A thrill of hope {my #oneword365 recap, end of the year highlights, and top posts of 2015}
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In contrast to years 2013 and 2014, I didn’t write at all about my one word for 2015 – hope. Partially because I sort of forgot. Partially because I was blogging less. Partially because I was busy.
I thought about just leaving it in the archives and letting it die.
But yesterday, I was driving Ezra to occupational therapy and Celine Dion came on the radio.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices…
There is no doubt that most days I am quite weary. Weary of driving. Weary of fighting Ezra’s behavior and managing Russell’s anxiety. Weary of nursing and rocking and changing diapers. Weary of fighting the darkness of a difficult faith.
But this weary heart has reached a place of newness. A place of healing. A place of redemption.
A thrill of hope.
This is what I wrote about hope at the beginning of 2015:
And so, let me walk you through my 2015. The highlights. The hope.
I started off announcing my pregnancy with our second child on New Years Eve:
A thrill of hope. Yet I struggled.
Struggled with really seeing my son struggle with his special needs:
I struggled with faith:
It’s a hump that feels insurmountable. Impossible even. As though I’ll be in this state of limbo forever. ~Broken faith: more of my testimony and what God has done (and is doing) for me
But still we celebrated life:
In February, we survived a lot of sleepless nights, early mornings, and snow days:
And in the midst of the weariness, I focused on the love of God:
I’ve been trying for a long time to start over, but just couldn’t seem to sort through the mess and confusion to find a starting place. Now I have it. ~Love songs for the girl who needs to remember that God loves her
I dealt with fear about parenting a second child:
~Fear {on parenting a high needs child when planning for the next one}
We celebrated seven years of marriage:
Call it tenacity, call it faith, call it the grace of God, call it whatever you want. We just simply haven’t given up. Not on each other, and not on us.
We got ready for Ezra to graduate from inpatient therapy:
We’ve made so much progress. And I say we because it’s not just Ezra who has changed. It’s me. It’s Russ. It’s our marriage. It’s the way we parent and communicate with not just him, but with each other.
There’s a point where we have to move beyond the ADHD diagnosis…the label. It’s a fine balance, and one that I know we will probably never perfect. It’s going to be a lifelong process, for both him and for us as his parents.
Ezra graduated from therapy, and that same day we found out that Baby was Little Brother:
Ezra started special needs preschool, and I filled my days with working on the baby nursery and listening to birth podcasts. He made a lot of improvements in his fine motor skills, and I did a lot of walking:
I celebrated Mother’s Day with my beautiful children:
I battled a lot of pregnancy discouragement, and I grew very weary yet again of the challenges we face:
~The carousel never stops turning and our hard is still our hard
THEN I CLIMBED A MOUNTAIN AT 26 WEEKS PREGNANT!!!
Ezra finished the (PreK3) school year:
But I also live this day-in and day-out. Today was no harder than any other morning–not really. It was just another normal day when I drop him off and walk away wearily wondering if this will ever get easier. ~When the last day of school feels too much like the first {thoughts on surviving a very long year}
And then the blog was quieter for a while:
Sometimes silence means that people are fighting their own big-to-them battles that might seem petty in the face of the bigger issues of the day. Sometimes silence means that people have more questions than answers and would rather not talk about things they know they don’t really have a clue about.
We took a really-hard-but-somehow-still-good trip to the beach:
We took some awesome family / maternity photos:
Then we hunkered down to wait for Little Brother:
He didn’t come on time, so life went on and Ezra started back at school:
We gave Little Brother an eviction notice, and finally…after a lot of walking, a 31 hour labor, and another c-section, he came into this world beautiful and healthy!!!
And wow… talk about a thrill of hope…
His birth was healing and redemptive. It strengthened my struggling faith.
Those moments made me a believer again. God could have found a way to keep me from the pain of another cesarean birth. But He didn’t. And I’m so glad that He didn’t. I walked away from Little Brother’s birth scarred once again in body, but whole in spirit. ~No Matter What, I Believe: On Broken Faith and Healing Birth
Little Brother’s personality is surprisingly easy-going (so far). He’s been sleeping through the night since he was six weeks old. He self-soothes. He loves independent playtime. He is already rolling both directions and has strong fine motor and gross motor skills.
He is the best Little Brother a boy could ask for.
He is my sweet spot. My calm place. He is my thrill of hope.
In the midst of all things baby…my other beautiful baby had to go and turn FIVE!
And, after a year of deliberating and trying everything else, we started him on ADHD medication, one of the best parenting decisions we’ve ever made.
Which brings me to now.
…this year has been one of new beginnings. …our day-in-day-out is still a struggle but now all of the supports are in place and it’s just a matter of accessing all of the help and making it work for us. So maybe I can’t adult, but at least I can breathe. ~All. The. Routines., Mount Adultmore, and finally being able to breathe
This morning I fit into pre-pregnancy (albeit stretchy elastic waist) JEANS.
This past weekend, the ladies from our new church threw me a SURPRISE baby shower, and today one of them came over and helped me CLEAN MY HOUSE.
I’ll be dead honest. I have a lot of bad days. I get very overwhelmed from SPINNING ALL THE PLATES and taking care of my family. I get weary of anxiety disorders, ADHD, therapies, counseling sessions, managing finances, driving the family EVERYWHERE, blogging, housework, and trying to find time for that elusive thing known as SELF CARE.
I lose my patience. I lose my temper. I yell on occasion.
Sunday night I had a breakdown because my anticipatory/secondary anxiety was so high that I had trouble enjoying a day of Christmas festivities with my family.
They all did fine at the parade and the drive-thru lights (all in one day), but I was holding my breath waiting for the meltdowns. When they didn’t come, it was me who fell to pieces.
I am weak, yet I am strong.
I am falling apart, yet I am holding it altogether.
I am broken, yet I am healing.
I am weary. Yet I am rejoicing.
A thrill of hope…the weary world rejoices, indeed.
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