The hardest part

Since the very beginning of our infertility journey, we've been warned that the hardest part of all of it is knowing when to stop...or in every day terms...when to call it quits.

But that statement, that thought, is so far off basis in our world and I'd like to shed some light on what many couples (or at the very least-us) think in regards to 'calling it quits'.

For us, this is admittedly one of the easiest decisions we've ever made. 

The actual hardest part is conveying to the outside world the why's and the how's behind our decision.

Which is, undoubtedly, one of the worst parts of infertility...feeling like you owe the outside world some grand explanation.

Because sometimes, just sometimes, you think that if you can explain it to the outside world, you can somehow better understand it yourself. 

____________________________________________________

In every phase of our family planning, we have always, always been at peace with whatever we were trying in that moment. It doesn't mean we didn't think parts of what we have had to go through have been fair, it doesn't mean we liked always having to figure out another avenue to pursue, and it certainly doesn't mean any of it was easy, it just simply means once we arrived at our decision for the next step-we were comfortable with it and always all in. 

But when we were on the hunt for the next direction to go, the what ifs, the financial burdens, the questions for how to accomplish the next step were always weighing heavily on our shoulders.

So this decision, the decision to close the chapter of using Advanced Reproductive Technology, is incredibly freeing.  

Hear me loud and clear, we are not calling it quits.

We are choosing joy.

We are choosing financial stability.

We are choosing to focus on all the other areas in our life that are so richly full instead of wasting another second on the one thing that hasn't gone according to our plan.

Y'all, there are hundreds of ways to arrive at a destination. We have just simply said no more ART. 

Those closest to us know our next move. 

They know what's been tumbling around in our hearts for awhile.

_______________________________________________________

It's hard to write this blog post without feeling like I'm trying to sum up our infertility journey in one package because no matter how hard I try, I could never put it all in one box and wrap it up with a pretty little ribbon. It's too messy. Infertility has changed us and molded us in a way we never expected. 

Being open with our story happened more because of The Race to Parenthood than a true need to share publicly what we were going through.  I can't stand nosy people and here I've been writing a public blog for almost six years now, providing the ultimate wide open avenue for every nosy person out there.  But then I think if reading my blog helps just one person to stop and think before they say something ludicrous to someone who's hurting privately and deeply...then read away all you nosy nellie's ;) 

I have often pondered what could possibly be the purpose behind our infertility story. What's the greater meaning? Why were we chosen to go through this ordeal?  Which are all just a more adult version of the 'why me' childish tantrum I'd like to have every now and then. 

I do know that we feel honored God had more faith in our marriage than we did in the beginning. To have a marriage not only survive infertility, but actually end up thriving because of it is a blessing not lost on us. 

Perhaps it was to renew a faith in each of us we didn't know was missing.

Perhaps it was to share our story so others wouldn't feel alone.

Perhaps it was to share our story so people would become a little more compassionate towards this subject. 

Maybe it's our fast approaching 10th Anniversary that has me in such a reflective mood.

We fought for every one of those years. 

But, when I really stop to think about it, saying goodbye to everything from the first 10 years, just leaves me really, really excited for what's to come in the next 10 years.

All in

     If you've followed along on our infertility journey for awhile chances are you've heard me say 'we're either all in or all out.' Any infertility story is written in a series of hurry ups and waits. Hurry on to the next step, wait for the diagnosis, the blood work, the results, the ultrasound….then hurry on to the next step when that one didn't work.  Paul and I have gotten so used to things not working out, that we're constantly thinking about our next move, be it in the form of family planning or trip planning. We always need something on the horizon to keep us moving forward.

     This summer has been just a little different though. We're in this odd space of half in and half out. Surrogacy with adopted embryos is our final stop on our infertility roller coaster. And if the roller coaster was a real ride, the ride attendant would be yelling at us to please stay seated and keep our arms and legs inside the moving vehicle because half of us just wants the ride to be over already. We have our eyes so trained on the next piece of our plan that we need to remind ourselves to slow down and give thanks in this particular season…the summer of 2016. The summer where our air conditioning went kaput and we engaged in a six week war with the home warranty company to have them fix it (no we still don't have A/C). The summer where three of our dogs became violently ill and required unexpected trips to the vet with days of their humans cleaning up from their accidents and which required a small fortune to be spent on our fourth dog during his week long battle with pancreatitis and luxury stay in an animal hospital for four days. The summer where our first attempt at surrogacy with two adopted embryos ended up in yet another chemical pregnancy. The summer where we used our very last adopted embryo and began mentally closing this chapter without even realizing it.

     But the summer isn't over yet and luckily, I don't stamp any part of any year with a negative label. Because this was also the first summer of living within walking distance to our niece and nephew, with impromptu cook outs and ice cream eating and porch sitting. It was the first summer of watching all the new plants bloom at a new house (and all the weeds I've managed to let grow). And, it's the summer of our very last two week wait…ever. That is enough to make me jump for joy despite whatever the outcome may be.

     It was so weird sitting in the clinic this past Friday knowing I would never, ever be back (unless I miraculously win the lottery).  There's a strong possibility that was also the last time I'll ever see my fertility doctor again, too. Which is just weird to think. They're a huge part of your life and then it's just over. Luckily, my doctor is just as quiet as I tend to be in awkward situations and perfectly responded with a "Well, I hope to see you again" when I made mention to the fact that I might never see him again (pending blood work results).

     And that takes us to this moment. This moment of our last time of waiting for pregnancy results. This moment of being in perfectly imperfect balance, with one foot still firmly planted in our infertility journey and the other foot tapping its toes impatiently on the 'rest of our life' platform.

     Sometimes we like to surprise people with the results of one of our family growing steps other times, we take you along for the ride. Last month, we let everyone know after the fact about our chemical pregnancy and 1st failed attempt at surrogacy with adopted embryos.  This time, we're asking you to join us on our final ride. We ask you to pray with us and for us and hope along side us as we wait to see how this final chapter of our infertility journey is written. We are so grateful to have had this surrogacy opportunity from my sister and to the biological parents who gave us the gift of possibility and hope by letting us adopt their embryos. There is always much to be thankful for indeed.

Our Roller Coaster

Last week my sister and I made a very public announcement over at The Sister Stories regarding her being our surrogate. Before this very heavy topic fades away into the background again, I wanted to take a moment to dive into the situation a whole lot deeper. 

So, let's start at the very beginning shall we?

It's a very good place to start.

When our infertility roller coaster first began all the way back in 2008, I knew we'd be one of the lucky couples. The couples who kind of have to struggle, but not really. I had faith our answers would come quickly. Looking back, I'm sure it was the 24 year old naivety, but that same faith has served me well over the past almost 9 years. 

I vividly remember laying in my bed, in the darkness late at night, searching for infertility bloggers and following as many as I could. I joined chatrooms and even met a fellow blogger for coffee. I read til my eyes couldn't see straight anymore. I absorbed every lesson I could. 

Those blogs I followed have pretty much gone silent.
In fact, all but one haven't had a post in over five years.

Yet, here I am still blogging about the same issue. 

For this gal who operates on facts and logic, it can be a hard road to navigate. 

It's tough to put into words and then to convey into feelings, what my brain has already logically processed and my heart understands so matter-of-factly.

But let me try.

To all those people who are starting out on this journey…my heart hurts for you. It hurts for the relationships & friendships you will undoubtedly lose. It hurts for the family members who just won't understand who will therefore say unkind things. It hurts for the heavy decisions that you will have to face. It hurts for your bank account and your savings and the financial burden infertility brings with it. It hurts for the shattered dreams and this ugly path you will have to navigate. It hurts for the self-doubt and questioning that will creep into your way of thinking.  It hurts for the way this thing called infertility will taint the rest of your life in the ways you will least expect. 

But it also leaps with joy for you. For the relationships and friendships you will undoubtedly gain. For the family members who will be there to support you no matter what. For the appreciation you will gain for all of life's trivial decisions. For the way in which penny pinching will bring about a certain awareness of all the free pleasures in this life…the sound of a thunderstorm, the rainbow after a storm, the smell of autumn, the sight of falling snow, the sound of the waves and the birds chirping. It leaps with joy for you for the discovery of the path that was destined for you and all the growth and enlightenment that will occur on a journey you never considered. It leaps with joy for the inner strength and resilience you will find deep within you, in ways you didn't know you could. It leaps with joy for the ways in which infertility will teach you to count all your other blessings in areas you least expect. 

Know this.  I am here. I am here to listen. I am here to offer advice. I am here to punch someone who says something awful to you…okay maybe not that last one. 

Know this. You are not alone. Seek advice and council from people who you trust with the most honest inner parts of your soul. But also know that this story is yours and your partners. You must be willing to learn and grow. You can close as many doors and options as you want while you are in a season of life, but be willing to peek behind those doors in the future as your seasons shift.

Once upon a time, we said we'd never do IVF.
We did and it failed.

Once upon a time, we said we'd never use a sperm donor.
We did and it failed.

Once upon a time, we said we'd never use adopted embryos.
We did and it failed.

Once upon a time, we said we'd never use a surrogate.
We did and it failed.

So here's the lesson from this older (and occasionally wiser) infertile gal.

Whether you end up with kids in some way shape or form or you don't, infertility doesn't define you.
Your children or your childlessness doesn't define you either.

Your infertility roller coaster is yours. It can be as tame or as wild as you make it.
As terrifying as it may be some days, it can also be thrilling and exciting and exhilarating if you let it.

I hope you learn to enjoy your ride.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow's just on the horizon. I can see it creeping in slowly...yet it got here so quickly.

Tomorrow involves another trip to VA IVF. To the 3rd floor of that building. To the place where all my hope is always at an all-time high, yet nothing positive ever seems to stick around for long.

It will be our 6th time there for an embryo transfer,

though I went four times before that for stuff related to our IUIs.

I can't help but feel like we should get some sort of an award for all the times we keep getting knocked down but keep showing back up.

Then again, I don't believe in participation trophies.

Maybe a frequent visitor punch card though.

Punch your card for five visits, get the sixth free.

Wouldn't that be lovely.

Tomorrow will be so different, yet exactly the same in many ways.

Different mainly because the embryo won't be transferred to me and my hostile womb, but to our surrogate.

Different because I won't be the one putting on the gown or the free no-skid socks.

Different because for once I'll finally be able to look into the incubator to see the embryo pre-transfer.

Different because I'll actually miss having the opportunity to take a valium to take the edge off the weightiness of the day.

And yet, the same hope will be there.

The hope for the possibility of what MAY be.

The same wonder and awe of technology and science and God being present in exactly the same moment.

The same feeling of pride I have in our marriage. For surviving yet another year...another hurdle of this beautifully ugly journey of infertility.

The same stoic looks of bravery on our faces while inside we silently wonder just how much more we can endure.

The same awareness of all the amazing things we could be doing with our thousands of dollars, yet knowing that becoming parents is priceless.

The same prayers that we won't ever have to go back again, yet the knowledge that if we do, we'll be okay.

Baby steps

No, not actual baby steps.

Figurative baby steps.

That's what we're taking in the Ziolkowski household these days when it comes to our journey towards parenthood.

Each year that passes brings new insight and oddly, new closure, if that makes sense.

It's as if the years of the crushing weight of infertility have vanished.

Honestly, I'm not sorry to see them go despite the fact that we're still not actually parents.

But I can tell you that if you're looking for them, they're in a huge box in the bottom of my new hallway closet. I have dreams of having this amazing picture one day showcasing every syringe, every medication bottle, every...everything used during our infertility journey. When we moved, I consolidated it all and as I stared at this huge box packed to the brim, I saw more growing and love instead of heartache and grief and then I promptly realized how weird it was to be staring at old syringes and I closed the box and shoved it to the back of the closet. It was oddly cathartic.

This season is definitely different from our four year sabbatical of what I now refer to as 'the complacent years'. Perhaps its basis is in faith, perhaps its basis is in maturity, but regardless of where this season of life is stemming from, I love it. It feels like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a cold winter's day and that equals a sense of comfort and security.

A little over a month ago, we had one of infertility's lovely curveballs thrown at us again when we got confirmation that we would actually have to pay to adopt our baby if we used a surrogate.

It's because the child is not biologically ours.

Even though we technically have 'ownership' (such a cold word) of those frozen embryos, once a baby is born, we have to go through the adoption process. This next phase includes a lawyer and contract writing ($1500-3k), embryo transfer (around 3k), home study (3k) and about a 7k-10k price tag for the actual adoption.

Meanwhile crack heads on the street corner...I digress.

Our worst case life plan scenario is our best case financial scenario. And our worst case financial scenario is our best case life plan scenario. Either our pockets hurt or our hearts hurt.

At this stage of the game, we're used to both...so luckily no scenario has an advantage on the other.

Obviously, we want a baby, but if it doesn't happen through the surrogate route, then we're both (slowly) getting used to the idea of fostering.

Again, our ultimate goal has always been to be parents.

The means by which we get there quite mattering years ago.

 I'm not sure how the rest of 2016 will play out and for once, I'm perfectly okay with that.

We have full confidence that we go nowhere by accident and that where we are always where we're meant to be.

As of a week ago, that's two houses down from our niece and nephew and that's the most perfect place.



#StartAsking

 

 

 

It's National Infertility Awareness Week and since I have a blog because of my infertility diagnosis,  I figured I should probably write about it.

 

The overall theme to this year's week is Start Asking.

 

Honestly, it's a hard theme for me to process because I've been personally asking questions for over eight years now and I'm just exhausted with the whole thing.

And, over the course of those years, I sometimes feel like that's the only thing I ever get asked about (well that and cookies).

 

It was National Infertility Awareness Week several years ago that gave me the courage to start posting on social media. For that, I am grateful for this particular week of the year. In fact, the theme for the first NIAW was "What IF", which is how my blog title came to be.

 

Since we became super vocal with our story about four years ago now, I feel as though the people in our social circle (and the facebook friends who are bombarded with the shared articles/blog posts about infertility) have gotten really comfortable with the topic.  Perhaps not so comfortable talking about it openly, but comfortable learning about it and being aware of it (and if they haven't, then they've probably hidden me from their newsfeed by now).

 

But some people haven't. Some people are just starting down this scary, dark, seemingly endless road.

 

And they need to know it's okay to start asking. They need to know it's okay to be the one asking the questions and the one who's being asked the questions. Because asking means people are talking about infertility, which leads to awareness, which may lead to answers.

 

This journey...it never ends, so people may as well get over the stigma associated with infertility. 1 in 8 couples will receive an infertility diagnosis.  That's thousands and thousands of family and friends who are also impacted. Whether the couple ends up somehow bringing children into their family (Because YES a husband and a wife alone are STILL A FAMILY!!!!) or make the decision to stay childless...the experience of infertility will always be with them and those who love them.

 

Eight years into our journey and I still have absolutely no clue how our story will unfold.

Surrogacy...fostering...?

All I know is that come hell or high water (and both are a serious probability) we won't stop trying.

As a seasoned infertile (ugh..who wants that title?!), here's my start asking advice.

 

To the general public

*Be gentle with the way those questions are worded when you start asking.

*Be careful as to not turn your questions into unwarranted advice.

*Let the person to whom you're speaking know that you will be supportive of whatever questions they may have for you or for doctors and that you'll help them solve their questions as you're able.

*Be sensitive as to not make your questions become their questions.

 

To the 1 in 8

*Forget that whole you need to wait 6 months (if you're over 30) or a year (if you're under 30) before you start asking your questions. That's crap. If you suspect a problem, trust your gut. Ask your OBGYN for help, have the dude visit a Urologist for an SA, do your own research.  Make an appointment with the RE before you reach those milestones, because the waiting lists for new patients can be ridiculously long and you've already waited long enough.

*Start asking questions with the group of folks you are most comfortable. Perhaps it's your family, or a best friend, or a doctor or a group of online strangers in an online support group.

*When you think you have all your questions answered, be prepared for more to arise. Infertility LOVES to throw curve balls.

*NEVER STOP ASKING. Ask for help, ask for answers, ask for support.

 

But, for the love of all things, please don't ask every day.

People are so much more than their infertility diagnosis.

 

When I first started on this journey, I joined a chat room/support group for people going through IVF during the same time frame. Our journey was less than two years old and there was a lady who had been battling infertility for five years. I remember feeling so sorry for her and vowing I would NEVER be in her position, yet here we are 8 years later and I AM that lady.

 

I'm well aware in each and every moment that infertility is part of my story, usually because I'm still figuring out how to solve it....but you know what else?

 

Most days I'd like to forget about infertility and flush it down the crapper.

And just be.

 

Be me.

Be us.

Be happy.

 

How to be those things are those are the most important questions to start asking...and to answer. 

 

Eventually, infertility won't be the biggest chapter in your book.

 

And you'll realize you won't need a designated week to chat about the subject.

 

 

 

 

 



Now seeking a womb reservation

I thought one of the oddest posts I would ever write would be about the time we went on a hunt for a sperm donor.

Nope.

I think asking to borrow someone's uterus for eight-ten months just might top the list.

Now this is an entirely new world for us.  Full of terms like lawyers and contracts and counseling and wills and questions…oh, the questions.

But, since we've been digesting our new reality since Wednesday, I have had the opportunity to mull some things over. 

When the decisions get too heavy (though, quite honestly, I don't think I would know a non-heavy decision at this point in my life unless it smacked me in the face), I turn to humor.

Sarcasm is my safe place.

Life's too short to be serious all the time.

Considering our past eight years, I feel as though almost every conversation has been serious.

And, rightfully so.

The when (and how) you bring children into this world should be seriously considered.

But, goodness gracious, our story has been way too dramatic.

So I have to inject some sarcasm and wit into it.

Please read the following in that light.

__________________________________

Now seeking a womb reservation.

(I'd say a womb to rent, but there are no funds here to pay rent)

Preferred space needs to be available for eight-ten months, though potential tenant could have long lasting effects.

Living structure needs to be quite stable (so does the landlord, for that matter).

Previous tenant required.

Non-smoking, alcohol free zone also required.

Space should have awesome circulation.

Potential tenant comes with their own contract. 

Potential tenant may cause the landlord some problems. 

Landlord needs to be willing to work through them.

Landlord needs to weigh all risks and benefits prior to listing womb space.

Super Serious landlords only.

Potential tenant will supply a list of references. 

________________________________

While we have had time to process what our last attempt at pregnancy means, it has still only been four days.  We do know our future has surrogacy in it, but we are just beginning to delve into this world.

The how and when still need to be worked out.

The Why has been there all along.

Because, we want (and need) to be parents.

Broken Relief

I'm not even sure where to start with this one. 

 

That's the thing about keeping things quiet...a secret.

When it's time for the truth to come out, you just don't know where to start.

 

So, let me back pedal for a minute.

_____________________________

 

There are stories about 'Rainbow Babies' and research showing that often, you're more likely to get pregnant the month following a miscarriage. 
(Now, obviously, that depends on a lot of factors...your health, how far along you were, etc.)

 

So, when early January rolled around and my monthly visitor showed up right on time...even after an 8 week miscarriage, Paul and I hit the ground running again.

 

I'm not exaggerating.

 

When doing a Frozen Embryo Transfer, you start on estrogen on Day 1 of your cycle.

 

We went from "Who knows when we're going to try again?!" to fully committed to a January transfer in about 2 hours.

 

The doctor gave his blessing to try so soon and I had leftover medication and that was that.

 

I woke up on January 4th with no clue when our next step would be and by the end of the day had our transfer scheduled.

 

I've told you before, we're either all in or all out.

_______________________________________

 

We made the decision to not let too many people in on this information.

One of my sisters knew (because she knows everything anyway), a handful of women at work (who are so great about checking in with me and I CANNOT lie) knew, and the biological mom of the embryos knew (and of course, Jenn & her mom from the Race knew because we needed our race funds!).

 

Considering I have been so incredibly open with our story, this secret story line was difficult for me.

But, it was so needed.

 

I needed to almost forget this transfer was happening. I needed to pretend that it didn't have absolutely everything about our future riding on it. I needed to not have a bunch of different folks bringing it up.  I needed to not drag my family and close friends through the agony of yet another two week wait.

 

And, I know those of you that pray for us, are always praying for us.

__________________________________

 

On Friday, January 22nd, Paul and I made our way to VA IVF.

Our appointment time had gotten bumped up because of the impending snow and we arrived at the clinic shortly after 10:00 am. It was just beginning to flurry on our drive in and it filled me with such a peace. I LOVE when the snow starts to fall.

 

We were all checked in and actually sitting in a room when the doc called my cell to tell me one of the two embryos we thawed did not survive. We asked for two more to be thawed and we waited patiently.  Around 11:35 the doc showed up and told us we had two good looking blasts ready for transfer, but unfortunately the second one in the second set did not survive the thaw either.

 

This means we have four of our adopted embryos left.

 

We were home by 12:15 and we snuggled in for a long, snowy weekend.

 

Remember how frozen embryos are referred to as snowflakes?

The beauty of millions of falling snowflakes was just so...calming.

 

And thus began our wait.

__________________________________

 

I have the same dilemma every single transfer about when to take a home pregnancy test. 

I usually give myself a target date and then randomly on an adrenaline induced whim, take one early.

 

And, that's exactly what happened.

 

My first bloodwork beta was scheduled for Monday, Feb. 1st, so I gave myself the goal of making it to Sunday morning. 

But, Friday, after work, that adrenaline kicked in and I caved.

 

Two beautiful pink lines showed up.

I knew they would. I had felt the implantation happening.

 

But, unlike the last time, when I had some random early pregnancy symptoms, this time, I had nothing.

 

When Sunday morning rolled around, my test was stark white.  I couldn't have imagined a second line there if I wanted to. And trust me, I tried.

I took a second test just to be sure the first wasn't a dud...and yep...still stark white.

 

I was SHOCKED when my beta test on Monday came back positive.

I've had a positive home pregnancy test before and my beta had been at an 8.

So, when the nurse told me my beta was 23, I was really, really surprised.

Honestly, though, I was more annoyed that I had to stay on my medication regimen, when I knew in my heart how this story was going to unfold.

 

Today's bloodwork confirmed a dropping beta...21.

 

And so it shall be.

 

My fifth positive pregnancy test.

My fourth chemical pregnancy.

 

And it's officially over.

__________________________________

 

And all I feel is broken relief beyond measure.

 

This weight of will I/won't I ever carry a successful pregnancy is finally over.

 

Relief.

 

I will never, ever feel a baby kick in my womb.

 

Broken.

 

We can move onto our next phase.

 

Relief.

 

Officially saying goodbye to the one dream I have had all my life...carrying a baby.

 

Broken.

 

I'll never accidentally pee myself when I sneeze.

 

Relief

(Come on, I HAVE to find the humor in this and all the mom's I know say that happens!)

 

Our eight year journey continues and throws us for another curve ball.

 

Broken.

 

So the cycle continues.

 

Broken, Relief, Broken, Relief.

_________________________________________

 

And I just keep telling myself.

 

There will be beauty from the ashes.

 

 

 

 

 

Peace that passes all I know.

I remember when the boyfriend I had during my senior year of high school and I broke up.

I remember falling to my knees in my bedroom and sobbing that summer day.

For the entire year, I thought I was going to marry that guy and in that moment, I simply could NOT imagine what my future would look like.

My whole world had been flipped upside down with one simple decision for us to part ways.

My 17 year old self was devastated in the way only 17 year olds can be.

 

Well guess what happened?

Within the year, I met the man who was supposed to be my husband all along.

The one God had designed to be my other half.

And my life has been more beautiful than that 17 year old could have ever envisioned.

 

That's the thing about certain devastating moments. They tend to grasp tightly to our way of thinking and somehow our entire thought process becomes filled with confusion, disappointment, sadness, negativity and it can be really, really hard to dig ourselves out of it...even if we know better.  As humans, we're almost programmed to think the worst.  One of my favorite sayings used to be

"Expect the worst, hope for the best."

 

The older I get, the more crappier I think that statement is.

Now, I'm not necessarily saying you shouldn't plan for the worst.

From simple things like always making sure you have extra TP in the house (because realizing you just ran out of the last ply of the last roll while you're on the commode alone in the house is the absolute worst, am I right?). To bigger things, like having a financial savings so the hard times aren't so hard.

But to EXPECT that the worst will happen? 

Why give anything negative any extra thought?

If it happens, you'll need all your energy to deal with it in THAT moment. So, for the life of me, my older self cannot figure out why anyone would want to waste time dwelling on 'expecting the worst'.

 

There's a strange thing that's been happening in the Z household since December 1st, the day we said goodbye to our little girl.  Well, really over the last 4 1/2 years...but the process has been sped up to warp speed within the past almost two months.

 

There is a peace about our present and an excitement about our future that is palpable (although maybe only to us).

 

And it's one hundred percent contributed to this book we've challenged ourselves to read

(yes, the entire thing).

To us, it's been our saving grace, our hope when all hope seemed lost, our promise of something greater than we could ever imagine for ourselves.

 

The Bible.

 

I used to be leery of people who talked so openly about a relationship with Jesus.

But, the older I get, the more trials I have to walk through, the longer my life plays out in a way I hadn't planned, the more I need to lean on something stronger than myself....then the more I turn into that person.

 

And, I'm okay with that.

It's a hard struggle for me most days because I'm a firm believer that we have the power and the responsibility to individually change our situations and to be the best versions of ourselves. I believe that we better serve each other and the Lord by being doers and givers...not takers. 

Romans 5: 1-5 sums it up perfectly for me.

"Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. ² Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. ³ Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, ⁴ and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, ⁵ and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."
 

Peace.

Hope.

God's love.


At the risk of already sounding too 'preachy'...this IS the answer to all the questions people ask Paul and I.

The how, the why and everything in between.
Any and every question.
All the answers point back to that book.

It's a peace that passes all I know.

 

 

My outlook on my future, our future, is entirely different than what that 17 year old girl perceived fourteen years ago.

And it's all because of peace.

 

 

Whether you find your peace in the same place I find mine.

Or you find it taking a walk through nature.

Or you find it while you meditate.

Or you find it in one of your hobbies.

Or you find it while you're in the simple midst of day to day, crazy, loud life.

 

 

I just hope you know it, too.