Erin Ulerich

God’s Love is Steadfast

The house was messy. I was messy. And my friend just walked right into all the messiness. I was sitting in the playroom floor, my 3 little ones playing beside me, and I was sobbing. She didn’t knock, so I didn’t have time to wipe my eyes, or to get myself together.

“What’s going on?” she asked as she put her two little ones on the floor to play with mine.

“I’m starting to believe that God really doesn’t love me.”

This feeling had been pressing harder and harder on my heart, and circumstances seemed to prove its truth.

I listened to the lies whispered in the darkness. I forgot God’s promises to never leave me. I stopped believing what God said about Himself and about His love for me. It was time for some truth.

Hesed means steadfast love. It is a special word in Hebrew that describes the loving devotion God has toward His people which causes Him to bind Himself to His people. It indicates His lovingkindness toward those with whom He is in covenant relationship.

Lamentations 22-24: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”

Psalm 36:5 – Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens, your faithfulness to the clouds.

Psalm 86:5 – For you, O Lord, are good and forgiving, abounding in steadfast love to all who call upon you.

I love the language of hesed: steadfast, loving devotion, binding Himself to His people, lovingkindness.

We have a tendency to keep God at arms length (a safe distance), elbows locked tight. We can acknowledge that God loves us, but this hesed, this loving devotion God has toward us, doesn’t use keep-at-a-distance language. It is the language of a God who has pursued us, fought for us, from Genesis to the cross, until eternity begins. This powerful, overwhelming love, should we receive it, could completely change the way we relate to God. Because it shows us how God sees us. Worthy of being pursued, worthy of fighting for, worth the cost, precious, loved.

We say what we think, but we live what we believe.

“If we believe we are loved, then we can let go of idols in our lives, let go of addictions that ruin us, let go of relationships that harm us, let go…and breathe. Let go and live in joy.” Ann Voskamp

God’s Love Is Lavish

When I was a little girl I would sit in the woods, watching the world around me. Squirrels would chase each other, leaping through the tree tops and among the muscadine vines, fighting over the tangy, purple berries. I never understood that because there were muscadines everywhere – hanging from the vines and covering the forest floor. There were plenty of berries to go around.

God’s love is like that. Plentiful, lavish, extravagant.

When I was 14 I began reading the Bible. I easily felt the gap between my thoughts and actions and the life described in its pages. My heart leaned in toward God when I learned that Jesus bridged that gap by dying on the cross and coming back to life. I could have that kind of life because of what He did for me, a little quiet, country girl who easily faded into the background in large groups.

His love for me is what drew me to Him in the first place. I didn’t fall through the cracks with God. He. Loved. Me. And that truth was glorious!

Over time, I relaxed my hold on that truth and I began believing lies.

One of the lies I believed was that God was standing over me, arms crossed, a disappointed look on His face. I believed He was waiting for, even expecting, me to mess up. I forgot about His lavish love, and I began trying to earn His love. I led youth groups, I went on mission trips, I was active in our church, but I was in a precarious place. I was doing good things to earn His love instead of doing good things in response to His love.

Then I hit the point of honesty: Maybe, after all these years, I don’t really know the God I am serving. Maybe I only know what I ‘ve been told about Him. So I searched the Bible to see what His Word tells about Him. And this verse lodged into my heart:

Every day the Lord pours His unfailing love upon me, and at night His song is with me. Psalm 42:8

Notice the verse doesn’t say every day that I have a quiet time and behave right, it just says every day. His love isn’t contingent on me at all. I pictured God following me around all day with a watering can pouring out his unfailing love over me. He is not stingy with His love, he is lavish and sloppy and I can play in the puddles around my feet.

I found other verses about His love and I filled a canvas with them. The words flow out of a watering can over the canvas and even spill a bit off the edges.

I put these words where my whole family can see them, because there are those moments when we forget that we are loved by God. That the Creator of the Universe looks at us tenderly and calls us precious. We forget that the Mighty God sings joyful songs over us, as we sing lullabies over our own little ones. I know I need to be reminded on a daily basis.

I hung it at a height where my children can stand under it, as if God’s love was pouring over them. And if I bend my knees to their level, I fit under there as well. Sometimes, especially on days of struggle, we just need to be drenched in His love.

We all need a reminder that God’s love does not stop. His love is not altered on days when we behave badly, when we feel unloveable or unloved. He pours it upon His children constantly. The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. That truth can change the way we view all of life, if we will let it wash over us and sink into our bones.

God’s love is unfailing, unstoppable, and always available.

The 31 Day Writing Challenge Begins in 2 days!

Getting ready for the 31 Day Writing Challenge!

I’ve got the T-shirt, thoughts scribbled on brightly colored Post-it notes, and a healthy dose of “31 days? WHAT were you thinking?”

Yep, I’m ready!

In case you’ve missed the excitement, I’ve joined with a group of writers to write for 31 days, so the month of October will be an active one at erinulerich.com!

My topic is Truths That Make Life Beautiful. If you want a sneak peek, my introductory post is up. You can find it under the “Truths That Make Life Beautiful” tab.

Looking forward to this journey with you!

Truth Is Not Always Beautiful

The 31 day writing challenge starts next Thursday!

During the challenge I am writing about truths that can change our lives for the better, if we choose to believe them. Truths that Make Life Beautiful.

But this week, I’ve been reminded that not truth is not always beautiful.

And I wish it wasn’t that way.

My daughter and I sat outside, enjoying the fall-ish Mississippi weather. (At 84 degrees, we just know fall has GOT to eventually make its way south) My girl leaned against me and began pouring out the events of her day. I listened as she let out the anger, hurt, and frustration from the day, hot tears streaming down her face.

And my heart hurt for her.

That day she was hit with a truth that is not beautiful at all. The truth that we live in a broken world and rub elbows with broken people all day, every day. Intentionally or unintentionally, we hurt people, and they hurt us.

I wish I could make this world unbroken for her. I wish I could cover up the ugly and show her only the wonder and beauty this life holds.

In the middle of her fourth grade hurt, I told my daughter these truths,

A. Everyone has something they don’t like about themselves.

B. Some people will make other people feel bad in an attempt to feel better about themselves.

I can’t change these truths so that my children’s lives will be easier. But I can comfort them, and point them to the One who is Truth. The One who holds their heart in His Hands. I can trust that He will use these events over time to shape them into strong, godly men and women.

I am thankful parenting has a lot of practice time built-in. The skinned knees and the spats with siblings were only the warm up. Now we are moving into real life, real hurt, and I want to give my children the tools they need to live well in this broken world.

Pearls of Wisdom: Surviving a Southern Family Gathering

Ingredients of Southern family gatherings

At any Southern family gathering there will be food. The best food you have ever tasted.

There are also likely to be a healthy supply of fireworks.

There will also be football, which means a game will actually be playing on a TV somewhere in the house or people will spend a good amount of time talking about football, or both.

And there will be talking. Lots of talking.

If you are new to the family, you may get trapped in a corner by a well meaning relative who wants to show you the scar from her recent surgery, or to tell you a random detail about a relative you’ve never met. Just smile, nod, and use your manners. (Yes Ma’m and No Ma’m)

Where a family gathers, there will be storytelling.

Whether your family sits on chairs scattered around the porch, around a formal dining room table, or on 5 gallon buckets around a bonfire, story swapping is going to happen. It is important to know two important rules of storytelling in the South.

Rule Number 1: Embellishing is allowed, as long as you keep a few of the key details intact. For example: It really was Bubba’s pond that you caught that fish on, but the size of the fish and the fury of the fight may differ each time you tell it, depending on your audience and beverage you are consuming. If you are drinking anything stronger than sweet tea, the sky’s the limit!

If anyone asks “Did it really happen like that?” it is perfectly acceptable to smile and say “Sure it did,” “Dang straight!”, or a similar variation. Everyone knows a least one part of your story isn’t accurate; they just don’t know which part. And that is exactly the point.

Rule Number 2: The second rule, often learned through painful trial and error, is Do not interrupt the storyteller or suddenly become overly concerned with the accuracy of the facts. This will ruin the flow of the story and Uncle James will begin his story again from the beginning. Or worse, alter the ending so that it lasts longer. A lot longer.

Meeting the Grandmother Rules

If you are being introduced to a Southern family, this is important! Southern Grandmothers have the ability to size you up and decide if you are worth your weight in salt in one glance. You will know immediately if you have been placed on the scales and found wanting. And it is nearly impossible to reverse this decision unless you bless her with beautiful grandbabies down the road.

Besides your own worth, where you are from is also very important. Therefore, it is vital that you know as much as you can about your family history. It is best if you can trace your heritage back before the Mayflower. A true Southern grandmother will spend no less than 15 minutes trying to connect you with someone she knows. It’s an intense game of 6 degrees of separation, and your acceptance into the family is at stake.
Say Yes Ma’m and No ma’m. If you fail at the first rule, this may save your hide.

Family Dynamics – You may be 6’2, but at family reunions you will still be referred to as knee high to a grasshopper. It’s just the way it is. And if you’ve ever made a mistake in your life, that will probably come up at some point.

It is difficult for families to realize that change is possible. We tend to lock people into the way we remember them. But the truth is, drug addicts can become clean, a willful child can grow into a focused, successful adult, and the baby of the family can become a successful entrepreneur.

We do move slower than molasses in the middle of December here in the South, but things don’t have to be frozen in time.

In our own family, for instance, I am known for my lack of direction because of an ill fated bus ride back in 1986. I got on the bus in South Mississippi and instead of going north toward home I took a bus to New Orleans. That has been a quarter of a century ago, and my mama still makes comments about it.

See? Frozen in time. Even though she had no idea where I was and no way to get in touch with me and she was worried sick, Mama really should let it go. After all, I’ve got Google Maps now. Which is helpful until they start using ridiculous directions like “East” or “West.”

I would love to hear your family stories, embellished or not. Leave a comment below and we can raise a glass of sweet tea (or whatever is in that container behind Granny’s kitchen door) together in honor of our families!

Y’all have a great day!

The Writing Life: Toggling Between Worlds

My husband walked in and gave me a strange look.

“Have you been sitting there this whole time?”

It’s not that he has anything against me sitting. Especially in my comfy reading chair surrounded by a stack of books, papers, and a cup of coffee. It’s just unusual for me to stay in one place for very long.

I raised my coffee cup to my lips to give me a few seconds to think of an answer. My coffee was hot when I sat down, but now it was ice-cold.

“It depends on your definition of ‘sitting there’.” I replied with a smile.

My bottom had been firmly planted in that chair, but I had not just been “sitting there.”

During that time I rescued 3 of my characters who were trapped on the side of a mountain.

I also researched how to write a sword fighting scene, since one of my characters was about to face off with an enemy, and I’ve never held a sword in my life.

“Sitting there” sounds so passive, so un-creative. I’d been toggling, and toggling is an action verb.

To “toggle” is to switch from one setting to another. For me, and probably any other fiction writer, it is the act of switching from one world to another.

I’ve been toggling for months now as I’ve worked on this story. Many days I feel like I have one foot in reality and the other foot in the world I’ve created. I try to limit my toggling to my writing time, but sometimes problems and solutions toggle between the worlds as well.

The world I’ve created is beautiful. Hopeland is a combination of my favorite places: Mississippi, the Smokey mountains, and Ukraine. But this beautiful world has a problem. Hopeland is being destroyed and its characters must fight for hope in order to defeat the forces of evil. These characters aren’t strong or powerful, and victory feels impossible.

This started out as an adventure story for my children, but it has grown into so much more.

It is a letter to my younger self about what is really worth pursuing.

It is a guide for my children as they walk through this life.

It is a call for all who read it to fight for hope in spite of circumstances.

It is a fleshing out of my current favorite statement by Dan Allender: “Hope is by far one of the most dangerous commitments we make in life.” and shows that hope is essential to life, and worth every effort to fight for, especially when the outcome seems uncertain.

When I look around at this world, I see the need for hope. I see a generation of children who need to know how to fight for hope, how to have courage to do the right thing at the right time. They need to experience the strength hope gives us to fight the battles in our lives. Through this story, I want to show my children (and other readers) what the fight for hope looks like by describing how a character their age courageously fights. And possibly, when the battle begins for them, they will remember their friends in Hopeland and find the courage to fight for hope in this world.

This will definitely involve many more cold coffee moments as I toggle between worlds in my comfy chair.

Hope In the Pit

At one time or another, we’ve all been in the pit.

There are different ways we end up there, but the feelings are the same. Trapped. Helpless. Stuck.

Maybe you allowed your anger to run freely and the words flew out before you could stop them. You know there is no way to take them back or to undo the wounds you’ve caused.

Maybe you are 15, pregnant and unsure about what the future holds. You were just having fun. You never planned on this happening and now you are scared, alone, and afraid.

Shame runs over, hot and scalding, as you close the website. You know, the one you promised to never go to again. You mean it every time you promise, and yet, in a moment of weakness, you run back to the site and the allure of the pictures. You know you’ll never forget the images you’ve seen there and, to be honest, sometimes you call them up in your mind and feel the excitement all over again. But after the rush of excitement, overwhelming shame takes its place.

Is there a way out? Is there help for us, deep in the pit? Dare we even ask for help when, by our own choices and actions, we’ve dug the hole we are currently sitting in?

We know God is powerful and He can help us, but will He help us when we are the reason we are in the pit?

If He didn’t help, none of us would have hope. We would stay stuck and helpless forever.

He doesn’t just pick us out of the pit, dust us off, fluff our hair and tell us to get back to life, the way we might do to a child who has skinned their knee. God loves us too much to ignore the darkness inside of us that led us to the pit in the first place. He pours His love on us as he deals with us though a painful process that involves these steps: Confrontation. Confession. Repentance. Forgiveness. Through this process, He opens our eyes to the darkness inside our hearts, shows us our deep need of Him, and lavishly forgives us.

The life of David offers us an example of how God deals with us in the pit in 1 Samuel 11:2-12:24.

David was described as being a man after God’s own heart, and yet he dug himself into a deep, dark pit during the whole Bathsheba scandal. If you haven’t read it, the short version is that David saw Bathsheba’s beauty, slept with her, and had her husband (one of his own soldiers) killed in battle when she became pregnant. Then he brought her over to the palace to be his wife. The secrecy, deception, betrayal, and abuse of power here is horrendous.

And God saw every move David made.

Did God stop loving David? No. He loved him too much to let him keep these horrible actions hidden. He loved David enough to bring these actions into the light where they could be dealt with, where forgiveness could be given, and David’s relationship with God could be restored. He sent Nathan to confront David. And once David admitted to his wrong, the process continued.

The Psalms that David wrote during this time describe this progression.

In Psalm 38, David writes about the physical effects of his sin. He is overwhelmed by guilt and calls out to God for help.

Because of your wrath there is no health in my body;
there is no soundness in my bones because of my sin.
My guilt has overwhelmed me
like a burden too heavy to bear.

In Psalm 51, David calls out for God’s forgiveness. He asks to be cleansed and restored. He doesn’t make excuses for his actions. He owns up to them. This is repentance.

Have mercy on me, O God,
    according to your unfailing love;
according to your great compassion
    blot out my transgressions.
Wash away all my iniquity
    and cleanse me from my sin.

For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is always before me.

In Psalm 103, David feels God’s forgiveness, and feels restored to fellowship with God. The whole tone of this Psalm is praise. David knows he has been forgiven.

Praise the Lord, my soul;
    all my inmost being, praise his holy name.
Praise the Lord, my soul,
    and forget not all his benefits—
who forgives all your sins
    and heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit
    and crowns you with love and compassion,
who satisfies your desires with good things
    so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.

Just as God loved David too much to let his actions stay hidden, He will also bring our dark deeds into the light in order to get us out of the pit.

Confrontation. Confession. Repentance. Forgiveness.

Forgiveness does not erase the consequences of our actions. There is a sowing and reaping effect in our lives. If we do things that eat holes in our soul, then we will have a soul filled with holes and a distant relationship with God. Thankfully, our story does not end there. There is hope because there is grace. Beautiful, messy grace.

David received this messy grace. God named the consequences David would have to endure. “You did it in secret, but I will do this thing in broad daylight before all Israel.” As a result of David’s actions, there was tragedy, humiliation, and shame in his family for years to come. Yet there were also blessings in David’s life. Messy grace.

We also have access to this messy grace.

God’s messy grace slides in and around the consequences and fills up the holes in our soul, breathing life in the midst of heartache.

Because of God’s messy grace we take steps to repair broken relationships.

Because of God’s messy grace we rejoice over a new life in spite of the circumstances.

Because of God’s messy grace we recognize our brokenness and seek help.

Because of God’s messy grace, there is hope, and a way out of the pit.

For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with Him is plentiful redemption.” Psalm 130:7

Pearls of Wisdom: The Skinny on Small Talk

I love being from the South.

I love the pace of life here. I love the words people use, and the way our humor combines exaggeration and (a touch of) sarcasm.

Southerners love words. We tend to play around with words and phrases in order to get our point across. With the right combination, we can sum up an entire story in one phrase. Or if we need a word that doesn’t exist, we have no problem declaring a new one into existence.

Conversations with Southerners take up time, because we have a formula of sorts that most of us use. And that formula begins with small talk. Now, I know some people despise small talk and see it as a waste of time. But it plays a very important role. Small talk is approaching a conversation like you would a creek on summer day. The water seems inviting, but you don’t just go jumping in without checking it out first.

How cold is the water? How fast is the current? And most importantly, are there any snakes around? (Always remember to check for snakes!)

Similarly, small talk allows you to ease into a conversation. It allows you to stick a toe in the water, so to speak, and see if you even want to jump in.

Does the other person want to talk? Do we have time to talk? Is that person safe to talk to? (Always remember to check for snakes!)

If the answer to any of these question is no, we can stay on small talk until the cows come home.

However, if the conversation is moving alone fine and we don’t detect any snakes, we don’t mind going to a deeper subject. Sometimes it takes a while to get good and comfortable, but when we do go deep, treasures are found!

Personally, I am suspicious of people who don’t participate in small talk. They’re the ones who just jump into a conversation with a list of questions right after the hello. That’s like jumping into a freezing cold creek without wading in. It’s just too direct.

For example: You cannot jump in with “Why in the world was Tracie Sue wearing that skanky outfit at the Piggly Wiggly yesterday?” and get a real answer. It just won’t happen. It’s too direct.

However, if you ease into it, here’s what it might sound like:

“Hey!”

“How are you?”

“Tolerable. How are you?”

“Oh fine. How’s your momma and em?”

“They are doing fine. Bobby’s been fishing every morning since the time change.”

“Really? He catch anything?”

“Oh yeah. A good mess of fish! You know the time change has me all tired.”

“Me too. But I like it getting light later in the evening.”

“ Me too. Hey, how is Tracie Sue doing?”

A sympathetic shake of the head. “Bless her heart, she’s had such a hard time with that new baby. He cries all the time and she is just beside herself.”

“I saw her at the Piggly Wiggly yesterday.” One eyebrow is raised for effect.

“Oh my. She was wearing THAT outfit wasn’t she?”

“Yep.” The tone in which you say “Yep” and breathe out implies the exact nature of said outfit.

“She’s just can’t seem to lose that baby weight. And you know that husband of hers…”

See? Wasn’t that much more fun than just jumping in and splashing around? Since you waded into the conversation all proper like, the information flows freely.

Small talk can also be extremely helpful in parenting. If you suspect your child has done something wrong but aren’t sure of the details, with a little creative small talk, you can get them to come clean. Never, ever give away that you were unclear on the details.

Every Southern Mama has a line to use after confessions to imply that she is omniscient and omnipresent. When I was a kid my Mama often said, “Honey, you can fool some of the people some of the time, but you can’t fool all of the people all of the time, and you can never fool your Mama.”

I’d love to know your thoughts on small talk, or your favorite “Mama quote.”

Ya’ll have a great day!

The Writing Life: July Blume and the Sandwich Incident

I sat in the crowded school cafeteria, staring at my partially opened lunch box, trying to figure out my next move.

My face flushed as I remembered making my peanut butter sandwich that morning. My sandwich looked so delicious that I took a bite of it before putting it in my lunch box. It was a perfect bite, with the right balance of creamy peanut butter and homemade plum jelly.

Now I regretted taking that bite. Now I envisioned everyone in the cafeteria pointing and laughing at me when they saw my sandwich.

My mind raced as I quickly took my sandwich out of my lunch box and pretended to take a bite. I chewed air for a reasonable amount of time, and washed down my “bite” with a drink of milk.

And with the second bite, the sandwich incident was officially over.

Sitting there with my sandwich, I knew with all my soul that no adult in my life would ever understand that five minutes of terror – terror of being pointed out and laughed at, terror of being different. No adult, that is, except Judy Blume. I knew she hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be a kid.

I knew that because of the way she wrote. She captured my thoughts and feelings into words when I didn’t know how to describe them. Many times I would look up from one of her books and whisper, “How did she know?”

At that point in my life I was convinced that every adult I knew suffered from adult onset amnesia. They had completely forgotten what it was like to be a kid. The adults in my life were loving and supportive and I knew they wanted the best for me. But I felt the chasm between “kid life” and “adult life.”

Through her writing, July Blume convinced me to write about my childhood so that I wouldn’t forget.

So I wrote. I wrote from childhood into the teen years, from college into adulthood.

I wrote until I’d filled up over 20 journals. I covered pages with whispered dreams, sorrowful mistakes, shouts of joy, painful regrets, moments of redemption, and thankfully, forgiveness. I wrote about life. My life.

Judy Blume was a bridge from my childhood into my adulthood, connecting the chasm between the stages of my life and helping me to avoid adult onset amnesia as I raise my children.

My kids are fully aware that I was a kid, even though it was in the last century (they say with amazement, as if they are grouping me with dinosaurs). They know about my most embarrassing moment in Junior High when I burped out loud in Mr. Mathis’ Pre-algebra class. They know my childhood victory moments like reaching the top of the tall hill on my bike without stopping, then flying down without touching the brakes.

I want my kids to know that I used to be a shy, awkward kid and I remember how it feels.

And I want my writing to show that as well. Judy Blume’s writing reminds me of the importance of writing for children. I remember the impact her words had on me, and I would be honored to have a similar impact on the children reading my writing. I would love to be a bridge.

Do you have a story bouncing around, asking to be put on paper? Children today need your story. You might have the words that convince a child to start writing, that lets them know that what they are feeling has meaning, and that writing it down might make a different in the world.

They might even look up from your book and say “How did she know?”

The Chapter I Didn’t Want In my Story

Has the story of your life ever taken an unexpected turn and left you sitting in the dark, wondering what happened?

There are chapters in the story of each of our lives that we didn’t ask for, and if given a choice we would have said “No thank you,” for who in their right mind would say yes to trauma, suffering or disaster?

The chapter I didn’t want in my story is my family’s journey with Epilepsy.

Our journey began on a Saturday afternoon in November, 2006. It had been an ordinary day, filled with caring for Anderson, who was 3, and Maggie who had just turned 1. The colorful leaves and the crisp breeze drifting through my open windows made the walls of our home seem stifling. I bundled everyone up to go outside. It was a slow process. I was very pregnant with Ellen, waddling around getting everyone’s socks and shoes together. Then Maggie’s seizure hit and suddenly I was in ambulance, sirens blaring, wondering what happened to my normal day.

Maggie continued to have seizures every few months, and we had no idea what was causing them. When Ellen was 18 months old, she began having seizures as well. Another chapter I didn’t want in my story.

My sweet girls in the middle of this unexpected journey.

After a million questions, hours of research, and keeping a detailed journal, we figured out that heat, internal or external, was the trigger for their seizures. We also found a medication combination that worked well. Ellen has been seizure free for 4 years, and Maggie has been seizure free for 3 years. They don’t remember ever having seizures. It’s such a twist of irony that the biggest trauma I’ve experienced thus far as a parent is non-existent to my children.

But I’m so glad.I don’t want them controlled by fear. Fear eats away at hope. And at 8 and 9 years old, there is a lot to be hopeful about.

I did not feel hopeful in those early years, filled with uncertainty. The triplets of destruction – anger, fear, and despair – had a hold on me for a while.

Though things have settled, our journey hits me full force at the beginning of each school year when I meet with the girls’ teachers. I hope we never have an episode at school, but if it does happen, I want the adults caring for my girls to be as prepared as possible. And I realize that I may also be preparing them to help another child down the road.

I still have days when I wish we weren’t on this journey. I have days when my mind goes too far into the what ifs. The fight for hope keeps me balanced on those days. The fight for hope keeps my focus on what I CAN do.

My goal through this journey has been to allow my children to have as normal a childhood as possible and still be safe. We have learned to modify our activities. We go to the beach in October instead of the heat of summer. We play outside in spring and fall as much as possible. The girls are aware of their limitations, but I never want them to be defined by their limitations.

I want to travel this road well. Although they may not remember having seizures, one day my children may be right where I am, raising children who have seizures. I want to be able to offer them hope for their journey.

I don’t understand exactly how, but God has worked through this unwanted chapter in my life. Over the years, He has woven beauty into the sorrow, reaching places in my heart that would have otherwise gone untouched and unchanged. He has used this journey to build my “fighting for hope” muscles. And I need those muscles to experience joy in the unwanted chapters of my life.

#thefightforhope