Incoherently Yours

I like to dabble in a bit of self-sufficiency. I'm really kind of too lazy of a person to jump all in, but I do like to dip my toe in occasionally. I love that we eat our own beef. But do I personally butcher it? Nope, nope. And I mooch chickens off of my mother-in-law. I'm too squeamish to even help. I don't think I'd ever eat chicken again. I love eating our farm-fresh eggs. I informed Sheldon when we got the chickens that I kind of, sort of, really despise/hate birds (and am possibly afraid of them) so I would eat from the fruits of his labours, but I wasn't about to help with them. Turns out, I probably could, as our chickens are weirdly tame and you can pet them if you want to. I don't. But still. Anyways. So yes, we raise most of our own meat, I plant a garden, I freeze veggies, and can some stuff, I keep potatoes and squash and carrots in my cold room. I like to make my own apple juice, jams, and jellies. I like the thought of owning a milk cow. In fa...

I went to a funeral today. They have a way about making you think about death. And grief. And loss. And unfairness. And hope. And Heaven.                 Admittedly, after losing Rory, hope and heaven took a long time to enter my thoughts, to penetrate my soul, to soothe my heart.                 My friend lost her Dad. She’s my age. He’s my parents’ age.                 I thought about my old friend a lot this week. If you look under the definition of introvert in the dictionary, you will find her there. My heart ached and cringed at the thought of all the well-meaning, mostly-loving and kind-intentioned people and words about to come her way. I nodded in complete agreement when a mutual friend whispered at the funeral, “I just want to steal her aw...

                There are moments when I look at my life and my heart feels full to capacity. Moments when I think I might actually explode from all the love I have for my little family. Moments when I can hardly believe how much I’ve been blessed in this life.                 It’s strange, to me. For a long time I didn’t think I would ever feel this way. But I think being on the other side of loss makes you more appreciative of what you still have. Of what you will have.                 Eli is coming up on six months already. Kadon will be two and a half. It’s a busy time. A lovely time. January is the month of calving cows. Sheldon has spent most of his days and nights outside. But even amidst the chaos, I feel at peace. Happy. Content. Hopeful.       ...

I’ve started to plug back in at church. We’re going to a Sunday school class to become members. We are trying to attend more faithfully. I’m going to a Mom and Tots group. We’re planning on going to a married couple’s bible study. It’s encouraging. It’s scary. It’s lovely to feel connected. It’s exhausting. Sundays can so easily turn into “me” days. Into family days. Into rest (sleep in, stay in pj’s, cuddle on the couch) days. But I want my kids to grow up in church. I want church to be normal and necessary and an integral part of their lives. So I have to make it part of mine. I grew up in church. Up until I got pregnant with Rory I was quite active in church. And then my life was destroyed by the death of my daughter. Church became… uncomfortable. I didn’t want to talk to people. I didn’t want people to talk to me. What if they talked about Rory? Or worse… what if they never did? What was the point? I couldn’t worship. I couldn’t pray. The last thing on my mind was enriching my f...

My sister asked me which day was harder for me – the day Rory was born or the day she died. Honestly, her birthday is harder for me. Yes, today marks the anniversary of the day she died. But her birthday – her birthday is the very reminder that she should still be here.                 I’m not overly emotional today. I feel more wistful. This day is the reminder of how time goes on. We lost her three years ago. Three years.                 My children have a penchant for sharing important days. Rory was born on her great grandmothers birthday. Kadon was born on a second cousins birthday. Eli was due on Rory’s birthday, and born on Kadon’s.                 Rory died the same day a special little boy died years before her.       ...

I remember tiny fingers wrapped around mine. I remember dark eyes looking up at me. I remember rubbing my chin against her soft, down orehead. y, dark hair. I remember them laying her on my chest for the first time. How it felt like there was nothing there. I remember her little “elephant machine”, her little CPAP machine, squishing her pug nose. I remember the joy she brought. I remember the phone call. The drive in. Standing there watching in shock as they performed CPR on her. I remember them taking me into a conference room and tell me she could die at any second. I remember standing in the hallway, trying to figure out how I was supposed to call Sheldon and tell him. I remember 12 days of ups and down. Of hope given and hope dashed. I remember reaching out in faith like I never have before. I remember the terror and the dread. I remember having to say goodbye. I remember the last time they laid her on my chest. I remember reading her the stories, and singing her the s...

                Seeing as the title “The Book of Eli” is already taken, I guess we’ll have to go with “The Story of Eli”.                 He is my third baby. You’d think I’d know when I’m in labour. Like, really, it’s not like I haven’t done this before.                 But we were in unchartered territory. 37 weeks. Three full weeks farther than I’ve ever made it before. I figured that would make labour more apparent. Not so.                 I was spending the day with my sister and her family at their grandma’s house. As the afternoon worn on I just started feeling a little off. Braxton Hicks had become good friends with me in the previous weeks, and at first I thought it was just them visiting again. But then t...