This is a blog post I recently wrote for our church blog and I thought I’d post it here for you as well. I’m not sure if or when you will ever read this blog but it’s interesting to think that what I’m wondering about right now (at the end of 2023) will probably still be a “thing” at whatever point you read this. I hope that however old you are and wherever you are living when you read this, you will find the gift of silence. Here’s the post:
“Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations. I will be exalted in the earth.” Psalm 46:10
“You, Holy Spirit, are a whisper. A frequency so humble that our city noise would drown You out but for desperately longing hearts.” – Strahan Coleman, Prayer Vol. 1
Silence is slowly being shuffled into my life, and I wonder if you feel the same draw towards it these days. There’s a whole lot of loud out there – constant access to information, opinion and entertainment. I was getting gas a while ago and found that there was even a screen on the gas pump showing me ads, so I didn’t have to just stand there with nothing to do for the three minutes my gas was pumping. In the check-out line at the grocery store you can take out your phone or look at all the covers on the magazines. (Has anyone else chuckled at the random ones that always show up at Fred Meyer – like the magazine dedicated to chickens or the one wholly about firewood?) We have very little time where we are forced to just be quiet or still.
I’ve been doing a coaching program through Western Seminary and am learning a lot about how to deeply listen to people and how to create space to evoke awareness. One of the (kind of awkward) tools I’ve slowly grown accustomed to utilizing is silence. Letting silence settle for a bit after someone has shared something gives them some space to think and share more. The instructors use the acronym WAIT: Why Am I Talking? This helps us check ourselves to make sure that what we might say in a coaching session is really necessary and beneficial for the other person and not just to fill space or fill our own need.
I can’t help but connect this to my life with God. Do I like to fill space with books, learning, podcasts, prayers, music, etc? You bet! But how much of that is because I’m not so sure I want to tap into what’s simmering deep in my heart? What if I become aware of God’s presence and voice and it makes me uncomfortable or even worse – what if I’m hungry for His presence and voice and I don’t sense or hear it? It’s easier to just keep filling space with good things. But even good things can become noisy.
In 2020, the World Health Organization listed noise pollution as the largest environmental cause of health problems after air pollution (European Environment Agency, March 2020). Strahan Coleman in his book, Beholding, considers: “Imagine a world where church communities could become harbors for noise refugees: people exhausted and burnt out not only by the noise pollution of our world but also by the social and political noise…” Interesting thought, right? Where do we start?
I’ve slowly, slowly been adding little bits of silence into my life over the last few years: keeping the car quiet for a few minutes after I drop off a kid, simply standing in line at the grocery store – looking at the people around me who make up my neighborhood, staring out the window at the giant redwood across the street for a few minutes, turning off the background noise at home (ok maybe that football game just gets muted). As I let silence punctuate my day, I notice that I become more aware of God with me – with us – and anxiety’s voice gets a little dimmer too. How do you punctuate your days with silence? What effect does it have in your life?
May we find a bit of silence and offer it to others in 2024.
That’s the end of that blog post but I’m also adding the picture of the redwood tree across the street – you’ll remember it. I kind of like that Dan’s beat up old RV is in front of it – it’s not the most attractive thing to look at but it somehow seems right that the unpolished, unattractive stuff of life is mixed in with the majestic.
How do I convey what so many parents feel upon gazing at their child for the first time? You feel the world shift, a new lens get put on your eyes, an overwhelming amount of love and a visceral instinct to protect your child no matter what. It’s a fierce feeling. I realize that that’s not how everyone feels and many people’s “becoming a family” story holds a whole lot of complexity and a huge mix of feelings and things like postpartum depression, support structures, adoption and the like can impact how you feel. But for now, I’m talking about what many people at least eventually describe: suddenly, this vulnerable person takes up way more space in your heart and life than you could have ever been prepared for. And you realize that you would do just about anything for them. You also end up wanting so much for them. You want them to know how loved they are. You want them to be healthy. You want them to be protected but you also want them to learn to be courageous. You want them to be kind and compassionate. You want them to be generous. You want them to have friends and be a good friend. You want them to learn who they are and learn to love who that is. You want them to have limits where those are helpful and no limits where you want them to soar. You want them to do at least well enough in school but not think that school is the most important thing. You want them to try hard, learn, improve, progress and have fun with every sport or activity they find. You want them to find a sport or activity they love – and people they enjoy (and who enjoy them) to do it with. You want them to have all the skills they need to feel confident and capable in the world and you want them to be the kind of human that makes the world better in some – even small – way. Your dad and I (and Troy and Jenny) want you to know God, love Him, and live loved by Him. There’s a lot more that I could add here but you get the picture. You want a lot for your kids. And you want it because you love them and want them to have a thriving, meaningful life.
The “wanting a lot for your kids” factor seamlessly infuses itself into how we parent you and how we view our role as your parent. We have seasons and stretches of being highly motivated to do all we can to try to help all these things happen for you and be formed in you. We often end up with an overdeveloped sense of our power to help you along. To build skills, worldview, habits, thought-processes, intelligences in you – for your own benefit of course. And then we have seasons of being burnt-out from all that and discouraged that we don’t seem to be doing a good enough job because you’re still running into other kids on the top of the slide, you don’t like any activities except video games, you think our favorite subjects in school or books or whatever are stupid, you call yourself a bird-brain and then – worse even?- you call your sibling a bird-brain. There are full-blown-nutties, knock-down-drag-out fights, pickiness (haven’t we taught you to be grateful?), entitlement and total resistance to the things we are certain will be helpful to you. We are trying to guide you into all that we want for you. And we are really trying to not overdo it (helicopter parenting!) or under-do it (neglect!), to not over-identify with you (eek! codependence!) or make you be too independent too soon (self-parent). We fail. I don’t like that. But it’s true.
Someone on a podcast the other day was talking about the practice of “letting go of outcomes.” That put into words something that I’ve slowly noticed in parenting you. We seem to enjoy each other more and more as I loosen my grip on “wanting a lot” for you. I’ve turned my attention to who I want to be for you a little more. And I’m looking at what’s within my reach – not some idealistic idea of parenting or some media and culture formed idea of parenting. I can show up for you. I can be interested in you. I can be curious about you. I can be here right now. I can be kind to you. I can listen to you. I can look into your face when you’re talking to me. I can share space with you – even sitting on the couch. Instead of fretting, striving, and grasping for a fresh way to parent you into being all you can be – I can take a deep breath and be the presence in your life that I want to be.
We are getting a daily dose of anxiety. H – you’re learning to drive. It seems that parenthood is a long road of consistent instruction and letting go. That’s not all it is, but those are recurring themes from toddlerhood on. Dad and I find ourselves with every muscle in our bodies tight, gripping the handle on the door, pressing our feet to the floor as if we had our own gas and brake pedals and leaning from one side to the other as though shifting our weight helps you stay in the middle of the lane. We are trying so hard to be calm and helpful and I apologize for how bad we are at that. But you are, indeed, learning. And I’m sure E and A will learn too when it’s time. I think it’s a great picture of how this process of letting you grow up feels. I know we really don’t have a choice but we can choose how we let you grow up. Do we live in denial, trying to trap you in a certain age? Do we live in fear and transfer those fears to you in an effort to protect you from every single thing (I confess – I am tempted at times)? Do we act like everything’s awesome and will continue to be awesome and you’ll be fine no matter what? I really don’t know. But the long-game has always been building a relationship that lasts a lifetime with you and nurturing the soil that you’re growing in to let you grow as healthy and hearty and you as you can. I realize that there are lots of ways that we have messed up or will mess up or will just miss what you really needed in any given moment or season. But we’re sure trying. We love you three so much. There’s so much that we want to make happen for you and that we want to protect you from but we actually have less control than I ever realized. It’s like me pressing the brake that isn’t there or leaning to the left to help you stop hugging the right side of the lane – those are certainly actions I can do (and do!) but they really don’t affect your driving. I’m trying to remind myself that just getting in the car with you over and over and over again is what will help you. I want to keep getting in the car with you for your whole life – showing up, being with you, supporting you in the risks you’re taking, validating what you’re thinking and doing and answering your questions, encouraging you, offering perspective and even the occasional “brakes!” but letting you drive your life. I’m learning that you are able to and that what you don’t know already you will learn.
There are so many things I think of to write to you but I often worry that it will sound preachy so I try to keep to what settles in my mind and heart (like a colander – what remains in it when the water drains out). Much of what I think of to write to you could be addressed by talking about curiosity. I hope this comes as no surprise to you because we’ve tried to nurture it in you since you were little and, actually, knowing you three (six plus the boys) has certainly nurtured it in me.
Curiosity has enriched my life in every way and I can look at periods of dryness/lack of purpose and inspiration and see that curiosity was not alive and well during those times. I’m not saying this as a formula as though if you remain curious you’ll always be inspired and have a great life. But I will say that if you remain curious – and allow yourselves the freedom to be so – your life will have some extra texture to it. It will have some extra depth and delight.
It’s said that “curiosity killed the cat” which is, understandably, a fable to warn you to not venture too far into things you understand nothing about. Remain a bit reserved. I’m sure in some circles it’s a fable used to try to keep people from questioning those in authority and instead just do what you’re told to do. But nurturing curiosity doesn’t have to mean throwing out common sense or ignoring boundaries altogether. I’ll give you an example.
When I was in nursing school, we had to write these “nursing process” papers for every clinical we ever did. In those papers, we always had to cite a rationale behind our interventions and those rationales had to have a source (you know – like book and page number). This drove me nuts because there are some interventions (like sitting someone up if they are short of breath) that are just common sense. Being an overachiever, I followed the rules for these papers so I could get an A. After a few years of this I noticed an instinct being built in me (and my classmates) to know the ‘why’ behind the interventions our patients were receiving. When I started my career as an RN, I kept that with me and it helped both me and my patients regularly. I also made sure to pass that along to the nursing students and new nurses that I precepted – always know why you’re doing what you’re doing. One instance in particular that comes to mind as I write this is a man who was admitted (maybe he was getting chemo? Can’t remember) and I was getting him all situated and taking his history and assessing him and all the things that a nurse does. His doctor wrote his medications and such (this was before computer medication entry) and the paper copy went in my orders box. I verified that the orders had this man’s name on it and then verified his birthday and all the things that one does. Then I brought him his medications but was a little surprised to find that he had two pretty strong heart meds on his list. He hadn’t mentioned anything about any heart conditions or procedures to me when I took his history and his heart had sounded regular and strong when I had listened to it. I became curious, “why is this guy on heart meds?” So I brought it to him and he said, “I’ve never taken heart medication before. Why do I need to take this?” I answered, “That’s what I’m wondering. I thought I’d ask you about that.” So I pushed pause on that and went back and fished out his big, bulky chart (this is prior to computer charting too). I looked through his orders and the page of meds that I’d been given for him earlier was not there. Very confusing. So I started fishing through the charts of other patients who had been admitted that day and sure enough, there was a page of meds stamped with his name and ID in someone else’s chart. Neither the Dr nor the secretary had noticed. It all got corrected but a little curiosity – both on my part and the patient’s – saved him from potential huge complications.
I’ve watched a few documentaries about cults in the last few months and have been struck by how dangerous curiosity is to a cult. Cult members are conditioned to not be curious – in fact they are often punished and shamed if they are. They are supposed to follow the leader, no questions asked and are made to feel ashamed if they even think a doubtful, questioning thought. The ones who have escaped these cults are the ones who allowed themselves a bit of freedom to be curious.
There are your emotions too. Sometimes depression, anger, anxiety can sit on you like an elephant. If you are anything like me, your instinct may be to try to white-knuckle your way out of that by trying to convince yourself you don’t feel those things, they aren’t so bad, normalizing them, and trying to avoid them altogether – as though not looking at them will eventually make them go away. But curiosity, even when it yields some pain, can help you through those things. Avoiding them or trying to make yourself feel a different way only “works” for a bit. But curiosity helps you face them. Simply noticing how you feel without passing judgement on yourself for those feelings, starts to deflate their power. If you allow yourself to ask, “what’s making me feel this way?” and then answer yourself honestly, it helps you see a path to take – whether that’s having a crucial conversation with someone, talking to someone (including a counselor), slowing down, saying no to something or someone (or yes), etc.
You three have been wonderful purveyors of curiosity. You have filled my life with thousands of “Oh! Look at that bug!” and “Look at that cloud!” and “I wonder why those birds build their nests like that” and “what would happen if we added pepper to our volcano experiment?”s. You have encouraged me to slow down and notice things and delight in making everyday hypotheses about normal life, “I think if we add baking powder to the pancake mix it will make them thicker but lighter. Let’s try it.” You’ve also helped me to examen some of my “rules” for myself. A few months ago I was telling you, Hannah, how I always add movies and shows to my Netflix list and never seem to find time to watch them. You said, “Well, you could always try chilling when the rest of us are chilling.” As silly as it sounds, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind because one of my “rules” (that aren’t spelled out or listed anywhere but I seem to just abide by) is that tv is for the occasional evening because there are so many other productive things that should be done first. This leads to a lot to be curious about: Where did this rule come from? Why is tv only for the occasional evening? What qualifies things as productive? Why do I value watching something with everyone else over watching something that I just want to watch on my own? Etc.
May curiosity enrich your lives in every season.
Emmett figuring out how to get his “flags” to stand up on his rock fortressHannah wondering which light and film best captures images with her polaroid camera at the Chinese GardenAnnabel playing with how to make the best pancake shapes at her birthday party.All of you “camping trip” kids trying to figure out the best way to make a tunnel between the two holes.
Wrestling is part of being alive. Not just the kind you get to do with a dad who is full of energy and strength and fun but the kind that happens inside you – like when faith and doubt try to put each other in a headlock. I wish I could tell you that wrestling with doubt – about God’s goodness or existence, about your life being purposeful and necessary, about being loved or any other deeper thing that makes your soul tremble – is a one and done match. But it’s not. You’ll revisit doubt at lots of different junctures. I think what I want you to know when you go through those seasons is that you are not alone and God can handle it.
The first deeply disturbing season of doubt I had was sophomore year in college. Ironically I was also growing so much in my faith at the same time – but that’s probably because of the wrestling, not in spite of it. I can’t pin-point any one thing that set it off but I had spent the summer on an Apache reservation and it was the first time I was immersed in a different culture and rubbed up against despair, beauty, poverty and generosity all present collectively. I had encountered all of that growing up but it seemed like it was present in individual lives, not in a cultural collective. Also, while I was there my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and it was aggressive. She was stage two but one lymph node away from being stage three (it goes up to 4 stages). That really scared me. I was learning to pray and intercede during this season of life and was confronted with the possibility of “what if my mom doesn’t make it?” and “what if the Apache people never have the opportunities they need?” even if I’ve prayed and prayed. What does that mean about God? I grew in my experience and understanding of what it meant to seek God – both in solitude and in community. But I felt like I just wasn’t feeling his presence. I also started to let myself feel and grieve over childhood wounds and lies I had believed about myself and God. My mentor, Jessica Delgado, encouraged me that God is the Great Physician and was doing surgery to my heart with good intention. I learned how to fast and pray and how to wait quietly. One of my roommates, Leena, and I would do TMAH almost every day: Twenty Minutes (of quiet waiting) And a Hymn. But I just felt like I wasn’t experiencing God the way I had hoped. It felt like He was distant and I wondered if He was even real at all or, if He was real, was He really good all the time? I reached out to two different trusted spiritual friends. One was actually a couple, Ed & Diane – the dad & mom of the guy I dated in high school. I think I had grown closer to them than him and they remained a steadfast encouragement to me for many years. Ed had experienced depression, the collapse of a church and was a hospital chaplain and never had a pat answer for anything. He was far more likely to listen carefully and pause than to fill in the space with a Christian quip. I called him from my dorm room at Western and responded to his greeting with a trembling, “I’m struggling with doubt.” He had Diane close by and together they listened, asked questions, empathized and told me about “the dark night of the soul” and how, though I couldn’t feel it, it was an indication of my faith growing. They encouraged me to more or less “hang on” and to call whenever I needed to. They also sent letters with scriptures about God counting our tears and David’s lamenting, gently encouraging me that He was with me. My other friend, Chuck, was part of our campus fellowship and was the most straight-forward, forthright, honest Christian I knew. I called him and told him that I was struggling with doubt and he started laughing and cheering on the other end of the line! I said, “Chuck! Didn’t you hear me? I said I’m struggling with doubt!” He responded with, “Yes, I did hear you and I can’t help but be excited for you because this means that you’re ALIVE! Don’t you see? If this doubt is so heavy and it’s causing suffering that means you’re alive in your soul. Not feeling anything is what happens when you’re dead.” Not exactly what I was hoping for but it was encouraging anyway. I shared a room that year with my friend, Meela, who has never been the type to shy away from suffering so I felt safe to just be where I was with faith, even as I struggled and grew. I remember listening to a lot of Keith Green and Rich Mullins that. There was something therapeutic to me in singing the Apostle’s Creed. I can’t say there was a formula or well-defined path to walk through that season of doubt and end up with faith on the other side, but there was somehow grace to just not give up. There was a time of prayer I had at the end of that school year when I felt like I was being asked “Will you follow me?” This may sound bizarre but I felt, gravely, that if I answered ‘yes’ to that, that some militia would burst through my door demanding me to renounce my faith and I had to mean ‘yes’ such that I was willing to give up my life for it. I was sweating and crying, wanting to say yes but also viscerally aware of how much I wanted control of my life and to be spared deep suffering. What surfaced through my tears was an even deeper longing to experience His presence and be with Him for the rest of my life and I said, “Yes, I’ll follow you, I just want you with me.” A lightness and comfort came to me with that realization and that heavy cloud of doubt that had been pressing down on me all year began to lift.
Another moment of being face-to-face with doubt was when Annabel got suddenly so sick in Tajikistan and, as we were rushing to Dushanbe to the hospital, she seized and stopped breathing and went ghostly white and still in my lap in the car. I screamed. Dad threw himself to the ground in a wailing prayer. For a very long moment, I thought she was gone. Mirjam (who was in the car with us – a whole other story of grace) aroused her and she starting breathing shallowly, with her eyes lolling about like a doll’s. We sped to Dushanbe – me holding Annabel in my lap, not knowing if she was going to make it. I tried to keep a gentle, loving look on my face not knowing if it was the last face she would see in this life and not wanting her to see an agonized, fearful face as the last. I looked out the window, feeling so completely helpless and alone. We were in the middle of nowhere – rural southern Tajikistan. Passing mountains and clay-brick houses. No 911. Not even a medical establishment of any kind close by. I wondered if we lost Annabel, would my faith remain? Was it established enough to last through losing a child? I looked in the rearview mirror at dad’s eyes and wondered, would we make it (our marriage) if we lost a child? Lots of people didn’t. Suddenly, I felt like I was being held and like God was saying to me, “I’ve got it.” I didn’t know what would happen to Annabel (boy was I praying for her life!), but I had the overwhelming sense that God was holding my faith and my marriage and that it was ok that I was too weak and scared to.
Those are just two examples of seasons and moments of doubt in my life and I want to encourage you when you face seasons and moments like it that you are not alone. I would love to have some steps you can take to make those seasons and moments pass faster and easier, but I think that’s missing the potential fruit of those seasons and I have no quick tips anyway. The book, “Prayer in the Night” by Tish Warren Harrison is really good. Having relationships that you can be really honest in and being honest with yourself and sharing your doubts with God (in words, writing, art, song, whatever) seems to help. The Pslams can be comforting to pray through. But waking up each morning and wrestling through your day is sometimes all you can do. Being 27 years into life with Jesus I can tell you that His promise to you can be summed up in what he says at the very end of Matthew (28:20):
“And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
I am so curious to see how history ends up narrating this whole Coronavirus epidemic. I’ve been wanting to write about our decision to get vaccinated and let you guys get vaccinated for a while. It’s difficult to imagine that how we arrived at the decision to get vaccinated could become murky with time, but just in case, I wanted to write about it while it’s still current so you can get a more accurate view (if you need it) in the future.
Context is really important here. It seems important to me to set the stage for this. Hopefully it all makes sense by the end of this post. I fell in love with biology in high school. I took Honors Biology in 11th grade with Ms. Stuber and found cells and genes and the natural world absolutely entrancing. I loved it so much that I decided to take AP Biology (to get college credit) in 12th grade. The class was conveniently scheduled right before lunch so we could carry on in the lab through lunch if needed. Ms. Stuber had connections to the Fred Hutch cancer research center, which was involved in the human genome project at the time (mid-90s). She was able to get us involved in that program and the Hutch sent over lab equipment and a liaison and assigned us a gene to type – the autosomal deafness gene on chromosome 5. Talk about exciting! I actually considered being a geneticist for a while because it was just so interesting but I quickly realized that being a geneticist may get bogged down by more ethics decisions than actual lab work and wasn’t so sure I wanted to commit my vocational life to that. Anyway, we studied – via books, labs and lectures – cells, DNA, RNA and on and on. I learned about the different forms of RNA (including mRNA – messenger RNA) and was absolutely amazed at the genius way we, and all life, are made. It really propelled me into the sciences in college. I loved the lab, even as I was intimidated by it. You know how the story goes and that I ended up becoming an oncology RN. The hospital I worked at (Providence Portland) also had a cancer research center and I worked at the hospital during a time of great influx of bio-therapies. These essentially try to trigger your own body/immune system to fight cancer (instead of chemotherapy that tries to kill the cancer and subsequently every other fast-growing cell in your body). I went to an oncology conference where they talked about the advances in pharmacogenetics and pharmacogenomics and painted a picture of there being a day when, if you have a cancer diagnosis (or any other diagnosis), you will be able to get your blood drawn and your course of treatment will be based on your genes and how you, personally, metabolize things. This would significantly decrease toxicities associated with different treatments and lead to better outcomes. I still thought that genes and the developments associated with immune-modulating treatments (that could involve mRNA) were fascinating. I also had the experience of caring for wonderful patients who weren’t “old” and seeing a couple of them die of a cold. I remember one woman in particular, DP I’ll call her. She had a picture of her cabin at Mt. Hood posted on the board in her room as her focal point of hope. She just wanted to get to her cabin. Apparently she and her husband were just about to have friends come stay with them at their cabin when she decided to go to the doctor to investigate a cold that just wouldn’t go away. She ended up diagnosed with leukemia, spent months in the hospital, and never left again. She died of a cold while she was neutropenic (essentially – the point after chemotherapy where you have no immune system). I went to work with a bit of a cold and wore a mask and we all always washed our hands like crazy. Her husband would come and visit with her and he wore a mask too, even though he’d developed a cough. Well, DP developed a super high fever (which is impressive when you consider she had hardly any white blood cells left), eventually ended up in ICU and died. She had RSV – which shows up for most of us healthy folks as a cold. I always wondered if I contributed to her death. She’s just one of a number of patients we had on our unit who died of illnesses that would hardly cause most of us to miss a day of work because they were immunocompromised.
In Portland, it’s not unusual to meet people who don’t believe in vaccines. You can look up all the concerns people have had historically. Dad and I had all of our childhood vaccines and the occasional TDap booster and while I worked in oncology we all got flu shots (so that we wouldn’t accidentally kill our very immune-compromised patients by giving them the flu). In nursing school we learned that the baby vaccine schedule is mostly based on the convenience of parents already having a baby at the doctor for an appointment. Monitoring the growth and development of babies helps doctors catch anything unusual early so they can intervene and allow for best possible outcomes for kids. Compliance for getting babies vaccinated is higher when the vaccine schedule is matched to the monitoring development schedule. Anyway, I already knew that the baby vaccine schedule wasn’t necessarily created due to the optimum time in a baby’s immune-system development for vaccines and was open to looking into what might be best. I was going to a naturopath who had really helped me and he talked about an alternative vaccine schedule so that’s what I did with you, Hannah. The pediatrician wasn’t too keen on it but I think she was just glad we weren’t anti-vaccination all-together. I just wanted you to get the most “bang for your buck” as far as your vaccines went. When Emmett came along, we were already planning to move to Tajikistan so, not knowing when or how exactly I was going to find good cold-chain-certified vaccines and not wanting to have to figure that out first thing, I went with the regular vaccine schedule for Emmett so you were all up-to-date by the time we moved (and you were 4 months old). Well, in the course of living in Tajikistan there was an active polio outbreak and we had neighbors who lost loved ones, kids even, to polio. The WHO was working on oral polio vaccine for the strains they were seeing and you, Hannah & Emmett, ended up getting three different oral polio vaccines! They kept having to tweak which strains they were covering and there was no parental consent in play – they just gave the vaccine to all kids while they were at preschool. After living in Tajikistan for a while and having had all manner of illness (including chicken pox, scarlet fever for Hannah, the other strain of whooping cough that vaccines don’t cover, and multiple bouts of Giardia) and having to piece-meal not only getting vaccines but accessing every kind of health and dental care – I solidly jumped on the “convenience” bus. We kept Annabel on whatever the British vaccine schedule was (I’m 99% sure it’s the same as the U.S. schedule) because the British clinic in Dushanbe was where we got vaccines (still having to drive 1.5-2 hours to get them). Dealing with our health felt like a part-time job.
I realized at some point that I viewed health like a house of cards – if one little thing gets crooked, the whole thing can fall down. This led to a lot of anxiety over making the “right” choices for our health and anxiety is also terrible for your health! At some point, I can’t remember when, I decided to just invest in our health as best as I could and try not to stress over the rest. For us that has meant plenty of sunlight and fresh air, good sleep, exercise/activity, eating a variety of “real” food (stuff that you can recognize came from the earth), clean water (which, in Portland, comes right out of our tap!), making and eating/drinking plenty of homemade probiotic foods, and doing things to reduce stress when we notice it’s amping up. I’ll stop there because a whole other post could be written about this and I’m getting to the covid vaccine.
Once coronavirus was recognized as a pandemic it was natural for me (and dad) to feel a sense of responsibility to protect others as best as we could. I had had the experience of wondering if I was the one who gave a cold to someone that killed them. Not many people have had that experience. We’ve also lived in a developing country and had both dad and Annabel end up with scary respiratory issues. I can clearly remember rushing Annabel, with dusky lips and audible wheezing, to Dushanbe for oxygen and a nebulizer treatment as well as searching all over the country for Prednisone and a steroid inhaler for both dad and Annabel. So, I really did feel that covid could be dangerous for them. I also tend toward assuming that I could be the exception to the “good” stats. I mean, when your dad dies in a plan crash when you’re little – you feel differently when people talk about the odds of dying in a plane crash. You grow up knowing that you can be in the small percentage of people that the bad thing happens to. So I didn’t feel like, “Oh no big deal! I’d be fine!” I knew that the odds were that we’d be ok but there were plenty of people without underlying conditions who were dying from covid and I also knew there was no guarantee we wouldn’t be part of those stats. Also, the origin of the virus wasn’t being thoroughly poked at and since Wuhan (where it was first detected) also had a lab that worked with coronaviruses, the reality that this particular virus might be a lab-leaked virus was something I felt needed to be considered. Having worked in healthcare, I knew that some cancers are caused by viruses and certainly plenty of chronic illnesses are caused by Epstein-Barr virus (and other vectors) and the instances of “long-COVID” were concerning to me. There were people who didn’t even have severe illness during their acute COVID infection but who developed long-COVID anyway and it was significantly impacting their lives and there is still very little understanding to who develops it and why. We all know how much uncle Troy has struggled with chronic and mysterious health problems and they started with him getting mono (caused by the Epstein-Barr virus). All that to say that I have felt equally concerned about you guys getting something that could cause chronic illness. We aren’t great at dealing with chronic illness in our health-care system.
When the covid vaccine became available to us I felt perfectly comfortable with it being an mRNA vaccine. That’s technology that has been in the works since the 80s so to me it wasn’t “new” it was just great timing. Many people have expressed worry over it being a “new” vaccine and feeling like anyone who took it were being experimented on and were/are worried about the potential long-term effects of the vaccine. I felt like we were in an experiment either way – experiment with actually getting a virus that is negatively affecting people, some of them chronically, or experiment with getting a vaccine that has more robust research numbers than any vaccine previously (because so many people volunteered to be in the clinical trials for it and so many people have received it). It also was not lost on me that there is a lot of animosity and disagreement all over the world about all manner of things but there was more global agreement about the use of these vaccines than anything else. If China, Russia and the U.S. could agree on the technology behind the vaccine being “good” then that tells me something. I think the only other thing we all agree on is the International Space Station (that’s simplifying things but you get what I’m saying I think). Anyway, it seemed safer to me to “experiment” with getting the vaccine than to “experiment” with getting the illness unvaccinated.
Dad and I got vaccinated first and when it came time that Hannah and Emmett could be vaccinated, we had a discussion about it. Both of you wanted to get it and I think you were largely motivated to get vaccinated so that things could “return to normal” faster. Annabel, once you were eligible for the vaccine it had already been over a year since the first frontline workers were able to get vaccinated and there just wasn’t anything concerning about it but the delta variant was very concerning, so we felt fine about getting you vaccinated too.
So that’s how we landed on getting us all vaccinated. We felt like it was the best decision we could make in the context of what we knew and what our life experiences and knowledge were up until now. But I also want to be sure that you know that we don’t think anyone who is worried about getting the vaccine, and are thus not getting it, are stupid. I do think there’s a lot of unhelpful media that is sowing into people’s fears and not nurturing critical thinking or respecting people’s questions or giving space for the unknowns. But I want you to know that some of the people we know who aren’t getting vaccinated – even people who believe stuff like there are microchips being put in the vaccines to make people stop believing in God – aren’t stupid. They are thoughtful. They are kind. They are people who help others sacrificially. They are generous. There is a lot of painting people with broad strokes happening surrounding all of this and I want you to know that there are lots of “good” people who got the vaccine and lots of “good” people who didn’t. Unfortunately, more people who didn’t died. That’s why we let you all get vaccinated.
After almost two years of this pandemic, Hannah and I finally came down with COVID. We think dad had it too (he had a couple nights of intense night-sweats and woke up with a headache, having had no alcohol to drink for a few days). It seems like this would be something we would be able to remember accurately in the future, but I’m losing confidence in our human ability to remember much of anything accurately. We just marked a year after the January 6th attack on the capitol and you can’t believe how the narrative has changed in just a year! Even with video and audio recordings, there are senators and representatives who have completely changed how they tell that story. So lest we start to blur the lines and, over the next decade or two, change the story – I wanted to quickly record what it was like for us. It can really be summed up in three words: no big deal.
It started for both of us with allergy symptoms and over two days morphed into mild cold symptoms and layered a decent headache and some body-aches into it for 2-3 days. I’m 8 days after the first symptoms and Hannah, you are 4 days into being symptomatic. I tested myself on the 4th day and we tested you on the 2nd day (since we knew I was already positive). The recommendations at this point are to stay home for the first 5 days of symptoms and be really good about wearing a mask for 5 more days after that. And that’s it. We’re all vaccinated so it was really mild for us. The most “suffering” associated with it for us was just that Hannah had to miss gymnastics, a gymnastics meet, Monday CC community day and a ladies’ night out with the Youth ladies. And I had to pick you, Emmett and Annabel, up from school early on Wednesday and keep you home Thursday and Friday, until we had your PCR tests back (which were negative). My dear friend Molly’s brother Mike has been in the hospital with COVID since before Thanksgiving and in ICU for most of that time. He almost died. I feel very thankful that it wasn’t a big deal for us. He wasn’t vaccinated. That makes me also feel very thankful that we felt fine about getting the vaccine. That’s a post I want to make another time because I want you guys to know the kinds of conversations we all had as a family and what dad and I were thinking when we decided to allow you to get the vaccine.
But that’s it. Happy to report that there’s just not anything to report about our experience with COVID.
I walked into the house just now after the flurry of taking kids to school
And I take in the scene I’m greeted with
Pine needles scattered across the floor like a glitter art project,
Muddy shoes cast off, not even left in pairs
sweatshirts and pajamas draped over the couch,
the broken Christmas lights that need to be fixed waiting on the breakfast bar,
accompanied by assorted gifts still needing to be given to teachers,
piles of books – both read and un-read,
crumbs from toast hastily eaten,
Triscuit and graham cracker boxes left on the counter, having invested their contents into lunchboxes,
the dishes are already piling up and it’s only 9am,
Is that a wet towel on the floor?
But in this moment, when my attention is drawn to the messiness,
You give me grace to take a deep breath and say thank you. And mean it.
Thank you for all the signs of life in my home.
That everywhere I look I’m reminded that we are full and we are alive and we are together.
There would be no pine needles and no muddy shoes if they weren’t being worn to run around outside.
The crumbs are from children who can make their own breakfast and who open the fridge and find plenty of options of what to eat. We aren’t hungry and we don’t live with the stress of trying to find the next meal. Thank you.
The pajamas on the couch mean that someone decided to first seek me out this morning, before they changed their clothes. The sweatshirts leftover from yesterday’s various activities – activities that happened in the context of community. We’re connected – thank you.
The other things are all reminders that you’ve provided people to love and teach our kids well and that you’ve planted within us resourcefulness and the ability to learn. Thank you.
And could it be that the dishes in the sink and the towel on the floor indicate progress? That where dishes were formerly left on whatever flat surface was closest, they now get put in the sink without me asking? Do I dare assume that the towel means that someone bathed on their own volition?
For this morning, Lord, this messy house is really blessing me. Reminding me of the full life that it contains and that I get to be part of it. Thank you.
I wonder what you’ll remember about us having guests in our home. I’m sure you’ll remember there were plenty of them. You’ll probably have some recollection that dad or I asked you to put your stuff away so people wouldn’t step on Legos and so that everyone has somewhere they can sit. Maybe you’ll recall me saying with some regularity, “I need to wash the guest bed sheets!”
Grandma and grandpa were very hospitable. Grandma did the shopping and cooking and grandpa mustered his inner drill-sergeant (he actually was a drill-sergeant during the Vietnam war in case you forgot) and had us all marching around, cleaning the house and tidying the yard. I remember grandma telling me often, “Please let me know ahead of time if so-and-so wants to stay for dinner so that I cook enough food.” It seemed like a big to-do every time we had people coming over and I always wondered why it mattered that every speck of our house was clean. But I remember the variety of people that grandma and grandpa welcomed into our home. From the Cambodian refugee family who escaped to the U.S. with the clothes on their backs to the gay man whose family with the big Christian publishing company had disowned him to the variety of people in our enormous extended family – lots of different kinds of people were welcome at our dinner table. It’s one of the main legacies that I’ll always be thankful to my parents for.
People are important to your faith. It’s easy sometimes, in America, to think that faith is just your own individual thing. That you can do it all on your own because it’s personal. But if you read the Bible and look at the worldwide church and even learn about relational neurology it quickly becomes clear that we’re meant to be in community with other people. Please be suspicious if you are being told that you just need to pray (on your own), read your Bible (on your own), and go to church (on your own and not need to actually interact with anyone else while you’re there). Being connected to other people is the context for everything you read in the Bible.
When dad and I got married, we felt pretty convicted about being welcoming to people. We were young and busy and, when I look back at it, we were full of energy. I didn’t realize how full of energy I was until I had seasons of exhaustion later. We had all kinds of people stay with us. Even a good friend of dad’s, Jeff, lived with us after getting out of rehab in our one bedroom apartment when we first got married. We really enjoyed all the people who stayed with us and I’m thinking I must have had plenty of pockets of alone-time to feed the introvert in me or there’s no way it could have worked.
Muslims highly value hospitality so when we moved to Tajikistan I felt like I was prepared to reciprocate the hospitality that was constantly offered to us. But it ended up being way more labor-intensive and I was way more tired. By that point Hannah was two and Emmett was a baby and we had regular bouts of Giardia and all-night-diarrhea as well as spotty electricity and running water. We were also learning a new language and living in complete immersion in a new culture and it’s hard to convey how exhausting that is. There was very little in the way of convenience food so shopping involved catching a taxi, going to the bozor and buying every single ingredient we needed – each from a different seller – and hauling heavy bags home, again via taxi, and walking up the stairs to our 4th floor apartment. There was also a whole new standard for hospitality there: your home had to be spotless (as though no one lived there), and you put out bread, fruit, nuts, cookies, candies, tea – all on lots of little plates so that everyone could reach everything right from where they were sitting – and then you cooked and served a hot meal. Maybe you remember helping me set up the dasterkhon (you were most excited to set up the plates of candies, of course). When your guests left, you made sure they left with something. So you filled their dasterkhon (table cloth) with bread, candies, etc. If it was their first time visiting your home you also put in a new scarf, shirt, dress material, etc. And, of course, when your guests left you had all that putting away and washing (by hand since there were no dishwashers) to do – sometimes with no electricity or running water. I can imagine you’re beginning to see that hospitality became quite a drag. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t a drag because I knew that I was supposed to be welcoming to people and all that, but it was. It was a very difficult path to tread because I wanted to do it all “right” but discovered that I couldn’t do all that hospitality well, parent well, learn the language and culture well, do marriage well, neighbor well, and try to manage our health well. I was angry about that reality but started to resign myself to it. Once I was homeschooling you guys, it became completely impossible to do any of it even remotely well. I realized that I was believing something false – that Jesus somehow needed me to be awesome at it all so that he looked good. I looked at you kids and knew that was the message my life was conveying – despite whatever I may have said. I looked around at my life and admitted to myself, “I’m not enjoying this.” I asked myself, “What am I invited people into? A life of burnout, devoid of joy, where God is so powerless that His work is dependent on how well I do everything?” So I started asking myself, “what would help me enjoy life and my kids more?” The answer to that question touched every aspect of life (and continues to – even through times of horrible loss and trauma) but two words came to me in regards to hospitality: Safe and Space.
I finally resigned myself to having limitations and, wonder of wonders, started experiencing more of God’s grace in the midst of them. I viscerally felt that I, at best, had a couple of loaves and fish that I was bringing and that it was up to God to bless them and multiply them. I decided to just try to keep one area of our house more cleaned up – at least so there would be space for people to sit when they stopped by and they would be safe from tripping over something or stepping on toys. When we were having a group of people over I’d just set up space for them to sit and try to make sure it was safe: like vacuuming if there were small children coming who would put things in their mouth or making a wider pathway if an older person, who needed help walking, was coming. I also realized that I didn’t just want to keep guests physically safe but emotionally safe too. So, instead of buzzing around, trying to constantly improve everything, I let myself sit with our guests and give them my full interest and attention. I still did stuff, but I did stuff through the lens of “Does this care for these people? Does it make them feel like we have space for them? Does it make them safe?” It just looked to me like Jesus did that when I read about him in the Gospels.
What makes me think about this today, and what prompted me to post about it, is that we are in the Advent season now (which you know I love) and we have people over every Sunday for family Advent – to sing Christmas songs, light the candles and do a little reading and we usually have dinner together afterward. I found myself thinking this morning – what will my kids remember about this? What will they take away from their growing up about hospitality? And lest you somehow got the message, despite my change of heart, that everything has to be done well – I wanted to make sure you know that the floor wasn’t vacuumed, there was stuff scattered about, I didn’t clean the toilet (or ask any of you to), nothing was perfect. But there was space for everyone and we let ourselves enjoy everyone. I guess what I hope for you is that you too will find your version of hospitality and that it won’t be cumbersome for you but will be a safe space for you and your guests.
This was in our apartment in Tets. All the neighbor ladies came over to meet grandma when she came to visit.
Do what you were made to do. Do what you need to do. There is nothing insignificant about however you end up living your day-to-day life. I’ve thought a lot about what messages you may have internalized about how to “do” life simply by living with dad and me for your entire childhood (maybe you’ll live with us beyond childhood for a bit too). I really hope we haven’t given you the impression that there is one way, or a specific “right” way, to do life – particularly as spouses. But I have felt like I wanted to shed a bit more light on how dad and I ended up doing life the way we do it (at this point). We’ll probably have talked about it many times by the time you read this, but just in case we haven’t…
Freedom has probably been dad’s and my #1 motivating factor. Yes, our main vision is to know and enjoy God and make him known, but the thing we return to whenever we’re making decisions that affect our family is “what will free us up?”
When we first moved to Portland, married only 9 months and I was just starting out as an RN, we knew that we eventually wanted to have children and that once we had children we wanted flexibility. We didn’t want to be slaves to two careers that necessitated huge expenses for childcare and gobbled up lots of time. We knew we’d prioritize time with you (before we knew who “you” were actually going to be). You guys know us – we really prefer to put money into appreciating assets and into giving. We’re on the frugal side of life. You may grow up and not feel this way and I feel very confident that you’ll live meaningful, full lives. But we had both made it through college without any student loans and had a frugal bent toward the life we wanted. We wanted freedom to choose what to do and to not be limited by a higher-maintenance and higher-expense lifestyle that would make us feel stuck. So I looked at dad one day and said, “I want to work at my job as an oncology nurse for at least 5 years. How about you take 5 years to discover something you love that would help us have flexibility once we have kids? I would really like the flexibility to stay home with them and at least not have to work full-time.” Dad agreed.
I worked as an oncology nurse for five years before you were born, Hannah. On the whole, I loved my job. I didn’t have to search at all to find meaning or purpose or see if I was helping anyone. I learned so much – especially since cancer care is constantly evolving (and, we hope, improving) and I love learning. I had brilliant, compassionate coworkers who also had high standards and our patients tended to be kind, remarkable human beings who it was a pleasure to care for. It was also crazy stressful and there were plenty of dysfunctional dynamics that could pop up on any given day. There were also many heavy, heavy days where it felt like sadness and grief added 10lbs to my soul. There were some triumphs as well – people who, ten years ago, would be at the end of their treatment options but with the advent of immunotherapies would find themselves in full remission. Wow! That was amazing and felt like a privilege to witness. But I can’t say I looked forward to going to work. In fact, many days I dreaded it. But once I got there, most days were meaningful and I felt so fortunate to work where I did with who I did.
Much changed when you were born, Hannah. When your first child is born (or, I imagine, joins your family through adoption) your heart expands by leaps and bounds. You can’t believe the deep well of love and protectiveness that is suddenly uncapped when you have a child. It’s like a huge spring that you never knew existed or even felt a need for that opens up and colors the world differently. I remember feeling like the world – even the leaves on the trees – looked different when you were born. I instantly knew that I was not going to send you to full-time daycare. Any more there is plenty of research to show that good, consistent day care is not harmful to kids. So if you end up feeling like that’s the best choice for your future families – I hope you feel peaceful about that. I just felt at a gut-level that I wanted to be your primary caregiver and research doesn’t ever really reveal much about nurturing intuition. I hope we will have given you freedom and tools to notice your intuition. So, I wanted to be the primary person to care for you day to day. By then, dad had gotten into real estate and was making enough to support our family so we decided that I’d just go “on-call” at work after maternity leave (when you were three months old). Being on-call allowed me to schedule myself a day or two a week. That also allowed dad to try to schedule his work days so that when I was at work, he would have an office day and just keep you with him. You’ve heard the stories of him forgetting to feed you or forgetting the diaper bag and you having a massive blow out – but you survived. Now that we know about ADHD, we recognize that it was definitely not playing to his strengths to both care for you and work at the same time. I’m not sure we would have done that the same way, but it was sufficient at the time.
Once Emmett came along, we were solidly in a housing recession as a country. We were thankful we had a healthy amount of savings stored up (an important thing to have when you work for yourself) and I was able to work 2-2.5 days a week and get on WIC, which paid for nutrient-dense foods from the grocery store like spinach, lentils and cheese. We were already getting ready to leave for Tajikistan by then – the Readys left when Emmett was a month old. We moved to Seattle when Emmett was 2 months old so that the renters we wanted to have in our house could move in. Dad was still working, trying to finish up his different projects and tie loose ends. We moved to Tajikistan when Emmett was 4 months and Hannah was 2 years old. When we left for Tajikistan, we knew that dad would be working with the NGO and we figured that there would be health projects that would open up for me to be involved in. But wow! It was quite an undertaking getting used to living there! I could sum it up in one word: EXHAUSTING. It was exhausting to learn and operate in a new language. It was exhausting to live in the developing world with power and water cuts and needing to cook everything from scratch all while having giardia and various other illnesses. And it was exhausting to raise two spirited little people (I don’t know if any age phase is more exhausting physically than having a baby and two year old through having a 2 1/2 and 4 1/2 year old – those two and a half years are so tiring!). You may not have caught it, but dad and I were each paid the same salary. He spent most of his days working outside of our home and I spent most days dragging you guys with me to visit ladies all over the city and having them over to my house. Talk about grass roots – there were no medical projects going on in our town, but every day someone needed help with their blood pressure, a wound, their blood sugar, getting a baby to feed better – you name it. Not to mention our own family needing medical attention over and over again. And we were there to let Jesus leak out of us and, hopefully, bring freedom and refreshing to Tajik people so they could do the same. So though I didn’t usually have predictable office hours or anything like that, dad and I were full-time employed.
Once homeschool started to become a necessity for our family, it was the obvious choice to have me do it. Dad was working with the Tajik Futbol Association by then and traveling all over the country. He was like a caged lion if he had to stay put for too long and did well being out and about and extroverting (big surprise, right?). I had always been more of a homebody than he was (even though I was out and about quite a bit too) and I can find a great deal of contentment in zeroing in on something and trying to do it well. I’m also way more organized, methodical and detailed and tend to do lots of research on the “right” or “best” way to do something. I liked the idea of doing school with you guys (I love learning too!) so that’s what led us to decide that dad would continue what he was doing and I would be the homeschool teacher. Once we were really into homeschool, I started to notice how difficult certain things were for you, Hannah. I knew that you were super bright – your observations were always so perceptive and you could learn anything by doing it. But goodness, reading and writing were coming along at a torturous pace and I began to suspect dyslexia. Long story short, we eventually found Marilee with Help with Learning and she really equipped me to help you both – Hannah and Emmett. So we embarked on a different kind of homeschool journey than I had envisioned that included short, intense spurts of each subject with different exercises interspersed through our days. I also began to learn more about ADHD, dyslexia, sensory issues and the like so that I could help you. I became very protective that just because you two didn’t learn as well in a typical “school” setting didn’t mean you weren’t smart or able to learn. I really wanted to protect your enjoyment of books and how you internalized yourselves as learners. You will undoubtedly remember the hundreds, maybe thousands, of audiobooks you ended up listening to and all the books I read aloud to you. I could say a whole lot more about how we homeschooled but that would be a different story.
During this time, dad would take shifts homeschooling to free me up to go on a visit or to go to the orthodontist. Whenever I’d get home, he was more than ready to take off his homeschool teacher hat and get to the office! The famous, “but dad throws mathbooks!” quote from Emmett comes from this era. As difficult as being the homeschool teacher could be, it was very clear to all of us that it was still the better job for me. Dad, untiringly, traveled to villages, taught classes, met with college guys and helped keep the books of the futbol grant and then the language center. He was better suited to all of that and it was culturally more acceptable for him to be out and about like that. It would have been really different if I had had a clear picture of something different I felt called to do. We would have considered that and evaluated how to do it. As it was we felt like we were, as a family, being faithful to what we felt called to do. It was always “we” and “us.” We were a team.
When it came time to return to the U.S. we re-evaluated what we wanted to be doing and our goals. Dad had been following Portland real estate from Tajikistan and was eager to return to it. We both felt strongly that we wanted to create a “secure base” for our family to adjust to life in America. After investing so much time and effort into equipping me to help you guys with homeschool, we decided to continue doing that so that at least your school situation would remain stable (since we returned to Portland in the middle of the school year). We also knew that if we sent you to school, there was a decent chance that you would have some set-backs since the local school said they’d have to observe you on their curriculum for at least 3 months before they would even consider a special-ed evaluation. I was not about to let you go to school, just to be overwhelmed and think that you weren’t smart. We had come so far and you knew that some things were extra hard for you, but that you were good learners. Dad agreed with this and since my nursing license had become inactive while we were in Tajikistan, we decided again that it made the best sense for our family (and aligned with our values) for me to be CEO of home and homeschool and for dad to try to make real estate work. We had also decided that we wanted to create passive income to free us up later so that if any of you ended up moving overseas we would be free to spend time with you wherever you were. We thought we may want to rejoin the organization we were with in Tajikistan at some point. Real estate can pretty naturally lead to passive income and being a hospital nurse can’t (not that you can’t be a hospital nurse and find other ways to create passive income) so prioritizing real estate made the most sense to us.
That brings us to the present. Not sure how old you will be when you read this but right now you are 14 1/2, 12 1/2, and 8 1/2. I’m writing this during the first ever school year that we only have one kid doing homeschool (Hannah) and Emmett & Annabel are going to school in-person (which is a differentiation we’ve all started using since the Coronavirus pandemic began). Certainly Hannah still needs support with school still, but it’s a lot less than when three kids needed support with school. There’s even one day a week that all three of you are out of the house for the day. It’s given me a bit of space to consider what else I may want to do and what would be good for our family. It’s funny because when you guys were little and it was difficult to get even 30min of un-interrupted alone time I had a mental list of probably 20 things I’d love to do with 30min to myself. Now, after becoming so accustomed to rarely having uninterrupted alone time, I can’t even come up with a list. There’s lots of stuff I enjoy doing: hiking, gardening, reading, connecting with people, drawing, learning something new (like how to crochet or something). There’s also lots of things I think I’d find satisfying: volunteering at Shepherd’s Door or Oregon Food Bank, volunteering at school – especially if I could help struggling readers, finishing my bachelor’s degree, finding investment property, etc. Occasionally I consider going back to nursing, but this pandemic has definitely not made me eager to do that. What has become super evident to dad and me is that you guys are growing up so fast! You are really fun people to be around too. So even though there’s always lots of things that I’m interested in, the thing I’m most interested in is you three. The time of having you in our home now feels so short compared to the amount of time we (hopefully) are alive on this earth. I don’t want to miss it. Dad and I have talked a lot about what makes the most sense for our family – to prioritize time with you and continue to move toward freeing us up in the future as well. We decided that I would help dad with some bookkeeping and continue to support Hannah in homeschool as well as take a few more coaching classes when those are available. Dad and I are really happy with this set-up for now.
When you grow up and if you end up having a family you may do things really differently from what we’ve done. But what I hope you absorb from growing up in our home and family is that you and your spouse are partners, your family is a team, play to your strengths, and be free to re-assess regularly. You guys are going to do this way better than we have and I can’t wait to watch you do it.
Even when the summit gets socked in and it starts hailing, we’re still glad we went there together.
gracebythehour 