Present in the Pace

I feel like the best days of my life are fleeting before my eyes.
I'm trying real hard not to blink, but nothing stops the draining of the hours,
the days, weeks... turn into years and before I know it I will be telling all the
young mothers, "Enjoy it while it lasts."

On one hand, I'm like SLOW DOWN, bottle up all the memories, relish every moment,
capture all the scenes -- burn them on the hard drive of my heart, never forget.
And then on the hand, I'm like CAN THIS DAY GO ANY FASTER?!??! When you've got
toddler meltdown city on your hands, a to-do list a mile high, nothing but frozen
pizza for dinner... lunch... and breakfast. The complete parody of parenthood.

Life often feels more like the tango than a waltz.

Moving. Steady. Abruptly changing.
Wild. Intimate. Serious. Exciting. Abruptly changing.
Sippy cups. Tired eyes. Rinse. Wipe. Repeat. Abruptly changing.

Oh wait, that's not the tango, but my liiiiiife!

Last week I walked into my counselor's office; four walls, 100 sq feet of safe space.
God has done some crazy work on me in that place over the past two years.
Letting me yell, cry, laugh it all out.... process all the things.

"What's your pace like?" he challenged.

"Fast, messy, busy. You know, normal?" I self-soothingly shot back.

"At the end of the day, did you taste ANYTHING?" he pressed.

"Sometimes I catch it. Often, it's survive or die mode!"

silence.
MORE SILENCE.

Inner monologue: OMG how does he read my soul?!?!?!?!?!?

"Man. I need to work on being PRESENT in the pace."
Yes. Yes, be present in the pace.

The very next day, for real, I opened the mail box to find a package shipped from Washington.
A gift from a social media kindred spirit -- one with the most beautiful eye for
colors, movement.... you can't make this stuff up!



I burst into tears standing in my kitchen.

Be present in the pace.

I don't think it's just motherhood or parenthood in general - but many of us find ourselves
swimming hard in the big, loud ocean of life; barely tasting our days for fear of drowning in the process.

I know the song is like eight million minutes long, but this part right here >>>

So I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine

It's never going to stop; the waves, the rush.
The pace is set, but I get to decide how present I am in the journey out into the deep.
And that is beautifully consoling. That even when I am up rocking the baby at 2AM
or hustling in my work; when I am cleaning up the kitchen for the thousandth time;
washing, wiping, putting away all the things....

I will have tasted.

Because I have been present in the pace.
Walking on those waves.




artwork c/o the talented Kendra Castillo
check her out on facebook | instagram

Have Mercy

I just want you all to know that I am perfect. In case there was any confusion. Just open the dictionary to perfection and there won't even be a definition. Just my face.

THAT IS A JOKE.

Ok for real, life has its highs and lows. One minute I feel like a freakin' rock star and the next I am the hottest mess you've ever seen. And when I say "hottest", I am not talking about Miss America status. I'm talking knee deep in crazy town, people.

But if there is one thing I am learning in this season of my life is that GRACE upon GRACE upon GRACE is absolutely required and zero-negotiable. It literally takes an act of the will for me -- to pep talk myself into CHOOSING to have mercy on myself, my husband, my kids, my to-do list, my business, my housework, my homeschool plans. It helps if I imagine Uncle Jesse saying it to me, "Haaave mercy." Then I forget my name, what I was doing....

image credit
...seeeeeee!? Everything is all better. Lol. Just kidding, Nathan.

Last week I thought I had a babysitter for the kids for my annual appointment to the OB-GYN. But no, that fell through and I was hauling three children into the doctor's office like a boss -- tossing out snacks and taking names of any ruffians. AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, the doc finally comes in and my kids latch onto him: FRESH MEAT.

I immediately throw out a disclaimer,
"Well, everyone WAS being well-behaved.... up until about an hour ago?!"

He says, "It's ok, we will do this quickly so you can be on your way!"

Quickly?

Nothing should be happening "quickly" in regards to this appointment.
If you know what I mean.

All my kids are waiting with the receptionist and I can hear Bella's voice growing in panic...
"Momma? MOMMA! MOOOOOOMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!"


I should have just waited until the next time I get pregnant. That's totally a thing right?! Skipping annuals and just waiting for the next kid to check out the whole sha-bang? Sigh. I can't wait to grow up and just know these things.

As I am hauling my crew out of the exam room, the receptionist asks me,
"Should I put you down for a year from now?"

Seriously? #holdme

So we load in the van and head to the grocery store. Because that's the smartest thing to do after spending close to two hours in a gyno's office with three children under the age of six and having your cervix poked at with a "Mom, his Qtips are the biggest ones I have ever seen!"

Flash forward. Halfway down the interstate, with Chicago traffic cruising at an easy 80-90mph -- switching lanes and skipping blinkers like it's their JOB-- I feel the gas pedal pressure change and we start losing speed.

My heart is racing, but the Holy Spirit came down and literally cleared a path for us to crawl across three lanes... and as I barely make it to the curb every light on the front panel goes on and I realize I am BEYOND BELOW EMPTY. Out of gas. How does this happen to me?!

I call my husband who is an easy 90 miles from my location at this point. No answer. I call my dad. He's out of state. Call Nathan again. No answer. John Stamos?! Jk. It's hot outside and the AC doesn't work without gasoline and I am seriously thinking, "We could easily be side swiped in this crazy traffic."

And my kids are like, "SIDESWIPE?!?!?! Like the Transformer?!?!?"

I call a friend who is the nearest to my location. No answer.

Welcome to your new home, kids. The interstate. No joke, they thought it was an amazing adventure and not one of them moaned or complained a peep. I, on the other hand, fought back tears for over an hour.... waiting on my friend's husband (she ended up texting me!!!) to save me.

I tried to pay him. But he told me to read my kids the story of the Good Samaritan as a bedtime story and that he was happy to be able to serve me and Christ today.

WHAT?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?

You guys, we have been blessed with the best of friends.

I'm telling my husband this -- literally shaking my head,
"WHY is God crushing me with so much grace lately?"

My friend and her husband and Jesus.... had mercy and grace for me and I'm literally standing on the side of the road beating myself up.

I got back in my vehicle and made the decision in that moment to take the boxing gloves off. To just receive the moments rather than come at them swinging. Because even when it feels like everything in the world is out to get me -- there is a GOOD, GOOD Father who is standing between all of that for me if I would just open my eyes and take in the grace.

And HE is perfect.


And because I am NOT, this little note now hangs from my rearview mirror.
It's a good question on all levels. Don't you agree?!

A Redemption Story

I have stared at a blank, white computer screen for the past hour or so
with a story filled heart and not enough right or holy words to do this justice.

I feel vulnerable.

It's going to sound dramatic, but for as long as I can remember I have struggled with feeling
like a burden. A demon must have whispered deeply into my ear because I somehow drank it all in;
that devil's milk. I've spent most of my life trying to be better, the best - holding my own -
please don't even notice I am here.

Don't be a burden.

I was twenty-five years old. We had gone to my grandparent's house for a weekend stay, and the
entire time I was scheming up ways to make our presence barely noticeable. I'll never forget.
We were standing in her dining room when my grandma grabbed my shoulders and
looked deep, soul healing level, into my eyes,

"You are not a burden. I want to take care of you."

Words are powerful.

Chains fell that day.


Like most people, I'd say my life is pretty evenly full of all the good things and all the
disappointments. I was and am loved deeply by family. I've celebrated and traveled. Accomplished
dreams. Done hard things. I've felt the blows and seen the damage as loved ones battle sickness,
addiction, betrayal. I've had my heart broken. I've lost friends. I've had my childhood home and
life slip between my fingers. All out of my control. All ultimately in HIS.

I thought I was fine, just fine, going through all the motions of college, ministry, marriage -
even a couple babies - before I began collapsing, shutting down -- diagnosed autoimmune --
flesh attacking flesh. Almost as if I wanted it to happen? To feel something, to control something,
to make myself the victim so that no one, nothing could hurt me again.

That's hard to admit. It's hard to say that I withheld forgiveness and mercy.
That I decided to "be my own god" and run from true healing.
Like a child holding tightly to a skinned knee, I refused the Band-Aid.

And all along God was patiently waiting for me, writing a story of redemption for me.
I couldn't see the significance of each encounter at the time. But He was placing people in my path --
a patient husband, Franciscan sister, a healer, a counselor, new friends, a chiropractor, doctors....

But I clung to the bitterness.

Withholding grace somehow made me feel powerful.
When in reality, it was literally weakening my very flesh.

One night on Twitter, I saw a comment from another blogger and recognized that she was living in
the EXACT SAME TOWN that my parents had recently moved to when everything fell apart.
The town I just didn't ever want to visit or pardon.

But the next time I went to Iowa, I decided to meet up with this girl and make a new friend
in spite of circumstances. (thankfully she really was a friendly Twitter girl! ha!)


I left that afternoon in the park with Nicole Neesby having NO IDEA
that such CHANGE was going to come into my life through that town I hated,
through the chance meeting of a girl I saw on social media.

We were both pregnant with our babies at the time, but the birth of mine would leave me in the darkest
place I've ever been in my entire life. Postpartum depression is real.

This girl reached out and asked me if I would try essential oils...
And I told her "NO!" And "NO!" again... "I can't. I have so many allergies and
sensitivities! I don't need one more thing!"

She sent me an article on allergies, autoimmune disorders, cell damage --- and the need to
repair our bodies from emotional trauma at the leukocyte level. I cried all over that email.
THIS IS MY STORY.

I took that article to my counselor and told him, "I am cutting myself.
I am slashing at my heart, my mind, body -- every day -- because I refuse to let it all go."

I'll never forget the look on his face. He smiled and nodded, "This is big."

I was being ushered into a place I never thought I would find again.
Suddenly all the people, all the moments and conversations were colliding -- everything rising,
everything converging, and I'm just in tears, "Why does God love me so much?"


I wept. I prayed. I chose forgiveness and GRACE.
Nicole then mailed me a roller bottle of JOY essential oil with a note to use over my heart,
and EndoFlex to support my hormonal system as it readjusted in this new chapter of my life!!!

It changed me.

My dear immune specialist sat me down one afternoon and told me,
"Brittany! You've received SO MUCH GOOD!
You must find a way to give back."

I say it often, but I don't think people really understand how sincerely I believe God was and is
fiercely coming after me, after you. And how He uses so many people and avenues, even a Twitter girl
and a company called Young Living to wreck my life in order to make it new again.

"You are NOT a burden. I WANT to take care of you."

Over and over again. The message has always been clear. He thought of me in His creation and knew the
people I would meet and the work of His fields I would one day be gifted. He gave me the doctors and the
therapist and the friends and blogging community...

And so I GIVE BACK through Young Living; in the gift of supporting, leading and cheering on
a community of people, families -- who want to experience radical, awesome change on all the levels!!!
I can't even begin to tell you about the deep gladness it brings to my heart.

He is in the details. He is in the disappointments and tragedies, the sickness and broken heart.
He is in the change - the JOY - the celebrations. Heck, He is even in Twitter!

And it's all just some big excuse to prepare my heart for the day I meet Him face to face --
to put me through that refiner's fire as He begs me to hand Him those vices I cling to, to let Him
have that skinned knee


so that He can save me...

so that He can save you...



Amen.





If you are looking for more information on Young Living, please e-mail me

oilwellsociety@gmail.com || @oilwellsociety

If you are looking to enroll into an awesome community CLICK HERE.
I'll be there to meet you!!! XO.

The Importance of Kindred Spirits

Here's a toast to Anne Shirley; to all the bosom friends and kindred spirits!
Diamond sunbursts, marble halls, puffed sleeves and strings of pearls are lovely, but
tried and true, rich and deep friendship? Our Anne girl knew what she was talking about.

It's such a beautiful gift this side of heaven.


This month I managed to escape with some of my dearest friends to spend the
weekend together! I kept pinching myself thinking, "I can't believe we pulled this off."
Shout out to our amazing husbands who held down the forts + children... on DST weekend no less!

That wasn't on purpose, by the way. But a nice perk for us momma-ladies!

Community does not come easy these days. I watch my grandparents, "the greatest generation ever,"
so easily plan to do life together with their "people." They naturally are inclined to not walk
the road alone. Whatever they are doing, you can bet there is more family or friends involved.
Whether it be work or play. I envy them.

So what's wrong with our generation? Hidden behind cell phones and profile pictures, we talk
without really talking -- always texting, pinging, DM-ing because... I don't know why?

I guess it has become convenient, normal, socially acceptable.
I guess our lives are so full of busy-ness that there just isn't time.
I guess it enables us all to be multi-tasking Jedi masters.

I know I get scared, but I want to throw caution to the wind and send out the call, the invite.
I want to keep showing up and being vulnerable enough to be really real with the people I encounter.
Our stories, our connections -- the lives we touch -- are not arbitrary.

Let that sink in.

If you believe in God, there is no random business here.

He chose this place, these people for us to walk with. We need them.



And we need cupcakes.

I think the opportunities to build meaningful, beyond small talk, friendships come up a
few times throughout our lives. And this weekend spent with some of my "kindred spirits" really
spoke into my life (who says that?!) -- shaking me awake! Brittany, show up, invite, be present.

People are in the present moment, and are merely caught in virtual code on the digital frontier.

I want to be present.
I want to be counter-cultural.
I want to channel that "greatest generation" vibe.
I want to dare to be a "bosom friend."
I want to LIVE life with the people God chose to surround me with.


Viva Anne Shirley!



"Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think.
It's splendid to find out that there are so many of them in the world."
- L.M. Montgomery

Choosing a MLM Company

I wasn't looking for a job. I wasn't even entertaining MLM companies or doing any research
into the pros + cons of all the options available to the stereotypical stay-at-home mom like me.
For years people have asked me to do and share and "go business" with it all.

Seriously, name the company -- I've been pitched.

In fact, if you would have told me that I would be part of a multi-level-marketing
organization one year ago, I probably would have laughed in your face, "Yea right!"

And here we are! Ta-da! I feel like I should do a little tap dance or something?!

I can't even believe it myself, really. But here's the deal...

In the past three years of building and loving a social media platform + community
through blogging and all -- I have been so adamant about choosing and sharing
products and companies that I would naturally use, support and rally behind
in real time - my non-virtual life.

True story. One time I almost took on a campaign to share a CIGAR COMPANY! Can you
imagine?! The money was lucrative. I could have made it work. Lol. But my husband helped talk
me off of that NON REALITY cliff so I could stick to my POV. Because I love ya...

and I'm true to my heart. Like Mulan.

Young Living didn't come easy either, btw. In fact, I'd say our relationship was
more like the guy who wouldn't stop asking me out. For years and years I played hard to
get and spat out all the skeptical remarks... and then one day, I said, "Sure, I'll try."

I think I became the desperate one, looking for more answers, solutions -- ways to
lessen the chemical impact on our home and help our bodies + immune systems naturally!!!
And the community (education, classes, support, friendship, etc.) that comes with it all?!
Beautiful. Priceless. Better than a Visa commercial.

I never looked back. Now we're married and having babies... JK JK.
I didn't marry Young Living. This isn't Brother Husbands, ok?! But I'll blow them a kiss!



Truth is, I'll be using Young Living whether I share about them or not. And I thought about it.
I thought about just keeping this on the DL and going on my merry way...

But it's become such a huge part of my daily routine now and brought so many good, blessed
changes into our lives -- including helping support my very whacked out thyroid! And I'm just
like, "HOW CAN I NOT SHARE THIS?!?!?!?"

People need to know.

Because what if it can help them?
Or make a difference?
Change a story?

That's something I want to be part of.

Plus Young Living is a rock solid company with good morals + ethics -- like you can't CALL
Customer Service on a Sunday! I love that. Their Seed to Seal promise and sustainable farming practices and world relief efforts ---

Seed to Seal - Web HD from OolaLife on Vimeo.

Don't mind me. You'll just find me frolicking in fields of lavender over here... haha.
But seriously.


So yup. This is why I'm sharing Young Living.

And slowly, but surely, I'm getting over the fact that there JUST IS a stigma attached
with multi-level-marketing. Some people like it. Some people don't.

Some people will unfollow me, unfriend me, whatever...


But it won't be said that Brittany Vail wasn't true to herself and to her audience.
I share about my REAL life here. And Young Living is now part of my REAL life. #hearts

In fact, I'm pretty sure God used it to SAVE my life...
but more on that later!!!




If you'd like to chat more about Young Living or learn about how to get started,
please don't hesitate to reach out? Shoot me an email: lilyfieldmomma@yahoo.com
or catch me over on my essential oils INSTAGRAM @oilwellsociety

XO

You Changed Me

Before there was you, there was hot coffee and uninterrupted lunch dates. There was time to clean the house and put on make-up - do homework, go to work. I could stay up late, sleep til noon, leave without telling anyone - whenever I wanted to. I was basically a rockstar.

And now I speak of the lines, the stretchmarks that are etched deep, hard into my skin that read of a time before we began. I now can run on very little sleep, make it through a day with no solid meals and find a way to bounce, sway, rock back and forth - sitting down, standing up to help you fall asleep. I am able to just look at you and know you're sick, you're tired, you're hungry - calling for me to nurse life into you. Liquid gold, my body now makes that. We're talking superhuman trumps the rockstar.

I've been broken down, made wide, pulled thin all at the same time. I've cracked and bled; processing pain I've never known, riding a depthless ocean of hormones that bind me closer to you through the tears, the laughter, the explosive kind of love I knew when your heart beat next to mine - skin on skin - for the first time.

You changed me.

I gave birth to you, but you also gave birth to me as a mother, and now we are bound up in this lifelong story of growing together. And all that stuff that happened before there was you - before there was us - pales in comparison to the adventure we now know.

I love how God chose me for this; how He chose you for me and me for you. All to draw us deeper into communion with Him, His plan, eternity. We are here to sharpen and refine one another in our domestic church, our mission for sainthood. And somehow that makes the cold coffee and early wake-up calls golden because they have purpose - they drive us deeper into the mystery of life given for life; a holy, maternal sacrifice. And it is all so alluring, addicting - like we are tasting a sliver of the love God pours out for all of His children.

You changed me.
He changed us.
And it is good.

Motherhood: My Cloistered Years

Every morning I am not woken by an alarm clock, but by the sound of toddler boys
crawling out of their bunk beds, feet still heavy with sleep, trudging into our bedroom or
down the hallway; on the hunt for breakfast or to check and see if mom forgot to unplug the Wii.
The baby must be just waiting in her crib for the first sound of life in our house because as
soon as there is movement, there is Bella Jane.



Our days are warm and slow. Since we have decided to homeschool, there is no morning rush or
lunches to pack. We take our time over bowls of oatmeal; wiping sleep from our eyes, opening up the
blinds to let the sunshine in for the day, really seeing each other.




The kids all stand at the door, or if there isn't any snow they step out on the porch to brave
the cold for a few minutes, to wave goodbye to papa as he leaves for work. Isaiah always yells,
"What time will you be home?" And Nathan always yells back, "I'll see you for supper, buddy!"
And I just wonder if maybe he is the favorite parent after all?! Ha.

We do school and work on projects. We clean the house and prepare food.
We go for walks and play at the park. We visit Jesus at church and say our prayers.
We nap. We read. We drink hot chocolate. We watch Netflix like everyone else.

It is lovely. I mean it is hard, but lovely.



Someone told me awhile back that this is the only time in my entire life when all of my children
are completely depending on me. And even though that makes me want to curl into a ball and weep
with Ben and Jerry some days, most of the time I see it as such a small window of GIFT in my
vocation of motherhood. This will never happen again. And I know that God has so much prepared
for me in what I have dubbed my "cloistered years".

I want to look through that window -
take in the view and stay.

It is quiet and hidden and scoffed at by the world.
But this isn't about earthly accolades. This is about eternity.

My Wild Church

My grandma always tells this story of the time I went out and picked strawberries. I brought them in, mud and all, washed them, removed stems, and put them in the fridge. All by myself. I was 6 years old. It is still my favorite fruit.

Dressed from head to toe for the wild blackberry patch, I will never forget holding my breath, on the edge of the field, as my grandma sprayed me down with bug repellent for the hunt. After a long cool shower with Dial soap, I would run up to my grandma's kitchen where she would have those berries all rinsed and ready to go swimming in a bowl of fresh whipping cream. It was magic.

My grandma taught me most of what I know about the land and it's ways.
I love to garden because of her.


I meet God in the garden; my wild church full of good fruit and a few unruly weeds - all jumping out of their pews, praise hands, guts and glory - alleluia.

Every day is Sunday here, and the congregation is full of all types; old, young, diseased, healthy, weak, strong, stubborn, lazy, and just ripe. All shapes and sizes fall in, represent. Tending, weeding, guiding, harvesting - a gentle communion - God coming to earth to do His work for us and in us.




I am drawn to the land. I think it's because it feels like He's been here, is still here; extending His hand to me and my family in the gift of fruit. Every visit a surprise. Color so alive you can taste it. I think it's because I feel close to grandma here; extending her motherly wisdom, taking care of me, so I can take care of my family.

We bought a home this spring with a yard big enough for a garden, but I chose to plant on my grandparents' land in the country instead. I didn't want to miss the chance for me, for my kids, to spend time with grandma and grandpa doing something so rich and life-giving. Tabby dog runs around the yard, happy to see us. Grandpa revs up a tractor or lawn mower to the delight of two little boys. Grandma drives around in her John Deere gator passing on her secrets, handing me a hoe, stopping to dig up some carrots for me or take baby Bella for a spin.



And I think it's important. I think it's vital that we step away from the rush of the American lifestyle and slow down, breathe a little, grow something outside of ourselves. I feel like I am suffocating sometimes as the to-do list creeps up to my neck. Someone always needs something, there is always something to be done. But in the garden we are on God's time, and I like that.

This year we are growing green beans, peas, brussels sprouts, broccoli, cabbage, kohlrabi, cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers, carrots, sweet corn, zucchini, spaghetti squash, and lettuces! We've also been able to harvest apples, peaches, blueberries, black raspberries and strawberries! Thank you, Lord, for the land, for grandma and grandpa, for the life you've given to the generations that gather around the garden for communion with You. Amen.



For more #tlfgarden15 adventures -- catch us on INSTAGRAM!!!

6 Years

He taught me to drive his motorcycle on this country road. We caught fireflies and took a walk that night as well. He told me, "Hey, you know you're leading this walk as much as I am, right?" I don't even remember responding. I was willing to walk all night; the night I fell in love with Nathan.





I tried to convince him to date one of my Christian girlfriends. I'm not particularly good at playing matchmaker or anything, I just get a kick out of the imaginary pairings and mock marriages in my brain. Needless to say, he didn't like my idea. And he still doesn't like it when I go playing matchmaker for other people. He calls me "Emma" sometimes. Any Jane Austen fans? It usually means: A.) Badly done, Brittany or B.) Stop it now.

"I've got the perfect gal for you to date," I told him one afternoon while riding on the back of his bike.

"Can you just find me someone... like you?"

He was dead serious. Always so forward. For real- it was a little painful to watch him fall all over himself, making passes at me time and again. It was adorable, but painful. Haha. It was as cheesy as you are imagining. Now Nathan admits to feeling no control over the words that were coming out of his mouth. He's told me that he would say things and then his inner monologue read: "WHAT AM I DOING?!" Love does crazy things to the human heart. Turns people into walking Hallmark cards!

One time I was sitting at the bar at Applebees, where we both worked, waiting on my food, when he just real subtly dropped, "You're really cute!" To offset the awkwardness, I awkwardly replied, "I know." He just pushed further, "No, you are cuter than you know!" Yea, ok, buddy. Ha. I wasn't in a position where I could date him. Heck, I wasn't even sure I wanted to date him! I seriously would get rid of serving shifts when we were scheduled to work together because I just wanted to "be friends".

At least that's what I told myself.

Like the scene from Little Mermaid, when Ariel is in big trouble with her dad, "He's a human! You're a mermaid!" Every girl born in the 80's has this memorized by heart, am I right? But yea, I had something similar reeling through my head, "I'm a Catholic! And he's a Nazarene!" He doesn't like that. He'd tell you, "Christian." Which is true, but he has the vibes of a Nazarene. It paints the picture and adds to the drama here. So I'm gonna leave it.

My mom fell in love with him first. That's not awkward. She MADE me invite him out to this study she was leading called Theology of the Body. Literally, she put the phone book (remember when?) in my hand and told me not to come out of my room until I had called and asked him to attend. Luckily he said "yes" and I got to come out of my room. So basically it was an arranged marriage.

The night of the first meeting he came out on his motorcycle. We sat at the same table together with a bunch of other young adults, including my boyfriend at the time. Afterwards we had a bonfire in my backyard where Nathan shamelessly sang a song that he wrote for me. In front of current boyfriend. I thought nothing of it, but I'm pretty sure my boyfriend told me that he would "rip his face off" if Nathan sang to me again. And my mom was all like, "Oh my gosh! Nathan is wonderful!" #facepalm. I like to think we gave Nicholas Sparks a run for his money.

So after all that, I did the only logical thing to do. I asked him out.

Yup.

The relationship with the boyfriend was rapidly ending anyway and I was hurt, and probably should have waited to officially "break up", but I didn't. And this is exactly why I tell people NOT to date in high school. It just rarely makes for a comfortable story to share. Ha.

Nathan picked me up from my hair appointment that day. And when he dropped me off, he prayed with me. I couldn't see straight between my broken heart and growing fondness for him. I liked this man. A lot. He felt like home. You know what I'm talking about? I just knew, ok?! Cliche of all cliches.

It wasn't a few weeks later, after my previous relationship was officially over, that we stood on my back porch together.

"What am I going to do with this heart?" Nathan asked.

"You're gonna marry it," I prophesied.

Apparently I'm forward too. Match made in heaven.

And just like that, 3 years later, after breaking up and getting back together 3 times, we realized that King Triton was wrong all along. Humans and Mermaids can totally get married if God wants them too.


Celebrating 6 years.
Happy Anniversary to us. XO.


P.S. I'm the mermaid. Nathan is the human. In case anyone was confused.

I Quit Cutting Myself

She asked me, "What happened in the fall, Brittany?"

I closed my eyes and let the words of the text message, blaring like a tornado siren, race through my memory; searching the hard drive. Where is it? All those pieces! They have to be here somewhere. The shards of glass, the remains of something so beautiful, shattered by bitterness and resentment - coursing through my entire being.

I am cutting myself.

"Nathan, you have to take me to the house."

It had been a year since I had last asked. I am sure he thought I was finally moving on. His clear, merciful eyes - rings of dark brown, wild fire surrounded by pools of blue - met mine and I could feel the pity. Not the kind of pity that comes with being pathetic, but the kind that sees and feels and knows because he understands my heart as if it were his very own. He has walked through that abandoned house with me before. More than once - holding my hand, sitting on the back porch, playing in the yard with our children, gathering the forgotten lilacs, collecting remnants -an old roasting pan, Mason jars, a red scarf- left behind when they vacated in a hurry.

"Maybe this will be the last time she needs to go here. To be here."


// this is a real picture posted on Facebook from the first time I went back
It doesn't really make much sense. It's just the house that I grew up in. Four strong, historical brick walls erected at the very heart of town. Made of mortal materials. All passing. In the grand scheme of eternity, the mighty fortress is really just a tent that will one day be totally blown away like any other grain of sand in the dessert. It shouldn't matter. But it does.

I begged my mom to stay, to wait it out. Time is often the enemy, and in this case it definitely was, but I had hope of conversion. Maybe time would eventually be our friend and bring back together what was being torn apart. She yelled at me that night. Told me I was too young to understand the situation. Perhaps 22 was too young. I will never know. He drank more than he should. Maybe that was part of it. The disconnect, the job loss, the lack of means to keep the house. Gone. But I know daddy cared.

The bedroom where I stayed up late whispering with my sisters, the big, orange 1980's kitchen bar - a thousand family meals vanishing into thin air - the hook hanging in the living room that held our homemade advent wreath every year - hopes, dreams, prayers - pear trees, the garden. There were no more chapters to be written. We had reached the end of the book.

I left that house as a proper "home" for the last time on June 21st, 2009. It was the weekend of my little sister's wedding. It was the sweetest of occasions - so happy and joyful that the weight of saying goodbye to our family home seemed silly. Too silly to be sad. I was distracted. I jetted off back to Ohio- back to work- back to college- back to plan my own coming wedding. I didn't say "goodbye."

I woke up that September. It had only been a few months. The weddings were over and my parents and younger siblings had begun a life out on Long Island. "I want to go home," I told my new husband. Slowly, counting his words, he said, "Babe. You ARE home." I couldn't breathe so I cried. I couldn't go home so I panicked. So this is the source of the sirens; blaring and etching such a tragedy deep into my skin.

That was the first time I got so sick. And every year after for five years, the cycle has repeated itself. Always sick in the fall. Diagnosed autoimmune. It all makes sense now. Emotional trauma strong enough to take hold of my cells and use them against me. Inflammation burning, antibodies screaming, my entire being rejecting a growing list of foods. Maybe because it all happened in the fall. The waking up, the realizing that it all hurt so much - my heart so beaten and bruised. "They" took the house from me. "He" took the house. "She" took the house. "God" took the house. And now I can't go home.

I decided to stay broken that September. Knocked down from one too many childhood memories, I decided to stay down. In my mind I rationed that no one would hurt someone who is already hurting. Right? I was betting on the mercy of Jesus and mankind. Take it easy on me. I'm wounded down here. I used bitterness and resentment as fuel to drive me to pick up shard after shard of that shattered house, buried deep within my soul, and cut myself. Over and over again. Stay broken. Keep bleeding. Easier than being hurt again. Build new walls. Thick as unforgiven.

She texted again, "Once you locate the wounded memory, you must forgive everyone involved and you must forgive yourself for being vulnerable, for not forgiving sooner." Her words didn't feel like real life. You know when someone is talking as somehow each word means everything even though there's no way they could possibly know? It was like that.

Grace. God must have been holding some back for me, because I somehow found enough hope to pull myself up off the floor, release my emotional fists full of glass, and go ask my husband to take me "home" one more time.

I wore black that day as if I were going to a funeral. We pulled up and I slowly opened the van door. Nathan asked if he should go with me, but I said it was ok - "I need to do this."

I slipped the key to the back door off of my key ring. Five years. A daily reminder of loss. A token of pain that I treasured for all the wrong reasons. An excuse to hurt myself. All those years, I let it hang with all the other keys to my "life". Like a disease it spread deep and wide.

I walked into the yard, into my old garden, all overgrown with grass and such, and in the cold, December air, just days before Christmas, I looked up to heaven and told God I was sorry. Sorry for not letting Him heal me. Sorry for taking bitterness and resentment as my gods. I forgave all those involved. I forgave myself.

Kneeling down, I pushed that key into the hard, frozen ground - breaking the earth this time instead of my heart. I buried that key with tears falling from my eyes, and hope rising in my soul.

I'm done. I'm done cutting myself from the inside out.

A few months later I found myself sitting in the office of a Christian counselor I found by doing a Google search. That could have gone so badly, but luckily "Matt" was a swell guy who made a big impact on my life.

He asked me one day, "Are you willing to let God heal you in HIS ways?"

So often we have this list of ways we want God to heal us or those we love. Here. Here. And here. In this order, by this date, please and thank you. Amen. Like small children we either ignore a wound to keep on playing or we demand a band aid without thought of being cleansed. How easy it is to forget that wounds need to be cleaned before bandaging to prevent infection, further spread, deeper damage.

His ways always seem to surprise me. As if 28 years of being His daughter has taught me nothing. Like the day I got that text message from a friend. Like the moment I felt Him ask for the key to my childhood home. Like the night I knelt in the garden and let it all go. Like the moment I stopped making myself bleed.

I stood up after burying that key for the first time in a long time. I decided to get off the ground and not be broken anymore. I decided to let Him heal me and run the risk of being knocked down again. Because that's what happens in this world. We live with Goliaths and Pontius Pilates. But spoiler alert - the good guy always wins. I would do well to remember that and quit dealing with the devil and his lies.

It's not like every day of my life is puppies on a beach now. Healing is a journey. And even if I keep getting sick every fall for the rest of my life, I am still glad I decided to let God "heal me in HIS way" because life is too short to not live fully alive. I don't want to "go home" anymore, I truly don't. I was released that day in the garden.

Funny. It all started in a garden so long ago. A fall so great the wound spread, a deadly disease, throughout all mankind. And then one glorious Good Friday God came down to rescue me, to rescue us, from our misery. He's in the business of masquerading as text messages to get our attention. He's in the business of meeting us in the gardens of our lives and undoing all that's been tragically done. And He's in the business of getting us "home."

Blogging and Cold Turkey

It's been two+ weeks since I last blogged.

The crickets around here might not be bothering anyone else, but they are kind of
bugging me. Pun intended. I'll be here with mom jokes all day, people. Ha.

Life is happening so quickly right now; the drama splintering off in half a dozen
different directions at a time. As soon as I feel like I've got it all reeled in and
under control, my line slips and something is getting away from me... again.

I just can't do it all. And that is hard as stale gumballs to admit. I mean, I CAN do it all.
I know I can. I've done it before. But I guess I'm choosing NOT to in this season of life. I'm choosing PAUSE and chucking FAST-FORWARD. Because I'm good at running and doing and delivering all
the things, for all the people, all the time, but sometimes, something has got to give.

Thus, I give you cold turkey.



Without going into terrible detail, I admit, you've caught me, I AM EXHAUSTED.
Like, "Whoa, I have 3 children under the age of 5" exhausted. You know it's bad when...

6:27A.M. I rolled over in bed to find my 3 year old standing next to me staring at my face.
Never ceases to freak me out. And do you want to know what he asks?

Judah: "Mom, do you want me to turn on Netflix so you can keep sleeping?"

P.S. That is a BALLOON taped to his face as a mustache.
This is exactly what I'm talking about.
Reasons why I can't blog right now. Ha.

Someday they are going to bring me breakfast in bed too! Ha! Just kidding. Maybe cold turkey?
It just flows out of me! My kids are going to luuu-uv me when they grow up.

Really though, I was hoping to tie in the cold turkey thing to walking away from my blog
here to give me some time to gather myself. Hopefully my blog's crisis won't last long.
But you never know with these things. I want to come back with new, bright, and shiny
things to share with you all!!! Because my heart is here. I think God is here.

I've seen Him work through The Lily Field in crazy ways. For that: *praise hands*.
No kidding. He is good. All the time. So I'm going to retreat for a little while with Him
and let Him do His thing with me. Always have Your way with me, and this field, Lord.

7:44PM. Checking out at Whole Foods.

Cashier: "Two kids, huh?!"
Me: "Believe it or not, there's a third in this stroller."
Cashier: "Got any big plans for after this?"
Me: ** laughing out loud ** "Yes. After we have a meltdown in the parking lot,
we are going home to have another meltdown, and then go to bed."
Cashier: "Gotcha!"

And Bella is all like, "WHO?! WHAT?! BRB, peeps."



I'm sure you all can relate, right?
Until we meet again.

XO

Yoga Pants and the Promised Land

Last weekend the husband and I were hashing out some details and dreams while
driving home from visiting my sister's family in Michigan. There was a lot of "YES!"
"TOTALLY!" and "DO IT!" thrown around. We were like a Nike commercial -
flying down the interstate. Put it on a list and shred it up, baby.

Speaking of babies, that reminds me...

When I DO have any "free" time - I tell you what! I am taking a shower, eating my
breakfast for lunch, and running a load of laundry for the sake of God bless clean underwear. Occasionally I'll get half my toenails painted and maybe run to the mailbox. It's like Christmas
came early on the days I make it to the grocery store with all three in tow.

Define "IN TOW": Always running in front of me, asking all the Costco employees if they
have gluten-free samples, and falling over, laughing hysterically in the check-out because
saying "desitin birthday" is basically the spoken form of a fart in their world.

I can't even wrap my mind around that. Boys.

And at night, when they all fall asleep, I am either penning love notes to my readers
here in the field or watching episode after episode of Property Brothers on Netflix.
Because my midnight snack is called "fried brain", my friends. Fried.

I wanted to be a nun at one point in my life. Cloistered sounded romantic.
And after all the marriage and babies, I woke up one morning to find that I actually took
a habit after all. It consists of black yoga pants and hoodies. *angelic choir sings*

My order allows me to wear make-up on special occasions, and take naps. But ONLY when
the entire community wants to take a nap. Which happens... um never. You don't even have
to think about fasting or feasting. It just happens! Starving, starving, feeding everyone
else --- and then PRAISE THE LORD you get to eat cake for lunch because it's way easier
than making a salad. Are you called?

It is the most silly, wonderful -- beautifully blessed - calling, my friends.
Yes, it busts and breaks me, but in the best ways. "How is having 3 kids?" people ask.
I'm not one to sugar coat reality, so I honestly admit that HAVING them is awesome!
Taking care of them now?! That's where it gets tricky. Wink.


But it is here in the cloister of my home that hearts and souls are being
loved, formed, raised to go out and meet the world some day. My quiver has three arrows.
Three arrows that can help pierce the darkness and make a difference for the Kingdom.

Call me Katniss Everdeen. For real. Do it. Ha.

"Every mother is like Moses. She does not enter the Promised Land.
She prepares a world she will never see." - Pope Paul VI
All those dreams and details? I'm living it. In my cloister. With my children.
Yes, I do not have all the time in the world to "shred it up", but I am given ENOUGH
time every day to take care of what GOD wants me to accomplish - and that's ok.

Yesterday I read a beautiful reflection over at Blessed Is She. All about Noah and his ark.
God's instructions, His plans, His desires for Noah and his family sounded ridiculous.
"Here, just build a ginormous ark in your front yard and gather animals and their mates -
load 'em up - bon voyage!" Noah was called. He answered. He did ENOUGH with what time
was given to accomplish God's will -- and it SAVED THEM.

For me, motherhood is redeeming. It is my ark; complete with all the ridiculous
requests and adequate time to save them. To save me.


Diapers need to be changed, because we're going to the Promised Land.

We're Getting a Dolphin

While driving down the interstate recently, Isaiah piped up:

"Mom, when we do school and you're my teacher,
can you get me a dolphin so I can swim with it?"

So there I was, looking in the rearview mirror at my son - looking back at the road -
looking in the rearview mirror - looking back at the road...

He's for real. And I don't think Petco carries dolphins. Shoot.



But all I can think of is how can I give this GOOD THING to my child.
How can I bring this happiness to his life? How can I answer his... prayer?
Where in the world am I going to find a dolphin?

We pray with our kids every night. It's a lot of "God bless the door knob and the rocking
chair and the curtains" and "thank you for my elbow and the mailman and the light switch."
It's funny, but beautiful at the same time. EVERYTHING they usually name is an indication
that we live in a first world country. So yes. God bless and thank you.

Lately I've been sneaking back into their room at night, after they've finally had enough
sips of water and trips to the bathroom, and say my own prayers. The prayers I pray by
myself suddenly seem so much stronger as a I rock in the rocking chair and let the tears
slide down my cheeks.

I pray down good things on them -- for our family --
hopes and needs as big as a mother's heart can imagine.

God loves you a lot, you know?

I know that when the valley gets low or the night grows long that I sometimes forget.
When the lights go out and the to-do list never ends and the babies still need - need -
need me I lose sight of Him.

Call me the Apostle Peter, walking on the water, "I've got this, Lord - look at me,"
as the water trickles over my feet, inching up to my knees, engulfing my entire body.
And I look up, trying to breathe, "JESUS!?"

Call me Thomas, the doubter, who wants to see and feel the very proof of the love given
and received in so great a sacrifice. The kind of love that I know is there, but so often
covered up by a little thing called skepticism.

Call me Martha, as in the sister of Mary, "Lord, I will bend over backwards to make sure
You are comfortable, but I'll let my sister look You in the eyes and receive the greater gift."
Because I'm pretty sure I'm not worthy. I imagine I have a whole life of unopened gifts from
God thanks to that lie.

But Jesus doesn't hand out dolphins.

And mothers do?

Because there I was, racking my brain, planning a whole vacation to Florida just so my
beloved son can swim with the dolphins... and I just stopped.

"Thank you, God, for loving ME, your beloved daughter, like this."
Thank you for all the 'dolphins' You've sent my way."

It's the same. But so much bigger.

Here I am in my sinful, human state trying my best and hardest to make sure
that not only are the "needs", the bare necessities, of my son's heart met, but I'm
working on the "hopes", the "dreams", the "extras", the "over-the-tops" as well.

Because I love him.
And God loves ALL -- so much more than any of that.

Jesus doesn't say "hot mess"

"Who are YOU?"

I just blinked back tears and shook my head, "I can't answer that."


It was the kind of interview that one should ace. The most elementary of questions, and I'm scanning
the room with jetty eyes hoping the answer will suddenly pop out of the wallpaper or something. I mean
I could have given the rote litany of my achievements, college GPA, all the titles associated with my
life: child of God, wife, momma, blogger, ministry director, missionary, blah blah blah. A resume that
can stand on it's own. But me? I'm just falling over. Because I can't answer that question.

I've spent most of my life running. Literally. I'm not a runner, but on a bad day I can break out my
tennis shoes and run a mile flat to feel pain, to feel alive, to feel like I'm getting away from whatever it is that haunts me. And then there are all the less actual parts of my life that keep me waking up every morning, putting on "my face" whether I have somewhere to be or not, going and doing A, B, C...
D, E, F, G... because if I can just keep up this fugitive act!

I will not become that.
Whatever it is that I'm so afraid of.

And in the process I've lost sight of who I really am.

Is this midlife crisis material or what? Because I don't know. It's scary as heck, but also exciting.
It's so easy to spend all the time giving and giving in the name of Jesus -- taking care of my family,
husband, children, my people -- but when you run me through a scanner? You'll see the façade.

You'll see that it's easier to DO than to be. It's easier to RUN than to stay. It's easier to IGNORE
than address. It's easier to PRETEND than admit. I'm fine. Oh I'm fine. I'm really fine.

I AM NOT FINE. And that's ok.

Growing up is amazing. Can't wait to see what another ten years does for me!
It's humbling. I am not invincible. You all knew that, but I didn't.

I mean, I went to Target the other day commando. I was wearing sweats of course, but not being
"totally put together" is a big step for me. And let me tell you, it was FREEING! I also haven't
vacuumed my house in over a week, and I quit apologizing for still being in bed when my husband
comes to kiss me goodbye before work. Beds get made if they get made. Laundry gets done if it gets
done. And I have a hair appointment next week...

Hahaha. It's not THAT bad of a midlife crisis.

Running has done the complete opposite of what I imagined it could do for me. Instead of liberating
me from all my problems, it has literally chained me in a room with all the issues piled up because
I'm a professional when it comes to pretending everything is ok. But I'm done. SO done.

I've stood and I've fought and I've let this whole wide world break against me.
Let me say that again, against ME. I know what you're thinking. Doesn't she know Jesus?!
Why yes, I do, but I like to put Him out of a job a lot -- and for that I'm truly sorry.

If you run into me in public, you have the right to wonder if I'm wearing any underwear at all.
I'd say it's safe to assume that if you come over for a visit it's no longer ok to eat anything
off my floors. It's not about GIVING UP -- it's about giving it all up to the God who made me and
knows me and loves me and wants me to be happy in this life and the next.

I'm surrendering my orange fugitive kicks and laying down my arms.

I just want to be able to answer the question.

"Who are you?"

Not what is expected. Not what is to be avoided.

If you stood before Jesus today what would He speak over you?
Who would He say you are? I don't think "hot mess" is part of His vocabulary.
Could be wrong. But I'm thinking He would have praises to sing -- ones that you and I can't even
see ourselves. Let THAT be our song today as we dance IN our underwear.

The Scariest Thing I Have Ever Done

I thought learning to ride a bike was frightening.
Sleeping in a shack in the middle of nowhere, Mexico? Put me on edge.
I was nervous every single time I had to speak in front of hundreds of people,
and I kept my parents on speed dial every time they left the house.

Starting relationships, ending relationships, going to college, getting in car accidents,
giving up my job, hospitalized for pneumonia, being a missionary, leaving my family...
shook me.

But the scariest thing I have ever done?


These tiny little hearts, minds, bodies entrusted to my care don't come with manuals.
There's no auto-pilot, return policy, or warranty. It feels so risky; all too dangerous
to let the DNA masterpieces of yourself, your spouse, run around in this big, wide world.

The sirens go off.
A tornado of "what ifs" blows straight through the very core of my being.

The other day a doctor was explaining to me how as mothers we uniquely store the DNA of
all the children we bear within our liver (so whimsical) and in our brains. Perhaps shedding
light on that connection, that intuition, we feel towards our kids: "I just KNOW they
are sad, happy, hungry, upset, sick, at peace..." We just know what they need.

So my liver, or possibly my brain, tells me that I don't want to mess it up.
I don't want to miss something or make a mistake.
In a nutshell, I want to be Jesus to my children.

I run, non-stop, doing all the things, all day long. I pad their lives with all the good
I can possibly muster to fit into a 24 hour day and then beat myself up as I fall asleep
at night for not BEING more. Who wouldn't wanna be me? I cry because I'm scared I'm
failing. I panic because if I really am failing -- then who in the world is going to pick up
where I leave off? Because I've made myself Jesus for my children, and we all know that
Jesus is the last stop.

I'd like to say that I've come around, been reformed, got baptized in the Church of
Surrender all to Jesus, but I can't. I am, however, TRYING. Because the "Hi, my name is
Brittany and I have a degree in Theology" side knows that playing with fire is safer
than playing God. But my heart? My heart is freaking out and praying, "are you sure?"

WHAT IF I screw it all up? WHAT IF something goes wrong? WHAT IF I sin and
fall and bleed this ugly humanity all over these tiny lives I'd die to protect?

And then there's WHAT IF I LET GO?

WHAT IF I do my very best? WHAT IF I do less and be more? WHAT IF I
open up my clenched fists and hand it all over? WHAT IF I quit masquerading as Jesus for my kids and let Him do His job?

And just be me?


I can hear the "all clear" siren ringing now. The tornado is passing.
I've checked myself into that Church of Surrender all to Jesus and the very rain that has
pelted down, bruising my skin, my heart, my soul, is what is going to baptize me anew --

because I don't have time for motherhood to be scary.