Facing Fears

I’m feeling convicted.  I‘ve been keeping quiet on a lot of things.  Partially because I’m worried about how people will react. Partially because it might be met with indifference or misunderstanding. But I’ve had this feeling deep in my spirit that I must speak out.  

Before I do that, though, I need to walk through this journey of fear.  

It might surprise you when I say I am afraid to say something. Most people who know me know that I do tend to speak before I think.  I tend to get a flash of boldness and just say something potentially challenging or controversial. I don’t appear to shy away from conversation.  I’m fairly outgoing and willing to engage. For those of you who are familiar with it, I’m an Enneagram 9w8.  The 8 wing is what people tend to see on the surface, but the 9 is what lurks beneath.  It does, however, guide most of my functioning and tends to manifest my broken pieces. The pieces that want peace at all costs and feel scared and second guess.  

Because words have never been my problem (spoken or written), and I have this fear of creating turmoil in relationships, it has created some interesting habits.  

I practice conversations. The hard ones, the controversial ones. Out loud. While driving mostly, but other places too.  I practice what I think the other person might say. Various scenarios. I try to plan for the best and worst cases.  I want to be articulate and be able to have a profitable conversation, and keep people from getting mad at me.  

Oh sure, I’ve had the hard conversations. I’ve caused tension and endured conflict. But it about does me in. And I can ruminate on a conversation going over all the facets and how it could have gone better or different.  And it always feels like my fault some how if it went wrong.  I always assume I was too pushy or too aggressive.  

A real-life example of how this fear of tension and conflict in my life manifests itself-

I currently have a blog post sitting in my draft folder because I’m too timid to publish it. Know why? Because last time I got a little bold and brash with my posting on a polarizing topic, it didn’t go super well.  I felt conflict and I didn’t like it.  I know that some people are willing to toss friendship and pass harsh judgments over certain topics and that makes me nervous.  I want to believe that friendship with me is more valuable than ideology, but I know it’s just not true. But even armed with that knowledge, I’m mostly scared to find out which of my friends, family or acquaintances are the ones who can’t weather the storm of my stance on a particular topic.  

But the topic I’m keeping quiet on? I’m pretty passionate about it.  My intrigue, curiosity, passion and questions grow every day.  My beliefs have been challenged, uprooted and solidified all at once.  It’s a glorious growth for me and I’ve never felt more empowered and confident on this topic.  And with that inner confidence comes the desire to share it.  

But only those who agree with me have ever really seen that side of me.  I have barely tested the waters with those who might not.  And when I did, it shook me. Like I was literally shaking, I was so nervous. And I couldn’t settle my mind afterwards for thinking through what I said and how I could have represented myself better. 

But I feel excited for the day when I am not scared of what people think. Where I can own a belief with humility and confidence and be articulate and kind in talking about it.  

That day isn’t here quite yet, but I’m working on it.

On another side, I’ve been quiet about pieces of my faith that I just don’t take the time to share.  It’s no secret that I love Jesus and seek to follow him in all I do. However this flows deep for me. Today I was listening to a song and and the tears just welled up from deep within me.  Tears of joy and gratitude.  This is not an uncommon occurrence.  I often get filled with emotion when singing to God. I also have been so excited to learn more about his character in a Bible study I’m doing. I feel like I know him more than I ever have. I want to shout from the rooftops how amazing he is and how deeply he touches my life.  I am in awe of how deep his love goes and I’m also feeling ashamed how I’ve been hoarding it to myself. 

Why is he not permeating my every conversation?  My hesitancy of being misunderstood or cut off trumps how deeply I feel about God and his presence in my life.  But that isn’t right. And the conviction today was heavy. 

So I started sharing on my social media platforms of who Jesus is to me, and it doesn't really matter if it jives with people.  That had been a fear of mine.  That people just wouldn't understand.  But proclaiming truth or convictions does not depend on how it is received...

If you have made it this far, thank you for hearing me out.  I am a verbal processor, and that applies to writing as well.  Often typing something out lets me "hear" my thoughts.  I picture various people reading it and what they might think from their perspective (Another one of those avoid-conflict habits). 

Eventually, I will post the writings sitting in my draft box.  So check back in!

Au Revoir

Close of a Season

It was circa 2003 when I overheard my grandpa tell my mom he got a new truck.  A truck had always been my dream vehicle, so I quickly (partially facetiously, mostly serious) told him I have dibs on his truck when he was done with it.  He agreed and it became our thing. I would gleefully remind all my cousins how I was the one who was getting grandpas truck.  Every time we talked or visited, he would tell me how he was taking care of “my truck” for me. 

One day, around 2008, the time came where Grandpa couldn’t drive anymore.  And the big moment was rapidly approaching when I would finally get the truck!  Both he and Grandma thought it would instill responsibility and appreciation if I bought the truck instead of them just giving it to me.  Which was totally fair.  We agreed I would make monthly payments to them.  The only thing that wasn’t agreed on was the price.  Grandma wanted to have me pay closer to the blue book value, and Grandpa (with ever the soft spot for his favorite California granddaughter) was targeting much lower.  Due to some failing health, some of his cognitive function was declining, and Grandma kept saying how he probably wasn’t fully aware of all the dealings. 

Then one day my mom handed me the phone and said Grandpa wanted to talk to me.  It wasn’t very common for my grandpa to call on the phone, especially those days, and especially to talk to me.  He said, in his jovial and matter-of-fact voice, “Suzy, Grandma just left so I only have a little bit of time to talk. I’m in my right mind and I want you to know that it’s my choice and I want to sell it to you for $****.  So if Grandma gets on your case, you just tell her we had a prior agreement.” 

So that was that. 

I went to Arizona to pick it up. Grandpa and I did a title transfer and he gave me some talks about taking care of it.  Very adult stuff.  Then my cousin Tyler drove it home with me. 

I’ve always  been into naming vehicles.  I think it’s cute. But I couldn’t decide what to name the truck. So I had a few options and put it to a family vote.  I don’t remember some of the other choices. But the outcome was:

Oh come on...you should know this. Anyone who has known me very well for any significant length of time should know it, anyway ;)

But for those of you who might not know...He was dubbed—Simon. 

Simon and I were a unit. We came together and we were known together.  Everyone used his name, and he became a pretty well-known character.  Shortly after I got him, my cousin Jonathan got a temporary tattoo of a spider from a vending machine. Since he knows how much I LOVE spiders (<— read sarcasm), he thought it would be funny to apply it to the back of Simon.  Little did he know that it would take close to 10 years for that tattoo to fade. And it too became a defining characteristic, catching everyone’s eye. 

During college, he got in at the tail end of my time at Cal Poly.  He helped move me to Biola.  He saw me on the drive to and from Mimi’s Cafe in Downey.  He faithfully carted me from Biola, home to Pasadena every weekend.  He was broken into and got $300 of my tip cash stolen out.  He heard laughter and bumped the tunes as me and my friends made treks to the beach. 

My cousin Jacob and I got into a scary collision that busted up Simon’s bed.  It was within a few feet of hitting Jacob’s door and  could have been much worse. 

And then he was the constant companion on an epic road trip across the country with two friends. Colorado mountains, Wyoming rodeo, stretches of cornfields. 

When the time came to move to Minnesota, my mom and I packed him totally full of all my earthly possessions.  We took off across the country again.  I never expected that to be the last time Simon would see California, but it was. 

He served me well during the cold winters with the 4-wheel Drive feature coming in handy with snow and ice.  I always felt safe. 

I got my dog Sierra a few months after I moved to Minnesota-- and then we were three. We went everywhere together. She rode up front with me or in the bed.  There would be nights I couldn’t leave her in my loft, so I put her in Simon’s bed, put down the cover and she stayed in there during my shifts at work. (Don’t worry, it wasn’t airtight and she had food and water and a blanket).

Fast forward a few years to 2014.  I got married. Ben’s truck was rusting out the bottom, we bought my brothers car and Ben ended up driving Simon.  For the last 5 years, he has been Simon’s main driver.  

Simon was always the reliable truck, ready to haul anything (my most favorite being the flowers Ben brought home from work for our yard!)

 And just a few weeks ago, he began to notice some weird noises. He took Simon in for a check up and found lots of repairs needed—upwards of $5K...$3700 just to make it safe to continue driving.  Since we had been hoping to get a van next year, we decided not to put all the money into fixing it and just move up our timeline to get a van. 

I’ll be honest, I wasn’t that emotional when we decided to sell or donate him.  Maybe it was because it had been so long since I had consistently driven him.  Maybe because all the memories and times we had together feel like a lifetime ago.  But tonight as Ben was leaving to meet a buyer, he said a prayer and I felt choked up. 

This is the last major tangible connection to my grandpa.  So many years building memories where this truck played a significant facilitating role.  All the roads traveled, conversations practiced, tears cried, prayers prayed, secrets told, hugs up against, deep talks had, yummy food eaten, amazing music played... all of it took place with this one inanimate object that has come to mean so much. 

I didn’t say a formal goodbye. Ben dropped it off to get checked out and it has been at the mechanic ever since.  (This was first written a while ago-it has now sold) It feels silly even writing that. Vehicles don’t need formal goodbyes.  But this was more than just a truck to get me front Point A to Point B. 

So I’ll say a little goodbye here. 

From the deserts of Arizona to the great frozen North, Simon, you’ve been a heck of a truck, and my 20s are forever marked by memories created with you.  And thanks to my Grandpa who had no idea how much of an impact a vehicle would make in my life.  

Au Revoir.

Gone, but Not Forgotten

I meant to get this written sooner.  It has been partially finished in my draft box for months.  I haven't done it, though.  I'm not really sure why.  Maybe I've been avoiding it.  Maybe it feels too final to finish it.  Maybe it feels like my words just won't be adequate.

This is the kind of writing you really hope you don't have to do...until you're 80, maybe.  But anyway, here goes.

Kyle and I weren't always friends.  There was a chunk of time we were just acquaintances.  Back when we were about 11-14, both of our families attended an event called "Music Night" at a local church.  It was a bunch of home school families who played music, recited Scripture, put on skits etc...  There was a potluck and games, too.  I have lots of great memories from that time.  Several which include Kyle.

Most vividly, I see him up on the stage, guitar in hand, light shining down on him.  He was a small kid.  The guitar seemed huge.  He watched his fingers with concentration as they moved up and down the neck.  I remember being in awe.  I hadn't heard much classical guitar.  My mom played chords for campfire songs, but I had never heard a tune plucked from guitar strings like that.  It was beautiful.  I remember thinking that Kyle was one of the coolest guys there was, just for that reason.

During those days, he was in some classes with my brother.  Whenever we went to pick John up from class, he and his buddies would be standing around chatting.  All the guys were quite a bit taller than Kyle, but he was right in there with them, laughing and having a good time.  I knew Kyle was near my age and I was jealous that he got to hang out with the older guys.

Several years passed and besides being MySpace (and eventually Facebook) friends, we didn't really connect.

Somewhere along the way, Kyle's family moved to Indiana, not too far from some really good friends of our family.  Through a random connection and event (Speech and Debate tournament in San Diego) I found out that he was friends with my good pal Cecily.  After we made that connection, Kyle and I began the online portion of our friendship.  We chatted a lot.  He was funny, witty.  I knew I could always count on him for a smart come-back, but it never felt disrespectful.  We also had some deeper conversations about God and life.  We just connected.

The summer after I graduated high school, I was planning a trip to Indiana to see my friend, Cecily.  Kyle knew I was coming and wanted to meet up with us.  We made plans to grab lunch.  I'll be honest, I was kinda nervous.  I liked Kyle a lot (not really in a "crush" sort of way...just really appreciated and admired him).  We were mostly friends online where certain aspects of personality and such can be smoothed over a bit.  He knew me when I was a pre-teen but times change.  I remember feeling like he probably wouldn't want to be my friend after we hung out.  I didn't want to ruin a good thing.  But we met anyway.

I can picture Kyle on that day...still sporting the California boy motif, big grin on his face.  I think we had talked about how awkward it might be.  He insisted it wouldn't be, "Please stop thinking it will be weird.  It won't be.  we know each other really well, remember?"

 I asked if we would shake hands, since we were good appropriate Christian home school kids.  He said he would give me a pat on the back for being from Cali.

I don't remember specifics...but I remember it being a great time.

                                              

Kyle and I continued to chat online and on facebook and our friendship got deeper.  He and I shared a passion for seeing a change in how boys were being raised into good men.  He was writing a book for a while and asked if I would read over some parts and if I had any thoughts to contribute.  His heart for challenging and growing other men around him was deeply admirable.

While in college, I remember talking to him one day on the phone and he said the words, "Suzy, I've been talking to the most amazing girl, and I'm gonna marry her."  I remember feeling so excited for him, and so sad for myself.  Not because I wanted to be with Kyle, but because I knew the nature of our friendship would change.  This had been the story of my life.  Be good friends with a guy (platonically), guy finds a girl to date/marry and suddenly (and rightfully), I am no longer the confidant and close friend I once was.  It isn't a bad thing.  It just is.  And I could already tell that subtle shift in Kyle and I's friendship. 

I didn't know his new girl interest.  But I knew he loved her.  He talked about her a LOT.  He raved about her, in fact.  How amazing she was, how smart and driven, how sweet she was...the whole nine yards.  I had yet to meet her (though I did a bit of facebook stalking).  She did look so sweet. 

                               

During my senior year in college, I returned from work and entered my dorm hall.  As I was turning the corner to enter my wing, I heard the most familiar and contagious laugh and then the words, "Suzy Klotzle, is that you!?"   I turned around, and there was Kyle Forti in Horton Hall at Biola University.  He was with a beautiful girl and a guy I recognized from around campus.  Come to find out, his girlfriend's brother attended Biola and they were visiting him.  He introduced me to Hope (his gf) and Andy, her brother.  Hope greeted me and said she had heard good things about me, I told her the same.  I could see why Kyle was smitten.  She was a lively, beautiful breath of fresh air.  Whimsy and depth combined with her ever-ready smile...she was captivating. 

Hope and Kyle grew their relationship, and interestingly, Kyle and I's friendship didn't completely drift apart.  He still made an effort to keep in touch.  He conducted himself with the utmost integrity.  But it was clear that Hope trusted him, and acknowledged that he had relationships with other people that were important to him.  There wasn't many a conversation where he didn't mention her, and their commitment was clear.  We all met up in Pasadena another time, Kyle reaching out to make an effort to get together while they were in town.  That was just how he was.  Always going the extra mile for his relationships.  I don't remember what we talked about when we met for ice cream.  But I was again captivated by the love he had for Hope.  It was a literal presence in the space with us. 

In more recent years, Kyle and I had kept up mainly on Instagram, some on Facebook..  Documenting moments of our lives, and our deeper thoughts... commenting and discussing.  It got to be that when he posted something thought provoking, I would respond and he would say, "I knew you would reach out, I was looking forward to your response!"  We would banter, debate and discuss the weightier things of life.  We encouraged each other in the parenting gig, acknowledging the need for parents to step up in meaningful and intentional ways, especially in raising boys--something we had in common. 

We had most recently had conversations regarding God, death, eternity.  Kyle was always seeking, adjusting, contemplating and growing his world view. He was anything but stagnate.  He had a gentle and passionate way of addressing things that both pulled people in and challenged them.  Never did he present his point of view with disrespect.  Swearing and name-calling in anger was out of the question.  Character.  Humility.  Respect. Integrity. All words that come to mind when thinking of Kyle. 

                                       

When I got the text from my brother asking if it was true that Kyle had been in an accident and died, I got a panicky feeling.  He said he read something about it on one of his pilot forums and figured I would've heard.  I hadn't.  That moment-and the following days when I searched every possible detail I could find- are so vivid and raw in my memory.   The disbelief.  The grief.  The denial.  The searching for a loophole, a mistake in reporting.  A pit in my stomach and knot in my throat that still show up unexpectedly.  The noticeable absence from my newsfeeds.  The ache for his sweet Hope, their son and unborn baby.   I was grieving for my own loss but it felt strange.  I mean, I wasn't involved in his every day life like many of his friends were.  I felt like I knew him, but we missed out on pieces of who each other were.  We had a history of friendship, but I knew he was kind and friendly to lots of people, why would I think I was anything special?  It was a challenging few months to even know how to grieve. 

Shortly after the accident, I was thinking of ways I could reach out to Hope. Not sure what to say.  Her and I didn't have much friendship, besides the occasional comment here or there on social media...just a mutual love and care for Kyle. What do you say to one so deep in grief and so surrounded by tangible community?  Then I got a message from her.  Asking for my address.  It was shocking.  She didn't say why.  But a few days later, I got a card in the mail.  It was from Kyle.  He had written it, likely around Christmas time, but never sent it.  The note was simple, encouraging and extended gratitude for our friendship.  I will never be more thankful for those words...the final message I have from Kyle.  But I will forever cherish our friendship.  I am so deeply sad that the world won't get more of him--he was doing amazing things.  But that is the great thing about legacy...it can continue on, especially through the stories and memories of those who knew and loved him. 

If you made it this far, thank you for reading.  I have needed to write this for a while and couldn't quite get it done.  But here it is...my written remembrance of him.  I am grateful I had the opportunity to know him while he was on this earth.  I am excited to see how his wife and children and friends and family continue to honor his memory, hard work and passion with the amazing work they are doing in Colorado with their non-profit organization Foster Together.  Some pretty amazing things come up when you Google his name ;) 

With sadness at the absence, but a smile for the memories...

Au revoir...or as Kyle would say...Cheers!

Vulnerable

I'm writing this post because I need to process this experience, and writing is a good way to do that.  Writing publicly just means that maybe you can relate in some way and know you aren't alone.  

As anyone who knows me is aware, I have an odd "happy place."  I have many happy places, but one of them is one that most people can't figure out and don't understand.  

The Mall of America.  

If anyone had asked this California girl ten years ago if she would end up at the largest mall in the United States almost weekly, she would have laughed.  Or just thought you didn't actually know me at all.  First of all, anyone who knows me knows that shopping is not my happy place.  At all.  So a mall seems way out of place.  But this mall is different.  It is huge.  And it is warm, sunny (due to skylighted ceiling), and they have thousands of live plants all year round.  To someone who misses sunshine and warmth and plants in the winter, it is actually easy to see why I like it.  Not to mention that most people go over school breaks, holidays or nights/weekends.  Those are the absolute worst times to go to the mall.  I go on a Wednesday or Thursday around 10 am.  And its just me, a few random tourists, some other moms and lots of senior walkers.  And I love it.  We also have memberships to the aquarium and Crayola Experience, which are both in the mall.  (It also has an amusement park...it really is huge.)  

A few months ago I even asked Ben, "Is it strange that this place makes me feel warm and fuzzy and so comfortable?"  He said no.  Most people who I tell that to say yes, it is strange.  I'm glad I'm not too strange for him =)

Anyway.  

About two weeks ago, a horrific event took place there.  It has been in national news, so you have probably heard about it.  But a young boy was thrown from a third floor balcony by an unstable individual who was angry and took it out on this innocent bystander/child.  Thankfully the boy did not die, and looks to have no lasting brain damage.  He has a long road of recovery but things are miraculously healing.  

When it happened, I was, of course, shocked and felt sick.  I was highly aware of how easily it could have been Asher.  However, as details of the story were revealed, the reality of how easily it could have been us set in.  

The mom was meeting another mom and hanging out near Rainforest Cafe.  We hang out right in front of Rainforest Cafe to look at the alligator.  A stranger came close and they had a brief interaction.  I interact with strangers at the mall and even encourage Asher to be friendly and say hi to our "mall friends."  Her son wasn't being guarded super closely and was walking freely beside them. I let Asher walk next to the stroller or even run on ahead, since its so empty.  

A few days after it happened, I had a pre-scheduled outing at Crayola Experience.  It is right next to Rainforest Cafe.  Looking back, had I not had that pre-scheduled event planned, I probably wouldn't have gone.  But I did.  And there were security guards everywhere.  I had walked in and not even realized that it was right there where it happened.  Somehow it slipped my mind.  All the sudden I could picture it happening.  I stopped by the railing and looked over the edge.  My stomach dropped as I realized how far three levels really is.  I saw down by the escalator that people had stacked up stuffed animals and signs, right where the boy landed.  I remembered the eye-witness accounts of the mother screaming and felt like it was happening.  

I felt sick.  And I felt this unfamiliar wave of feelings wash over me. I brushed it aside and put on a smile and moved on.   

I was able to enjoy the outing, but it kept niggling at the back of my mind.  As the last few weeks have unfolded with normal life, I just can't get it out of my head.  I've read updates, watched it become national news, saw the fundraising site explode with donations and well-wishes.  And I still couldn't get past it.  That unfamiliar feeling kept growing stronger.  

One night laying in bed, I had what I'll describe as a mini panic attack.  The past few months had held many rough things including a friend of mine dying in a tragic accident, this incident and the bombings of churches in Sri Lanka.   My mind spiraled downward and I felt sick and anxious.  I realized how little control I have over life and how some place that seemed so safe can quickly become unsafe.  It doesn't matter how cautious I am, something can still happen.  And we have been so blessed to not experience some of these heart-wrenching tragedies so I began thinking of all the ways we "have it coming."  

It was a scary feeling.  I have not struggled with anxiety in the past.  I mean, I had some anxious thoughts before job interviews or anticipating a challenging conversation.  But not anxiety over every day life, or anxiety that actually affects me over a greater span of time.  

I had been telling myself that everything would be fine.  That this was a total tragedy that wasn't likely to happen again.  The mall was still safe.  God was with me.  I would be able to handle it because I'm strong and I know the difference between rational and irrational thinking.  

But I was glossing over the fact that I'm not actually fine.  I'm shaken.  I'm fragile.  A safe place for me was violated.  I feel icky and anxious about going back.  I grieve for that mom as I can only imagine the thoughts and feelings she went through in those moments.  I replay hypothetical scenarios in my mind and think through what I would do or how I would respond.  I have become hyper-alert to anyone who feels the least bit suspicious.  

Today was a typical cloudy Thursday where we would usually hit up the aquarium or Crayola Experience, both of which are at the mall.  We would walk, grab a snack, sit and people watch or play at the LEGO store.  Asher is blissfully unaware and just wants to go see the sharks.  I want to go back.  I want it to all be okay.  But there was a pit in my stomach, not sure how it would feel going back.  Being there in that space that was no longer my happy place.  

I took a deep breath and made the decision to go.  I texted Ben about it and he gave me some encouraging words, including this line from a song... "Trust the heart of Jesus"

Another verse to that song (Jesus Knows Thy Sorrow) says: 

Jesus knows thy conflict,

Hears thy burdened sigh;

When thy heart is wounded,

Hears thy plaintive cry:

He thy soul will strengthen,

Overcome thy fears;

He will send thee comfort,

Wipe away thy tears. 

And on the way there, I prayed and listened to a new song I just downloaded this week by a friend of mine, Ry Cox:  

"Spirit be my strength and be my song...Holy Lord, flood my heart and make your presence known... be my shield this day."  ("Be My Shield")

I felt peaceful as I entered the mall and walked over by Rainforest Cafe.  While Asher excitedly looked at the animals, I stood in that spot, aching...and I prayed and cried.  I walked the halls, and down the elevator to the first floor by where the boy landed.  I prayed and cried some more.  I stroked my sweet son's head and prayed over the walls and floors and people in that place.  I prayed the Spirit's presence and a redemption in the space...for me and for everyone else affected by the incident.  I prayed that violence would be gone far from the place and that everyone would be guarded by the Lord's shield.  

It was very healing and really the only thing that felt right to do.  We then went off to see the wonders of the aquarium...my little boys none the wiser of what was taking place in their mama's heart and mind.  

Sorry that was long.  But I needed to write it out. So if you made it this far, thanks for hearing me out.  Thanks for letting me say, I'm not alright.  I'm feeling weary and vulnerable.  Going to the mall probably won't ever be the same for me.  I don't want to be anxious or afraid, but it will always feel a little tender.  Today I am remember that the Lord is my shield, that I can trust the heart of Jesus and that I can be grounded in those Truths even when life is swirling around me, threatening to knock me off balance.  

It's okay to not be okay.  I don't have to try and rush past it.  I can press into Jesus who will hold me in the not-okay spot.  It's all I can do, really.  

Toby is ONE!

Guys, I am so late with this post.  Like, so so late.  To be completely honest, I've been in a bit of a personal rut lately.  Struggling with feeling motivated and such.  More on that later, maybe.  I have about 3-4 posts I've been wanting to write, and I PROMISE I will get to them soon.  

BUT for now.  Our sweet Tobiah Jacob is one year old.  I can hardly believe it.  This year has flown by.  I mean, I remember the newborn days, and the most recent days, but some of that stuff in the middle is a blur.  

Before we get to some pictures of his parties (yes, he had two!), here are some 1-year-old stats!

Weight: he was in the 50th percentile, and is down to 20-something.  He has cut down on nursing, and wasn't taking to solids, so he went down a fair bit.  he is now eating solids SO much better, so we are hoping to see an upward trajectory.

Height: his height plateaued as well, but the doctor thinks we will see a pretty big growth spurt here in the next few weeks.  oh joy!  

Favorites:  Well, the most obvious is me.  I'm his favorite.  Always.  And I'm not even kidding, nor being boastful.  In fact, it is kind of a drag sometimes.  If he can't see me, he does fine.  But if I'm in his line of vision and he isn't near me, touching me or safely within reaching me, he kinda freaks out.  If he was fine when I was out of the room and I walk into it?  He will meltdown with tears of relief (?) and the most pathetic sounding cries until he is in my arms again.  Then he immediately calms, gets a big grin and pats my shoulder or chest with a look of glee and satisfaction.  Sweet, but also a little overbearing at times. 

Other than me, he loves carbs (bread with peanut butter, cheerios, pancakes, etc..) meat balls, and blueberries.  He loves Asher, music, and walking behind his little push cart.  He loves "reading" books and "chatting."  

His newest trick is to take an empty cup, lift it up for a sip and then PRETEND to swallow it, by dramatically smacking his lips.  I'll try to upload the video. it's super cute. 

No official walking, but he loves pushing his little cart around! 

He still doesn't sleep well at night. Nothing is consistent.  We've tried a variety of sleep training methods and have gotten close to "through the night" sleeping, but he reverts, we travel or he keeps popping teeth.  I haven't had a full night's sleep in TOO long.  Thankfully he is SO cheerful and happy during the day that it almost makes up for the sleepless nights.  

Toby and Asher are the best of friends.  The only time they don't get along is when Toby gets into whatever Ash is playing with.  But they play "chase" through the house, and Toby just cracks up at Ash's antics.  I love that they love each other!

Okay, here are some party pictures.  We had a party in California because we were there on his actual birthday.  Then we had another one in Minnesota last weekend!  It was so fun, and this kid LOVES cake.  

My sister-in-law Heather made the CUTEST bear macarons! 

I didn't get a picture of the cute blue cupcakes, but there it is destroyed! 

Seriously, he was super into it! 

Party #2 was woodland themed (thanks Hobby Lobby for the literal last minute inspiration!) 

Here was his little stump smash cake!  

My MIL and SILs were so helpful in making this party come to life and getting everything decorated!  They are so creative and have such good ideas!

I think it turned out cute, if I do say so myself!

Clapping!

Round two!

Literal smashing.

More smashing...in the face. 

Trying to feed Grandpa cake!

That chocolate beard, tho!  All the heart eyes!

I just love this.  

Auntie Rose got him the cutest little shirt that says "Toblerone" (like the chocolate).  That is one of the nicknames she calls him, and it was such a cute gift! 

A three-generation pic!  

All in all, it was a successful 1st birthday.  We love our smiley little guy so much.  Can't wait for what this next year holds! 

No-Man's Land

Contrary to all the wise advice, there were several instances during the holidays that various political topics were broached.  With few exceptions, most of my family (and friends) are willing to have civil discussion, and a lot of us have similar perspectives.  I would say that me and one of my brothers see things most eye-to-eye, and it was neat to make that discovery and talk through various topics.  

Anyway, one particularly current and hot topic came up.  The exact topic doesn't matter for the purposes of this blog.  I thought I knew what my stance was.  But then I heard two perspectives that challenged that.  One was opposite of what I thought but really made a lot of sense and had different justification than many other arguments I had heard.  It was intriguing and got me thinking.  The other technically agreed with my stance, but felt off for some reason.  And while we agreed on the landing place, how we got there felt very different.  It made me get a little prickly and almost like I didn't even want to agree with the stance after that.  As I discussed with this latter person, I realized I was defending the side I didn't really even agree with.  And they were challenging me on if I said I agreed with this stance, then the only thing that mattered was the policies that carried out the end goal-not necessarily how we got there. They made a lot of good points too and I felt convicted.  

Now here is other factor that complicates things:  I highly respect both parties who thought these things.  They are both good people, with good intentions.  Both read the same Bible as I do...both love Jesus and his heart for people.  

I found myself in a really difficult position.  One that doesn't really have a legitimized place:

The vast middle area of undecided.  

I didn't really know what I believed.  I guess I hadn't picked a camp like I thought I did.  I hadn't arrived a conclusion that I felt comfortable staking my claim in.   

And let me tell you, it was SO uncomfortable for me.  I longed to be as convinced as both parties...but I couldn't agree with either fully.  The topic that felt so black and white to both of them felt so nuanced and gray to me.  If you ask either side, undecided generally means you've basically landed with the opposition.  But I still had more questions.  Both made points, claiming the authority of Scripture and Christ...and they arrived at different conclusions! How was that possible!?  

It all the sudden made me feel like I didn't actually know Jesus at all and I was reading the Bible all wrong.  I wasn't sure my own moral standards. I suddenly realized that I didn't know which candidates I would support because if this was a platform point, I couldn't decide based on that.  But if I focused on other points, I'd be accused of not caring enough to make sure so-and-so never made it into office.  I'd be accused of raising a different cause too high--which is kind of crazy, because lets be honest, most of us are supporters of a candidate that takes a strong stance on the one or two issues we care most about, and only get behind two parties.   Which is why elections are a hot mess.  

We cut off the discussion because it was starting to get to the uncomfortable level of tense and the timing wasn't awesome to begin with.  I felt so yucky.  I felt like I was betraying everything I stood for because I couldn't stand for anything.  Why couldn't I just make up my mind?  My questions were as much for me as for them.  I wasn't even disagreeing with them as much as exploring my own point of view.  

My ever-present steadying sounding board (aka: Ben) talked me down.  He reminded me that it is okay not to know.  It can even be admirable to refrain from nailing down a position if it doesn't sit right with me.  It is okay to hang out in this no-mans land of unknown.   AHH!  Him just saying that made me want to jump out of my skin.  This is a fundamental difference between us.  He is okay not knowing.  He is okay with abiding in a constant state of morphing, listening, wondering and growing.   I'll admit, it always bothered me.  I have thought he should just decide on stuff.  Have an opinion.  Because it has always been so easy for me to do that.  I feel passionately about stuff and can easily pick a stance and have logical arguments to back it up.  (Don't misunderstand, Ben is able to decide his perspective on things, and he does have strong morals and convictions...but he is also much more comfortable in the unknown and likes to take lots of time in forming a solid point of view).   

Anyway...This was a huge moment for me.  I realized that I do not have to be forced to decide.  I do not have to pick a candidate to stand behind based on that.  It can go further down on my list of things I care about for policies.  I can keep asking questions and probing each side to why they believe what they do.  And most of all, I can keep bringing it before God to ask where He wants me to land.  Maybe He has something else for me in this.  Maybe it is about how I treat people in my day-to-day life.  Maybe it is a both/and, not either/or.  Too bad we humans don't know how to live out paradox very well.  We like to throw a decisive policy at it.  And forbid both "sides" actually try to find common ground.  

I know all this is incredibly unpopular.  I can hear all the voices: 

"How spineless can you be!?  You are what is wrong with our country" (Yep...just me)

"Do you know all the people in Hitler's Germany that stood by and didn't stand for anything?  They were complicit in the Holocaust"  (That one is harsh...)

"If you cared about our country you would believe _____"  (so only one stance is in the best interest of our country?)

"If you don't stand for anything, you'll fall for everything" (Why not ask what I DO stand for?)

"You can't consider yourself liberal/conservative if you question this" (Technically I can live whatever truth I want...so I can consider myself whatever I want...or haven't you heard, its 2019)

"You're racist/xenophobic/anti-environment/unloving/unpatriotic/anti-Scripture/not really a Christian/anti-woman"  (That one is my favorite...because, obviously...)

If any of you are feeling the mess of what I just wrote, know you are not alone.  And it's okay. My husband said so ;) 

No, but really.  It is okay to wonder if the "other side" has any good points.  It is okay to entertain that maybe there isn't a black-and-white right and wrong.  Maybe we can allow for more both/and instead of either/or.  Maybe we can vote third party because turns out if everyone says "I can't give them my vote because they will never win"...they will never win. And if they truly align with what we believe, go for it!   (I'll receive flak for that perspective too, I'm sure...)

I definitely have things that I have firm beliefs about (politically), however I still want to entertain conversation and questions...especially about my undecideds.  

I try not to just shout my opinion, and instead actually hear out a different perspective.  Real humans formed these opinions, and so I'm interested in how they got there.  The process does matter to me, not just the final landing place.  The process is telling.  It makes people more than just their political views.  It is nuanced with life experience, spirituality, views of God and others, hurts, victories, education, geographical location...it all plays a part.  

Whew.  All of that to say, I am going to use this year leading up to new elections as a time to hold space for these questions and conversations.  I'm willing to have the questions and the what-ifs with you.  If you want to explore a topic and wonder why the heck the other side sees it the way they do, I want to ponder it with you.  We may disagree and never see eye-to-eye but I promise you respect, dialogue and even a cup of coffee, if you are local.  

I want to ask the questions and not be seen as crazy.  I want to ponder what God might mean when he says____ without my faith being called into question.  I want to know how to bring a Kingdom perspective to these earthly messes.  I get passionate--but I promise to reign in my vocal intensity and apparently ardent facial expressions.    

If you want these things to, comment/email/message/text/call...I mean that.  

Let's talk.  Let's not just assume. Let's hang out in no-mans land together.  The area of the undecided. Or even if you are decided.  Let's be willing to explore various perspectives.  Together.  

Until then... au revoir!