The Edit & The Call

I have rolled over this blog in my head for hours this week.
A handful of days ago a friend asked me about my editing process when I write. It was one of those 'no big deal' questions that began to haunt me.  I wasn't sure what she was referring to regarding the editing process: grammar or content. Later that day, and the next, and the next, I pondered over how as a writer, and a person, I possess the power of The Edit. In a day and age where phone apps exist solely to fade away those wrinkles and laugh lines, I cannot help but wrestle with our culture's natural bent towards chipping away at our authenticity all in the name of perfection. If I edit away the truths of  my struggles, than I fear I may be presenting to you a masterpiece of fiction. But that is not who I am.
This week I was afraid.
This week I was short with my kids. All of them. Multiple times.
I was angry. Really, really angry. Or was it stress? Or sadness?
If my bookshelf could talk it might tell you about a not so very nice double hand gesture I made at it when it broke on my arm for the 4th time, crushing my books, flushing away hours of work and mocking me.
Let's just say there is also an ugly wooden towel rack smashed to the smithereens in my basement.
I hit some personal lows in the way of dealing with anger.
See, overall I am not an angry person, I have a very awkward relationship with that emotion. We just don't mix.
However, as I was dismantling that towel rack, compliments of the previous owners, I felt things.
I felt rage towards the 4th time broken book shelf.
I felt the frustrations of throwing away all of my old fitness business documents hours before.
I felt the sadness of missing my friends and family.
I felt fear and pure anger that I have to take my daughter for all of this testing just days away. Deep fear and anger. Anger that I have even have to fight this battle at all.
I felt the suffocation of the unending mounds of home projects and the pressures of living in a completely unorganized environment.
I felt the pent up energy that I should probably have been taking out at the gym that I haven't been going too.
Then, the next day, I felt a startling need to change mixed with a tinge of shame. I talked to my confidants, I confessed this before God. It is not that I am not giving myself grace to deal with the heavy pressing in this season of my life, but I need the slate of my heart to be clean. I know that the Lord is good, He is sufficient and He is enough. Anger in and of itself is not a sin, but I dressed my actions in ugliness instead of gratitude.
I have millions of things to be grateful for.
My family.
My in laws and nieces and nephews.
My friends, countless sacrificial friends that love me in words and deeds. I could write a book about all of the quality people that I know and love!
Health.
A home.
Freedom. 
Hope.
Opportunity.
Maybe this is why anger doesn't sit well with me. The anger I had wasn't righteous, based on justice and love.
It was grown in a lack of personal balance, self pity, fear, and impatience.
So there it is. The Edit. I wrestled with wondering what people would think of me after seeing the wrinkles in my character. But I am not wired for false pretenses.

On Monday we take Whitney to the Children's Hospital in Detroit. There she will have her MRI and get her blood drawn for the labs to test her genetics and chromosomes. Days after that we should receive a phone call. A call that might change everything. A call that will change nothing.

I have replayed The Call in my mind over and over. Sometimes I have found myself randomly crying in the car as I am in the middle of the imaginary call. What if the doctors call us to drive down to their office? Will I be able to breathe?

Perhaps the lab results scare me even more.

As Tim and I have talked again about this, we come to the same conclusion.
It. Doesn't. Matter.
Friends and family have been encouraging me to this very end throughout the journey. But this is a conclusion one has to reach on their own, in the inside.

She is our Whitty. We have so much to celebrate today, where she is right now. She can walk, she can talk...(about 30 words now). It is not always easy to communicate with her, but we can, over and over everyday. She is growing and there is so much to love about her. That will not change because of any phone call.

Regardless of The Call, she's mine. Forever.

On another note, as of Friday I feel I that I am turning the corner in every other area of life after this move. I ran in the sun yesterday while it was snowing. I am back to making my precious lists and loving the clarity they provide. The main rooms of the house are almost done, relatively speaking. I have made time for fun this week. I plan on resting today. Spring is almost here (so they say).

 

Cole was asked by Joe Crabb, the Middle School Leader at our new church, to attend the mission trip they will be serving on in Detroit this summer. On his own, Cole dressed in a button down shirt and khakis for his 'interview'. He is growing up so fast these days, in physical coordination and social interactions. I love my almost 7th grader (insert gasping breaths).

Lily is my precious flower of a girl. Watching her interact with her Michigan BFF Hannah has been such a blessing. They are full of creativity, energy, giggles and love. It fills me with joy to see her enjoy her friend.


Owen is still my ball of CUTENESS. This week he wore his own creation "The Eyeball Hat" to Awana. He got his first pair of high top black converse. UHHHHH! The cuteness!

Tim is my best friend. He has been such a source of strength and faith for me in this process with Whitney. He even repainted the family room with me on Thursday night while we watched reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond. Repainted. Yes, color change #2!

"He will keep in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you." Isa. 26
Thank you for your prayers and friendship.
I will be in touch.
JB