One More

There are some people out there who are brilliant gift buyers. They always seem to get the most perfect thing for whoever they’re buying a present for. Even on those occasions it’s for someone they don’t know particularly well.

I am definitely not one of those people. I always get stressed out and end up frantically searching the internet, often begging Pinterest (and my Mom) to help me.

But… today I would welcome the stress if I could. The frantic search, the self-inflicted pressure, the anticipation as I watched him open it to see if he liked whatever I would've picked out for his 28th birthday.

Eleven. That’s how many it’s been. That’s how many times I haven’t had to pick out a birthday present for him. That’s how many times I haven’t picked up the phone to call my mom and ask her if she had any ideas about what James might want for his birthday.

If I’d known the last time truly would’ve been the last gift I’d ever be able to get him for his birthday, what would that gift have been? I’m not sure I have an answer.

I was supposed to go back to Tennessee today. (But in true Lauren fashion, those plans changed.) I always “need” one more day. This season felt so rushed. I’ve also never not been with my family on his birthday and this year didn’t feel like the one to change that. I wanted to be home. I wanted to be with those who remember his smile, his laugh, his voice, his love of the life he lived and the people he filled it with. I had an answer ready for whoever asked why my plans changed. Maybe I always need one more day because I remember what it felt like to not get one.

Last month I was talking to my Grandma on the phone and I asked her what she wanted for her birthday. Her response, laced with humor and a chuckle was, “when you get to be my age what you usually want for your birthday is another one.”

Maybe that’s my answer. I wish I could’ve given him another one. Just one more. And of course on his next birthday, another one, and on the next, another... until we were old and gray and had more birthdays than we wanted to count.

I'll settle for the silver lining. Knowing my brother is celebrating his birthday in a place where there is more joy than we could possibly imagine. Today we'll raise a glass to my brother as we celebrate him on our side of heaven, knowing it's one birthday closer until the day we celebrate on his. 

Happy 28th Birthday, James. I love and miss you more than I'll ever be able to put into words, and sending more hugs to Heaven than you'll ever be able to count. 

Xo,

Lauren 

God, Make Me Brave (Part 2)

I’ve been haunted by the word brave all week. It was as if the moment I wrote about it, that cat leapt right out of the proverbial bag. Suddenly, I was watching the movie of my life play out, each scene devoted to a different moment in my past. I was watching how brave had looked different at various times in my life.

I saw myself as a child being left by my Mom at Montessori. I watched as I clung to my teacher, begging to go home. There were tears. Loud, messy, snot-covered tears. Is it still brave if you don’t have a choice?

I saw myself in grade school (pick a year, any year) wondering if there’d be a seat for me at any lunch table. I saw myself listening to chatter about another party I hadn’t been invited to. I saw myself trying not to notice the whispered discussion of an after school playdate I’d been left out of. Back then going to school every day felt like a brave thing. Kids can be cruel.

I saw myself standing beside my uncle’s hospital bed, having no idea what to do. I watched myself reach for his hand and quietly promise him I’d never stop looking out for my cousins, that he didn’t have to worry.

I saw myself in the hallway of my childhood home, watching my Dad walk through the front door in tears. I watched as I hugged him, my mind desperately searching for the right words. Words that fit the magnitude of the moment you tell your Dad that you're sorry he suddenly doesn't have his Dad anymore. I’m still searching for those words.

I saw myself in high school, afraid to take my road test… again. But knowing having a license would help my parents who needed to split their time between home and the hospital once my brother got sick.

I saw myself undergoing tests in the hospital to make sure I could donate bone marrow to my brother. Oh how I remember wishing it had been Nora or Brendan. I did not consider myself the brave one in the family. I still don’t. That's why I write about being brave but my siblings volunteer their time putting out fires, driving firetrucks, and helping save lives.

I saw myself sitting in the front pew at James' funeral, listening as my uncle spoke beautiful words about my brother. I remember thinking I’d wish I’d been brave enough to speak. It broke my heart that I couldn’t save his life. Maybe one day I could find my own words and put them in a place that allowed the whole world to know him and his heart. He had a good heart. He was brave.

I saw myself in college, losing friends because I didn’t know how to be sad in front of them. I also didn’t know how not to be sad. I’d lost one of the most important people in my world. Back then, breathing felt like a brave thing to do.

I saw myself admitting to my parents that college wasn’t working out, that I needed a change. I needed time to figure things out. Why does it so often feel we aren't given enough time to figure things out?

I saw myself sobbing into my pillow the first night in my dorm in San Francisco, not believing I could stay, wanting to get on the plane the next day with my parents and go home. Staying didn’t feel brave at the time. It just felt like not wanting to fail at another thing.

I saw myself in a classroom being told by a teacher that God wasn’t real. A few hours later I saw myself in my dorm room, replaying the moment over and over, wishing I’d been brave. Wishing in that moment that I’d asked God for the words instead of silently disagreeing and asking a question about the homework to change the subject.

I saw myself in Tennessee. In my apartment. At church. I saw the way I fell in love with this beautiful place. Living here never felt like a brave thing, it felt like I'd found home. I saw myself as I met my friends for the first time. And I saw all the ways I wasn’t able to be brave yet. 

That the little girl who’d been picked on all through school and never seemed to belong anywhere suddenly seemed to be preventing me from belonging here to. Where belonging finally felt possible. She wasn't letting me be vulnerable with these new friends. She was preventing me from being vulnerable and authentic with the world.

And I knew that wasn’t going to work anymore. She needed to go and in order to go,  she needed to heal, and in order to heal, she needed to be known.

And for the second time this week, I asked God to make me brave. I asked Him to make me brave in this moment and hit publish instead of save like I so often do. I asked Him to make me brave enough to share these moments that made me.

I don't know why these are the ones that came to mind. I don’t know if I chose them, or they chose me. Maybe I needed to be reminded of these specific things. Because so many of these moments felt small at the time and I walked away from them feeling more broken than ever.

But that gives me hope. Hope for the moments I find myself facing today. Those moments I still feel broken. When I still feel like a failure. Hope that someday I will be able to look back and see the start of something brave.

This is not what I’d planned to write today. But it struck me that it was only fair if I was going to tell you how I’m going to be brave, that you also know some of the reasons behind why that's hard for me.

I won’t always get it right. In fact I’ll probably get it wrong more often than not. I know there are more broken moments ahead on my journey. And I feel God using past moments to equip me for those ahead.

There will be hard things I want to write about. Things I need to write about. And I’ll still hit save on this blog a lot more than I hit publish. Because it's scary to share these things. But I won’t stop trying. That is my commitment to myself and to anyone else out their who needs encouragement to be their own kind of brave.

Xo, 

Lauren

God, Make Me Brave (Part 1)

I like to hide things.

I like to hide my insecurities, my fears, my doubts... basically the stuff we all want to hide. Except I don't think I hide it as well as I think I do. Don't get me wrong, I have moments of transparency when I share a great deal. But I'm not sure those moments count.

What I tend to do is share about my past, the things I've already been able to overcome. Perhaps I do this in attempt to hide what it is I'm going through in the here and now. 

In fact I find it easier for me to share about some of the hardest things I've been through than it is to share about what I'm going through. The stuff I don't have figured out yet. The stuff I'm still content to hide, especially when I can't control the outcome. 

The truth is, I don't want to hide anymore.

I've been on this journey of late, where I've been trying to pursue a more authentic life as well as authentic relationships. And it's been hard, really hard. It's meant admitting things about and to myself that I've done pretty well at avoiding up until now.

But what I'm beginning to learn is that the more honest I am, the more honest other people are, the more God allows us to learn from each other, and the more we grow as a result.

So I woke up this morning and I asked God to make me brave today. Brave enough to share where I'm at, in spite of being terrified of other people getting to have an opinion. Heck, brave enough to admit that I still care about other people's opinions.

Because I do, but I'm working on it :)

Part of this is ingraining in myself that not everyone's brave looks the same. Brave looks different on me than it does on you and that's okay.

God made us all beautiful and unique. We all have different goals, fears, things that bring us joy, things that steal it. That's why we need each other.

So that's what this is going to be, a place where you get to see me grow. A place where you see me be honest and authentic and absolutely a place where you can do and be the same.

Starting today.

So here's where I'm at. It's a Monday in April, the sky is blue, the sun is shining, and it's the kind of day where the world feels possible. You know the one I'm talking about. The kind where you wake up and immediately feel like you could conquer any task set before you. (Disclaimer: This kind of day is rare for me.)

I suppose it's a good day to feel this way because I am beginning my journey with a career coach this week. For me, this step is about dispelling with the notion I have my life completely under control. It's also about admitting my shortcomings and acknowledging when and where I need help.

And admitting this, is my first attempt at being brave and authentic with the people around me.

May you all enjoy today. May you find someone to be kind to. May you find new ways to be brave.


Xo,

Lauren

P.S. Check back next week for Part 2.

It's the "Little" Things...

I did this thing that seemed so simple. I brought a plant back from Florida. A patio palm to be more precise. I thought it was adorable, and how cool to bring a palm tree back from Florida??

When I originally got it, I looked at the box, thought how cute… a little six inch palm tree to put on my desk. Upon arriving home and rereading the box, I realized it said six feet, not inches. Oops.

I then really read the box and realized there was going to be a bit more involved in this whole “I now own a plant thing” than I originally thought. I made my way to the garden center at Home Depot. This was my first trip to any garden center that wasn’t a tag along. I wasn’t there to offer an opinion to my parents’ about flowers they were getting for the season or what have you, but I was the one making decision about the future of my aforementioned plant… tree.

Okay, so I relied heavily upon the help of those that worked there since in reality I had no idea what I was doing. They helped me pick out a pot, food (who knew plants needed to eat food?), and planting soil.

I left Home Depot with the food, clothing (the soil… it at least counts as the equivalent to a blanket), and shelter for my tree. That was fun, I thought getting back into my car.

A day later, I stood in front of my pot, the soil, the plant food, and Harold. Yes, I’d named him Harold. It was time to get him replanted in his forever home. Forever, of course, meaning as long as he fit in this particular pot.

It didn’t take as long as I anticipated and before I knew it, there was Harold, standing tall(ish) and proud.

Then it happened folks. I said something out loud… to my tree. I was talking to a plant. (Before you get too worried, he didn’t talk back. Not at first… kidding :)

I hear this isn’t unheard of, that people talk to their plants. I just never thought I’d be one of them. Pets? Sure. They have ears, they’re listening. But plants? I instantly wondered if this made me crazy, but then I remembered crazy people don’t know their crazy so thinking I was crazy was actually proof I wasn't.

I digress.

So there I was, talking to Harold and I realized this simple little plant, that I was now providing for, was pretty cool. I suddenly pictured him fully grown and wondered where life would bring me by then.

This was the first living thing that was coming along for this journey we call life. And I’m going to be the determining factor as to whether or not Harold has a successful one. (Prayers that I keep him alive, always appreciated!) Something I initially thought to be simple, is now something I am invested in for the long haul.

At that moment, I was left with an incredibly profound thought.

I really need a boyfriend. :p

In all seriousness, it’s been a few days, Harold is doing well, although doesn’t seem to be growing very fast. However, he IS still green, which means I didn’t over water him.

Everyone, meet Harold!

Xo,
Lauren

No Tears

Falling asleep last night, I knew what today would bring. I knew the memory that would play over and over again as I walked through my day.

This morning, the silence is almost overwhelming. It seems I’ve beaten the sun, the birds, and my half-asleep neighbors walking their dogs.

In this moment, the morning belongs to me. I take ownership of the quiet and check in with my heart, what kind of day are we going to have today? The truth is, I don’t know. I am optimistic, but I don’t know. It's been different every year, with some being better than others.

It’s been twelve years since I heard my brother speak the words that wove themselves into the fabric of my family, forever changing what our lives would look like in the years to come. Twelve years gives a person a lot of time to change and I have. I am not the same teenage girl from all those years ago, but I am not the person I would’ve been had that day not existed. 

I was sixteen. A very immature sixteen. We lived an hour and half from a sweet little ski town where we spent most of our winter weekends while growing up. I remember this particular day as one big whisper. Every time the phone rang, my aunt would go into the bathroom and close the door before she started talking. I knew I was on the wrong side of a secret.

I may not have known the details, but what I knew was enough to infer I didn’t want to know anymore. Except that I did. My brother, James, was an hour away at the hospital undergoing tests with my Mom. My Dad was with me, my younger sister, Nora, and our younger brother, Brendan.

If it was good news, there’d be no reason to hide it. So I knew, it wasn’t good news. I was also angry. I didn’t want to know, but I did. Here was my aunt, talking to my mom, about my brother, and no one was telling me anything.

My family began getting ready for Saturday mass, the halfway mark of every weekend. They might not have realized what was going on yet, but I did, and I wasn’t about to go somewhere and pretend everything was as it should be. In fact, my whole life, I’ve gone out of my way to avoid anything that makes me uncomfortable.

I still do.

It was as if all those moments in the past had been preparing me so I could perfect this one. I faked sick and stayed in bed. Of course, now I was alone with my thoughts and that is a very dangerous and uncomfortable place to be. My plan had backfired. I remember trying to fall asleep, but with my stomach in my throat and my heart beating as fast as it was, I was afraid if I let my guard down enough to fall asleep, I wouldn’t be able to hold back my tears any longer.

I was a child with her eyes closed, desperately hoping that made her invisible to and unaffected by the rest of the world.

It didn’t work. 

My family returned from church and almost immediately I was told we were leaving, a day earlier than planned, and to pack up my things and head for the car. Whispers and secrets were one thing, but now a sudden dash to the car with no one answering any of our questions? This. Wasn’t. Good.

We piled into my Dad’s jeep. James and I had flown with my Dad to Baltimore to buy it and drive it back home. That was a before memory. The good kind, when we were still relatively untouched by the harsh reality the world could be.

My Dad drove, I sat beside him in the passenger seat and Nora and Brendan rode in the back. It was a small car. Most cars offer you a little room to retreat, even if only within yourself. This car had none. The soft windows closed in around us and the sounds of the road played like a radio station. That day in particular, the car felt so small it was almost as if words weren’t needed for us to hear one another’s thoughts.

I wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Instead, I was racing down the thruway towards what I knew was going to be one of those moments there would be no coming back from. Our lives were about to change and I think everyone was beginning to feel it.

My Dad wears his heart on his sleeve. I wear mine more like a feathered boa that seems to leave an unintentional trail of feathers wherever I go. Needless to say, we aren't exactly the best combination of emotional support to have in a crisis. Even so, at sixteen years old, it was the first time I’d seen my Dad so silent and within myself. Halfway to our destination that changed. He looked at me and asked if I “wanted to hold hands?”

I wanted to say, “no.” I wanted to tell him, “I am sixteen and that would be weird.” I wanted to tell him, “you’re supposed to be acting like everything is going to be okay. You’re the Dad. That’s what you do. That’s your job.”

But I said none of those things.

I didn’t say them because in that moment, we both knew that once we got where we were going, turned off the car, and walked through the front door of the hospital, that my Dad would be unable to do the one thing in the world that every Dad is supposed to do for their children. He wouldn’t be able to make this better, no matter how much he wanted to. 

And so, for the rest of the way to the hospital, I sat next to me Dad and stared mindlessly out the window, not entirely sure who was holding whose hand.

It wasn’t until later that I found out my Dad was as much in the dark as my siblings and I were. There was a reason no one was telling the four of us what was going on. James had felt it was important that he be the one to tell us. He didn’t want us to hear it from anyone else. 

At fifteen, in the middle of the scariest moment he’d faced, he was thinking of others. Anyone who knew my brother knew that was just the type of person he was and it came effortlessly to him.  

I made an unsuccessful last-ditch attempt to extract information from my uncle who was waiting in the hallway outside my brother’s hospital room. I’ve tried but haven’t found the right words to describe what it feels like to know something, but not to know it and to desperately want to find out, but at the same time wanting to run as fast as you can in the opposite direction before someone can tell you.

The thing about receiving life-changing information is that life changes. From here on out, life would always be remembered and talked about as before and after.

Hours ago, my Mom and brother had their moment and now it was our turn. We entered James’ hospital room one by one. That room, like so many others over the next two years would become a makeshift extension of our home. He was sitting up in bed, my Mom with him. To be honest, I don’t remember those beginning moments, not even the exchanging of hello’s. Maybe there weren’t any.

What I remember in that moment is James looking at us and saying, “They think, they’re pretty sure I have leukemia.”

So there it was, We were all officially living in the “after.”

My brother started to cry as the words escaped his lips. I wonder if he had practiced what he was going to say before we got there. I wonder how different that moment was from his side of things. I wonder if I would have handled it as gracefully as he did. 

Looking back all these years later, I’m not entirely convinced those tears were for himself. After that day, James made a rule. There would be “no tears in his room.” And for the next two years and three weeks, there weren’t. 

The sun is up and I tuck the memory back into my heart to keep it safe. It lives beside the memory of another day, just three weeks from now that will mark an entire decade since my brother died. But I am not quite ready to relive that one yet.

Instead, I let my heart settle on the way God has been able to transform my grief, and I focus on the gratitude I feel for having known my brother and his bravery. I remember his request for no tears and I try to honor it.

James & Brendan

Xo,
Lauren

Choosing to Worship

It's January 1st. The first day of a brand-new year.

The snow is falling, ever so lightly, outside. The fire is roaring, a Christmas movie is playing on the television, and the lights from the tree cast a cozy glow over the family room. I am sipping from a mug filled with the most delicious hot chocolate complete with marshmallows.

My Dad, always one to make the most of a day off of work, is chopping more firewood outside. He comes in for the occasional warm-up, the scent of his cigar following him in from the cold.

For a moment time stands still. My family is home, safe, together. There is no talk of the upcoming work week, my return to Tennessee, or my brother's impending move to Colorado. There is just peace and togetherness.

It is the moment I've waited for since coming home for Christmas. The rhythm of my family on our best day. The kind I want to keep on the surface of my memory reservoir to pull out when I'm having a day that isn't like this one.

It is the kind of day that holds promise of things to come. No mistakes have been made. There is nothing to worry about and if there is, it is far from our minds at the moment. It is a bubble day: for a moment we get to be unaffected by the outside world.

I've spent the day reflecting, not on resolutions, but on the goals I am purposing myself to reach this year. I've been asking myself what it is I can do and be better at this year? What are the areas in my life I need to invite God into?

My pastor preached a message not all that long ago in which he told a story of a person who had every reason in the world to worry. His daughter, who'd been going through a rebellious stage, hadn't come home the night before and he had no idea where she was. My pastor said to him that he must be worried out of his mind. This person's response, however, was one that seems to want to write itself on my heart this year.

"I don't worry, I worship." 

I reflect back on the last year and all the moments I was worried over something, big or small. All the moments I gave into fears of the unknown instead of trusting the One who knows all, who knows me, and who promises to work all things for the good of those who love Him.   

How much of my time and energy have I wasted focusing on worrying about things beyond my control? It makes me not want to take another minute away from worshiping my Heavenly Father.

I am reminded that I have no reason to worry about anything. The One who put us here, holds the entire world in His hands. He has seen the other side of whatever mountains we may face before we ever have a chance to climb them.

Why is it that we tend to forget this? That we get so caught up in the things of this world, we take our eyes off of Jesus and forget how to find our way back? It is a lesson we learn... again and again, and all the while are reminded of God's endless grace for us. He never stops seeking us, wanting to draw us closer to Him.

"I don't worry, I worship." To me, this statement is spoken by someone whose eyes remain steadfastly on our Savior, someone who entrusts his life and the lives of those he loves to the One who first breathed life into each of them.

I look at a day like today, when for a moment all is right in my little world, and it is easy to praise God.

But what about the days that aren't like today? How well do I worship Him then? Do I cave to my lowest when the circumstances seem justified?

When I have every reason in the world to worry, do I approach the throne of God in complete surrender, praising and worshiping Him with a grateful heart? The answer is a resounding, "no." It echoes in my head, hiding itself in my heart where the enemy would like it to stay.

But God shows up. He has a way of showing up in the places we'd like to hide away, doesn't He? He picks us up, dusts us off, and extends His grace.

I want to spend 2016 worshiping my heavenly Father in the moments it may be the most difficult to do so. I want to spend this year resting in my trust for God in all circumstances. I can trust Him because He keeps His promises, because He loves me more than I will ever be able to fully comprehend, because He always has been and always will be trustworthy.

This year, when my instinct is to worry, I will choose to worship.

Love, Prayers, and a very Happy New Year!!

Xo,
Lauren