Little Yellow Lamborghini

Bittersweet.

Sunday marked a close to a 9 year run on staff at Immanuel. What a great ride. The staff was so kind and gave me a little send off after second service.  Sheryll made a fantastic cake with a yellow Lamborghini on it that said, "Drive!!!" Josh shared that in my resignation letter, I told a story about a little girl and her father, and a yellow Lamborghini so I thought it would be fun to share the little tale with you.  

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Written November 2015

One day, a child was given a little, yellow Lamborghini hot wheel for her birthday from her father. What may have been an odd gift for a girl, it quickly became her favorite little treasure. She adored her dad, and loved that he had given her such an amazing gift. To her, it was perfect. She took it everywhere with her, and at every chance she got, she would take it out and drive it. Back and forth, back and forth. She would build elaborate ramps, and parking garages, and car washes. She would drive it through the mud, down the slides, and under tables.

And every night, her dad would tuck her in, set her little Lamborghini on the nightstand, and kiss her little forehead and say, “I am so proud of you.”

Years went by, but the little girl’s love for her toy never changed. The car was well worn as anyone could see by the chipping paint and sticky wheels.

In high school and college, the car was almost lost. The young woman was reckless and the tiny car spent most of the time in a dorm room drawer. Until one day, as she was unpacking after college, she found the little treasure and put it back in it’s rightful place.

A few years later, she started a family her own. She kept her precious car on her desk at work, reminding her of her father, and fond memories she had playing with the gift as a child.

On her 35th birthday, her dad gave her a little gift. It was box, wrapped with a beautiful, yellow bow. As she opened it, she saw a little, yellow Lamborghini, almost the same exact one she got as a young girl. He kissed her and said, “I am so proud of you. And, no matter what, I always will be.” As she pulled the car out of the box, she realized it wasn’t a hot wheel, it was key chain, with a key dangling at the end.

It was to a real yellow Lamborghini.

Confused and shocked, she asked her father what it all meant. He told her, “I have been watching you your entire life driving and treasuring this little hot wheel. Caring for it, loving it. Sure, there were times you got it sticky, or ran it into some stuff...even seasons it was misplaced or sat on the nightstand. But I thought this year, I would see if you would want to take a real one for a spin. I have been saving for years and would love to go on an adventure with you before it’s too late.”

“But you don’t have to. I understand what I am asking is scary. It’s not part of your plan. You could even get hurt. And in order to drive, you will have to let a lot of stuff you love, go. But if you trust me, I have a great adventure planned for us. And, I will be with you the entire ride. Who knows, we might end up right where we started. But you will be changed forever.”

November 19th is my 35th birthday.

And I feel my Father is inviting me into a grand adventure and he has offered me the keys to a risky, scary, beautiful ride. He’s charted our course, and now He’s asking me to drive. And, I am terrified, but know that my Father’s with me.

I don’t just want to tell stories. I want to live an amazing story. I want to look back with as few regrets as possible. I want to be a Christian that says yes to God when it is risky and uncomfortable and unknown. I want to be a mom that says yes to her children and makes the most of the time she has with them. I want to tell anyone who will listen that God is in the business of redeeming pain. That if we choose to change our perspective, if we choose a posture of surrender, if we wade into our brokenness and imperfection, he will turn it into something beautiful for ourselves, and the world.

God's Perfect Timing and Transracial Adoption: A Guest Feature by Sarah Alm

We met the Alms years ago while both serving in youth ministry. Sarah and her husband, Jason, were on the junior high team, and Justin and I were on the high school team. After years of arm twisting and a lot of things out of my control, to my joy, they joined the high school team. Sarah is always up for anything, the crazier the better. I will never forget Summer of 89, our freshman retreat, when she played "buck-buck." I don't think I ever laughed harder than that day. She has been there to catch my tears, to offer a listening ear, and she shows up, which is a big deal to me. She is the girl I get into the most trouble with, and maybe am the most myself with. She just has a way of bringing out the best in others. In fact, we affectionally call her Switzerland because she is everyone's friend.

Sweet Sarah wrote this blog post for me back in August and for some reason, to which I have no idea until now, I haven't posted it. But I guess it is perfect timing. 

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In Sarah's words:

My journey to plan B has brought me through deep sadness, but has also lead me to great joy. The road of life can be dark and bumpy, but through those times, I’ve learned that God can be trusted and is in control. Here’s my story…

I was born when my amazing birth mother was just 16 years old. She was not able to raise me, so she made the selfless decision to choose adoption. I was adopted by my mom and dad when I was 2 weeks old. My parents were actually living out their plan B, as well. They were unable to get pregnant, so they chose to build their family through adoption. They first adopted my brother, and then 3 years later, they adopted me. I remember my mom saying that she was thankful for her infertility, because without it, they wouldn't have me or my brother. I was raised in a home where adoption was talked about often and celebrated.  

    

Fast forward to my adult life. My husband Jason and I were married in 2006. We always wanted children and our plan was to have a few biological children and then adopt in the future. Because I was adopted, it was always something we wanted to do. In 2009, we unexpectedly got pregnant. We weren't "trying" yet, but it was a happy surprise. Right away, we found cute ways to tell the future grandparents and started taking side pictures to document my future growing belly. Being a mom had been my lifelong dream and I was so excited it was finally happening. I couldn’t wait to outgrow my clothes and feel our baby move. 

Our excitement came to an end about 7 weeks into my pregnancy when I miscarried. This was the beginning of a very dark couple of years in my life -- I went through a deep depression. During this time, God placed very specific people in our lives to help us through, and between that, counseling that Jason and I were getting, and a class at our church called VP3, I was able to let go of my plan for my life and search for God’s plan. During this time, Jason and I very clearly heard God telling us it was time to start the adoption process. 

   

One of the things our adoption agency asked us is if we would be open to transracial adoption. Right away, we said yes. We knew that God was going to bring us our child and that is all we cared about. One of the classes we had to take from our agency was a transracial adoption class. In it, they showed us a video of grown kids who were different races and all adopted by white parents. They talked about how they all continually struggled with their identity, and in some cases, resented their parents. I left the class in tears. I didn't ever want our child to struggle with those issues or resent us. We prayed about our decision, and talked to our friends who are in a transracial family. After that, we knew God was leading the way and we felt total peace. So after a year of never-ending paperwork, interviews, and fundraisers, we were finally on the adoption list!

   

Our lives changed forever on July 26, 2012. I got a phone call from our adoption agency. Our case worker said that we had been chosen by a birth mother. She then asked if I was sitting down. That’s never usually a good question, but in our case it was. She told me that the baby was born yesterday -- an African American baby boy, and that the birth mom wanted to meet us that night before she signed the papers in the morning. Once I got all my ugly crying under control, we got in the car and drove to meet her that night. We hugged and cried and talked for a few hours. When we were getting ready to leave, we asked her what do you want us to know about raising an African American child, and she responded, "Take care of his hair and don't let his skin get ashy." 

    

Once we said our goodbyes, Jason and I drove home in total shock. We were going to go pick up our son in the morning and bring him home. Obviously, I didn't sleep at all that night. The next day we drove to the adoption agency and brought our son Luca home. I have never had a day in my life filled with so much love and rejoicing. Our house was constantly filled with friends and family providing us with all our baby needs, food, and even cleaning our house. They all shared in our joy because they too had been praying for this baby boy long before he was born.

    

Luca is now three and I am so grateful that I was chosen to be his mom. The past 3 years have been such a learning experience for me.  One of the hardest things for me to overcome was my own anxiety when people would stare at the store or ask me questions about Luca being mine. Most people mean well and are just curious. It took time for me to learn and understand that, and it’s important that we teach Luca to navigate those questions too. We want him to grow up to be a confident black man who loves the Lord - that is what we pray for.  

   

This story talks about my plan B, but the reality is that this was God’s plan A and we are so thankful that He is the one who brought our family together. We are in the process of trying to adopt again. This time, we have already had 2 failed adoptions and so it has been emotionally difficult, but we have faith and great peace that God is once again molding our family and will bring us together in His perfect timing. 

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Perfect timing, indeed. Little Eva Noel was born Christmas Eve, 2015. They were notified that their profile had been selected and the birth mother would like to meet them. The first time they were supposed to meet, she canceled. They were trying not to get their hopes up Jan 3 as they made the 3 hour drive, unsure of what was to come. Twelve hours later, Eva came home.

Wake Up: A New Year's Resolution

I love “new,”  don’t you? The smell of a new car or fresh paint.  A new outfit.  A new gadget. New is fresh. Clean. Full of potential. Not outdated or damaged. Like a new year’s resolution, you try your best to keep it that way.  No feet on the carpet. No food in the car.  But after awhile, “new” fades. It wears off like a manicure. It wasn’t intentional; life just happens. And over time the daily wear and tear starts to show. The new car now smells like french fries. The paint has battle wounds full of war stories from kids, furniture, and pets. The gadget becomes outdated and soon you find yourself back to chasing “new” again. 

And, new can be scary. Especially scary when you are trying something new. Like being the chubby girl in the spin class. Or turning a hobby into a profession. Or making a better lifestyle choice that has a long history of failed attempts. Routine is predictable and predictable is safe and safe is easier and easier is comfortable. “Can’t fail if we don’t try,” we reason. And I don’t know about you, but I have a tendency to give up if I fail. That’s why I do better with allowing cheats versus perfection. I just have to make sure I don’t cheat more than I’m honest.

And for a few of us, “new” marks one step closer to a hard reality of what is to come. 

So when it came to New Year’s Day, I wanted to make changes. Lists of changes. Color coded on a spreadsheet, of course. Work out, eat better, be nicer, and the like. Good goals. And I am going to work on those, but something bigger kept rising to the surface. Because after all, new fades and it’s scary. Which is why I always end up in December with the worst version of myself, counting down the days to starting over, failing, and giving up.

Maybe this new year, “new” isn’t something I need to chase or be paralyzed by.  The definition of new is “something already existing but seen, experienced, or acquired recently or now for the first time.” You guys, something already existing but seen now for the first time! That’s it! All day I have been searching for a way to describe what I want for 2016 and that is exactly it. I want to see, experience and acquire things that already exist, like God, and the people around me, and existing talents to develop, and interests worth exploring. I want to become a professional noticer, a student of the stories in my every day that already contain beautiful discoveries I have overlooked or rushed by in year’s past.

I don’t want more, I want to wake up.  Wake up everyday grateful. Fully awake and present instead of busy and numb. Nothing stays new but change.

Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand-new.

    It’s bursting out! Don’t you see it?

There it is! I’m making a road through the desert,

    rivers in the badlands. 

Isaiah 43:19

Margin for what matters

In November, I resigned from my dream job at Immanuel Church as the Director of Environmental Design. My last day is Jan 3.  It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make. I have worked at Immanuel since 2007 and I loved it. Like, loved it, loved it.  It made me feel smart and creative, important and part of something bigger than myself in a way laundry and dishes can’t.  My job titles and responsibilities changed almost as frequently as my living room decor, and that is what I loved almost as much as I love the staff.  The last few months have been especially rewarding, being a part of all the new and exciting things happening, making it extra hard to watch the ship sail without me. Immanuel family, thank you for trusting me for all these years. It has been an honor to serve God on staff for as long as I have. There are so MANY great things happening and on their way. The best, really is, yet to come.  To be clear, we are not leaving the church. You can't get rid of the Boyce crew that easy.

So back in October, I couldn’t understand why I felt it was time to go.  I was comfortable. Safe. Doing exactly what I wanted.  And comfortable and safe isn't usually what following Jesus looks like. I guess I got my answer. God always likes to invite, or shove, us into places we don’t really want to go, doesn’t He? I don't like that about Him.

Rewind to September; Jayden got a g-tube. It emotionally wrecked me. It was scheduled a week after our 5K, so bad or good, I had no time to think about what was happening to my guy until he was under general anesthesia. It wasn’t the IV pole in my dining room that bugged me. Or learning how to hydrate my son through a tube entering his stomach. It was the reminder that I am not in control. It was what the g-tube signifies to us Sanfilippo parents. The end is near.

I realized we are in the third quarter with Jayden and there is nothing we can do to slow it down or stop it from coming and that sucks. 

And then Waverly died. November 18, I found myself scrolling through my news feed. Sitting right below the Miller’s post about their beautiful baby boy entering the world, sat the post Waverly took her last breath. I wept. The house was deathly silent, except for my wails. It felt like my heart was on the giant drop. I couldn’t breathe, but wanted to puke. I was so sad. So desperately sad.  

The McNeil’s have been a family we have watched from a distance for the last six years. They have two children with Sanfilippo, Waverly and Oliver. Waverly turned 12 a few days before she passed. Oliver is 9. Shannon and Matt have been guides for us. They have graciously and humbly opened their journey to the world through their blog and we’ve had the honor of being students.  I can’t say I have always wanted to look. In many ways, it is like a crystal ball for us, and it's not always good to know the future.  

So when Wavey passed, I grieved in a way I never had before. Kelly and I even went out to DC for the funeral and held hands the entire time like only two mom’s who share the same crystal ball, can. I still, am heavy hearted for Matt and Shannon. I have no idea what they are feeling. I don't understand. Shannon wrote, "anticipating grief doesn’t even compare to actual grief."  Wow.  

So it hurts even more than it does right now? It makes my pain and anticipating seem so small.

There’s no way around it. As I cried and wailed for the McNeils loss, I wept for our pending losses. I am so scared and it is coming so fast. Waverly was 12 years old. Jayden is 9.5. That would give us 2.5 years left with him. 

And that is the exact reason I resigned. 

Time. 

I want to give the best of me to my people. I want to have no regrets. Church environments matter, but not more than my family.  I need to give my children my best, not my leftovers. I don’t want to be too tired to tuck them in. Too busy to love well.

I am choosing to do less to be more. And being type A and a work-aholic, I have to do this daily.

I want to be obedient to where God wants me and I sense He wants me fully engaged. Awake to all the pain and blessings ahead.  And part of being engaged for me is writing it down. Processing through everything I am noticing and learning.  I am saying no to good things, great things, to chase what I feel is best for me, right now.  I am creating margin to write each morning and slow down.

Bob Goff says, "He used to be afraid of failing at something that mattered to him, but now he's afraid at being successful at things that don’t matter." I am too, Bob. 

Justin built me an office in the basement, out of pallets, of course. I have a little desk with index cards of thoughts hanging on the walls. I have pictures of my people and quotes that tell me I can do hard things. And you guys, I am scared.  But, I jumped anyway.

I was talking with my mother-in-law about how difficult it was to let go of my job and she matter of factly said, “it isn’t hard to leave something you love for something you love more.” 

And you know what?

She’s right.

perms and pink socks

When I was growing up I wanted to be Cindi Lauper. I loved her music, but even more, her style. She was so unique, with her vintage, punk-rock outfits, and ever changing hair colors. I tried dressing like her every chance I got and would go around the house dancing and singing all her songs. I loved “time after time," “girls just wanna have fun,” and especially "true colors.”

Do you remember perms? If I try hard enough, I can still smell perm solution just thinking about them. Usually the stylist uses long cylinder shaped rods and wrap the hair around them and they make your hair curly for months. Well back in the 80’s they came out with triangle ones that were supposed to permanently make your hair crimped, or zigzagged. So on my 8th birthday, I begged my mom to let me get my beautiful, blonde, straight hair crimped so I could have cool hair like Cindi.

Now you have to understand my mom. Most days, she looks like she stepped right off the country club golf course. She has a pressed white blouse, collar popped, with a Ralph Lauren sweater tied around her shoulders. She liked the music of the 80’s, but definitely leans more toward the classic than the trendy. I love that about her. She’s always so put together. So me wanting to ditch my polo dresses and rat my hair had to be difficult. Maybe she had a different idea of who I should be.

Back to those awesome perms. 

Wouldn't you know, my mom actually said yes! I could get the crimpy one!  

That next morning was picture day. I was proud as punch getting ready for my big debut in front of the camera. I imagined paparazzi lining the halls as I made my way to the gym and all the cool kids telling me how awesome I looked, maybe even mistaking me for Cindi herself. 

The gym was dark and I remember watching other kids sitting on the stool in front of the splatter paint backdrop. It was almost my turn when the lady gave me an interesting look. "She thinks I look awesome," I thought. 

Wrong. 

Actually, in the best way she could, she tried to tell me my hair was a hot mess. She pointed to the black toothed combs floating in a cylinder of blue liquid and encouraged me to use one. My heart sank a bit. It wasn't what I was expecting...my first sting of rejection. But I channeled my inner Cindi and told her I loved my hair just the way it was. In that moment, I imagined Cindi for the back of the dark gym, raising her fist, proud of me. The lady must have thought I was nuts but took my picture, anyway. 

Fast forward to this morning. I was getting Ellie dressed for preschool and grabbed some hand-me-downs from the box. Pink sparkly high tops and a pair of bootcut jeans. She’s outgrown the 3t stuff but the 4t stuff is still a bit big, so the jeans were a bit baggy. I put on tall pink socks thinking it would keep the high tops from rubbing and no one would see how silly it looked because the jeans would go right over it. I think she watches me roll up my boyfriend jeans and wear them with ankle boots, so I shouldn't have been surprised when she asked to roll her jeans, putting her bright pink socks and bright pink shoes on full display.

And I imagine I had the same reaction that my mother had after that crazy perm. On the one hand, terrified that she would be made fun of at school, but on the other hand, so proud of her for making a statement of who she wanted to be. So I complied and rolled up her jeans. She smiled. I took her picture. I told her that she looked beautiful and I was so proud of her.

She had a bigger skip to school that day, and as her mom, I raised my fist, and my inner Cindi Lauper smiled.

“But I see your true colors 

Shining through

I see your true colors

And that's why I love you

So don't be afraid 

to let them show 

Your true colors

True colors are beautiful

Like a rainbow”

-CL 

Catching the worm: the new early morning routine

I'm not sure how long it will last.

But getting up around 5AM every morning has been a welcome change. Yes, this is me, Stefanie typing, a known night owl talking. I couldn't rise before 7:20AM a few weeks ago. So believe it or not, I wake up more refreshed than my previous 11PM-7AM routine. 

Now I rise, get my coffee, and quietly tip toe to the porch not to wake my house full of light sleepers.  I find my spot under a blanket and sit on the bed, sipping my coffee. 

Surveying my surroundings, I see the sun breaking through the trees. I hear the wind dancing through the leaves, and smell the morning breeze coming through the windows as it gently brushes my skin. 

I don't even notice the mess on the porch, the out of place chairs, or glass tea cup on the drum kit.  Ok, maybe I do but I don't get up to fix it.

Sometimes I grab a book or Bible and start reading, other times I write. But it's in the stillness, the calm before the storm, I feel peace. Any minute, I will hear doors. The pitter patter of feet. The coffee machine with fire up again, cartoons will resume, and the business of the day begins. 

Any. 
Second.
Now.

But until then, I sit. Slowly welcoming the day. Inviting God to become present in my mind.

Getting up early is part of my realignment plan.  I used to think that if God wanted me do something, He would make it easy.  You know, yoke easy, burden light? And once you take the leap, there are blessings, but it doesn't mean it was, or got, easy.   Every morning I argue with my snooze button.  When I win, I get blessed with all the beautiful things I experience waking up early.  But it's still hard to get up. Every. Morning.

>>>>    <<<<

I saw an article on fb about the pitfalls of waking up and checking your phone. Do you do that? I used to roll over, open my eyes and swipe right. I didn't even lift my head before I was connected. Weather. Calendar. Instagram. Facebook. email. Increasing and obsessively entering the world and all its fallen mess like a head on collision. At times, getting up frustrated, disappointed, hurt, or jealous. 

Friends, that is no way to wake up. No need to put those garbage thought in our minds first thing in the morning. "Take every thought captive," I think someone once said. Maybe that exercise is best started in the morning by being with Jesus instead of Twitter. 

This new rhythm is the stretching part before a race. 
This new rhythm prevents injuries to my soul. 
This new rhythm paces me for the long race.

Some mornings I run after I write. And by 8AM I feel accomplished. Proud. My mind in a catchers pose instead of up to bat, swinging. It feels good when you do what you feel like you should, right?

I highly recommend 5AM wake up calls. And be easy on yourself if you don't quite hit 5AM everyday. From one night owl, type A to another, make it 5ish. 

Sometimes, we just need our mom.

Jayden barfed yesterday.

Actually, from both ends. When I went in to wake him up for  school he was sleeping in it. Poor guy. Justin picked him up and I aired out his room while he continued to sleep on the bathroom floor. 

Justin gave him a bath. 

I stripped the bed. 

It's always hard having a sick child, especially a sick, non-verbal child. It's like having a baby in so many ways. They can't tell you exactly what's wrong so they cry. And then as parents, we try to unlock the mystery.

"Do you think it's something he ate/drank?"

"Brooklyn was also sick for a few days, bet it's the same bug", we reason. 

After his bath, we moved him to the couch and he easily fell back asleep.

His body so fragile.

I sat and watched the rise and fall of his breath.  He held each breath a second, then his chest sunk into the couch. 

I held his soft, curled hand.  I brushed off the thought of another time I will maybe do this, for the last time, and thanked God for each breath. 

_____________________________

He dry heaves. I grab the barf bowl. Isn't it funny how we have "barf" rituals? When I was young, I puked in a bowl or toilet, ate crackers and drank ginger ale.  I know a woman who swore that Pepsi cures everything.

The bus comes for B.

Grandma comes to sit with J.

I drive Ellie to VBS. 

When I got home, he had just thrown up and #3ed in his pants. And, as Ama went to get the diaper stuff, he fell back asleep.  

The day in day out caregiving routine isn't my stongsuit, but I love taking care of my babies when they're sick or in the hospital.  I'm not sure why. I hate seeing them sick, so I guess when they are doing fine, I assume anyone can change a diaper. But when they're sick, they need their mom.  Sometimes, we just need our mom.

Like it was orchestrated by God himself, he opened his sleepy eyes and smiled right at me. You guys, it was the most heavenly smile. Not a smile of a sick child. And it lingered. It was like he was saying, 

"there you are, mom. My. Mom." 

I made him a bed, changed the #3, and turned on some Handy Manny.  And then he said it again. Those eyes. That crooked smile. It's these secret I love you's we share that make me feel like I saw God himself shining through my sweet boy. 

Precious.

Profound.

Holy exchanges.

I am so proud to be his mom. He is such a gift. He teaches me so much about the character and personhood of Jesus without ever using a word.   

Want to read "Back In the Saddle"? 

click here!

Back in the Saddle

4 weeks ago.

My last post was 4 weeks ago.  And, it wasn't even my post. It was my dear friend Michelle's guest post. I am guessing it was the busyness of the school year ending, writers block, laziness, or a bit of everything combined, but I need to get back on the saddle. 

Here's the skinny on the last 4 weeks:

Ellie turned 3. She is such a bright light of life in our home. Such a personality and joy to be around. She got a day of pampering: hair cut, starbucks, mani and pedi, and build-a-bear.  [She got rid of all her pacifiers in the stomach of "binka" bear.] We had a small "yellow minnie" family party for her to celebrate. 

I handmade 26 teacher gifts. It takes a village, folks. I don't know if succulents were a good gift, in retrospect. Most teachers looked scared at the idea of taking care of a plant, but at least they turned out cute. (the heart on the back is Jayden's thumb print on the left and Brooklyn's on the right)

Jayden had a swallow study done at Lurie Children's. Results? We have to start thickening his liquids to a nectar/smoothie consistency and it looks like we will be doing a g-tube (feeding tube) sometime in 2015. Not the best news. But we would rather be proactive and get it done when it is safe. And, we saw sweet Livia there as well!

Justin took over OASIS, our special needs ministry at our church, so we have been busy doing training, intakes and schedules.  

School ended last week and our wonderful friends at The Sanctuary run an overnight camp for children with special needs in Ingleside this week so Jayden and Brooklyn are making memories there.  Ellie is in Rockford and I have a glorious day alone!

Oh yeah, and I am in a new, fun once-a-month group for moms of children with special needs and love Jesus. We are reading through a great book, Holding Onto Hope

Not to mention therapies, graduation parties, work, and case management!

_______________________________________________

Well, I guess that is why it's been 4 weeks since I have paused. 

Such is life, right?

When I fall off the saddle, I color code.  It's the dreaded Type A in me. A few days ago, I decided to start fresh and start a new schedule.  I came to the realization that the important things were absent from my priority list.  I was spending way more time than I'd like to admit watching late night TV cause I was just spent from the day and wanted to unplug.  Which then makes me sleep in, missing the morning routine, making me play catch up all day, rushed and late, only to be exhausted on the couch watching tv.  

Can you relate? 

So I decided to break the cycle. A day that could be filled with things I would be proud of, things I was made to do, and people I needed to make a priority.  I marked out each hour of the day down the left of my numbers sheet (excel for you microsoft folk) and wrote the days at the top.  

First thing on the schedule? Sleep. Because I need 8 hours and want to wake up before noon the next day, I reserved 9PM-5AM for sleep. The goal is to wake up and write from 5-6AM Sunday through Thursday and run 6-7AM Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday before work.  The other days, I plan on taking the kids so Justin can run.  

I also added time on the schedule for bedtime. Free time for us usually happens after the kids go to bed,  but now that I will be going to bed at the same time as the kids, Jut and I are going to try to rotate who does bedtimes so Jut can watch his animal shows and I can watch a program here or there.

And after a week, I haven't hit the target perfectly yet. And, I am giving myself enough grace to be a work in progress. 

The first morning was glorious, but it was more like 5:30AM. The birds were chirping and the sun was out.  The second morning I ran, but came back limping.

Sometimes we just get off track. Not bad. Not good. Just off. And lately I have felt the invitation to realign my life to match my priorities.  I am learning as I get older, it is less about not doing bad things and do good, and more about which good things do I want to give my time.  And, I am discovering, it is a lot harder to say no to good things.  For me, freedom has come from building in margin to be present and engaged. Not rushed ALL the time, letting my body and mind rest.  Not mind-numbing rest (although I like that too) but intentional, slowing, breathing rest. 

Where do you need to build your margin?

Do you find your schedule matches your priorities?

leave a comment below and 

let me know how it's going for you!

____________________

Oh! 

Before you go, just wanted to mention our 5K is scheduled! September 12, 2015 

at Illinois Beach State Park 

to raise money for gene therapy at Nationwide Hospital.  Learn more and sign up today! 

www.runwiththeboyces.com

What life looks like after losing a baby: A guest feature by Michelle Jenison

Mother’s day is in a few days.

And when I think of Mother’s Day, my first thought is Hallmark. You know...

The card.

The gift.

The Sunday-after-church brunch where you tell your mother how much you love her.

And, that is wonderful. It ’s the way it’s supposed to be. Mom’s work hard for the family and should be celebrated. Just like father’s on Father’s Day. 

But this Mother’s Day, my heart is heavy. A friend just had another failed adoption. Another friend is going through some really heavy stuff with her teenage son. Yet another friend just lost another pregnancy. And today, I got a call from a friend who tragically lost her mother-in-law.  

Grieving mothers.

Grieving children.

But this is what Mother’s day is about, too. In fact, maybe this is the best illustration of a mother's love. Motherhood is just as much about grief as it is celebration. It’s all the love and pain, beauty and mess, sunshine and darkness, all wrapped into one relationship. One title. One person.

Mother. 

So, whether you are celebrating or grieving this Mother’s Day, I think you will appreciate Michelle’s journey.

Michelle is one of those friends every girl needs. Why? Because she is embodies honesty. She doesn't sugar coat the pink elephant in the room, either, even if it's hard to hear. And the best part? She drenches it in love. Her heart is so big and her love runs so deep for her friends, you can't help but love her in return. She and her husband, Jay, give us their most precious gift, time. They are the secret, behind-the-scene heroes. Sometimes the best gifts are just someone who just SEES you.  I am honored to call them friends, and I am so excited Michelle stopped by Boyce Lane to share their powerful story.

Michelle writes:

I'm blessed with a group of girls I do life with who have all been through, and are still going through tough stuff. Stefanie is one of them, so when she asked me to share our story, I was honored to do so! Thanks, Stef, for the opportunity. 

Here’s my journey in embracing my plan B…

Jay and I got married in 2005 and always knew one day we wanted kids. Four years into our marriage, we decided we would start trying for a baby. We got pregnant right away and were thrilled. We waited until we were in the "safe zone" to tell our family and waited even longer to tell our friends. From the time we found out we were pregnant, though, I had a feeling that something just wasn't right. That feeling lasted almost the entire pregnancy, with many calls to the doctor, only to find out each time that everything was normal. Finally, when I was about 30 weeks into my pregnancy, those concerns faded, so we went into full-fledged planning mode. We got the baby’s room ready & bought gender neutral clothes, since we decided to wait to find out if we were having a boy or a girl.  In essence, we started OUR plan. 

Everything changed on a Monday morning, 32 weeks into my pregnancy. I was getting ready for work and noticed I hadn't felt the baby move in awhile. I didn't think much of it, though, because 3 days before I had a routine check-up and heard a strong heartbeat. I mentioned my concern to Jay and we decided to wait a little longer to see if there would be any movement. I got to work and still hadn’t felt any movement, so I called my doctor. He told me to go to the hospital right away so they could do a non-stress test on the baby. I let Jay know what was going on and that I would call him later with an update. 

I got to the hospital, and immediately a nurse hooked me up to a monitor to see if I was contracting and then started to search for the baby’s heartbeat. She searched for what seemed like an eternity, but couldn't find it. She called in another nurse and she was able to hear a faint heartbeat, but soon realized it was just my heartbeat racing. They kept trying to comfort me and tell me that the baby probably had its back turned towards the monitor. So they had me turn on my right side and then my left side to get the baby to turn around. At that point, I had 4 nurses in the room all trying to find my baby’s heartbeat. I started to panic. They asked me if I wanted to call my husband and I said no, because I was sure everything was going to be fine, and to me, calling him meant I was giving up hope. They called my doctor and he ordered an ultrasound. The ultrasound tech got there right away and I just stared at her to see what her reaction would be. She shook her head ‘no’ and left the room, without even looking at me. The doctor then told me that the baby no longer had a heartbeat and how sorry he was. 

Everyone left the room so I could call Jay. The conversation was short. I said, “Jay, we lost the baby and you need to come to the hospital right now.” He started crying and said he was leaving work right away. Then I called my mom and Jay’s mom. I remember both of them saying, "What?! I'm on my way!"

Jay arrived at the hospital and the doctor came in to discuss our options, which were c-section, natural birth by inducing me, or going home and wait for my body to go in labor by itself. I chose to be induced right away and try to have the baby naturally. About 14 hours later, with an epidural, I started pushing. I remember thinking that everyone was wrong and this baby was going to come out crying. I prayed silently to God, “please let this baby come out crying!” A few pushes later, the baby was out...but there was no crying. The umbilical cord was in what the doctor called a true knot, where a knot forms in the cord, and in my case, the knot became so tight that it cut off all circulation to the baby. 

My sweet baby was a 4lbs. 6oz. baby boy and he was perfect. We named him Chance Job. Chance, because we felt as though God gave us this great chance of being parents for a short while and the chance to witness the miracle of pregnancy and birth. Job, because of what Job went through in the Bible. He lost everything, but still clung to God, and in that moment, we felt as though we lost everything and knew we had to cling to God. 

After Chance was delivered, Jay and I held him and just stared at him. We also had the opportunity to take pictures with him. Then both the grandmas held him for a little while.

Those next few months were the hardest of our lives. We had to really trust God and keep telling ourselves that this happened for a reason and while we don’t understand, God was in control.  We felt like our lives got put on hold and OUR plan for our lives got all messed up. But what we learned is that we were never in control to begin with and that OUR plan is not always God’s plan and that’s OK. That doesn’t mean the pain of losing a child goes away, but it gives purpose to the pain, and in that, there’s beauty. 

Since losing Chance, we got pregnant two more times and now have two beautiful boys. Losing Chance helped us realize that we have to put our faith in God and trust that God’s plan is better than our plan, even when it hurts and we don’t understand it. 

It's been almost 6 years since we lost Chance. Every year on his birthday, we go to his grave and put flowers on it. That day is always hard for me. I feel like it shouldn't be as hard anymore, but it is. I would love to just hold him one more time and look at his perfect little face. I feel like I shouldn't be sad about him anymore either, but I am. I'm sad I don't get to see him grow up, or kiss his boo boos, or just give him a hug and tell him I love him. With losing Chance though, we don’t take for granted that we have two healthy boys. We realize what a gift a healthy pregnancy and baby are. With losing something so precious, it really makes you open your eyes to things you never thought about. So I thank God for what He taught me through unbearable loss and for also giving me two healthy children. It’s the story God wrote for us, and we take comfort in that.

Aren't these guest posts FANTASTIC?!  If you missed the first two guest features, here are the links. 

How to foster-to-adopt 3 kids in one day and still keep your sanity: A Guest Feature from Kathrina Montondo

how one family navigates open adoption with two different birth moms: A guest feature by Kate Demien