Post 55 | Welcoming Summer

SUMMER JO LEE
“Season of Warmth, God is Willing”

"At the name of Aslan each one of the children felt something jump in it's inside. Edmund felt a sensation of mysterious horror. Peter felt suddenly brave and adventurous. Susan felt as if some delicious smell or some delightful strain of music had just floated by her. And Lucy got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realize that it is the start of the holidays

or the beginning of Summer.” 

In February 2011, on the day my mom was rediagnosed with breast cancer, with a “matter of time” death sentence, I wept on the couch in the night eaves. I can remember true weeping only two or three times in the past half-decade. I don’t cry easily or often. But that night I wept. To distract myself I started scrolling through Pinterest and in my feed was a baby mobile my mom had pinned a few days before. The caption said “I will be making this for my granddaughter. Someday.”

Though we “missed” some parts of newlywed life by having Rowdy so quickly, what we gained I wouldn’t trade for anything — even a few more months or years of “just the two of us.” One of the best parts of getting pregnant six weeks after our wedding was that I was able to share motherhood with my mom for half a year. I’ll never get to do that again, and none of my siblings will ever have that experience in their whole lives. Six precious months of asking advice, of being three living generations, of enjoying a baby boy together, of sharing in “the big stuff” of life.

Before she died she and I worked together to make sure all the children had letters from her for important dates in their life. But she was going to take care of my letters herself. She ended up passing much faster than we all expected and she never finished my letter. She did start it, however. And in that one paragraph, written in pen in her handwriting, she told me how much she’s loved me my whole life. She told me that watching me give birth and become a mother was a highlight of her life, and that she was so proud of me. And she said she would be cheering me on, wishing she could be by my side, when I have other children.

Growing up in and near The Golden State, mom spent summers camping in Yosemite, swimming in Lake Tahoe, running through her grandparent’s peach orchards, tanning at the pool, playing neighborhood games until well after dark, and visiting some of the world’s best beaches. She grew up barefoot and prided herself in developing “calloused feet” so she could walk on the black pavement without it hurting. Her hair turned white in the sun and freckles popped up around her nose. As a grown woman and mother, her love of summer perhaps only increased. She loved to sit on the sidelines of soccer and baseball games with her sleeves rolled up and shoes off. For most of my childhood, between June and August, I remember leaving the house around lunchtime and coming home around dinnertime after spending the entire afternoon at the pool. Mom had a “pool bag” of magazines and homeschool planning and bills, but she mostly just carried it back and forth. She never really got things done she felt like she should. Instead she chatted with us and the other pool moms, or just sat in the sunny silence with her feet hanging in the water. Our family vacations were always centered around Disney or getting to a beach, and no one in their right mind goes to Disney in the summer, so we always found ourselves near the water. Rehoboth Beach, Virginia Beach, Myrtle Beach, The Outer Banks, Kiawah Island, Aruba and Costa Rica, La Jolla, Coronado Beach, Lake Tahoe. Sandcastles and driftwood forts and mermaid contests and crab hunting and boogie boarding and tanning and going for walks to the snack bar and sand in our hair and ears and toenails.

My dad didn’t grow up visiting the beach, doesn’t know how to swim, is a bit paranoid about sharks, and doesn’t like being hot (he’s the guy who opens the windows when it’s snowing outside for “fresh air.”) But even he grew to love being at the beach, thanks to mom’s insistence that their family spend time there. His favorite time is first thing in the morning. On vacation he wakes up early with whichever kids are up, gets coffee, and strolls the empty shoreline while the white noise of waves and clear morning sunlight casts a spell.

We lived in San Diego for 15 months and mom said it felt like a 15 month vacation. “Reality” never hit. More often than I can count, and certainly more than she reported to the homeschool supervisor, we would take off to the beach for the afternoon. “Just because we can,” she’d say. When they moved to Florida in 2010 she found herself with the same motto.

Mom shaped the magic of summer for me. Sunshine, blue skies, hot air, late nights, fresh food, cold desserts, no school, special trips, lots of water, chlorine, sand, blackened feet, berry picking, naturally highlighted hair, activity, excitement. She made summer feel and be the highlight of the year, where everything was happiest. We had the most fun as a family during those sunny months, and it was obvious that mom’s soul was at it’s best. 

Caleb and I were born in August, and we married in August too. We fell in love in the summer, somewhere between frozen yogurt walks and the county fair, and grill dinners on the deck, and 3 am. Our first child was born the first month of summer, and last summer, the day after we officially decided to have Caleb change career paths, there was a plus sign on a pink and white stick letting us know about a new little one.

“All in all, it was a never to be forgotten summer — one of those summers which come seldom into any life, but leave a rich heritage of beautiful memories in their going — one of those summers which, in a fortunate combination of delightful weather, delightful friends and delightful doing, come as near to perfection as anything can come in this world.” L.M. Montgomery, Anne’s House of Dreams

Suzanne Lee is the wonderful woman Summer Lee was named to honor and remember, highlighting the best parts of the golden days of our conflicted lives. The grandmother in Summerland she will meet. Someday. 

“In those days, and at the right time, I will restore the fortunes taken from you.” Joel 3:1

While Caleb and I were dating we talked about names we both liked. The name “Jolee” was mentioned, and we were both convinced one of our daughters must have it in honor of her uncle. Caleb’s brother, Joel Caleb, went to the Summerland when he was only three years old. He’s the sunshine boy that was taken.  Talking through the details of his memories of Joel’s cancer battle, Caleb cried in front of me for the first time. Caleb spent many nights walking around with his twin brother, Daniel, while they each had a baby twin for “the twilight shift.” They paced and bounced and loved their little brothers. It was clear very quickly, I’m told, that Joel was just full of spunk. He was silly and energetic and known for his bright personality. He had a big round head of blonde hair, and full bread roll cheeks. As parents, he comes to mind on a nearly daily basis. “Life is so precious. Loss is so horrid.” Joel has given both of us an especial awareness of how good it is to have our children, and to spend as much time and energy and mental space enjoying their presence, their aliveness. He’s a reminder to sing songs loud, to laugh easily, and to be a little weird. He’s yellow and shining. “God is willing. He will restore. All will end well. The best is yet to come.”

Neatly enough, Joel and Caleb’s mom is another “summer adorer.” And Caleb has similar memories of the happiness of his household during the sunny months. Everyone coming alive, working in the garden, spending hours upon hours outdoors, volleyball games, state fairs, tan bodies, easy spirits, lake days at Paps’ house, red dirt sweat, climbing trees, homemade iced tea. There is something undeniable and sown into our hearts about the hope, light, and goodness of the summer months. And there is something “full of weight” to miss, love, and learn from two dear ones gone ahead. We pray our Summer Jo Lee is as carefree, full of light, and happy as Joel, and is as peaceful, strong, and warm as her grandmother.

“O the bliss of life eternal! 
O the long unbroken rest!
In the golden fields of pleasure,
In the region of the blest;
But, to see our dear Redeemer,
And before His throne to fall,
There to bear His gracious welcome,
Will be sweeter far than all.

On the banks beyond the river
We shall meet, no more to sever;
In the bright, the bright forever,
In the summer land of song.”
Fanny Crosby

Ps. As a special added note, the midwife who oversaw Summer’s birth is named Jo. The entire experience of getting to deliver her at my “dream” birth center, with the experience I was craving in my heart, is such an answer to prayer and joy to me. But I’ll have to share that whole story another time…

Post 54 | Snowstorm 2016

“Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,
At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,
When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,
And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.”
CS Lewis

We had a cozy time during the 2016 East Coast Blizzard this year. Our house was FULL (I think more than 20 people the whole time), and sometimes the "cabin fever" got to certain ones, and there was a plumbing issue that caused all the water to be shut off but our streets weren't plowed so we all hiked down the road to helpful friends who met us in warm cars at the first clear area. And Caleb and I both were sick most of the time. A few threw-up. It was a memory. It was... cozy. ;) But it was also a very very fun first snow. It was magical to be snuggled up by a window and watch the snow fall for hours. It was fun to watch Netflix, and listen to music, and eat up that pantry, and make cookies, and watch the kids play in the snow, and know that the area was doing the same things.

I like for there to be a "reason." I like to reason, but I also like reasons. For those who naturally love coldness and winter, they might have to look harder for "reasons" summer is nice. And I get to spend a lot of winter finding goodness in what would "naturally" be a very harsh, dead, painful, cold time for me. One of the reasons I think winter is so hard on earth is because I think it will be such fun to experience the contrast in heaven. Not "summer vs winter." But Earth Winter vs. Heaven Winter. Winter without bad memories, winter without hurting, winter without anything dead, winter without being cold physically or emotionally, winter without, well, the hard parts of winter. I imagine somehow it will be chilly, but not anything that makes us uncomfortable or is prickly-bite-y to our heaven bodies. I imagine we'll still get to experience that great sensation of being "nestled in" and coming into a crackling fire room. The feeling of being thawed. The feeling of bunkered and tucked away. The feeling of riding a sled, but no bits of ice sneaking into the wrist gap between your gloves and jacket. The winter sunsets. My mom thought that in heaven snow would be all different colors. Like, wouldn't it be neat to see a world covered in gold snow? Or to watch people snowboard down enormous orange and red mountains?

One thing I do like about Earth Winter is how *bright* it is the day after the first snow. When the sun comes out, and the sky is clear, and everything is a shade of blue or grey. It's very enchanting. Winter takes endurance, but, especially when you have little children around, it takes just a bit of pixie dust.

Post 53 | Morris Family Update

"I'm not gonna state
Obvious observations everybody makes
But baby, be prepared to be surprised.
It's all I know."
Sondre Lerche

"You'd better be prepared to be surprised" is a lyric that has just kind of 'stuck' since I heard it when I was 18. It comes to mind often. And is true.

Not that I feel like I "have" to keep up the details of our lives on the internet, some of the way the world simply works now is to keep in touch with people you care about through social media. And a mass e-mail seemed a little... silly. We have many dear friends (and even family!) and caring folks who have asked recently "So, what are you guys up to now? I saw you were selling your house? What happened? Where do you live?" and other very good questions in the same vein. This probably will be a big-blah post for many, but for those who have been wondering what we're doing and why we're doing it, this is the post for you! It's also a post for us to have as a Remembering Stone in our lives. The end of the year is such a great time to reflect and refocus.

To begin this post I jotted down the Majors of our last almost-four years. Dating was just... bliss. We were fully on the proverbial Cloud Nine and life was easy. There was nothing new/huge/awful happening with either of our families and though a few friends were in some sad seasons, overall "our world" was pleasant! Our families met for the first time in Florida and spent Christmas together at my parent's house. It was at the turn of that year, January 2012, that we say "we got on the hamster wheel" and feel like we've been running ever since. 

Caleb and I together have talked back through these years many times, and we notice how the "highlights" don't cover all the nearly-as-big small details like postpartum recovery, relational tensions with other people, deciding to live with my family as newlyweds and not "in our own little place," having a single, widower dad, trying to or trying not to get pregnant, one sibling leaving a family holiday because of a fight with another one, all the time time spent at basketball, one sibling struggling with deep depression, another with anger issues, another with social anxiety, not being able to "make it better" for everyone, the 24-hour each-way drives to and from Oklahoma/Maryland, bleeding and previa scares in pregnancy, shooting, editing and producing for clients (and feeling like a failure of a "business woman." "If you can't do it right or the best, you shouldn't do it at all."), hiring a moving company who came three days late and then tripled the quote, leaving us to pack and drive our own moving truck in 48 hours, the bitter cold and building in a house with no heat, trying to lose and gain weight, wanting to be generous and present and close but feeling like nothing is making a difference, new sadnesses and death and stress in friend's lives, having a "blank-eyed" tired husband, falling asleep with vomit-acid in your nose for the ninth month, having $900 in our joined bank accounts at one point, working 18 hour days, starting a baby clothes shop for a hot second, watching mom suffer, being in the hospital with Roo the week she died, offending people by accident, feeling numb, trying to be more orderly, mastitis. 

It doesn't cover all the outstanding things of wonder and goodness we've experienced, either. I read a quote on a plaque outside Barnes&Noble yesterday that said "Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards." (Soren Kierkegaard) I think it's another line that will stick for me. Because, to be honest, I don't *feel* like the last four years have been *that* hard. I feel like we've been supported, comforted, loved. I feel like these things are just a part of life ("adulting"). I feel like it's not supposed to be easy and I people who I esteem to have "easy lives" seem to get overwhelmed by their "big things," even if those seem awfully simple to me. I figure if that's the case, how many others could look at my life and feel the same? I have a very strong sense that I KNOW my life has been good, and I am doing a disservice to those who have suffered in ways I've never known to act like I've been through hell. I'm kind of picky about words and saying things like "miserable" or "that was so so hard" or "hardest thing I've ever done" or "worst thing ever" or "suffering" or "season of trial" because they matter. I'd say most things in my life aren't SO HARD. They can challenge me, or put me in a bad mood, or be disappointing or tiring or annoying. I certainly battle personal motivation and inner fears. But I think everyone does that. And I think we all know that feeling. However, there are feelings I completely do not know, and there are words that should be reserved for the people who do.

With that said, I feel as if I'm understanding life backwards. And that it's okay to say "Hm. Yeah. This has been a lot. Not the most any person has ever endured, but... it's been a big four years. I'm  a bit tattered, yet full of hope. Different, but glad for the change. And, well, a little... in need of a deep breath." Here's the rundown:

WINTER 2012
Mom was rediagnosed with breast cancer
Caleb and I got engaged

SPRING/SUMMER 2012
Flew back and forth between Florida and Maryland for mom’s chemo treatments
Planned a wedding
Caleb took biggest renovation project in his business to date, I was shooting weddings
Helped my family move back to Maryland in June
Got married in August

FALL 2012
Found out we were pregnant
Mom had lung surgery and tough recovery
October-December I was horribly sick and nauseous

WINTER 2012/2013
Mom started chemo again

SPRING/SUMMER 2013
Went on a one-month work trip to Oklahoma to put the roof on our house
Hosted a workshop seven months pregnant
Continued with mom’s chemo
Had our first baby!
Shot three weddings the month he was born, and eight more the rest of the season

FALL 2013
Mom had cancer in her brain and radiation to treat it
Her health rapidly declined, chemo continued
A second Oklahoma work trip to install windows and build staircase

WINTER 2013/2014
Mom was given 6-8 weeks to live
She died on January 22, 2014
Found out I was pregnant on February 28, 2014

SPRING 2014
Was horribly nauseous and still breastfeeding our eight-month-old
Flew from DC to Vancouver for a friend’s wedding, then went to Santa Barbara for a month
Began to miscarry our last night of the trip
Baby Ryan was “born” a few hours after a flight to Texas in a friend’s bathroom

SUMMER 2014
Our boy turned one!
Took a two-month long work/fun road trip from Maryland to California and back with my little sisters
Decided to start aggressive saving for final push to move into our Oklahoma house

FALL 2014
Packed apartment in Maryland
Both of us worked 12-15 hour days to make enough money to finish building
Passed due-date milestone for our second one
Moved all our belongings to an unfinished house in Oklahoma

WINTER 2014/2015
Spent most of October, November, December, January building in the cold
Moved out of everyone’s houses we stayed in and moved into our own liveable (but very unfinished house)
Homeschooled youngest sister in Oklahoma for second semester

SPRING 2015
Caleb took the current biggest renovation project of his career (for an amazing client/friend we love!) But life had caught up with him and was quite anxious, lethargic, ‘depressed’ and overworked

SUMMER 2015
Our boy turned two!
Took another two-month work/fun road trip mostly for my weddings all over the country
Found out we were pregnant for the third time
I spent all of July, August and September in bed and throwing up. Finally went to the hospital for fluids and meds.
Put our unfinished house up for sale. Had 12 showings in two weeks and accepted a cash offer before changing our minds and deciding to keep the house (Aren’t we fun?)

FALL 2015
Caleb stopped taking construction jobs
Drove from Oklahoma to Maryland for a month of work in October (I had 14 clients between families/weddings that month),
Drove back to Oklahoma in November, 
Fourth “work trip” on our Oklahoma house: finished the exterior! 
Drove back to Maryland in December

WINTER 2016
Caleb began trying to make a living doing music in Maryland
Living in a bedroom in my dad’s house in Maryland, 
(where we’ll hopefully stay until we have our baby in March)
Record album/s for Caleb

SPRING/SUMMER 2016 PLANS
Produce project I started two years ago
Have a baby!
Shoot a Maryland wedding in April
Drive to Oklahoma for a brother’s wedding
Drive to Minneapolis for a best friend’s wedding
Drive to San Diego for all of May and June for Caleb to play music
July-ish come back to Oklahoma until my next Maryland weddings

FALL 2016 PLANS
Finish the kitchen in Oklahoma house
Finish the flooring
Finish the staircase
*Maybe* finish the inside trim

When Caleb and I were engaged, we invited his twin brother Daniel to come be with us in Maryland. He was coming from a YWAM trip in Australia where he had just been reignited with passion for music. Both Caleb and Daniel spent their childhood and teenage years playing the heck out of the instruments they loved (piano and violin). They wanted to be the next Joshua Bell's and dreamed of doing music as a career. They were offered full-ride four-year music scholarships, but they were at a fork in the road of life, and decided to start a family construction business with their dad and younger brother instead. This was not a bad decision by any means, but looking backwards Caleb, at least, sees a lot of fear in his choice: fear of 'secular' eduction, fear of not being able to provide for a future family, fear of all the people who said "You can't make a living in the arts." Music was still played at home and in church, and they even produced their own hymns album, but their energy turned to buying land, building houses and a construction business.

It was a big deal for Daniel, six or so years later, to be turning back to his first love. As soon as he arrived we began supporting his excitement and trying to figure out ways to make money through music. Through a missed 10K race, a field and a chance meeting, we connected with a favorite wedding venue and created a photography-music package to offer couples. We set up a blog and youtube channel, created business cards, and the boys played on the streets and sidewalks as often as they could (though Daniel did more given he was single and not in the middle of running a construction company and planning a wedding). A year later, and after Dan had worked through a number of his own personal struggles, he was back at it and music was his largest passion in life. (He'd text us pictures of himself eating dinner alone saying "Eating with my girl!" and his viola was sitting on the chair across from him ;) It was funny.) At this point we had a new baby and my mom was in her final months. Caleb's construction was going great! And while Dan was making lots of connections and even a decent living for a single guy, his life was late nights, crazy schedule, spontaneous freedoms, optimistic ideas, driving from city to city, and lots of gusto. At this point he approached Caleb a number of times almost begging him to quit construction and do music with him full-time. They did weddings together, and occasional "gigs" but to take it to the next level, they would both need full-time commitment.

We discussed it so much, but it was just not the right time for Caleb. And it couldn't have been more perfect for Daniel. It wasn't that Caleb didn't want to, or that it didn't sound like an amazing life to live! it was just that his world was very sweetly tied to his wife's -- and her family -- and between adjusting to having a newborn and being there for my family, we didn't have the flexibility we did when we were single. And we didn't want to be anywhere else. Caleb said "No, but you go for it, buddy" with music-sadness in his heart, but knowing it was right. Honestly, he said no for me and for my brothers and sisters. It was one of the most eagerly sacrificial choices he's ever made for me.

Now fast forward two more years, and we're at last summer with a whooooole lot of life lived in those 24 months. Caleb and I did so much soul-searching and question-asking and calculating and imagining and running into conversational brick walls and having break-throughs. We were in Oklahoma, living in our unfinished house, with Caleb teetering on the edge of taking over the family company completely (as his dad was wanting to go different directions in life). He had acquired two incredible clients, with calls coming in daily from their peers. It was the sweet spot of the renovation industry, and exactly where you'd want to be if building was your career. Things were on the move! He was making good money! He was getting a bit of a name as the master craftsman builder he is! And... he was despondent. Emotionally and spiritually he was face-to-face with many "inner demons" since living back in Oklahoma. Physically he was worn to the bone, and mentally he was an anxious mess. I felt so bad for him, and knew he couldn't go on like this. My heart had that "dull ache" for him, and I started to dread seeing those weary eyes come home (not that I didn't want them home! I just didn't want them weary! And it was awful to not be able to cheer him up).

We had a long summer trip planned from Mid-May to Mid-July where I had 10 weddings (literally all over the country: from Boston, Minneapolis, Austin, California, and on). We combined some sight-seeing, some friend visiting, and some family gatherings into our time and we used it to think HARD. We must have talked for 10 hours a day about "What are we doing with our lives?!" and trying to pull from all the wisdom we've heard from other married couples 10, 20, 30, 40, 50 years ahead of us, while also thinking about how we could utilize our very new "internet world" that all generations up until this time have never had access to. What do we want together? What is it that we care to build? When it really comes to money and financial security, how much does it matter (because let's be straight: money is so helpful and great)? What risks are we personally okay with, but not okay with as parents? What in our life is restful and what is stressful? Who do we want to become and where do you want to push ourselves? What's worth giving up, and what's never or rarely worth giving up?

In the meantime, we attended Daniel's wedding (yay!) in Southern California, and we got to see and hear about their lives. The years Dan had spent single were pivotal in creating a foundation for him as a musician, and as a newlywed he was absolutely killing it! Working hard, but certainly living a "dreamy" life with great schedule and income and doing what he loves everyday. Caleb kept saying "I wish I was so happy about my work. I just don't know if I can keep doing construction." I, personally, thought taking over the family business would be amazing for our futures and thought he could do it! But I told him I wouldn't even consider it if he felt like this weariness wasn't "just a phase." If he couldn't get excited about building. "I don't know what this is. And I have no idea how long it will last." he'd say.

Though we have always discussed this in our relationship, we walked away from the Big Summer Trip of 2015 with a very, very clear target: Togetherness, Generosity, and Peace. We wanted to make decisions that would allow us the most time as a family to live day-in and day-out together -- me and Caleb, Caleb and Rowdy, Rowdy and me, the three of us, etc. If possible, and as a long-term goal, we are so moved by the thought that "For how you spend your days is, of course, how you spend your life." And if we spend most of our days apart, we'll spend most of our lives apart. Without question there have been and will continue to be seasons where we might be away from each other for 12 out of 16 waking hours (or whatever). We have God-given responsibilities we can't neglect for the sake of (even a meaningful) idea. But, if possible, can we choose paths that sacrifice something else more than our time spent side by side?

This even taps into so much valuable history and the principal of "The Village." Most people have lived in clans, tribes, groups, villages, peoples, dwellings, or whatnot for the whole lives. I've read much about women and mothers, in particular, in those cultures. There wasn't much of that "I'm alone all day with these kids and my husband comes home too tired to help and I'm so overwhelmed and lonely and need an adult conversation" feeling. Women, typically, worked together all day. I'm sure they got tired and were scared and experienced depression. But their kids played with the other village kids, and worked together, and midwives cared for them after births, and there were no cars to drive up and down the highway, and the world was small, and no one was responsible for "everything," but everyone was responsible for something. Not to over-glorify these hundreds and hundreds of years, because there were downfalls. People stuck in a lifestyle they could never escape, personal vision often marginalized and squashed, shame for going out on your own or trying something new, etc. But with the technology, ability and first-world passion for independence, we've done something quite brand new the last 100 or so years (in some parts of the world, but certainly in America). You marry, leave the 'clan,' live alone, work sensible jobs, buy a house and get into a mortgage, have some kids, raise them, retire, and... enjoy the grandbabies and cruises and heritage of old age! (To note: these things are not bad!!) But in the past few generations, you see the effect of sending a man away from his family all day, and a woman being left "alone" with kids all day, or women having to fight to be able to work, or being pressured with financial debts to have both work... And, at least from what I can tell, it's a dangerous cycle. It's not a death sentence or necessarily bad, but it's had effects and we'd be foolish to not note them. Some families have done "this way" so well. With incredible intention, care and relational closeness. My parents, even! They worked so hard to not have dad be MIA in our lives, or to have mom be left to do "the woman's things."

Regardless, we are curious if there is another way? We don't claim to know anything. Or have any of this figured out. We're completely in the middle of it all. But what if I die from breast cancer like my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother did? What if most of my life is behind me? What if we don't get as much time as we would have picked? Do we have to be strung-out, financially stressed, lonely, and "dead inside"? Or what can we do to at least put the odds in our favor? Knowing that life doesn't really ask you what you want, and tragedy strikes far far outside our control?

Well, at least at this point here's what we know: we're happiest together, we're happiest when we're open-palmed and not tight-fisted, and we're happiest when we are, well, peaceful (I know that sounds stupidly obvious, but we've had some of the best moments in our lives during the saddest events because we experienced that special-peace. It was dramatic and wonderful.).

So, with that said, Caleb decided to walk away from construction and the commitment it would require of him to build, and to experiment with playing music first (with a nice-sized list of other income options should music not "work"). We joke that we've been saving all our money in the bank of The House, and since we really weren't sure *what* or *where* we wanted our life to go, Caleb especially loved the idea of selling what we had, putting the cash into a no-touch-savings, and trying to just make our monthly bills/live within our means until we figured it out. (Turns out we both LOVE active, urban places and aren't as much "country people." Another realization of Caleb over the summer. So it didn't seem to make sense to keep putting money, energy and time in a house way out in the country when it just didn't seem like "us." We thought we would far rather have a smaller, simpler house in an area that we could walk/bike to most of our life. We lived like that in Santa Barbara last year for a month, and we both thrived. We LOVED spending so little time in cars, and so much time outdoors.) I told Caleb it was his call -- I could continue the vision of a "home for our great-grandkids to come back to" and make the Oklahoma house be a huge part of our lives, or I could walk away from it. Whatever he thought was best. And he wanted to sell. So there it was: music-trial, very simple living, selling most of our stuff including the house, and focusing on a slower, simpler speed where we could be together.

And then... right as we came to this decision, we found out I was pregnant. Ta-da!

This didn't necessarily change our plans completely at first. An amazing friend came out to Oklahoma and helped us get rid of about 60% of our stuff and clean the blazes out of the house. We took pictures and posted the house on Craigslist. We instantly had enormous response and showed the house 12 times in about 2.5 weeks! It was exciting! We had a few offers and accepted one from a completely wonderful family with adult and teenage children, ready to settle down into their next stage of life. We adored (still do!) them. But that night Caleb couldn't sleep. Something wasn't right. We were both awake at 5:00 am and talked for six or seven hours straight. I said he should go take a walk, think and pray, and really push into what feels most peaceful to him. He returned and said "I just can't sell it. I don't know why. It doesn't feel right and I don't want to make decisions out of obligation or fear. Especially one this big." So he made an awful (but graciously received) phone call, and we decided that morning to keep the Oklahoma house! With the vision being: it'll be our home-base. We don't have debt on it, so if we leave it it doesn't "cost us." Caleb can still go to Southern California and play music, or we can go to Maryland/wherever for my weddings, and it will be there waiting. In the meantime, we have some new ideas about using the house and property, and making it fit us better. 

We still don't know what we're doing ;)

But there is something about feeling like if I died tomorrow, I don't have a regret for how I tried to live. We really are trying to take advantage of opportunities as they come, to not live in fear, to be willing to try new things or keep old things if that's better, and to most of all: enjoy. Enjoy each other, enjoy the people we get to know, enjoy the places we get to be. And maybe we'll get burnt out from all the back-and-forth (though right now we do love it. A few months in a place, then off to the next! is so perfect for us. We love change and suitcases and another adventure to look forward to. But we are growing to appreciate enough time to create some sort of routine and rhythm that's not total-chaos.)

So: short answer. Caleb is playing music on the street, and hoping to book weddings/events throughout the year. I'm completely proud of him, and no one loves seeing that shine back in his eyes more than me. So far it's going better than expected and the response from passer-by is exhilarating. He's so happy and it's contagious to our whole family! I'm still doing photography and making plans to finish a project in the works for two years. We are in Maryland right now and will be until April (I wanted to have this first baby without-mom with my sisters/people nearby. It just felt right.) And then we'll be off to San Diego for two months to see what music is like on the west coast vs the east coast. After that we'll reevaluate and see what life looks like, but our hope would be to finish the kitchen, downstairs flooring, and staircase this summer or fall in Oklahoma. If we aren't a case-study in "millennials," I don't know what we are ;) But this little system means we get to see both our families and closest friends a lot, we get to be together, and we get to try our hand at things we love to do. We assume this type of lifestyle won't last forever, but it's very neat to get to try now. And who knows what will happen! #whentwopeoplewhoarenttypeAgettogether

I wanted to end this post with something I mentioned in the middle of it. Togetherness. Generosity. Peace. Mostly: generosity. We need this to be center candle in our life choices, not because we are just so charitable and full-of-character and spiritual, but just the opposite. We have been given to o frequently and so joyfully these last four years. With no exaggeration I can talk in length about every state we've visited, every house we've stayed in (some overnight and some for months or years), every person who has made themselves available to us. Whether it's Caleb's mom inviting us over for soup and hot rolls, or my dad offering to run our business accounting in his "free time," or the extraordinary memories my mom's closest friends made for our family in her final months, or the meals, or the rides, or the families who have had my little sisters sleep over (over and over and over), or the texts (heavens the texts and emails and notes from people who simply care!), or the people who my teenage brothers can just call and ask for some very inconvenient favor from that typically a mom would do, or our Oklahoma neighbor coming over and doing dishes with me because she knows I hate doing dishes, or a basement full of mementos when Ryan miscarried and we arrived home for the first time, or an aunt who worked so hard so quietly and in many ways held us together those years. Do you know how much a tin-foil pan of chicken-and-rice can change your life? Do you know what it means to let me come into your world and take, because you so warmly offered? Do you know what a bed waiting, or a ride from the airpot, or a picture text of pink sky means? It means you are not alone. It means there is hope. It means love lives and has not died.

I literally can't even cook meals without images of the faces who have come to the Snyder Home. How often we returned from Lord-knows-where and the meal was left on the counter with a note? How often we were taken care of when we asked, and before we even asked? 

I don't know if there is anything I (or we) could mean more when we say: Thank you for all you've done; you've changed our lives. When I look backwards, my night sky is filled with stars. They seem so small, and "one missing" might not seem like it makes much of a difference... but every single one adds to the outstanding sight. And the more I look, the more I see, and the brighter they shine.

I've been hesitant to post this update because I don't want to sound whiny, or know-it-all-y, or entitled, or like a melodramatic sob-story. I have had a good good life. And I hope the most that gets sensed when reading is that I am so grateful. I love knowing and being married to Caleb. I love being a mom to our kids. I love all of our brothers and sisters, and our remarkable parents. I love getting to travel for work and for the clients who trust me again and again. I love my friends and how I 'need' them. I don't love the struggles, but I do love seeing what they did in me. I love thinking about the relief we'll feel when we're finally done with this Dangerous Place; when we'll finally be able to look backwards and understand the supernatural. And I love getting to participate in the Great Song, one little life in a handful of places in this dizzyingly large universe. I'll sing my note, probably out of tune, and feel the thrill of hearing the voices around me. I love the surprises. And I love that the best IS yet to come!

Well, that's what has been happening in our brains this year. We're crazy. But the perfect fit for each other -- all three of us. It just works. Our little family wishes you and yours a very Merry Christmas!

Caleb, Kristen, Roo, and New Baby <3

Post 52 | Body

I fly over the dirt streaks of Utah, the sand dunes in Arizona, the stretch marks of earth. Where the ground has ripped, flowed and held together.  Canyons in the body. I know what it would feel like to run my fingers across the tops of the torn land (if I could reach out from the airplane window).  The globe is marked. I know what it feels like to be a marked globe; I know where those purpley-brown and white stripes get soft and thin. Pregnant, giving breath to the world. Both the midwest and my mid center are beautiful.

pc: here & here

It looks like bread dough now. White, pocked, puffed. Your little feet step into me, your head jolts ungracefully up and down, smashing, plopping, looking for comfort. You knead me. You need me. The rolls. “…and the bread that I will give is my flesh.” (John 6:33) I tell you to hold still and stop wiggling. I jiggle beneath you.  You press into me hard. “Ow!” We do communion with our bodies, in our breaking and crying, with the whine. “Stop it!” You look sorry. I feel sorry. We hold each other and find rest, eventually.  You always find the softest places of me.

pc: here & here

I look in the mirror and when I grab it it looks like cinnamon rolls in my fist which is like Christmas which is like giving which is “for unto us a Child is born.” Yes, body, for unto us a child was born. It started with blood before summer camp, and before all the other girls I knew. It started with secret meetings in the bathroom with a small blue and green box and the vent fan on loud. 143 blood cycles later, there was you.  We’ve been practicing! Implantation spotting, vomitting blood into the toilet, blood draws in Quest Lab, bloody gums (floss more, mama), my blood-streaked warm baby laid upon me in the birth room, the enormous blood pads, the smaller blood pads, cracked nipples, our first anniversary after having a baby, the big fall when I tried to go running the first time after giving birth, 144 cycles. “This is my blood, which is poured out for you.” The wine and the bread and the remembering. 

pc: here & here

“This is my body, given for you.”

I hope it’s not unbearably sacrilegious to compare fussy nap time to the holy sacraments or having one baby and saving the entire world by conquering death. To compare myself, born in 1989, to the YHWH, The Father of Lights.  But we share with Him. We share in His world, in His home, in His family, in His body. He shows us pictures and postcards and scars of what it’s all about, while we wait patiently to see and feel the whole scene ourselves. We maybe don’t know about groaning under the weight of heavenly wrath, but we know about groaning in L&D Room 304A. We maybe don’t know how strong the love for His children is, but we know how strong our love for our children is.  We maybe don’t have scars on our side from a sword at the end of life, but we have scars on our sides to make new life.  We maybe don’t understand the close kindred bond of the Trinity or how safely welcomed into that relationship we are, but we know sex and how new life is made from it.  We maybe don’t understand how much more brightly we’ll be able to see, but we know the difference when we put our contacts in.  We get to live in the analogies and hints.

“We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. 

For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have?  But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.”

One more day, one more trip around the sun, one more moment in the Son, one more chance in this body -- joining with all creation in the song and dance. It's a gift.

Post 51 | Last Christmas, I Gave You My Heart

“He went to the church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and for, and patted the children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of homes, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed of any walk, that anything, could give him so much happiness.”

Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

Last Christmas was mom's last Christmas with us.  Most of us knew it.  She and I had already had the conversation about stopping chemo so she could at least enjoy her last days without being unbearably sick.  Our Christmas Eve and Christmas Day as a family are some of our strongest, most important traditions.  We go to a Christmas Eve service, come home and eat chili from the "Chili Bar," watch "It's A Wonderful Life" by the fire, and open one present before tomorrow.  Between us falling asleep and waking, Santa Mama comes to town.  Though she Christmas shopped year-round, she nearly always finished wrapping in the wee hours of the night (I've come to believe this late deadline crunch is attributed to basketball season all winter, ten whole people to think about, love on and wrap for, and a bit of the adrenaline and magic that comes in the final hour.  Every year she would say "Next year I'm getting this done sooner!" and she never did.  It was perfect.)  When she'd find a good sale in March, or a cute pair of socks in June, she'd snatch them up where they lay wait in Forbidden Closet.  All year she'd watch, gather, store up and prepare for our Christmas Day.  The presents don't go under the tree at our house until Christmas Day.  She would bring all the gifts down, load by load, creating a mass, a sea, a fortress of gifts not just filling the underbelly of the fraser fir, but marching out to the sides of the room.  

Stockings were Christmas Day opener.  She hand-wrapped every individual gum and toothbrush, she didn't "package" the items to make wrapping easier.  The orange tic-tacs, the new comb, the bath salts, the body lotion, the kitschy boxers for the boys and dangle bracelets for the girls.  Each wrapped with teeny love.  They were always far too stuffed to hang from the mantle so she laid them out on couches and armchairs, like fat babies being made to pose for a photograph.   Mama would clean up and straighten the family room, light some candles, and turn her attention to Christmas breakfast.  We had the same thing every year for my whole life: some sort of egg and sausage bake, hot cinnamon buns, and orange rings sprinkled with coconut flakes.  She'd listen to holiday music and my dad would come check the fire in the hearth for her, keeping it fed all night long.  She knew 1000 things I never knew as she worked alone those silent nights, cracking eggs and cracking into history.  After sliding breakfast into the fridge, she would take a picture of the glittering family room, and find a spare space to slide herself in the "workshop" for a couple hours of sleep.

No matter how bad things were in our life, she could pull off Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  In the earliest years her entire-pregnancy-long nausea would have been enough reason to call it a day, but sickness and throwing up couldn't stop her: she made us our Christmas.  Sometimes we had guests, other years it was just our 'little' family.  One year we were moving across the country on New Years Day, and our worldly goods had gotten on a moving truck a few weeks earlier.  But we still had Christmas -- presents and all.  Cinnamon rolls and coconut oranges to boot.  One year she had lost her mother, her best friend in this world, suddenly to cancer.  She gave birth to a little boy a few weeks later.   She cried much that Christmas, and didn't take very many pictures, and she held her brown-haired baby feeling more alone than usual.  But the wall of gifts was as marvelous as any year before.  One year, she had a miscarriage before Thanksgiving and had positive cancer results before Christmas.  The troops stormed and rallied, she protected her drainage tube from surgery while she fielded hugs and excited toddlers covered in sticky cheer.  Our friends wrapped presents and decorated that year, but when just before midnight came on Christmas Eve, mama was the one to crawl out of bed and arrange the gifts, to chop the sausage and onions.  A few years she battled an ill depression, a sadness deep in the throes of human experience.  Children who hated her, hated life, hurt her, hurt themselves.  She knew they weren't happy or whole; we all sat around on Christmas morning and saw the vacant anger in their eyes.  How do you reach them?  How do you end their destructive cycle?  At times she feared for their lives.  Yet she sat on, legs spread out in a V on her bedroom floor, cutting itty pieces of tape to hold together the waving-snowmen-paper she was using to wrap breath mints for that child.  Crying over their pain, her pain, praying for that Miracle Baby to come do something, a miracle!  Help them!  They know not what they do, and I love them! Tears of a weary soul.  Tears onto wrapping paper bought 11 months ago for about 30 cents.  How could she have known she and her stockings were the miracle?  That those 2-for-1 Pillsbury cans and long nights were going to save their lives?  

Now, I believe it was God in those things, God in the wee-hour baking and ornament-hanging.  But it was her He used, her He gave.  Last year one of those children came home from rehab right before Christmas, and that very child a few weeks later, with chilling tenderness, carried mom in his arms and laid her down to die.  In one hand he held hers, in the other he held an iPod where Chris Tomlin repeated "I hear the voice of many angels sing, 'Worthy is the Lamb!' And I hear the cry of every longing heart, 'Worthy is the Lamb!'"  He wept over his mother, whispering how he loved her.  Often falling to his back, face turned upwards with the sheen of great love and great sorrow painting his cheeks.  She asked him to stay home, to stay with her this holiday season.  He had new, motivated, healthy plans for his future.  And she supported them, wanted him to follow through on them, but asked "Can you wait until after Christmas?"  

Last Christmas there was no hail mary.  Amazing friends came once again to wrap for us.  This was not the first or second or third year they've done so.  There are plenty of children grown enough to decorate, and we did.  We found the boxes with dad and pulled them out of the garage and worked on setting up the house while we ate a dinner someone brought us.  The oxygen tank upstairs heaved and ho-ed in it's unmistakable, awful way.  For the first time I went with mom to buy stocking stuffers.  She was cold, tired, and green.  I told her more than once that she could go wait in the car; I'll finish.  She refused until the third aisle.  "I'm so sorry." she said, not making eye contact.  I hated that I knew she felt like a failure.  I can hardly think of when I loved her more.  "Shannon likes the cucumber smells, but Katie doesn't.  Oh, and get blue things for Lauren.  Apparently she's done with pink."  She parted with a chuckle.  Once I was done, I brought all the bags and bags out to the car where she was resting, eyes closed, still.  "...Is she alive?" White and clear chunky slime sat in a puddle outside her door.  I stepped over it to open her door and help buckle her in.  She was alive. 

Christmas Eve came and she didn't go to the service, nor was she in the kitchen making chili, and she wasn't up in her room watching specials while she wrapped.  The house seemed especially messy and things just weren't… right.  The presents were already under the tree because they had been wrapped for a week.  The stockings weren't as full as when mom does them, and they were hanging over the fireplace.  As I nursed my baby I told my husband that mom wasn't going to sneak downstairs once we all fell asleep.  Caleb put Rowdy to bed, and I stayed up with my sister Katie.  She worked on breakfast, and I cleaned.  And cleaned.  And cleaned.  Starting in the family room, arranging the presents in a little more "her" way, vacuuming the pine needles, fluffing the pillows.  I moved into the dining room and set the table for our holiday feasts.  One wine glass at a time (because even juice is so much better in a wine glass).  My present to mom was a gallery of our family on the staircase wall.  Her present to me was my whole life; her whole life.  Caleb worked on hanging while I spread out the table runner and counted dining room chairs.  Katie's present was a recreation of some of my mom's favorite childhood pictures of us.  She wrapped each frame and grew the tree pile once she was done.  Slowly everyone finished their jobs, even me, but I stayed up.  I couldn't stop coming up with things to do. I didn't want it to be over.  I didn't want my last Christmas Eve to end, and to wake up for the final time to mom with us on Christmas morning.  The sun started to rise, so somewhere in the 6 am hour I decided to get a couple hours of sleep.  Everything looked 'perfect.'  I understood a few new things, a few things my mom knew, when I crawled into bed.  

Sadly and happily, there was no avoiding it; The Last Christmas With Mom Day came.  As opposed to other years, we waited downstairs -- quietly, to let her sleep -- and finally helped her up when she was ready.  We stood at the bottom of the stairs (I wanted to applaud) as she carefully came out of her room with a santa hat on.  I think I wanted to be able to cry, but I couldn't.  I was too full.  All of us together.  

"And this is the testimony: God has given us eternal life, and this life is in his Son." I John 5:11 "For to us a child is born, to us a son is given.  And His name shall be Wonderful." Isaiah 9:9 "Therefore once more I will astound these people with wonder upon wonder." Isaiah 29:14 "Mary kept all these things, storing them up in her heart to ponder." Luke 2:19

We're the lucky ones.  Most often, it seems, the ones left behind don't get to have the preparation and information we did.  Dying from cancer is tragic, because all death is, but it wasn't instant.  And we had time (never enough, of course -- but that's why there is forever) and we made memories.  Once you lose someone so close, it's hard to not wonder who will be lost next.  Could this be my last Christmas with my husband or son? A future baby growing in my body? My sisters? Or brothers? My dad? My best friends? My husband's family? His siblings? Our grandparents?  Our aunts, uncles, cousins?  What will happen between this Christmas and next?  When will the bell toll again?  It's a morbid curiosity but at times, for me, a very matter-of-fact one.  We can't stay here.  It isn't safe.  They aren't just looking for male two year old boys, they are looking for everyone.  We have to escape.  And we will.  We'll hand in our visa to a Free Country and never fear the terrors of night.  But until then, we will not let Death, or it's brother Fear of Death, win.  We will pop open the cinnamon rolls, find tic-tacs in our giant socks, and let the fire keep us warm.  We will carry on what has been passed to us, and if what has been passed is very bad we will do our best to make it very good.  In our case, we had someone in this battlefield who loved us very much and if it's possible to have that kind of year-long, late-night, itty-tape, tired-out, won't-stop love here, what must The Land of Advent Seen be like?  Who must be there?  How must it feel?  It simply must be similar to our last Christmas Day, and ten thousand more.

Merry Christmas, people of the world.  Merry, merry Christmas.