Show me.

It hurts, guys. I'm not gonna lie to you and make it pretty or poetic. Finding out that my womb may no longer be a safe place for children to grow... hurts.

I thought I ought to wait until the initial sting of loss had passed before I wrote this. But why? Isn't pain a universal language? Can't we learn and bond and grow together through it?

I went in for an ultrasound yesterday. I was 18 weeks and expecting to discover the baby's gender. My kids waited anxiously at home. My husband was asleep in Japan, expecting to wake up and learn great news. Instead, we repeated a nightmare.

This happened to us before. Four years ago I was 17 weeks and learned the same thing, staring at an ultrasound, knowing before they said a word. I remember the way the tech slowly turned the screen from my sight. They did that again yesterday. It wasn't until I sat down with my doctor that I was given the news straight up.

It hurts.

It will go on hurting.

I will be afraid to ever try this again.

But the only thing I can think today, over and over, repeating in my mind like a broken record, is this:

Show me Your glory.

God, show me what you can do with this. Show me how big You are. Show me. You don't have to convince me. I'm already convinced. Show me. I want to see it. I'm sitting on the edge of my chair.

My eyes are red ringed and my head aches from heaving sobs all night.

And I want to see it. What will You do with this? How will You use it? Oh, God, I can't wait to see it.

Show me. Show me.

I'll wait. I'll hurt and I'll heal. As long as You show me.

I want to see Your glory so bad it aches.

Cows are really good listeners.

Sometimes it's just too much. The demands of parenting and cleaning and homeschooling and creating... it grows to a steady roar, constantly filling my head and pushing me to the edge of sanity. {This isn't an exaggeration. Mom's globally, you get me.} Lately, I've allowed myself to shut off completely. Too much became too overwhelming and I just... stopped. Instead of handling this well, I just quit everything. I stopped writing, stopped parenting on purpose, stopped reading, stopped seeking God. It was easier to quit.

The other day, the kids were running around in the woods behind their Granddad's house and I slowly followed along behind them, trying my best to be alert and aware and appreciative of the natural world around me. The woods are small enough and fenced in, so I could let the kids roam free.

There is a hill in the back that leads to the horses yard. Near the top, my feet landed on this rock:

And this was my view:

Okay, minus the cow patties, it was perfect. With the kids in earshot, I found myself breathing deeper than I had in a while. There's something about the country. 

Then these guys showed up:

Who knew cows could be such good listeners? They kept creeping closer until finally they were right up against the fence. Well, until I moved, at which point they all took off running. Have you ever watched a herd of cows run scared? It's hilarious. 

I stood on the rock for a while. The kids would climb the hill, calling me to come join them. Most days that we are in the woods, I do. But this day I needed something I hadn't grasped yet. I encouraged them to go play and fixed my eyes again on the rolling hills. 

I prayed. Nothing fancy or scripted. Just...

What do You want to say to me? I'm listening.

I'd love to tell you I had a life-changing, mind-blowing encounter; something that was so monumental that my life will forever stay on track and I won't ever wonder or question again. 

But to be honest I don't think that's what God intends for us. The questioning and wondering and struggling is what defines our faith in the end. It amplifies the love story. If we never questioned, never wrestled with understanding, our faith would lose it's depth.

What I saw in front of me, the rolling hills and rocky bluffs and, yes, even the cow patties, was life. Life stretched before me like a great adventure. And the question that I received in response to my first was:

There is life stretched before you. What are you going to do about it? 

What I needed was perspective. I needed a glimpse at a bigger picture. Our singular lives become prisons when we lose sight of the bigger picture. The walls slide in around us, pressing us into a space too tight to function.

I had stopped writing because I was too overwhelmed. I had stopped reading books because I was too distracted. I had stopped reading my Bible because I was too frustrated. I had shied away from prayer because I didn't want to be corrected. And I was parenting and wife-ing on autopilot. 

I was choosing nothing. Doing nothing. 

Disappearing. 

But there it was. Life. Still waiting to be lived. 

We each stand on a rock with life rolling and stretching before us. It is wide and long and beautiful. It is full of barriers and pitfalls and cow patties. There are billions of people filling a diverse and beautiful and broken world, and we each have a part to play. 

"You are salt for the Land. But if salt becomes tasteless, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except being thrown out for people to trample on. You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Likewise, when people light a lamp, they don't cover it with a bowl, but put it on a lampstand, so that it shines for everyone in the house. In the same way, let you light shine before people, so that they may see the good things you do and praise your Father in heaven." 

Matthew 5:13-16

We were created for a purpose greater than ourselves. But we will never reach it sitting still, doing nothing, feeling sorry for ourselves, or quitting. Trust me when I say that I get it. More than I wish. What gets me is looking at my children. When they reach adulthood, will they look to me as an example of determination and life-living. Will I be that for them? In a decade, what will I have accomplished? And will it be an arrow pointing to God, or will I have gone my own way, ignoring the Gift-giver completely? 

It knots my stomach to imagine the latter. 

So I'm happy to say I have been thoroughly chided. I feel the weight of responsibility again that comes with realizing your gifts and knowing they aren't to be wasted. Life still demands so much, but the bigger picture is in my heart again. 

Oh, and I got these. So now I can see. That helps. 

Paper Kindling.

You know that moment in a project when you're like, Yeah, this isn't working. And you're tempted to scrap the whole thing and start over? Only, you've already put so much work into it that trashing the whole project feels a bit like homicide and starting over a bit like pulling teeth?

This was my struggle for the last couple weeks. 

As a writer, specifically an author of fiction, I get to these points in a story when I wonder what in the world I was thinking. The plot is all over the place and I can't get a read on the characters. The beginning was great. I was inspired and the words flowed out like water. But 20,000 words in (essentially 40 pages of a book),... I think I have never hated a story more. 

I have a feeling this problem plagues more than just writers. No matter what our craft is, at some point, we all want to tear the pages into teeny tiny pieces and use the scraps for kindling. <<< or is that just me?

Well, since you asked, here's how the problem worked out:

I tried a new thing. It's ground breaking folks, at least for me, so hang with me on this...

I kept going. (I know. Mind officially blown. <<< no sarcasm here. I won't tell you how many files are stored on my desktop... books I started and walked away from.)

I ended up pressing delete more than any other key, I re-wrote a few scenes, scrapped others. I started with 17,748 words written and at the end of the day finished with 16,378.  Looks like I'm moving in the wrong direction, but now I actually HAVE a clear direction to move in. I can move past the problem because I took the time to re-evaluate what I had in front of me. It was not easy deleting entire scenes. I hesitated. (My son loves that word right now. He'd be really excited I used it. He asks me questions then says, "You hesitated." Thank you, Olaf.)

Yes, I hesitated, but once the task was done, it felt oddly FANTASTIC. Yes. It felt empowering. No longer was I bond to loyalty to the words I'd written. I was in charge. I chose who stayed and who went. I felt like this guy: 

And I may have done a few impersonations. 

At the end of the day, I walked away feeling like I'd grown as a writer. It takes a while to get comfortable with the process of revising. But if I ever want to accomplish anything as a writer, I have to accept that everything that my fingers type is not instant gold. And I have to learn to push forward and stick with a project; to see it to completion. 

So there that. :)  

FREE book!

Hi, friends!

Today and tomorrow my first book, To Be Free, is available for FREE on Amazon! I'm so excited about the positive feedback I've received from so many of you who have taken the time to read and review! It means so much to me!

To Be Free is a story of young woman lost in grief. As she navigates nightmares and roller coaster emotions, the ache inside of her never relents. A new neighbor brings hope in the form of friendship, family, and a different perspective on God then she'd ever known. Her stubborn views are challenged simply by the way Vin unconditionally cares for her.

The idea for this book came after a period of loss in our family. I watched people I love struggle through grief and I began imagining what it must be like to wade through that without the peace of God.

I hope you enjoy reading To Be Free and don't forget to follow it up with the sequel, To Be Loved! Available NOW on Amazon Kindle for $2.99!

In Love always,

Laura

Remembering...

It's been four years almost to the date. In the final days of September 2010, I was 17 weeks pregnant with our third child. Or so I thought. The bleeding was the first indication that something was completely wrong. I rushed to the hospital and called my husband, who was, at that moment, over 1,000 miles away.

My mom and I sat and waited for me to be taken back for an ultrasound. When the kid finally came to wheel me back, there was a growing feeling of foreboding in my chest. I knew.

The ultrasound tech said very little and at one point turned the screen so I couldn't see it. I'm sure she was trying to shield my emotions, or perhaps she just didn't know how to handle the dread she may have felt for me. Avoidance is always easier.

When the doctor entered the triage room with a woeful expression, I knew my fears were about to be confirmed. Spontaneous abortion, miscarriage, fetal demise. All of these terms were used at different moments as the reality that I'd lost the baby was explained to me. It turned out, the baby had been gone for 2 weeks already. This explained why, when I'd been sitting near the fireplace a week before and rubbing my stomach, I'd noted that I hadn't felt much activity. A week before, we'd also toured a castle that was nestled between New York and Canada. I'd taken the elevator because of cramps.

Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I know so many women who have lost pregnancies, some who have suffered still births, and others who have lost the baby they'd already had the privilege to hold. We discovered, a couple weeks after my 4 day hospital stay, that our baby was a girl. We named her Hannah Grace Teague. The names Hannah and Grace both carry a meaning of 'favor'. I wanted to name a daughter this for forever. First Abigail, which is the name of our first daughter, then I wanted a Hannah. The day I found out our baby had been a girl, that dream came true.

I write this to you, women familiar with suffering. The loss of a baby at any stage in his or her life is a mark of suffering. In time, God has healed our gapping wound, but the scar will always be there and there will always be a part of my heart that is waiting to meet Hannah. Please, I beg you, do not be silent in your suffering. The statistic is that one in four women will experience a miscarriage. Some will experience more than one. The habit of women is to suffer silently, not wanting to burden those around them with the sadness they're feeling and the emptiness they are falling into. Friend, I feel your pain. I know that ache in your chest that feels like it's become an extension of who you are.

The experience of miscarrying is now forever one of the greatest testimonies to my walk with God. You see, I was born into Christianity. I was raised in church. While others are more skeptical and struggle to believe the words taught through the Bible, it always came naturally to me to trust it. Still, there needed to be a defining moment for me when I really chose it; when I knew, without a doubt, that I was in for life. God is just and He is good. He took my pain and used it to draw me closer to Him, if I would so choose to let it. I distinctly remember a choice. I remember a quickening in my heart that, if it had been any louder, was almost audible. I became very aware that I had to choose one of two things: despair or worship. Do I bury myself in my pain and let it consume me? Do I become angry with God and shut him out?

Or do I find the strength to worship through it? I chose to worship, and God chose to pour out his love and peace into my life. I felt Him more then than I ever had in my life to date.

In my mind, I vividly saw an imagery that has never left me. I won't call it a vision, but it was definitely an image God was planting in my head to strengthen me, then and for forever. In my mind, worship became a weapon, and depression and despair the enemy. I saw a woman, much to brave to be me, clothed in armor and wielding a powerful-looking sword. Each choice to trust was a slash to the enemy. Every word of belief was a stab to it's heart. A warrior, with a tear-streaked face, fighting desperately for her life. The harder she fought, the stronger she became - infused with the Spirit of God and armed with His Word.

You, beautiful woman, are that warrior. You, beloved mother, have a choice. And imagine an army of women, all choosing worship, bound together by our pain.

Please do not hide your story. If you share your experiences, others become brave enough to share theirs. And for them, it might mean freedom they've desperately needed.

He sees you. He knows you. You're never left alone.

I'll fight beside you. I'll worship with you, desperately fighting for your life.

Always,
Laura

Tomorrow... Only a day away.

I'm waiting anxiously for the season to officially change in Oklahoma. Yes, it's October 8th so technically it's been fall for a little while now. However, if you step outside the door you'll be greeted by thick, humid air and what is forecasted to be a 90 degree day. Those of you who are already wearing thick coats and beanies... I envy you.

But isn't it so typical? Isn't this what we do? We find what's wrong with the right now and sit around longing for tomorrow. I mean, in a few months, when we're stuck in our house because the mid-west was hit by another ice storm, we'll be crying for summer again. That's just what we do.

I don't know about you but I sure miss out on today when I'm craning my neck and crying for tomorrow. {Whoa, that just turned heavy.}

Truly, though. What about contentment? People who are successful, people who achieve their goals, people who do great things and make a difference: are people who have learned the art of contentment. If I'm too busy pacing around, scatterbrained about what's coming next and not focusing on what's right in front of me, I won't ever get anything accomplished. As a writer, I have to be content where I'm at in the process. This is tough for me, especially when I'm first starting a project. I want to see the meat of the story coming to life RIGHT NOW! {Okay, to be honest, often times in writing I do jump the gun and write that scene I just can't wait for way ahead of time. But that's a strategy that works and well... another topic.}

The point is, yes. It's still hot out. But in just a short matter of time, it will be cold. Then I'll wish it was hot. Then I'll wish it was cold............................

Be content. Right now. Where you're at. That doesn't mean don't DO anything. That means do what is right in front of you NOW. Then the next step will be able to come in it's perfect time.

5:30am

It's almost 7:00am as I'm typing this, but I started the day at 5:30. Before you go admiring me for being an early riser, let me stop you. I'm not. Even now, an hour and a half in, my eyes keep peering over at the bedroom door and grow heavier with the desire to sleep as they do. I won't go to bed. But I sure want to.

That's the difference, I think. Attitude. Decisiveness. Determination.
You see, I'm changing the way I look at this morning person or not morning person thing. Because I'm finding it's not really about that. It's about WHO I want to be in the great story of my life.
Will it be a great story at all? And what makes it great?

There are people in my life right now that are making a difference. {And I guarantee most of them get up early.} It might be a small difference, or it might be a move to the other side of the world and shake things up difference. There are many of them. And for a long time now - years, really - I've felt that these people are in a different league then me. I've sat on the sidelines in my "mundane" "normal" life and longed to be like them. I've longed to walk beside them and sit in cafes and enthusiastically tell our stories and experiences and adventures and feel a genuine camaraderie with this species of world-changing powerhouse superhuman. I've longed, but that's the extent of it. Because truth be told, I'm by nature a hermit. I'm socially awkward and uncomfortable and it's SO much safer for all of us if I stay shut away at home where I can't generally screw things up and say the absolute wrong thing or get red-faced when I'm greeting someone familiar I bumped into at the store.

Excuse me, but: What a load of crap.

No, Seriously! I have spent YEARS of my adult life now hiding. I have accepted that I am too awkward and that I make other people uncomfortable because of it and that I'm a waste of their valuable time and energy. I genuinely, GENUINELY, believed that.

I do not write that for your pity, so put away the tissues and hugs ;-) I'm writing it because I KNOW I'm not the only one who's ever felt that way.

The only thing that will make our stories great is if we stop letting dumb, stupid, ignorant lies control our ever move. Listen, I'm honestly worked up about this. It gets at me. When you realize how much time you've wasted and how many people you've grown distant from, all because you've let yourself believe you're just not worth it, it should bring up some feelings.

Embrace those feelings! And let them usher in change.

I woke up at 5:30am when I normally wake up closer to 9am as an act of defiance, albeit a little one. And at the same time, an act of surrender.

I am defying the lies. I am waking up hours before my kids so that the first moment they lay eyes on me, it will be a revved up me who's spent time in the power-infusing presence of God and not a defeated me who's dragging herself around and wishing the day would fly by so I can hide in sleep again. I'm defying my own nature and forcing myself to examine who I am and who I want to me.

And I'm surrendering my sleep so I can give God the first hours of my day. So I can change. I'm surrendering all the things I've believed about myself for a really, really, really long time.

Whether or not I'm a "morning person" plays no part in this. Am I existing just to keep myself safe and comfortable? Or am I making every. single. moment. count. for something OTHER than ME.

I raise my glass of Matcha to you, friends. Here's to living on purpose.