to "slow down, Tonto" as I rushed the last line :). "Faithfully, constantly, prayerfully"...that's how I strive to love you daily. We built our unity cross, took communion (featuring purple vitamin water instead of grape juice), sealed it with a kiss. Just like that, we were married.
We celebrated with a beautiful candle-lit reception. We had a delicious dinner (I'd kinda like to have that mac and cheese again), danced our first dance to "Never Stop (wedding version)", cut a Tiffany blue cake, ate Krispy Kreme doughnuts, and loved on our people. We kissed under confetti poppers before we drove off to wedded bliss!
...then it took us an hour and a half (instead of 20ish minutes) to get to our hotel. #bbqfestivalincharlotte Thanks for getting us there safely as I napped off all that excitement :)
No doubt, 10/18/14 was a fairy tale start to our marriage. And marriage is always that fairy tale when you love each other so much, right? Loved ones told us it could be tough, but I really thought "they must not love one another as much as we do." Ha. #clueless This first year of marriage- I think we can agree that it's been harder than we expected. I hope we can also agree that it's been better than we expected. We've seen our share of hard this year. We've seen our share of joy this year. At every turn, in the easy and the hard, in the laughter and the tears, I've seen that you are an excellent husband. And I couldn't have chosen any better.
I've learned more about God and His grace this year than I knew possible, and I know this is just the beginning. I thought I knew God pretty well. And maybe I did. But I know that I know Him so much more for being your wife.
I know Him more because you have shown Him to me.
You have shown me Christ in your selfless service around our home. You've shown me Who Jesus is in my hardest moments, responding with real kindness when answering harshly would've been much easier. Your compassion in my surgery recovery and as I wrestle with an anxious heart is priceless to me. You've seen my selfishness and flaws and met me in my brokenness, loving me enough to meet me there yet loving me too much to leave me to myself. That's big love. That's what it means to love another as Jesus loves.
And, dear one, that's the purpose of marriage.
No doubt, 10/18/14 was a fairy tale start to our marriage. And marriage is always that fairy tale when you love each other so much, right? Loved ones told us it could be tough, but I really thought "they must not love one another as much as we do." Ha. #clueless This first year of marriage- I think we can agree that it's been harder than we expected. I hope we can also agree that it's been better than we expected. We've seen our share of hard this year. We've seen our share of joy this year. At every turn, in the easy and the hard, in the laughter and the tears, I've seen that you are an excellent husband. And I couldn't have chosen any better.
I've learned more about God and His grace this year than I knew possible, and I know this is just the beginning. I thought I knew God pretty well. And maybe I did. But I know that I know Him so much more for being your wife.
I know Him more because you have shown Him to me.
You have shown me Christ in your selfless service around our home. You've shown me Who Jesus is in my hardest moments, responding with real kindness when answering harshly would've been much easier. Your compassion in my surgery recovery and as I wrestle with an anxious heart is priceless to me. You've seen my selfishness and flaws and met me in my brokenness, loving me enough to meet me there yet loving me too much to leave me to myself. That's big love. That's what it means to love another as Jesus loves.
And, dear one, that's the purpose of marriage.
Marriage isn't supposed to make us happy all the time. That is a cultural lie that so many have bought, that at times, I have bought. Being your wife has brought me incredible joy. But in the tough moments, I remember the words of Lysa TerKeurst: marriage is a decision to honor the Lord by honoring the one He has entrusted to me.
At the end of each day for the past 365, I'm so glad He entrusted you to me, and me to you.
We haven't done this marriage thing perfectly. Not even close. In fact, I could think of at least a dozen ways I've failed in the past 24 hours. But we have a Rock solid foundation, and in our imperfections, we can show up for each other and let God have this thing called our marriage. Let's keep bringing our willingness and watch what He does.
Thank you. Thank you for showing up every day, for loving me so big. For working hard, for having my back, for having a loyalty to me that I never have to question. Thank you for praying for me. For holding my hand in the grocery store. For sitting through Shark Tank when you'd rather watch a ball game. For pretending those over-cooked pork chops were delicious. For being the voice of reason, the giver, the calm. Thank you for reminding me of what matters most. Most of all, thank you for showing me more of Who our God is.
Happy Anniversary, Mr. Cook. I really love being your Mrs. The best is yet to come!
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
back to school
It's back to school time, dear heart!
I have to tell you- I love being a middle school teacher. Love. It. Which is a little weird. Because 1- who really likes middle school? *raises and waves hand frantically*, and 2- I started teaching as a 1st grade teacher (long story on how I got to middle school- another post, another day)
Anyway, I heart middle school. I love it because I can vividly remember what my bookbag looked like in 6th grade and what I wore for the first day of 8th grade (pink skort, anyone?). It wasn't so long ago that I was in the middle of my first crush and rocking a middle school cheer uniform. There is an honesty and a trust in children that tends to burn out the older we get, but it burns brightest right before it goes out, and that brightest burn happens in middle school. There is a weirdness and an awkwardness, and a whole lot of laughter. Middle school is messy. And so is life.
On Monday, we welcomed a new batch of kiddos. These precious ones stepped into this weirdness called middle school for the first time. I have friends who teach at our elementary feeder schools, and we often text, facebook message, or chat in the aisle at the grocery store about which of their littles are in my classes. One of these friends is Jennifer Smith: writer/speaker (go check out Create in Us Ministries. Do it now. I'll wait.), pastor's wife, super mom, 4th grade teaching extraordinaire (can you tell I adore her?). Our chat happened on Sunday after worship.
Our church meets in an elementary school, and after our worship service, our pastor invited us to do a prayer walk to pray over the school where we meet each week, for the teachers and kids who will learn there this year. Post-prayer walk, Jennifer and I were talking. She mentioned a child's name to me, a child she adores. The very same child was not originally on my roster, but mysteriously ended up there.
I met that sweet one right around 8:00 Monday morning. She was so nervous, but I recognized her name and let her know I was Mrs. Smith's friend. And her sweet face lit up like a Christmas tree- "Oh! You're that Mrs. Cook! Mrs. Smith told me about you!" In her mind, being Mrs. Smith's friend made me okay. I'm good with this.
A little while later, this little came up to me and said, "I can tell you and Mrs. Smith are friends. You remind me of her. Like how you call people 'friend' and stuff and...you just remind me a lot of her."
Out loud, I said something to the effect of "Oh really? That's neat. I love Mrs. Smith!"
But on the inside, I was a little taken aback as I almost immediately thought, "We serve the same God; it's the same Spirit, dear one."
I have to tell you- I love being a middle school teacher. Love. It. Which is a little weird. Because 1- who really likes middle school? *raises and waves hand frantically*, and 2- I started teaching as a 1st grade teacher (long story on how I got to middle school- another post, another day)
Anyway, I heart middle school. I love it because I can vividly remember what my bookbag looked like in 6th grade and what I wore for the first day of 8th grade (pink skort, anyone?). It wasn't so long ago that I was in the middle of my first crush and rocking a middle school cheer uniform. There is an honesty and a trust in children that tends to burn out the older we get, but it burns brightest right before it goes out, and that brightest burn happens in middle school. There is a weirdness and an awkwardness, and a whole lot of laughter. Middle school is messy. And so is life.
On Monday, we welcomed a new batch of kiddos. These precious ones stepped into this weirdness called middle school for the first time. I have friends who teach at our elementary feeder schools, and we often text, facebook message, or chat in the aisle at the grocery store about which of their littles are in my classes. One of these friends is Jennifer Smith: writer/speaker (go check out Create in Us Ministries. Do it now. I'll wait.), pastor's wife, super mom, 4th grade teaching extraordinaire (can you tell I adore her?). Our chat happened on Sunday after worship.
Our church meets in an elementary school, and after our worship service, our pastor invited us to do a prayer walk to pray over the school where we meet each week, for the teachers and kids who will learn there this year. Post-prayer walk, Jennifer and I were talking. She mentioned a child's name to me, a child she adores. The very same child was not originally on my roster, but mysteriously ended up there.
I met that sweet one right around 8:00 Monday morning. She was so nervous, but I recognized her name and let her know I was Mrs. Smith's friend. And her sweet face lit up like a Christmas tree- "Oh! You're that Mrs. Cook! Mrs. Smith told me about you!" In her mind, being Mrs. Smith's friend made me okay. I'm good with this.
A little while later, this little came up to me and said, "I can tell you and Mrs. Smith are friends. You remind me of her. Like how you call people 'friend' and stuff and...you just remind me a lot of her."
Out loud, I said something to the effect of "Oh really? That's neat. I love Mrs. Smith!"
But on the inside, I was a little taken aback as I almost immediately thought, "We serve the same God; it's the same Spirit, dear one."
I love my friend Jennifer. I think she is a star, and I so admire the way she knows Truth and chases after the Lord, and I periodically want to be her when I grow up. But I wasn't made to be Jennifer or my mother or any other person I admire. We each have our own unique set of personality traits, gifts, talents, struggles, that combine to make us who we are and to fulfill a purpose that is just for us. The purpose for each of us is to know Him and make Him known; our individual purposes essentially come down to how we do that. I don't say that with pride; I say it with humility and a large awareness of how unworthy I am to even get to be a teeny, tiny part of this thing called the Church.
Jennifer and I both follow Jesus. Because of this, we are members of one body called the Church. Because we follow Jesus, we walk with the Holy Spirit. And the fruit of that Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. (Galatians 5:22-33) God in His creativity and grace has made each of us unique, and to be members of one body, with His Spirit producing that fruit in us.
See, I've gotten it mixed up. I thought that I had to do and be and have those things to have the Holy Spirit. Really, it's because I have the Holy Spirit that He produces those things in me. I thought if I produced the fruit, I got the Spirit. But it's because I have the Spirit that He produces the fruit in me.
My mix up has caused me a lot of despair. I looked at the things I've done and said that aren't loving, kind, faithful, or full of self-control (just to name a few) and the list was looooooong. And I took it to mean that, because I've been less than patient (and the other fruits) and because I still mess up, I don't have the Holy Spirit. And I panicked. The thought of not belonging to Jesus, not having the Spirit, not walking with Him terrified me. I was losing my mind over it- I want to love and serve the Lord and I was being flooded with reminders of how I haven't done that.
I tried to take it to God and I kept telling Him things like, "I don't know how You can forgive me. Look at all these ways I've failed You! How can You still love me? How can You still use me?" Gently, slowly, the Lord has been showing me that I don't "earn" the Holy Spirit by being loving, kind, and faithful; I become those things because I have Him. I have Him because of my faith in Jesus alone as Savior. When I bring Him my shortcomings and failures, He is faithful to forgive. (1 John 1:9). And this aggressive forgiveness called grace is a gift through faith; I can't earn it by being loving or good or gentle (Ephesians 2, Romans 4:5, 6:23). Because, friend, in reality, I'm none of those things without Him. (John 15:5). Being near to Him is my only good (Psalm 73:28).
This school year, it is my prayer that I believe with all my heart that I don't have Him because I'm producing fruits, but I produce those fruits because I have Him. That l will walk in the freedom of that truth so I can be who He wants me to be and do the things He has called me to do. He is faithful, and I am grateful.
Growing in grace,
Kayla
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
when the helper needs help
I am a helper by nature. Always have been. My parents were the first of their friends to have a baby, and as each child was born, I took it upon myself to be their "mini-mom". I've volunteered to serve and help since before I can remember and in many different ways. I'm a teacher; I help for a living. I love to cook and love taking meals to people. The older I've gotten, I've realized that, in many ways, that's how I show my people I love them: I see a need, and I fill it. Love is a verb, and I strive to love in action. In my heart and mind, that means meeting the needs of people where they are.
Just over 48 hours ago, I had my gallbladder removed. And the helper became the helpless. This is my first surgery, and I have to be honest: I'm not exactly a model patient. I've had a lot of pain, especially at night, in spite of following the doctor's orders to the letter. But some of the pain has been in my heart: I hate needing so much help. Like really hate it. Because of my currently limited mobility and because of medications I'm on, I'm not able to be left alone. I love having my people here, that's the best, but I hate feeling so useless. From waking my husband in the night to help me sit up, to depending on my mom to help me shower, I'm just pretty dependent right now. Last night, between the physical pain and hating needing help, I cried and cried. My heart was just sad.
In the midst of my tears, I felt in my heart: independence is not a fruit of the Spirit. Independence is not what my Savior desires for or expects of me. In fact, He wants me to depend on Him completely and only. The only person who is disappointed and frustrated by my lack of independence is me. And Jesus, in His compassion and grace, has shown up over and over in very real and tangible ways, encouraging me to fight for a soft heart and to find my identity in Who He is and what He has done, not what I can or cannot do.
He has shown up through some incredible friends, who came from near and far this past Saturday to help us move so I could recover in our new home. He has shown up in my sweet church family, praying peace over me with such love and sincerity, speaking words of encouragement. He has shown up in the pastor who married us, who came to the hospital to pray with me before surgery and stayed until I was well in recovery. He has shown up in the women of my life group, who have been and are providing dinner for Mr. Cook and I nearly every day this week. He has shown up in my sweet husband, adjusting pillows and helping me do such simple tasks as sitting up with such compassion. He has shown up in family and friends as they have cleaned my house, brushed my hair, played with my dog, sent pictures to make me laugh, brought flowers, called and texted to check on me, and so much more, and all with such cheerful hearts. He is present, and He is teaching me to rest: in His provision, His grace, His great love and compassion, in Who He is. I am a go-er and a do-er; I do not do "still" very well. But my Martha heart is learning be be still and know that He is God. It's amazing the lengths He will go for me- to the cross and to the OR, that I might be still and know.
Learning to chill out,
Kayla
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
how the house was bought
Hello, dear Reader! It has been so long since I've written- about a third of a year.
A lot can happen in a third of a year.
In this third of a year, there have been struggles and there have been moments of clarity. There have been loves and there have been losses. In our largest, most exciting news, Mr. Cook and I are now homeowners! It is a decision that was covered in prayer from the beginning- both ours and others- and so, even though there were many bumps along the way, I have confidence that we are in the right home for our little family to laugh and love and grow. NO- we are absolutely not expecting! Our little family is Mr. Cook, me, and our labradoodle Teddy, and that's enough for us until the good Lord says otherwise :) We also joined a new church! This, too, was a decision covered in prayer, and I know that the Lord has led us to our new church home for His purpose. We love our new church family so much already, and we are excited to see the ways we grow and serve there.
This house (our house? weird, still!) and this church have been straight from the Lord. And I say that with complete sincerity. As little as less than a year ago, there is no way we would have been in this church, in this home, in this town. No. Way. Mr. Cook wasn't having it.
Mr. Cook and I both grew up in wonderful areas, but they are pretty different from each other. In August, we got an apartment closer to my neck of the woods (but in a mutually agreed upon, different town) where I lived with our pup until we got married in October, when Mr. Cook moved in with us. And we have loved this little apartment, but we were anxious to get to a house. All in due time, we said. As we began to talk about becoming homeowners, the questions came up: soooo what do we want in a house, and where is this house going to be?
What grand questions! We agreed that we wanted to purchase a home where we could stay put- we did not want to be in the position of having to move, but rather wanting to move (i.e., we didn't want a home that we would immediately outgrow by adding a child). We agreed that we wanted a large yard for our pup and someday child(ren)- Lord willing. A neighborhood was fine, but not necessary, and we desired privacy. A house where family and friends could come and feel welcome and not crowded- plenty of space for our people to come and be.
Those are all great things to agree on. So where should this be?
I knew where my heart of hearts wanted to live. I also knew there was no way Mr. Cook would live there. A small town just a few short minutes from where I grew up- this town and mine share a high school (until they built a new one two-ish years ago- long story). Knowing that it was too close to my hometown, I continued to offer suggestions in the town where our apartment is. I mean, he agreed on an apartment there, so why not buy a home there? Mr. Cook, ironically, named a small town just a few short minutes from where he grew up. ...almost an hour from where I grew up. I stayed mostly quiet and said we would look into it...translation: yeah, no, I'm not living there. I got the same response from him- "we'll look into it", same translation.
I have to be honest: I struggled with this. And I struggled some more. I told myself it was not that large of a deal, that home is wherever Mr. Cook and Teddy are. While that is true, I also knew that is is where we would someday raise a family. Mr. Cook had nothing tying him to the little community I wanted to be in (which I hadn't even said out loud at this point- I kept offering my compromise- our apartment town- as my suggestion), and my main objective was to be close to my family and relatively close to my job, where I still knew a few people without being right in the middle of my hometown. I couldn't stand the thought of moving so close yet so far away, in a new little town where no one knows either of our names. And so, what to do in this situation, except bring it to the One who knows not only my name but the desires of my heart.
I prayed over this for months. Months, y'all. This was not a one hit wonder prayed at night and the next morning my hubs agreed. Mmmm no. We kept browsing online and showing each other different homes in each community. So I continued to pray: Lord, if it is in Your will, please don't make me move far from my family. Please let us stay close. It doesn't have to be this town, it doesn't have to be that town, but please, God, not too far from my people.
I prayed that prayer over and over with what appeared to be no real answer. But I know my God and I trust Him, even when He is silent. My heart began to change as I realized and remembered that even if He asked me to move away, He wouldn't ask me to move away alone. I still prayed my prayer, but I started adding to it- thank You that I'm not alone, thank You for taking care of me. Jesus, show me that You're enough.
One Saturday night in March, at McAllister's deli (hot date, right? ;) ), we were talking, and out of the blue, Mr. Cook says, "You know where I think I'd like to live? Stanley."
And I nearly fell out of the booth.
People, I hadn't even mentioned Stanley to him because I just knew that it would be a complete no, as in, not even on the table.
We also started talking that night about feeling called to a different church- we didn't know where yet, and it wasn't totally clear at the time, but looking back, I think we knew we were being led down a new path, to a new place, in a new season.
The next morning we visited what has become our new church home. Guess where? Yep, Stanley. We love Depot Church and the friends we have made there already. We are so thrilled to be a part of this church, to serve our new community (side note: we were not unhappy where we were, just felt called to something different).
This is part of my story, and I'm blessed by it, but please don't take this as, "if I ask God for something, He will give it to me!". He's not a genie. Does He have the power and the ability to give us more than we can ask for or imagine? Absolutely (see Ephesians)! But His ways and thoughts are higher (see Isaiah), and that means that He may say no. Please trust that when He says no, He's not doing so to withhold good things from you! He loves you. He loves you so much. And that means He wants what is best for you. Sometimes we can't see what's best.
Before the house we bought, we put in an offer on another great home. I loved this house- it was great! Not everything on our "wish list", but really close, and an excellent first home. So we put in an offer and we prayed. I literally prayed that if this wasn't the house we should be in, for the Lord to block the offer.
Then the offer fell through. And I cried. And I fussed about how unreasonable the seller was being. And I cried some more. Mr. Cook (the calm, the logic, the 100 watt smile) said, "Look, you can't ask God for something and then get mad when He does what you asked Him to do. It's not the right house. We'll find it, but that house isn't it."
Shortly after, we found the house we now call ours. It had more from our "wish list", a bigger yard, and some extras that we wouldn't have asked for in a first home. My God wasn't withholding good things- He was giving me better. He was putting our family where He wants and needs us to be. By doing so, He was putting another family where He wants and needs them to be- in the first house we put an offer on. His ways and thoughts are higher, and He works all things- all means all, every single thing- for His glory and our good.
That's grace, friends. His grace was covering up every moment of these months, and we see it in very real and tangible ways in our home, our church, and in our hearts. His grace continues to show up, even in our less than graceful moments. When I was crying and fussing over my perceived dashed-dream, He was pursuing me and leading me to something greater. What is that, if not grace?
If you've made it this far, thank you for caring enough to read the thoughts of my heart. If you're a regular reader, you know that my posts aren't usually so journal-ish, but I thought it was important for you to know a part of how God is working at Casa Cook in recent months. Now that school's out for summer and we are homeowners, blogging should move its way back up my priority list.
From a home that is better than what I would have put myself in, all because of His grace,
Kayla
A lot can happen in a third of a year.
In this third of a year, there have been struggles and there have been moments of clarity. There have been loves and there have been losses. In our largest, most exciting news, Mr. Cook and I are now homeowners! It is a decision that was covered in prayer from the beginning- both ours and others- and so, even though there were many bumps along the way, I have confidence that we are in the right home for our little family to laugh and love and grow. NO- we are absolutely not expecting! Our little family is Mr. Cook, me, and our labradoodle Teddy, and that's enough for us until the good Lord says otherwise :) We also joined a new church! This, too, was a decision covered in prayer, and I know that the Lord has led us to our new church home for His purpose. We love our new church family so much already, and we are excited to see the ways we grow and serve there.
This house (our house? weird, still!) and this church have been straight from the Lord. And I say that with complete sincerity. As little as less than a year ago, there is no way we would have been in this church, in this home, in this town. No. Way. Mr. Cook wasn't having it.
Mr. Cook and I both grew up in wonderful areas, but they are pretty different from each other. In August, we got an apartment closer to my neck of the woods (but in a mutually agreed upon, different town) where I lived with our pup until we got married in October, when Mr. Cook moved in with us. And we have loved this little apartment, but we were anxious to get to a house. All in due time, we said. As we began to talk about becoming homeowners, the questions came up: soooo what do we want in a house, and where is this house going to be?
What grand questions! We agreed that we wanted to purchase a home where we could stay put- we did not want to be in the position of having to move, but rather wanting to move (i.e., we didn't want a home that we would immediately outgrow by adding a child). We agreed that we wanted a large yard for our pup and someday child(ren)- Lord willing. A neighborhood was fine, but not necessary, and we desired privacy. A house where family and friends could come and feel welcome and not crowded- plenty of space for our people to come and be.
Those are all great things to agree on. So where should this be?
I knew where my heart of hearts wanted to live. I also knew there was no way Mr. Cook would live there. A small town just a few short minutes from where I grew up- this town and mine share a high school (until they built a new one two-ish years ago- long story). Knowing that it was too close to my hometown, I continued to offer suggestions in the town where our apartment is. I mean, he agreed on an apartment there, so why not buy a home there? Mr. Cook, ironically, named a small town just a few short minutes from where he grew up. ...almost an hour from where I grew up. I stayed mostly quiet and said we would look into it...translation: yeah, no, I'm not living there. I got the same response from him- "we'll look into it", same translation.
I have to be honest: I struggled with this. And I struggled some more. I told myself it was not that large of a deal, that home is wherever Mr. Cook and Teddy are. While that is true, I also knew that is is where we would someday raise a family. Mr. Cook had nothing tying him to the little community I wanted to be in (which I hadn't even said out loud at this point- I kept offering my compromise- our apartment town- as my suggestion), and my main objective was to be close to my family and relatively close to my job, where I still knew a few people without being right in the middle of my hometown. I couldn't stand the thought of moving so close yet so far away, in a new little town where no one knows either of our names. And so, what to do in this situation, except bring it to the One who knows not only my name but the desires of my heart.
I prayed over this for months. Months, y'all. This was not a one hit wonder prayed at night and the next morning my hubs agreed. Mmmm no. We kept browsing online and showing each other different homes in each community. So I continued to pray: Lord, if it is in Your will, please don't make me move far from my family. Please let us stay close. It doesn't have to be this town, it doesn't have to be that town, but please, God, not too far from my people.
I prayed that prayer over and over with what appeared to be no real answer. But I know my God and I trust Him, even when He is silent. My heart began to change as I realized and remembered that even if He asked me to move away, He wouldn't ask me to move away alone. I still prayed my prayer, but I started adding to it- thank You that I'm not alone, thank You for taking care of me. Jesus, show me that You're enough.
One Saturday night in March, at McAllister's deli (hot date, right? ;) ), we were talking, and out of the blue, Mr. Cook says, "You know where I think I'd like to live? Stanley."
And I nearly fell out of the booth.
People, I hadn't even mentioned Stanley to him because I just knew that it would be a complete no, as in, not even on the table.
We also started talking that night about feeling called to a different church- we didn't know where yet, and it wasn't totally clear at the time, but looking back, I think we knew we were being led down a new path, to a new place, in a new season.
The next morning we visited what has become our new church home. Guess where? Yep, Stanley. We love Depot Church and the friends we have made there already. We are so thrilled to be a part of this church, to serve our new community (side note: we were not unhappy where we were, just felt called to something different).
This is part of my story, and I'm blessed by it, but please don't take this as, "if I ask God for something, He will give it to me!". He's not a genie. Does He have the power and the ability to give us more than we can ask for or imagine? Absolutely (see Ephesians)! But His ways and thoughts are higher (see Isaiah), and that means that He may say no. Please trust that when He says no, He's not doing so to withhold good things from you! He loves you. He loves you so much. And that means He wants what is best for you. Sometimes we can't see what's best.
Before the house we bought, we put in an offer on another great home. I loved this house- it was great! Not everything on our "wish list", but really close, and an excellent first home. So we put in an offer and we prayed. I literally prayed that if this wasn't the house we should be in, for the Lord to block the offer.
Then the offer fell through. And I cried. And I fussed about how unreasonable the seller was being. And I cried some more. Mr. Cook (the calm, the logic, the 100 watt smile) said, "Look, you can't ask God for something and then get mad when He does what you asked Him to do. It's not the right house. We'll find it, but that house isn't it."
Shortly after, we found the house we now call ours. It had more from our "wish list", a bigger yard, and some extras that we wouldn't have asked for in a first home. My God wasn't withholding good things- He was giving me better. He was putting our family where He wants and needs us to be. By doing so, He was putting another family where He wants and needs them to be- in the first house we put an offer on. His ways and thoughts are higher, and He works all things- all means all, every single thing- for His glory and our good.
That's grace, friends. His grace was covering up every moment of these months, and we see it in very real and tangible ways in our home, our church, and in our hearts. His grace continues to show up, even in our less than graceful moments. When I was crying and fussing over my perceived dashed-dream, He was pursuing me and leading me to something greater. What is that, if not grace?
If you've made it this far, thank you for caring enough to read the thoughts of my heart. If you're a regular reader, you know that my posts aren't usually so journal-ish, but I thought it was important for you to know a part of how God is working at Casa Cook in recent months. Now that school's out for summer and we are homeowners, blogging should move its way back up my priority list.
From a home that is better than what I would have put myself in, all because of His grace,
Kayla
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
a picture of grace
Grace. Grace is one of my favorite words. We hear and say that word so often. We sing it. We talk about it. We attempt to live it. But what does that look like, to live in grace?
My Big Mama was the picture of grace. Big Mama is my great-grandmother, and she has been in Heaven for several years now. And, no, she was not a big lady. I'm honestly not sure where the name came from. She was my mom's grandmother, and that's what she was called. She's been in Heaven for a few years now, but I can still see her washing dishes by hand, and I can still hear her humming old hymns. A child of the depression, among the dishes she washed were plastic cups and utensils after Sunday lunch with a big family. When I was not quite 9, I saw my need for grace and accepted Jesus as my Savior, following Him to be baptized. The Sunday I was baptized, my sweet Big Mama gave me a small, silver cross, and it is one of my favorite gifts I've ever received. She dipped snuff, a habit she picked up from her younger years of working in a mill, but she gave it up for Lent one year and never looked back. Big Mama's hearing wasn't the best, and when she couldn't understand you, she would ask you to repeat what you said. If she responded with words, she heard you. If you got a sweet smile, a nod, and a pat on the arm, she had no idea what you said. She could hear my sister best of all though, and no one really knows why.
I'm sure there were times, after raising her children, loving her grandchildren, and watching many of her great-grands grow into young adulthood, when it all seemed heavy. When her beloved husband died before I was born. When she buried two of her five children and one of her grandchildren. When divorce worked its ugly way through the families she worked so hard to provide a firm foundation. Through the struggles I knew of, the many I was sheltered from, and the many more that I feel sure she kept from all of us, there is one thing my Big Mama always made sure we knew- no matter the circumstance, Jesus will meet you there, and His grace will be all sufficient.
I recently read The Hardest Peace by Kara Tippetts. You should read it, or at least check out her blog here. Her words have moved me to think more about Heaven, to build real and honest community, to love big with my hands open to whatever the Lord sees fit to give and to take. To know that, even when life is hard and it hurts and I don't understand, especially then really, to know that I know that I know that there is goodness to be found and grace to meet me there. There is grace for every moment- every joyful moment, every tearful moment, there is goodness and there is grace, and- the best part- it's enough.
So what does that grace look like in our every day life, our morning rushes, our lunch hours (you lucky dogs!), our coming, our going, our quiet dinners (or rushed dinners, depending on the day), our work, our play? How do we live that grace?
I don't claim to have all the answers. I don't pretend to even have a piece of them. But I do strive to live openly and honestly. And grace can take many different forms. Forgiving those who have hurt you, even if they are not sorry. Accepting decisions you don't agree with without complaint (I'm not talking compromising conviction. Use discernment.). Making eye contact and genuinely asking "how are you?" and waiting to hear the answer. Cleaning up a mess that isn't yours. Fixing something you didn't break. Putting the dishes on hold for 3 minutes to take time to dance. Praying over a friend who is right in the middle of the valley of the shadow. Repeating yourself one more time, with patience and minimal sarcasm. (note to self...) Sometimes it's being silent. Sometimes it's speaking up. Taking a deep breath in traffic. Taking an extra turn at a less than desirable task. Looking over the towel in the floor for the 129th time (sorry, husband!). Whispering a prayer when you just want to scream. Loving the best you can- from the center of who you are, as my favorite translation of Romans puts it. Resting in the knowledge that Jesus is waiting to meet you in each moment, to cover each moment in His grace, and for your heart to know that it's enough.
What does it look like, when you put actions with your love and walk in grace? Who is the picture of grace in your life?
Growing in grace,
Kayla
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
When Words Don't Suffice
There are many times where I just don't know what to say. I know what you're thinking- a teacher, a blogger, a Chatty Cathy- this lady has too many words! But sometimes words will not suffice.
I am the worst at knowing what to say in times of grief and loss and disappointment. Okay, maybe not the worst, but it's definitely not my gift. I'm an over-thinker on so much in my life, and so, during those times, my wheels that already turn nearly constantly go into overdrive. I start thinking about what the right thing to say is and when the right time to say it is and if it's really my place to say anything at all and what happens if what I think is the right thing really makes things worse and how I'll deal with it if I do make it worse and...it's really quite exhausting.
And so, more often than not, I just don't say anything. Which is arguably as bad as or worse than saying the wrong thing. Because at least if I say the wrong thing, I've acknowledged the hard. The last thing I want to happen is for someone to feel like I don't see or notice or like I'm ignoring their hard. Their tears. Their grief. Their loss. Their pain. Their despair. It's not because I don't see or feel these things. It's because I feel them so deeply. And, quite frankly, that makes me uncomfortable. Oh, my selfish heart- it does not like to be unnecessarily uncomfortable.
And this is why I love math- because I am a creature of habit. More than rules and habits, I love math because you don't have to feel whether or not you agree that 12 x 10 is 120. It just is. Every single time. 12 times 10 will give you 120. Doesn't matter if you're talking jelly beans or dozens of doughnuts or flowers or 12 dimes or 12 tickets that cost $10 each or just a value in a given problem. It's constant.
It's one of the many reasons why I love Jesus- He is constant. He is only good. And He is sovereign. Not for a moment will He forsake you. (If you could hear Meredith Andrews' "Not For a Moment" as you read those words, we should be friends. If you didn't, you should go look it up.) Do you know that? Do you know what it does for your heart when you really, truly know that? He is constant- always. Not often there, not sometimes shows up, not around most of the time, but constant. He is ONLY good- not mostly good, not usually good, not good 99.999% of the time, but only. That's it. Good. He is sovereign- not kind of in charge, not pretty important, but the ultimate authority. He is all of those things and so much more, and not for a moment will He forsake you. Not for a moment. He doesn't sleep. He never gets tired. He never walks away. He will not leave you. He will not forget you. He died for you before you ever loved Him back. He died for you even if you never love Him back.
You've never had a friend like Him. And you never will besides Him. Not because your friends aren't lovely, but because your friends aren't God.
Having the right words in the midst of life's hard is not my gift. One option is for me to be silent. And sometimes, that's the right option. There is a time for everything, a season for every activity under Heaven. To embrace and to refrain. To love and to hate. To weep and to laugh. To mourn and to dance. To search and give up. To keep and throw away. To speak and to be silent. See Ecclesiastes 3 for a more extensive list. My prayer is that I become more and more receptive to what God is doing in every season of my life. That I believe Him and trust him to help me believe when I can't see how. That He will help me know when I should speak and when I should be silent. And when it is time to speak, that He would not only make it perfectly clear to me but also give me the words. Because mine often aren't sufficient, but He is all-sufficient.
He more than me,
Kayla
I am the worst at knowing what to say in times of grief and loss and disappointment. Okay, maybe not the worst, but it's definitely not my gift. I'm an over-thinker on so much in my life, and so, during those times, my wheels that already turn nearly constantly go into overdrive. I start thinking about what the right thing to say is and when the right time to say it is and if it's really my place to say anything at all and what happens if what I think is the right thing really makes things worse and how I'll deal with it if I do make it worse and...it's really quite exhausting.
And so, more often than not, I just don't say anything. Which is arguably as bad as or worse than saying the wrong thing. Because at least if I say the wrong thing, I've acknowledged the hard. The last thing I want to happen is for someone to feel like I don't see or notice or like I'm ignoring their hard. Their tears. Their grief. Their loss. Their pain. Their despair. It's not because I don't see or feel these things. It's because I feel them so deeply. And, quite frankly, that makes me uncomfortable. Oh, my selfish heart- it does not like to be unnecessarily uncomfortable.
And this is why I love math- because I am a creature of habit. More than rules and habits, I love math because you don't have to feel whether or not you agree that 12 x 10 is 120. It just is. Every single time. 12 times 10 will give you 120. Doesn't matter if you're talking jelly beans or dozens of doughnuts or flowers or 12 dimes or 12 tickets that cost $10 each or just a value in a given problem. It's constant.
It's one of the many reasons why I love Jesus- He is constant. He is only good. And He is sovereign. Not for a moment will He forsake you. (If you could hear Meredith Andrews' "Not For a Moment" as you read those words, we should be friends. If you didn't, you should go look it up.) Do you know that? Do you know what it does for your heart when you really, truly know that? He is constant- always. Not often there, not sometimes shows up, not around most of the time, but constant. He is ONLY good- not mostly good, not usually good, not good 99.999% of the time, but only. That's it. Good. He is sovereign- not kind of in charge, not pretty important, but the ultimate authority. He is all of those things and so much more, and not for a moment will He forsake you. Not for a moment. He doesn't sleep. He never gets tired. He never walks away. He will not leave you. He will not forget you. He died for you before you ever loved Him back. He died for you even if you never love Him back.
You've never had a friend like Him. And you never will besides Him. Not because your friends aren't lovely, but because your friends aren't God.
Having the right words in the midst of life's hard is not my gift. One option is for me to be silent. And sometimes, that's the right option. There is a time for everything, a season for every activity under Heaven. To embrace and to refrain. To love and to hate. To weep and to laugh. To mourn and to dance. To search and give up. To keep and throw away. To speak and to be silent. See Ecclesiastes 3 for a more extensive list. My prayer is that I become more and more receptive to what God is doing in every season of my life. That I believe Him and trust him to help me believe when I can't see how. That He will help me know when I should speak and when I should be silent. And when it is time to speak, that He would not only make it perfectly clear to me but also give me the words. Because mine often aren't sufficient, but He is all-sufficient.
He more than me,
Kayla
Friday, January 23, 2015
what data doesn't show
Yesterday was a teacher workday. As a student, I never really understood the purpose. Isn't every school day a workday for teachers? Oh, but I was clueless. They are so needed.
So I went in yesterday after getting some minis from the Christian Chicken (Chick-Fil-A), arriving around my normal time but feeling so much more relaxed. We recently finished units in my science and math classes, and I had one last set of tests to grade before our faculty meeting at 8:30. I graded a few and was pleasantly surprised how well my kids were doing. I know they can do the work, yet many of them, for reasons I'm still figuring out, just often won't. So I'm grading to Vitamin String Quartet, and one of my pumpkins- who has a learning disability in math- made a 110%. 100%, and not only did he try every last one of the bonus questions, he got all 5 of them right. I literally teared up. This kid. Geez. As many times as I have paced that classroom, as many activities as we have done on the SMARTBoard, as many task cards and learning stations as I have set up, as many times as we kicked it old school with just a pencil and paper, as many times as I have stood on a chair while singing and dancing the Order of Operations (seriously, my principal has video), as many times as none of it seemed to matter...it does matter. It matters because he is getting it. My work matters. Do you know how incredible that is, when your work matters? I hope you do, friends. I hope you do. I shared his score with teammates and colleagues, and we celebrated all the way down to the faculty meeting. I even Instagrammed that 110%- I'm so stinkin' proud of this kid.
Faculty meeting was business as usual- safety updates, policy reminders, etc. We looked at benchmark data- celebrated some and looked for ways to improve all. And then news of school report cards that are coming soon. The long and short: teachers and schools are being 'graded' based on student achievement on standardized testing. Teacher scores are based on student growth. School grades are based a little on growth but a lot on proficiency (read: grade level on standardized tests).
Please hear me clearly: I have no problem with accountability. Good teachers are not afraid of being held accountable for what we do all day. We should be showing a year's worth of growth for a year's worth of school. I'm totally on board, in theory. But I live it daily. And because I live it daily, I must tell you what data does and does not show.
This set of data does not show that he has already, in January, shown over a year's worth of growth- 3.6 (3rd grade, 6th month)-5.2 (5th grade, 2nd month). This data will show that 5th grade, 2nd month is not proficient in 6th grade. This data does not show that 110%. It doesn't show my teaching strategies, and it doesn't show how this student has responded and grown. This particular set of data will show 'not proficient'. Period.
And that's a crying shame.
By the time I got home that afternoon, I was feeling quite discouraged. After my spirits were so high- my work matters!-, they were dashed. I was feeling down when I felt led to read a weekly blog that I usually read on Mondays. I usually read on Mondays, but I just felt like I couldn't until today. I know- weird. It's a blog written by my friend Jennifer Smith of Create In Us ministries, and you can view her blog here. This particular blog is about knowing your worth. Knowing the worth of God's work- His work is YOU!! When work matters, it changes things.
It's disheartening when you pour your heart and soul into it, and someone still can't see the worth of your work. It can be anywhere from outright insulting to just being overlooked. We've all been there. Your children don't seem to notice the meal you've prepared. A colleague doesn't notice something you worked hard on to help them. Your spouse doesn't notice when you picked up an extra chore. A grade you've earned or the feedback you receive doesn't reflect the time you put into a project. You've worked your tail off and someone else is recognized while you are seemingly overlooked.
But you're not overlooked, friend. Not in the least. Not in any of the above situations, not in any other circumstance. You're seen. More than seen, you are valued. Do you hear me? When it feels like someone can't see the worth of your work, there is Someone who sees.
More than the worth of your work, can you see the worth of His? Because the fact of the matter is, your worth is more than that of your work. Your worth is more than that of your work, because You are His work. His work. Just as yours is to you, Jesus' work is precious to Him. His work matters. You matter.
Praying you might know the worth of His work this week,
Kayla
So I went in yesterday after getting some minis from the Christian Chicken (Chick-Fil-A), arriving around my normal time but feeling so much more relaxed. We recently finished units in my science and math classes, and I had one last set of tests to grade before our faculty meeting at 8:30. I graded a few and was pleasantly surprised how well my kids were doing. I know they can do the work, yet many of them, for reasons I'm still figuring out, just often won't. So I'm grading to Vitamin String Quartet, and one of my pumpkins- who has a learning disability in math- made a 110%. 100%, and not only did he try every last one of the bonus questions, he got all 5 of them right. I literally teared up. This kid. Geez. As many times as I have paced that classroom, as many activities as we have done on the SMARTBoard, as many task cards and learning stations as I have set up, as many times as we kicked it old school with just a pencil and paper, as many times as I have stood on a chair while singing and dancing the Order of Operations (seriously, my principal has video), as many times as none of it seemed to matter...it does matter. It matters because he is getting it. My work matters. Do you know how incredible that is, when your work matters? I hope you do, friends. I hope you do. I shared his score with teammates and colleagues, and we celebrated all the way down to the faculty meeting. I even Instagrammed that 110%- I'm so stinkin' proud of this kid.
Faculty meeting was business as usual- safety updates, policy reminders, etc. We looked at benchmark data- celebrated some and looked for ways to improve all. And then news of school report cards that are coming soon. The long and short: teachers and schools are being 'graded' based on student achievement on standardized testing. Teacher scores are based on student growth. School grades are based a little on growth but a lot on proficiency (read: grade level on standardized tests).
Please hear me clearly: I have no problem with accountability. Good teachers are not afraid of being held accountable for what we do all day. We should be showing a year's worth of growth for a year's worth of school. I'm totally on board, in theory. But I live it daily. And because I live it daily, I must tell you what data does and does not show.
This set of data does not show that he has already, in January, shown over a year's worth of growth- 3.6 (3rd grade, 6th month)-5.2 (5th grade, 2nd month). This data will show that 5th grade, 2nd month is not proficient in 6th grade. This data does not show that 110%. It doesn't show my teaching strategies, and it doesn't show how this student has responded and grown. This particular set of data will show 'not proficient'. Period.
And that's a crying shame.
By the time I got home that afternoon, I was feeling quite discouraged. After my spirits were so high- my work matters!-, they were dashed. I was feeling down when I felt led to read a weekly blog that I usually read on Mondays. I usually read on Mondays, but I just felt like I couldn't until today. I know- weird. It's a blog written by my friend Jennifer Smith of Create In Us ministries, and you can view her blog here. This particular blog is about knowing your worth. Knowing the worth of God's work- His work is YOU!! When work matters, it changes things.
It's disheartening when you pour your heart and soul into it, and someone still can't see the worth of your work. It can be anywhere from outright insulting to just being overlooked. We've all been there. Your children don't seem to notice the meal you've prepared. A colleague doesn't notice something you worked hard on to help them. Your spouse doesn't notice when you picked up an extra chore. A grade you've earned or the feedback you receive doesn't reflect the time you put into a project. You've worked your tail off and someone else is recognized while you are seemingly overlooked.
But you're not overlooked, friend. Not in the least. Not in any of the above situations, not in any other circumstance. You're seen. More than seen, you are valued. Do you hear me? When it feels like someone can't see the worth of your work, there is Someone who sees.
More than the worth of your work, can you see the worth of His? Because the fact of the matter is, your worth is more than that of your work. Your worth is more than that of your work, because You are His work. His work. Just as yours is to you, Jesus' work is precious to Him. His work matters. You matter.
Praying you might know the worth of His work this week,
Kayla
Monday, January 19, 2015
reality check.
Last Saturday was an ordinary Saturday morning at Casa Cook. I woke up first, as usual, beside my hunk of a husband. The pup was stirring, and soon Mr. Cook was, too. We whispered our 'good mornings' and cuddled through the day's agenda: for Mr. Cook, an oil change, church basketball, home by lunch, for me, couponing, laundry, grading, puppy snuggles. Mr. Cook got on the website for the car dealership and that's when he realized: the oil change appt and basketball were at the same time. I offered to take the truck- it's an oil change, how long could it take? Mr. Cook started the truck and took the dog out while I quickly got ready. He headed out to basketball, and shortly after, I headed out to the truck. And this is when my selfish heart reared its ugly head (for the first of many times that morning).
I got to the truck, and the windshield was covered in thick frost. Mr. Cook had started it, but it was not even close to being defrosted. I sighed, but aside from being cold, this was no big deal. I would scrape it off and go to the dealership. Except I'm too short to scrape it. I got pretty grumpy pretty fast with this realization. So I sat there, growing more ill by the minute, waiting for the windshield to defrost enough for my short little arms to kinda knock off the frost. I realized I was going to be late, and my frustration grew. I so hate being late.
Finally, it was defrosted to the point that I could kinda knock off the frost. I pulled into the dealership, not in a good mood but trying to put on a happy face. I waited for a few minutes and told them who I was, that it was my husband's appointment and truck. They searched the schedule. They searched it again. And the appointment wasn't there. The folks at the dealership were very friendly, assured me it was a mistake, took the keys and told me they would work me in. I said thank you, got my coupon binder and purse, and sat in the waiting area. Sat, and stewed. No laundry was getting done, my couponing was severely limited in the waiting area, my phone was going to die, how long was I going to be here...
In my grumbling, I was using my (dying) phone, and I stumbled upon mundane faithfulness. It's the story of a sweet soul named Kara who has a precious family (her hubs and 4 super cute littles). Kara also has terminal cancer. She so bravely and elloquently shares her story on her blog, mundanefaithfulness.com (you should go there). So I sat reading, and I literally felt my selfish heart melting. As the enemy told me what a brat I was being, my Jesus was waiting with open arms, and He used this sweet soul, whom I've never met but know I love, to bring me back. He's good at that.
He's good at bringing me back to reality. He's good at using His people to love me, teach me, support me, give me grace, and, sometimes, bring me back to Earth while keeping eternity in mind. He's good at finding me in the midst of the chaos in a middle school classroom- He finds me when I can't seem to find Him. He is good.
It's my hope, my prayer, my goal to seek Him first. Not when the laundry is done. Not when the papers are graded. Not when the lessons are planned. First. I've never really been a morning person, but this week, I'm making the effort to get up a little earlier, so I can have the peace and quiet to seek Him first. The rest will be added, just like He said.
Seeking,
Kayla
I got to the truck, and the windshield was covered in thick frost. Mr. Cook had started it, but it was not even close to being defrosted. I sighed, but aside from being cold, this was no big deal. I would scrape it off and go to the dealership. Except I'm too short to scrape it. I got pretty grumpy pretty fast with this realization. So I sat there, growing more ill by the minute, waiting for the windshield to defrost enough for my short little arms to kinda knock off the frost. I realized I was going to be late, and my frustration grew. I so hate being late.
Finally, it was defrosted to the point that I could kinda knock off the frost. I pulled into the dealership, not in a good mood but trying to put on a happy face. I waited for a few minutes and told them who I was, that it was my husband's appointment and truck. They searched the schedule. They searched it again. And the appointment wasn't there. The folks at the dealership were very friendly, assured me it was a mistake, took the keys and told me they would work me in. I said thank you, got my coupon binder and purse, and sat in the waiting area. Sat, and stewed. No laundry was getting done, my couponing was severely limited in the waiting area, my phone was going to die, how long was I going to be here...
In my grumbling, I was using my (dying) phone, and I stumbled upon mundane faithfulness. It's the story of a sweet soul named Kara who has a precious family (her hubs and 4 super cute littles). Kara also has terminal cancer. She so bravely and elloquently shares her story on her blog, mundanefaithfulness.com (you should go there). So I sat reading, and I literally felt my selfish heart melting. As the enemy told me what a brat I was being, my Jesus was waiting with open arms, and He used this sweet soul, whom I've never met but know I love, to bring me back. He's good at that.
He's good at bringing me back to reality. He's good at using His people to love me, teach me, support me, give me grace, and, sometimes, bring me back to Earth while keeping eternity in mind. He's good at finding me in the midst of the chaos in a middle school classroom- He finds me when I can't seem to find Him. He is good.
It's my hope, my prayer, my goal to seek Him first. Not when the laundry is done. Not when the papers are graded. Not when the lessons are planned. First. I've never really been a morning person, but this week, I'm making the effort to get up a little earlier, so I can have the peace and quiet to seek Him first. The rest will be added, just like He said.
Seeking,
Kayla
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Welcome, 2015!
I love New Years. Absolutely love it. It's among my favorite holidays. We usually celebrate with lots of family friends, wearing pjs, eating yummy snacks, playing games, and toasting in the new year. This year, we celebrated with mostly immediate family, doing the same things but at my parents' house. My sister had surgery Tuesday, and after a bit of a scary time in the hospital, she was able to come home yesterday. She's not super mobile at the moment (for obvious reasons), so we went to her :)
Cheers to 2015!
Kayla
In addition to the time with some of those I hold most dear, I love the seemingly designated time to reflect. I love the idea of fresh starts, of resolutions, of focus and purpose.
2014 has been simultaneously the best and worst year of my life. Let's hit the bad head on: my grandmother passed away. My sister has had some health problems. People I love lost their loved ones. I got a filling yesterday- ew. I've made some tough choices. I left kids that I loved and co-workers I adored at the school that gave me my first job. Oh, but it was the best, too! I managed to talk Mr. Cook into getting a puppy, and he is a sweet ray of sunshine in our home. I transferred schools and became what I never dreamed I would be- a middle school teacher. I made some wonderful friends with my new co-workers, and I feel so lucky to have them. I discovered that, while I will always love tinys, middle school kids are awesome. Maybe sometimes a little weird, but mostly awesome. Mr. Cook got a promotion. We went on some great trips to Charleston and Holden Beach, among others, and homecoming at our alma mater. We went to seven- count 'em, seven- weddings this year, and it was a true blessing to be at each one, to see people we love dearly who love each other make that commitment. One of those seven was ours :) We honeymooned and found a new favorite place (here's lookin' at you, St. Augustine). We got our first place. We've celebrated the engagements of other friends. We've loved on our families. We've spent time with our friends that will always be cherished.
Looking back, it's clear to me the truth in Colossians 1:17 "He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together." What a whirlwind of a year! And God held it together. In the hard moments when I cried on the back deck at my parents' house, Jesus was holding all things together. When my heart was about to explode with joy as I walked down the aisle, He was holding all things together then, too. On my last day of my first job and on the first day of my new job, He was holding all things together. As we brought in the New Year, it was humbling to remember Who it is that is holding this year, and all things, together.
As much as I love New Years, I've never been one for resolutions. To me, they've tended to feel like broken promises when they aren't kept. This year, though, I'm making some. Here they are:
-To better recognize that, when I say "yes" to something, I'm saying "no" to something else; to be purposeful about what I say "yes" to and conscious of what I am (therefore) saying "no" to
-To be more consistent in my blogging: once a week, and then as inspiration strikes
-To embrace the current season of my life, to enjoy life as a newlywed :)
-To be with the friends who are there and not touch my phone when I'm having a meal with other people
-To remember that no matter what may come in 2015, I know the One Who holds all things together, and to continually be amazed that He knows my name.
I'm humbled and thankful to have people in my life who are honest-to-goodness forever friends, and to have been able to spend time with them this year. Mr. Cook and I are meeting some of them for dinner here shortly for what (I hope) will become a new tradition.
I'm humbled and thankful to have people in my life who are honest-to-goodness forever friends, and to have been able to spend time with them this year. Mr. Cook and I are meeting some of them for dinner here shortly for what (I hope) will become a new tradition.
Cheers to 2015!
Kayla
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
A Different Kind of Christmas
It was a different kind of Christmas. My grandmother passed away in January of this year, and to say things have been different without her would be an understatement. She had been sick for over a decade, and we were and are grateful for her complete healing in Heaven, but we still miss her. When she went to Heaven, I found myself being selfish in what should be the most joyous of times. There is one less place to visit on Sundays after church. She always called to sing "Happy Birthday", a little off-key, but she made up for it with enthusiasm. On my 24th birthday, I got one less phone call, one less song. She wasn't there to critique my deviled eggs or punch bowl cake at 4th of July (trust me, she would find something that needed improvement haha). She never got to see my wedding dress; I'm the only granddaughter who had an extra candle instead of her at my wedding. When my sister cut 6 inches off of my hair (don't worry- she does hair for a living) the day before Christmas Eve, I had a slight feeling of dread for a minute over what she would say when she saw it the next day before I remembered she wouldn't be there. It's been almost a year, but I find myself missing her more instead of less; it seems to get harder instead of easier.
I have to remind myself that her joy is complete. That my mom has a saved voicemail of her singing "Happy Birthday". That she always loved that I love to cook; that I cook the way she often did: without recipes, by feeling and the occasional taste test. That she had the best seat in the house for my wedding. That she probably asked an angel to intervene before my sister cut half a foot off my hair.
In addition to my grandmother being in Heaven, it was my first Christmas as Mrs. Cook. After a few squabbles in scheduling, everything worked out just fine for us to be able to love on both families and start our own Christmas traditions. We are fortunate to have both families within less than an hour of one another and our home. It has been so special to have this time together, to start our own memories as the Cook family.
It was a different kind of Christmas for us- our first Christmas as Mr. and Mrs. Cook, our puppy's first Christmas (yes, we are the crazy dog people), the first Christmas that we were responsible for all decorations. It was a different kind of Christmas for our parents, with us waking up in our home instead of theirs. It was a different kind of Christmas for my extended family, missing my grandmother.
But she had a different kind of Christmas this year, too- her first Christmas in the presence of the Savior. Wow. My grandmother loved a good party, and I cannot imagine the ultimate Christmas party she got to attend. And I'm sure Jesus thoroughly enjoyed her rendition of "Happy Birthday" :)
Singing,
Kayla
I have to remind myself that her joy is complete. That my mom has a saved voicemail of her singing "Happy Birthday". That she always loved that I love to cook; that I cook the way she often did: without recipes, by feeling and the occasional taste test. That she had the best seat in the house for my wedding. That she probably asked an angel to intervene before my sister cut half a foot off my hair.
In addition to my grandmother being in Heaven, it was my first Christmas as Mrs. Cook. After a few squabbles in scheduling, everything worked out just fine for us to be able to love on both families and start our own Christmas traditions. We are fortunate to have both families within less than an hour of one another and our home. It has been so special to have this time together, to start our own memories as the Cook family.
It was a different kind of Christmas for us- our first Christmas as Mr. and Mrs. Cook, our puppy's first Christmas (yes, we are the crazy dog people), the first Christmas that we were responsible for all decorations. It was a different kind of Christmas for our parents, with us waking up in our home instead of theirs. It was a different kind of Christmas for my extended family, missing my grandmother.
But she had a different kind of Christmas this year, too- her first Christmas in the presence of the Savior. Wow. My grandmother loved a good party, and I cannot imagine the ultimate Christmas party she got to attend. And I'm sure Jesus thoroughly enjoyed her rendition of "Happy Birthday" :)
Singing,
Kayla
Monday, December 8, 2014
I don't have time for this
I don't have time for this.
I wish I had a dollar for every time I've said or even thought this phrase recently.
Yesterday afternoon, I was in the midst of addressing Christmas cards, writing thank you notes from our wedding, making a dip for a family get-together, entering grades, starting a load of laundry, and running the dishwasher. As I often do when I'm trying to multi-task, I found myself getting more and more frustrated, more and more annoyed, more and more, quite frankly, grumpy. And as I started every task, I found myself getting ill and frustratingly whispering to myself, "I don't have time for this!!"
And then I heard it. That still small voice. That still small voice that comforts, brings peace, gives grace, loves relentlessly. That still small voice that convicts.
That still small voice whispered to my heart, "Don't have time for what? For life?"
These moments, this small chaos, this is what life is made of. It is busy and peaceful and crazy and hard and beautiful and frustrating and lovely. It is good because the One who gives life is good.
So often, I get caught up in the chaos. I've never been good at chaos and conflict- my instinct is to want to skip it...skip to the evening, skip to Friday, skip to vacation, skip to (insert event here). But God has put it so plainly: "Don't be wishing you were someplace else...Where you are right now is God's place for you. Live and obey and love and believe right there." (1 Corinthians 7:17a, the Message). He wants to meet us and use us right where we are, no matter our circumstance. My chaos is relatively small, especially when you consider the happenings in our world. And yet, with all that is going on in His world, God still cares about the chaos and mess in my life. No matter how big or how trivial to others, to the world, or even to ourselves, God notices and He cares, and He wants to use it for His glory and our good.
Once I took a deep breath, I looked around our two bedroom apartment. And I loved what I saw.
That pile of Christmas cards and that stack of thank you notes reminded me that we have people in our lives we are lucky to love and who love us in return. That dip that needed to be made meant we have food to eat, enough to share, and loved ones to share it with. Those grades I needed to enter were a reminder that I'm fortunate to be able to do what I'm called to do and get paid for it. That load of laundry and full dishwasher meant we have clothes to wear, food to eat, and something to eat on and with, and clean water to wash them. And when I calmed down, I realized my precious husband had picked up unloading the dishwasher right where I frantically scooted off to the next thing; he was stirring the ingredients in the crockpot and figuring out what to add next (quite the task, considering his wife doesn't often use recipes).
This holiday season, I'm working on eliminating the phrase "I don't have time for this" from my vocabulary. Because what I'm really saying when I say that is "I don't have time for this life"; what I'm really saying is "I don't have time for these gifts, God." And who am I to turn down a gift? ;-)
Making time,
Kayla
I wish I had a dollar for every time I've said or even thought this phrase recently.
Yesterday afternoon, I was in the midst of addressing Christmas cards, writing thank you notes from our wedding, making a dip for a family get-together, entering grades, starting a load of laundry, and running the dishwasher. As I often do when I'm trying to multi-task, I found myself getting more and more frustrated, more and more annoyed, more and more, quite frankly, grumpy. And as I started every task, I found myself getting ill and frustratingly whispering to myself, "I don't have time for this!!"
And then I heard it. That still small voice. That still small voice that comforts, brings peace, gives grace, loves relentlessly. That still small voice that convicts.
That still small voice whispered to my heart, "Don't have time for what? For life?"
These moments, this small chaos, this is what life is made of. It is busy and peaceful and crazy and hard and beautiful and frustrating and lovely. It is good because the One who gives life is good.
So often, I get caught up in the chaos. I've never been good at chaos and conflict- my instinct is to want to skip it...skip to the evening, skip to Friday, skip to vacation, skip to (insert event here). But God has put it so plainly: "Don't be wishing you were someplace else...Where you are right now is God's place for you. Live and obey and love and believe right there." (1 Corinthians 7:17a, the Message). He wants to meet us and use us right where we are, no matter our circumstance. My chaos is relatively small, especially when you consider the happenings in our world. And yet, with all that is going on in His world, God still cares about the chaos and mess in my life. No matter how big or how trivial to others, to the world, or even to ourselves, God notices and He cares, and He wants to use it for His glory and our good.
Once I took a deep breath, I looked around our two bedroom apartment. And I loved what I saw.
That pile of Christmas cards and that stack of thank you notes reminded me that we have people in our lives we are lucky to love and who love us in return. That dip that needed to be made meant we have food to eat, enough to share, and loved ones to share it with. Those grades I needed to enter were a reminder that I'm fortunate to be able to do what I'm called to do and get paid for it. That load of laundry and full dishwasher meant we have clothes to wear, food to eat, and something to eat on and with, and clean water to wash them. And when I calmed down, I realized my precious husband had picked up unloading the dishwasher right where I frantically scooted off to the next thing; he was stirring the ingredients in the crockpot and figuring out what to add next (quite the task, considering his wife doesn't often use recipes).
This holiday season, I'm working on eliminating the phrase "I don't have time for this" from my vocabulary. Because what I'm really saying when I say that is "I don't have time for this life"; what I'm really saying is "I don't have time for these gifts, God." And who am I to turn down a gift? ;-)
Making time,
Kayla
Sunday, December 7, 2014
a brand new blog
Growing up, I wanted to do something great. I entertained the idea of nursing, going to law school, becoming a banker, going into broadcast journalism (I went so far as to intern), just to name a few. I had the grades and the family support I needed to go to many competitive schools (here's lookin' at you, UNC) and to give it my best shot at becoming those things. The world was at my fingertips. But my heart said no. No to nursing, law, banking, journalism. I knew what I was meant to be, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it.
I will never forget a particular car ride with my mom. I was 17, and I was driving us to the mall. We were talking about me going to college, what I wanted to major in, and I kept beating around the bush. She finally cut me off and said, "if money was no object, what would you do?" And, right there driving over a bridge, I finally said it out loud, "I would teach." And my mom said, "Then that's what you should do." The following Monday, I applied for the Teaching Fellows scholarship. I accepted it that spring, and I've never looked back.
That fall, I went to a college I never expected to go to, majoring in Elementary Education. I fell in love with Appalachian State and the people I met there, including some of the most wonderful friends in the world and, oh yeah, my super cute husband :)
After graduation, I spent my first two years teaching first grade at a low-income elementary school. Those two years hold some of the best and hardest times of my life so far, and you can read about my journey of faith through it all here. In the midst of it all, I was dating the most selfless human being I've ever had the pleasure to know. We started dating just as I finished my undergrad degree, so he has seen my career from the very beginning- good, bad, ugly, and everyday mundane. More than my career, he has seen me- good, bad, ugly, and everyday mundane- and he asked me to marry him anyway :) We got married 10/18/14, and being Garrett's wife is one of my favorite blessings.
At the end of my second year of teaching, I felt called to something different, something new, so I put in for a transfer. As much as I wanted it, I still cried when my transfer request was approved. I was offered positions at two schools- one elementary school, one middle school. At crossroads like these, I've learned to step out of my comfort zone (or sometimes be thrown out), and so I accepted the position at the middle school to teach 6th grade math and science.
Did I mention that both of these transitions have happened in the past 6 months? So that brings us here. To a brand new blog. This is my story of navigating marriage and middle school. Welcome to it :)
-Kayla
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