The fabric of our lives ... is not cotton

I had decided that I had enough friends. We were preparing to move to a small town in Ohio, for only a year mind you, and I was content that I didn't need to make any new friends. I had great friends from college and from growing up and I was content.

But I guess I hadn't planned that I would meet one of the most dear families I know, and they just happened to live on the other side of our duplex. So we spent the next year laughing, playing cards, loving on their baby and preparing for the new daughter to arrive. At the end of the year, and before the birth of their baby girl, we moved away as planned. That was 13 years ago. We are still quite close.

So then we moved to Nashville. I had just added a wonderful friend, I had wonderful new friends that I was moving nearer to and would get to spend more time with. Again, I was content.

When Case was diagnosed with MPS in 2009, I didn't make the same mistake. I had wonderful friends. But this was quite a difficult thing to understand, and sometimes only those living it can relate.

So began my journey of having "MPS friends."

But MPS friends soon evolved into friends. Period.

And I reflect on this only because recently I've gotten to spend more time with some wonderful ladies in our town. We've crossed paths only because we live in Spring Hill, have children, and like to get great deals by buying and selling online with other families in town.

I've never been an "online talker" but we spent about four hours with laugh out loud, gut-busting conversations the other night while waiting on and enduring a thunderstorm and tornado warnings. Some were in their "safe place" and some of us chose to watch the storm.

This is my fabric. It is woven with friends who all crossed each others' paths for different reasons. Some are on the blue path, some the red, some the most colorful path you've seen, and some threads are tattered and frayed.

But they have created a tapestry, a fabric in my life that I cling to and cherish, for without them, my life would be a bland blanket of only the colors I had chosen, a few black, tan, red, and not much more.

Rejoice with those who rejoice; and mourn with those who mourn.

Romans 12:15. I am blessed enough to have friends who do just that.

I am also studying Job as of late, and while one can question the wisdom of Job's friends later on, one cannot question their love for and dedication to Job:

Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights. No one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was.

Job 2:13. What a blessing to have friends who would sympathize with us so greatly!

So when you are weaving your life, weave purposefully, openly, and lovingly. And leave room for others to step in and weave themselves into your tapestry.

You'll never imagine how beautiful it will become.

Just another lullaby

I don't pretend to be a great writer. I write because it is my journal and my release, and I write publicly because I hope that somehow anything or something I say might resonate with even one single person.

But sometimes I don't really bare it all, those deepest feelings of pain and fear, sometimes I hold those a little tighter.

Who is that crazy lady?

Someone might see me at times and think, "Just who is that crazy lady?" It might be when I'm singing the Barney song and adding my own little dance or when I'm pulling the imaginary horn in a chair choo-choo on the hospital stage.

I'm the crazy lady who's learning to live it like I mean it.

Omniscient grace

Sometimes we learn amazing lessons about God from our children. Unconditional love. Instant forgiveness. Pure joy.

But sometimes God uses our own words to our children to teach us.

We have a baby monitor to hear our kids at night. All three of our boys share a room and it lets us hear the fights and the early morning wake-ups lest Case wander outside, opening the garage and front doors, as he's wont to do.

Who am I? I am...

Who am I?

I've always had many answers for that question.

At different points in my life and in different conversations, I would have said:

Getting nothing done?

I often lie in bed at night and either think to myself or say aloud to my husband “I got absolutely nothing done today.” It is usually because something unexpected happened – a snow day, one of the kids is sick, several phone calls from case workers or insurance problems.

I have a list. I work from my list. I check things off my list. I even have a master list and a daily list. And an online list.