Guys, I’m honored to have Amanda Held Opelt, author of A Hole in the World, and sister of the late Rachel Held Evans on my podcast Missionary Life today. This is my favorite episode so far! We share about the excruciating grief Amanda went through with the loss of her sister and how through the practice […]
Grief, Rituals & Allowing Joy with Amanda Held Opelt Read More »
On Christmas day, after an agonizing two week wait following in-vitro fertilization (IVF) treatments in New York, I’ll find out whether or not I’m pregnant. I didn’t plan it this way, my heart palpitating with anxiety during an already tender time, and yet like so many things with infertility, it was outside my control. For
4 Coping Strategies for Infertility During the Holidays Read More »
Sometimes I can forget. How long I fought for him. How much grief I endured. This morning I held my son against my chest and breathed in his blonde hair, as if trying to inhale him into my body. He’s 17 months now, he’s a toddler tottering around on beach paths and mouthing words, throwing fits
A life interrupted. That’s what this feels like. Re-entry is close to my heart because mine was so unsettling. When I left Uganda in 2013, I’d followed a plan. I had the goodbye celebration, like so many global workers right now haven’t. I got to hug my people and cry. I got to revel in the victories. Still, leaving
Missionary Self-Care Guide to Coronavirus Re-entry Read More »
The weight of the world is grief now. The ocean mirrors how I feel. Grey, turbulent, tossed about. The heaviness of another morning of unknowns. Or worse, more bad news. My toddler wakes up with a fever, crying. I press my lips to his forehead and try to still my racing thoughts. What if? We
We stumbled upon the circled labyrinth in the dark. We were in nowhere Gardnerville, Nevada on a road trip hoping to soothe the sting out of disappointing news. It sparked joy inside me. Remembrance of other times in Colorado I’d traced the paths that led me Home to God and myself. Stone cuts against sand.
Unexpected: How to Hold On When God Shuts a Door Read More »
This year is six years, six years since we lost our first baby, six years since the toilet clotted blood. Last week was National Infertility Awareness Week and it pulls me back to the memories like my eyes to the scene of a car crash. I can see myself on the floor. Praying. Begging. Being willing
Trauma and loss happen to us all. Suffering is a part of life. But sometimes things occur and we don’t know or recognize it as trauma, or as something to be grieved. So we go on living, and eventually these traumas pile high inside us like dirty laundry and the burden begins to take its toll.
Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been obsessed with “doing the right thing.” I wanted black and white, straight lines to divide the world because I wanted to be perfect and having rules meant knowing I was on the correct path. When it came to infertility and the subject of IVF, I wanted
Sometimes in between the kitchen and the washing machine, doing the same acts over again with seemingly little result, I wonder if my life has purpose. I used to love my job. I used to love what I did with a kind of maniacal passion. I used to stay up late writing blog posts and used to
“Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but – I hope – into a better shape.” –Charles Dickens- I was in Target, a cart full of disheveled clothes, baggy shirts and cardigans, waiting to
When I was a little girl, I would dress up baby dolls into clothes and push them around in a miniature shopping cart. I would cook them plastic food on my rainbow colored stove and wear little-house-on-the-prairie type outfits because I guess I thought that’s what moms’ wear. I was convinced the most sacred occupation
