"and though she be but little, she is fierce.."

To my fearless child,

You let me rock you this morning. It seems minor and pretty commonplace for a momma to snuggle and rock her toddler but you my sweet girl, are like a gale force wind whipping through our tiny townhouse. As we speak, you are running past me in a tutu shouting out words to your own made-up songs, as per usual in that tireless half hour before nap time.

We had a super busy week this week and I was vacuuming the living room while you laid on your tummy playing with your Little People. You walked over to the vacuum and switched it off, looked at me and giggled. I squatted down to turn it back on and you hopped up wrapping your arms around my neck. I lifted you up, realizing that when your feet were dangling, they almost reached my knees.. and then mommy had one of those ultra sad/happy moments that moms get when they realize their baby is not a baby anymore.    

You rested your head on my shoulder and for a full 15 minutes, I swayed back and forth just listening to you breathe. Every couple minutes you would chime in with a few new verses to your original ballad called “You are my good mommy.”

I hope this coming year brings you good fortune. That your spirit grows and your soul is filled with everything you need. I hope that when God humbles you, as he does with us all, you meet your challenges with grace and not with tears and tantrums. I hope you feel loved, even in time out. I hope that you understand mommy is not trying to be mean when she doesn’t let you have a second donut. I’m trying to teach you self-control. I hope you learn at least one new thing each day and that you find something beautiful to be thankful for before you go to bed each night.  

Tomorrow you will be 3 years old. You have spent every day of your life with me minus 1 and tomorrow we will celebrate that day- the day you were brought into this world and began changing so many lives in such colossal ways. While at times, I seem tongue tied when it comes to expressing how grateful I am that our arduous battle with the court system is ending in such a beautiful way-- what I can tell you with all the honesty in my heart, is that every second I get to spend being your mom is a second I wouldn’t trade for the most precious of golds.

You are fierce and beautiful- brilliant and kind. You are determined and willful and inquisitive. A princess and an athlete. You inspire me every day to be a better person, to love God even more, to try new things, to fight for the things I love and to look at small things with a childlike appreciation. You my sweet child are a blessing that I don’t deserve but by God’s grace you’ve landed here in my living room, in my arms, with your head on my shoulder. I love you baby girl. Happy 3^rd Birthday.

   

Hug a Teacher

My boyfriend and I were sitting on the couch the other night. It had been a long work week, with a 14 hour work day nestled right in the middle of it. It felt like a job just to keep my eyes open. We were talking about our day when he asked if I had heard what happened to the young teacher in Massachusetts. My heart fluttered. The word “happened” implied past tense and the word had a sad and eerie feeling to it. He then told me she was murdered by her student. I shuddered, trying hard not to think about the maelstrom of events that were probably unfolding for her grieving family- the relentless and invasive digging that this child’s attorney will most likely do into this woman’s personal life in an attempt to find a reason to justify this sick kid’s actions. As teachers, we stand on the front line, sometimes up against the world’s most angry children. Our job is to teach learning strategies and information and yet, built into our unwritten curriculum we must also teach them love, life-skills, caring and tolerance. We must try to sell to them on the idea that the world is truly a good place when we aren’t always so sure ourselves. We parent these children and often bend and mold ourselves into the people they need us to be in order to fill the gaping holes they have in their lives left by situations beyond their control. At times, I feel this tug the world has on me to be superhuman; to be able to toggle between being loving and tough, professional and parental. I must openly accept criticism from parents, politicians, colleagues, and evaluators and accept the idea that on a daily basis we will be told that we are not meeting our children’s needs, that we are deficient. Then we must still smile hard and comfort a struggling student who is frustrated. I’m frustrated too, sweet babies. Each morning, my alarm clock shrieks and vibrates on the nightstand reminding me it’s not Saturday. It’s time to face a day where almost anything can happen. Anything can be brought into my classroom. Sometimes I find myself re-braiding a student’s braid that came loose on the way to school and I think about the hurried pony tail my own child has. I dig through my purse for granola bars because a student was tardy and missed breakfast and I think about the convenient breakfast full of sugar I started my kid’s day with. I often have to train my brain to remember I’m a mommy first. Teachers spend their days drawing boundaries for the child who wants to be mothered yet still finding ways to show they are listening and they care. We try hard to relate to the boy who hates the world. We keep our cool when he’s tearing up his work or scrawling thick black pencil across the assignments we’ve most likely spent our own personal time at home creating. We find things to love in the children with very few lovable traits. We must sometimes find creative ways to communicate with students who speak no English. We make small decisions every day for children who have never had the chance to problem solve. “There is a chair by my desk, Miss. Where should I put it?” “My paper is a little wrinkly. My friend told my other friend she doesn't want to be my friend anymore. How do I make her be my friend? Miss, what should I do?” “I don’t like chicken and it’s the only thing for lunch. What should I do?” “Someone peed on the bathroom floor. What should I do?” “My pencil lead is dull. What should I do?” We are mediators in arguments between children whose real battle is that they’re looking for some control and stability in their own lives and may only get the empowerment they need by hurtfully draining it from others. We spend our Fridays trying to harness the energy we can feel building up inside our students, ready to come out in the form of unbridled chaos and by the time the weekend comes, our brains and hearts are aching and sore. Sometimes, we are the only safe place for a child to bump into and we are on the receiving end of aggression we don’t deserve. Sometimes our hearts are raw with emotion when our children are suffering yet we are also some of the very few who get to experience the unbelievable joy they feel when they reach a goal they thought was impossible. We are not the only people who are pushed to their limits. I know that. We are regular people that are stretched like rubber bands.. trying to maintain a bit of cohesion in a classroom where the outside world visits far too often. I can't make any guarantees to any young teachers going into the field that this will happen but I know for myself, even when your heart and ego are bruised and you're spending your evenings peeling dried glue off of your fingers and you hate the sound of your own last name, in the end, when that child you thought you'd never reach gives you a hug so tight it gives you goosebumps, it's worth it. It's so worth it.

Lost my sh!t at Publix.

I woke up this morning to the sound of the peanut’s bedroom door opening. The paint on the door sticks to the paint on the frame and each morning it sounds quite similar to a shotgun blast when it opens. It jolts me awake faster than any cup of coffee I could possibly have brewing downstairs. Like every morning, I heard her feet shuffling down the carpeted hallway and the sound of Abby, our kitten, pouncing on her blanket as it’s trailing behind her. With one eye peaking open just a bit, I watched her heave her blanket and her Dora the Explorer doll up onto the bed, clumsily slide her mass of tangled blond hair out of her face with her hand and then shuffle back to her room for Abby Cadabby, Curious George, Baby Toby and Baby Mia.

I can gauge what type of day it’s going to be solely based on the immediate demands that are made by her when she discovers that I am, in fact, awake. My favorite moments are the ones where she wraps her arms around my neck and asks me what I dreamt about or moves my hair out of my face and tells me I’m her “best fren” and “I wike your hair, momma.” These times happen most often.

However, today I was hit with a critical Cocoa Puff interrogation which I bombed, followed by a hand over my mouth because my breath was “ginky”. I tried to redeem myself with an offer of pancakes for breakfast only to be caught off guard by a request for a “bamana”, which “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T HAVE BAMANAS? I WANT BAMANAS, MOMMA. PLEASE, I WANT BAMANAS!”

Our day proceeded in this manner. A day in which my 2 year old, a child whom I love fiercely, showed me in every possible way that I was not meeting her expectations in any area and I should be seeking employment elsewhere. I threw in a few loads of laundry, we did some crafts and then we headed out to Publix to grab some snacks for our trip to Busch Gardens. I decided it would be ok to prolong nap time for a bit.

At 20, I had all kinds of advice for mothers. I was eager to impart my knowledge and wisdom to all of the parents I saw in the grocery stores whose kids were misbehaving. I made facebook statuses berating some of the things I witnessed in public places. I was shocked at the parents whose kids were screaming at them as they hurried down the aisle, tossing groceries in their cart and acting like they didn’t even hear them. “I’m never going to be that mom.” I would say to myself. “I’m going to do it right.” My intentions were not bad. I was youthful, naïve and obviously impervious to the weight of parenthood.  

A battle typically ensues when I try to tuck the peanut’s legs into the shopping cart. No words are said aloud, but there is a very clear, unspoken agreement that she is going to spread her feet as far apart as possible when it’s time to put them in the cart and that I am to accept it. To avoid this battle, I bypassed the cart today and asked her to be my big helper. She did great holding the green basket and trucking along beside me tossing in the items that I handed her. We had a great conversation about dolphins and sea turtles and how she doesn’t “wike corn dogs. Them’s nasty.” Then, it happened. I tried to avoid it. I steered her away from it and did my best to redirect her towards the fruit snacks but by that time, her eyes had locked onto it. At the end of the aisle sat an enormous display of inflated Spongebob Mylar balloons. When I informed her she wouldn’t be bringing one home with her after she asked me multiple times, she lost. her.  cool. With several other people in the aisle, my child ripped her hand out of mine, dropped the green basket on the ground furiously and threw herself backwards onto the cold tile in a full on tantrum. Fight or flight? Fight or flight? My mind raced. I decided on flight. I could feel the heat rise in my face as I glanced around to find a young couple staring at me in horror and a 21 year old Amy-type scoffing as I lifted my screaming, infuriated child by the armpits and tucked her under my arm like a tiny, fire-breathing football, leaving my basket behind me like a bad memory, its contents all over the floor. I could still feel the heat in my face and the unforgiving Florida sun was beating on us both as I stomped to the car and my squealing baby squirmed under my arm. I must have looked like a madwoman. I heaved my door open, put her in her seat, buckled her in and we took off on a silent ride home, embarrassed about how we had both behaved.

My purpose in writing this is to out loud, in front of all of you, give myself a break.. and give every mom a break that is reading this.. and a verbal fist shaking to all of the young Amy-types that feel compelled to share their novice opinions via nasty comments or scrunched eyebrows about something they have never experienced.

I promised myself that my house would always be clean when I grew up. Reality: I have dishes in my sink every night and my laundry will never be done. My child is clean. Our books are read. We have spent our night singing songs and making crafts.

 I promised I would never wear “mom jeans” or leave the house without mascara. Reality: My child is well-dressed and is a beautiful representation of what I feel is most important in my morning routine.

My child will never scream and cry in public. Reality: My child is learning boundaries. It’s an ugly job.

 I always said I will never yell at my child. Reality: My child needs to see I’m human and I make mistakes. She also needs to see what a truly humble apology looks like.

At 20 years old, I imagined I’d be married by now, driving a Scion and travelling to Europe on my summer vacations. My husband would be a CEO of a major corporation and our children would be flawless and lovely. I would wear floppy hats on the beach and drink margaritas while my kids buried each other lovingly in the sand and said kind words to each other and I would read political satire on my very fancy E-Reader as I sifted sand between my meticulously, pedicured toes.       

Instead, I’m watching endless hours of Team Umizoomi, painting tiny toenails, scooping kitty poop, changing garbage bags, paying bills, brushing through soft, bouncy curls, getting the best hugs around the neck, learning this little person, fixing barbies, and losing my sh!t at Publix. It’s not what I pictured, but it’s real and it’s mine. I’ll take it ;)   

  

My reward.

I pulled into my parking spot at school this morning after dropping the peanuts off at daycare. My windows were down, the spots next to me were empty and the orange sun had just begun peeking over the mass of familiar houses in the subdivision, framing their shadowy peaks. I could hear my rubber tires press against the gritty cement and tiny bits of gravel pop underneath the weight of my car. I coasted into the spot and turned off the key. I took in a deep breath and smiled, which seemed to be the only thing I felt the urge to do at that moment.

When I signed up to be a foster parent, I had to swallow the fact that I had most likely signed away my future as a girlfriend, as a wife. After several relationships stalled because of my lack of free time, or their fear that I was trying to reel them into being a father, I had accepted the fact that a husband wasn’t in the cards for me and that God had called me to do something much different. I trusted that His reward for me would be bountiful. I celebrated in my friend’s relationships and engagements and pregnancies and prayed often that the choices I was making were correct. I often choked down that feeling of missing out on something, reminding myself that God’s love would never leave me wanting more.

It has been a few months since I’ve found the time to post, and my how blessed I’ve been by His grace. In November, my best friend came to visit from New Orleans, pulling me out of my fine-tuned single mother survival routine. In just one day, my life changed so beautifully. In a weird twist of fate, I ended up in the same place as my boyfriend, the golfer. The details are not as important as the outcome but they involved some Bud Light, a seedy bar and a cocktail jukebox mixture of Jason Aldean and Lil Wayne.

In just a few short months, I’ve watched my life transform in ways I’m so undeserving of. While it is far too soon to tell, I am headed towards the path of adoption with my sweet little peanut. While I type this, I can’t help but choke back tears as I remember just a few months ago typing in this same context, only the fear of losing her shook me to my very core and at times it felt hard to breathe. Now, as I type this I see a picture of my future as her mommy, I picture her toothy smile in her Kindergarten school pictures and her belly laugh as she rides a pony for the first time.    

At times, being a foster parent shows you the bad in people, it’s all you hear about and all of that bad seeps inside you completely undetected, tempting you to believe that it is all life has to offer. I’m trying to figure out how to word this next part so that it sounds as genuine and sincere as it truly feels in my heart and not just orchestrated in order to fill up page space. I’ve met a man that shows me the good in people. I wish I could find words to describe how it feels to watch my child curl up on the couch next to him and rest her head on his hip while she watches t.v., especially considering how deeply he despises Spongebob Squarepant’s grating squeals. I watch her seek him in times of comfort and plead at his feet for more chocolate chip mini muffins. Knowing that it’s not expected of him, I’ve watched him read her a bedtime story and fix her dinner plate. I’ve felt him squeeze my hand when life gets overwhelming or she pushes me to my limits and I’ve been a grateful witness to his kindness and patience when my house is full of prodding case managers, health inspectors and child therapists. He’s a horrible dancer, we aggravate each other sometimes and he will never support me in my efforts to incorporate more vegetables into our daily meals but he has shown me, in a blinding way, God’s love. He is my reward.

Ephesians 4:2 with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love,

Transition

I sat here and typed out this long diatribe about all of the different things that are happening right now in my life and the peanut's life and then I deleted it. Unfortunately, it was all written at the expense of being honest. I took out chunks at a time until the screen was completely blank. And I've decided that's where we're both at. Blank. I can't flip to the end of this novel and pre-read the resolution so that it lessens the sting or skim the next 6 months worth of pages so I can have some sort of idea where this wild author is going to take us. I'm not the writer here.

Two of my friends came over the other night weilding cold beer and a bottle of wine. We sat around talking while our children dumped toyboxes, pulled down curtains and tackled each other to the ground over ownership of a simple, plastic, yellow cup. My friend Shannon had mentioned what a trial fostering has been for us and that's the reason she could never do it. Instantly, like a reflex, I said "Well, if I had known it was going to end this way.." and then I stopped. I didn't know how to finish that sentence and I didn't want to. It wasn't true. I glanced across the room and watched the peanut clutching her yellow cup against her chest and stuffing it full of plastic french fries and I imagined what my life would be like if I had never met her. I chose my next words carefully. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me." I catch myself often saying things I don't mean, nodding when I don't agree and supporting ideas I don't believe in. But in that moment, I've never believed something so deep in my heart.

I've heard that good writing doesn't serve its people if it isn't honest. Rewind to Fall 2009. Fostering wasn't even a consideration. I had just been dumped by a boyfriend that I had wanted to end it with from the beginning due to his obsessive man-love for Tim Tebow and the way he whispered sweet nothings each night to his 4 cats while I laid in bed next to him, (cat butts all up in my face), yet I didn't want to admit defeat and change my status back to "single." If he hadn't decided he'd had enough of my erratic mood swings and snarky comments towards him, we would probably be married by now, me, him and my pride. I could infer I would have a whole different type of blog. It was a Saturday. I had just bought my Jack Russell Terrier the week before in an attempt to fill that "hyper, emotional, overly dramatic male" void that my ex boyfriend had left. It was 1:30 in the afternoon. I was wearing his bright orange Florida Gators tee-shirt and an offensively old pair of ripped up pajama pants. I had one sock on. Kobe was tearing up a roll of toilet paper in the living room of my tiny apartment and I was laying on my giant red sofa. I lifted my cell phone. Nope, no calls. My blinds were closed. Sunlight was peeping in between the slats. Soap Network hummed in the background and I stared up at the ceiling fan, watching it spin in circles. That was my life. God was calling me to do something so much bigger that day but it would take another full year for me to recognize His voice.

Being a mom has brought a bright color to areas of my life that I didn't even realize I was missing. When I told my friends and family that she would be staying with me another 6 months, I saw this look of panic cross their faces and I understood. It's the same panic I felt in my heart as the judge gave her ruling on Thursday. Can I do it? Some friends replied with quiet words of encouragement. Some friends were furious that I'm going to spend the next 6 months again in limbo. Some friends expressed concern for the peanut's ability to transition home and some friends blatanly asked "How do you want me to feel about this? I will feel that way." On my walk to parking garage after our hearing, my mind raced. I felt like my brain was a giant switchboard being lit up in more areas than I could attend to in one short walk. The main area needing attention was the one shouting "how do I feel? how do I feel?" My feelings are beyond the realm of explaining. I feel elated. I feel sad and anxious. I feel guilt. I feel hopeful. I feel fearful.

Mostly, I feel honored. Honored that I get to be a part of her story for another 6 months. Honored that He's using my humble body and hands to mold her and be her vehicle to knowing Him. Our life is written by Him. He doesn't need my editing skills or input. He doesn't make mistakes. I don't get to know what happens on the pages to come but I can always look back and recognize how much more beautiful life has become. I've come to love this crazy story.

Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)
11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

If you want to love the way God loves, resign your rights

I had a dream a couple nights ago that the peanut and I were heading into Chuck E. Cheese's. I won 5,000 tokens from a radio contest by texting the word "Languid" to 36500. (I'm assuming this dream was inspired by my earnest attempts to win tickets to the IHEART Radio Music Festival) We were walking on a narrow path to get into the doorway. The pathway was made of yellow and golden bricks and the peanut's little hand was interlocked with mine. Her sandals were shuffling against the cement bricks as her pace quickened and she squealed and laughed. Several workers stumbled over themselves to open the doors for us and they greeted us warmly. They had built rides specifically for us that had never been used. In the background I could see an enormous chocolate fountain and tables filled with platters of food. Peanut looked at me and smiled and we continued down the path. Suddenly a loud clank and a thud came from the parking lot and her parents jumped out of their car and darted towards us wearing their fancy dress clothes. Peanut's mom kept tripping on the yellow bricks as she tried to run so she crawled towards us. I reached down to offer her a hand and lifted her up. They picked up the peanut and we walked side by side towards the door. With our arms linked, we squeezed together trying to fit into the door. When we realized we couldn't we decided to line up single file. Mom, Peanut, Dad and then Me. Mom stepped through, Peanut walked through, Dad stepped through and then this uncomfortable shifty looking teenage boy in a uniform lifted the velvet rope just as I was about to enter and held up his hand signalling me to stop and firmly stated "We're at capacity, ma'am." I stood frozen. He lifted my hand, unwrapped my fingers from around the pouch full of tokens and walked them over to Peanut's parents. I think this story speaks for itself.

I haven't gone to church since April. I've composed all sorts of flimsy excuses when my friends ask why they haven't seen me there. I typically blame life's circumstances and cross my fingers that they accept it without questioning me further. I'm disappointed in myself and it's easy for me to look at the gaping holes I see in my life as a result of it. My thoughts are lacking inspiration. It's hard to get a sentence out that is more weighty or bracing than "Guess what happened to me today." I've been sitting on my back lanai for over 2 hours listening to the rain hit the roof and the only thought that's come to me is that I need someone to pour some life into me. Sometimes God's plan for you hurts. Being angry at Him is easy. Denying His existence is easy. Ignoring His call when it's time to do something that you know is going to be hard comes naturally to someone like me. Loving God and trusting in His sovereignty and goodness requires a strength you can only draw from feeling His love for you. When I step back into that church, I know He will consume me. I will receive a message seemingly designed for me alone and I will hear God's voice speaking to me directly through my pastor's earthly body. I will feel safe in that church. I will feel loved in that church. I will feel held. And then when I leave that church, I will do the work that God tells me to do. This is what I've been avoiding.  

"If you want to love the way God loves, resign your rights." That means, Amy, give up control, you control freak ;) It is not my job to crucify the peanut's parents about their choices no matter how much I fear for this precious child. It is not my job to pass judgment . It is not my job to try to convince others to rally around in the pain I feel in my heart by speaking badly about them so that I am not bobbing in my stagnant pool of sadness all alone. I watched a podcast of one of my pastor's messages a few weeks ago and he discussed Romans 12:19. He talked about still offering more of yourself when it is hard; still giving when what you give is being mishandled. This is the time I need to wake up in the morning and do the work God has asked me to do, and at night when my heart is aching and my soul hurts, trust that He'll hold me and breathe His strength into me, granting me another day. 

Romans 12:17 Repay no one evil for evil but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all. If possible, live peacebly for all. Beloved never avenge yourselves but leave it to the wrath of God. For it is written, vengeance is mine, I will repay says the Lord

Change in Plans

I learned on Tuesday that I will be keeping the peanut for at least another 4 months. As much as I would love to sing and scream out the details of the unfairness in our abysmal mess of a child welfare system, I will instead rejoice graciously that God has granted me more time to be her mommy. I am being honest and sincere when I say that this certainly came from left field and hit me like a sock full of batteries. I was sitting here for over a half hour typing and erasing, adding ideas and then replacing them.This was a huge week for us so I felt like I should be able to write something equally monumental and yet instead of my thoughts flowing out of me in beautiful form, they were stunted and uninspired. Eventually, I decided to admit defeat as my post was going nowhere fast.I stretched my arms, cracked my knuckles, closed my laptop and crawled around on the floor gathering the random strands of Mardi Gras beads that the peanut left a trail of on her way upstairs to bed.

As I crawled around on the floor, I remembered the sting I felt a week ago when I was putting her toys inside a giant rubbermaid tub to go to her parent's house with her.I had already dropped the peanut off at my friend's house and I still had an hour before I had to leave for court so I decided to pack up a few more things. I lifted each toy and smiled and laughed at the memories it brought and then gently positioned them all next to each other precisely and carefully as if treating them tenderly could somehow change the situation. I imagined how her parents would react to inviting this piece of my home into theirs' and wondered if this tub would ever be opened. I felt a familiar twinge of anger towards them but thankfully it was fleeting. I pulled the orange rubbermaid lid out of my pantry closet and sealed it on top of the tub when I looked down and realized that I was clutching her Mardi Gras beads in my tight fist. I held them to my heart, letting a few tears fall and then I looked at them and I couldn't help but laugh when I pictured them dangling from her neck and bouncing against her chubby tummy when she runs, or the wild screams she belted out when I had to untangle them from her curly blond hair or unwrap them from the steering wheel on her riding toy.

I have to be careful about the way I write this next paragraph. I have pecked at the keyboard and then erased it completely several times over trying to formulate my words in the exact way I want them to be interpreted. Maybe I'm working too hard but it is summer vacation after all and I have a child that goes to bed at 7:00 p.m. so where else does my loyalty lie at this hour? On court days, to say I am twisted in knots is an understatement. I tiptoe into the courtroom and try to swallow what feels like a beanie baby lodged in my throat. My hands sweat and my cheeks flush and without fail my licensing mentor nudges me in the arm and jokingly tells me to remind myself to breathe in and out. I just smile and rest my back against the cold metal of the folding chair feigning confidence and inner calm. Everyone feels the elephant in the room; its presence is suffocating. I can't say what happened in there but I can describe the feelings I had when the severity of the situation shot towards me like a fierce cannon. She's coming home with me again.

I pictured myself unpacking her boxes of clothes and placing them neatly back in her dresser. I pictured myself leaning down to scoop her up at daycare and feeling her stubby arms wrap around my neck and I imagined our silly dinners together where she practices balancing each green bean on her forehead. I felt an overwhelming sense of victory that I had more days with her and then I looked across the courtroom.Her parents. We had made arrangements in the court waiting room about the time they would come to pick her up, the items I was sending home with her, the plans we would make to meet up in the future so I could watch her grow. They spoke sincerely and enthusiastically. I had walked into court that day preparing to lose something that I loved and treasured so very much and in the midst of my selfish joy at the turn of events, I watched the parents of my child lose the hope they had of bringing their precious daughter home with them that day.

A good friend reminded me today that when it is my turn to go to Heaven, I will be accountable for my life. What will that day look like for me? I want to know that I was kind when it wasn't always warranted and understanding when it was hard. I want to know that I acted with grace when I was able and tried harder when I wasn't. I want to know that I could be a comfort to others in the midst of my joy and still be joyful in the midst of my tears. I want to be the woman God wants me to be. I continue to pray daily that God's grace covers us all during this transition in our lives. Please fit us into your prayers tonight. We so desperately need it.