Thursday, September 3, 2015

Five Years Ago...


Five years ago, I stood on a platform holding the hands of a charming young man and promised him my life.




It seemed simple in the moment. We would live in peace and harmony, communicating clearly and agreeing mostly, all the days of our life and never want again.

Leah Hope Photography


How naïve was I.

Instead of frolicking through life together, I learned within days of marriage that oneness was not something we could achieve just because of the vows we took.

Our love for each other was only a young sprouting root in need of nurturing, light, and water, before it could begin to take deeper root.

Oneness would be the result of the uprooting of all our selfish, ugly parts. It was crouching humbly in the garden of our hearts to self examine the weeds we didn’t even know existed, or kept hidden well.

Five years ago, I would have heard these words and nodded in agreement.
“Yes, yes, I know marriage will require compromise and communication. It will require hard work and dedication, too.”

It’s not something that can be understood until you find yourself walking in it.
And marriage is different for everyone. For some, it’s easier, and for others, much, much harder. Personalities and perspectives, and people in general, are all so complex and unique, and that makes marriage so different for each relationship.

For two stubborn people like us, it’s meant deep toiling at times. Toiling that almost broke our backs and crushed our spirits. It meant times when we uttered words like “separation” and sentences like “I give up” and raised our voices, or shut down entirely. There have been moments, hours, days, months, and years, when our values, preferences, and opinions have been in direct opposition with one another.

I have felt hopeless and alone at times. But when my stomach has churned and tears pooled up, when I felt the most hopeless and hateful, I have been reminded that oneness is worth toiling for.

We were never called to easy things, or to elementary, surface level relationship; on the contrary, we are called to scrape away the surface dirt, to dig deep into the inner workings of our hearts and to surrender time and time again to a love and a hope that goes beyond our best efforts.

I have a sweet friend who has been through divorce once and in my weakest moments, I am always reminded of her good counsel to me, “Marriage is not about creating a comfortable life for us, Krisann. It’s intended to make us more Christ like.”

How grateful I am that we are reaching five years of marriage. Today, I’m especially REJOICING that two stubborn people chose to be just stubborn enough in this quest for oneness that we are still standing hand in hand, stronger in love today than five years ago.

In quiet moments together, leaning against my husband’s barrel chest, I’ve smiled in my soul when he whispered in my ear, “I’m glad we haven’t given up” and I’ve responded, “Me too.”

Our roots are digging deeper each new day.

If you are in a relationship that is not physically, mentally, or emotionally abusive, I hope you can hear me when I say, your marriage deserves a second, third, fourth, fifth… hundredth chance.

If you find yourself the only willing party in a marriage to seek deeper relationship, my heart breaks for you. I want to tell you how deeply sorry I am.

Once, when our marriage was terribly broken, and I was at the end of myself, I felt the stillness and peace of God promise me restoration in our relationship.

It was not overnight transformation on any account, but little by little I began to see that promise come to fruition, and it still is day by day. He can make a way in the most hopeless of circumstances.

Learn to fight for instead of against each other. Seek wiser counsel than yourself. Pray continually. Self-reflect often.

Kindness is a rich nutrient in marriage.

 The tone, the words, and actions we use to communicate can create an environment where our oneness can thrive in love and grace, or tear down and destroy us.

Simple kindness goes a long way.

I’ve been known to burst out in anger. I attack blindly before I retreat and later surrender in regret.

I am learning to calm down and pray before I respond to situations. I’m not there yet, but grace in marriage helps, too.

Marriage can never really be as simple as stating how we feel or why we feel it, and compromising on the color we want the walls painted, or what we are craving for dinner. If it were that easy, divorce rates wouldn’t be as high as they are.

All I know is, five years in, marriage is worth toiling for.

And there's so much proof in the richness of all we've experienced together...







































“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;

    I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
    I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
    they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
    you will not be burned;
    the flames will not set you ablaze.
For I am the Lord your God,
    the Holy One of Israel, your Savior

See, I am doing a new thing!

    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland.”  Isaiah 43:1-3, 19





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Sunday, June 28, 2015

Unconventional Living

The other night, while on a family vacation, I watched my mother get up in the wee hour of the night to cradle my seven year old brother as he cried on her shoulder because of growing pains. She rubbed his legs down, singing softly to him.

It was the perfect picture of a mother's sacrificial and tender love. A few hours later, he woke again and my father took the second shift to comfort him.

In moments like those, I wonder how many countless children around the world are waking in the middle of the night in need of comfort and soothing, with no one to answer their needs?

For these children, what should be the most magical, innocent and playful time of life, is often wrought with loneliness, injustices, and having to grow up too fast.

Sixteen years ago, my parents answered the calling to devote their lives to fostering and adopting children; since then, they have fostered over ten children, with three adopted, and the hopes of adopting one, or even two more.

Three of my former foster siblings live in California now, where we visited them this week. Though they were placed with their aunt years ago, there is something powerful about our connection that goes beyond blood or circumstance. 

My seventeen year old sister opened up to me while we were sitting on the beach, discussing a break-up she just went through. 

"My friends say I'm closed off now. I know I am. But, I'll never be closed off to my brother or sister, or to you guys. You're family to me. I trust you."

Her words resonated with me. It was over a decade ago that she and her two siblings lived with us, but we will always be family.

These siblings of mine are incredible testaments of what the foster care system can provide for children. After moving in with their aunt in Watts, Los Angeles, the oldest sibling met a volunteer in a local program that focused on offering a positive place for these kids to hang out. 

The volunteer recalls how she "often invited the kids in the neighborhood to her church but they weren't interested. And then, he came along and was enthusiastic about going and I was so surprised."

He later told her he wanted to go with her to church because he remembered his positive experiences going with our family. Years have passed, and she still provides a mentor/mother role to him and his sisters, including helping them enroll in college, providing advice and love, and keeping us connected to them.

When I consider the statistics from CNN below, my heart hurts that there aren't more people who will answer the call to foster children, and/or mentor these young teenagers who have aged out of the system, or are growing up in broken homes.




In my parent's household, there are currently four kids under the age of twelve bustling about, playing, eating, singing, crafting, jumping, wrestling, chatting, whining, laughing, at all times... it is a place teeming with life. It's the opposite of the quiet, perfect family of two we all seem to paint as ideal in our modern day.

I just finished reading a book by a Dr. Sampson Davis, "Living and Dying in Brick City," where he addresses the inner-city crisis of broken homes, a failing health care system, and the lost potential of so many beautiful souls who are drowned out by hopelessness.

He says of adoption, "I've seen far too many children come into the world unwanted... There is no 100 percent guarantee that a family who adopts will wind up with a perfect child and a perfect life, just as there is no guarantee that a natural birth will result in these things. Adoption, much like having a child the natural way, is full of wonder and mystery" (p. 104).

I was asked not long ago to close my eyes and to picture that thing that can move me to tears just thinking about it. 

Eyes closed, I saw a picture I've seen a thousand times before. It's the face of a child, staring blankly into my eyes, the pain of neglect etched across his face. I see his plea for love and acceptance and my heart breaks in two.

If only more people would answer the call to raise unconventional families... We need more families with children that are not all one color, one biological combination, one perfect stair step of ages. We can change the epidemic of broken and hopeless lives when we are willing to set our selves aside to foster/mentor others.

I admit, when I think of following in my parent's footsteps, I often become nervous of all the things that can go wrong... 


I imagine having to relive the heartbreak of hopelessly watching a child reunified with a parent in a less-than-stable home, only to know they will enter the system again. It's hard enough being the sibling, I can't imagine being the mother role.


Foster care is worrying sick about the future of a child(ren) you've come to love as your own flesh and blood, it's answering politely questions asked about your "lovely family"by nosy people who are puzzled by the blend and ages all calling you "momma," and often helping children through emotions and behaviors resulting from confusing circumstances.

And, it's knowing that when others say, "I could never do that, I'd get too attached," it's knowing that's exactly why you do it, because these children need someone who will get attached, who will love them no matter how much it breaks your heart when they go home, or maybe, just maybe, end up filling a permanent place in your home.

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." James 1:27



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Tuesday, June 2, 2015

Musings on Childhood

They always told me it would go by fast. Catching sight of the chubby cheeked face poking out from the baby carrying contraption I wore, they'd half-smile, half-reminisce as they said that well-worn in sentence I expected to hear, "Enjoy it, it goes by so fast."

To them, it was half small-talk to a complete stranger, half woeful nostalgia for their own offspring's vanished childhood.

I vowed I wouldn't let his childhood vanish right under my nose like that. I'd experience it there with him, every long day, every longer night, all the glorious wonderment & discovery.



And I'd make sure that childhood served him well. To his childhood I'd say,"You listen here, childhood. I'm gonna let him get you all muddied up, scraped up, & maybe even broken a little. I'm gonna make sure he knows what you're there for... He's gonna exhaust you out. Explore everywhere with you. Imagine the strangest made up things because of you. See how far he can push you. You, in turn, better give him a real good, wild time."

Once he thinned out & started walking & babbling more, the questions of adulthood came trickling in. Most of them, I'm sure, were just asked due to concern that he wouldn't be able to apply for his first serious job soon if I didn't start shaping him up. 

"When are you going to make him sleep in his toddler bed?"

"When are you going to stop nursing him?" 

"When are you going to cut his hair?"

"When are you going to give him a sibling?"

"When are you going to potty train him?" 

It's not hard for me to imagine the day in the not-far-off future when he'll shyly enter his kindergarten class for the first time, his flashy plastic backpack proudly pressed against his back, sporting those shiny light-up shoes that take him further & further away from me, away from his babyhood & early years & into the classroom, the school years. 





He will turn one last time to me, as the teacher greets him, and I'll nod in reassurance, murmuring, "Have a good day, sweetheart."

My bottom lip will quiver like it always does when I get emotional & I'll tear up as I turn to go. I'll say a thousand prayers that day for him & I'll feel empty without his little voice chattering to me around the house. 

I'll probably wonder why the hell I ever potty trained him because you can't go to kindergarten if you aren't potty trained. I don't mind changing diapers, they aren't that bad. 

He is already growing up, but I like it. It's the fun growing up, the part when we name stars in the sky outlandish names like, "Que Bonita" and sing to them, and dance around the house with our cheeks pressed tight together to the song, "Never Smile at a Crocodile," and fly kites in the park when there's almost no wind, and have play dates where we make lime green play dough, and wear an astronaut costume four days in a row, and build the Island of Sodor out of sand, and snuggle and kiss anytime we want, and read a thousand different picture books in one sitting. 


This is the good growing up- it progresses so slowly that I have to be reminded it's happening because I don't see it myself. It's the kind that he and I are relishing in daily. 

There will come a day when he won't beg me to come play with him, or sing him songs in my pitchy voice. 

It's ok. I have today and today is long. 

And maybe he'll be lucky enough that his childhood is the kind that never really dies, that it's instilled too deep in him to burn out completely, it will flicker all through his life. 




I hope when all the nuisances (reliance on others, inability to fully communicate or be heard) of childhood fade away, these traits remain in him:

Wonderment. Merriment. Discovery. Trust. Joy. 


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Thursday, April 30, 2015

My Sunday morning started with a bit of self-motivation to get myself out of bed early & on the running trail by my house. I needed to get a 14 mile run in before church. 

The run started out a little rough, still feeling tightness from last week's half marathon, but by mile 5 or 6, I'd found my adrenaline high & I was enjoying the quiet hours of a Sunday morning. 

I always pause on long runs and take a picture of whatever scenery sticks out to me the most that day because it helps me appreciate the world around me & live in the moment. I loved the font on the back of this building & made a mental note that Steven & I needed to try the restaurant there in the near future. 


The sun was getting brighter outside & the sleepy city was beginning to wake up all around me. Church goers were starting to arrive in parking lots & while most of the restaurants around me were still closed, there were a few workers starting to prep for the day in some of the little cafes along Central. 

I ran by Lux, a bicyclist shop, some condos, enjoying the downtown scenery & feeling so alive & fortunate to get to spend quiet time to reflect.  

That was mile 8. My pace was good, my body wasn't hurting.

One mile later, I had crossed over at the Camelback and Central intersection to obey the flow of traffic law, running north directly across from Postinos.

I was mid-way across a very small, harmless side street when I was hit by a car, thrown onto the hood of it, then tossed down to tumble across street pavement. 

 It was a quiet morning & the driver wasn't paying attention as he took the turn, probably on auto pilot, driving to work. 

I didn't lose consciousness, I knew what was happening, and I was hoping in desperation the driver wouldn't run over me.

He didn't. He pulled over immediately. 

Thoughts and adrenaline surged through me quickly. 

I remember first desperately wanting to pick up my phone with my running app & finish my run. Only five miles. I felt so good. 

Intense pain in my shoulder surged up. I was coming to the realization that my run wasn't going to happen that day but maybe my marathon wasn't toast? 

An off duty paramedic rushed over from across the street, thank God for him because the driver (I was later informed by the police officer) was mostly deaf & unable to communicate very well, so it would've been much harder to get assistance if it had been just him & I there.

The paramedic asked if I was ok. He went through the list of questions they always ask. 

I was able to talk. I told him the adrenaline was making it hard to tell what else hurt beside my shoulder & that pain was creeping up fast. 

My face was very bloody but I could tell my teeth & nose were somehow intact. 

I gave him Steven's number & my name. Steven didn't pick up. The man called an ambulance and I begged him not to. I didn't want that ambulance bill. I begged him just to have Steven drive me.

I'm so lucky he was a paramedic and knew not to listen to me. 

The driver stuck around. He was such a sweet man & I could see remorse and guilt written on his face- I think the pain of guilt was probably worse than what I was experiencing. I really did feel bad for him. 

I could hear the paramedic tell 9-1-1 that the car was going 20-25 MPH & that I'd busted through the windshield & I looked up to see that my body had slammed into the glass. 

I started to get very dizzy & lose eyesight but I managed not to lose consciousness completely. 

The ambulance arrived. Standard procedures occurred (I took a class in college called The Care & Preventions of Injuries so I knew what to expect, which was helpful). 

My clothes were all cut off and I was strapped down to the board. They loaded me into the ambulance in swift motion. 

I was very talkative to the paramedics the whole way to the hospital & told them that getting hit by a car going 25-35 mph was still not as painful as natural childbirth (sorry ladies), how it wasn't on my bucket list to get hit by a car & survive but I guess that made me a "ballah!", how I still really wanted to run my marathon & make my mom's birthday dinner that night. 

 I think I even told them how I'd put on my lulu lemon capris that morning (the stupidly overpriced ones I bought right after having Ezra- a hormonal purchase, I'm sure) & for some reason took them off. It was silly, but I was relieved that they weren't the ones being cut off of me. 

We got to the hospital & I received immediate care in the trauma center with a large staff. They all had wonderful bedside manners & while I was in a ton of pain, I managed to laugh & joke with them. They were all so sweet to me, telling me that I was the nicest patient they'd had in a long time because they typically deal with mostly grouchy, belligerent, and high/drunk patients. It was, honestly, helpful to know that they enjoyed being around me. 

Steven arrived and the nurse stopped him from entering. My face was very bloody and bruised & they wanted to wash me up before Ezra saw me. 

After talking to the paramedic on the phone, who assured him I was ok, Steven said his expectation was to come pick me up with a few minor scratches & take me to breakfast but I was in a much sorrier state than he'd expected. 

My whole family started to arrive & sat with me through what ended up being a painful afternoon. I kept refusing morphine because I was nervous about side effects & then gradually took small doses that were ineffective. 


After awhile, it was confirmed I didn't have any head trauma or internal bleeding & it was just a nasty break on my humerus bone in three different areas that would probably need surgery but the orthopedic doctor wanted to consult another specialist who, in turn, consulted another specialist. 

Pain meds finally worked with higher dosages (I gave in, thank goodness) and was assigned a room. 

They decided not to perform surgery that day so at 4:30 pm, after hours of waiting, I finally got to drink water & eat food. It felt so good to feel a little more normal. 

I remained in high spirits & still am, maybe partially due to the morphine & Percocet I'm on, but in large part due to the fact that I should've received much worse trauma to my body, and very well could've died yesterday. 

Instead, by God's provision, I'm walking away with a break in my arm, a contusion on my radial artery, and some road burns on my face and hands & Angelina Jolie lips.  That's it.

I get to go home, surrounded by supportive friends & family, and begin rehabilitation. 

Not many pedestrians fair as well. 

I know this happened to me for a reason and I am far from bitter or angry. I hope, as time goes on, I begin to uncover more of why this happened. 

In the meantime, I hope this story will remind you to pay attention & be alert when you drive. I hope it reminds you that life is valuable and can be taken from you in a matter of seconds. 

And, I hope it reminds you to value every moment you are given as a gift, because it has reminded me of that. 

And lastly,according to my Nike app I didn't get a chance to turn off, I ran a mile in 1:51 seconds. ;) 

Ballah!!! 

Thursday, February 5, 2015

I woke up this morning with a muggy brain, knowing I'd maybe slept two-three hours last night. I had the least painful day since my accident yesterday followed by the most painful night thus far.

My neck and arm throbbed, despite pill popping all night (appropriately done, guys), and I couldn't get even slightly comfortable in my immobilizer straight jacket, despite trying out a hundred different sleeping positions. I tried to sleep sitting up but it just kept me in a foggy, self-pitying state.

I kept yelping in pain all night to wake up the sleeping man next to me, which he appreciated deeply.

Last night wasn't a pretty picture of grinning and bearing it; I was discouraged and frustrated. Sometimes, in the pain, it's hard to keep in mind that this accident should've caused so much more damage than it did.

But, I didn't sit down to write "woe is me" in a variety of 100 complaints tonight; I sat down to express to all of you how deeply this injury is changing my life.

What I was sure was to be a day of just getting by, was so much more. My friend and assistant brought her son to play this morning as she helped me pack and ship orders I couldn't complete myself with one good hand and a half-functioning brain. Her organization always amazes me. Her son entertained mine for hours. Thank you, friend.

I was delivered Starbucks by another sweet heart. Nothing like caffeine to wake up the brain and chirp up the mood.

And then, someone I have missed so much, came to visit for four lovely hours today. We talked and talked, she made me soup from scratch, and helped tidy up the house. We promised we wouldn't wait until the next tragedy or baby to see each other. Her presence in my house was peaceful.

Calls and texts came throughout the day, too, checking in on me.

The past week, I have had well-wishers and sweet friends I haven't sat and chatted with enough, taking time to comfort, encourage, and feed me. I regret not spending more time with my favorite people, and now, here they are, day after day, taking time to be with me.  Every text/call/visit/meal/gesture leaves me feeling in awe of the depth of the blessings in my life.

When people ask how I am healing, I don't think of my injury first, as they mean. I, instead, think of all the ways I am healing as a person through this experience.

I have never felt so deeply appreciative, or loved, as I am in this season.

Thank you. In a strange way, I needed the assuredness that I mattered, that my life was meaningful. And day after day, you have promised me through your actions and prayers that I matter. (I hope, in some way, that my need for your friendships and outpouring of kindness to me, has reminded you,  of how deeply you are valued in this life, too. You matter so much to me, sweet friends. Words cannot express that).

This experience is also humbling. I refused the first meal offer that came my way, only to text back and admit it would be actually very helpful. What's more humbling than having a friend arrive at your doorstep with kid(s) to bring you a meal, when she probably has no idea what she's eating herself that night?

Nothing.

Or, having someone brush out the rat's nest hairdo you rocked in the hospital, or help you dress because you can't put on or take off your own shirt.

 So V E R Y humbling.

And while it's teaching me to accept loving and kind gestures, it's also teaching me a foreign concept, rest.

The hyper-active to do list accomplisher that lives inside me, never lets me rest. I've always feel twinges of guilt when I rest; I always have to be doing something productive.

This week, I was the mom at the park in an immobilizer swing, desperately lunging, squatting, speed walking around, despite the weird looks I was receiving.

I will not let myself go, I kept thinking.

My favorite form of movement has been taken from me, and in it's place, is this ugly fear that keeps creeping up. What if my life, my body falls apart when I'm in a state of rest?

I read a verse recently, a promise, that changed my perspective a little.

"But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint." Isaiah 40:31.

This is my waiting period. It's not a season of movement. It's a much needed season of rest. And someday, not far off, I will be renewed to go again. I know I was made to be a go getter. it's in me to me to operate at a fast pace, to-do list in hand.

But every fast pace starts with a much slower first gear, and I forgot that along the way.

I get it now.

To know that I can be accepted by simply being me, stripped of the movement, the busy and the productivity that defines me, brings me new found peace.

And so, I am healing in the most intricate ways.

Thank you for all of your love, you will never know what it means to me.

















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Monday, January 26, 2015


My Sunday morning started with a bit of self-motivation to get myself out of bed early & on the running trail by my house. I needed to get a 14 mile run in before church. 

The run started out a little rough, still feeling tightness from last week's half marathon, but by mile 5 or 6, I'd found my adrenaline high & I was enjoying the quiet hours of a Sunday morning. 

I always pause on long runs and take a picture of whatever scenery sticks out to me the most that day because it helps me appreciate the world around me & live in the moment. I loved the font on the back of this building & made a mental note that Steven & I needed to try the restaurant there in the near future. 

The sun was getting brighter outside & the sleepy city was beginning to wake up all around me. Church goers were starting to arrive in parking lots & while most of the restaurants around me were still closed, there were a few workers starting to prep for the day in some of the little cafes along Central. 

I ran by Lux, a bicyclist shop, some condos, enjoying the downtown scenery & feeling so alive & fortunate to get to spend quiet time to reflect.  

That was mile 8. My pace was good, my body wasn't hurting.

One mile later, I had crossed over at the Camelback and Central intersection to obey the flow of traffic law, running north directly across from Postinos.

I was mid-way across a very small, harmless side street when I was hit by a car, thrown onto the hood of it, then tossed down to tumble across street pavement. 

 It was a quiet morning & the driver wasn't fully paying attention as he took the turn, probably on auto pilot driving to work. 

I didn't lose consciousness, I knew what was happening, and I was hoping in desperation the driver would be able to brake and not run over me.

He braked & pulled over immediately. 

I remember first desperately wanting to pick up my phone with my running app & finish my run. Only five miles. I felt so good. 

But, quickly thereafter, intense pain in my shoulder surged up. I was coming to the realization that my run wasn't going to happen that day but maybe my marathon wasn't toast? 

An off duty paramedic rushed over from across the street, thank God for him because the driver (I was later informed by the police officer) was mostly deaf & unable to communicate very well, so it would've been much harder to get assistance if it had been just him & I there.

The paramedic asked if I was ok. He went through the list of questions they always ask. 

I was able to talk. I told him the adrenaline was making it hard to tell what else hurt beside my shoulder but that pain was worsening. 

My face was very bloody but I could tell my teeth & nose were somehow intact. 

I gave him Steven's number & my name. Steven didn't pick up. The man called an ambulance and I begged him not to. I didn't want that ambulance bill. I begged him just to have Steven drive me.

I'm so lucky he was a paramedic and knew not to listen to me. 

The driver stuck around. He was such a sweet man & I could see remorse and guilt written on his face- I think the pain of guilt was probably worse than what I was experiencing. I really did feel bad for him. 

I could hear the paramedic tell 9-1-1 that the car was going 20-25 MPH & that I'd busted through the windshield & I looked up to see that my body had slammed into the glass. 

I started to get very dizzy & lose eyesight but I managed not to lose consciousness completely. 

The ambulance arrived. Standard procedures occurred (I took a class in college called The Care & Prevention of Injuries so I knew what to expect, which was helpful). 

My clothes were all cut off and I was strapped down to the board. They loaded me into the ambulance in swift motion. 

I was very talkative to the paramedics the whole way to the hospital & told them that getting hit by a car going 25 mph was still not as painful as natural childbirth (sorry ladies), how it wasn't on my bucket list to get hit by a car & survive but I guess that made me a "balla!", how I still really wanted to run my marathon & make my mom's birthday dinner that night. 

 I think I even told them how I'd put on my lulu lemon capris that morning (the stupidly overpriced ones I bought right after having Ezra- a hormonal purchase, I'm sure) & for some reason took them off. The fact that they aren't the ones destroyed makes me strangely feel that God was watching over me. It's the littlest, silliest things sometimes...

We got to the hospital & I received immediate care in the trauma center with a large staff. They all had wonderful bedside manners & while I was in a ton of pain, I managed to laugh & joke with them. They were all so sweet to me, telling me that I was the nicest patient they'd had in a long time because they typically deal with mostly grouchy, belligerent, and high/drunk patients. It was, honestly, helpful to know that they enjoyed being around me. 

Steven arrived and the nurse stopped him from entering. My face was very bloody and bruised & they wanted to wash me up before Ezra saw me. 

After talking to the paramedic on the phone, who assured him I was ok, Steven said his expectation was to come pick me up with a few minor scratches & take me to breakfast but I was in a much sorrier state than he'd expected.



Another reason I am grateful... Ezra often runs with me. He could've been with me that morning. That thought makes me sick. 

My whole family started to arrive & sat with me through what ended up being a painful afternoon. I kept refusing morphine because I was nervous about side effects & then gradually took small doses that were ineffective. 

After awhile, it was confirmed I didn't have any head trauma or internal bleeding & it was just a break on my humerus bone that would probably need surgery but the orthopedic doctor needed to consult two specialists first.

The pain meds finally kicked in when I consented to take higher dosages and I was also assigned a room, helping to make me more comfortable overall. 

They decided not to perform surgery that day so at 4:30 pm, after hours of waiting, I finally got to drink water & eat food. It felt so good to feel a little more normal. 

I remained in high spirits & still am, maybe partially due to the morphine & Percocet I'm on, but in large part due to the fact that I should've received much worse trauma to my body, and very well could've died yesterday. 

Instead, by God's provision, I'm walking away with a break in my arm, a contusion on my radial artery, and some road burns on my face and hands & Angelina Jolie lips.  That's it.

I get to go home, surrounded by supportive friends & family, and begin rehabilitation. 

Not many pedestrians fair as well. I've heard some awful stories from the care team here about others.

I know this happened to me for a reason and I am far from bitter or angry. I hope I will continue to unravel what this event's purpose was in my life...

In the meantime, I hope this story will serve as a reminder to us all how important it is to pay attention & be alert when we drive.

It has taught me a lesson we all learn and relearn time and time again, that life is a gift we must value.

Thank you to every one of you who sent encouraging, loving, supporting  words, offered to visit, asked how you could meet my needs, & told me you were praying. I appreciate you. You've helped me through this more than you'll ever know. 

And lastly,according to my Nike app, I ran a mile in 1:51 seconds.




Balla!!!  ;) 

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