Three things I’ve lost

1) A vintage brass Chinese lantern necklace from my Aunt living in Japan.
This necklace was one of my favorite pieces of jewelry, and I wore it from age 9 through 21 (when I lost it—maybe at a hotel—at my dear friend @alanafrihana’s awesome wedding). I do still have a photo of me wearing it, though, huddled close to three of my favorite people in the world: @jennakthom @dollydelong @alanafrihana ). We were “studying” at the Midnight oil and you can instantly tell how much I adore these ladies by the way my face is radiant with joy. It’s been a decade since I saw them last (at my wedding, actually) but I still love them and pray God gives them happy, full, joyous lives. All of us are mommas now, and, though we may not be roommates or study buddies any longer, we share that beautiful mutual thread of shepherding our little ones in obedience and love of God. Every time I think of that necklace I lost, I think of this photo and these friends, and God’s meta-narrative of grace and redemption.

2) My heart of deceit
It’s not hard to guess that I’m a talker, an extrovert, a social butterfly. I love people/kids/puppies/animals (but NOT cats... sorry cats). This has historically been a dark trait of mine. A childhood of shame and hiding created in me the desire to lie, and lie about everything. From small things (lying about being in public school) to bigger things (why I left Harding), lying become more comfortable than the truth. I molded the ugly realities of my life into something prettier, more mainstream. I was a chronic deceiver and felt so incredibly comfortable in hiding. God’s great love and mercy for me exposed this spiritual cancer. He gently pulled me from shame to gratitude. He showed me the true beauty of my own struggles when seen through his goodness and providence. He soured lies in my mouth and gave me a heart that desired His truth, his words. 10 years in, I am so thankful for a God of light, who exposes and heals and forgives.

3) My Pre-Baby Body
I always thought your body should be a static thing, kept perfectly in shape by vigorous routines, creams, diets, and vigilance. After the birth of my second son, I started to see the sheer impossibility of this. Our bodies are fluid—growing, morphing, changing, AGING. It’s not something we can change, stop, or even slow down by much. Sure we can moisturize, exercise, eat “clean,” and seek a youthful version of our age. But eventually we all get older, we all atrophy. I don’t look like I did before Jude. I don’t weigh what I did before Noah. I definitely can’t wear what I did before Ezra. I’m just not the same body. It’s bigger and softer in some bits. It’s thankful for successfully carrying three of the world’s best boys in all bits. I may have lost my pre-baby body, but I’ve found three souls who make this body thankful for arms to hug, lips to kiss, and fingers with which to tickle little boys!