the post i hoped i'd someday write

i snuck away from work today, just to visit his session and see how things were going.

this face of his has been  making me smile so much lately, and i wanted to see his progress.

the progress he had made last week, when i found him here, in the basement of the therapy office, walking with the parallel bars.

"the bars gave him the confidence he needed," the therapist said today.

the confidence to do this.

to take steps on his own.

for the first time in eight years.

she didn't think he was ready, to have her let go and let him slowly work it on his own.

i had told her months ago that if he was closing to taking even one step without support, i needed to know. i wanted to be there.

we didn't think that would be today.

but it was.

and i was there.

and his caregiver who has been with him for seven years.

and after eight years of hard work and not giving up and not letting discouragement take over, he's broken through something that has been holding him back.

"it gives me hope for my future," he said, as we sat on the couch waiting for our 15 and then some guests to arrive at our spontaneous party, because everything needs a celebration.

his niece and nephew have been praying for him, and when they heard the news, even their little hearts knew.

"uncle ian," his four year old voice said. "god answered our prayers and you're walking on your own without falling down."

"uncle ian," her voice cracked, three years of happiness breaking through. "He (God) saved our message. and i'm grateful because you're walking."

God did save our message, our prayers, and He hasn't forgotten them. He was not dependent on our faith.

he fell into sleep easily tonight, his tired muscles needing their rest and his brain needing silence.

he fell asleep as a good man who hasn't given up and who has known all along, deep in his heart, that His God is for him - always.

thank you, for praying for ian,

when words are few

words to share have not been many on here this year, yet God is keeping us, as we finish our book and search for a house to buy and wait for the breaking of spring.

ian continues to see God's help in therapy, progressing to walking with just the help of parallel bars and not his therapist. he's not giving up.

we're thankful that joy in our marriage is not granted because of our merit but because God loves us and treats us as His children.

thank you for sharing in His work with us.
L

invest

 this weekend was for flying south, far away from the below zero temps and white flakes.

to reward the work of writing 75,000 words

 and to invest in our marriage all that this coming year may drain from it.

and peace and rest met us, an answer to many prayers, and in the ways we wouldn't have thought possible.

and his dad might not have ever imagined we could have done it.

but we did. because God has done much.

the littles

"if i were him, i'd just want someone to hold me," steve said, one day, years ago, when ian was still really sick and steve was still alive.

i knew what he meant because in the desperation of ian's condition those first few weeks, months after the accident, there was nothing we could do for ian. except to show him we loved him.

but there was always a bed in the way. and i wasn't strong enough to lift his stiff torso toward me.

or there was always a wheelchair in the way, and he couldn't lean forward so i could get a good wrap in.

so at night, when steve and the care giver would help ian sit up on the exercise mat steve built, i would wait. and sit and wait. and cancel plans because i didn't want to miss that moment. that moment when steve would open the bedroom door and let me know that i could come in and hug him.

i could put my arms all the way around him. because he was sitting on the edge of his exercise mat, nothing behind him.

my torso was holding his up, but i was around him.

and he tried to lift his arm to be around me, too.

and i forget those times, when a hug was all it took to get me through another day. how ungrateful i've allowed myself to become, forgetting that one of the greatest gifts, holding and being held, is right next to me every day.

it's  there and it's so sweet. and he now always  wants to be with his wifey. and when someone starts to pray, he reaches for my hand. and when i sit next to him, his arm wraps my waist. and sometimes he squeezes the extra skin that wasn't there a few years ago and we laugh because he's not supposed to notice but we have changed in these nine years.

God gives us joys in the littles.

He gives us joy when we look for it in the most over-looked movements.

and even though i forget, what a great God there is surrounding me.

tonight, i'm thankful for arms that wrap me into him tight.

He followed us

she came to visit us, our life photographer, on a warm summer day to take photos to be on the inside flap of a book that was being scripted each evening after dinner.

that day was the first time he could do this,

stand next to me, with just my hand helping him, not with my arm around him, like we needed to in all of the photos from this day

 

where my arm was hidden around his back, helping him, balancing him, and we couldn't stand and simply hold hands.

this summer came to ian in strength, upgrading to a walker, and then a cane and committing to walking by year 30. he left the house without a wheelchair for the first time and he walked out the front doors of his mom's house for the first time.

2013 was a big year.

yet, on a day that becomes reflective for so many of us, that's not what i most see.

what i most see is a hard-fought year, with fears and exposure and costs and crying and days sitting in front of a blank computer screen wondering why we signed a contract- that were all swallowed up by what was following us. by what was behind us and before us. 

it was a year swallowed up in God.

it was a year that He swallowed us up, taking our inadequacies that were asked to put our story into 75,000 words, our legs that were asked to learn to walk again, our hearts that at times wanted out.

He followed us with mercy, and made our hopeless mornings and our sweet, quiet date nights and our laughter at his inappropriate jokes into beautiful life canvases.

He followed us with His goodness, keeping us, with his white-knuckle grip.

He blessed us, with two new nieces and nephews, bring number seven and eight into our hearts that four years ago didn't know that type of love.

He kept us, in each other, faithful and honorable to our covenant.

And all that we were given in Him will continue to be, so that this coming year that looms with exposure as our feebly written pages will be carried home in shopping bags and delivered with the mailman won't be faced apart from mercy. Or Himself. Or joy, in the most unexpected places.

He will follow us, and someday, someday hopefully soon, we will dwell in His house, forever.

With love,

I&L

when the holidays hurt

"i just wish i could skip the holidays," she told me, as she dreaded the days that meant more memories flooding to mind. memories of the little red-head life that left too soon. 

i get it. ian gets it. 

because the holidays don't always look like we want them to. or like we think they should.

because some of us are in a house alone thanksgiving morning. some of us don't have a home. some of us have closed wombs and kids with wandering souls and gaping heart wounds and some of us, some millions of us, weren't even given the chance to breathe this year.

some of our holidays don't fit into pinterest-shaped boxes.

some of us, when we get back to work, will be asked how our holiday was and we'll fake a smile and say "great." but it didn't really feel great.

sometimes, holidays hurt. because the pressure of expectations builds and the reality of our lives doesn't change on  a thursday in november or on december 25.

yet, there's that blood. that blood that was wrought to fill us every day. the mercy blood that doesn't skip holidays but is there, available, when we dig in and let it cover us. 

For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us. As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame;he remembers that we are dust.
psalm 103:11-14

that blood is there, and when we allow ourselves to enter in to it and know that all of this, before and behind, is grace, we can put one foot in front of the other.

we can fight to have hope. and fight to give thanks. and fight to love. because Jesus did it for us.
  

new

we tucked ourselves underneath the feathers of our big fluffy spread, our goose bumps giving in to their warmth. i sat with our bible opened on my knees, a hot cup of tea within my reach for us to share.

"what do you want to do for our quiet time," he had asked, a question that spurs smiles because it means he's feeling well.

we've been reading proverbs, and so made our way there again.

All the ways of a man are pure in his own eyes, but the Lord weighs the spirit.

we were sharing our hearts, how differently we see ourselves than how God sees us.

Everyone who is arrogant in heart is an abomination to the Lord; be assured, he will not go unpunished. 

our patterns, so similar, mine not as refined as his. the habit of anger and pride, that lead to destruction but are so hard to overcome.

"ian, i know i've been given a new heart. but sometimes my old self, that still wants to sin, feels so nearby."  

"it is. that's why we need Jesus."

in seven words he takes me to the heart of it, to the heart of my human-ness. in those words he takes me to the heart of our marriage - a relationship that helps me to love and fear God more.

these moments, they are beautiful.

love
L  

an unexpected visitor

an unexpected visitor came into our home last night, slipping in while the rain drops pounced off our windows. not forcefully, but gently, she planted herself in my heart while we laid with eyes shut. when i woke, she filled my thoughts, not darkness that had greeted me each morning for what felt like lifetimes.

she whispered life and heaven and redemption in my ears, as i rolled over to look at the eyebrows and shoulders and tousled brown hair next to me that i'd grown so comfortable with but that had altered my life so.

she, Hope, wasn't expected, yet she was so very welcomed, because she had just hours before seemed to have been a forgotten friend that had no plans of journeying back to me. she had felt very far off and unable to be convinced to come for a visit, despite my tearful requests.

as she laid next to me on our striped gray and white sheets, i wondered how long she would stay, but then decided those thoughts should be forgotten. because she was here as a gift, and although i did not know for how long she would choose to stay in my home, i wanted her to be welcomed.

why i cry when vacations end

this weekend was with our dearest, the ones who stood beside us three years ago on 8/28. at a camp in the mountains,  we ate together and slept in sleeping bags and on couches and in pack and plays.

time didn't matter except for knowing when it was time to eat and time to canoe.

 

it felt perfect. and happy.

and ian laughed.

 

and lanterns floated.

 

and the coyotes started to howl as the fog drifted over the lake and onto our campfire.

 

 and we watched as three floated over the lake, thinking on all that three years had brought.

 

we talked about god and wondered if maybe those days were a fraction of what heaven would be like. and when it all ended, before it ended but we had to start cleaning, i started crying. because times of refreshment remind me that we're not in heaven yet. leaving vacations filled with reprieve and entering back into the messiness of life feels like stepping outside of heaven after tasting its sweetness. 

a foretaste of what is to come.

L

all

this weekend we head to the mountains, to where this marriage began. as we prepare to reunite with those that sat beside us under the chandelier, i think about all of the details that made that day magical.

and all of the people that made it perfect.

 

and the husband who has made three years worth every cost.

we'll all be there together, again. and the babies that were in the bellies of the flowered dresses will be scampering through the grass. and all will feel well, for now.

eight twenty eight

today is eight twenty eight.

today is our dad's birthday. and today is our anniversary. and today means His promise to work all things together for good because He loves us. today is for reflecting on three years with a God who has held our marriage, has kept us when we would have left on our own and has sprinkled joy in the most unexpected places. 

today is for remembering that when God gave life to Steve on this day 53 years ago, 

He knew exactly what He was doing.

we are now one because of life.

and above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. and let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. and be thankful. 

Col 3:14-15

in love

i&l

Walking

Now he's walking, without a walker. Just a cane and one of us helping balance with a gait belt.

Thank you for praying. And for buying his art so he can keep going to therapy.

It's working.

when we cause other people to be grateful

"i start to get upset about the small things in life and then i think of you guys and i'm filled with gratefulness for all that i have."

i know what they're trying to say. but what they're trying to say is not what i hear.

"sometimes i think my life is hard but then i think about you and realize that you have it much worse than me. then that makes me grateful for all of the prosperity i have in my own life because at least my life isn't as bad as yours."

that's what i hear.

i try not to hear that, try not to have thoughts that twist someone's intended encouragement.

but it's hard to respond to my husband's suffering when we're told we're a source of someone's gratefulness. because then I walk around thinking that people are looking at us and thanking God, or their version of a god, that they're not as messed up as we are. that inherently makes us a victim.

we want to be driven to thankfulness. but we don't want people to be thankful because they don't have trials "as bad as ours," because some day they might and then that crutch that was built will be gone. that comparison, that "at least its not this," sets our heart on a best case scenario instead of on God, with whom there are no best case scenarios - only sovereignty.

i want to be thankful that we have a god so big even the winds and the waves obey Him. when people see us, i want them to be thankful because they see a god that redeems and upholds and a god that sits on His throne. to derive gratefulness from comparison, to maintain the "there are starving kids in Africa" mentality makes the children a victim or object of pity and sets us up for failure when the starvation comes to our families because of adultery, or car accidents, or heartbreak.

to build our thankfulness on comparison and anything other than God himself will only deprive us of the joy that is to be found in deeply-rooted thanksgiving.

i'm praying that i get to that root myself, because the comparisons i make are a costly habit.

thank you, always
L

to myself, a reminder

this is for myself, a reminder for when the next day comes that was like the last. a reminder on the next day that i don't know how to enjoy with a brain injury and the day that the things he used to do are all that i see. this is a reminder for the next time my mind has my bags packed and i wonder how i will keep loving.

there is someone who has already swallowed up my marriage and someone who has already swallowed up my loss. it has been finished and so i can wait with my husband, tearfully, and know that my way has already been made for me. i can wake in the morning with mercies that don't seem new and know that this has already been done for me.

it was done before i was born. done before i knew him. before mrs. murphy.

i can keep making my way in hope because He has made me His own.

i can know that this has nothing to do with me. but instead, Him.

a promised gift

this weekend was for being away and for being out of reach of cell phone signals - a place where refreshment comes easily. we arrived to a lake house full of family and woke saturday to more babies and aunts and pancakes and eggs. 

 

God is a god of gifts and rest, both of which He gave to us abundantly this weekend. because in the mountains, even a day of painting cabin bunks and canvases means an escape.

his own two legs

for the first time in seven years, ian left the house without a wheelchair. tonight he left with just the strength in his legs and his walker.

i asked him how it felt and he said he feels the independence.

so grateful that after seven years, he still moves on. so grateful that Ian and God continue to surprise me.

i love you, ian.

new

my new friends, who helped me to stumble through my first time speaking at a weekend retreat. 

coming home to a new season of patio life and sleeping with windows open.

god brings new life with spring and sun. resting in thankfulness tonight for that newness and for God always winning.

thank you, for praying. ian continues to have fatigue and we continue to pray for God to show us why.

three little babies

three little babies that we've watched grow and have loved. three little babies that love their uncle ian without expectation. three little babies that ask why uncle ian isn't with aunt rara when she stops by after work. three little babies that don't see a tbi but see an uncle who tells them stories about a boy named paladin who drives a green chevy on route 66.

three little babies that teach me how to love.

how i'm fighting for joy

particularly in this season, our daily battle to believe and know that truth always conquers is a deeper and longer battle than usual. and so i'm trying to teach myself and pray for ways to fight for joy and mental clarity and hope. below is my list so far - of which all are underlined and supported by and kept in by grace.

marriage gratitude journal - a little journal, sent to me by a sweet blog reader, devoted solely to capturing the gratefulnesses i have in ian and him as my husband

exercise - to clear and empty my brain and keep me healthy to serve ian

date nights - wednesdays are reserved. and in a few weeks, after our first deadline, we're taking a week to devote solely to dates. no writing.

prayer - growing in my commitment. fasting on wednesdays. spending time thinking about and praying for something/someone other than myself

sleep - a time to escape

thank you for praying for our writing and our marriage.

it's official

as of today, we are officially signed authors.

and so, in typical Murphy fashion, this called for a celebration.

we received toasts

and i signed

and these dolls just made sense on the cake

and this niece didn't have any fun.

we're so blessed to be in such a generous relationship with our publisher. we're very grateful to the Lord for providing this avenue for us.

steve and i talked many, many times about writing a book but never felt like the timing was right.

thinking of steve as we write, we're hopeful to honor his memory.

love

i&l